#I have a quarter of this fic left to write folks it can Only get worse fr fr

[shiroselia]

Truly the question isn't if I'm going to break the record for longest Ao3 fic in the SSO tag, the question is by how Much I'm going to have the longest Ao3 fic in the sso tag

[space-mango-company]

Stranger | Chapter 5

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut, POV Second Person, No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon What Canon

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Not proofread!! Holy moly. Here it is, folks. The scene that inspired this whole fic. I had fun writing this so I really hope you enjoy it. Once again, I appreciate everyone who likes, comments, and/or leaves kudos so much. I really started this fic for myself but good golly, that dopamine rush whenever I get a notif might be more addicting than spice. I'm glad to be part of the bald man brigade.

Also, I can't believe I'm only now questioning why I decided to write this in the second person? I guess maybe I thought this fic would be a lot shorter and not that deep, lol. At this point 'y/n' probably has enough personality to just be a straight-up OC. It's funnier because I don't even find second-person or y/n fics any more engaging either. I always detach myself by giving 'y/n' her own name and only seeing her as a character in the fic.

ANYWAY, sorry to ramble. Stay safe and have a good one, ya weirdos.

You step out into the dark cul-de-sac of the guest hall, illuminated only by the large suspensor lamp in the middle. Feyd-Rautha looks you up and down, seemingly entranced by how the dim light casts his shadow on your modest dress. Atreides green, he recognized.

"Trying to sneak into my rooms again?" you say arms crossed, leaning on your door. "I didn't appreciate the last time, by the way."

"It's my house," he says cooly, "and I did knock this time."

You stare at him indifferently.

"Quite the display from you yesterday morning, using The Voice on me." His voice low and raspy, "I should have you drawn and quartered."

You scoff in his face. "You almost choked me to death. Are you trying to start a war?"

He takes a step closer and his face is inches from yours, you can feel his breath on your cheek, "I didn't think I'd like you this much, little hawk."

"What do you want, Feyd-Rautha?" you had no patience for him right now.

"Ah," he steps back, a dark smile on his face, "I've been waiting to hear my name from your tongue." His hand reaches for your lips. "I've grown quite tired of 'na-Baron'."

You grab his wrist before he can touch you. "If you're only here to toy with me, I would rather be left alone to prepare for bed." You release his hand and turn to open your door.

Feyd-Rautha props an arm against the doorway to block you. "We're to be married in three days," he says, "and I just can't seem to bring myself to let go of my 'harpies', as you called them." He meets your gaze. "You said you'd kill them. Did you mean that?"

You look up at him with steely eyes. He towered over you but your heart felt no fear, "Yes."

His coy smile returns. "Good. Come to my training hall tomorrow," he says, walking away.

"What?" you call after him.

"Dress to fight," he says over his shoulder. "I want to see what you can do, Atreides."

You needed no help from Zora in putting on a loose shirt and long pants. The plain beige outfit certainly wasn't as elegant as the dresses you had been wearing so far. But it was comfortable and you could fight in it, which was all that mattered. Still, you look yourself in the mirror. The soft, airy fabrics draped over your figure well but perhaps you were not in the best shape as you once were. Your muscle mass is much less than your brother's and he wasn't particularly built himself. You admit you did wane off your training sessions with Gurney and Paul leading up to your departure from Caladan. Nevertheless, you were still a skilled warrior. Another secret you've been keeping from the Harkonnens.

You were 14 when you started learning the blade. Watching Paul, 2 years your senior, practice with the Atreides Warmaster lit a fire in you. You didn't hesitate to pester your father to let you train with them and of course, there was nothing he could deny his darling daughter. You were a fierce and determined student. Gurney Halleck was a man you genuinely believed to be one of the best fighters in the Imperium, along with Duncan Idaho. Gurney would train you and Paul on even days. On odd days, your mother would teach you the Weirding Way. These lessons, much like the rest of your mother's teachings, your father wanted to know nothing about. After becoming decently adept at Prana-Bindu and gaining almost complete physical control of your body, Lady Jessica insisted that you also be skilled in the Bene Gesserit style of combat.

You were far from mastery in either but the combination of both trainings made you a formidable fighter. Despite this, you could never seem to beat your brother in a sparring match. A fact that frustrated you to no end, though you appreciated that Paul never went easy on you. You'd always blame it on him having trained for longer than you have. But in truth, you knew there had just always been something special about him.

"Are you ready, my lady?" Zora's soft voice wakes you from your thoughts.

"Hm? Right. Yes, let's go." You quickly tie your hair out of the way and grab your father's dagger from atop your dresser.

There was no fanfare when you entered the hall. On one end, the na-Baron's concubines sat chained on the steps of the shallow recessed pit in their leathers, their glares piercing through you. Your eyes linger on them as Feyd-Rautha and his Warmaster greet you.

"I was starting to think my lady bride was bluffing," Feyd-Rautha says as you approach him. The older man beside him offers you a polite bow.

"Perhaps she wasn't so keen on your brutish games," you bite back. "Your lord uncle won't be joining us?"

"No," Feyd-Rautha crosses his arms, "but he'll be hearing about your victory. Or your demise."

"Right. Well, I assume you'll be releasing them from those chains," you nod towards his pets "Not sure why they're necessary."

"Oh, trust me, little hawk. They're necessary." Feyd-Rautha motions to a servant.

"Your blade and shield, my lady," they bow, presenting you with a knife and a small device you recognize as a Holtzman shield.

"I've brought my own," you unsheath your father's dagger. You contemplate taking the shield but remembering that the na-Baron forwent it during his gladiator fight, you decide to do so as well. "They've no weapons anyway, the shield seems pointless."

Feyd-Rautha shrugs, "If you insist."

You take a deep breath, "Let's get this over with."

You lightly stretch as you walk down the steps of the shallow pit to stand opposite the na-Baron's concubines. You had come into this on the pretense of righteousness. For Iassa, you told yourself. But you've known her a mere two days. A part of you wanted to show off. You were good and you knew it. You could probably kill anyone in this room, even Feyd-Rautha. You craved the respect of the people here: the Harkonnens, the people of Geidi Prime. You figured this was one way to get it.

Feyd-Rautha walks around the pit to one of his concubines and kneels to whisper something in her ear. You assume a fighting stance when he moves to release her from the chains. When you meet her eyes, they are filled with feral bloodlust.

Suddenly, you weren't so bold. The veil of courage you have maintained since you arrived, even when Feyd-Rautha had your neck in his grip, is torn apart when you face this woman. You could tell no part of her would hesitate to rip your throat out with her bare teeth. You were almost relieved they were unarmed, but you weren't sure if that would make them any less lethal.

Fear grew in your chest and you had less than a moment to recite the Litany in your head before the concubine lunged at you.

You crouch down in time and slash at her abdomen as she approaches you. You turn to face her on the other side of the pit and she wastes no time in attacking you again. She attempts to grab your armed hand but you take hold of her wrist first and move to pin it behind her back. Quickly, your blade drags across her throat and she falls to your feet.

The kill has not yet registered in your mind but your heart is racing. You can almost hear your blood coursing through your veins. You held your arms outstretched, your eyes focused ahead, ready for the next one.

Across the pit, Feyd-Rautha licks his lips, smiling as he releases his second concubine. This time, you walk toward her while she moves to attack you. You clock her head with the pommel of your dagger and knock her a few steps back. She reaches a hand to wipe the blood beginning to drip out of her nose. After examining it, she snarls and bares her sharp teeth at you. Your mind is blank now. She dodges your first slash then manages to land a blow to your jaw. You seethe from the pain. You spit out the mixture of blood and saliva filling your mouth. The anger at the hit drives you to rush at her. Seeing an opening, you duck down to her waist and stab her twice. As she falls to her knees, the look of determination doesn't leave her eyes until the very last moment.

When you turn around, Feyd-Rautha has already released the last concubine. The ruthless scream she lets out disorients you. She pounces and knocks you over. She straddles you and pins your arms to the ground, your blade sliding inches away. She screams again in your face at the death of her sisters. You wedge your right knee between you and her abdomen, the only thing keeping her teeth from reaching your throat. You grunt as you struggle to free your hands. In your periphery, you see Feyd-Rautha, wielding his own blade, take a step into the pit.

"GET BACK," you roar, and he is powerless to refuse.

You turn back to your opponent still on top of you and you butt her head with your own. She loosens her grip and you kick her off to hastily crawl to your weapon. When she reorients herself and attempts to grab you again, you hook a knee under her arm and flip the both of you over. With your weight on her chest and both your knees pinning her arms down, she thrashes underneath you, claws digging into your right ankle. You take your blade in both hands and her screaming is silenced when you sink your knife deep into her heart.

When you rise, the room is quiet. Your chest heaves. The stark white ceiling lights don't help the lightheadedness that begins to wash over you in the post-adrenaline rush. Feyd-Rautha says something from behind you but his speech is garbled as you reel from the thrill of what just transpired. You were electrified. You almost... wanted more.

Then, the realization of the revolting scene you are in settles upon you and you are knocked off your high. You look at the leather-clad bodies scattered around you, the grotesque way they lay on the floor, the red blood pooling around them made brighter by the sterile grayness of the room. You did this.

A hand on your shoulder snaps you out of it. In reflex, you turn and raise your blade at the offender.

Feyd-Rautha holds his hands up, "Whoa, easy, Atreides. Trying to kill me? Don't want to start a war, do you?"

You yield your weapon. Your eyes dodge his as you look to your feet and try to steady your breathing.

"Enjoy your first taste of blood?" Feyd-Rautha says, the look in his eyes indecipherable to you. He raises a hand and swipes his thumb on your cheek. It comes away covered in crimson.

You gasp and reach for your face with your own hand. You don't even know if it's your blood or theirs, or when it got on you. Your heart pounded, unable to decide whether you were repulsed or proud.

"Look at you," he says licking the red off his finger. You could not help but stare at him through the strands of your hair that had come undone in the fighting. "You're beautiful like this," his hand reaches for your face again.

"No," you say low and quiet when you swat his hand away, "you're sick." You didn't know if you meant him or yourself. You calmly turn to leave. No one stops you when you make your way up the shallow steps of the pit. As you pass Iassa—no, Zora—by the doorway, you tell her flatly, "Prepare a bath."

You had never taken a life before. Today, you took three. You were glad you didn't know their names. You decided you'd never find out.

After Zora pours a final pitcher of hot water into the bath, you tell her, "You may go. I'll dress myself later, thank you."

She bows and makes her way out of your rooms.

In your solitude, you bring your knees to your chest. You had been quick to wipe the blood off your cheek before you even reached your quarters. Now, you cup the water into your hands and rub it into your face, the slight sting of the heat comforting you.

He was a cruel man, your betrothed. This is what you've decided. Having you kill the concubines he claimed to want to keep so much. But wasn't it you who threatened to kill them? He started it, you argue with yourself, when he had Iassa killed. You felt like a child.

When you used to hear of Feyd-Rautha's exploits, you had to mask your disgust. And yet now, you had killed so easily in that pit as he had in the arena. What was this place doing to you?

When you left Caladan, Paul had never killed anyone either. You wonder if he ever does, would he feel the same exhilaration you did when you slit that first concubine's throat. No. Your brother was fierce but, like your father, he had a good heart. You beat him by three. You hoped it would stay that way.

You think about your future here, marrying Feyd-Rautha. Producing heir after heir under the Baron's watchful eye. You were a broodmare. Despite all your fancy training and education. Despite your little demonstration earlier. It was the bitter truth.

You missed home. You missed walking along the beach at night with your father. You missed your mother's gentle hands brushing your hair. You missed the banter and teasing with your brother. You missed Gurney, and Duncan, and the cold breeze on your balcony, and getting to roam free and going anywhere you pleased. When the tears come, you sink deep into the bath so they might fade away in the water.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore @bornslippys @vexis-world @aoi-targaryen @alexandrainlove @mamawiggers1980 @sstardussty @aboutthenabaron

[danpuff-ao3]

The Making of: Orange Blossoms

HP Flowers, Spring Round, 2022. A prompt event with weekly prompt choices inspired by the language of flowers. Of course, I was intrigued! After all: I really love Harry Potter. And I really love flowers. And symbolism. Not to mention this would take place in May, my birth month!! This fandom event seemed tailor made just for me!

Sadly, when I get excited, I get really excited.

And this was all happening in a time period when I was busy. And thus: stressed. And I do not work well under stress.

May 2022 was not only HP Flowers, but also Snarry-a-Thon. Leading up to May, I was pulling out my hair to finish my Snarry-a-Thon fic, Contempt. Not only was I bound and determined to participate in Thon at least once, brilliant me decided it was the perfect time to write the story of my soul. But that's another story (which you can read about here.)

I so had my heart set on writing for HP Flowers. Not just a story in May for HP Flowers, but I had my heart set on posting a Snarry fic for Flowers on my birthday. Which is earlier in the month (the 8th, to be exact.) I was losing hope I'd be able to finish Thon and pop out another fic in time for my birthday. Thon was driving me batty as it was! Surely when I was done I would need a nice, long break from writing.

Fun fact, but I did sneak some of the HP Flowers prompts into Contempt. Week 1, option 4 gave:

4. Ivy- Fidelity or Attachment

If paired with: >> Dahlia- honours a long-lasting relationship OR >> Hellebore- says nothing will ever come between you and your partner

Which directly inspired:

Harry doesn't know exactly where Snape's quarters are, but Snape's name on the map leads him down to the dungeons and a door with no handle. Engravings in the stone, of serpents entwined with ivy and dahlias. No lilies, Harry is pleased to note. A speech bubble appears on the map, helpfully suggesting "hellebore" as a password.

If I couldn't properly write for HP Flowers, I thought that would have to be good enough!

But you're not here to listen to me babble about Contempt yet again. You're here for Orange Blossoms.

Well, I finished and submitted Contempt and there was time left before my birthday. I kept a notebook where I scribbled various ideas. There was plenty I wanted to write for HP Flowers. I had the whole month's prompts written down, going over various combinations and ships and ideas. Above all else, I needed a Snarry, and I needed to write it for May 8.

For Snarry, I was mostly drawn to the Week 1 prompts, though my birthday fell at the start of Week 2. The "ivy" prompt drew me in more than anything, though I dabbled with others. What to do, what to do. I had too many options and too many paths available to me. Few concrete plans.

It was frustrating, not to be swarmed with actual ideas. I'm forever plagued by story ideas, but having to form ideas on command, to fit within a framework? Not my usual style. Only for love of Snarry + flowers was I wracking my brain for any workable idea. C'mon, brain, you can do it! You do this all the time, popping out story ideas!!

It's hard to really lay out a step by step of how it all came together. I made list after list. Threw down Merlin knows how many random thoughts. I stared at the prompt lists. I did Google Image searches for all the flowers. And bit by bit it came together.

It was the language of flowers, after all. How perfectly that lends itself to courtship! And the Week 1 prompt list had an option for: "Use all of the flowers/plants listed above to either celebrate Beltane or to incorporate them in a magical garden." Beltane was too tempting not to include, but it also gave me the idea of looking to the other sabbats, and how to entwine paganism with the Wizarding World.

That birthed The Old Ways; an idea that various pagan traditions began with magical folk, and is part of Wizarding history. And how history and traditions can be sources of structure and comfort. Wartime drove people to marry. (Bill and Fleur, Arthur and Molly; Molly's comments about people eloping "left, right, and center.")

How would it feel to be away from your family, living at school while war rages on outside? A strange sense of safety (being at Hogwarts) while aware of how dark and dangerous the real world (outside of Hogwarts) is. Think of how hard it would be on children and teenagers. Think of how people turn to faith in difficult times; or even find faith in difficult times.

All of this sort of inspired the trend at Hogwarts, of learning about and following The Old Ways.

All of that was background, of course, and my very convenient excuse for love confessions via flowers.

At some point, I had to decide who would be courting who via flowers. If Severus sent them, Harry would need an outsider source (probably Hermione) to point out that "hey, flowers have meaning!" If Harry sent them, well, I can see Severus having floriography knowledge, but Harry would need a valid excuse to start it in the first place (hence the trend.)

There was also a need for secrecy, I think, if Harry was going to do this. He's our bold Gryffindor, remember? In ideal circumstances, he would make his move in other ways. (Though, in fairness, getting through Severus' thick skull is no easy task, whichever way you go.) And isn't it fun for a student/teacher romance, exchanging intimate confessions in whatever method possible? And this is the language of flowers. No letters to be found and studied and traced back to the sender.

I always love a good student/teacher, I won't lie. And there's something quite sweet about Severus being courted. And by a student, no less!

And I do love Severus. And he deserves nice things. Let the man be wooed, dang it!

So, the jumbled mess in my head more or less sorted itself out along the way. "Floriography...courtship...who courts who?...what reason would each have for sending flowers?...Beltane, the Old Ways, traditions and trends...wartime, student/teacher..." At last, I was getting there!

Elsewhere in my notes, I'd had vague ideas of handfasting at Beltane.

And looking at my more solid plan, it occurred to me. The taboo nature of their love, the darkness of the war around them...but the light of their love, and the sweetness in the method...

I often rely on sex to get Snarry together. There is so much explosive passion between them, and so much baggage, so much of who they are as individuals, how others see them, and their complicated and antagonistic history...It takes a lot, I think, for them to see their connection for what it is. To accept it in themselves, let alone revealing it to the other. All of that aggression and intensity unleashing itself in a physical manner. And all of my headcanons about each of them, and their loneliness, and their trauma, and the desire for affection and physical touch. And how much easier it is to communicate via touch. How difficult words can be, how difficult thoughts can be. All this to say, there is a reason for it.

But here, I had a perfectly constructed a scenario excluding touch almost altogether. A time of war, a time of desperation. People being driven by fear, and clinging to what they can. Two men who found love in the most unlikely of places, in an unfortunate time.

It seemed wasteful to bring sex into a situation where it wasn't needed.

So: it's rated T. And I indulged in my more romantic side for this. It's still easier for these two to communicate without actual words, but instead of physical touch, I relied on gift giving. It was a fun change of pace. And I leaned into the language of flowers a lot. I used the HP Flowers prompts, yes, but I also went outside of it, too.

A whole courtship without sex, and hardly talking at all. A whole courtship under the noses of all of Hogwarts. A secret they dared not breathe aloud, even to each other.

I have a lot of feelings about Snarry as a ship. The incredible power of their connection, and their love. How it bleeds into everything. And being able to express that in a whole new way was such a beautiful experience.

So with my plan more or less in place, I began. I used two prompts: Hawthorn (hope) and Ivy (fidelity.) So I opened with flowers.

1. Hawthorn- Hope

If paired with: >> Orange blossom- shows hope that the recipient will return your affection

When I began, I was content to have any Snarry + flowers story. I figured I'd get a drabble out of it, if nothing else. I didn't expect a love story that would bring me to tears. I ended up with a story that was so dear to me. The best birthday gift I could have given myself, truly!

[crystalessenceswrites]

Heyyy I wanted to submit a f!reader x commander wolffe request. I was wondering if you could do #18 ("Are you wearing my shirt?") and #13 ("Touch yourself for me.") from your smut prompt list (or one or the other or both in one fic ahah srry if its a lot to ask)? Anyways, I love your work thanksss~

Thank you lovely!! Means a lot to hear folks are enjoying my writing!! Two prompts is totally fine and thanks for these two, they worked really well together. I hope you enjoy!

Sorry for the wait on the follower celebration requests all, writers block decided to hit at the worst possible time.

Commander Wolffe x fem!reader Rating: E (18+) Warnings: explicit sexual content, masturbation, fingering, very light d/s tones, praise kink if you squint, Wolffe is a smug ass

Another cycle another credit. Well, that would be the case if any of you were getting paid for fighting in this Maker forsaken war. Instead, you and the rest of the Order traversed the battlefields in the name of peace, surrounded by men born and bred to fight and die for the Republic. The harsh reality of it all was beginning to rub you raw, leaving you with a pounding headache as you stalk away from the bridge. Anger. Frustration. Desperation. Emotions not befitting of a jedi. Emotions that leave you reeling.

It is automatic. Returning to your own quarters does not even cross your mind. You find yourself keying in the code to your commanders’ quarters through muscle memory. The one place in the universe where you can find solace these days with the one person who understands. Your mood drops a little more when you find the small space empty. He had left the debrief on the bridge before you, so you’d assumed he’d be waiting. You’d seen the recognition flash in his golden eye during the meeting, he well knew what kind of mood had settled over you. Hopefully, he wouldn’t leave you alone for too long.

With a sigh you start to shed your layers across the small space. Boots at the foot of his bunk. Plastoid bracers on the desk next to his neatly stacked holopads. Robes over the back of the chair. Clones don’t truly own anything but what Wolffe did have to call his own was always well kept. Armor cleaned and polished after every mission. Blasters maintained at the end of the day. His greys hang perfectly pressed in the closet, just in case. His two extra pairs of blacks folded with an unnatural precision. A precision you promptly destroy when you go digging though his trunk. Even after an industrial wash cycle his shirts still smells like him. If you could not have him right now, his clothes would have to suffice.

The oversized article does soothe some of the raging storm in your head. Climbing into his bunk you try to let the silence lull you into something akin to meditation, a half-hearted attempt to sort through your emotions like they taught you back at the temple. It was so much simpler back then without the future of the galaxy hanging in the balance. Before you considered breaking every rule for him. Maker how your world had flipped upside down since this war started.

Lost in your mind you do not catch the hiss of the door sliding open or the heavy footsteps cross the small room. The deep rumbling voice though, that snaps everything into place.

“Mesh’la, are you wearing my shirt?”

You’re not sure why he asks, there’s no denying it when you’re sitting in his bunk in nothing but his shirt and your underthings. Wide-eyed you nod up at him, toying with the hem resting across your thighs.

“Stealing my things now, cyare?”

Well, you would not call it that, “borrowing.”

The corner of his lip quirks up as his gaze stays pinned on you. It was nice to see him in such a good mood. Hopefully it would rub off. “For some reason I don’t believe you,” he chuckles.

You pout, though Wolffe is not fazed in the slightest. Not that a big lip and doe-eyes ever fazed him. He could be as stoic as he needed to be when he was in the mood to tease. And judging by the smirk growing on his lips he was more than in the mood.

“Tell me, cyare, why exactly are you “borrowing” my shirt?” setting down his bucket he pulls a chair up so he’s sitting across from you, eye trained on your curled up figure.

“I missed you.”

He flashes that smirk again, “oh really?”

