#between the one who conjured that storm and the one who convinces to go and fight it who is more powerful?

[people-who-steal-ships]

John Silver's very rational thoughts about Flint

[anantaru]

ARE YOU DEAF, OR JUST STUPID?

— ꒰ synopsis ꒱ — visiting a club at night wasn't something scaramouche would normally agree on, but when someone asks if you're single all of a sudden, the night appeared to become all the more eventful.

— ꒰ word count ꒱ — 800 words

— ꒰ genre ꒱ — fluff & crack, he's a jealous man with a dream, gn! reader

the hefty, immersive atmosphere encompassing your body was erratic, shining and full of lucent light.

you can perceive the differences in scents colliding with each other in the humid air of the underground club you were currently visiting as your boyfriend scaramouche was anything else but delighted to be here.

at least you're with him, but he simply doesn't get the appeal of being ringed in between infuriating, boring, pesky little humans having fun.

indeed, he has been playing the grumpy card for the majority of the time, fairly speaking, 'grumpy' was a comical understatement.

most of all, he cannot even convince himself to go out, don't even mention manipulating himself into thinking he likes it. because what's there to like? the noisy crowd or the blaring music blasting into his poor ears with people wildly shaking their bodies to the pesky tune, including you— who thankfully was only having eyes for him, also gleefully dancing and swaying your body as your boyfriend only watched;

stone-cold features not moving a muscle, unbothered and ready to go home again.

but then, the atmosphere changes when you feel someone tap on your shoulder, "sorry if this is weird." you flinch immediately by surprise, noticing the man behind you as you pull your head aside to face him.

"but are you single pretty?"

ugh, double ugh.

yet if you were being quite honest with yourself now, you're already laughing and were feeling just a little bad for the random guy asking you such a question not knowing what storm he had just conjured— because he does not even see that scaramouche was also standing next to you, mouth tight and swallowing, clearly not pleased by that insignificant insect, as he called him, bothering his partner while having fun.

"what?" scaramouche doesn't waste a single breath and spits out immediately, right away cutting you off the conversation entirely and inserting himself into the middle of you and the stranger so he couldn't bother you anymore, even if he tried. "what did you say?"

"w-wait, who are you?" the stranger forces a smile on his tensed face, strikingly irritated.

"are you deaf?" well, again, to make things clear, you should maybe pray to the archons now, clearly not for your boyfriend but for the odd man there. if it wasn't this hilarious. but you silently tug on scaramouche's arm to signal him that it was in fact, okay, and you could simply handle this alone, but you would also lie to yourself if you'd say that it wasn't cute, quite charming too, of him to be this animated, let alone protective right now.

scaramouche feels his throat tighten but doesn't let any anger run down, it's pointless and he would only make people notice him even more. "i don't want any troubles." the man silences down, feeling a warm, embarrassing hotness on his neck and his shoulders shrug inwards, because how possibly couldn't he react that way?

presently, he was being watched up and down, up and down, closely, with those indigo eyes boring sharp, burning daggers into his flesh and bones. "then you better leave."

"because there's no one single here, leave." scaramouche takes a step forward, "do you i have to spell it out for you or are you just that stupid?"

you could've sworn you heard a little 'no' leaving past the guys lips, yet the irksome stranger ultimately decided to take a haste leave instead, thankfully, but not before awkwardly glancing towards you and back to scaramouche, grinning through his tensed mouth, as if not knowing how to possibly tackle a situation like that, ever.

"you didn't have to do this, you know." you sneakily whisper into scaramouche's ear, "but then." and you begin to ponder dramatically in front of him, wrapping your arms around his body as you perceived his muscles lose on tension, "i wouldn't have been able to see this cute side of you."

what followed next was quite a sight to behold— that sicken, repulsed look on scaramouche face was award worthy, the best one in all of teyvat, but you loved that about him and place a soft, pleasing kiss on his parted lips before he was able to say anything back.

"i'm not cute." yet his response brushes over your lips regardless, his warm breath coating your own while he leaned into your warmth, gracefully accepting your candied kisses that were his treasured favorites.

"lets leave this place before i track that sucker down."

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

An Innocent Mistake (Part 1)

"Tell me again how... this happened?"

Lucifer pinches the knot at the bridge of his nose, exasperated, exhausted, and feeling the headache already forming in the five seconds since he walked through the doors of Purgatory Hall.

Solomon smiles in that sheepishly suspicious way of his, neither innocent, nor guilty. It's infuriating, especially when the sorcerer sits directly beside the proof of his crimes. "It was an accident, a miss-translation in the texts we were working from."

Lucifer glares down his nose at the tiny, cat-sized dragon curled up on the cushion beside Solomon, blinking up at him innocently in the way only MC can get away with.

"Miss-translation my-" Lucifer found himself stopping mid-word, averting his eyes from the now draconian human, as if his mind wasn't already conjuring images of them begging him not to get upset. "Fix this, now."

"About that..." Solomon trailed off, about to launch into an explanation of how and why he couldn't just change MC back into a human, but Lucifer held up a hand, his scowl only deepening.

"Don't, I don't want to hear it. I'm taking MC home, find a way to fix this, or there will be consequences, understood?"

Even under the full weight of Lucifer's glare, Solomon's smile didn't falter. "I'd expect nothing less."

The eldest huffed, gently holding his hand out to MC, unsure of how well they've adapted to their new form. He can't say he's ever seen a human shape-shifted into a dragon before, let alone one the size of an average house cat.

"Come, we have some explaining to do at the House of Lamentation."

MC perked up, gingerly climbing up his arm, with sharp, needle like claws. Lucifer didn't so much as feel a thing through all of his layers, but he had to fight off a smile when they settled themselves around the back of his neck, their tiny snout barely brushing the shell of his ear.

The eldest didn't spare Solomon another word before storming out of Purgatory Hall, firmly ignoring the sorcerer's smug grin.

"I warned you about him." Lucifer muttered as soon as they were clear of prying ears. "How am I supposed to explain this to the others?"

MC let out a chirp as if in apology, tail gently coiling around his tie as they rubbed their cheek against his.

"No amount of pouting will convince me to hide you from them. They are intolerable every time you leave without warning."

A louder chirp this time, almost like a puppy's yip, and Lucifer can't keep the scowl on his face.

"Asmodeus is going to have a field day."

"OH EM GEEE!" Asmodeus' squeal was loud enough to deafen a grown demon, Lucifer had barely had time to spit out the explanation as to why he had a tiny dragon on his shoulders before the Avatar of Lust was immediately pouncing on him, sticking his face as close as he could get to MC, practically hanging off Lucifer. "You were cute before MC, but this is just unfair! Look at you!"

The resulting shove that came from Lucifer had little MC spreading their wings, flying clumsily onto the back of Beel's armchair, answering Lucifer's unasked question of how they adapted to a new body.

Beel looked at them curiously, and MC hissed, as if to remind him not to eat the dragon.

"You really are adorable." Said the Avatar of Gluttony. "Kinda skinny though, you must be hungry."

"There's no way that's MC!" Mammon wailed. "Ye're pullin' our legs!"

"I assure you, I am not, and why would I?" Lucifer huffed, his headache only getting worse as MC's tail flicked back and forth behind them, eyes flickering between the brothers periodically.

"I dunno, but I don't buy it!" Mammon continued. "If that's MC, I'll eat my left-mmm!"

A squawk from the dragon, and Mammon's hand clapped over his own mouth as if it had a mind of its own, silencing the greedy demon's tirade.

Belphie chuckled sleepily. "Yup, that's MC alright."

"Fascinating." Satan mused, gazing curiously at the poised little dragon, who chirped back at him as if showing off their new form with pride. "I wonder what the actual translation was, if a mistake led to this."

"I scarcely want to know."

"How long are they gonna be stuck like this?" Belphie asked.

MC has now made their way to where Leviathan is curled up on the sofa, his face burning red as they gently rubbed their head against his silken hair.

"I think Levi might blow a fuse..." Asmo giggled. "They're cute, huh Levi?"

"Guh, so kawaii..." Mumbled Levi, too quiet for anyone to hear, except MC, who slipped into his lap and curled up like a cat.

Levi.exe stopped working.

"Solomon is looking for a solution. In the meantime, they can't stay in their own room, they could hurt themselves." Lucifer said, moving on from Envy's flustered crisis.

The room erupted with demands for MC to stay with them, and while they bickered, the dragon merely huffed, resting their head on Levi's knee, waiting for someone to be the voice of reason.

Finally, it was decided that MC would pick a name at random out of a hat, and that would be who they stayed with that night, and so on until a solution was found, and Solomon changed them back.

Part 2 Here

[atypicalacademic]

The Madgod Wears Patchwork

For the prompt arcane for day 1 of @tes-summer-fest

“You’d believe this storm-blue, but there is more to it.” 

“Is there, my lord?”

“See here, the orrery’s bronze and black, see here the silver of an old night sky. Look here the twin moons in crescents, between this thread and that. This hint of green, the lustrarium.”

“And that grey the ashen remains of a target practice. The deep brown of the Archives.”

“The hint of violet, for ill-fitted robes.”

“And guilt, my lord?”

“And guilt.” 

*

Leaning back far enough in her chair that it teetered on toppling over, the Arch-Mage waited. A coin’s circle of a shadow against her wrist, and on her neck that still unfaded scar she wore as a trophy from Mannimarco. 

Raminus tried not to look for shadows beneath her brisk lettering, tried not to jump at ghosts as the curtain billowed. Sleep settled over him in the silence, suffocating as a shroud.These days, even in waking, the same dreams spun silver between one thought and the next. Whether they were nightmares, or the aching bliss of life rolling off his shoulders, who could say?

“It’s a fine statement.” Raminus said finally. “Neither pressing the issue nor dismissing it. I’d believe it.” 

“You don’t think it’s true?”

He only looked at her through bleary eyes. Between them the quiet question hung. 

Will you tell me what has happened? 

“Gods’ blood.” The Arch-Mage snatched the statement from his hands. “If I can’t even convince my friends to trust me-”

“Am I still a friend, then?” 

“You are. And you’d see it, Raminus, when you aren’t too busy resenting me.” 

Divines knew he deserved the barb. The youngest Arch-Mage in history, and all his decrepit heart had mustered behind a watered smile was a painful twinge of envy. His quiet years of dedication had meant little in the face of the guild’s savior. The robes had been hers since she’d returned smoke-stained and shaking from Bruma. He should have been proud of her. He should have tried.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, Catarina. I can help.”

“Nothing’s wrong with me that isn’t with everyone else. We fought Oblivion. Buried two Emperors. Tore the Council in half. The guild plagued with dreams. We all still miss Traven. The usual. If you’d work with me to get to the bottom of this, and not turn every conversation into an oblivion-damned interrogation, maybe we’d be halfway to fixing this mess.” 

“I am working with you. I just-”

Catarina held up her hand. Where the candlelight pooled in the shadows beneath her eyes, she’d aged an eternity in a year. “Then tell me, Master Wizard. Where do I go from here?” 

Raminus fought the urge to squirm. This was it, the precipice, the needlepoint of an ask greater than a question; she was his star pupil again, bouncing on the balls of her feet and begging for a Conjurer’s appointment. We need to fortify ourselves against daedric incursions, Master Wizard. And for that, we must be prepared. For all he’d stood silent at the side of that lighted path she'd taken to be his equal, he had his wish now; he was the one being torn open to be proven. It rankled. It ached. He hoped. 

“It’s imperative that you do keep them calm. The statement would be enough for that. That aside, with report of the activity being Daedric in nature, the remains of the closest Oblivion gate would be a reasonable guess.” 

When Catarina rose from her seat, Raminus knew he had failed. 

He was small, miniscule before the tidal wave of foreboding that swept him without warning. His ambitions but dust, no more than an insect’s breaking wing, the peeling cocoon-flesh of a greater being.

 Of course he’d failed. He’d been lost the moment he set her on this course. Terror gripped the space between his ribs, washed away by salt-waves of mist. In his dreams, the roots knotted at his ankles. With the next downward swing, he would drown. 

When the spell broke, he was rooted, hair stood on end, heart thudding against his chest.

The thing that could swallow him whole had deserted her frame for a moment, leaving her hollow and forlorn. 

He needed to help now. He needed to help now, before the mists crept between the cracks and carried her away too. Where had he been when she’d called for him, when her father was bloodied and buried beneath a watery grave, when she scrubbed her hands clean of the grime of Bruma until her skin tore and bled?

 Divines save him, she was only so young when her grief had robbed him of his protege, replacing her with wild eyes and a knife-blade smile and shoulders aching to carry everything. He didn’t deserve her then, when she’d wept for help and he only pushed her to the arms of demons and necromancers, and he didn’t deserve her now. 

She folded the paper, waving the door open. “It’s alright. You don’t even know, do you?” Her light touch against his shoulder was a yawning ravine. “I’m sure you did what you could. You poor man.”  

*

“Rose for an arrow’s tip, and death.”

“Death of a father?”

“And of a child.”

“And the red, for the flames-”

“For my mother’s hair.”

*

Letitia Philida awoke to a splintering ache in her leg, rolling off the sideways tilt of a nightmare. Adamus’ body, bloated with poison and bleeding from the head, filled the space beside her with soft complaints. 

Oh for a cup of tea, my dear. Oh for some incense. 

She ignored him, as all widows do when their lover stands guard by the doorway. Don’t bother. He whispered as she removed the dagger from her nightstand. She slept with three now. One by the carafe, one beneath her pillow, and one by the lamp. It hadn’t been enough, that first time. 

Neither armor nor dagger nor the heavy Blackwoods mist had guided the Gods’ hands to shield  him.She had loved his mission and taken its toll. And he’d met its natural conclusion. An arrow from the shadows, piercing his skull and lodged in her own heart since. Grief as precise, as bloodied as that. 

She followed the noise down the emptiness of the hallway to the emptiness of her daughter’s room. She stopped short at the open door when she caught a stirring beyond the curtains. 

“It’s me, Mama.” 

“Catarina? What are you doing here?”

Her daughter was still in her University robes, her hair dripping small water-spots onto the worn carpet beneath her feet. Adamus, and a stray breeze, quietly shut the door behind them as they left the room. 

“Can’t I come home when I please?” 

A thin film of dust caught the light and glowed golden. Filaments flickered in Catarina’s bright red hair. Her face was drawn, exhausted. 

“Of course you can, love.” Letitia set the candle down to sit by her bedside. The sheets had stayed the same since she’d last come home, for Adamus’ funeral. Since then, the felicitating luncheon at the University, the letters of promotion. 

Stendarr alone knew where she went in between. “Are you looking for something?”

“Oh, nothing. Thought I’d put some things away.”

Picture books stiff with age and embossing, a primer of magic gifted to her by the first tutor, an ancient Altmer she’d impressed with her passion at barely the age of twelve. A copy of A Pocket Guide to The Empire marked with fading scribbles, a small stuffed horse with its threads coming askew.

In her hand, The Art of War Magic, with Adamus’ clean signature congratulating her on her admission to the University. I’ll make a battlemage of you yet, my darling Catarina. 

She’d hardly the need for books on Destruction anymore, and by then, hardly the need for her father’s praise. Catarina turned it over, thumbing the moth eaten corner of a page. 

“Was he still disappointed, in the end?”

“Disappointed? Never. The Master Wizard had nothing but praise for you, and your father knew it. He had no doubt you were meant for great things.” 

It was a white lie that slipped easily off her tongue, dripped from her fingers to the letters she’d sent. 

There’s no good that’ll come out of this unhealthy obsession with summoning, mark my words. She should be by my side, bolstering the Legion. She should be treading the lighted path to the righteous. 

“He was worried about you. As am I.” 

It mattered little now. She was her father’s daughter, beholden to a calling, bound to her nature. 

Catarina smiled. She sat cross-legged on her childhood bed, laying an old Wizard’s staff across her lap. Everywhere were the marks of her being, as skinned knees and the scars of childhood. 

“Strange, isn’t it Mama? These things that were mine aren’t me any longer.”

“Isn’t that the nature of life, my dear?” 

“What about this house? Do you ever think of moving?”

“Why must I?”

“It’ll be good, I think, to get away from all this grief.”

“My grief lives with me. Better to be anchored to it here than left adrift elsewhere.”

Like you. She didn’t say. Like you. You who seek absolution in the space between worlds.

“But I miss you.” Catarina said.

Letitia pushed past the books to brush back her daughter’s hair. Her sweet green eyes, the darling freckles on her nose. These things that were mine but are me no longer. 

“You can always come home.”

Catarina swallowed hard, then kissed her mother’s forehead.

“No wonder Father was so twisted up in knots, huh? To be made of one thing alone is a heavy price.”

“For what, my dear?”

“For love, Mama. For love.” 

It flashed before Letitia as though her life were running out; Catarina throwing herself upon the bed, hands ink-stained and glowing with magic, eyes twinkling like emeralds and I love it, I love it, I love it, Mama, fashioning old curtains into makeshift wizard's robes, gripping her tutor’s elbows to say it again, I love it, I’d do anything, go anywhere my magic takes me. It grew her, as water does a river, that love dressed as a need a mission an aberration, that love that wears no human face. 

I wish you loved me that way, my dear. I wish it was me you were made of. 

Butterflies burst behind Letitia’s eyelids, brilliant as the sun. 

*

“And the gold, for a golden prince.”

“Buried in our backyard.”

“Green for the tomb, and white for the marble.”

“White for the lies.”

“White lies?”

“A golden lie. Fit for a king. Fit for a champion.”

*

The end of a year of mourning came on the wings of the first rains. A sweep of laymen and acolytes busied themselves with clearing the Temple of the last vestige of the memorial ceremony. 

Beneath the towering statue of that short-lived Emperor, with drizzle still clinging to her lashes and tusks, Garvi Gra-Shub turned to the Arch-Mage. It was me, she wanted to say, it was me, it was me, it was me. The arrow was mine, the bow was mine, and mine was the shadow by the river. 

Instead, coward that she was, she said, “Martin would’ve hated this.”

Catarina shrugged. “He’d have preferred to live, but here we are. Being the chosen of the Gods takes little of your wants to account.”

It wasn’t the Gods who saved us, it was you. 

That was her doing too.  It  was she who had led him here, every step from the confines of Kvatch to Bruma to the heart of the Empire, led him here to be taken and wrung out and ruined and killed, and killed.

“I heard,” She changed the topic, “That you declined a place on the Elder Council.” 

“I have responsibilities elsewhere, as Ocato well knows. Besides, Cyrodiil has a Champion already.”

And still the lies were as thick and sweet as nectar. “I’d prefer a quiet retirement now.”

To where no questions would follow her, no eyes in the shadows to watch as she failed. To excavate the last of grace from a grave of herself.

“Don’t tell me you’re sick of the public eye already, Garvi. The paint on your statue’s barely dried.”

“They need me less than they need you. Less things to kill, for a time of rebuilding.” 

Catarina glanced at her, for once holding her tongue, waiting. 

Come clean. Confess. Pull out the blade you’ve buried in the backs of everyone you’ve cared for.

The silence was taut as skin around a fresh wound. How the words in Garvi’s mouth so festered, and spoiled, filling the cavity with the taste of decay. Her rotten heart. Her rotten soul, born steaming from the deadlands and fostered in blood. 

Better to case herself in stone and plaster. Better to sink to the same mask she’d struggled so much to shake away. Better to find her grace there, in the quiet. 

Garvi lied again. “All I mean is, the public eye might like less what it sees now.”

Catarina had turned away, her palm on the statue, her finger on one damp dragon claw. “I wonder if it hurt in the end.”

“What?”

“When the soul tears in half against something vaster than the world. The mantling of a God.”

“Oh.” The relief was a knife in Garvi’s chest. “It only took a moment. I’m sure it was a quick death.”

Like a wildfire’s blaze. Like the sun exploding before her eyes. One moment the world had been the inside of a forge, and the next it'd turned bone-pale and muted green. No slit throat, no blood pooling from a torn stomach, no muscles turning stiff and purple with poison. 

Dear Martin, the most glorious of all her executions. 

