#my winter break is almost over I might forget to post again for six months

[psittacined]

Henlo

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

VelvetCardiganBucky’s Recommendations 2021: Week 12 & 13 | March 14th – March 27th

Welcome to weeks 12 & 13 of my recommendations, if you would like to be featured on a future list, I follow the hashtag #VelvetCardiganBucky, message me, tag me in your future works, or reblog this post and link to your story, one-shot, Masterlist, writing challenge, etc.

Be aware some if not most stories and writers on this list are meant to be consumed by an audience of those 18+. My blog is also an 18+ blog.

✨Page breaks are made @firefly-graphics✨

«Last Week

Week 14»

My Masterlist

My Fic Rec List of Mafia/Mob Bucky/Sebastian & Steve/Chris/Andy

Stuff I Posted This Week:

Steve + Bey = 4Ever » Steve Rogers and Bey carved places in each other’s hearts, that no one else could ever replace.

I Hear A Symphony » Bucky Barnes x Mutant!Reader — Reader plays an important song to her for Bucky.

—Formerly The Winter Soldier » “I’m no longer the winter soldier, my name is James Bucky Barnes & you're part of my effort to make amends.”

Lee Bodecker

(Mini) Series:

*Give In by @not-a-great-writer » soft!dark!Lee Bodecker x shy!Reader — She didn’t think she was anything special. So when the intimidating Sheriff takes an interest in her, she can’t help but feel a little unsettled. Her boring life is about to get a little interesting. | This story has to be one of my all time series I’ve ever read, and I know I will weep when it’s over. The chapters are decently sized, you have angst, fluff and smut. I couldn’t ask for more, it’s simply a masterpiece.

Deadbeat Pt. 9 by @the-witty-pen-name » Lee Bodecker x F!Reader — You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room. | Cole thank you for feeding my current Lee Bodecker obsession after I watched The Devil All The Time, for the time. This story is good and I love soft!Lee, and one where no one dies. At least I hope no one dies...

SamBucky

One-Shots:

Loving You Is Cherry Pie by @river-soul » Sam Wilson x Reader x Bucky Barnes — When Sam Wilson, one of your regulars at the cafe finally asks you out, you’re ecstatic until he tells you he wants his friend to join. When you meet Bucky, you decide it might be worth your while after all. [Allusions to stalking, exhibitionism and explicit sex, 18+] | There is just not enough SamBuck stories out there and we have @river-soul to thank for feeding our love for the boys and giving us some good smut, especially to tide us over till Friday.

Nothing Good Happens After 2 AM by @callmeluna » Sam Wilson x Reader x Bucky Barnes — You are admittedly a handful when you’ve had a few drinks in you. Luckily, your partners Sam and Bucky are more than up for the challenge… maybe. | If you are looking for something to make you laugh, might I suggest reading this? The whole time as I read this I couldn’t get the huge smile off my face, it was that good.

Bucky Barnes

Drabbles:

Matching by @heli0s-writes » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Reader and Bucky are “matchy matchy,” with their belly button rings. | This is adorable as well as very funny.

One-Shots:

Smooth Criminal by @bestofbucky » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Based on a dream @velvetcardiganbucky had. You’re parents told you to never give rides to strangers, but when you notice Bucky Barnes trying to break into your car, you know some strangers aren’t so bad. | Jenny did my dream justice! I honestly couldn’t have asked for anything better.

Don’t Over Do It by @whisperlullaby » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your boyfriend is an asshole. Bucky reminds you that you are perfect the way you are. | I can’t describe this anyway other than perfect, that I wish I had a Bucky like this there for me. Trust me you’ll love the ending.

Coming Home to You by @angrythingstarlight » Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your Biker boyfriend is finally home and he’s going to show you how much he missed you. With every inch he has. And you’re going to remember how much he loves you. | It’s not very often you read something that has an alternate ending and when you do you find yourself loving both endings. Both endings are hot, the smut is great, again who couldn’t love Biker!Bucky?

Won’t Let You Go by @kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay » Mob!Bucky Barnes x OFC!Kori — Kori met Bucky in one of his clubs, out to get shit-faced with a couple of friends to forget about her worries and maybe take home a guy to further rid herself of her numerous frustrations. Little did she know that the one-night stand with Bucky would turn into so much more than that. | Thank you so much for entering my writing challenge, it means so much. This one-shot is so good, it hit me right the feels and left me falling in love with Kori and Bucky.

Show Me How To Ride by @angrythingstarlight » Beefy Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader — You’ve been keeping a secret from your biker boyfriend. He is going to get the information out of you one way or the other. | It’s hot and it makes you realize just how much you realize just how much you love Biker!Bucky.

Bubble Baths by @floatingpetals » Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU) — Even your boyfriend Bucky, needs to wind down at the end of a stressful with a bubble bath, but he doesn’t want to do it alone. | Okay, so my summary of this sucks but let me just say this is fluffy and smutty all at once. I wish I had Bucky to take a bubbly bath with.

Bad Boy!Bucky Barnes x Shy!Reader by @gagmebucky — in which there’s nowhere to sit and bucky offers his lap—then, subsequently, his cock. (bad boy!bucky x shy!reader, dirty talk, exhibitionism and voyeurism, cockwarming, unprotected sex.) | *chugs water* yeah is it a little hot in here? I probably would have failed class if Bucky had been in my class along with Steve, I wouldn’t have known who to stare at, forget learning the material.

**Greater Good by @fuel-joy » Bucky Barnes x Reader — There is a cure for the zombie outbreak but is it worth the cost. | Grab your tissues, because you are going to need them. Thanks darling for entering my writing challenge and making me feel so many feels with this one.

(Mini) Series:

A Tender Heart ♥️ Pt. 2 by @river-soul » Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader — You’ve been sweet on Bucky since you started working at the compound six months ago. Normally quiet and mild mannered, an unexpired fight with a coworker brings Bucky into your orbit. [A/B/O dynamics, brief mention of bullying and fluff] | If anyone can pull at your heartstrings it’s @river-soul making the beginning of this series look so promising and I can’t wait to see where it goes.

Run To You 🪙 Pt. 10 🪙 Pt. 11 🪙 Pt. 12 by @bestofbucky » Mob!Bucky Barnes x Bodyguard!Reader — Mob boss Bucky Barnes hires you to be his bodyguard. | Jenny left me at the edge of my seat, making this such an amazing story, I always look forward to her updates, and so sad that there is only 1 chapter left.

Better than Working sequel to This by @angrythingstarlight » Beefy Biker!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Beefy Biker Bucky shows you all the benefits of working from home. In fact what he has for you is so much better than work. | Sometimes you just need to read something hot to lift your spirits, let this do that.

Stucky

One-Shots:

*Tell Me What You Want by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Steve Rogers x Reader; Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Your mob boyfriend, is none other than Steve Rogers and he is willing to get you whatever you wanted, all you have to do is ask. And be careful what you ask for because he’s going to give it to you over and over again. | This is so hot that I highly recommend not reading this anywhere out in public. The smut in this is just *chefs kiss*

(Mini) Series:

Miracle Pt. 2 🥀 Pt. 1 by @heavenhatesme » Soft!Dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader; Soft!Dark!Steve Rogers x Reader — When infertility threatens mankind with extinction and there hasn’t been a baby for almost 18 years, what happens when two certain super soldiers fall for the same woman and accidentally impregnate her? | It’s not tagged as dark, sorry to the writer I tagged it that please forgive me? But I just want to tell everyone heed the tags. I do look forward to reading what happens next. The smut in this is great!

Invisible Ink by @navybrat817 » Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers x Reader; Bucky Barnes x Reader x Steve Rogers — The owners of the Howling Commandos Tattoo Parlor want to make you their best girl. | I love the idea of tattoo’d Bucky and Steve, but that's because I have a weakness for tattoo’s. So this series is just right up my alley, and the start of it is so good that I know it’s good to be a great one!

Steve Rogers

Drabbles:

Chocolate Milk & Dino Nuggets by @nony-bear » Steve Rogers x Reader — Daddy Steve helps make his little girl feel better after a long week. DDLG THEMES | Had me wishing I had a Steve to make me Dino nuggets after a long day at work. It’s precious folks.

Prompt 4K Drabble Challenge by @sweeterthanthis » Steve Rogers x Reader — “Show me how deep you can take it.” | You’re going to need an ice cold bath after this one.

One-Shots:

A Cruel Tide by @writerwrites » Nomad!Steve Rogers x Reader — A lost hero thinks she needs saving, but this divorcée’s needs were different, fleeting, and then full of attachment. Can they overcome the burdens on their shoulders and keep their word? | Sometimes you want to wrap the reader and Steve in a blanket and protect them while enjoying the smut. This gave me that and more.

Untitled Request by @navybrat817 » Steve Rogers x Reader — Sending Steve a naughty photo while he’s in a meeting leads to punishment that will remind you to never do it again, right? | Hi, I’m just going to drench myself in ice cold water. ✌🏻

(Mini) Series:

*Control Pt. 3 🔐 Pt. 1 🔐 Pt. 2 by @river-soul » dark!Steve Rogers x Reader — When a probationary agent asks you out on a date you learn Steve’s intentions for you have evolved. He doesn’t take kindly to someone touching what’s his. [Noncon, physical violence (biting), grooming behavior and explicit sex, 18+] | Definitely one of my favorite series to read on Tumblr so far, you know it’s dark, and the smut is great. I always look forward to the updates on this one.

*Lipstick and Crayons 🖍 Ch. 4 by @oneoftheprettynerds » Dark Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader — Steve can’t ever repay you for what you did. After meeting you, Steve believes his broken family is the missing piece in the puzzle of your own wrecked one. Indebting the crime lord to you has been the biggest mistake of your life, cause now you can’t get rid of him, no matter what. Loyalty and favours go a long way in the mob. | This story always gets my heart a racing and leaves you with questions as to what is going to happen next. I truly love it and Soft!Dad while being Angry!Mob boss Steve all at the same time, this story just has it all for me.

This Is My Unbecoming by @river-soul » Werewolf!Steve Rogers x Witch!Reader — When the Hydra pack graduates from turning humans to swell their ranks to kidnapping and murdering witches to consolidate power, Steve knows he needs to strike. He makes a deal with a powerful coven leader for a witch of his own in exchange for destroying the rogue pack. [Magical realism, biting, blood, slightly dubious consent and explicit sex, 18+] | Okay this is so good and I would like to thank the teenage mind of @river-soul for creating this! Like seriously thank you. I look forward to reading more!

It’s been a long, long time ☕️ Ch.1 by @mostly-marvel-musings » Steve Rogers x Reader — Steve Rogers – a man who has lost too much finds himself blending into the crowd in attempts to forget his past but revisits familiar places and spends days sketching his heart out. A rainy evening leads him to find shelter in your coffee shop. Is having meaningful conversations over endless cups of coffee with a stranger the key to unlocking a heart that’s lost the will to love? | The prologue tore my heart out, it truly did but the first chapter just puts the pieces back together. I really love this and I’m honestly looking forward to reading what happens next. I can’t thank you enough for entering my writing challenge!

*Not A Team Part: 1 by @shedobewritingalittle » Steve Rogers x Reader — The Reader tries to live a normal life, but her memories won’t leave her alone. Rhodey comes to visit the reader with a proposition. | There aren't a lot of stories out there that have walk on parts with Rhodey in it and I didn’t know how much I missed out on having him in stories till I read this. This was just so well written and the characterization of Rhodey was perfect, how Peyton got the emotions written across, it’s perfect. Read this and have some tissues on hand. I will always love it.

Andy Barber

One-Shots:

Closing Arguments by @river-soul » Andy Barber x Reader — Andy and you are going out for the first time since your daughter’s birth. Anxious about leaving her behind Andy does his best to make you feel better. [Fluff with explicit sex (f recieving), 18+] | So fluffy and sweet!

Keep the Heat by @ozarkthedog » Andy Barber x Reader — Andy fucks you in the coat. | Semi-Short and the smut is oh so good.

(Mini) Series:

Homebound 🏡 Ch. 1 by @fuel-joy » Dark!Andy Barber x Reader — You witness your neighbor kill his wife. You try to gather evidence all from the comfort of your home. | Prepare to be at the edge of your seat with this one, it’s just that good.

One Night by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor » Dark!Andy Barber x Reader — One night changes your entire life. | This is dark and exciting, with tons of angst in it. I love a real good dark!Andy fic and this is it.

Chris Evans

One-Shots:

Mirrors by @cherrychris » Chris Evans x Reader — “wanna know what i see? me owning you and this sweet little pussy” | Sometimes you read things that just blow your mind and this was one of those things.

*Work Party by @harrylovex » Chris Evans x Reader — you get drunk at a work party and chris looks after you… | This is really adorable and probably one of my favorite fluffy Chris Evans one-shots I’ve ever read.

Misc.

One-Shots:

An Act of Kindness by @stargazingfangirl18 » Jake Jensen x Female!Reader — A simple act of kindness seals your fate. | I would like to simply start of by saying that this was my first Jake Jensen fanfiction in years, or maybe my first one, and all I could was where have I been hiding from him? So good and glad I read this and so will you!

*Come Back Safe by @celestialbarnes » Sam Wilson x Reader — based on tfatws, you find out sam’s leaving for a mission, afraid to lose the man you love, you confront him, and he promises you to come back. | So fluffy you’ll want to cuddle it under a blanket fort and wish under a thousand starry night skies for it to come true.

(Mini) Series:

Fiery Friends Pt. 3 🔥 Pt. 4 by @wanderinglunarnights » Johnny Storm x OFC!Sophia Jones — Johnny invites his best friend Sophia to stay with him in his penthouse during quarantine. | I really like this story, because I find myself mentally rooting for Sophia and Johnny, also going you go girl. Looking forward to what is next for this duo.

Ensnared Pt. 2 🔗 Pt. 1 by @stargazingfangirl18 » Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader; minor Robert Pronge (Mr. Freezy) x Reader — Robert preps you for the handoff to the smooth talking stranger who bought you, but before he lets you go, he wants to have a little fun first. | So good and hot. Honestly I look forward to hopefully finding out what happens between the reader and Ransom.

Made With Love by @ayybtch » Wanda Maximoff x f!Reader + Friends to Lovers — Wanda is an excellent cook but a terrible baker. A rough day leads her to the bakery in the Avengers compound where she meets you, the lead baker. After a dismal attempt at making chocolate chip cookies, you volunteer to help Wanda learn how to bake. Your friendship grows stronger with each successful recipe until the two of you stumble into something even sweeter than baked goods. | This story will constantly have you smiling, sure it’s only 3 chapters so far, but I started off reading it in a bad mood but by the 3rd chapter I was just so sappy and happy. I can’t wait for more!

Without Me by CuttingMyFingersOff » Legolas x OFC!Braigeth — Braigeth was an elf who has nothing but memories of Legolas to help her survive being imprisoned in the walls of Orthanc. That is, until she is able to escape and reunite with him. | I’ve been invested in this since my friend came forward to me with the idea for this story and now that it’s being written, I couldn’t be more excited to read it. I need more Lord of the Rings in my life if I’m being honest.

Forever and Ever More by @syntheticavenger » Dark Alpha!Ransom Drysdale x Omega!Reader — Ransom Drysdale may be Boston’s most eligible Alpha but he has his eyes set on you. With his inheritance hanging in the balance, he won’t take no for an answer, whether you like him or not. | Prepared to go on a Hawaiian EMOTIONAL roller coaster with this story, there are so many times in this story you find yourself picking your jaw up off the floor. I’ve linked you to chapter 9, which has all the previous chapters, listed.

Is A Shout Out To My...

@bluemusickid in celebration of 700 followers is hosting a Holi Celebration Writing Challenge, that is due April 30th, but extension can be given. Any Marvel or MCU characters can be used in addition to Chris Evans and his characters. The theme is Holi and its colors, for better explanation visit the link provided.

@whisperlullaby in celebration of 700 followers is hosting a 700 Followers Challenge, your entries will be due May 5th. The theme is kinks, no RPF, DDLG/MMLG, bathroom related , incest, or under age kinks. This is MCU characters, Sebastian Stan, and Chris Evans characters x OFC or Reader. For more information visit the link provided. Congrats Becca on the 700 followers you deserve it hun!

@stargazingfangirl18 in celebration of 5K followers is hosting a Soft Dark Writing Challenge, which is due May 31st. Don’t let the name fool you, your writing can be soft, dark, or soft!dark, or headcanons about any Chris character. 500 word minimum with no max, but new or be read as a stand alone piece. For more information visit the link provided and be sure to congratulate Siri on her 5K milestone!

@cloudystevie in celebration of 4K followers is hosting a Mob!AU Writing Challenge, that is due on May 30th. You can use Chris Evans and any of his characters he’s played before, as well as make it NSFW or SFW. To learn more about it please visit the link below. Also congratulations Jasmeen on the 4K followers! 💗

[honeypiehotchner]

winter love (all i want for Christmas is you) -- Hotch x Fem!Reader

Hi hi hi!! I have literally been writing this on and off since September, and now I finally get to share it!! A few quick things: this fic has very much Hallmark vibes but does have a good dose of angst too; for the sake of this fic, Aaron was born and raised in Virginia; and Jack was never born (sorry buddy!).

I listened to Michael Bublé’s songs “All I Want for Christmas Is You” and “Cold December Night” a lot while writing this, so feel free to play those while you read! xx.

(The gif is from google because once again, my gif search is broken on here because apparently this post is too long?? Rip me)

Summary: You’ve returned back to your hometown after leaving to get your education, but you didn’t expect to run into your childhood best friend (and first love). 

Word count: 9.4k

HOTCH MASTERLIST || MAIN MASTERLIST

If you told yourself a few months ago that you’d be moving back to Virginia, you would’ve scoffed and probably laughed -- loudly. Your mom, on the other hand, would’ve been elated, and swore she knew it.

Like she’s doing now.

“I’m just so excited to have you home again,” she gushes, helping you carry boxes of your clothes up to your old childhood room.

The room needs some work, like taking down all these embarrassing posters and changing the sheets to something not so cringe-worthy (thankfully, it’s a full-size bed instead of the old twin you grew up sleeping on). But it’ll be fine for the time being. It’s not like you’re going to find an apartment right before Christmas, or that you even want to. It’s been a while since you’ve spent a full Christmas season with your mom.

You’ve been studying out of state for the past six years, working to get your masters and doctorate degrees — which you’ve completed. But now you need a job and a new start, which is why you decided to come home.

You’ve missed Virginia a lot more than you’ll admit. It’s hard not to miss your hometown when you’re gone from it for so long.

“We need a Christmas tree,” you say, as you come back down the stairs. “Christmas is next week, how do you not have a tree up yet?”

“I wasn’t going to get one without you,” your mom says like the fact should’ve been obvious to you.

You laugh as you plop down next to her on the couch. “I know. We should go tomorrow.”

“Whenever you want to,” she smiles, squeezing your arm. “Have you been to your coffee shop yet?”

“My coffee shop?” You raise an eyebrow. “Since when has it been mine?”

“Since you practically lived there during high school,” your mom counters.

She has a point. “Well, no, I haven’t. I just got here.”

“You should go.”

You raise both eyebrows this time, turning your entire body to face her. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why are you trying to get me to go back there?”

“Why don’t you want to?”

You give her a look. “You know why.”

“I don’t.”

She does. She knows exactly what happened there.

“I’m not repeating it,” you mutter. “And I’ll be finding a new coffee shop, thank you very much.”

“Oh, you can’t let one bad experience stop you from going there!”

“So you do remember!”

“How could I forget? When you were a wreck for months after. I still never forgave him for that, you know.”

You shake your head, settling back against the couch pillows. “It’s been long enough now that I think forgiveness won’t hurt anyone.”

You say that, and yet you don’t want to step foot in that shop ever again.

+++

It was the summer before your junior year. Aaron was a rising senior, so there was the weight of it being his last year already hanging in the air. Especially when he was already looking at a pre-law track for college — meaning he’d be insanely busy after graduation with not much time for you.

Unfortunately, you didn’t realize that his being too busy for you would start before then.

You were a year younger — technically almost two, but the way your birthday fell, you were only one grade younger — but that didn’t stop Aaron from being your friend. At first you thought he had ill intentions (as most older boys in high school did), but he didn’t. He genuinely enjoyed your company, and you genuinely enjoyed his.

More than genuinely. You say now that you don’t believe in love at first sight, but you know that’s because it already happened for you, and you believe it to be a one-time deal.

That one time was when Aaron sat across from you at the lunch table.

You were alone and reading a book. You were a freshman then, and being an extra year younger didn’t exactly help in the whole making friends department. Especially when a lot of your peers were already aware of your age.

But Aaron wasn’t aware, nor did he even care.

He saw that you were alone, and reading, and he decided to sit with you. He wanted to read too, anyway, but he knew he didn’t always like being alone when he read. Something told him you were the same way.

He was correct.

It took almost the entire fall semester before either of you said one word to each other. Sometimes you’d be too engrossed in the book you were reading to even notice he’d sat down in front of you. And when you would finally notice, he would be the one with his nose too deep in the book to notice.

But eventually, you started sharing book recommendations.

Which eventually turned into helping each other with homework. You were always better at math and Spanish than he was (you were already in the sophomore levels of these classes as a freshman), but he was always good with history and English. He must’ve noticed you were in freshman English and history, but he never commented on it — at least not in a way that said he was bullying you.

That winter break was when you started going to the coffee shop together. It was within walking distance of the high school, so the two of you would go at the end of the day until your parents could pick you up. Sometimes your mom would drive him home, or vice versa.

And when Aaron got his license, he’d drive you both there and drop you off at home.

The two of you were inseparable. Almost literally.

Until Aaron met Haley.

Haley was in theatre. She was everything you weren’t. Aaron’s age, pretty, funny, outgoing, and worst of all: popular.

You watched your best friend fall in love.

And that wouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did if it wasn’t Haley he was falling for.

You kept your feelings for Aaron quiet, even to your mom — though you found out later that she always knew. You had almost thought he felt the same, or that he might be beginning to, and then suddenly he was talking about some girl named Haley.

Only she wasn’t just “some girl” to him, or even to you. Everyone knew Haley Brooks.

Slowly, your lunch table conversations were less about what the two of you were going to do the coming weekend, and more about Haley. How he was going to get her to notice him (join theatre, even though he never liked theatre before her). How he was going to ask her on a date (it wouldn’t be a date at first, just dinner after theatre rehearsal, that ended up being with the entire cast, but he sat next to her). How he was going to win her over (he brought flowers to the first performance and surprised her backstage). How he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend (that was the same night as the flowers, completely unplanned, but she said yes).

How he thought he might want to marry her one day.

The last hurt most of all. He confessed it to you one night out of the blue as he was driving you home after school. You knew you could handle him being in love with someone else. Some sick part of you knew — or hoped, rather — that the relationship wouldn’t last. What high school relationship lasts longer than a few months, anyway?

But when Aaron fell for Haley, he fell completely. And hard.

He started cancelling plans with you to spend time with Haley — before they were even dating. When they were dating, he stopped making plans with you altogether.

Then came the summer before his senior year.

It had been months since you saw him last. You had a new lunch period the second half of the year because one of your favorite teachers asked for help during the period, which meant you didn’t have lunch with Aaron — but you don’t even think he noticed.

June came and went. The two of you barely saw one another, barely talked when you did. But when you did, you clung to those moments like they were your only lifeline. In a way, they were.

July finally came and he actually made plans to see you. He said he wanted to get coffee again, catch up, hang out for a few hours, sit in silence, even, whatever you wanted. You were excited.

Some part of you thought that he had broken up with Haley — wishful thinking, but you were sixteen and in love, what else were you supposed to think?

But he hadn’t broken up with her. They were very much in love. You know. You witnessed it.

Apparently, Haley didn’t like the idea of Aaron getting coffee and lunch alone with a female friend. So, she took it upon herself to tag along.

You saw them sharing a kiss through the window, Aaron’s back facing you. When they pulled away, Haley’s eyes caught yours, but she said nothing to Aaron, just pulled him back in for another kiss.

You didn’t go into the shop that day. And you haven’t since.

The last time you saw Aaron was the day before he moved to college. He was stopping by to say goodbye to you.

You were reading a book in your room, and your eyes caught the movement on the driveway. You told your mom to say you weren’t home.

