#Johanna thinks she’s so cool and no one has the heart to tell her the truth

[blaithnne]

Bro you reblogging the strugglewoman post with Kaisa reminded me of a Reflection I was having these days. You know how Hilda artists will make Kaisa fanart and say she’s a ‘woman kisser’? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen at least three fanarts like that. And I was thinking that it’s so funny because, yes, in theory they are right, she sure would kiss women. But have you seen her? Like actually seen her in all her season 2 glory? That woman is not pulling. You think she approaches women? You think she flirts like a well collected person? You think she actually goes out to meet people? Nah man I know a girlfailure when I see one and that’s what it looks like. We need more lesboloser Kaisa truthers because we are right

-📚💍

CRYING YES YOU’RE SO RIGHT. I think Kaisa’s life long goal is to some day hold another woman’s hand, she’s not got kissing a woman on her list of goals bc she doesn’t wanna set an unreasonable expectation for herself

[solar-halos]

odesta week. day #1: modern au monday

summary: annie and finnick engage in some crazy funky shenanigans after a concert

3k, odesta fluff, modern au. also some johannie in the beginning (as a treat) but obv this is odesta endgame. concert they attended isn’t explicitly mentioned but know in ur heart it’s chappell roan

“Wanna do something fun?”

Annie was not expecting Johanna to say anything, so her next opened mouth kiss lands directly on her chin. Oops. The club lights bathe them in swathes of purples and pinks, which complements the lipstick stains on Johanna’s neck. 

“Huh?” Annie asks. It’s a fair question—she thought all this making out they were doing was the fun part. 

In Annie’s opinion, it couldn’t get better than this. It’s not everyday you get to see your favorite artist’s favorite artist live and in concert, and it’s also not everyday that hot people choose to strike up a conversation with her.

Johanna and Finnick are hot. And, even better, they were the ones who turned around and started asking her questions right after they caught her eye in line. Maybe they just really liked her vibes. Peeta and Katniss were accompanying Annie, too, but anyone with a sixth sense could tell that they weren’t really down with throuples.

Annie would be so down for a throuple. Need she remind you that Johanna and Finnick are fucking hot.

Annie had no idea what the fuck a man was doing at this concert, but she already knew she was a goner as soon as Johanna offered Annie a vape she procured from her tits. Annie was ready to dive in. 

And she did—kinda. Eventually. The concert venue was crackling with sick beats and (courtesy of Johanna) simmering sexual tension. Hands on hips, bustier against bustier—it was like they’d known each other for a thousand lifetimes (Annie didn’t even know Johanna’s last name). Then the concert ended, and they were walking out together, and that was all the flirting time Johanna needed to convince Annie that they should start locking lips. 

Speaking of locking lips, how come they’re not doing that right now?

Right. Johanna wanted to do something fun. Annie pulls away and gives Johanna her undivided attention. Well—as undivided as it can be with all the pulsing lights and upbeat music and enthusiastic dancing going around all around them. 

“You’re so cuddly,” Johanna says. Annie is suddenly hyper aware of the fact that she’s not even sitting in her bar stool anymore. Oops. She had no idea that she was trying to drape herself over Johanna, so she pulls away. “I think my friend Finnick would really like that.”

My friend Finnick. As if he needed an introduction. That was the guy who was standing by Johanna’s side in line the entire time they were waiting for the concert to start. In an ideal world, Annie would have been sandwiched between their locked lips, but she had to play it cool. Chances are he’s just one of the girls. 

Or maybe not. They looked like they were having a pretty intense argument the moment the concert ended, making pointed gestures at Annie, but Annie’s own friends were pretty good at distracting her from their (hopefully) platonic lovers quarrel. 

Katniss and Peeta tapped out after the first club. Annie kept going, especially when Johanna’s hands kept wandering lower and lower and lower until Finnick stopped shooting her weird-looking glances altogether. 

“Does Finnick like me?” Annie demands, excitement blooming in her chest. That’s so hot. “Like, does he wanna be with me?”

“Probably,” Johanna replies. She fixes Annie with a glare that looks almost wistful, then gives her a hard kiss on the mouth as a parting gift. “I need post-coital cigarettes. Not cuddles.”

“Oh.” She starts nudging Johanna away now, too, because she doesn’t even smoke. “Good thing you figured that out about us. I would’ve never guessed.”

Johanna raises her pierced eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Annie leans back and studies her. She has pink hair that’s molded into spiky tendrils and a glittering constellation of nose piercings. Annie’s eyes flick down to her bustier and leather pants.

“I don’t like making assumptions about people,” Annie says, as if she hadn’t been thinking with her dick the entire time. 

“Get the fuck out of here,” Johanna replies good naturedly, her own lipstick smeared all across the dimples on her cheek. 

Annie stumbles out of her seat. She’s not even drunk. Not since the first club, at least, but they’ve cycled through so many that she finally registers that her feet ache in her stilettos. Why doesn’t anyone ever talk about the psychological repercussions of serving so much cunt all the time?

She starts her search for Finnick. It was harder to pick him out in the first couple clubs—and not just ‘cause Annie was preoccupied with Johanna—but they’ve officially transitioned out of Las Vegas’ queer scene and landed in dudebro territory. Finnick’s dark eyeliner and chipped red nail polish is really starting to stick out in the-only-club-that’s-still-open Nevada. 

Nevada. Road tripping from California with Peeta and Katniss hadn’t been ideal—Peeta’s car was probably never gonna fully recover from this—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Annie would have attended that concert if it was hosted in the middle of the goddamn ocean, wetsuit and chunky goggles and all.

“Finnick!” She finally finds him, and when she does, she does not hesitate to sit down next to him at the booth he’s at. She’s never been very good at figuring out what the fuck a social cue is, but he seems pretty happy to see her, so she takes that as her sign to keep going. “Hi!”

“Hi,” he says, so softly that the music nearly eats his reply whole. His cheeks flush.

He’s pretty. The dark liner dragging across his under eye would look harsh on anyone else, but she’s suddenly obsessed with all this eye contact he’s making with her. His coppery hair drapes over his shoulders, the soft waves curling right over the knot of his Adam’s apple.

Hot. 

Annie already knows so much about him. They spent a lot of time in line together, so she knows when he graduated high school (he’s only one year older, so the age gap won’t be very hard to defend at all) and where he’s from (California, too—good, ‘cause Annie didn’t wanna do long distance) and how he found out about the concert in the first place (Johanna was obsessed with the music first, then he followed in her footsteps, which Annie doesn’t really mind. She’s already compiling a playlist in her head that she thinks he’ll really like).

“Have you heard of this song?” Oh. It’s like he read her mind. He pulls out his phone, shuffling closer to her. Annie knows that he’s getting so close as an excuse to drown out the blaring music. She cuddles even closer, but she doesn’t have an excuse. She just likes cuddling—Johanna clocked that from a mile away.

Finnick does, too. He slides an arm around her waist and she sets her head on his shoulder the entire time they carefully curate playlists for each other. Annie can’t wait to listen to all the stuff he picked out for her on the way home.

“Favorite color?” Finnick asks, after they got all the soul-binding stuff out of the way, but he keeps giggling because Annie finally found the perfect angle to dot kisses to the underside of his chin. “Wait, let me guess,” he adds, and Annie thinks the only reason he even tacked that on in the first place is because he doesn’t want her lips off his skin. 

“Okay. Guess,” she says, punctuating the demand with another kiss.

He takes his time. Annie progresses to the corner of his mouth, but she doesn’t know if they’re ready for that yet, so she focuses her efforts on his cheek. He ducks his head to the side so that they’re looking each other in the face. No one’s ever looked more kissable.

“Blue,” he says. “Your favorite color is blue.”

“Kinda.” Now it’s his turn to start kissing her. He has a lot of skin to choose from—her bustier is teeny—but he keeps it nice and respectful at her jaw. Annie drags him down to her neck, butterflies erupting in her tummy. “Cerulean.”

“That counts. It’s blue.” He’s getting bolder. He crosses over to sternum territory, green eyes flicking up to hers, which would be sexy if it didn’t look like he was being charged with a crime. 

“Kiss me, please.” Maybe he was waiting for a verbal cue. Hot.

That’s apparently all it takes for him to get cocky. He smiles into her skin, lips dragging over her pulse in another hypnotizing kiss. “Don’t you wanna know my favorite color?”

She knows he doesn’t really mean it. She answers him anyway—she was in the mood to be played with.

“Red.” Like the color of his nails. Like the sky before a storm. His grin broadens, so she knows she’s right, but he obviously intends on teasing her. Two can play at this game. “Am I wrong? Maybe Johanna can give me a hint.”

His eyes get as stormy as his nails. He darts up from her chest, so Annie’s hands fly up to his cheeks to meet him in the middle. Their lips tangle together in a messy blur of spit and tongue, trying their best to map each other out. But, when Annie gets acclimated to the touch and heat and feel of him, she gets acclimated. 

So does he. They’re climbing into each other’s bones in no time.

Annie’s on top—on his lap, raking her acrylics through his waves—but she savors the pressure of his ringed fingers on her hips. Hard enough to bruise.

She angles her neck to the side. He gets the hint. She surveys the area while he gets to work, his chapped lips leaving goosebumps on her skin. She feels restless sitting still like this, even with all the friction his patchwork jeans have to offer. 

“Wanna dance?”

Once again, he takes the words straight out of her mouth. Annie leads the way, with Finnick trailing behind her so he can press more kisses to her neck. The intensity and intimacy of it all has her leaning back into him. Her skin tingles where his hands linger—her bustier, her hips, the whale tail peeking out of her skirt, then all the way back to her bustier again, his fingertips whispering all sorts of promises over her skin.

Annie’s never felt so respected. She feels secure, all tucked up between his arms and his lips. They move as one, united in heart and soul.

“Okay, everyone! Get the fuck out!”

The disco lights disappear, replaced by blinding fluorescents. The security guard up front is already ushering people toward the door. Is it seriously 2am already?

Finnick and Annie glance at each other. Lipstick stains on his neck, ring-shaped indents on hers. There’s no questioning who she’s going home with tonight, so she slips her hand into his and fishes her phone out of her purse with the other. Katniss was okay with leaving Annie with Johanna and Finnick under one condition: Annie had to send her frequent updates about her night.

you can’t fuck some rando you just met, Katniss replies, but it’s so much more than that. They weren’t just gonna fuck—they were gonna exchange souls. 

They pass by Johanna on the way out. She’s walking with someone else, a new layer of lipstick slathered over her face. She salutes them both as she and some girl climb into an Uber. 

Finnick and Annie look at each other again. And then they burst out laughing.

Anyway, Finnick isn’t a rando. He’s someone she knows on a personal and metaphorical level. He’s the sugarcubes in her coffee (he likes sweet drinks) and the training wheels on her bike (he never learned how to ride). She knows him more than she knows anyone on earth—including herself.

Annie doesn’t make it very far in her stilettos. They collapse on the curb so she can take a moment to rest. She takes this time to stare at him some more, absolutely in love with the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw.

She has her feet in his lap in no time, his fingers rubbing the tension out of her muscles. She has no idea how it happened, or who initiated the contact—it was as natural as the progression of their relationship. Taking care of each other is second nature by now. 

“I think I have some band aids in here,” he says, scrounging around his pockets. “Johanna’s platforms give her nasty blisters, even if she never says anything about it.”

He carefully smooths out a couple bandaids over the curve of her ankle. She sighs, snuggling into the warmth of his chest. He drapes an arm around her bare shoulders. 

“I left my extra shoes with Peeta. I knew I should have changed into them before he left.”

Finnick has her covered. He carries her around on his back, her strappy shoes dangling from her fingertips. She grins into his neck the entire way to the gas station.

The guy at the cash register throws them a weary look as they buy a bottle of tequila. They also throw in some chips and nacho cheese. All that dancing made Annie hungry. 

There’s a glob of cheese stuck to the corner of Finnick’s mouth. Annie knows her falsies must be horribly crooked by now, so she peels them off. Usually, she thinks littering sucks, but there’s something in the air tonight that’s making her feel silly. 

“Wanna make a wish?” she asks. 

He takes her seriously. He stares at the clump of falsies in her hand for a long moment. He kisses her knuckles, informing her that he made his wish, so she lets the lashes go.

“What’d you wish for?”

“You,” he says. “Can’t get more specific, or else it won’t come true.”

It’s just the right blend of sappy and secretive that makes her heart melt. Loving and being loved has always been an intense, cosmic ordeal for Annie. She’ll never look at the color red the same way, will never pick up black eyeliner without thinking of him first. 

