#or if he has plenty of women surveying his writing

[alligator-tearzz]

Just for Fun - Javier Escuella

A month ago I complained about the lack of Javier fics. I decided to just write one myself hehe. I haven't written a fanfic/ oneshot since i was like 16 and now I'm almost 23 so forgive me if it seems weird!

Synopsis After chasing up a lead with Arthur, Javier decides to check out a saloon in Saint Denis and unwind. He didn't expect for anyone to catch his eye that night, nor did he expect them to catch his heart either. Yet there he was, eagerly awaiting their next interaction. Tags/warnings ig gender not implied, implied sex worker, mentions of alcohol consumption.

Words - 870

The air was heavy with smoke and chatter. The lights were dim, and the ladies were bright. Javier didn’t expect to find himself at such a fancy saloon in Saint Denis on this humid summer night, yet there he was, sitting at a table by himself, whiskey in one hand and a cigar in the other. He had surveyed the main floor plenty of times since he claimed his spot. Nothing has really piqued his interest. It was all the same to him. Chatty, boisterous, balding white men with handlebar moustaches, beautiful women, batting their lashes and boasting their bosoms, enticing men to fall into their warm embrace (and their warm beds), and a loud, irritating woman sitting on a couch in the corner by the bar, yelling about God knows what. Javier leaned back in his chair, raising his glass to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut at the harshness of the liquor that coated his throat. He put out the last small bit of his cigar in the ashtray on the table. He had stumbled into this bar after meeting up with someone who provided what seemed to be a very promising lead. A train, full of rich business owners, was soon to depart Saint Denis. Rolling through a quiet, vacant countryside on the way to its destination, it was ripe for the taking.  Along with Arthur, Javier grabbed the very chair he was sitting in now, ordered a glass of whiskey, and drank. Him and Arthur had quietly talked over the details, hoping Dutch would approve. After an hour, when the sun had tucked itself to bed and the streets of Saint Denis lit up, Arthur had decided to go back to Shady Belle. Now 4 glasses deep, Javier was only just starting to feel tipsy. His tolerance was quite high, so he had the luxury of still being level-headed. That was, until he saw someone descending down the staircase. 

In Javier’s eyes, they almost seemed like they were descending down the stairs from Heaven. They had a bright, innocent glow to them, despite their vacant expression. The clothes they were wearing fit as if they had hired the world’s best tailor specifically for them. Javier had the overwhelming urge to get up, and maybe it was the liquor fueling him, but he did just that. He even took a few steps forward, too. The chatty, boisterous men curiously gazed at him. Not too much that it was a problem, but just enough that he knew he was acting weird. The mysterious person who had descended down the stairs caught his eye, and they tilted their head slightly, like a confused puppy. The corners of their mouth turned up ever so slightly as they took in Javier’s features.

His dark hair, tied back, letting his facial features shine. His disconnected beard, his dark, yet warm gaze, the scar on his eyebrow that made him seem intimidating but to them, it made him seem ever the more enticing. They let themselves descend the stairs more, finally hitting the floor of the saloon and slowly walking over to him. They met each other halfway.

Javier took their hand in his, then raised it to his lips for a kiss, staring directly into their eyes.

“It’s… a pleasure to meet you, I’m Javier” He started, in his low voice, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before.”

The mysterious person lightly chuckled, their cheeks starting to burn red. They lowered their gaze to the ground, overcome by a sudden onset of insecurity. Javier’s eyes seemed to burn straight through them. “I just started work here… you’re the first man to talk to me.” They admitted, with their gaze still lowered. Javier was elated. It was as if someone had walked right up to him and handed him $1000. He was the first man to talk to them? Mother Mary herself must have hand picked him to be blessed by this person’s presence.

Under the dim lights of the saloon, the person locked eyes with Javier again. A fiery passion seemed to be dancing in their eyes, and Javier had the feeling that they were feeling the same way about him. “What’s your name?” He asked, looking them up and down intensely, as if they weren’t real, as if they would disappear as soon as he blinked. 

“Cress.” 

“Would you like to join me for a drink, Cress?”

“I would love to, Javier.”

And with that, Cress and Javier sat down at the table Javier had originally sat at. Both with glasses of whiskey, Cress had a taste for hard liquor, and both with wide smiles on their faces as they chatted the night away.

Javier hadn’t felt this way about a person since he’d left Mexico, with blood on his hands and shards of his heart in the sand. The closer he got to Cress, the more he felt like he was back at home, with someone who understood him inside and out, with someone who let him give himself and gave back more. 

Tonight was the first of many nights that Javier had met up with Cress.

He was determined to meet for many more nights to come.

[remusfreakinloopin]

I’m torn between “Make the next Doctor a woman you cowards” and “don’t make the Doctor a woman if she’s not gonna be written by a woman”

[tuiccim]

Hi! I love your writing, you are amazing! Are you taking requests? if you are, can I ask for one, where the reader is bi, but has only been with women so far, so she's really nervous about sleeping with Bucky for the first time? I don't know if this is good, but if you want to write it, it would be great! If not, that's totally okay! Love u🖤

Hello my love! I am so sorry this took so long to get to. I hope you enjoy it.

High Score

Pairing: Bucky x Bi Female Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Smut. NSFW 18+!

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: A big thank you to my beta reader, @liebs82 . All mistakes are my own.

“How was the date?” Sam grins at you as you enter the kitchen. “What’s her name again?”

“Awful and who cares cause I’m never gonna see her again,” you roll your eyes.

“What happened?” Bucky asks from his seat at the island.

“We were talking about when we came out and the moment I said I’m bisexual, she got this look on her face. She said she only dates lesbians because she doesn’t want to be with someone who can’t make up their mind.”

“Oh, man. What did you say?” Sam shakes his head.

“I said, oh, and when did you choose to be a lesbian? And she was like, I didn’t, I was born this way.”

“And then I answered, yeah, me too. Got up from the table, threw down some cash to cover my portion of dinner and left. It’s so frustrating. I’ve always been attracted to both genders. It’s who I am. Just, ugh, I’m so sick of people who are only attracted to one gender having some sort of superiority about it and… I’m sorry, guys. I’ll get off my soapbox.

“No problem, doll. You can always vent to us,” Bucky says sweetly.

“Right. I’m heading out though. Gonna meet a lady friend for a drink,” Sam says with a wave.

“Booty call,” you sing-song, giving Bucky a wink.

“I heard that,” Sam calls.

“I meant for you to!” You yell back.

Bucky chuckles but then sobers as he gives you a onceover, “She really must be an idiot.”

“Thanks, Buck. Some peoples’ prejudices, ya know?” you shrug.

“I, uh, didn’t realize you’re bi. I always thought you were-”

“Le$bean?”

“Yeah.”

“I haven’t really dated guys much.”

“Why not?”

“No reason,” you survey Bucky. You had wondered more than once in the past if he was attracted to you.

“But you’d date a guy?”

“Why? You interested?” You lean on the counter, giving him a great view of your cleavage, and smirk.

“Yeah, doll. Have been since you first got here. Just didn’t think I had a shot,” Bucky gives you a cocky grin.

“Shoot your shot then, Barnes.”

--

Two weeks later, you and Bucky had been on a half dozen dates and made out until you were throbbing with need. There was one thing Bucky didn’t know and it was the reason you hadn’t dragged him to your bed.

Sam was gone on a mission with Joaquin, giving you and Bucky the house to yourselves. You had asked him if he’d like to stay in tonight, get a pizza, and watch a movie. The understood code of “let’s ignore the movie and make out.” Which is exactly where you were at this moment, laid out on the couch with Bucky on top of you. You are so wet you had probably soaked through every layer of clothing between the two of you.

"Bucky," you attempt to get his attention but it comes out a moan. His answer is to redouble his efforts, sucking a mark on your collarbone. "Barnes!"

That causes his head to snap up, "You okay?"

"Yeah," you nervously bite your lip.

Bucky gives you a cocky grin, "You wanna take this to the bedroom?"

You nod then giggle as Bucky shoots up from the couch and practically carries you to his bed. But as soon as you are laid out under him and he starts to pull your shirt off, your nerves bubble up. "Bucky?"

"Yeah, Doll?" Bucky pulls back to look at you.

"I've, um, I've never been with a guy. So, if I'm awkward at this, I'm sorry."

"You're a virgin, Doll?"

"Hardly, Barnes. I've had plenty of sex. Just never with a guy. I've always been with women."

"But you've never had a cock in you?"

"Look," you push Bucky back and straddle him, "I've been fucked good with a strap on and fingers and tongue." You put your hands under his shirt as you feel some of your confidence come back. "But it's always been with women. You won't hurt me or anything. I wanted you to know in case I'm a little awkward with anything." You pull his shirt off and smile at him, "I mean, I doubt you can beat the orgasm record that I've accomplished in a single session but I'm sure you can make it good. Right?"

Bucky rolls you under him and smirks down at you, "Is that a challenge?"

"Only if you're up for it, Sarge," you reply playfully.

Bucky leans down to whisper confidently in your ear, "Hope you don't have any big plans for tomorrow. You won't be walking straight."

“Big talk. Not seeing much action.”

Bucky grins devilishly as he gets to his knees, fists your shirt and rips it open. Your bra falls victim to him next and then your pants and panties are removed without further damage, "Wanna keep mouthing off, Doll?"

"If it gets me results, Sarge," you sass with a giggle. Your laugh quickly dies on a moan as Bucky explores your folds with his fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Bucky whispers as he kisses you again. His fingers are making slow circles around your clit causing you to writhe against him. He builds you up, making the circles faster and tighter until the coil in you snaps.

“Yes, fuck!” you cry out.

“One,” Bucky whispers in your ear. His lips slide down your neck and then to your breasts. He gives each one attention as his fingers still make circles over your clit. You arch into his mouth when he swirls his tongue around your nipple and gently suckles. He trails his tongue over your belly, dipping into your navel, and then down to your mound. He traces his tongue over your folds and then his tongue spears into your opening and you cry out. He works his tongue in and out of you while never pausing the work of his fingers.

“Bucky! Fuck,” you cry out as you fall over the edge again.

“Two,” Bucky says before swiping his tongue up and over your clit. The new sensation causing you to writhe against him. You grab his hair to hold him against you as he laps at your bud.

“Bucky, God, it’s so good.”

His lips wrap around your clit and you arch as another orgasm slams through you.

“Three. What was that record again?” Bucky smirks at you from between your legs, his tongue still playing over you.

“I’ll let you know if you get there,” you smirk back at him.

“That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Bucky presses a finger into you as he speaks.

“Yes,” you reply breathlessly. His thick digit digging into your g spot as you throw your head back. Bucky’s tongue flicks over your clit in time with his strokes. Another moan escapes when he presses a second finger in. Each motion takes you higher until you cry, “Bucky! Oh, fuck, Bucky, I’m gonna..fuck!”

“Four. You like that, doll? Right there?” Bucky’s fingers massage your g spot.

“Yes. Bucky, will you, um, will you…” you falter, feeling a little embarrassed to ask for what you want. Something you had fantasized about more than once.

“Will I what, doll?” Bucky looks up at you.

You bite your lip for a second while butterflies erupt in your stomach, “Use your other hand?” The surprised expression that crosses his face makes you regret asking almost instantly.

“You want… you want that?” Bucky looks at you with wonder as he trails his metal hand up your leg.

“Yes. I want all of you, Bucky.”

He moves slowly but your moans encourage him. His mouth again covers your clit as he works two metal fingers in you. Your mind runs amok feeling how excited he is by your request. He's eating you as if starving and his fingers are firm yet gentle as they take you higher. The coil in you bursts yet again and the loud moan you release drives Bucky crazy.

“Five,” he groans as he kisses his way back up your body. His lips take yours again and you feel his hard length press against you through his sweatpants. Your hands slide past his waistband and encircle him. His skin was soft despite how incredibly hard his cock is. He moans into your mouth while your hands explore. You pull your hands out and roll Bucky onto his back. Sliding down him, you pull at his sweats and he lifts himself so you can pull them off. You lick your lips looking down at his well endowed cock. You reach your hand out and gently caress the length.

“I want to taste you, baby,” you say as you lower your mouth to lick the tip of his cock.

“Fuck, yes.”

“I haven’t done this before. You’ll tell me if I do something wrong?” You ask self-consciously.

“You won’t do anything wrong, doll,” Bucky holds himself still to allow you time to explore. He’s so hard it’s painful but when your sweet tongue swirls around his head, he’s ready to explode. Your lips wrap around him and the silky texture makes your eyes roll back in your head. You want to feel every inch of him on your tongue. You lick a stripe from his balls to the tip and grin when you see him fist the sheets. You repeat the action making him moan and squirm. You do it one more time and then slide him as deep as you can in your mouth. Involuntarily, his hips flex up and you pull back as you gag.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” Bucky is sitting up immediately.

“No, you’re interrupting my oral exploration of your cock. Lay down!” You smirk as you push him back onto the pillows. He chuckles as you wink at him and lean down to suck him again. You hold your thumb to help suppress your gag reflex. Your tongue flicks back and forth on his underside as you take him a little deeper with each stroke. Your hand comes up to cup his balls and his breath leaves him.

“Fuck. Doll, I’m gonna come.”

“Mmmm,” you moan as you take him deep and bob your head. You guide his hand to your hair and he moans as he begins guiding you where he wants. He releases a long groan as his cum hits the back of your throat. You swallow and lick him clean. You look at him and ask with a bit of heat in your cheeks, “Was that okay?”

“So much better than okay,” Bucky winks at you. Suddenly, he’s up and maneuvered you onto your hands and knees. You gasp when it’s not his cock but his tongue that is pressed to you. He makes a long swipe from your clit all the way to your tightest hole. His tongue dances there for a second making your insides flutter before it licks its way back to your entrance. He shoves his face into you causing his tongue to plunge into your pussy. You clench around his tongue and cry out at the onslaught. He bounces you against his face making you gasp and moan with each movement. His fingers glide over your slick clit, tightening the coil in you. You release a cry when you come. Your body shudders as the waves crash over you. He rolls you onto your back, grabs his t-shirt to wipe his face which is covered in your slick, and grins down at you, “Six.”

“Getting close, Barnes,” you tease.

“And we’re nowhere near finished, doll,” he lowers himself over you. “Ready?” He flexes his hips bringing his hard cock against you.

“So fucking ready,” you whine, arching into him. His first thrust takes your breath away. The thickness of his cock stretches you deliciously. Your breath hitches with each stroke that buries him deeper. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good inside me.”

“You feel good too, doll. So wet and ready for me. Squeezing my cock,” Bucky’s lips find yours as he thrusts harder. You grab his ass, encouraging each stroke. His hands are everywhere, on your hips, caressing your breasts, holding your face for his kiss. You can’t get enough of his hips driving into you.

“Faster, please, baby,” you whimper in his ear. Bucky responds immediately, grinding against you with quick, shallow strokes. Your legs begin to tremble as you barrel towards orgasm and then you’re crying out, writhing against Bucky.

“Seven,” Bucky says as he flips you on top of him and starts fucking up into you. Pushing up from his chest, you look down at him as you ride his cock. His eyes slide down your body and back up again. Grabbing his hands, you place them on your breasts and watch him as you roll your hips faster. His cock hits that spot deep inside and then he trails a hand down to circle your clit.

“Right there. Oh, God. Just like that, just like that. Fuck!” you’re coming again, surprising yourself with how quickly it came on.

“Eight,” Bucky sits up to wrap his arms around you. He kisses you in earnest, tongues twining as he slowly rocks you on his lap. He puts his forehead to yours and stares into your eyes while guiding your hips in slow circles. Nervously, you guide his hands from your hips to wrap around your neck. You continue the movement of your hips exactly as he had been guiding you and bite your lip as you look in his eyes. He caressed your jawline with his thumbs and then you see his expression change as his hands tighten. Your breathing becomes ragged with excitement. With each circle of your hips, his hands squeeze a little more, cutting off your blood flow. “Harder,” he demands and your eyes nearly roll back in your head from the commanding tone. You keep your slow pace but grind down on him with more force. You shudder when your orgasm streaks through you, clenching down on him. “Fuck, nine.”

When you recover your breath, you whisper, “My doubt in you was misplaced, Barnes. You’re even with the record. Care to beat it?”

Bucky has you on your back in seconds and is holding your knees open wide. He pounds into you. You grab handfuls of the sheets as you let out loud cries with each thrust. Your body arches from the intense onslaught and the coil in you tightens again. Bucky lets go of your legs, puts one hand next to your head to hold himself above you, and grabs your face. He forces your mouth open with his fingers against your cheeks and spits in your mouth. He puts his hand over your mouth until he sees you swallow. “Good girl.”

The words were all it took. Your mouth opens wide in a scream as your entire body spasms. You grab hold of Bucky as your body milks him, clenching tightly around his cock as it paints your insides. His moan as he comes is sinfully delicious to your ears.

You lay together catching your breath. The low rumble of Bucky’s voice causes you to grin as he mutters sleepily, “Ten.”

“A new high score,” you giggle.

“I can beat it,” Bucky grins.

[bookofmirth]

You Are My Almanac - elucien 1

Summary

Elain Archeron finds herself stuck in an engagement that her mother had arranged before her untimely death. Elain is determined not to like the man and to create a solitary life leading her household the way she wants, but her fiancé has an annoying habit of making her like him.

AO3 | tags: arranged marriage, Regency-era inspired but not faithful. These two are wary of one another and I got a bit snarky when I wrote this first chapter because I want it to be fun, not super angsty. Oh also the title is from the song almanac by Purity Ring.

Elain had perfected the art of staring out a carriage window without being jostled around like a dice in one of the cups her sisters used when playing one of the games played with guests after dinner. Their mother disapproved of the games, of course, but that hardly mattered when all it took to please her was an appropriately humble “yes ma’am” whenever it was required. And it took Elain quite an effort to remain upright and steady in the carriage as it traveled over the country roads, but it was suffer a sore back and look lovely as possible for her current rendezvous, or suffer the mortification. Elain would much rather maintain appearances. At least for now.

Because now, Elain could say “yes ma’am” or “please, maman”, until she was blue in the face, and it would be for nothing, since her dear mother had upheld her promise to see Elain engaged to a fine, wellbred young man with a suitable income, but then she had died before bothering to see what Elain thought of the man, or even introducing them.

For Elain was on her way to meet her betrothed. The word rolled off the tongue, betrothed, or it had, when she was still a child and had imagined that she would have any choice in the matter. When the word still held a sense of romance and promise.

And Elain Archeron had found herself betrothed, that was certain, though it had happened quite without any influence or input from herself.

She had a vague idea of the kind of man she wanted to marry. Kind and considerate, tall, a handsome rider, with extensive property and an income that would support her in at least the style to which she was currently accustomed, if not better. Elain was firm in her belief that she wasn’t asking for much. If he were political minded then that might suit her even better, as she had always imagined hosting important people at her dinners, not just the Beddors from down the lane.

Who were the Vanserras, anyway? Elain had never heard of the name, had never seen it when she flipped through the pages of Burke’s Peerage, Baronetage, and Knightage, not to mention that the family lived very far away!

Or that might have been a complaint Elain would have lodged to her sisters, had they not also found themselves engaged and then married to men who lived in that part of the country which Elain had heard described as “lovely, in the right light and at certain times of year”.

Elain’s knowledge of the rest of the country was limited, to be sure. But she didn’t much like the idea of being thrust into a new home, with a man she didn’t know, in a town where she hadn’t even established a proper seamstress. It was important to find one who wouldn’t give her that look when she came in with tattered, muddy skirt hems. Her cheeks heated at the idea of her future husband scolding her about the zeal with which she engaged in her hobbies.

When the carriage came to an abrupt halt, Elain realized that Feyre had been talking for the last minute or so and Elain hadn’t caught a word. She looked at her sister, younger and yet more worldly than Elain ever hoped to be. Where Elain knew people, Feyre understood the bigger picture of what it took to survive.

She gave her sister a small smile and Feyre reached across the carriage to pat Elain’s hand.