You nod, watching him grow smug.

“Then why don’t you show me how much you missed me? Touch yourself for me.”

Heat rushes over you at Wolffe’s command. The things this man could do to you with a few words and a look. Biting your lip, one hand drags down your stomach, a small attempt to tease the commander for a moment as you toy with the hem of your panties.

Wolffe grunts and holds out his hand, “give them here.”

With another doe-eyed nod you slide the damp garment off, placing it in his waiting grasp.

“Good girl. Now show me that pretty pussy, cyare.”

Shifting back so you’re leaning against the wall you spread your legs wide, giving Wolffe an unobstructed view of you now sopping slit. His unabashed groan sends shivers down your spine.

“Go on, touch yourself for me.”

He does not have to tell you twice. With one hand you drag your fingers through your folds, coming up to circle your pearl. With the other you paw at your chest through his blacks, twisting and pinching your nipples just like Wolffe liked to do. It does not take long for the coil to build deep in your core. Wolffe’s heated gaze only turns you on that much more. He follows every movement, every gasp that falls from your lips, every touch that has you squirming under your own ministrations. Slipping one finger, then two, into your aching hole has him humming in quiet appreciation. Your head falls back against the wall as you reach so desperately for that spot to relieve the pressure.

“What’s wrong, cyare?” he smirks, leaning forward as if he needs a better vantage to watch you whimper from, “can’t cum?”

No, you can’t. Your fingers have nothing on his thick digits. No matter how you try you cannot seem to fill yourself the way he does. “Please, Wolffe. In need you.”

His grin is downright feral as he stalks towards the bed. With one swift movement the clone has you pinned beneath him; legs spread as he swats your hand away. Without preamble he plunges two fingers as deep as he can reach while his thumb attacks your clit. Everything about his touch is overwhelming and you gladly surrender, mouth dropped open in a silent scream as he brushes up against the spot you’d been so desperate to find.

“Look at you, mesh’la,” he murmurs, lips brushing over the shell of your ear, “so greedy for my fingers. Taking me so deep.”

“Oh fuck, Wolffe!”

His mouth trails hot and heavy down the column of your throat, nipping and kissing the soft skin as he continues to wreck you with his fingers. You’re helpless to do anything but grip onto his shoulder, nails digging into scarred skin as you pant and writhe beneath him.

“Think you can take another, cyare?”

The thought alone has you whimpering for him. “Y-yes.”

“Good girl,” he growls, adding a third digit at your weeping entrance.

The stretch alone sends you straight to the edge, the coil in your belly ready to snap and plumet you into bliss. “Wolffe- I’m gonna-”

“Do it,” he presses all three fingers against the spongy spot inside you with a come-hither motion, finally breaking the damn, “cum all over my fingers, ner jetii.”

White hot pleasure rolls over you in wave after wave as you flutter around his fingers. Wolffe doesn’t pause for a moment, continuing his thrust as you ride out the high. Always relentless in prolonging your pleasure. He does not pull away until you’re boneless and speechless.

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with why you missed me, now would it?”

Smug bastard. Rolling your eyes, you attempt to squirm away from his hold.

“Ah ah-” Wolffe clicks his tongue, refusing to let you escape- “I still gotta show you how much I missed you, cyare.”

[bbrandy2002]

Happy Birthday Burnsy!

The Country AU -- I'm Gonna Live Where The Green Grass Grows

Pairing: Drake x Alyssa, Liam x Riley, and a whole host of other TRR characters.

A/N: This was a silly little idea I had months ago for an AU built around the places and people where I grew up. I never had plans to actually write it, but I mentioned it to Burns, and well ... she wanted it lol so here we are. And she’s already read half of this and is the one who made the mood board for it and the song inspo hahaha. Thank you to @mskaneko for the edits of our OTP’s, and @charlotteg234 for pre-reading the first half of this.

Trigger warning: Gun usage, hunting, mild language ... I think that’s it

@burnsoslow

My dearest friend, when I think back at where we were one year ago, I can’t help but be reminded of the vastly different world we live in now. On February 5, 2020, there was no covid keeping us sheltered and fearful, families were complete, jobs were stable, and so many of the things we worried about then simply pale in comparison to now, Life wasn’t so bad. But here we are with all these new changes and mindsets. Through it all, one thing remained consistent: YOU. You have been my strength, my rock, the anchor that grounded me. We have cried together, laughed a lot together, worried for each other, and celebrated those small victories that were important to each other. And I get so happy when someone comments about how much they love the friendship between Riley and Alyssa because it's the most real part of Fearless. If anyone ever wanted to know what we’re like, it's all written out in that story. I’ve got your back, and you have mine. You’re my best friend and I just love the hell out of ya! I hope your birthday is amazing and that this fic is everything you wanted for this AU.

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On Sunday mornings in southern Georgia, you did one of two things: You woke up early for church services or woke up late to watch NFL football.

Some people figured out a long time ago how to do both.

Sitting in the back pew of the First Cordonian Church of Everlasting Peace, Alyssa Walker sat quietly with the sweetest southern belle smile, nodding her head along to the beautiful words spoken during Pastor Hakim’s sermon and hiding a pair of earbuds lodged in each ear. 

She and her husband, Drake, had laid claim to the pew when they were teens trying to sneak a kiss or two during prayers. After ten years of marriage, they no longer needed to sneak kisses but stayed in that same seat, believing the biggest sinners should stay as far away from the minister as possible. Why be the barrier that may prevent the spirit from reaching the rest of the congregation? The couple felt it was the least they could do.

They were actually pretty good folks and well respected in their community. Alyssa had taught first grade for eight years at the local elementary school, where her two children, nine-year-old Audrey and six-year-old Patrick, also attended. Her best friend since third grade, Riley, was the art teacher there. 

Drake worked nearby as the lead mechanic at Rys and Sons Chevrolet out on North Ramsford Avenue. Constantine had owned the auto dealership for 35 years before passing it down to his sons, Leo and Liam, when he ran for and became the town's mayor. Leo peaced out, heading to South Florida, while Liam took on the sole responsibility of ownership himself. 

And while most people in this sleepy little town of Cordonia were Falcons fanatics, Alyssa grew up rooting for the team where her parents were born and raised before settling in Georgia as newlywed lawyers: The Chicago Bears.

With the game against the Packers blaring into her ear, she kept a keen eye on the rest of her fellow parishioners. When they clapped, she clapped. When they sang, she sang. She raised her hands in hallelujahs when they did. She had learned to read lips and could “Amen” and “Praise God” right on cue with the rest of them. All the while, she sat in contentment, listening to her weekly football games. 

“The score with 14 seconds left in the second quarter is Chicago -- 14, Green Bay -- 17. The Bears have the ball on the 5-yard line. It’s third and goal. If Trubisky can score here, they’ll go into the locker room at halftime with a lead for the first time in this game, or possibly tie it all up with a field goal after this down. This is a huge, HUGE play, Jim ...” 

Alyssa twined her fingers together and lowered her forehead onto them as she waited with bated breath for the announcer to call the play-by-play. As far as anyone else knew, she was praying fervently for the Hebrews crossing the parted Red Sea away from Pharoah's army that the pastor was chronicling.

“And here comes the snap. Trubisky backs up. He tosses to Robinson in the end zone. OHHH! So close… batted away by Alexender …”

“JESUS!” Alyssa yelled out in anger. With earbuds in, she didn’t realize how loudly that just came out of her mouth. Drake nudged her in the thigh. She glanced over at him for a second before he nodded to the 123 pairs of eyes that had all turned at once in her direction. It instantly dawned on her that everyone in the congregation heard the outburst.

Feeling the color drain from her face, Alyssa placed a hand over her chest and addressed, “I am soooo into this sermon, Hakim. Woohoo! Go, Jesus, go!” She pumped her fist in the air like she was rooting him on.

Drake dropped his face onto Patrick’s shoulder, who was sitting on his lap, to cover the incessant laughter that threatened to spill out of him. He was doing a terrible job of it, as a momentary burst of muffled snickers could be heard through the sound of the game playing in Alyssa’s ear. Her husband was nothing but a big kid himself -- she wouldn’t change that for anything.

“Mommy,” Audrey whispered next to her. “It’s about Moses. Not Jesus.”

Alyssa smiled, patting her daughter’s knee. “Same thing, baby. They both performed miracles.” She cut her eyes to the phone hidden under the cardigan draped across her thighs. “And the Bears need a miracle right now, guys,” she muttered, “Part those shithead Packer’s defensive line, Lord. It’s time to help my Bears get to the promised land.”

“Going for it on fourth down, Trubisky drops back. The Packer defense is putting a lot of pressure on the Bear’s offensive line. Every man is covered in the end zone. He has no one to throw to, Jim. They’re running out of time. Four seconds left. And, NOOO, they sack Trubisky on the 10-yard line … WAIT THE BALL IS LOOSE … THE BALL IS LOOSE ... he fumbled the ball. The Packers are scrambling to get it. There are green and white jerseys all over that ball. BUT LOOK … Green Bay’s Klark picks it up. He’s running the other way … and he just slipped … he just slipped, and the football fell right into the hands of Chicago’s Robinson --”  

Alyssa grabbed Drake’s thigh, her fingers digging deeply with hope and panic. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” her stressed words weren’t audible to the crowd, but they were speaking volumes in her heart.

“--Robinson’s on the 20, now 15, he’s sweeping past the defense to the 10 -- 5 -- TOUCHDOWN, CHICAGO!!!”

"FUCK YES!" Alyssa jumped up, her arms outstretched in a V shape. “Hallelujah. Holy shit. Thank ya, Jesus.” She let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing short of elated, not concerned in the slightest by the heads that twisted around again.

Hakim stood slack-jawed from the raised platform for a moment, his tallish physique slouching on the pulpit, before adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat deeply. "I'm certainly glad, Sister Alyssa is ... feeling the spirit this morning."

"I am feeling it, Brother Hakim," She shook her head profusely. "I. Am. Feeling it." She shot him a dimpled grin.

Drake snorted loudly, covering his face with one hand and grabbing the side of her dress to pull her back down with the other.

They turned to each other, neither one able to control the snickering and shaking of their bodies. Drake lifted a sleeping Patrick over his shoulder while Alyssa grabbed Audrey's hand; the Walker couple decided they were too immature for church this morning.

They laughed all the way to the parking lot.

"It's never a dull moment with you, baby girl," Drake chuckled, turning over the ignition.

"You know me …” She blew on her nails before rubbing them against her chest. “... just doing the Lord's work." 

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

It was customary in Cordonia for families to gather together each week for a big supper after church. 

The Walkers traditionally took turns hosting with Liam and Riley, and Constantine and Regina. This week's meal was at the elder Ryses.

Sitting down at the dining room table, everyone licked their chops, hungry and ready to dig into all the made-from-scratch southern goodness Mrs. Regina had prepared: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, green beans with hamhock, corn-on-the-cob, deviled eggs, biscuits, sweet tea, and coffee. It was all accompanied by two containers of broccoli salad, Alyssa picked up from the Piggly Wiggly deli after church, and Riley's lopsided carrot cake.

There was always a lot of food, a lot of love, and what would it be in a small town without a little gossip here and there.

"Regina, you've outdone yourself on this meal," Liam raved while placing his five-month-old son in a high chair and fastening the clasps. "If it tastes as good as it smells, we're all in for a big treat."

Everyone agreed as she sat down, Constantine pushing her chair in with a peck to the top of her head. "Thank you, Liam." She looked up at her husband with a sincere smile, rubbing his arm. "Only the best for our family."

She meant every word of that as she and Constantine glanced around the table at all the cheerful faces of the people they loved most — that included Drake and his family. 

Drake's father had been the sheriff for many years before his untimely death, while the younger Walker was a teen. Connie had never met a braver, more hard-working man than Jackson; the now mayor stepped in after that death to be the father figure in Drake's life. Drake was already best friends with Liam, and over time, the family just considered him one of their own. Drake and Alyssa's children referred to them as Mamaw and Papaw Rys.

As everyone settled in and passed the food around the table, the doorbell rang; 7-year-old Ellie -- Liam and Riley's oldest -- jumped up to answer it. With everyone focused on getting their helpings, Riley leaned over and whispered to Alyssa, "Any more scoop on Savannah?"

Alyssa passed the potatoes to her and answered in a hushed tone, "I drove past her house yesterday ... Chuck was there. His big rig was backed right up into the driveway. They're not even trying to hide it anymore."

"I knew it." Riley slapped a scoop of potatoes onto her plate, passing them across to Liam. "When does Bertrand get back from that Bankers Convention in Atlanta?"

"I think Max said on Tuesday. And I guarn-damn-tee, Chuck will be there until then."

"Of course he will. Have you told Drake yet?"

Alyssa shook her head, peeking over at her husband, who was in hog heaven, dousing everything on his plate with white gravy, blissfully unaware of their idle chitchat. She turned back to Riley. "Not yet. You know how protective he is. I'll need to hide the gun cabinet keys when he finds out ... if he finds out. You remember how upset he got when Bianca got caught at the Love's Truck Stop with Landon Ebrim over the summer. His mama can do what she wants, but not with a married man."

Riley agreed with a nod before taking a sip and swallowing her sweet tea. "Ya know, I've never seen sweet Emmaline that angry."

"Yeah, me neither. She sure whopped ass that day." They both giggled lightly. "Landon's dentures flew clean across that truck lot."

"I saw her the other day at the Food Lion, grinnin' like a baked possum. Got that ol' dog for everything he had."

Alyssa huffed, "Cept' his nuts."

Ellie ran back in and hopped in her chair. "Miss Olivia is here!"

Alyssa stiffened, clutching her fork a little tighter before letting out a faint groan. Not that she didn't like the Assistant Principal of Cordonia Elementary -- she was her boss, after all, and they grew up together -- she could just be a little off-putting, sometimes with her treatment of Drake. In light of Olivia's recent divorce, she had, however, started directing most of her scorn on her ex-husband, Anton.

Everyone greeted Olivia as she strolled in behind the youngster, shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on a counter with her purse. "I smelled your chicken and taters all the way from Lythikos Drive, Regina. You know how I love a good rib stickin' meal."

"Is Travis and Waylon here?" Patrick piped up eagerly from the children's table, hoping to have some boys to play with rather than the three little girls who kept ganging up on him.

Olivia pulled out a chair and started loading her plate down. "They're with their daddy this weekend, sugar. I'll tell them you asked about them."

Drake lifted his coffee mug, not making eye contact with anyone. "Speaking of ... I saw Anton yesterday at the Dollar Tree ... with someone." He smirked into his drink. While everyone else knew who and was trying to avoid the elephant in the room, he owed her for years of squabble.

"Who? Madeleine?" Olivia spat, adding heaping spoonfuls of sugar to her already overly sweetened tea. "Bless her rotten heart, he was seeing her before our break up. Moved in with her right after the divorce was final, so I hope she's enjoyed cookin' and cleanin' after my youngins' all weekend, cause she's gonna be doin it a hell of a lot more now that she got herself fired."

Madeleine was a bank teller in the drive-thru at First Cordonia and also Leo's ex-fiancee. 

"Madeleine got fired?" Alyssa asked in surprise. "She's been there for years."

The redhead swirled the sugar around in her tea with a spoon before licking it off and continuing, "Mmm-hmm. Bertrand caught her on video, stuffing her gaudy drawers into the vacuum tubes at the bank and sending them to that bastard when he drove through to make a deposit. He was making deposits alright. Right between her scrawny, cankled ass --"

"Olivia!" Liam quickly interjected, knowing once she got going, it would likely turn R-rated with several little ears listening. "I'm dying to hear how the Christmas Festival for next Saturday is coming along." He shot a look across the table at Drake for getting her worked up. Drake simply grinned.

By late afternoon, supper had been eaten, dishes cleaned, and pants unbuttoned. After a couple of hours of chatting on the back porch and watching the kids play, the two younger couples packed up leftovers Regina insisted they take home and were ready to hit the road. 

Liam and Riley lived next door and walked out with the Walkers who were making their way to the Tahoe parked on the street.

Alyssa bounced and cooed over baby Jacob before handing him back to Riley and getting into the vehicle's passenger seat. 

Liam was leaning into the driver's side window, having a casual discussion with Drake about the opening day of deer season next Saturday and asking what time he wanted to head out.

Alyssa was half-listening and half-working the stereo when an idea popped into her head. "You know what would be fun?” Both men stopped talking and glanced over at her. “We should all go?”

Drake knit his brows. “Go where?

“Hunting. We can make it a double date. You and me, Riley and Liam. The great outdoors. Some quality time together. I’ll even make snacks for everyone. It’ll be fun,” her voice was chipper. She was excited about it. 

She was also deadly serious. 

So were the dubious looks Drake and Liam gave each other over the thought of taking their wives on the most important hunting event of their year. Not that either didn't enjoy spending time with their significant others, but hunting was a whole different world. It was a one-person sport where you spent the day away from reality and responsibilities and just enjoying the great outdoors —a place to be alone and experience the thrill of a good hunt.

“Guys, I’m serious. We go fishing together, and I’ve shot targets plenty of times. I really wanna go hunting with you. Riley wants to go too, don't you?” She cast an inquisitive glance out her window at Riley, who glared back with the biggest what-the-fuck look she'd ever made. “See, she wants to go too.”

“Baby,” Drake began softly, giving her knee light squeezes. “I don’t mind taking you, but this is opening day. We’ll be in the woods for hours, in the cold. It’s not really what someone would consider a ‘date.’ And we’re going to the Festival that night … we’ll get a chance to spend time together there.”

She held his gaze as her lips began to quiver. “I understand. You .. you need time to be away from me, and it was a dumb idea anyway --”

“No,” Drake cut in. His heart plummeted from the sadness in her voice and eyes. “That’s not it at all. I love spending time with you. And if you really want to do this, then … let’s do this.”

“Really? We can go together?” Drake nodded with a smile before she squealed in his ear and pulled him into a tight hug. “I can’t wait! Thank you!”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Liam let out a heavy breath as he looked over at Riley -- The woman he knew would not be a fun hunting partner next week -- still standing on the sidewalk, appearing like she might faint. “Yeah ... I can’t wait either.”

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Saturday. 5:15 a.m. The cellphone alarm on Drake’s bedside table let off a series of rhythmic beeping sounds and vibrations. 

The alarm wasn’t needed. The man had been awake for hours, listening to his wife's gentle snores; the anticipation of bringing home at least a 12-pointer keeping him from falling back asleep. 

Letting out a ferocious yawn and a hearty stretch, he picked up his phone to dismiss the alarm and rolled over to wake Alyssa.

With her ass perfectly curled into the space between his stomach and thighs, his hands settled on her curvy hip, jostling her slightly. “Time to get up, my little peach. We gotta get crackin’ before all the good deer are gone.”

“I just need one more hour, okay? Thanks,” she protested with a drowsy murmur, pulling the pillow over her head.

Drake chuckled, rubbing soothing circles over her back. “No. We have to get up now. We’re wasting time, sleepyhead. Unless … you don’t want to go.”

Alyssa’s heavy eyes stung as she tried to peel them open one at a time. “No, I wanna … go ...” she trailed. Her eyes slowly shut again, and she was out.

On a day like today, Drake was usually up and ready in ten minutes. Once he could finally get his wife out of bed, dressed, and back awake again from where she fell asleep on the toilet, it was close to 45 minutes. 

Maxwell, who was also a childhood friend and the music teacher where Alyssa taught, rented the room over their garage. He agreed to come down that morning and watch the kids while the pair spent their morning in the woods. Bianca used to help out in that regard, but the kids complained she slept the whole time, and Alyssa was pretty sure her mother-in-law smoked pot around them.

Drake loaded up the truck, placing his rifle and a smaller .22 caliber for Alyssa behind the seat. Dragging herself slowly to the vehicle, the night sky still pitch black and her breath turning to thick vapors in the frigid air, she listlessly tossed a Taylor Swift tote bag on the floorboard and climbed in.

Drake looked at his phone after everything was packed up to see if Liam had sent a message about being late. It was unusual for him not to be there already. Typically, his best friend was up and at his house before Drake was even ready. He sent off a quick text to check.

Drake: Where you at, man?

Liam: Running late. Riley had to put makeup on and do her hair. 

Liam: I’m having so much fun already 😑

Liam: snark

Drake: Lyss couldn’t decide which gloves looked the best with her orange vest. I guess she wants to impress the deer before she kills them.

Liam: We’re not catching deer today. We’ll be lucky if we catch a cold. Be there in 10.

Twenty minutes later, Liam’s gray Silverado pulled onto the Walker’s gravel drive. Riley had wanted biscuits and gravy from McDonald's, and she had to run back inside to pee, so that set them back. But, with everyone now there, they were finally ready to head out.

Just down the rural road from where Drake and Alyssa lived, the current sheriff of Cordonia, Bastien, owned several acres of unoccupied land that he used for recreation. He had been a close friend of Drake’s dad and agreed to let Drake and Liam hunt and fish on his property whenever they wanted.

Turning onto the dirt road and opening the gate, the four friends arrived at their spot just as dawn was breaking. 

No one spoke much as they trekked through the mud, sticks, and brittle fall leaves that littered the path to the deer stands. Riley and Alyssa were too exhausted to say anything. Drake and Liam just weren’t used to talking at all.

"Riley, love,” Liam whispered softly. “Can you watch how you’re walking? The noise is going to scare the deer away.”

“I can’t help it if … " She reacted loudly in frustration before Liam placed a finger over his lips, and she resumed speaking more quietly. “I can’t help it if there're leaves everywhere. I’m walking on them as delicately as possible.”

“How much further? I think my toes are frozen and I need coffee.” Alyssa bemoaned while walking on the balls of her heels. Drake was basically dragging her sluggish body by the hand. Her eyes were still drooping from exhaustion with every careful step.

“Just over yonder of that fence row is our stand.” He pointed out.

Alyssa aimed her flashlight around the woods in several spots. "And where do we pee at?"

Liam lightly snorted as Drake answered matter-of-factly. "Just over yonder of that fence row below our stand."

"Oh ... " her tone was small and apprehensive, "... I guess that's ... okay." She glanced back timidly at Liam, who was following close behind.

He shielded his eyes from the beam of her flashlight in his face and frowned. "I'm not going to watch you pee, Alyssa."

Riley gasped, "Eww! I don't want Drake watching me pee either." 

"Shhhhh." Liam was quick to remind her again of the volume of her voice.

"Stop, shushing me, Liam! Those deer don't know I'm out here."