You watched him leave from your bedroom window, hands stuffed in his pockets.

+++

You heard that Aaron and Haley got married. Not because you wanted to hear, but because your mom told you. She probably meant well, but you drank an entire bottle of wine that night. You weren’t even 21 yet at the time.

Of course, it’s been years since then. You’re all fine now, and you’ve got the student loan debt to prove it.

But even with three degrees, job hunting can be a bitch. Especially this time of year.

You need coffee.

You blame the fact that this coffee shop is the best one around. And the fact that it’s Christmas season, meaning they have your favorite drink again.  

Dark chocolate peppermint mocha. It’s a godsend. And you haven’t had one in years.

Well, you have. But they haven’t been from here. They haven’t had this shop’s specially made peppermint whipped cream, or the peppermint stick that can be used to stir.

You hate how much you have to psych yourself up before you walk inside. You don’t even know where Aaron is these days or what he’s doing. He could be halfway across the country for all you know.

So, with that fact in mind, you walk inside. You embrace the familiar sight and smells, remembering what it felt like the last time you were here.

You move toward the counter, falling in the short line to the register. And your stomach flips when you see a familiar face standing in front of you.

Well, his back is facing you, so you don’t see his face, but you know it’s him. There’s this thing about first loves. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been since the last time you’ve seen them. You’ll always recognize everything about them. The back of their head, their shoulders, their hands, the way they walk.

Their voice. Even if it’s deeper than the last time you heard it.

Maybe he won’t recognize me.

But what you don’t know is that no amount of time could pass to make you unrecognizable to Aaron.

Or that he saw your reflection in the glass case next to him when you got in line, and he’s been internally trying to figure out what the hell to say to you since.

If it hadn’t been for his voice, you wouldn’t have recognized Aaron at all. A black coffee? That’s it?

The barista pours it and slides it over to him before he’s even done paying. He’s at a coffee shop -- this coffee shop, and he orders a black coffee?

Who is he?

You step up to the register as he steps away, and you swear you see him looking at you through the corner of your eyes. But you must be seeing things because why would he do that?

You focus on ordering -- a medium peppermint mocha, complete with the whipped cream and peppermint stick. After paying, you step to the side to wait for your coffee.

You nearly knock right into Aaron, but you stop yourself, well aware of his presence.

Another thing about first loves: you’re always painfully aware of their presence.

“Hi,” he says, awkward and fumbling even though it’s only one word. He’s wearing a stuffy suit and tie, which seems odd, but you’re positive that’s just normal lawyer attire. He probably lives in a suit these days. His hair is shorter than it used to be and he looks older, but so do you. Despite all of this, he’s still Aaron. He’s still the same Aaron Hotchner you fell in love with at sixteen.

“Hi,” you return the awkward smile, tugging on the strap of your purse. After a beat, you nod toward his drink. “Black coffee, huh?” You try to tease. “Who hurt you?”

He laughs loudly then, shoulders and head shaking. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Hotchner,” you murmur, wrapping your arms around yourself.

The conversation dies for a moment, so you busy yourself by looking at the different cakes and pastries in the glass case. You probably should’ve gotten one, but maybe another time.

Another time. Fifteen minutes ago you wouldn’t be caught dead in this shop and now you’re already thinking about another time.

“Are you busy?” Aaron suddenly asks, prompting you to look at him with furrowed brows. “Do you mind if I join you?”

“Not at all,” you smile gently, knowing you might regret this later. But it’s been over a decade since you’ve seen him last. One coffee won’t hurt.

And I’m over him, you remind yourself, no matter how untrue it might be.

Once you have your peppermint mocha -- finally, you think, it’s been too long -- you walk with Aaron to find a table. A lot has changed about this shop, but one thing that hasn’t (because there isn’t much that can be changed) is the seating.

Aaron leads you to your old table. The table the two of you practically lived at.

It makes your heart warm and ache all at once. The drink you decided to order isn’t helping matters either.

“So…” You pause, shifting in your seat. “What are you up to these days?”

“You stole my question,” he jokes.

“Tough,” you smile into your drink. “I asked it first.”

He chuckles, but answers anyway. “I’m working for the BAU now.”

“The B-A-What?”

“The-- FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

Your eyes widen. “Did you… Did you really just say you’re working for the FBI?”

“I think so,” he says. “I’m the unit chief.”

“You’re the-- Okay. So, you don’t work for the...the BAU, they work for you.”

“We’re a team,” he offers.

“Said every boss ever,” you quip, taking a long drink of your mocha. You take the peppermint stick in between your fingers and stir, eyebrows furrowing down at the swirl of coffee and whipped cream. “So...what do you do exactly?”

He opens his mouth to answer, then stops, hesitating. “Do you really want to know?”

You give him a look. “Of course I do.”

“It’s not great.”

“Aaron, just tell me, or I’ll start reciting my dissertation word for word.” Your statement stuns him to silence, so badly that you almost laugh. “That’s boring. Working for the FBI can’t possibly be boring.”

“Oh, it’s never boring, that’s for sure,” he mutters. “We profile serial killers.”

“You what?”

He laughs. “We look at their behaviors and crimes and build a profile, what they might look like, their age, that stuff.”

“Intriguing.”

“I can’t believe you’re interested.”

“I can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t be,” you counter. “You know I thrive off this stuff.”

“I remember,” he says quietly.

And just like that, you remember, too.

It’s so easy to forget about all the hurt he caused, all the pain he left behind. Especially because you know he never intended to hurt you. He would never do that, not to you, not on purpose. You never told him how you felt. It’s not his fault he couldn’t read your mind.

“Well, you’ve got a doctorate,” he says, shifting the conversation. “What else are you up to?”

“How did you know it’s a doctorate?” You raise an eyebrow. “Are you profiling me? Did I use that correctly?”

“Yes,” he smiles. “And no, not intentionally. You said you’d recite your dissertation. Those are normally written to get doctorate degrees. You always wanted one, I assumed you met your goal.”

“You assume correct,” you nod. “I’m back to start job and apartment hunting, but after the new year. I wanted to spend some time with my mom.”

“How is she doing?”

“She’s good, she--” You pause, shaking your head with a laugh. “She actually brought you up yesterday.”

“Me?” Aaron looks genuinely shocked.

“Yeah, you,” you knock your foot against his leg without thinking, but you pay no mind, not wanting to draw unnecessary attention to it. “She’s actually the one who put the bug in my ear to come here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I haven’t been back here since…”

It takes him a moment, but he nods slowly. “Right.”

“Yeah,” you draw your legs closer to you on instinct. “But that was a long time ago. How are you and Haley?”

You don’t expect the way his face falls. You glance down at his left hand. No ring.

“We got a divorce a few years ago, split up about a good year before that,” Aaron explains. “She’s good, last I heard. Remarried already.”

“Wow,” you murmur, not knowing what else to say. “What-- I mean, what happened?” When he hesitates, you backpedal. “Sorry, I shouldn’t even ask, it’s probably a sensitive question.”

“It’s okay,” Aaron chuckles. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

That sends a dangerous flutter through your stomach. “Okay. Well I’m all ears.”

“Oh, it’s not a long story, it was just my job,” he shrugs. “I took the unit chief position and she was happy at first. But then, there was a period of time where we had what felt like case after case after case.” He shakes his head. “I was barely home, but I was barely in one state for long, anyway. It was a stressful time. We were everywhere at once.”

“That does sound stressful,” you frown. “Has it slowed down now?”

“Kind of, it has its moments,” he admits. “But being gone so much, it took a toll on her. She wanted to start a family, but said she couldn’t do that if I was never there.”

“But I mean she had to have known how your schedule would be with the new job, right?”

“Yeah,” he says, then shrugs. “It’s been so long now that I stopped trying to understand her thought process.”

“I get that,” you say sincerely. You understand not wanting to waste energy on something like that anymore. Sometimes you just have to give it up and have peace with the fact that you’ll never understand.

“What about you?” He asks suddenly, catching you off guard. “Seeing anyone?” He adds it quietly, like he’s shy.

Aaron Hotchner. Shy. Around you.

“Oh,” you nearly laugh at the prospect. “No. No, I’m not. Do you really think I would be if I was moving back in with my mom?”

He laughs, bringing his coffee to his lips. “You have a point there.”

A comforting silence settles over the two of you after that.

You shouldn’t feel slightly giddy that his and Haley’s relationship didn’t work out in the end. You’re over him by now, anyway. But something about being right has you fighting a smile. You smother the urge, though, knowing he probably doesn’t want to hear anyone, let alone you, say, “I told you so.”

You do feel bad for him, genuinely. Divorce is never easy for anyone, and you hate he went through that. Especially like that. Haley knew his work schedule would change. Why would she act supportive if she knew this in advance? Just sits uneasy with you, that’s all.

Of course, you feel that overprotective-best-friend nature coming back to you.

“What plans do you have now that you’re back?” He asks, keeping the conversation up, but you can tell he’s earnest — which makes you smile.

“Nothing, really. My mom and I are getting a Christmas tree later, but that’s all I have on my schedule.” You pause, giving him another look. “We both know you were my only friend in high school. Who do you think I’m going to see while I’m here?”

“Hopefully a lot of me,” he replies easily, smiling around his coffee.

And for once, you don’t hesitate to reply. “I hope so, too, actually. I didn’t think you were still around here. And I really didn’t expect you to be working for the FBI.”

“This might be presumptuous of me, but what are you doing this weekend?” He asks, quickly adding on, “A good friend of mine is hosting a Christmas party for the team, and I’ve basically been threatened to bring a plus one.”

“Threatened, huh?” You raise an eyebrow.

He nods seriously. “They won’t let me inside without one.”

You gasp comically, keeping up the act. “Well you can’t miss the party!”

“I know,” he sighs, propping his head in his hand.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to come with,” you say, still deadly serious.

But Aaron’s lips split into a grin the same time yours does. “It’s this Saturday.”

“Lucky for you, I’m free.”

He doesn’t stop grinning. “I can pick you up, if you want.”

“Yeah, I’d love that,” you say. “I should probably give you my number, shouldn’t I?”

“I was going to ask,” he admits.

You roll your eyes playfully. “I figured.”

After exchanging numbers, the two of you return to your idle conversations. Only, they’re less idle than they ever have been before.

He vents about still not understanding how people can be capable of the things he sees. How he knows that everyone is capable of unspeakable things, but it’s how they do it that still makes him stumble sometimes. And you try to sympathize, though you know you can’t. But still you tell him not to try to understand.

“You’re a good man,” you say. “You’re not going to understand it because you’re not like them.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I know that, consciously. Sometimes it’s good to hear it from someone else.”

Then he tells you it’s your turn, and again, you don’t feel the need to hesitate.

You tell him how you weren’t planning on moving back here at all. But the job market where you were didn’t...fit you, for some reason. You never felt like you belonged, and so maybe that’s why you wanted to come back here.

Because even though you left this place heartbroken, you still felt like you belonged when you were here. You felt like you belonged when you were with him, but you don’t tell him that.

Something tells you he heard it anyway, though. Being a profiler and all. Which you still don’t quite understand, but you’re sure he’ll have plenty of time to tell you in the coming future.

+++

After an hour or two, you decide it’s time for you to head back home. Partly because you need to make some lunch for yourself, and partly because you’ve watched Aaron dismiss at least three phone calls in the last twenty minutes.

But he didn’t say a word each time, so you know he won’t tell you who it is or if he needs to go. It makes your heart warm at the thought that he wants to spend more time with you, but if it’s his job, then he needs to go.

He walks you to your car and you hug him around his neck, unashamedly taking a deep breath of his cologne when you stretch up to wrap your arms around him. He didn’t wear cologne back in high school. But this one smells good.

You mentally prepare yourself on the way home for the amount of questions your mom is no doubt going to ask.

You’re supposed to be going to pick out a tree with her today, which means you were supposed to be home a little earlier than this, which means your mom probably already knows what happened and you won’t even get a chance to explain yourself.

In the end, your prediction was correct.

“How was your peppermint mocha?” You glance over to the couch and find your mom sitting there, idly reading a book.

The question is as directly indirect as they come. You raise an eyebrow and kick the front door closed (yes, she asked before you even stepped foot inside the house). “It was good,” you reply, shrugging your jacket off your shoulders. “Why?”

“Oh, you enjoyed it for almost two hours, so I was just wondering.” Your mom fights back a grin, but she’s not doing a very good job.

You sigh. “Just go ahead and ask.”

She closes her book. “Alright, fine, I will. How is Aaron?”

There it is.

“He’s good,” you answer rather pointedly, making your way into the living room. “He’s working for the FBI now.”

“Oh, I knew that already.”

You plop down next to her on the couch. “Seriously?”

“Of course!” She cries, like it should be obvious. “Small talk happens when you see someone in the store.”

“Right,” you scoff. “Anyway, thanks for not telling me him and Haley divorced.”

She grimaces.

“Yeah, exactly,” you nod at her expression. “That’s how I felt. I bet it was just awesome of me to ask about how him and his ex-wife are doing.”

“I’m sorry,” your mom says. “It completely slipped my mind. It’s been so long since those two split.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when it happened?”

“Because I didn’t want to bring him up,” she answers sincerely. “You seemed like you had really moved on. I figured it didn’t matter, and I didn’t want to make you start thinking about him again when you had finally gotten over it all.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Well, thank you, then, but...still. I feel like an idiot.”

“Did he seem angry when you asked?”

“No, the opposite,” you sigh. “He explained what happened and I let him talk about it for a second, but he seems mostly moved on from it.”

“I don’t know how he can be,” your mom scoffs. “She’s already remarried, you know.”

“Yeah, he told me.”

Your mom shakes her head. “I should’ve shook some sense into that boy when he came to say goodbye that day.” Then she pauses, poking your leg. “And I should’ve made you say goodbye to him. I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

“I didn’t wanna talk to him,” you shrug. “We barely had all year, anyway. And one goodbye would not have stopped him from going to college and marrying Haley, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know.” She sighs. “It’s fun to think about, though.”

“Well stop thinking about it,” you mutter. “We are friends and he’s probably seeing someone by now. I don’t even know how long I’ll be here, so.”

Your mom raises her eyebrows. “I never said anything about what you guys are now.”

Damn. Caught. “I know, but I’m just...catching you before you do.”

“Mmm, more like catching yourself.”

“Shut up.”

She lightly hits you with a pillow. “Don’t say that to your mother,” she jokes. “Especially not when I’m right and you know it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Are you ready to pick out a tree?”

“Of course,” she replies. “Just let me find my shoes.”

While she’s getting ready -- because “finding her shoes” really means fixing her hair and makeup and changing outfits a couple times -- you get a text from Aaron.

Aaron: It was nice catching up with you today

You smile and type your reply. Ditto. We should do it again sometime.

He doesn’t reply, but you figure he’s busy at work, anyway. And you’ve got a tree to pick out and decorate, so you’re technically busy, too.

You try not to think too much about it.

+++

And truthfully, you don’t think much about it, until Aaron finally replies. It’s hours later when you’re decorating the freshly-cut Christmas tree in the living room, with Michael Bublé’s Christmas album playing through the stereo speakers. It’s just like when you were younger.

You check your phone and see that it’s Aaron texting you back, but you pocket it before reading the message. You’re busy.

Your mom notices the change on your face. “Everything alright?” She asks as she places a snowflake ornament on one of the smaller branches.

You nod without thinking, hating yourself for even feeling what you’re feeling right now. A glittery red ornament hangs from your index finger as you try to find the right branch to hang it on -- and while your mind wanders all over the place.

“Clearly not,” your mom replies. “But alright.” She turns and reaches into a different box, picking up one of the golden jingle bells that she always hides deep within the tree each year. When you were younger, she’d hide them without you seeing, and then on Christmas Eve you’d have to search the tree for them before you could open one present before going to sleep.

You snort a laugh, always loving her way of getting you to open up: sarcasm. “It’s just Aaron.”

“Aaron?”

“Texting me,” you explain, looking down at the glitter coating your fingertips from the ornaments.

“Aren’t you going to reply?” She asks, grabbing another jingle bell.

“Technically he’s the one replying from earlier today.”

“Okay…”

You sigh. Time to cave. “He invited me to a Christmas party this weekend.”

Your mom doesn’t even try to hide her excitement or her wide grin. “Really? That’s great!”

Is it? You want to ask, but you stop yourself. “Yeah,” you shrug. “I guess so. It’ll be nice to hang out with him more.” You pause, finally hanging the small glittery red ornament on the tree that you’ve been idly holding for the past two minutes. “Apparently a friend of his is hosting it and basically told him he wouldn’t be allowed inside without a plus one.” You chuckle quietly, knowing Aaron had to have rolled his eyes when his friend told him that.

“So it’s...a date, then?”

“What? No,” you shake your head. “No, no. Not a date. He didn’t phrase it that way.”

“Sweetheart, plus one implies date.”

“Who says?”

“Everyone!” Your mom laughs. “Bringing a plus one to a wedding is usually a casual date, if not bringing your significant other along.”

“This isn’t a wedding, it’s just a Christmas get together.”

“Same difference.”

“Well, I think you’re doing that thing again where you try to plant seeds in my brain for things that are unnecessary,” you raise an eyebrow at her when she avoids eye contact, so you know you’ve caught her red-handed. “All that aside,” you sigh. “I’m over him. It’s been so long. If something was going to happen, it would have already.”

“Whatever you say,” she shrugs indifferently, grabbing the final jingle bell to hide in the top of the tree. For a brief moment, you wish you hadn’t been watching where she hid them, so you could do the search on Christmas Eve one more time.

+++

You bump into Aaron one more time, two days later, at the same coffee shop.

“Back for more?” He teases as he slides into the seat across from you, another black coffee in his right hand.

You’re sitting at the table the two of you call home with yet another peppermint mocha sitting in front of you and your laptop. More job hunting is the task for today, even though you’re ready to give up and just pick it back up after the New Year. It’s not like your mom is making you pay rent, and you have enough in savings to help with groceries (without her knowledge, of course, because she refuses to let you pay for anything) and buy your own coffees. But, you decided to give it one last go today.

That is, until Aaron slid into the seat in front of you. Now, you close your laptop and place it back in your bag. “Just needed some fuel for more job hunting,” you grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I took off for lunch for once and thought I might find you here.”

“Oh?” You raise your eyebrows. “Were you seeking me out, Hotchner?”

“Maybe a little,” he admits with a shy smile. “Are you still good for tomorrow?”

“As long as you are,” you nod. “What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at five, if that’s good?”

“Perfect,” you smile. “Are you ready to introduce me to your friends?”

“Depends,” he exhales exasperatedly. “Are you ready to meet them?”

“They can’t be that bad.”

“They might be. If you aren’t used to them.” He pauses. “They don’t know you’re coming, by the way.”

“What?” You almost laugh. “Why not?”

“I told them I was bringing someone, but I didn’t feel like hearing it all week about who I was bringing.” He pauses again, like he’s holding something back, and then he lets it out. “They know all about you.”

You blink. “They do?”

“Yeah,” he smiles gently. “I talk about you all the time.”

“No,” you shake your head. “No you don’t. There’s no way.”

“You’ll believe it tomorrow,” he chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll try to embarrass me.”

“I-I mean...what do you even say about me?”

He shrugs. “That you were my best friend in high school and...that I missed you and wondered what you were up to these days, and how we used to hang out here.” He looks around the shop, then back to you and your bewildered expression. “What?” He laughs. “You didn’t talk to your friends about me?”

“No, I did,” you laugh quietly. But I said different things. And most of the time I was crying because I missed you, especially my first year of college when my roommate tried to get me to go on a double date with her boyfriend and his roommate, but I refused and had to confess that I wasn’t over you and that you broke my heart, and I was such a mess that she brought ice cream and chocolate back after their date.

But you don’t say any of that. Obviously.

“I just didn’t expect you to even...think about me, I guess,” you finally spit out, still shaking your head. “I mean...we haven’t talked since high school, I figured you’d forgotten or moved on, at least. Especially since you had Haley.”

Aaron’s expression softens and turns sad, quickly. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you thought any of that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” you wave his worry away. “It’s years ago. Water under the bridge.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. Then, he says, “Haley was jealous of you, you know.”

You immediately look up from your mocha, your eyes wide in shock. “She was what?”

“Oh yeah,” Aaron laughs. “Devastatingly jealous of you. She swore we were dating or that I was in love with you or something.”

Or something. “Wow,” you chuckle, trying to mask your hurt as much as possible. “Why did she even think that?”

You know why. You know exactly why. Because before her, you and Aaron were attached at the hip. You sat together during lunch, walked each other home, hung out at the coffee shop, went to school functions together (well, you’d actually go with a big group, but you two always ended up together anyway), and so on and so forth. Anyone would’ve been an idiot to not assume you two were dating.

“We were so close,” he shrugs. “She said she was so surprised when I asked her to be my girlfriend because she swore I was dating you. She actually asked me that, when I gave her the flowers. She said, “What about Y/N?” And I said, “Y/N? She’s just my best friend.” And she didn’t believe me.”

“That’s so crazy,” you say, but you’re really thinking back to that day you and Aaron had decided to meet up here and hang out after so long. When Haley crashed the hangout. When she locked eyes with you and smirked before pulling him back in for another kiss.

She was jealous. She was jealous and she knew exactly what she was doing that day.

Aaron’s phone starts ringing and he sighs heavily, pulling it out. He almost declines it, but then stops himself. “It’s the boss,” he says. “My boss. I’ve gotta take this. I’ll text you later?”

“Sure,” you smile, knowing he might forget or get too busy to think about it. But that’s okay. “Good luck with the phone call.”

“Thanks,” he chuckles. “I’ll need it.” And then he brings his phone up to his ear. “Agent Hotchner,” he says, and you hate that you find it so hot.

+++

You almost cancel with Aaron a dozen times before 2p.m.

You blame the conversation the two of you had yesterday. For some reason, the thought of Haley being jealous of you had never crossed your mind. Because to you, it was so obviously the other way around. Of course, you weren’t vocal about your jealousy, but you were certain she knew. Not that it was the other way around.

Old feelings have already resurfaced, which is bad enough, but the talk about Haley and about how Aaron’s friends know all about you made things worse. Especially the latter.

Why would he talk about you so much if the two of you hadn’t spoken in years? Not even years, but like an entire decade. Why would he still talk about you and think about you that much?

You have dwelled over those questions since he left the coffee shop yesterday.

But now, you have no idea what to wear, and Aaron will be here any minute. You’re assuming the attire is casual, not fancy, since it’s just a get together with his friends -- who all happen to be his team of agents. FBI agents. Because he’s just casually the Unit Chief of the BAU.

It still baffles you. He wanted to be a lawyer. Not in the FBI. God.

He’s still your Aaron. That’s what shocks you the most. He’s experienced law school, marriage, practicing law, working for the FBI, becoming a Unit Chief, divorce, and yet he’s still the Aaron Hotchner you were best friends with in high school.

You wonder if you’re still the girl he was best friends with in high school. Or if you’ve changed so drastically that he doesn’t see you that way anymore.

You take a deep breath, going back to digging through the many boxes of clothes that you have yet to unpack. You need a sweater or something. That’s safe enough, right? It’s too cold for a dress, and frankly, you’re not in the mood for wearing one, anyway.

Finally, you find the sweater you were looking for. You tug it over your head, figuring your jeans are fine enough. You’ll wear some low heels to make it look like you put in a little more effort.

Your quick thinking is to your benefit because the doorbell rings almost as soon as you’re done doing the clasp on your second heel.

But because your mom is quicker than you, she’s already opened the door and let Aaron in before you can make it downstairs. And by the time you are coming down the stairs, Aaron is sitting on the couch with your mom, making idle conversation.

“Hey,” you smile at him, resisting the urge to glare at your mom. “Ready?”

“If you are,” he nods, standing to his feet.

When he turns, you shoot your mom a look. “We’ll be back later.”

“You’re not in high school,” your mom laughs. “You two have fun for as long as you like.”

“I know,” you say. “But I also know you’ll wait up until I get back.”

“And you can’t stop me,” she replies pointedly.

Aaron laughs at the two of you, your banter just as he remembers from all those years ago. Neither of you have changed one bit.

After a final moment of bickering, you bid your mom goodbye and leave with Aaron.

In the car, you ask, “Have you told them about me coming yet?”