“I’m sure he will be perfectly nice, dearest. And if he isn’t, there are plenty of ways of ensuring that your husband stays out of your hair. Not that I would need them.” Feyre said this last part with a small, secret smile.

Elain fought the urge to roll her eyes. “If it comes to that, I’ll be sure to come to you, Feyre. You are one of the lucky ones though, you know.” The door to the carriage opened and Elain held out her hand without a glance at the footman. “Not everyone is so lucky as to marry for love.”

The sisters stepped from the carriage, the gravel of the drive crunching under their shoes. Elain held a hand up to her forehead to shield the sun from her eyes. She was unable to take in the manor in one glance, and turned in a full circle to take in as much of the property as she could before meeting her fiancé and going inside her future home. To her doom.

At least this man, Lucien Vanserra, had a man to keep his grounds meticulous. The shrubbery had been cleverly chosen and the flowers were full of pollinating bees, which would make for interesting experiments in cross-pollination, though perhaps she might do something about the grove of fruit trees - they were too far away from the water source to be effective. And Elain wondered at the status of the fruit, how much of it went to use in the house and how much went to the local residents. Hopefully - Elain grimaced at the thought - it didn’t fall to the ground and go to waste.

Elain felt a tug at her elbow and turned to find Feyre, waiting with her head inclined to the door. The front door, underneath a large, elaborately-carved portico, where the first footman stood at attention, waiting to usher the women into the home. And to his left, a tall man with fiery red hair, tied back with a black ribbon, stood waiting to greet her.

Elain’s breath caught to see him. He was younger than she had expected. She wouldn’t have put it past her mother to bridle her with a septuagenarian if he had offered the right price. So that this man, this Mr. Vanserra, was at most ten years older than her… Elain was disappointed to find herself pleased. And he certainly was well-acquainted with a proper clothier, if the fit of his vest and trousers were any indication.

Feyre stepped forward first. “Lucien! It is so good to see you.”

Mr. Vanserra lowered his head slightly. “Lady Chevalier, thank you for visiting my home today. I hope that Rhysand is doing well.”

“’Lady Chevalier’ my eye, call me Feyre, Lucien.” She took his hands into her own and it seemed that he might have reciprocated her familiarity had Elain not been there. His eyes flicked to her and then back to Feyre, seeming to already be wary of how he appeared to her.

“Lucien, this is my sister, Elain.”

The rest of the greeting hung in the air and Elain could have tasted the words. Elain, your fiancée. Elain, the woman you have never met but who will share your bed. She nearly reddened at the thought and forced herself to pay attention to the situation at hand.

Lucien turned away from Feyre and took a step closer to Elain.

Elain curtsied. “Mr. Vanserra. You have a lovely manor.” And hopefully, I won’t see much of you in it, she added silently to herself.

Lucien lifted Elain’s gloved hand to his lips, pressing so softly that she wasn’t sure when it was over, if he had actually made contact. Wouldn’t have known it had happened, really, if not for the slight warming of her skin.

“Miss Archeron,” he said, bending at the waist, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Allow me to welcome you to my home.” His eyes alighted on hers as he said the words - my home - for it wasn’t their home yet. And they were both painfully aware that it would be.

Lucien extended his hand to gesture at the imposing double-doored entrance and stood upright.

Elain lowered her head slightly in deference. “Thank you for the welcome. The property really is lovely,” she couldn’t help adding. Lucien looked into her face with earnestness and she took note of the golden warmth of one eye, while the other was traversed by a brutal scar, one she wouldn’t have expected to see on a Lord of the peerage. “The grass is… very green.”

“Ah, yes,” Lucien responded. He took a step back and surveyed the lawn as if he hadn’t noticed its color before. “I had it specially grown. Just for its…. verdancy.”

Her hand fell to her side when Lucien let go of hers, and she momentarily forgot what to do with it. She glanced at Feyre, whose hands were clasped together in front of her waist, and Elain mirrored the posture.

“Well, ladies. I have had tea set out for us. I’m sure you could use some refreshment after your travels.”

Feyre made a small curtsy in response and Elain fell into line behind her.

The first footman hurried ahead of them and opened the front door. The interior of the home was a dark, yawning chasm.

And with that, Elain took a step forward, into the home of her future husband.

***

Thanks for reading! You may have noticed my tag list has disappeared. If you want to be on it again, even if months or years pass without an update, let me know! Sorry if you have requested in the past and intended to stay on it forever, I just figured that things change in the years since I started writing fanfic. 💕

[softcallofdutyimagines]

can I request some naga with a spetznaz reader? she is highly skilled and has been with the spetznaz for atleast a decade. and maybe her squad had to team up with naga to take down some dangerous drug lord or something and they start to fall in love. note she always wears her balaclava when she's around other people she only tekens it off when she is alone with her men or just by herself. she also has a few scars

sorry if it's too specific!

Don't Go | Naga x Fem!Reader

Oooooo sheeeeeet 👀👀👀 I'm so here for Naga x badass lady content lmao. Also, not to worry!! I love yous guy's OCs, and if this is one such instance, I'm more then happy to write some content for them. In fact, I'd be quite honored :)

Anyway, sorry for the wait but this turned into a whole ass little fic, so here we go!!

The blistering Laotian sun beams overhead. Naga is taking shelter in the branches of a tall tree, sharpening a blade and surveying the land below.

His men and yours mill around, preparing for the fight coming up.

In return for his work for Perseus, Kapano has called in a favor... One of Perseus' operators and a small squad to help him and his men take down a rival who's been getting far too close for comfort to his territory. And well... He didn't get to be in this position by playing nice.

The two of you have been tracking his whereabouts for weeks now and, at long last, the time has come. Tonight's the night, and afterwards your partnership will be through.

One last shick of the blade and then... Silence.

He looks down into the clearing and picks you out from the crowd. An easy task, considering you're wearing one of the same few balaclavas you always wear.

And he does mean, always.

He's never seen your face, despite the few times he's given you the privilege of seeing his. Somehow, he's always thought that maybe, if he removes his mask or bandana, it'll encourage you to do the same, but... To no such avail.

It's strange, you know... He hasn't a clue what you look like, and yet he can't seem to get you out of his mind. He's wondered often, but all he knows for sure is that you have the most beautiful eyes he's ever seen...

The thought of parting ways with you after tonight upsets him, even though he knows it shouldn't. This is a business arrangement only. Nothing more.

And yet... He's never met a woman quite like you before.

He could get any woman he wants in all of Laos into his bed should he please, and yet the one who actually intrigues him, he has no chance with. And that's just the thing, isn't it? He doesn't want a woman in his bed, he wants one in his life damn it!

His lonely, stressful, life...

Prostitutes and dancers are plentiful and cheap to a man like him, but company such as that does nothing to interest him. He needs... A partner.

Someone who will stay through the tough and the crazy and the fighting and the schemes. Someone to be there through the hurt and the loss and the anger and the loneliness. Someone...

Like you.

During the day, he has visions of expanding his underground empire and sharing the wealth together. At night, he dreams of a quiet life with a woman who calls his name sweetly and kisses him softly. Yes, even a feral, conniving, wild man such as he dares to dream of a domestic life after this one to grow old and fat in, from time to time.

Kapano lays his head back and sighs deeply. Surely not. You are a tigress among women, certainly not the type to dote and be doted on by a small man with a big lifestyle and personality like him.

Do you ever think of such things? He wonders.

He watches you spar hand to hand with one of your men. You're giving every bit as good as you get, and in a few moves more he's confident you'll gain the upper hand.

A thud and a cheer finds him from down below. He cracks open his eyes to see, to no one's surprise, that you have won. With a small smile and an even tinnier sigh, he claps his hands politely and slowly fades into one of his day dreams.

Just according to plan, the raid goes off without a hitch. The rival has been sufficiently delt with, and Naga has found himself considerably richer in the process. You spend most of the night laughing and celebrating as the two of you, along with your crews, haul back the loot you've captured.

The two of you take rest amongst the sea of pillows and cushions that make up his living room furniture. For the third time since you've been here face to face with him, you wince and try to play it off.

"Is something wrong?", he asks at last.

"Tsk, it's nothing. Just a cut I think", you touch your covered cheek and sigh. The woolen fabric is irritating the injury you received from the fight. Just another scar for the count, you suppose...

"Sorry, I really must be going. I should clean this up...", You move to stand, only to fall back into the pile of cushions with a hiss. It would seem that knee on knee strike you received earlier as well is catching up with you.

Naga puts his hands out to steady you, "No no! It's alright... I um...", He spares a cautious glance to the hem of your balaclava. Should he... "Would you like me to clean it for you?"

You give him an appraising look. There's no one you trust in this world with your face, aside from a select few of your men. But... You must admit.

You've developed... Feelings, for the oh so vicious little warlord. Hm, vicious only on the outside, you muse. He has a tender heart underneath it all, and you consider yourself lucky to have been able to bear witness to it, just as you are now.

"...Fine"

Slowly, carefully, you remove the mask. It's stuck to the dried blood from your wound but, with a bit of help, it's off soon enough.

You hold a hand to your injured cheek, hoping to stop up some of the fresh blood after the old stuff has been ripped away. Naga holds your mask, and he... Feels...

In awe.

You have all the beauty of a goddess, and he feels truly privileged to behold the sight of you.

"Something wrong?", You cock an eyebrow, suddenly second guessing your decision to reveal yourself.

"No, I just...", Gently, he reaches out a hand to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, "You're more beautiful then I ever could've imagined..."

His voice is quiet and distant, as though he's in a dream. As the moonlight dances through the room, he gazes at you in a state of absolute wonder until it almost makes you wish you could stay in this moment forever.

Suddenly, he shakes himself, snapping out of it. He shrinks away and breaks his eyes from looking at yours, "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that", he's quiet for a moment. You both are, as you reel from the sudden change. "I'll go get th-"

"Wait", your hand reaches out and tugs him back down. He stumbles a little and finds himself landing closer to you then he's ever been before.

The cool breath of your lips tickles the skin of his broad little nose, even as your breath seems to hitch in your throat. His deep, almond eyes lock onto your bright, shining irises, the only feature he's known you for, for all this time, before daring a glance at your parted lips.

The slightest of movements brings you closer to him, but he's been waiting for this moment far too long for gentleness.

He supports your head and shoulders before crashing his lips into yours. His lips are thick and soft, far more so then you would've expected of gang boss like himself. He suspends himself over top of you, his body only inches away as you fall back completely against the plush pillows.

You run a hand along his side as he works over your slips, rough, but slow. His body is lean and hard, but softer and pleasingly warm in certain places. He moans happily, like a dog receiving a particularly enjoyable scratching, as you gently caress his side and kiss him back.

When you're both ready, he gently breaks the kiss, only to plant one more to your forehead. He lingers there a moment, his voice the barest of whispers, "Please don't go tomorrow..." He sniffs, and if you didn't know better, you'd think he was about to cry.

He pulls back a little and shakes his head, "Or ever. I-I want you to stay...", He caresses your healthy cheek, and shyly makes eye contact with you before pressing a long, tender kiss to your lips. "I think... I think I love you"

Your heart beats rapidly in your chest, a wave of surprise over taking you. You had no idea he felt this way... Maybe you're not as crazy as you thought for all those times you've thought about him...

Honestly, you don't know if you're ready for something like this, but...

Is anyone?

You swallow your nerves, and find that a small smile breaks free as you let your anxieties go. "I think...", You cup his cheek and give a tiny kiss to the tip of his nose, "maybe I love you too"

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

General Hux x Female Reader

A/N: Continuation of my fic and I am 👀 in love with this! I want to write about Hux’s speech for reasons so enjoy the build up 😅

Warnings: Hux is annoyed, Ren is annoyed. Poe is in pain, mentions of torture and mind manipulation. Hux geeks out over Starkiller Base. Also follows a bit of TFA.

Word Count: 4842

Read part 4 on AO3 here.

He was in the office early, not being able to sleep had some perks. He stared at his datapad, he’d written out the order for a shuttle to take you back to Arkanis once they’d reached Coruscant, his finger hovered over the confirm button but he just couldn’t seem to do it. He knew how soul crushing being trapped on Arkanis could be, although your upbringing had been completely different to his it didn’t mean you were any less trapped. Men had so much more freedom in the society of Arkanis and he knew exactly what he’d be sending you back to. Why was he bothered? He trailed a finger over his lips, his eyes never leaving the datapad as he sat back in his chair. He couldn’t ignore the feeling that arose in his chest every time he thought of you, the warmth that spread down to his toes when you looked at him. There was no denying Hux was conflicted when it came to you, he had never been in this situation before and he hated how he’d been caught up in the ridiculous romanticised notion that it could work with you here. His little daydream bubble had firmly burst. He knew he wanted you to stay in your quarters but then how was that any different to sending you home to be imprisoned again just in different chains. He leaned back in his chair, his bare hands rubbing his face when the door to his office flew open.

“Sir!”

“What is it Dopheld?”

“We are approaching Coruscant, Sir.” He needed to make this decision and quickly. Ren, with his band of not so merry men were about to rejoin the fleet and Hux knew you had already pulled the man child's attention. He was running out of time and he hated the feeling of losing control. Get it together! You witless worm….

“I assume Ren is ready?”

“He is being rather impatient.” Hux hummed in acknowledgement. It would be useful to have Ren shadowing him on the planet, he could make use of his talents.

“Tell him I need him to meet on the landing pad, only him. I don’t need the cretins.”

“Yes Sir!” Hux stood, he could make the decision about you later. He straightened his tunic and maneuvered his hands into his tight fitting gloves. He carefully ran a hand over his hair before stepping out onto the bridge to oversee the approach to Coruscant. This he could do, this is what he found relaxing.

Of course it all went smoothly and he marched to his shuttle with purposeful strides. He had a meeting to attend to with some of the other Generals from other ships, he hated the socialising but having Ren there meant he might be privy to some information he normally wouldn’t be. He was so caught up in his thoughts, his hands clasped firmly behind his back as he steeled himself for what was about to happen he didn’t see you until it was too late. He had to do a double take, you were walking towards his ship flanked by a pair of troopers and followed by Phasma. Hux’s heart rate increased as he noted the dress you were wearing, although similar in colour to the one on Arkanis it was a different style. The material flowed around your legs with each step, your shoes ringing out loudly on the polished floor. You walked with purpose, and a confidence that he could only admire.

“What is the meaning of this?” He questioned, his eyes flicking between you and Phasma.

“I am to accompany you, I know a few of the Generals you are meeting today. No doubt news of our nuptials have spread and my father would want me to make it known, especially in the Core worlds.” His mouth opened to reply but no words came out and you cocked an eyebrow in surprise. “Come on Phasma.” You sauntered up the ramp, Phasma dutifully following and Hux had no doubt she was smirking behind that shiny helmet. He nodded before following, not enjoying this flustered feeling he had.

He desperately tried to ignore you, forcing himself to stare straight ahead so hard he could feel the warm blush in his cheeks. Thankfully the ride down to the surface was short and Hux exited first, his heart dropping slightly when he saw Ren waiting for him at the bottom of the ramp.

“Walk with me.” He snapped at the force user, but Kylo had seen you already. His mask looked at you for a moment before complying with Hux’s demand.

“You brought her.” He stated coolly from the mask.

“Not my choice I assure you.”

“She could prove useful.” Hux stopped abruptly, his gaze swinging to look at Kylo and he hoped the fury he felt right now was coming through in his expression.

“Whatever you want with her, it's not going to happen. She is my wife, not some spy or plaything for you to torment.” He started walking again when he heard your heels come up behind him, Kylo following silently along. “You know what to do,” mumurmed Hux just as the doors opened.

You held the smooth glass in your hand listening to General Pryde drone on about some new possible class of ship. He was an old friend of your fathers and it was the only reason you were still talking to him. Your gaze frequently swept the room, always falling on the stiff posture of General Hux. He looked so uncomfortable here and it became more apparent that socialising was not his strongest attribute.

“Please excuse me General,” you murmured with a smile, gently resting a hand on his arm.

“Yes of course,” he replied as you feathered your lashes at him before cutting across the room to Hux. There were a few other women here but none of them seemed interested in talking to you and that suited you fine, though maybe it had something to do with your silver shadow. Only the slight clank of her armour told you she was following you wherever you went. As you approached the small group Kylo’s helmet turned to your direction and you felt that sensation you’d experienced in your quarters. You lifted your chin feeling the tendrils withdraw when he felt the barriers now surrounding your mind. You had taken to the training and surpassed everything that had been asked of you in record time, purely through determination. Whether it was to protect yourself or please Hux you weren’t so sure.

You wanted to touch Hux, to place a hand on his arm but from what you’d managed to get out of Phasma touch was not something the General tolerated. You had accepted the information, realising that the few times you had been alone with your new husband there had been some sort of physical touch between you and it created a warm feeling in your heart. It’s what made you not want to give up on him.

The conversation ground to a halt at your arrival to the group, the men shifting slightly in your presence and you realised you’d interrupted something rather important.

“Forgive me gentlemen, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Nonsense! Join us! Maybe you could tell us some gossip about the General here,” a laugh went round the group as one of the other Generals nudged Hux with his elbow. You could see the embarrassment written all over his face and his ears flared with the blush that was creeping across his skin.

“Actually, I came to steal my husband for a moment if that’s alright?” Kylo tilted his head slightly as all the others nodded enthusiastically.

“Not too long mind, we have things to discuss.” You smiled brightly, leading Hux away to a quiet corner. Phasma stayed next to Kylo, the pair of them surveying the room, drawing glances and whispers from many people in the room.

“What do you want?” You tried not to act offended at his tone, you’d noticed when Hux felt uncomfortable he couldn’t control the way he came across. There was no denying you were apprehensive after what had transpired in his quarters with his anger and the threat of you being sent home.

“I thought you could use a moment to gather yourself,” you murmured. If you could get him through this maybe he’d let you stay on the Finalizer, if it meant you staying in your quarters then so be it. You’d take anything over going back to Arkanis and residing in that house alone. He didn’t reply, his eyes still not doing the honour of alighting on you but now wasn’t the time for an argument. “What has got them all in such a state?” You asked. “Such a gathering would only happen if something momentous was happening?”

“It’s about Starkiller.” You frowned. You’d never heard of such a project but then why would you? Hux looked around making sure no one was nearby before leaning slightly towards you. “I’ll explain more when we’re back on the ship. Now if you’ll excuse me…” you watched him walk back to the group, the man hadn’t relaxed at all and you debated spending the rest of the evening at his side. But that meant being near Kylo and you would rather not, the man may have a helmet on but you could feel his gaze on you and it made your skin crawl. You nodded at Phasma and she came over to take vigil at your side.

“Can you tell me anything I need to know?”

“I’m sure the General will fill you in when he’s ready,” she replied in her crisp voice.

“Damn it Phasma. He’s going to send me home if I don’t do something.”

“The request was never confirmed.” You turned to look at her shiny silver helmet, seeing your own expression of surprise reflected back at you. “He has been in his office all morning. He had plenty of time to put in the request for a ship to take you home.” This gave you hope, your heart skipping a beat as your gaze fell on him once more. How you wished you could get him to open up to you, he claimed he had. Telling you things he had never told anyone before but he was still encased in those barriers he surrounded himself with. You’d been told he doesn’t like being touched and yet your mind replayed his hands on your shoulders, his hands on your face as he kissed you. Your General was conflicted when it came to you it seemed. You took a sip of the bubbly drink in your glass, all you needed was time.

Hux was tired, being around so many people for so long, having to talk, not to mention coming face to face with a few who he had no good memories with. Seeing you talking to Pryde had made his blood run cold, the way you batted your eyelashes and touched his arm made Hux want to curl into a ball. He knew what Pryde was capable of, he had scars from that man, physical and mental. He closed his eyes for a moment to take a breath, he concentrated on you, the soft way you looked at him. The fall of your hair, the cut of your dress and how you just seemed to look radiant in whatever you wore. He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders and neck before looking back at his reflection. He hated the stubble that grew across his cheeks and chin, shaving was such a chore but he did appreciate the motions, the precise control he had over the blade as it slid over his skin. He splashed cold water on his face before grabbing a towel and drying his face and chest off. He ignored his reflection as he got dressed in his bedroom, he disliked his body very much. He hated seeing the scars that littered his pale skin, the worst were on his back and sides, long stripes of raised skin, the handiwork of his father and Pryde. They used to get drunk together, taking out their bad moods on him whenever they felt like it, although his father certainly didn’t need the help of alcohol to abuse his son.