Finnick keeps rubbing over the ring on his finger—the one with the blue, glowing center—and Annie bets it’s because she mentioned it’s her favorite. His cheeks are perpetually rosy pink, even without the tequila. He even stares at her like she’s responsible for the stars aligning. 

“I love you,” he says, as softly as the fingers he has in her hair.

Her breath catches in her throat. He loves her.

“I love you,” she replies. She can’t imagine a time where she didn’t. “You’re not on anything, are you? ‘Cause I’m not.”

He holds up the barely tapped into tequila. Annie shrugs. “That doesn’t count,” she tells him. “I’m on that, too. And I loved you way before.”

He smiles at her. Annie’s never felt prettier. “Okay. If I do something weird, promise you’ll hear me out?”

Annie nods. She’s not even worried.

He nods back, extracting his hands from her hair. His knee suddenly bounces up and down and up and down. “Okay,” he repeats, then unstacks all of his rings so he can slide the blue one off his finger. Annie’s favorite. 

He holds it out to her, the bejeweled part facing her.

“Think of it as a promise,” he says. Annie brushes a stray piece of hair out of his face. “I mean—I can’t stop thinking about how perfectly this fell into place. Even when we go back home, you’re less than an hour away.”

“It’s like we were destined to meet,” Annie agrees. She accepts the ring, slipping it onto her finger. There’s a bit of wiggle room, but that’s perfect for her. She doesn’t like feeling trapped. “I want to get married.”

“So do I,” he replies, almost cautiously. Oh—Annie thinks she finally managed to freak him out. “Should we?”

Or maybe not. Annie smiles at him, suddenly feeling shy. “You don’t mean it.”

He shows her how much he means it. He stands up, offers her his hand, and scoops her right into his arms. She’s in charge of navigation, leading them straight to the nearest chapel. 

“You don’t mean it,” she repeats into his neck, because he can’t. It would be too good to be true. “I’m not dressed for it.”

“Neither am I,” he replies, trying to coax her back out, but she doesn’t budge. He kisses the crown of her head. “We’ll have another one. In California. And we’ll do it exactly the way we want.”

That’s exciting enough that Annie practically leaps out of his arms. They have to sign a whole bunch of papers stating that they’re completely, honestly sober, so Annie flings the tequila into the trash to get rid of any incriminating evidence.

It doesn’t matter how high their blood alcohol content is. Haven’t you heard that drunk actions are just sober thoughts?

A lady waiting behind them clips a veil onto Annie’s head when it’s finally their turn. Annie wasn’t gonna pretend that she wasn’t excited on her wedding day, so she allows herself to stumble a bit as they rush to the altar.

“You’re not gonna,” Annie whispers to him.

He leans over and catches her lips in another kiss. She doesn’t hesitate to drape herself over him. “Watch me,” he whispers back.

Annie does. She doesn’t think she’ll ever stop. She watches him the entire time they’re pronounced husband and wife, she watches him when the guy officiating their wedding tells them to get the fuck outta there (he did not appreciate Finnick launching into some impromptu vows), and she watches him the entire Uber drive over to her hotel.

Peeta and Katniss booked their own separate room, which worked out very well for Annie. They strip all the way down to their rings as soon as they get inside, but not for the reason you might think. Annie always wanted a wedding by the beach, but this landlocked middle-of-fucking nowhere state couldn’t provide that for her. The hotel pool was the next best thing.

Annie throws on her bathing suit. Finnick has to go in his underwear, but they make it work. They splash around and dive under the water again and again and again until Annie feels like she’s being reborn with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns. 

They’re so exhausted when they go back to the room that they only have enough energy to collapse into bed, wet clothes and all. Finnick might be the best cuddler she’s ever seen. 

“I love you,” Annie tells him, because it was hard to stop saying it once she started. She’s consumed by it. 

She doesn’t even feel like she’s married—doesn’t even feel tied down to him, doesn’t feel trapped, doesn’t feel like anyone but herself—which is how she knows that they did it right. Katniss is going to be so happy that Annie exercised enough self control to not fuck him on the spot. 

“I love you,” he replies, already half asleep. Annie wonders if he’ll dream of her.

[gourmet-trash]

As others have pointed out, I too reject "token straight friend Rose Walker" and instead give you "bad taste in women Rose Walker"

The first time it happens, Hob doesn't say anything. He doesn't even acknowledge, outwardly, that he noticed it at all. Between the Inn and his teaching job and, oh you know, just several hundreds of years of being around children and young adults, he can confidently say he has at least some modicum of knowledge on how to interact with them.

So, the first time, he doesn't say anything. He's cool like that.

He also doesn't say anything the second time.

But the third time he watches Rose Walker making figurative heart eyes at Johanna Constantine, of all people, he can't help himself. He also can't really pretend he doesn't see Rose so busy gawking that she misses the rim of her glass and splashes cider onto her jumper. She's sitting right in front of him at the bar, after all.

"Doing all right there?" he teases, passing a few napkins across the bar.

Rose grabs the proffered napkins quickly, visibly flustered while she dabs at the damp spot on her chest. "Just, uh, clumsy, I guess."

Hob snorts softly. "Or distracted," he says, lifting his eyebrows when she jerks her head up.

"...I don't know what you're talking about!"

Hob makes a little "sure you don't" humming sound and picks Rose's glass up to wipe it down for her while she deals with her jumper. "It's cute," he insists, even though he knows from experience that most young adults don't like to hear it. And judging from the face Rose makes, she's no exception.

It almost makes Hob laugh -- Dream makes a very similar expression when someone tells him he's cute.

For Rose's sake, he swallows down that particular amusement and sets the cider back in front of her. "It is! But you might want to work on being a smidge less obvious with the staring."

Rose clears her throat, passing the damp napkins back across the bar when he motions for them. "...It's that obvious?" she asks slowly.

"Little bit, I'm afraid," he says, smiling apologetically.

Rose groans at that and drops her face into her hands. Hob only just makes out the muffled, "Do you think she noticed?" that follows.

Hob glances to the corner of the Inn where Jo has roped some sorry sap into a game of darts. It's not going well for the lad if the jeering of his friends is anything to go by. "Mmm...she's a little distracted, so probably not this time."

"This time?!" Rose repeats, lifting her head out of her hands to balk at him.

"You've been very obvious about it, poppet."

"And you didn't tell me!? I can't ever come back here!" Rose hisses.

Hob bites back his amusement -- poorly, judging by Rose's narrow expression. "I promise it isn't that big of a deal."

"What is not that big of a deal?"

The next few seconds are spent by Hob and Rose startling, someone bumping the glass between them in the process, and then both of them frantically trying to catch said glass before it spills more cider over the bar. When the glass is upright again and they turn accusatory stares on the King of Dreams, sitting at the previously empty barstool at Rose's side, his expression is nonplussed if not vaguely amused.

"You know, one of these days you're actually going to give me a heart attack or something. And then you're gonna have to explain to Auntie Death why she's here," Rose points out.

"I will take that under advisement," Dream drawls, more obviously amused by then. And when Hob leans over the bar, he obligingly tips his head a bit to accept the kiss dropped against his temple.

"Hello, love. Please don't give any of my patrons heart attacks at the bar."

"I will endeavor not to," Dream assures him. But the scuffle over the cider has not distracted him, and he repeats, "What is not that big of a deal?"

"Nothing!' Rose says quickly -- too quickly -- before Hob has a chance to deflect with a bit more tact. "Hence, not a big deal," she adds, snatching the glass off the bar and taking a long drink.

Dream watches her for a moment, no doubt taking stock of the damp spot on her jumper and the blustering, before turning to Hob, expectant.

But Hob has not been a snitch for many, many years, and he is not looking to revive that particular character trait this century. He flashes Dream a smile and leans back from the bar, already grabbing a cocktail glass. "How about we try a French 75 today?"

Dream purses his lips, though Hob suspects it has more to do with his question being very obviously ignored and less to do with their ongoing game of "make Dream try a new cocktail every time he comes in until Hob finds one he actually likes."

"Hob." 

He hums to acknowledge he heard him, considering the gin he has on hand.

"What are you not telling me?"

Hob grabs one of the bottles. "That I don't think you're going to like the French 75."

He turns his back to fetch the champagne and to hide a grin when he hears an annoyed little huff from the other side of the bar. Dream would deny huffing, of course, so undignified. But he huffed. He was huffy.

"Rose Walker."

"No," Rose says shortly, setting her nearly empty glass back down. "Look, no offense Uncle Morpheus, but it's seriously not a big deal, and it's also not something I wanna talk about. Okay?"

It is not, apparently, okay. Hob can tell the second he turns back around, spots the telltale sheen of emotion in Dream's eyes. Rose probably did too, which is why she's very pointedly looking down at the last of her cider rather than at her Uncle. Because they have come a long way since the rocky start of their relationship, but Hob knows better than most how fiercely Dream wants to nurture this relationship with his niece and nephew, almost despite himself. 

And bless him, but jumping straight into teenagers and young adults, nevermind the complications of a crush, is a tall order for anyone, much less the anthropomorphic personification of dreams. He definitely hasn’t had as much hands on time with young humans as Hob. Or if he has, he’s…rusty, to say the least. 

"You were comfortable to discuss these things with Hob, but not with me?"

Rose groans outright and turns on her stool, however reluctantly, to face Lord Shaper. "No, actually, I didn't want to be talking about it with Professor Gadling, either. So if we could all stop talking about it and pretend this never happened, that would be great!" she said, shooting a pointed frown in Hob's direction for good measure.

He holds his hands up in as placating a gesture as he can manage with a lemon twist between his fingers, and Dream glances between them for a moment before, with obvious reluctance, inclining his head.

"Very well," he says. "It is not my intention to make you uncomfortable."

"Thank you," Rose says, less terse, and Hob sets another cider in front of her at the same time he passes Dream the French 75. Dream eyes the cocktail with no small amount of distrust and Hob can’t help but laugh.

"Oh, come on, don't make that face before you've even tried it."

"Yeah, they're not bad. If you don't like it, we can switch," Rose offers, and while Dream does not look anymore convinced that he'll enjoy the beverage, or that he'd prefer Rose's cider, Hob can tell some of his proverbial feathers (well, currently proverbial, but sometimes more literal?) have settled. 

Heaven help him, but he does so adore this impossible, mercurial creature.

At their encouragement, Dream does eventually take a sip of the cocktail. And while his reaction is not quite as strong as it had been to the martini from last week or the Alabama slammer which, admittedly, Hob had only made as a means of getting Dream to say Alabama slammer, he is clearly not impressed.

"What do you think?" Rose asks, amused.

"It is...palatable," Dream says after a moment, and Rose laughs when he lifts it for another reluctant sip.

"Don't drink it if you don't like it!" she protests, waving for him to put the glass back down, which Dream does with something not unlike relief.

"Starting to think gin might not be your thing," Hob says, glancing over when the bell over the door jingles. He smiles and waves a hand that way. "See? Cor can use the door."

"Didn't you say he broke into your apartment through a window last month?" Rose asks, smirking when Hob shushes her.

But, by that point, Corinthian is close enough to hear. And to reach around Dream to pluck the French 75 off the bar. "And guess who finally got the damn locks on his windows repaired after that?"

"That is not a good reason for breaking into my flat!" Hob protests.

"It's a perfect reason for breaking in! I could've stabbed you in your sleep!" Corinthian argues.

"You have stabbed me in my sleep!"

Corinthian chuckles over the cocktail, half draped against Dream's side, who shifts subtle to make room for him there. "I have done that," he agrees.

"You've what?" Dream says, turning a frown on Corinthian who waves a dismissive hand.

"Metaphorically," he lies, before sidestepping out of the conversation by leaning around Dream again to flash a smile down the bar. "Well, hey there, Rosebud."

Rose, whose attention had drifted back in the direction of the darts game -- new bloke trying his hand now and losing just as spectacularly -- turns quickly back around. "Hey! Where's Jed?"

"Dropped him off at the movies with a couple friends."

Rose frowns. "...What movie?"

"One that I'm certain Jed and his friends were able to buy tickets to themselves, of course," Corinthian says breezily. Rose narrows her eyes a little further.

"If Jed has nightmares all week, it's gonna be your fault."

Corinthian makes a little noise of disagreement over his drink, and Hob starts wiping down the bar to keep himself useful while they bicker. And to avoid letting Dream pull him into any further interrogation about the whole stabbing thing.

"Technically, that would be My Lord's fault, wouldn't it?" Corinthian says, motioning at Dream between them, whose suspicious expression has not wavered.

Rose rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean!"

"Uh huh. Didn't know you were so into darts, Rose."