From the driver’s seat, he shakes his head. “No, so prepare yourself for a lot of questions.”

“I think you’re the one that’ll be in hot water, but alright,” you chuckle. “I can hear them now. ‘Why didn’t you tell us you were bringing her!’”

He laughs loudly. “That’s not a bad impression, actually.”

“Why, thank you,” you smirk. “It’s a hidden talent of mine.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mhm.”

The two of you share a grin as he keeps driving.

+++

After some time -- long enough that you were beginning to wonder where he’s taking you -- Aaron finally turns into a subdivision. But it’s still not what you were expecting.

You assumed FBI agents must make good money, but not this good. This is a mansion. It’s massive. There has to be at least six bedrooms in there, maybe more.

“Is your friend a millionaire or something?”

Aaron chuckles, “Maybe. Probably. Maybe more.”

“More?” Your eyes widen. “Wow.” And then Aaron pulls into the driveway. “Wow.”

He puts the car in park and says, “Try not to look too surprised. Dave won’t shut up about the house if you get him started.”

“What if I want to hear everything?” You ask, scrambling out of the car to look up at the house. “Jesus Christ.” Then you whip your head around to look at Aaron exasperatedly. “Does your house look like this?”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “No. This is too big. Dave’s crazy for buying it.”

“He’s definitely insane,” you nod. “I mean, what do you even need a house this big for?”

Aaron shrugs. “Christmas parties, I guess.” He pauses, holding out his arm for you. “Ready to face the lions?”

You roll your eyes through a laugh, loosely holding onto his arm. “Quit being so dramatic. I bet it’ll be just fine.”

“Let’s hope so,” Aaron replies. Because truthfully, he is a little worried that they might scare you off. They have a habit of doing that.

The two of you walk up to the front door, and you try your best to act like you’ve been in the general vicinity of a house this big before. Dave must be a really good friend of Aaron’s, because instead of knocking or ringing the doorbell, Aaron twists the doorknob and walks right in with you on his arm.

“Dave’s making pasta,” Aaron whispers, smelling the air. He shuts the door gently, wanting to surprise the team as much as possible.

You sniff the air, too, smiling happily. “Smells really good. Is that carbonara?”

“Good nose,” a voice says from the kitchen.

“That’s Dave,” Aaron chuckles, walking you down the hall toward the smell.

The team’s eyes all widen dramatically and comically when Aaron Hotchner steps inside the kitchen with a woman on his arm.

“Well, hello,” one of them says, sliding off the stool at the counter to saunter over to you. He’s all suave and swagger.

“Derek Morgan, this is Y/N,” Aaron introduces you quickly, knowing the reaction your name will get.

“Hold up,” Derek pauses, glancing between you and Aaron. “Y/N? As in the Y/N?”

“I don’t know about being the Y/N, but that is my name,” you laugh. “Nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Derek says, a hand over his heart to add to the sincerity. “Where have you been hiding all this time?”

“Getting a doctorate,” you shrug, only now realizing that your hand is still holding onto Aaron’s arm, but he doesn’t seem fazed by it either, so you don’t move.

“Oh, alright,” Derek chuckles. “Hey Reid, we’ve got another doctor here.”

The man in question, Reid, looks up from the book he was reading with furrowed eyebrows. “Hi.” He waves.

“Hey,” you wave back. “What’re you reading?”

“War and Peace. In Russian, though.”

“In-- Wow, okay.”

“He’s a genius,” Morgan explains.

“I see that,” you chuckle.

Aaron finishes the introductions for you. “That’s JJ, handles the press for us because none of us want to do it.”

“He’s not wrong,” JJ replies with a laugh. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“You too,” you smile.

“You met Reid, his first name’s Spencer,” Aaron supplies, and Reid is too far gone in the book again to notice. “This is Emily Prentiss.”

“And I have been dying to meet you,” Emily says. “You are exactly how he described.”

“In a good way, I hope?” You laugh nervously.

She nods. “Definitely.”

Aaron points to the other woman at the counter. She’s dressed in all sorts of crazy colors with glasses that match her outfit. And before he can introduce her, she says, “I’m Penelope Garcia, technology extraordinaire. I keep them out of trouble.”

“And we love you for it,” Derek adds.

“And this is Dave,” Aaron finishes.

“It is very nice to finally meet you,” Dave says, and actually shakes your hand. “Do you know how to make carbonara?”

“Yes, actually,” you say, earning a surprised look from Aaron. “I went through a phase when I was younger, wanting to make anything and everything that sounded good, so I’ve made this a few times. My mom loves it.”

Dave loves the sound of that. “Would you like to help me?”

You practically light up inside and out. “Seriously? I’d love to!”

“Oh, here we go,” Derek groans. “He’s roped her in.”

You ignore him, slipping away from Aaron to grab the other apron off the hook by the entrance to the kitchen. You slide your head through the loop and tie it at the back in a matter of seconds, too excited to contain it.

“I almost went to culinary school, you know,” you say to no one in particular, but Aaron is listening, and so is Dave.

“Why didn’t you?” Aaron asks.

You shrug. “Didn’t seem practical.” Which isn’t the real answer at all. The real answer is you got your heart broken and needed to do a complete 180 in life, so you did. Culinary school was out. Getting a doctorate was in. You turn on the water in the sink and begin washing your hands. “What do you need me to do?”

For the next hour, you help Dave make the carbonara, occasionally answering any questions Aaron’s friends have for you.

Aaron pours you a glass of wine and sits at the counter, watching you cook. You look more at peace than he’s seen you since a few days ago when he first bumped into you again.

You catch him looking at you more than a handful of times. It feels good. Spending the evening with his friends, his team, with him. You’ve missed spending time with him more than anything else.

Dave serves up the carbonara, telling you to sit down since you helped so much already. You don’t make him ask twice.

+++

After dinner, everyone moves into the living room, scattering on the various couches and chairs. Reid has finished reading War and Peace, so the book sits discarded on one of the coffee tables.

You take the spot on the couch next to Aaron, careful not to spill your wine. Penelope sits on the other side of you, with Derek on her other side, which all but forces you to move closer to Aaron, and something about the look on Penelope’s face tells you it was done on purpose.

You’re not exactly complaining, though. With a full stomach and a fresh glass of wine, Aaron’s presence is even warmer than before. You pay no mind when he shifts his left arm, stretching it over the back of the couch and allowing you to scoot closer, your legs pressed against each other’s.

The conversation continues, and somehow the subject of relationships is brought up.

“Yeah, why was I the only one asked to bring someone?” Aaron asks. “I’d like to see all of you find a last minute date.”

Another warm rush goes through your body at the word date. This is a date. Alright then.

“I think you did just fine,” Dave says, nodding to you. “Don’t you?”

You shrug, not sure of what to make of it. “I’m having fun, so I guess so.”

“See?” Dave gives Aaron a look. “You did fine.”

Aaron gives his friend a tired glare. “Only because she happened to be back from getting her degrees. Otherwise, I would’ve been stuck.”

“Nah, man, you could’ve called Beth.”

You feel Aaron tense next to you, but you aren’t sure if he tensed up or if you did. Maybe both. Probably both. You weren’t aware there was someone else.

“Who’s Beth?” You ask as casually as possible, ignoring the heated glares Penelope, JJ, and Emily alike are sending Derek. Seriously, Derek would be dead three times over right now if looks could be deadly.

Aaron shrugs before answering you. “Her and I dated briefly last year.”

You nod slowly, trying not to seem hurt or upset or anything by this because it’s ridiculous of you to be fighting back tears, but you can’t help it.

It’s high school, goddamnit, it’s fucking high school all over again.

The topic of conversation shifts thanks to Reid being the endless supplier of random facts. One question about Russian from Emily and he’s taking over, washing the awkwardness away in two languages.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t work as well for you as it does for everyone else.

You set your wine glass down on the table and tell Penelope you’re going to use the bathroom. You have no clue where it is, but she doesn’t know that.

Aaron does. And Aaron hears the tone of voice you use.

He waits until you’re down the hall before he stands to follow you, foregoing any explanation to his friends. They already know what he’s doing.

Aaron’s suspicions are correct when he hears the front door close and sees your coat no longer hanging next to his on the hook by the door. He grabs his and only gets one arm through a sleeve before he’s opening the door, eyes searching the premises for you.

Thankfully, he finds you after two seconds, and his racing heart slows a little. You’re standing by the reindeer lights on Dave’s front lawn. Your coat is only hanging on your shoulders, something you’ve always done since high school when you were upset.

“It feels more like a blanket,” you had told him one day. “Blankets are more comforting than jackets.”

He doesn’t see the difference, but you do, and that was enough for him.

He has both arms through the sleeves by the time he’s next to you. He gently touches your arm to get your attention, adding a soft, “Hey,” for good measure.

You turn your head at the sound, having already known he was coming because you heard the front door open. In the back of your mind, you had wanted him to follow you out here, but now that he’s done it, you aren’t so sure this is what you wanted.

You wanted to ignore the feeling. Get it to disappear on its own. Survive the night, then never talk to him again. You were heartbroken, but it was better when you weren’t speaking to him. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron says softly. “Beth and I haven’t spoken since our last date a year ago. It was only three dates. We weren’t serious at all.” He pauses. “I have no idea why Derek said that. He doesn’t think before he speaks sometimes.”

You nod, not having it in you to laugh at Aaron’s small jab, even though he is entirely correct. Derek is a quick thinker with a sharp wit, but you can see how it might backfire sometimes. Like tonight.

You believe Aaron, you really do. But it’s so hard. “Did you love her?”

Aaron is stunned for a moment, but says, “No. I don’t think I did.”

“Okay.” You shake your head, looking down at the grass. “I’m just trying to figure out why Derek would’ve brought her up if...if you guys dated so briefly.”

Aaron sighs. “I don’t know.”

“And is this a date?” You blurt, finally finding the courage to get that one out. “Because if it is, I…I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

You shake your head again, trying to find the right words, but they always seem out of reach. “Just...tell me this won’t be like high school.”

This time Aaron is too stunned to form a real answer. “What?”

“Please,” you sound like you’re about to cry and you feel so pathetic that you wish you had never agreed to come tonight. But you’re here anyway. “I was in love with you then, and I’m still in love with you now, but I can’t do that again. So if this is a just friends thing and always will be, I need you to tell me before I hurt myself all over again.”

Aaron can’t believe his ears. He swears he heard you wrong. He must have. “You were in love with me in high school, too?”

“Yes-- Wait, too? What do you mean too?” Now you’re looking at him, eyes wide in confusion, shock, every emotion possible. “Too?”

“I was in love with you, Y/N,” he chuckles, reaching for your hands. “I thought you just saw me as an older brother. That’s why I never...said anything.”

“What?” You breathe, letting him thread his fingers through yours. “Are you serious? You better not be pulling my leg, Hotchner. Don’t do that to me.” You tug on his hands for emphasis, giving him a stern look.

“I’m not joking,” he says, taking a step closer. “I wouldn’t joke about this.”

“Oh my god,” you say, disbelief a powerful thief of words. “I can’t believe… So you went after Haley because…”

“Because I heard from one of her friends that she had a crush on me,” he admits. “I did love her, but not as much as I loved you. Never as much as I loved you.”

You don’t know what else to do or say. He looks so beautiful in this light that it hurts, and now he’s saying words you never thought you’d ever hear.

“Do you forgive me?” He asks. “For breaking your heart?”

“Only if you forgive me for breaking yours,” you whisper.

He shakes his head. “I broke my own. I should’ve told you how I felt.” He pauses. “I even talked to you about Haley all the time. Is that why you didn’t say goodbye to me?”

You nod. “It sounds so stupid now, but I was so hurt.”

“I’m an idiot,” he laughs. “I’m the dumbest fool to ever walk the Earth.”

“We both are,” you correct him, taking a step closer. It’s cold out here, but he’s warm. He’s always been so warm. Like home.

And you-- you’ve always been who Aaron thinks of when he thinks about being happy. It’s always been you. A moment like this, and a thousand others. He wants them all. And to think, you do too.

His lips meet yours in a long-awaited kiss, cold noses bumping against one another, his warm hands holding your face, your chilled fingers finding their home on his neck, stealing his warmth.

From the window, the team watches, and Emily exchanges money with Derek.

[thekillerssluts]

My Relationship to Performance Has Changed

A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

Last October, before the second pandemic wave took off in New York City, I had one last band practice in my backyard in South Brooklyn. Five of us were working on songs from my new solo record. Normally we’d play in the basement, but it’s pretty low-ceilinged, and we’d read Zeynep Tufekci’s recent Atlantic article on viral spread, so we were all hyper-focused on air circulation. My bandmate Sara had contracted COVID-19—and recovered—in March, but the rest of us had no immunity. Besides, we suspected that we were in for a long winter and might as well hang out outdoors.

It was warm in the sun. After hauling the drums, keyboards, keyboard stands, guitars, and amps outside and plugging everything in, I hadn’t wanted to bother setting up microphones, so we had to play softly to hear ourselves harmonize. When we paused for lunch, someone leaned out of a fourth-story window in the apartment building next door and yelled: “Are you done or are you just taking a break? I have things to do, but I really miss live music!” “Me too, man!” I called back. “Should be just a break.”

Six months and a difficult winter later, the break is ending. I’m seeing more and more Instagram posts for shows that aren’t just wishful thinking. Low-capacity indoor shows are popping up in New York. Outdoor—maybe even full-capacity indoor—concerts are coming this summer. Am I ready to play? Ask me every other day and the answer changes. I’m torn. I’m desperate for sound engineers to get back behind the board and bartenders to start earning tips. I want venues to thrive again, both as places for art in neighborhoods and for the sake of the network that keeps music culture alive in America. I want my booking agent to feel excited again; he loves music so much. And I want musicians to make a living. So many people have been so screwed by the past year. I guess I just want everyone to get paid.

But the actual performance; the rebuilding of the sonic cathedral, as Dave Grohl wrote last spring; communally reaching for rock-and-roll transcendance? I’m not there yet. I’m not concerned that I’ll get sick. I received my second vaccine shot at the end of March and am ready to high-five strangers on the subway. My hesitance has an element of crowd-shyness, which we’ll all get over. But in my own performance, I don’t know how to meet this moment. A great rock-and-roll show means openness, confrontation, and a kind of danger, and those ideas right now feel too heavy to lift.

I used to think of performance in purely aesthetic terms. In the movie La Strada, a clown wearing angel wings does a high-wire act across a crowded piazza. For his finale, he brings out a table on the wire and, while balancing, tries to sit and eat a full plate of spaghetti. The heroine of the movie watches him with an almost religious ecstasy. When I first started performing, I strove for transcendence and stupidity, high concept and low art. My focus was on keeping myself in the air.

When my band Arcade Fire was playing mostly to people who hadn’t heard us before, we felt that the best way to get them to open up was to blow the windows and doors out. At an early show in Lawrence, Kansas, my brother, Win, bashed Styrofoam tiles out of the venue’s ceiling with his mic stand. We pushed as hard for an audience of six people (two of them my parents) upstairs at AS220 in Providence, Rhode Island, as we did in front of tens of thousands in the desert at our first Coachella show (during which I accidentally cut Win’s guitar cable in half by repeatedly smashing a cymbal into the ground).

At a certain point, as people got to know our music, my relationship to performance changed. The energy from the crowd was greater than anything coming from the giant speaker stacks. The audience wasn’t a challenge to overcome, or an opponent to conquer. We became a team. Not in an abstract, lovey way but how a sports team operates—pushing one another to do better, sometimes failing, sometimes frustrating one another, sometimes just joking around.The high-wire act of live performance—Will the music come together?—was still there. I’ve even sometimes tried to make the metaphor real, climbing arena scaffolding with a drumstick in my teeth and a drum strapped over my shoulder to play 30 feet in the air. Some of our crew members hate it—“Will! You have children now!”—but climbing up there doesn’t actually feel that dangerous, and a little nervousness is good. I’m reaching for primate simplicity and catharsis: The crowd needs tension to experience release.But now I have no desire to make tension. I want people to feel safe and comfortable, and I wonder whether creating a feeling of danger and openness is antithetical to that. I know that cultivating a perception of safety and actually making people safe are different. On tour, in a big venue, every night our management and local security have a briefing. It’s partly to set a vibe—People are here for music. Everybody be chill. If some teenager sneaks into a closer section, please let them. But the briefing is also serious—where the medics are located, what the escape routes are. Most of the time, these safety measures are invisible. I worry that post-pandemic precautions, as welcome and necessary as they are, will be depressingly visible. Some elements, such as temperature checks, will be inane. Some, such as requiring vaccination, will be important. Regardless, they will also set a tone—not You are entering a place for music, but You are entering a secure location. Dancing is hard when you’re looking at your feet; singing is hard when you’re thinking about everybody else’s breath. I bet the crowd could get over this. I’m not confident I could. With limited capacities and tight procedures, I worry that the stage will feel like the VIP section of the VIP room at a members-only club. Sterile, lonely, all of us chillingly aware that we are part of a ticketed event.

I have another concern that’s hard to shake. After this pandemic year, I’m more aware of the responsibility I have not only to the people who buy tickets, but to the driver making deliveries to the show and to the family of the woman working arena concessions, people who really don’t care about what I’m doing onstage. Vaccination numbers will grow, and the pandemic will end, God willing. I’m not worried about the spread of the coronavirus in particular. But these links of responsibility remain. The analytical part of my brain turns off when touring starts. Before scrambling back to normalcy, I want to make sure that this sense of connection becomes embedded in how I think. I would really love to just be a musician—but I’m also an employer and a player in an industry that has chewed up and spit out plenty of people, especially in this past year.

My hesitations are all about shows, though, not music. Over the past year, I’ve rarely played music with others—a few practices and filmed performances; work on the new Arcade Fire record in November; a handful of Zooms with bandmates to help a school’s PTA fundraiser or support a candidate in the city-comptroller race. But in all of those instances, I’ve experienced an ease, a rightness to the communication—not through the screen with whoever was listening, necessarily, but the people I was playing with. That connection felt restorative, like having a night of deep sleep that repairs parts of yourself you don’t know how to access.

I know people are ready for live music, ready to forget themselves in a wash of sound, ready to loudly talk with their friends over the song they don’t like that much. And so, for heaven’s sake, go to Neumos in Seattle when shows come back. Go to the Hideout in Chicago. See your favorite band, or somebody new. Plenty of artists don’t share my nervousness. I don’t want to add worry to the world; I’m just figuring out my new relationship to performance.

The magnolias are out in New York, and some of the apple trees are blossoming. Temperatures are creeping past 60. The vaccines keep rolling out. The future seems more possible. If I miss an emotion from live shows, it’s not any moment of transcendence. I miss the time just after, when, dazed and excited, you still feel the reach of some universal gesture, but the only thing concrete is the people around you.

https://www.theatlantic.com/ideas/archive/2021/04/world-changed-what-makes-live-show-successful-didnt-arcade-fire/618625/

[yamayamawrites]

Castaway AU - Coming Later This Winter!

Hey friends! If you’ve been following me for a while you probably know/have heard that I’m working on another big fic to rival Mr. Loverman (which you can find here on ao3 if you haven’t read it yet, it’s 20 chapters and ~103K completed). And as a special treat for all of you who follow me on here, I wanted to share a sneak peek of what’s to come! I’m super excited about this one guys, I have a beta reader and everything (she’s the best, an absolute gem)!! 

But first, I need to tell you what it’s about. Izuku is a famous photographer/social media celebrity, just returned home from yet another trip abroad. He decides to take his sailboat out for a trip to get some final photos and top off his portfolio for the month, but he ends up falling asleep on his boat. What happens when he wakes up on the shore of a secluded island with a strange man shaking him awake?

(Please forgive me, I haven’t touched up the summary just yet.)

Anyways, if you’re interested in reading a sneak peek of the first chapter, please click the ‘read more’ option below!

June 30, 06:48am

It’s hard not to feel some sort of rush, being awake this early.

Izuku has always been a morning person, and even more so in the summertime, when the sun wakes with him. Like today! The sun is up just moments after he is, peeking out from the shroud of ocean it hid behind. Izuku is home today, his second night home after his latest trip (he’d gone to Norway, and of course taken photos of everything). He recovered from his jet lag – yesterday he slept in until nine in the morning and was disgusted with himself – and has his swim trunks and an unbuttoned Hawaiian tee on before the sun can even cast a glare on his floor.

He lives in Horiuchi, a small town with a beautiful beach. His apartment is small – mostly because he spends so little time in his actual apartment that it’s more of a postcard address than anything. It has a single bedroom, a kitchen with a dining table crammed in its center, and a living space about big enough for Izuku’s couch and a wall-mounted television. And even then, Izuku often ends up vaulting the couch to get through.

But the balcony is beautiful, outstretching over his view of Morito Coast. The apartment isn’t as costly as some of the others with worse views, probably in part because this isn’t a vacation town but also because nobody wants to live in the shoebox Izuku lives in. Before him, there hadn’t been an inhabitant in the apartment in well over six months, and they gave Izuku a pretty hefty discount on the place even though Izuku said he’d take it full price.

Izuku throws back the curtains to his balcony door (after vaulting his couch), allows the sunlight to wash over the ground. He opens the balcony door wide, the fresh sea air pouring into his apartment, the cool wash of the last remnants of summer night coming through. It almost makes him shiver, and it does push his rowdy curls into even more awkward angles than before, but he opens his arms anyway to the fresh air.

He pulls his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture, as he always does on mornings he’s home. Though he isn’t around much in the summer, the photos of the sun rising over Morito Coast always seem to be more popular than the rest, and Izuku supposes he will never truly know why. He does suspect, though, that it’s because the view is just so perfect.

He nearly forgets to eat breakfast before he starts his live stream, seats himself out on the balcony in his little lawn chair and enjoys the wash of the summer sun slowly creeping up his bare legs. “Good morning!” he calls to the phone, waves to the camera as he’s joined by tens of thousands of people to watch his live stream. He constantly has to remind himself that not all of his fans are located in Japan – because if they were, he’d be more than surprised at how many people jump on at seven in the morning to watch him stream just talking through his day plans.

“Today I’ll be going off Morito Coast on my sailboat!” he announces brightly. He’s had this on the calendar since he was back in Norway. His sailboat is nothing special, barely large enough for three people comfortably, but he hasn’t had a chance to sail since he left almost three weeks ago and he’s anxious to get back out on the water. A few comments roll in telling him he should try surfing one of these days; he laughs it off and takes a note in the back of his brain to call Ochaco next week and have her teach him the basics.

It’s a normal stream, for the most part. Comments roll through, Izuku answers questions that reappear when he can and apologizes for the missed questions when he can’t. It’s shorter than most, and perhaps that is the most out-of-the-ordinary part of it, but otherwise it isn’t anything noteworthy.

So, then, how does it become his last?

08:16am

The sun is hot, now. On the brink of July is when summer becomes sweltering, enough even that it almost deters Izuku away from the heat. Truthfully, it’s why he went up to Norway – it’s much more temperate up there, less direct sunlight to try and inflict Izuku with skin cancer. He lathers up the sunscreen, though, and heads down to the beach – perhaps a ten-minute walk – in his flip flops, his Hawaiian shirt (now buttoned, but only twice), and his dark green swim trunks.

A few of the locals are already on the beach, and they wave to Izuku, shout good-mornings and ask how he’s doing out of courtesy. Izuku recognizes Ivanka, a retired Russian woman who lives in the next apartment building over. Her Japanese is stilted, but she likes Izuku because Izuku knows Russian. (And English, Chinese, Spanish, Italian, and a touch of French.) He recognizes the twin girls from downstairs, Kamiko and Hana, putting together a sandcastle with their mother, Rin, off to the side reading a book. Izuku’s sailboat is further down the beach, closer to the jagged rocks protruding from the water, roped there tightly to keep it from straying too far. Still, he has to yank it to shore by the rope, an activity that might have been impossible when he was scrawnier, but now barely makes him break a sweat.

The boat’s name is S.S. All Might, a silly name perhaps, but Izuku doesn’t care. He’s named after Izuku’s favorite comic book character from when he was a child, a man he always looked up to because he saved everyone with a smile. And though comic book heroes don’t exist, Izuku has vowed to make a hero of himself as best he can in this modern age, by making people smile with his goofy tourist-y photos and livestreams and videos. And though he probably should be past the comic book stage of his life by now, he keeps All Might’s spirit buried in his heart, and All Might’s vintage comic book collection buried in his closet.