Hux fastened up his uniform, finally turning to look in the mirror now he was covered, his hair flopped over his brow and he realised it needed cutting soon. The very idea made his heart race that someone else had to put their hands on him, someone holding a blade. He slicked it back but noticed the front raised slightly and he pursed his lips in displeasure, it was misbehaving already he was going to have it cut in the next couple of days. He did toy with the idea of Phasma doing it but she’d probably slice it all off with the announcement she’d done him a favour. He turned to grab his coat, he really did like this piece of his uniform, it made him stand out from the rest, and marked him as The General of his own organisation. As he exited his quarters his thoughts went to Starkiller, it was coming together and the reports said it would be ready in literally days. He couldn’t wait, this is what he’d been waiting for, the opportunity to do something noteworthy. What he had in mind would change the Galaxy forever and such a task would hopefully grant him the title of Grand Marshal. He would finally be able to exercise control over the Navy and the Army, he was already the youngest General seen in generations, why shouldn’t he set his sights higher. Ambition, determination, the sense of glory, these were the few things his father had bestowed upon him and he had used them fully to his advantage.

“Good Morning General.”

“Lieutenant,” he murmured in greeting as he walked onto the bridge, adjusting his gloves.

“Not much to report aside from Commander Ren has left on a personal mission.” Hux raised an eyebrow still adjusting his gloves to how he liked them.

“Pertaining to…?”

“The map.” Ah. Of course. Ren, letting his personal feelings get in the way yet again. The man really needed to learn to control himself, so hot headed and that is when mistakes were made. Hux clasped his hands behind his back, his ship was hanging in orbit above the planet Jakku and he already hated it. The pale surface hinted at heat and sand all the things Hux disliked. To be perfectly honest he hated being on the surface of any planet, he preferred to view them from above from the safety and cleanliness of his ship.

“Is he down there now?”

“He is. The Commander took Captain Phasma and a division to the surface.” Hux refrained from sighing, of course he’d take Phasma, she never missed the opportunity for a scuffle.

“Let me know when they have retrieved the intel.”

“Yes, General.” He turned, satisfied that everything was running smoothly but he had no doubt Ren would bring some trouble back with him. For now, he had to see you, he hadn’t forgotten he promised to tell you about Starkiller and it gave him a slight thrill to share this with you.

He knocked gently on your door, trying not to remember the previous time he was in here but he couldn’t stop the ghost-like feel of your lips against his and he subconsciously raised the tips of his fingers to trace his mouth. His hand snatched away as the light of your room spilled over him, his heart rate almost seemed to triple at the sight of you. The smile you bestowed upon him was not one he deserved and he couldn’t bring himself to return it as he stepped inside.

“Good Morning General,” you said softly. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

“Just some caf will do.”

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” You asked, pouring him a cup. You gestured to the cream and sugar but he shook his head, preferring it black and bitter.

“I hadn’t forgotten to tell you about Starkiller.” He pulled the coat off his shoulders in one movement, hanging it carefully over the back of a chair. “I realised I had some time while…Ren does what he does.” You went to sit down and automatically his hands were on your chair. He wasn’t sure why but his upbringing always surfaced while he was around you, the pleasant and not so pleasant. He had watched the men around him and how they treated the women, his father had not been a good role model in that regard but his step mother hadn’t exactly been the nicest and he could see why Brendol had treated her the way he did. They had deserved each other.

He sat opposite you, the cup warm in his gloved hands, the rich aroma permeated the air around him as he lifted the cup and took the first sip, he almost sighed with relief at the bitter tones bringing his tongue to life and hitting the back of his throat. One of the few pleasures he allowed himself was a decent cup of caf.

“I’m assuming Starkiller has been a closely guarded secret?” You asked before nibbling on a piece of cooked bread.

“It has, the plans were found buried among the Empire archives under the name Project Celestial Power. The idea was to contain quintessence. A dark matter, very volatile and the Empire never succeeded. They chose to focus their attention on Project Stardust which we knew inevitably led to their downfall.” His eyes rose to find you staring intently at him hanging on his every word. He was used to his Officers paying attention, they had to, it was their job but he never expected someone wanted to hear him speak.

“Stardust, was that the Death Star?” He nodded trying not to be surprised that you knew anything about it, of course you did. You had been brought up among the Imperials as much he had, of course you’d know snippets of information that other people would not be privy to.

“Well we managed it, with the technological advancements over the years we were able to find a way to harness the power quintessence and turn it into phantom energy. It’s a limitless power source and this will provide the First Order with the power it needs to bring all the star systems into line and fall under our rule. It’s nearly ready….” He looked deep into his cup, still shocked that this was finally coming to fruition. He’d been waiting so long, biding his time before bringing the might of the First Order down onto the rebels, criminals and scumbags that made up the New Republic. He was going to make himself even more invaluable to Leader Snoke.

“Where do you get the power from? Surely no power source is limitless?” Hux allowed himself a smirk, that was the beauty of this machine.

“Clues in the name,” he offered smugly. “It drains the power of the very stars themselves, it gathers the energy in stages, directing it straight into the planet's core where we use the natural magnetic field to store the energy as well as a fail safe containment field we have applied to the crust of the planet…”

“It’s a planet? You’ve made a planet into a weapon?” Hux’s gaze met yours across the table, seeing the wonder flowing from your eyes and he felt his pulse feather in his neck as he swallowed.

“We have. Would you like to see it?” He asked softly.

“Yes, yes I would.” He got up, a sense of excitement coursing through him as he headed for the small holotable in your room. He entered his personal access code and began to swipe through the files until he found what he was looking for. He barely noticed you come up beside him, the round blue holo image appeared before you both and he enlarged it with a flex of his fingers. He straightened, his shoulder gently bumping yours as you leaned in to look at the slowly spinning image.

“What’s this?” You asked, pointing at the large round opening on the side of the planet.

“That’s where the energy is released,” he leaned and pointed out the thermal oscillator, explaining how the energy was gathered in stages and then when the containment fields were dropped the phantom energy would be freed. “Lots of calculations have to be done before it can fire, but once it does nothing can stop the energy on its path except something with the mass of a planet.”

“But what if you fire it and something is in the way?” Hux spun the image and tilted it to show you the rocket ports. “We can move it, turn it to whatever angle we want to create the trajectory we need to hit the target.”

“Oh, Armitage….” You whispered, your eyes wide as you regarded the picture before you. In the awe filled silence he suddenly became aware of how close you were, your body was slightly turned to him, the warmth of you already beginning to seep through his uniform. Your scent clouded the air around him and he couldn’t help but breathe you in, although he hated Arkanis he could only describe you as smelling like home. His eyes tracked over your face, studying every little motion, the flicker of your lashes, the way your lips parted slightly, the pull of your brows as you pondered over everything he’d said. He could get thoroughly lost in you and again his mind flew to the kiss, until your gaze magnetised to his. He felt frozen, his feet were glued to the floor and as much as he body screamed at him to look away he couldn’t. “It’s glorious, this could really cement the First Order as the new power in the Galaxy,” you breathed.

“That’s the intention.” He murmured back. He jumped slightly as his commlink sounded loudly and he knew whatever it was, it wasn’t good.

“General, Commander Ren has returned. With a prisoner.”

“I have to go,” he exclaimed, swiping the image down and erasing his code. He grabbed his coat, pausing when you came into his line of vision.

“Here,” you said, offering him a new cup of caf. “I think you’re going to need it.”

“Yes, I believe I am.” He reached, his fingers covering yours momentarily as you passed the cup over, the burn of your skin coming through his gloves more than the heat of the cup and he found himself wanting to stay. You were a calming influence on him, he relaxed with you and he really didn’t want to deal with whatever awfulness Ren had brought aboard his ship.

“I hope I can see you later?” You asked, stepping after him as he moved away. The door opened and he turned to look at you one last time.

“I will try.”

Hux straightened his shoulders as he walked, Ren and Snoke were so desperate for this map, but where Ren wanted to collect it Snoke had made it perfectly clear that destruction of the map was an option. He could see the troopers outside of the interrogation room and Kylo striding down the corridor.

“Who have you brought on board?” Asked Hux curtly over the screams that were coming from behind the closed door.

“A resistance member who was given the piece of the map we are looking for. The old man gave it to him, I know he did but it wasn’t on him.” Hux tensed as Kylo’s hand flexed over his saber.

“Try not to kill him before we’ve had a chance to extract all the information out of him.” Kylo tipped his head to the side.

“By all means General Hux,” he said in mock politeness. “You can go first.” The door opened and Hux stepped into the room leaving the force user outside. He grabbed the datapad and looked at the information on the screen.

“Prisoner 8910542….”

“That’s a mouthful isn’t it?” The man gasped from his position in the chair. Hux refused to acknowledge he’d said anything and continued.

“Known as Poe Dameron, a star fighter squadron commander for the scum of the Galaxy known as the Resistance.” He smirked. “Where is your precious Princess now? You know there is no way they can rescue you from here.” Hux stepped forward, noticing the blood already oozing from wounds on the man's face, his dark curly hair matted and damp from sweating. The way his brown eyes slid to the floor Hux could tell the pilot already knew he would die here. “We could come to an arrangement if you tell us what you did with the map.” Hux eyed him, not expecting a reply but waiting for one anyway. “Alright, XZ 1594…” a droid zoomed to the General’s side. “Continue the interrogation, use all available techniques.” The pilot's eyes widened, his mouth clamping shut as the droid ominously advanced. Hux carried the datapad out of the cell and watched the vital signs of the prisoner in the corridor.

He had no idea how long he had to put up with Ren pacing up and down the corridor like a caged tooka, it just highlighted his lack of control, of discipline and Hux found it highly amusing that a force user of Ren’s calibre lacked discipline. Hux swiped through the information that was being logged from the droid, the question had been asked 300 times already, techniques 2265 and 6304 had already been used. He couldn’t help but admire the man’s resistance to the torture he was enduring. Ren paused before Hux who didn’t even look up.

“Not yet,” he stated calmly, enjoying the huff of annoyance that fell from the mask before he resumed his pacing. Another hour passed and the question had been asked nearly 800 times with no answer, technique 3333 had been implemented and still nothing. Hux remotely commanded the droid to conduct procedure K8-A4. The reaction was instant, the prisoner’s vitals went off the charts, red lights flickered and his heart rate rocketed, the oxygen levels dropped dangerously and Hux gestured for a trooper to go and investigate. Poe was convulsing violently in his bindings, blood smeared across his face mixed with a thick sheen of sweat, the trooper had to act quickly, flipping the pilot's tongue out of his throat and freeing his airway. Hux sighed loudly, disappointed his methods didn’t work and he told the droid to stand down. He checked over the vitals of the passed out prisoner before turning to Ren. “When he wakes, see what you can get out of him.”

“He won’t be asleep for long,” the threat slithered from his mask and Hux refrained from shivering. The door closed firmly behind the Commander and Hux settled in for another wait. He wasn’t going to let Ren do this without supervision.

The prisoners heart rate picked up and Hux was pulled from his relaxed state, the droid was still activated and it was recording the interrogation, Hux could see Ren was crouched before the pilot. Words were exchanged, nothing of consequence until Ren rose.

“Where is the map to Luke Skywalker?” Hux watched with interest as the pilot's face changed from confusion to one of pain. He twisted, fighting an unseen force as Kylo exercised his hidden talents on the mind of the prisoner, a scream so loud tore from his chest and suddenly everything went silent, Hux tapped the screen but the droid had undergone some substantial damage. The door opened and Ren emerged, his fists clenched tightly against his sides.

“It’s in a droid. A BB unit.” Hux nodded at the new information.

“Well then, if it’s on Jakku we’ll soon have it.”

“I’ll leave that to you,” Ren said dismissively as he began to stride off to god knows where. Hux bristled but in all honesty he’d rather be in charge of this and succeed where Kylo had failed. He handed the datapad to a trooper and headed to the bridge without a word.

“Lieutenant!”

“Yes, General?” Answered Mitaka.

“Send a squad down to Niima outpost, the droid is used to being around people and it will seek help, tell them to look out for a ball droid, a BB unit. I want this droid found or destroyed.” He demanded before heading to his office.

He dropped into his chair with a sigh, removing his gloves he ran his hands over his face. This is not how he thought this day would go but having a Resistance member on board could prove useful. He just needed the pilot to recover and stabilise before he interrogated him again, this time for the location of their hidden base so he could be rid of the Resistance once and for all.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Roguish Women Part 49

Summary: Kate is an American who fled to Paris to escape her past life. Now she's dancing and  playing the part of a courtesan at the Moulin Rouge. There she meets Tommy Shelby who thinks she can be useful in expanding his empire. But has he been blinded?

Part 49: Neither Kate nor Tommy can remain idle for very long. 

//Sorry for such a delay. School has been so tough this semester but this week is finals so I'll be back to writing in no time. I think Helen's death really took the wind out of my sails too. I still haven't really gotten over it. I take celebrity deaths so badly. 

            But by the time Tommy had returned, however, his own bride had gone missing. Alice pointed him outside again, this time on the back patio. Grateful for some time alone with her, Tommy left the rowdy party inside.

            Kate was sitting on a garden wall; her back was to the party as she overlooked Arrow House’s great lawns. Tommy shrugged off his coat and draped it over her arms.

            The soft-touch of the fabric knocked her out of her own thoughts. “Did you find Alfie?”

            “Yeah, he was out on the steps.” Tommy sat down next to her.

            “Oh good. Mabel was sure he had gotten cold feet and ran.”

            “He’s not going anywhere. Never thought I’d see that man in love. Guess I’ve seen it all now.”

            Kate laughed softly and leaned into his side. Her eyes were still lingering over the grassy hills where grasshoppers chirped and a few owls surveyed hidden in their trees. “This place is bigger than the block I grew up on in Boston.” She remarked. “I’d always grown up wondering where those great outdoors were. Where there was almost nothing for miles and miles. You couldn’t see the end of it. I thought someday I’d go out west and maybe just disappear out there.”

            “I would’ve joined you.” Tommy agreed. “I wanted to a cowboy when I was growing up.”

            Kate smiled and tried to picture young Tommy Shelby pretending to be an outlaw. In a way, he had become one. They both had. “I guess the city isn’t so bad when you’ve got people you care about there. Still, it’s nice to know that there are places where city stuff doesn’t matter.”

            Tommy knew there were things they could never escape. But there was no use destroying the illusion.

            “I was thinking if we had a boy, we could name him after John.” Kate glanced over at her husband. “Arthur and I were talking about it. I guess we could nickname him Jack to make things easier. But I thought it would be a nice honor.”

            Tommy nodded. “I think that’s a nice idea.” There was a hole in his heart that his younger brother had left. So many times, he was tempted to pick up the phone and call him. But then the realization trickled over him like cold water. Esme had taken many things but there were items Tommy still had. Letters and an old schoolbook that John had written all over. The binding was coming loose and the pages were yellowing, but Tommy would never throw it away. He had learned early on to keep little mementos of people before they were gone. He had nothing from his mother. No one did. It was almost like she never existed because there was no trace of her left. It was something he regretted and a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

            He took Kate’s hand in his, squeezing it gently. “What we have girls?”

            “Then one of them will be Jacquelyn.”

            He chuckled. “You always have a plan for everything, don’t you?”

            “Well, I learned from the best.” She murmured and pulled him close for a deep kiss.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

            The day was warm as Kate stepped outside. But there were clouds coming in from the horizon. She took her time walking across the patio to the lawns. She went to stand on top of the hill that overlooked the rest of the fields on Arrow House’s land.

            There, she could spot Tommy coming from the forest trails on Blue. He had the horse on a loose rein, letting him lope across the grass. May had told Kate it was a miracle the gelding responded so well to Tommy. According to May, the horse had a fiery temper but that didn’t seem to bother Tommy in the slightest. Kate had a feeling he enjoyed the challenge. She knew he’d been itching for something to do. Between being on holiday and waiting for the due date, Tommy was getting stir-crazy. Having a young horse to focus on training was good enough of a distraction. At least for the time being.

            Blue’s hooves were heavy against the ground as he trotted up the gradual hill to Kate.

            “I thought I’d find a cowboy out here.”

            Tommy chuckled and dismounted. “Were you waiting for me long?”

            “No, I just came out. I was worried you were going to get caught in that storm coming.”

            Tommy took Blue’s reins in hand and began walking with Kate back to the stables. “A little rain doesn’t bother me.”

            “Well, I didn’t want Blue to be spooked. I think it might thunder.”

            He patted the gelding’s shoulder. “He’ll learn to get used to the noises. Warhorses always get used to the noises.”

            Kate noticed the faraway look in his eyes. “I hardly think Blue would be a warhorse. Deserves a better life than that, don’t you think?”            

            “Hm.” He nodded but didn’t seem to really hear her.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~

            The sky had gone completely dark by the time they reached the stables. Tommy got Blue untacked while Kate combed out his mane. But the horse was starting to pick up on the storm brewing. His nostrils flared and he tossed his head.

            “Sh, sh, easy.” Kate soothed and stroked his neck. “It’s alright.”

            Tommy took Blue off the cross ties. “He’ll settle in his stall.”

            Kate put the mane comb away and wandered to the stable doors. In an instant, it began to pour. Heavy raindrops smattered against the gravel walkway back to the house. The wind picked up and rushed through the budding trees.

            Every time it rained; Kate felt washed over with memories. She didn’t know why the weather had such an impact on her. But there was only so much she could do when the sky was putting on such a violent display.

            Tommy wrapped an arm around her waist. “Guess we’ll be stuck here for a bit.”

            “It’ll go as soon as it came.” She said quietly.

            “Want to sit?”

            “Oh, yes, that would be a good idea.” Sometimes when she was lost in her thoughts, she forgot the burden of carrying twins.

            Tommy grabbed a stool from the tack room to let her sit. Kate sighed and watched some of the rainwater trickling into the stable aisle.

            As if reading her mind, Tommy slid the doors shut. The rain was muffled and mixed with the sound of the horses stirring in their stalls. Blue poked his head out, snorting uneasily.

            “Y’know, it rained one of the last few days I was at the Moulin Rouge,” Kate said. If they were going to be stuck in the stables until the rain ebbed, she figured it would be a good idea to talk. “And I realized that sometimes the worst comes before the good.”

            Tommy sat down on a bale of hay next to her. “I’ve found that too.”

            She smiled. “So maybe with all we’ve been through so far, it opens us up for happiness the rest of our lives.”

            “Kate, I want nothing more than for you to be happy.”  

            “I know, so I guess I…” She chewed on her lip. “I don’t want to sound like an awful person saying this, but I don’t want to lie to you either.”

            Tommy reached over to lift her chin. “Tell me.”

            “I hope that during this holiday you’re taking, you’ll realize there’s more to life than clawing your way to the top.” Kate took his hand in hers. “I hope you’ll see that maybe you were destined for better things. You said how you wanted to work with horses. You have plenty of money to just do that. To retire and-” Her voice faded when she realized she was losing him.

            His blue eyes were steady on their entwined hands. “I can’t stay still, Kate.” He whispered. “Not since the war. If I stay still, if I stop moving forward…everything catches up to me.”

            Kate understood completely. When she was running from Santo all those years, she never felt safe in one spot. Physically or psychologically. If she kept moving, she felt she was steps ahead of her opponents. Steps ahead of the turmoil she’d left behind. If she kept moving, she could forget about her mother’s death. She couldn’t ask Tommy to stand still and let it all catch up to him.

            “I understand.”

            Tommy brought her hand to his lips, gently kissing her knuckles. “It’ll be alright.” He promised. “The holiday will be fine. We’ll be busy soon enough.”