Drake grunted, then whipped around to face the three of them. "Would you keep your voices down? No one's watching anybody take a piss," he whisper-yelled. "Lyssa and I will be at least a hundred yards away from ya'll. Riley, I promise you can piss your little heart out, and I won't see it."

"We're separating?" Alyssa asked wistfully. "What if I need to ask Riley something, and she can't hear me yelling across to her?"

"You'll just have to ask her when we're done, baby girl. And ... please don't yell questions to her while we're out here. Low voices."

They continued on with their noisy hike.

"Having so much fun," Liam grumbled to himself.

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

Liam and Riley headed to their tree stand as Drake helped Alyssa climb up the ladder to theirs. 

The stand and ladder were made of plywood -- chipped and faded from years of exposure to the elements -- and were attached at the apex to an oak tree about twenty feet off the ground. At the top it had enough room to take a step onto, with a wooden seat just wide enough to accommodate them. One plank rail came out on both sides. 

Alyssa plopped down onto the seat, clutching her tote bag of goodies on her lap. She lifted the brim of the orange beanie she borrowed from Drake -- that smelled of animal carcass and gun powder -- above her eyes and peered out to the wilderness spread monumentally below. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled the fresh, dewy air, taking in the sounds of twittering birds, branches clashing from the nearby squirrel frolicking on them, and the rippling of a bubbling brook streaming down the hill. 

A pleasant warmth overcame her as Drake's much larger body sat down next to her and protected her from the frosty wind blowing in from his side.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into him. "I can see why you like this so much. It's so quiet and peaceful ... look how purty it is out here, Drake. It's just real purty, isn't it?"

Working diligently on getting their gear together, he stopped briefly to look out; affection glowed in his eyes. “It sure is, darlin’. Almost as purty as you ... and notice I said 'almost.'” He winked, and Alyssa blushed, feeling that same love trickling up inside her she'd had since they were teenagers. Drake could charm the pants off a chipmunk, but she was thankful he only used that gift on her.

"Sooo ... " She drawled in her thick Southern accent. "How long will it be before the deer start coming out?" 

Drake drew the barrel of her gun back after loading it with shells and explained, "Don't know. It could be minutes. It could be a few hours. Just whenever they head this way, I reckon."

Perplexed, Alyssa nodded slowly. "A few hours? I s'pose that's okay. What do you do while you're waiting?"

He shrugged, passing a gun to her. "You just ... sit here."

"You just sit here and do what?"

Drake leaned over to kiss into her orange cap and replied, "Wait."

"Wait." She acknowledged. "I can do that. I'll just sit here ... and wait."

Several minutes had passed, and Alyssa was already bored with listening to nature, Drake's gurgling stomach, and sitting quietly with nothing to do. Every so often, a shotgun blast was heard in the distance, signifying either someone out there had gotten their prize or Riley had driven Liam insane. It was the only break from the monotony that came with the boredom of sitting in a tree for who knew how many hours.

Letting out a giant exhale that caught Drake's attention, she propped her rifle against the railing and pulled the cloth tote that was sitting between her boots into her lap. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out her phone and began thumbing out a message.

Drake furrowed his brows and asked, "What're you doin'?" 

"Just texting Riley,' she answered dismissively. He shook his head and leaned it back against the tree while she formulated her message.

Alyssa: You still alive over there? How's it going?

Riley: This is boring as shit.

Riley: And now my texting is apparently scaring away the deer. F the deer Liam. F all the damn deer!!!! What were you thinking, Lyss?

Alyssa: I was thinking we could spend quality time with our husbands. The men we love and cherish with all of our hearts. I’m having a great time with Drake so far 😍😘

Alyssa: And no one twisted your arm to come bitch.

Riley: Liam's just staring through binoculars. He hasn’t spoken in 20 minutes except to tell me to point the gun away from him or to quit moving. Let’s go get our hair did at Adelaide's.”

Alyssa: OHHH Yes! And get Chinese food ... CRAB RANGOONS!! I'll have Drake drive us back. Girls Day Out. Love you!

Drake let out a belch and blew it away when Alyssa turned to him with a dazzling smile and a sparkle in her blues. "Can you drive Riley and me back to the house?"

"What? Right now?" he shrieked. She answered him with a cheerful nod. "What happened to all that talk about wanting to spend quality time with me?"

"I still do. But ... we're just sitting here, not really doing anything. I could be getting my hair done for tonight's festival. I also have a ton of laundry to do, some papers to grade, and I’m supposed to be making the Devereaux’s famous peach cobbler for the raffle. If I leave now, I’ll have time to do all of it.” Alyssa knew she probably wouldn’t do half of that, and Audrey would likely make the cobbler, but it made the situation sound more urgent.

"It's opening day, baby. I'm not leaving this spot." He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his keys. "If you and Riley wanna take my truck, I'll ride back with Liam."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know my way back to the truck. And I sure as hell know Riley doesn't."

He smirked, stuffing his keys back. "Then you're stuck."

The next hour was brutal. Alyssa texted Riley to alleviate the boredom for several minutes, but there had been no responses in a long while. She wasn't aware that Liam tossed her friend's phone over the hill when she started making TikTok videos of her plight -- Liam took his deer hunting seriously: No noise meant no noise.

Drake wasn't much better; he was quieter than his usual self. It wouldn't have been so bad if she could at least talk. An occasional whispered word was not going to cut it.

Alyssa sighed heavily. She wiggled around for comfort. She unwrapped a Nutty Bar. She crunched. She opened a can of pop. She tapped her fingers. She flipped the pages of a magazine. Each one got that look from Drake that let her know it was too loud. If she ever made it out of there, she planned to jabber and stir until she couldn't do it anymore.

After another half-hour of stewing quietly in her thoughts without a sign of a deer anywhere, Alyssa decided now was the time to finally just talk. 

"Do you ever think about having another baby?" It was a topic that had been on her mind for a while. To her surprise, Drake didn't give her a look or even freak out the way she anticipated. Despite his own rule of silence, he even responded in kind.

"Yeah. Kind of a lot."

Her right brow darted up. "Really?" 

Drake took a breath and shifted the gun across his lap. "I mean, of course. It's always been my dream to settle down and have a bunch of youngin's with the woman I love." He studied her lit-up face; he'd swore she'd gotten more beautiful with age. That's why he hesitated when he added, "But ... "

Her shoulders slumped at his words, and a deflated look impressed upon her face. "But ... " The word barely made it past her lips.

Drake reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. "Lyssa, we have so much going on right now. You're working on National Boards, Audrey has piano recitals and basketball, Patrick has peewee football and Boy Scouts. We barely have time -- except for right now -- for just ... us. I'm not saying,"never"... just that right now ... isn't a good time."

"I understand that, but ... we've always made it work. And don't you miss those tiny little fingers wrapped around yours? And the way they smell fresh out of the bath? And those chubby little cheeks pressed up against yours?" she goaded.

“Of course I do. I remember the first time I held Audrey and PJ in my arms -- there’s just no better feeling in the world than ...to look down ... " Drake paused as his voice cracked, and his brown eyes glistened like glass. " ... and to see someone so small ..." When she sniffled, it made it that much harder for him to speak. "... that you created with the woman you've loved since you were 16 years old. But I like who they are now, and watching them grow, and doing things with them ... And, well ... there’s no shit clean up.”

“You obviously haven’t washed Patrick's clothes in a while,” Alyssa retorted with a chuckle that brought out one in her husband.

"I’ll have to talk to him about that." He gazed deeper into her eyes. "But I do love you ... more than all the peaches in Georgia, Lyssa Claire.”

Alyssa smiled.“That’s what you said to me when you promised to marry me when we were teens.”

Drake returned his own smile. “I did. I remember like it was yesterday too. Sitting in your parent’s basement, watching Friends reruns, eating pizza, making out. And hell, it’s still as true today as it was then. Somehow, even more."

Their cold lips parted and joined halfway for a fervent kiss, with Drake's hand meandering around the subtle groove at the junction of her waist. Just as it became more intense and desirous, a rustling of twigs off in a nearby thicket caught Drake's ear, and he broke away, his eyes scoping the perimeter. Alyssa wasn't offended, she heard it too, and her heart raced with excitement.

Lifting the binoculars hanging from his neck, he spotted two deer eating from a blackberry patch some thirty yards away. He pointed in their direction; Alyssa gave a quick thumbs up, letting him know she saw them too.

Drake carefully lifted the rifle resting in his lap as Alyssa leaned forward and squinted to get a better visual. "Is that a buck and a doe?" she whispered, not moving an inch.

"Sure as fuck is." He mounted the stock of his .30 caliber, Winchester, just beneath his collarbone;  the rush of this moment coursed ravenously through his body. He lined up the scope and placed a steady finger on the trigger -- his thumb pulling the hammer back.

“Wait.” Alyssa loudly whispered. “You can’t shoot him.”

"I'm gonna. Better cover your ears."

"No, Drake. There's a doe with him. What if that's his wife? You can't just leave her all alone without him."

"Lyss, this is the whole reason we're out here."

"So you can make a widow out of her?"

"No ... so I can make deer chili out of him."

Alyssa's mouth flew open. "No. No. RUUUUUUUUN! RUUUUUUN!"

Drake pulled his face away from the scope and fired her a look. "What the hell are you doing? They're getting away!"

She tilted her chin boldly. "I don't care. That was her husband, and they're in love, and you can't take that away from them. I would be so sad if we were just out eating berries and someone came up and shot you, ALL SO THEY COULD EAT DRAKE CHILI!". 

Drake dropped his head. He knew there was no point in arguing with her. As long as he’d known her, she was stubborn, and at that moment, she was dead set in believing those two deer were living out the greatest romance of all time. Nothing he said or did would change her mind on that. 

A thought emerged while he attempted to comprehend the logic of the situation. Those deer ran off in the direction where Liam was set up. Maybe if he could give his friend a heads up, it was still possible at least someone would leave those woods with the prized buck.

Turning his back from Alyssa so that she couldn't stop him, he pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed Liam. Alyssa knew what was up and jumped to her feet, thrusting her arms around him in an attempt to stop the travesty.

"You can't do this, Drake," she hollered, "That’s her soulmate. And why don't I have a walkie-talkie? I want a walkie-talkie!"

While seated next to Liam, Riley was swinging her legs, purposefully making the soles of her boots scrape against the platform. Liam tried to ignore her; maybe he had been a little too uptight about every little noise and utterance she made. But this was playing a whole different ballgame now: she was now making it her mission to piss him off.

Prepared to pound his head against the tree, Liam gritted his teeth, skimming his eyes in her direction. "Love, do you have to do that?"

"Did you have to throw my phone in the woods?" She spat back.

Liam rubbed his hand over his face. "No, and I am sorry that. I apologize for all of eternity. I promise I will get you another one as soon as we get back, okay?”

Riley huffed. "Fine, but that phone had all of my contacts on it. It had our babies' pictures and videos on it ... our vacation photos. I can't get those memories back ever, and I have to find it, and God only knows where it landed. It could be ..." She stopped rattling on when she caught sight of the distressed look Liam was giving her. Knitting her brows, Riley asked, "What?"

"Nothing ... just ... can you lower your voice a little? You're gonna scare the deer away," 

He regretted it as soon as it came out. 

“LIAAAAM!”

He saw the steam gushing out of her ears. There was no time to answer the incoming call on his walkie-talkie from Drake.

Belting out a furious screech, Riley jumped up and tried to jerk the gun from his hands. There was no question she wouldn't shoot him, but she'd sure as hell shred his favorite gun apart piece-by-piece and toss them all the way to Portavira Lake on the other side of town.

Riley tugged with all of her might. "I have HAD IT with being quiet for those damn deer, Liam. HAD IT!"

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down ..." He stood up in front of her, pulling back on the rifle even harder, surprised -- and not pleasantly so -- his considerably smaller wife had this much struggle in her.

"Don't you sweetheart me. You have shushed me for the last time, Liam Preston Rys!"

“Okay, I’m sorry! But can you at least admit us fighting over a gun is dangerous? Somebody is going to get seriously hurt, and I don’t want it to be you, Riley. Please. I won’t shush you anymore, I promise.” His face softened, eventually adorning a loving smile at his wife, who, with a sigh, was unable to resist that handsome face and relaxed her grip. 

Riley gave him a half-smile in return. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve ruined your hunting trip.”

“Yes ... you did.” Liam agreed, dodging the playful slap she nearly made to his upper arm. “But I don’t want to fight anymore.”

With the War of the Ryses finally over, they went in for a makeup kiss until Drake’s voice called out to Liam again through his walkie talkie. Liam set the gun down on the bench and leaned it against the tree before he started digging into his pocket to answer the device. Riley dropped down onto the seat, her elbow brushed against the rifle and caused it to slide away until the barrel end hit the railing and set off a powerful blast.

When the ringing in both of their ears subsided, and the smoke had cleared, Liam and Riley collected themselves from the sudden spine-gripping explosion that shook them both. While Riley explained to Liam what happened, a hysterical sounding Drake came back over the walkie-talkie, wailing, “Alyssa’s been shot! Alyssa’s been shot! Help me!”

__________________

Later that evening, in the courthouse square, the street was lit up with zig-zagged rows of red, green, and white lights. Strands of garland were wound around every lamppost in perfect spiraled loops, and red bows hung and waved with the wintry breeze.

With traffic rerouted away from the area, vendors lined sidewalks selling local goods to put the town's citizens in the festive spirit. What would this small town in Georgia have been without boiled peanuts, low country boil, fried green tomatoes, barbecue, and peach everything? 

Once Constantine had lit the 30-foot spruce, surrounded by hundreds of merry people from all walks of life that made up this small community, the festival was officially kicked-off.

In a large tent set up on the square, Liam and Riley laid out styrofoam containers and drinks they’d purchased from a barbeque vendor on one of several picnic tables inside. With their two young daughters munching away on their meal, and the stroller with their sleeping son beside them, they both sat down with heavy hearts and restless minds.

Liam bit into his barbecue sandwich, noticing Riley only prodding at her mac-and-cheese while staring off into the distance. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong; he knew what happened that morning was bothering her with guilt and worry. It wasn’t every day she accidentally shot someone.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Riley shook her head slightly with a sad look. “No. It’s just not the same without Alyssa here. You know how much she loves Christmas and the festival. She was so looking forward to it too, until --”

“You shot her.”

“Yeeeeeesssss,” she cried out. Liam reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, his thumb caressing her smooth skin. Riley continued to sniffle as she grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the barbecue sauce off Liam’s sticky fingers that were now smeared all over hers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it. And the way … and the way Drake cried. It broke my heart. Now he has her on bed rest AND house arrest. He won’t let her take calls. I’ll never see or hear from my bestie agaaaain.” The tears continued to flow in steady streams.

Liam stiffened, feeling the eyes of everyone in that tent, gawking at his overly-dramatic wife breaking down. He started to tell her to lower her voice, but after the gun battle in the woods, he thought better of it. “Riley, darlin’, you know Drake is really overprotective of Alyssa. And as scary as what happened was, she only needed the one stitch and band-aid for her graze wound. Something tells me Drake won’t be able to keep her down long.”

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

Liam was right. As much as Drake tried to keep her in bed so he could wait on her hand and foot, protect her from the careless friends of the world who could inadvertently do his baby girl harm, and check to see if she needed a new band-aid every few minutes, he could not keep her down. She had been far too excited to hang out with the people she loved so much and celebrate at one of her favorite festivals.

Maxwell had left for the events with Audrey and Patrick an hour ago; they were part of the children’s caroling group and needed to be there early. Against Drake’s wishes, Alyssa showered, got dressed, and made sure he knew in no uncertain terms would he be able to prevent her from going. The only thing he knew to do was to go, follow her around the entire night, and make sure she wouldn’t get shot again.

They circled the block where everything was held several times, but spaces to park were impossible to find. Three blocks away was the church where they attended, and the parking lot was completely empty. Drake didn’t like the fact that Alyssa would have to walk so far in her debilitated condition and was prepared to haul her piggyback style if he had to, but this was the best spot he could find.

Drake moved the gearshift into park and reached over to grab Alyssa’s arm, who was already bounding out the door. He pulled Alyssa back inside, the chilly air blowing through her open door swept her straighten hair this way and that way. 

She cocked her head to the side and exhaled, “Drake, I can open my own door. I’m not broken. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“I know.” He smiled that tenderhearted smile only Alyssa had ever seen. The same one sending a shudder through her already chilled body. “I changed my mind,” he replied simply

Alyssa slammed her eyes shut and groaned. “I just told you I was fine --”

“No, no,” He shook his head. “About having another baby. I want to start trying.”

Saddled with curiosity, she slid back into the truck and shut the door. “But, I thought you said we didn’t have time for that --”

“Yeah, I did say that. I still believe it. But … today made me realize that yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today …”

Alyssa’s hand flew to her mouth as she laughed out loud. Drake gave her a confused look before chuckling awkwardly to himself, “What’s so funny?”

She lowered her hand, still laughing. “You got that saying from a quote on a poster in my classroom. You’re the one who hung it up for me.”

The memory dawned on him, and he lowered his head, attempting to cover the guilty grin that spread over it. “Well, hell. Here I was trying to make you think I was all insightful and smart and stuff.”

Alyssa’s hand splayed across his rugged chest as she leaned over to kiss him.“You are very insightful and smart. You know I never settle for anything less than the best.”

“I s’pose.” he said, forking his fingers through his hair. “But … I guess what I wanted to say was … I know that bullet missed you, barely … but what if it hadn’t? What if I’d left those woods without you today? Just like you were afraid that doe might. Time wouldn’t matter anymore. There will NEVER be enough time with you. You’re my life, Alyssa Claire. You’re my lover, my friend, my heart, my confidante, my soul, my everything … my little peach. I want to experience all that life has given me with you as my wife … and forever make time with you.”

“DRAAAKEY!” she bawled, spreading her tiny arms wide around his bulky body. Alyssa drew him into her so hard it nearly crushed the wind right out of his lungs. “I -- love -- you -- so muuuch!” Drake patted her back and kissed into her hair as she sniveled into his shirt. He hated when she cried, but damn if this didn’t feel good to him. Anytime she was happy made him that way too. 

They took a moment to kiss and pet each other a little before Alyssa sat up and asked, “So … when do you want to start trying for a new baby Walker?”

He shrugged. “Whenever you want, baby.”

Alyssa looked through the back window of the truck and scanned the parking lot. She bit her lip and looked back at him impishly. “What about … now?”

Drake’s eyes flew open wide. “In the church parking lot?”

Pursing her lips, she affirmed, “Yes. We’ve done it behind the Piggly Wiggly plenty of times. And let's not forget the ‘Great Ass Blow-out of 2019’ in the Atlanta Convention Center parking garage.”

“I will never forget that.” Drake shook his head as that momentous sexual experience replayed in his mind. “Mmmm, you performed magic that day, woman.”

She raised a brow and coaxed him on, “So? What’dya say?”

Drake took a tentative look around at the dark, empty lot, then back at her. “We’re so going to hell, but I’m in.”

“Eeeeeee,” she squealed, jerking his arm around in excitement. “Try to keep your ass out of the window this time, okay?”

Thirty minutes later, Pastor Hakim pulled into the church parking lot with Mara, the game warden, following behind in her truck. There had been several reports from passerby’s of loud animals howling and screeching behind the church. The stray cat population was out of control in that area, and several cats had burrowed their way inside the church on occasion. 

Hakim parked his car, with Mara pulling in beside him. They both got out simultaneously and listened quietly to see if they could decipher where the commotion was coming from. 

Within seconds, a load moan roared out, followed by several consecutive whimpers that were hard to make out by the duo.

Mara listened intently, then gestured with her flashlight to an area near the back of the lot where clusters of shrubs and dry brush bordered. Hakim ambled behind her, the noise getting closer and closer until the pastor's brow furrowed at the shaking of a nearby truck.

“Damn, teenagers,” he grumbled as they tipped toed discreetly.

Mara crouched down by the truck's tailgate, Hakim bending over while she duck-walked toward the driver's side door.

The game warden turned to the pastor and instructed, “On my three. 1 -- 2 -- 3.” They both jumped up at the same time, flashing the light inside the cab. “HAHA Caught ya! OH MY GOD!”

Alyssa, who was on top of Drake, completely naked except for the band-aid on her left arm, looked up in utter humiliation and shock. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her breast, feeling like she might faint. Not knowing what to say at that moment to rectify their actions or why those two were still staring inside the truck, Alyssa smiled sheepishly. “I’m still feeling the spirit, Hakim.”

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

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[fandomanxiety-library]

“Dream Kiss”

The Outer Worlds Fic

Captain Dottie X Maximillian Desoto

Author’s Note: So, there was this prompt/idea/something that I spotted, and I decided I would do one as well. I believe someone asked another human to write it, and well...I liked it. I decided I would do one as well. Anyway, I will get on with it!

____________________________

Her smile was enchanting, and Max decided this had to be the worst thing that had every happened to him. This was not a part of his original plan, which never consisted of...her. She is an absolutely beautiful, yet annoying to him all the same, the Captain that was not a variable he had considered.

“Cat caught your tongue, Vicar?” She laughed, and he rolled his eyes.

“What in the nebula is a cat? By Law, I think you make this things up,” he spoke, frustrated with himself.

“I forget you folks don’t have cats...too bad, may I add. They where elegant, sassy creatures, and a force to be reckoned with,” she sighed, and he gazed at her again.

“Sounds much like you, Dottie.”

Law, no! What did I just say?! Not part of the plan, Max! Not-!

“Aww, shucks! You really think so, darlin’?” She smirked, and he gave in at the nickname that left her lips.

“Yes honey, I do think so.”

Maybe I can bend the plan just a little- just to have some fun...

Her face turned blood red, and he felt pleased with himself at her reaction.

Just a little...and besides, I have never seen her flustered at any man’s advance.

“In fact, elegance may not be enough, really. You are a fascinatingly beautiful creature- Law, and sassy isn't even enough to describe that attitude of yours’s, dear,” he added.

The smirk that was applied to her lips made him curious to her next move, curious like when they play chess.

What is your next move, Captain?

Her eyes of emerald ore held mischief in them, and suddenly she leaned in closer from her seat towards him.

“You have no idea what you have just done, Maximillian,” she spoke lowly, and he slyly smiled at her.

“What would that be, hmm?” He leaned in closer to her.

Definitely, definitely not part of the pla-.