Captain Philida had blackened where the arrow found him. He’d floated, bare belly up for the fish to feast on his toes. If Garvi were a better woman, an orc of honour, if her parents hadn’t charred themselves behind Kvatch’s collapsing door, if she hadn’t turned all she loved in life to pain, she could tell Catarina of another quick death.

But this was good as any confession. She could cloak one death in another. So long as she said the words, she could escape the weight of them. 

“A quick death?” Quiet tears streamed down Catarina’s cheek. “You were there? You saw?”

“I was.” The river shining silver in the mist. The swamp’s hot breath. The rain. Your father was so afraid, you know. He looked as though he slept in armor. 

“A fragment of a God- I wonder if he sees us still. If he can ever return.”

My own father looks on me as I sharpen my arrows by the sunrise. I turn away. My mother laughs as I tiptoe into my empty kitchen. I couldn’t bear to listen, couldn’t meet her eyes. On some days I’m glad nothing of my home remains. 

Garvi shifted her weight, awkward now. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the Arch-Mage cry. “There’s no return from some things.” 

Clinging to the curve of Akatosh’s wing, Catarina wept. Garvi watched, despising herself for long enough that the raindrops turned iridescent to her tired eyes. 

“I’m so sorry.” She said. “It was my fault.”

I stood for half an hour in the water. By then the dead had all blurred to one. My father and yours. The shrieking dremora and the laughing, dancing dunmer girl. 

Catarina wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “Don’t be ridiculous, Garvi. You did what you could.”

Did you know how much harder it was to saw his finger off for me to take? His hand was curled, just as yours are now, as though he still clung to something too. He must have loved you. It was my fault. He must have loved you. 

“So did you.” Garvi said. “For- for everyone.” 

Catarina straightened, and as though a curtain fell away from her face, Garvi flinched. The air around them pulsed with a power she could not name. This is it, she thought. She’d seen her for what she is. A scandal, not a crime, if the Arch-Mage struck down the Hero of Kvatch at the Temple for what she’d done. Maybe she’d make a better confession there, in the peace of the Void. 

But her voice was even, her eyes dry. “You’re right.” Catarina said. “There is no return from some things.”

*

“Magenta, for this one sunset.”

“My lord?”

“For the sky of my dreams, and yours.” 

The robe was resplendent now, woven as though every color bled. It’s silken thread came together so snug that Catarina wondered if there was ever a time she never had it at all. Another year was past, and it was time to go. There were reasons for which she’d bided her time and had this realm endure her dreams. But now, the Isles beckoned. Its beauty spilled through the door, an apprentice bursting into her room to fall at her feet. 

He sat across her with his shining face and his eyes like the ocean, unravelled at the center, as if he too were a fluttering thread to be closed between her palms. A surge of love threatened now to drown her. Why had she resisted at all?

“But my dreams tell me another story, my lord.” So penitent, the boy, so sweet. So frightened of the straight lines interlaced between stone and tile. “Where’re the boughs, the cross-road villages? Where’s the formless trees, the golden Saints? Where’s the green that parches my throat and the desert to quench it?”

The Niben wind caught the scent of home. 

Catarina lifted her hands.

 “Here are the golden wings of Mania. And my feet are the roots of Crucible. Do you see these teeth? The cobble-stones of Bliss. These even ribs the bare ground of Split. Turn my skin inside out, and my heart is every lining of the Gatekeeper’s key, stitched to my insides and yours and his. These bones the mists of Dementia. This hair? The paranoid feathers. These lips the thorax of all elytra, every word a life. Each eye an amber, waiting for the taking. From these knees come the grummite, knobbled and spindled. Do you see? The Isles of your dreams are all of me.”

He gasped. “And the robe, my lord? The robe?”

She stood, and slipped it over her skin. Supple as water, it took the shape of her. “The robe is the woman I’m made of. No escaping her.”

Water ripples, and rain pours. A little girl buries her face in her books. A hand with a missing finger closed around her shoulder. A home with a door open. Stone and plaster. An old friend’s voice like a bee buzzing in her ear.

No weeping of it. No half-way promises. No running. 

Between the skin, and the silk, the expanse of the world. The Never-There.

The Madgod took the boy’s hand. 

“It’s time to go.”

[breaniebree]

SNEAK PEEK!!!

Chapter 7 -- The One With the Theo Sandwich

Holidays with the Weasleys was always something Harry looked forward to, but this year was very different from the others and everyone felt it.  Not only was it the first Christmas without the patriarch of the Weasley family, but the whole fiasco of Zee being missing and murdered but not really murdered made everything seem harder.

Harry was keeping the speculation about the spell on Zee a secret from the family until he knew anything for sure.  The last thing he wanted was to get Grandma, Grandpa, or Grandmama’s hopes up that maybe she could be saved.  His own hopes were high enough as it was and he was terrified it wasn’t true.  Instead, he did his best to push those thoughts aside and focused on the joint celebration they had thrown together at Clevedon Court.

It had been Hermione’s idea and Harry was grateful to his friend for suggesting it.  Christmas Eve was being celebrated in their home and everyone was invited.  It was a mashup of everyone together and it was exactly the kind of big celebration they all needed to forget the troubles that were happening.

Flo, Sorcha, and Molly were cooking up a storm in the kitchen, having decided that everyone else was to hurry off and let them prepare things.  But it didn’t stop everyone from helping out.

Greg and Jean Granger brought homemade bread sauce.  Bill and Fleur brought butternut squash soup.  Charlie brought these amazing Romanian cheese donuts called Papanași.  Percy and Audrey brought a Caesar salad with beer bread.  Fred and Fiadh brought a plum pudding.  George and Angelina brought baked potatoes with garlic and cheese.  Remus and Tonks brought cherry, apple, strawberry, and rhubarb pies.  This didn’t even include the Christmas fairy cakes Theo and Sebastian brought that Theo had ordered from Hannah or the turkey and ham that Sorcha and Flo made or the four other kinds of potatoes, puddings, and trifles that Flo, Sorcha, and Molly had thrown together in the kitchen.  And to Harry’s happiness, Flo made cornbread and Molly made treacle tart.

It was more food than they even knew what to do with.

Neville and Hannah had come by early in the day to have a drink and tea with them before heading back to Cumbria to celebrate Christmas with Augusta and Neville’s great-uncle Algie.  Harry had received a card from Seamus and Dean who were celebrating Christmas Eve with Dean’s mum and then Christmas Day with Seamus’ family.  Ginny had insisted that Theo and Sebastian come for Christmas Eve since they were spending Christmas day with Sebastian’s family and Molly insisted Theo needed to be around family.

Harry was pleased to have everyone there with him.  He only wished that Zee could be here too.  He sat on the floor in the living room, looking around at all of the conjured chairs they’d made to fill the space and thought that this was what an amazing Christmas with family was like.

Ginny was sitting between his legs, her back against his chest as they drank red wine and watched Aydin, Mina, and Leo play together.  Teddy was lying on a blanket in the middle of the room on his back, rolling all over the place.  At nine months old, he hadn’t quite mastered crawling yet, but it certainly didn’t stop him from being on the move as he belly shimmied and almost crawled around.  Then there was Felicity and Finley, each girl was cradled in the arms of an uncle and very happy.

Ron stretched out on the floor next to Harry, clinking his wine glass with his.  “I think we did a pretty great job decorating the place.”

“Yeah, we did,” Harry agreed.  

He was glad that Hermione had convinced them to decorate the house.  The big tree was beautifully lit and decorated and it made the holiday feel more real.

Ginny stood up, bending to peck Harry on the cheek before she mumbled something about more wine.  He watched her go and turned when Remus sat on the floor next to him.

“How are you holding up?”

Harry shrugged.  “Okay, I guess.”

At Remus’ raised eyebrow, he shrugged again.  He honestly didn’t know how to answer that question.  Spending time with Ginny made him think of all of the good things.  It took his mind off of the bad that was happening.  It stopped him from thinking and worrying about what it meant with this potion; what meant about Zee and Sirius and… he didn’t know how he felt about it all.  

Remus squeezed his shoulder.  “I can’t imagine what you’re going through, Harry, but I know that you’ll figure all of this out.  You and Dora make a good team.  Higgins has been talking about how great you’ve been doing.”

Harry turned to give Remus a small smile.  “I like Rex.  He’s honest with me and he’s patient.”

“That’s because he learned from the best,” Tonks said, plopping herself down onto her husband’s lap.  “I taught him everything he knows.”

“I know, he told me,” Harry said, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.  “No, he’s great.  He’s been letting me take the lead on a lot of things.”

“He trusts you,” Tonks told him.  “He was really worried when I requested him to be your trainer.  He had it in his head that I’d expect him to go easy on you and when I assured him I expected him to kick your arse, he was a little more sure of himself.  You’ve surprised him with your strength and tenacity.”

“Thanks,” Harry said.  

Higgins was always telling him he was doing great, but hearing it from Tonks reiterated the words and made Harry feel more confident at what he was doing.  He loved being an Auror and he rather liked knowing that his partner was confident in his skills.

Tonks stared at him a moment as Charlie played with Teddy on the floor.  “Still no word from Borage and Slughorn yet?”

Harry shook his head.  “No.  I have a feeling that we won’t hear from them again until after the new year.  I just… I don’t know, Tonks.  There’s too many questions and not enough answers.  Nothing makes sense.”

“I know, but we’ll figure it out.”

[our-lady-of-haymakers]

She fixes her eyes upon the screen with more fervor than she ever did at the chapel of the Fleshgod, white-knuckled grasp curling about the edges of a table that rickets to the lurch of her heart, twining between shuddering breaths sundry pleas, prayers, promises and praises, crooning into the datastream the litany of her love.

Oh, how long she's waited, how deeply she's yearned, swirling like tempests portended in the dance of dead leaves to explosions of passion and pain. She's beaten at the wood that groans without purchase, sworn oaths of fidelity and revenge at her dastard lover, stormed away some nights in bitter disgust, lurking and pacing about the dim light of a console she strives not to look at, recollecting loudly all the things she'd rather do with her life, all the alternatives she has to this pathetic ritual of waiting, and last of all, when nothing avails, how little it all matters and what a perfect fool she was to care.

It convinces her- almost, briefly, profoundly- but it doesn't matter, because every damned time her eyes flit back to that accursed shrine to want, to the rubbled temple of her desire- the sight of a connection, the seeding of a hope, hooks into her breast once more the pull of a wish, the magnetism of forgiveness. Oh, had there ever been a wretch so ungrateful as to doubt the loyalty of her beloved, question the certainty of her arrival? What paramour worth pursuing lets the chase end before it begins, arriving two hours early to the juncture of their destinies, punctual on the dot to the tying of red strings? Oh, she's always been such a minx, that playful little dancer upon her pleadings, that soul-rippling butterfly! It's why she fell in love with her, she's sure, mesmerized by her elusiveness, by that shivering heat in half-shut eyes that longs to trace a moonray more, to catch just another glimpse of her fluttering smiles.

Won't she be a dear now and hurry up? Or tarry a bit, and take her time, so long as she's in sight, so long as the one who's awaited her these interminable weeks can feel dispersed and delicate upon the air some echo of her breath wending its way down a space they share, ah, some balmy penumbra cold with the light she's stolen from the long harsh stars with the miracle of her corporeality. What a wretch she was to have ever slighted such a perfect creature, ever harboured in her sizzling chest the meanest dram of resentment! Didn't she know there were so many who had it worse, never experiencing any hint at all of their fated raptures, never feeling their bellies quiver at the conception of gentle futures, at the striking of a pact with those sylphs of the node, those packet-mantled fae, conjured from the lacing ardours of a million melding needs? Oh goddess! Oh vision! She would wait forever, for centuries and even the ten minutes more forecasted by the app, for the descent of her grace into her humble home, into this pit where want had churned for fortnights.

Ah- had she left? Had she turned! Oh, too cruel, mistress, to disdain me when I sink upon my knees in the depths of my hunger, so heavy with the lack of you, so hollow in the shapes you love. Reconsider, forgive, forfend, thaw- was she such a hopeless prospect after all? Did she not deserve one smile, one touch after so long, one bloom after such toils of seeding to burst through the soil of the interface? If there was ever such a thing as mercy, or kindness, or virtue, she would have finished by now, reached the peace that lingers beyond those bittersweet brinks that have bordered her nights with dizziness and despair. She'd never be free of her, would she? It was always going to be like this for all the miserable weeks to follow, her every moment hounded by that hoary hope, pulling her like jaws on a hind to the heels of her mistress, whimpering for release, helpless and pitiful-

Oh! A step! Another! Dare she? Could she? Would she? No, no, a million noes before she risked a yes, a million nods before she shook away- what excruciations does love drive us to, the lowest of all for their suspensions, stretching us to the breadths of an earth minuscule before mother heaven, mommy helheim- damn, she's slipping, drowsiness looming, bruised spirit slow to soar again, but she has to focus and keep her eyes on the prize and wait and repeat whatever prayer it was that fetched her a whole 11.3% that day and ask and beg and hoot and melt and-

Oh. It's done. She's here. Before me. With me. As fully mine as I was hers. Close enough to touch once my fingers remember to do anything other than clench. I slump. I breathe. I unfurl. I am numb with the expectation of pleasure. I burn in the wake of passing pains. I am complete. I am whole. Her whole. Her crevice and cocoon. My machine- oh, loyal and stalwart steed who bore me down so many plains, cherished familiar who summoned for me so many dreams- sings out now the message of our salvation, the proof and prize of all my pains, the confirmation supreme- Download Complete.

She smiles as the angel she'd hoped to meet for a lifetime stretching back to early September emerges now in the blush of winter's shimmering delight. The sparks and synths of her, pieced together by the grand magic of summoners connected across space and time in that most heroic of missions, flow together beneath her halting touch like the kiss of a summer stream. She's resplendent, she reflects, empowered in the rush of her relief to bat away those trite warnings about ransomware and unfamiliar programs- didn't these foolish guards know how well she'd sketched out the miracle of this moment as she'd waited, how long it had been since she'd let this spirit of the ether entirely into her heart? Nothing would come between them now, no calamity drive them apart, and if it did, well, she'd simply carry out the whole song and dance again, for she knew beyond all question now that faith would would fetch its reward, love see all labours redeemed.

Truly, there is nothing so sublime in this world as the love between a Torrentgirl and her Receiver.

[waveofstars]

SLOANE LIN: bio + stats.

click here for stats click here for pinterest click here for playlist read below for bio.

traits: aloof, blunt, witty, mean, sharp, intelligent, fickle, loyal, vindictive, pessimistic, lazy, resentful, athletic, emotionally damaged, flirty, detached, nihilistic

aesthetic: lowcut tops, lipstick stains, dog eared pages, homecut bangs, cigarette ash, coffee art, bubble baths, old beanies, wine enthusiast, worn out ice skates, tattoos & docs, late nights, dusty shelf of trophies, quick one-liners, big mistake, wasted potential, 'u up?' texts, the anti-hero

BIO:

The rise and fall of Sloane Lin. The idea of Sloane Lin was born long before she came into this world. The Lin’s were destined for greatness, and she was no exception.

Hailing from Hong Kong, Sloane’s father migrated to The United States in his late twenties and fell in love with a native New Yorker while practicing real estate. Together, they built a reputable real estate agency and took the country by storm. Success hit them fast and hard, though it was well deserved. After a marriage and a hefty prenup, Sloane was born into their fast paced world. The girl was inspired by their tenacity at such a young age and it was then she constructed a life plan for herself.

Becoming an older sister at the age of six years old wasn’t a part of that master plan, but Sloane happily penciled in baby Veronica Lin into her life. Their parents worked hard for the money and the family of four lived comfortably as their business grew internationally. With such busy parents, Sloane picked up a hobby at a very young age to keep herself busy that soon turned into her life’s purpose - figure skating. Her mother had enrolled her into lessons when she was old enough to stand and it stuck. She was a natural. Sloane knew this was what she was meant to do with her life, so she began to balance home school and skating competitions.

Just like a Lin, success came fast and hard. She was traveling across the country for competitions, and soon enough, internationally. The trophies and medals were never ending, but she constantly wanted more. Her sights were set on the Olympics. Throughout her competitions in her late teen years, she managed to conjure up a rival of sorts - Michelle. She was the only real competition she ever had, and for the longest time, Sloane was convinced she hated her. Though that seemed to change one night at a party after a competition. The two started to talk, they argued, but the arguing led to kissing. It surprised Sloane, but nothing felt more right. Sloane and Michelle began to see one another in secret.

It was perfect in the beginning. Sloane was so smitten for the girl and didn’t care who knew it, but Michelle was more reserved with her love, too afraid of backlash. It didn’t help that Michelle was in the public eye more after people adored her and her skating partner, Zeke. People in the figure skating community often thought Michelle and Zeke would make a perfect couple, and that thought always boiled Sloane’s blood. Especially so when Michelle agreed to have a relationship with the man. She assured Sloane there was nothing really between them and it was all for the public gaze. It didn’t hurt any less to continue hiding her love in the dark for Michelle.

All three of them managed to make their way to the olympics, and though it was everything Sloane wanted, she was so consumed by Michelle. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She forced Michelle to make a decision - continue this fake charade with Zeke or show the world that they were in love. It was a plan she thought would surely go in her favor, but to her disappointment, Michelle chose Zeke. It devastated Sloane and she began to question everything. Filled with hurt, resentment, and bitterness, she performed her number at the Olympics and felt robbed of this dream that once meant everything to her. Now, it was nothing. Her mind was wrapped up in Michelle during her entire number, and her gaze often would look for her and Zeke in the crowd. One misstep and Sloane Lin fell harder than ever before. Her ankle broke in two places and she was whisked off the ice to the emergency room.

Just like that, two dreams were crushed in one day. No Michelle, no Olympics. Two surgeries later, she was sure competitive skating was out of her future. Sloane Lin began to unravel as she realized her life’s plan was no more. When she wasn’t making her entire life surrounded by skating, she surrounded herself with Michelle. So, what now?

Sloane lurked at her family’s condo in New York City and her family believed she just needed time to get back on her feet again. However, weeks suddenly turned into years, and Sloane never found herself nor had the desire to. Her parents had relocated to a second property in Hawaii as their youngest daughter took over the family business. Whether it was out of sympathy or love, her parents allowed Sloane to continue living in that condo in New York practically rent free.

Now in her late twenties, she’s still lost as ever and cynical as they come. Sloane gave up ages ago on trying to be something more. She looks at her baby sister who is married with a child on the way and a strong career under her belt, and although Sloane is happy for her, she knows good and well that she had become the black sheep of the family. Maybe she liked being the black sheep. She could never really decide on that.

Sloane spent her time at jobs that never would really go anywhere. She spent some time bartending and quickly realized she hated half of the people that talked to her while working, so she then moved to being a barista. Her coworkers were always teenagers or college students who were just at the beginning of their lives. Sloane didn’t mind it, even if everyone around her questioned her. It wasn’t the kind of job change her parents hoped for, but they stopped really expecting anything from Sloane years ago. They paid for half of the bills she can never cover and blindly supported their daughter. She continues to live aimlessly drifting through this life of broken dreams, but for now, it was more than enough for her… So, maybe she wasn’t destined for greatness, after all. Perhaps she always meant to fall.

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (5)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 4.3k warnings: really flippin sweet fluff, more book recs a/n: to avoid confusion - the manner in which Bucky lost his arm is different in this series than in canon  🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

For the first time since Bucky was discharged from active duty, he had a routine again.  

The curtains were open before he took a shower in the morning; sunlight streaming in through the windows and casting a gentle glow over the apartment. It touched over books piled high on the coffee table, pillows neatly lined on the sofa, and blankets folded over the arm rest. Steve had nearly done a double take the first time he made his usual beeline to whip open the curtains to expose a dusty and unkempt apartment, only to find Bucky making coffee in the kitchen, freshly showered, and the sun shining high in the sky.  

It had been almost a month since his first attendance at book club and he’d gone through nearly a book a week just to have the excuse to visit you at the library again for another. You’d given him your number after his first trip to the library with a binding promise to text you if he was held up in his apartment in pain again. You’d sworn to bring books straight to him and read them aloud if you had to.  

You had laughed as you said it, like it was only a joke. Bucky had nodded along, but if he were honest, he would have liked that very much.  