Hob pauses his cleaning to glance up between them, Rose visibly flustered and Corinthian's eyebrows lifted high above his sunglasses while he sips Dream's drink.

"What?" Rose eventually says, and Hob doesn't wince but it's a near miss. Poor thing, she's usually better toe to toe with Cor in one of his more meddling moods.

"You know what I mean," he drawls, and Rose snatches her cider up to chug. Again.

Rose knows what he means. And Hob knows what he means, even if he's not entirely sure how Corinthian himself knows. But Dream, sitting between the three of them, clearly does not, and he misunderstands rather wildly.

"Would you care to play darts, Rose Walker?" 

"That's a great idea!" Corinthian insists while Rose coughs around her drink. "That gal in the corner seems like she's pretty good, I bet she could talk you through the rules."

And then Dream turns his head and his attention alights on the darts game already happening. "Johanna Constantine is here?" he asks, looking back to Hob for confirmation.

"She's a regular these days, yeah," Hob says, and he'd argue that Dream doesn't stand from the stool so much as he pours himself from it, too liquid in his movements for the human shape he wears.

"Then I shall have to introduce you, Rose," he insists, and Rose only manages a token, squeaked protest before Dream is ushering her towards the darts game.

Hob swats Corinthian with the towel he'd been wiping the counter with. "That wasn't necessary," he points out, trying very hard to tap down on his own amusement.

"Sure it was! This way Dream can figure it out himself, and then he can be the one to tell her there's no way in hell we're gonna approve her trying to date Johanna fucking Constantine."

Hob laughs despite himself and leans against the bar, smiling when Corinthian takes up Dream's abandoned stool to meet him halfway. "She is a grown woman, you know. We can't stop her from trying to date who she likes."

"We can sure as hell try."

"We can do that," he agrees, leaning in to return the quick, sharp kiss Corinthian dips in for. "Does he know how to play darts?" Hob asks, glancing towards the corner when Corinthian leans back.

"I have absolutely no idea." [ ← prev ] [ next → ]

[paradiseinaverno]

mary on a cross

johanna constantine x fem!reader, coffee shop scenario ; where johanna constantine grows quite fond of a coffee shop owner with some magic of her own.

a/n; i would so be lying if i said this wasn’t very loosely inspired by fleabag. i’m rewatching rn as i rewatch the sandman and all i can think about is jenna coleman as the hot priest i’m being so real.

It is a truth universally known, that the bond between humanity and coffee knows no bounds. Johanna Constantine can back this up. Long days of exorcisms, and general supernatural activities, have only one remedy; sleep.

Of course, her line of work does not afford her this generosity, what with the high demand of exorcists, and so she finds herself outside of a slightly minuscule coffee shop underneath pouring rain; the only coffee shop, it seems, that’s open till three in the morning. The sigh of relief she breathes out materialises as white smoke in the cold November air.

There’s music coming from inside the shop, she realises. Some type of cool jazz, or at least she thinks it’s jazz. Johanna pushes the door open, sick of the rain, and it swings with a clink of the bell fixed to the wall above. The first thing she notices, as she enters into the warmth of the coffee shop, is you.

Johanna’s made it a habit, no, a rule, to not get overtly attached to people anymore. It’s somewhat difficult to really maintain any type of bond beyond shallow familiarity with people nowadays, and besides, she hasn’t exactly had the best luck with romance in the past. Still, she can’t tell what it is that draws her to you. In fact, Johanna only realises what she’s doing once she’s walked up to the counter and introduced herself with a grin.

“Hi. I’m Johanna.”

You look over the book you’re reading, pleasantly surprised. Raising an eyebrow, you smile back.

“Hi, Johanna. I’m Y/N. Is there any reason you’re at a coffee shop at three,” you check the time, “Sorry, ten past three in the morning?”

Ah. So this was how it would play out.

She gestures to the door. “Well you’re open. And I have an early shift.”

You blink in confusion. “We’re not open.”

Johanna frowns for a moment, wondering if the lack of sleep has finally seeped into her brain. Then, she walks over to the door, opening it briefly to point at the sign, and walking back over to you with a satisfied smile.

“Nope. Definitely says ‘open’. Do you have an espresso?”

Under any other circumstance, you would have told her to go away and come back at real opening time. You could have done that now. It’s not that you hate your job; you adore the little shop you run. But, on a principle of working less and enjoying life more, you decided to have the earliest hours of morning to yourself. However, the woman in front of you is very, very, attractive. You can’t really say no. What kind of carpe diem would that be?

And, if you’re being honest to yourself, you think she might be slightly attracted to you, too, or maybe you’re mistaking her wondering where her espresso is, for attraction. Damn espresso. Typical of a coffee blend to capture her heart, instead of you. Anyway, it’s impolite to keep a lady waiting, or so you’ve heard, and so here you are, at three twenty in the morning, brewing an espresso. Johanna sits in front of you, tapping her nails on the table. She’s reading something that looks a lot like the Bible, actually.

“Something to atone for?” You quip, setting down her coffee in front of her. She looks up at you for a brief moment, and then lets out a slow chuckle.

“Lots. Not right now though. Just catching up.” She takes a sip of her coffee, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t happy with the way her face lights up.

“Ah. Just some light reading before work?”

You’re intrigued. What kind of woman reads a Bible, at a coffee shop, at three? The kind that isn’t giving you a sure answer, at least. Curiosity burns through your body, eating away at you.

“Are you some sort of priest?”

That does it. Finally, finally, her eyes meet yours. You’ve been perched on the side of counter for at least five minutes, silently begging her to look away from her reading. Thank you God, you think.

She shakes her head to the side, draining the last of her coffee.

“Nice cup, by the way. And, not quite a priest. Part time, maybe.”

“Nice cup as in nice mug, or nice coffee? Also how can a priest be part time? Are you…is that allowed?”

She laughs this time, and you’re almost grateful for the sound. It softly pierces whatever tension you might have had trying to talk to this woman in front of you.

“Both. You’re sort of magic, you know. Whatever was in that espresso, wow. Starbucks should worry.”

You grin. “Starbucks haven’t got a thing on me. Costa’s next.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re terrified,” she replies, her eyes glinting ever so slightly.

You tilt your head to the side, and she sighs. One look at your face, and Johanna feels like she could rip her heart from her chest and set all her secrets bare in front of you. It’s taking every bone in her body to keep some semblance of restraint. But you’re looking at her with those beautiful eyes, and she finds herself once again under your spell. Beckoning you closer, she whispers into your ear.

“I’m going to perform an exorcism and send a demon back to Hell.”

She can’t tell if you’re frozen because of how outlandish that sounds, or because you’re slightly terrified. But she can tell that she is almost utterly intoxicated by your scent. Rich, brewed coffee, and lavender, she thinks, fill the tiny gap between you two. Johanna doesn’t breathe for a moment; she thinks if she does, her breath might betray her and reveal just how fond she is of you already. It’s been maybe twenty five minutes, and Constantine is already willing to lay down the world at your feet; as if you’re some type of religion yourself.

But then you turn your head to face her, and she thinks she might just collapse on the round wood table in front of her.

“So you’re doing some homework? I can respect that. Always good to be prepared,” you laugh as you say the words. Then you pull back, and Johanna realises just how long she’s been holding her breath. So you don’t think she’s insane, as a normal individual would if someone walked in at three and said those words. But stranger things have happened in the early hours of morning.

You continue. “So what time are you supposed to be there?”

“Three thirty…oh shit,” Johanna scrambles to her feet as she realises the time. She’s been so enraptured by you that she forgot just why she came in the first place. She’s almost out the door until she hears your voice.

“Wait!”

“Yeah?” She turns around, breathlessly.

“Can I…Do you think I could get your number? Just, you know. In case I ever get possessed or something,” you say, internally cursing as you pass your phone to her. She doesn’t even need to think about it, pressing numbers in and giving the phone back to you. Then, she’s out the door, a small Bye! leaving her lips as she sprints.

——-

It’s eight in the morning, and Johanna finally finds the time to lie in her own bed. Something gnaws away at her, and despite her weariness, she picks up her phone, grinning widely as a text illuminates the screen;

unknown number, 03:44

good luck on that exorcism. we serve cappuccinos from 08AM. heard they’re pretty decent for demon hunting :)

Screw it. She could spare another hour of waking. After all, it would be nice to have some reprieve from nightmares.

Johanna Constantine leaves with a white coat, and a silent thanks to God for coffee. And very pretty baristas.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Simple Man

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3351

Summary: It was never what he thought he would have. But now Dean doesn’t want to let go. 

Notes: I was going to wait and make this a Thanksgiving special, but I thought today would be more fitting. I can’t believe Supernatural ends tonight! This show has been a part of my life for a while now and it will forever stay in my heart.  I had a really really good time writing this one. It might be one of my favorites I’ve written for Dean, if not my top pick. I hope you guys enjoy it and look forward to seeing more. Carry on. 

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

(P.S. thank you to my beta reader @suckmysupernatural​. Love you!)

-

Oh, take your time, don’t live to fast

Troubles will come and they will pass 

He had slept through an alarm he didn’t remember setting. It wasn’t until he heard the creaking of the door that he stirred, reaching under his pillow for his knife. But it wasn’t there. Dean panicked as footsteps crept towards him. They were nothing more than a small pitter-patter on the wood floor, but he still prepared himself for the attack. The small creature leapt on top of him and he rolled over so he was pinning it beneath him. It giggled. It giggled?

“Daddy, Mom said she needs you in the kitchen.” 

Dean leaned over to the night stand and turned on the lamp. A little green eyed girl squirmed out from underneath him and skipped out of the room. 

“The hell…” Dean muttered. He opened the dresser and sure enough, his clothes sat in the drawers. He put on a T-shirt and slowly walked out of the room. The smell of bacon and coffee coaxed him to the kitchen. He couldn’t believe what he saw. 

You were standing over the stove, trying to save the bacon from burning. Dean was just frozen in the doorway. Finally spotting him, you made your way over to him, which was difficult with the little boy clinging to your leg. 

“Thank God you’re up. I need you to finish making breakfast.” You lifted the boy into your arms. “Eric’s got a fever and Ellie is going to wake up any second needing to be fed.” You gently laid a hand on Eric’s forehead. “I’ll call the doctor as soon as I get him to lay down. But you know how impossible that is.” 

“But I’m not tired.” Eric whined. 

“I know, sweetie, but you don’t want to get sicker, do you?” He pouted his lip and shook his head. “Alright, so I need you to go back to bed.” You looked back at Dean. “Can you just finish the bacon? I’ll be back to make their toast.” 

Before Dean could speak, you rushed up the stairs. As if on queue, a baby started to cry from somewhere upstairs. Dean just stood in shock. What the hell was going on?

As if by second nature, he walked around the kitchen, grabbing a paper towel to let the bacon drain off the grease. It felt almost natural. He somehow knew where everything was, even though he had never been here. Or had he? His brain was fuzzy with thoughts he couldn't remember. He saw images flash in his mind. Sam graduating from Stanford. His parents celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary. You… in a wedding dress. 

“Johanna Charlotte Winchester you better be ready for school or your dad’s going to come and get you!” You yelled, coming back into the kitchen, this time a wailing baby in your arms. It wasn’t until now that Dean noticed you were wearing a sheriff’s uniform. You snatched up a piece of bacon and popped it in your mouth. “Thank you.”

You bounced the baby in your arms, trying to calm her down, but she wasn’t having it. The green eyed little girl from early came bounding into the room with her backpack over one shoulder. Ellie continued to bawl. 

“Can you hold her? She always stops crying when you hold her.” You handed the squirming child to him and he tried not to panic. You noticed your husband’s awkwardness. “Rough morning?” You snickered. “Here, I’ll make you some coffee.” 

As the child in his arms slowly stopped her crying, more memories flooded Dean’s head. You telling him you were pregnant for the first time. Going to the emergency room for the birth of his son. Watching Johanna hold her new baby sister. They all felt like dreams, but then how was this all real? 

“I’m feeling a little... off this morning.” He admitted, watching you carefully as if he were waiting for horns to sprout from your forehead. Your face fell. 

“Oh god, please don’t tell me you’re sick too.” You put your hand on his forehead. “You’re picking everyone up from the airport today.” 

“Everyone?” Dean’s brows furrowed curiously. 

“I would go get them, but I’m at the station until five.” You sighed, moving your hand down to caress his cheek. “Besides, you’ve been dying to see your brother since the Fourth of July.” 

“Uncle Sam!” Jo exclaimed excitedly. 

“Sammy’s coming?” Dean asked. Finally, something familiar. Your face contorted with confusion. 