She pressed her lips to his, and he pulled her in further by the back of the neck. The kiss was somewhere in between tender and...not tender. He couldn’t exactly explain it, but it wasn't one of those tender kisses like in the serials. It was something of a long time coming, and it was a little rough, just like them. She grabbed him by the collar of his vestments, and pushed him back.

“Wake up, Max! Wake up right now or I-!” 

Felix? What?

“Vicar if you don't wake up, I will tell Dot to leave you!” Felix’s voice tore him from sleep.

His eyes peeled open, he wasn't in the kitchen with Dot, and neither where they kissing like feverish teenagers. No, he was surrounded by the hum of the ship and Felix’s awful shouting.

“I am coming! Shut up, you-!” Max snarled back, and he was interrupted by that angelic voice from his dreams.

“Stop shouting, please. I have a headache...just get up, Maximillian,” her soft voice came from outside.

It was soft and small, unlike her confident one full of mischief from his dream. He heard her pad down the hall to her quarters. He pulled himself from the bed, and pulled on his clothes he bought to replace his vestments for outside missions. 

“Are you primping yourself now? Hurry up!” Felix yelled, and Max was already frustrated with this miscreant.

“Please refrain from shouting, the Captain is not feeling well,” Ada spoke through the ship, and Felix sighed.

“Oh yeah. Wait- sorry!”

“She requested everyone be quieter, today,” Ada spoke again.

Max grabbed his “primping bag” (as Felix called it), and opened his door to see the Captain trudging back down the hall. His gaze fell upon her plump lips, the ones pressed up against his in his dream.

“Morning, Dot,” he greeted quietly, minding her headache.

“Morning, Max. Thank you for the hushed tone, darlin’,” she spoke, using the nickname from his dream.

“I heard you are feeling under the weather,” he spoke, and she nodded.

“Yes. Had headaches for a while now, but they come and go, thankfully,” she replied, and he nodded.

“I have some medication, if you would like some,” he replied, and she gazed at him with happiness.

“Really? Oh, I would love some, please,” she spoke, and he entered his room again.

She followed. Max began digging in his drawer for the medicine. She traveled to his bookshelf with curiosity, and she read over the many spines. He turned to hand her the medicine and saw her lick her lips.

How he wanted to kiss them, to kiss them with the hastiness from the dream. To grab her gently by the back of the head and draw her closer. For her hands to tangle themselves in his hair, as she pulled herself even closer. The dream didn't feel so far away, he felt that it could happen right here. Like how it happened in the dream. They where so close now. She was only a step away, he could capture her lips so easily. Just by stepping forward, turning her to face him, and then he could kiss her. 

But that is not the plan...I know its not.

He didn't pull her close, didn't turn her to face him, and didn't snatch her up for a kiss. Instead he watched her turn to face him.

“You don't read the same books as me,” she spoke softly, and she had a book in her hand.

“Well, what do you read?”

“Everything, but I enjoy romance novels,” she smiled, and he stared at her.

Romance novels. How cute.

“Life isn't a romance novel, you know.” Max spoke, and she smiled at him.

“It could be. Just have to meet the right person.”

She's so close. I could easily pull her in, and run my fingers down her arms- or maybe the small of her back. Pressing her lips against mine, could lead me down a different path with her. Change everything. I could kiss her, just for a moment...then we could forget it ever happened...

But I don't.

“Here is your medicine, Captain.”

___________

[w0wcatsstuff]

Levi Fanfic

I’ve been writing a fic about my fav shorty, Levi Ackerman! It’s called ‘Treacherous’. This is the first chapter! If you’d like to read more check either of the links in my bio :3 Or I could keep posting here if you guys like it? :3 Please leave feedback, I love constructive criticism! 

Summary: Levi and Ava grew up in the underground together, until Levi left leaving Ava lost and confused with her only friend. Now, Levi is Captain Levi, humanity's best solider, and Ava is a doctor who tends to the wounded scouts and citizens inside Wall Rose. They've avoided each other until they couldn't any longer.

Lots of angst, but lots of smut and feelings eventually!

“Dr. Shaw...Dr.Shaw..AVA!” Hands abruptly shook her awake and Ava blinked her eyes open. Sunlight filled the dusty room. Her assistant, Madeline, stood in front of her, an anxious look on her face.

“What is it Madline?” She asked, rolling away from the young girl, letting her eyes shut again. Just a few more minutes of sleep, please. She was tired, she was always tired, that was the life of a doctor inside the walls. When she wasn’t treating the injured scouts she was making house calls and taking care of the sick citizens. It was her and Madeline’s responsible to keep the city healthy. 

“The scouts have returned from their mission beyond the walls. There’s going to be injuries.”

“Of course there are,” Ava grumbled. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, get the clinic ready please.”

“Of course, Ma’am,” Madeline replied and Ava listened to her walk away and the door shut.

She sighed as she sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep away from her tired eyes. Just another day. She told herself, forcing herself out of her bed. She headed to the bathroom that was connected to her private quarters and splashed her face with cold water hoping it would wash the drowsiness away. The reflection in the mirror was not her favorite. Her face was pale and dark circles were under her green eyes. When she was younger, still learning her trade, her eyes had some sort of sparkle to them, but that was years ago. She raked her fingers through her tangled brown hair, trying to tame the knots, before pulling it up into a ponytail away from her face. She headed back to her room, stripping out of her night clothes and pulling on a pair of dark pants, a light weight  grey blouse, and a simple pair of boots. The last thing she needed was her apron, which was somehow still white despite the amount of blood it would end up covered in after treating the returning scouts. How many times has Madeline replaced this without me noticing? She wondered, tying the apron behind her. 

When Ava made it down to the clinic Madeline had already finished setting things up in anticipation of the scouts that were shortly going to be arriving. Beds were made with clean sheets, their table was filled with medicines, bandages and operating tools. Hopefully we don't need those today. Most of the time their operations on returning scouts were pointless; too much blood was lost or infection had already set in their bodies for too long. Ava had given up hope on saving the wounded years ago, how could you remain hopeful after seeing dozens of people with limbs ripped off and not being able to save 80% of them? Madeline was still determined; she’d work herself to tears trying to save those clearly marked for dead. She was still young, only 17. When Ava was her age she had the same hopeful spirit. 

“They’ll be here soon,” Madeline told her, her voice shaking with nerves.

She’s too young to see this much death. Ava nodded, brushing a loose piece of hair from her eyes. “Are we prepared?”

“As much as we can be,” Madeline replied. “We’re low on antibiotics.”

“Of course we are,” Ava sighed. “The inner city wont send us anymore. They think it’s a waste to use on the scouts.”

“So do you..”

Ava arched an eyebrow looking at her assistant. “Excuse me?”

“You’ve already decided their fate before they’ve arrived. You don’t think any of them will make it,” Madeline’s dark eyes broke away from Ava’s gaze.

“I’ve treated enough returning scouts to know what to expect at this point,” Ava replied curtly. “If you really want to pursue being a doctor you should accept the reality of the situation. These aren’t our normal house calls, or treating the rich folks in the inner walls, Madeline. These are the scouts who go out and face the titans. They come back broken and in missing pieces.”

“Yes, but-” The door to the clinic burst open cutting off Madeline’s reply, which Ava was more than thankful for. 

“Doctor!” A breathless scout was in the doorway. “We have injured troops.”

“Of course,” Ava nodded at the scout, “Lets get them in here and I’ll see what I can do. Bring those with the worst injuries first.” 

The next few hours were filled with blood, and of course, death. A man without a leg who was practically dead when he hit her table. One death. A skinny female scout who’d been trampled by horses and suffering from massive internal bleeding; Ava didn’t even know how she had held on long enough to make it here alive, but she didn’t last much longer. Two deaths.  Another female scout whose ODM gear had failed and resulted in her falling from the trees, had a head injury and a broken leg was unconscious when Ava saw her. Depending on how bad her head injury was, she might survive, but again, she might not. The worst was a young man missing both a leg and an arm. Titans had ripped him apart and Ava couldn’t help but wonder how he survived at all..or didn’t get eaten. As she pulled the makeshift bandages off what remained of his limbs the stink of infection filled the clinic. Madline looked as if she was going to be sick and tears were welling in her dark eyes.

“Madline, if you need to step away,” Ava started but was cut short.

“No. I need to do this.”

“We’re going to have to amputate, to his shoulder and top of his thigh. That might save him, but we can’t tell how far the infection has spread. If it’s in his blood there’s nothing we can do without antibiotics.”

“We have antibiotics,” Madeline’s dark eyes looked up at her. 

“The ones we have aren’t strong enough, not for something like this. And I’m not willing to waste what little we have hoping for a miracle.”

“Dr. Shaw! We have to try!” The tears were back.

Dammit, she’s too soft for this.

“If he even survives the amputation, Madeline. I know we don’t have any sedatives left, the trauma alone could shock his body and kill him.”

“You’re hopeless!”

“No, I’m a doctor,” Ava snapped back, “I’ve treated injuries like this before and I’m being realistic.”

Both of their words were pointless, as the man on their operating table had stopped breathing. Now the tears broke free from Madeline’s eyes and streamed down her face. Ava sighed, pulling the white sheet over the dead scout’s face. 

“Go home, Madeline. I’ll get someone to come retrieve the dead,” Ava’s voice was emotionless. 

Madeline hurried out of the clinic without speaking another word. Four scouts brought to her and only one survived, and that one's fate wasn’t even guaranteed. Ava walked to the sink, scrubbing the blood off her stained hands. The scent of blood, death and infection still lingered in the air. The door to the clinic opened and Ava sighed.

“Madeline, I told you to go home,” She snapped.

“Dr. Shaw,” The voice sent a chill down her spine and her heart stopped for a moment.

No, it can’t be. Ava turned to face her guest, keeping her lips pressed  in a straight line. 

“Captain Levi,” She said shortly, eyeing the man standing in front of her. 

“How many survived?” His grey eyes looked around the room, stopping on the sheet covered scout.

“One,” She wiped her wet hands on her blood stained apron. “And she isn’t a guarantee. She has head trauma, I don’t know if she’ll wake up.” 

“One,” The permanent frown on his face seemed to deepened, if possible. “Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor? Why didn’t you save them?”

Ava blinked at him, trying to contain her anger. “I can’t replace torn off limbs or magically cure internal bleeding, Captain,” She snapped. “Maybe you should control your squad better and I wouldn’t have so many dead on my hands.” His eyes met hers and she could see the anger in them. Before he had the chance to reply she snapped at him again. “Have someone come get these bodies out of my clinic. I don’t want them rotting and disease to spread.”

“Doctor,” He started.

“You can leave, Captain,” She dismissed him, turning her back to Levi.

“Ava, when are you going to let this grudge of yours go?” His voice sounded softer and that only made the anger inside her grow.

“Grudge?” She laughed in disbelief, “Oh, I don’t know, Levi. When are you going to apologize for running off with your Uncle Kenny and leaving your friends behind to fend for themselves?” When she turned back to face him she thought for a moment she saw pain on his face. “And, it’s Doctor, not Ava, you lost the right to call me that a long time ago. Now, please leave my clinic.”

The pain she thought she saw on Levi’s face disappeared and he glared at her. “Of course, Doctor,” He practically spat the word before turning and leaving, slamming the door behind him.

[ears-awake-eyes-opened]

Haymitch, Effie, and Hayffie

(Musings, character analysis, my headcanons about their backstories and forward stories, especially about their relating and relationships. I felt like I needed to think through some of these ideas before writing more fics. These reflections got incredibly long, and I considered just keeping this in my drafts for myself, but maybe something here will resonate with someone else too, so here we go.)

I’ve been writing about Hayffie for a month, and I have some thoughts about their relationships/sexual histories both individually and together. It’s film-Hayffie that I’m into, so some of my ideas might conflict with what’s canon in the books, which I haven���t read in nearly a decade. When I eventually reread the books, I may feel differently, but these are my musings for now.

Haymitch:

We know Haymitch had a girlfriend when he won the second Quarter Quell at age 16. Snow had her murdered along with Haymitch’s mom and younger brother, so I’m guessing Haymitch loved her, otherwise Snow wouldn’t have bothered to have her killed since Snow always kills with intention.

Haymitch I imagine has probably always been good-looking-enough, but not extremely handsome. (I say this despite the big crush I have on Woody). I can see Haymitch as a kid having been witty, reasonably athletic, reasonably popular, a class clown and fairly obnoxious. As a teen without a father present/alive, home would have been a place of hard work, so school was likely Haymitch’s primary outlet for fun. I figure that particular girlfriend may have been his first serious love (and probably his only love).

I think he and she had some experience with sex but not a lot. They probably explored each other and discovered things together. They may have had sex only soon before the reaping, just in case the worst happened and one of their names was pulled. I’m remembering the guy I dated when I was 16. I loved him, but I didn’t want to have sex with him. However, if it had been the feeling of the end of the world, I probably would have slept with him. So, logic tells me they did.

Fast forward. Traumatized post-Games Haymitch wouldn’t have been with anyone else for a long time. I think it may be canon that he refused prostitution because he had no loved ones left to lose, but even if Snow did prostitute him, it would have been maybe once when Haymitch was still a minor, like Snow’s last nail in the coffin of crushing him. But Haymitch would have ultimately proven himself to be too much of a loose cannon/liability for Snow to use in that way.

So I imagine Haymitch has some history of sexual trauma. First in the intensity of sex with his beloved girlfriend within the feeling of coercion (let’s do it now or maybe never). Then with being prostituted to likely some wealthy middle aged woman. Rather than being the prostitute of a man, I think Haymitch would have killed the man or killed himself, depending on his trauma state at the time. So I don’t see sex with men, forced or otherwise, in his history.

It’s canon that Haymitch is basically a loner/shut-in who doesn’t like people in his house and sleeps holding a knife (when he’s able to sleep). I see him having the potential to be quite desirable to women and the potential for being a player. But trauma put a damper on those potentials. I think he could have sex whenever he feels like it, but for a couple of decades after his Games he just doesn’t very often (on average over those years once or occasionally twice a month maybe) because women are too much of a hassle, and they aren’t the love he lost. Alcohol is strongly his drug of choice over sex.

When he does have sex, I believe it’s one-night stands or casual sex with women who are players themselves and probably who he mildly dislikes. He steers clear of relationships that seem at all likely to become emotional. He firmly does not want to get attached to anyone again. Liking people is something he perceives as risky. Loving people is something he perceives as suicidal.

Haymitch is perceptive. Over the years, he’s learned some basics about what feels good to women physically. Pleasuring women has never been his first priority during sex, but I see him as the kind of guy who gets off on them getting off, so he would have made an effort to experiment a little and pay attention to the results. Unfortunately, alcohol often gets in the way of really focusing on women while he is with them. Which is one of the reasons Effie likes him better sober...

Effie:

I like to imagine Effie in early life, 0-9 maybe, with a very old great-grandmother in her 80s-90s. This great-grandma had memories of growing up in a free-er nation before the dictatorship gained in intensity, before the first revolution, before tyranny. I imagine she told Effie folktales that Effie remembers as bedtime stories. Those appeared to be fictional but were filled with archetypes and the roots of humanity. Her great-grandma was careful to protect the family, so she never spoke openly against the Capitol, but she understood and communicated deeper truths which shaped Effie’s heart/unconscious mind. I like to imagine Great-grandma offered Effie a reflection of the girl’s authentic self and offered her a small taste of empowerment. “Never forget you’re more than a pretty, well-mannered girl. Your wit is sharp. You have the capacity to be so much more than a face and a body bending to someone else’s will.”

To Effie’s controlling parents, and even to Effie herself in time, the great-grandma would seem eccentric. I envision her telling Effie that a woman doesn’t need a man to please her or to achieve greatness, and teaching her that she can please herself in all ways including financially and physically. Those lessons sunk in. I see Effie’s great-grandma having possibly been widowed young and surviving on her own awhile, with kids including Effie’s grandparent. In many ways Great-grandma was a self-made woman in her time.

Effie lost most of that connection to antiquity and to her authentic self when her great-grandma died, and she had nothing substantial to shield herself against the tight control and will of her family and Capitol life.

I imagine Effie mostly complied with that control but claimed autonomy in subtle ways. I think she had sex throughout the second half of her teens and throughout her 20’s, always being discerning, discrete, and selective about partners, rather than *sleeping around.* She had an intention behind each conquest. These conquests often had to do with aspects of self discovery, the desire for validation, and facilitating what she wanted in life, especially the ability to project a certain image in order to get where she wanted to go.

Did Effie fall in love with some of those young men? Probably, because underneath her thick facade, Effie has a tender heart which the facade protects like armor. Did she ever have her heart broken? Seldom. For the most part, she inherited and practiced ways of staying in control of her emotions within relationships. Most men thought of her as a desirable pain in the ass, but worth the high maintenance because she knows how to pleasure a man, she gives that focused attention during significant times including sex.

Did she ever experiment with sex with women? Possibly at some point out of curiosity and in seeking validation, but I don’t see women as her jam. Pretty and popular in childhood, she got along with girls in school. Later in her teens and adulthood, women mostly resented her natural beauty, fashion sense, drive to achieve, ability to attract attention, and her perfected facade. I see Effie feeling wistful at times for the quality of connections she had in youth, but her understanding of survival in Capitol society dictated that image and career-based connections were more important than purely emotional ones.

By age 30, during her years as an escort, Effie is quite singularly driven. She knows her body well, but there’s a veil over much of her inner self. The facade she’s built up is so thick that she doesn’t know much anymore about the vulnerable self beneath it. Haymitch can see the softness in her, whether he’s sober or drunk. She is both terrified and thrilled by his capacity to see the self she hides.

Hayffie:

I picture Haymitch as one of the first crushes Effie can remember having. I think of her as 8-9 years younger than him, so she would have been 7, nearly 8, when he was in the second Quarter Quell. She would have been quite taken with the way he held Maysilee’s hand as she died. Just as Effie was genuinely touched by Katniss caring for Rue as she died.

I see Effie having only been an escort since maybe the 72nd Hunger Games — long enough for the District 12 folks to know and mock her, but not too long. She had ambitions to move up in the districts, and she was on her way to proving herself as an effective tool of the Capitol: looking, sounding, and acting the part she was playing, and keeping herself veiled to the injustice of the Games and of tyranny in general. She was brainwashed by a lifetime of coercive propaganda, not because her mind is weak, but because the propaganda was so prevalent and multifaceted, including coming directly from her primary caregivers.

I think she probably expressed interest in Haymitch early on in their work together, seeing him as his idealized younger self. I think he turned her down then, in part because there was something about her that he enjoyed too much, even though he may not have been able to pinpoint what it was, because in the beginning he perceived her to be mostly ridiculous.

I see Hayffie playing cat and mouse for a few years — teasing, taunting, holding each other at bay and not doing much beyond tormenting one another during games 72-74, and learning each other’s nuances along the way. Effie would find Haymitch’s uncoothness off-putting and his wildness tantalizing. He would find her poshness annoying and the woman underneath all those layers a sensual curiosity.

The third Quarter Quell effected a personal transformation for each of them. Haymitch accepted the reality that he was caring about people; he couldn’t stop those emotions, even with alcohol, and he really didn’t want to. Effie’s eyes were opened to the injustice of the Games through her deep affection for her team of victors. Her armor came down enough to experience heartbreak — a related heartbreak to what Haymitch was experiencing as he lost old friends, like Chaff and Mags, and as he cared for Katniss and Peeta and helped launch a revolution.

I see this as the vulnerable time for Hayffie when their personal games of cat and mouse would pause, and intimacy would creep in and feel scary. They’d banter it away for a while but by then they’ve seen each other’s heartbreak, and the contents of a heart once seen, can’t be unseen.

In the absence of liquor for him and in the absence of facades for her (i.e. in District 13), hiding authenticity from each other would be tough. The taunting chase would continue in spirit, but physically they’d be ready to catch each other and play with that physicality if for no other reason to provide distraction.

“Let’s keep this casual,” they’d say. “No strings.” But the tapestry that had been weaving so long would take shape nonetheless. Strings would be everywhere, drawing them together faster than they could cut them.

Sex between them, after years of avoiding it with each other, would feel easy and alive, like breathing. Their bodies would fit well, so neither would have to work too hard to pleasure the other. I can see that sex between them has the potential to be very rough at times, though always with mutual consent. They both would be this interesting mix of selfish and giving. Their parting and coming together I see going on for years with feigned casualness. Cat and mouse again. The lightness would become more and more of a lie. Sex with other people would eventually whittle to nothing without much discussion about it.

They’d meet themselves in time as free individuals, and they’d realize they had fallen for each other all along, despite everything and because of everything. They would keep trying to stop it, and they’d keep failing miserably until finally moving into acceptance.

I don’t picture them ever married. Haymitch would want no government or religious bullshit in their personal business. But I see them eventually sharing their lives with increasing intimacy, how ever that might show up. I’m not sure yet how it would show up, though I like to think that several years down the road, Effie will move to District 12 “as the place becomes more civilized,” and when she perceives that there is meaningful work for her there. I also believe Effie’s perception of “meaningful work” will shift in time, initially out of necessity and then organically as she reconnects with her deep self and reclaims it.

I don’t picture Hayffie with kids. Okay, that’s a lie. I totally picture them with a kid and would have a blast writing the humor, affection, and angst inherent for them within that choice, but I don’t think that choice is in character for them. If they conceived a child, that would happen inadvertently. They’d both be terrified of parenthood, given their histories individually and together. Most likely Effie would terminate the pregnancy, but she’d be conflicted. And the more opportunity Haymitch would have to think about it, the more conflicted he would be as well.

The Hunger Games takes a toll in both ways. Kill a fetus to keep it from being born into a world where they’ve participated in and witnessed the killing of children? Or let the fetus become a baby with traumatized dysfunctional parents and hope for the best? I think they’d see it as a lose-lose, but also would feel so much tenderness about the possibility, especially if it happens years down the line in the feeling of “let’s do it now or maybe never.” Sound familiar? There’s some trauma reenactment there.

Trauma bonding and secure attachment:

I think that Hayffie could fall easily into reenacting trauma with each other. Here are some ways I see that playing out...

Haymitch experienced severe attachment trauma while still in early life, losing his parents and everyone he loved. This was on top of the trauma of being hunted and killing and witnessing death within the Games. This trauma was inflicted directly or indirectly by the Capitol. Haymitch has a lot of unresolved anger at the Capitol. Without integration there’s no healthy way for someone to cope with that severity of trauma. Hence, his addiction/alcoholism.

