#listening to starling and feeling sentimental

[marislittlethings]

it's crazy to me how music can just... latch onto memories. melodrama was the soundtrack of my life for an entire year and the first album that gave me that 'oh my god this was lifted directly from my brain' feeling. hopeless fountain kingdom was the album that gave me my best friend & sorry will always remind me of them making fun of me for liking sad songs on the steps of our school

there are songs I listened to in the months after my brother died that make me feel physically ill when they play now. there is an entire album that will always remind me of last summer & of re-becoming myself. a year from now, listening to Fleetwood Mac will take me back that one night last month where everything seemed perfect. for the rest of my life, Escaper by Sarah Kinsley will be the album I listened to while I was writing this novel

[geeks-universe]

To The Stars...

Past Obi-Wan Kenobi x Jedi!Reader

Present Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Jedi!Reader

The One-Shot absolutely nobody asked for.

Italics for the past. Print for the present.

You were lost.

A fire had burned through every inch of your body, lighting each nerve burrowed beneath the red-hot agony engulfing your skin.

Pain.

It was all you knew, the entirety of what your fractured, scattered mind could piece together from the material it was given.

You cradled your body in the darkness, the brush of your hand against your arms hellish, blistering heat searing down your spine at the sensation.

Then it stopped.

Like the flame had been doused in a bucket of water, thoughts drowned in the sudden torrent of cool air. The burning was gone, replaced with the wispy smoke of unpleasant memories.

You opened your eyes, trying to ascertain your location to request for some sort of backup, or a possible extraction. Your head was pounding as light slowly filtered in, visions dancing like ghosts in the barren landscape around you. The cord that connected you to the life that breathed air into the atmosphere, that linked each soul to the ground they walked, was severed, like a knife to your very being. The constant, vibrant string in your mind, that tethered you to the creatures of the universe through the Force was quiet, muted as if the whole of existence was silenced.

“Zifri,” you choked out, your voice, raspy from the confines of pain, seeking out the presence of your Padawan.

As requested by the Jedi Council, you had entered the Temple of Aion, only to be locked within the confines. Your connection to the Force had pulsed through your veins, the rush of power mixing with the heat of destiny. The ground shook with possibilities, strings of fate illuminating the world around you. For a brief moment in time, you felt everything.

And then...

Nothing.

You had used the Force for many things throughout your life. Under the guidance of your master, you had learned to harness the abilities for both defense and offense, something typically advised against. Master Yoda understood the precariousness of your situation, and in an effort to gain mastery over the vastness of your abilities, had trained you in both Light and Dark.

When you were in the Temple of Aion though, you knew you had accessed a piece of the Force you’d never touched before.

The world you knew was gone.

“Zifri,” you repeated, louder, with more gusto as you grasped at any bit of the Force you could feel.

It was there, quiet, like a drum long forgotten. The lifeforms that dazzled the connection was gone, dimmed to a few scattered, unrealized potentials.

Something was wrong.

Upon realizing the startling truth that it wasn’t you who was disconnected with the Force, but rather the rest of the universe, you left in search of the truth.

“Master Kenobi.” 

His lips tugged upwards in acknowledgment of your presence, a dangerous sign, to be sure. He hadn’t met you until a couple of years prior, but from that moment on, he knew he was in trouble.

You brought with you a sense of peace he could never hope to find in your absence. The Light seemed to radiate from your presence, and his connection to the Force flared to life with each accidental touch of your hand. He had never been so allured by another, and the enchantment seemed to grow with every passing hour.

“Starling.”

Your lips twitched down at the nickname. He’d taken to calling you it since your first meeting, and you still weren’t entirely sure why.

“That,” you crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at the man, “is not my name.”

The look on his face was far too mischievous for the esteemed Jedi Master. You felt the beginnings of a smile threaten to overcome your pout, and fought hard against it.

“And Master Kenobi isn’t mine,” he reminded you, mirroring your stance.

Your eyes narrowed, before you crossed the distance to give his shoulder a gentle shove. It hardly affected him, but the press of your hand against him, even muted by layers of clothing, sparked a fire down his spine.

“Obi,” you laughed. There was a brief pause, where your gazes met, affection exchanged, even through the desperate denials. “I got a Padawan!”

His smile widened. He’d known that you were to be assigned a Padawan. You had finished your Jedi training in record time, and there was no doubt that you could guide a fresh face on their journey, even if they were more than half your age. 

“Hopefully your Padawan listens more than Anakin,” Obi-Wan joked.

He was caught off guard when you threw yourself into his arms. It wasn’t the reaction he was expecting, but he was quick to return the sentiment.

“I know you advocated for me,” you whispered, your breath hot against his ear.

A piece of his training chipped away that day. How could he believe that holding you in his arms, giving into the affection he had for you, was so wrong when nothing in the world had ever felt more right?

“Always,” he replied, voice not above a murmur.

The other words he wished to speak, the feelings he wished to reveal, died in his throat. Today, he would not break the Jedi Code.

He could not speak for tomorrow, though.

Slowly, through frightened whispers or reverent murmurs, you pieced together the chronicle of the reality you awoke to.

30 years.

A full 30 years had passed.

When you were in the Temple of Aion though, you knew you had accessed a piece of the Force you’d never touched before.

With the power that resonated at your core, and the energy that hummed in the quiet halls of the Temple of Aion, you had been able to step through time.

Master Yoda had always claimed you had a destiny, one you could never fully comprehend, but you hadn’t expected it to include time travel.

Anakin.

Anakin Skywalker.

The very same man you had grown close to, had both learned from and mentored, was responsible for the desolation of your people. It seared your heart to learn the truth.

And Obi-Wan.

Your Obi-Wan, a soul so full of Light, forced to shoulder the burden of guiding, and loving, the man accountable for the atrocities committed against the Jedi. It pained you to think of how alone he must’ve felt in a galaxy he’d spent his life protecting. He was suddenly without his Order, without his closest friend, and without you, his lover.

How would things have changed if you were there?

Would you have perished with the other Jedi, or would you have survived, forced to live a life without the structure you’d become accustomed to?

What happened to your Master? To your Padawan? To Ahsoka?

You sighed, holding the bowl of steaming broth you were sipping on a little closer.

Your hunt for others was not going well. You weren’t even sure if there were anymore Jedi. The silence in your mind through the Force had become deafening, and you couldn’t take it anymore. It was driving you to the brink of insanity, living so long with a string connecting you to the other lifeforms that the sudden disappearance of them was startling.

So, you cut your connection to the Force.

It was painful, and every day a piece of you desperately called out to it, to reconnect your soul, but you held firm.

“Jedi.”

It was a mutter, spoken in a quiet conversation a few seats down, but you still heard it. Curiosity got the best of you, and the small spark of hope stirred deep in your gut.

Against better judgement, you followed the Mandalorian who had inquired about Jedi out of the establishment, and towards, what you presumed to be, his ship. The Mandalorian in question was cautious, looking over his shoulder with every step he took. Had you not been as well trained as you were, you more than likely would have slipped up and ousted yourself.

Alas, you managed to navigate your way through the bustling streets of some backwater planet while keeping your identity concealed from the vigilant Mandalorian.

“Starling!”

Obi-Wan had taken to calling you his ever-affectionate nickname more so than your given name. Typically, though, the endearment was saved for teasing mutters, or mirthful mumbles.

The two syllables had never been filled with such worry before, and the instincts you’d adopted in your years of training flared to life. Ahsoka was beside you, having been volunteered to stay with the unit by her esteemed Master Skywalker.

Zifri, your Padawan, had gone with Obi-Wan and Anakin. Having as many Jedis (Padawans included) had seemed a bit overkill, especially with Master Windu already stationed at a nearby base, but as an assault began to rain down around you and young Ahsoka, you quickly realized why.

The enemy was fierce, unrelenting, and incalculable in size. Rex’s unit was with you and Ahsoka, but following Obi-Wan’s warning, he and the rest of the backup were effectively cut off.

The twin sabers in your hand sprang to life, purple light reflecting in the harshness of your gaze.

“Get her to safety,” you ordered, holding the frontline as the enemy poured the brunt of their resources into your position. “Now!”

Rex jumped at the suddenness of your command. He offered a brief nod, before he signalled his troops to fall back, and tried to get Ahsoka to do the same.

She stood firm, refusing to leave you.

“We’re stronger together,” Ahsoka argued, unsheathing her lightsabers in a valiant attempt to provide assistance.

Time froze, just for a fraction of a second, as you smiled at the young Padawan. She was a fast learner, and fiercely loyal. If you asked, she would stay, and she would fall. Your heart squeezed in your chest as you eyed the facility the enemy were housed in. If you could get inside, you could buy enough time for Ahsoka, Rex, and the entire unit.

Your decision was made before you ever made a move to enact it.

You thought of Obi-Wan then, as you forced the young Padawan backwards, and charged forward into the enemy.

He would be proud.

“What do you know of the Jedi?”

The words had barely left your mouth before a blaster was being pointed directly at you.

You eyed it cautiously, blinking.

“What are you doing on my ship?” The helmet made the Mandalorian’s voice a bit mechanical, but there was no denying the hostility in it.

“I asked first,” you held your hands up in surrender, a bit too much cheek.

“This is my ship,” the man before you felt the need to remind you.

“Well, yes,” you answered lamely, spying the little guy that peeked out from behind the man’s cape.

Your eyes widened, recognition flashing across your features as a face similar to your beloved master revealed itself. You took a step back inadvertently, your heart fracturing in your chest as a gentle gaze tore open old wounds.

The child cooed, carefully stepping around the Mandalorian to approach you. A part of him recognized the Force inside you, you were sure, as his tiny hand reached out for you.

In a daze, you bent down to meet him.

A stillness grew in the air, like the world was holding its breath, waiting to see the interaction.

The Child was attempting to make contact with you- not just physically, but through the Force too- and panic rose in you at the thought. Alerts blared red throughout your systems as you physically recoiled. The little guy wasn’t deterred though, and despite your absolute withdrawal from him through the Force, his small hand wrapped around your fingers.

He made a noise, one that could be interpreted as friendly, and looked back to the Mandalorian. The Mandalorian, for his part, had been patient during the exchange, but his finger hadn’t been removed from the trigger, an obvious sign of his mistrust.

“Who are you?”

His voice echoed in the small space of the ship. You cleared your throat.

“I heard you talking about Jedi,” you mentioned, holding onto the creature that looked so similar to your Master. “I’m looking for them.”

A pause.

“Why?”

You considered the question. Your identity had been a closely guarded secret. After all, you still weren’t entirely sure why you’d been propelled 30 years into the future, so you made the decision to keep quiet on the subject. This was no exception. 

“I want to know what happened to my family,” you gave a half-truth.

If he wondered why the Jedi would know, he didn’t question it.

“The kid seems to like you.”

It was an observation, though you could tell it was one he took to heart. The Mandalorian may have thought the kid had good intuition, but you knew it was his connection to the Force.

“I can help you.”

The twin lightsabers that were concealed in your robes burned, the handles icy to the touch from disuse, yet flaming with the sudden desire to be the person you had trained to be. They, too, had been untouched in the year that had passed since your sudden upheaval.

“...Okay.”

He was reluctant, and you were sure if it wasn’t for the pleading eyes of the youngling, he would’ve outright refused. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to embrace company, and you weren’t the type that liked to impose, but if there was a possibility of you finding a Jedi, you needed to take it.

“Perfect.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Snips.”

“If I had just-”

“My Master is as stubborn as she is strong, you wouldn’t have gotten through.”

“Rest, we must allow her. Watch over her, Master Kenobi will.”

The voices you’d been listening to had faded, and you were barely able to open your eyes to register why that was.

“Easy,” the familiar articulation above you was fraught with apprehension.

“Obi?” You inquired softly, his face a blur as you tried to adjust your vision more properly.

“Starling,” he breathed, relief palpable in the drawl he spoke with. The air grew lighter at the nickname, and you felt the tension melt from your body.

“Is everyone okay?”

Obi-Wan visibly flinched at the question. Hesitantly, after a moment of contemplation, he nodded. A smile began to tug at your lips and- despite your body heavily protesting the action, muscles groaning at the strain- you sat up.

“I’m sorry, I know-”

“It was reckless,” Obi-Wan reprimanded, staring down at where his fingers tapped against the edge of the bed. He had an air of agitation, but there was something else deep beneath his facade that you couldn’t quite read.

“It was necessary to save the people I…” 

His eyes snapped to you, imploring- no, begging- you to continue. Your voice went quiet, the atmosphere weighed down with the words you struggled to utter. You ran your tongue along your teeth.

“The people I love.”

Obi-Wan let the words simmer between the two of you. He was digesting them, critiquing them, and then embracing them. The beating of his heart matched the erratic thumping of yours.

“I was terrified,” he admitted on a whisper, as if divulging a secret. “But proud.”

The Child was still reaching out to you.

You had been vigilant in your effort to remain disconnected to the Force. With him so nearby, and more days passing without the connection so integral to your person, your defenses were struggling, but you refused to relent.

The kid knew it too.

A deep sadness reflected in his glossy gaze, chipping away at the armor you had locked around your heart. You stared at yourself through his eyes, at how battle hardened you looked. Throughout the Clone Wars, you had been an esteemed general, but you had a family- if not by blood, by choice- that kept you grounded. Since your stint with time travel, you had been alone, and as unfair as it was to leave the kid on his own, you couldn’t open yourself back up yet.

There was pain without the Force, but dammit, you didn’t know if you could handle the fresh hell your connection to it brought.

“I’m sorry, kiddo,” you apologized, holding your hand out for him.

He took it, waddling closer to better inspect you. He was desperate for the attachment you were denying. It likely had to do with the tidbit of information Mando had given you. He said the kid was 50, which meant, technically speaking, you were only five years his senior. Though, you didn’t really consider yourself to be the 55 the timeline suggested, considering you skipped 30 of those years, which left you with the appearance and memories of a 25 year old.

“Why the sorcerers?” The low, mechanical baritone of the Mandalorian asked from the doorway, his body sturdy and intimidating.

He had grown a fair bit on you, especially considering the long and bloody past between Jedi and Mandalorians. The look you pulled following his description of Jedi was one of indignation, however.

“Sorcerers?” You echoed, the words distasteful on your tongue. “Jedi are not magic. The Force isn’t some- some-”

Your argument was crashing, as you realized just how much you were implying about your past with each word used in defense of the Jedi. The Mandalorian had been suspicious, and you replying as spirited as you did, did nothing to convince him otherwise.

You cleared your throat.

“The Jedi are an ancient and respectable order tasked with maintaining balance across the universe,” you explained calmly, refusing to stare at the blank, chrome exterior of the beskar helmet the Mandalorian wore.

Instead, you looked at the youngling.

“I’m not entirely sure there are any left, but their memory still deserves admiration.”

The Child cocked his head to the side, like he was digesting the bit of information you’d given. Mando, however, let the silence breathe for a moment.

“Did you know any?”

You pressed your fingers to the baby’s cheek, a ghost of a smile curving on your lips at the reminder of the people you had surrounded yourself with.

“Many,” you admitted softly.

Mando had taken a step towards you, bending down to level himself with you. He reached out towards the Child, offering him a bit of warmth, as he assessed you beneath the armor he wore.

You wondered then- certainly not for the first time- what he looked like. You hadn’t had a whole lot of interactions with Mandalorians in the past. Between training, both your own training and your Padawan’s training, and your individual role within the Clone Wars, it hadn’t ever really occurred. Most of what you knew was what Obi-Wan had told you, and the occasional excited recount Ahsoka had regaled you with. 

“Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum,” the words were purposeful as they left the Mandalorian’s mouth, and though you weren’t quite sure of their meaning, you knew they were said with the intention of honoring the unmentioned Jedi you’d lost.

Your heart skipped a beat, and the coo the kid had released was softer than normal, like he was mourning your loss too.

You rested your hand on Mando’s, holding it against the small chest of the kid.