“Of course he’s coming. Jessica and the kids are too. They always help prepare for tomorrow and since your parents will still be out on their cruise, we’ll need all the help we can get.” 

“Tomorrow...” He spotted the calendar on the wall, but you answered first. 

“Thanksgiving.” You stated. Your confusion changed to concern. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you want me to stay home?” Jo raised her hand. 

“Can I stay home too?” 

“Sweetheart, it’s just one more half-day of school before break and then you’ll get to play with your cousins for the rest of the week.” Seeing you start to get stressed, Dean put a hand on your shoulder. 

“You go to work. I’m fine.” He assured you. “I’ll hold down the fort and I’ll pick up Sam at- what time again?”

“3:00.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek and smiled. “I know you worked extra last week so you could have the garage closed for Thanksgiving, but I think the fumes might have gone to your head.” You grabbed the keys off the counter. “Oh, and I’ll be taking Baby to work since you’ll need the van to fit everyone.” His look of displeasure made you laugh. “I know, I know, but you’ll have to suck it up for today unless you think the four-year-old can babysit.” 

You kiss Ellie on the forehead before giving Dean a quick, but passionate kiss on the lips. You held out your hand for your daughter to take. 

“Alright, partner, let’s go.” 

The two of you leave and Dean looks down at the baby in his arms. Was this really happening? 

-

Boy don’t you worry, you’ll find yourself

Follow your heart and nothing else

If he was trapped by a djinn, he would have remembered fighting it. This was something else. The more time he spent in the house, the more this world felt real and his hunting life felt like dreams. Maybe… maybe this was real. 

He remembered everything now. He had met you in a bar on New Years Eve. You hit it off talking about cars and classic rock. He proposed about two years later outside that same bar during the first snow of the season. You always said the first snow was the best one. You got married and a couple months later found out you were pregnant with Jo. Johanna Charlotte Winchester was born on April 3, 2007. She was seven. Three years later, Eric Samuel was born on November 29th. He was four. Lastly, Ellen Sandra was born six months ago tomorrow on May 27, 2014. 

Sammy had a family of his own. He married Jessica right out of law school and the two had two boys; Josh, 8, and Michael, 6. Their families stayed close, even though Sam was in California and Dean in Kansas. They were happy. 

If this wasn’t real, how could he remember all that? 

3:00 rolled around and Eric’s fever had gone down. He called you to make sure it would be okay to take him along to the airport. You told him that as long as he was feeling okay, it should be fine. The doctor said it sounded like the heat in his room was too high. Dean buckled Eric into his carseat and Ellie in her carrier. While Johanna almost looked like a mini-girl version of him, Eric looked like you. His eyes were yours, along with his hair color and his nose. Ellie looked like a fair mix of both. 

Jessica was the first one to greet him since Sam was busy carrying the boys’ bags. He hugged her tight and couldn’t stop beaming. 

“It’s so good to see you guys.” He smiled and she gave him a sunny grin in return. 

“I know Sam’s been eager to see you and the family for a long time. Of course, I’m only here for the food.” She teased and he pulled her into another hug. 

“I can’t believe this.” Dean sighed happily. Sam and Jessica. Him and you. One big happy family. 

“Do I get a hug, or are just going to hog my wife?” Sam snarked, setting down the bags as Dean nearly tackled him. Sam laughed, struggling to breathe in his brother’s crushing hug. “I missed you too, Dean.” 

“Uncle Sam!” Eric cheered, clinging to Sam’s leg. 

“Hey buddy.” Sam smiled, lifting his nephew into his arms. Jessica peaked into the baby carrier Dean had set on the bench. 

“Look at how big she’s gotten.” She awed. Ellie was asleep, so she spoke quietly. Jess frowned, finally noticing the two brown haired boys fighting over one of their comics. “Josh, stop pushing your brother.” She scolded. 

“He took my comic!” The older of the two retorted. Jessica just gave him a stern look and he surrendered. 

“Michael, give it back when you’re done reading.” Sam ruffled his youngest son’s hair. Dean knelt down. 

“So are you two tough guys too cool to give your uncle a hug, or what?” He pulled his nephews into a warm embrace. “Are you both taller? You’re taller than the last time I saw you.” Dean pat Josh on the back. “You’re gonna be taller than your dad before you know it.” 

“You know, you’d see them more if you flew out to California.” Jessica noted. Dean’s eyes widened. She laughed. “I know, I know, you have a thing about flying.” 

“I want to go to California!” Eric exclaimed.

“One of these days, we can go on a roadtrip in Baby to Uncle Sam and Aunt Jessica’s, how does that sound?” Dean promised. Eric nodded, excitedly wriggling in Sam’s arms. 

Everyone loaded up into the van, Sam sliding into the passenger seat. Dean had to laugh. This was just so crazy. Here they were, driving in a van packed full of children. Their children. He thought of all of the times Sam sat beside him in the impala, the two weary from a hunt. It felt like a different lifetime. Like a different world. It felt less real. 

-

You’ll find a woman and you’ll find love

And don’t forget son, there is someone up above

Four children ran around the backyard, jumping in leaf piles and chasing each other with sticks. Jo seemed to rule the yard, keeping her older cousin at bay with her stubborn persistence. Dean smiled proudly. 

“She’s quite the pistol.” Jessica noted with a laugh, jutting her head towards Johanna. She was sitting beside you, bouncing her baby niece in her arms. 

“I wonder where she gets that from.” You gave your husband a smirk. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

“I love you so much.” He whispered. The tone in his voice made you glance up at him. He was watching you with intensity in his eyes. So much love and yet… there was pain there. 

“I love you too.” You laced your fingers with his, your concern evident in your voice. “Dean, are you okay? You’ve been acting a little weird all day.” You spoke quietly so you wouldn’t worry your brother-in-law. Your husband gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“I’m fine, really. I’m just…”  Dean felt an overwhelming wave of emotion and choked back tears. “Really happy.” He lifted your chin up, bringing your lips to his. Everything was perfect, right down to the way your lips fit perfectly against his. He knew, without a doubt, that this was real. 

Soon it was time to put the kids to bed. Sam’s boys slept on the pull-out couch in the basement. Eric was exhausted from a day of excitement, as well as his baby sister. Dean was charged with the task of putting a rambunctious Johanna to bed. 

“I want to stay up and drink beer like a big kid.” She pouted, making the adults in the room chuckle. Dean crouched down and picked her up. 

“Alright, here’s the deal. I promise that when you’re a big kid like me and your mom, then you can stay up and have a drink with us. But until then, you’re gonna be my little deputy right?” He tapped the golden plastic badge that she never took off. Jo grinned from ear to ear and nodded. Humming a Bob Segar tune, he took her upstairs to her room and tucked her into bed. 

When he came back down stairs, his brother and the two women were smirking at him. 

“What?” You and Jessica exchanged a look and burst out laughing. “Come on, what?”

“That girl has you wrapped around her finger, Dean.” Jessica snickered. You took a sip of your beer. 

“Oh, he’s like that with Ellie, too. He dotes on them like you wouldn’t believe. One little pout from Johanna and he melts.” You couldn’t help but beam at your husband. You loved the way he was with the kids. 

“I got her in bed, didn’t I?” Dean huffed, taking his seat beside you and resting a hand on your knee. Sam shook his head. 

“It’s all in the looks, brother. You may think you’ve one this round, but I saw the look in Jo’s eyes.” Sam gave his brother a sure nod. “She knows where she stands.” 

“At least I’ve got Eric,” You sighed teasingly. “He’s a mama's boy, through and through.” 

You curled up beside Dean, comfortable in his warmth. He kissed the top of your head.

The hours passed with plenty of laughter and love. Soon, it was getting close to 11:00 and you wanted to get plenty of rest for the busy day tomorrow. Everyone would be helping prepare the massive Thanksgiving meal that the Winchesters made every year. Sam and Jessica said goodnight and headed to the guest room while you and Dean made your way upstairs. 

You reached your rooms and Dean’s hands found your waist, his lips trailing up your shoulder to your neck. You leaned back into his embrace, bringing your hand up to tangle your fingers in his golden-brown hair. His hands started to wander and you sighed mournfully. 

“Baby, we both have to be up in the morning.” You groaned, breaking away from him. When you turned around, he was pouting, his green eyes big and sad. So that’s where Johanna got it. He was just so impossible to resist, but if you didn’t go to bed now, you’d be exhausted before dinner even started. You draped your arms around his neck. “I’ll tell you what; how about we get a good night’s sleep tonight…” you pulled him close and whispered into his ear, “and I’ll give you something to be really thankful for tomorrow.” 

Dean’s eyes widened and his smirk spread into a smile. 

“Mrs. Winchester, we have a deal.” He loved the way that sounded coming from his lips. Mrs. Winchester. 

You gave him a long and passionate goodnight kiss before changing into your pajamas and climbing into bed. 

It must have been around 12:30 when the baby started crying. The baby monitor was on your nightstand, so you were awakened by the sound first. Dean moved to get up, but you stopped him. 

“I’ll get her.” You sleepily shuffled out of the bedroom. Reaching the hall, you muttered something that your half-asleep husband only half comprehended. Something about the electricity acting up again. 

The crying continued and you didn’t return. Dean yawned, rubbing the tiredness from his eyes and got out of bed. He slowly made his way down the hallway to the nursery. The door was ajar and the lamp had been turned on. You must have gone downstairs to get her a bottle. 

Dean picked up his crying daughter, rocking her soothingly in his arms. She wailed and wailed until she heard his voice. 

“Alright, sweetheart. It’s alright. Daddy’s got you.” He hushed. After a moment of rocking and soft whispers, Ellie started to settle down. As soon as her cries reduced to the occasional sniff, Dean set her back in her cradle. “That’s it. You’re going to be just fine. I’m not gonna let anything hurt you.” 

Smiling down at his beautiful baby girl, Dean felt something on the back of his neck. When he touched it, his hand came away red. He froze, and as if his body went into auto pilot, he turned around. At first he couldn’t scream. He just stared. 

Your mouth gaped at him, your eyes filled with terror and pain as the blood spread out from your stomach. Ellie started to cry again. 

“No!” Dean screamed. That’s when the fire started. 

And that’s when he woke up.

-

And be a simple kind of man

Oh, be something you love and understand

Dean sat straight up, sweat soaking through his t-shirt, his scream still on his lips. The cool air of the bunker made him shiver. He couldn’t breathe. He heaved and coughed as if the smoke really filled his lungs. A sudden hand on his shoulder made him jump out of the bed and flatten himself against the wall, holding out his fists to fight. 

“Dean?” You rose slowly, walking towards him cautiously. “It’s okay. It was just a dream. You’re okay.” 

He just stared at you, taking in every feature. You watched his eyes fill with tears and his chin tremble as he tried to speak. Nothing came out, just a strangled sounding cry. Dean fell to his knees and you rushed to hold him. Whatever it was, it wasn’t just a nightmare. 

Dean wrapped his arms around your middle and leaned his head against your stomach as you soothingly ran your fingers through his hair. He didn’t make any sound as he cried, but the tears fell endlessly down his face. He was shaking in your arms. 

“Dean, honey, what’s wrong? You’re scaring me.” You whispered. This wasn’t the first time that he’d woken suddenly from a dream, but it had never been like this. 

You told him that you were pregnant today. He seemed happy. Shocked, but happy. But now? Whatever was going through his head was breaking him. You sunk down in front of him so you could hold him fully, letting him cry into your shoulder. 

“I’m sorry.” He finally choked out. “I’m sorry that this is all I can give you. I’m sorry that we don’t have a big house full of kids. That Sam has lost any chance at happiness. That we can never have a normal life.” You pushed back. 

“Baby, what are you talking about?” 

“I’m sorry that this baby is going to grow up haunted and broken… just like me.” His voice cracked. You put a hand on his cheek. 

“Dean…” You pressed your forehead against his, feeling your own tears start to fall. “This baby is going to be loved and wanted and cherished, just like you.” You kissed him gently, reminding him of your adoration of this hero of a man. 

Dean held you closer, letting your words sink into his heart. He wanted to believe it. He wanted more than anything to believe it. Even in his beautiful dream, you ended up burned and bloody. Even in his dream, he was broken. 

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try. He would try like hell to give you a life as close to perfect as he could manage. Maybe that meant hunting together until you went down guns blazing. Maybe that meant settling down, someday, somewhere. He would try. 

Baby be a simple kind of man

Oh, won’t you do this for me, son, if you can

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks​ Supernatural: @desimarie12; @deandreamernp; @vicmc624; @halesandy; @livshaes; @d-whinchestergirl87; @mrspeacem1nusone

[akiwirain]

Persona’s Talk AU??