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see him drawn to Effie because she’s a Capitol girl, controlled/controlling and emotionally abandoning. She doesn’t show up all warm and fuzzy and “talk to me, honey.” She shows up with open criticism and disdain for him. On the surface, she has those fundamental qualities in common with the primary abuser throughout his life (Snow). So through the lens of trauma reenactment, it makes perfect sense that he’d want to fuck her.

I imagine Effie experienced early life trauma that was more subtle but still impactful. She grew up in a place where one misstep could lead to her family’s ruin. She grew up with parents who likely demanded no missteps and were emotionally unavailable, being so focused on achievement over emotional health. To keep her parents’ approval Efffie needed to do everything precisely: appearance, manners, attitude, performance. When she didn’t exceed par, I imagine she was criticized and chastised. When she exceeded par she was praised. (Intermittent reinforcement.) Throughout her early life, she marinated in rigidity with constant reminders of what happened to people who were imperfect. Effie became an attention seeker and a people-pleaser. She sought validation from not just the masses, but also specifically from people who were the most critical of her and dependent in some way upon her *performance.*

From the perspective of dysfunction, I can see her drawn to Haymitch because he doesn’t offer her consistent validation. Even his *compliments* are teases, taunts, and mocking sarcasm. His alcoholism makes him emotionally unavailable and at times intermittently reinforcing. In moments, he’ll look right into her with unmistakable genuine attraction, and she’ll feel high when he does. The high comes because the attention is intermittent and unpredictable. In that state of emotional drugs flowing through her, it makes total sense that she’d want to fuck him.

Their potential for trauma bonding will make their relationship at times explosive and volatile, not overtly abusive but with sharp tongues and intense physicality that at times borders on punishing. Their desire for each other grows like wildfire, their bond tightens, and sex between them is compelling and delicious in a way that I don’t think either of them has experienced before.

I like to believe their potential for trauma bonding is only part of what draws them together.

I think Haymitch’s compassion in the second Quarter Quell touched young Effie’s heart very genuinely, and her young heart was also shaped by her great-grandmother’s unconditional love. With that heart, she in time grows deep affection for “her victors,” not just as validations of her self-worth, but as people who are truly deserving because of who they are, not what they do.

I think Haymitch has the capacity to see through Effie’s walls of makeup, clothing, and attitude to the heart of the girl who has watched him kill but doesn’t regard him as a murderer, rather she sees him still as the boy who held his friend’s hand in death. I like to think of him seeing that core aspect of himself through her eyes. Each time he sees it, he forgives himself a little more for the responsibility he feels for the death of his loved ones and everyone he ever killed in order to stay alive, and evey tribute who died under his mentorship. Haymitch carries impossibly heavy burdens on his shoulders, hence the alcoholism. Effie’s regard for him as a victor, a victor who showed compassion to Maysilee, to Katniss, to Peeta, and so on, lightens more and more over time the burden he carries.

I think their relationship is an interesting mix of dysfunction and healing. It’s raw and messy, and Effie desperately needs raw and messy, even though she fights against that a long time. Their relationship also has the capacity for deep tenderness and connection, and Haymitch desperately needs tenderness and connection, even though he fights against it a long time.

I so want to see Effie raw and messy. I so want to see Haymitch tender and connecting. That’s the unfolding I write for them together. It’s tough not to rush it, because it’s so interesting, and I want to see it all so badly.

After all these years, I am adoring Hayffie in this unexpected way. This ship is surprisingly intricate and beautiful.

P.S. If you made it this far, wow, and thanks for caring about the characters enough to read my extended ramblings. Comments welcome. I love to hear other people’s thoughts about Hayffie.

[s-trawberryv-eins]

An Introduction

(NOT MY GIF)

AN INTRODUCTION TO CAROLINE STARK

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading! So, after months of waffling about wanting to write, I finally sat down and did it. It’s pretty complicated, so it’s pretty important to read this one before you start with anything else. I’ve created an original character, who lives in a slightly alternative universe to the one we were left with after Endgame. I’d like to state that none of my personal changes are reflections of my opinions of what DID happen, but in order to build her as I wish, some things needed to be slightly different.

1)    Steve didn’t go back to Peggy after he returned the stones

2)    Hulk and Banner didn't become one, they’re still two separate beings

3)    Natasha was brought back by Steve as he was able to return the soul stone in return for her life

4)    The compound was rebuilt after the Battle of Earth. There is a memorial for Tony where he died.

A few other things to note:

1)    My first piece of writing will be a background that is applicable to all of the fics. However, many of them will be stand alone, unless I state otherwise. I’ll be creating a masterlist which will lay everything out very clearly, but please feel free to ask if you need to 😊

 Thanks for reading the boring stuff. Everything will be up soon!

 Summary: An introduction to the secret Stark sister. Who is she? Why was she kept a secret? And what happens when everybody finds out?

 Warnings: Abandonment, injury, PTSD, death, blood, but there's plenty of soft love too.

 Word count: 1921

 SUMMER 2004

MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

"Yes, yes, two seconds!" Tottering over to the front door of her bosses lavish Malibu home, Pepper Potts grumbled under her breath, annoyed by the fact that she was the one answering the incessant knocking. "I’m not your maid, Tony!” Sighing, she unlocked the door and prepared to shoo whichever reporter, play bunny, or cold caller had decided that 10 PM on a Tuesday evening was a good time to show up. However, she was greeted with something entirely unexpected.

“Oh! Hello! Are you lost? Where’s your Mom?" In front of Miss Potts stood a small girl, 7 years of age, a sparkly pink bag held tightly in her little hand. Pepper greeted the young girl with the cheeriest voice she could manage in her surprise. Sticking her head out of the door, she looked around, but with a furrowed brow she realised that they were alone. There wasn’t another figure or car in sight.

“Momma said I had to give you this." In her tiny outstretched hand was a thick envelope. "She said my Daddy lives here.” The look on her face told Pepper that she knew exactly what had happened. Even as young as she was, she had an obvious maturity that would break hearts. Her mother had abandoned her, and the girl understood that entirely.

With eyes so wide it hurt, Pepper took the envelope, peeking inside to find a passport, a letter, and a photograph of Mr Stark and a woman. The girls' mother, Pepper presumed. Shock was written into the PAs face, but she forced a smile all the same. After a quick look at the passport, she ushered the child inside.

"Come on in, Caroline. We’ll sort you out, okay?”

 LATE 2008

NEW YORK

A series of loud bangs on her bedroom door pulled Caroline from her daydream. Not even having a chance to respond, the door burst open and three young girls practically fell into her room.

“Turn the TV on!"

“As if you weren’t famous enough!"

“Did you know? You must've known?!"

Wide eyed and clueless as to what her friends were talking about, Caroline blinked back gormlessly as Amelie grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

“What channel?“

“Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?" The 11-year-old spoke up, and all three heads turned to face her, humour in their eyes as they stated what was seemingly obvious.

“Your dad, Care.” Caroline knew her Father had been in some trouble. Happy had shown up outside the halls of residence, whisking her away immediately. The panic set in as her heart sped up violently. As the girls scrambled through the channels, they froze as a man in a suit appeared on the screen. Caroline's dad. Tony Stark. They watched in awe as he addressed his audience. As his daughter, she'd watched a few press conferences before. They were a bore, however, she couldn't lie.

The TV remote fell from Amelie’s hand as he spoke the four words that changed history.

“I am Iron Man.”

 MAY 2012

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

Footage of the Chitauri destroying the very ground she stood on flashed through Caroline’s mind. Gripping Happy’s arm as she sobbed, the 14-year-old girl cried out desperately for her Father. Their relationship had been very rocky for a while. He’d rejected his new responsibility at first, leaving Pepper to parent the girl. He’d even shipped her off to boarding school, where he further pushed away his long-lost child. It wasn’t until Pepper dragged him by the sleeve to the young girl’s dorm room and forced him inside that he’d actually spoken to his daughter. From there, they established a solid relationship. Caroline, of course, fell head over heels for her Father. He could do no wrong in her eyes. That never changed, even as she grew.

Fear wracked her body at the thought of Tony not surviving the battle. Staring at the sky, she prayed and prayed that he return from that giant swirling hole of death that currently dominated New York. When she saw his body fall through the sky, her fear both vanished and increased ten-fold.

-

Later that evening, JARVIS informed her of her Fathers arrival at the beaten-up tower. Racing to find him, she threw her arms around his neck and cried. She cried and cried until she ran out, but she never let go of his hand.

 MAY 2015

NOVI GRAD, SOKOVIA

“Daddy?” Her voice came out a whimper. She felt weak and small.

“Hey baby girl, I’m uh…I’m guessing you’ve seen, right? Yeah, it’s bad, Care.”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Listen, baby, I’ve gotta end this. Me and Thor, uh, we think we’ve got a way. A lot of people will die if we don’t do this. You're the best thing, you know?" His voice was soft, even as he continued to fight off robots and save the world. The line grew staticky and Caroline couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from her eyes. "I'm so glad you showed up on my doorstep all those years ago. I’m sorry for taking so long."

“Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye? Daddy you're scaring me!” Her voice was a desperate whimper, and a pain in her chest bloomed violently.

“I love you, Caroline. Remember th-" Horror erupted over her features as the line went dead. Not knowing whether she'd ever see him again, she made her way to New York, her heart dragging painfully behind her.

 NEW YEARS EVE 2015

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

Caroline and her Father walked through one of the many laboratories of the new compound. On her 18th birthday the Stark girl was offered a position as a biomechanical engineer for the new era S.H.I.E.L.D. program, built following its collapse in 2014. Taking after her Dad, she had excelled in school, and to the amazement of her new bosses, had landed a glowing recommendation from Iron Man himself. The decision for her to live under a different last name to Tony was one he himself had requested in a bid to keep her safe for as long as he could. She had never really met the other Avengers, and only three other people knew of her existence; Pepper, Happy, and Natasha Romanoff. It was easy enough to hide her identity.

Caroline didn’t mind too much. She could still see her parents as much as she pleased, and it prevented any special treatment from schools and professors. Those around Caroline herself knew; her school friends knew, she didn't want to keep a secret from them, and besides, she didn't know any better when she told them at 8 years old.

“How’re you settling in? Are you sure this isn’t too soon? This is too soon. I’m taking you-“ midway through his rambling, Tony realised his daughter both lived and worked at the compound, rendering his threat useless. "I'll take you somewhere. Details, schmetails."  

“Dad! Calm down! You’re spiralling. I’m fine, I’m settling in just fine! Now come on, I need to meet everyone.” A proud smile graced the young girls features as she tried to rid her rather of any worry. With a sigh, he took his daughters hand in his own and led her to the Avengers quarters. Separating just before they entered the room, Caroline took a shaky breath.

“Folks gather round. This is our new Doc. With Banner MIA," his brows drew together as he spoke, and his gaze fell to the floor for a second before finding Caroline "she’s our go to! This is Caroline. Caroline Lockwood.”  A half smile appeared on his face, the bittersweet moment getting the best of him. After a few brief introductions, the girl bid them goodbye to get ready for one of Tony Starks famous New Year’s Eve parties.

 JUNE 2018

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

Pepper sat with her daughter, a blanket around the two of them as they hid. They sat in silence, unable to find the words. Trying to maintain hope when everything around them told them to give up was the hardest battle they'd fought yet. “Momma? We’ll be fine, right? We always win.” Her voice nothing but a whisper in the darkness, she felt her adoptive mothers’ fingers tighten around her own.

“We'll be fine, baby. Your Dad will do what he always does. He'll save us. He'll save everybody.” The sad smile on Caroline's face couldn’t be seen in the dark, but Pepper could tell the moment that it fell. She felt the energy in the air shift. Did they lose? “Baby? Baby what’s wrong?" Placing her soft hands either side of her daughter’s face, she gasped sharply as the blanket fell around them, no longer supported by two bodies. Instead, a dark ash took the place of the youngest Stark.

“I’m sorry, Momma" she choked out before disintegrating completely "I'm sorry.”

Pepper was left alone, covered in heartbreak, grief, and the ashes her child left behind.

OCTOBER 2023

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

"Hey, sweetie. Do you want Mom?" Morgan shook her head and stepped closer to her sister.

“Can you help me? You’re my sister.” With sad, glazed over eyes, Caroline nodded. It's not difficult to sympathise with the two girls. Morgan knew all about her big sister. Stories were told, and pictures were framed in every inch of the house. Morgan idolised her before she’d ever met her. And when, by some miracle, they did meet, it was a few days before their fathers’ funeral. Two days before that, Caroline had been dead.

Dead.

It'd been one hell of a week.

To say the oldest Stark sister walked on eggshells around the younger one would be an understatement. Allowing their relationship to be on Morgan’s terms was the least she could do. The thought that Morgan may reject her completely never left her mind, despite Peppers constant reassurance. “I can braid your hair, if you’d like. Momma taught me when I was a little girl."

-

"Where's Morgan?" Pepper's voice barely registered in Caroline’s brain. She could feel herself drifting further and further away every day. But she didn't have the strength to fight it.

“Happy took her for cheeseburgers.” A hint of smile traced her mouth, but it didn't stick. It never stuck. The bags under her eyes were heavy and dark, and the once rich brown of her eyes seemed to have dulled miserably. After receiving her own private recording from Stark, she felt as if she'd broken completely. Turning to face Pepper, she struggled to continue, her voice hoarse from crying and screaming in the night. "They should be back an-"

“MOMMY SISSY UNCLE HAPPY BOUGHT EXTRA.” Watching the tiny girl stumble through the door, a brown paper bag clutched tightly to her chest, Caroline just stared in awe. Of course, Morgan was too young to really understand what happened. She missed her Daddy, and she knew he wasn’t coming home, but she managed to smile. Her eyes shined bright as ever. The world hadn't tainted her hope, it hadn’t torn away her faith.

It would be so, so easy to just let go. To just give up and fall into the oblivion that called her name. But in doing so, she'd miss even more time with her sister. Watching her eat with a pensive look on her face, clutching on to Pepper and watching all the strangers around her, Caroline made a choice. She could do it for Morgan. She could hold on and keep going.

So, she did.

TAGS:

@bucky-castiel​

[witchygirl99]

12 Days of Witchyness 2019

Despite knowing that time was, in fact, moving forward, I still can’t believe that December is almost here. And by extension, the 12 Days are almost here. There have been so many amazing, fabulous, wonderful prompts (16 of them!). There have also been heavily owed prompts from last year that need completing (*coughs* forgive me @keichanz​, @brokenangelwings83​ and @coquinespike​ *coughs*)

And so - to ensure completion of as many damn stories as possible, I am going to create this list of stories and provide updates on my progress. All of you can heavily judge me. You judgement will be greatly appreciated to kick my butt in gear.

Without further ado, the list of fics are below the cut. If I haven’t started your story, never fear, I will get there. Judge away.

Golden: Humans are going to die. The God of War has decreed it and now the fate of the mortal world rests on the shoulders of one Demi-God, an abomination. But what makes it all worse is not the other Goddesses flocking to his side, nor the fatally cursed human that keeps appearing. No. It's one Goddess dressed all in white. Her name is Truth and she comes from the Well. InuKag. MirSan. - 15% complete

Believe Me When I Say: Miroku has a problem. Everyone and their mothers think that he and Sango are dating, which is not in fact true. They're ice dancers; they have to look like they're in love to tell a story, to woo the audience, to captivate the judges. So they're not dating. And if Miroku is actually in love with his partner of fifteen years? Well. He's just really good at his job then. MirSan. InuKag. - 10% complete

Hell is Just a Sauna: A 10 Things I Hate about You AU. That's all that needs to be said, really. InuKag. MirSan. - 70% complete

Don't Close Your Eyes: She almost died. As a cop, that kind of thing was always on the table, always a lingering fear. But her near-death experience wasn’t the most terrifying part of her day. Oh no. That particular title went to the silver-haired, dog-eared ghost that was now following her around. Scowling at her. InuKag. - 85% complete

Maybe So: He growls then, golden eyes glaring at the ceiling like it personally offended him. "I'll pay you, for fuck's sake," he grits out. Kagome can't help but feel like she's entered some new reality. Asshole extraordinaire who eats all her chips is now begging for her to be his fake girlfriend when his mom visits? And he's going to pay her for it? Kagome opens her mouth and says the first thing she thinks of. "You realize you have to be nice to a girlfriend, right? Or is that why you're still single?" InuKag, MirSan. - 20% complete

It Goes Like This: He sees her, chatting happily while she wiped down counters and made faces at her friends. She was beautiful. Exciting. Compelling in a way that made his throat close. And so he looks away, back down at his laptop and the blinking cursor in his document. He writes instead. InuKag.- 15% complete

Don't Ask Me: A Pennies and Dimes continuation, featuring Human!Inuyasha. InuKag. - 50% complete

Swallow: Inuyasha leaned on the bar, getting his face nice and close to the bartender with big brown eyes and a shy smile. "There's a rumour going around that you're the one to ask if someone needs to acquire rare and dangerous objects." The shy smile turned wicked, a slow unveiling that had his golden eyes tracking her lips. She leaned in even closer, enough to feel the gentle whoosh of breath as she replied, "Mm, well. There's a rumour going around that you're an undercover cop." InuKag.- 10% complete

Circles: And with that, Inuyasha continued to stare at his cell phone, letting the horror wash over him. It was Tuesday. Again. Which meant that he'd been within ten feet of his soulmate without having met them. Which meant he'd have to relive the no-good, very bad, homicidal-rage-inducing day all over again. And again. Until he found them. Motherf--. InuKag. - 0% complete

The Truth About Love: Cupid was a six year runt with big green eyes, floppy red hair, and so many freckles you could barely make out anything else. He was also a terrible freaking shot. InuKag. - 0% complete

Deductions: A Sherlock AU. InuKag.- 15% complete

(Don't) Reminisce on Me: Inuyasha stared at his captain. "No," he said, incredulous and uncaring. "You've got to be kidding me. Partnering me with the new kid on the block? Have you seen her? Looks like jail bait, acts super endearing, and says some kind of compliment every five seconds? I'll shoot her." A detective AU. InuKag. MirSan. - 0% complete

Nepenthe: The sea was her prison, her home, her torment. Despite living the past century, she had never forgotten the day she officially died, thrown overboard to taunts and jeers of drunken men. Left her to drown, and drown she did. Until the sea wrapped it's cold tendrils around her, taking and claiming, leaving only a monster left. InuKag. - 0 % complete

Sincerely Yours: He never expects to fall in love with handwriting. A face, sure. A voice, probably. But handwriting? That is, however, a thing that has now happened. Miroku thinks the whole thing is hilarious. OR: Inuyasha and Kagome are betrothed, and write letters until they meet. InuKag. MirSan. - 0% complete

So Yeah: Kagome was like any other thirsty thirty year-old going through a quarter-life crisis and mental breakdown at the same time. She dreamed about her boss. If like 50% of them were of her breaking his fingers one-by-one, and the other half about him putting those fingers to much better use? Well. She couldn't be blamed. He was beautiful until he opened his stupid, jerk mouth. InuKag. - 5% complete

Instance: Part III: What it says on the tin, folks. InuKag. - 0% complete

Not Even an Inch: A continuation of The Space in Between. InuKag. - 0% complete

Your Gaze Upon Mine: A Pride and Prejudice AU. InuKag. MirSan. - 0% complete

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 [FIC]

‘come things only happy and whole’

Original Character/Sharky Boshaw -Pre Relationship. Deputy Rook, Sharky Boshaw, Earl Whitehorse, Original Characters

@ask-chibi-rook

This was a really fun experience with a really cool character concept! I think I scrapped like five ideas, which almost never happens. TYSM and I hope you enjoy! 

Notes: general warning for Jacob Seed who is Sir-Not-Appearing but still felt, brief non-graphic discussion of miscarriage, gentle flirting, as close as I get to fluff.

–

The circumstances are specific.

Eden’s Gate has a now unusually large population of pregnant women. The Resistance has few in the family way and explicitly no children in or around the compounds. So colour Pastor Jerome Jefferies and Father Joseph Seed surprised when they received identical messages asking them to parley a little north of Dutch in a zone they’d been habitually calling Bear Trap. Because of the bears. Twelve women who had been friends on Facebook before the Reaping started had kept to the agreement they’d made to meet up at Sally Sue’s old cabin and stay the days or weeks it took for all of them to give birth. This would have been a ridiculous thing to organise if a) every single woman involved hadn’t been previously part of a larger prepper group before making a smaller, more intimate one and b) that smaller group hadn’t been specifically for women who’d survived multiple miscarriages. 

“They’re ah, not coming down.” Some poor son of a gun has to tell Whitehorse at two am on a Thursday. They’re out in the chill, on the porch of a little house. “They’ve got four doula’s and a bunch of equipment they’d set up beforehand as well as a doctor. Marcie, that’s, uh, Walter Whit’s Marcie, says that we can shove it up out be-hinds if we want them to come down. It’s between them and God now.”

“She tell Seed that too?”

“She told Walt that.” The boy sighs. “She told Seed that he should have kept that prize winning show dog of his brother under better control as he stressed Wendy and Carlie something awful with their atonements. And that keeping any pregnant women near Faith, who she did have something unpleasant to say about as per her use of Bliss, was just about his greatest crime.”

Whitehorse snorts. “Has she seen the bodies?”

The boy holds up his fingers to make quotation marks. “That’s killing folk, not killing babies, and Seed was coming awful close to asking them to kill babies.”

“That explains the Peggies. When it came right down to it they picked their kids over the Father.” Whitehorse muses. “Would’ve been nice if they’d stood up for us. No, don’t relay that Jimmy, that’s me being an old grump. If those girls need things from us, you get it to them, alright?”

“Yessir.”

“And you,” he turns to point at Rook, tucked under a blanket on the front step with him, “go get some sleep.”

Rook points at herself, flips to the page in her small notebook that says me?

“Yeah, you. Relax Rook. Ain’t nobody around here going to need you to fix this.” 

She probably should have figured that Whitehorse would catch on. It’s been a week, maybe two, since Jess took an all terrain bike and an exhausted, largely non-responsive Rook back to the Henbane. She has marks she doesn’t remember and bigger, scarier blanks in her memory, left to white knuckle it through whatever recovery is possible. Rook spends a lot of her life kind of tired. When it’s hard to communicate you have to be quick and clear about what to say. She’s gotten it right down to essentials by now but that leaves out everything complex. There’s a lot of things sitting just behind her teeth, just behind her gums, that she’ll never have time to tell anyone. Certainly not if Joseph gets his way. 