“There is no death, there is the Force.”

The Child perked up in recognition of the final words of the Jedi Code. He, like Mando, did not interrupt the moment. The culmination of two cultures, so starkly different from one another, were weaving together in the small child. While this might suggest some amount of concern, you could only see a chance to transcend the mistakes of history.

“Thank you,” you mumbled to the bounty hunter.

None of you moved, and for a quiet moment in time, all was right with the world.

“Focused, you must remain.”

Master Yoda was being cautious, trying to keep you on task, but worry was beginning to seep into your actions. You’d finished the Trials, and you were a fully fledged Master- with a Padawan currently under your care- but your training was still ongoing.

The Jedi Council wasn’t taking any chances with the sheer power you displayed in regards to the Force. If it weren’t for Master Yoda and Obi-Wan, the Council may not have even allowed your training to progress. They were concerned about the training, especially when Yoda revealed that he had been training you with Force abilities tied to the Dark side.

“I think-,” you sighed in frustration, “Maybe I need the day off.”

Master Yoda considered the request, and then conceded when he realized how deep your fear ran. Power bred fear, and he never wanted you to fear your own gifts.

“Time, you should take. Return, we will, after some rest.”

You bowed, then scampered away as quickly as you could. Tears began to blur your vision, as you ran to safety. Your feet were moving on their own accord, pulling you towards security- which, incidentally, brought you to Obi-Wan’s quarters.

You paused briefly, wondering if it was a good idea. The two of you had been growing close, toeing the line of what was allowed, and what was forbidden. Before you could turn away and retreat into less dangerous territory, Obi-Wan opened the door.

Concern was etched into the furrow of his brow, and the downturn of his lips looked unnatural in comparison to the joy he typically radiated around you. Without thinking, or even considering possible consequences, you shut the door and fell into his embrace.

It wasn’t the first time the two of you had been so close before, but every time you were, it drew you one step closer to engaging in feelings deemed off limits by the Jedi Council.

“Is there anything I can do?” Obi-Wan’s voice was soft, but fierce.

You pulled back just a fraction to meet his eyes.

It was the way he looked at you, like there wasn’t anything more sacred in the world than you. Your heart stuttered against your chest, and you surged forward, your lips meeting his in a long overdue kiss.

He responded like he’d been waiting his entire life for it. There was no hesitation, no worry, and no doubt about his feelings.

You knew that would come after, but for the moment, you had each other.

“Do you have a name?”

The Mandalorian leveled you with a stare. Even without seeing his face, you knew the expression he bore was something close to absolute bewilderment.

It’d been nearly seven weeks since you boarded the Razor Crest. The Mandalorian and you had grown somewhat closer, but he was guarded and you were secretive. The Child had taken to you immediately, drawn by the Force, and charmed with your sweet voice.

“Do you?”

You pursed your lips.

“Touché.”

Silence reigned supreme once more, save for the occasional coos of the Child. He was secure in your lap, alternating his hands between holding yours or reaching for something on the console.

“(Y/N),” you finally broke the silence, steadfastly ignoring his gaze as you focused on the little guy. The Child looked up to you curiously, tilting his head as he mumbled a vague string of syllables that sounded somewhat like your name mixed with babble.

“(Y/N),” the Mandalorian echoed. It felt nice to hear him say it, the way he pronounced it carefully, taking care to taste the name on his tongue.

“I think I should be more cautious with my identity,” you admitted, gesturing to his helmet. “We don’t really know what we’re walking into.”

Mando thought on the idea for a brief moment, before he huffed his assent.

“You can call me Starling,” you interrupted on a whim, almost regretting it the second the word left your mouth. “It’s an old nickname,” you explained, curling in on yourself at the way the Mandalorian watched you.

“Starling it is,” he said finally.

If he found your behavior odd, he didn’t comment. In fact, he wasn’t the least bit phased when you donned a mask to show him. It was a darker shade of silver than the chrome armor he wore, and there were intricate designs carved into the metal, the same carvings the hilt of your lightsabers bore. It would render you completely unseen, and thus a bit safer until you could discern whether the Jedi in question could be trusted with the truth or not.

Mando routed the ship for a new destination, flipping levers and pressing buttons like it was second nature. He didn’t pause, and his voice was so quiet you almost missed the soft utterance, but you heard it nonetheless.

“Din.” 

“We’ll see them again.”

Every ounce of strength and faith was released into that short sentence, a gentle reminder to the man you loved of your capabilities.

He studied you, tracing every inch of your face like it was the last time he’d see you, and he needed to memorize the curve of your cheeks, or the slope of your nose.

“I know we will.”

He tried to echo the sentiment of your voice, but it fell short. He was beginning to believe that your recent endeavor had taken a turn for the worst, and that the two of you might not find your way off the godforsaken planet you crashed into as easily as you believed you would. With the woods crawling with enemy droids, and not a single friend in sight, it wasn’t a horrible assumption.

“Obi,” you pressed, resting your hand against his cheek to get his attention. It worked. “We’re going to get out of this.”

It wasn’t often the man before you lacked the strength to carry hope, but in the times that he did, you were the only person that could spark conviction in him.

“What would I do without you?”

It wasn’t a question meant to be answered. He had found himself wondering what a life outside of the Order might be like since the day you kissed him- perhaps even longer, if he were honest with himself. A part of him longed to be selfish, to keep you from the world.

He knew then, though, or maybe he’d always known, your destiny was larger than him. You were born to soar above the fears and expectations of the Jedi Order. You were born to live a life of your own, not one defined by him, and he felt himself fighting a losing battle, trying to hold onto you for as long as he could.

It had come out as a rhetorical question- but, deep down, he knew the truth: one day you would be without him, and he wasn’t sure he’d have the strength to carry on.

You, though, were resilient.

You could carry on.

He needed you to.

Faded, silvery lines painted a picture on your back.

Each was a scar, a tragedy of a life long forgotten. There was a large print in the form of a gash from where you’d narrowly escaped a crashed ship, or a thin line that spanned the length of your shoulders from being thrown across a battlefield. The memories that came from the stories they told weren’t always pleasant. They were reminders of who you were and where you’d been, even if you were trying to run from the past, and deny the existence of the person you’d once been intimately familiar with.

There was a new scar too.

This one was where your shoulder met your collarbone. It was an angry, red wound that hadn’t quite scarred yet, but was just beginning to show the puckering of a lasting injury. You’d jumped in the line of fire to protect the youngling. Before that, you’d been effortlessly weaving through enemies, cutting them down with a staff you’d wrestled from the first to jump at you.

Would this scar prompt the same feelings the others did in the future?

You sighed, meeting your own gaze in the mirror. You looked different. Not in the sense that you’d drastically changed on the outside, but the way you carried yourself was different.

You had never been one to strictly follow the Jedi Code, but there wasn’t a trace of Jedi left in you anymore. The hope that used to light your eyes, the wonder that settled on your brow, the joy that tugged at your lips- it was all gone, replaced with a heaviness you couldn't quite carry.

A curse sounded from beside you, and the sudden appearance of Mando startled you. Despite what his exterior, and copious amount of armor, might suggest, the man moved surprisingly quiet when he wanted to.

You didn’t bother to shield your body at the sudden intrusion. You were decent enough where you weren’t exposed, but more skin was on display than normal. Mando awkwardly shuffled in place, torn between leaving and checking on you.

“I’m fine, if that’s why you’re here,” you decided for him, ghosting your fingers along the new wound.

“Good,” he muttered. Though his helmet shielded the direction of his eyes, you could feel his stare run the length of the skin on your back.

He had questions. They filled the silence, pressing the void with the desire to voice them, but not the strength required to.

“They’re from another life,” you explained, gazing at him through the mirror.

A breath.

“I was a-” you paused, changing the direction of the conversation last minute. “A general. War isn’t easy.”

Din inclined his head, the barest gesture of acknowledgement. Even though he wasn’t speaking, and not offering physical comfort, his presence made you feel at ease, like he could understand some amount of the pain you felt.

You turned to him then, cautious steps bringing you closer until you were nearly chest to chest- or chest to abdomen, if you were being honest with your height. Din hadn’t moved an inch, though his helmet was tilted down, and you knew beneath it, the eyes of a hunter were watching every movement you made.

Carefully, you lifted a hand to the side of his helmet, pressing it against the cool beskar, in direct opposition to the heat of your skin. It reminded you of your Order, and his, and the conflicting views of the two, how different it had formed you both. Though, you hadn’t really felt the opposite of him, but rather complimentary, like your opinions and actions lifted him up, and vice versa.

“Thank you, Din.”

By the time he’d really processed what you said, you were out of sight, leaving him alone in the dark, with nothing but the heat rising to his cheeks at your actions.

The Jedi Code was in place for a reason.

You knew that.

Obi-Wan knew that.

Yet it hadn’t stopped the affection from blossoming.

The early lights of a rising sun crept in through the window, shining down on the two of you, still entwined and bare from the previous night’s events. He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, heated skin meeting his lips in an action that spoke more than he ever could.

‘I love you’- not spoken in so many words, but conveyed through the soft brush of his hand, or the gentle press of his mouth. 

Time was your enemy, so long as you continued down this path, and you knew it wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the Jedi Council would become aware of the blooming relationship. They would punish you. You would probably lose your Padawan, and maybe even your status. Obi-Wan would be in a similar situation, and as much as you wanted to care, it was difficult to.

He meant everything to you, and you meant everything to him. Nothing in the world made more sense than being together.

“We have to get up soon,” Obi-Wan reminded you, not quite ready to give up on the charade.

You understood. There was Anakin, Ahsoka, and Zifri to worry about.

“I know,” you agreed on a hum, running your fingers through his hair. His eyes slipped shut at the sensation, as they often did.

“Master Windu spoke of a mission you’re going on?” Obi-Wan inquired, his tone quiet as he reveled in your attention.

“Mmm,” you murmured, holding a kiss to his forehead, “The Temple of Aion, just a quick trip.”

“Be careful,” he warned, holding your hand in his. 

The words he should’ve said stayed silent, waiting for a different opportunity that would never come. That would be the last time you saw Obi-Wan, though you didn’t know it at the time.

Or maybe you had known, deep down, as you ran your fingers along his lips, committing his face to memory- so expressive and filled with love.

That was goodbye.

Bo-Katan had mentioned Ahsoka, and you had barely been able to breathe from that moment forward.

Din had picked up on the change in attitude. He wanted to ask about it, but he wasn’t one to pry. Instead, he’d been silently lending you strength.

The flight had gone off without a hitch, and typically you’d be thankful for the lack of interruptions, but the quiet had been slowly descending you towards a maddening cycle of imagining how Ahsoka would react to the revelation of your fate. Your imagination wasn’t being kind, and you were nearly convinced that she would blame you for everything that had happened with Anakin and the Jedi Order.

Your sweet, stubborn Ahsoka, who had meant so much to you, that you would willingly lay down your life for her. Would she think you a traitor? Would she understand what you’d gone through?

The tiny, gentle hands of the kid interrupted your thinking. His wide eyes were directed at you, and you could feel the Force inside you thump against the confines of your chest to get to him.

Ahsoka would know.

Even with your self-induced severance to the Force, she would know it was you, with or without the mask.

What would be the point then?

Should you tell Mando and the kid?

After all, they were searching for a Jedi to train the kid, and you were a fully-fledged Jedi, who, through a series of unfortunate events, had lost their Padawan. One of the kid’s own kind, Master Yoda, had been your teacher. For all intents and purposes, you were the perfect teacher for the kid. Mando wouldn’t need to be separated, and you could rekindle the fire of hope that the loss of the Jedi Order doused.

You would tell them, then. You would restore your connection to the Force, and you would aid Din, but only after you reunited with Ahsoka.

The kid, as if sensing your resolution, gave you a toothy smile. It pulled at your heart, reminding you of your own Master.

Tears welled in your eyes, and the gentleness of the creature before you, the worry, caused them to fall.

You mourned your people- Master Yoda, who taught you, Anakin, who joked with you, Zifri, who looked to you for guidance, and Obi-Wan, who loved you unconditionally.

You mourned the ever-progressing change that had transformed the galaxy from the one you knew, to the one you now learned.

And you mourned yourself- the girl full of hope, who found faith in the people around her, and spent her whole life trying to make the world a better place.

Din found you like that, holding tight to the Child while you let yourself mourn what you’d lost one last time before facing the future.

He didn’t know the full extent of your past, just as you didn’t know his, but the secrets kept in the dark of the night hadn’t distanced either of you.

“Ready?” He inquired.

You nodded, propping the kid on your hip as you stood to your full height, forgoing the mask you’d been wearing entirely.

You wouldn’t hide your identity any longer. The world wouldn’t scare you into submission. You were a Jedi, and it was high time you started to act like one.

There was a brief hesitation before Din’s gloved hand slipped into yours, igniting a strength you’d long since thought was gone.

You smiled down at the kid, and then where your hand met Din’s.

You’d been lost for so long, but now-

Now you were found.

[tagsecretsanta]

From @Onereyofstarlight

to @godsliltippy

Secret Santa does not own this work, full credit to the author above!

Jelly smears onto her arm where Gordon grabs her and a ball of wrapping paper and tape is thrust into her hands.

“’t’s for you,” he says, eyes alight as she holds the pink package away from her body. 

Penelope stares at him and looks over to her father. Years of etiquette, engrained into her by nurses, nannies and governesses, never prepared her for the clumsy friendship of a five-year-old boy who showed all his teeth when he smiled.

No-one would know if she didn’t thank him. Just the two of them, and she doubts he would even notice. 

Her mother would notice. Her dead mother’s presence was everywhere, lurking in the corners of every room and watching Penelope’s every move. Her mother would tell someone and they would tell her father.

Nothing escapes Lord Creighton-Ward, especially not in his own house.

She nods slowly instead, allowing a thin smile to spread across her face. 

“Thank you, Gordon.”

There’s dirt on his nose. Her smile falters.

But Gordon is five and starry eyed and in love with the pretty girl who came to play school with his brothers and doesn’t see the lie in her eyes. 

He runs back to his mother, heedless of the way Penelope’s eyes follow him.

“Wot’s tha’ milady?”

“Nothing, Parker.”

She means it too.

The gift is never opened, discarded among the steamers and half-eaten plates of food.

Gordon never notices.

***

The next year, he gives her nothing but a cold stare.

***

Time passes and she’s no longer a haughty girl of seven, sulking in the back room of a boring Christmas Eve party, and he’s no longer the kid who follows his brothers like a lost puppy. He bounds first into every room, demanding attention and she can hardly stop herself from giving it to him. 

“Hey,” says John, looking slightly affronted at the way her eyes have slipped away from him once again. “You listening to me?”

“Yes.”

She’s lying, and she’s gotten good at that, but John still knows her tells, still knows her.

“Sure.”

It’s hard to hear him over the bright spark of laughter on the other side of the room. Gordon is surrounded, entertaining the small children stuck in the same position she was exactly twelve years ago.

A nudge pulls her from her thoughts and John nods in his direction.

“Talk to him.”

Penelope says nothing and he reads her silence as easily as his mathematical proofs. His mouth twists as he watches her, biting back platitudes that she can’t stand to hear.

“He got you a gift,” John says quietly. His eyes never leave her and she wishes desperately that she could leave. “He spent hours thinking about it, didn’t shut up about it since he drew your–”

“Don’t tell me that.”

His hands rise, open and honest and the words fall heavy between them.

She’d never been more pathetically grateful than when Gordon pulled her name for the annual Christmas round robin. She doesn’t need John to point it out to her.

There’s a dry lump in her throat and it tastes like pity.

Penelope knows she’s being a terrible host, but she allows the silence to stretch between them.

“Do you want another drink?”

She shakes her head, looking very carefully into the flickering flames. 

John sighs and collects her glass from the mantle all the same. 

“I’ll be back.”