I keep seeing all of these cool headcanons about each of the group’s personas talking to them throughout their day ... and ofc I have to expand upon it, because it sounds so cool??

So imagine:

Ann: her persona is as fierce and fiery as she is. she’s constantly giving advice to Ann and just genuinely helping out. Carmen is supposed to be known for her charm and using that to make men fall for her, then discarding them.

Cue Ann getting asked out at school by some guy ...

“Uhh, well, you see—“

“Ooo, tell him yes!! He’s a bit cute!!”

“....No.”

Ann never listens to Carmen’s comments about woeing the men around her. Carmen isn’t the happiest about it, but Ann doesn’t mind much. She isn’t ready for a relationship and her persona will have to just accept that.

Ryuji: Using his awakening as an opening point, Captain Kidd reallt wants to just ... wreak havoc and let loose. He’s almost a fun side in Ryuji’s head, constantly wanting to have an adventure. He also helps a lot with Joker, by giving Ryuji advice on how to be a good right hand man.

Morgana: Zorro is known as a defender, along with being a masked outlaw (most of the personas are based off outlaws oof). I would imagine he would just aid Morgana in his quest to help others.

Cue Zorro chastising Morgana when he makes comments about Ryuji:

“He won’t get better with that talk.”

“Tsk, if he even has the mental capacity to get better.”

“Everyone has the ability to get better ... including you.”

Let’s just say Morgana does a lot of tuning out in these moments.

Yusuke: Goemon was a skillful individual who would steal from the rich and give to the poor. Using this, I’d imagine Goemon would help aid Yusuke in his aid to find who he is. His entire confidant link could be Goemon trying to help him find his way. When Yusuke gets offered the deal, Goemon is sure to tell him not to accept. Goemon wants Yusuke to make his own path and have a sense of self in all of his work. To not be tainted by greed, like his master.

In this way, Goemon pushes Yusuke and Yusuke is quick to agree and accept the help. Goemon maybe views Yusuke with a certain ... guardian-like view. I’d imagine he’d be proud when Yusuke finds his way.

Makoto: Johanna is based off of a Pope who disguised herself as male to well, be a Pope. She essentially goes against societies norms and with this, I believe she would push Makoto to push through the box she had previously been in. Whenever an adult asks something of Makoto now, Johanna is quick to inform her to choose her own path—be her own person.

When Makoto gets a bad feeling about who her friend is dating, Johanna backs her up.

“I agree, this man does seem rather suspicious..”

“Exactly! I have to investigate further.”

Johanna wouldn’t be afraid of trouble and would be just as rash as Makoto. In the end, they would each have good intentions, but wouldn’t want to be held back by the norms of society.

Futaba: Necronomicon almost seems like a reference to how Futaba was Medjed, but yet fake Medjed’s were made. Necronomicon was a book that ended up getting fakes circulated (along with a cult following ... yikes). I would imagine Necronomicon to be partially quiet. It wouldn’t say much, except when things get immensely serious and Futaba is spiraling.

Futaba might be out, seeing people and freaking out, but Necronomicon gives a simple,

“It’ll be alright.”

Somehow it works and Futaba doesn’t feel as alone.

Haru: Milady is essentially an independent woman (who don’t need no man (forgive me)). She was fierce and apparently rather manipulative and was branded a criminal, along with a villain. She would also bring others to ruin, more focused on personal gain.

I would imagine this would come up when Haru is so focused on being selfless. She has to overcome her reasoning and realize that no, she wants to change her father’s heart because she doesn’t want to marry, even if it’s partially for the people her father hurt. Milady would be quick to tell her to unleash this side of herself, learn to be selfish. I’d imagine after losing her father, Milady would be quick to comfort her, would be quick to lead her to want retribution for whomever was the black mask.

Maybe even lead Haru to thinking it was the Phantom Thieves at first?

Cue Sae meeting with Haru about the calling card and mentioning the principal:

“It seems we were deceived, my dear.”

“No. No, it couldn’t have been them. The-The principal ... that..”

Cue angst and Haru having to talk to the others, while Milady still is in the back of her mind, doubtful. Eventually she quiets, realizing that Haru truly belongs with them. She wants Haru happy, after all.

Sumire: Cendrillon is really just a French adaption of Cinderella. In essence, it’s Sumire putting on that gown and playing pretend (as in, being Kasumi, because Maruki allowed her to do so). Cendrillon relates to Sumi’s wishes and that’s what leads to them being so easily manipulated by Maruki.

Cendrillon, after being awakened, helps to keep Sumire motivated. She would be talkative during Sumire’s gymnastic practices and would get Sumire to truly do her best.

When Sumire finds out the truth after watching the video, Cendrillon is silent and practically in the same pain Sumire is. She knows what it’s like for that magic to disappear.

This is where things get interesting ... multiple persona users:

Akechi:

Robin Hood would be Akechi’s more ... childish side. The side that was more innocent and truly wanted justice for what happened to his mother, along with himself. Robin Hood is known to steal from the rich and give to the poor, much like Goemon. Robin Hood would be the side of Akechi that pushes him to do good.

Whenever Akechi is around the Phantom Theives, Robin Hood is loud. He likes to remind Akechi that .. “maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if we belonged here. With them.”

Loki, on the other hand, is based off a trickster god in mythology. He is known for both mischief and trickery. I imagine this side is awakened from Akechi’s sense of revenge. It’s the more enraged side of him that he uses to paste the mask on day by day.

Loki likes to be loud and opinionated. He likes to remind Goro of his plans and how he can’t turn back now.

The two personas would essentially fight a lot and it drives Akechi insane.

Cue Akechi getting a text from Shido about a target in mementos:

“Come on, let’s just get it done now. We need to enact our revenge after all, don’t we?”

“We could stop now. We could end your pitiful father’s tirade here and enter his palace..”

Akiren: Arsène is his starter persona, so I’ll start there.

Arsène is known for targeting criminals and is essentially an anti-hero. He’s also known as a Gentlemen Thief! With this, I think he’d really just encourage Akiren’s will of rebellion.

Cue Akiren getting to LeBlanc late one night after a mementos run:

“Ah, you’re back.”

“Quick, think of a lie.”

“Uh-“

“You were at the bathhouse!”

“I was at the bathhouse...”

“Okay?” Sojiro never really cares and gets back to his crossword puzzles. Akiren is still grateful to Arsène anyway.

Ah, but his other personas...

At first, it’s okay. He has a small arsenal that he carries around and while some are louder than others, it’s tolerable.

Until Igor raises his stock.

Eventually, he has 12 personas in one sitting and it’s never quiet. No matter what persona he’s holding in stock, they like to talk to one another or make comments on his daily life.

Or, alternatively, it only matters what mask he is wearing at the time.

Say, he’s hanging with a certain friend, so he cues up the matching arcana of that friend. That persona is quick to make comments on how to achieve max results with that friend and how to advance their confidant.

Cue Akiren meeting with Ann and cuing up a Lover’s persona.

I’d imagine some of the persona get aggregated at never being useful besides being used for comments and never for combat.

Anyway! That’s all the Phantom Thieves.

I don’t know if I’ll do Maruki?? Or even maybe the second/third awakening personas? I think it might be an interesting concept though!

[heyheydidjaknow]

Okay, so I am just the worst. I'm very sorry for that. I will make an effort to stop being the worst. I'm already starting writing for the next chapter. It will be out next week. If it is not, please pester me until it is. If nothing else, the next chapter should be relatively interesting, so.

Chapter 15

“So then I was like, ‘Screw you, man, you don’t know me.’ Because he was being a dick.”

You nod, taking another sip from your straw. “So he was.”

“Well,” Casey continues, gesturing with his pizza slice, “that’s why he gave me a black eye on the ice. And now Annie won’t talk to me.”

With a sigh, you reach up, wincing slightly as the muscles in your back crack. “Well,” you smile tiredly, “that does sound like a predicament. Want me to try talking to her?”

“Nah.” He leans against his hand, taking a bite of his food. “It’s whatever. Didn’t like her, anyway.”

You smirk. “Bullshit.”

“Smartass.” He rolls his busted eyes. “How’s your boyfriend?”

“Nonexistent.”

“Bullshit,” he mimics. “Isn’t he all over you?”

“Hardly.” You wave your hand dismissively. “‘Sides, he doesn’t want a relationship, I bet.”

“You slept together.” He swallows. “You slept together and he didn’t make a pass at you.”

“What does that prove?” You take another drink. “Just because he or I want it to happen doesn’t mean that it should.”

“Bullshit,” he sings once more. “You’re just scared of commitment, I bet.”

Your face flushes. “That’s not it!”

“Then why not ask him?”

“Look,” you fumble for an excuse that was not ‘He’s a ninja,’ “he’s really busy, what with his sports and science stuff. I’m lucky he has time for me at all; what we have is fine until things calm down a bit with him.”

“So never.”

“Pretty much.”

Another bite. “If he’s so smart, won’t he be going off to Harvard or some shit? Shoot your shot.”

“Who are you to give me relationship advice?” You push him, placing your hand on the pizza box between you on the bench. “You just fucked up with Johanna.”

“Maybe the reason you two are still virgins is that you’re both smartasses.”

“We’re like fifteen!” You laugh. “What, you’re a lady killer now?”

“Hey, I’ve made my rounds.” He grins. “You know the blond chick? Jenny?”

You stick your tongue out at him. “She is completely out of your league, Jones,” you huff. “Know your place.”

“And she’s in yours?”

“Did I say that?” You take another sip. “No, I did not.”

He sighs. “I’m gonna set you up.”

You blink at this sudden change in subject matter. “Huh?”

“There’s this guy on the team who has a thing for you.” He takes another bite of his pizza. “I promised I’d try.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” He leans back on the bench, head flopping back. “We’ve been buddies for a while.”

Your eyes trace the cracks in the pavement carelessly, weighing your options. “Where?”

“I’m looking for a yes or no.”

You fiddle with your collar. “Which guy?”

“Carter from bio.”

With bright green eyes, long black hair, you can hardly describe him as ugly. A bit pompous, but not irredeemably so. The idea of going on a date with another man-- another human, no less-- is hardly unappealing, especially given the fact that you are almost completely certain that whatever you have going on between yourself and Donatello is going to go exactly nowhere. It would be nice, you know, to go out to lunch or dinner with a pretty boy.

Your gut tells you it is a bad idea. Your gut also told you to go try and check out Shredder’s lair that one time, and now you could not walk.

“I’m down.” Why not? Life is about taking risks that do not result in your lack of motor functions. “You got his number?”

He nods, pulling his phone out of his pocket and texting you the contact. “He’s a good guy,” he promises. “He’s not gonna try shit, probably.”

“You sound certain.”

“Shut up.” He scrolls through his phone. “Who knows, though? Maybe you’ll like him more than your guy and you won’t have to keep pining over him.”

“And there’s the ulterior motive.” You cross your arms, setting the cup on the ground. “If I get stood up, it’s your ass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He leans his head back forward, picking at his nails absentmindedly. “Whatcha gonna do? Fight me?”

You smirk. “It’s as realistic as you getting with Jennifer Barker.”

“And that’s my cue to leave.” He stands up, wiping his hands on his jeans and taking the box. “I’m taking this.”

“Have at it,” you follow suit, checking the time. “Don’t eat it all at once.”

“I will absolutely ignore your advice.”

“Obviously.” You wave. “See ya tomorrow.”

“See ya.”

The walk home is long, as always, but with every passing day, you get better at walking with one good leg. Having lost it in the dumpster with little more than reassurance that knowing whoever took it needed it more than you do, you have learned a thing or two about balance, and yet you still quietly long for your other leg. ‘It would be nice to be able to run places,’ you muse. ‘It would make me feel better about walking around at this time of night.’ With all the walking you have to do— you still do not have a metro card because you are foolish— you are still relatively strong, but getting places without hobbling and having the option to run away would be nice.

You unlock the door to your apartment. ‘Just a couple more days before I can walk properly again.’ You pull it open, kicking your shoe off.

Someone is sitting on your couch.

You take a shaky step back— ‘I can’t run’—, tripping on your feet and falling on your back in the hallway, your drink spilled on the floor. It is as if your body is struck with lightning, every nerve on edge as you crawl away, voice caught in your throat as you try and get as far away from the door as possible. Your body drags with you.

Too slow.

A hand grabs your ankle. It drags you back into the room with barely a grunt, and with a slam, the door shuts, and you are locked with a figure whose face you cannot see.

The door locks.

The figure lets go of your ankle, heart pounding in your heart as you try and reach for the doorknob, tears pricking your eyes. You can barely use your hands again, progress gone in an instant. ‘Don’t kill me.’ You pray to stop shaking. ‘I can’t die here. Not after everything that’s happened.’