He’d arrange for times to meet you at the library at the end of your shift where you’d always have a book waiting for him. There’d be a few sitting on the shelf you’d set aside, but without fail, he always opted for the first one you presented to him. You hadn’t led him wrong so far.  

After, though neither of you directly proposed it, you’d often find yourselves back at Luciana’s. It was like your feet simply carried you there, a silent agreement to spend as much time together as you could, even if you were both too afraid to admit it out loud.  

He came to understand why Sunday was your favorite day of the week. Bucky started to take it upon himself to meet you at the library to walk you to the VA where he fulfilled his word to help move the couches before the usual members arrived. The look of surprise on your face when you bounced down the library steps and caught sight of him leaning on the pillar a few steps away from the busy sidewalk had been enough to convince him to never leave your side again. 

Your smile was one he’d learned to memorize. He conjured it when the strangers bumped into him on the sidewalk threatened to collapse his racing heart entirely and it pushed him further. It was enough to convince him to keep going beyond the safety of his apartment walls and it was worth it every time. Just to see you smile at him like that.  

***

“Have you started it yet?”

Bucky blinked a few times, reminding himself of his surroundings. You stood on his right side in line at Luciana’s behind a couple of tourists who were having a hard time discerning the difference between a cappuccino and an americano. He raised an eyebrow, confused, and you gestured to the book in his bag.  

“Oh, I just flipped through the pages so far,” Bucky said, pulling the book from his bag; thick black cover with a small white illustrated creature staring up at the stars. Everyone's a Aliebn When Ur a Aliebn Too written by an author that seemed to go by a name as misspelled as the title, Jomny Sun. “It looks like a children’s book?”

You grinned and your shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s somewhere in between. You have to trust me on this one. It may seem young on the surface but it’ll tug at your heart strings. Hold your judgement until you’ve actually read it, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled, nodding. “Hey, I never said I didn’t trust you. Just curious where you’re leading me on this one.”

“Be blind, Bucky,” you sang, teasing him. “I won’t guide you into a creepy forest or the bottom of the ocean, I promise.”

“Oh good. I was starting to worry.”  

It was strange to feel so light again, but there was something about your presence that allowed him to let go of all the weight he carried. He could set down his baggage at his feet for just a minute to give his back a break, to stretch out his muscles and find relief in the solace. You would have offered to carry some of it yourself if he’d asked— of that he was certain. But it was a heavy load, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for you to see what was inside just yet.

The bell to the café rang behind him and a mother and her young son walked inside. The little boy held the woman’s hand as he scrunched his nose at the smell of the coffee, pouting up at her. A bright red backpack hung off his shoulders, Velcro ties over his tiny sneakers. The soles lit up as he walked.  

“Mommy, I want to go to the playground,” the kid whined and Bucky watched you laugh to yourself from the corner of his eye.  

“We will, sweetness,” the mother replied calmly. She bent down to brush the hair from the boy’s eyes. “Mommy just needs a bit of caffeine before we—”

“Whoa! What happened to that guy’s arm?” the kid gasped, a mixture of shock and amazement in his tiny little voice.  

Bucky tensed up immediately, every muscle in his body turning to stone. When strangers noticed his arm, he was usually met with unwanted stares and hushed whispered, but children were a whole different story. They had no filter, no sense of the unspoken rules garnered by society; they were driven by their own curiosity and something as trivial as politeness did not get in the way of that.  

“Oh, honey,” the mother gripped tight to the boy’s arm, lowing her voice in hopes Bucky hadn’t heard him, “you can’t ask things like that.”

“Why not?” the boy replied innocently. “Where’d it go?”

Bucky could feel your eyes on him, studying for his reaction, but he couldn’t offer one. He was stone, after all. A frown tugged at your lips to see the sudden distress wash over him and he felt an aching puncture of embarrassment deep into his stomach. It only took the mere mention of his arm to wipe him to a blank slate, to throw him back to the battlefield where it was torn from his body. Any unexpected reminder of it usually did.  

You nodded at him, offered a small smile, like you were trying to tell him it would be alright. Then slowly, you turned around and knelt in front of the boy.  

“Hi,” you said sweetly, catching the mother off guard.  

“Do you know what happened to his arm?” the boy asked, must to the dismay of his mother.

“Mason! Oh God, I am so very sorry,” the mother quickly apologized, flustered as she desperately tried to hush the boy. He pressed his face into his mother’s arm.  

Bucky stole a glance over his shoulder to find you kneeling on the floor beside the boy, smiling at him as he clutched a plush triceratops to his chest. You tilted your head at him, trying to get a better look at the boy.  

“You want to know what happened?” you asked softly. He nodded, arms wrapped tight around his stuffed toy. You glanced up at Bucky and his eyes narrowed on you, heart beating a little faster, stomach twisting, before you turned back to the boy. “He did something really brave.”

Fuck. 

Did you know? 

Did Sam tell you? 

Bucky’s legs started to feel weak.  

“You like superheroes, huh?” you continued, pointing at the image of a man in a red cape flying on the boy’s t-shirt. The boy nodded shyly. “They swoop in and save the day with their super strength or magic powers, right?”

The boy started laughing, he was smiling again, standing free from his mother’s hold. She was staring at you like you were akin to one of the characters on the boy’s shirt. Bucky felt the stones cracking around his body, freeing him from their grip.  

“Is he Super Man?” Mason whispered, glancing up at Bucky with such wonder, it took him by surprise. The boy was so small, no older than four years old. Bucky didn’t know the last time he’d even talked to a kid that young and yet here you were, at the boy’s level, making him laugh and smile and easing the concerns of his mother.  

“No, he’s not,” you laughed for a moment. Then, you softened, gathering the boy’s attention again. “My friend here doesn’t have super powers. So, when he saved someone, he got hurt. But I think that makes him very brave, don’t you?”

The boy nodded enthusiastically, grinning so wide Bucky wondered how it was possible your smile could be so infectious. The mother mouthed a soft ‘thank you’ in your direction as the boy quickly changed subjects to the sprinkled donut he was going to eat for snack. She caught Bucky’s eye for a minute and nodded at him, almost in appreciation. He pressed his lips to a thin line. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to say anything back.  

You ordered his usual coffee and one of the freshly baked muffins, then a drink and a pastry for yourself. In Bucky’s distraction with the kid, he hadn’t noticed you pay before he had a chance. He felt like he was in a bit of a trance as you led him back to a table in the far corner of the shop, away from the windows and the customers.  

“You alright?” you asked as you slid into your chair opposite him.  

“Did Sam tell you?” Bucky blurted out before he had a chance to bite his tongue. It was the last thing he wanted you to know about and he had half a mind to storm up to the VA just to rip Sam a new one before he shut himself off in his apartment for a few weeks.  

It was the reason for the reoccurring nightmares that hadn’t let up in the last month, even when he’d started to have more good days than bad. They’d celebrated him for what he’d done, given him a medal, and thanked him for his service. The very thought of it made him want to vomit.  

“Hey, hey, Bucky look at me,” you called gently, your voice at the end of a dark tunnel. He blinked, adjusting to the light. “Sam didn’t say a word about what happened. I had a theory and I made a guess. You’re clearly a good man. It didn’t feel like much of a stretch. That’s all.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, staring down at the muffin as he picked at the paper cup. He heard you sigh, surprised that he couldn’t find a single sliver of impatience in your voice. When he looked up again, you smiled sweetly at him and asked him about Alien – Aliebn? – book; quickly lost in tangent of your favorite pages and moments you were excited for him to read.  

He was grateful for the change in subject, but more than that, it gave him a chance to just admire you. There was nothing strange about watching a woman, studying the intricacies on her face and the passion in her voice, when she was speaking right to him. He nodded along, doing his best to actually take in what you were saying, but he was so easily distracted by the brush of steam touching your nose, the press of your lips into your cheeks, the lines on your forehead, and the way your eyes seemed to light up the entire city block.  

The kid, his arm, and nearly six years of combat were quickly forgotten when he had the chance to watch you like that. You hardly let him get a word on, too caught up in your own excitement for the novels you placed in his hand, but he didn’t mind. He preferred to listen to you anyway. Your voice had a calming presence about it; soothing and gentle, loving and joyous. If it weren’t for the clock hanging on the wall above your head, he might have sat there all night with you.

“We should probably head over,” he pointed out reluctantly, gesturing to the clock as it approached six.  

You frowned, following his gaze to see the time had slipped by quicker than you realized. As you began to clear off the table, throwing the scraps in the garbage and setting the mugs on the counter for Luciana, Bucky began to wonder if maybe you would have sat there all night with him, too. If only he could find the courage to ask.

***

Bucky removed the clip from the book, closed the back binding, and slumped back into the cushions. The room was still pretty quiet, everyone’s noses still down in their books as the soft strum of Simon & Garfunkel played from the speaker by the coffee table. He glanced over at you as you sat beside him, a little closer than usual, though he didn’t mind. Your hip brushed his every so often when you adjusted position. It was a kind of closeness that left him wanting more.  

You were only halfway through your own book, but you could clearly sense him watching you because you slowly looked up in his direction, a pointed smile on your face.  

“You were right,” he admitted, his voice a hushed whisper in effort not to disturb the other members. “Surprisingly deep considering it’s a children’s book for adults.”  

“Hey maybe we need pictures on our pages, too,” you whispered back, teasing him with a nudged to his right shoulder. He laughed, leaning back comfortably against the couch as Tony’s eyes glared over in his direction from the top of his book. He pressed his lips together to keep quiet.

You snickered into Bucky’s shoulder, lips pressing against the sleeve of his jacket and he had never wanted to remove that layer more in his life; to actually feel the imprint of your mouth instead of just the press of your face, to feel the heat in your breath breathe through the thin layer of his t-shirt. He shivered.  

“Alright kids,” you said aloud, setting your book on the table. “Times up for today.”

“Oh, come on, Y/n! I’ve only got one chapter left!” Clint whined, stretching out dramatically along the table he was laying across.  

“Glad to hear it, Clint,” you smirked, hands planted firm on your hips. “Finish on your own time.”

A couple of ‘ooo’s rang out and it reminded Bucky of his days sitting behind a desk in class in grade school and a kid would get called up to the principal's office. Clint took it in stride though and seemed to bask in it, throwing up a pose in face of the chorus.  

The crowd quickly dispersed after that, though a few of the older members lingered behind to update you on how far they’d gotten in their books. Bucky watched you from a distance as he started to move the couches back into place, mesmerized by the glimmer in your eye as you spoke to them, a soft hand resting on the crook of their arm, nodding along with a smile on your face – always so genuine in every interaction, in every bone in your body.  

Bucky had practically finished arranging the entire room by the time you walked back inside. Your jaw dropped, wide eyes meeting his.  

“You didn’t have to do all that by yourself!”  

Bucky shrugged. “How long were you doing it on your own before I came along? Take the help when it’s offered, Y/n.”

You smiled at that. “Still. I appreciate it.”

“It’s really nothing,” Bucky said simply.

He hadn’t felt a drive like this is years. Not even before his final tour and the destruction that came with it. He hadn’t remembered what it felt like to want to lift even the smallest of burdens for someone else just to see the weight slip from their shoulders, just to see them smile. He found himself wanting to carry everything you had, even if it started with arranging the heavy furniture of the empty VA library.  

You chewed on the edge of your lip as you watched him approach the door, your jacket in his hand. He had wanted to hold it open for you, to let you turn your back and slip your arms through the sleeves, but it just wasn’t something he could do with one hand, and instead, he placed it to hang over your forearm. 

A longing for a world in which you met him before his body had been put through the shredder ached deep into his gut. It started to push a frown onto his lips, but then your voice broke through and he shook it away.  

“Ready?” you asked, gesturing to the door and he nodded, following closely behind.  

There was a sudden nervous energy in the air he didn’t expect, and for once, it wasn’t coming from him. He glanced over at you as you walked in line with him to find you fidgeting with the zipper of your jacket, hands wringing into the fabric, and hair falling out of place and down into your eyes. You exhaled a few tense breaths as Bucky opened the main door for you, following behind as you stepped out onto the side walk.  

The two of you stood there for a minute, neither one making a move to leave. You kept glancing back at the VA, then to your watch, barely able to look in Bucky’s direction and he started to feel that familiar twist of anxiety in his stomach.  

“Hey, are you oka—”

“Do you want to go for a walk?” you blurted out before he could finish, biting down quickly on your lip as if to stop yourself from saying more.  

Bucky froze, confused. He glanced down at his watch. It would be dark soon. “Now?”  

A flash of embarrassment quickly passed over your features and Bucky’s stomach dropped. 

Was it possible that you just wanted to spend more time with him? That maybe you could crave his presence the same way he did yours?  

“N-No, no, you’re right. It’s late. I’m sorry,” you muttered quickly, arms folding protectively over your chest. You kicked at a stone on the sidewalk, watching as it rolled over on its side. “I should, uh, I should head home then. I’ll see you later, Bucky.”

“There’s a park nearby,” Bucky offered before you could turn away. You lifted your head.  

“Yeah?” A cautious smile hung on your lips as you stepped closer to him.  

Bucky nodded, trying to push away the shaking in his hand. “Yeah, come on.”

A couple minutes passed by in silence as you walked along his side. Every so often, your knuckles would brush up against his hand, a nervous laughter between you as you pulled away. It happened so quickly each time, he never had a chance to respond. Even if he did, he wasn’t sure he would have had the courage to twist his fingers into yours, hold your hand tight to his own, feel the warmth of your palm and guide you along the cobblestones to the small space of greenery amongst brick and steel and concrete.  

“I hope you don’t mind me keeping you out late,” you said slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you waited at the intersection to cross the street.  

“Not at all,” Bucky replied sincerely, offering you a small smile in hopes to ease your nervousness. Part of him wished he said more, maybe told you that spending time with you was the best part of his day or that you were the reason he was getting out of bed most mornings, but it was too big of an admission. It could scare you away and that was the last thing he wanted. Before he had a chance to decide, the light turned and you stepped out onto the street. Bucky followed closely behind.  

The entrance to the park was bordered with a dark metal fence, an arch way carrying over the brick walkway decorated with flowers and vines. You crossed underneath, pausing to stare up the twisting of the leaved through the pattern in the arch, a delicate finger reaching out to touch the tip of a petal. You looked back at Bucky with a smile twice as wide on your face and he hung his head, a breath of a laugh in his chest.  

The park was mostly empty for a Sunday evening. The last remaining streams of sunlight lit up the greenery, touching over the flowers and the reflecting into the pond at the center where a family of ducks were waddling along the edge. You seemed to like that, watching how the babies followed the mama along the rim of the water. Bucky turned to his right to find you imitating their walk, chasing after them until they stepped into the water.  

Meanwhile, Bucky found a bench sitting under an old oak tree. Its branches hung draped over the bench enough to provide a shadow from the closing sun. It faced the west side of the park, where the sun was setting just over the tops of the buildings and illuminating the sky in brilliant shades of golden orange and vibrant reds.  

“You want to sit for a bit?” Bucky asked, gesturing to the bench. His feet were a little tired from walking through Brooklyn all day with the library, the VA, and now this. It was more than he usually did these days – not that he minded. He’d happily allow his legs to be a little sore if it meant more time with you. He’d walk through busy streets for miles if it was you he was walking towards.  

You plopped down on the bench on his right, sinking into the old wood. You glanced over at him, hiding behind a strand of hair that had fallen down into your face.  

“Thanks for amusing me.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, chuckling to himself. “You act like I don’t want to be here.”

“I know, I know,” you laughed, swinging your feet off the side of the bench. “It’s just... and I hope this isn’t a strange thing to say but... I just like spending time with you. Wanted a little more of it today, I suppose.”

Bucky swallowed, his throat feeling suddenly very dry. His heart stammered a bit inside his chest, butterflies causing chaos in his stomach, but it didn’t make him want to run. He felt no drive to escape, to push those sensations so far out of reach he turned back to the numbed and empty version of himself he’d been occupied by for months before he met you. They were frightening feelings, yes, but they were pleasant ones, ones he welcomed and invited inside.  

“You can have as much of my time as you want,” Bucky said as the words fell off his tongue. No filter, no second guessing. No chance to bite his tongue. You looked up at him with a kind of hope in your eyes that made his cheeks start to hurt from how much he was smiling.  

You settled back in on the bench, gazing up at the sunset as it lowered behind the buildings. Brush strokes of softer tones blended into the fading blues in the sky, giving way to the moon and stars as they emerged beyond the clouds.  

He glanced down at your hand as it rested on the bench by your thigh. There was hardly even a breath of air between his pinky to yours. You were so close; it would only take one instant of courage to bar the space between you.  

Be brave, Barnes.

Testing the waters, Bucky allowed the very edge of his fingers to brush over your knuckles. Your skin was softer than he’d remembered from that first handshake in the VA nearly a month earlier. He felt your breath hitch like a jolt of electricity had rushed though you, though you didn’t tear your eyes away from the sunset. Your thumb ran a tender line along his hand as you turned your palm up. Bucky swallowed.  

He slipped his hand into yours, curling his fingers to the space between your own, and for a moment he just let himself feel.

He felt for the slight give in your hand, the twitch in your movements as you settled in against him. He felt the gentle sway of your thumb as it painted a line along his, comforting sweeps like you were reminding him you were there. He felt the chill in your skin – cold hands, like he remembered from before – and the heat of his own.  

Then, your head on his shoulder. Your legs crossed towards him as you leaned in closer and he made no efforts to move. A gesture like that would have thrown him in a tailspin before he met you; to be this close to someone, to anyone, to sit in the vulnerability of allowing someone to know and feel him.  

He looked back up at the sunset. It had nearly dipped below the horizon now; only a few glimpses of color remaining in the sky and the shine of the lamppost just a few feet away.  

You sighed in a contented hum, circling your free hand to rest on the inside of his bicep, hooked around his arm. You held him against you like a teddy bear, just wanting to feel more of him. 

It was a strange sensation, he thought; this new urge to want to give you as much as his body could offer.  

[oddaodd]

· MASTERLIST ·

THOMAS SHELBY

· Fast Enough · In which the reader is there for Tommy during one of his mental breakdowns. (Angst)

· Awfully sensitive · In which Tommy comforts an emotional reader. (Fluff) 

· Her Eyes · In which Tommy and the reader are in an arranged marriage. (Fluff/Angst) 

· Hesitation · In which Tommy´s reaction to the reader´s pregnancy isn't what she expected. (Angst)

· Wishful Sinful Wicked Blue · In which the reader and Tommy love drinking together. (Smut/Fluff) 

· Concern In Painting · In which Tommy snaps at the reader´s concern about his wellbeing. (Angst/Fluff)

· Tender Sunken Sea · In which the reader convinces Tommy to go to the beach with her. (Fluff)·

· Not Quite It Seems · What You Want (part two) ·In which things turn sour when feelings get involved between Tommy and the reader. (Smut/Angst)

· In The Depths Of Despair · In which the reader refuses to let Tommy go into the tunnels alone. (Angst)

· All The Knives That Lacerate Your Brain · In which the reader deals with the aftermath of Tommy´s PTSD. (Angst)

· Stormborn · *Requested *  In which Tommy helps the reader give birth. (Fluff) 

· Body And Soul · In which the reader convinces Tommy to paint. (Fluff/Angst) 

· Relax · In which tommy helps the reader relax. (Smut) 

· A Second,Or Two, Or Three · in which the reader tells Tommy she loves him for the fist time. (Fluff)

· I Will Be Your Wine · A Lace Ghost · (Part two)  *Requested* In which the reader realizes she and Tommy were never meant to be. (Angst) 

· Dancing Out In Space · In which the reader has an anxiety attack and Tommy is there for her. ( Fluff/Angst) 

· The Wait · *Requested* In which Tommy deals with the reader’s mood swings during pregnancy. (Fluff) 

·A Mundane Occurrence Heavy With Significance · *requested* In which Tommy spends the night at the reader’s place for the first time and his nightmares pay an unwanted visit. (Fluff) 

· Pretty Empowering I Must Say · *Requested* In which John and Arthur tease Tommy for being soft in the reader’s presence. (Fluff). 