He unties the anchoring rope and pushes off from the rocks. It takes a little bit to get past the waves trying to push Izuku back to shore, but they aren’t too rowdy yet today, and for that he’s thankful. Out on the water there’s a decent breeze, and it brings with it a spray of seawater that tames the bubbling heat on Izuku’s skin. As he catches a drift his boat takes off, out to sea, while he pulls the sail taut the best way he knows.

Though it probably isn’t the safest place for his cell phone, Izuku pulls it out of his swimsuit trunk pocket and captures a photo of the sun’s steady ascent past the water. There is a full separation now of the sun and the water, but it still refracts brightly on the water below, makes for a stunning stock image that will likely be the source of Izuku’s rent money this month. Perhaps next month, too. He doesn’t too much care about that, though; he flips the camera to selfie mode and holds it up, peace-signing with the sail in the corner and the sun behind him. His skin looks much tanner than he is in this angle, and his freckled shoulders are hidden underneath his Hawaiian shirt, but he plans to post it anyway – when he’s back somewhere with a cell tower, that is.

Izuku has sailed the space past Morito Coast many times. It isn’t a huge expanse of water, but it’s enough to feel like an adventure. It’s not too vast that Izuku gets lost, but vast enough that he can if he tries. But today, the wind carries him further, and he lets it. He lets it because he has a cooler secured to the floor, complete with four bottles of water and a few sandwiches in case he decides to stay out on the water longer than he’s expecting. And there’s more sunscreen, a portable charger for his phone, a change of clothes being kept dry below deck. What could another mile past his normal stopping point do?

The sunlight can only be kept at bay for so long by the spray of seawater, and Izuku is beginning to feel the heat going to his head. The sun is higher in the sky now, and Izuku can tell without even checking his phone that it’s nearing noon, with the sun beating directly onto him, thrumming like a drum. He can feel every pulse of his heart. His first three water bottles are gone and he’s nursing his fourth. Still, he smiles lazily. This is where he’s meant to be – underneath the sun. He sits on the deck of his sailboat and pulls his phone from his swim trunks again, snaps a few photos of himself with the sun hot overhead. His freckles are well-visible, and his Hawaiian shirt has been tossed aside in the heat, so his shoulders and chest (also dotted with freckles) are visible. He stretches out on the deck and holds the phone above, snapping a picture of himself lying on the sailboat deck. His abs look more defined than ever, considering the sunlight above is casting rather harsh shadows from this angle.

He knows he shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, and he will kick himself every day for doing it, but he closes his eyes, lets the warm summer sun be his blanket as he takes a cat nap on the deck. He’s even so bold as to dip one of his legs off the edge of the boat and into the water, like kicking his foot out from underneath a blanket in the summer when it gets too hot. And he sleeps, he sleeps through the sunlight drawing behind a cloud, and reappearing only to be drawn away again, by angry gray storm clouds that he hadn’t expected today. But when has he ever been one to check the weather?

[bywandandsword]

Ok so, just now for that last post the generator shot out ‘Simple Country Protagonist of Noble Birth’, and that’s essentially one of my OCs so here’s her story if your interested

The takes place in the 1880-90s. When the story starts, Simon’s been on the run for almost five years, dressed as a boy, and half the time she forgets that she’s not one. She spent six months riding up and down the river on the steamboat and got off in Missouri to find other work, hopping from job to job, always reading the papers for any news from New Orleans, and has gotten very good at pretending to be just another young man looking for work. She spent a few months riding the rails, with the vague notion of California or Canada or where ever, just always on the move. Margaritte’s family down south has gotten very powerful, and even more so when she married again, this time to an oil baron turned senator. Simon doesn’t know if Marg is still hunting for her, but isn’t about to risk being found. At the start of the story, she finds herself in Kansas, following a river she was told would lead her to a road, which she could follow to a railway, but either she’s lost or it’s way father than she anticipated, she’s almost out of food, and it’s late September, so it’s getting cooler than is comfortable for someone without a jacket at night. That’s when she sees a farm, miles away from anything, and all the residents are having their lunch outside, enjoying the some of the last few pleasant sunny days of the year. Well, this is too easy, Simon thinks, she’ll just take a bit of bread, a bit of meat and cheese, maybe a better knife, and be on her way with none the wiser, just like she’d done a dozen times in the last few years, she’s long gotten over any moral debate about stealing. Only this time after she grabs what she wants, an incident involving an insistent horse leads to her being discovered. The oldest son Michael (who has two younger twin sibs), wants to take her into town right then and hand this thieving boy over to the law. The father, an older man named Mr. Elias Blez, sees how travel worn and ragged the youth is, how he didn’t take anything but food, and knows that winter is almost upon them, and thinking they’ve been needing a bit of help around the farm anyway, makes Simon a deal. If Simon agrees to work for them as a farm hand until May, they’ll let him leave with as much food and supplies as they can spare and won’t turn him into the law. Mr. Belz also makes it clear that if Simon does try to run, he wouldn’t make it out of the county. It’s black mail, but Mr. Belz think’s its ultimately going to prevent Simon dying of exposure or worse somewhere. Simon, who doesn’t feel like she has much of a choice, agrees. Almost immediately, Mrs. Johanna Belz figures out that Simon isn’t a man, but Simon is like, “We already have an agreement, I won’t be treated any different because of this realization” (cause guess who doesn’t ID as a woman anymore but who doesn’t have the vocabulary to say she’s genderqueer!) and the family hesitantly agrees to let this weird half-feral runaway be. So, she helps them do the last of the harvest and the culling and the rest of the winter preparations. Michael expects Simon to rob them blind and run away any moment now. Simon is secretly glad to have a place to stay for the winter and actually grows to care a great deal for this family, though she still puts up the distanced grumpy front she started with. They go into town sometimes and Simon always presents as male. As winter goes on, Simon gets the first taste in a long time of what it’s like to be in a family again and all the feelings she’s suppressed start bubbling up. Once, after a long day, a family friend and his kids brings over some food, booze, and instruments and the two groups have an impromptu party. Simon gets shnockered and when she gets pressured and dared to sing something, she grabs the fiddle and preforms an old diddy her father used to play in French, then a piece by Bach, then a waltz. And once she’s felt the shape of French in her mouth, her first language, she doesn’t release it easily, the more she drinks the more French she speaks and the more the Belzs wonder how the hell a ragged vagabond they found stealing from them acquired training in classical violin and learned French. 

-

Flashback: Her full name is Marie Simone Madeline Lereau de Saint-Maxent, but everyone just called her Maggie. She got this absurdly long name cause she happens to be the eldest child of the wealthy merchant Saint-Maxent family, living in New Orleans. Her father is gone a lot for business and she’s an only child but she has her mother and tutors for company and spends most of her childhood receiving a strict, classical education, even spending a few summers at a boarding school in Paris. When she’s 14, her mother gives birth to her younger brother, Jean René, but she dies shortly after. Obviously everyone is devastated, but Father decides his children need a mother and, as was commonly done at the time, he marries a recently widowed woman with three children of her own, Margaritte. It starts out pleasant as it could be, but as Maggie ages, and Father refuses to change his will to prefer Margaritte’s children over Maggie and Jean, Marg gets manipulative and controlling of Maggie, though never towards baby Jean. The years roll on in this tense way until, when Maggie is 17, Father, Maggie, and two of Marg’s children catch the Fever. Father dies, but Maggie and the other youths recover. Marg uses this as an opportunity to force Maggie to sign paperwork denouncing her claim to the inheritance, and produces a forged will to back it up. She’s paid off the police and the lawyers to make it stick and threatens that if Maggie turned up dead, no one would know that she didn’t die from fever too. Maggie refuses and that night, men sent by Marg break into her room and try to drag her out, but she manages to get free of them, grab one of their guns, and kills one of the assailants. The others flee. She grabs as much clothes, money, and just, stuff that she can fit into a bag and runs. She catches a train that night to Baton Rouge. She’s still got the gun and the whole train ride, she’s processing wtf just happened and cleaning the blood off her hands and worrying about her brother and wondering if it was really fever that killed her father or poison, but by the time she gets to Baton Rouge, she’s together enough to think. She uses her mother’s maiden name, gets in contact with a friend, the son of a family servant, and rents a room in a low-key b&b and waits for the newspapers. Sure enough, they report that all members of the Saint-Maxent family had died, except the youngest, and that Marg find herself a fortunate and exceedinglyy wealthy new heiress. Her contact reports that Marg’s men are still looking for Maggie and offers to help her disappear. They sell what valuables Maggie brought with her, except the gun, she cuts her hair, starts going by Simon. She buys some of men’s clothes clothes, using enough money to bribe her way onto temporary employment on a steam boat headed north. 

-

Simon doesn’t say anything more about it until almost February. By this point, she’s grown to love and trust the Belzes and their community and vice versa, Michael has grown to trust her too (especially after Plot and Hijinks), and when he stopped being a dick to her, she befriended him and has feelings for him but like hell is she going to admit it to herself much less anyone else. She’s starting to think this might be someplace she can stay, actually build a life, a home. Then Marg’s name shows up in the paper. I haven’t figured it out but for business reasons Marg has bought a house in the closest big city, maybe Kansas City or Dodge City? and is using it as a base of operations for a branch of her business. But that means she and many of her people are less than a stones throw away, practically breathing down he neck, and Simon just fucking has a panic attack. What if her step mother comes to their town? Are they still looking for her? What if someone identifies her? What if one of her men recognizes her? And what’s happened to her brother, who’d be about ten? Well, Mrs. Belz finds Simon clutching the newspaper, hyperventilating, and after that, the truth comes pouring out. Everyone is shocked. I haven’t actually thought much past this scene, where Simon tells her story to the very shocked Belzes, but Stuff will happen. The Belzes talk her out of just bolting for Canada, Simon will eventually encounter Marg again face to face after she rogues into the house for some reason. Marg has a delicate little pistol, but Simon still has that old blood stained revolver. Way after this, Michael will fistfight one of the goons, and the story will eventually be brought to light, but I have no idea how that will all play out or the consequences. 

[forevercaroline]

Tvd in New York chapter 7

For @caritobear and @recklessnesspersonified

Gossip girl here is your one and only source for the New York elite: The upper east side just lost a queen, sources have revealed that our resident bad girl Katherine Petrova has moved. And now that winter break is upon us our elite will be jet setting off to their private islands. You know you love me gossip girl.

Xxx

A couple days after Katherine left, the parents decide to leave too. “We don’t know what is going on between you three, your usually so close.”

All three Salvatore siblings start talking at the same time Giuseppe has tried to block out his children bickering since the brunch a week ago but he has hit his breaking point. “ Enough. If you are going to argue and be at each other’s throat do it in penthouse where nobody can see you.”

They all nod but Liz has something to add. “Caroline your debutant classes start next week. I will be back for your cotillion. Also your not in Rio Vegas or anywhere else your in New York City dress appropriate. I left some outfits on your bed.”

“Goodie can’t wait.”

Xxx

Caroline goes up to her room and looks at her bed her mom has put ten outfits on the bed. All the jeans are dark blue skinny and bootlegged, black and white turtlenecks there are dresses but all of them are floor length long sleeve no skin showing.

Caroline rolls her eyes while looking threw them she puts them with the other clothes her mom has given her. There’s a spot in her walk in closet that is specifically all clothes her mom has gotten for her. She never wears them.

Instead she goes over to the jeans she does wear and pulls out a pair of teal skinny jeans and pairs them with knee high buckle heel grey boots, a white tank top with a grey open front shawl cardigan with draped lapels and a gold and teal necklace with her black purse.

Xxx

“Dorota I’m going to the lawyers then to lunch and shopping.”

Damon looks at his sister turning to leave. “ Tell Klaus he’s not my best friend anymore.”

“No, you can be mad at me but leave him out of this he has enough problems without you telling him your not his best friend anymore. We all know Klaus has a worse relationship with his parents then any of us do. Plus I’m going to lunch and shopping with Rebekah and Davina since we are still mourning with Katherine’s departure we need some shopping therapy.”

Dorota turns around “ I can’t take this anymore everyone sit you are settling this now.”

“Dorota they won’t listen they are going to drag this out even though it’s not that big of a deal.”

Damon stands up and faces his sister who is sitting across from him. “ Not that big of a deal. We don’t keep secrets from each other. You kept your relationship with Klaus from us. We would have accepted it.”

“You would of accepted it?”

Damon and Stefan both nod. “ we would be more protective but we would’ve accepted.”

Caroline smiles she jumps up from her chair and claps. “Yay I have so much to tell you guys.”

Both brothers raise their eyebrows “ Do tell sister.”

“Want to grab lunch and we can catch up I’ll call bekah and Davina and tell them im canceling brunch and might be late for shopping.”

As they are leaving Stefan looks down at his twin “ Why are you going to the lawyers?”

“You’ll never guess, the bedtime story Dorota told us about the countess who wanted more and forced into a marriage, only to leave her husband and find a loving family. Is one hundred percent true it’s Dorota’s life. She is already married I’m getting her divorced so she can be with Vonya.”

Damon turns around at the elevator and yells back to Dorota “ Dorota you sneaky woman no wonder you fit in so well with this family.”

Xxx

“ Mr. Maxfield the Salvatore’s are here to see you.”

Wes Maxfield is the Salvatore family lawyer he has his hands full with the family, mostly the kids but sometimes Giuseppe and Liz need him too. “ Send them in.”

“ And what can I do for you today. Post bail money, convince the mayor to announce that Caroline’s birthday is a actual holiday in New York City again, talk the police out of arresting one of you for the fifth time this month.”

The three siblings look at each other they don’t find this funny and this month they haven’t had to deal with the police at all. “ More like I need a divorce for a friend.”

“I’ve been with your family for a long time I know when you guys say for a friend your talking about yourself, so who did you marry in I’m guessing a Vegas drunk wedding, also I’m not adding your spouse into the will.”

Caroline rolls her eyes “Did you forget we pay you for legal advice not snarky sarcasm. You should treat us without the disdain since almost all of your checks are because of the three of us. If you want we could take our Money find a new lawyer and have you black balled from not only this city but every law firm in the world.”

The Salvatore siblings are not Wes’s favorite clients. They keep him so busy that it cost him an engagement. “ I’m sorry, I have not had enough coffee to deal with teenagers today. Let’s start over who did you marry?”

“My sister didn’t marry anyone it’s our housekeeper Dorota who wants the divorce. We just want to know if we can get her a divorce with the husband not being in the country.”

“I’ll look into it. Is that all?”

Damon turns around in the doorway, Caroline looks up at him and nods she can only handle Wes for so long. “ Yes you don’t have to put up with us anymore lucky for you. Unlucky for you we are the most interesting and richest clients you have. You seem to forget that when our father was looking for family lawyers it was our mother who suggested they choose the guy right out of law school, we made you popular we can tear you down.”

“Your right because of your family I have clients but I’m a good lawyer you can’t tear me down. If I have to I’ll go one on one with all three of you.”

Xxx

Since they had a big breakfast, Liz wanted her children to stop fighting so she had Dorota and the chefs make a big breakfast. They weren’t that hungry for lunch, so they just had some macaroons from ladurèe and hit up Dylan’s candy bar.

“ I can’t believe you two are fine with klaus and I.”

“ we were more angry with ourselves that we didn’t even notice you and klaus when with you keeping it from us.”

Caroline throws her arms around them. “ I love you guys.”

Xxx

“ Miss Salvatore, Miss Mikaelson and Miss Claire what brings you to the plaza today?”

“Mourning our usual room please and have a bottle champagne brought up.”

The front desk person hands them a pink key. “ Right away now will you be needing any spa cards or using the tea that comes with the room?”

The girls look at each other silently asking each other. “ No to the tea yes to the spa.”

They take the elevator up to the top floor and put the key in the pink door and open a suit full of pink, black and white. It’s the Eloise suit, the suite they would visit as kids and now as teenagers they still visit it but not as often.

Caroline lays down on the king size bed while Rebekah sits in a chair and Davina on the ottoman opening the bottle and handing it to Caroline who takes a drink and hands it too Rebekah. “New York just doesn’t feel the same without Kat.”

“I keep expecting her to come into the penthouse and say we’re going shopping and let’s sit on the steps of the MET and judge the underclass man.”

Davina taking a sip. “Remember when she dated Kai she would tell me about it because she knew I could relate because we had that fling when he first got here.”

Caroline flipping over on to her stomach reaching for the champagne “ I forgot you had a fling with Kai. He kissed me last year on New Year’s Day.”

Rebekah looks at her surprised “ He kissed me last year on New Year’s Day too.”

“ Enzo is going to be disappointed he’s not the only one who has missed all of us.”

Xxx

“Has anyone seen my pink top and black bottoms bikini, I found the heels but not the bikini and I just got it today.”

Stefan and Damon come out of their bedrooms, Dorota comes out of the living room. “ Why would we know where your bikini is?”

“ in the dryer I had washed all bikini’s and swim trunks. I’ll have them on your beds within the hour.”

“Car is here.”

Caroline coming down with her suitcase “ Dorota call Wes Maxfield, he called a little while ago and said that he drew up the papers and will send them over but he will have to send a copy to your husband. So he needs to know where he is?”

Xxx

They arrive on an island in Fiji, they have a private island and they have a big beach house. “ I call east wing.”

“ Kol you can’t call a whole wing plus we get the same rooms as last year.”

“After we unpack we should have a campfire on the beach.”

While sitting around the campfire Klaus reveals. “ I have to tell you guys something, I’m not a Mikaelson, that night we got back from Vegas and all hell broke loose but before we went to Katherine. Esther came into my room and told me my father is not Mikael but his old business partner Ansel.”

Rebekah and Kol both look at each other then at their brother. “ You are our brother, doesn’t matter if you have a different father we grew up with you, when we moved here you were six we were five you decided it was your job to protect us.”

Kol agrees with his sister “ Yeah remember when we were seven Rebekah and I were in the school hallway talking and these kids came up to us and started making fun of us because they said we talked funny and that we should go back to where we came from. Rebekah started crying I was comforting her and you heard Bekah and found us and stood up to the bullies for us.”

Klaus gets up and goes over to his brother and sister and they put their arms around him. “ I love you guys.”

“ We love you too brother.”

Xxx

Two days later Caroline who is leaning against Klaus on the beach. “ We should find your father does he even know you exist or are his.”

“He’s met me before but he doesn’t know I’m his.”

Caroline looks up at him “ We should go to London and tell him. He has a right to know.”

Klaus nods, Caroline looks over at Rebekah who is leaning into Stefan, Kol and Davina in the water, Damon joking with Enzo. “ This doesn’t feel right were enjoying the sun in Fiji and Katherine is sulking in Bulgaria.”

Rebekah nods. “ Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Caroline smiles and nods they gather everyone up and tell them the plan.

Xxx

Katherine is sitting in her window seat painting her nails black and cursing her dad for bringing her here when she could be in Fiji right now. When the doorbell rings and since they don’t have Nadia anymore that responsibility has fallen to Katherine.

She answers and let’s out a excited squeal. “ Did someone order some best friends.”

Katherine pulls Caroline and everyone in for a hug but manages to avoid messing up her wet nails, she has missed them so much she hates Bulgaria. The excited squeal was heard by Katherine’s mother who is laying on the couch with a washcloth over her eyes. “ Katerina please I have a headache who was at the door?”

“Some clothes I had left in New York I had Nadia sent them over.”

Katherine leads them upstairs to her room which is smaller then her room at the Petrova penthouse and smaller then her room at the Salvatore’s. “ Nice room.”

Katherine looks over at Davina “ You don’t have to lie to make me feel better I know it’s a small room and a small apartment. My father wanted to make it look like we are a close family so he didn’t even get us a pretend house he got us a pretend apartment and he’s never here. My mother has had a headache since we arrived at the apartment, I’m taking this better then her.”

Klaus sitting under Caroline speaks “ Would a trip to England to meet my real father make you feel better.”

That took Katherine by surprise “ What, your real father how much have I missed.”

“The night that you told us that your moving Esther also told Nik Mikael is not his father instead Mikael’s business partner Ansel is. Plus Nik is convinced that none of us will love him anymore since he’s not our biological brother, which is insane because we will always love him.”

“ Freya has known this whole time and never told me.”

Kol hits klaus foot “ Freya knew before me so much for brothers sticking together.”

“ Well brother blame Elijah, if he didn’t start crying Freya would never have gone out of her room to get him a bottle and see Esther and Ansel kissing and going into Esther’s room.”

Xxx

“ Mother with my whole life being uprooted and away from my friends I need comfort so I’m going on a 3 day shopping trip. I’ll be back before fathers thing.”

Katherine’s mother is still laying on the couch with a washcloth over her eyes. “ Have fun. Don’t be late to your fathers thing, and if you see anything I would like get it.”

“ Yes mother.”

Katherine returns to her room and looks at her friends “ Let’s go I have three days before I have to return to dull Bulgaria.”

Caroline swings her arm around Katherine’s shoulders “ I’ve missed you.”

“ I’ve missed you too.”

Xxx

While on the plane klaus had called Freya to ask her where Mikael and Ansel used to work together. She said they used to work in the Mikaelson hotel in the heart of London.

While they are walking the streets of London Caroline and Rebekah come up to Katherine and pull her aside. “ We got you a gift.”

Katherine raises her eyebrows in curiosity. Both Caroline and Rebekah share a devious smile. “ it’s waiting for you in your room at the Mikaelson estate.”

“ You two are evil tell me you got me a gift but don’t give it to me or tell me what it is.”

They find the Mikaelson hotel and go up to the receptionist “ Hello we are looking for Ansel, is he here?”

“ I’m afraid he just stepped out, you could leave a message and when he comes back I can tell him you stopped by.”

“ No don’t tell him we came here.”

Klaus leaves and everyone runs after him. “ What’s wrong man I thought this is what you wanted to meet your dad.”

Klaus turns to Damon, he loves that all three Salvatore’s are talking to him again. “ Ir is but meeting Ansel is not going to erase all the abuse from Mikael. What if Ansel is just like Mikael they were business partners.”

Caroline puts a hand on klaus’ arm “ It’s your choice but I know you will keep asking yourself What if I met him, what if he’s different. Your right you can’t erase what Mikael has done to you but you have the chance to have a father son relationship that is loving.”

Klaus puts his hand over hers and squeezes. “ We will try again tomorrow.”

Xxx

They get back to the Mikaelson estate and Caroline and Rebekah cover Katherine’s eyes and take her upstairs they open the door and uncover her eyes. Katherine smile is huge sitting on her bed is Elijah with roses. Katherine jumps into his arms and wraps her legs around his waist knocking him backwards onto the bed.

“I’ve missed you Elijah.”

“ I’ve missed you too my Katerina.”

Xxx

Caroline wakes up to the sound of her phone ringing. She reaches out from underneath the covers and Sleepily she answers. “ Hello.”

“ Caroline this is your father.”

That wakes Caroline up she sits immediacy up in bed startling Klaus who is asleep right next to her. “ Yes father.”

“ I’ve been thinking about the favor you asked and I’m calling to tell you I’m looking into it.”

“Thank you.”

Xxx

“ I have to get back to Bulgaria if I’m not back today my father on the way to Bulgaria threatened to send me to an all girls school in Siberia if I didn’t behave and act like a member of loving family.”

Kol starts walking backwards to face Katherine while walking through the streets of London. “ Relax Kitty Kat first we all know you would never survive in a all girls school, you love guys too much. Second I want a cinnamon roll and Davina wants hot chocolate.”

Katherine pokes him in the chest with her finger. “ And before Davina you, Damon, and Enzo were in competition to see how many girls at our school you could either flirt with, kiss or sleep with. Remind me who won?”

“You did you got the entire male population of our school to kiss you because you set up a kissing booth.”

Katherine smiles at him really big and proud. “ It was a win win the money went to charity and they got to kiss a hot girl I even got a teacher to volunteer his lips.”

“ Elijah doesn’t count.”

Katherine shares a look with Caroline. “ As I have kissed both you and Elijah I would say Elijah counts because he is a better kisser then you.”

“ I’ve missed you Kitty Kat. New York is not the same neither is the banter.”

“ I’ve missed you and the banter too.”