The light clicks on.

“What the fuck is your deal?”

Your eyes snap open. A rush of embarrassment slams into you, a wave of shame making you hot all over as you become painfully aware of the fact that you look absolutely pathetic, clawing at the door.

You pull yourself to your feet shakily, turning back to look at Raphael. “You,” you mumble, opening the door and grabbing your keys from off the floor, not even bothering with the cup, “are the fucking worst.”

“You’re the one that’s all jumpy.” He rolls his eyes, sitting back on the couch. “Who did you think it was?”

You scramble for another answer. “I don't know,” you snap. “If you didn’t know, I’d like to introduce you to the concept of texting someone before you sit ominously on their couch.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely!”

He sighs. “Sit. We have to talk.”

You toss your keys onto the counter, shakily hobbling over to the kitchen, hands clenched still. “You talk.” Your voice starts to stabilize. “I’m going to have a drink and wish it was alcohol.”

“Do you remember the first month you were here?” He crisscrosses his legs. “A week or so in?”

You lean down, grabbing a drink container. “When Mikey almost got kidnapped? Yeah.”

“Do you remember what you said?”

“Do I remember what I said over two months ago? No, I do not.” You set it on the counter, reaching into the cabinet and pulling a plastic cup down. You consider a glass one but did not want to clean glass shards off of your floor again.

“Then let me remind you.” He leans back into your couch. “You said, and I quote, that Shredder doesn’t get close to murdering Master Splinter until season two, whatever that means.”

You nod, setting your hands on the counter until they stop shaking. “What about it?”

“Shredder gets close to killing my father.”

You sigh, dreading the ensuing conversation. “Look,” you reason, “it probably won’t get to that if we’re smart.”

“The first word I think of when I think about our group is not smart.”

“It’s one guy.” You lean against your hand. “So long as he doesn’t pull a Leo and martyrs himself—“

He cuts you off. “What does martyr mean?”

“If he doesn’t throw himself in harm's way for the sake of the greater good—“

“So my Leo throws himself in harm’s way?”

“Have you met your brother?” You try and grab your cup. “Of course he does.”

His eyes widen. “So you’re telling me my brother dies too?”

“I did not say that.”

“But you—“

“The point,” you snap, “is that so long as your father values his own safety, he will be fine. There are preventative measures that we can take to make sure he doesn’t kick the bucket, so for now, worry about how you’re going to survive.”

He gets up. “How does he go the first time?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?” He stands in front of you, staring you down. “Why won’t you?”

“Because you’ll kill yourself over it.” You pick up your cup, taking a sip. “If I told you what happened in the future, you’d pull something to try and defy that, right? Then we wouldn’t even know what it was anymore, and our one tactical advantage would be shot."

“But—“

“I only tell you,” you cut him off, “about certain things so you can prepare to face them, not to try and avoid them. There are very few exceptions to that rule.” You set the cup back down, staring back. “There are things we can do to prevent things from happening, but not right now. Right now, our top priority is to make sure the Kraang don’t kill us all.”

“How come you get to know stuff we don’t?”

“Because.”

He throws his hands up. “Oh, well if that’s the reason—“

“Do you have anything else you wanna say or are you planning on just being up my ass?”

He closes his eyes, hands together as he takes a slow, deep breath. “Yes, actually.”

“What?”

“Karai approached us today when we went to check our Donnie’s stupid signal thing.” He opens them again. “She wants to team up.”

“Cool.” Your voice softens. “That’s good.”

He leans against the counter. “Can we trust her?”

You take another drink. “Trust is a strong word right now,” you sigh. “Aligning with her is a good idea, though. Just trust her as far as you can throw her.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well,” you shrug, “you can trust her to get you things and give you access to stuff. Just keep your guard up is all. Be diplomatic about it and you’ll be fine.”

He nods. “Cool.” He smiles. “Donnie’s been very anti-Karai so far.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “No idea why?”

You shake your head. “Thought he’d like having a kunoichi on his side.”

“You’d think.”

“Well, he’s gotta get over it some time.” You take another drink. “Preferably sooner than later, though. Fucking with Karai…” you shudder. “She’s incredibly powerful. If we can stay on her good side, it would make our lives easier.”

“Ours, you mean.”

“I have a stake in this too, you know.”

He scoffs. “How?”

“We’re on the same planet.” You reach down, fixing your pants over your cast. “Plus, I’m a target of the foot by association.”

“You aren’t fighting with us.”

“Would you rather I did?” You look back up at him. “Because when I do it seems it’s in the wrong way.”

“It would be helpful if you weren’t useless.”

“But I am, so it isn’t.”

“I guess.”

You stand back up straight. “Is that all?”

“Nope.” He walks back to the couch, sitting down. “I’m staying here a bit. Leo’s being an ass.”

“How so?”

“Same way as per usual.” He leans back into the couch. “Thinks he’s better than everyone.”

“And you don't have a better place to hang?”

He shrugs. “My brother likes you well enough. Besides, I want to know the person who’s making all of these big decisions in my life.”

“So it’s because you don’t like me?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

You take another sip from your drink. “That sounds paradoxical.”

“So?”

“So,” you lean your head against your hand, “why would you want to talk to me if you don’t like me?”

“Because your brother likes you,” he repeated. “If you’re going to be hanging around a ton I might as well try to like you.”

You smile. “That is incredibly mature of you, Hamato.”

A scoff. “You can’t call us all Hamato.”

“Watch me.” You hum, taking another sip from your drink. “Can I get you anything, by the way?”

“I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” You reach into your bag— luckily, nothing has fallen out— and pull out your phone. “I just need you out by eleven-thirty. It’s a school night.”

“Even without being involved in our fights,” he shakes his head, “you are a total pussy.”

“Suck me.” You grab it off the counter, carefully carrying your cup to your bed. “And keep the noise down. “My neighbors have been pleasant and I want it to stay that way.”

“Buzzkill. You clearly don’t spend enough time with Mikey.”

“You know,” you grin, pulling out your notes as you sit down, “your brother says the opposite. Donnie, I mean.”

“I figured.”

You glance over at the window as he fiddles with the remote. “How did you get in?”

“The window.”

“No shit.” You look back over at him. “Red button, but I lock the window."

“No, you didn’t.” He clicks the button. “It was unlocked when I got here.”

“Huh.” Another stream of electricity flows through your veins. ‘They know where I live.’ You swallow.

“Must’ve forgotten.”

You did not. You would not forget. There was no way you could have, or would have, forgotten to do something like that.

“Must’ve.”

Table of Contents

Chapter 14

Chapter 16

[jlalafics]

“Wild”, an Everlark ficlet-Part 1 of 3

For @hungergamesfangirl02, who requested a high school pregnancy Everlark.

Hope you enjoy!

Summary: “Katniss never wanted children. She’s not maternal; the mom gene never developed in her body and it makes perfect sense that she should not go through with this pregnancy.” Rated M.

Trigger Warning: Abortion. Alcohol and Drug Use, Underage Sex

-----

“I just bought a new car

One where the top goes down

So we can see the stars

I wanna take you so far

Out past the Saturn rings

And into my heart…”

—John Legend “Wild”

 Wild

Part One: Months 1 to 3

“I don’t know why we’re even going to this party.”

Katniss reaches for the bottle of vodka, taking a quick sip before walking into Johanna’s closet. Her best friend’s closet is much better than her own paltry selection of clothing and she flips through the selection of dresses before settling on a short olive number with a corset.

“Because it’s Gale’s birthday and that guy has a huge boner for you,” Johanna replies, a rolled joint between her fingers. “He’s like, dying for you to welcome him into adulthood.”

“We’re friends; have been since we were kids.” Katniss pulls her shirt over her head, her jeans following it to the carpet. “I can’t even think about him that way without thinking that our children would come out with extra toes.”

“You’ve thought about children with him?” Johanna cackles as she stands to help Katniss pull the dress on.

“With disgust,” Katniss informs her. “I don’t even want children. My genetics—with the exception of Prim—prove that Everdeens should not breed.”

“I’m not talking about breeding with him. I’m talking about fucking him.” Johanna zips Katniss up before looking at her friend approvingly. “Nice.”

Katniss reaches for a bottle of vodka, taking a deeper swig of the alcohol. She could already feel the rush from the pills she’d taken before coming to the Mason mansion.

“Let’s get this over with,” she tells Johanna. “I don’t want to waste this high on you.”

“Fuck you!” Her best friend throws an arm around her. “You know you love me.”

Katniss grins, pressing a light kiss to Johanna’s lips. “I don’t love anyone else but you and Prim.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble—but I like cock.” Her best friend’s face sobers for a quick moment. “A particular one, but you know how it goes.”

A laugh escapes Katniss’ vodka-lined lips. “Let’s go and forget about cocks for one night.”

“Agreed.” They shake hands before grasping each other’s fingers, then kissing the tops of each other’s hands. “I think the Uber is here.”

They head out, the smell of liquor and weed permeating the room before Johanna takes one last toke of her blunt and closes the door behind her.

++++++

The Hawthornes own a moderately-sized home on the opposite side of town known as the Seam. The great thing is the houses are so far apart that no one even notices the large congregations of cars parked along the street.

The two-story farmhouse is filled to the brim with people. From what Katniss could gauge, it is most of the upcoming senior class. Johanna is already pulling her into the packed house, and Katniss puts up little resistance since the pills are causing everything to move in slow motion.

The calm steadiness from the medication helps her usually-frantic system. Without them, Katniss is hitting highs where she’s doing things like studying the ceiling of her room, counting every single speck on it (last count: 250) or hitting lows where she won’t even bother leaving her bed.

It’s really her mother’s fault for leaving her medications out—in their cabinet—where anyone could just sneak a pill or two.

“Katniss!” They turn to find Gale heading towards them, two blonds flanking his sides. One of them is Marvel, who was on the wrestling team with Gale. The other one is unfamiliar, but his eyes are so brilliantly blue that Katniss is sure that it’s the drugs making them that way.

“Hey!” She gives Gale a smile. “Happy beginning of the end!”

“She means happy birthday!” Johanna pipes in loudly since they’re next to one of the speakers. Katniss smiles at Marvel. “Hey, Marvel.” Then, she looks to the other boy. “Who the hell are you?”

“This is Peeta Mellark,” Gale says. “Just transferred from Capitol High. He’s the newest recruit for the wrestling team. We’ve all been practicing together at the school gym.”

“So, you can pin someone down?” Katniss suddenly asks the boy in front of her.

“I’m not that good, but I’m getting there.” Peeta holds out his hand to her, his blue eyes staring into her hazed greys. “What’s your name?”

She takes it, enjoying the feeling of his warm hand wrapped in hers immediately. “Katniss Everdeen.”

Johanna looks between the two, her dark eyes lighting up devilishly.

“Oh, you two—something’s going to happen here.”

++++++

Katniss hates when Johanna was right.

The thought rushes into her mind as she’s straddling Peeta in his car, the droptop open as they fuck in the middle of the woods twenty or so minutes away from Gale’s party. She can still hear the music as she rocks against Peeta.

It started so innocently.

They had started talking about the upcoming school year; they are in the same AP classes and she tells him about her plans to get the hell out of Panem to UC Berkeley, which is way across the country.

“No shit! I’m going to Berkeley!” Peeta tells her. “I’m planning to go into environmental studies. How about you?”

“Not sure,” she says, looking around the party to distract herself from the closeness of the boy. Katniss knows nothing about him, except for the fact that just standing next to him causes her body to come alive. “Isn’t that what your first two years are for? To decide?”

“True.” Peeta takes another sip from his cup, his cheeks already pink. Katniss thinks it’s adorable—or at least the vodka does. “Tell me about our classmates.”

“I can’t talk shit about them here,” she counters. “You have a car?”

Peeta nods. “Across the street.”

Katniss takes his hand, entwining their fingers. “Let’s go and I’ll tell you all about them.”

He looks to her as they head out of the party. “Gale tells me that you’re trouble.”

“Gale has been wanting to get into my pants for years,” she retorts when they reach his car. “Of course, he’d say that to someone I’m interested in.”

“You’re interested in me?” Peeta asks as he opens the door for her.

“I am trouble,” Katniss informs him. “And I am.”

++++++

They never get to talking about their classmates.

Instead, Peeta opens the top of the car and Katniss is immediately thrilled by the cool wind hitting her cheeks. She curls up in her seat, head thrown back as she stares up at the black sky filled with stars; they seem so much brighter tonight.