She watches John as he strides across the dance floor, half convinced he’s about to spill the beans to Gordon, but he barely gives him a second glance. Instead, a few short words and a pointed look in her direction sends Virgil her way.

“Penelope, you’re looking wonderful.”

“What did John tell you?”

He grins and offers her his hand.

“Just thought you might appreciate a dance. Take your mind off matters.”

“He told you?”

“Never, our Johnny is a gentleman first. And a dancer last.”

On tiptoes, she spies John over his brother’s shoulder and glares at him as he ducks out of the room.

“One dance then, Mr Tracy.”

“Lady Creighton-Ward.”

In truth, Virgil is a wonderful dancer. They move like starlings in the dusk, mesmerising and perfectly choreographed as the music swells in a familiar beat. It’s easy and joyful, allowing herself to move without thinking while Virgil mutters terribly judgemental comments about the more stuck-up members of her peers.

“Stop it, Virgil,” she whispers, fighting a smile. “It’s not funny.”

He laughs and they dance, allowing the music and conversation to direct their pace and as the song swells, he twirls her, throwing her into a spin with laughter erupting from her lips, and yet it’s Gordon who catches her.

The sound dies and blood rushes to her cheeks. She drops his hand and stares, lips parted, eyes wide.

It’s embarrassing, really.

Virgil has made himself scarce, but her eyes are trained on Gordon alone. In his hands, he holds a present, its yellow bow flopping over like her father’s dog after a long walk, and he smiles, crooked and sweet in its uncertainty.

She can’t bring herself to breathe. His smile falters as his face flushes and he drops his eyes. They stand together and their eyes don’t meet. In one stilted motion, he presses the small box into her palm and turns away. 

Their hands never touch, but the gift is still warm. She traces the yellow ribbon as she watches him go.

“Thank you,” she calls out with a rush of courage. 

He glances back over his shoulder and shrugs, his smile brilliant between flaming cheeks.

“Welcome, Pen. Happy Christmas.”

And it is. 

Later that night, she stares at the neatly wrapped box and turns it over in her hands. She should open it, she knows, but she remembers John telling her how Gordon had agonised over this. He deserves more than a bleary thank you note tainted by exhausted emotion.

She puts the gift aside, ready for Christmas morning when she can take her time.

She wakes up and it’s Christmas Day.

It’s Christmas Day and her father dies.

***

She packs her childhood away and smiles with all the gracious manner he’d always expected of her. People stream through the house; some she hasn’t seen for years and some she’d seen only yesterday. Their comfort is as empty as the house she grew up in.

“We can’t put this off any longer, Penelope.”

Her aunt’s quiet voice breaks through the haze of grief and exhaustion.

“Not yet,” she whispers, watching the door.

“Not even Jeff Tracy can change an international flight plan midcourse. By the time they land, refuel and deal with the bureaucrats in order to get back here, I need to be gone. And you need to be with me.”

She exhales shakily, fighting the tears and tightness in her chest.

“Let me get my things.”

Great Aunt Sylvia nods and Penelope stands. It’s short work but she allows herself to hesitate. She knows what she’s getting into, and there won’t be time for sentimentality in her future. She looks down at the little box she’d placed on her bedside table. She should leave it behind along with her regrets. 

She pulls on the ribbon. It’s an impulse and a foolish one, and she can’t stop herself until she holds the gift unwrapped in her hands.

A laugh bubbles out of her, genuine and surprising in the dullness of the day. A pair of door knockers, moulded into the familiar shape of Sherbet, lay gleaming in the tissue paper. 

It’s ridiculous and perfect and she can’t help but love it.

“Penelope, dear? No time for dilly-dalliances.”

“I’ll be right down, Aunt Sylvia.”

Penelope collects her things, still biting back a smile. She’ll have them installed while she’s away.

***

Penelope trains in espionage. Gordon joins the military.

She completes her apprenticeship and Jeff Tracy offers her a position. He doesn’t return.

His father dies. She listens, numb, as Scott tries to get through to his superiors. No amount of money or connections will allow Gordon to resurface from his position of deep cover.

Unease settles over the family and no-one asks her to leave the island. So, she stays. She programs her favourite meals into the kitchen computer, hands tools to Brains and tells Parker to look after Mrs Tracy. Her employer is dead, but she’s not sure where else she should be.

Alan follows her around. Virgil sleeps. She doesn’t know what Scott and John are doing, locked away in the study.

Eventually, Gordon comes back. He’s lost his healthy tan and the bags under his eyes look like storm clouds. Still, he laughs as he swings Alan around in a hug, and drags Virgil out of his room, and needles at his other two brothers until they finally tell him the plan moving forward.

International Rescue will continue and Penelope no longer feels like a stranger on the island. The black despair begins to peel back and she can feel the hope and determination they all share.

It’s a gift.

***

He’s bashful.

He’s infuriating.

He’s scared.

He’s ecstatic.

He’s lost.

He’s safe.

His father is alive.

His father is alive and he’s looking at her, joy in his eyes and determination behind his smile.

He slips beneath the cool armour she forged in the wake of her father’s funeral with a kiss.

There’s no time to talk until there is.

He walks his grandmother’s son across the room and turns to her.

He reaches out and she meets him there.

*** 

It’s a fragile thing between them, still nebulous and undefined. Her breath catches as he slides an arm around her waist and tucks himself against her skin. Great Aunt Sylvia would never approve of such a blatant display. Parker certainly doesn’t. 

It’s vulnerable and honest, and so very Gordon, and she tenses as his family’s eyes land on them, bracing herself for the scrutiny to which she’s opening herself. He tugs her close, careless and unrepentant beneath the gentle ribbing and wolf whistles. She can hear the distinct bleep of money being transferred between bank accounts and shoots a glare in Virgil’s direction. 

It turns out that no-one finds them very interesting, hardly saying a word and playing with each other’s hands.

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, until it spreads into a smile of her own beneath him. Her eyes flutter closed and she moves to clutch at the hand that cups her cheek.

“Hey,” he whispers, mouth against her skin. “Happy Birthday.”

She pulls away and stares. 

“I thought you said we would exchange gifts on Christmas. I haven’t wrapped yours yet, you should have told me and–”

“Pen,” he interrupts, laughing a little. “I said ‘Happy Birthday’. It’s not Christmas time just yet.”

“I don’t understand.”

He shrugs as he reaches behind him with a sheepish grin.

“Well, it’s just I know how it is, being born near a holiday. Gotta imagine being born the day before Christmas lends itself to that combined present crap far too easily for people.” He glances down at the parcel, a faint blush spreading across his cheeks. “I know you said you didn’t want a fuss, but I wanted you to know I was thinking of you today.”

She loves him. The thought is no longer new or surprising but for the first time she embraces it and allows it to warm her heart instead of squirrelling the idea away in a fit of shame. He thought of her and she loves him and she doesn’t care about presents, not really, but no one had ever thought of her like he does.  

He hands her a brightly wrapped parcel and she can’t help the dopey smile that grows as she holds it in her hands.

“Thank you, Gordon,” she says, still staring in delight.

“Well, there’s more where that came from.” It’s a self-conscious laugh, tinged with uncertainty and he can’t help himself and the question spills forth. “You like it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet,” she says with a laugh of her own. “But I already love it.” 

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but she knows how to fix that these days. Leaning forward, she kisses him herself, paying no mind to the rest of the family. 

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

[msmarvelwrites]

The Winter Ghost - Chapter 17

Info: A Devastating car crash causes you to lose your memory and start over. The only thing left in the wreckage was the horrific nightmares which plagued your mind. If you knew what today would entail you would have just stayed in bed. But you didn’t and because of that, everything you knew was about to change.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: swearing, fluff, foreshadowing smut?

W/c: 2.3k

A/n: I know I know, it’s been quite a few nights since I last posted since I usually try to every few days... This week has been a whole long seven days. And honestly I needed to charge my battery and take a break from writing for a minute. Anyyways, thats boring, and this is not. Were almost done here, and I’m so excited to move onto some imagine’s I’ve been brainstorming! Hope you enjoy! 

Bucky’s breath fanned across your collarbone, drifting in and out of slumber. How he could even attempt sleeping after the day's events was, quite frankly, astonishing. But you didn't dare wake him, afraid you wouldn't get a chance to be this close to him again. 

It was easy enough to conclude how you felt about the past few days as confusion. Specifically speaking, you knew it went deeper than that. Your memories had kicked you in the teeth, reeling from the guilt and grief that Tommy was dead and it was all your fault. Yet in the matter of hours, you had fed him to Hydra. You knew exactly what they would do to him when they found out you had escaped. You also knew that when the team circled back to dispose of the Hydra base, or what of it was left, Tommy would be gone. For good this time. 

Bucky’s body shifted, leaning in closer to you. Your heart raced as a small sigh erupted from his chest, vibrating through you. 

And then there was that. You weren't sure when that feeling of butterflies had come back when Bucky looked at you, but nevertheless it had. Part of you thought you should be sorrowful after your ‘almost’ fiance ‘almost’ shot you. Maybe take a day for bereavement, and yet, the idea of pressing pause on Bucky, after all this time, felt impossible. More to the point, you were tired of fighting between what you thought was morally right about how your heart beated ten times faster when he was around.  

“Do you hate me?” He hesitated under his breath. The rest of the team had all taken their seats at the front of the aircraft. Even still, he spoke as though he was afraid they would hear your confession. 

Your eyes met his, looking for some sort of punchline, but none came. Silence hung heavy around his question, and you swallowed deeply. 

Did you hate him? There was a time not so long ago that you would have been an easy question to answer. He hadn't stolen the life you thought he had. No, Tommy did that all on his own.  He betrayed everything you had built together. He wasn't the man you thought you knew. Bucky, on the other hand, always had been. You knew about his past. He had spent countless nights wrapped in his arms dredging but old and broken memories about his time with Hydra. The only thing you knew for sure was he made you feel like you belonged in a world that you thought had written you off years ago.

 Maybe, if you hated anyone, it was yourself. How long had Tommy been lying to you?  How could you not have seen it? How many nights had you spent in your bed, giving yourself to him, trusting him, believing him? 

“Thats a loaded question.” He murmured before you could answer. “I just mean, I miss this… Miss, you.” 

You worried on your bottom lip, watching as he huffed out a breath and accepting your silence for an obvious answer. Before he could pull away from you, you took his hands in yours, starling him from the sudden warmth. 

“I- I don’t think I ever hated you.” You offered honestly. 

Bucky pursed his lips and looked you over quizzically. “Could’ve fooled me.” He chuckled, leaning back into you as his breath steadied again. 

“I know I never really got the chance to- uh, apologise...” You tried the word on your tongue, but it tasted bitter. How do you ask for someone's forgiveness after attempting to murder them? “I don't really know what to say…” You mumbled, feeling the walls you built around yourself behind to crumble. 

“That’s cause’ there's nothing to say. Listen doll, of all people you don't need to apologise to me for homicidal tendencies. I get it.” He teased. You appreciated his light hearted approach, but his words send a lump to appear in your throat. Was that what it boiled down to? After a long day of dark thoughts and murderous rampages, Bucky would be there to understand. You weren't sure if the sentiment was romantic or the plot to a Tim Burton film. 

“And besides, I kinda’ deserved the ass kicking.” He signed, smiling into your shoulder. 

“You kind of did.” You chuckled. 

Huh…?

Were you making light hearted joking about attempted murder? Is this who you were now? Honestly, it wasn't the worst thing you’d done. Besides, there was something so comforting about the way he accepted you. Flaws (and boy oh boy were they flaws) and all. 

“Okay. So I'm not sorry for putting you on your ass.” You specified. “But I am sorry. For what I said after. I don’t know where that came from. I don't really think those things about you. You’ve never given me a reason to before.” Bucky huffed, and you could physically feel him stiffen. 

“I lost control, Y/n. I gave you a perfectly good reason...” He noted. You didn't have the heart to tell him that ever since that fateful day in the hallway all you could think about was the aching in your core and how perfect his death machine of a hand fit around your throat. 

“It doesn't matter…” You spoke, running your fingers over his flesh ones, until they locked into his. “I’m fine. You're fine- ish, right?” You chuckled, motioning to his chest now dried with blood, “I don't blame you.”

He squeezed your hand and signed into your shoulder. Everything about this moment was perfect. The impending doom you had left behind was just that. It felt long gone as you stared into Bucky’s arctic eyes and breathed in his scent. Comforting, familiar, and something you weren't ready to comprehend. It sent shivers down your spine and made your legs clench together at the thought. But now, sitting in the back of the quinjet avoiding the loud stares of Wanda scrutinizing your every move was not the time. There was no doubt she was reading your loud heated thoughts, and so desperately, you tried to quiet your want. 

……………………………

When you landed, medical was at the ready, helping Bucky out of the aircraft and into the compound. Shuri tried to force you apart from the injured man long enough to convince you to go for a check up also. 

‘I feel fine. I’m fine’ you tried to argue, but it was no use. Her mind was made up and you were smart enough to know when that happens, there's very little one can do to change it. 

You sat in the small lab, letting Shuri pry and pron at you, asking question after question but your mind was distant. Distracted. There was only one person you wanted to be with, and right now he was down the hall, having bullets plucked from his body. 

The overwhelming need to be near him was sudden, but not unwelcome. Try as you may to push it away, it krept back in, startling you every time. You could play dumb all you wanted, but now that he was not next to you, youre only mission consisted with getting him back. Were you confused? 

Yes. 

Did you understand what you were feeling? 

Not entirely. 

How did Bucky make you feel?

Brave… Loved… Horny? All of the above. 

Yes, yes and yes. There was no denying it. As much as you wished it was more complicated. Your entire core was drawn to him like a magnet and your brain was just along for the ride. Heart stuttering and mind foggy. 

Shuri gives you a once over and taps on your shoulder, yanking you from your thoughts. “You okay?” 

The question was simple. And yet, the words wouldn't come. 

You cleared your throat, physically shaking your head and clearing your racing thoughts, “Yes. I’m okay. Do you think I can go?” 

Shuri smiles knowingly, a chuckle bubbling out of her small chest. “He’s fine, ya’ know. Doctors said they extracted the bullets easily. He’s probably all healed up already-”

Her words were cut off by your impatient foot, bobbing anxiously for the answer to your question. 

“Yes. fine you can go.” 

You practically jumped off the lab table, swinging the door open and shouting a thank you over your shoulder on the way out. 

When you entered Bucky’s medical room, it was quiet. Turning the corner you could see he was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring out the large floor length window that looked out to the rolling mountain of Wakanda.

You tried to step lightly, not wanting to alarm him.

“Can't sneak up on a trained assassin.” 

You jumped, clutching your heart at his sudden voice. He chucked, watching your panicked face melt into a smile. 

“Guess not. How ya’ feeling killer?” You smirked, taking a seat on the windowsill across from him. 

Bucky squinted, looking at you skeptically, “I don't know if you're tryin’ to be funny or-” 

“I'm not. That was a stupid joke….” You scoffed as you bathed in the awkward silence that followed. 

There were so many things you wanted to say. So many you wanted to do, and yet your body was frozen, staring at the floor unable to meet his intense gaze. You could literally hear your heart beating in your chest and your face growing warmer by the second. 

“So.” you finally choked out, forcing yourself with all your might to look up. His eyes were soft and full of reassurance. Something you so desperately needed at the moment. Maybe the old Y/n could convey her emotions, but the real one was a total disaster when it came to this sort of thing. 

But that's what you were doing wasn't it? This is what it had all led up to. The kiss, the midnight conversations, the unyielding sexual tension. This was it. 

“So…” He repeated your words, coxing your next ones. 

You chuckled dryly, clearing your throat and starting again, “So, about what happened back there.” 

“When I got shot or when we kissed?”

“Both I guess?” 

“You guess?” He quipped, amusement dripping from his mouth. He was loving this. Watching you fumble over your thoughts. Of course he did. Smug bastard. 