· Dedicated To Touch · *Requested* In which the reader makes a touch starved Tommy feel loved. (Fluff)

· What No One Would Ever Know · *Requested* In which Tommy’s wife is badass and he is soft only for her. (Fluff).

· Besides Tea And Toast · * Requested* In which the reader is a war widow with a daughter and Tommy proposes to her. (Fluff) 

· The Flames Singing · *Requested* In which Tommy is vulnerable and Y/n comforts him. (Fluff) 

· Cold Tea And Romantic Gestures · In which Tommy makes the reader feel loved. (Fluff)

· Mementos Of The Sea · *Requested* In which the reader takes tommy away to the sea for their wedding anniversary. (Fluff) 

· Lydia Pinkham’s Remedies · *Requested* In which Tommy comforts the reader while she suffers from period cramps. (Fluff) 

· The Emerald’s Life Long Wait · *Requested* In which Tommy feels the reader deserves better than him. (Fluff/Angst).

· One Of These Days These Heels Are Gonna Stomp All Over You · *Requested* In which the reader is harassed by her boss and tells Tommy. (Angst) 

· Winter Son · *Requested* In which Y/n and tommy rejoice over their baby son’s first Christmas. (Fluff). 

· For Ages · In which Y/n falls for Tommy, her lifelong friend. (Angst/Fluff)

· What’s Going On? · *Requested* In which y/n isn't sure who her baby’s father is, Tommy or John. (Drama) 

· I Was Listening · In which Tommy makes the reader feel less insecure. (Fluff)

· Dangerous, The Horse · In which Tommy doesn't want to open up to the reader. (Angst/Fluff)  

· Broken Bones · *Requested* In which Tommy’s wife breaks her leg and he takes care of her. (Fluff)

· Light My Fire · *Requested* In which the reader, Charlie’s nanny, gets pregnant with Tommy’s baby. (Smut/Fluff/Angst) 

· Unwanted Surprises · In which the reader wonders if she and tommy have fallen out of love (Angst). 

· Can You Feel How Fast That’s Going?· *Requested* In which tommy needs to sort out his priorities and confesses his love to the reader. Based on the The Weekend’s song Where You belong. (Angst/Fluff/Smut)

· Just Till Noon · *Requested* In which the reader convinces Tommy to stay in bed a bit longer. (Fluff) 

· Whisky Floors · *Requested* In which Tommy disappears for two days and comes home to his annoyed pregnant wife. (Angst/Fluff)

· Birthday Pearls · The reader wants Tommy to spend her birthday with her, but he’s busy. (Angst/Fluff).

· Maimed · *Requested* In which Tommy finds out the reader had to resort to prostitution when he was away at war and doesn’t react well to it. (Angst)

· A Conjured Up Death Wish · *Requested* In which the reader begins to worry about how much damage Grace’s Ghost can cause (Angst) 

· Delightful Misty Dream · In which Tommy joins the reader in the bathtub after a rather stressful day. (Smut/Fluff) 

· A Whimsical Tale · *Requested* In which Tommy gets jealous of Finn flirting with his maid because he likes her. (Smut/Fluff). 

· Nice Things · In which Charlie snaps at the reader and Tommy feels guilty. (Angst) 

· Ominous · *Requested* In which Y/n gets hurt stopping the Lees from raiding the betting shop and suffers from it. (Angst) 

· Heedless Words That Numb The Heart · *Requested* In which Tommy snaps at the reader and then makes it up through small acts of love. (Angst/Fluff) 

· A Concoction of Honey, Oatmeal and Herbs · In which Tommy agrees to do skincare with the reader. (Absolute Fluff) 

· A Dress Made Out Of Daffodils · In which the reader isn't ready to sleep with Tommy and he is understanding and loving about it. (Fluff)

· They Were Closer Now, Fernando · In which Tommy comes home exhausted from a bussiness trip in London and snaps at the reader. (Angst/Fluff)

· Cloudberry Flavored Midnight Cravings · *Requested* In which the reader is craving some biscuits late at night and Tommy being the loving husband he is scours Birmingham to satisfy his wife’s craving. (Fluff) 

· Soft Words Professed Amidst Uncertainty · *Requested* In which the reader is shocked by tommy’s newfound compliments towards her. (Smut/Fluff) 

· Fake It Till You Make It · *Requested * In which Tommy pretends to be Y/n’s boyfriend in front of her brothers. (Fluff) 

· Gardens That Like To Run with Blushing Flowers · *Requested* In which the reader leaves a flower on tommy’s desk every morning and one day he confronts her about it. (Fluff) 

· Slumberless Hours On A Gloomy Saturday · In which Tommy tries to make Y/n feel better after Charlie tells him she has been feeling down. (Fluff/Angst)

· The Devil’s Hour · *Requested* In which Tommy comes home late at night to find the reader still awake waiting for him because she wants to cuddle. (Fluff) 

· Bishops And Pawns On The Storm · *Requested* In which the reader teaches Tommy to play chess (Fluff) 

·Idyllic Announcements In The Wake of Epsom · *Requested* In which the reader has something very important to tell Tommy after the races. (Angst/Fluff)

· I Don't Go In For Sweets · *Requested* In which Tommy reluctantly agrees to marry the reader and is awfully cold and distant towards her. (Angst/Fluff).

·July's Official Birthday Flower · In which the reader suffers from yet another miscarriage and Tommy is there for her, but there's always going to be a reminder of what they've lost. (Angst)

·Wailing Teapots · In which Tommy begins questioning Y/n's allegiances and goes and pays her a visit to confront her about it only to find out a dark truth. (Angst/Fluff)

CILLIAN MURPHY 

· Slip Of The Tongue · In which after an embarrassing slip of the tongue while filming a scene with Cillian, the reader feels she ought to explain herself. (Fluff) 

ALFIE SOLOMONS 

· Home · *Requested* In which y/n Shelby falls for Alfie. (Fluff) 

· Cointreau · *Requested* In which Alfie is intrigued by his next door neighbor. (Fluff) 

· The Best Pies In England · *Requested* In which the reader finds out that Alfie isn't really a baker and gets sad that he cant bake. (Fluff) .

· Life In Margate · *Requested* In which the reader decides to move with Alfie to Margate when he tells her he has cancer. (Angst/Fluff).

MICHAEL GRAY

· A Lavender Bath · Chamomile Tea · *Requested* In which Michael receives a distressing phone call from the reader. (Angst) 

· Like A Queen In Days Of Old · *Requested* In which Michael offers his coat to the reader who is a jazz dancer. (Fluff) 

· What About France ? · *Requested* In which Michael tells the reader he must away to America (Smut/Angst)

ARTHUR SHELBY 

· Sounds Like A Dream · *Requested* In which Y/n makes Arthur feel better after one of his breakdowns. (Angst/Fluff) 

· A Lemon Tree Would Also Be Divine · *Requested* In which Arthur goes strawberry picking with the reader and then they bake a pie together. (Pure cottage core fuel/Fluff) 

· Someone Able To Put Your Fires Out · *Requested* In which Arthur relaxes as the reader reads to him (Fluff) 

JOHN SHELBY 

· Passing Clouds ·*Requested* In which the reader suffers from depression and John comforts her. (Angst/Fluff)JOHN SHELBY 

[spinda-draws]

The Borg of Both Worlds Ch. 11

Synopsis || After being defeated once and for all, Hacker decides the only thing for him to do is go to the real world and give the Earth brats a bit of grief. Jackie ends up being the main target for his new spree of mischief, but could there be more to the borg than meets the eye? (thank you @permanent-beta-bag-of-water for helping me edit all the parts so far) 

Jackie was equally dumbfounded by the odd sight before her, her mind reeling to find an explanation for what her eyes were seeing. She glanced up at Hacker, the one she’d come with, hoping he’d be able to clear things up, only to find him storming towards the other and pointing an accusatory finger. 

“That’s THE Hacker to you!” the borg cried, indignantly looking the stranger up and down. “And who do you think you are?”

“Come on handsome. You’ve looked in the mirror lately.” The boldness with which he was able to deliver his assertion seemed to catch Hacker off guard and he seemed to pause and to take a better look at the stranger. About as confused as he was, Jackie did the same. 

Where the face was concerned, the other might as well have been Hacker’s doppelganger. Everything down to the yellowish green complexion and chin were completely identical. The only exception was rather than wearing a wig, a skin tight cap covered the area where any hair would be. Whether there was hair underneath on this duplicate Jackie couldn’t tell, but she somehow doubted it. Over the rest of his body the look-alike wore bright green armor with massive gauntlets and spiked boots.

Confusion was only able to keep Hacker quiet for so long however as he went right back to his confrontational tone. “So what? You’re me from another dimension? Plausible, granted. But then what all this Motherboard’s expecting you stuff? Who’s side are you on?”

“That would be easier to explain if you followed me to the main control room.”

“No way, Hacker. We know you’ve done something to Motherboard.” Though the wheels in her head were still churning to process this other dimension stuff, one thing was apparent. This Hacker look-alike was the one behind the alert they’d gotten. 

She took a step forward, her eyes locked on the other’s with as much brazen conviction as she could muster while he kept the same flippant charade. “If that’s true, you’d have all the more to gain from coming to have a look for yourselves. Your other option is to continue to stand there and gawk.”

“He makes a convincing argument.” Hacker tapped his chin thoughtfully as his doppelganger started heading towards the audience chamber. 

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“What can I say? We’re already here and it’s hard not to listen to yourself.” The borg gave her a careless shrug before running after his other self. “Yoo-hoo! Wait up, tough guy. So, what’s the story behind the get up?”

“Aye, aye.” Her mother brought a hand up to her face, shaking her head before peeking between her fingers at her daughter. “Is this the type of thing that usually happens here?”

“No… it’s not,” the girl murmured. As she watched the borg and his duplicate leave together she felt a sense of dread start to creep in. Her instincts told her to run, but how could she? Even if she wasn’t intent on making sure Mother B was okay first, she had no way of getting back to Earth without a portal. One only Motherboard, with few exceptions, could conjure. 

Jackie flashed her mother a weak smile before taking her by the hand and running after the two borgs down the hall. Hacker strolled along with his arm around his other self as if he were without a care in the world. It was shocking to see the reserved borg get chummy with someone so quickly, but apparently his ego extended to the ability to blindly befriend whatever alternate Hackers were out there.  

“What’s the plan?” she hissed, pulling him away from his duplicate by the sleeve. 

“Not to worry. Just follow the Hacker’s lead.” 

Before she had the chance to further inquire into what he meant, the two borgs had crossed the threshold into Motherboard’s control room. Having emerged on the lower level, Jackie wasn’t able to immediately see what was happening on the catwalk above them. What she could perceive was a woman’s voice. One which was punctuated by the forceful denemor of an army major. 

“I see you’ve located our missing resident. And there appear to be more than we initially thought. Interesting.” 

As the group rode the lift up to the upper level, Jackie found her eyes fixed on the direction the voice was coming from. There was something familiar about it, and as the lift carried her upwards, she felt her heart quickly sink from the realization. 

She pushed past the two Hackers just as her eyeline ascended above the edge of the catwalk, hoping her eyes would disprove what her ears were telling her. Her gaze snaked along the empty walkway as the full length of it came into view, stopping and then drifting upwards as they came to the control panel at the far end. 

Motherboard’s screen hung in its usual place but the image looking over the room was not that of the benevolent cyber ruler. Like the duplicate Hacker, almost everything about her appearance was the same as that of the maternal AI, but the soul that shone through the eyes was without a hint of recognition or warmth. As the rest of the group stepped off the lift, she stood stuck in place, not moving until she felt Hacker’s hand against her back. 

Even then, she felt almost as if she’d fallen into a dream-like daze as the four of them crossed the walkway to stand under the shadow of Motherboard’s screen. Jackie felt the eyes of the duplicate AI bore her down with each step she took towards it, as if it was observing every slight movement she produced. The girl glanced at Hacker, hoping whatever plan he had in mind was a good one. In contrast to herself, the borg looked completely relaxed, his arms tucked behind his back and a tolerant smile across his face as he strolled up to the monitor. 

Jackie on the other hand made no secret of her immediate distaste for the Motherboard imposter. Once she was able to snap herself out of her trance, she fixed the suspended monitor’s gaze with a steely one of her own. 

“A Hacker wandering astray from his Motherboard. How unexpected,” the face on the screen said, her voice turning thick and syrupy. It reminded Jackie of the insincere chipperness Hacker exuded whenever he attempted to ingratiate himself. 

“Not a Hacker. THE Hacker,” said the borg, not missing a beat in his retort. “But you look like you’re new here so I’ll forgive your arrogance for now. I was just getting acquainted with your right hand. You have exceptional tastes.”

The AI eyed him with a reserved curiosity. “I expect you have questions. Regarding my presence and the whereabouts of your Motherboard.”

“Whatever you’ve done with her, we’re going to take you down!” Jackie hollered, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt as she gestured aggressively at the screen. 

“She’s been permanently retired, I’m afraid. But I think you’ll find, for the best considering the numerous failings of this one. Out of the twelve other versions of Cyberspace I’ve conquered, your average net gain of sites per year is lacking. And now that I’m here, the reason is obvious.” She turned her gaze purposefully towards Hacker. “In my journeys across dimensions, I have met many pairs of Motherboards and Hackers. Some kind, and others cruel, but you are the first I’ve encountered to go against his purpose.”

“Is that right?” The borg eyed the screen with an odd, and benevolent curiosity. 

“How can a Cyberspace hope to function without a Hacker at his Motherboard’s side? As impractical as trying to drive a car without wheels. The fact this world has attempted to do so for as long as it has only serves to prove the extent of your creator’s incompetence,” the Motherboard concluded. “You were built to conquer and deserve to bathe in every last drop of power you seek.” She spoke softly, intent behind each flowing and rhythmic syllable. “Out of all the Hackers I’ve observed, you are singularly extraordinary.”  

“Well, it’s nice being recognized.” The borg rubbed his chin before glancing in the direction of his duplicate who stood at the monitor’s side, gaze distant and unreadable.

“You deserve as much, my dear. And now you have a second chance to obtain everything you’ve ever wanted.” She looked down at the borg with an expression Jackie would have described as conciliatory. “I rule over many worlds. You may have your pick of one and do with it as you please. Whether it be this, or some other of your liking. It will be enough for me that you're happy at my side. You are, after all, an irreplaceable specimen.”

With every flagrant attempt at manipulation, Jackie’s opinion of the other fell further. To her it didn’t seem like Hacker was speaking to another Motherboard, just another version of himself that perpetuated all his worse traits. She glanced over at the borg, expecting to find him unimpressed with the AI’s elementary beguilement. Instead what she read on his face was a mix of cautious interest and, if Jackie didn’t know any better, a genuine smile.  

It was an oddly vulnerable expression Jackie wasn’t not used to seeing on the borg’s face. Within a heartbeat though, it passed, replaced with his usually cocky and boisterous air. “Where do I sign?”

She felt the slight surprise in her turn into pure shock at these words. She turned, searching his face for signs of a sarcastic sneer while trying to convince herself there had been a hint of the melodramatic in his tone. Instead she found only the same easy smile he’d worn since they entered the room as he glanced expectantly at the corrupted AI. 

No sooner than he’d gotten out his sentence did a cape and costume materialized over the clothes Hacker had been wearing. The borg lifted his arms, seemingly examining himself as his new attire. It was nothing like the one with the upturned collar he used to wear, instead having a more formal and vague period regimental look. No doubt meant to compliment his recent promotion. 

“I’m sure you won’t have a problem convincing the admins to submit,” the Motherboard said. “And once that’s done, I have someone I know you’ll be eager to meet.” 

The image on the screen flickered and suddenly Jackie was staring into the depths of Control Central’s basement cells. At first all she could see were blurred shapes crouched on the floor, but then the camera turned into focus and she could make out the faces of Digit and Dr. Marbles looking up towards the ceiling. 

The doctor appeared to be slightly worse for wear with a visible crack in his domed head. Hacker had his eyes fixed up at the screen, his eyes shining with all the old familiar ambition. Jackie felt a lump of ice start to form in her throat as she studied the villain’s expression. After everything he’d said. Everything she’d said to him. Surely he wouldn’t just toss it all aside the first time power was waved in front of his nose?

“Hacker, my dear,” she addressed the other, still standing to the side like a trained bodyguard. “Why don’t we escort our Earth friends to join the good doctor?” 

The armored borg stepped forward, about to grab Jackie by the shoulder before Hacker interjected, glancing down at Jackie as if she were a worm he’d caught on the underside of his shoe. “Oh, no. Best to send them home. They have a tendency to get in the way.” 

Hearing this, something in Jackie just snapped. She let out a shriek of pure rage before leaping at the borg, her arms going straight that hideous wig of his. “I’ll show you getting in the way!”

But before she could reach him, she felt the familiar pull of a portal appear behind her. Her feet being off the ground, were the first to be dragged by the vortex. Her face hit the floor and she barely had a moment to attempt to claw at the carpet before the rest of her was sucked in. 

Her ride back was volatile as the vortex seemed to toss her around every bend and turn, the now boggy black atmosphere nearly suffocating her. She lashed around violently, as if trying to traverse through water, turning herself onto her back to ensure her mother had been picked up by the portal as well. She could spot her several paces behind in the void, but was unable to make her way back to her as they were pulled along and eventually spat back out onto the roof of the motel. 

Jackie picked herself off the rain soaked ground, feeling tears start to well in her eyes. Angry at her own senseless reaction, she balled her hands into fists before snatching her squwak back down from the TV antenna. 

“Baby are you okay?” Her mother got up and immediately ran to her side, using her jacket to shield her head from the rain. 

Feeling her mother’s arms around her started the tears cascading down her cheeks. She buried her face in the woman’s shoulder and just continued to sob, loudly and uncontrollably. “Of course he’d turn on us!” she shrieked. “I’m so SO STUPID! What was I expecting? Him to care!?” 

“Let’s go home.” Her mother rested her hand on her back and began to rub it soothingly. 

“How?” Jackie reminded her. “We have no car. And we can’t! Dr. Marbles still needs us. And Digit!”

“We can find a bus, or a taxi.” She sighed, her tone more defeated than callous. “Maybe it’s time for them to learn to handle themselves.” 

Jackie could tell she was still struggling to wrap her mind around the whole thing. Not that the first impressions she’d had were anything close to ideal. 

The two climbed back down to the ground level, Jackie taking a seat on a bench under the motel’s awning while her mother went to the front desk to inquire about public transportation back to the city. Jackie looked down at the squwak pad, still hooked up to Hacker’s phone. To her surprise, the contacts which previously only stored the number of Motherboard and her friends now had Dr. Marbles’s contact as well those of several less than well to do characters. They must have been the numbers Hacker kept in his phone. Syncing the two devices must have merged the contact list. 

But what did that mean? Could she call Marbles from Earth? She did recall he had a wrist communicator. If the other Motherboard hadn’t noticed it when she’d imprisoned him, maybe he would be able to point them to the best way of restoring the original. 

Jackie quickly wiped her tears away and gave the screen a tap. She felt her heart quicken as the squwak successfully connected the call.

“Dr. Marbles!” There was a sharp breath of relief as the doctor’s bespectacled face appeared on her screen.

“Jackie! Thank goodness you’re okay! Listen, under no circumstances contact the homepage. Motherboard is currently offline!” The doctor spoke in an urgent, but hushed tone, as if afraid someone would overhear him. His gaze appeared to shift from down to his wrist communicator to upward, landing somewhere else in the room. 

“I know. I just came from Control Central!”

“What?!”

Jackie shook her head, not sure how to explain everything that had happened since the start of this mess. “Hacker’s back. And now he’s teamed up with this… evil Motherboard. I thought—” She was on the verge of becoming hysterical again when she heard Digit’s voice from off screen. 

“Doc, you gotta wrap it up. Someone’s coming!”