The car is speeding up and she holds her arms out unafraid—because she’s flying high with this beautiful boy beside her.

She looks to him and sees the hunger in his gaze as he watches her.

Katniss points to a clearing on the side of the road and Peeta immediately turns, the tires squealing as the car enters the forest.

As soon as he parks the car, Katniss is on him, her thighs straddling him in his seat as she leans down to kiss him. Peeta responds eagerly, his hand reaching for the nape of her neck to deepen the kiss and she moans, feeling her center twisting almost painfully.

Every part of her consciousness whispers in her ear: ‘Take him, fuck him, make him yours…’

“You’re driving me wild,” Peeta says against her skin, his lips going to her neck as his hands travel down her arms.

Her own hands are already reaching to pull his cock out from his jeans and she’s happy to know that he is well-endowed—thick and just the right length. She could really care less about length; it’s the width that she craves. She loves feeling of every ridge of a cock filling her up; she loves the fullness of her cunt hugging a thick one.

“That’s a good thing,” Katniss says as she strokes him, her hand moving rapidly up and down. He’s practically humping her hand. “Just let yourself feel, Peeta.”

She thanks her foresight for deciding on barely-there underwear as she moved the scrap of cloth away from her slit and plunges down onto his length.

“Fuck!” Peeta feels unbelievable and Katniss wants nothing more than to feel him as deep as she can. She rides him, listening to him moan and call out her name. His hands are on her hips, guiding her as he thrusts up. “Yes, like that Peeta…”

“You’re unbelievable,” he says against her ear. “Like you were made for me.”

The timbre of his voice, so thick with desire, drives her to move faster. She loses herself in the feel of him, telling him every dirty thing that she wants them to do together; how she wants him to fuck her mouth and how she wants him to ride his face till he’s drenched in her slick…

Peeta comes when she tells him that she wants to call him Daddy.

She climaxes, feeling his come fill her, his blue eyes wild and lost in his own orgasm.

As they come down, they cling to one another, not quite ready to move, just enjoying the feeling of togetherness and feeling like there’s no one else in the world right now but them.

++++++

School starts without a hitch and Katniss and Peeta’s little tryst is put aside as they enter their senior year.

The morning after was not awkward at all; she simply kissed him and offered to pay for breakfast. They drive up to a Wendy’s and eat in the parking lot before he dropped her off at Johanna’s house where she was supposed to be sleeping over.

Peeta asks for her number and she gives it to him before kissing him chastely goodbye.

They even have classes together; they get paired together in Miss Trinket’s World Cultures class. They work on their presentation on Brazil, her hand moving along his thigh with their ankles twisted together.

They never fuck, though—on more than one occasion—one of them catches the other alone for a mind-blowing kiss in a deserted hallway.

She goes to wrestling matches with Johanna on the pretense of supporting the team, but it’s mostly to watch Peeta. She can tell that Gale is pissed at her; he’s not exactly looking at Peeta like a friend anymore ever since Johanna pointed out how Peeta left with Katniss during his party.

“Oh Katniss…I can see why you let him fuck you,” Johanna says as they watch Peeta wrestle someone from the opposing team. “Look at that ass.”

She sighs, her nipples aching in remembrance. “I never got a chance to do anything with his ass, but if it’s as good as his cock—then it’s best to leave it as it is.”

“You should let him take you out,” Johanna tells her.

“No. We’ve got a good thing going on,” Katniss insists. “I don’t need anything more.”

However, she embarrassingly stands up and cheers when he wins the match.

Their eyes meet and the smile he gives her tells her that she’s playing with fire.

++++++

Another month has passed, and Katniss realizes that she hasn’t had her period.

Her breasts hurt, but the blood has not come.

“How could you not realize that you haven’t had your period?” Johanna asks as they sit in her bathroom, waiting for the test results on the store bought pregnancy test. “Also, have you not heard of emergency contraception?”

“I spent the rest of that weekend in front of this very toilet,” Katniss tells her tightly. “I wasn’t exactly in the right mindset.”

“How are you going to tell your mother?” her friend continues to prod.

“I’m not,” she replies. “I’m just going to have it taken care of—if I am.”

“You are.” Johanna picks up the test to show her the bold pink plus sign. “Are you going to tell him?”

“No—” Katniss coughs back her tears. “I told you. I’m taking care of it.”

However, when her best friend takes her in her arms, she can’t help but cry.

++++++

“How’s school?” Katniss asks Prim, her younger sister, over breakfast.

“Okay.” Prim digs into her pancakes and looks to Katniss. “Aren’t you hungry?”

“I have toast.” Katniss holds up the piece. The nausea has come full force and so she’s sticking to things that won’t make her head fall into a toilet for the millionth time. “Anything cool happening?”

“How many cool things happen in middle school?” her sister retorts with a smile. “We are having a school dance next week.”

Katniss sits next to her. “Do you have a date?”

“I’m going with Rory and Rue and bunch of our friends,” Prim informs her. Rory is Gale’s younger brother and Rue has been friends with Prim since Pre-K. “Hey Katniss? Who’s Peeta Mellark?”

“A guy at my school,” Katniss replies in surprise. “Why?”

“Rory says that Gale’s all bent out of shape because you two apparently were together at his party,” her sister informs her. “And he called this morning.”

Katniss had stopped replying to his texts after finding out she was pregnant.

“I heard that his family is rich,” Prim tells her. “Like, they have some big real estate company and own most of the retail lots in Chicago and Washington D.C.” Her sister bounces in her seat, blonde hair moving with her. “Does he like you?”

“He’s nice and we hung out. That’s about it.”

“But he called you and seemed really nice on the phone,” Prim continued. “Rue and I looked him up on Facebook. He’s really cute.”

“I agree. He is cute.” So was his cock, but that was neither here nor there. “But you know relationships with boys like that never work out with girls like me. We barely make enough for rent and Mom has to work all the time. I’m just lucky that I got a full scholarship for Berkeley.”

“You’re like Star-Crossed Lovers!” Prim squeals, her blue eyes dreamy.

“You know they die at the end,” Katniss points out.

Her sister snorts. “You’re no fun.”

++++++

The Friday of Prim’s school dance, Katniss finds herself at Johanna’s again. There’s no weed or vodka tonight. Instead, she is sitting in her bathroom; her best friend giving her a moment to herself. Katniss sits on the lid of the toilet, two packets of pills in each of her hands: mifepristone and misoprostol—or Pill 1 and Pill 2 for her convenience.

There’s an unopened bottle of water next to her; she’s wearing her favorite pair of sweats and the oversized sweater that she kept that was her Dad’s. It was the only things she kept of his after he died. She is prepped, wearing a pad as the clinic instructed and Johanna has a heating pad if she needs it.

All she must do is take the pills.

It had been unbelievably easy to get them, a simple exam telling her that she’s entering her third month of pregnancy and that the blood tests look fine. She’s been screened for STDs and has come out clean—good to know—and is in perfect health.

The doctor at the clinic tells her that it’s better to do this somewhere comfortable so she goes to Johanna’s—she can’t imagine being at home waiting to abort—and she needs her friend’s support.

Johanna welcomes her—they have always had each other’s backs.

She opens the first packet of Pill 1 and then places it on the counter before opening the bottle of water.

Katniss holds the pill in her hand—she easily finds her way to pills…but something holds her back.

“You have to understand.” She’s not sure who she is reasoning to. “I’m only seventeen. I barely know your Dad. You will ruin everything…” Katniss says the last part shakily. “I don’t mean it like that. I mean—I have so many plans and I don’t know how to fit you into them.”

Her hand reaches for that first pill and her fingers tremble.

“Just fucking do it!”

Katniss has no idea why she is crying. Maybe it’s because she can picture her father’s sad eyes staring at her before they morph into Peeta’s lovely blues. She can already tell that Peeta might love her—but love is for suckers and she knows she only has the capability to hurt.

She’s already hurting him—the one in her stomach that she’s supposed to be getting rid of.

Katniss never wanted children. She’s not maternal; the mom gene never developed in her body and it makes perfect sense that she should not go through with this pregnancy.

She tells herself this as she flushes Pill 1 down the toilet.

“You have no idea what you’re fucking doing!”

Katniss tells herself this through her sobs as she takes Pill 2, opens the case, and flushes it down the toilet as well.

There’s a buzz on her phone; it’s Peeta.

Perfect fucking timing: ‘Please talk to me.’

She responds immediately, ‘I’m at Johanna’s house. Can you pick me up?’

Texting him her friend’s address, his response comes in less than a minute:

‘I’m already outside.’

End of Part One

 *I should be updating this every other day. 

[thejollyroger-writer]

THE WASTELAND - Chapter Three: THE ATHENAEUM // THE CABIN, Part 1

Some triggers: this story is rated TEEN, mostly for violence. It takes place during wartime, and some of the characters go through some violence and torture. If you need more information about this, please just message me!

SUMMARY:  In a world that has been saturated in war for as long as anyone can remember, Emma Swan has rebuilt her life as far away from the chaos as possible, opening her own maternity hospital after spending too many years in makeshift battlefield aid stations. But one night, a bloodied and battered soldier finds her hospital trying to get away from an enemy with a penchant for torture and a personal vendetta against him. With the help of Emma’s childhood friend Prince David and a motley collection of humans and magic-wielders, the quest to save Killian Jones’ life from the poison used by the enemy takes them to places even beyond the known world.

Header and the art for every chapter by the lovely @spartanguard – special thanks to @cssns for making this monster happen!

Prologue on AO3 // Prologue on Tumblr // Chapter One (ART) // Chapter Two (ART) // Chapter Three on AO3 

ART for this chapter 

-- -- --

“What is that one?” Emma asks, trying to focus on Regina as she changes the bandages around Killian’s battlefield amputation — each part of this a remnant from a life she truly thought she left behind. She hasn’t practiced very much magic since she turned to prenatal medicine, only needing the few spells that would help women get through the pain of childbirth, and it’s been just as long since she’s used any potions beyond the few Johanna taught her how to make, nonetheless brewed them herself. 

The memory of how to restitch an amputation like the one Killian sustained comes back to her no problem, though, so as she goes through the motions of fixing what got torn during transportation, she tries to pay as much attention to Regina as she can. 

“This one is hawthorne flower mixed with a little mustard seed and some foxglove root."

“Do you think any of these are going to work?” Mary Margaret’s voice is small, strange coming from the one who usually offers hope even in the times that seem the most hopeless, but even she knows just how bad Killian’s wounds are. 

Regina shakes her head, but doesn’t look up from the worn book on the table in front of her. “It would be much easier if we knew what he was poisoned with that helped make the dark magic this strong, but I’ve never seen anything strong enough to keep a wound from healing, especially not to the point that this one is. It’s just oozing whatever they used on him. 

“And he didn’t tell you what the poison was?” Mary Margaret asks, pacing back and forth in the walkway between the kitchen and the living room, unable to keep her worry off her face. 

“I doubt he even knows,” David says. “I’ve seen what Pan and Baelfire can do on their own firsthand, but now that they’re working together, I can only imagine the kind of vile, dark things they’re doing.” 

“If it’s even from this land,” Emma says, letting the thought slip past her lips for the first time. It’s an idea that they’ve all been trying to avoid, knowing that it would make finding a cure even harder. For all the ages the world has been at war, the thought of new lands beyond their borders is a relatively new one, people too focused on the violence within these borders to even think about leaving them. But within the past few years, talk of other lands has been popping up, especially around communities of mer-nephilm and some of the elders who have tried to focus their energies on new ways of travel beyond trains and cars. 

(King Gold had a small fleet of men who knew how to navigate in the air, the rumors said, but after some of the men threatened to take their science and technology to the Gale, Gold had all of the ships destroyed -- and, the rumors said, all the men as well.)

“Yeah, well, let’s just hope that’s not the case,” Regina mumbles, turning yet another page in one of the books that are currently covering her large dining room table. “I am running out of ideas, though.” 

David and Emma share a glance, thankfully not caught by the others in the room. They both have an idea, one paired with the nightmarish memory from a battlefield hospital and a time they’ve both tried to forget, a time that Emma specifically locked away in the back of her mind in a vault that she never wanted to re-open. 

They try a few more potions and some minor spells on Killian’s wound, even hoping to find something that could at least keep debris from getting in it, but their search comes up fruitless. Nothing they do has any effect on the wound at all.

An hour later, and though the rest of Killian’s wounds are patched, stitched, and covered, they’ve made zero headway towards any sort of healing for the gash over his heart. 