“Listen, I’m not good at this stuff. Obviously. So could you just tell me how it is. Was that some heat of the moment thing? Like before. Because if it was you just gotta’ tell me.”  You finished in a huff. 

Bucky signed, running his flesh hand through his hair. “It wasn't.” He finally spoke, “not then and not now. I was such an ass, pushing you away like that. I just didn't- I guess I still don't think I deserve something like you… Touching me like that.” 

You soaked in his words. Watching his lips intently as his tongue darted out and wetted the bottom one. In a breath, you crossed the room and took the open space beside him as an invitation to sit down. 

“Will you please let me decide what I deserve from now on?” You smirked, looking up  at him from behind your lashes. 

“Yeah, I think that's best.” he chuckled, leaning into you. 

“How’re you feeling?” You mumbled, listening to his breathing steady as he signed into the comfortable position you were both in now. 

“Better. Thanks for that by the way. Wanda’s never used her power on me like that. It really helped.” He spoke, softly, as you waved him off, motioning ‘it was nothing’. 

It felt like the first time in a long time you had spoken to Bucky without the nagging desire to murder him. 

Maybe this is what people talk about when they say you should ‘grow’ with your partner. You're sure that they weren't referring to homicidal rage… But still. 

You looked up to Bucky, watching as he softly bit down on his lip. Without warning or much thought for that matter, you swung your leg around, purchasing yourself on his lap. You would like to believe it was with agile and ease, but the motion sent Bucky back against the bed while you fell against him, straddling his hips.

“What was-” You shushed him with your palm over his mouth, coaxing a deep moan from the back of his throat. It sent a shiver down to your core, but that was a problem for a later time. 

“I want to try something.” You breathed, pulling your hand from his lips and swifting replacing it with yours.

He reacted instantly, his hands settling on your hips as yours pulled at his hair. You melted into his touch as his tongue softly traced the bottom of your lip, deepening the kiss. You could feel his pants tightening around him as he ground his thick member against your core. He was unrelenting as you gasped for hair, pulling away and resting your forehead on his. Had it not been for the room being made entirely of glass you were sure you would have lost your pants. Honestly, you were still considering it. 

“I just wanted to know what that felt like without my life being at risk.” You spoke over heavy breaths. 

Bucky chuckled, his swollen lips turning up into a smile. “And?”

“Eh.” You shrugged, causing Bucky to gasp and he flipped your over, gaining the upper hand. His icy blue eyes, now blown with lust. You're breath caught in your throat by the new intimate position, flexing your thighs shut hard and suppressing a moan. 

“D-did you get the ‘ok’ to leave?” You stuttered, feeling your body tremble under the radiating heat of his. He nodded his head, a few loose strands of deep auburn hair falling from his bun and onto your cheek. 

You bit down on your lip, watching his chest rise and fall above you, feeling the electricity that emanate around the room. The idea that this could very well be a huge mistake crossed your mind and maybe if you were stronger you would have listened. Maybe you just didn't care anymore. Or maybe, it was possible this was exactly where you needed to be. Where you belonged. And so, without hesitation, you slid yourself out of Bucky’s grasp and pulled him down the hallway towards his room.

.......................................................................

A/N: As always, thank you to @cutie1365​ for just being you! Thank you for all your help with this my friend! Were almost done! Like and reblog if you enjoyed! See ya soon! 

@projectcampbell​

@calwitch​

@kalesrebellion​

[starshineandbooks]

Delia sanders and the case of having family

Chapter one, what's sixteen years between family? A disaster.

Word count - 1,613

Pairing - LAMPD

Warnings - implied/referenced child abuse, cursing, threats. Tell me if I missed any

Patton messes up in this one. A lot.

    Patton stands beside his partners and children, eyes wide and searching as he looks about the airport for his boyfriend’s brother- Patton’s pseudo brother and unofficial brother-in-law- and someone who’s supposed to be his daughter.

    He’s shaky, worried, and of course scared.

    What will their daughter think of them? What will she think of her siblings? What if she hates them? 

    What if-

    “Roman! Boys!” Thomas smiles kindly, “You’re here! I sent Remus and Delia to the hotel, I know you wanted to see them here but- They needed to get out of the airport.”

    “Same.” Virgil grunts, “Meet you there?”

    “Of course! See you soon, oh- I’m so glad you get to see her.”

    Time seems frozen and simultaneously fast as they drive to the hotel, Roman and Patton talk, to fill the silence, trying to guess what Remus has been up to, what their daughter likes, if she likes poems and such.

    Janus, Logan, and Virgil listen to a murder podcast or other using headphone splitter, Janus and Logan sharing a set of earbuds.

    The boys talk happily, excited to meet their sister, the girl in the pictures.

    Nico greets them when they arrive, going to Thomas and Nico’s room first, and as if fate does not want them to see Remus and Delia again, the duo have disappeared to get dinner.

    Patton wants to scream.

    Thomas sits leaning against his husband, Nico’s, side, he speaks of Remus and Cordelia, though he’s said he’ll let them hear most of everything from them, “Remus is okay, he’s protective, of course, he always was. But- this is different. And Delia, she’s charming, but she gets the same look Janus does when she meet people, watch her.”

    Logan snorts, “I doubt we wouldn’t.”

    Patton feels rather numb to the world, but then the hotel door is opened- Nico answered it- and all heads turn to look.

    Remus, tall, wild as ever, and mustached like old times, stands beside a teenage girl. His hair has streaks of grey, Patton suspects that they aren’t dye like they used to be, and his clothes are paint splattered, manic grin in place.

    The girl looks foreign, Patton wants so badly to feel some parental tug to her, but he just doesn't, this isn’t his baby. His baby was taken when she was three, here is this strange teenager.

    Her brows knit slightly, barely noticeable, then she tilts her head, “Thomas, Nico?”

    “Delia!” Thomas grins, “Come on, these are your parents, and brothers I told you about.”

    Delia turns her gaze to her parents and brothers, “Nice to meet you,” She looks at her siblings lips quirking upwards, “You three are adorable, you know that?”

    “YEs!” Harley and Brian declare together, Pryce giggles outright in lue of response.

    “Cordy?�� Janus asks, eyes meeting hers.

    “I prefer Delia,” She says, “If you don’t mind?”

    “Of course, yes! Delia!” PAtton says, and even he winces internally at the jarring peppiness to his voice, “We’re so glad to meet you- I mean- See you again!”

    She chuckles, soft, polite- Patton can’t help but think it’s an act, a dirty dirty trick- and she smiles sweetly, eyes almost sparkling, “It’s been a long time, I hate to upset you but I don’t remember you, so it is like a first meeting.”

    A dirty trick indeed, Patton thinks to himself. She would make an excellent actor, too bad she has the same tell Janus does, the slight over blinking, though she seems to have learned how to hide even that fairly well.

    No one seems particularly inclined to speak, they all stare at her and Remus.

    Delia stands fairly tall for a woman, Patton would put money that she is about six foot tall, hair that’s not wavy but not quite curly either in a dark shade, and startlingly gold eyes. 

    Remus stands about a head taller than Delia, watching over his shoulder, he never used to do that. It’s starling to see him so jumpy after knowing him to be the reason other people are jumpy.

    “I’m Logan,” Logan says, finally shifting a little, “It’s very good to see you home again.”

    “Thank you, Logan,” Delia smiles.

    Patton just can’t say that this- woman is his daughter. It can’t be the same person. His Cordy had been a vibrant, wild, cheery little toddler with big blue eyes like Logan’s and blonde hair like Janus’. She had been a gleeful singing monster, she’d called her parents variations of dad, not by first name.

    This Delia- this teenager was not his daughter, surly the others knew it too. He wouldn’t kick her out, he would try to love her, but this woman is not the same person his daughter is, they can’t be the same.

    Remus growls lowly, and everyone stares at Patton in varying states of shock, Patton realizes weakly and too late he had said that out loud.

    How on god’s earth did he manage to say that outloud.

    “Kiddo I-”

    “It’s okay,” Delia says, though the way her tone is falsely happy really dosen’t assure Patton, she stares him down, charming on the outside but her gaze is as cold as he’s ever seen, “I didn’t recognize you as my father either.”

    Even if Patton doesn't feel a parental pull towards Delia, the words still hurt.

    “Patton,” Logan says sternly, “You owe Delia an apology.”

    “I’m so sorry kiddo! I didn’t mean to say that I just- It’s so much and- goodness, you must be overwhelmed too.”

    Delai looks at PAtton, then “It’s fine, Patton.”

    The others must have done interactions while he zoned out.

    “Patt,” Logan gentles, “I know it’s hard, and you’re entitled to being upset but this is a scared child, she needs adults.”

    Patton misses the way Delia bristles at the words, but Janus sees the way she does, the settles serenely.

    “Patt,” Virgil sighs, “I get that, okay? But you need to do better.”

    “Delia,” Remus says finally, “Let’s go shower, I know you’re tired.”

    “But,” Logan protests, “We just-

    “Good night, I’ll talk to you later.” Remus says firmly, placing food down for them before stalking out, Delia at his side.

    Nico and Thomas sigh, sharing a look.

    Delia and Remus shower in relative silence then Remus asks finally, “So, what do you think?”

    Delia shrugs, “The boys are cute, they seem like good kids.”

    “Yeah.”

    “Logan and Patton seem- pretentious and I don’t like them at all.” Delia says after a moment, knowing Remus will always be there, he’s proven it time and time again, “I can’t believe Patton was rude enough to say that. I mean- I know I’m not what they wanted.”

    “That’s not true, they just wanted you, you’re you!”

    “They wanted me when I was three, which fine, I don’t mind that. But then Logan backs Patton up?!”

    “Oh little trash baby,” Remus coles gently, “It’ll be okay.”

    “I know.”

    “Good. Now, little mistake, get some sleep.”

    “Go talk to them,” Delia says.

    “What?”

    She sighs then, “I know you missed them, go talk to them, they’re your family.”

    “But-”

    “You’ll be next door. I can protect myself for a few hours, even if I hate them, I want you to be happy. Go on.”

    “I’ll check on you every half hour.”

    “I know.”

    Remus sighs, moving to his niece and ruffling her hair, “We’ll be alright kid.”

    “Good night, cephy.”

    “Good night, kitty.”

    Remus slips out of the hotel room, and Delia is left alone to reflect. An awful decision, really.

    She stares ta the ceiling, and her mind wanders over her day, focusing on the set of boys that supposedly are her brothers.

Her uncle always told her that most people are useless and should be used for her own gain, to keep her ahead of the game. 

But he also said she should never ever use children, or those she cares for. 

Remus also told her that there are good people, and she should protect them, not use or harm them.

Her brothers, she thinks they're adorable, she'd like to try to be there for them at least, like only Remus was for her. Those three boys deserve better than Logan and God forbid Patton.

Delia hums letting her eyes slip closed, letting the silence soothe her troubled mind.

---

Remus sits himself by his parents, glare leveled on Patton, "How dare you, how fuxking- I'll rip your fucking tounge-"

"Remus!" Virgil hisses looking completely scandalized.

"Screw off," Remus snaps, "You heard what he said to my sweet little trash baby!"

Everyone pauses at the endearment, a weird and very Remus sentiment.

"We're not saying he's right," Roman sighs.

"You weren't saying he was wrong!" Remus snaps.

"Remus," Thomas soothes gently, "we are all very glad to see you and Delia safe and alive. But it was a shock for us, imagine being her parent-"

"I am!" Remus snaps, "I raised her as best I could! I am he dad, even if she calls me uncle or cephy, I bandaged her wounds, I tied her tourniquet, hell I preformed half of her abortions!"

He freezes, realizing the others are quiet.

"Abortions?" Janus asks.

Remus scoffs, "Nothing. If you ask her i will destroy you."

"Remus, I-" Patton winces then, "I didn't-"

"You're not her father, you were right, Delia isn't your daughter." Remus sneers, a growl rumbling from his chest. 

"Remus," Nico soothes, "Please."

Remus scoffs, "You don't know what this pike bag did to Delia. I ought to-"

"Remus," Roman says gently, "Patton was out of line, but please, can't we just have a calmer conversation? For the boys? They're next door with Logan, just please don't wake them."

Remus scoffs, but he resigns to crossing his arms and glaring at Patton.

Just like old times.

TAGLIST (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @fanficloverinthesun

[tseneipgam]

““If you think, from this prelude, that anything like a romance is preparing for you, reader, you never were more mistaken. Do you anticipate sentiment, and poetry, and reverie? Do you expect passion, and stimulus, and melodrama? Calm your expectations; reduce them to a lowly standard. Something real, cool, and solid lies before you; something unromantic as Monday morning, when all who have work wake with the consciousness that they must rise and betake themselves thereto. It is not positively affirmed that you shall not have a taste of the exciting, perhaps towards the middle and close of the meal, but it is resolved that the first dish set upon the table shall be one that a Catholic—ay, even an Anglo-Catholic—might eat on Good Friday in Passion Week: it shall be cold lentils and vinegar without oil; it shall be unleavened bread with bitter herbs, and no roast lamb.”

“Mrs. Gale offered the loaf."Cut it, woman," said her guest; and the "woman" cut it accordingly. Had she followed her inclinations, she would have cut the parson also; her Yorkshire soul revolted absolutely from his manner of command.”

“As to the sufferers, whose sole inheritance was labour, and who had lost that inheritance—who could not get work, and consequently could not get wages, and consequently could not get bread—they were left to suffer on, perhaps inevitably left. It would not do to stop the progress of invention, to damage science by discouraging its improvements; the war could not be terminated; efficient relief could not be raised. There was no help then; so the unemployed underwent their destiny—ate the bread and drank the waters of affliction.Misery generates hate. These sufferers hated the machines which they believed took their bread from them; they hated the buildings which contained those machines; they hated the manufacturers who owned those buildings.”

“As to the paucity of ideality in his mind, that can scarcely be called a fault: a fine ear for music, a correct eye for colour and form, left him the quality of taste; and who cares for imagination? Who does not think it a rather dangerous, senseless attribute, akin to weakness, perhaps partaking of frenzy—a disease rather than a gift of the mind?Probably all think it so but those who possess, or fancy they possess, it. To hear them speak, you would believe that their hearts would be cold if that elixir did not flow about them, that their eyes would be dim if that flame did not refine their vision, that they would be lonely if this strange companion abandoned them. You would suppose that it imparted some glad hope to spring, some fine charm to summer, some tranquil joy to autumn, some consolation to winter, which you do not feel. An illusion, of course; but the fanatics cling to their dream, and would not give it for gold.”

“at eighteen the true narrative of life is yet to be commenced. Before that time we sit listening to a tale, a marvellous fiction, delightful sometimes, and sad sometimes, almost always unreal. Before that time our world is heroic, its inhabitants half-divine or semi-demon; its scenes are dream-scenes; darker woods and stranger hills, brighter skies, more dangerous waters, sweeter flowers, more tempting fruits, wider plains, drearier deserts, sunnier fields than are found in nature, overspread our enchanted globe. What a moon we gaze on before that time! How the trembling of our hearts at her aspect bears witness to its unutterable beauty! As to our sun, it is a burning heaven—the world of gods.”

“she informed him that certain starlings were beginning to build their nests in the church-tower (Briarfield church was close to Briarfield rectory); she wondered the tolling of the bells in the belfry did not scare them.Mr. Helstone opined that "they were like other fools who had just paired—insensible to inconvenience just for the moment.”