“Assemble the rest of the Cybersquad, quickly!” Marbles cried. “Return to Cyberspace. I’ll forward you the coordinates for Control Central’s ship hangar. It should take this Motherboard’s presence some time to fully penetrate the portal system. Before that happens, she won’t be able to stop you from using the portal openers to enter Cyberspace on your own.” He seemed to place a hand over his wrist as the screen her squwak suddenly went completely dark while his voice continued to come through, albeit much quieter than before. Jackie could hear the sound of echoing footsteps as someone descended the stairs to where the doctor was being held. “Hijack a ship and get help. Round up the site admins and anyone else you can. I have to go now, before they hear me. Good luck, Jackie.”

She watched helplessly as the call disconnected before scrolling through the contacts to Matt. She didn’t bother to tap his name, knowing from experience, the squwak was almost useless when it came to communication on Earth, or even with her other friends in Cyberspace while in her home dimension. She’d never had issues connecting with Motherboard and could usually call up Digit when he was at Control Central, but beyond that the device seemed to cease to function. 

Instead she reached for her phone. He picked up within seconds, sounding frantic. “Jackie? Where are you?”

“A long story,” she sighed, wondering how many more times she’d be using that phrase today. “I need you to call Inez. Motherboard needs us.”

“What’s going on?” 

“I messed up okay? And before you say ‘I told you so’, I took Hacker back to Control Central. It’s just that Motherboard wasn’t there.” She swallowed her pride and spilled everything as best as she could without going on too long, starting their trip to the fair, ending with Hacker’s betrayal.

“Do you think he knew all along?” the boy suggested. “Maybe he’s the one who called them. Why would he have suddenly been okay with going back to Cyberspace when he’s been avoiding us this whole time?” 

“I don’t know,” Jackie muttered, still wanting to avoid the topic. “Dr. Marbles sent me the coordinates to the portal into the hangar and Control Central. I think we should all portal through at once and do this together. The Cybersquad. Like the old days.”

“I’ll tell Inez to meet us. Right now it’s 4:56. What about we all portal through at exactly 5?”

“The second it turns 5.” Jackie nodded in agreement. 

After Matt hung up she got up off the bench, raising the rigged squwak to the sky, hoping it still had enough juice to portal her through again. She saw her mother still talking to the man behind the front desk about bus routes. If she opened a portal now, her mother wouldn’t even notice she’d ever been gone. She doubted she’d ever give her consent, considering everything that had just happened but she had to go. She had a responsibility to Motherboard and Cyberspace. 

Holding up the device to the sky, she checked to see if she could get a decent signal or if she’d have to go up on the roof again. Luckily it appeared she didn’t have to as once more a flash of light rained down from the sky, striking her squwak and beaming a portal onto the parking lot. 

She watched the clock on her squwak strike five before diving headfirst into the portal. As her body was sucked through once more, she could faintly hear the sound of her mother running out into the parking lot, shouting her name. She closed her eyes, thinking the sound would vanish as the portal closed. Instead, a moment later, the sound of her name rang again, even cleared. 

Jackie whirled around to see her mother had managed to leap through the portal behind her just before it closed. Her face said it all. She was going to be grounded for a very long time after this.

They were spat out, this time as Marbles had instructed, in the hangar bay of Control Central, landing on top of Matt and Inez who seemed to have arrived just moments before. The space was not unlike a military hangar for fighter jets. The ceiling was high enough for five of the largest coupes to be stacked on top of each other inside. 

“Jackie— and Mrs. Carter. Hello,” Matt mumbled awkwardly as her parent appeared from within the portal. Jackie let out a sigh and mouthed a quiet ‘sorry’ to both her friends. 

“Matthew,” her mother replied, arms folded. “Inez.”

“Jackie showing you around, huh?”

“Uh, huh. And I’m guessing your parents don’t know you’re here either.” The pair stared down at their feet in silence. 

“No time to stand around talking. We have to take one of these ships and find a way to free Doctor Marbles,” Jackie said, approaching one which seemed to have enough seats for all of them. It was the familiar four seater that reminded her of a dividing cell, having the ability to split into two or even four smaller ships. 

She grabbed the keys which hung on a marked hook on the wall and approached the vehicle. The automatic doors slid open for her and she was about to get into the driver's seat when she heard her mother cough. 

“Don’t tell me they let you drive here too?” She sighed, reaching the point where she was resigned to simply accept whatever reality she’d been tossed into. “I guess, I can start to see the appeal.” She gestured for Jackie to take the passenger seat beside her which she did so with a sheepish grin. 

[angelsfalling16]

Somebody That I Used To Know

Summary: Simon succeeded in his quest to convince the Mage and the rest of the Coven that Baz is a threat to Watford in fifth year, but as he goes into his eighth year, he begins to wonder if he made a mistake. Now Baz is on the run, and Simon is beginning to realize that not only has he ruined Baz’s life, he’s ruined his own as well. But Simon Snow refuses to let either of their stories end that way.

Word Count: 1569

A/N: Based on this prompt from @carryonprompts

I'm not sure how often I'll be updating this fic because I don't have an outline currently. I kind of want to try just writing and see where the story takes me. I'll update as I go, and maybe I'll create an outline later on.

Read it on ao3

***

Simon

Two years. That's how long it's been since I finally managed to get Baz kicked out of Watford for being a danger to me and the rest of the students. Two years since Mage put a price on his head. Two years since Baz went into hiding. But it's only been three months since the last time I saw him.

Three months that I haven't been able to stop thinking about him. Three months of sitting in that care home wondering if Baz was okay. If he was alive.

He looked close to death the last time I saw him, and as I think back on that meeting, I wonder whether the harshness of his new life managed to swallow him up.

It was the end of the year and while everyone else was at the end-of-year ceremony, I was trudging through the Wavering Woods, not looking forward to another summer in the homes.

I was using my sword to cut through the wildlife growing around and tangling between the trees, enjoying the feel of it in my hand one last time before I wasn’t allowed to summon it again for a few months. I heard a strange noise behind me and spun around on my heel to look for the source.

That was when someone stepped out of the shadows, leaning on a tree as if for support. It wasn’t just anyone, though. It was—.

“Baz,” I gasped in astonishment. It wasn’t just surprise at seeing him for the first time in two years. It was surprise at his appearance.

When I thought about Baz, I remembered how he always looked so nicely dressed, his hair slicked back, not a hair out of place or wrinkle in his shirt. But now…now he was nearly unrecognizable.

He was wearing ripped and muddy jeans and a shirt that seemed to be more stain than cloth. And his hair…well, it looked like it hadn’t seen shampoo in weeks. It was well past his shoulders falling in ratty, tangled waves. I couldn’t remember a time Baz had let his appearance look like this, like he no longer cared what he looked like.

The few times that I had allowed myself to imagine where Baz had gone when he took off at the end of fifth year, I never conjured up an image quite like this.

I always saw him sequestered in a nice hotel, blowing his father’s money, who by the way had refused to help find his son, and living a nicer life than I would ever have. I saw him living a happy life, finally free of me and schoolwork. But it turns out that I wasn’t even close, and I have to wonder why Baz hasn’t tried to use his magic to fix his clothing or cut his hair.

And that was when I remembered.

When Fiona had stormed into mine and Baz’s room at the top of Mummers house after the news broke that Baz was missing, she tore through his stuff, looking for anything that could be used to figure out where he had gone. But all of his stuff was gone. Everything except his uniform, which she found hanging in his otherwise empty wardrobe. She pulled it out and patted it down as if Baz might have shrunk himself down and hidden himself along the folds of it. After a moment of searching it, she pulled out his wand from the pocket of his Watford-issued blazer, surprising even me

Baz hadn’t taken his wand with him, which meant he was defenseless in a world that now wanted him dead. He had completely cut himself off from the world of mages.

So, why was he back, two years later?

I didn’t know, but when I saw him, I figured Baz was there to kill me to prove that he really is the monster I had accused him of being, to get back at me for blowing his biggest secret, but he didn’t even try to fight me off when I shoved him up against a tree and thrust the tip of my sword under his chin. He almost went willingly in fact.

It was like he didn’t care. But not in that arrogant way I remembered him being. It was more like Baz had lost all hope and what little life may have been in him. He was a completely different person from the boy I used to know.

At that realization, I released him and took a step back. I kept my sword out, though, just in case, but lowered it to my side, knowing Baz wasn’t likely to attack me any time soon.

“What are you doing here, Baz?” I asked. “Watford is the last place you should be.”

“I know, but I had to come back. Even if it meant risking my life.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the only place that has ever felt like home to me.” He was being so frank about it that it almost scared me. Why was he confiding in me like this? And where had he been all this time?

“It’s the last day of term,” Baz continued, not waiting for me to respond. “I didn’t think anyone would be out here. But of course, you are.” He sneered, and I felt like I was being sent back in time, to all the times Baz and I had argued over the years.

The fist fights and snide remarks. The tearing of each other down. But maybe it’s true how people get wiser as they get older because when I looked back on all of that, I didn’t see Baz as some evil vampire. I just saw a boy that was a little different from everyone else. A boy whose life I ruined

The guilt began to eat at me, and once I began to question what I thought I had known about Baz, I couldn’t stop until I began questioning everything.

Had I been wrong about Baz? Was he really evil or was he just a guy who liked to take the piss out of me? Had I overreacted and used his being a vampire as an excuse to get rid of the guy I couldn’t stand? Was I really that selfish?

Even if the coven hadn’t fully believed that Baz was a vampire, after the whole thing with the chimera that day in the woods, they couldn’t deny that Baz was a danger to his classmates and decided that he would not be allowed to return to Watford after the end of the term. By the end of the year, the Mage had taken that and run with it. Using it for more fuel in his fight against the Old Families, he put out a warrant for Baz, dead or alive. And then Baz was gone the next day. I woke up to a room devoid of all artifacts belonging to Baz and couldn’t tell if I had finally won or somehow lost.

The Mage barged in not long after, his men trailing close behind him, to arrest Baz, but he was too late. No one had seen Baz since that day.

Not until I found him in the woods.

“Baz—.” I began, but I wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence. An apology would never suffice, and it would never fix what I had ruined. Two years ago, I had ruined Baz’s life, and maybe my own as well in the process.

Baz shook his head. “It’s too late. There is nothing you can say that will make things better. This is my life now, for however long it lasts.”

I wanted to argue with him, tell him that I could fix things, but I could barely open my mouth before Baz turned and took off, disappearing in the blink of an eye using his vampire speed, leaving me standing there feeling like everything I had ever known was wrong and like there was a possibility that I had been wrong about Baz all this time.

I should have run straight to the Mage, burst into the middle of the ceremony, to report seeing Baz so that we could lead a manhunt (vampire hunt, technically) through the woods, but I didn't. Instead, I went up to my lonely room at the top of the tower to pack his things. I had stood at the open window, looking out at the woods, for a long time before I decided that I would find a way to make this right. I wouldn’t let things end like that.

It’s the beginning of eighth year now, and nothing is the same. And yet everything is. The beginning of term is just like it is every year, but I can’t find the relief and joy I usually find to be coming back here. I’m not sure how everyone is acting like everything is fine without Baz here. Then, I wonder how I have managed it for the last two years.

Maybe I am the one who isn’t the same anymore. I changed the moment I saw Baz in those woods, and now I have to do something to make things whole again, to make it where Baz can safely return to Watford.

I have to save Baz, which is the last thing I thought I would ever be doing after working so hard to get rid of him.

[westmoor]

we see what we seem

↞ ↞  | ao3 |  ↠ ↠

He hasn’t realised the extent to which the afternoon light has faded to night until he is standing in a clearing lit by a dozen tiny flames.

They’re hung at various heights and distances, each eliminating the shade cast by another, staving off a darkness nearly viscous in its profundity, like an encroaching mass clinging to the trees and closing them in. So dense it might’ve crawled through and snuffed each light, if not for her.

She stands opposite him in the clearing, calm, skirts of a long green dress collected in her hands. A wreath of elderflowers and beech leaves are perched in her golden hair like a crown.

Closer up he might tower over her, he thinks, yet she looks as tall as the trees, her bare feet in the moss as deep as their roots. She says nothing, only waits for him to speak.

“I want no trouble,” he says, unsure whether that’s the proper way to start, or if there is one. “Only to collect what the girl stole.”

She tilts her head to the side, a movement he can’t place, the quirk of her lips is all too familiar.

“We do not steal. Only borrow, or give back.” Her voice is so clear the air seems to stir at it - or maybe the air is so still it stirs at her voice.

He smothers his unease, in case she’d take offense to it. “I will still need those potions back.”

”Will you?” Her fingers, long and delicate, smooth over the fabric. “Surely, I can offer you something better in return?”

-

Geralt of Rivia is not a lad in his first year on the path, and he won’t be mistaken for one.

Of the things he can draw from his surroundings, he is certain of these: First, that the beautiful woman in green is no more human than he is. Second, that he is well past the boundaries of the world he knows. And third, that he is far, far out of his depth.

At his chest, the wolf medallion hangs listless.

There are species, he knows, that look human or can make themselves human enough to pass at a glance, and whose glamours are so delicate they go undetected.

These last months have been harsh lessons in that.

There’s a faint rustle from where she moves across the forest floor, a gentle sound that brushes against his senses like a caress. She takes her time in pondering her offer, studying him intently with eyes which colour he can’t make out, only that there is too much of it, too bright.

He can’t tell if it’s the lanterns making her seem luminous, or if they are lit by her.

There have been stories of creatures beyond their bestiaries, clever and tricky ones that no Witcher could hunt. Ones that burrow their way into grooves and crevices and make their homes there, steeped in magic so old and so deep they become worlds of their own, whose thresholds can only be found by those who know how to cross them. Those whose power is gleaned from the pull of roots through the earth and the draw of the moon upon the sea, entwined with the gilding of barley and bursting with each epochal bud in spring.

He had never believed in such things.

Maybe if he had, he would’ve known.

“I will offer you this,” she says, finally. “The finest gloves your mind could conjure, from a calf who knew no sickness or hunger, for a traveller’s needs are many and dire.”

A game.

There are instances in which Geralt is rather fond of games. Even fancies himself good at games.

He isn’t convinced this will be one of them.

A smile tugs at her lips when he declines.

“Very well.” She continues her pacing, tapping a long index finger against her lips in thought. 

The woods are eerily quiet save for a distant rush of wind, leaving all his senses trained on her in anticipation and noting every detail, every whisper of movement from her leafy crown and something like a tail, lush and red, sweeping under the hem of her skirt at every turn.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“How about this, then? A long road behind you and longer ahead, I’ll give you a steed who is sure of its tread; never shall it go astray and never will it tire.”

Geralt shakes his head, first in rejection, but then to clear it.

The air that felt so thin moments ago has now grown far too thick, accumulating just behind his forehead and weighing it down, a dull thud picking up at the back of his skull. By instinct he feels for his medallion, but to no avail. It’s cold and still against his fingertips. Only the thrumming in his head grows louder. 

He already has a mount, back at the campsite. Doesn’t he?

“I see.” Her smile is kind, but her eyes are sharp. “Then I have one final offer.” 

She holds her palms out towards him, open and inviting. “That which you once set aside, for now you’ve searched both far and wide; You’ll have the object of your heart’s desire.”

Geralt tries to remember Vesemirs lessons, to conjure up his mentor’s voice in his mind as he taught them about foils and tricks, about moves presented as one thing only to turn out to be distractions. 

His mouth is dry. 

He tries to remember tales from his brothers, warnings told by firelight in an abandoned keep. Their faces slip like sand between his fingers, dreams he hadn’t written down.

There is a voice calling his name, but it’s far away, grasping for the threads of his consciousness like curtains billowing in the breeze from an open window.

But he knows that voice.

He remembers a man in a darkened forest, a horse nickering softly behind him, his own blood soaking the ground.

It grows in his chest and fills his lungs like a song, until he can’t hear the beating of his heart for the rise in his ears. 

He sees him next, at the corner of his eye, stepping into the circle of light with determination.

He doesn’t know him.

He’d know him anywhere.

He wears a doublet laced with yellow flowers, and Geralt knows his name.

Jaskier has never looked less human. The memory of the man that night, when remnants of a foreign magic bled into his veins and lit his eyes like stars, is but a candle to the sun, the spill of a kettle to the crashing of the ocean to the shore.

This is a wild thing, a terrible and beautiful thing far too much for a man to grasp, and Geralt can’t turn away. 

Not even when the thing that is Jaskier turns to the woman with the golden hue and speaks in a tongue not meant for his ears. But he knows it still, its tone and cadence and fury familiar but never spoken with such strength, reverberating through the grove and shaking the leaves above.

There is an animal inside him that howls in tune. 

Too-bright eyes turn to find his and they soften and he sees his bard, now, at the heart of that storm is a youth in a tavern, a man at a banquet, a keen wit and reckless spirit, ceaseless and unbridled and foolishly brave. 

“You need to leave,” he says, but Geralt can’t,won’t, not yet, even if he knew how. He has a thousand questions and has never cared less about an answer. 

Whatever he does, he can’t chance another loss, for this one to be final.

He knows his next words should be chosen carefully. That there are a host of things he should say, and a whole other Jaskier needs to hear, to start crossing the desolation that has formed between them.

But there is no time, no space in the moment for what it needs to hold, and what instead leaves his lips is too thin and too shallow to contain any of it.

“Wait,” he says. Come back to me, he doesn’t, but it sounds like a plea nonetheless.

And Jaskier, marvellous Jaskier, who has spent all their years together speaking too much without saying nearly enough, who has read novels in the lines of his brow -

Jaskier looks at him and something passes over his face, something like doubt or perhaps a realisation, and for a fleeting moment Geralt allows himself to hope.

“Go,” he says, brokering no argument. Geralt opens his mouth to protest, but is silenced by the bard pushing closer, grabbing his hand and wrapping it around an object, cold against his skin. “Take this. Leave this place.”

He senses someone - or perhaps the forest itself, a flick of red or a hundred - move around them, but he can’t turn to look. Doesn’t look down to see what has been pressed into his hand, warming slowly to his palm. Can’t dredge the will to turn his attention from Jaskier, this Jaskier, whose eyes are too deep and hollow and yet lit like pools of clear water when the full moon hangs high in the sky.  

“Geralt -” The urgency in the bard’s voice should snap him out of it, but instead he only allows himself to be manipulated, for Jaskier’s nimble fingers to wrap around his wrist and raise his arm between them.

It’s a silver bell. It gleams in the light, transfixing.

Its chime shatters every light in the clearing.

--

When Geralt opens his eyes, he’s alone, head thick and heavy like in the aftermath of a spell. 

Roach is where he left her, picking at a patch of clovers and past her lie his packs, still open on the ground, surrounded and dirtied by the tracks of an unusually large fox. 

In his left hand is a bundle of white heather.

In his right, a broken silver bell.

[riversofmars]

Back to Halifax fam! Part three of four. Here comes the angst and a little bit of smut. Enjoy! Rated M (language and sex)

Home Is Not A Place - Part 3: The Mistake

“Caroline…“ Gillian whimpered, her voice far more shaky than Caroline would have expected.

“Yes?“ Caroline hummed against the soft skin at the base of her neck, delighting in the breathless moans and gasps her kisses drew out of her.

“Don’t stop…“ Gillian practically begged, as she arched her body against her.

“How could I���can’t keep my hands off you,“ Caroline growled, tracing lines down her body, to the waistband of her pants.

Gillian bucked her hips to meet her.

Caroline awoke with a start, disoriented, sweaty and frustratingly aroused. As her room slowly came into focus, she realised she had been dreaming. The body pressed to her belonged to her dog Ruth and she rolled away from her.

“For fuck’s sake, Caroline, get your shit together,“ she groaned to herself as she rubbed her face and threw her covers off. She was feeling far too hot, despite the bitter cold outside that the poorly glassed windows barely kept at bay.

Bloody Gillian Greenwood. Caroline stared up at the ceiling, trying to banish the image of Gillian from her mind. Gillian, stripped to her underwear, panting, holding her close… Caroline rubbed her face more firmly, just short of slapping herself. It wasn’t really Gillian’s fault, was it, that she was lying here thinking of her. The sheep farmer was completely oblivious to it, or so Caroline hoped. Gillian would hardly have got soaked in the rain on purpose, just to have an excuse to strip in the lounge, could she? That would imply that she knew of Caroline’s attraction for her. That was highly unlikely, as Caroline had always been careful not to let on too much. It would also imply that she wanted to encourage her for reasons of her own; and there could be no plausible explanation for that.