Xxx

Kol goes into the coffee shop and while he is waiting for his order he hears. “ Coffee for Ansel.”

He turns around and a brown haired blue eyed man with a suit and black long jacket is walking up to the counter. Kol looks out the windows at Klaus then at Ansel he can see they have the same eyes and same facial structure. “ Excuse me Ansel.”

“ Yes, do I know you, you look familiar?”

“ You know my family. Kol Mikaelson.”

Ansel looks shocked he takes a step back. “ Mikaelson, are you traveling with your parents?”

“ I stopped traveling with my parents when I was born, I’m here with some of my siblings, do you want to meet them? I know it’s been awhile.”

Ansel nods and Kol smiles cheekily he knows what he’s doing and as he’s leaving he hears the barista calls out his name. He goes out to his siblings and gives Davina her hot chocolate. “ You will never guess who I ran Into Ansel and he wants to re meet us.”

Everyone looks at Klaus who nods.

Xxx

They all walk in and sit down at Ansel’s table. Ansel is surprised by the amount of people. “ Wow your family has grown since I last saw you.”

Caroline, Katherine, Rebekah, Damon and Stefan look at klaus to say something while Davina and Enzo look at Kol.

“ Um were not all Mikaelsons. I’m Caroline Salvatore.” Caroline pointing to her brothers “ my brothers Damon and Stefan. That’s Katherine, Enzo and Davina.”

Everyone has noticed that Ansel and klaus have been looking at each other since they entered. Katherine bumps her shoulder into his. While Caroline nods and holds his hand. “ I don’t know if you remember me I’m Niklaus.”

“ I do. You loved playing with your younger siblings.”

Klaus nods. He doesn’t know what to say to Ansel. “ We have to go we have a plane to catch.”

“ Oh where are you flying too.”

“ Bulgaria.”

Xxx

They land in Bulgaria and are in front of the apartment building everyone hugs Katherine. “ You’ll be in New York soon.”

“ I hope.”

“ I’m going to miss you so much, I love you Kat.”

“ I’m going to miss you too, I love you Caro.”

[nickireadstfc]

The King's Men, Chapter 1 – Hello Foxhole, My Old Friend

In which the Foxes are introduced to Meat Grinder Neil, Nicky misses an opportunity for a memeworthy Christmas gift, we find out some things about Jean, and Andrew and Neil chill on a rooftop or whatever.

Sounds good? Then it’s time for Nicki to read The King's Men.

Hello hello hello, we’re back! Welcome to the one, the only, the glorious, all-surpassing, awe-inspiring, shade-throwing, capslock-inducing and feels-wrecking finale to this hell of a ride called All For The Game - welcome to The King's Men.

Let’s start at the very front: A cover, as always, says more than a thousand words, and this cover has one clear message it shouts in the faces of those familiar with the series, clear as day and ringing like a bell: IT'S SHOWDOWN TIME, FUCKERS.

Two Exy racquets, one orange, one black, crossed, clashing. The title, half-orange, half-black. Nora Sakavic' name at the bottom, also half-orange, half-black, menacingly laughing in my face like Rumpelstiltskin on crack, glee-drunk on my surely following future tears.

Whee-hee. Let’s fucking go.

(Also, the chapters are getting much longer by this book, so y'all will have to deal with these posts being longer as well. Soz.)

          Even after a semester at Palmetto State University and a couple weeks practicing on the largest Exy stadium in the United States, Neil was still struck breathless by the Foxhole Court.

Neil, my boy, you never disappoint. Even through hardship, bruises and cuts, one thing can always be relied on: Your gigantic boner for Exy. Get a room, you two.

          “It’s time to go,” Wymack said.

          That was enough to make Neil get up, although his battered body protested.

Oh yeah, quick reminder for anyone who might have forgotten (although – why the fuck would you ever): Neil is currently walking minced meat with Trauma Jetlag™, a literal prison tattoo, and #allnatural #naturaleyes #naturalhair #nomakeup #nofilter.

Because of that, he’s obviously not that keen on running into his squad at the moment. Can’t exactly blame the dude.

If I looked like Freddy Krueger with a facial tramp stamp, I wouldn’t go around instagramming selfies either.

Especially when I willingly ran into the arms of the dude who is nationally known for giving out facial tramp stamps.

          Wymack had even locked the office in his short absence. Neil had been in there enough times to know Wymack didn’t keep anything particularly valuable on his shelves. The only thing of any import was Neil’s duffel. (…) On Neil’s first day in South Carolina he had asked Wymack to protect his things, and seven months later Wymack was still keeping that promise. It was almost enough to make Neil forget all about Riko.

Guys, this just in: Wymack is still the best damn person alive. #dicksoutforwymack

The best damn person alive also already warned the Foxes Neil looked like a human punching bag in order to prevent them from having an actual heart attack when they see him. Yay, have fun explaining yourself to them, hombre.

          Matt moved soundlessly for a few moments before he finally managed to choked, “Jesus Christ, Neil.”

          “It’s not as bad as it looks,” Neil said.

This just in: Neil is Veronica from Heathers, minus the 80’s hair-do.

In order to fulfill his self-appointed role as Neil’s mother hen, Matt then swiftly goes and punches newly-arrived Kevin in the fucking face – which is generally a sentiment I can support, although it really is not his fault this time.

          Matt stared at him for an endless minute, then said, “I want to break [Riko’s] face in six places. If he ever comes within a thousand yards of you again –“

Same, Matt. Fucking SAME.

Matt being protective of Neil will never not give me a healthy dose of The Feels™.

One confrontation down, four to go: What do Aaron, Nicky and Kevin have to say to Mr Meat Grinder?

          Unsurprisingly, Aaron was the safest one to look at. (…) Neil gave him a moment to see if he’d ask, but all Aaron did was shrug.

Glad to see the usual amounts of sympathy and care coming from one half of the Minyard Murder Twins.

Although I’m doubting the other half will muster up any more affection.

          Nicky, on the other hand looked absolutely crushed as he took in Neil’s wrecked appearance. He reached out as soon as Neil was close enough and wrapped his hand around the back of Neil’s neck, (…) carefully pulling Neil up against him.

Also, glad to see the usual freaking normal reaction coming from Nicky, aka some goddamn comforting hugs for once in this cold, cold monster squad.

Nicky hugs are the best hugs.

          At least Kevin had the decency to speak in French. “Tell me the master didn’t approve this.”

Every time Kevin still calls Tetsuji “the master”, a little tiny thing inside my heart dies.

10/10 would protect my tiny big ass traumatized son.

          “Riko said he’d hurt us if I change it back. All I can do is duck my head and hope for the best.” (…)

          “How long do you think he’ll let you hide before he forces you to show [the tattoo] off? The press will be all over this (…). He’s trying to get you found.”

Well, duh.

I’m already looking forward to Neil regaining his confidence, and then I’m looking forward to him sassing the absolute everloving shit out of whoever tries to come for him for his appearance and tattoo.

          “He wouldn’t waste his time unless he thinks we really are going to be a problem for his team That means something, doesn’t it? (…) Kevin, you do what you do best and focus on Exy. Take us where he doesn’t want us to go.”

Hell effin yes.

We’re gonna fucking make it to finals, and we’re gonna fucking shoot that dumb Exy ball so hard around those Raven Fuckers’ heads that we shoot the asshole smirk right off Riko’s ugly face.

Yas.

          Nicky looked between them as if making sure they were done, then scooped his gift bags up again and held one out to Neil.

          “Belated Christmas present,” he said, a little sadly.

NICKY LET ME LOVE YOU.

Trust this dude to always bring the sunshine around at the end of the day.

          “I’ve got Andrew’s with me, too. Actually, I got you two the same thing because you are like the most impossible people in the world to buy for.”

Knives, hair dye, black T-Shirts, cigarettes, a coupon for an anger management course,… Andreil gift-shopping ain’t that hard, homie.

But scratch all that - Nicky got them each a winter coat!

This would have been even better if Nicky hadn’t gotten the same coat for each of them, but literally the same coat – because now all I can imagine is Neil and Andrew stuck in one coat like a Get Along Shirt.

If someone makes this into fanart, I will pay you in Ben & Jerry’s. I’m being dead serious.

Four reunions done and the most important one still to go – one road trip to Columbia later:

        “If you’ll sign in, I’ll ring Dr. Slosky and let him know you’re here.”

        (...) Neil was the only one who hesitated when his pen touched the paper. Riko hadn’t let him be “Neil” at Evermore. Every time Neil answered to it on the court, Riko beat him for it. (…) Riko wanted him to know how much trouble he’d caused the Moriyamas with all of his alibis.

Jesus fuck. Is there literally anything he didn’t get beat for at the Batcave of Extra?

Actually, don’t answer that.

Also, hate to be that person again but – shouldn’t he have gotten to that bit of trauma way earlier? Wymack and the Foxes called him Neil so many times already, why is this only kicking in now?

I legit don’t have an explanation and I think it may just be a continuity error. If anyone does have a good explanation, shoot me an ask.

They sit down to wait for Andrew and to everyone’s surprise (including mine), Kevin uses the wait to do something so incredibly out of character my figurative wig was instantly snatched:

Being a compassionate person.

        “I know what he’s like,” Kevin said. Neil looked at him, but Kevin was studying his hands. “Riko. If you want to talk.”

Fucking what.

        It was the most awkward and uncomfortable thing Kevin had ever said to him. Kevin was known for his talent, not his sensitivity. (…) That he tried at all was so unexpected Neil felt it like a balm to every bruised inch of his skin.

Oh my GOD.

HE’S TRYING, he’s trying to make Neil feel better, he just wants to help and to comfort him I’m gonna light myself the fuck on fire I can’t handle this.

These Kevin/Neil feels are ambushing me out of nowhere. I was almost over this dynamic, god damnit. What the fuck.

        “[Jean’s] father owed the Moriyamas a great deal. The master paid those debts in exchange for Jean’s presence on our court. He was property, nothing more. You are the same in their eyes. (…) I know it means he did not hold back.”

Wait – does this mean Jean initially got the same treatment that Neil just had to suffer through?

WELL, FUCK.

Jean Valjean has instantly risen in the ranks of my faves.

SWEET FRENCH SUMMER CHILD. YOU DID NOT DESERVE THIS WHAT THE FUCK.

No wonder he’s a (seemingly) heartless bitch now. Kill or be killed, I guess.

        “Were you ever going to tell [Coach that he’s your father]?”

        “I was going to when he signed me,” Kevin said. “I couldn’t. (…) [Tetsuji] has never raised a hand or voice against Coach before because Coach has never been a real threat to him. I didn’t know if a confession would change things. I couldn’t risk it.”

Kevin :’( protecting and caring for Wymack :’(( just like Wymack protected and cared for him :’((((((

Before I can get too emotional over this, though, the happy Kevin/Neil Honest Conversation™ is cut short by the arrival of everyone’s favourite murder maniac, minus the meds.

(Back at it again with the alliterations, y’all.)

        If Neil hadn’t known Andrew spent the last year and a half fiercely protective and territorial of Kevin, he’d think they were strangers. Andrew treated Kevin to a bored inspection, then flicked his fingers in dismissal.

Apparently, Andrew is not that different off his meds but continues to be a Stony Sinnamon Roll, Too Indifferent To This World, Too Dead Inside™. Well, bummer.

I don't know what I expected, since we did meet him sober before, but I think I thought when he'd be off his meds permanently he'd be... More? I guess? More of a person, I mean. Less walking void, and all that jazz.

Maybe he'll come around. Give the sinnamon roll some time.

Neil and the squad, finally complete again, drive back to campus, and as they get out we get a glimpse of something amazing we'll have more of later this chapter:

It's prime fucking Andreil time.

        [Neil] straightened and turned to find out Andrew had shifted closer. There was nowhere for Neil to stand except up against Andrew, but somehow Neil didn't mind. They'd been apart for seven weeks but Neil keenly remembered why he'd stayed. He remembered is unyielding, unquestioning weight that could hold him and all of his problems without breaking a sweat. For the first time in months he could finally breathe again. It was such a relief it was frightening; Neil hadn't meant to lean on Andrew so much.

ALL-FUCKING-RIGHT.

Alright alright alright. So NOT ONLY is this gay as shit as it is, and Neil is (whether he realises it or not) super fucking in love by this point, but - "Andrew had shifted closer", bitch, what.

Don't you dare tell me that boy isn't fucking infatuated with our favourite runaway drama queen.

In today's issue of The PSU Andreil Times: Heart-Eyed Little Shit Thinks He's Being Sneaky, Fails Miserably. More news on page 19.

When Neil is done waxing poetic about Andrew's ~strength~ and his ~*~unyiedling body~*~, he goes back to his dorm for part 2 of The Matt Confrontation:

        „Neil? We're here when you want to talk about it.“

        „I know.“

Is that... Neil... close to accepting actual help from outside...

Amazing.

        He knew just from looking at Matt that Matt would accept any truth Neil gave him right now, no matter how cruel or unbelievable. He'd done the right thing by going to Evermore; he was making the right choice in standing his ground here with the Foxes. (…) If [what happened] was the only way to keep his teammates safe from Riko's cruelty, it was an easy price to pay.

Okay ya brb while I drown myself in my own fucking tears.

FOX FAMILY. STOP RUINING MY FEELINGS. I'm supposed to be cool and witty here but I can't even do that because I'm just too emotional over this.

And the fun doesn't stop here, oh no.

Are you guys ready?

I know there are some people fidgeting excitedly in their seats right now because they know what's about to come up – the grand finale to a wonderful third-book-kick-off chapter:

The goddamn rooftop thing.

        Andrew turned to face him. „I'll take an explanation now.“

        „You couldn't ask for answers inside where it's warm?“ Neil asked.

Glad to see that even when faced with his (by now Confirmed™) crush, Neil still doesn't lose his sass.

But of course, Neil is not one to keep secrets from his murder boyfriend, and so he tells him of the Christmas Fuckery – which Andrew is decidedly not fucking liking, because of course Neil left Kevin's side and therefore kind of broke their deal.

Whoops.

        „Why did you go?“

        Neil didn't know if he could say it. Thinking about it was almost too much. Andrew was waiting, though, so Neil choked back his nausea. „Riko said if I didn't, Dr. Proust would-“

        Andrew clapped a hand over his mouth, smothering the rest of his words. (…) „Do not make the mistake of thinking I need your protection.“

Okay, but don't you, though?

Neil says it himself later on, and he's entirely correct: Andrew watches everyone's backs, who's gonna watch his?

He may be an expert in back-watching, but even the most back-watchiest back-watcher in the world can be out-back-watched, my dude. And who's gonna come rescue you then, hm? HMM??

Neil fucking will, of course.

        „The next time someone comes for you, stand down and let me deal with it. Do you understand?“

        „If it means losing you, then no.“

SHIT WHAT.

Since when are our boys so damn open with their love declarations?? This was so outta nowhere?? I'm fcukign?? Having a heart attack??

And following that – of course. The one, the only, the iconic:

        „I hate you,“ Andrew said casually. (…) „You were supposed to be a side effect of the drugs.“

        „I'm not a hallucination,“ Neil said, nonplussed.

        „You are a pipe dream,“ Andrew said.

BOY.

SHIT.

IM FCIKIGN FUCKKNGING FKUCKKVMFGNICHNNNKNX

The fact that Andrew thought his feelings (THAT ARE NOW CONFIRMED, I REPEAT, CONFIRMED ANDREW FEELINGS FOR NEIL HAVE BEEN SPOTTED) were a temporary thing, unreal, a side effect of being high out of his mind, is just like kind of, casually ruining my life. No biggie.

No fucking biggie.

Andrew quickly realizes he may have admitted too many feelings though, and in a feeble attempt to save his cold front and fragile masculinity, he throws Neil's keys off the roof, because just giving them back to him normally wouldn't have been Manly™ enough.

However Neil, once more, is able to show us that he can give as good as he gets (innuendo absolutely intended):

        Neil wasn't sure why he did it, but he plucked Andrew's cigarette off the sidewalk and stuck it between his lips. He tipped his head back to meet Andrew's unwavering gaze and tapped two fingers to his temple in Andrew's mocking salute. (…) It felt like a win, though Neil wasn't sure why.

Fucking hell.

These two are going to a) improve this last book exponentially and b) absolutely fucking ruin my life.

Nicki out.

As always: If you like what I do here and you want to help me continue writing fun things for you, please consider buying me a coffee. Every lil bit does absolutely help, getting me through uni and all that jazz. Thanks so much!!

[wandering-chronicler-blog]

Draecember-Winter Veil Celebrations

This is a day late, but what the heck?  Also, the first one that I’m not actually following one of the prompts on as the original post said we could make up our own!  And what better for a day like this than some light fluffy fun and inebriation?

As always, special thanks to @mittensmcedgelord​ for letting me borrow some of their own WoW cast for this piece, even if it’s mostly just cameos.  Also, for the insane version of the carol that is sung in it.

-Previous Pieces:  Letter, Losing Someone, Memory and Dimensional Ship, Discovery, On a Mission, Feeling Left out and Facing a Fear, Working with The Horde, Family, Reunion With a Loved One, Relaxing,  Facing a Fear and Overcoming an Obstacle, Corruption and Regret  -

“I hate you so much right now,” Onyxien grumbled.

 “Well, you volunteered for this, so whose fault is that?” Vylia countered.  She carefully adjusted the strap for the single long fake horn that was now on the netherdrake’s head.  

 He reached up with a claw to tug at the horn, pulling it onto the side of his head.  Vylia quickly corrected it.  “I didn’t expect you to dress me up in a way that makes me look like the unholy offspring of a fel mutant and a talbuk.”

 “That’s for the part though!”  She smiled at him as she finished.  “Now quit clawing at the horn.”  The drake merely groaned and dug his claws into the stones of the Lower City of Shattrath. “So, what about your lines?”

 “Uhh…”

 “You did look at the script the matron gave us, did you?”

 “It may have…”

 “Onyxien…”  She folded her arms and looked down at him as he turned away slightly.

 “Hey, I can’t shift like some of my brethren,” he reminded her.  “Claws like this weren’t made for turning pages!”

 She sighed, running a hand through her hair.  “Alright, I’ll go get another copy from her then.  Maybe Ryant and the others will have finished some of the stage too.”

 “Hope the kids appreciate all the effort we went through too to get them actual snow and not just that conjured crap the Aldor and Scryers have thrown around here and there.”

 She smiled a little remembering some of the sights since they’d arrived again in Shattrath.  It’d only been a couple months since their raid on the Dragonmaw Fortress, but it had been a long few.  Everyone was looking forward to a little rest it seemed, even though everyone knew just what was on the horizon.  “They already do,” Vylia told him.  “I saw some of them having a snowball fight earlier.  And the orc boy and draenei girl made this snowman that looked like a two-headed ogre.  They called it Gol’Ragg.”

 That got a small chuckle out of Onyxien.  “Oh, good old Gol’Ragg.  He gave me and my clutchmates fresh ravager flesh whenever we dropped by.  And cookies.”

 “You know him?”

 “Yep.  He’d argue with himself over if he should give us any, but we all knew it was an act.  He’d always give us things from his shop.”  

 Vylia chuckled a little at the image in her head of several netherwing whelps pestering an ogre as he argued with himself over giving them scraps of meat.  “Alright.  Well, I’m gonna get us the script copy and see what the others are up to.”  She turned to go back into the old ruined building that was being used for the party.

 “Can I take this horn off at least?”

 She turned as she’d reached the doorway.  “Go show the kids.  They’ll love it!”

Inside, there were some locals, but she easily spotted members of The Dirty Dozen at work or taking breaks.  Guldel sat in red winter clothes that barely fit him at the bar next to the large bowl of egg nog.  Beldak, one of the orcs, was next to him.  At one of the tables the death knights Arran and Vylia’s sister, Seliira, sat playing a game of hearthstone, using coins as counters.  Chou was followed by a group of children as she walked past with a tray of cookies, stopping only to hand them out and warning them that they were still hot.  In the rafters was a massive snake, sliding about with holly behind it, carefully fixing it as he went.  For a moment, it shifted and changed with a flicker of magic into the troll Lor’raj to dangle over Guldel and Beldak with mistletoe in his hand.  The orc grabbed a fish off the bar and pressed its lips to the troll’s. Guldel laughed at the absurdity before Lor’raj fell from the ceiling into the tauren’s lap.  Beldak began to laugh in response as Vylia passed them.

 “On the twelth day of Winter Veil the Legion gave to meeeeeeeeeee!” an operatic voice sang. Vylia turned around to see the group’s warlock, Faelthos.  The former scryer took a long drink from his mug.  “Twelve heroes fleeing!  Eleven goblin cannons!  Ten orcs a-screaming!  Nine dreadlords scheming!”  Vylia had to laugh a little at the drunk blood elf as he belched far louder than she’d have thought possible.  “Eight mutant drakes!  Seven hellish portals!  Six Blackrock cultists!”  He took a deep breath and another drink.  “Fiiiiiiiiiiive tiiiiiiiime paradoxesssssssssssssss!”

 She turned away from him and headed towards the back, stopping only to glance at the game as Arran slid a box over to Seliira.  “Hey, you two seen the matron?” she asked quickly.

 “Nope,” her sister replied.

 “Think she was talking to Vad about something,” Arran replied as he dropped another minion on the board followed by a spell.  He grabbed a couple silvers from his wallet and dropped them on top of the minion to signify a buff.

 “Ugh, well played,” Seliira admitted, seeing the move.  She drew another card from her deck and grinned.

 “Uh-oh, I know that look.”

 “Alright, thanks,” Vylia said.  She turned from them as her sister played another card, eliciting a groan from Arran.

 “Four night elf hunters! Three dancing draenei!” Fael continued as Guldel pulled the bowl of egg nog away from him.  “Two trolling trolls…  And a demon lord named Saaaaaammmyyyyyyyy!”

 She pushed the door to the back rooms open, finding Vadralis talking briefly with Kagh’Gosh.  The orc gave a single grunt and hefted a massive bag before heading back into one of the other ones.  The night elf sighed as he folded his arms and reached up to rub his forehead.  He leaned back until he was against the wall.

 “Hey,” Vylia said, approaching him.  “Tired?”

 He turned his head towards her.  “Yeah, actually,” he said.  “Had some trouble sleeping recently.”

 “Mmm?”

 “Yeah.”  Vadralis looked away then, down on the floor. “Think some of it is still getting into the swing of all this.  Having trouble remembering some of the things I did.  And some trouble with hitting a target with my knives.”

 “I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out.”  She moved next to him, slipping a hand on his shoulder.

 “You didn’t know.  I thought I was a goner in that blast too.”

 “Yeah…”  Vylia bowed her head a little then.  She’d still not told him of the couple days she’d spent trying to get back there to see if she could find proof he was dead or alive.    “Yeah, I know.”

 “Not the first time I’ve been captured.  Though I didn’t even know humans existed last time it happened.”

 She had to laugh slightly at it.  

 “I’ll bounce back. Just might take some time.”    He looked up at her then, eyes resting on her hand for a moment.  “Glad you didn’t forget about me though.”

 “How could I have?  I…”  She almost added to her thoughts, but kept from doing so, though it was a bit of a relief to see a small smile on his lips.  There was silence between them as they heard Fael out in the main room begin another song.  It sounded like Chou had joined him as well in singing.

  “Nice to have a Winter Veil party again,” he said finally.

 “Yeah,” Vylia agreed. “It’s Sel’s first too.  Nice to have family with me for once on one of these events.”  She almost let go of his shoulder, but noticing how he moved just a little closer made her keep her hand there.  “Any word from your sisters since we got you out?”

 “Got them a message from one of the Shattered Sun vets on his way back to Stormwind.  And just the other day I got a letter from one of them. Frankly relieved I was alive.  Kept telling her husband that I was too damn stubborn to die.”  They both laughed a little at it.  “The other one named her newborn son after me thinking I’d died in the line of duty about a month ago.  She’s probably heard the news now too.”  He smiled sadly a little, his eyes tearing slightly.  “Kinda wish I could go back and see them.  But we’ve got a lot to do here.”  He reached up then and slipped his fingers between hers.  “And I’m glad that I get to spend it free and with someone important to me.”

 “Vad…”  She bowed her head just a little as their eyes met and her lips curled into a soft smile.  “Thank you. This’ll be one to remember.  I’ll make sure of it.”