            Kate smiled but felt a little deflated. If only there was something she could do to help her husband. But it felt impossible.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The rain let up just enough for Tommy and Kate to hurry back to the house. Thunder rumbled across the sky and the wind tore across the countryside with a vengeance. Kate didn’t like to think she was superstitious, but she was getting an ominous feeling that she couldn’t shake.

            The windowpanes rattled after dinner from the thunder that was still getting closer. Kate retired to bed before Tommy but she couldn’t sleep. Instead, she paced by the windows. There wasn’t much to see outside. It was too dark and raining too hard. But Kate she could see shadows on the lawns. A chill ran up her spine when a crack of lightning flashed across the sky.

            She gasped when she swore that she could see a menacing figure standing outside. In her panic and fear, her brain conjured up an image of Santo. The floorboards behind her creaked and she couldn’t help but let out a scream.

            “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Tommy turned on the light and rushed over to her.

            So startled, Kate began to cry.

            “What’s wrong?” He pulled her close.

            “I’m just s-so scared, Tom.”

            “There’s nothing to be afraid of, love, I would never let anything bad happen to you.” Tommy kissed her temple and rubbed her back. “What spooked you?”

            But Kate was too petrified to answer. Every roll of thunder and every flash of lightning made her shake. She couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. “I-I’m just scared.”  It was scarce, the number of times Kate admitted to being afraid of anything. No one needed to know her fears. If they did, she was certain they would just use those fears against her. Some sort of manipulative tool. But there were times, like in that moment, she couldn’t contain her anxiety. There was no telling why, but so many things were coming up to the surface that night. Perhaps she had remained idle for too long as well.

Permanent Tag: @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @biba3434 @kimmietea @enrapturedbythemoon @vampgirl1997 @tarafaithe @evelynshelby

Tag list: @radical-gecko @actorinfluence @meltingicequeen @merlettina

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[razieltwelve]

Stabilise (Final Rose x Game of Thrones)

When Averia had been reborn as Lyara, she had immediately done her best to grasp her new situation. The North was vast, but the more she learned about it, the more her concerns grew. Despite its size, the North seemed to have little in the way of natural resources, and it had to import much of its food simply to survive. The former seemed to be at least partially due to how little her new world understood the ideas behind prospecting and geology whilst the latter was likely due to the relative primitiveness of the farming techniques available and the reliance on manual labour.

She had already dealt somewhat with the lack of mineral wealth in the North. Her theories regarding possible locations for mines had been proven mostly correct although her strike rate left much to be desired. However, without better maps and survey data, there was only so much she could do. She was fortunate too in that her father, Eddard Stark was a good ruler and father who actually listened to his children and subordinates, provided they could justify themselves. He wouldn’t have sent men to check for mines on a mere whim, but he had done so after reading her proposal and examining her reasoning for flaws.

With the North’s wealth set to improve, Averia turned her sights back to one of her more long-term projects: improving crop yields and increasing the area under plough. The two best methods for improving crop yields were to introduce better crop rotation and to identify or breed crops better suited to the harsh North. Given how devastating a mistake could be, she knew her father would never agree to any large-scale changes without ample data.

And that was were Maester Luwin came in. The man was highly intelligent, incredibly loyal, and quite open minded. He had listened carefully as she explained her ideas, and he had agreed that they would need proof before her father agreed to anything. With his help and with her father’s aid, she had been given several formerly unploughed areas to work with. If something went wrong, then it would be no great loss, but if she was successful, the whole North would reap the benefits.

Most importantly, she would be able to accumulate years of data with which to convince her father. The new fields would also give her a chance to test better farming equipment. She might not be Diana when it came to inventing things, but she was brilliant in her own right, and she had lived an entire life in Arendelle, a place whose wintry climate was a match for the North’s.

X     X     X

Maester Luwin looked over the numbers once again. The proof was incontrovertible. The crop rotation methods that Lyara had proposed had greatly increased the yield in the fields she had been given. Her theory regarding the ‘draining of soil’ by certain crops and its replenishment by others seemed to be correct. 

With retrospect, it seemed obvious. The soil provided nourishment for plants. Just as food contained different things that people needed to live, so too did the soil contain different things for plants. Likewise, just as different animals required different feed, so too might different plants draw different things from the soil to survive. Plant the same crop in one place too often, and it was no surprise that it would drain that area of nourishment, leading to failure. But if the crops were moved such that each subsequent crop demanded different things of the soil, then the soil would never be exhausted and in fact might be replenished over time.

Simple but brilliant and insightful - like so many of Lyara’s other ideas.

With this latest season of proof, he was confident that they could now approach Lord Stark and suggest a change in farming practices. Of course, Lord Stark would not likely force the changes upon his vassals. He was not the sort of lord to do that. Instead, he would try it in his own lands first. Should it prove fruitful - and Luwin was certain it would - then his vassals would undoubtedly follow suit. In the harsh North, only a fool would ignore the chance to grow more food.

Yet it was Lyara’s development of mechanical devices to aid in farming that were likely to be adopt most quickly. The North - and Westeros - had used the same plough or something quite similar for countless years. Yet she had designed a better one that could be pulled far more easily using far less livestock. Likewise the seed drill she had invented was a marvel, vastly speeding up how quickly seeds could be planted while reducing how many were lost to vermin. She even had plans on a horse or ox-drawn reaping device and other more advanced devices too.

Of course, finding someone to build these things was not easy. To that end, she and Luwin had sought out the most skilled smiths in the North, and they had moved steadily from mere designs and ideas to real implementations that had proven their worth in the fields she had been given to test her ideas on.

“It is time,” Lyara said. She had been reading through the numbers as well. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Luwin nodded solemnly. “I think so, my lady. Let us speak to your father.”

X     X     X

Ned Stark listened carefully as Luwin and Lyara explained what they had been doing and what their findings had been. Their words were accompanied by carefully kept records regarding crop yields and other information. Although Ned was no maester, he was still the Lord Paramount of the North. He was well educated in many things related to farming due to how important food was to the North. Every year, they spent much of their money to import food from the more fertile south, and every year, they struggled to equal the harvests of previous years only to find themselves coming up short.

For the first time, the reasons for their struggles were laid bare in words as simple as they were powerful. Likewise, an answer to their struggles was also presented. For a long time, he said nothing. Instead, he stared at the numbers on the page and at the designs on the parchment.

Finally, he spoke. “Who else knows of this?”

“Only Luwin and I know the full details,” Lyara said. “And the smiths involved in making the devices have all be sworn to secrecy. They are loyal men, father. They will say nothing until you give the order.”

“I see.” He smiled. “You have done well. This... I thought you finding those mines was a miracle beyond miracles, but it seems you’ve outdone yourself yet again. With these new techniques and devices...” He took a deep breath. “The money we could save on importing food alone...”

“I know, father.” Lyara’s gaze was calm as if she hadn’t just upended his world yet again. “As the words of our House say, Winter is coming, and I intend for us to be as prepared as possible.”

“Aye, you have the right of it.” Ned stood. “I fear I have neglected this project of yours.” He grinned and shook his head. “In truth, I wasn’t sure if you could create another miracle. I should stop underestimating you, daughter of mine. I wish to see these devices in person.��

The trip to the fields did not take long, and as Ned watched the strange devices his daughter had created get to work, he felt a pang of emotion that he couldn’t quite place. It was part awe, certainly, but there was also wistfulness too. How often he had heard his father mourn the lack of food in the North. Good men and women forced to all but starve when winter came. Had he seen these things, he would have wept at the possibilities. 

“Keep all of this secret,” Ned said once they had finished their demonstration. “We must be careful with this information.” He knew of many in the south who would seek to sabotage them to keep the North reliant on their food. Robert, of course, would send him whatever aid he could, but Ned did not trust the Reach or the West any further than he could throw their rulers. “If we are to build these devices, then we must build them ourselves, using only solid, reliable people of the North.”

“Yes, father.”

“Luwin?”

“My loyalty is to you, Lord Stark,” the maester said. “I will write nothing to my order until you give me leave to do so.”

“Good.” Ned considered the fields thoughtfully. They were bustling with produce. “Still, it may not be easy to convince others to follow your new methods, daughter. We will try them on our lands first. When others see our success, then we will share with them our knowledge.”

“Will you ask a price for it?” Lyara asked.

Ned paused, deep in thought. It would be easy. Men in the North would kill for the knowledge and devices his daughter had developed. Yet, he was Lord of the North. His actions must always be for the good of the North. “Not exactly,” he said eventually. “We will share the knowledge of crops freely with loyal folk from the North, provided they swear not to share it with anyone else. As for the devices, we will keep secret how to make them, but we will sell them at a reasonable price to those from the North who wish to purchase them.”

“A wise decision, my lord,” Luwin praised.

“Aye.” Ned could see it now. He could hoard this knowledge and the devices all for himself and his family, but what then? The other lords would grow bitter and resentful. They would grow to hate him for withholding what they needed to aid their people. By sharing willingly, he won their gratitude, and there was still plenty of profit to be made by selling the devices. Moreover, if people did not have to spend so much importing food from the south, then that was more money they could spend on things from the North. “Make this your top priority,” he ordered Luwin. “And, my daughter, I’m afraid I must ask you to focus on this for the time being.”

“Of course.”

Ned’s lips twitched. “I know that expression on your face, daughter. What else are you thinking about?”

“Roads, father,” Lyara said. “And how to build better ones, ones suited for the North, ones that will work all year round and last long after we are but dust.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Lyara (Averia) has identified weaknesses in the North, and she’s set about fixing them. With more money soon to be coming in from the mines, food is her next objective. Roads are after that since they’re expensive. But her intention is to have the North as self-sufficient as possible, to turn it from a net importer to a net exporter of goods and services. She’s also looking to expand trade, which may well bring her representatives into contact with merchants and sailors from Braavos...

If you’re interested in my thoughts on writing and other topics, you can find those here.

I also write original fiction, which you can find on Amazon here or on Audible here.

[thethistlegirlwrites]

Whumptober day 30 (Now where did that come from?)

Okay so it’s not all that whumpy but I have been having SO MANY feels about John’s parents the past few days so I ended up writing their first meeting!

Amarillo TX, 1963

Stephen Stoker is supposed to be somewhere else right now. 

Technically, he's supposed to be meeting his host family. The Morgans, descendants of the founder of the Amarillo agency, and related to one of the hunters his grandfather immortalized by a different name in his most famous novel, are probably wondering what happened to their wayward houseguest. He's supposed to be here to teach PR strategies. His height isn't the only thing he inherited from Grandpa Bram, he's also an expert at weaving stories that conceal truths hiding in plain sight. 

But he can't ignore his instincts, and those instincts have him on the track of what he can only assume is a powerful vampire. He knows he really ought to leave this to the local teams, but the guy got off HIS plane. Slept the whole flight over, aisle seat, grumbled about the windows when he got on, and pulled a fedora down over his whole face. A battered fedora that's seen better days, and had some suspicious stains on the brim. And most damningly, he tucked his carry-on bag under the seat when he sat down. And when he pulled it out, there was a smear of dirt left on the blue carpet. 

Air travel has changed the way vampires make their way to new shores. The speed of travel means there's no time for raising suspicion, not even a need to feed on the journey. Vampires have the capacity to spread further and faster than ever. The only issue is the lethargy caused by sunlight, but choosing a flight that arrives in the night avoids that problem entirely. 

Still, vampires don't leave home without a purpose. Transporting home earth in small quantities is risky, much riskier than shipping whole boxes. This vampire is here for a meeting of some sort.

And calling for backup could mean letting him get away. Not for the first time, Stephen wishes there was a portable means of communication easily available to hunters. He doesn't have time to stop at a pay phone. 

The vampire stops outside a disreputable-looking club on a corner. He says something to the man standing on the corner, a hat pulled low over his face, and the man watching the door nods, letting the vampire pass. Fangs gleam under the streetlights when the man turns back to his vigil, tilting his hat slightly to get a better view of the street.

Stephen ducks into the shadows and considers his next move. He's not sure if he'll even be allowed inside that place. Vampires often like to keep to themselves. 

He jumps at the sound of something moving in the alley, before he realizes it's just a cat scavenging. Tough luck for that stray, vampire clubs don't serve real food, just various types of alcohol and lots of blood. 

The thought gives him an idea, and he slips back along the alley to where there's a door that most likely was used by the kitchen staff when this place was frequented by humans. Vampires like taking over existing locations. He picks the lock, much harder given that the style is different from the British type he's used to working, and steps into a dark, dusty kitchen. 

So far, so good. No one thought to post a guard at the alley door, but there will be one at the door to the main room of the club, he's sure. He peeks through the dusty glass, watching the vampire leaning against the wall on the other side. He isn't sure what he plans to do, exactly. He's carrying only his travel pouch with its shorter stakes and a small amount of powdered garlic in a bag. Hardly enough to make a raid on a whole club. And yet...whatever that vampire came to do, he came a long way. There are plenty of things that shouldn't be changing hands, especially across the ocean. 

Stephen is still biding his time when the room outside seems to become slightly brighter. He realizes stage lights have been turned on, and almost as one, every vampire in the room turns, heads fixed on what's now visible even to Stephen's human vision. Taking advantage of the distraction, Stephen pushes the door forward just enough to slip out, grateful that with his height came an awkward lankiness he has yet to grow out of. 

Now that he's inside the club, he can see what's attracted the attention of all the vampires. Hosts. Stephen surveys the group of young women, in fashionable dresses with their necks adorned with velvet bands. Most of them look pale, a few have clearly done this before, drawn back most likely by addictions to the vampire bite. Others look fresher, less washed out. Literal new blood.

One by one, they walk to the edge of the stage and down the steps, mingling with the crowd, singling out admirers or being chosen, led away to dark corners or the curtained alcoves designed for the purpose of giving some privacy to a feeding. Stephen makes his way slowly through the crowd. At least the scent of human sweat won't be an immediate reason for every vampire here to turn on him. Even at night, the heat of the Texas desert seems to cling to everything. 

Just as he catches sight of the vampire he was following, one hand resting on a leather briefcase set on a table, Stephen stops short. One of the hosts, a short, full-figured young woman with brightly tinted lips, wanders up to the vampire, trailing her brown fingers up his arm. She flips wild dark curls over her shoulder and laughs inanely. Her red dress makes her copper skin seem to glow in the dark club, and Stephen thinks she must be new. Hosts who've been fed on couldn't look that alive. 

The vampire looks at the watch on his wrist, then stands up, grabbing his briefcase, looping his free arm around the woman's waist and leading her toward one of the curtained alcoves along the wall. Stephen's seen the same thing many times before; he's a field hunter as well as a PR expert, but something about this situation is different enough to attract his attention. 

There's something about the way that host walks. And when he realizes what it is, his own blood seems to freeze. She's wearing flats, not heels, and the rolling, balanced movement of her stride is the kind of walk that every hunter knows.

He follows at a distance. He doesn't want to interfere in her hunt, she's most likely planned this carefully, and any change in her plans could get her killed. He waits as casually as he can beside the alcove where she's disappeared, pretending he's just another vampire waiting for a turn.

There's a sudden snarling scuffle from the area near the stage, probably a couple of vampires fighting over a host. At the sound, the curtain parts slightly and the young woman peeks out, only inches from Stephen's shoulder.

She jumps and looks up, her hand coming up with a silver knife in it, the blade smeared with a hint of blood in the groove. Stephen raises his hands. "Not a vamp." He smiles enough to show his teeth. She relaxes, lowering the knife. When she steps out, there's a handful of folded papers, stained with red, in her other hand. Stephen is sure that's what was in the briefcase. 

Her velvet choker is gone, but there's a thin silver chain that must have been tucked up underneath it, and a medal that Stephen recognizes from some of the Catholic hunters at his home agency. The incredibly obscure St. Marcellus, patron saint of vampire hunters. He wonders if she was wearing it under the choker. That would be one hell of a dramatic reveal. 

She takes a step toward the kitchen door, and Stephen follows. She must have planned to use his entrance as her exit strategy. It's as good as any. She frowns at him, but waits until they've both slipped through the door to the alley to say anything. 

"What are you doing following me?" She whispers, her knife held with a dangerous casualness that Stephen knows could have it at his throat in a breath. "I don't have a shadowing student right now. So talk fast, or I'll throw you back to those vamps inside."

"I'm not here for you. I'm..." He frowns, running a hand through his red curls. It's hard to explain. "I came here to teach a class at the Academy, but there was a vampire on my flight. The one you just killed. I was following him to find out what he was doing coming all the way from London."

The woman raises an eyebrow. "One of my informants told me a courier with letters from Grigoras himself was coming into town." She tucks the papers into her dress. "We've intercepted the recipient already." 

Stephen feels a chill slip down his spine. Grigoras. One of the First Circle, who is rumored to have followed Dracula to England but has never been seen in person there. He can only imagine what dangerous secrets those letters might hold.  

"You say you're here to teach at the Academy? I can give you a ride back." The woman slips the knife back into a sheath concealed in her wide belt, then holds out her hand. "Sonora Morgan."

It looks like he's met his host family after all. 

"Stephen Stoker." She blinks, probably in recognition of the name, and maybe also realizing that he's the instructor her family agreed to board.

There's a sound from inside the club, and Sonora tenses. "We should go." Someone's probably found the body. She leads him down the alley, cutting through a side street to a dimly-lit road with a few vehicles parked along it, and even fewer lights in the houses.

She slides into a heavily modified '36 Ford coupe whose dark-blue paint blends into the shadows, turning it over and pulling away from the curb with a screech of tires almost before Stephen's closed his door (he temporarily forgot that the drivers here sit on the left side of the car and was very confused). The engine roars, clearly a high-performance upgrade from the original model. He's heard that American hunters have a flair for creating their own specially modified vehicles. 

"Sorry I walked into your hunt," He apologizes as the car speeds along toward the edge of the city. 

"Sorry I threatened to let those vamps drain you," she replies with a genuine smile, effortlessly whipping the car around a turn seconds before the light changes. "Not the best first impression of someone you're about to spend two months in the same house with."

He grins, feeling the wind whipping through the open windows of the car turning his hair into a hopeless mess. "On the contrary. You're everything I would have expected from a Morgan." He's always loved the stories Grandpa Bram told about the daring, chivalrous Texan, and now he's met a relative of that man in the flesh.

"Oh really?" Her smile is the kind that says she takes that as a challenge. "Well, we'll see about that." 

Taglist: @nade2308 @cmvorra @bands-space-and-monsters-oh-my @catwingsathena @asloudasalone @anguishmacgyver @flowing-river24 @myhusbandsasemni @floh673 @teddythecat1234 @bkworm4life4 @viawrites-andacts 

[rewrite-this-story]

A while ago, @enquires-state-building and I created a random fictional kingdom just because. We created characters, a religion, etc. and ended up falling in love with our creation. As a result, we created a few short stories to give some of the characters backstories. We also found ourselves shipping characters. At first we thought, "let's write fanfiction for them." Then we realized that we didn't need to because we're the creators, so we could eventually make our ships canon. We don't have many stories written, but we've decided to share what we do have. For now, we're calling the series "The Great and the Gifted", but that might change. Anyways, here's the first short story in this random series:

Cadora and Caedren entered the village outskirts cautiously, staying alert in case bandits decided they were an easy target. As they walked, Cadora began sending curious glances in her queen's direction. Eventually, Caedren grew tired of the silence. 

"Cadora, may I ask what might be bothering you?" Caedren looked towards her knight.

"It's just... " Cadora paused to do a quick survey of their surroundings. "My queen, what do you expect to find here?"

"Nothing, but these people are my subjects just as much as anyone else." Caedren looked around thoughtfully before coming to a realization. "Cadora, you said we're almost there, correct?"

"Yes, my queen."

"Did not the reports say that this land was barren and desolate? That the people shouldn't be able to live off it?"

"They did." Caedren stopped her horse and lowered herself to the ground. "My queen, I don’t think..."

"You were raised on a farm, does this land look barren?" Codora froze as Caedren plucked a perfectly healthy flower from the ground and looked around, observing the plentiful landscape that surrounded them.

"No, my queen. This is far from barren." Caedren nodded thoughtfully before climbing back onto her horse.

"That's what I thought. We will continue on to the village and see what we can learn."