“A lover masculine so disappointed can speak and urge explanation, a lover feminine can say nothing; if she did, the result would be shame and anguish, inward remorse for self-treachery. Nature would brand such demonstration as a rebellion against her instincts, and would vindictively repay it afterwards by the thunderbolt of self-contempt smiting suddenly in secret. Take the matter as you find it: ask no questions, utter no remonstrances; it is your best wisdom. You expected bread, and you have got a stone: break your teeth on it, and don't shriek because the nerves are martyrized; do not doubt that your mental stomach—if you have such a thing—is strong as an ostrich's; the stone will digest. You held out your hand for an egg, and fate put into it a scorpion. Show no consternation: close your fingers firmly upon the gift; let it sting through your palm. Never mind; in time, after your hand and arm have swelled and quivered long with torture, the squeezed scorpion will die, and you will have learned the great lesson how to endure without a sob. For the whole remnant of your life, if you survive the test—some, it is said, die under it—you will be stronger, wiser, less sensitive. This you are not aware of, perhaps, at the time, and so cannot borrow courage of that hope. Nature, however, as has been intimated, is an excellent friend in such cases, sealing the lips, interdicting utterance, commanding a placid dissimulation—a dissimulation often wearing an easy and gay mien at first, settling down to sorrow and paleness in time, then passing away, and leaving a convenient stoicism, not the less fortifying because it is half-bitter.”

“At heart he could not abide sense in women. He liked to see them as silly, as light-headed, as vain, as open to ridicule as possible, because they were then in reality what he held them to be, and wished them to be—inferior, toys to play with, to amuse a vacant hour, and to be thrown away.”

“she sat down—inaction would suit the frame of mind into which she was now declining—she said to herself, ‘I have to live, perhaps, till seventy years. As far as I know, I have good health; half a century of existence may lie before me. How am I to occupy it? What am I to do to fill the interval of time which spreads between me and the grave?’ ”

“ "Ah! I see," she pursued presently; "that is the question which most old maids are puzzled to solve. Other people solve it for them by saying, 'Your place is to do good to others, to be helpful whenever help is wanted.' That is right in some measure, and a very convenient doctrine for the people who hold it; but I perceive that certain sets of human beings are very apt to maintain that other sets should give up their lives to them and their service, and then they requite them by praise; they call them devoted and virtuous. Is this enough? Is it to live? Is there not a terrible hollowness, mockery, want, craving, in that existence which is given away to others, for want of something of your own to bestow it on? I suspect there is. Does virtue lie in abnegation of self? I do not believe it. Undue humility makes tyranny; weak concession creates selfishness. The Romish religion especially teaches renunciation of self, submission to others, and nowhere are found so many grasping tyrants as in the ranks of the Romish priesthood. Each human being has his share of rights. I suspect it would conduce to the happiness and155 welfare of all if each knew his allotment, and held to it as tenaciously as the martyr to his creed. Queer thoughts these that surge in my mind. Are they right thoughts? I am not certain."Well, life is short at the best. Seventy years, they say, pass like a vapour, like a dream when one awaketh; and every path trod by human feet terminates in one bourne—the grave, the little chink in the surface of this great globe, the furrow where the mighty husbandman with the scythe deposits the seed he has shaken from the ripe stem; and there it falls, decays, and thence it springs again, when the world has rolled round a few times more. So much for the body. “

“Reader! when you behold an aspect for whose constant gloom and frown you cannot account, whose unvarying cloud exasperates you by its apparent causelessness, be sure that there is a canker somewhere, and a canker not the less deeply corroding because concealed.Miss Mann felt that she was understood partly, and160 wished to be understood further; for, however old, plain, humble, desolate, afflicted we may be, so long as our hearts preserve the feeblest spark of life, they preserve also, shivering near that pale ember, a starved, ghostly longing for appreciation and affection. To this extenuated spectre, perhaps, a crumb is not thrown once a year, but when ahungered and athirst to famine—when all humanity has forgotten the dying tenant of a decaying house—Divine mercy remembers the mourner, and a shower of manna falls for lips that earthly nutriment is to pass no more.”

"Can labour alone make a human being happy?" "No; but it can give varieties of pain, and prevent us from breaking our hearts with a single tyrant master-torture. Besides, successful labour has its recompense; a vacant, weary, lonely, hopeless life has none."

“ It was my doing, and one of those silly deeds it distresses the heart and sets the face on fire to think of; one of those small but sharp recollections that return, lacerating your self-respect like tiny penknives, and forcing from your lips, as you sit alone, sudden, insane-sounding interjections."”

"You allow the right of private judgment, I suppose, Joe?" "My certy, that I do! I allow and claim it for every line of the holy Book." "Women may exercise it as well as men?" "Nay. Women is to take their husbands' opinion, both in politics and religion. It's wholesomest for them." "Oh! oh!" exclaimed both Shirley and Caroline. "To be sure; no doubt on't," persisted the stubborn overlooker. "Consider yourself groaned down, and cried shame over, for such a stupid observation," said Miss Keeldar. "You might as well say men are to take the opinions of their priests without examination. Of what value would a religion so adopted be? It would be mere blind, besotted superstition." "And what is your reading, Miss Helstone, o' these words o' St. Paul's?" "Hem! I—I account for them in this way. He wrote that chapter for a particular congregation of Christians, under peculiar circumstances; and besides, I dare say, if I could read the original Greek, I should find that many of the words have been wrongly translated, perhaps misapprehended altogether. It would be possible, I doubt not, with a little ingenuity, to give the passage quite a contrary turn—to make it say, 'Let the woman speak out whenever she sees fit to make an objection.' 'It is permitted to a woman to teach and to exercise authority as much as may be. Man, meantime, cannot do better than hold his peace;' and so on." "That willn't wash, miss."

"I dare say he thinks he has outwitted me cleverly. And this is the way men deal with women—still concealing danger from them—thinking, I suppose, to spare them pain.308 They imagined we little knew where they were to-night. We know they little conjectured where we were. Men, I believe, fancy women's minds something like those of children. Now, that is a mistake." This was said as she stood at the glass, training her naturally waved hair into curls, by twining it round her fingers. She took up the theme again five minutes after, as Caroline fastened her dress and clasped her girdle. "If men could see us as we really are, they would be a little amazed; but the cleverest, the acutest men are often under an illusion about women. They do not read them in a true light; they misapprehend them, both for good and evil. Their good woman is a queer thing, half doll, half angel; their bad woman almost always a fiend. Then to hear them fall into ecstasies with each other's creations—worshipping the heroine of such a poem, novel, drama—thinking it fine, divine! Fine and divine it may be, but often quite artificial—false as the rose in my best bonnet there. If I spoke all I think on this point, if I gave my real opinion of some first-rate female characters in first-rate works, where should I be? Dead under a cairn of avenging stones in half an hour." "Shirley, you chatter so, I can't fasten you. Be still. And, after all, authors' heroines are almost as good as authoresses' heroes." "Not at all. Women read men more truly than men read women. I'll prove that in a magazine paper some day when I've time; only it will never be inserted. It will be 'declined with thanks,' and left for me at the publisher's."

“"I never find Miss Ainley oppressed with despondency or lost in grief," she thought; "yet her cottage is a still, dim little place, and she is without a bright hope or near friend in the world. I remember, though, she told me once she had tutored her thoughts to tend upwards to heaven. She allowed there was, and ever had been, little enjoyment in this world for her, and she looks, I suppose, to the bliss of the world to come. So do nuns, with their close cell, their iron lamp, their robe strait as a shroud, their bed narrow as a coffin. She says often she has no fear of death—no dread of the grave; no more, doubtless, had St. Simeon Stylites, lifted up terrible on his wild column in the wilderness; no more has the Hindu votary stretched on his couch of iron spikes. Both these having violated nature, their natural likings and antipathies are reversed; they grow altogether morbid. I do fear death as yet, but I believe it is because I am young. Poor Miss Ainley would cling closer to life if life had more charms for her. God surely did not create us and cause us to live with the sole end of wishing always to die. I believe in my heart we were intended to prize life and enjoy it so long as we retain it. Existence never was originally meant to be that useless,343 blank, pale, slow-trailing thing it often becomes to many, and is becoming to me among the rest."Nobody," she went on—"nobody in particular is to blame, that I can see, for the state in which things are; and I cannot tell, however much I puzzle over it, how they are to be altered for the better; but I feel there is something wrong somewhere. I believe single women should have more to do—better chances of interesting and profitable occupation than they possess now. And when I speak thus I have no impression that I displease God by my words; that I am either impious or impatient, irreligious or sacrilegious. My consolation is, indeed, that God hears many a groan, and compassionates much grief which man stops his ears against, or frowns on with impotent contempt. I say impotent, for I observe that to such grievances as society cannot readily cure it usually forbids utterance, on pain of its scorn, this scorn being only a sort of tinselled cloak to its deformed weakness. People hate to be reminded of ills they are unable or unwilling to remedy. Such reminder, in forcing on them a sense of their own incapacity, or a more painful sense of an obligation to make some unpleasant effort, troubles their ease and shakes their self-complacency. Old maids, like the houseless and unemployed poor, should not ask for a place and an occupation in the world; the demand disturbs the happy and rich—it disturbs parents. Look at the numerous families of girls in this neighbourhood—the Armitages, the Birtwhistles, the Sykeses. The brothers of these girls are every one in business or in professions; they have something to do. Their sisters have no earthly employment but household work and sewing, no earthly pleasure but an unprofitable visiting, and no hope, in all their life to come, of anything better. This stagnant state of things makes them decline in health. They are never well, and their minds and views shrink to wondrous narrowness. The great wish, the sole aim of every one of them is to be married, but the majority will never marry; they will die as they now live. They scheme, they plot, they dress to ensnare husbands. The gentlemen turn them into ridicule; they don't want them; they hold them very cheap. They say—I have heard them say it with sneering laughs many a time—the matrimonial market is overstocked. Fathers say so likewise, and are angry with their daughters when they observe their manœuvres—they order them to stay at home. What do they expect344 them to do at home? If you ask, they would answer, sew and cook. They expect them to do this, and this only, contentedly, regularly, uncomplainingly, all their lives long, as if they had no germs of faculties for anything else—a doctrine as reasonable to hold as it would be that the fathers have no faculties but for eating what their daughters cook or for wearing what they sew. Could men live so themselves? Would they not be very weary? And when there came no relief to their weariness, but only reproaches at its slightest manifestation, would not their weariness ferment it time to frenzy?”

“"Uncle, if you please, you may send me a little bit of supper—anything you like, from your own plate. That is wiser than going into hysterics, is it not?" "It is spoken like a sage, Cary. See if I don't cater for you judiciously. When women are sensible, and, above all, intelligible, I can get on with them. It is only the vague, superfine sensations, and extremely wire-drawn notions, that put me about. Let a woman ask me to give her an edible or a wearable—be the same a roc's egg or the breastplate of Aaron, a share of St. John's locusts and honey or the leathern girdle about his loins—I can, at least, understand the demand; but when they pine for they know not what—sympathy, sentiment, some of these indefinite abstractions—I can't do it; I don't know it; I haven't got it.—Madam, accept my arm."

“ Being a quiet man, he endured it better than most men would. Having a large world of his own in his own head and heart, he tolerated confinement to a small, still corner of the real world very patiently.”

“History and the most solid books had cultivated their minds. Principles and opinions they possessed which could not be mended. More exactly-regulated lives, feelings, manners, habits, it would have been difficult to find anywhere. They knew by heart a certain young-ladies'-schoolroom code of laws on language, demeanour, etc.; themselves never deviated from its curious little pragmatical provisions, and they regarded with secret whispered horror all deviations in others. The395 Abomination of Desolation was no mystery to them; they had discovered that unutterable Thing in the characteristic others call Originality. Quick were they to recognize the signs of this evil; and wherever they saw its trace—whether in look, word, or deed; whether they read it in the fresh, vigorous style of a book, or listened to it in interesting, unhackneyed, pure, expressive language—they shuddered, they recoiled. Danger was above their heads, peril about their steps. What was this strange thing? Being unintelligible it must be bad. Let it be denounced and chained up.”

“I suppose I am influenced by pure perverseness?" "Yes, you are." "Mother, I am not. ""By what, then, are you influenced?" "By a complication of motives, the intricacies of which I should as soon think of explaining to you as I should of turning myself inside out to exhibit the internal machinery of my frame."

[iridescentwinters]

with a heavy heart

— summary: au! it was the monday after, a.k.a nora’s first day. and while making new friends, she learns about her old ones. more specifically her old best friend.

↳ part three of the four-part series “puppy love”

↳ also available on ao3

nora inhaled the cool spanish breeze.

oh yeah, she thought giddily, i most definitely am back home.

luckily, nora’s father hadn’t sold the house after they left, so they managed to move back without finding a new place.

nora smiled, as she looked outside her bedroom window and caught sight of her swing set. she had pretty good memories there, with alejandro especially.

alejandro…. the name made her smile fade slowly. her eyes then trail over to the house next to hers. maybe it was because she hadn’t seen the place in so long, but it seemed so… lifeless. the colour most definitely let her know that the de miguels were in due for a repaint job.

but the lights were out. and it was only early evening. did they move out? she wondered. no way, she thought with a shake her head. it was alejandro’s great grandmother’s place and his sister isabella loved it. she turned away from the window, after deciding on not giving it more thought. she was only a year older than me but was still a kid. she obviously lost the whole home sentiment.

“nora.” her father called her name after knocking on her slightly ajar door. “your mother’s calling for dinner.”

nora looked back at the man. “she managed to cook?” she asked, surprised. mr grace shrugged. “if your definition of cooking is pouring water into three cups of mac n’ cheese, then yes. she did.”

the girl smiled. “can’t say no to instant mac n’ cheese.”

of course the weekend passed by quick, and nora found herself looking into the mirror, straightening out her already straightened clothes. she applied her signature red lipstick (something she picked up from her mother), but was wondering if it was a bit much. sighing, she scolded herself. stop overthinking everything!

grabbing her bag which was on the floor, she looked through her window again. her father had gone for a quick stop at the minimart that was around the corner and passed by the house to see if anyone was home, but he found that it was empty. so the de miguels did move out. nora wondered if they left the country.

standing up straighter, she held her head up high like how her mother taught her to whenever she was anxious or afraid, before turning on her heel and walking out of her room. it didn’t matter if he was still here or not. they weren’t friends anymore, and she’d make new friends. she gulped at the thought of new friends. hopefully she did.

her parents were already sitting at the dining table. the kitchen was starting to look normal again because of the grocery shopping they did over the weekend. mrs grace set a bowl of cereal at the vacant spot of the table, along with a glass of water. there was a brown bag sitting on the kitchen counter. “ready for your first day?” she asked. nora nodded, despite feeling quite the opposite of ready. she was feeling the normal first day jitters, and she wasn’t really in the mood to listen to her parents saying that everything was going to be fine.

half an hour later, the three of them were in a car, on the way to the first destination which was nora’s new high school. once they reached the school, mr and mrs grace looked back at their daughter.

“have a good first day, baby.” mrs grace said. “remember, don’t trust everyone immediately.” mr grace warned. that made nora’s heart drop.

“i’m not naïve like that anymore, dad.” she muttered, fiddling with her chain. mrs grace gave her husband a pointed look, but that didn’t change his stern expression much. “i know you aren’t. it’s a reminder.”

i think i have enough memories that serve as reminders, thank you very much, she thought sarcastically. not wanting to start an argument, she nodded. “okay. see you later.”

“do you need a ride after school?” mrs grace asked. “your dad could–”

“nope. i’ll walk. bye!” nora said hurriedly, getting out of the car. their house wasn’t that far from their place anyway.

walking up to the school, her eyes scanned her surroundings. she couldn’t really identify anyone yet. a good sign, i guess? she thought, before entering the building. it was definitely much larger than her middle school.

here we go.

looking around, she tried to find the office to get her schedule and locker number and key, but found it to no avail. sighing, she knew she had to ask someone. who should i ask?

looking forward, she saw a hijabi leaning against the row of lockers, on her phone. nora walked to her. “hola.” she greeted, starling the girl a little. “hola.” she replied, putting her phone away. “need something?” she asked a little curtly, but nora understood why. everyone that was passing by them were giving them–her weird looks, and if they were with a friend, they’d immediately break into whispers. people really have nothing better to do other than gossip, huh. and have they never heard of muslim women who wore hijabs before?