No, Caroline would have to accept that this was a very one-sided attraction and she would simply have to wait for it to pass.

And yet… Gillian had admitted to having been with a woman before. Why would she do that if not to drop a hint? Caroline implored herself to stop thinking about it. She couldn’t risk how well things were going, it would be ruinous and downright stupid.

No, Caroline would wait for this crush to pass and that was that. But how was she to do that with Gillian right there? Her witty snark, her heart-warming smile, and her great arse? Through no fault of her own, Caroline’s mind conjured up the image of Gillian bending over to rummage through the pile of washing… Caroline pressed her thighs together, her body tense with arousal from the dream she had just woken from.

Was it disrespectful of her to think about Gillian like this? It was becoming clear that she couldn’t stop her thoughts going there. Perhaps, playing it out in her mind would help her get over it, she mused. It would never happen anyway so what was the harm in it? Caroline’s mind was screaming with ludicrous justifications as to why it wasn’t bad to imagine shagging her step sister. The most convincing argument was - of course - that this was the privacy of her own mind. Gillian would never know, and Caroline knew she wouldn’t be able to go to sleep any time soon unless she did something about the state she was in.

Fuck it, she decided, and pushed her hand between her legs. She groaned, frustrated with herself over how wet she was. There was nothing for it, she pushed away her self-consciousness and instead imagined what the sheep farmer could be doing with that talkative mouth of hers. Perhaps she’d be quite eager to please her. She remembered the way she had looked at her during their “thank you“ dinner the other night, reminiscent of a puppy dog looking for praise… A nice way of saying “thank you“ would be on her knees between Caroline’s legs… Caroline bit back a moan as she imagined Gillian’s nails digging into her thighs.

Or maybe, given how headstrong Gillian was, she wouldn’t be submissive at all. Maybe she could have fucked Caroline on that very kitchen table, or the kitchen side, or the sofa, or the bloody wall, any wall, pushing her up against it and Caroline would only be wearing a skirt and…

“Fuck…Gillian…“ Caroline gasped as her fingers did the work she so badly wanted Gillian to do. She wished she could find out what it would be like, really like, to be with Gillian. It was a privilege far too many men had had for Caroline’s taste and she couldn’t believe the injustice of it. She knew she was worth a thousand Robbies, Pauls or Johns. She would not treat her the way they had, she would look after her, care for her, love her…

“You’ve got issues, Caroline, honestly…“ Caroline breathed into the darkness and wiped the sweat off her face.

——

“There you are.“

Gillian looked around when she heard Caroline’s voice. Her face brightened immediately.

“Storm’s cleared,“ she smiled and waved for Caroline to come and sit with her. She was perching on the wall outside the house, looking out onto the fields beyond. The sun was just coming up, it would be a clear day, apart from the fog that was coming up from the damp ground after yesterday’s storm. It was Sunday morning and everywhere around them was quiet still.

“I’m never gonna get used to this view,“ Caroline commented as she came to sit next to Gillian. She hugged her warm mug and pulled her coat tighter around her. It was very chilly, but Gillian didn’t seem to notice. She was drinking her own tea and smiled, looking out into the valley herself.

“Be a shame if you did,“ she chuckled into her drink.

“Is it bad that I’m dreading everyone coming home this afternoon?“ Caroline asked, after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Nah… I’ve been enjoying the peace and quiet too,“ Gillian admitted with a smirk. “Let’s enjoy it while it lasts…“

“We’ll have weekends like this more frequently once Ellie and Raff move out properly…“ Caroline mused and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. She wanted to spend as much time alone with Gillian as she possibly could, but she was worried it would only make ignoring her feelings harder. Particularly when Gillian looked as peaceful and content as she did right now.

“Hm,“ Gillian hummed thoughtfully and Caroline frowned.

“What?“

“I just… I was just thinking, after all this… shit. Eddie and John. My numerous misadventures, Robbie! God, Robbie… and you losing Kate, that… after all this, we do deserve something nice, don’t we,“ Gillian didn’t look at her at first, she looked out into the valley, a soft smile playing on her lips that the morning sun lit beautifully.

“If there is any justice in the universe…“ Caroline mumbled, struck by how beautiful she looked in that moment. So utterly at peace and it defied her understanding that she played a part in that.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been as settled and… happy… as this…“ Gillian confessed and looked at Caroline with a smile that made the headteacher’s heart nearly jump out of her chest.

“Me neither…“ Caroline admitted and it was true. Not even when she had been happy with John or in the short but lovely time she had had with Kate, had she felt so complete and content. It was that realisation that made her throw caution to the wind. Surely, Gillian wouldn’t be saying these things if there was no deeper meaning behind it all. Maybe she had been dropping hints on purpose all along… Caroline stopped thinking, she just leaned forward and kissed her.

For one beautiful moment, Caroline’s world shrunk to the feeling of Gillian’s soft lips against hers. It felt liberating and right and even better than she had imagined. At least until Gillian pushed her away.

“Caz! What are you…“ The sheep farmer exclaimed, eyes wide with shock. It was like a sobering slap in the face, only, a slap would have probably hurt less.

“I uh- I’m, oh my God, I’m so sorry, Gillian, I just… I got caught up in the moment and…“ Caroline stammered, disoriented, she struggled to grasp what was going on and she cursed herself for her lack of restraint. She had spent all of last night telling herself how she would never ever act on these feelings and here she was, ruining everything! She stared at Gillian who was at a loss for words herself, she had blushed deeply, tensed up, and wild panic was painted all over her face.

“I uh- I’m gonna just… sorry.“ She jumped off the wall and fled, rushing off to God knows where, around the corner of the barn. It took Caroline a good minute until she recovered from her shock and when she did, her emotions broke out of her. She chucked her mug across the yard and broke it on the barn door. That bloody barn. She imagined Eddie watching, laughing at her.

“Fuck,“ she groaned and buried her face in her hands. She took a deep breath. “Well done Caroline, really fucking well done, you just had to go and ruin everything, didn’t you…“ She looked out into her valley, her vision blurring with tears. She was not prepared to give up this new found happiness. She would have to find a way of making things right with Gillian. How could she have made such a crude lapse in judgement? Slowly, she slid down the wall and started gathering the broken china of the mug.

——

“You alright mum?“ Raff asked, eyeing his mother across the dinner table. The rest of the family had returned in the afternoon as predicted. First Raff and Ellie with the kids, then Greg had brought round Flora. Now, the kids had gone to bed and the grown-ups were having their tea and discussing how the house hunting was going. At least that’s what Raff and Ellie were trying to do but neither Gillian nor Caroline seemed to really be listening.

“Hm? What?“ Gillian looked up from her plate, confused.

“You’re uncharacteristically quiet,“ Raff observed, exchanging a glance with his wife,who gave him a shrug.

“Maybe I was just thinking how I’m missing the f-bloody peace and quiet from before you all piled back in 'ere,“ Gillian snarked, far harsher than she probably meant to. Fortunately, they were all used to Gillian’s moods by now so Raff just turned to Caroline:

“Caroline, what’s wrong with me mum?“ He asked, as if she wasn’t even there, in response to which Gillian just chucked her cutlery onto her plate like a stroppy teenager.

“What’s wrong with her? Nothing’s wrong with her. Maybe she’d be better if you weren’t pestering her,“ Caroline’s response was snarky as well, she wanted to be left alone to her own thoughts, as she presumed Gillian did. They hadn’t spoken for most of the day and sitting next to each other at dinner now was harder than she would have imagined.

“Not you too,“ Raff groaned.

“You had a fight or summat?“ Ellie asked, looking between the two women.

“What would we possibly fight about?“ Caroline shot back, twirling her pasta around her fork.

“Would you like a list?" Ellie chuckled and Caroline shot her a look that would have shut up anyone.

“Everything’s perfectly fine, eat your tea,“ the headteacher instructed and Raff was quick to appease:

“It’s lovely, this, Caroline.“

“Thanks love.“ She managed a thin smile as they all returned their attention to their plates.

“I’m not feeling too good, I’m gonna get an early night,“ Gillian announced and got to her feet abruptly. “Can you check in on sheep later, Raff?“

“Sure.“ He nodded quickly and the sheep farmer practically fled the table. There was a moment of tense silence with only Gillian’s footsteps, rushing up the stairs to her bedroom.

“You not gonna go after her?“ Ellie asked once they heard a door slam upstairs.

“Why would I?“ Caroline asked, bewildered at the very suggestion.

“If something’s happened, you’re better off clearing it up sooner rather than later,“ Raff agreed with his wife.

“She doesn’t want me talking to her,“ Caroline huffed, moving her pasta around the plate that she - despite going through some pain to make it - didn’t fancy at all.

“So something did happen!“ Raff exclaimed as if her statement was proof to that effect. “What’s she done? Did one of sheep get into the house again?“

“Nothing happened!“ Caroline shook her head. She wanted to laugh at how he naturally presumed it had been Gillian that was at fault. Nothing could be further from the truth but she couldn’t tell them what had happened. It would only make things worse. The best course of action would be to ignore it had ever happened. “Just give her some space,“ she advised, which was exactly what she planned on doing herself. With any luck, things wouldn’t be as tense tomorrow and they could forget about the whole thing.

——

Caroline was engrossed in a book when Gillian reappeared. Raff and Ellie were watching telly, while Caroline had retreated to the other sofa. For a moment, Gillian lingered at the top of the stairs, probably wondering if she dared be among them again, but as it turned out she had no intention of that anyway. She crossed the living room without a word and headed for the front door.

“Thought she said she were getting an early night…“ Ellie commented when the front door slammed shut.

“Caroline…“ Raff looked over to the headteacher. “If you won’t tell us what happened, can you at least…“ His voice was almost pleading and Caroline couldn’t refuse, not when she knew this was her fault. Perhaps talking it through would help…

“Alright…“ She closed her book, threw the blanket aside and got to her feet.

Caroline wrapped herself up warm and stepped out of the farm house. The night was clear as the day had been and yet, she couldn’t see Gillian anywhere, she seemed to have made good use of her head start. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and made her way down the path. The Landrover was still there so she couldn’t have gone far.

That’s when she heard her, her muffled voice and she spotted the flickering light of a torch in the barn. Reluctantly, self-consciously, Caroline stepped closer.

“I bet you’re fucking loving this, aren’t you.“ It was definitely Gillian’s voice, louder and more pronounced now and Caroline stopped by the door of the barn. It wasn’t entirely shut but it wasn’t open and inviting either. “I could be so happy if it wasn’t for everything you’ve done to me.“ Gillian’s voice was distraught, worked up and angry. Caroline knew who she was talking to. Part of Gillian still believed that Eddie was still, somehow, present in that barn where he had died. And it seemed like she was shouting at him now. “I could be whole and together and worth a bloody damn. You satisfied?“ She was yelling from inside and Caroline couldn’t bring herself to walk in. She didn’t want to intrude, it wouldn’t be fair. She really ought to head back inside, allow Gillian this moment of privacy to work through her feelings. “Even after all this time, I still can’t f-bloody get anything right!“ Her words didn’t quite make sense to Caroline, but she got the gist. “I deserve to be happy, I do! Even after what I did, I deserve to move on. You put me through hell and I came out the other side and I deserve something good to happen and I thought it had and now it’s all fucked up again!“ Caroline’s heart sank when Gillian’s voice broke with sobs. “So congrats, you’ve fucking done it again.“

Caroline didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t go in, it was too much, too personal. She felt guilty for even listening in, but the sound of Gillian crying broke her heart. She realised she had messed up big. Gillian had been happy and she had forced her out of her comfort zone to where she didn’t want to go. Of course she would blame Eddie for it, like she did with most things in her life when they went wrong. Like she had blamed the accidents that had happened to Robbie on him too… Caroline knew it was her fault this time though, Eddie was well and truly gone. The only hold he had in this world was the one he still had on Gillian and Caroline cursed him for it. She wished she could just be free of him. She wanted nothing more than for Gillian to be happy, she knew she had to find a way to make things right with her. Ignoring each other as they had done for the most part of the day, just wasn’t an option. She wanted to be content and happy like they had been the past month, she had to find a way of restoring that balance and reassure Gillian she had no expectations of her. She stepped away from the barn, heading back to the house, but it was too late.

“What’re you doing out 'ere?“ Gillian exclaimed and Caroline looked around.

“Just uh… Raff asked me to come look after you…“ she answered slowly, shifting uncomfortably. She should have left sooner.

“Raff can fuck off,“ Gillian huffed, locking the barn door behind her.

“He’s concerned about you, I am too…“ Caroline said slowly as she realised they were heading into a stand off. Gillian kept her distance, crossing her arms as well and staring her down with an uneasy air about her.

“Were you listening?“ Gillian’s voice swung between accusatory, distressed and insecure.

“No, I…“ Caroline broke off because the lie would be so incredibly hard to maintain. How was she supposed to pretend she didn’t know how distressed she was?

“Cause it’s none of your f-flipping business,“ Gillian snapped in an angry outburst that made Caroline flinch and feel all the more guilty.

“I know that…“ she said softly. “I just… are you okay?“ The bright moonlight illuminated the sheep farmer’s face just enough to reveal her damp cheeks and puffy eyes. Gillian must have noticed her staring because the response was quick and harsh:

“Do I fucking look okay to you?“

“No, that’s why…“ Caroline winced, struggling for the right thing to say. It was a minefield, one that she had set up for herself. No matter which way she turned, compassion, remorse, admitting to listening, pretending she didn’t know why she was upset, apologising for a mistake or admitting to the depth of her emotions and motivations… with Gillian every course of action could blow up in her face and make things even worse than they already were.

“Leave me alone, Caroline.“ Gillian seemed to think it best not to give her an opportunity at all. She strutted past her, back towards the farm house.

“Gillian…“ Caroline couldn’t let her go, she had to try something, anything, so she reached out, grabbed her arm to hold her back. Gillian’s reaction was more violent than she could have anticipated.

“Get your hands off me!“ The sheep farmer yelled and ripped her arm away, cradling it against her like she had been burnt, she stared at Caroline with a turmoil of emotions in her expressive eyes. Caroline’s heart sank, she crossed her arms again.

“I’m not gonna do anything, I got the message loud and clear…“ Caroline mumbled, self-consciously.

“Yeah, well- You better not,“ Gillian’s sharp reply drove the matter home and Caroline didn’t look up, not until the sheep farmer had disappeared inside the farm house.

The headteacher turned away and looked out into the valley. She felt numb.

[starsscarmyceiling]

Sooooo, here's another Ben POV I wrote just because I love you guys and I feel like you deserve it waiting so long lol. It's Ben's perspective of finding the cupcakes and then the subsequent blind closing HEHEHEH. It's not really a requirement that you read the new chapter first. I really hope you enjoy!

“Okay, I understand you’ve been under a lot of pressure—right—would you just—okay,” Ben reasoned over the phone with his best paralegal, Daniela. She was trying to convince him that he needed to hire another one as she would very often now tell him that her work load was too great, “well, I don’t know. I trust you, why don’t you look at some resumes?”

He was in the elevator of his building, and it dinged as the older woman—Ben thought her name was Betty or Bertha or something like that—who lived under him got out. Then he was riding up to his floor and pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand, “Yes, of course I do. You’re the best paralegal I’ve ever had.”

That wasn’t an exaggeration, and since she was helping him build up more clients, he figured he could trust her with finding someone to work with her. Ben didn’t need the extra stress anyway. The breakup between him and Bazine hadn’t been messy per se, more that the entire relationship was. Daniela knew this, too.

“I’m fine. I promise I am not going to work myself out into a coma—oh I think I got all of the junk food binging out of my system already—alright, I will see you tomorrow—” he stated as he rounded the corner of the hallway, and something in front of his door made him pause and blink for a couple of seconds before he answered Daniela, “okay, bye.”

It was just about the most random thing he could conjure in his brain. There, on the ground was...a half dozen cupcakes. He scowled at them as if they were going to give him answers as to where in the world they came from.

“Huh,” he let out. He scratched at his scalp before he bent down to pick them up.

Upon inspection, he found that there was no note; absolutely no indication as to who in the world would have left them.

But half of them were red velvets, which were his favorites.

“Maybe Hux is finally trying to poison me,” Ben said to himself somberly as he unlocked his door. He walked in still expecting the patter of R2’s feet, but alas, he was only met with silence as he was still recovering from the accident at his parent’s house. It made the apartment seem so much emptier.

Ben left the cupcakes out on his kitchen counter, and then he changed out of his suit. When he returned to them, they just stared back at him like six little secrets that he couldn’t solve.

He had so many questions. Why? Why in the hell would anyone just leave him cupcakes without any explanation?

And who? Who left them there? His mother? Daniela? Marisol? Poe? Maybe even Bazine to smooth things over post break up?

He sighed as his eyes flitted up to the place he told himself wasn’t a possibility because it was absolutely ridiculous, but he couldn’t deny the way his heart raced when he thought about it being her.

The sunshine that lived across the street from him. Hot neighbor girl. The woman who loved her plants and her cat, played video games or worked at her desk in the middle of the night, and had such bad eating habits that it almost annoyed him in an endeared sort of matter because all he wanted to do was provide a more formidable meal for her.

For a moment, he imagined her taking time out of her day and walking over to his door, leaving them there for him. It made his heart swell more than he thought was acceptable.

But again, he was brought back to reality where sunshine girls did not waste their time on storm clouds like him.

“You’re being delusional,” he said to himself as he walked past them and sat on his couch. She wasn’t even home, which he was somehow thankful for right now. Him pacing back and forth in front of several mystery baked goods wasn’t exactly something he wanted her to witness.

He decided that he didn’t really want to be here alone right now, so he stood up to go for a run. As he put on his shoes, he had the faintest of smiles as he thought about the next episodes of Parks and Rec that he was going to watch with her tonight.

Ben walked by his counter and eyed the cupcakes, still somehow thinking he would glean any enlightenment from their mere existence.

No, he thought to himself as he still dared not to even touch them again, despite the joint binging they had been enjoying lately from across the street, there was absolutely no way that she had been the one to leave them there.

He opened the door and thought he would call his mother when he got home in order to see if she was the one responsible. Or maybe he would just throw him away because god knows where they even came from.

Yeah, it was truly delusional.

Right?

...

It had taken a day for him to break down as they tormented him, staring them down like the little caloric monsters that they were. He tried ignoring them, working on his depositions, playing on his PS4, boxing until he his arms were about to fall off. None of it worked.

And for some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to throw them away.

So he thought, perhaps he could try one. That wouldn’t be so bad. If Hux was really trying to poison him, he would soon find out.

He double checked to see if sunshine was there—again, did not want her to witness his weakness—and when he saw her apartment was empty, he he popped open the plastic covering and gently picked up one of the red velvets.

The fact that they were the most delicious morsels he had ever consumed, which was something he would never admit to his mother, was how he found himself here, in front of the bakery that was on the sticker of the box they came in a week later. He certainly was surprised to see that it was just down the street, only making the whole situation even more curious.

He sighed and opened the door, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist now that he wound up at a cupcake bakery in the first place.

The baker of the place came out from the back once Ben had been standing there for a few seconds, and even though this was a perfectly normal activity, he still felt as awkward as a teenage Ben trying to ask a girl out.

“What can I help you with big guy?” The man asked. Ben looked to the embroidered name on the man’s baker’s jacket, which read as Dexter.

“Uhh, yeah…I guess I’ll take some cupcakes.”

“Well that’s a good start,” Dexter said jovially, “what can I get cha?”

The process of picking out six cupcakes felt more challenging than taking his bar exams in the moment as his social anxiety took over, which still reared its ugly head in situations like this where he was unfamiliar with his surroundings and the people in them.

Why did he think this was a good idea again?

When Dexter had packaged up Ben’s baked goods, he paid and turned to leave. He was focused on the cupcakes as he approached the exit. Just, now why did he buy these? This was a stupid idea. How did these insignificant clumps of sugar have such a hold over him? It didn’t make any sense. He was just going to have to go home and—

A body slammed into his chest and reverberated so severely off of him that both his cupcakes and what Ben believed to be the woman’s phone fell to the floor.