 “I’m sure it will be already.”  He smirked at her.  “Even if only because Onyxien is participating in a play of How The Greench Stole Winter Veil for the orphanage.  And Beldak spiking the egg nog because it was ‘too weak’ by his standards.”

 She snickered a bit at how the netherdrake would look with the horn she’d spent nearly twenty minutes fussing with and the ridiculous red nose they still had to put on his snout. “Yeah.  Hey, speaking of which.  Have you seen Matron Mercy?  Onyxien shredded the script she gave us with his claws.”

 Vadralis shook his head. “Last I saw she put her husband in charge of watching over the place while she went to get something from one of the Skettis Outcasts.  Think it’s for the feast that’s planned.”

 “Aaah.  Guess we’ll get it later then.”   She let go of his shoulder then and he unlaced his fingers from hers.  “So, while we wait then, wanna get a drink?  Before Fael has it all?”

 “Heh.  Yeah.”  They started back to the door, sound of singing growing louder.  Fael and Chou were standing on top of the bar now, arm in arm and singing carols in panderan while they each had drinks in their free hands. Beldak was laughing as he watched the two dance slightly even.  The goblins Kikri and Ryant were standing on a table chatting excitedly about some device they’d come up with while Seliira was unwrapping the box that Arran had given her earlier.  Neither saw what it was, but she practically jumped across the table startling the other death knight as they landed on the ground as she made a squeal of delight. And at the bar, Guldel merely grabbed the entire bowl of egg nog and put it to his lips after a long sigh.

  “I know I’ve only been here a few months,” Vadralis started, “but is this kind of…  Insanity normal?”

 “Oh, this is actually kinda tame,” Vylia admitted.  Something then dangled right in front of her face.  She waved a hand away and it was pulled out of reach.  Looking up was Lor’raj, in his snake shape in the rafters, dropping the mistletoe out of his mouth before slithering away.

 “And I see Lor is still pestering people with the mistletoe…”  He sighed. “No wonder Guldel is drinking like a naga.”

 Vylia laughed a little, biting her lower lip as he looked back at her.  She thought briefly about it, but ultimately decided there’d be no harm. Besides, the troll had been dangling it all night over people.  “Eh, what the hell?”  Her hands slipped onto Vadralis’ face and she gave him a soft kiss on the lips.  To her joy, he returned her affection before a loud crash grabbed their attention and they both turned back to the holiday mayhem.

[westboast]

Quarantine

January 29, 2020

Quarantine—“ORIGIN mid 17th century : from Italian quarantina ‘forty days.’”

Confirmed cases of COVID-19 (“coronavirus”) in Seoul: 4.

Days sober: 5.

“Teachers, please wear masks at all times. Please check your temperature at the beginning of work every morning and record in the log in the lobby.”

Keep coming back.

“I don’t know if I love you or not.”

I’m doing this because I want to feel better, be better.

“I know you’re trying to be better, but I can’t really feel that.”

But I wanted to be better for you.

Keep coming back.

“Are you sure you want to delete Grindr? All data and messages will be lost.”

“How’s the new book coming?”

“This is the end of a chapter, not the end of a book.”

“Sometimes you have to walk alone for a while.”

Seoul to Chicago, one way, 575 dollars (U.S.).

“I wonder what you would look like if you lost weight.”

According to the New York Times, a face mask can cut the risk of spreading the virus by 85 percent.

“I wanted you to try to be more attractive for me.”

“I don’t want negative energy in my house. If I let strange people in, I know I’ll have to cleanse and burn sage.”

The blanket that you came on.

The towel that you dried off with.

The ice cream that we couldn’t finish.

“You’re taking this too seriously.”

Keep coming back.

“They found me in a ditch. I had swallowed my own tongue.”

“We aren’t alcoholics. It’s circumstances.”

[Subway doors open] If you are experiencing symptoms of upper respiratory infection... [Subway doors close].

I don’t know how seriously I should be taking this.

“I heard a conspiracy theory that the Chinese government made the virus and they were planning to unleash it on Hong Kong. But it got out of control.”

“Avoid bars and clubs when you’re starting.”

“You’re obsessed with one thing I said.”

“Teachers, please stay out of confined, crowded spaces this weekend.”

“Do you want to go to the club?”

Yes, I don’t want to be at home.

Keep coming back. 

“It looks like the Apocalypse in here, everyone dancing in their masks.”

February 27, 2020, second day of Lent

Confirmed cases of COVID-19 (“coronavirus”) in Seoul: 55.

Days sober: 33.

2020 is not a fin de siècle, but it feels that way to me. Things have ended swiftly since January. For one thing there is the longing that has appeared throughout these posts since leaving Seattle, the idea that I need someone to complete me. I don’t, actually. For too long I have tried to be someone for someone else, many someones. But I don’t need to, actually. And really, I can’t.

Last weekend the confirmed cases of COVID-19, colloquially “the coronavirus,” skyrocketed in Korea. On February 27, the country was at around two thousand cases. This event has been attributed to the activities of a cult based in Daegu which had meetings in Wuhan. Its members contracted the virus and have been hiding from health authorities. Fingers are being pointed in many directions, mostly toward China, often toward President Moon Jae-in. 

Several small countries have barred people from entering from Korea. Taiwan has instituted a 14-day quarantine for anyone entering from here. At present the United States has not yet implemented widespread quarantines for people traveling from East Asia, though plans are in place.

I’m writing this for the future self who reads it. I want him to remember what was going on in late winter. Things are going to change again soon, I think.

Classes were cancelled this week. My coworkers and I had to go in on Friday to prepare for the upcoming term, though it is unclear when that will begin. The mood at work was somber, morose. We wondered if we would have jobs a month from now. “I’ve never experienced something like this,” my coworker said.

The city does not feel right. There are fewer people on the streets. Many restaurants are closed. There are no symphonies, no dance classes. Movie theaters are empty. Airplanes are flying half-full. My coworkers and I went to Lotte World and it wasn’t empty. I liked the knockoff Space Mountain the best. It felt very good, almost defiant, to laugh that much.

The masks are everywhere. The mask itself has become a potent symbol of the last six months. The protesters in Hong Kong wore black masks to identify themselves to each other and obscure themselves from facial recognition software. Now there are lines around the block in Korea for people to buy the dwindling supplies of them. There aren’t enough.

The virus itself is a respiratory condition. It is only dangerous for the elderly, the very young, and those with compromised immune systems. But the panic it has sparked would suggest that it is unusually dangerous. The western media’s coverage of the virus bears all the hallmarks of a racist hysteria. It came from China, from an outdoor market. A place full of raw meat and seafood. It is a foreign, Asian disease. There is a rumor that it originated in a bat that someone ate, a baldly racist suggestion, mingling the vampiric and the Victorian with general cultural ignorance. The New York Times always shows pictures of the masks. Masks, masks, masks. People wear masks in Asia. People use hand sanitizer compulsively in the United States. The hygiene culture of one place looks strange from another.

Ling Ma already told the story of this disease in Severance. That book imagines an airborne fungus from China that spreads around the world and turns people into brain-dead walking corpses. The pandemic is a metaphor for xenophobia against Chinese immigrants. Now we experience the nausea of seeing that xenophobia unfold in real time, as it did during SARS several years ago. The same story will emerge again in another few years. It is socially permissible—totally logical—to fear a disease. It socially impermissible to admit fear of someone Asian. In the case of this disease, these phenomena are one in the same. The recurring story of the Chinese disease creates a pressure valve for people to release their racist fantasies into the public square.

They release those fantasies like steam, soothing, jasmine-scented steam. I am not like them, they think, looking at pictures of Asian cities full of people in masks—sick people, unsanitary people, open-air-market people. No, I am clean. Panic justifies fear justifies racism and intolerance. I’m not racist, I just don’t want your sickness. I’m not racist, I just don’t want you anywhere near me.

Vancouver, 2015:

A CBC report concludes that many new property purchases are being made by Chinese buyers, confirming the widespread belief that this has been the case for years. One catch: they’re mostly Chinese-Canadian.

Seattle, 2014:

“They’re going to be speaking Mandarin in the schools soon!” said a panicked mother at an Italian restaurant.

“Are they?” I said. I was sort of listening. Mostly I was looking at her husband’s third thumb. We had seafood for dinner. It didn’t smell fresh. 

February 28, 2020, third day of Lent

Confirmed cases of COVID-19 (“coronavirus”) in Seoul: 74.

Days sober: 34.

“Why is your mask red?” said my friend James. We were standing on the mezzanine at Apgujeongrodeo Station, near Gangnam.

“It’s all they had left at E-Mart,” I said, as we boarded the escalator. “It’s red so when I start coughing up blood people don’t get upset.” At this point I began pantomiming a tubercular fit.

“You’re being that obnoxious white guy.”

“Oh, sorry.”

That one didn’t land.

I wanted Italian food but my credit card didn’t work. James bought me arrabbiata.

“Red is a good color on you,” he said, looking at the mask, “because you’re white.”

“Thank you. It really brings out my sunburn.”

He laughed. That one landed.

“Could you look over a work email for me?” he said. “I’m worried about my English.”

“Your English is fine.”

“I don’t want it to be fine. I want it to be good.”

“Okay, it’s good.”

“I want it to be great.”

“It’s great.”

“I want it to be more than great.”

“Fine, you’re Shakespeare. Jesus Christ.”

“I’m just forgetting a lot of words.”

“It’s normal. Even I forget words because I don’t hear English all the time.”

“Really?”

“Really. Me and my friends talk about it a lot. I’m forgetting Japanese too. I forgot the word for strawberry the other day.”

“In English?”

“No, Japanese. If I forgot the English word for strawberry that would be a serious problem.”

We finished eating and moved toward the escalator.

“I think there might be a recession,” I said, looking at my phone. “The stock market in the U.S. is tanking.”

“Yeah.”

“All because of what’s essentially a bad cold.”

“It makes no sense.”

“This is what happens when people panic.”

James and I get along well because we roast each other. We took the escalator to the main floor of the mall. The perfume department.

“Oh, they have Chanel,” I said. “I dated a guy who worked at Chanel once and he broke my heart. This used to be very triggering for me. Do they have...” I looked around for it: his cologne. “They do.”

Bleu de Chanel.

I approached the sacred vial and asked for a sample. The clerk sprayed a little card with it. James and I went out the front doors into the night. I began having a meltdown and rubbing the card all over my neck, contaminating myself with memory.

“BREAK MY HEART, BABY!” I yelled hysterically.

“You look really weird right now.”

“OH YEAH!”

“Oh my God, please stop,” he said, grabbing the card and throwing it in the trash.

“You know, the fact that I can joke about this is actually progress. A year ago I would have been destroyed.”

We left the mall in search of an ATM and cigarettes.

“Can we go to a coin noraebang?” I said.

“Sure.”

“Just for one song. There’s a song that I want to sing.”

If you lose your one and only,

There’s always room here for the lonely

To watch your broken dreams 

Dance in and out of the beams 

Of a neon moon.

“Fuck, they don’t have it,” I said, shaking the controller in the booth.

“You only have two minutes to choose.”

“Do people have sex in here?”

“I don’t think so. There’s CCTV.”

I think they do.

“Oh, I’ll do ‘Islands in the Stream’ instead.”

The song started and a disco ball turned on.

[three minutes later]

James: “Your voice is terrible.”

Me: “Fuck you.”

We went back outside.

“Maybe Korea isn’t your country,” he said.

“That’s abundantly clear to me.”

“What will you do tonight?”

“I don’t know. My friend lives around here but I don’t know where.”

“She’s probably going out.”

“Maybe.”

“This is the city of foreigners now. Koreans aren’t going outside because of the virus.”

“I have a flight tomorrow anyway.”

“They’re blaming us now,” he said. “They’re saying Korea is spreading the virus.”

“It’s not really anyone’s fault.”

“Exactly.”

Anyone attempting to find logic in all this will be sorely disappointed.

“Why don’t we have boyfriends?” he said later.

“You said you didn’t want one.”

“That’s true.”

“I might. I think I do. But it turns out you have to be emotionally stable to let someone into your life like that. Plot twist!”

“I can understand that. That’s why I’m not trying. I don’t want to burden someone with my problems.”

“You’re not a burden. You just have to find someone who accepts you. You don’t want someone relentlessly positive. ‘You should try to be happier.’ Yeah, thanks, I hadn’t thought of that. If you think about things, you’ll see that there’s actually a lot to be depressed about.”

“Exactly.”

“I’m tired of seeking people’s approval anyway. Who the fuck are you? I don’t even know who these people are, and they expect me to care about their opinions of me.”

“Exactly. Who the fuck are you?”

A few minutes later we were going back down into the train station. Apgujeongrodeo Station is outside of my emotional quarantine zone. It’s where a lot of memories, blissful, drunk, heart wrenching, have occurred. It’s where I began to realize things were not going to work out with one person. Its where I became friends with my coworkers. It’s where I became friends with James.

“You should change your singing voice,” James said, laughing on the escalator.

“Oh, that’s great. I’ll add that to the suggestion list I’ve gotten here. So I should change my voice, my body, my personality. Am I forgetting anything? Oh, my nationality.”

“Your nationality? What nationality did they want?”

“Australian, apparently, which is hilarious because everyone knows Australian guys are trash.”

“And racist.”

“Yeah.”

In January, around the time the virus appeared in Korea, I decided that things needed to change drastically. I was walking with my friend near Sungshin University Station, another emotionally contaminated point, one night.

“I’m just really hung up on the idea of the quarantine right now,” I said. “It’s like, there’s the literal quarantine with the virus. But then for me personally there is the quarantine from dating, from alcohol. I don’t want these guys, these—what’s the word? I keep forgetting English words...It’s a scientific word...Variables! I don’t want any more variables in my life right now. I wish I could disinfect my house and get the memories out, because they’re all I can see when I’m in that room. And now if I do wind up quarantined, literally quarantined, I’ll be trapped in the room with the memories, even though I’ve quarantined myself from dating.”

I suppose that is what a quarantine is: being trapped in a room with your own problem. The purpose of a quarantine isn’t so much to protect yourself as it is to protect others from you. Here is where my dating metaphor breaks apart. I’m not quarantining myself from anyone, actually, because there’s nothing wrong with me. 

To another friend: “Love in the Time of Coronavirus.”

That one didn’t land.

The Catholic observance of Lent began on Wednesday. It is forty days of fasting. Lent is a time to reflect on desire, among other things. It is a season to eschew something that brings one pleasure, in order to more fully appreciate it once it’s returned. This year I’m not fasting, because I haven’t given up anything that I actually enjoy. How can one fast from something never savored? How can one give up what was never really there?

—Seoul

[lytahalifax]

XI Questions Tag

(I don’t know why I did that in Roman numerals, I’m obviously in a weird mood :)

I was tagged by @byjillianmaria​ for this. Rules: always post the rules, answer the questions given to you, write 11 questions of your own, tag 11 people. I don’t think I really know 11 people here, or can come up with 11 questions, so I promise NOTHING with regards to following rules. Because I am an iconoclast*, baby! (makes air guitar gestures and noises) *iconoclast (n) = a fancy way to say “lazy”.

Questions:

1.) What’s a line of dialogue that you’re most proud of? Holy cripes, that’s kind of a tough one to answer, having written a bunch, and forgotten even more, in the past four years. I would say it’s easier for me to talk about chapters of things I’m proud of, and in that, I’m particularly proud of a chapter I wrote in my Mass Effect series “Once More Unto The Breach” called “We Who Are About Die”. It’s essentially about the people who initially designed and floated the specs for The Catalyst, and how they came together as one race and expended all their efforts, not in self-preservation, but in giving the galaxy a fighting chance against the Reapers. They knew it might take millions and millions of years for their goal to be achieved, if ever, but they were committed, almost as one, to the notion, choosing to die not screaming and in fear, but as an almost indomitable force that would not be denied, no matter how long it too for their plan to bear fruit. However, there was a line my editor particularly adored that spun off from that whole thread, about “the weight of a billions years of justice, no longer denied”.  My Shepard also had some really nice comedic bits throughout that whole series. OMUTB, as my first real “child”, is the series I made absolutely the most mistakes with, but also am the proudest of to this day. “Near Wild Heaven” from “Black Swan” is another personal favorite, a chapter I was having so much fun writing, I had to force myself to stop. 

2.) Which of your characters would you most like to hang out with? Camilla Davies from Black Swan. I suspect she would understand me and my life experiences the best out of anyone on the planet, would be able to give me savagely effective life advice, and possibly transfer my brain into a cloned female body. In fact, I think I’d probably really enjoy hanging out with her, Reese and Alanna; I always felt they were kind of the Three Musketteers of SOAP. Bledoc Caitor, a one off OC I wrote for Once More Unto The Breach as a shoutout to a longtime reader, would be a distant second because he would probably make me the galaxy’s best bowl of ramen, and I really, really love ramen. 3.) Do you have any goals for the rest of 2017? Survive the oncoming storm of massive life and career changes coming up in the final quarter of 2017, and essentially prepare for some major life retooling I hope to achieve in 2018. Unfortunately, this probably means taking a sabbatical or otherwise semi-retiring from writing, at least for a while.

4.) What season inspires you the most? It’s a toss up between Spring and Autumn. Probably Spring; March/April is usually about the time I come out of my winter doldrums and do a lot of my writing again. 5.) If you could rewrite one part of an already-published work, what would it be? The first 20 chapters of Once More Unto the Breach. Well..maybe not ALL of them, but holy crap, there are some massive technical errors and embarrassing gaffs and continuity glitches I made there. I very nearly gave up on the entire endeavor were it not for the fact that I started working with a real top notch editor who essentially trained me how to be a better ,more effective writer, and it’s clear the final 20 chapters are SO much better as a result. I might also redo “To Bask In Your Starshine”. But maybe not. 6.) Do any of your characters have pets? What kind? Shepard kept coming back to the Normandy, even when she didn’t command it anymore, to collect Space Hamsters from the lower decks. Her oldest daughter has a pet kakliosaur. I imagine Camilla has a couple of cats, because they were the only animals she could really relate to: one of them is a tortie Maine Coon, which she adopted because she liked the coloration, not realizing how diva-esque torties are in their behavior. Reese probably has a fancy tropical fish tank setup he poured way too much time and money into. Nicole has a dog, like a golden retriever or a bulldog or something. A mutt for sure.

7.) What’s your favorite thing to do when you’re feeling uninspired? This is the answer - or at least part of it - that will make people gasp in shock and go, “Lyta! You can’t say things like that!” I have two techniques: one I would recommend, and one I would not. It should be obvious which is which. First, I smoke weed. Not often, not all the time, I’m actually on a bit of a six month break from it. I don’t smoke specifically going in to look for inspiration, I just do it to relax, but I would be lying if I said there weren’t times when inspiration didn’t come and come HARD when I was stoned. At least two of my stories, Old Soul and How Can I Sleep?, are the result of me breaking through serious blocks after toking up. Seriously, I could not figure out how to do Old Soul and almost gave up until I got baked and started watching old 1970s tv commercials, and then it came to me. I’m pretty damn sure that good chunks of the final three chapters of Black Swan came to me while I was toked up as well. Second, and much more often, I go for a lot of walks. Like a lot a lot of walks. I try to walk about 12,000 steps a day at a minimum now, which is probably why I’ve lost 20 pounds since April. But for years, I’ve done this when I can, because I find it can get me into a good “zen headspace”, almost like a walking meditation, where ideas flow easier from out of the great miasma of notions inside my brain. Large chunks of Black Swan chapters 5 through 12 were “flashes of inspiration” that came to me when I got “into the zone” during walking, and made sure to write quick emails to myself on my cell phone, so I wouldn’t forget. I’m pretty sure the same goes for Grande Dame, and definitely so for Bearing Witness to Time. If it weren’t for my walks, I wouldn’t have most of my writing ideas. Indeed, it’s gotten so that if I go down a path I haven’t traveled in a long time, my brain starts to play back memories of writing a particular story, as if the brainstorming somehow became encoded in the local metalayer of that location, and walking through it is like replaying a tape in my mind.

8.) Do you have a go-to writing snack/drink? Beef jerky. Usually of the spicy variety It’s high in protein, tasty, and a provides a viscerally satisfying experience in the eating of. Grrr! Chomp! Chew chew chew. 

There is an awesome jerky shop at Container Park in Las Vegas that I love to stock up at whenever I’m there...unfortunately my supply never lasts. I should probably find out if they do mail order.

9.) Do you have any self-indulgent stories/characters that you’d never publish (or even write down)? Hah! Oh boy.....yeeeeeah. There was this one crack fic I came up with called “The Yurizoku Formula, or GAYBIES!” It was a weird story, in the vein of “Chloe Price’s Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny (which I recently took down for personal reasons) or “Today’s Fish is Trout ala Creme” from OMUTB. If I remember correctly, the long and short of it is Warren accidentally infecting Brooke with a virus that makes her incredibly irresistible to all the women on campus, and she has to deal with their unwanted affections as she tries to get through her day, growing increasingly exasperated and flustered, sorta in the vein of Miyuki-chan in Wonderland. I remember it being much funnier and more clever back then than it obviously is. Sometimes I get ideas and my own personal kinks bleed through a little too much...as an example, the end of “The Domina Effect” in Black Swan was originally written to be a faiiiir bit more “sexy” between Rachel and Victoria, but NQW correctly convinced me to drop it. (As an example of my “kinks”, my first complete work ever written was a lesbian erotica sci-fi mind control story which I called Love is the Drug, which sadly I lost the files to before I could submit it to an appropriate archive. There are actually strong echos of this story in A Power Greater Than My Own...the bit where Victoria, as the domme, finds herself feeling helpless in the face of her so-called submissive at the end, because of how hard she’s fallen in love with her. I) I was also thinking about writing an AU fic in the ME universe called Domination: A Love Story, where the Asari are much more in the mold of Frank Herbert’s “Honored Matres” from the later Dune novels, and a 19 year old Shepard is helpless to watch as her colony ship is essentially taken over by an Asari “diplomatic expedition” who are slowly but inexorably brainwashing everyone over to their way of thinking. Not every Asari agrees with this method of behavior however, prompting a young(er) Liara T’Soni to try and help Shepard get through the horror of that particular situation; in the end, she’s forced to temporarily brainwash Shepard, in order to keep up appearances around the Asari Inquisitors, but eventually “releases” Shepard, so the two of them can run off and join a resistance cell.  Huh...I might actually come back to that one someday... Usually, when I get ideas that are terribly self-indulgent, they tend to not hang around, and then get swept out by whatever part of my brain reclaims needed storage space for better things. I’m sure there are whole stories that I’ve completely forgotten about. 10.) What works inspire you to be a better writer? Oh gleesh. Believe it or not, one of the reasons I tend to avoid reading other peoples work in general, with some exceptions, is that I find it very intimidating and daunting. Like “OMG! This person is so good, how could you even think that you are on the same level with them, you absolute hack? What could you possibly have to offer up to the great Singularity of Human Artistic Expression that someone hasn’t already done, and done WAY WAY better than you? For instance, I’ve specifically avoided watching TransParent on Amazon, because I still have an idea for a TV show about a “transhumanist transwoman” which I call “Swing Out Sister”. I probably will never do it, but I’m afraid that if I watch Jeffrey Tambor’s no doubt AMAZING work, I will give it up forever and ever. That said, the things I am watching right now that just blow me away with their style and panache are Rick and Morty and especially BoJack Horseman; I’m most of the way through BoJack season 4 and holy holy holy shit. Obviously, I am a fan of dark, almost cynical takes on the nature of suffering and the human condition. 11.) Say something nice about your writing! (Not a question, don’t care). What?! No! You can’t make me, you’re not my supervisor! Oh, okay. I will say this: people tell me that I am really good at writing dialogue, and this is the only thing I have ever agreed with. I write good dialogue. Sometimes, I even write great dialogue. Once, I wrote superb dialogue - I suspect. Dialogue and snappy patter is my forte, along with weird, high level ideas that I can never properly fill the details in. I’m good at A to C plotting, but figuring out “B” is where I still need a lot of work. Okay, well, I enjoyed this a lot but I am going to be a Naughty Lyta, and not pass it forward. At least, not for now, but I reserve the right to pick it back up and move it forward at a later date.