“i’m new here.” nora admitted. “and i’m kinda having trouble finding the office. could you help me out?”

the other girl’s eyebrows raise. she then kicks herself off of the lockers. “new, eh?” when nora nodded, she shot another question. “where you from?”

“the states.” nora replied. “wisconsin, specifically. i used to live here, though.”

the girl nodded in understanding. ���cool. i’m amira.” she said, extending her hand out. nora took it, and shook. “nora. nice to meet you.”

amira tried to hide a smile creeping onto her face. “well, what are we waiting for? let’s get you to the office.”

the girls talked more as they walked to the office and they found out that they were in the same grade. then after picking up her schedule, they also noticed they shared quite a few classes together too.

as amira continued to talk while they walked to their first period, nora smiled. my first friend, she realised. that wasn’t bad.

lunch rolled in and nora was currently sitting in the school cafeteria with amira and three other girls; viri, cris and eva. she’d met the other girls in her classes through amira and they immediately welcomed her into their friend group. speaking of classes, turned out that at the mention of her name, some people did recognise her and vice versa. and it wasn’t as scary talking to them again.

it really was just the first day jitters.

while they talked, cristian appeared at their table and greeted them–well, eva, and invited them to a party this friday. nora knew for a fact it was the awkward scrawny kid cris she knew. he still had that scar on his eyebrow.

cris didn’t seem to recognise her, though. he smiled at her. “hola,” he greeted her, “i don’t think i’ve ever seen you around. i definitely would’ve remembered a face like yours.” he sounded flirty.

nora smiled at him fondly. definitely not because of his greeting, but how much he changed over the years. he definitely boosted in the confidence area. “nora.” she said, as he kissed her cheeks.

cris’ eyebrows furrowed in thought for a few seconds, before returning back to his normal facial expression. “well, nice to meet you. and i expect to see all of you on friday.” and after puckering his lips in eva’s direction, he walked off.

nora looked at eva with her eyebrow raised. “he seems to fancy you.” she teased. eva rolled her eyes. “he’s a fuckboy,” she deadpanned, “he likes everyone.”

nora laughed. she then brought her water bottle to her lips, drinking out of it.

viri squealed. “we definitely have to go!” she exclaimed. “alejandro’s definitely going to be there.”

nora suddenly choked on her water at the mention of an alejandro. the girls looked back at her in concern. cris patted her back. “you okay, girl?” the blonde asked, and nora nodded. “yeah, drank too quickly.” she rushed out a response awkwardly. “um, who’s alejandro?”

viri’s jaw dropped. “you still don’t know who alejandro is?” she asked, before looking at amira accusingly (who lifted her hands up in surrender). cris grabbed eva’s phone from her hands, and went onto instagram.

“this, is alejandro.” she said, tapping on one of the photos.

and nora knew that it was her best friend alejandro. she’d recognise that narrow pale face and those hazel eyes anywhere. she let cris show her all of his photos, and despite always finding him handsome, he definitely left the baby look in the past.

nora also noticed that he barely smiled in any of the photos. maybe he left that behind too, she thought. cris closed the app, and handed her phone back to eva. “and viri’s soo in love with him.”

viri?

nora looked up at the beaming girl. “you like him?” she asked. the other girl grinned sheepishly. “he’s cute! the cutest. and sooo nice.”

amira snorted. “just because he said sorry after bumping into you doesn’t make him the nicest person.” she sassed. and before viri could have a say, she continued. “also, he’s a fuckboy too. he’s humping and dumping. pretty sure i saw him making out with alicia yesterday.”

cris let out a series of ‘ooo’s. “also saw denise crying in the bathroom yesterday.” she lowered her voice. “alejandro dumped her over text. apparently it was pretty rough.”

nora’s face fell. alejandro? she thought to herself uneasily. no, that couldn’t be my alejandro. the ale i knew couldn’t even hurt a fly.

“he just needs someone to change him.” viri stated confidently. eva smiled sarcastically. “and it’ll be you, won’t it, mrs beltrán de miguel?” she joked, elbowing the girl.

all the colour drained out of nora’s face.

it was alejandro.

“you okay, honey?”

nora stopped picking on the food on her plate and looked up at her mother. “yup.” she said, nodding for better effect. in reality, she really wasn’t. her head couldn’t wrap around the thought of alejandro becoming…. someone like that. what happened? what changed? she was in dire need for answers, but she had a feeling she’d never get them.

mr grace wasn’t at the table with them. he was still at the office. nora wasn’t expecting otherwise. usually, he’d come home at around 9 earliest. most days it was just nora and mrs grace having dinner together.

the older woman pursed her lips together as if she wanted to say something, but she eventually didn’t and dropped the matter. the two sat in silence, continuing with their dinner. all the small talk was done earlier that evening.

not feeling hungry anymore, nora stood up from the table and cleared out her plate before placing it into the dishwasher. she looked at her mother. “i’ll just be in my room doing homework.” she said half-heartedly. mrs grace nodded.

before she managed to make it to the stairs, the doorbell rang. nora’s eyebrows furrowed. who could that be? her dad wouldn’t be ringing the bell, he had a key. and she hadn’t disclosed her address to anyone at school.

maybe it’s a neighbour.

“i’ll get it!” she yelled, and walked to the door. peering through the peephole, her face fell. shock overtook her features. wait, that’s….

ding dong!

“nora?” her mother said her name. “i thought you had it!”

“i-i do.” she responded a little incoherently. she finally opened the door.

she was standing face-to-face with alejandro beltrán de miguel.  

[iliyovunjika]

Did you lovelies really believe that I, Leo, wouldn’t get all sappy and sentimental on a holiday? C’mon now, I always get all mushy as heck. Plus its just fun to shower you beautiful phenomenons in affection and adoration!! Truly each and every one of you deserve a whole lot of love and I am always so so proud of you guys! 

To you, my beautiful and magnificent starlings, I thank you. For your existence, for your warmth, for your kindness, for every little thing you do that makes you happy. I am thankful for you!! You are all such phenomenal creatures, surely created by the brightest of stars upon their explosions into stardust. In every way you are wonderful. From your ups to your downs, you are strong and kind even in the moments where you feel weak. To the new year, for you my lovelies, I wish you nothing but the strongest will and the kindest heart. Unto you I hope for your newest year to be your best year and every year following to be your brightest each time. 

You are a divine creature worthy of nothing less than absolution in wonder and hope. I am so very very proud of you for making it this year despite anything that might’ve tried to tear you down. 

Now while I usually go on to do a massive blogroll, I unfortunately, cannot do so because Tumblr won’t allow me to mention so many bagels all at once. (Though I’d very much love to do so.) So I’ll be mentioning a few of my beloveds and by no means should you feel left out if you’re not there. Why? Because you should already know that this rabbit loves you to pieces and would gladly gush on you any day! 

@transgenderlavi : My husband, my cute snickerdoodle. Through the years you have been my solace and my heart. You are without a doubt the most patient and kind significant other I could ever ask for. Despite all my very obvious flaws you’ve been nothing but brilliant in handling them and for that I am grateful. Without you I would not find myself smiling randomly throughout my 4am shifts as I look at your photo on my phone and wonder what you’re dreaming of. The new year brings yet another 365 days that we’ve been together and I cannot think of anything more I could ask for. 

@emvolo : My Kitten, my lovely angel. Truly I cannot believe you even accepted a dork like me. I mean, I asked you out with a poem how could you believe me anything less than an absolute dork. I’m grateful for you. You who understands my momentary disappearances, my silence that is only listening, are my moon. Without you I would find myself lacking in joy because you bring so much of it. From the way you laugh to the way you hide your face when you’re embarrassed is all divine and I can’t help but to find myself smiling at 2am even though I’m tired. This new year will bring more and more moments of joy and love and I’m very very thankful that you’re the cause of it. 

@volcrc : Onyx my Goddess!! You sweet and precious angel who so bravely brandishes the threat of Sally alongside me! You are the greatest friend anyone can hope for. You’re brilliant, beautiful, phenomenal, magnificent, and all around amazing. Without you I’m sure I would’ve already gone a wee bit crazy with anger more than a few times. Having you in my life has been an absolute treasure and I would never ask for anyone else to be my winglady in combat, tbh. I’d trust you with my beanbag gun. (That is a serious thing u know.) The new year will surely bring more adventures of booty and arms and wonderful things of goodness~ (As well as, y’know, our beautiful friendship that I’m hella thankful for mate.) You’ll always be my GG, you can’t escape that nickname ever. 

@minugahanax : WIFEY!! Seriously what the fuck man, we’ve known each other for so long now?? I can’t believe I was ever intimidated by you and your gorgeous self? Tbh first time I ran across your bagel I was just “Well fuck hello there” but now its just: I SEE YOU THERE, I SEE YOU MY STUNNING LADY OF THE WEE HOURS. ‘Cause, y’know, you arrive when I’m just getting to work and liven up my dash in like .2 seconds so you gotta be the Sun ‘cause damn lady you bring the glorious life to my mornings. Without you I’m pretty sure I would’ve stopped writing a while ago. With all my bagel changes and what not, I expected half my muses to go bye bye or to just stop writing all together at some points but lo’ and behold, YOU’VE INSPIRED ME SEVERAL TIMES TO KEEP WRITING!! I’m very thankful for you~ The new year will definitely bring more muses and beautiful bara tiddies. 

@fiercysoul : Roberta, my sweet sweet beaut! Gods, have I told you how absolutely gobsmacked I was to find that you’d been sneakin’ on me while I was sneakin’ on you? That was the funniest thing ever to me ‘cause I was, once upon a time, super dropped by your existence?? Why?? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure, even now, I was starin’ straight up at the vast sky! Seriously, you are an endless commodity of ever changing and multi-faceted magnificence that continuously floors me. You’re such a wonderful and warm person I just can’t imagine myself having ever been intimidated by such a cute smol? You give me such inspiration and wonder every day that I see you on my dash and talk to you. Its a perplexing event that I haven’t collapsed already from the dizzying reality of your blinding existence. This new year will definitely, should definitely, bring us to talk all the more~ And definitely should include wild antelopes and cute smols getting carried. 

@haxuss : BATS. Seriously, I think that’s become ingrained as your nickname in my head ‘cause its either “OTTER BABE” or “BATS” as soon as I see you around. What can I say that I haven’t screeched at you already??? I don’t know but I’ll just screech at the top of my lungs anyways because I GOT SOME THINGS TO SAY TO YOU. From your beautiful art to your intricate writing and dedication to your muses, you are PHENOMENAL. The devotion and time you put into everything is absolutely wonderful and I cannot help but to find myself floored by you in general. You’re such a cute person too?? Like damn?? Where have you been all my life?? We should’ve been friends in grade school okay ‘cause I’m p sure we would’ve been raising hell and bringing bats to nap time. You’re an absolute divinity and I am so thankful I met you!!! This new year will definitely be a great one for you ‘cause its gonna be full of wonderful things and happiness. 

@ardenssolis : Clears throat. YODELS SHIIIIIII . I always wanna like, scream your name (haha, innuendos) ‘cause it just sounds so nice. OKAY WHAT TO SAY TO YOU. Or scream. I mean that’s kinda the theme here. Rather, what I should say is what am I not gonna say ‘cause boy howdy I’m about to say it all. YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY PHENOMENAL. I’m always so delighted when you’re on my dash and I’m constantly gobsmacked by your writing and your in depth analysis and portrayal of characters??? You drive me nuts ‘cause I wanna just sit on your bagel and go through all your HCs and stuff at random points in time?? JUST LET ME SQUISH YOUR CHEEKS AND LOVE YOU. You’re such a sweet person and you’re a wonderful individual all around that truly brings nothing but warmth and kindness to everyone around you. Lemme love you ‘cause this new year will definitely bring you joy and good juju. 

@corazcnazul : WHEEZES. BABE. SUGAR. SWEETS. I weep upon the stars because they have gifted me with such a bright and unstoppable force of pure goodness aka YOU. From the moment I met you, you have been kinder than a kitten and sweeter than unicorn cupcakes. You’re an amazingly talented writer and you’ve got nothing short of a phenomenon of a golden heart. I’m always so happy when we talk and I’m thankful you’re there when I’ve had some pretty rough moments. You’re such a treasure in this world that I cannot imagine it fairing well without you and I’m so proud to have gotten the pleasure to know you. I mean, you’ve seen me go off and ramble for like 20 years and rambled with me, that’s friggin’ friendship at its finest and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. The new year is definitely gonna be full of wonderful things and us definitely gushing more, I’m excited~ 

@skyvar : Makes incredibly dramatic gestures. YOU. YES YOU, WITH THE CUTE FACE. Seriously I cannot describe how gobsmacked I am by your very existence?? Like how in the fuck did the universe come up with you?? From your incredible art to your amazing portrayals and writing all around, I just can’t believe that such a magnificent creature exists in this world??? Just let me poke at you and plot with you and doodle for you and JUST LET ME LOVE YOU. You’re incredible all around and I’m just, floored that I’ve gotten the gracious chance to know you. This new year will definitely bring make out sessions and long haired boys with aggressive cats. (Yeah that’s right, I SAW DEM TAGS.) 

@inastris : I s2g YOU. YOU THERE. I’MMA SMOOCH YOUR LOVELY FACE AND CARRY YOU EVERYWHERE YOU MAGNIFICENT BEING. Flo, you seriously make me so happy and giddy when ever I see you or talk to you. Be it writing or just all around existing, you are without a doubt, flawless. I cannot even begin to portray how wonderful it is that I got the chance to know you and laugh with you. You are a divinity that exists to bring warmth to this world and it would be all the worse for it if you weren’t here. I love your writing, your personality, your devotion to your characters, everything. You’re an amazing individual and this new year will definitely bring you happiness. (Otherwise I’mma get a brick and beat 2k18 down.) 

@frystsnow : TEA MY LOVE. Seriously I just. Lemme. SCREECHES AND CLINGS TO YOUR FACE. Weeps why are you so precious and wonderful and lovely and kind and sweet and beautiful and-- Okay I could go on for years like that, lbr, there aren’t enough words in the dictionary at my disposal in all languages to describe how amazing you are and how great it is that I got the pleasure to know you. You are without a doubt, the most bright hearted person and wonderful commodity I’ve ever gotten the absolute pleasure to meet and know. From your writing to your graphics to your personality and your all around in depth care for your muses, you are unmatched. You’re comical and kind but tough as nails and lbr, I’d totally go to bat for you in a heartbeat with a beanbag gun and potatoes to defend your honour. This new year better be bringin’ you all the good stuff or its mcfuckin’ on. 

@blackcuttingmoon : EXCUSE ME, WHO THE FUCK GAVE THE UNIVERSE THE RIGHT TO CREATE SUCH A FLAWLESS BEING OF DIVINITY??? I want a fuckin’ refund ‘cause I came here to not be floored and sent spiraling but damn that’s all I get with you~ You are such a hard working and beautiful soul, darling. From the moment I met you, you were so welcoming and kind. You’re always bright and trying your best to get things done even when you’re surely overwhelmed. Our conversations are always fun and inspiring and you as a whole inspire me to do better with my writing. You’re such a wonderful influence and kindness that I just can’t even be bristled up when I’ve had a bad day when you’re around. I am so thankful for you sugar. This year will definitely be easier on you and will be full of absolute joy~ ‘Cause I’mma make sure of it. 

@scngre : GRABS YOUR FACE-- Did u think for a second I wouldn’t be addressin’ u sweet stuff? ‘Cause if u did, HAH YOU WERE WRONG MATE. Alright so lemme just lay it out for ya: you are without a doubt, absolutely phenomenal. From your in depth analysis and portrayal of your characters to your startling activity rate that never seems to ever die-- you seriously floor me. I’m always happy as heck when I see you, write with you, talk to you; why? ‘Cause you are a wonderful existence that brings joy with everything you do and I am so thankful for your existence. You always make me laugh or screech at our babies and I’m just all about that good stuff aka you. This new year will be better darling, ‘cause you’re in this year and that in and of itself, makes it magnificent!