From there they rode quickly and without pause. As they neared the village, Caedren couldn’t help but notice that, despite what she had heard, the land only grew more lush and plentiful. She could smell the beginnings of autumn and the harvest. There was no doubt in either woman’s mind that if they had stopped and listened, they would have heard the children playing in the fields surrounding the village. Had they investigated, they would have found the parents with no worries for the children. The conclusion both women had come to is this: the report was very wrong. 

It took less than an hour of riding for the Queen and her knight to arrive at the stables in the village. A young girl greeted them eagerly while a boy who Caedren assumed was her brother offered to take the reins of their horses from them. As he led the horses into the stable, Caedren decided to start her investigation of the village with the girl. 

"So what would you like me to call you, my lady?" She asked, turning to the girl. The first thing Caedren noticed about the girl was her hair, it was in a braid, but Caedren could still tell that it was long and healthy. The girl's eyes were full of life and joy, her lips thin, but not cracked. Even through layers of dirt, Caedren knew that the girl was very healthy.

The girl grinned, perhaps because she wasn't used to being called 'my lady' or being asked for her name. "Palire. My name's Palire. Are you the Queen?" Caedren took a moment to stare at the girl in shock before nodding. No one should have been able to recognize her. Palire's grin widened and her cheeks reddened. "Excellent, we heard you'd be coming eventually." 

"So, Palire, how did you know I'd be coming? And how did you recognize me?" Caedren tried to hold her facade, but she could still hear a tinge of curiosity in her voice.

Palire simply smiled knowingly. Caedren couldn't tell if the look said that she was pleased to be asked those specific questions or if she was just pleased to know something the Queen didn't. "When you were first crowned a couple years ago, Sapphira was there. She told us of your plan to visit the villages and assured us that you wouldn't ignore us. She said you're not that type of person." 

Caedren heard what Palire had said, she hadn't processed it. Stuck instead on the name Sapphira. She was only brought back to reality when she heard Cadora quietly repeat the name beside her. She met Palire's eyes, "So you recognized me because - what - this Sapphira described my appearance to you?" Oh gods, why did she want to repeat that name again. There was something about it that made her lips pleasantly numb and her chest warm.

"Of course not, Sapphira says she hadn't been able to see you. In fact, I'm not even sure she knows your name. She's never spoken it." Palire paused, realizing she'd gone on a tangent. She looked down and began picking at the loose threads in her sleeve before continuing, "No, it's just that, other than Sapphira, no one has entered our village since the late King Draledor sent his scouts to survey the outer regions of the kingdom." 

"Since the scouts…" Palire nodded eagerly and Caedren felt a pit grow in her stomach. She wanted to continue talking to Palire, there were still so many questions to be answered, but she also needed a chance to consider what she'd heard and Cadora's reactions. "Palire, please wait here. I must speak with my knight, but I'd love for you to show us around when we're done." Palire shrugged and moved to sit in front of the stables while Caedren beckoned for Cadora to follow her. 

They walked until they were just out of earshot from Palire. When Caedren turned to face Cadora, she saw just how much the single name had affected her knight and she was reminded of a past which she knew nothing of. Cadora's eyes were wide and her face was paler than normal. Her skin was not quite as pale as Caedren's, but it still gave her an atmosphere as though she'd seen a ghost. That's when it dawned on Caedren that maybe she had.

Caedren took a deep breath before placing her hand on Cadora's shoulder. "Lady Cadora," Caedren froze and removed her hand. For this situation, the knight's full title felt too formal, too cold and distant. Instead she placed her hands at her side and tried to meet and hold her knight's gaze, "Cadora, I wish to only ask this once. Who is Sapphira?" 

Cadora smiled sadly and shook her head, "she's only a ghost of my past, someone I may have hurt once. I fear she may hate me." She paused and looked into the Queen's eyes. "My lady, this may not be the same girl, but it might be wise for me to stay out of sight until you've spoken with her."

Caedren took a moment to consider what she'd heard before nodding in agreement, "Yes, that may be for the best. Cadora, for now we will focus on our goals, but we will be returning to this topic."

Cadora bowed her head. "Of course, my Queen."

Caedren gave no response before returning to Palire, who had been sitting patiently outside the stables. When she saw the Queen approaching, Palire leapt to her feet and curtsied. Caedren withheld a chuckle as the girl ceased the gesture.

When Caedren spoke, her voice was kind and gentle. "Palire, would you introduce me to Sapphira?"

Palire broke into a grin and responded eagerly, "Of course, my Queen! It would be an honour!"

Caedren smiled gently. "Excellent, please lead the way." Palire began to walk towards the center of the village and Caedren took a moment to turn to Cadora and mutter, "Stay here with the horses," before she followed Palire.

"But," Cadora began to protest, but she was silenced by a look sent over Caedren's shoulder. 

It took perhaps five minutes before Palire stopped in front of a small wooden home. Looking around, Caedren couldn't help but wonder how Palire knew that this was the house. It looked exactly the same as every other house she'd seen in the village. It was small enough to only fit maybe one or two rooms and was surrounded by a small field encompassed by a fence. However, as she looked closer Caedren realized that unlike the other homes, this field wasn't made entirely of a variety of edible plants. Instead, there were flowers, herbs, berries, and seemingly random other plants. 

As she walked through the field towards the small door, Caedren found that she recognized a few of the plants from the court physician's gardens and some books she'd read as a child. Based on this knowledge, she could only assume that Sapphira was some sort of healer. 

Approaching the door, Caedren began to sense that there was something mesmerizing and magical about the house. Lost in her thoughts, she almost forgot to knock before entering through the door. It would've been terribly inappropriate to just walk into a stranger's house. Of course, it would also be terribly inappropriate to not meet a guest at the door, so Caedren was reasonably shocked when her knock was answered with a simple, 'come in.'

Wearily, she opened the door and found herself in a surprisingly bright room. The windows were all covered, so the only source of light was the little bit of sunlight shining through the cloth over the windows, the fire in the hearth, and the open door. With this amount of light, the room should be rather dim. Of course, the spell required to fill a small room with light is not a hard one and can be placed on an object, so a sorceress could have given the girl a charm to keep the room lit. 

Deciding it wasn't worth the thought, Caedren turned her attention elsewhere. The room was so messy that Caedren wasn't sure she could navigate it without stepping on something. The floor was covered with a variety of books, parchment, boxes, and random other items. In the far corner of the room, there was a bed and along the walls there were cupboards and bookshelves. In the center of the room was a large table and at it sat a girl. She looked to be around Caedren's age, maybe a year or two younger. Her dark hair was spectacularly long and held back with a ribbon. Tight curls that had fallen loose framed her face. Her eyes were focused on a book and she was gently chewing her bottom lip. The girl felt strangely familiar, but somehow she still took Caedren's breath away. Caedren could only think of one word to describe the sight. Beautiful. Caedren opened her mouth to say the word, but the girl spoke first. 

"Sorry, just a moment." The room became silent apart from the sounds of the fire for a few seconds before the girl turned the page in her book and looked up. "Right then, did you need something?"

Caedren froze for a moment as the girl's eyes met her own. It felt as though she'd seen those eyes a thousand times, but she couldn't recall ever meeting this girl before. Taking a breath, Caedren forced her eyes to the ground. "Yes, umm," regaining her focus, she looked back at the girl, "are you Sapphira?" 

The girl, Sapphira, nodded and closed the book, "I am. it's an honour to meet you, my Queen." 

"Please, call me Caedren." 

"Alright, Caedren." Sapphira seemed confused, but she had complied with the request and something about hearing her name from Sapphira's lips made Caedren feel giddy. Really, everything about Sapphira made Caedren a little giddy. Caedren dismissed the feeling as nothing but the shock of being in the presence of someone with beauty that rivaled her own. She promptly directed her thoughts back to her original purpose for seeking out Sapphira.

"Excellent," Caedren straightened her back and tried to focus on holding her head high, "I was hoping to speak with you, would you be interested in joining me for a walk?"

Sapphira was in the process of standing while the question was being asked and seemed to stumble over nothing. That or she'd tripped over one of the many items on the floor. Caedren came to the conclusion that neither option would surprise her. Sapphira seemed to be frozen for a few moments as she considered her options. Eventually, she nodded, though whether in response to the question she was asked or to something in her head, Caedren wasn't sure until the girl spoke.

"I'd love to join you." Caedren met Sapphira's eyes, trying to determine her motivations. From where she stood, she couldn't properly see their colour, but she knew they were beautiful. The girl's face seemed to hold a faint blush, though that could just be in Caedren's imagination. Overall, Sapphira's intentions seemed pure, but Caedren decided she must still be cautious. Sapphira smiled and brought her hand behind her head to run the back of her neck as she said, "Just let me clean up first." 

Caedren nodded and watched as the girl closed her book and lifted it and a pile of parchment. She lightly stepped between the objects on her floor to put the book on a shelf. It was beautiful how the girl navigated the mess and seemed to dance across her room. Caedren found herself unable to look away as she added the parchment in her hand to a pile before dancing her way towards Caedren. Caedren managed to break out of her trance a few seconds before Sapphira was beside her and opened the door for the girl. 

Sapphira nodded gratefully and took a deep breath of fresh air. She then turned to Caedren with a smile and asked, "So why did you wish to speak with me?"

Caedren began walking towards the stables and motioned for Sapphira to follow. When Sapphira had come up to walk beside her, Caedren began explaining her purpose, "I heard that you came here after my coronation," Sapphira nodded so Caedren continued, "the reports I heard about the condition of this village are not accurate now. From what I've heard, the only thing that has changed since the scouts were sent out is you arriving here. This has led me to believe that you had a hand in the improvement. Is this true?"

Again, Sapphira nodded, "I mean, I guess? When I first came here, nothing was growing and bandits were everywhere."

Caedren spared the girl an astonished glance. It was hard to believe this girl could completely turn the village around. After a few moments of silence, the stables came into view. Caedren stopped and turned to face Sapphira. "How did you do it?"

Sapphira shrugged and refused to meet Caedren's eyes. It was hard to tell whether the girl was just embarrassed or whether there was something she didn't want Caedren to know. "I've always loved to read," she began, "and over the years I'd collected books on just about everything. The first thing we needed to do was grow enough food for the villagers to survive. Using what I knew, I helped heal the land and taught the villagers to plant and tend to their harvests properly. After that was just a matter of making the bandits believe this village was under the protection of someone very powerful. With the right tricks, that's not very difficult."

Caedren nodded slowly before turning and continuing towards the stables. Sapphira hesitated a moment before following. "And I suppose you now use your knowledge and work as the healer?" Sapphira nodded and Caedren continued, "I think there's something you're not telling me, but I also know you're not dangerous and I find myself struggling not to trust you. You're clearly wise and knowledgeable. One of these days I would like to have you in a position where you are free to speak your mind. For now, unfortunately, I'm still working to repeal some of the laws limiting women and commoners. You won't be able to work as an adviser for at least a year, but I still want to keep you nearby should I need your council," Caedren paused and took a deep breath. This was the question she'd wanted to ask since she first saw Sapphira: "Will you return to the castle with me and work as my maid?" 

She felt herself relax as Sapphira broke into a grin. "You know, I've never fancied the idea of being a maid. It sounds like an awful lot of work." Sapphira paused and took Caedren's hand in her own as she knelt before her Queen. "Still, I find myself unable and unwilling to refuse your request. It would be my honour to serve you, my Queen."

Caedren couldn't resist the grin that forced it's way onto her lips and she was certain it made her look like a fool. She pulled Sapphira to her feet and laughed, "Please, call me Caedren when we're alone. I want you as my friend, not my subject. I'll send someone to retrieve your possessions as soon as we arrive in Aliquando."

Sapphira's grin seemed to widen as she bowed her head in an almost silent chuckle. "Of course I'll ride with you, but you needn't share your horse. I have one of my own. Let me pack a few items and I'll meet you at the stables in the morning. There's an inn just behind the stables where you can stay the night."

Sapphira waited for Caedren to agree before turning around and walking back to what was no longer her home. As soon as she could no longer see Sapphira, Caedren went back to Cadora. She told Cadora of their new companion. Cadora seemed less than pleased, but Caedren chose to ignore it.

The next morning, they woke before dawn and prepared the horses. Sapphira arrived shortly after dawn and led a young, white horse out of it's stable. She put a simple leather saddle on the horse's back and attached a small sack to each side before climbing into the saddle. As she looked closer, Caedren realized that in the horse's mane was braided two simple leather strings.

Behind her, Caedren heard Cadora chuckle and say, "Well Sapphira, I see your affinity for charms hasn't changed." 

It was a friendly comment, but Sapphira responded to it with a cold glare and a mumbled, "and I see you haven't changed at all, Cadora." 

Either Cadora didn't hear or she chose not to respond as she rode to take the lead. Sapphira kept her distance, making sure to stay behind Caedren. It was painfully clear that there was some sort of history between the two. The knowledge that she simply didn't know their history made Caedren's stomach churn, but she trusted it would be revealed someday.

The rest of the journey was awkward and strained. Cadora barely spoke to Sapphira and had a look of deep regret whenever their eyes met. Sapphira refused to speak with Cadora at all and glared whenever Cadora looked her way. Occasionally, when Cadora wasn't looking, Caedren thought she could see tears forming in Sapphira's eyes. This alone gave her hope that whatever had happened between the two had not destroyed their relationship completely and they could still learn to love and trust each other.

[fluffyunicornofdanger]

My Favorite Rockstar

A/N: Inspiration has left my body. That being said, this isn’t my best work and as it is, I’m still new to Aerosmith. I do hope to have another fic out soon. It’s just so hard to find time to get work done since school started. Also, I feel that my load should be much harder than it is (last year was extremely hard for me) and it’s throwing me for a loop. Anyway, requests are open and I’m always done to talk.

*~~*~~*

Masterlist

Steven Tyler x Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Crap writings (I didn’t feel like editing it, I’m sorry)

The door swung open, four mix-matched men of height, color, and clothing walking through with a woman right on their heels. Cigarette smoke and the smell of burbon lingered in the air. Almost every studio the group had worked in had a distinict smell, the last one being of ginger and Tennessee whiskey. It was like walking into a bottle of perfume, everything mixing into one intoxicating fragrance.

Y/n sighed, looking around at their work space. It was a lot roomier than the studio she normally worked in, that was probably because the group was being forced to work with someone in the big leagies.

“Do you think we’ll be able to get through this with out murdering someone?” Danny asked, trudging over to the piano. He wasn’t the least bit excited about this collabration as the last one they’d did was still fresh on his mind. 

Richie shrugged and took a seat on a stool.

“It will be fine if you all behave,” Y/n rolled her eyes, walking up to a guitar that was hanging on the wall. She ran her fingers over the strings, taking in the beautiful sound that echoes off them. 

“What are you talking about? If we behave?” Danny asked, turning to face her.

Miles nodded, “Yeah, last time I checked it was you that had a hard time minding your own.”

She scoffed. Men, they obviously didn’t understand. As smart as the boys were, they were obivous to what went on around them. Also, to the petty cat fights that woman can get in. Now, Y/n wasn’t going to admit that her behavior caused any problems with the last band they worked with because her’s wasn’t the only one. The bitch of a frontwoman of the other band had a hand in that as well. But the boys didn’t help matters and were probably the reason the issues got as bad as they did.

“Well, this time that won’t happen. None of it will, I swear.” she smiled at them, lifting her hand up giving scouts honor.

Jeff took a seat on the small couch in the corner of the room, surveying their new work space, unlite cigarette in space. He claimed to be quiting but no one even saw him attempt. The idea came from his newest girlfriend and he must of realized that she’d be hitting the road soon and following through on her suggestions weren’t worth it. 

“As long as you hit the high notes, I don’t see why should care what petty fights you get into.” The man winked at her before pulling out his lighter. 

He always had her back whether he would admit it or not. Jeff and Y/n were the origin members of Gems & Rhinestone, being best friends in high school that had the audacuity to dream of being rock stars. Well, that dream was coming true so it couldn’t be to outlandish. But the two never liked to play favorites when it came to the band. Business was business and friendship was friendship. The two could only go together so much and there was always an uproar when favorites were played. 

At the end of the day, though, Y/n was boss and what she said was law, so everyone almost always agreed with her. 

Before the group could get settled in, the studio door swung open, hitting the wall next to it. Y/n whipped her head around as five men emerged from the other side. Ten eyes quickly landed on her causing the woman to roll her eyes.

Had they never seen a woman before?

But that was Aerosmith for you. Women were crazy about them and they were crazy about women. Y/n didn’t have the time or patience for whatever they wanted to offer her. She was there to write and record a song and that is what she was going to do. 

“You must be Y/n.”

A velvet voice hit her ears, causing the hair on the back of her neck to rise. Against her better judgement, she turned around, coming face to face with the man she’d heard plenty about. The man, who was as thick as a lodgepole pine, flashed her a sweet smile as he extended his hand to her. Cautiously, she grabbed it, giving it a firm shake as she surved him.

He didn’t look like the Steven Tyler she’d heard dirty things about. The man standing before her looked kind and soft around the edges. Nothing like the sex and drugs the world knew him for. 

“And you must be Steven,” she smiled at him, feeling her muscles relax. There was no reason to fear him, not when warmth raidiated off him like a warm spring sun. 

The two bands got to work like they’d been working together for years. There were no arguements, no bickering, no fights, not like with the other groups Gems & Rhinestones had worked with. Y/n couldn’t help but smile as Steven and her set out to write some lyrics. As a group, they’d all decided to pair up and each write a song for the group to vote on. It was the easiest way for them to agree on something and adjust to their new partnership. 

“What do you think of this?” Y/n handed a paper with a few verses scribbled on it over to Steven. He mouthed the words, titling his head as he went along, piece the song together in his head. 

He nodded, bringing his head up, “That’s good, do ya got anything else?”

Y/n scruntched her nose up. The few lyrics written on the page had just come to her that morning while brushing her teeth. Just a few lines, nothing more. Shaking her head, she snatched the paper from him and grabbed a pen. “No, but I’m sure we can come up with the rest.”

Steven shrugged and pushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

After 45 minutes and plenty of frustrated huffs, they finally completed their song. It wasn’t perfect, but Y/n liked it. It was more meaningful and deep than she indented it to be, but that made it better. She believed that for a song to invoke emotions, it had to dig into the soul, there had to be some truth behind it, otherwise, it was just meaningless words. 

“This is a tear jerker.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, letting out a small laugh. “Doubtful, but who knows? Some people cry over dandilions,” she stated, directing her gaze over to Danny. He had a soft heart, that was for sure.

“What made you get into music?” 

Y/n turned to him, a little taken back by the question. Sure, they were getting along, but he seemed more of the type to get his work done and move on. Steven probably had better things to do, better people to spend his time with. May be it was just small talk, something about it, though, made her think that it wasnt’. “Um… I don’t know. I kinda always just drifted to it and things have just worked out for me. Whether I believe in fate or destiny is neither here nor there, but things seemed to fall into place.”

He nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. “I’m glad life’s worked out for you cause you’re a damn good song writer.”

Y/n scoffed, swatting his comment away. “Yeah, right.”

*~~*~~*

Months had pasted in a blinding blur, leaving Y/n at cloud nine as she walked off the stage. Singing, preforming in front of large crowds was never something she saw herself doing, but she was glad she walked off the beaten path. There was so much more to life than blue collar jobs, dirty money, and white picket fence houses. 

Danny huffed, wipping the sweat from his forehead, “What a show!”

She couldn’t help but smile. Yeah, what a show. “I hope they’re all like that,” she said, spinning around as they walked to the dressing rooms. 

“I hope we are still doing shows in 50 something years,” Jeff commented as he passed her, tossing a water bottle between his hands.

They all nodded in agreement. That would be that dream. To be able to do what they loved 50 years later would be more than they could ever ask for. It was hard to find something, anything, that people enjoyed that much, and to think that they found it so young. What a thrill!

Y/n grasped the door handle to her dressing room, leaning against the hard surface, she could almost picture herself at 70, dancing and singing her heart out on stage. She pushed the door open, wonder in her eyes, as she caught sight of the man sitting on the ragged old couch.