[pendragonfics]

Caught Me By Surprise

Paring: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Tags: female reader, therapist reader, fluff, bucky-centric, happy ending

Summary: Bucky is having trouble adjusting to the modern times, so, being the great pal Steve is, he recommends him an assistant, who goes by the name of _______.

Word Count: 1,918

Posting Date:  2016-05-20

Current Date: 2017-05-09

When Steve Rogers came to him one rainy afternoon in the upstate New York facility knocking on his door, he had ignored him. Not out of spite, and not on purpose. Bucky Barnes was a man in a shell, a shell which protected him from lashing out like HYDRA had programmed him to do for the last seventy years.

He had expected his best friend to announce a meeting, or dinner being served.

Not that he had hired an assistant for Bucky.

The dark haired super soldier just wanted to break a wall, hearing those words. Assistant. What was he, a middle aged corporate in a tall building and a taller paycheck? Tony Stark had an assistant. That red-head, Pepper.

Bucky didn't need - or want! - someone to tail him. To assist him.

Yet, he held onto those words that day. The man in the memories that came slowly back, painfully, quietly; the memories of 1940's James Buchanan Barnes were not of an irate or grumbling man. He had been kind, and flirtatious - things Bucky didn't really find himself feeling anymore. He attributed his anger to the fact he'd murdered many, many people who didn't deserve it, and that he was just a sour old man in a twenty-nine year old's body.

"Buck?" Steve called through the door. It had been a week since he'd done the similar thing, except now it was nine o'clock in the morning, on the dot. "Remember that assistant I told you about? She's here ... are you coming out to greet her?"

At once, Bucky opened the door. The dark circles under his eyes told a telltale story of his usual sleep patterns mixing with the anxiety of his - assistant. What a title. Couldn't Steve had used a better word to describe this woman? Babysitter. Therapist. Anything was better than 'assistant'.

"C'mon, don't stare, I know I'm a mess," Bucky grumbles. "Is she already here, or do we have to wait outside?"

Steve shook his head, and clapping Bucky's back, began to walk down the way to the main area. "No, she's here. And her name's ______. Don't call her Ma'am or a Dame or doll, and never call her Miss _______ - she hates that."

The ex-Winter Soldier paused. "Wait, you know her?"

The blonde captain nodded. "Yeah, quite well. She helped me adjust into the 21st Century, as you can see." he winked, shoving his hands into his worn jeans. Steve must have been tinkering with his bike again, grease was all over his arms. "I'm sure it's going to be just fine. You're going to love her."

Bucky held onto his chuckle. He hadn't loved much in a long time. Maybe the first thing he had loved since his slow transition to himself was having a warm bed to sleep in every night. But he wasn't sure.

"...yeah, I know Sam! Didn't anyone tell you we were in high school together? Oh my - I bet he never told you he totally rocked the 'fro back in the day?" Bucky's ears caught onto a new voice.

A nice voice. It caught him by surprise.

Turning the corner, and half-hiding behind Steve (which was an easy feat now he became a meatball since the last time he had tried to hide behind Steve), he saw Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff and Thor standing around a girl who seemed short in comparison to their hero-esque heights.

"Mornin' Cap! I see you're up bright and early!" The girl beamed a bright smile, moving toward the two super soldiers with a hand outstretched to shake. "And this is James?"

Bucky paused. Nobody - not even Steve, really - had called him that. Not in his most recent memory, at least. His mind ran a million miles an hour to match his pulse, and for once, Bucky wasn't sure if he had the situation under control - and not because of himself.

You were the prettiest person he had seen in a while. And he'd seen Romanoff around the base.

The (h/c) haired girl seemed to sense his discomfort and withdrew her hand away at once. "Not a toucher? Sorry, I should have asked first. I'm ______. I'll be a sort of assistant in trying to get you to adapt to your surroundings. I've had all sorts of training and degrees to get me qualified enough to work for the Avengers, so don't you worry."

Bucky's throat cleared enough for him to speak, but before he could, Steve made a noise. "Ah, _______, I think you read the file I sent you wrong ... his preferred name is Bucky."

Bucky made a noise, and at once, everyone in the room's eyes were on him. "It's okay. I - I like James too."

______ smiled. "Okay, B-James ... so, why don't we get started? Let's go to somewhere comfortable, and you can tell me all the things you're having trouble with, from televisions to nightmares, current issues - you name it!" His new assistant laughed. "I think you and I are going to have lots of fun together, James!"

_____ was right. After months of training, sitting down with _______ and learning many techniques to overcome stress, the depression that easily sinks in ex-soldiers, world history, pop music, Bucky could feel a difference. Not only was he being able to sleep at night, he could join in with the Maximoff twins' movie discussions, reach out better to his team, and, for the first time in seventy odd years, Bucky felt like living.

"So, whether or not you like this, this is our last session," you announced one morning.

Bucky's hear dropped. He didn't want to admit it, but over the last eleven months, he had fallen very deeply and very completely in love with you. And now you were going?

"Why?" He didn't look you in the eye. He couldn't.

You give a sad chuckle, "Well, my boss says if you're progressed this far, I don't need to help you catch up on Star Trek: The Next Generation when there's other veterans out there who need help adjusting."

Bucky nodded. "Huh. I guess you're right. So, what's today for? Goodbyes?"

You frown. "James, today's session is to remind you where you've come. I'm here to show you how much you've grown over almost a year!" You touch his arm gently, and hand him a small green file. "Have a look. It's my notes."

Bucky slides the papers out. In a scrawl that's nearly unreadable, he does his best to discern the text -

Quiet, timid, prone to anger outbursts when directly asked questions on tender subject.

James Barnes spoke softly today! No shouting at all. Also doesn't react negatively to touch anymore.

James says he is sleeping better, but nightmares are still there. He will improve. I know.

Discovered takeaway pizza in our impromptu pizza party, and ate three whole large pizzas. James also spoke in an inside voice. Did not sound angry at all (though it might have been the pizza talking).

In a quiz he scored 9 out of 10 in history in the last ten years, has reduced reaction to loud noises and reports less nightmares. He is recovering well.

James Barnes is a TV addict! He is catching up through reality TV. His favourite show is The Office. I don't watch it but he's very into it. I suspect because their lives is quite different to his.

Bucky Barnes didn't react to a sudden movement badly!

James -

"Wow, these aren't that detailed," Bucky noted, flipping through the rest of the pages. "Some assistant you are."

You rolled your eyes, and smoothed your shirt from wrinkles. "These are just what I'm allowed to show you. Besides, don't you get it? I'm super proud of you." You nudge him in the side, and go to stand up. "I've invited Sam and Steve to come up today so we can have a pizza party again. But this time I ordered a lot more pizza."

Bucky nodded, and for a moment, the air was silent between the two of them. " ... _______, before they get here ... will I ever see you again?"

He watches you pause, and lick your lips. "I don't know, James. The future is always unclear for people like me. I never know where I could be relocated, and that's on a six m-,"

She's interrupted by the cheers from Sam and Steve ascending toward them, arms laden with enough pizza for a woman and three superheroes. "Did we interrupt?" Sam asks, landing the lunch between the coasters on the table.

"No," Bucky speaks up. "Pizza party ahoy."

Sam beams, and raises two thumbs up. "Pizza party ahoy!"

Before he knows it, all the pizza is gone and he has to wave goodbye to you as you're taken away by one of Stark's black cars and act like he isn't going to miss seeing you three times a week and inside, under all the layers that make up James Buchanan Barnes, he's afraid he will never see you again in his dreams, too.

"Aw, no need for the long face, buddy-pal," Tony claps him on the back. "It's not the end."

Bucky shakes his head. He digresses. He's still looking where the car left a slight cloud of dust behind, and all of his thoughts are of you. "No, Tony. It is."

Pietro Maximoff peeks his head out the door, and calls out to the pair of them. "Bucky?" The white haired speedster calls out in his accent. "The phone is for you. It's ______."

At once, Bucky rushes to the phone. It's corded - a nostalgia thing Stark has, and Bucky doesn't mind - and at once the receiver is in his hands. "Hello?" He breathes.

"James," your voice crackles through the phone, the reception making your words sound slightly nasally. "I have to tell you something."

His throat dries. What do you have to say? Did you leave your wallet here? Did you forget to flush the toilet or hug him goodbye, is that why you're calling?

"Now that I'm not your assistant anymore, I can tell you. Okay, here goes." You take a deep breath. "I like you, James. And not in the friend way like Thor and Steve."

He breathes again. "You do?" Bucky whispers.

He can hear you nod, almost. "Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you until now. But I've already called my boss to give my notice, I'm not going to be a case-by-case worker any more. They're - they're going to let me freelance my job for the Avengers." Bucky can't believe his ears. "Did you hear that, James? It means -,"

"You're coming home, to me," Bucky finishes. And for the first time in ages he has a smile on his face. "How long will you be until you're here again?"

You giggle. "I'll be there in three days. I've got an apartment to move out of, you know?" There's a sigh, and a line of static, and then he hears your voice again. Oh, how he loves your voice. "Bucky?"

"Hmmm?"

"I love you. I've loved you since the pizza party where I had no pizza." You confess.

Taking the opportunity, Bucky braves his nerves. "I love you too," he tells you. "I've loved you since I first saw you. You were the first person who I saw in my life who seemed to truly stand out, and be true to who they were. You are pure, and pretty and perfect." He confides. "I love you, _______."

[edmtranslations]

LOUD No. 168 - Justice Interview [Text Version]

(This is a text version of the full PDF-based translation that I have done, for mobile readers and non-PDF suited environments. The cover and advertisement included in the same magazine are treated in a separate post. Please enjoy!)

Justice - since they gained notice in 2004 with their essential party anthem, Justice VS Simian 'Never Be Alone (We Are Your Friends)', they enjoyed much fame as the leading unit of the new generation of French electronic music. In Japan, as soon as their EP Waters of Nazareth ('06) had debuted, their rocking musical and fashion sense soon brought them into the glory of the limelight. Last year, they released their debut album † (Cross) which subsequently gave rise to club hits such as 'D.A.N.C.E.', 'Phantom Pt. II', 'DVNO' and 'Stress'; this year, they visited Japan for Summer Sonic in August and GAN-BAN NIGHT in October, again demonstrating their incredible popularity.

Now, under the directing efforts of Romain Gavras and So-Me, they have announced the release of their first filmed work, A Cross the Universe. This monumental work couples their American tour that took place in the spring of 2008, captured in a sixty-minute documentary film (DVD), as well as the full seventy-five minutes of their their San Francisco live performance (CD). As Justice themselves have stated, the film is 'an excellent example of what happens when dozens of men get into trouble for a straight month'; Justice and the Ed Banger crew are depicted with brutal honesty throughout. Such is A Cross the Universe, the work that captured without reservations all kinds of happenings. In this interview, we spoke to Xavier de Rosnay and Gaspard Augé of Justice about the mysteries birthed by the work, as well as what they could mean.

— First, please tell us about the documentary! What were your reasons for setting your North American tour as the backdrop of the film? Xavier de Rosnay: The first reason was that we'd never filmed anything over such a long period before. Like, for example, for a whole year... The American leg of the tour happened to take place over twenty days, so we thought we'd be able to film that in an aptly compact way. And the second reason was that every time we went back and forth between the USA and Canada, we could experience all of the four seasons. Unthinkable in almost any other country.

— That's true. Xavier: This tour began in the West Coast of America, and it felt like spring there - but cross the border to Canada and we were right in the middle of winter! It was so cold! Then we moved towards the East Coast and then it felt summery all around. You move around just a little, and everything down to the season and the surroundings change - how could we not film that? Even in Europe the scenery barely changes throughout the year.

— I knew it! Xavier: And I guess we were... kind of anticipating something big to happen? You know, just because it was America? That feeling was strong in both of us. We supposed that if we were going to film this, we might as well choose a location where a lot of things were bound to happen.

— The documentary truly did end in a rather rock-and-roll fashion, it felt that the behind-the-scenes aspect of the tour was laid out bare. This may be a rather direct question, but wasn't it overtaxing a little, showing off your darker sides, or were you genuinely all right with it? Xavier: I see what you mean, and yeah, we were. (Laughter.) And in addition to that, the parts where we limited ourselves... I mean, I guess... they did exist... Basically, no scene in this documentary was forced. It was filmed according to the meaning and value of what was actually there. So anything that was repetitive was edited some, but otherwise we showed it all, whether we were unsightly at the time, miserable, or being complete idiots. The terrible habits we showed in the documentary might well have been, uh, illegal... Gaspard Augé: Ahahahaha. Xavier: But right now it's 2008, and from the present perspective, I don't think there's a problem.

— It's an attitude that still suits your appearance in the work [A Cross the Universe] immensely. Xavier: Thanks a lot. Though we did have to follow regulations some. Like, for example, we had to edit out everything that showed an alcohol brand name. There’s a regulation that says that any scene or footage depicting alcoholic beverages have to be blurred out; but honestly, I never heard of anything so ridiculous. If you saw a video where somebody was drinking a thing, and if it was all blurred out, wouldn’t it be more obvious upon watching it that they were consuming alcohol?

— You're right. (Laughter) Xavier: And also, there was the rule that you couldn't show a woman's nipples. But seriously! Who goes through life without ever seeing a nipple? If you blur that out, you'd be like 'oh my God, these are nipples, all right!' for sure; isn't that more lewd? (Laughter) And if you blurred out a woman's panties, it'd probably look like she wasn't wearing any. It's a real paradox, that. Censoring such things make them more grotesque than if you'd just let them be!

With the Cross

— Returning to the topic at hand, what ideas did the mutual director of the project - Romain Gavras - contribute to the making of this work? Xavier: He was the director, if anything it's us who tossed small ideas towards him. Of course we participated in the production, but this documentary wasn't produced in a pre-structured way. Romain and So-Me had a bunch of videos and images they took of the tour, and we connected them afterwards to craft the scenario [for the documentary].

— I see! Xavier: The work led them to create some interesting methods of operation, which might have meant that Justice wasn't at the forefront of things. There's a lot showing the tour manager - you know, the gun maniac - and the tour bus driver, and that was their idea. Romain and So-Me were the ones who decided to film them, so they did. And as a result, I think the documentary ended up a lot more entertaining than it could have been.

— It wouldn't have been as entertaining without the driver or the tour manager, no! Xavier: That's sort of why the camera wasn't on us a lot of the time. (Laughter) And during our live performances, Romain was always next to the stage and So-Me always in the innermost parts of the venue. The differences in camera angle from them both, as well as what they chose to focus on, really helped to lend a new depth to the work.

— In addition to that, the title A Cross the Universe seems to be a homage to the Beatles' Across the Universe. Whose idea was the title? Gaspard: From yours truly. A Cross the Universe seemed like the most fitting title to what happens in this documentary. Xavier: Having such a simple and effective title is what helped to complete this documentary, no lie. What's the most memorable thing in live Justice performances, it has to be the cross. And we - ourselves and our staff - sure are roaming the universe with a cross in tow!

— Did Gaspard also come up with the stage structure as well? The cross, the martial amps - the hard rock-esque atmosphere? Gaspard: That's different. We came up with that together. But as you said, that stage set was inspired by the hard rock feel of the seventies. We had some help regarding the theatrical light effects from a fellow member of staff who'd actually worked in theatre, as well. I think that restorative, monotononous mood was exactly right for our overall image. Xavier: Everyone seems to think that Gaspard's in charge of the metal and I'm in charge of the disco and pop, but that's not the case. As Justice, every idea we produce is something that the two of us discussed together beforehand. There's no one factor that only one of us is in charge of.

The Evolving Live Sound of Justice

— Please tell us about the live CD, which is also at the heart of the film. The live CD gives the feeling that what you play live is very different to what is on the original album ([Cross]). Xavier: That's right.

— How do you feel that Justice's sound has evolved through your live performances? Xavier: Eh... how our musicality's evolved over time, you can probably tell at sight from all the grey hairs we've got. We can barely goddamned breathe nowadays! Gaspard: Hahahaha! Xavier: Or all the hidden kids we fathered all across the universe... (Laughter) Things like musicality are influenced by our spiritual world, too, most certainly...   I mean, we're forgetting how to speak French. For real, it's all growing dim. All those things are probably reflected in our live sound in some way.  

— Back to the serious discussion. (Laughter) How much ad-libbing is there on average in your live sets? Xavier: Almost none, we barely touch it nowadays. This tour's taken eighteen months in total, and for the first few months, we sought the best format for our performance through trial and error, but around halfway through we felt deep in our hearts that we'd completed the best set we could possibly make right now. And we've played that arrangement ever since.

— Why is that? Xavier: We're a team: the sound engineer, the lighting staff, everyone moves as one. Someone ad-libbing in that scenario would break down everything we worked so hard for, wouldn't they? Our live performances, therefore, are all based around the thought - how complete can we make it? And if you think about it, someone who saw us live in Tokyo today is unlikely to see us live again in Berlin tomorrow. That's just a part of it, but we're always trying to make each performance the best that we can.

— I see. So what's on the CD must be the best set you've played until now! If this is so, where was it recorded? Xavier: The San Francisco live. From March to September this year we've recorded something like seventy to eighty live performances, but only the five or six recordings that we thought were the best made it through. It's a far more perfect set than the one done in Summer Sonic this year, by the way. Festivals, you can't skimp out on.

— What was your favourite thing about the San Francisco performance? Xavier: We made a few little mistakes here and there, but I think we had the most excellent chemistry with the audience there. We recorded this performance with the mic stood in the audience section, that was completely intentional. You know, the weirdly bootleg-like feel. By the way, we actually thought that the live performance in Belgium was the absolute best for us personally - but the audience was so loud that none of that could make it into the CD! (Laughter) They were screaming, like, 'kyaaaa~' for over fifteen minutes straight...

— What a shame! Then, before we bring this to a close, please tell us about your future plans! Are you working on any new songs? Gaspard: Nah. Xavier: We were busy editing [A Cross the Universe] as soon as the tour was over, after all.

— Are you taking a break for a while? Xavier: Nah, it's not about that. We've had our break, as you might have guessed from the film - while we were touring, it was exactly like being in holiday, all the time. (Laughter) I feel as we've mucked around for an entire year and a half, to be honest with you. Thanks to that, we're actually geared up to put some genuine work in at the moment!

The wording of the translation is © 2017 luminatranslations. First posted 27 March 2017. The full PDF version and documentation are available. 

Disclaimer: The original text of this interview and associated material, given by Justice and printed in LOUD Magazine in 2008, is not copyrighted by this blog nor by the author of this post. Therefore, the original Japanese text will not be distributed here. The author claims ownership of the wording of this translation, which does not deny nor seek to possess the existence of other translations. This translation may be subject to changes in the future.

[kinetic-elaboration]

Title: Since There’s No Place To Go

Author: kinetic-elaboration/elle_stone

Rating: G

Summary: West Virginia 2009. Clarke visits the Blakes and brings them a post-Christmas gift.

Prompt filled: Snow, Conversations Over Cocoa, Marshmallows, and sorta Scarf and Mittens if you’re being very generous

Length: ~2500 words

Tags/Warnings: Modern AU, Established Relationship, Winter, Fluff

Author’s Note: For @bellarkefanficfest ‘s Winter/Holiday round. Title is obviously from the song “Let It Snow.”

Read on AO3.

*

Past the blue bridge the road takes a sharp turn, curving left in a way that always makes Clarke’s stomach want to flip. This isn’t the first twist or bend in her morning’s journey, but it is the only one with a name—Jaha’s Curve, proclaims a tiny sign stuck in the dirt next to the shoulder—and when the road straightens out again, she knows she’s almost there. The mountains that have been guiding her along fall back, watching over her from a distance now and leaving a broad strip of flat land next to the road. The houses here are mostly square, one-story wooden structures, interspersed with converted trailers, the occasional free standing garage or wooden lean-to. The one that Clarke is watching for is painted white, with a small front porch decorated with red ribbons and a simple string of lights, and a wooden swing set structure off to the left. When she catches sight of it, she turns off the road and bumps into the driveway, parks her little two-door behind Bellamy’s truck, and gets out. There is a thin layer of snow on the ground. It crunches under her boots as she walks up to the door.

*

Bellamy wakes up to a quiet house. It’s so warm under the blankets piled up on his bed that he kicked off his thick woolen socks in his sleep; he finds the first shoved between the mattress and the baseboard and the other on the floor. Once they’re safely on his feet again, he shuffles into the kitchen, tripping himself up in the doorway when he yawns, wide enough to make his jaw pop, and rubs the sleep out of the corners of his eyes.

The kitchen’s not spotless but it’s not a mess either. There are a handful of dishes from last night still in the sink. But he ignores them. He stares out the window instead, at the backyard and the mountains rising up beyond it, watching over the small house, and everything covered in the remnant of last night’s snow. Everything utterly undisturbed. He smiles slowly and breaths in.

And when Octavia’s voice cuts through his thoughts, her voice calling “Bell! Bell! Bell, did you see the snow?” as her footsteps pound against the floor toward the kitchen, he just grins. He knew that was coming. His sister takes a wide turn through the doorway, hanging onto the edge of the doorway as her socks slip on the wood. She careens toward him, almost slips but she’s smiling too wide to notice, and he grabs her at the last moment and pretends to be annoyed.

“Hold on a second there, speedy,” he says, and swings her around and into one of the kitchen chairs.

O is undeterred. She kicks at the chair legs and asks, “Can we go out?”

“After breakfast,” he answers. “The snow will still be there after you eat. I promise.”

*

Clarke knocks on the door with one hand, holds the other behind her back. There’s no answer at first, so she plays with the fringe at the end of her scarf and looks around at the snow that’s blown in at the edges of the porch. Behind her, she hears a truck sweep down the road and through the slush, but other than that the morning is quiet and calm, not even a breath of wind to make the chill unpleasant or harsh.

She jumps when the door opens and then Bellamy is standing there, hair sleep-tousled, in his old Arkadia Astronauts hoodie and a pair of red and green plaid flannel pants, looking confused for just a moment before he beams at her.

“You look festive,” Clarke says, as he leans in for a kiss.

“I look like it’s my day off and I slept in. Not sure how you got ‘festive’ from that.”

She tugs at his pants pocket and repeats, “Festive,” and he just rolls his eyes. Then she takes her other hand from behind her back and presents him with a box of hot chocolate mix, wrapped around with a red ribbon, and adds, “I brought you this. Belated Merry Christmas!”

“And here I thought we’d already exchanged gifts,” Bellamy murmurs, taking the box from her, glancing over the front of it with a small smile. “Let me guess. This is from Kane and you’re re-gifting it.”

“Yeah, it might be slightly expired,” Clarke admits. “And I might have been the only one of his employees to actually show up to her shift yesterday.” She stomps her feet and rubs her hands together, making a show of chilliness. “So are you going to invite me in for hot chocolate or what? I’ve made it very easy for you.”

He opens his mouth, but before he can actually answer, they hear a sound like a small mob running toward them, and its source, one very excited elementary schooler, skids to a halt at his side. “I’m done! Hi Clarke. Snow now?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “That was the fastest breakfast I’ve ever seen you eat. Why can’t you be that quick when you’re getting ready for school, huh?”

“I think you know the answer to that one,” Octavia replies with a little eye roll of her own. She’s rocking back and forth on her heels, fidgeting, unable to stay still, and Clarke is about to say take pity on her, Bell, when he tousles her hair and says:

“Don’t forget your hat and mittens.”

“I won’t!” she promises, and then leaps off toward the closet for her coat. The little kick of her heels makes Clarke think of Speedy Gonzales, of little cartoon figures generating dust clouds with their feet, and she has to hide her giggles behind her hand.

*

Bellamy pulls on his boots and a hat, leaves the hot chocolate on top of the bookshelf by the door, and follows Octavia out. While she tracks footprints through the once-pristine snow of the front yard, he and Clarke settle down on the porch swing. She tucks her feet up underneath her, rests her head on his shoulder, hides her hand in the pocket of his sweatshirt; he wraps his arm over her shoulders and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

For several minutes, she doesn’t say anything, and neither does he.

His thoughts wander.