                   Some mentions of A+ starlings ahoy!! 

@shambledsurgeon | @rubrumleonem | @ulxz | @ryusxnka | @izuru-ru | @panickypaladin | @jumxn | @zetsumei-shuuto | @mad-eggs-onthewall | @mechfucker | @hardasstaichou | @titanslayer | @skylinesentinel | @throniv | @waveringiridescence | @fxrsakenhearts | @solcorleonis | @soulchord | @solisnumen | @portalipsis | @despairforme | @nicetryshyguy | @heromasque | @heraldofblueflame | @automatousmarionette | @hollyjollypiratecrown (I s2g I had to hunt ur ass down ‘cause of your url change DANG IT TWEEFT.) | @spiidcr | @blazerought | @novellars | @grimmjxw | @waitingfcrtomorrow

[jamaninja]

Olicity fanfic: Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner - ch. 5

Word count: 3,768 Rating: Teen Summary: Felicity meets with Noah, and Oliver realizes that her past isn't as normal as she makes it seem.

Read on: AO3 | ff.net

Chapter 5

Present day, Starling City

Oliver frowned at the message on his phone.

Not feeling well. Can’t come in tonight. Sorry.

He knew for a fact that it was bull. Felicity had come into work at QC like it had been any other day. She decided not to bring up the conversation they shared in the elevator, and he followed her lead, choosing to ignore the massive elephant in the room and keeping all topics light and moderately work-related.

It was bad enough that Sara was in Central City spending time with her mom, which meant the team was a member down. It was entirely crippling to their organization to have Felicity out for the night.

If he was a betting man, he would have put money on Felicity going off and doing something related to whatever this Myron character had asked her to do.

“Digg?” he called out.

“Yeah,” the other man responded, straightening up from his work out with the combat dummy in the corner.

“Do you remember how to activate the trackers on our phones?”

“I do.” Digg approached the other man as he unwrapped his gloves. “Do you need me to track you while you go out?”

He shook his head. “No. I need to track Felicity. She’s not coming in tonight, and I want to know why and where she is.”

Digg raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure that’s wise?”

Well, to be entirely honest, he wasn’t. He knew for a fact that Felicity would be furious to find out that he and Sara had eavesdropped on her conversation with Myron at the Black Tavern, and she’d be downright livid if she ever found out that he was using her own technology to track her.

But he had run completely out of ideas. And he knew at least that if the situation had been reversed, she would have done the same thing.

“All I’m sure about is that Felicity is in trouble, and she won’t tell us what that trouble is,” Oliver answered. “And I can’t help her unless I know.”

Digg let out a sigh through his nose, but eventually nodded. “Give me a second.”

Felicity had given every member of the team a rundown on how to use the basic technology she had set up for all of them, but she was still the fastest at getting them what they needed. It took Digg ten minutes to remember how to pull up the trackers and another ten minutes to actually activate the one Felicity had on her phone.

“Got it,” he finally said. “It looks like she’s at the Old Station Pub in Adams Heights.”

Without another word, Oliver fastened his mask to his face and pulled his hood up.

“I’ll be on comms,” he told his partner as he headed out.

“Copy that,” Digg nodded.

It took Oliver just fifteen minutes to drive across town on his motorcycle to the upscale bar in the richest area of town. He knew for a fact that Felicity rarely ventured into this neighborhood, which only made him more suspicious.

Pulling into an alley a block away, Oliver clambered off his bike and climbed up the nearest fire escape. Old Station Pub was at the very top of a historic building, and since he didn’t want to get to close, he’d have to stay on the roof of the building next door.

He reached into his quiver and pulled out one of his recording device arrows. Thanks to Felicity, she’d managed to rig it so it could pick up even the most minute sounds through concrete walls. With this, he would be able to eavesdrop from more than fifty yards away.

Oliver nocked the arrow and let it loose; seconds later, it attached itself to the side of the building.

“Device is in place,” he murmured into his comms.

“Copy that,” Digg answered. “Trying to find her voice and adjusting frequency now.”

Through his earpiece, Oliver could hear a bit of static as Digg clumsily worked the software. After a few seconds, the sound became louder, and Felicity’s voice came in crystal clear.

“Thank you for meeting me, Noah,” she said.

A deeper voice that Oliver didn’t recognize answered. “You never have to thank me, sweetheart.”

He tensed at the epithet that fell so easily from the other man’s lips. How did this man know Felicity? Had they been...well, had they been together?

“Don’t call me that,” Felicity snapped, and the tension in Oliver’s muscles eased just the slightest bit.

The man sighed. “Forgive me. Chalk it up to an old paternal instinct.”

“Was it that same instinct that made you leave my mother and me when I before I was even born?” Felicity shot.

Oliver’s eyes widened behind his mask. This man was Felicity’s father?

There was a long pause. “Surely you didn’t ask me here to rehash this argument.”

“You’re right. I didn’t.”

Another pause. Every muscle in Oliver’s body was still with tension, waiting for whatever would come next.

“I met with Myron the other day. He’s in dire straights, and he needs my help.”

“Let me guess,” the man answered in a bored drawl. “That ridiculously pedestrian startup of his failed, and now he’s asking you and the others to come back to Vegas with him one last time to help him make up all the money he lost.”

“Trust you to nail it in one.”

“Please tell me you didn’t agree to it.”

“Of course I did. Myron was one of my best friends.”

The man let out an impatient huff. “This was your problem, Felicity. You placed far too much value on your sentimental relationships with everyone on the team. You didn’t treat it like what it always was: a business. The team was a business opportunity, not a family, and all your relationships should have been kept strictly professional.”

“I see that it didn’t stop you from recruiting your daughter,” Felicity spat.

The man sighed.

Oliver’s brain was spinning with all this information, but try as he might to piece together the puzzle, he couldn’t solve this mystery.

It was grating on him.

“Well, then, why are you telling me this? I doubt Myron would want me back on the team, considering I never did any actual counting with all of you.”

“I’m telling you this because he managed to find me, something I thought was supposed to be impossible. And you know how he found me?”

“How?”

“Cooper.”

Oliver’s ears perked up at the name. Cooper? Was this the same man that came up in Digg’s background search of Myron Forest?

“You said you would make sure no one found me.” Felicity’s voice at this point was nothing more than a dangerous hiss. “You promised me.”

The man sighed. “Felicity, I have done everything in my power to keep you hidden and to make sure that he couldn’t find you. But I can only do so much. Besides, it was you who tipped your hand.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“About a year ago, I started recognizing some very familiar activity on the Dark Web — activity that reminded me of Foxy Ghost Goddess, or whatever your ridiculous handle was.”

She snorted. “You’re going to come after my handle, Mr. Calculator?”

“Touche. But that’s hardly the point — have you or have you not been making waves on the Dark Web for the past year?”

Felicity was silent, but that seemed to be answer enough.

“I did everything I could to keep you hidden, but you made your presence known when you came back. I noticed it, and he must have as well. That’s how he knew how to find you.”

There was a long pause, which gave Oliver enough time to try and process everything he’d heard. From what he could gather, Felicity had asked her father to keep her hidden from someone named Cooper, who was clearly tied to her past in college. But this Cooper fellow had found her once again.

Which begged the question: why was Felicity scared of him?

“Well,” she finally said after minutes of silence. “Thanks for nothing then, Noah.”

“You can’t possibly think you can go through with this.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

“Yes you do! You can choose to tell Myron no! You can choose to save yourself from having to run into Cooper again!”

“Myron is my friend, and he came to me for help! I promised him that I would help him, and unlike you, I keep the promises I make.”

“Felicity.” There was pain in the other man’s voice. “I know I’ve made mistakes when it’s come to you. But please, please listen to me now. You are walking into a trap. Cooper was never the type of man who forgave the people who betrayed him, and I will bet everything I own that he wants to get his revenge.”

“You don’t think I know that? Credit me with knowing my ex-boyfriend a little better than you do.”

Everything around Oliver went deathly quiet. Cooper was her ex. Cooper had been looking for her. Cooper had finally found her.

And now she was willingly going back to him.

Why? an angry voice inside of him demanded. Why was she going back to this man she clearly feared? And what had he done to make her so scared of him?

Almost as if the man inside had been able to hear inside of Oliver’s head, he asked some of the questions he wanted the answers to.

“If you know you’re walking into a trap, then why are you bothering to go through with this?”

Felicity didn’t say anything for almost a whole minute. Just when Oliver thought she wasn’t going to answer the question, she said quietly, “If he can find me, then he can find the people closest to me. And I can’t let him come anywhere near them.”

Oliver heard a scraping sound, like a set of chair legs dragging across a tile floor, followed by the clacking of her heels.

Felicity left.

Now, more than ever, was he convinced that she was way in over her head.

Six years ago, MIT

“You’re doing great,” Noah told her as they walked the snow-covered paths down on the MIT campus. He had spent an hour of his open office time practicing with her, and afterward he had declared her to be the fastest study he’d ever trained.

She nodded absently, but her mind wasn’t quite there. Though she had agreed to be part of the team, and though she told Cooper she was in, she still had her reservations.

But Noah went on like he hadn’t noticed her mood. “Cooper and Jimmy have always been the big players. I want you to take Jimmy’s place.”

She’d heard about Jimmy. Jimmy had been on the team until the start of the school year, when he was lured away by a job at Google. His absence was what created the open spot that Felicity currently occupied.

She looked weirdly at her professor. Being a big player was pretty hefty responsibility, especially for a novice.

“I’ve never done this,” she reminded him.

“I know that,” Noah smiled. “And I understand, but I don’t trust Cayden and Alena and Myron’s...well, Myron.”

That made Felicity chuckle. In the few short weeks that she’d known Myron, she’d realized he was kind of a flake. Brilliant, but a flake nonetheless.

“Look, I’ve been teaching more than fourteen years,” Noah continued, “and I’ve never had a student as impressive as you. Your brain is like a goddamn Pentium chip. You’re going to do great. You know how I know that?”

She shook her head.

“Because you remind me of myself twenty-five years ago.”

Felicity took that in. Cayden told her that Noah had once been one of the biggest counters in Vegas. Back in the day, he took in more than a million dollars in one night, then disappeared.

And, of course, she’d heard stories from the other side. It had happened before she was born, but dealers at the Mirage still talked about it, like it was some kind of dark memory that would forever be engraved in their collective brains.

“So are you in?” Noah asked.

Felicity sucked in a breath. “Yeah, I’m in.”

He smiled. “Good. Good. Oh, and there’s one more thing, Felicity, and this is important.”

He stopped in the path, and she turned to stare curiously at him. The grin from a second earlier had vanished, replaced with a serious expression.

“We’re counting cards. We’re not gambling. We’re following a specific set of rules and playing a system.”

She nodded, albeit in slight confusion. Of course she knew that it was counting cards. Gambling implied that she didn’t know what was going to happen.

“I’ve seen how crazy it can get at those tables, and sometimes people lose control. They give in to their emotions.” He leaned in and Felicity had to step back a little. “You will not.”

Then, his face broke out into another grin. “You understand?”

Felicity nodded, though she was a little scared of her professor’s mercurial shifts of mood. She wasn’t quite sure if she could trust him all the way.

“I understand,” she said quietly.

“Good,” Noah nodded. “So get some rest. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

Felicity blinked. Tomorrow was Friday, but she had plans for the weekend — all of which included studying for the tons of courses she was taking.

“I — I can’t leave tomorrow! I have a Quantitative Literacy paper due Tuesday!”

Noah smirked. “No you don’t.”

And that only made her more confused. Of course she did. She wrote it down.

“I don’t?”

“No. I spoke to Professor O’Reilly. I told him you were helping me with a special assignment. He understood, so he gave you an A.”

Felicity was floored. Was this how the other members of the team had survived at MIT thus far, all while spending their weekends in Vegas? By cozying up to a powerful professor and playing a system that no one else even knew about?

Noah’s smirk widened. “You see, Felicity? Amazing things can happen from the inside.” Then he started walking away. “You’ll get a call about details later.”

Felicity walked back to her dorm room in a haze of confused amazement. She was going back to her hometown tomorrow. She’d get to escape blizzard-like cold for the weekend. And most of all, she didn’t have to write the paper she’d been dreading for the past month.

It felt like her life had turned completely upside down in the few short weeks since she’d joined the team, and she couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing. But for once, she could describe her life as actually exciting.

Once she got back to her room, she started shedding the layers of clothing that kept her warm in the Boston winter. Then she glanced at the stack of books on her desk she no longer needed with a big smile on her face.

Well, if she didn’t need to study after all, she might as well do what Noah had told her and get some rest. She collapsed onto her bed and settled in for a nice long nap.

But just a half hour later, the door to her dorm room burst open and she sprang upright in her bed, her brain still a little groggy from sleep.

“What the hell’s going on?” she slurred as she groped her bedside table for her glasses. When she pushed them back on her face, she realized that Alena was standing in her doorway with a mischievous look on her face.

“I’ve been sent to help you pack for this weekend,” she declared as she stepped forward and made a beeline for Felicity’s closet.

“You’ve been sent?” she asked curiously. “Why the heck would I need help packing?”

Alena scoffed as she threw open the door and started rifling through Felicity’s clothes. “Have you not been paying any attention during practice? We always disguise ourselves. We girls have to be especially careful, since we tend to draw the most attention.”

Felicity was still trying to get her brain back online after her nap, so she didn’t have the chance to feel properly embarrassed about Alena going through her messy closet.

“Ugh, Felicity, do you have any clothes from this century?” Alena demanded in disgust as she shoved aside a huge chunk of clothes. “I can appreciate vintage as much as the next girl, but I’m pretty sure all of this isn’t even vintage. It’s just tacky.”

Felicity tried to push away the waves of hurt she felt washing over her. “I don’t come from a lot of money, OK? And I try not to care too much about appearances.”

Alena turned away from Felicity’s closet to stare at the girl in question with pursed lips. “Well that’s not going to work in Vegas,” she said pensively as she tapped her finger against her chin.

Felicity felt wary. “What are you thinking?” she asked.

A slightly sinister grin overtook Alena’s features. “I’m thinking now would be the time for a good ol’ fashioned makeover,” she declared. Grabbing her coat and shrugging it on, she gestured for Felicity to follow her.

The poor confused girl stumbled after her friend as she struggled to tie her scarf around her neck. “What do you mean by a makeover?” she demanded.

“It’s the perfect time to revamp your look,” Alena declared. “Besides, your current look isn’t really doing you any favors.”

“I don’t have any money!” Felicity protested.

“You can pay me back after this weekend. Come on.”

Felicity had no choice but to let Alena grab her by the wrist and drag her all around Boston. Luckily for her, Alena chose mostly reasonably-priced shops with a few classy vintage stores thrown in here and there. But Alena also forced Felicity into trying on clothes her mother had been trying to get her to wear for years. One particularly heinous outfit was a skin-tight, strapless red dress that far too short for Felicity’s liking.

But when she emerged from the dressing room with the humiliated air of a monkey on parade, Alena simply pursed her lips in appreciation.

“You know, Felicity, I think red is a really good color for you.”

She gaped at Alena. “Are you kidding? There’s no way I would be caught dead in this thing!”

“Nonsense,” Alena said airily. “What if one night you have to play the sultry siren who’s raking in the dough? You’re certainly not going to attract any attention in the clothes you’ve got now.”

And before Felicity could protest any further, Alena bought the dress.

By the end of their shopping spree, Alena had bought Felicity more clothes than she had ever owned in her life, and the styles for all of them ran the gamut  — from goth punk rockstar to business chic to a sorority girl’s clubbing aesthetic, it seemed that Alena had tried to cover every contingency she could possibly think of.

They got back onto the subway, arms laden with their shopping bags, and Felicity had never felt more exhausted in her entire life. But just as she thought they were headed back to MIT campus, Alena got up and tried to pull Felicity with her.