“Steven!” she squealed, running over to him.

He had barely enough time to stand up when her body collided with his, sending him back onto the soft surface below. 

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in Quebec?” She looked up at him, not caring for the answer. He was there, right in front of her, wrapped in her arms. Now, that was a dream come true.

A small laugh left his frame. 

“Well, um, we had a few days off because someone screwed our scheduling. So, I had to come see my favorite rock star,” he said with a smile, running his thumb over her cheek.

Y/n leaned into his touch, taking in his appearence. It had been so long since she’d last seen him. So long since she’d last held him. The memories of the first time they meet were still fresh on her mind, like they’d happen yesturday. His hair was longer and the bags under his eyes were a tad bit darker, but he was still the same man she’d fallen in love with.

“I missed you,” she muttered, closing her eyes as he pulled her flush against his chest.

Rubbing her back, he nodded. “I missed you, too.”

They stood like that for what felt like centuries, wrapped up in each others arms. If Y/n had it her way, that is where she would be for the rest of her life. Being wrapped in the arms of the person she loved was the only place she called home. But being forced to go where the money was ripped her from that safe space. 

Wrapped in strong arms, once again she was home.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Let me know if you want to be added to the permanent taglist & any and all feedback is appreciated!)

Permanent Taglist: @rexorangecouny @jennyggggrrr @zestygingergirl @slash-me-up @tommyleeownsme @sheldonsherlocktony @teller258316 @fandomshit6000 @lucyboytom

[gendercensus]

Gender Census 2019 - The Full Report (Worldwide)

This is a long post! You can see a summary of the big three questions here.

~

Hi and welcome to this year’s worldwide report based on the 11,242 responses to the Gender Census, which ran from 25th February until 30th March. It was mostly shared on Tumblr and Twitter, with some Reddit and Facebook and no doubt some one-to-one link-sharing too.

You can see the spreadsheet of results in full here, which might be helpful if you need to see graphs or figures in more detail. For the charts and graphs of statistics over time, the summary spreadsheet can be found here.

~

Q1. IDENTITY WORDS

As in previous years, I asked: Which of the following best describe(s) in English how you think of yourself?

Here’s the top 5:

nonbinary - 66.6% (up 6%)

queer - 43.0% (up 40.1%)

trans - 36.6% (up 1.8%)

enby - 31.7% (up 7.2%)

transgender - 30.4% (up 2.5%)

I put queer in bold because it’s new to the list, and the way it’s rocketed to second place is very unusual... and a little suspicious.

The wording of the identity question carefully avoids mentioning gender so that people without genders feel comfortable answering (or not answering), but it’s not really meant to include sexualities. The exception is sexualities that are part of someone’s gender identity, like this comment that someone wrote into the identity checkbox: “femme lesbian (sometimes i feel like lesbian *is* my gender)”

So anyway, last year queer got 2.9% (over the 1% threshold), and I personally know people who feel that their gender is queer, so I added it to the list. Usually when terms are added as checkbox options it might multiply their popularity by about four, but 43% is way too high to be explained by that. Queer is usually used to describe sexuality, so I think perhaps people who identify as queer in terms of their sexuality might have been selecting it too. I’m considering changing it slightly, to something like “queer (as gender identity)” to clarify it for next year. It’s possible that we won’t know if this percentage is due to bad survey design for a year or two.

(Edit: Some feedback on queer and my response to the feedback can be found here.)

Along those lines, several terms were added to the checkbox options this year because they were typed in by over 1% of participants last year:

queer

genderless

demiboy

demigirl

gender non-conforming

There are now 28 terms in the identity checkbox list, and as usual there were people expressing gratitude for the abundance of checkbox options in the identity question. However, there has also been an increase in people entering words into the textboxes that are already in the checkbox list. That means that people are missing or are not able to find the identity words they connect with more than last year, and it doesn’t help that the list is randomised to reduce primacy and recency bias.

Right now I add words to the checkbox list if they reach 1%, and this year for the first time I am considering adding another system for removing words that are not used as much. You can read a blog post I wrote about that here. I concluded based on the results of the 2017 survey (which asked for participants’ ages) that some words that seem to be used less overall are used more often by participants over 30, and since participants over 30 are underrepresented in online surveys generally I will be keeping any word that they enter over 3% of the time even if the word isn’t used as much overall.

Relatedly, I didn’t ask for ages in the survey this year, but I will be collecting information about age in future surveys to make sure that I don’t remove words and accidentally alienate underrepresented age groups. (The age question will be optional and will give age ranges rather than asking for an exact age, so hopefully that won’t make people feel too uncomfortable.)

This year someone complained for the first time that I was excluding words from other languages because I specify “in English” in the question, and if you know me from previous surveys you know that’s the opposite of my intention! Every word entered is counted, and I’m very aware that people use words from other languages while speaking English. So I’m considering rewording the question, but I welcome feedback on this since I’ve never had anyone complain about this issue before and plenty of people already enter non-English words.

And here’s this year’s top 10 words and their popularity over time:

Those two lines shooting up from 2018 to 2019 are two of the words newly added this year: queer and gender non-conforming. That green line starting near the bottom in 2016 and steadily increasing over time is more like what I’d usually expect - that’s enby, which is now up to #4 on the list.

There are no new identity words to add next year; the closest to 1% was butch with 0.7%. However, since I intend to collect information about age and since people often type, for example, “girl but not woman, even though I am not a minor”, I will be splitting girl, woman, man and boy into separate checkboxes next year.

2,021 unique identity words/terms were typed into the “other” textbox, including 413 that were entered more than once. The average number of type-ins for people who actually typed words in was 1.8, and the average words per person overall was 5. Most entered 4 words:

~

Q2: THE TITLE QUESTION

I asked, Supposing all title fields on forms were optional and write-your-own, what would you want yours to be in English? I also clarified that participants should be currently entitled to use it, so they should have a doctorate if they choose Dr, etc.

There were 5 specific titles to choose from, plus a few options like “I choose on the day” and “a non-gendered professional or academic title”. Participants could choose only one, with the goal of finding out what, when pressed, people enter on official records forms and ID.

Here’s our top 5:

No title at all - 33.0% (up 0.6%)

Mx - 31.3% (down 1.3%)

Mr - 8.7% (up 0.2%)

Non-gendered prof/acad. - 5.5% (up 0.1%)

Ms - 4.7% (down 1.0%)

Here’s how that looks compared with previous years:

Mx and no title switched places again for the fifth year in a row! And this year I made a similar graph but without Mx and no title. They always get way more than everything else, and it makes it really hard to see what’s going on in the lower half of the graph!

That rollercoaster of a red line is because in 2018 I specified that “non-gendered professional/academic title” should be one that the participant should be entitled to use, which caused that significant drop.

The most popular five “other” textbox titles were:

M - 28 (0.2%)

Comrade - 17

Sir - 10

Mrs - 9

Ser - 7

As with last year, I invited people who chose “a standard title that is used only by people other than men and women” (2.5% of participants) to optionally suggest titles that they’d heard of. The goal is to find a popular title that is considered exclusive to nonbinary genders the way Mr is generally considered exclusive to men and Ms is to women.

243 people checked the “standard exclusive nonbinary” title option, and here’s everything entered more than once:

Mx - 16

M - 4

Xr - 2

Mrs - 2

Mx is generally considered gender-inclusive by people who are familiar with it, especially if their title is Mx, but it’s high on this list because Mx is very well-known generally. M in French is masculine, but in English it’s not gendered and I assume it’s pronounced “em”? (That seems to be what people have said in the notes, but please do tell me if I’m wrong!) It was also the most entered title in the “other” textbox. Xr is new to me, I’m not sure how it’s pronounced.

~

Q3: PRONOUNS

The fourth question was actually a complex set of questions retained from last year, which started with Supposing all pronouns were accepted by everyone without question and were easy to learn, which pronouns are you happy for people to use for you in English? This was accompanied by a list of pre-written checkbox options. It included “a pronoun set not listed here”. and if you chose that it took you to a separate set of questions that let you enter up to five pronoun sets in detail.

As usual, everything that was a pre-written checkbox option got over 1%.

Here’s the top 5:

Singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself - 79.5% (up 2.1%)

He - he/him/his/his/himself - 30.8% (down 0.4%)

She - she/her/her/hers/herself - 29.0% (down 1.9%)

None/avoid pronouns - 10.3% (up 0.2%)

Xe - xe/xem/xyr/xyrs/xemself - 7.2% (down 0.2%)

Here’s how that looks over time:

Because singular they, he and she always do better than everything else, let’s look at that chart without them. Every other specific pronoun set got under 8%.

Here’s the top 5 textbox neopronouns, none of which got over 1%:

ne/nem/nemself (singular verbs) - 27 (0.2%)

ve/ver/verself (singular verbs) - 24

ey/em/emself (singular verbs) - 23

ae/aer/aerself (singular verbs) - 22

thon/thon/thonself (singular verbs) - 18

(I’m going by the subject, object and reflexive, because that seems like the best way to collect similar sets together - eyeballing it, the most variations occur in the possessives.)

Half of participants don’t like he or she, and 9% like neither he, she nor they. 695 unique sets of neopronouns were entered by 574 people, of which 84 were entered more than once. The average number of pronouns entered was 2.2, and most people (39%) were happy with one set.

Overall it looks like there are no neopronouns really gaining in popularity, and even the checkbox neopronouns are being used less since 2015.

~

THE QUESTIONS I ASK

What should the third gender option on forms be called? - Still no consensus, but nonbinary is at 2 in 3 people and it does seem to be gradually climbing.

Is there a standard neutral title yet? - Not yet. Mx is still consistently far more popular than all other titles, but just as many nonbinary people want no title at all. It’s really important that activists campaigning for greater acceptance of gender diversity remember to fight for titles to be optional, too.

Is there a pronoun that every nonbinary person is happy with? - No. The closest we have to a standard is singular they, and it’s important for journalists and anyone else with a style guide to allow it. It’s levelled out at about 1 in 5 not being into singular they, and 9% of us don’t like he, she or they pronouns.

Are any of the neopronouns gaining ground in a way that competes with singular they? - No. This year the closest is “Xe - xe/xem/xyr/xyrs/xemself” (7.2%, compared to singular they’s 79.5%). Users of these neopronouns will probably not reach consensus for many years - language and especially pronouns can be very slow to settle and gain ground. Even if one neopronoun does become very commonly used, many will continue to use other neopronouns for a long time to come.

~

THIS YEAR IN REVIEW

Crowdfunding was successful enough that I have a little money leftover for costs next year. We had around the same number of participants as last year, but follower numbers and mailing list subscribers increased, which bodes well for next year.

I made some minor changes to the promotional illustrations to make them more gender-/sex-inclusive, and this year I got no complaints, so that was a good move! However, this year I did see a lot more confusion about who is invited to take part. I think the changes were probably worth it to make sure I’m being as welcoming and inclusive as I can be in the promotional stuff, so hopefully people will err on the side of caution and just jump in.

The way that the new survey software collects information, and my increased knowledge of Google Sheets, mean that I didn’t have to resort to MS Excel at all this year. This is really good, because working with unfamiliar software slows me down a lot! My formulae have been more efficient (thanks to my increasing Google Sheets skillz), so the entire sheet could be processed at once instead of being split into several questions. I’m really happy about that, because it means the entire worldwide results report came out less than 24 hours after the survey closed, instead of... *cough* eight months *cough* ...

I made an executive decision not to do a UK report this year, because the added complication makes it really hard for me to motivate myself. It definitely worked, look at that, it’s only March and the worldwide report is already out! I might still do a UK report, and I will keep collecting UK/not UK info about participants so that I always have that option, but for now I’ll just concentrate on the worldwide report and just do the UK report if I feel like it before 2020. And of course the spreadsheet is available to anyone who wants to download it and play with it, so if someone else wants to make some UK-specific statistics happen that is totally possible.

What I’ll do differently next year

In the identity question, I will keep queer as a checkbox option, but I will specify that it’s a gender. Maybe “queer (as gender identity)”? Feedback welcome on this!

In the pronouns question, I’ll change the wording of “none/avoid pronouns” so that it’s clear that it includes just using someone’s name. That’s because a lot of people tried to enter their names as neopronoun sets to express that, and I want to avoid people entering identifying information.

I will ask about age, to make sure that people over 30 are represented by checkbox options. Typically only about 10% of participants are over 30 so I want to make sure as many as possible are comfortable taking part. I’ll group ages into sets of 5 years (21-25, 26-30, etc.) to reduce risk of people being identified, and because entering an exact age probably feels a little more uncomfortable.

After 2020, any identity word, title or pronoun that is entered by less than 3% of participants and less than 3% of participants over 30 can be removed in future surveys. (I am a little concerned about this part, because it’ll make the work more complicated for me, and more work means more risk of epic procrastination. I’ll do my best!)

I’ve finally admitted to myself that I need to separate man and boy, and woman and girl. Currently it’s “woman (or girl if younger)” and “man (or boy if younger)”, and every year plenty of people skip those options in the checkboxes and type in “girl (but not woman even though I’m not a minor)” or something like that, and next year I’ll be asking about age so that’ll be an easy way to determine if there are any adults who are comfortable with one and not the other. This will increase the number of checkboxes to 30, which is pretty unwieldy and will make it harder yet again for people to find their words and increase the rate at which people drop out of the survey, so I’m glad for the under-3% checkbox removal threshold that I’m introducing from 2021 onwards.

Closing thoughts

I slipped up on a couple of things this year (ambiguity over the word “queer”, for example) - but overall I’m pretty impressed with how well I handled it all compared to last year. (I had recently moved house and was trying to rebuild my life, so I didn’t have a lot of spare energy in 2018!)

As always, I’m excited to pore through all your written answers and feedback, and I’m really grateful to everyone who shared the survey link! There were hundreds of RTs and thousands of reblogs, which never ceases to amaze me. Thank you everyone for sharing a small linguistic part of yourselves with me, I hope putting it all together helps you and makes a positive difference to the world!

See also

A list of links to all results, including UK and worldwide, and including previous years

The mailing list for being notified of next year’s survey

~

SUPPORT ME!

I do this basically for free (the crowdfunded money goes entirely on survey software and domain fees), so if you happened to stumble onto my Amazon wishlist and accidentally fall on an Add To Cart button… well, I would be immensely grateful. ;) If you wanted to go and check out Starfriends.org too I reckon Andréa would be pretty chuffed!

[amehanaaa]

How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

We out here with another Nalu story! It’s been so long since I’ve written Nalu, but once I watched this movie, I couldn’t resist. I desperately needed to write this!

I actually have this story all written out, so I plan to have it all posted within the month of June. I hope you will join me on this journey! (Also can be read here.)

Chapter 1 / ? Words: 3030 Summary: Lucy and Natsu are determined to take the necessary steps to fulfill their lifetime dreams. Little do they know, they have both given themselves 10 days to achieve it.

                                                   ——————–

If Lucy doesn't start her mornings with a bagel slathered with strawberry cream cheese, it is not a good morning. The satisfying crunch of the first bite is just as pleasant as birds chirping.

Today is a good morning as Lucy eats her bagel with a content smile as she enters her office building. She makes a beeline towards the elevator. With her free hand, she scrolls through her phone to see if there are any updates.

"Fifty new comments," she whispers to herself.

Unsure whether to be proud or disappointed, she sticks her phone back into her purse and returns her attention to her half-eaten breakfast.

In between bites, she observes the lobby through the glass walls of the elevator. People from all over bustle through the area, all consumed by their own lackluster agendas. The higher she elevates, the more everyone blends together.

There isn't anyone who stands out more than the other—how fitting.

This is what it's like where Lucy works. It's the same routine every week: Mondays are for new ideas, Tuesdays are for settling with an idea, Wednesdays are for presentation, Thursdays through Saturdays are for writing, editing, proofreading, and Sundays are for posting.

Today is Tuesday, which means Lucy needs to decide what she wants to write for this week's article. Normally, she'd walk into her office with an itinerary. But this week, she finds herself feeling lost and uninspired to settle with an idea.

She doesn't let this affect her mood, though. Entering her designated floor, she holds her breath while walking through the experimental smells drifting in the air. Once she smells the familiar booze with a special ting to it, she sits in the open desk next to it.

"Is that blueberry, Cana?" Lucy asks her coworker frantically typing at her computer.

"Cranberry, actually," Cana responds through her types. "I've been experimenting this drink all week. I think this is going to be my best review yet!"

"I still can't believe Erza is letting you do this to yourself." Lucy shakes her head slightly, feeling a sense of pity as Cana appears to be in shambles.

"It's a privilege more than anything." Cana sends Lucy a grin over her shoulder, completely oblivious to her wild eyes. "I mean, how many people get paid for drinking unhealthy amounts of alcohol just to write a review on it?"

"I think I can see why it's not a popular job," Lucy responds. She returns to her own computer and purses her lips in thought. She has a list of what she could do for this week, but none of her ideas are close to what she actually wants to write.

Cana notices Lucy's blank stares. "Can't decide what to write this week?"

"I have some ideas," Lucy answers, half-lying. "I'm just not sure which one to pick."

"How about a follow up on that survey you did a couple of months ago? The one about lip gloss?" Cana suggests.

It takes every part of Lucy's physical being to hold back her cringe. "Yeah, I could do that."

"Everyone likes reading about lip gloss," Cana states simply, returning to her typing.

"Not everyone," Lucy mutters beneath her breath.

This is also what it's like every week. Pretending to love cheap cosmetics, the latest fashion trends, celebrity rumors, abs-guaranteed-exercises, and everything else in between. Lucy has mastered the art of pretending to be fully invested in these ideas.

Really, her dream is to have her own writing business that covers stories like how Fiore became the way it is, why the locals are the way they are, and highlight the hidden, creative minds throughout the city of Magnolia. She wants Fiore's hidden voices to finally have some light—that's all.

She thought joining this company would be the doorway to more opportunities to pursue her dream. And yet, here she is, already have worked two years without any progress. For now, she remains at a company where its sole purpose is to make women's lives easier one hairstyle, workout, rumor, and lip gloss application at a time.

Lucy's ultimate desires are easy to suppress throughout the day, but it doesn't seem to be working as effectively today.

"Do you think you're going to be ready to present to Erza tomorrow?" Cana asks once the work day is almost over.

"I'll figure it out." Lucy releases a heavy sigh, tilting her neck to each side with a relieving pop. It's not like she has much of a choice—she has to figure it out or else.

"We can go drinking tonight if you want," Cana offers.

"The only thing you should be drinking tonight is water." Lucy nearly scolds, standing from her seat and collecting her belongings. She places a water bottle next to Cana's desk. "I have plans tonight with Levy, but thanks, anyway. See you tomorrow."

Before Cana can convince her like she has done plenty of times before, she leaves the office building. Like any other city, cars cover the streets like mindless ants. The sunset hides behind the buildings, allowing Lucy to be guided by the flickering streetlights.

She strategically makes her way through the traffic, travels through three subway stations, and eventually arrives to her apartment. She unlocks her front door, being met with the delicious smell of dinner.

"Welcome back, Lu!" a voice sings out from the kitchen.

"Hey, Levy," Lucy smiles at her best friend and sets her purse down on the counter. "What's for tonight?"

"Dumplings," Levy announces proudly. "Are we still watching our show tonight?"

"Of course we are," she nods. The two exchange an excited smile before Lucy takes out her phone and reads another update. Who knew a trivial review about makeup could get so many comments?

After indulging in Levy's famous dumplings, Lucy tries to find any sense of inspiration for what to write this week. She thought of how she could write about how to eat healthy while eating dumplings, but she remembered that Evergreen wrote something similar last year.

"You okay? You're quiet tonight," Levy comments as they settle onto the couch minutes before their beloved TV show.

"I have no idea what to write this week," Lucy admits, running a hand through her hair. "I just want to write what I want to write, you know? I'm tired of writing all of this nonsense."

"It's okay," Levy reaches over and rubs Lucy's shoulder for comfort. "You're going to get there, okay? For now, let yourself enjoy the show. I read some spoilers that it's going to get juicy tonight."