They’ve known each other for six months, he and Clarke, have been dating in a tentative, but remarkably easy, way for two. They met in an intro to poli sci course—Bellamy’s been taking classes part-time now for two years, whittling away at the requirements for his degree—and because the class was small, and he’d never seen her before, and because, in her bright pink dress and strappy sandals and rich designer glasses, she was hard to miss, he couldn’t help but wonder where she was really from. Obviously not from around here. She answered questions with a confidence that maybe should have been off-putting, how it bordered on arrogance, but wasn’t. After the second week he started to sit next to her, and they got to talking about everything but their life stories, and before summer session was even over he knew he was in deep.

“I don’t think that snow man is going to work out,” Clarke says, now, and nods over to Octavia. The snow is the dense, wet sort that packs together nicely but there’s just not enough of it to form anything more than a few snowballs, if that. Yet his sister will not be deterred.

“Maybe he’ll just be a very small snow man,” Bellamy answers. O’s been waiting for a snowfall since Thanksgiving, woke up disappointed on Christmas Day to the sight of nothing but dead grass and an overcast sky outside her window, and if this is the closest they’ll get to a white Christmas—a couple of inches on the 27th of December, some slightly-old hot chocolate to warm them when they finally tramp in from the cold—well that’s enough. He’ll take it.

And this too: how Clarke snuggles a little closer to him, squeezes him tight for a moment, and concedes, “Yeah. That’s true. He’ll be cute.”

*

Clarke has been to Bellamy’s house three times in the last week, most recently on Christmas Eve. They spent the whole evening together, exchanging gifts under Bellamy’s small Christmas tree, then watching holiday movies with Octavia until she fell asleep. Christmas Day itself she spent with her mom. She hadn’t been expecting much out of the holiday, hadn’t expected much from any part of her life for the last half year, since her family’s fortunes took their downswing, since she dropped out of school and moved with Abby to the old Mayfield farmhouse, the one Abby had never even put on the market, even though Grandpa Mayfield has been dead now for almost three years. The house was drafty and small and brought back old memories of childhood Thanksgivings and Easters. For a few weeks, Clarke hated every floorboard, every creak in the stair, every quiet breakfast.

Then she started to put herself back together again.

She enrolled in summer courses and she took a job at a small coffee shop downtown and she met a boy—an opinionated, combative, handsome, kind, dedicated, fascinating boy—which she thought was the least important thing, which she thinks now might be at least the nicest thing.

Once Octavia has built her mini-snowman, she runs back across the lawn and up the porch steps to them, asking them what they think. “He’s kinda missing a nose,” she admits, with a glance over her shoulder. “And eyes.”

“I’m sure we can find something inside to fix that,” Bellamy promises. He takes his arm from around Clarke and sits up a little straighter, getting ready to stand. “Hot chocolate break?”

Octavia nods quickly. “Yes, yes please. Definitely. You brought some, right?” she asks Clarke.

“Sure did,” Clarke answers, and stretches a little as she plants her feet back down on the ground. She’s about to stand when Octavia pulls on one of the strings of her hat, fingers curling around the little white pouf dangling there.

“I like your hat. These are really cute.”

“I like yours too.” She tugs gently on the red pom-pom on the top of Octavia’s head. “Also really cute.”

Bellamy has already stood up, and as he shoves open the front door with his shoulder he asks, “And what am I wearing that’s cute?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke answers, in a slow and thoughtful tone. “Those socks look pretty adorable.” She creeps up behind Bellamy as she speaks, then pretends to ambush him, her fingers tickling at his sides as they trip together over the threshold and through the door.

*

Bellamy flicks the gas on and a small blue flame pops up, with a quiet whooshing sound, beneath the back left burner of the stove. He sets a small pot of milk over it to warm. Behind him, Octavia is rummaging through the cupboards looking for the marshmallows she’s sure they still have somewhere. She finds them eventually, though they’re a little old and a little stale, but Clarke examines them carefully and declares they’ll do just fine, for the purpose.

Later, when the marshmallows are softening in the still-too-hot hot chocolate, and Octavia is sorting through a pile of mismatched buttons looking for the perfect snowmen eyes, Bellamy looks up and catches Clarke staring.

“Something on your mind?” he asks.

She shrugs, glances down into her mug for a moment, then back up. “Just thinking.”

“Yeah?” He shuffles his feet forward under the table, until his toes bump up against her toes. She traps his feet under feet and he bites back a smile. “About what?”

“New Year’s. I was—I was thinking.” She takes a deep breath, then lets it out, pretending it is nothing. “I was thinking maybe you and Octavia would like to come to my house? You could meet my mom. We’re not doing anything special so it would just be a low-key thing.” She sips at her hot chocolate, then flicks her tongue briefly across her top lip. “The house is kinda big for two people. We have spare rooms—you could spend the night, if you wanted.”

And he’d thought she was nervous about the meeting-her-mom thing.

They’ve never spent the night together, not straight through to morning; they’ve talked about it, shared silly domestic fantasies with each other, but he can’t leave Octavia alone, of course, and Clarke’s too wary of trying to explain her presence at the breakfast table if she woke up at the Blakes’. He’s never said as much, but Clarke has obviously gathered that she’s the first serious girlfriend he’s had since his mother died, that this has never come up before. The thought of waking up in the full light of day with Clarke right by his side strikes him as the best possible start to the new year.

All he does is nod and ask, “Would your mom mind?”

“No, I don’t think so. She wants to meet you.” Clarke smiles. “I told her only good things.”

“That must have been hard,” Octavia says, picking up a small black button and holding it up to the light.

Bellamy pretends to be offended, but Clarke just shakes her head. “Nope. Easiest thing I’ve ever done.” She reaches across the table and takes Bellamy’s hand in hers. “So what do you think?”

“I think it’s a date.”

She’s watching him, smiling and soft; he doesn’t know what she’s thinking but he can guess. He doesn’t realize that he’s wearing a mirror expression his own face.

“And I think you two should just kiss already, ‘cause you obviously want to,” Octavia declares, hopping up with her two chosen buttons in her hand. “Bell, do we have any carrots? Like any small ones? He’s gonna need a nose.”

“I think we can find something.” He stands up, but before he heads to fridge, he stops next to Clarke, and leans down, and tilts up her chin so that, when she stretches up just a little bit, their lips can meet in a gentle, sweet, lingering kiss.

He doesn’t realize Clarke’s hand is on his cheek until he pulls away.

*

Octavia ends up giving her snowman one black and one blue button eye, and a baby carrot for a nose, and two small sticks for arms. They check the weather forecast and it calls for cold temperatures all night and into tomorrow, no chance of anything melting for a day or two yet. So the snowman will live, for a little while at least. But they take a picture just in case, so that they can’t possibly forget.

[floraexplorer]

How I Cope With The Loss of My Parents at Christmas

Grieving at Christmas is a tradition I wish I didn’t have to follow.

Both of my parents died in winter. But even if they’d died outside the confines of twinkling lights and snowy landscapes, this season would still fill me with dread.

Whether you’re facing your first Christmas or your twentieth after losing a loved one, it’s likely you’re expecting it to hurt. Grief doesn’t seem to hold itself to the normal passage of time: the intensity of emotion may lessen, but its existence still doesn’t change much as the years go by.

There’s also a uniquely bitter irony in suffering through a holiday season which so many others seem to find such happiness in. Whether it’s the decorated trees in people’s windows, the familiar songs piped through every loudspeaker, or the deluge of blithe positivity from everyone around you, the build-up to Christmas and the day itself can feel like an insurmountable burden when you’ve been bereaved.

But after a full decade in this state, I’ve come to terms with what Christmas looks and feels like for me. Although the breath still catches in my throat a lot more often each December, I know my triggers now. I can just about get through the grief.

To most of us, Christmas means family. But what if you’re alone now?

We’re brought up believing that Christmas is intrinsically about family – and I still count myself lucky to have the memories of nineteen happy Christmases to look back on.

There’s home video of me panicking aged six on Christmas Eve about not building a snowman (an impossible feat because there wasn’t any snow that year). I remember my parents jubilation when they gave a teenage me the guitar I’d longed for. I can see my dad’s gritted teeth when my matriarchal grandmother demanded he make chestnut stuffing from scratch. And I’ll never stop thinking of my mum racing around the kitchen with her jumper sleeves rolled up and permanently foggy glasses jammed into her curly hair, as multiple pans boiled and the steamy air filled up with the unmistakeable smell of Christmas.

But nostalgia is a powerful thing. When there’s zero chance of those situations happening again, the associated memories are no longer just ‘happy’. Now they’ve been tainted somewhat, because everything about those past Christmases has vanished.

I found out my mum was going to die on Christmas Eve 2008. She passed away just two weeks later and the holiday season was never the same again – largely because Mum was the one who brought the entire over-extravagant event into being, from the sprigs of holly tucked into every framed picture in the house to the pine needles, tinsel and metres of wrapping paper scattered across the floor.

The first Christmas after her death, I wanted to ignore the whole festive season. I was still at university, studying abroad in San Francisco, so my dad and I decided he’d stay in London and we’d just do our own thing in our respective continents. It was my first ever Christmas spent with friends instead of family: we got very drunk the night before and the actual day was a hilariously hungover mess. I had a quick Skype call with my dad but when it was over I felt relieved. It was much easier to forget what this holiday had once felt like.

As the years went on, our two-person Christmas settled into a pattern. Dad stopped buying big Christmas trees and put lights around a tiny potted tree instead, with Mum’s photo propped up beside it. Dad and I swapped presents in the morning, then I’d cook us brunch – scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, cheersing with glasses of Prosecco – before we headed to our family friends’ house to spend the rest of our day there.

Christmas had become a more muted affair, and we both knew how achingly big the gap was which Mum had left behind. But we pretended we could handle it, nonetheless.

And then Dad died in late 2017, and I had to re-evaluate what my Christmas felt like all over again.

What you should know about coping with grief at Christmas

If I had to put my Christmas grief into a few crucial words, it would be these. Grieving at Christmas is lonely. It’s upsetting. It’s isolating. It’s less about enjoyment and more about survival, pushing steadfastly through the holiday and hoping there isn’t too much painful fallout by the time January rolls around.

Those of us who are bereaved at Christmas are sensitive and vulnerable and easy to upset. We’re jealous of those who have a seemingly perfect Christmas with all their loved ones accounted for. We’re always acutely aware that our particular someone is missing – and we’re also desperately hoping we might forget.

But after ten years of feeling like this, what I’ve finally come to realise is that Christmas doesn’t have any one set way of being celebrated. (In fact, screw it – you don’t have to celebrate at all if you don’t want to.)

The following is a collection of my tried and tested tips to make it through a grief-filled Christmas season.

1. Don’t put any pressure on yourself to ‘cope better’.

The first Christmas without them will almost certainly be daunting. As will the second, the fifth, and the eleventh. It’s been over a decade of Christmases without my mum and the festive season still hurts. What I’m trying to say is that you probably won’t suddenly “be better” one year. It’s not like Christmas ever reverts back to how it used to feel – it’s more like the emotions get less intense.

2. Let yourself cry.

The urge to have a full-on sob fest is probably going to happen. It might strike without warning, too – and that potential can make you feel really on edge. But just like the rest of the year, the crying won’t last forever. For many grieving people (myself included) there’s an internal grief-clock which switches on around December 1st and doesn’t stop ticking through ‘Time Without Them’ until the new year begins. I hate it – but I know that sensation extremely well now. And I just have to respect that self-care and compassion has to be my main focus throughout the month.

3. Tell your friends you’re not doing well.

One of the hardest parts about grieving is the isolation factor. While it feels like everyone else is heading home to their loving families, you’re left alone with too many memories and not enough distraction from them. However, chances are that plenty of your friends would be more than happy to involve you in their Christmas plans – you just might have to make the first move and ask.

4. Unless you know you’ll find it helpful, avoid social media.

From sometime in early November, the festive-themed social media posts start to ramp up. Tinsel and tree lights and Christmas jumper pub crawls begin to pour across my feeds and eventually it makes me nauseous. I don’t need to see all this happy Christmas fun if I’m not feeling the same – so I actively curb my social media usage.

There are a few really helpful hashtags on Twitter for those going through a rough time over Christmas, but for the most part it’s a lot of people expounding their gratitude for happy Christmases. I’d say avoid it.

5. Avoid excessive levels of Christmas festivities in the run-up to the 25th.

I’m talking constant headphone-wearing to avoid the Christmas music, doing your shopping away from main high streets, and never venturing to anything with a name like ‘Winter Wonderland’. It can be distressing and exhausting when the world is filled with tinsel-covered decorations and you can’t escape the Christmas songs pouring out of every shop loudspeaker, but they’re somewhat avoidable if you plan ahead.

What’s more tricky to avoid is when your friends get overexcited about Christmas – both online and in person. Although you might feel like a Grinch, sometimes a gentle reminder that you’re not doing fantastically this year can help. Alternatively, just quietly mute their social channels for the Christmas period.

6. Fill up your time with a few events in the diary.

There’s always a chance you won’t feel up to it when the time comes – but having some activities already planned means you’re minimising your free time to sit and think. I’d particularly recommend having things planned for the weird week between Christmas and New Year – it’s the lull where everyone seems to disappear into family mode, and that can feel pretty isolating and triggering.

In the run-up to Christmas, arrange some specifically non-Christmassy activities to get away from the festive stress. Scheduling some quiet time with the people who love you can alleviate some of the loneliness brought on by grief.

NB: try to avoid committing to anything you’ll feel guilty about missing, or an event where people might be mad if you bail – you don’t need the added pressure! 

7. Decide where you’re going to spend Christmas Day.

Are you staying at home by yourself, or will you be with a partner? Would you prefer to spend Christmas Day at a friend’s house, or with extended family? Bear in mind you don’t have to stick to this plan, but it’s good to have some vague structure in place beforehand. That way if you wake up on Christmas morning already exhausted, you get to stumble through the day with minimal effort.

If you’re in a position where you might be expected to host Christmas yourself, definitely try and have some failsafes in place – be it a stack of takeout menus, food from the freezer or willing hands to do the cooking for you.

8. Expect that you might not be ok – but don’t mire yourself in anticipatory grief either.

I usually spend the weeks leading up to Christmas in an increasing state of worry. What if I break down in the supermarket aisle? What if I can’t stop crying all throughout Christmas Day? What if, what if, what if?

This year (thanks to a lot of therapy) I’ve realised that my Generalised Anxiety Disorder is the main culprit for my future-predicting thoughts – but it’s likely that anyone dealing with grief will feel more vulnerable, sensitive and upset during December. Anticipatory grief is a bitch of an emotion because it’s usually not representative of how you’ll actually feel on The Day. Instead of focusing on a black/white scenario of being ‘OK’ or ‘Not OK’, aim for the grey area in the middle. Which is probably more likely!

9. Actively ‘remember’ the person who died.

If it feels like you’re constantly avoiding the grieving elephant in the room – well, why not lean into it? Sometimes embracing the fear is less problematic than you imagine. Bring the person who died back into your Christmas: for me, that means watching home movies of my parents, looking at family photos, and retelling my favourite holiday stories about them. I make them more alive.

I know how much my mum adored Christmas, and how important it was for her to see her family happy – so in a roundabout sort of way I let her do it again.

9. Enjoy the possibility of creating new traditions.

My new Christmas with my friend’s family involves a vegan Christmas lunch, a walk in the park nearby, and playing an old board game called Dizzy Dizzy Dinosaur (which my Dad and I brought to their house one year and the tradition stuck). Trying to recreate the old memories is a pretty dangerous activity, as it’s never going to feel the same. But changing and tweaking them into new traditions? That can work.

10. Treat yourself!

Just because you’re not getting presents from your parents anymore, that doesn’t mean you have to go without completely. Buy yourself something you’ve been lusting after for a while, or something which reminds you of them, or even the kind of present they might have bought for you. You can even wrap it if you want!

11. If you’re really dreading Christmas Day, do something totally different – like volunteering.

I’ve volunteered with a UK-based homeless charity called Crisis at Christmas almost every year throughout the last decade. I started the year before Mum died, and it’s strangely been really cathartic to have my own tradition that’s lasted me through the deaths of two parents. Spending a few days of the Christmas week with people from so many different walks of life is inspiring, humbling and honestly quite life-affirming for me – and it’s a good reminder that I’m not the only one who finds the festive season somewhat difficult.

12. Remember, you don’t have to celebrate Christmas at all. 

For some people, it makes the most sense to simply ignore the entire holiday and travel somewhere completely different. Unfortunately, I’ve come to realise this method doesn’t really work for me. When I’ve spent Christmas away from home (in San Francisco the first year after Mum died, and in Bolivia a few years later) I still felt just as sad – I just happened to be in a different part of the world.

However, what you CAN theoretically do to combat that sadness is fill your days with so much activity that you don’t have time to think. Escapism and distraction are your two key words here.

I’d recommend finding a jam-packed itinerary, perhaps with an organised tour company. Or round up a few friends who have an equal dislike of the holiday and all go away together, perhaps to a beach with plenty of cocktails..! There are even some grief support groups which arrange big trips with fellow griefsters to get through the holiday season en masse.

13. You have the freedom to choose what Christmas looks like for you.

It took me a long time to realise that I did actually want to celebrate Christmas in some form. It turns out that some traditions mean a lot to me (which is probably why it was so painful to lose them with my parents) and I’ve been lucky enough to have friends and chosen family who help celebrate those traditions: singing carols, opening stockings on Christmas morning, spending the day with people I’ve known my whole life who knew my parents really well too.

But I also get to decide that some elements of my past Christmases can be put to rest – or put on pause, at least. I don’t need to put up a tree in my house, or buy tons of presents out of stress and obligation. These things don’t make me feel any closer to my parents and it’s a strangely positive realisation to know their memory isn’t tied to every speck of my past Christmases.

14. Don’t be afraid to put yourself first – you’re allowed to be happy, whatever that looks like!

Ultimately, Christmas is your holiday – and ‘holiday’ really is the operative word. Think of it as little more than taking a break from your normal daily life and routine: if that means spending the day alone in bed, then that’s a perfectly acceptable Christmas. Just make sure that you’re doing what you want to do.

I have a decade of grieving Christmases behind me, and my feelings about Christmas are still bittersweet. They probably always will be. But I’ve made my peace with that now, more or less.

And so will you. I promise.

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  This time last year I could never have imagined where I’d be right now. But it happened. My dad died, and so my world shifted. Now, I’m spending a quiet Christmas Eve in my family house, without any surviving members of my family apart from me. And yet? That shifted world I inhabit is still beautiful. Different, yes – but undeniably beautiful. The dusk sky still shines with ethereal colours dancing through the clouds; traces of seawater still reflect smudges of fading light along the dappled sands, and it’s utterly mesmerising. I’ve been reflecting so much the past few weeks. I know my life has changed forever, but it’s still mine. I’ve spent the last decade since my mum’s death living fiercely: I’ve been experiencing everything I can of this beautiful world, and I won’t let that change. So merry Christmas, folks. The tide might be out in southwest Scotland, but soon it’ll come back to life again. And so will I

A post shared by Flora The Explorer (@florabaker) on Dec 24, 2017 at 8:29am PST

If you’d like to read more of my articles on dealing with grief, here’s a selection:

– The uncertainty of taking a loved one to hospital

– When community rallies around you in times of grief

– What happens when you’re grieving before a death?

– Saying goodbye when someone dies

– Three months of being an orphan

– Dealing with Christmas when you’re grieving

– Staying close to those you’ve lost by using their possessions

– Self care strategies for your mental health

– How to break the taboo of talking about death

Pin this article if you found it helpful!

  The post How I Cope With The Loss of My Parents at Christmas appeared first on Flora The Explorer.

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When Breaking Social Media Rules Leads to Better Engagement

It’s that time of year: when we’re tricked into longing for the dark, cold, grey reality that is winter. Seasonal ads inspire nostalgic glee through the promise of cozy moments in which we enjoy sweet, milky, caffeinated concoctions while wearing heavy knit caps and sporty puffer jackets, surrounded by all that glitters and smells of cinnamon. Meanwhile, the leaves are so beautiful and colorful they almost make you forget that everything is dying.

In other words, it’s an amazing time of year to be a brand who boasts any of the aforementioned attributes of the season. Brands, lean into the nostalgia-inspiring lies. After all, this gold and glittery season feels shorter and shorter every year, despite beginning earlier.

How shall one “lean in,” you ask? By breaking all the social media rules, of course.

Study after study will tell you to post once per day on Instagram. Sometimes, brands can post more, but generally, it’s best to keep the average at about 1.5 times a day. I strongly disagree (with data to back it up).

Breaking the Rules of Instagram: A Case Study

Once upon a time, about six months ago, I managed the campus accounts for Indiana University. If you’ve never visited IU, you might not understand the influence scenery can have on admission, retention, and donation rates. Let’s put it this way: The beauty of the campus is continually ranked as a top reason prospective students choose Bloomington.

That said, the love of the campus is exceptionally seasonal. The golden leaves of fall? The blooming trees of spring? These blink-of-an-eye seasons are times in which all rules should be broken for the sake of engagement.

Last April, perhaps as a final hurrah, I broke such rules to the tune of 13 posts in three days. Engagement on those three days alone equaled two weeks’ worth of engagement during April the previous year. With over 41,000 likes and comments, we attracted five times the engagement of our closest competitor, Ohio State University (see chart below, provided by Rival IQ).

We attracted 5X the engagement of our competitor by posting to Instagram 13 times in 3 days. Click To Tweet

What was I posting, you ask? The following pictures of flowers on campus.

Of course, you are thinking, “Yeah, duh, Christina. If you’re going to post 13 times in three days, you’re going to see more engagements.”

Not to brag, but, on average, we saw over 30 percent more engagement on each post than the competition. In other words, not only were we posting more often, but we were receiving more engagement on each of those posts than the competition as well.

You might be thinking that this sounds like the worst content creation issue in history. What did I do all day? Just take pictures of campus? Absolutely not! During these beautiful seasons, when the campus has no bad angles, we would receive tens of tagged photos every day. Consequently, more than 90 percent of our brand account’s shared photos were user-generated content—content that gives your brand human appeal and extra engagement.

Two weeks prior, I used the same strategy of pulling and posting user-generated photos of rainbows.

The engagement was astounding: The five photos posted over two days received over 25,000 engagements at over 5,000 likes and comments per post, beating our average post engagement rate by more than 40 percent.

Yes, it’s all good and fun to have tons of engagement. Still, everyone should continue to question, “What does this engagement mean?” Judging by the comments from Instagrammers (like those below), high engagement, in this regard, betters recruitment and retention. Here are a few recruitment-related comments:

ted__hy@kieraaaaaaaa_ Don’t forget to bring me to your campus

kieraaaaaaaa_@ted__hy One of the reasons why I’ve always wanted to take you to Bloomington

Cbootyking can’t wait to be on campus next school year

And a few retention-related comments:

emilia_mjdI LOVE MY UNIVERSITY

Mschreiber99 this is the most beautiful school in the world

Lambhazeleyed The flowers on campus are so gorgeous makes you want to skip class and just enjoy being out on campus @iubloomington

5 Tips for Breaking Social Media Rules the Smart Way

Say you want to do the same and join my troupe of happy rulebreakers. Good news: All are welcome! In fact, invite your friends. I offer up the following tips to help you break the rules as you never have before:

Set a threshold. This threshold does not need to equal your average engagement rate per post, but instead be an estimate of how much engagement you expect within a time period. For example, I needed only 1,000 likes on a post in an hour to post again, even though 1,000 likes was well below our average. Remember that engagements will continue to roll in on past posts even if you do post again.

Keep an eye on those engagement rates to catch opportunities to go into a posting frenzy. The longer you manage a brand, the better you know the power periods. When you see that engagement uptick through one such power period, make your move, and post away.

Keep your other eye on your tagged photos. If you see your audience tagging you (location, hashtag or account tag) in ample photos surrounding a particular subject (such as golden trees), pull one of those user-generated photos and post on your brand’s account. If it resonates, consider yourself in an impromptu power period.

The algorithm will deliver these posts to your audience out of order. Therefore, reiterating a point on all posts within a power period is not a bad idea. For example, I was sure to include a callout for students to tag IU in their flower photos each time I posted, up to six times a day.

Finally, expect to make mistakes. If at first you sneak out, get lost on the way to the party, and ended up grounded, try, try again.

We jolly rulebreakers are here for good. We shall push the boundaries of social media management until death, whether our own or the platform’s (RIP Vine).

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