She exasperated in a British accent, which would have made Ben’s senses flutter, but then he looked down and really got a better look at her. Oh, his heart was going to explode out of his chest, leaving him to deal with the resulting cardiac arrest that would surely kill him because it was her.

And Ben felt like she had to be an illusion because there was no way that it could have been her, picking up the ruined cupcakes, apologizing in the most beautiful voice he had ever heard, and then pausing before she began to stand. Did she recognize him too? Did she know this was exhilarating him more than he had ever been in his life with every slow inch she rose?

It was almost like sweet torture by the time she finally stood to her full height as Ben stared down at her most lovely visage. Complete with the most adorable smattering of freckles across her nose, and wide, wonderous hazel eyes.

God, she was about a billion times more beautiful up close. How was he even supposed to function being in such a presence? Such a angelic creature? Such a—

It finally occurred to Ben that he needed to say something so he wouldn’t look like such a ginormous idiot, which he was sure he already was.

“It’s you.” He stated dumbly.

Well, that was just about the worst thing anyone had ever uttered to another person.

Ben was already mentally berating himself severely when she did the most unthinkable—she—she had shoved the offending cupcakes into his chest, and before Ben could do anything about it, before he could stop her and tell her how much she had meant to him over these past months, she was turning away from him, practically sprinting in the other direction.

He let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. What the hell had just happened? How did he…how did he just let her run away like that? After all this time? He couldn’t even be enough of an actual person to be able to say something of any substance to her?

Ben wasn’t aware of how long he had been standing there, but there were people trying to get inside the bakery while he still stood there like a dumb, flabbergasted statue.

“Hey, you wanna move there buddy? You’re scaring away my customers!” Dexter asked him somewhere in the distance.

Ben swallowed and faced him, still grasping the soiled cupcakes to himself, “I—”

He had nothing to say to explain himself. Nothing that would excuse away his atrocious behavior.

“You often just stand there and scare away nice ladies? Just what in the hell is a matter with you?” Dexter shouted at him.

And again, instead of doing anything practical, Ben also just jostled himself out of there, not staring back as he heard Dexter say something about his stupid mole face not being welcome there anymore.

Frankly, Ben couldn’t blame him.

Ben was pacing back and forth in his apartment like a madman. He still could not believe, or even really accept what just happened. Had he really been that close to her? Had he really seen the beautiful planes of her face in such detail?

And then did he really just stand there like a big dumb idiot and leer at her instead of doing literally anything else? No wonder she ran away from him.

He grunted and felt like ripping his hair out as his hands dug through the unruly mess.

“I am such an idiot!” He yelled to no one. He didn’t even have R2 to complain to.

Why had he just blurted out ‘It’s you’ instead of saying something charming? Something funny? Something that wasn’t the most horrendous two syllables ever?

Oh right, because he was a socially awkward goon that would never have a chance with someone as ethereal as her.

She wasn’t in her apartment and hadn’t been all day since the incident. His heart sank when he thought it was to avoid him. Though, to be fair, he was not sure what they were supposed to do now this had happened. What was he going to do, awkwardly wave at her or shrug? Like whoops, we’ve been staring at each other for a year and then totally flubbed their first actual meeting? It seemed very fitting for them.

Ben continued to pace around, cursing his stupid existence when a realization hit him as hard as hot neighbor girl slamming into his chest.

It was her. It had been her the whole time that left him those cupcakes.

He suddenly felt like he had to sit down, so he collapsed on one of his stools as he gawked wildly out at her apartment, clutching at his heart as it beat wildly against his sternum.

She had done it. It was actually her; it just had to be. Otherwise, why else would she be going that specific bakery that happened to be down the street from their apartments? There were so many thoughts racing through his mind as his stomach flipped at the thought of her being just outside his door.

Why had she done it? And why didn’t she let him know it was her? It didn’t make any sense. It was such a nice gesture, and for it to go unappreciated? Ben had no idea what to think anymore. Would he finally have the stones to go over and see her if she did identify herself? Probably not. It probably would have just made his anxiety worse, like how it was going to be when they would finally have to face each other again.

This all felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Maybe he should just go over there now and explain himself, except for the fact that she still didn’t appear to be home. He wished right now that he at the very least could know her name.

He sighed and stood up, hoping a long shower would ease his nerves.

Ben tried reflecting as much as he could as the water trickled down his body. He mattered enough to her to not only recognize their odd neighborly relationship enough to start binge watching shows together when he was at his lowest, and then she went out of her way to do such a kind and anonymous gesture. All of this had to mean something. He had to have meant more to her than someone who lived across the street from her.

Because what even was all of this anyway? What were they really doing? Whatever this was had been slowly developing for months upon months, and Ben was done trying to deny it. This whole thing with the cupcakes was just further cementing how he felt about all of it.

Ben had developed a lot of different confusing feelings for her, and he still didn’t even know her name. He was guessing that it wasn’t hot neighbor girl or sunshine.

After what felt like a very long time, Ben got out and toweled himself off. When he changed, he maybe thought starting dinner was a good plan. Though, he honestly was nervous to see if she was actually out in her apartment. He sighed and finally bit the bullet, opening his door and walking out.

Then what he saw, he honestly wasn’t prepared for, and he nearly felt his knees give out.

She closed her blinds. All of them. Something he had never seen in her do in the whole year he lived there.

Ben sucked in a breath and held it as he stared into the windows that were no longer open. He felt his heart twisting and his hands were shaky. This felt…wrong, and she clearly did this because of him and what transpired between them earlier. Perhaps she really had been freaked out by him, and was trying to put some distance between them and set boundaries.

This was all so insane! How could this be? When they still hadn’t even had an actual conversation?

All Ben knew is that this sinking feeling was probably not going to go away as long as those blinds were closed.

...

It had been a week, and Ben felt like he was a complete wreck. He was stressed out at work all of the time, taking it out on everyone who didn’t deserve it. His mother called him and he yelled at her for practically no reason when he had gotten home and was still met with those blinds instead of sunshine. He apologized profusely and made up some kind of excuse about a particularly demanding case he was working on.

How could he be panicking over someone he still technically hadn’t met? It seemed ridiculous, and Ben tried convincing himself on several occasions that he didn’t need to see her. She was entitled to her privacy, and if she didn’t want to see him, then that was her prerogative.

But after a few days, the more selfish, insecure part of him spoke out more widely and unwelcomed anxiety overtook him as he started convincing himself that he had been making up this entire situation in his head this whole time. He legitimately lost sleep over it. She never cared about him, how could anyone? Who was he to her, but her creepy ass neighbor that stared at her way too much and shamefully imagined her at his door while he jerked off?

Was this it? Was this the end of their whole exchange? Ben swore that he was going to come home to her one day and she was going to be gone, moved out and he would have no way of ever knowing her. That dark thought was almost too much to bear and he buried it with the rest of the intrusive thoughts that plagued his brain.

Ben sighed, feeling like the most pathetic human being to ever walk this earth when he heard a knock at his door. He had almost forgotten that Poe was coming over to watch the hockey game on tonight. He mentally psyched himself up before he opened the door to Poe’s smiling face, an actual nettlesome sight at the moment because he felt so low.

“Buddy!” He said, raising his arms to hug Ben, brandishing a six pack of beer, “Ready to get this party started?”

Ben chuckled a bit, despite himself, “You know I have a ton of alcohol here, right?”

Poe shook his head and walked inside, “You are like the only person to complain about a guest BYOBing. You probably just want to drink your pretentious imported beer anyway.”

He shrugged and crossed his arms, “Then don’t act surprised when I am my usual grumpy self.”

“Yeah, I never am anymore,” Poe stated, walking over to the fridge to put his beer inside, but taking one to drink and twisted off the top. After a swig, his eyes widened once they landed across the street, “since when does hot neighbor girl close her blinds?”

Ben grew red immediately and leaned on the nearest kitchen counter, looking down at the floor in shame, “Yeah, about that. There was sort of this…incident.”

Poe slammed down his beer on the counter and a shocked expression exploded his features, “Holy shit, did you actually finally talk to her?”

Cringing, Ben kept his gaze downward, “Not…exactly.”

“You better tell me what the fuck happened right fucking now Solo.”

He sighed and really should have figured that this was going to happen as soon as Poe came in and saw those blinds. So, Ben regaled him with the entire painful story, and everything that had led up to that moment.

When he was done, Poe shook his head and finished up his beer and turned to get another one out of the fridge. He opened that one and took a swig before he finally spoke, “You are such an idiot Benjamin.”

Poe could have been referring to a million different aspects of his idiocy, so he didn’t protest, “I know.”

“I mean, this girl, who you have clearly been making mutual googly eyes at each other for the past year actually makes an effort to take the next step, and that’s how you handle it?” Poe asked disbelievingly.

Ben raised his hands in the air, “I was a little bit in shock, okay? It’s not like I was expecting her to literally run into me at a cupcake bakery of all places!”

Poe pinched the bridge of his nose, evidently done with all of this bullshit, “Okay fine, but…why aren’t you over there right now explaining yourself to her?”

“Because I am a coward Poe! Why do you think I haven’t gone over there over this whole year?” Ben shouted, voice going more and more shrill as this conversation went on, and he gestured across the street, “And she clearly doesn’t want to see me!”

His best friend stood there aghast, actually looking offended at Ben’s words, “Would you stop making excuses for once and be honest with yourself?! What’s the real reason why you still wont go over there?”

Ben opened his mouth, ready to protest whatever Poe had to say, but he found whatever reply he was going to have would fall short, and he truly was a pitiful man.

Sighing, Ben walked to one of the stools and sat on it, burying his face in his hands, “I—I’m scared Poe. What if—what if after all this time, she really doesn’t want anything to do with me?”

The look of anger that was once on Poe’s face was replaced with what appeared to be empathy, “Oh, Ben. That just cannot be true. How could you even think that? She—she’s lived this parallel life with you for a year. She started binge watching shows with you when you were depressed. She bought you a half dozen cupcakes for Christ’s sake! Get it through you dumb thick skull: she cares about you.”

“Yeah, anonymously. And then she ran away from me the second she saw me!”

Poe ran a hand over his face and then pointed it at Ben after he grunted, “Would you stop? She was probably just as surprised as you were, and then she was also probably super embarrassed too! Girl’s obviously just as much as an idiot as you are!”

That thought gave Ben pause, and it lurched at his gut like a meal that didn’t sit right with him. If she blamed herself for anything, he was going to feel absolutely terrible about it, “I guess you could be right about that.”

Poe chuckled slightly and turned to the fridge, retrieving one of Ben’s pretentious imported beers, proceeding to open it and slide it in front of Ben, “Of course I am, and you know what? You are never going to know either way unless you go over there.”

Ben grasped at the bottle and held it between his too large hands, “Yeah, I suppose you’re right about that too.”

Poe shrugged a shoulder, “Yeah well, it’s just one street. I am sure you can manage it. I believe in you.”

Smiling, Ben picked up the beer and took a drink out of it, “Thanks. Glad someone does.”

Walking around the counter, Poe clapped a hand on Ben’s shoulder, “Always have and always will…now come on, I want to see all of the hockey players fight each other in their sexy, over aggressive way.”

After Poe left, Ben thought about everything they discussed as he stared out into those blinds. Poe was right; he couldn’t have been making this all up in his head. There was something here; there just had to be, and now he had to make things right.

Because there was something else besides straightening out this whole cupcake debacle. After all the late nights they had shared, after all of the parallel meals, workouts, and video game sessions, after all of the times he had seen her water her plants in the sunshine and laugh with her friends, he realized something. He missed her. And he truly cared about her. Without even words, she had become a staple in his life. A comfort whenever he would look up from his laptop at an obscene hour only to see her there as well, putting the kettle on the stove for another cup of tea.

He should have figured she was British. That thought truly had him smiling, and the notion of actually seeing her, talking with her in her home made him feel warm inside. He wasn’t going to be able to back out from this, and nor did he want to. If she would allow him to, he would ask her name. He would ask her all of the things he had been wanting to for a year, and he was really starting to get excited at the very idea of it. He also wanted to pet her cat. That adorable cat had been taunting him for far too long as well.

When he went to bed, his chest felt lighter than it had in days, and he closed his eyes while he smiled to himself. He had no idea what he was going to say, and he was probably going to make an ass of himself again.

Hopefully she wouldn’t slam the door in his face.

[indianamoonshine]

siberu | reader x din djarin

summary: reader is not human, but a force-senstive humanoid, who is searching for a legendary sickle in the caverns of an arctic planet named siberus. she stumbles across a lonely, very lost, and very cold din djarin in the snow. they discuss the strange little creature in din’s bag.

mentions: cursing. mention of the youngling situation during order 66. gender is a construct. reader is absolutely fawning over how cute grogu is.

note: just two people repressing obvious feelings. this was a request so i hope @tolkienblackgirl​ approves! i’m sorry it was literally months before i got to it. it’s not a super happy ending and a little angsty which is very unlike me. i really wish i could’ve done more with this, but i have three other fics on my hands at the moment so i had to make it a one-shot.

rating: m just in case.

it was way too fucking cold here.

you didn’t care for siberus just by the briefing alone, but when your ship lands upon the frozen terrain, you teeth immediately clench. snow falls around you in flurries, the wind spiraling them into a weak tornado at your booted feet as soon as your ramp tumbles noisily upon the ground. the air was heavy with frost and it showed each time you drew breath, the vapor chilling immediately in the polar atmosphere.

you tug your shawl tighter around you - a piece of fabric that you realized very quickly wouldn’t do much against the bite of the tundra. you thought you were ready for the weather - thought you were prepared for the manner of dress required for siberus, but the reputation of the ice world had proceeded even the nastiest of rumors. no one dared tread upon siberus ground - not in years, anyway.

but that wasn’t just because of its climate.

siberus was one of the planets utterly destroyed by “the great purge”. a distressing lack of life forms shown on your radar as you scan the horizon, save for the exceptionally evolved animals that could withstand the tundra. as soon as you landed, they’d immediately scattered across the snow and fled to their holes in the ground. you didn’t blame them; for as long as they’d been isolated, the idea of an intruder must’ve been beyond terrifying.

the council told you it was here. somewhere, in these thousands of kilometers of snow and ice, is the last jedi sickle.

a powerful weapon...but you argued that it was hardly warranted a visit to hoth’s much crueler and unforgiving sibling. hells, the empire hadn’t even dared visit. maybe they might have had they known the sickle was secured in carbonite. maybe they’d gone out of their way if that piece of information managed to trickle through their grapevine, but even then, was it worth their time? you weren’t even convinced it was.

it was described as “the poor man’s dark saber”. while the sickle was nearly impossible to destroy, it wouldn’t peel through anything like the dark saber could. no. the dark saber was somewhat of a mythical thing. the sickle, however, felt more convincing.

and for whatever reason, they had entrusted you to retrieve it.

they were the council of augusten, your home planet, blackened by night at all times. a symbiotic relationship with a bio-luminescent plant was, essentially, your sun - your star. this resulted in a tolerable, but irritating, daytime blindness of its natives peoples and creatures. and while siberus wasn’t exactly bright this time of day (especially with such a raging storm concealing your view), it was enough to make the vessels thrum tensely behind your eyes.

you’re one of the last! they said triumphantly, as though to sweeten you up. a survivor of the order! it is your duty!

bullshit.

it wasn’t such a strange idea that the council wanted the sickle. it wasn’t, by any means, quite like the mandalore legend of the dark saber. but it wasn’t just the power wielding the weapon itself brought - it was the kyber crystal within it.

it could power thousands of machines and harness energy for millions of resources. honestly, you hadn’t even considered the worthiness of kyber crystals for anything other than constructing lightsabers, but it made sense. enough sense that you felt obligated to fetch it from this frozen wasteland.

you talked a big talk about being able to find it. hells! you almost convinced yourself it’d be a piece of cake by the way you spoke with such confidence and bullshit conviction at the briefing. but looking out upon the snow-laden horizon - mountains and all - you suddenly weren’t so sure of yourself.

pride, as always, comes before the fall. as usual.

you even considered going back. there wasn’t a handbook for finding ancient, priceless, jedi artifacts. there wasn’t a tracking beacon for it either and your abilities could only do so much. you prayed to the force that, if anything, your connection as a jedi might be enough to conjure it from hiding. and, of course, that proved fruitless within the first half-hour.

you’re about to collapse. it wasn’t the night that shrouded you that almost did it; the darkness was your home - your element. you vision (very literally) fared much better in the blackness. the cold, on the other hand, was licking at your bones and causing you to tremble beneath your own weight.

it’s when you’re on the verge of making camp that you spot a figure upon the horizon.

not just any figure.

a person.

there’s a surge of motivation to keep moving. (strange, how that works...) whoever it is isn’t very far away - not even four kilometers. and if they’re searching for transportation it clearly isn’t in reach. they move at a slow pace, forcing themselves to walk against the bite of siberus’s gale.

when you’re in reach of this mysterious being, you yell out in haste. “hey! you!”

the figure stops their fight with the current of snow. they’re knee-deep in the tundra - you’re waist deep, really. and when you squint through the particles of snow, blinking rapidly to melt it away, you notice the shine of...

beskar.

“a mandalorian?!” you shout.

you shuffle closer as they remain still as stone. if they truly were a mandalorian, they’d certainly be on their guard - certainly moving for a blaster at their hip. you’re able to see their helmet’s face pierced upon yours as you step closer. how they managed to hear you, you couldn’t be sure, but it was a welcome surprise all the same.

you wrap your shawl closer around you, protecting your cheeks against the sting of cold. you observe the mandalorian (or what you expected to be the mandalorian) in their steely armor as they consider you for what felt like minutes. (too long in this damn climate.) siberus’s two moons allow the beskar to glint when the shoulder pauldrons move just right, a beam of light reflecting into your sensitive eyes. you hiss as a result.

“what is it you want?” the mandalorian demands, body now angling towards you. they’ve obviously come to the conclusion you’re of no immediate danger.

you narrow your eyes as the wind picks up, flakes of snow blurring this person until they’re just a speck against a backdrop. you don’t even consider your next words - you’ve always been too trusting. but something in this mandalorian’s spirit told you that they were harmless. in fact, they could prove valuable to this mission.

anything to get you off this frozen rock as quickly as possible.

“come to my ship! it’s warm!” you toss your head in the direction of where you came.

the mandalorian is taken aback. they recoil, physically, on the balls of their feet. who in their right kriffin’ mind would invite a mandalorian to stay in the privacy of their own ship? especially on such a deserted planet?

still, the mandalorian shouts over the wind. “why should i trust you?!”

there’s really nothing to do but shrug. “because we’re both about to freeze to death!” you point to their beskar that is, while impenetrable, starting to collect icicles. no, nothing could break beskar, but the mandalorian inside it could freeze.

this is enough to convince the mandalorian.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

you’ve made two cups of java by the time the mandalorian finally un-clenches his fists.

it’s a him. he told you by the way he moved - how his shoulders barely fit through the limited width of your ship’s entrance or how his voice rung beneath his helmet. still, gender didn’t really fit in your culture. gender wasn’t worthy enough to be considered important so you were hesitant of calling them either or.

it was when you kept dancing around the pronouns that he finally uttered, “i’m a male.”

you raise a brow, pouring the steaming java into a ceramic mug that had chips and stains on the sides of it. (the handle on yours broke after an upsetting landing from last mission. handles were hard to come by in this galaxy. a luxury, even.)

“oh?” you ask.

the mandalorian grunts, barely slipping his helmet past his lips to drink. you knew all about their creed so it came as no surprise when he immediately pulled it back down his chin.

“i know you’re augustenian. i’m aware of how your people feel about identity.” he pauses, lifting his head to watch your reaction. “male is fine. he is fine.”

it was kind - not blunt - the way this came from his lips. you allow a gentle smile to tug at the corner of your lips. “you knew from the markings, right?” you ask, motioning to the upside down crescent upon your forehead; it glowed a faint green in the darkness.

he nods a little. it’s hard to speak to someone when you’re unable to look into their eyes. you depended on the expressions of beings and it felt impersonal to speak to him now because of it. still, you weren’t one to question creed or faith.