"You said you weren't going to read spoilers without me!" Lucy proclaims, scoffing as Levy giggles mischievously.

Lucy decides to accept her best friend's advice, deciding that her article is more trivial than the show. But after this, she is definitely going to have to choose an idea.

"He should just dump her already!" Levy groans loudly as the episode cuts to a commercial.

"There has to be a reason why he keeps staying with her," Lucy theorizes aloud. "She has treated him horribly all episode. He wants something from her."

"Or maybe she wants something from him," Levy retorts. "They're not even a good pair, anyway. Ugh, I'll be right back. I need a refresher."

Lucy can't help but laugh to herself at Levy's dramatic expressions. She hopes that someday her audience will also react in a way like Levy. Her work will cause her audience to feel riled up, whether it be out of inspiration to take action or enragement and throw a fit.

At the same time, Lucy feels an emotional wall for the characters in the TV show, which is the complete opposite of Levy. Lucy can't remember the last time she has felt anything remotely related to love, let alone infatuation.

What was it like to feel so helplessly in love? What a foreign idea.

With the sound of Levy's quick steps back to the couch matching the steady thump of her heartbeat, the gears in Lucy's head gradually begin turning. When the TV show returns from commercial, it hits her.

"I have an idea on what to write!" Lucy exclaims suddenly.

"Shh, tell me later!" Levy waves her off, but Lucy doesn't care.

A grin stretches across her face. The idea is risky. It might not work out. It's not going to be easy.

But if each article she writes is one step closer to her dream, she's determined to take that next step.

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

"Come in, Lucy!"

Lucy opens the door to a spacious office, windows displaying the buildings of Magnolia. It's the classic office that anyone would dream of having—that is, anyone who only wishes to write about nonsense all the time.

"Hi, Erza," Lucy greets her boss. "I'm here to present my idea for you."

"It took you longer than I expected, but I can squeeze in some time for you. You can sit down," Erza beckons her. "What do you have for me?"

"It's going to be a personal story this week, but with a twist. Here are my ideas," Lucy explains while sliding her a notebook with all her scribbled ideas.

Erza squints at her handwriting, but they soon return back to normal. Much to Lucy's delight, interest swirls in Erza's eyes. She begins to nod with an amused smile, glancing at Lucy above her glasses.

"So, you're going to date a guy in reverse? How will you do that?"

"I'll find ways to drive him away," she answers. "I'll use mistakes that women typically make. It'll be an article of what not to do when you're dating someone. I'll keep a journal about it and record my findings."

"How to lose a guy in ten days," Erza echoes Lucy's final notes. "I think you've struck gold here. How did you think of this?"

Lucy can't hold back her satisfied smile. "This TV show I watched last night gave me some inspiration. Do you approve of my idea? In terms of posting, I won't be able to post on Sunday due to the length of the experiment."

"We can afford that if the execution is as good as the idea," Erza responds.

Although her words come out discouraging, Lucy takes a deep breath to ignore the looming pressure. She knows this isn't going to be an easy article to write, but she's willing to sell a kidney at this point.

"I'm going to a gathering tonight," Erza mentions, causing Lucy to perk up in her seat. "There will be plenty of men. Would you like to join me and find your experiment?"

Lucy doesn't like the idea of calling her future date an experiment, but she can't take back this opportunity. "I would love to come!"

"Okay, see you then. Now, if you would excuse me, I have some strawberry cake to eat."

Understanding that this is Erza's way of kicking her out of her office, Lucy collects her belongings and nearly dances out of the office. There isn't any room for anxiety for what she has gotten herself into. Right now, there is just pure bliss.

The outside air has never felt fresher on Lucy's skin as she makes her way back home for the day. Even though most of her articles have been nonsense, there is always a pre-article excitement.

"Levy, my boss accepted my idea!" Lucy shouts into her phone, her voice contained by the crowd surrounding her.

"That's awesome, Lu! I knew you could do it!" Levy cheers her on. "You're off work early, right? Come to the bakery and I'll treat you!"

"You don't have to invite me twice. I'll be right there," Lucy responds happily.

After hanging up the call, Lucy isn't able to hide the bounce in her step. She'll never admit this aloud, but the high of getting Erza's approval is almost as gratifying as her morning bagels.

Lucy pauses at a crosswalk, holding a staring contest with the red light across the street. She doesn't hesitate once it turns green; however, the first step she takes on the street matches with a screech.

"Oh, my—"

"Are you alright?!"

Lucy's eyes are almost bulging out of its sockets as she watches a man jump off his motorcycle and approach her with eyes the same size.

"Are you alright?" the man repeats, searching her for any injuries. "I wasn't expecting you to be there when I was turning."

"I-I'm okay," Lucy stutters, finally catching up with her ragged breaths. "It was my fault. I should have looked before I started crossing."

"I'm just glad you're not hurt." He lets out a relieved sigh. "I'm sorry about that."

"It's okay," she assures. She watches as the man shivers, almost as though to release the idea of what could have just happened. Although he wears a helmet with a tinted visor, she can tell he isn't bad looking. Could he be the one for her experiment?

"Well, since we're both good here, I'm heading out. Stay safe." The man nods his head as he begins to return to his bike.

Lucy moves her foot to step towards him. But by the time she realizes that there is no way she could ask someone out after being nearly trampled, the man is already zooming away.

"Note to self," Lucy mumbles, carefully walking across the street. "Just go for it next time."

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

The idea of running someone over after driving a motorcycle for less than a week is enough for Gray to shiver through his jacket. He can vividly see how the woman's eyes widened and jaw dropped in a matter of seconds. Gray deletes the image from his mind as quickly as possible.

"Hey, where have you been?!" a voice shouts out to Gray as he rolls towards the front of the fire station.

"Sorry, I got caught up in something," he explains, trying not to show that his voice is still shaky. "Anyway, here's your lunch. You owe me one."

"Owe you for what?" a man snatches the bag from Gray's hands. "Juvia gives you these for free, anyway."

"Not the point, Natsu." He rolls his eyes, following his friend to an outdoor table. "You're going to have to teach yourself how to cook someday."

"I do know how to cook," Natsu retorts. "I just cook at my own convenience."

Gray stifles a laugh while shaking his head. "Microwaveable meals don't count."

The two bicker—occasionally getting physical—until Natsu catches a glimpse of Gray's sparkling motorcycle in his peripheral vision. He pauses just for a second. "How's your bike?"

"I haven't killed anyone yet," Gray responds with a nonchalant shrug.

"My bike is cooler, anyway." Natsu waves his hand in dismissal. "You're welcome for getting you that deal, by the way."

"Yeah, yeah," Gray also lifts his hand to wave him off. He's positive that Natsu will never let him live that down. He is about to say they should race someday, but he notices the time.

"Hey, I need to head out, but I wanted to mention that Juvia is hosting a party tonight. You can come if you want."

"What's the menu look like?" Natsu asks.

"I can tell Juvia to think of you," Gray responds, causing Natsu to grin. "Come to my place in a suit."

"Alright, I'm in," Natsu nods in acceptance. He follows Gray towards his bike, munching on the remains of his baby carrots. It isn't until Gray is almost a street away when a thought surfaces into Natsu's mind.

"Does he expect me to bring a date?" he mutters to himself, going back inside the station.

Natsu's memory is blurry on the last time he was romantically involved with a woman. Sure, he has had his share of relationships, but there came a day when none of it was enjoyable as it used to be. Now that he is a fresh 26, Natsu wants more than a pointless, ten-day fling.

Knowing fully well that the food at the parties Juvia hosts is some of the best, Natsu purposely skips snacking throughout the day. It makes his time at the station a lot more difficult than it needs to be, but it's worth it.

By the time he takes a quick elevator trip up to Gray's apartment later that evening, his stomach growls louder than the blow dryer Gray holds onto as he opens the door.

Gray whistles, taking in Natsu's attire. "Looks like you're dressed to meet the love of your life tonight."

"Good one," Natsu scoffs and enters the apartment. "Does Juvia know you use a blow dryer?"

"Yes, she does. She appreciates it," Gray quips back.

Natsu can't stop himself from wandering into the kitchen, searching for just a nibble of a snack. It isn't hard to spot Gray's collection, snacks of all types covering the pantry.

A pit of envy settles in Natsu's stomach. Not for the snacks themselves, but for the guarantee that the pantry will always be filled. Natsu still isn't quite sure how Gray landed the career he has. He certainly deserves it, though. He has always been skilled at talking to others, especially if it's to persuade.

As a result, Gray's career has gifted him a luxurious apartment with luxurious amenities. But it's not the tangible items that Natsu envies the most—it's the connections and network of people he knows.

Natsu reaches for a box of crackers until he hears Gray's footsteps behind him. "You ready? Juvia is about to pick us up."

"Readier than I'll ever be," Natsu responds, stuffing a couple of crackers into his mouth. He can't hold back his laugh at Gray's eye roll, puffs of cracker dust sparkling across the air.

"You love food so much. I wonder if you have any game left," Gray remarks.

"Why wouldn't I?" Natsu raises his brows.

"Do you think you could get a girl tonight?" Gray challenges.

"For how long?"

Gray's eyes light up at the question, which makes Natsu immediately regret his question. Giving Gray the opportunity to manipulate the duration of this bet is one of the worst moves he could have ever made.

"Ten days," Gray answers eventually.

"Ten days?" Natsu repeats incredulously, but hastily changes his tone. "I can do that. What do I get in return?"

"Anything you want," Gray shrugs simply. "As long as you stay with the girl a full ten days, of course. No matter how difficult she gets."

Natsu is quiet as he tries to form his words. "After this bet, I want you to get my name out there." His voice is firm. "I want to be recruited to a place that has more activity."

It appears that Gray is holding his breath, but the image fades away as he nods. "Really, I've been wanting to do that for you sooner or later. I can tell how disappointing Magnolia has been for you."

Natsu smiles thinly at Gray's words. "Yeah. I'm ready to get out of here."

"Well, if you work hard enough, maybe you will," Gray confirms with newfound amusement in his eyes. "Maybe after these ten days, you can get that girl to move away with you."

"You sure have quite the imagination, Ice Princess."

Gray is about to shoot back with one of the many nicknames they have for one another, but the ring of his phone beats him to it.

"Yeah, we'll be right out."

"Actually," Natsu begins, reaching for the keys on the wall. "I'll follow you. Nobody knows how this night might end."

"You're lucky that you know how to ride a bike," Gray remarks.

"You're lucky that I taught you!" Natsu retorts, following his friend out of his apartment.

With that, Natsu revs the motorcycle and follows Gray and Juvia's sleek car. He isn't sure what this night will hold, but he ignores the annoying buzz in the back of his ears.

So what if he said he was tired of pointless, ten-day flings? Those flings weren't going to lead him to a new job opportunity. This fling, however, is going to be one of the most rewarding bets he has ever done.

If this fling is one step closer to his dream, Natsu is determined to take that next step.

[puddygeeks]

𝔅𝔞𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔭𝔞𝔫𝔶 - 𝔖𝔲𝔭𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔯𝔞𝔩 𝔇𝔢𝔞𝔫/𝔒ℭ - ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔠𝔢 𝔈𝔫𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰

Masterlist

Rating: Mature

Summary: Following the footsteps of several generations of Creed hunters, Faye’s upbringing revolved around training to continue the family legacy. Since her parents death, she has been content to work alone until a chance encounter with the Winchester’s shatters everything she believed. Despite her complicated past and initial reservations about the boys, she finds herself crossing paths with the troublemakers at regular intervals. Faye discovers more in common with Dean than she could ever have anticipated and leaning on each other becomes a habit they can’t quit.

A/N: I needed a project to give me a creative break from We Come Running, so thought I’d delve into Supernatural. This will not have a posting schedule, as I don’t need another thing to stress over! But I’ll update whenever I need to write outside of The 100 Universe. I don’t have a huge plan for this fic, but I can say that it will not be a full rewrite of the show that includes every episode like my other works. It will dip in and out of the Supernatural storylines whenever I feel she has something to contribute. I hope you enjoy this new style of writing that I’m trying <3

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: OC x Dean Winchester

My writing is entirely fuelled by coffee! If you enjoy my work, feel free to donate toward my caffeine dependency: will work for coffee

Warnings: Mature content. Language, alcohol abuse, violence, character death.

Chapter One

I stared back at my reflection in the cheap motel mirror with a strong feeling of unease. A deep sigh escaped my lips as I adjusted the blonde wig into place so that none of my natural hair was visible and checked that my makeup adequately covered the small holes that remained in my face once my piercings were removed. The black suit jacket slid easily over my shoulders and I stepped into my neat black court shoes with a wobble. I seized the worn holdall containing my ordinary clothes with attitude and stomped out to the car. The blaring sound of my trusty playlist filled the clunky old jeep and I felt myself gradually relaxing over the course of my journey to the local police station. 

This part of hunting had always grated on me. Over the years, I’d learned to embrace the lifestyle of living on the outskirts of society and enjoyed the simple pleasures of expressing myself however I wished. I wasn’t limited by the same restrictions as everyone else, I didn’t have to conform to office dress codes or feel the social pressure to dress my age. It was only when I needed to pass as law enforcement to gather information that I had to force myself into a characterless uniform and stiff appearance. Everytime that this was necessary, I felt like I stripped away all of the benefits of the hunter lifestyle and instead was left feeling like an outsider as I tried to fit into the regular world.

I parked around the corner from the station and made one last check of my appearance to ensure that nothing suspiciously unprofessional was on show. Before stepping out of the vehicle, I took a deep breath and forced myself into the facade that always gained me access to anything that I wanted. I strutted into the station with an unnecessary sway to my hips that I knew were well displayed in the pencil skirt that I wore and felt my stomach churn at the sickening manner in which the officers in the room watched me pass. It was worryingly simple to flirt my way past the first officer at the desk and into the captain's office. I didn’t even show my badge, all it took was a charming smile over the top of my horn rimmed glasses and a lingering sweep of hair behind my ear. 

The Captain was a middle aged man who at least remembered to ask me for ID before he eagerly spilled the details of the strange case. He roughly commented that I seemed very young to be working alone, FBI agent or not and I smiled through my discomfort as I grilled him for the information that I sorely needed. 

I was smoothly exiting the office in a determined march for my car and sorely needed change of clothes, when the Captain called out to announce the arrival of another couple of agents. My stomach flipped with nerves as I rolled my eyes and made an offhand comment about poor organisation at the bureau. It wasn’t the first time that I’d bumped into actual feds on a job. As a matter of fact, I’d learned early on that it was one of the many risks of investigation, but every time that I had to improvise my way out of their scrutiny left me feeling drained. 

I allowed the Captain to lead me outside the front of the station with a forced air of calm whilst I mentally rehearsed the lines that I had prepared for this situation. I hoped that I wouldn’t have to call in another favour; every time that I needed to give a number for real investigators to call to confirm my identity cost me another night of stroking a hunter colleagues ego.

My nerves dissolved into amusement as we neared two obnoxiously tall men in black suits that I recognised immediately. One of them had shoulder length, chestnut brown hair and kind eyes that twinkled as he fixed me with a warm smile. He was clearly younger than me and there was something in his posture that indicated a calm nature that was beyond his years. The other smoothly slid off his sunglasses with a brow cocked in interest as his gaze roamed my figure before landing on my face. He had shorter brunette hair and mischievous eyes that seemed to challenge me as they met mine. He had chiseled, handsome features and broad shoulders that hinted at a muscular physique hidden away beneath the suit jacket. There was no doubting that they were both attractive, but were absolutely not federal agents and everything about them screamed trouble. The Captain asked whether a little lady like me would need help arguing with two such large men over jurisdiction, but I convinced him to leave us with a polite smile and a falsely flattered giggle.

“Good to meet you. I’m Agent Stark, this is Agent Banner. We’re from the Atlanta Bureau. Could you bring us up to speed on any case details that you’ve been given?” The flirtatious man that I had easily recognised to be Dean Winchester spoke first, introducing the two of them as they both briefly held up their fake ID’s and I peeked between them with my brows raised. I’d heard descriptions of these men more times than I could count but they didn’t do justice to the hulking reality that stood before me. It wasn’t unusual for men to tower over me; at 5’4 I wasn’t exactly tall. However, I was surprised to find that the impending attitude they were often characterised as displaying seemed to be absent and I wasn’t remotely intimidated by them. 

“Stark and Banner?” I repeated as I surveyed Dean with amusement and he furrowed his brows together in confusion. I wondered if they’d ever been doubted before from the obvious shock in their body language and couldn’t help sensing an opportunity to seize the upper hand with the infamous hunters. “That’s really what you’re going with?” I drawled as I smiled smugly at them and noticed that they subtly glanced between them with concern. “I thought the Winchester’s would be better at this.” I teased as they visibly stiffened and stared at each other in alarm. I revelled in the knowledge that I’d caught them off guard as I crossed my arms and waited for them to formulate a response.

“You’re a hunter?” Sam breathed in a tone that was more of a statement than a question. He scanned me in an analytical manner and I quickly understood that he was the more logical of the two. I stretched out the silence as I prepared my answer and enjoyed watching Dean squirm nervously as he considered that Sam might have made an error in judgement. 

“Yes I am.” I confirmed firmly and caught sight of a slight sag in Dean’s shoulders. It occurred to me that he was the protector of the two and I stored this information in the back of my mind for future use. “And this is my job. I’ll handle this case from here, so you two can feel free to move on.” I revealed with a disinterested shrug as I held my ground. Confusion flitted across both of their faces at almost the exact same time and I was struck with the impression that they weren’t used to hearing women say no very often. 

“Well, hold on a second. We’re all here, we might as well help you out.” Dean suggested in a manner that tried to be helpful but mostly sounded condescending and I cocked a brow at him. Sam studied me closely as my face grew stern but Dean seemed to be completely unaware of his effect on me. 

“I can handle myself just fine, thank you. Besides, witches tend to fight much harder against men anyway, you’ll only spur them on.” I crooned as I started to wander toward my car in an effort to end the undesirable conversation and rolled my eyes when they followed with a shared look of concern. “Not every girl is a damsel in distress you know. I’m sure there’s plenty of other jobs you could pursue with girls who will be awaiting your rescue. I work better alone.” I clarified with an annoyed expression as I increased my pace to suggest that I wanted to be left alone. Dean caught my wrist to pause me in place and I whipped around on the spot to view him with suspicion.

“Hey, I don’t know what your problem is but we’re offering to make your job easier.” He remarked with a confident attitude and I scoffed. “Look, you don’t want our help, that’s fine but don’t just take off. You seem to know exactly who we are and we don’t even know your name. Give me something here.” He drawled with a keen expression and I chuckled under my breath.

“There’s not a hunter around who doesn’t know Sam and Dean Winchester.” I commented as I removed myself from his grasp and stepped out of his space with a look of disapproval. “And you don’t need to know my name. You can call me Agent Brooke if they ask any questions about who’s taking the case.” I clarified before I turned on my heel and strode to my car without a backwards glance.

I stopped back at the motel to change out of my feminine agent disguise with a tense feeling of stress. I had known that I was likely to run into the Winchester’s at some point or another, but it didn’t make the experience any less jarring. I’d been anticipating it for almost ten years whilst I worked jobs all over the country and although I’d met numerous hunters along the way, I’d somehow managed to avoid them. They were exactly how I’d expected, full of over-confidence in both their ability and charm. Enough years had gone since I ran away from my past that there was only a hint of bitterness remaining for them and I’d found that toying with them was more for my own amusement than as a result of envy. I’d grown accustomed to pushing people away and working alone so sharp, deflective humour was more of habit than anything personal.

I shook out my shoulder length purple hair and ran my fingers through it to relieve the soreness from the wig. I took a shower to clean off the taint of the act that I’d been forced to perform as an agent and changed into an old band t-shirt, black ripped jeans and a pair of black doc martin boots. I returned my black studs into the two piercings under my lips and the silver ring into my left nostril. It took some time to replace all of the ear jewellery but once I had, I started to feel like myself again. I quickly applied some black eyeliner and dark eyeshadow for my own satisfaction as a small act of rebellion against my earlier self presentation. 