From what she understands they are at a critical junction in Joseph’s plan. Months at most from his intended end of the world and he has been reacting with his expected fanaticism. A bunch of women trekking off into the woods should be a minor concern. All of this would be a minor concern, solved by Jacob, who had no one among the Prosperity Prepper Pregnancy Yarning Circle, but for one Miriam Lee, of John’s faithful, who led security. She’d changed the locks on any number of critical supplies and literally taken John’s secret stash of solar panels with her, leaving John to explain why he had solar panels in Joseph’s unreasonable and unlikely future, and why Miriam Lee was the only person who knew how to change all the passwords. This still wouldn’t have stopped Jacob but for Joseph, who had decided he’d had a vision and his eldest brother would be cast from paradise should he take arms against the innocent. The absurdity of that statement about that particular redhead aside it seemed the Father was dead serious. 

For all his numerous faults it seemed Joseph Seed was unwilling to harm a child. 

(Ha)

So the circumstances? Very specific.

Rook takes his advice and heads in to sleep. In her dreams places red and deadly pass and prosper, knives sharpen and music plays, a familiar voice sweet and betraying. It’s further away than usual, buffered in her dreams by smaller, stronger feelings currently unsaid. Her mind is dark, not quite unpleasant. When she wakes in the morning, just a few hours later, the Montana morning is fiercely pleasant. The weather is beginning to suggest it’s turning but it hasn’t done more than throw up some surprising afternoon wind changes. Enough that a light jacket and a scarf stashed somewhere is enough for almost any day. 

Someone knocks on the door of the small space she’s been allotted. Rook pulls on her clothes. Soft flannel, thick socks. Two shirts for those aforementioned wind changes. She makes sure she has a small notebook and pen on her. There’s a small box of blue ones under her bed here, liberated from John, so she never feels quite bad enough about how often they get snapped. The door knocks again and she rushes to open it.

On the other side Sharky Boshaw has a chipped mug of tea and a little bit of a nervous look.   

The soft feelings from her dreams return in daylight’s full glory. She waves hello, takes the mug and invites him in. Sharky takes in her messy nest of blankets, the pens scattered on the floor from her dash to answer the door and how, apart from her bed, there isn’t anywhere to sit. She can see him thinking, her own embarrassment flooding her face with colour, before Sharky kneels down and starts picking up her pens.  

“I heard from Isaiah -that prepper with all the grenades? The one the Peggies stopped going near because he set landmines attached to flamethrowers, well he’s been rehabbing a Judge. Found her ripping through Jacob’s territory baiting his people into traps. Clever as hell. He invited me up there ‘cause I brought him some beer a week or two ago and I made a bet against Hurk about it. Says she’s nearly ready to get the hell off his property on account of how she keeps activating his traps to scare the wildlife.” He pauses, glances at the ceiling while he scratches his chin. “Also I owe Hurk money.”

Rook hears all that and as usual has specific questions. She opens her book. Sharky hands her a pen. She writes: You brought a man surrounded by landmines beer?

Sharky looked faintly offended. “I ain’t afraid of fire.”

But the landmines? She asks with genuine concern.

“Landmines are fine if they’re attached to flamethrowers.” He waits a moment to see if she has anything to say to that, then adds, “Obviously I just figured out how those worked and went backwards. Easy.”

Easy, obviously.  

Sharky rubs the back of his neck. “So, wanna pet a dog?”

–

Whitehorse is a paternal combination of pleased and worried that Rook is leaving the relative safety of the Prison to pet a dog with a pyromaniac. On one hand, she’s been a mess since she came back from the Whitetails -the Whitetails that want her back pretty badly, not including Jacob- and a strong interest in doing things that involve walking outside in a relative state of peace is indicative of the good mental health she never exactly had. On the other hand Sharky Boshaw is taking her through woods not quite Resistance and not quite Peggie to pet a wolf that kills people. 

“Kills Peggies.” Sharky corrects when Whitehorse manages to stop grumbling long enough to state his problem. “And Boomer does that too.”

“Boomer is a good dog.” Someone Rook doesn’t know says from their left. “Let the girl pet a dog, Earl. It’s not the most dangerous thing she’s done for us.” 

Whitehorse makes a face she dimly recognises from her early days, when she stayed at the station all hours and didn’t so much as a glance at forming a relationship outside of work. At her one month review he’d said that he hoped that she’d one day find people here she could trust, that he hoped to be one of them, but until then he’d do his best to at least be a soft place to land. It’s months later, and there’s a war on, and his face still says that. Rook spends all her time trying to be what the Resistance needs, the person it needs. There’s not much room for being soft. 

Whitehorse relents, settles on take the shovel and gives Sharky back the rocket launcher and the nun-chucks that Whitehorse personally took out of his trailer about three months before all of this started. Sharky treats both of these gifts with a reverence that they have all learned to tolerate while living in close quarters. He also gifts Sharky with a ten minute long lecture while Rook goes and resupplies her day pack. There’s no explicit mention of her but she gets the feeling Whitehorse has been telling everyone to just be nicer, try to get her out of her shell.    

They take a car part of the way and leave it tucked in an overhang that the Peggies have yet to figure out. The way requires crossing the river and taking a circuitous route through some unallied areas. The trees are just sparse enough to let the sun bite her on the neck. The dirt is coming up off the ground at a rate that’s alarming covering them to their knees in grime and debris. The greenery sings with the sounds of small animals, cautious bird calls and absolutely no gunfire. Silence will fall all across the county for a few moments every now and then, as if the whole world is being as cautious as the birds.  

Sharky just talks and talks and talks. But he’s Sharky enough, whatever weird thing in the Drubman-Boshaw family makes them simultaneously caricatures and decent folk, to look back at her every so often and make sure she’s okay with him. Maybe it’s that he’s used to sound without answer, even if it’s from the opposite side. Maybe he’s just a guy who needs social skills and less access to nitroglycerine. 

“Whaddaya think?”

Rook hasn’t actually been listening. 

“Ah well, not important anyway.” He holds his hands out to her, baffling, before she realises he means to help her up into the knot of a tree. “Oh shit. Come look at this. Haven’t been back here in ages.” He plants himself and all but throws her up into a curvature of branches. “Man I got a twisted twunkle in this tree once.” 

Rook takes his hands. He guides her carefully among the brown bark and the sparing leaves.  

The tree itself is huge and old. It might once have been several different ones that melded together as trees sometimes do. Under her hands the bark feels warm and dry, aged away and tough. It feels alive but waiting, like it’s been here before and will be here again long after. She tries to take that feeling inside herself. Being steady and rooted instead of the constant swaying that digs deeper and deeper after every nightmare. Sharky helps, first by literally pulling her further in until they can sit on a thick branch together, and then by telling her all about the things he knows about this place. She’s not sure how much is true but it’s nice all the same. From the height, and the little raised hill the tree sits on, they can see a little bit of the space around them. The occasional smoke of a fire, or a plane flying in circles. She pulls out her radio, more habit than need, idly flicking it on and off, frequency to frequency, in case someone needs help.  

The radio speaks for a moment: -coming off the mountain-zzzt-no sign yet-zzzt-heads on a swivel A-Team, targets tricky and lean- Jacob hunting Whitetails, even in so-called peacetime.

Sharky turns it off, not soon enough to stop her sense of self crumbling at Jacob Seed’s voice, but soon enough that when he gives her a quick hug she clings to it. Sharky smells like a heavy mixture of adult male body odour, what was left of the laundry powder and wet ash. It’s pungent enough to clear her head. Sharky holds onto her for a moment or two past appropriate then slides away not quite smooth enough to be cool.   

“Hey, Rook, look at that.” He points straight out, and she assumes it’s just to change the subject, but soon enough a small dance of butterflies flies across the sky. They twirl in a circle and pass the tree close enough for Rook to see that they’re spotted with blue and bright green, creatures of the Bliss for certain. They dip down intending to take a pass right through the tree Rook and Sharky are sitting in. Sharky says oh shit just before they’re hit-

The butterflies fly around them, the whole world the colour of wings and white, before it’s the clear Montana sky again. One lands on Sharky’s nose and he pulls a face of intense disgust.

She can’t help it, she laughs at him.

He looks at her for a moment trying to figure out what the fuck she’s doing with her face. When she’s done she begins to climb down, the small bubble of mirth still sitting high, right behind her teeth. 

–

It’s just past dusk when they get there. All of the Resistance keeps odd hours. Isaiah’s house involves a hike that’s near vertical. They see signs of Peggie work as they circle closer -spray cans next to symbols on trees, a copy of Joseph’s Bible, the occasional item of clothing for some reason- but those signs thin as they get closer to the house. Instead scorch marks and gun holes pepper the land like confetti at a wedding. Rook pulls out her shovel. 

Eventually Sharky takes a sharp turn, ducks behind a thick crop of trees and leads her to a neatly kept front yard in front of a shabby barnhouse-cum-fortress. There’s even an American flag hanging from the roof of the added-on porch. Sharky whistles loud and clear across the space. After five minutes or so a man emerges.    

His thick beard and scarred hands tell a story all their own. He shuffles across the porch with a bag under his arm and a cane in his other hand. His leg acts like dead weight across the wood, scraping and scratching along. He makes an unhappy groan low in his throat. Acid burns. Isaiah never had a last name. Or if he did, he refused to give it.

“Hey, buddy.” Sharky hops over some line only he sees turns and holds out his huge hands for her small ones. Like before she hands him her trust and no small amount of affection and amusement and then they do the world’s silliest looking dance:

“Over here -that’s a trip wire, don’t hit that, good-”

“-now this’ll sound strange, two inches left with your bum or you’re gonna lose a bunch, and you’re small enough, ow, from your leg Po-Po-”

“-did you just trip? Dep, this is a real hotzone, come on-”

“-look, I know what it means when a woman makes that face at me, I’m sorry, I’m not trying to grope you, but they’re nice, so-”

“-Good, great, no, nope, that way goes Sharky’s testy festy and he needs ‘em for the Testy Festy seed swap, so come over here-

Finally they come up to the porch. Isaiah sits on his rocking chair under a blanket with ice tea next to him. His chest keeps expanding in little giggles.  Both Rook and Sharky are sweaty and breathing hard. Rook’s hair is stuck to her neck and she’s sure she’s never been this embarrassed before. No wonder the Peggies stopped trying. Sharky stops her with a solemn hand. “Okay now we’re gonna hop twice.”

She abruptly realises he’s fucking with her. Gently, with good humor, but still teasing her. She kicks a clod of dirt at him now that they’re close to the porch and reasonably unlikely to die in a fire. Isaiah makes this noise, like a cat yarking up a bird, his whole upper body moving. He’s laughing. Sharky laughs as well and proclaims he’s going to see if there’s any beer. With nothing else to do Rook climbs up onto the porch and takes a seat against the railing of his porch. Isaiah passes her a glass of the tea. He taps his own throat, the angle revealing its scars and warps, then pulls out a  pen and a board. With unpracticed fingers he writes on his own whiteboard: I heard you speak like this.

Rook nods. Isaiah nods back and returns his writing implements to their bag. Within reach but out of the way. The tea is blessedly cool against her forehead when she presses it in.   

“He-ey girl!” Sharky calls from inside the house. “Guess who found beer! You don’t have to guess, it’s me.” He sticks his head out, probably to ask if she needs something, so she holds up her half full glass. 

The Judge trots onto the porch. Her coat has been shaved down, patches still that bone terrifying white where the hair is longest, but all over are swathes of grey brindling. Her sharp blue eyes are clear as water in a face returned all the way from the Bliss. Around her foreleg a bandage is slowly turning pink from the injury beneath. She comes to rest her huge body near Isaiah but with her sightline out to the world. 

Sharky pats her cautiously then fits himself down next to Rook. “What’s her name?”

Isaiah considers. Then he opens his throat. “Boudica. Queen stayed free.” His voice isn’t clear. It’s pained and filled with the feel of disuse. He names the wolf anyway.

Boudica rolls on her back and shows her fluffy, scarred belly. 

Rook stands and shuffles closer. Her hand shakes as she brings it down, firm, on her upper chest. Boudica wriggles but stays still. Rook keeps patting. Her skin is scarred all the way up to a sharp cut right across her throat. She didn’t die. She can see it: Jacob’s knife, his music and his soldiers. Running as far and fast as you can because you can never be free but you can be away. Boudica defies that, though. Her fur is turning back from the Bliss and there’s not a hint of madness in her eyes. 

Rook returns to her seat. Isaiah gives her more tea. 

Boudica snuffles, rubs her nose with a huge paw. She picks herself up and trots through the front yard they had to dance through. Her path is noticeably straightforward. 

“What the fuck?” Sharky says.  

Isaiah laughs again. “Bad leg. Don’t have time.” He flings his hand towards Rook, the yard and possibly the entire concept of the war beyond it. 

“‘t’s not fair.” Sharky whines. “When I brought you stuff you made me strap it on my back and crawl!”

Isaiah slaps his knee, giggling again, points at Rook and then back at Sharky. “You danced.” Isaiah rubs his throat, as if it pains him. Then as if it would pain him more not to tease, “Fair.”

“I- Well-” Sharky chugs his beer instead of talking. Isaiah refills her glass to the top and bullies Sharky into pulling out Boudica’s bespoke sleeping pen, giving lie to the idea that she’d ever be coming back down with them. 

Night falls properly. They eat together. Isaiah has no room for them inside but Rook’s slept rougher and he brings out a little heater and a bottle of bourbon. Sharky unearths a pile of excellent quality sleeping bags in a shed hidden on the side. Rook watches him whine his way through the whole thing since they don’t actually know there aren’t landmines. The bourbon makes Sharky feel better, though.

He’s talking about…something, honestly she’s not sure how he transitions from topic to topic. She pulls out her notebook. She wrote it earlier in the day, never said it. Thank you, Sharky. 

He smiles, face lit by what little ambient light there is. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, Rook.” 

Rook stays sober under a pile of blankets. Sharky has long since collapsed into snoring. The night is starry and silent. If she sleeps now she’ll have nightmares: falling through red rooms, black blood dripping down her mouth, her tongue returned but unable to make human noise, another layer between her and other people. Another place for someone to slide a knife. The night is starry and silent and in Hope County that will have to be enough. 

Boudica comes back in the early hours. Rook is still awake. Her muzzle is a little bloody but mostly she seems tired and pleased with herself. She comes over for a very quick pat but returns to the nest of hand sewn blankets and repurposed pillowing that she calls a bed. She tunnels in, turns and wiggles her body, huffs, sleeps.

Not his wolf, she thinks, and goes to sleep herself. She was right about the dreams. But between terror and noiseless pain is her own feet under her running like she thinks Boudica would.    

[avatarsarny]

Post S8 Arya/Gendry? With a cherry on top?

Well, anon, since you asked so nicely. Just in time, bc I really needed to get this out of my system. This is for @gendrie, @gendryadempsie, and @starrynightshade, whose blogs and fics have kept me sane over the past few weeks of D&D’s clownery. Thank you guys for feeding us with that sweet sweet Gendrya content throughout :)

For context: In my head, everything ended similarly to D&D’s bad fanfic version with some notable adjustments: Jon is not exiled to the (nonexistent) Night’s Watch; he decides against being king and goes to bring the Wildlings back down to the North with Tormund (bc the lands beyond the wall are a barren wasteland wtf) and thereafter settles at Winterfell to be Hand to Queen Sansa. Bran is made King of the 6 kingdoms as he was in the show, with Tyrion as his Hand and ruling with his council. Jaime did not turn on Brienne in the last moment, didn’t erase years of character development, and instead left to kill Cersei himself, finally realizing the disease she really was, and became Queenslayer for the good of the realm. He survives Daenerys’ attack on KL and is serving Bran in the new Kingsguard, under Brienne the Commander. 

Finally, Arya does not randomly decide to become Christopher Columbarya and sail the ocean blue, erasing years of her own journey to finally be home with her family again, no sirs, she finds Gendry after the sack of KL, after she realizes what Sandor was trying to tell her to do, to choose life, and tells him to ask her again. You can guess the rest from what you read below :)

And in keeping with the pack survives narrative (bc that’s what good writing is about!! Consistency!!) the Starks remain closer than ever, visit each other often, and don’t end up alone and separated! Hope yall enjoy!

P.S… Okoye. You’ll see why soon. definitely not taken straight outta black panther Ahem. Continue.

“And reinforcements from the Stormlands will arrive tomorrow, Your Grace, if I’m not mistaken. Lord Buckler of Bronzegate sent me a raven saying twenty ships worth of food and supplies will be here just after sunrise.”

Bran nods in approval and looks up at the sunlight streaming in through the windows of the newly - reconstructed King’s solar. Daenerys’ rampage had left little of the Red Keep standing, but some of the personal chambers had remained mostly intact, so the new King and his council lived in close quarters for the past three months while they supervised the city’s recovery. There were still many injured and many more starving, so Bran called upon every Lord and leader in Westeros, high and low, to contribute whatever they could to the city’s smallfolk; who had suffered the most.

Bran glances over at the man across him. His blue eyes are bright with belonging and purpose, his dark hair is gradually breaking free of the short crop he had sported when Bran had first met him, and he wears fine leathers in same way his father and uncles had, only this time adorned with clawlike marks on the shoulders of his tunic.

The young King smiles at this observation. Stags don’t have claws. But he can think of another animal that does. 

Gendry catches his King’s gaze. “What is it, Your Grace?”

Bran’s smile grows ever so slightly. “When is my sister returning, my Lord? It’s been a fortnight since her last raven.”

Gendry sighs and looks out a window, where the city gates rise from the sea of ruined buildings far out in the distance on one end, and the azure waters of Blackwater Bay lay calm and still. “I’m not sure. She said she wouldn’t leave Queen Sansa at Winterfell until she’s made sure she’ll be well protected.”

“Won’t Jon be there soon?”

Gendry blinks. “Yes - er - I didn’t know that until this morning - got a raven from Tormund. How’d you find out?”

Bran throws him an unimpressed glance. “Well I am the three eyed raven. I flew over Jon and Tormund’s group last night. They’ve settled the Wildlings in some unoccupied lands about a day’s ride from Winterfell. Sansa wants Jon to be her Hand, and it looks like Jon’s agreed to it.”

Gendry nods slowly, trying to process the King’s extraordinary statement in a way he can understand. “I’ve heard of your abilities, Your Grace, but forgive me, I’m not sure how one flies when they can’t even walk. But if what you say is true, then you can see where your sisters are, too, can’t you?” He grins then, and maybe in front of a different King he’d be punished for his audacity, but Bran is no ordinary King. And Gendry has never been one to worship the ground at a highborn’s feet. 

But he’ll fight for any one of the Starks. Arya and her family time and again showed kindness and mercy to the common folk, and beneath their ferocious direwolf fangs they shared a gentleness for the innocent that Gendry had rarely seen among the rich and powerful. Even Sansa, the Red Wolf of the North, held a great tenderness concealed beneath her icy, calculating exterior, and people everywhere adored her for it.

Bran’s smile widens into a true grin, then. A feat so rare Gendry thinks he should get Grand Maester Samwell to check on their King’s health. 

“Yes, I can see everything. Anything, anywhere, at any point in time. But sometimes it’s nice to put it all away for a while, and be a normal man. Or at least act like it,” he replies. “I did see Arya, by the way. It appears she’ll be staying in Winterfell for a few more weeks before she starts her journey back here.”

Gendry’s face falls, but he catches himself and hopes the King doesn’t notice. The least she could do is send a raven, but she’s been oddly silent since her last message to him, and he’s getting worried. If she doesn’t send more word soon, he’ll go off to Winterfell himself.

Bran quirks a brow at him. “Storm’s End needs someone like you, someone who will take care of the people. Your uncles left the Stormlands in such disarray, but the Stormlords are willing to follow your command. Don’t worry about my sister, she can handle herself.” He smiles serenely at the former blacksmith.

 But what about me? Gendry thinks. Does she not understand that every day we’re separated feels like an eternity to me?

None of it will mean anything, if you aren’t with me, so be with me…

It will be nearly four months since Arya left to help Sansa settle into her role as Queen in the North. Four months since he last held her in his arms, since he tasted her on his lips and felt the warmth of her smile, since he saw the heat and tenderness in her gaze she reserved only for him. 

She had sought him out after the Dragon Queen had stormed King’s Landing, after Jon drove a dagger through his aunt’s heart and liberated all who would come under her tyranny. She had been covered in ash and blood and he’d never felt more fear in his entire life, that he would have to watch her die like this, but she was mostly unhurt, the blood had not been hers, not all of it.

“Ask me again,” She’d rasped, coughing out grey soot and clutching at him for dear life. “I thought I wouldn’t come back from Kings Landing. I was going to die there, and I couldn’t do that to you, I had to refuse,” She whispered, tears falling from her eyes and down her grimy face. “I couldn’t hurt you.”

And oh, she had never looked more beautiful, he had never loved her more fiercely than he did in that moment, not even on that night they thought would be their last, when she had kissed him down in the Winterfell stores and made breathless, frantic love to him. “You could never hurt me, love,” he’d said, wiping her tears away and crushing her to his chest. “I know you don’t want to be a Lady, I’ve always known. We can go wherever you like. Do whatever you want. I’ll follow you anywhere you go, till the end of my days,” he promised, and released her so he could kneel before her in the ash and dust. “My life means nothing without my family. Please be my wife. Please be my family, Arya of House Stark.”

And with that, she’d tackled him into the rubble with all the strength she could muster, and kissed him senseless. “I love you,” She’d breathed against his lips, “I will be your family. Your - your wife,” she broke off in a quiet moan, as he moved to press searing kisses down her throat. She held his face in her hands, stilling his sweet movements to look earnestly up at him. “And I will lead by your side, Gendry of House Baratheon.”

He stared at her in shock, his hands coming up to bracket her own. “You - you want to rule the Stormlands with me?”

Arya smiled at him, even though it hurt to do so and her face was bleeding. “I want to be here for the people who can’t protect themselves. I want to make our world a better place than the one we grew up in…I couldn’t save them in King’s Landing,” she’d paused as more tears trailed down her cheeks, and he dutifully brushed them away with the pads of his calloused fingers. She would tell him about the girl and her mother, later. The little family that had saved her from the stampede, only to end up burnt beyond recognition in the end. “I have to make sure this never happens again.”

Gendry kissed her forehead, the bit of it that wasn’t cut open. “As m’lady commands,” he’d murmured, threading their fingers together. “Now let’s get you a maester.”