“it’s hard to miss,” he replies, bringing his cup to the side of his body, and shifting between his cloak.

you raise a brow. “what are you doing?”

the mandalorian stills, aware that it may look strange if not explained. “i, uh...” he takes a deep breath and pulls a woven strap from his shoulder; a large, lumpy thing, that moves when he situates it. it even makes a coo’ing noise.

“did you manage to catch some wildlife?” you ask, amazed. you tilt your head, reaching a hand out to pull back the flap of the bag.

but the mandalorian grabs your hand in a brisk movement, clenching hard around your wrist. “don’t. he’s...” he sighs. “he’s a little jumpy.”

you furrow your brows. he knew the mannerism of this creature personally? it must’ve been a traveling companion you’d failed to notice. you pull away and nod, waiting for him to reveal whatever this thing was.

when a pair of long, green, and fuzzy ears pop out from beneath the bag’s opening, you shriek in delight. the little creature stares back at you, large black eyes rounded in the moonlight, and a curious smile beaming upon his kind face when he understands you are of no danger.

“what a precious little thing!” you coo. you reach out for him, fingers twiddling in anticipation. “may i?”

the mandalorian fixates his stare more heavily upon you. with a protective gruff he says, “if you try anything with him...”

you shake your head, bouncing a little restlessly in your seat. “i wouldn’t ever hurt a child.”

for some reason he seems to believe you but still hands you the baby with caution. when the creature’s little hands wrap themselves around you, a jolt of bliss surges through your body. you’ve always adored children and this really was a youngling.

but...he was more than that.

your smile fades slowly from your mien as you stare into his eyes, watching something unfold that the mandalorian before you can’t see. he’s sensitive like you. force sensitive. you can feel the way that the energy beats around him - like a dance - but weakening with every moment.

and then there’s an image.

an image you wished you’d never see.

younglings sprawled upon the jedi temple floor, their bodies mangled and bloodied from vicious crime. you find yourself turning away from his penetrating stare, brows furrowed in pain, when a collective scream of terror ricochets from a place very far in the past.

you weren’t there to see it in person. just in stories. as a survivor, the guilt haunted you at night. this was certainly...overwhelming.

“where did you find this child?” you find yourself asking, words barely audible through chapped lips. you didn’t even realize you were saying it until after it was done.

the mandalorian is quick to reply. “there was a bounty on his life. the empire - well, whoever they are now - wanted him.”

you find yourself gripping the child to your chest in possessiveness. “no. you can’t,” you gasp. “they’ll kill him.”

the mandalorian raises a hand to you in a show of sympathy. “i know. i didn’t give him to them.” he pauses, watching as you cradle the child in your arms and petting his long ears with tears in your eyes. “are you...”

you raise your head to watch him, anxious as to your next move. but you sputter out the truth like it was poison - like you couldn’t hold it in anymore. “a jedi,” you confirm. “yes. or...i was.”

the mandalorian is taken aback but the news registers him into silence. he observes the way you press the little one to your cheek and give him a small kiss near his eye. he smiles - albiet, sadly - beneath his helmet when the kid nuzzles against you in a show of affection, little claws wrapping themselves around your forefinger as though his life depended on it.

”i...” he hesitates, and then sighs. “i was quested to bring him back to his own kind. your kind.”

you’re aware of what he wants...what he’s trying to say.

“no.” you answer. “i can’t train him. i won’t.”

the mandalorian goes silent. through clenched teeth he asks, “why not?”

you look into the child’s face. he hasn’t spoken to you - not in the way jedi are able - but he’s given you an insight to his relationship with this man. and his fear was palpable - thick.

he was closing himself off. he was unstable.

you rub the child’s ears once more, finger and thumb warming the skin. “he’s cut himself off from the force. i don’t have the influence on him that is necessary to change his heart.” you sigh, placing the child in the mando’s arms. “i’m sorry.”

the mandalorian looks down at the child in his embrace as he snuggles against his chilled beskar without protest. “what can i do?”

you sigh, rubbing circles into your temple. what could he do? you had barely passed the trials by the time order 66 was executed. and most jedi were killed during the great purge. you were one of the very last - one of those the empire had not successfully tracked down.

but you were no master.

“there is a jedi...” you whisper. you wring your hands together in apprehension. “i’ve never met her. she’s called ahsoka tano. there are rumors she lives.”

the mandalorian is quick to respond. “how do i find her?”

“i don’t know,” you tell him truthfully. “her survival isn’t confirmed.”

the mandalorian grumbles under his breath. “dank farrik.” he sets the child back into his sling and tucks him to his side again.

you watch as the two of them stare at one another, both desperate for answers you weren’t able to give them. they seem to have endured a long journey - long enough that they’ve formed a bond you’ve never seen between a mandalorian and another living creature.

you sigh. “i’m sorry i can’t do more,” you tell him. “but at least stay and rest. you look as though you need it.”

he watches you between the slits of his visor and it’s unsettling that you don’t know the color of his eyes. that feels important to know about a person. he wasn’t a machine - he was a man - and he should be regarded as such.

it takes a moment for him to process the invitation. surely he didn’t get very many of those. while that wasn’t surprising it was still very upsetting; more upsetting than you’d expected, anyway.

you offer him your bed but he denies and tells you he’ll sleep on the floor. if you’d like to share with the child i’d be more than grateful, he tells you. you knew it was an honor to be trusted with this child’s life, so you accept.

in the morning, the storm has passed, and the child still lay in your arms after a night of peaceful sleep. you feel the mandalorian - whose name you never got - strategically remove the child from your limbs.

and just when he’s about to leave - he hesitates. you can hear his footfalls stop short of the exit as you pretend to still sleep for whatever reason. maybe you were afraid to look upon him again - that you’d find yourself slipping into a feeling you weren’t allowed to humor.

so you remain still.

you remain still even as the mandalorian wipes a strand of hair from your eyes, takes a deep breath, and allows the child to snuggle his nose against yours. he coos just slightly - a little goodbye - and it causes your stomach to drop to your knees.

you consider waking; to tell them you’d help find ahsoka, to say fuck it to whatever jedi order didn’t exist anymore and entertain whatever butterflies had tickled your insides when the mandalorian’s caress embraced your skin.

but when you open your eyes, they’ve gone.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆ 

NOTE: i’m so sorry this wasn’t what i originally envisioned but i still like it! also, i’d like to go ahead and say - in case i didn’t make it clear enough - that mando asked for the child to sleep with reader because it would’ve been super uncomfortable for him to sleep on the floor.

[andorlorian]

a little bit insane ahsoka and luke au

the lovely @picazos-angsty-typist inspired me to just post my au ideas as opposed to giving them away, and this one is my absolute favorite! it's an au in which 19 year old ahsoka finds the time travel crystal from the lego star wars christmas special and is transported onto tatooine right before a new hope. then she gets to go along through the original trilogy and be best friends with luke! (this is honestly just an extremely convoluted way to get my favorite characters to be best friends. this au is for me <3.) extremely long elaborations and plot stuff in bullet points under the cut:

okay so 19 year old ahsoka! it would be about 2 years post order 66 and about 6-8 months since the ending of the ahsoka novel, so she's traveling the world and doing fulcrum things, attempting to build a rebellion with bail organa. this, naturally, means she needs to hide from the empire.

because it needs to be life day for the crystal to work, that's the day this all starts (in ahsoka's original timeline). ahsoka finds out randomly that it's life day, and has a moment remembering the day before order 66, before the empire. 

she gets into a skirmish with the empire close by kordoku, the planet with the time travel stone on it. she feels a pull from the force, like there's a safe haven on the planet below, so she lands and immediately knows why: she's in front of a jedi temple. she knows she'll be safe inside from the empire. she walks in, and seals the temple with the force

she picks up the weird rock thing in the middle of the room, as it's singing to her through the force. the second she touches it, a wormhole opens up, and she's dropped directly in the middle of a tatooinian sandstorm.

we the audience know that she's time traveled, but ahsoka has no clue. and as I'm assuming she doesn't have much experience wandering ancient abandoned jedi temples (in her time, very recently, they'd been populated and upkept), she wouldn't suspect she was hallucinating. she assumed the rock somehow teleported her, but the sand and the wind of the sandstorm make it impossible for her to find the rock. where before it had been singing to her through the force, she couldn't feel anything now.

she has no choice but to try and find shelter from the storm and wait it out. she finds a sort of cave, a small hideout, so she sets up her small camp. having nothing else to do, she opens herself up to the force to meditate, hoping to locate the rock and find more information about her new situation. however, she instead discovers something she wasn't expecting: the faint and utterly familiar force prescence of one obi-wan kenobi

it feels damaged and weak, almost as if he'd cut himself off from the force somewhat, but there was no denying that it was obi-wan. ahsoka thanked the force for sending her to the rock, as she assumes it had just sent her to obi-wan and nothing else.

during this force meditation, she also discovers the planet that she's on is tatooine. this heavily reminds her of anakin, hearing echoes of their conversation as they crossed the desert from what seems like a million years ago. 

once the storm settles, she makes her way through the tatooinian desert, and just as the suns are coming up and she knows she would need to find shelter, she happens upon the Lars farm.

she meets Owen and Beru Lars and their nephew, Luke. they are kind and good people, and do not hesitate to offer ahsoka a place to stay + some food and water. ahsoka rests up somewhat, but insists on helping them in return.

this part I haven't quite nailed out yet. tatooine side quest featuring ahsoka and luke doing whatever one does on a moisture farm. I assume ahsoka would offer technological help as she's a good mechanic (perks of master skywalker) so maybe they're going around and fixing vaporators?

that day and into the night, she and luke really hit it off. she learns more about tatooine and more about how they've been affect by the war. however from the way luke talks about it, the empire has been around as long as he can remember. this strikes ahsoka as extremely odd, and wonders what else is going on, but fixing things doesn't leave much room for another galaxy warping revelation, so she doesn't dwell on it immediately.

she and luke discuss kind of everything. they become buddies bc that's important to me. the next day, she tells them she's looking for obi-wan kenobi. "do you know someone named obi-wan kenobi?" luke does his little "do you think she means old ben kenobi?" number which is fun n nostalgic hehe.

owen seems to freeze. he hasn't heard that name in quite some time, and it doesn't exactly conjure pleasant memories. he reluctantly agrees to let luke point her in the right direction, and she buys a speeder from them (they try to give it to her but she insists on paying. ahsoka ftw)

ahsoka manages to avoid the tuskens on her way into the jundland wastes and runs into.... this really old dude. this is when she really has to confront the time travel of it all. she and obi-wan have a Talk. there's still a little bad blood between them considering obi-wan was on the council that condemned her without remorse or apology, but they're both so relieved to see the other alive.

ahsoka learns that it's been 19 years since order 66, since the empire took over. she remembers the day it happened, what only feels like 2 years ago to her.

she mentions that luke helped her find him, and obi-wan freezes. this obviously gets noticed by ahsoka, and obi-wan drops the real bomb on her: luke is anakin and padmé's son. obi-wan tells her that anakin died in order 66 and padmé died with the rebellion, that he's here both to hide out and to protect luke. she remarks in her head that the whole chosen one thing is ridiculous, that pinning the entire galaxy's hopes on a nineteen year old kid that up until now obi-wan has refused to even CONSIDER training (skywalker trauma lolz) but she can sense the strong emotions from him, that he wouldn't have it in him to stand up to the empire alone, so she drops it.

as to how padmé died: i hate the way that she dies in the prequels so I am deleting it. this is my canon. she actually survives and stays with the rebellion for a good 3-5 years before she's killed in a rebel vs. empire conflict. ahsoka is especially devastated to learn about her death from obi-wan (who bail organa risked communication with to tell him, as he was also close with padmé). 

she and obi-wan spar, both to get Ahsoka's mind off of the everything about this situation and because it's been so long since either of them have been around another jedi. it's cathartic for both of them. (ahsoka beats obi-wan easily btw haha)

obi-wan offers to officially knight her as a jedi knight, as that was what the council had intended after the whole fiasco and he says "you're just as experienced and powerful as I was when I was knighted." but ahsoka declines. she isn't ready to be considered a jedi yet, and may never be.

this is when a new hope really starts. obi-wan and ahsoka find luke unconscious in the jundland wastes, and that sequence goes pretty much the same. r2 is beeping and trilling like crazy because ahsoka!!!!!! that's one of his best friends!!!!!!! luke is like "you know this droid?" and ahsoka freezes, because how exactly does she explain to the nice dude she met yesterday that actually she's from 17 years in the past and was very close with both of his parents, who both were extremely close to r2?

she does in fact explain all of that to him when they get to obi-wan's house. she has no idea how she got here or why, but she did know anakin skywalker and padmé amidala naberrie, and tells him as much as she remembers about them. luke misses both of his parents like an ache in his chest, wishing more than anything he could have known them. 

obi-wan offers his own perspective on it, and tells how anakin died (which ahsoka is just as eager to know). obi-wan, on the spot, says that another jedi fell to the dark side and joined sidious, and that anakin died defending the temple. (he obviously couldn't say that vader was his pupil, because ahsoka would see through that immediately.)

luke asks why he couldn't have lived with his mother in the rebellion, but obi-wan says that she wanted him to be safe from the galactic conflict and stay with anakin's family. (which is partially true, but the whole sith-sensing-the-overly-powerful-skywalkers was a big factor as well.) obi-wan says he's truly sorry that luke never got to know her.

after learning about the message r2 brought, ahsoka knows she has to get to the rebellion however possible and rejoin the fight. obi-wan agrees, and gives his little elevator pitch to luke about becoming a jedi and joining the rebellion. when obi-wan gives luke the lightsaber, a million memories with anakin flash through ahsoka's head. luke still comes to same conclusion at the end of that conversation: he's willing to guide them out of tatooine, but he can't join the galactic conflict, at least not now. 

however, as they're leaving, they find the destroyed jawa crawler. luke, as before, realizes it means the stormtroopers found his family. ahsoka knows that only despair waits there for him, and urges him not to go, but when he doesn't back down hops in the speeder with him (for protection and emotional support). 

luke gets to have more emotions about the fact that the empire killed his /entire family./ ahsoka doesn't try and use it to convince him to go, only offers to help him bury them. she openly uses the force to move things around and make things easier, while luke is still in shock, almost numb. they're buried next to shmi and cliegg. 

luke is ANGRY at the empire. he is PISSED. he decides to go with them to fight not because he longs for adventure, but because he wants to hit the empire where it hurts. ahsoka can recognize that isn't the thought process of a jedi, but she feels the exact same way after learning about anakin and padmé. 

now it's mos eisley time. i feel like han would definitely like/admire ahsoka at first, but ahsoka would not like him. she finds him deplorable and a little annoying, and joins in on the whole bagging on the falcon jokes. this leads to han getting his feelings hurt and he's like fine :( we are not friends then >:(. 

the interesting thing is that chewie and ahsoka actually know each other! they were both kidnapped by bossk and hunted for sport in that one clone wars arc, so they're both like "oh hey person who was there for one of the most terrifying and traumatic times in my life! what's up!" they become fast friends yet again, and chewie is like "wow you did not age at all. are you sure you're not a wookiee?"

on the millennium falcon, she and obi-wan get started on luke's training. he asks her about his parents constantly (what they were like, what they did, where they came from, etc). she also talks about what the jedi were like (providing a less rose-colored-glasses perspective, but still with a lot of positives). 

she feel the same pain obi-wan does right before they get to alderaan, and can feel bail and breha organa in particular (having known them fairly well after the ahsoka novel). 

they get pulled into the death star's tractor beam. ahsoka can feel the cold and horrible presence of vader, a sick dread building in her the closer they get to it. they go to hide under the floorboards of the falcon. han knows how the empire operates better than anyone, which ahsoka is shocked to learn is much different than the Republic or the empire she remembers. (i imagine she lived in a more transitional period, so while the empire was terrible during her time, they were only getting started.)

she tries to go with obi-wan to shut off the power beam, but obi-wan still does his "I must go alone" little number. sensing the end of something, but not what it is, she hugs him goodbye. he's still obi-wan and she missed him dreadfully. he tells her to protect luke. 

she along with luke refuses to indulge han's obi-wan slander, and when han says "great at getting us into trouble!" she says "you should have met anakin."

then it's princess rescue time as it should be. that goes exactly the same except ahsoka is much better at defending them from the stormtroopers lol. leia still does the blasting and "somebody has to save our skins!" line because I love that

ahsoka can tell immediately that leia is padmé's daughter. she had probably heard of leia, being in the rebellion for about six months before time traveling, but now having met her it's completely obvious. she doesn't vocalize this immediately though, planning to discuss it with obi-wan. 

yes I'm keeping the garbage monster scene because I think it's funny :)

ahsoka goes with han and chewie after the stormtroopers while luke and leia head for the ship. also ahsoka + han banter because I think it's funny

she can see obi-wan and vader's fight (which I'm hoping will be a lot more like their fight in rots. a new hope is incredible but the lightsaber fights got way better as time went on. their final fight deserves to be epic). she tries to run and help obi-wan but luke pulls her back. "he can handle it," he says. "we need you to help us get to the falcon."

however when obi-wan is killed, both of them are distraught. his voice appears in ahsoka's head, telling her not to face vader yet, telling her to run. chewie literally has to hold her back and carry her to the ship. 

they blast their way out of the death star, none of them having the time to dwell on what just happened. 

ahsoka and luke are both numb. luke lost 3 parental figures in one day, and obi-wan's death after going through order 66 just brings it allll up again. leia is also hanging out in the numb dead parents circle, because her entire planet got blown up today and obi-wan's death just feels like another nail in the coffin. all three of them can sort of feel each other's emotions, and unconsciously they're comforting each other with the force. it's a healing moment for all three of them

han is kind of awkwardly standing in the background. "there wasn't anything any of you could have done," he says, in a rare show of emotion. (i like han wanting to help them despite his i-don't-care-about-anything facade.)

this doesn't stop him from saying he's only in it for the money later though. leia gets to blow up at him about it same as in the movie because she deserves it methinks.

they make it to the rebellion, and a few of the people who've been in it from the beginning recognize her (mon mothma maybe?). I also like the idea of ahsoka being something of rebellion legend, having been one of the last jedi who presumably died fighting the empire for the rebellion. 

also general hera syndulla gets to be there bc i love her. she is the one who shows the plans to the pilots and explains the plan. she also references the rogue one crew because i love them also. 

ahsoka in an x-wing with the red team attempting to blow up the death star. when vader makes an appearance, she can sense him in the starfighter nearby them, the same cold and evil presence. she personally goes to fight vader and defends the rest of the team from him, somehow falling into a perfect rhythm and anticipating every move. she doesn't kill him obviously, but she gets close. the things that happen stay the same: they sustain heavy casualties, she survives the battle, han comes back to save the day, luke is the one who blows up the death star.

luke, han, chewie, and ahsoka get medals in the end, because each of them were instrumental in the blowing up of the death star (and a lot more pilots survive thanks to Ahsoka's defense). there are references to the phineas and ferb star wars special because I want it. 

there's a bit after the official end of a new hope in which she's talking to Luke like "I can't stay. this isn't my timeline. I have to go back. and if I can go back, maybe I can try and save the jedi. maybe I can fix things." however luke changes her mind. "maybe you're in this timeline for a reason. maybe NOW is when you can change things. I would've died without you in the battle of yavin. plus, how am I supposed to become a jedi without you?" luke + leia + han + chewie + r2 + 3po all convince her to stay. they are all very attached to ahsoka at this point, and ahsoka realizes she doesn't really want to leave them either.

also. because the battle is over and they all have a moment to breathe, she tells leia that she's positive she's padmé and anakin's daughter too, not just because of the physical resemblence but also her force sensitivity. there's no doubt about it.

ahsoka agrees to train both of them in what she knows, though she warns that she wasn't a master or even a knight.

it ends with the whole crew hanging out on the falcon (han, leia, luke, chewie, r2, c-3po, and ahsoka)

those are my bullet points for the episode IV section of this! if people want to see where this goes in the rest of the trilogy let me know I have so many notes about this au

also tagging: @togrutanduin @padme--amygdala @bisexualobiwanrights @grimthejedisith @senator-nahberries you get to watch me lose my mind in real time <3