I settled on the edge of the bed with my laptop to pour over the new intel that I’d received and set aside time to form a plan of action. I couldn’t concentrate properly on my task as the memory of the boys’ clueless expressions floated through my mind and after a while of battling it, I threw the laptop aside in frustration. There was a common coping mechanism amongst hunters of burying your feelings instead of dealing with them and I had depended on this unhealthy strategy for more years than I cared to acknowledge. The act of finally matching faces to the all too familiar Winchester names had stirred up memories that I’d long been repressing and I struggled to contain the feelings that came with them. 

I felt a pang of guilt as Bobby’s voice rang in my mind, scolding me for not accepting their help. He’d always recommended teaming up where possible; he considered it a good chance to learn from other hunters' experiences and to make contacts that you could utilise in future. Fortunately for me I didn’t have to do anything Bobby’s way any more. I was an adult now, if I wanted to drink myself into a stupor and pass out in my motel room, there was no one here to scold me for doing so. It was a weak justification but as I slipped into a whisky fuelled coma, I felt relieved that I had been able to drown out the criticism.

The next few days were spent in town interviewing people close to the mysterious deaths and was pleased not to hear any mention of the boys. It seemed that they hadn’t processed their investigation any further and I convinced myself that I had successfully managed to scare them from town. This assertion allowed me to focus on preparing for the upcoming confrontation. I discovered that I was dealing with a duo of witches and planned carefully to ensure that I couldn’t be overwhelmed by them. I packed a plentiful supply of weapons and visited the home of one of the previous victims to set traps. I knew that I could lure them to revisit the scene of the crime with a few simple social arrangements to inspire jealousy and used this to ensure that the fight took place somewhere that I could control.

I waited in my car, parked in the dark street for hours for any sign of the witches' arrival and was pleased to find that they were exactly as predictable as I expected. The back door allowed me to creep into the home and I could hear them frantically searching the rooms for the next victim that I’d led them to believe would be here. I carefully approached the living room where I’d planted traps with baited breath and as I neared the door, I was startled by the loud crash of a boobytrap springing into action. My stomach lurched at the unexpected sound of a mape crying out and tiptoed closer to peek inside.

“Sam!” I recognised the panicked voice of Dean from the next room as I reached the door and was able to view Sam tangled in my trap.

Dean burst through the entrance hall in a rage as Sam struggled with one of the witches who was somewhat thrilled by the containment of her new captive. I growled under my breath as they trampled over my carefully laid plans and tried to quickly analyse the best way to take control of the rapidly escalating situation. Dean charged toward his choking brother in a manic attack before the second witch revealed herself and launched him across the room with merely a flick of her wrist. It was evident from their reactions that they had only expected one enemy and I rolled my eyes at their chaotic behaviour.

“Dean! Let him go!” Sam wheezed between pants as Dean was crushed against the wall by magic so forceful that it cracked the plaster around him. I fidgeted nervously on the spot as I realised that Sam was turning blue from oxygen deprivation and I fell into the room in a moment of impulse. The two witches had their backs to the door that I rushed through and were paying little attention to each other as they individually toyed with the boys. I entangled my fingers into the back of the tangled hair of the woman who was choking Sam and yanked her backwards toward the circle that I’d prepared earlier. The moment that Sam stumbled out of my trap, I caught his attention with a wide eyed stare.

“Pull the rug!” I ordered with a firm authority before lapsing into well memorised incantations under my breath to activate the containment. He crouched to rip the rug out from under my captive’s feet without question, revealing a freshly white painted circle on the ground. Now that the shock of my assault had passed, the witch easily fought out of my grasp and whipped around to face me with an expression of absolute outrage. I jumped back to remove myself from her reach and now that the circle was active, she was unable to cast or escape. Sam leapt to the side in a frantic bid to reach a sword on the ground and the moment that he gripped it, he rushed toward Dean with a fiery determination. The witch in the circle released an agonising scream that warned the other of his approach and I flinched as I instinctively covered my ears. Dean slammed to the ground in a wheezing heap as his assailant turned to lift Sam instead and he dropped the sword with a clatter as he scraped against the wall.

I snatched the sword in a desperate movement and dove from the room before either of them could plan to attack me. The boys were manically yelling behind me as I rushed through the house to my bag that I’d stowed at the back door. My shaking hands grabbed a pot of salt and a flare before I sprinted back to the door that I’d entered the room through originally. I dumped a shaky line of salt in the doorway before I sparked the flare and lobbed it into the room to draw attention away from Sam. 

Whilst the fighting descended into chaos, I scrambled to the entrance hall and past Dean’s crumpled form at the other end of the room. The remaining attacker was still distracted by the flare which allowed me to stalk up to her from behind and I swung the sword with as much force as I could muster. The blade neatly removed her head in a clean cut and it flew across the room with a satisfying thud. The witch in the circle howled in anguish and when I brought my attention to her, I realised that her eyes had turned completely black. I didn’t hesitate for a single moment as I grabbed the flare from the ground and tossed it into the circle. It set alight the fuel that I’d doused it in earlier and I rushed through the blessing to dispel the demon.

I leaned forward with my hands on my knees as I panted from the exertion and listened to the sounds of the witch sizzling to nothing. After a few moments of recovery, I heard Sam and Dean struggle to their feet and their heavy footprints alerted me to their approach. I straightened up to fix them with a disapproving look.

“What the hell are you two doing here?” I spat in an accusing tone and they shifted awkwardly as they viewed me. I couldn’t believe that they had ignored my direct request to leave and as I stared at their guilty faces, I felt frustration building in my chest.

“We thought you might need help.” Sam muttered in a poor excuse and I crossed my arms in annoyance as I scoffed.

“Oh yeah, thank god you guys were here to save me. I’d never have managed without you.” I drawled with a heavy sarcasm and I noticed that Dean rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. “You two are supposed to be the best hunters around and you just almost got all three of us killed!” I scolded in a raised voice and although Sam squirmed at my words, Dean only seemed to get defensive.

“Look, we messed up, alright. But what the hell kind of a hunter sets up contraptions like that?” Dean argued as he indicated to the trap that Sam had found himself tangled in. It was a method I’d used regularly for years now to ensure that I always had a back up plan if I found myself outnumbered or cornered. It was difficult to hunt without anyone to watch your back and I’d adapted to the challenge.

“The kind of hunter that works alone, not all of us charge in without a plan. I thought you’d be smarter than that with all the training you’ve had.” I confirmed as I surveyed him with dismay and immediately kicked myself for hinting how much I knew about their upbringing. I dropped my gaze to the ground to avoid his expression but from my peripheral vision I could see that he raised his brows at me whilst Sam observed us in silent interest.

“You’ve got a lot of assumptions about us for someone who claims they don’t give a shit...Faye Creed.” Dean drawled as his words tore my eyes back to his face. He smiled smugly at me as he paused to emphasise my name and I felt a lump form in my throat. My back stiffened involuntarily and I rolled my eyes at them both.

“So, you finally thought to consult Bobby. Guess you aren’t as dumb as you seem.” I sneered as I ran a hand through my hair and tried to present as unphased by their research into me. I knew that it had been foolish to hope that they would allow me to walk away without any interest but I didn’t expect to see them again once they had found the information. “Only a matter of time, took you longer than I expected though. How’d you get him to narrow it down? I don’t use his aliases any more.” I enquired with a controlled interest as I wondered what it was that had given me away. I had been careful about my choice of words in our first meeting and I expected my disguise to protect me from them as much as it did the police. The thought crossed my mind that Bobby may still be keeping tabs on me if he was aware of my FBI presentation and I pushed it away to deal with later.

“Not that many hunters with a British accent around.” Sam commented from the side with a charming smile and I shrugged in defeat. There was little I could do to hide that and it was an ongoing identifier that I wished I could remove.

“Took me longer than I want to admit to figure out that alias too, Agent Brooks.” Dean remarked and his voice drew my attention back to his intrigued smile. “Eric Brooks, Blade. That’s a pretty obscure reference, even for a comic nerd. No wonder those ID’s tipped you off.” He detailed with an obvious admiration in his tone and I felt a genuine smile escape my cool expression.

“So, what did your Nick Fury tell you about me to make you so convinced that I needed your help?” I grilled as I raised a brow at Dean with a more flirtatious interest than I intended. I couldn’t contain the playfulness that he encouraged from me despite my determination to keep them at a distance.

“Nothing. Just a name and a warning that you were bad news.” Dean confirmed with a mischievous delight in his eyes and I chuckled under my breath.

“Actually, he was remarkably tight lipped about it all. Maybe you could fill us in on how you know each other?” Sam interrogated, a warm smile attempting to cover his curiosity. I waved my arms in front of me as I stepped back slightly in defence.

“Oh I’m no snitch. That’s the old man's story to share, if he even wants to.” I deflected as I gathered my things to leave and increased the distance between us subconsciously. “Seeing as I saved your asses from your own idiocy tonight, I’ll leave you two clean-up duty.” I declared as I indicated to the remains of the witches that were spread across the room and they glanced at each other regretfully. “It’s been fun, see you around.” I crooned with an exaggerated solute as I wandered from the room.

The disgruntled complaints of them gathering the pieces of our enemies was clear even from the back of the house as I grabbed my duffel bag and I reached out to touch the door handle before I paused in place. A thoughtful sigh escaped my lips and my heartstrings pulled me back to the room they were in. I leaned carefully on the doorframe as I peered inside and cleared my throat to gain their attention.

“Could you...could you boys pass Bobby a message for me?” I asked nervously and they glanced at each other uncertainly before Sam shrugged in response. “Just tell him that I’m sorry. He’ll know what for.” I relayed and quickly turned on my heel to stomp out before they could ask any questions.

[arcticdementor]

In the fall of 2015, a rash of posters appeared around Copenhagen. One, in pink letters laid over an image of chicken eggs, asked, “Have you counted your eggs today?” A second — a blue-tinted close-up of human sperm — inquired, “Do they swim too slow?”

The posters, part of a campaign funded by the city to remind young Danes of the quiet ticking of their biological clocks, were not universally appreciated. They drew criticism for equating women with breeding farm animals. The timing, too, was clumsy: For some, encouraging Danes to make more babies while television news programs showed Syrian refugees trudging through Europe carried an inadvertent whiff of ugly nativism.

Dr. Soren Ziebe, former chairman of the Danish Fertility Society and one of the brains behind the campaign, believes the criticism was worth weathering. As the head of Denmark’s largest public fertility clinic, Dr. Ziebe thinks these kinds of messages, fraught as they are, are sorely needed. Denmark’s fertility rate has been below replacement level — that is, the level needed to maintain a stable population — for decades. And as Dr. Ziebe points out, the decline is not solely the result of more people deliberately choosing childlessness: Many of his patients are older couples and single women who want a family, but may have waited until too late.

…

If any country should be stocked with babies, it is Denmark. The country is one of the wealthiest in Europe. New parents enjoy 12 months’ paid family leave and highly subsidized day care. Women under 40 can get state-funded in vitro fertilization. But Denmark’s fertility rate, at 1.7 births per woman, is roughly on par with that of the United States. A reproductive malaise has settled over this otherwise happy land.

It’s not just Danes. Fertility rates have been dropping precipitously around the world for decades — in middle-income countries, in some low-income countries, but perhaps most markedly, in rich ones.

…

Decades of survey data show that people’s stated preferences have shifted toward smaller families. But they also show that in country after country, actual fertility has fallen faster than notions of ideal family size. In the United States, the gap between how many children people want and how many they have has widened to a 40-year high. In a report covering 28 countries in the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development, women reported an average desired family size of 2.3 children in 2016, and men wished for 2.2. But few hit their target. Something is stopping us from creating the families we claim to want. But what?

…

To worry about falling birthrates because they threaten social security systems or future work force strength is to miss the point; they are a symptom of something much more pervasive.

…

DANES DON’T FACE the horrors of American student debt, our debilitating medical bills or our lack of paid family leave. College is free. Income inequality is low. In short, many of the factors that cause young Americans to delay having families simply aren’t present.

Even so, many Danes find themselves contending with the spiritual maladies that accompany late capitalism even in wealthy, egalitarian countries. With their basic needs met and an abundance of opportunities at their fingertips, Danes instead must grapple with the promise and pressure of seemingly limitless freedom, which can combine to make children an afterthought, or an unwelcome intrusion on a life that offers rewards and satisfactions of a different kind — an engaging career, esoteric hobbies, exotic holidays.

…

There are, to be sure, many people for whom not having children is a choice, and growing societal acceptance of voluntary childlessness is undoubtedly a step forward, especially for women. But the rising use of assisted reproductive technologies in Denmark and elsewhere (in Finland, for example, the share of children born via assisted reproduction has nearly doubled in a little more than a decade; in Denmark, it accounts for an estimated one in 10 births) suggests that the same people who see children as a hindrance often come to want them.

…

Trent MacNamara, an assistant professor of history at Texas A&M University, has been pondering human attitudes toward fertility and family for over a decade. Economic conditions, he notes, are only part of the picture. What may matter more are “the little moral signals we send each other,” he writes in a forthcoming essay, signals that are “based on big ideas about dignity, identity, transcendence and meaning.” Today, we have found different ways to make meaning, form identities and relate to transcendence.

In this context, he said, having children may appear to be no more than a “quixotic lifestyle choice” absent other social cues reinforcing the idea that parenting connects people “to something uniquely dignified, worthwhile and transcendent.” Those cues are increasingly difficult to notice or promote in a secular world in which a capitalist ethos — extract, optimize, earn, achieve, grow — prevails. Where alternative value systems exist, however, babies can be plentiful. In the United States, for example, communities of Orthodox and Hasidic Jews, Mormons and Mennonites have birthrates higher than the national average.

Lyman Stone, an economist who studies population, points to two features of modern life that correlate with low fertility: rising “workism” — a term popularized by the Atlantic writer Derek Thompson — and declining religiosity. “There is a desire for meaning-making in humans,” Mr. Stone told me. Without religion, one way people seek external validation is through work, which, when it becomes a dominant cultural value, is “inherently fertility reducing.”

…

The crisis in reproduction lurks in the shadows, but is visible if you look for it. It shows up each year that birthrates plumb a new low. It’s in the persistent flow of studies linking infertility and poor birth outcomes to nearly every feature of modern life — fast-food wrappers, air pollution, pesticides. It is the yearning in your friends’ voices as they gaze at their first child, playing in their too-small apartment, and say, “We’d love to have another, but …” It is the pain that comes from lunging toward transcendence and finding it out of reach.

Seen from this perspective, the conversation around reproduction can and should take on some of the urgency of the climate change debate. We are recognizing nature’s majesty too late, appreciating its uniqueness and irreplaceability only as we watch it burn.

…

Reproduction is the ultimate nod to interdependence. We depend on at least two people to make us possible. We gestate inside another human, and emerge with the help of doctors or doulas or kin. We grow up in environments and communities that shape our health, safety and values. We must find concrete ways to recognize this interdependence and resolve to strengthen it.

[afraidof-thedark]

“Journeying westward and about a half mile from Dunning, we see over the policy wall on a rising ground among the trees, a monument of a kind not to be met with at every town.”Perthshire Advertiser for 20th September 1855

The monument in question is a fascinating sight indeed, and the source of much debate through the years. Constructed of stone and reaching twenty feet high, the structure is topped with a cross, whilst across the front for all to see is inscribed the intriguing declaration: “Maggie Wall burnt here 1657 as a witch.” Popular legend  has several explanations for the identity of Maggie. Some say she was a parlourmaid, accused of witchcraft due to an ill-advised tryst with the son of a local laird. There is also speculation that Maggie had an affair with the lord himself, Lord Rollo, and that the monument was erected either by himself or his wife in pity and remorse after her execution. Others believe her to have been a local healer, persecuted for her work, or one of several women who protested against the treatment of a local minister and punished for her outspokenness. The Saracen's Head pub in Glasgow proudly displays what is purported to be the witch's skull, though how it came to rest there is a matter for speculation in itself. The skull of Maggie Wall Enduring as local ideas may be, looking closer at the stories surrounding Maggie Wall reveals that matters are not as they seem. Often cited as the last witch to be burnt in Scotland, (a dubious honour that actually belongs to Janet Horne in 1722) there is actually no surviving record of a Maggie Wall, or Walls as she is sometimes known, in any of the documents relating to witchcraft accusations or trials in the period. What then is this monument supposedly erected in her name, and did Maggie in fact ever exist at all? The monument was clearly in evidence from at least 1855 as described in the Perthshire Advertiser, and is visible on the ordnance survey map for 1866. The wooded area that used to surround the monument had the name Maggie's Walls in 1829, but there is no mention or evidence of the monument before the middle of the 19th century.   Perthsire historian Kenny Laing has put forward the theory that Lord Rollo ordered the monument to be erected after the witch was burnt on his land. He points out that as the local landowner he would have signed the papers sentencing her to death; one legend states that he had the monument erected when his wife was absent in order to repent of the shame he felt for sending Maggie to her fiery fate. The Dundee Courier for 8th March 1878 references a local minister, Dr. Wilson, who was certain that the whole story of Maggie Wall and her tragic end was a complete fabrication, though for what end is not stated. The reporter however is quick to point out that he at least would argue in favour of Maggie's name simply having been left out of the records, rather than countenance that an entire village had deluded themselves into believing the story to the point of erecting a monument to a person who never existed. Geoff Holder believes the monument is actually an 18th century folly, and also that the name is an invention.  He points to the existence of a nearby field known as Maggie's or Muggie's Walls, suggesting this is the origin of the name painted on the monument.  He also maintains that the monument could not have been built earlier than the 18th century.   Holder reveals that a local schoolmaster, David Balmain, was a tenant of Maggie's Walls – Holder speculates that he may have built the monument in memory of two family members that were accused of witchcraft but escaped being charged in 1662, or that the idea of "Maggie" may have been used as a figurehead to stand for the many accused of witchcraft during the 17th century in Scotland.   Dr. Louise Yeoman also believes that the story was nothing but myth. She points out that not only does the memorial not fit with any others from the 17th century, but that there were also no other memorials to witches, executed or otherwise. She and archaeologist David Connolly believe that the structure actually originated as a clearance cairn – i.e. a pile of stones that have been removed from a field  to enable greater ease when ploughing or using other tools in pasture or arable land – and was then topped with a cross from a later date. They likewise date the monument to no earlier than the late 18th century.   A Clearance Cairn The question must also be asked why a monument was erected to Maggie and not one of the other women and men executed for witchcraft during the 17th century. In 1662, six Dunning witches were arrested and tried by the local gentry, that including Lord Rollo and his brother. Three of these were executed, strangled and the burned in nearby Kincladie wood. Yeoman suggests that by the 19th Century, the Rollo family, feeling somewhat shamed by the part their family played in the witch trials, may have been attempting to re-write history by putting up the monument.   The 1650s were a time on general unrest in Dunning. Riots broke out in the defence of the Reverend Muschet, and the officials arriving to hold a synod with the intention of disciplining the minister were driven off by a mob of angry women. Some have speculated that Maggie Wall may have been involved in this dramatic event and made to pay the price for her part in the disturbance. Archie McKerracher in Perthshire in History and Legend wonders if the events that led to her execution were so shameful that local officials and clergy determined to forget it, hence the lack of mention in records. This is unlikely however due to the plentiful records elsewhere. He also posts that perhaps Maggie fell victim to “unofficial” justice by her neighbours, a more plausible explanation for the absence of Maggie's name in the documents. Writing in 1988 he remarks that the words are given a fresh coat of paint every year and that a wreath appears on the monument, with the words “In Memory of Maggie Wall, Burnt by the Church in the Name of Christianity.” Perhaps Maggie existed and indeed met the fate legend has ascribed to her, the Perthshire monument the only evidence left with official records long since lost.  It may also be that the legend grew up instead from the name of the local field and woodland, stories created and shared until they became established fact. It would not have taken much for someone to paint the words on one day, confirming what had already passed into local legend and serving to keep the story alive into the following generations. Whatever the case, one thing is for certain - Maggie Wall is a prominent and enduring part of Perthshire history, inviting speculation, no doubt, for many years to come.