“I also need to teach you how to use a fork, none of those idiot lords will respect you otherwise.”

He laughed and scooped her up into his arms. “I’ll need all the help I can get. I don’t know any other rich girls willing to teach me.”

Part 2 coming soon :)

[chinatea]

Jikook AU #3. (WIP)

Tags: Supernatural AU, Prince Jimin, Innocent Jimin, Sand Master Jungkook, Sand, Lots of sand, Deserts and Dunes, Aesthetics, Dreamy, Stalking, Seduction of the Innocent, Dark Ending.

(Updates will be irregular and short, tbh, because this is a short fic, I dunno why I’m splitting it even further, but you gotta do what you gotta do sometimes. Will be posted on AO3 when done.) 

(THIS IS A NON-PERSONA FIC, OKAY. YEAH, I WRITE THOSE, TOO.)

Part 1. 

The king has been writing letters for as long as Jimin remembers.

Their kingdom is dying, but here, in the safety of the palace, it is but a muted echo, a whisper shared in secrecy between the serving folk.

Jimin was born in the palace, raised in the palace and is destined to die here, too. The outside world is as ephemeral to him as a dream, existing only in the meandering stories of his mentors. The stories of warm people and treacherous dead ends, hidden among the streets so narrow one could barely squeeze through. He wishes he could experience it all, if only for a day, breathe in the smoky spices of his people, drown in the daily hubbub of a bustling bazaar, but come next morning, that dream escapes through the cracks of the ancient walls somewhere Jimin could never possibly follow.

For he is the youngest prince - he belongs here. As moon belongs in the sky, as fish belongs in the sea.

(Here, in the world of sand and wind, the sea, of course, is nothing but another dream wisp.)

Being the youngest means to bring luck and good fortune into the family. That is his sacred duty. The reason he is alive. That is also why he is prohibited to ever leave the palace grounds. The moment his feet brush the stones that are not of the palace, his family is doomed. Or so the story goes - a mere legend but who would dare to disobey and taunt the Fate herself? People in power are most superstitious.

Fettered he may be, still, Jimin has been raised with kindness, his wishes indulged, his whims obeyed - all but one, of course. The affairs of the outside world have also been kept out of his concern. The king and his letters, the occasional visitors, his brother’s sudden disappearance and his mother’s tears - all of that existed in a different world from his. Might as well be another dream.

He has his own reality, instead - his routine devoted to studies. Music, dance and sacrilegious reading. Tending to his mind as well as his body. He is the soul of the palace and his beauty reflects the vitality of their dynasty that has been prospering for a thousand of years now. Truly, the gods have been gracious.

It’s not often he is called to the great hall, the heart of their palace, where the king holds his daily sittings. Oftentimes Jimin feels lost in such a vast open space, a tiny speck surrounded by massive columns that soar high and imperious as in a vain attempt to bring them closer to the sun - they say the titans build them, long before humans were even in the picture. That is why they’re so humongous. That is why every word uttered travels great distance before echoing off the stone, magnifying it in intensity.

It’s no coincidence that only the king is allowed to speak in full voice here, the rest of them resorting to humble whispers. And Jimin barely utters anything at all. He’s only ever invited to play an instrument - a lute or banjo. And Jimin loves doing it. It brings a smile onto the king’s face - his father’s face.

The day he’s summoned again makes his heartbeat quicken just so. As much as he’s removed from the matters of their kingdom, he is not completely oblivious. Not long ago, his ears have caught a whisper of a whisper - something is happening outside the walls. The City’s walls. Somewhere far away where only dreams dwell.

Spurred by his curiosity, he hurries out of his midday bath, giddy with excitement as his attendants wrap him into layers of gauzy fabric, their movements ritualistic and solem. As much as he’s impatient, he understands that the youngest prince is the soul of the palace, hence he must look impeccable, especially in the eyes of the outsiders.

The sight that greets him in the great hall upon his arrival, however, dampens his spirits. The king seems...Jimin can’t really ascribe an emotion to his face. Maybe it’s grief, although Jimin could never be sure - grief exists in a place beyond his comprehension. He only knows the occasional melancholy of things.

Wordless, Jimin bows and lowers himself on one of the pillows by the king’s elevated seat, reserved for the members of the royal family - they are the only people who can remain seated in the king’s presence, the rest of the court keeping their distance respectfully, their heads lowered.

As he picks up a light lute, ready to start on a melody that his father finds most pleasurable, he’s immediately hushed with a brisk wave of the king’s hand, his eyed lidded in deep thought. Jimin’s fingers stay still, barely touching the strings, as the silence becomes their only music.

“Bring him in.” The king’s tired voice is barely above whisper. It barely cuts through the heavy silence of the hall.

Jimin waits with bated breath as the thudding of marching footsteps reverberate through the space like thunderclaps. It’s sinister and Jimin has half a mind to slink back into his chamber - the comfort of his books and blankets, only his curiosity gets the better of him.

The man the guardsmen bring forth is not of this land, that much is certain. His clothes are well-traveled, dusty from sand and grime, his looks have a rough edge to him, which strangely only adds to his handsome allure. Jimin has never seen a foreigner before, let alone so striking, that he allows himself to just stare, agog, at the stranger, along with the rest of the court.

“What good a single man would do us?” the king mutters under his breath, as if musing to himself. “I asked - I begged - for an army. Is this how my brother owes his debts?”

The stranger smiles at him and it’s not a kind smile - it’s not an evil smile, either. But there is something wicked behind it, something ancient - the smile of a man who knows many secrets.

“I am the army.”

Spoken with the conviction that cannot be wavered. Jimin doesn’t doubt it for a second, but the king slams his fist on the armrest in fury as a round of gasps rolls through the crowd. The king never - never - shows anger.

“How dare you mock me.”

Unperturbed by the outburst, the stranger, then, brings up his hand and opens his palm - a handful of sand dust piled in the center of it. Jimin almost leans off his seat in order to get a better look; almost rolls off it, a silent gasp of surprise caught in his throat when the sand rises off the palm, shaping up into a miniature whirl, its enchanting dance leaving Jimin riveting with awe.

A wave of whispers disturbs their court. Even his mother, ever the serene matron, loses her composure for a moment, lips parting in wonderment.

The king, however, begs to differ.

“Am I supposed to be impressed with your parlor tricks?”

“Perhaps not,” the stranger admits. “But are you sure you are looking in the right direction, my king?”

He points, then, towards the murky horizon, many eyes following the smooth flow of his hand, as if enchanted - there are gasps. There are voices, murmurs of wonder.

Jimin rises on his knees to peer beyond the open balcony into the vastness of the desert, encroaching onto the city from all sides. There is always something predatory about the sands, the dunes holding them in their clutches, waiting for the day it could swallow them all. And today...

Jimin is startled to realize that it might not be as far-fetched a truth. The sight leaves him invigorated as he takes in the sand columns in the distance, streaming down from the skies, all of them mirroring the dance of the little whirl on the stranger’s palm. They are too far to cause any real damage to the city walls, but if they were to reach them, the city would be left in ruins, no doubt about that.

Jimin shivers, as the cold fingers of tangible fear grip at the base of his spine.

“Are you impressed now, my king?” his voice runs as smooth as the sand between his fingers the moment he lets his hand fall - the distant whirls dispersing just as effortlessly, evaporating into the thin air. “Or maybe you think it’s some kind of trick? An illusion? Maybe you want me to raise one in the middle of this hall?”

“No. I believe you.”

The king’s face is pale, hands gripping painfully at the armrests of his throne. He looks like a tired old man. “If you swear to protect my land, you can have any reward you want.”

“I’m sure we can arrange on a suitable price.” The stranger’s eyes find Jimin’s, for the first time, burning through him like incense - it leaves him breathless. “In due time.”

“What should we call you, magician?”

“Jeongguk.”

The name is carried through the hall in reverence - Jimin, too, can’t help but test it out on his lips, soundless to anyone but Jeongguk himself as his dark eyes burn through his very core, sparkling feelings that leave his limbs heavy, pinned to the ground - it frightens him.

He darts before he can change his mind, leaving his flute and his family behind - escaping while all eyes are on the newcomer. Once out of the Great Hall, he sprints all the way into his private quarters, uncaring if the guards see him run like their palace is on fire. His step is light and muted. He doesn’t look back even if he desperately wants to - even if he feels eyes on him. Many, many eyes watching him - the feeling doesn’t dissipate even in the safety of his own bedroom.

Somehow he doesn’t doubt for a moment, whomever this man may be, he’s here to stay.

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

And this is end of the only decently written part for now. Sighs.

[softpeetabread]

I talked about a lot of these with @imakemywings and it was great fun.

There was a post for the rewatch of the Hunger Games that discussed whether Peeta crying was part of a strategy and I wrote a response to it that I’m sticking to: I think he was genuinely terrified. From the moment his name is called, he looks scared. He tries his best to hide it, but you can tell he can’t contain his terror at the fact he was picked to go die. However, the thought of Peeta being calculating (and manipulative for a good cause, mind you) really is shown in the books and I have reason to believe he was prepared and had a strategy ready or an idea of a strategy if he ever got reaped. I think he thought about the possibilities of what his reaction would be if he were reaped. Everything else came together and I feel the odds were ever in his favor.

Peeta probably didn’t talk to Katniss for eleven years was because of what his mother would say about Seam folk. It became a sort of forbidden love, and the slimmer his chances were of getting to be with Katniss, the harder he fell for her. If they hadn’t gone to the Games, he would have probably approached her when they were of age to marry. (BUT THEY DID GO TO THE GAMES AND LOOK WHAT WE GOT.)

Something that has been bothering me about The Hunger Games is why didn’t Katniss and Peeta form an alliance? I think Katniss never even thought about that because she didn’t want to watch Peeta die. She couldn’t have handled that. If anything, I think Peeta would have been the one to suggest it, but then there was this moment where Cato stared at them after the Tribute Parade and he had a strong sense that Cato would definitely go after Katniss, so Peeta needed to keep him away from her to protect her. This would also explain why he joined the Careers in the first place. (It is confirmed he joined them to keep Katniss from having to confront them and therefore keeping her safe, but I still wonder what it would have been like if the two had had an alliance. I don’t think they would have won the Games the way they did.)

Haymitch asked both Katniss and Peeta to wake him up on Tour Day in Catching Fire so they would come in at the same time and face each other.

I’m so fucking upset about Peeta in the beach scene when he tells Katniss nobody needs him. Like how fucking awful does his family life have to be to even say these words? I think Peeta’s mother, being the abusive cunt she was, told him before the Quarter Quell reaping, or maybe even before any of those events, that his family didn’t need him. I think this happened before the reaping of the QQ because during the victory tour, when Katniss tells Haymitch and Peeta about Snow’s visit, he tells her he has family to protect. So he was concerned for them then. But during the beach scene, he tells her nobody needs him. I think his mother made him believe this after the QQ announcement that he was basically going back into the arena and he would surely die this time. And he is so honest about it to Katniss that even she realizes his family wouldn’t miss him (he has two older brothers that could help out in the bakery after all) and only she would feel broken if he died.

After the war, Peeta, Katniss, and Haymitch have an open-door policy where they can come into each other’s homes without invitation.

After Peeta came home, Peeta and Katniss live together in her Victor house while he turns his own Victor house into a bakery. He would bake bread and other pastries and give them to returning families from District 12. Once he and Katniss started growing back together, she joined him in delivering these goods.

Peeta tried teaching Katniss how to bake, but she didn’t have that kind of patience for it. Instead, so they spend time together while Peeta bakes, he suggests that Katniss could gather the ingredients he needs. It would work as bonding time for them, which I think is sweet.

Katniss would watch Peeta bake and observe his concentration and how he holds and grasps the piping bag for the frosting and she’d realize “so that’s how he knows how much pressure to use” and it’d totally refer to something sexual because those two would fuck each other’s brains out all the time.

Katniss tried teaching Peeta how to hunt. He wasn’t that great at it at first because he makes noises involuntarily in the forest, but he eventually gets the hang of it. Katniss is still better at it because she’s had years of experience, but it’s another type of bonding time for the two to have.

After District 12 is rebuilt, there is a trading market similar to the Hob, but it’s not a black market. It’s open to anyone that wants to trade. Katniss brings meat and trades with people, often bringing some baked goods Peeta makes for her to take.

Buttercup lives with Katniss and Peeta and he likes Peeta instantly. Katniss grows fond of the cat because he belonged to Prim, even if she still thinks he’s stupid and the cat still hisses at her.

I’m starting to see Katniss as the type of person that needs to be kept busy so she doesn’t get uncomfortable or anxious. Especially while pregnant. (I read this wonderful fic about her pregnancy and Peeta would go hunting with her when she was like 8-9 months pregnant and he was waiting for her to admit it wasn’t a good idea.)

Haymitch, Peeta, and Katniss get together to eat, but when he isn’t able to, they drop off a plate of food and freshly baked bread they made so he can have something to eat. Katniss also hunts and brings him fresh meat.

I like to think Haymitch would write a book about what happened, like a memoir of some sort or something about his two charges and what really happened during the 74th and 75th Hunger Games and during the revolution. (I read a headcanon about that and now I can’t stop thinking about it.)

Haymitch loves Katniss and Peeta’s children. The kids would worm their way into his heart and he’d probably look after them when Katniss and Peeta are busy…or want some time alone. He’d let them play with his geese (if he has any left) or he plays with them. He’d be so damn happy for Peeta and Katniss because that’s ultimately what they all fought for so to see it actually happen and he’s living to witness it, sometimes that would make Haymitch sort of sentimental in a good way. Not enough to cry, but enough to toast to them for staying alive and for keeping them alive.

Haymitch does his best to stay sober to look after the kids. However, because of his heavy drinking he wouldn’t live to watch them grow up. It’s bittersweet because after having a life full of dread and loss and despair (Katniss even mentioned Haymitch chose solitary confinement to stay away from people), I think Haymitch wouldn’t be used to having a family and everlark and their kids would be the next best thing. It’s so funny how he doesn’t like Katniss, because they clash all the time, but he’d definitely walk her down the aisle and be there when she gives birth to the kids and steps in if Peeta has an episode. Katniss and Peeta are like his kids except he didn’t raise them. He just protects them (District 12 team is so wholesome wtf).

[roseymoseyberry]

The Prime’s Intended (4/?)

What’s up, it’s your girl Rosey, and I’m back with more of this nonsense.

Title: The Prime’s Intended

Series: TFP post-war AU where Optimus didn’t die

Ship(s): Optimus/Ratchet

Tags/warnings: Big Awful Public Wedding AU, Established Relationship, outing a relationship without consent, and just a lot of dealing with bullshit from paparazzi/media/etc. Mentions of sticky interfacing, but none on screen

Fic Summary:

“A photographer spotted us leaving your quarters this morning.”

In which paparazzi out Ratchet and Optimus’s relationship, their PR consultant plans them the biggest and most extravagant public wedding they never wanted, and Ratchet has to deal with suddenly becoming the Prime’s conjunx-to-be.

Chapter Summary:

"It'll be fine, old friend. Just follow what we discussed and try to be -- well, your nicest self."

| Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Optimus had worried all morning as Ratchet washed himself more purposefully than usual. Hell, while it wasn't a word that Ratchet would normally use to describe his lover, there was no other way to put it than Optimus fussed as he helped Ratchet apply a new layer of wax on his plating. Ratchet was fairly certain the last time he had bothered to wax when it wasn't time for his annual checkup was when he was made Chief Medical Officer of the Autobots. He hadn’t even bothered when he was made the Chief Medical Officer of Cybertron – he was simply too old to be bothered with such vanities anymore.

Or, at least, he had thought he had finally outgrown them.

Ratchet eventually waved his lover off.

"Would you stop that hovering? You're starting to make me anxious."

Optimus looked unconvinced, and for good reason.

Ratchet was already, without a doubt, a bundle of anxiety.

Speaking wasn't his strong suit. Never had been. Oh, he had bedside manner aplenty despite the way mecha joked about him -- he could read individual patients at a glance and act accordingly. And arguing, well. No one would try to say he wasn't damned good in an argument. Public speeches were less natural to Ratchet, but he had presented to other medics before the war, and had relearned the rhythm and cadence of it after.

But that was in small groups, or about topics unrelated to himself. It was about his patients, or medical procedures and research, or the good of the health of Cybertron's citizens.

Ratchet had never had to discuss himself in any real personal manner that wasn't with mecha he trusted.

Optimus leaned in slowly, pressing a kiss to Ratchet's helm.

"It'll be fine, old friend. Just follow what we discussed and try to be -- well, your nicest self."

"Rude," Ratchet groused, even as he leaned back to revel in his lover's servos that grasped and kneaded his shoulders.

"Simply being honest. You know I love you, but you can occasionally be--"

"An aft."

"--Abrasive," Optimus corrected. "But you will be fine. It's just a few interviews. And if you have changed your mind--"

"I don't need you to make excuses for me. Like you said, it's just some interviews. I can handle that much at least.”

"I know you can. But you do not need to if you don't wish to."

Oh, it was tempting. Ratchet had successfully managed to stay locked away behind official and private doors, not having dared to go out in public just yet, keeping his awareness of the chaos waiting beyond the walls around him to just the hypothetical. It was almost easier to deal with the frustration when he could really believe that at the end of the month everything could go back to the way it was.

But he knew he could not hide forever.

Not with Optimus as his bonded.

Ratchet let his optics drift offline as he leaned back against Optimus.

“If Cybertron is so desperate to get to know me, then that’s their folly and they’ll just have to live with the consequences when I give them what they want.”

Optimus huffed with amusement as his frame eased behind Ratchet.

Ratchet didn’t feel the least bit relaxed but hid it well as he let his partner finish applying his wax and give him a good luck kiss.

“You must be Prime’s intended,” said the mech at the front desk brightly when Ratchet arrived, the words accompanied by an awed expression as he handed Ratchet the itinerary and then led him down the hall.

“Look alive, folks! Prime’s conjunx-to-be has arrived,” announced the photographer to his aids when Ratchet was dragged into the photoshoot studio to suffer through the awkwardness of trying to present himself well in front of a camera he hadn’t known would be involved at all.

“An honor to meet Prime’s lover,” said the mech who would be interviewing him with a slimy megawatt smile that would put even Spinmaster to shame as she held out her servo to Ratchet to shake.

“Ratchet,” he corrected irritably. Already his plating felt itchy and too tight with the repressed frustration that he had to be the first one to say his own damned designation in this damned building.

“A pleasure,” she replied without missing a beat, as if she hadn’t noticed at all, too busy smiling and gesturing towards a pair of plush chairs. “Please, take a seat and make yourself comfortable. I’ll have my aid get you some energon and then whenever you’re ready we can get started.”

Ratchet would swear he could see the entire surface of the mech’s dentae with how wide her smile was. If the results of this interview were to only reflect on him, Ratchet would have well lost his patience already and let himself be belligerent and petty, because so far as he had seen, the staff deserved little better. They all looked at his face in a way that clearly belied the fact that they were thinking about Optimus. It was insulting.

But this would reflect on Optimus. This was public politics that Ratchet was stepping into and it wasn’t his career that was likely to suffer from any backlash.

It took effort for Ratchet to force out a small wane smile of his own in return.

The day never improved. Different faces in different buildings had only the same sorts of questions to ask.

Some were so banal and dull that Ratchet just gave the same answers eventually. Questions about who he was -- a medic, the Autobot’s CMO, now Cybertron’s CMO. Questions about the bonding ceremony -- the date and the possible venues and any details that Ratchet could not give because he honestly didn’t know them. Questions about if he was excited, eager to bond with his lover, with Optimus Prime! – yes, of course, Ratchet had to lie through his dentae, telling himself again and again it wasn’t a lie so much as exaggeration because he was happy to be bonded to Optimus, the upcoming ceremony be damned.

The questions of how they met were a little more difficult, but Ratchet had been prepared for that.

“We met long before Optimus was, well, Optimus. He was still Orion Pax, an archivist at the Halls, and I was one of many med students who spent half his time being ordered around a hospital and the other half parked in the Halls writing papers and desperately fighting off recharge. It’s a miracle that we managed to form a friendship with our schedules, but clearly it worked out--”

Questions about how they had become lovers were expected, but that didn’t make it easy. It still felt wrong to talk openly about them being lovers at all, let alone to try to explain the intricacies of their shared lives in an easy to digest answer.

How could Ratchet ever explain the way that impending revolution and civil war had put a harsh halt to the way they two had been drawn towards the inevitable conclusion of their feelings for one another; how Orion becoming Optimus had uprooted their lives and shook their friendship to its core as Optimus flung himself helm-first into war and Ratchet followed on his heels; how easy it became to ignore the beating of their own sparks when surrounded by war, a war which well over half the current population of Cybertron had abandoned and never known and would never understand when reading some article in a magazine?

How would any civilian understand the quiet horror of being surrounded by death and the unfulfilled dreams it left in its wake, and how that constant horror finally had Optimus pulling Ratchet close on a night like any other, apologizing in the same breath that he explained he needed Ratchet to know he loved him?

How could they understand how Ratchet had wept in his arms with relief because he had thought himself condemned to taking his love for Optimus to his grave?

Cybertron wanted a cute story, not the melancholic desperation of soldiers grasping ahold of one another and hoping against hope it would not end in tragedy.

“I wish I had a better story to tell, but it was just a matter of one of us finally saying something. Optimus was always the braver of us, and Primus did I—I care so deeply for him.”

It was never enough for the mecha interviewing him. They would push and poke and prod with further questions, but inevitably they would accept that Ratchet was not going to open up about it.

“Shy” they had called him. “Shy” and “Bashful” and “Sweet” and any other number of words that Ratchet had never heard thrown at him of all mecha.

But he would have taken them over the questions that he and Optimus had spent their millennia together avoiding.

Optimus Prime was Ratchet’s leader.

Ratchet was Optimus Prime’s Doctor.

No one dared to suggest that they would ever say anything about the arrangement. Every interviewer would wave a dismissive servo or wear that sly look, like they were in on some joke they shared with Ratchet. I’m on your side their smiles said as they voiced concerns about work place ethics and abuse of authority and the possibilities that one of them may be taking advantage of the other.

I believe you their servos on Ratchet’s wrist suggested when Ratchet would manage to sputter out the practiced response about constant communication and checking in with one another, because neither of them would ever wish to coerce the other, let alone take advantage.

Because explaining that amongst the Autobots, Optimus had been everyone’s leader and Ratchet had been everyone’s doctor, and that the idea of committing themselves to loneliness with no end in sight was too horrible to consider--

--It wasn’t terribly romantic either.