“Where are we going?” Felicity demanded.

“Come on,” Alena said impatiently. “No makeover is complete without hair and makeup.”

Felicity groaned, but she stood up and followed her. “What the hell is wrong with my hair?”

“Well for one thing, you’re always trying to pretend like you don’t have any,” Alena retorted. “Always wearing it up in ponytails, then stuffing them under wool hats. Some people might think you’re bald under there.”

“It’s Boston, and it’s November!” Felicity protested. “The high on any given day is ten degrees!”

“But it won’t be in Vegas,” Alena reminded her. She steered Felicity toward a salon on the corner. “Come on, let’s go.”

The salon was empty except for a gigantic bearded man with short cropped brown hair and a black smock. “Hello, ladies,” he greeted them with an enthusiastic smile. “My name is Dusty. How can I help you?”

“Hi,” Alena chirped. “My friend here is in the market for a whole new look.”

He perked up at Alena’s words. “Well we can definitely take care of that.”

Felicity nervously stepped forward and took a seat in his chair. Then she pulled off her wool cap and let her thick hair out of its ponytail holder.

“Did you have a specific look in mind?” he asked as he started playing with her hair.

“I’m thinking something...sexy,” Alena said as she surveyed Felicity’s face in the mirror. “Her current style isn’t doing anything for her.”

Dusty nodded. “Hmm. Well in that case, have you thought of dying your hair black?”

Felicity’s eyes widened behind her glasses, but Alena’s eyes lit up. “Oooh, that’s an interesting idea!”

“No way!” Felicity protested. “I can’t pull that off!”

“Oh, of course you can,” Dusty insisted. “You have this wonderfully thick hair, a gorgeous complexion and most of all, those stunning blue eyes. If anyone can pull of dark hair, honey, it’s you.”

“I love it,” Alena nodded. “It’s just the kind of head-turning style we’re looking for.”

“Alena, this is nuts,” Felicity said weakly.

“Come on, Felicity,” Alena cajoled. “When was the last time you let yourself have any kind of fun whatsoever?”

Felicity bit down hard on her lip. If she was being truthful, the answer to that question was definitely never. She’d spent her teenage years running from bullies in high school by hiding among the books in her library. Then she graduated early, went off to MIT and realized that she was far too young and too introverted to understand any of her classmates’ proclivities. She didn’t have any friends. She’d never gone to a frat party. All she did was go to class, study, eat and sleep.

Felicity Smoak didn’t have a life.

“You are twenty-one years old and you’ve never done anything crazy before,” Alena said encouragingly. “Don’t you think that it’s finally time for you to let loose? To do something completely wild?”

Dusty smiled at her through the mirror. “I promise, you’ll look amazing.”

Felicity still felt no small amount of trepidation, but Alena had finally convinced her. She gave them both a timid nod, and Alena clapped happily.

“Great! Then hand over your glasses and let Dusty work his magic.”

[ladyofsnark]

@kelzen

Wynne wanted him to feel guilt for the people he killed. Alistair seemed to expect that he feel some remorse for ever taking the job that had brought him there to begin with. Morrigan was apparently disappointed that he was not ultimately planning to betray them...

In truth, the only guilt gnawing at Zevran was what he felt when he settled down at night with Kallian in her tent.

He had reveled once in the luxury that came with being a Crow in Antiva. He wasn’t being paid to consider others’ feelings and when he had believed Rinna had failed him it had been too easy to push aside those feelings that might have stayed his hand. In the end, his suicide run here in Ferelden was as much self-flagellation for ever letting himself slip as it was genuine penance for his callous arrogance.

Maybe that is what made this all so ironic. Rinna might have awoken the feelings the Crows had tried so hard to kill with their merciless upbringing. But the Warden gave him certainty.

And nothing had ever left him so numb with fear.

Kallian hadn’t spared him on some whim. He had thought it rather silly nonsense at first, but every little act of kindness on her part and each time she went out of her way for another painted the picture of a woman that knew more about real love than any Chantry priest ever would.

And what had started as a simple fascination for dangerous woman with lovely eyes changed in time into a longing and a need that he felt deeper than anything he had ever felt for Rinna...

It had been days since Kallian had sidled up to Zevran with a silly grin on her face and her cheeks a little flushed from a sip too many from Oghren’s flask while sitting with the dwarf.

She kissed him, tasting of spices and honey, and it had taken everything in his power not to draw her up against him and lose himself in the sensations and the warm familiarity of the way she made him feel.

Instead, he had gently set her away and made some excuse that he wasn’t in the mood.

When Kallian reacted with tender concern, he had snapped at her and demanded she leave him be. And she had snatched her hands away from him like he had burned her and the look on her face...

Zevran was the son of a whore, trained to kill with precision and cool effectiveness. What did he know of love? What business did he have here, at her side? This woman with fire in her eyes who would cut through an army of guards and turn down the temptation of gold and freedom to help the people she loved? Someone that would willingly bear the punishment alone, not knowing she would be saved? And this before anyone ever called on her to act with a Warden’s honor...

He stared into the fire burning brightly at the center of camp. Clutched in his hand and growing warm from his skin was the simple earring he had offered to Kallian the day before when Taliesen finally laid dead at his feet.

 Zevran wished things could have gone differently, but Taliesen had never expressed the same regret for Rinna’s death that he had. His facade carefully constructed through the years by the Crow’s had cemented itself with time and left hollow everything underneath.

Seeing Taliesen for how cold he really was, made Zevran  truly grateful for that moment Kallian had reached out and opened his cage.

But she had refused to accept the earring.

It was his fault. They had not spoken since the night he had pushed her away and he had made no effort to apologize for it, too terrified of what her rejection or her forgiveness might mean. And for all the long looks across the camp, she seemed too afraid to reach out for him lest he strike at her in the same way he had before...

His offering had been a clumsy attempt to patch the gaping hole with something that wasn’t putting to words the sentiment eating him alive.

And she had seen through him, like she always did, with starling clarity.

“Zev?”

He had heard her approach. The soft toe-heel steps of a practiced rogue.

Zevran tipped his head toward her to show that he was listening.

The Warden hesitated. She was staring off at the treeline, maybe because her constant readiness wouldn’t allow her to slack or maybe she just couldn’t bear to look at him. Then she spoke and her words reached inside of him and hollowed him out.

“If you want to end this, I...”

Want.

He wanted to throw himself at her feet. He wanted to drag her into their tent and make love to her until they were both too sore to travel in the morning because a week without her was a week too long. He wanted to tell her all the silly, heartfelt, ridiculous, sentimental things running in loops in his mind and burn them into her skin with his mouth so even if she doubted she could never forget them.

“We talked about this at the start. I shouldn’t have pushed--” She stopped herself short and shook her head. “I... I love you and I understand.”

He knew her bravado for what it was when he saw it. A life of disappointment in the Alienage had conditioned her to accept rejection and broken hearts without tears or shows of emotions, even if they cut her down to the marrow.

Now she was putting on this face for him, shouldering all the weight again because she had lived all of her life being strong for the sake of other people.

A better man--a brave man--would let it die here. She was too beautiful and fierce and someone out there was worthy of her. Someday, she would see him for what he really was and she would wake up screaming when she realized that she had wasted what time she had left on this world on half a man gutted by his failures and his guilt.

But he wasn’t good or brave.

Zevran rushed to his feet. He nearly tripped over himself, all of his grace lost at once, and somewhere between catching her arm and the way her name spilled out of his mouth in a frantic prayer, they embraced.

And he breathed for what felt like the first time in days and an ache eased in his chest.

[patheticphallacy]

Hallo!

So let’s start this post by referencing the major creative crisis I went through this month, stemming from a blogging rut I found myself in beginning in July. I’ve got through it now, and I have basically the next month and a half of content already scheduled in preparation for my return to Uni, but the rut was real, guys.

I spend a lot of time on my posts and I found myself very low regarding the content and the amount of response I get to what I post. I know blogging is a lengthy process, I’m not going to immediately get response considering the blog is only just over two years old, and I genuinely love writing these posts and reviews. It’s a worry I tackle often, but sometimes it just gets to me and makes me feel kind of hopeless of ever getting over my general anxiety regarding interacting with other people. I keep my distance just because I don’t know how to make friends in the community, and I feel like that translates over to my blog sometimes too, but I’m really trying to change that by talking to more people!

Other than that: August was boring. I read, I watched random stuff, and I worked overtime shifts so I have enough money for rent when Uni starts. I’m honestly a pretty boring person during off-time from University just because of how far away I am from people, combined with my lack of money. Maybe next Summer will be more exciting.

I also want to add that my blog is going to be a lot busier now the end of the year is approaching. I always seem to have a calm period in November, but every other month, expect chaos! Good chaos, though. Friendly chaos. October is a great month for me as I love horror and supernatural things, which means I have twice as many post ideas.

READING WRAP UP

    Assassination Classroom Volume 3-4 by Yusei Matsui– I expect to read more Assassination Classroom this month, but I ended up starting another popular manga series (that’ll come up later). I did enjoy these two volumes, and we got some intriguing looks into Korosensei’s backstory. 

Ibitsu by Haruto Ryo– I hated this. Straight up. It felt very targeted towards the humiliation of teenage girls with a lot of unneeded torture and nudity, and I just felt sick after reading it, and not in a way I can enjoy with some stories. 

Bond of Dreams, Bond of Love Volume 1-4 by Yayu Sakuragi– This is an age-gap romance between an 18 year old and his childhood friend who is… six/eight years older than him, one of the two. There were some really weird moments, for sure, and I won’t dispute that the age gap was kinda gross at points, but I feel like by the end the conversations on adulthood and the main character finally having his frustrations recognised meant a lot. 

My Love Story Volume 7-13 by Kazune Kawahara– I’m in a perpetual state of mourning now that I’ve finished this series. It’s one of my all-time favourites. The ending is so heartfelt and they get into heavier issues towards the final volume that I feel helped carry the main relationship from feeling young into adulthood as the characters began college. It addresses jealousy and feelings of incompetence, while never belittling the trust these characters have in one another. It’s handled so maturely and so unlike other stories, and I’m satisfied with the conclusion, even if my heart is broken. 

    My Hero Academia Vigilantes Volume 4 by Hideyuki Furuhashi– Not as good as volume 3, but has some solid character development and we finally have a showdown of sorts. This does end on a cliffhanger, fair warning.

Starlike Words by Junko– Reaaaally didn’t like this. Poor development of character and relationship and the nudity felt gratuitous and gross, especially considering these characters are only 15/16. 

These Witches Don’t Burn by Isabel Sterling– Another one that disappointed me. I have a review for this linked at the end of this post, just know that I had issues with the treatment of toxic relationships and a victim blaming attitude. 

Peter and Alice by John Logan– An OK read that’s very meta, a play that imagines the meeting behind Peter Llewelyn Davies and Alice Liddell in 1932. It’s very tragic and the weaving of the characters they inspired into their own stories was incredible, but I found myself thinking the whole time about how this… probably didn’t happen. I know I should have suspended my disbelief, it just felt impossible. 

    One Piece Volume 1-11 by Eiichiro Oda– EE. This series is great! I literally started the longest running manga series I’ve come across so far and I don’t regret starting it, even if I did at first. The first 100 chapters have flown by with incredible character development and a wonderful world being shaped, and I adore it. 

Their Body and Their Afterthought by Shelby Eileen– Not my favourite poetry collection. I don’t want to be too harsh, but it felt like it reiterates what I’ve read in other collections on similar themes and issues without ever offering anything new with form. 

I Hate Fairyland Volume 1 by Skottie Young– I previously read this volume years ago. After a re-read, I’ve lowered my rating. I’ve just read way too many different comics and manga and whatnot to not be slightly critical. The art is still great, but it felt like I was struggling to get through this at points, especially after starting volume 2 and having to stop from boredom. It feels repetitive. 

Sunshine, Sadness and Other Floridian Effects by Shelby Eileen– This collection was better than Their Body, luckily! It has some stunning imagery, calling up impressions of water and the turning of the tide in tandem with loss coinciding with moments of happiness, and I do recommend it. 

    Faithless #3/#4 by Brian Azzarello– Starting to get bored with this series. There’s only so much shocking stuff and nudity without any kind of explanation for it before you grow tired. I’ll carry on reading for a few issues; I’m just ready to drop it if nothing much keeps happening. 

Pochamani Volume 1-5 by Kaname Hirama– Ohhh this was such a great series! It’s out of print so I had to read it online, and only the first five volumes are actually translated, which was so disappointing but I still recommend this series. It’s got the first fat main character I’ve seen in a manga series, and has so much conversation surrounding body shaming and positivity and the constant grappling with self-hate when you have a fat body. It means a lot to me, and seeing a romance where a fat girl is adored by her boyfriend is so wholesome. 

The Diary of a Bookseller by Shaun Bythell– I literally started this last year and it took me that whole period of time to read 140 pages, and then in the space of a week I read the last 150. There’s definitely a sense of elitism and anti-genre fiction (especially what is typically branded as targeted towards women) which aggravated me, but the general humour was great and there was an interesting insight into the running of independent bookshops. 

The Luminous Dead by Caitlin Starling– I feel like I’ve gone OFF about this book on here in August, but this book deserves it. It’s an intense psychological sci-fi horror where main character, Gyre, goes on a caving mission that ends up being more than it first appears. I love the relationship that develops between Gyre and Em, and I highly recommend the audiobook!

My Life with Bob by Pamela Paul– I have a whole review on my Goodreads that I feel summarises my issues with this book. I enjoyed this, but same with Shaun Bythell’s book, there’s a definite sense of elitism in some ways. I think Pamela Paul was willing to paint herself negatively in some respects and show the harmful thought processes she could have, and I appreciated that. My review is a lot more elaborate! Sorry!

  Pen & Ink by Isaac Fitzgerald and Wendy MacNaughton– This is a fun side-by-side of tattoos with the explanations behind them from the people that have them. The stories are whacky and fun, in some places, but are also sentimental and heartfelt in others, and I like the different thought processes behind getting them and the way everyone still seems to love them. 

My Hero Academia Volume 19 by Kohei Horikoshi– SO. GOOD. The real strength of this series lies in how well developed the characters and their relationships are, and this volume especially reaffirms that. Aoyama is so sweet and if he’s the traitor I’ll riot! 

  TBR JAR PICK FOR SEPTEMBER IS: WILLFUL MACHINES by Tim Floreen! My best friend picked this one out for me, thank you friend!

THINGS I WATCHED

I FINALLY went to the cinema again and watched BTS: Bring the Soul. I loved it.

I re-watched Daddy Day Care (don’t ask, it’s literally the only film I watched on Netflix the whole month and I hate that) and it opens with Ben– Eddie Murphy’s in-movie son– climbing out of bed and putting on the exact same Spongebob slippers my sister and I had when we were younger and it was amazing. I’ve never felt so nostalgic over something so unintentional in a film.

Not a watch, but a listen: the Teenage Scream podcast hosted by Kirsty Logan and Heather Parry, where they read and breakdown classic Point Horror novels from the 90s.

As always, I watched random stuff on deep dives on YouTube. This included: An Aesthetic History of The 1975, fat people don’t belong in magazines (it’s not what it sounds like), Being Lowborn w/ Kerry Hudson (an author interview! yes!), and I guess I’ll recommend the latest paperbackdreams video because I love Kat’s channel!

POSTS

University: Second Year Breakdown

A Bookshelf Tour: Part 1

REVIEW: These Witches Don’t Burn

Shakespeare Plays as Taylor Swift Songs

REVIEW: The Luminous Dead

Top Ten Tuesday: Read Books I Wish I Owned!

A Bookshelf Tour: Part 2

If you liked this post, consider buying me a coffee? Ko-Fi. 

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August Wrap Up Hallo! So let's start this post by referencing the major creative crisis I went through this month, stemming from a blogging rut I found myself in beginning in July.