No amount of assurance in the interviewers’ voices comforted Ratchet. Every damned time the next interviewer would start talking in that too-sweet voice, Ratchet’s spark would twist, knowing it was coming and wishing that just this once they wouldn’t ask and thus remind him of all those mecha out there who would think the worst of their coupling.

Ratchet wasn’t sure which was worse: that they would think Ratchet was taking advantage of Optimus, or that Optimus was taking advantage of him.

Both made him feel sick to consider.

And then would come questions he hadn’t seen coming. No doubt they were meant to be palate cleansers since they were all the sorts of questions Ratchet would have expected to be asked around groups of newly forged mecha.

“Now, we’re all dying to know. What is Optimus like behind closed doors? Is he—”

“—romantic?” most interviewers started with, as if they were imagining Optimus like some mech out of a romantic novel, carrying frivolous gifts while speaking overly mushy words of love.

“—passionate?” the last interviewer jumped right to with a sharp gleam to his optics, and Ratchet knew at once he meant something far more lascivious.

Was he a physical lover like the photos suggested, easily dropping affectionate kisses while touching Ratchet with ease, and could the public expect to see more of that side of their relationship? Was he funny or was he serious or was he gentle or was he passionate -- again and again each interviewer would finally ask that most important question.

“Is Optimus passionate?”

Does he frag you? their optics asked when their voice boxes couldn’t.

Is our great Prime also a great frag?

Does he make love or does he frag hard and fast until you’re screaming?

Won’t you tell us about every which way your arrays have aligned so we might imagine what it’s like to frag the Optimus Prime?

Ratchet had never considered himself a prude by any stretch of the imagination, and yet found himself burning from the inside out from embarrassment and shame.

“I’m happy with him and I make him happy, and that’s all anyone else needs to know,” Ratchet managed when all he wanted to do was scream that it wasn’t their damned business.

The moments they had together – Optimus’s large and sure servos interlocking with Ratchet’s and the affection in Optimus’s optics whenever he looked at Ratchet and the warm timbre of Optimus’s voice when he asked Ratchet every night how his day had been – didn’t belong to anyone but them.

“Shy” they all called him again, as if that could be the only reason Ratchet wouldn’t tell them about the way their frames fit together when they went into recharge each night.

But Ratchet managed to make it through each interview, and if he got to experience some glee in seeing the brief flickers of frustration on his interviewers’ faces, that was something at least.

Until that very last interview.

“Can you fully merge?”

Ratchet’s spark stopped cold in his chest as his optics went wide.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I know, that wasn’t an approved question, but some of our readers are starting to wonder about that. What with the situation with the Matrix and all--”

“What?”

Watts, Spinmaster’s aid who had followed in Ratchet’s shadow all day to speak with the other staff members and no doubt to keep an optic on him, looked up sharply at his tone, her optics at once narrowing at the interviewer.

The interviewer at least bothered to look abashed, but still continued even as Watts started walking over, “As our Prime, Optimus’s spark communes with the Matrix, doesn’t it?” Ratchet nodded shortly, processor still reeling with confusion while his spark only grew colder with some realization it wasn’t yet sharing. “Well then, when the two of you merge – if you have yet, of course, I would never assume –”

“Don’t answer him,” Watts interrupted, standing at Ratchet’s side, and despite her minibot frame she did her best to look irate as he gestured at the interviewer with the datapad in her servo. “That topic is outlined as strictly off limits so you best stop right there or this interview is over.”

“What topic?” Ratchet asked, irritated at the conversation going on around him. Since when had there been off limit topics? Who had decided that and why hadn’t they bothered to consult him about it? And what the frag was all of this about spark merging—

The interviewer’s optics gleamed like a predator’s as he spoke over Watts protests.

“Presumably you can’t merge with the part of the Prime’s spark that communes with the Matrix, so are you able to truly bond?”

Watts had started nearly shouting now, though Ratchet wasn’t sure who at and what about because all he could hear was the rush of energon pounding through his frame. The frustration that had built over the span of the day felt as if it was boiling over in his lines.

And the bitter twist of shame in his spark finally set his temper aflame.

“Do you really think that whether we can complete a full spark merge makes any damned difference?” Ratchet snapped. Watts placed a servo on his wrist that he shook off as he pointed aggressively at the interviewer. “No, you don’t, because that has never been a requirement for legal bonding and never will be. There are plenty of bonded who do not merge fully for plenty of reasons and their bonds aren’t questioned. So just get to your point!” Watts was desperately trying to placate him now, but Ratchet didn’t pay it any mind as his optics narrowed in their focus on the interviewer whose fake smile wavered. “Just say that you want to throw doubt on our relationship until I pour out enough sordid details to prove myself that your readers can go home and self-service to their newly-informed fantasies of what it would be like to frag Optimus in my place!”

There was silence for that brief moment as the whole room seemed to gape. The interviewer’s optics had gone wide.

And then a genuine, albeit cruel, grin pulled at his lips.

Another staff member entered the fray though before he could speak, his servos gesturing placatingly as his gaze flipped from Ratchet to Watts and back, over and over. “Now, now, clearly things have gotten out of hand, so please let me offer apologies on behalf of the magazine. We would never want to suggest any insult to the Prime and his intended--”

“I have a name!” Ratchet shouted as he got to his pedes, aware of how his plating was flaring out. When the staff member just stared at him blankly for a moment before continuing with his asinine apology, Ratchet growled and he turned away to stalk out of the room.

Watts was close behind.

“Wait, sir, Ratchet,” she said as her short legs raced to bring her to walk just in front of him. It was the novelty of hearing someone else in the damned building say his name that had Ratchet finally looking down at her. There was something quick about the way her optics scanned his face, analytical and precise, and with a nod she continued, “Right, understood. I’ll handle damage control here and cancel the rest of your appointments for today. Security will be waiting for you out front to escort you back to wherever you’d like to go. Is there anything else you need?”

There were countless things Ratchet needed, the top of the list being a miracle that somehow he could have his old life back.

But that was impossible, so he shook his helm and escaped the building.

[everlarkficexchange]

Zero Hour

[Promt 88]:I love soulmates fics ! Anything with Everlark being soulmates and finding each other -finally :) thank you ! - anonymous

Written By: Mega-AuLover

A/N: this monstrosity you can thank @xerxia31 for. There were several Soulmate Prompts and the one I wanted was taken by another author, whom I personally stalk, but she was talking about a wedding and I thought a wedding no…soulless mindless Zombies..I think I made tea come out of Xerxia’s nose :) but seriously thank you for saving the life of this story. To my beta who I have a serious writers crush on @alliswell21 you and I both know how much awe I am in over your writing skillzzz. 

Rated: T  

PART ONE - ZERO HOUR:

They were known as the living dead. Zombies  created by the Capitol who didn’t find their true love. Katniss Everdeen watched one of them from her window, walking slowly, a mask of indifference on its colorless face. He was followed by Darius, one of the nicer Peacekeepers.

She glanced down at her arm, the cause of such a creature, was the tracker embedded under the tattoo they had to get printed on their arm. It was a control measure put in by the Capitol after the war.

At the age of twelve, all children received a tattoo with their initials and age.  It was the first step to show the ever presence and dominance of the Capitol. At 18, they were brought to the school yard to be outfitted with their trackers.

The tracker remained silent until they met their soulmate.  When you met your soulmate, the tracker would glow showing their initials for exactly  8 hours, in which you had to connect with your mate and register with the local magistrate.

The magistrate  were the only ones with the authority  to remove the tracker.

If you missed the 8 hour window, the kill switch would activate. An electrical discharge was sent from the tracker directly to your brain, a sort of modern day lobotomy.

Everyone strived to find their life partner, afraid of becoming a poor soulless creature, just as her sister, Primrose, called them.

Primrose was right, the mateless walked the earth with no purpose other than to do the dangerous jobs the Capitol assigned them. They blew up the caverns in the mines, tested new machinery, the lucky few became slaves to a Capitolite or wealthy member of the society. They were kept far away from the regular folk and guarded by Peacekeepers.

“Hey Catnip,” Gale knocked on the window pane bringing her out of her thoughts.

Katniss smiled at her friend, hunting partner , and soon to be in-law. This morning both families were overjoyed about the nuptials She waved him inside. “Hey Gale.”

Gale was twenty six, tall and very good looking. There were rumors about his prowess in the bedroom, though she didn’t care much about the stories.

He entered the room, and filled it. He was a little over six feet tall, one of the tallest men in The Seam. “So Primrose finally got you to wear a dress.”

Katniss grimaced,”It’s like putting lipstick on a pig, Gale.”

Gale chuckled. “You should see my dad, he didn’t want to wear a suit, but you know my mom.”

Hazelle Hawthorne was a force to be reckoned with.

“Vick wanted me to give this to Prim.” Gale extended the package he held in his hand.

“Thanks,” she took the package from him. “I’m sure whatever Vick cooked up, Prim is going to love it.”

Everyone thought Katniss was going to be Gale’s soulmate, but it was never meant to be. Katniss was thankful that the odds were in her favor.

“I can’t believe my baby brother is getting hitched before me.”

When Vick turned eighteen the previous day, no one was surprised  his tracker showed Prim’s initials. The entire Hawthorne clan came to the Everdeen home, to confirm Vick’s initials showed  on Prim’s arm. Both families ran to the Seam magistrate to have the trackers deactivated and removed. Katniss had been so happy to see the darn devices removed from Prim and Vick’s arms.

Because they were from the Seam, they needed to fill out the wedding certificate at the Justice Building on the other side of the in the Merchant quarter.

“Me either. It’s insane that Prim’s all grown up.”

Gale laughed, “Yeah , Rory and I have been ribbing on Vick all day with the older woman bit. It’s just funny that even though Prim’s like two years older than him, she still manages to look younger.”

“You Hawthorne men look old, or have you forgotten that when we met in the woods, you were 14 but looked like you were 18. I mean right now you look like you can be someone’s grandfather. Now that we’re talking about it, you’ve looked like a grandpa since the day you turned 16.”

“Hardy, har, har,” Gale snickered, pointing to his tracker, it read 26. Gale had worn his tracker for the past 14 years.  A constant reminder that the Capitol owned him.

“Well you can’t help it old man,” Katniss joked back.  

“Old man? you’re  practically an old lady yourself. How old are you? 24? that’s ancient by Seam standard’s.”

Gale was right, no one in the Seam waited this long. There was only two occasions where a person never found their soulmate.

“Maybe you and I are the new Goat Man and Ripper.”

“Well I do know my way around a distillery, and you do have a Goat.”

“Lady does not qualify as a goat, she’s more of a pet.”

“Remember when you bought Lady for Prim?”

“You mean with the money we got from the stag I got with my arrow, that you claimed you shot?” Katniss crossed her arms over her chest.

“I still say my arrow was the one that got him.”

“Gale you and I both know you’re no marksmith. You can’t shoot down a full grown bear standing 20 yards away.”

“Man those were great good old days.” Gale wistfully uttered, his days were now spent in the mines.

So much had changed since she was a child. She looked behind her to see the empty rocking chair. It reminded her of harder times. 

According to many, becoming soulless was the worst fate someone in Panem could have. But Katniss had seen a different kid of desperation.

She had seen what happened to soulmate when their love was taken away. Her mother had found her soulmate in a man from District 12’s Seam side. Fate brought them together and for a long time they were happy, until he was taken away by illness.

“How is your dad feeling?”

“Good, if he could stay away from Haymitch and Ripper’s liquor. My maw says he drives her insane, he says she drives him to drink.”

“Your mom then says drive, what drive, we don’t even have a car.” They said together. It was an old joke between them.

Gale’s father had survived the great illness thanks to her mother. The Hawthorne’s were lucky. Many were not.

Katniss was eleven when the great epidemic filtered through District 12 and beyond. It affected the Seam the greatest especially those poor souls loveless creatures. When her father became infected, her mother, a healer, tried everything she knew to help save him but her father was too far gone.  He died shortly after the diagnosis.

Her mother never fully recovered.

“Listen I’ve got to go. I’ll see you in less than twenty minutes. Who knew someday you’d be my sister.”

Katniss shook her head, “I guess somethings are meant to be Gale.”

She closed the door and from her vantage point she watched him flirt with Mrs. Andrews. She was glad they were not a match, she and Gale were too alike. They were more like siblings then lovers.

Her mind swirled with images from the past. The constant hunger, the near death, the death of her father, and the loss of the care of her mother.

It became very clear no one cared about dying children, or the sick people of The Seam. The Capitol was more concerned with its own plans. They tightened security around the wall that was erected after the great rebellion was neutralized. The wall cut through the land separating the privileged and the poor.  The vendors lived in the Merchant Quarters and the workers and the poor lived in the ghettos.

In District 12 they called it the Seam. In District 2 Darius a Peacekeeper said the ghetto was known as the Dungeon.

“Katniss.”

Hearing her sisters words brought Katniss out of her thoughts. She turned around to see Prim dressed in white. “You look beautiful.”

“Never as pretty as you.”

“Oh here, Vick sent this to you.”

Prim blushed as she reached for the box. She opened it and gasped. “Bread! real bread for toasting!”

“Bread?” Katniss wondered where Vick had gotten it. There wasn’t a bakery in the Seam, it wasn’t allowed. But once a month. The Baker sold his goods outside of the gate door, but most of the time the bread was stale. Gale would trade with him, when they got a good haul. The last time she’d tasted fresh bread was when that boy had given her bread./

“It’s still warm Katniss,” Prim touched he bread reverently.

“Can I smell it, “ Katniss asked recalling smelling the scent of freshly baked bread. The smell of fresh crust and flaky interior had never left her.  

“Sure, do you remember the last time we had fresh bread Katniss. It was a miracle. We were so hungry.”

Katniss recalled how empty their stomachs were on that hollow day.

Her last resort was to sneak into the Merchant side and rummage in trash cans for food. She found nothing and as she was giving up, a boy appeared by the window. He nodded at her then a few moments later a commotion  from within the walls of the house.

She remembered hearing the painful cry of a child, before the door of the back yard opened. It had been the blond boy who’d seen her through the window. He had a welt on his face and his big blue eyes held unshed tears. But his chin didn’t tremble as he ran out and gave her two loaves of burnt bread.

Katniss had never been able to forget that boy. She’d never seen him again. However, no matter what the Capitol did to divide them,  in her heart she could never forget that boy.

That single act of kindness gave her the strength to carry on. To remember her father’s generosity, his dexterity, and his abilities to hunt. Katniss looked down at her wrist, the glaring zeros poised to begin at any moment.

“It was a miracle, Prim. And today we have another one. Vick and the rest of the Hawthorne’s will be here at any moment.  Why don’t you go get mother?”

“Don’t worry, Katniss, someday you’ll find your soulmate.”

Katniss hid her grimace. “Don’t worry about me little duck, today you’re going to sign the official paperwork, precisely at 1:00 in the afternoon and we’ll have a toasting afterwards.”

“I know! I’m so happy!” Her sister couldn’t contain her joy. She was as bright and as delicate as the yellow flowers she was named after.

“Katniss don’t forget your pass.”

“Don't’ worry. I will not forget.” Katniss put on the long sleeve jacket that went with the dress. Katniss was shorter than her mother so the sleeves reached the tip of her fingers, she didn’t mind, she was always cold. She was glad it had pockets.

PART TWO - RACE BEGINS:

Prim turned to their mother, “Isn’t it a great day for a wedding mom?”

Their mom slowly nodded. “Yes dear.”

It really was a breathtaking day, there wasn’t a rain cloud in the sky. It was warm, with a pleasant breeze. It was a the perfect day for a wedding.

“It’s really happening,” Prim squealed when she saw Vick arriving.  

Tears gathered in her eyes, as she watched her sister take in Vick in his suit. He was handsome, as handsome as the rest of the Hawthornes. He was tall like his brother Gale, but his eyes were kinder. His smile softer, and unlike Gale who sported a beard and mustache, Vick always had a five o’clock shadow.

“You look amazing,” Vick softly said taking Primrose’s hands in his. 

“Thank you for the bread.” She offered.

“Every bride should have fresh bread on her wedding day.”

“Okay, everyone time to get moving,” Hazelle, Gale’s mom interrupted the tender moment between Prim and Vick.

“Yeah some of us are hungry,” Rory shouted.

“When aren’t you hungry?” Gale muttered.

Katniss chuckled. She wondered how long Gale and Rory would go before one tried to hurt the other.

As they made their way through the Seam, many stepped outside to softly hum the bride’s song.

This was a special time in a young person’s life when the future seemed limitless.

Katniss was the curmudgeon trailing in the back with the full knowledge that life was filled with more hurt than good.

As they approached the wall, the streets became busier since it was the day the merchants sold their wares to the inhabitants of the Seam.  Everywhere Katniss looked there were men, and she was filled with dread and panic as she saw two young people looking at their trackers as they time slowly ticked down.

The tracker would automatically start when she was near her mate. She took deep even breaths as she followed the wedding party.

When they arrived at the wall,  the sun in the sky indicated it was noon. Katniss heard Rue’s song being of the giant clock-tower as it struck twelve. She’d never seen it but she heard it all of her life.  On a cold winter’s day the bell could be hear in the Seam, it chimed on the hour.

They stood long in the long line waiting patiently to go up into the small wall border crossing outpost. They moved slowly until they reached where the gate was between the Merchant and the Seam. Katniss kept didn’t really look around but the smell of bread caught her attention.   

The baker was at the wall, with a tall man with curly blond hair. They looked alike, Katniss assumed he was the baker’s son. He reminded her of the young boy who had given her the bread.  When he looked in her direction, Katniss swiftly looked the other way.

“Peeta, please give the lady her bread,” his father admonished.

Katniss glanced at him once more when his attention was turned to the woman in front of him. He was broad shouldered, his arms were muscular, and his hands were large but they were careful enough to gently hand the woman her bread. His actions caused her to smile.

“Next,” the Peacekeeper called out.

“Come on Katniss,” Posey, Gale’s baby sister called.

Katniss joined the group as they were allowed in the building. Prim was ahead of them with Vick.  

Her sister  had her hand linked with Vick, as they spoke with the Peacekeeper. “State the nature of your visit.”

“We are getting married,” Vick’s deep voice boomed. “Our trackers were removed yesterday by the Seam Magistrate.”

The Peacekeeper checked their passes. “Congratulations on your nuptials, may the odds be  in your favor.”

“Thank you,” Prim gushed.

One by one they went through the checkpoints. They were all in a festive mood as they entered past the checkpoints and headed toward the Justice Building. Katniss paused at the looming clocktower, it’s shadow cast the town square in darkness.  When they arrived they discovered their appointment was set back a hour.

The small party waited in the lobby of the building waiting to be called to sign the paperwork.  They had all of the time in the world.

“Only fifteen more minutes before we’re married,” Vick said quietly for Prim to hear, but Katniss overheard it.

Her sister gazed up at Vick and her pale blue eyes shined with happiness. Katniss swallowed as she recalled the harshness she had to experience. Their mother Lillian stood just feet away, a pale shadow of the woman she’d been.  

Katniss shuddered the at the prospect of becoming someone like her mother. It was why she’d  decided to not interact with men. She didn’t want to find her soul mate. Her mother Lillian, had slowly come back from her depression,but there were days she returned  to the rocking chair.

In the beginning, her mother spent months in her rocking chair simply existing, without words, vacantly staring out into the void. Katniss barely got her to eat or bathe. At age eleven, Katniss had become an adult, taking on the responsibilities that were beyond her years. She tried, but with the illness no one opened their doors to orphaned children.

“Everdeen and Hawthorne,” a young woman called out with a clipboard.

“Yes?” Prim stood up.

“Thank you for your patience. As a reward, you’ve been selected to have a wedding ceremony by the Head Magistrate.”

Only a few received this honor. It was fitting that it should be Prim and Vick. “Thank you,” Prim whispered.

“This way, please.”

Everyone followed the woman into the Head Magistrate’s office.

The head magistrate was a woman with mile high pink hair and an outfit that had white doves all over it.

“Welcome, welcome.” The woman stood and she had the strangest shoes Katniss had ever seen. “I am Head Magistrate Effie Trinket.”

“A pleasure ma’am,” Vick nodded.

“Oh my, you are a tall one,” Effie said as she looked up at Vick. Her eyes scanned all four Hawthorne men. “You certain are a handsome lot.”

Gale grinned, and Katniss rolled her eyes.

“Are we ready for the ceremony?”

Prim eagerly nodded.

“Good you stand here my dear,” Effie instructed Prim and then turned her attention to Vick, “ and your beloved over here.”

All the attention was on Primrose and Vick as they solemnly stood before their families and the Head Magistrate.

“Dearly beloved we’ve come together to witness  this woman, Primrose Everdeen join this man, Vick Hawthorne, in the sacred bond of marriage.” Addressing the groom and bride, she asked, “Are you ready to take the vows to uphold the laws of marriage as decreed in the statues of Panem?”

“We do,” Prim and Vic said united.

“Do you promise to keep the other in health and in sickness. To stand by the other in good times and harsh times?”

Katniss watched Gale’s parents exchange loving looks. Her mother turned pale. Katniss lowered her head and glanced down at her shoes, tucking her hands in her jacket’s pocket.

“We do,” Prim and Vick replied.

“The by the power vested in me, by our beloved President, Corilanius Snow, and the Country of Panem, I now pronounce you, husband and wife.” Effie Trinket joyfully exclaimed, “You may kiss the bride.!

Katniss looked away as Prim and Vick kissed.

“Now if you could please sign the certificate.”

Katniss watched as her sister wrote Primrose Everdeen for the last time. It was a bittersweet moment. She was losing her sister to someone else. Albeit it was to Vick, and he was moving in with them, but things were changing.

Maybe she should start thinking of it as gaining a brother, instead of losing his baby sister.

“Who are the two witnesses?” Effie Trinket asked.

Katniss stepped forward with Gale.

Gale signed first and handed the pen to her. Katniss took the pen, and pushed down her sleeves. Smiling she glanced up at her friends and family as she poised to sign her name. But everyone looked shocked and ashen. Katniss frowned.

Her first instinct was to search for Prim to make sure she was alright. Prim’s eyes were wide, her face pale.  Her sister had clamped her hand over her mouth and was pointing to her arm. Katniss glanced down at herself, that’s when she noticed the timer on the tracker had begun it’s count down.

Everything in the room became still as it suddenly dawned on Katniss, her race had begun.