Regina has gone up to her office, searching for a few rare ingredients for her last-ditch effort for a healing potion and packing a bag for their travels; David and Mary Margaret sit on her back porch, each with a cup of coffee in the hand that is not grasping onto the other. But Emma sits on one of the kitchen chairs by where they laid Killian, her focus still on the glimmering wound that covers his heart. She has worked a small ball of her own magical energy between her hands, getting it to react with the snaps and crackles still coming from the dark magic inside the gash. She can feel the power from within it humming, louder as she and her magic move closer toward it, but the most she can get to happen is a fine protective layer over his skin, no thicker than cheesecloth, but still failing to touch the affected area.  

She is so focused on this that she fails to notice as Killian starts to stir, his head moving slowly from one side to the other as he regains consciousness and tries to figure out where he is and how he got there. 

“Swan,” he chokes out after a few moments, no louder than a whisper with how dry his throat has become, but it still scares her enough to get her to jump from her seat. 

“Fuck,” she whispers, her hand over her heart, but a small smile starts to spread across her face. “Sorry, you just scared me.” 

Killian offers a small smile of his own. “My apologies, love.” He tries to cough to clear his throat, but only finds pain. “Could I get some water?’ he whispers. “And what the hell did you do to me, everything hurts again.” 

Jumping out of her seat for real this time, Emma nods. “Yes, yes, of course. And I’ll get you another round of painkillers.” 

He finds his eyes locked on her as she walks away, really taking in her figure for the first time since she found him in her office. She’s slender, but muscular, he notices — though it’s not the first time for that, since she did have to move him a few times. But this is the first he notices how truly beautiful she is, her wavy blonde hair piled high on top of her head so as to stay out of her way as she worked on him. When she turns at the kitchen counter, filling the glass she has found with water from the faucet, she finds him watching her, and the corner of her lip turns up into a gentle smile. 

He realizes here, answering her smile with a small one of his own, just how indebted to her he is. He does not remember much about the night he crawled into her hospital, but he knows just how damn lucky he was to have ended up there and not in a place where he would have been denied care — or, worse, turned back to Baelfire and Pan. 

Just how lucky he was to find a caretaker with such strong ties to the Prince, the only other leader he has found worthy of his dedication since he lost his brother, and the man who, at many times, even reminds him of Liam in the best of ways. 

Under any other circumstance, he most likely would have been dead already and not in the care of someone who so adamantly wants to find a way to rid him of the darkness found within the deep wound inflicted in his side. Someone he feels so drawn to, though he cannot figure out why, and certainly will not act on that feeling.

“Here you go,” she says, handing him a glass of water before doing her best to help him sit up without causing him pain or reopening any of the wounds she just finished restitching. 

“Thank you.” 

He takes a small sip of water, the coolness of it immediately helping his dry throat. 

Slowly, Emma sits down beside him, and he realizes that she has not taken her eyes off of him since she handed him the glass. 

“Can I ask you something?’ she asks after a moment, her voice quiet, as if she is trying to keep their conversation a secret from those around them, even though they are alone in the large open space. 

He just nods, taking another sip of the water. 

“Do you know what Pan used to drug you?” 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he takes a deep, ragged breath. This is the conversation he has been dreading, because he knows that revealing it will only remove the small amount of hope left in Emma, her thinking that they will be able to find a cure for him. He does not know if anyone else in their party has any experience with the poison, but he knows more about it than he cares to, though he does not yet know how to share that with her. 

“Yes,” he says finally. “Though I’m afraid that, in the times I’ve dealt with it in the past, there has been no way to cure the victim once it’s been used, and I certainly haven’t seen it used alongside dark magic the way it has been here.” 

His words are ice to the deepest parts of her, and she doesn’t need him to say any more to know that her hunch has become the reality. 

“Dreamshade.” 

They say it at the same time, their eyes locking together moments later, and neither of them dares to move. 

The sliding door to the back porch slides shut even though neither of them heard it open. 

“Dreamshade?” David asks, and they both snap their attention to him, though only Emma nods. 

“That’s good, though, right?” Mary Margaret asks, much too much hope in her voice for the circumstance, “Now that we know that, we just have to find the antidote?” 

David and Emma share a look again, and this time it is noticed by the others in the room; obviously they know something they’re not sharing. 

Nobody answers — nobody moves —  for what feels like far too long. Mary Margaret takes turns staring at both of them, but does not press any further. The silence holds until Regina comes down the stairs, and she notices the awkward, tense silence right away. 

“What the hell is going on down here?” 

This is the question that breaks them, and both David and Emma seem to return their attention back to the room from wherever their minds took them to, but it’s not until David speaks that Killian does the same, his mind off on a memory of its own. 

“Do you want to tell them, or should I?” David asks, and when Emma doesn’t answer, too afraid of the ghosts the story will reveal about her past, David takes the lead.

“Psst, Em,” David whispers, nudging her with his elbow. She didn’t mean to fall asleep, really, but with everything going on, with all the changes happening to everything around her, she's glad she was able to find a little bit of rest . It takes her a moment to adjust to her surroundings — or, what little of them she can see, since everything around her is still dark. 

“It’s the middle of the night,” she mumbles, still trying to figure out what the single blinding light in front of the truck might be. 

“Yeah, but we’re here.” 

They’re here. 

“You couldn’t have, I don’t know, gotten us here during the day?” she jokes, but neither of them smile. None of this is funny. 

“We can’t cross the Wasteland during the day, Swan,” Robin says from the backseat, not sensing the joke, and David lets out a small laugh. But in a moment, as the hospital becomes clearer in front of them, all of the laughter in the truck is sucked away. 

“Have any of you ever been to a battlefield hospital?” Emma asks, a much more serious tone in her voice than was there a moment before. 

A much more terrified tone. 

“I promised my mother I’d stay away from them,” David says. 

“Yet here we are,” Robin deadpans. “Why are we here again?”

“I need to be somewhere other than sitting behind the planning table next to my father, who will never listen to nothing I say to him anyway.” 

“And this is where you decided you’ll do the most good?” 

“I was forbidden from battlefields, especially with all this new technology Gold’s trackers have. I wasn’t forbidden from raising the morale of the men fighting for me by aiding in their healing.” 

“What about the rest of us?” 

Emma holds up her hands, answering for herself before David can pull her into the conversation. “I’m a medic, so I can help people wherever we end up.” 

“A healer I understand, Dave, but you brought a Terren to a place where neither a connection to the earth or the animals will be helpful.” 

David cranes his head so he can see Robin in the rear-view mirror. “I brought you because you’re the only man who I trust with my life,” he says, as much sincerity in his voice as he can muster, and the truck stays silent as David parks in the small lot outside the hospital.

They’re greeted by a man in all black with wild blond hair sticking up in every direction and a woman with long, dark hair in jeans and a maroon fatigue top, with a rifle slung across her back and a pistol and a dagger in matching leather sheaths on either hip. T he man speaks first, holding his hand out to David after opening the gate for them before greeting the rest of them. “Welcome, Your Highness. It’s a pleasure to have you all here. I’m Victor Whale, I’m sort of in charge around here.”  

“And I’m Mulan,” the woman says, her face and voice lacking all signs of emotion. “I’m in charge of everything Victor isn’t.” 

She shakes none of their hands, though acknowledges David with a slight nod. He’s been around warriors like her before, can tell by her countenance alone that she is among those who have been forced into a war that they wanted nothing to do with simply because they had no other choice. He is sympathetic towards them, but he would never say it out loud, as it would be seen as dishonorable though he would never mean it as such. 

Victor offers them a small tour of the camp, only the things they pass on the way to their cabins, with Mulan disappearing in the opposite direction.

“I apologize for her, Your Highness, she—” Victor tries, but David silences him both with a hand held up and with his own words. 

“Please don’t apologize for her. I’ve been around enough of this war to sense the disdain for me, my father, and everything we stand for without anyone needing to say anything. It’s part of the reason I’m so dead-set on spending time outside of the safety of the palace, part of the reason I’m here in the first place.” Victor nods. “And also, I think it would be better if you just called me David, and I would only like for you to introduce me as such. I don’t want the soldiers out here to think of me as their Prince, but just as another man who is on their side of this war.” 

At this, Victor smiles, pulling open the door to a well-kept cabin in a more secluded part of the camp. “You’re a good man, sir. I hope you know that much of this army chooses to fight for you and not for your father. That many of us wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” 

David follows Emma and Robin through the door, finding themselves in a small common area with a few doors around it that lead to a single bathroom and four individual “bedrooms,” which only contain a small cot and a set of drawers, the space that the three of them will call home for the next few months. 

“I really appreciate it, Victor.” 

“Get some rest and I’ll find you again in the morning to show you around the rest of the camp. It’s been a quiet few days so hopefully you’ll be able to get a bit settled before any of you are really needed.” 

  They go through a relatively quiet two months, nothing unexpected coming up through the woodwork from the frontlines, though with far more bullets than Emma ever wanted to see, a very different life than she ever imagined since David introduced her to the palace medic. 

Until Jefferson arrives. He was part of a prisoner swap between this hospital and another, not the first of those Emma had been there to witness, but he was in a far worse state than any of the other wounds that Emma has helped with since her arrival. 

A far worse state than she’s ever seen before. 

Will Scarlett, the man that came with him, relayed the information he’d discovered during his time as a prisoner in the Nephilim camp — though there was not much to relay beyond his knowledge of what happened to Jefferson. 

“From what I gathered, there were a few higher-up Nephilim soldiers who recently took a liking to torture, and were, uh, practicing some newer forms.” 

“This is more than just torture,” David mutters, watching as Whale’s surgical needle fails to take hold of the skin around the gash on the man’s arm. 

“Well, yeah,” Will says, sitting up on his elbows in his cot. “One of those forms was this new kind of poison, supposedly from some far-off land that no one has ever seen before.” 

“What land?” David asks. 

Will narrows his eyes at him, his attention flitting for a moment to Robin, standing right behind the Prince. “I don’t bloody know, it’s a place that no one has ever been,” he practically spits. “Why do you look so familiar?”

David shrugs off the question, trying to go back to the poison. “Did you hear them say anything about the poison they used?” 

This time, Will just shakes his head. After a moment, he adds, "I think they called it Dreamshade, if that means anything to you." 

Everyone around the bed exchanges glances, hoping that it means something to one of them. 

It doesn't. 

Over the next few days, his condition only worsens, the area around what they decide must have been the injection site growing black, with the darkness spreading further up his arm in his veins.  

It takes two days before he is able to move, slowly recovering from his complete paralysis, but no one gets their hopes up. 

It’s a week before he begins to speak, his eyes always set off in the distance and unresponsive to anything or anyone that tries to pull him out of the obvious trance he finds himself in, saying things like, "The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!" or "Half-past one, time for dinner!" in a very excited tone, his words rushed, though often half-whispered.

Or even, sometimes, words none of them even recognized, sung as if part of a poem: "Twas brillig and the slithy toves did gyre and gimbel in the wabe. All mimsy were the borogoves, and the mome raths outgrabe." 

On day 12, he makes eye contact with Emma as she is changing some of his bandages, a crazed expression that covers every inch of his face — and somehow, Emma has the feeling that if he had the strength for it, he would have bolted to sit up straight. 

“Neverland,” he says, his focus on her so intent that it terrifies her for a moment, though she does think this word is just part of another string of nonsense. 

 But then he reaches out to grab her arm, suddenly overcome with a strength none of them would have guessed he could muster in his current state, and starts to speak again, the words coming out almost too quickly for her to understand. “They said it was from a place called-called Neverland, and the little boy was in charge. The-the-the little boy and the prince.”

“David!” Emma calls, not breaking her eye contact with Jefferson, afraid that it would also break the streak of consciousness he seems to have at the moment. “Whale!” 

“The prince, he wanted something that c-couldn’t be cured, and this-this is what the little boy suggested, say-say-saying that no one could ever find the cure  since it's only on an island that no one could-could ever find on their own.” 

“Neverland,” Emma says, thankful for David’s hand heavy on her shoulder, keeping her grounded, needing him to know something about the babble coming from this immensely wounded soldier. 

“An island no one can find,” David repeats, his voice soft. Jefferson shifts his gaze to David, as if realizing for the first time that he is there. 

“The boy t-talked about-about jungles and rivers a-and-and enchanted pools, the only place where-where anyone could f-f-find the cure.” 

He looks away from all of them, his eyes once again set off in the distance, but his grip on Emma’s arm even tighter than before. 

“Neverland,” he repeats one more time, taking a slow breath deep enough that Emma watches the rise and fall of his shoulders. 

And then, as quickly as it started, his hand grows limp on her wrist, and he mumbles, "Why is a raven like a writing desk?", his attention no longer on anything around him as he slips back into madness. 

“That was the only thing he ever said that made sense,” David says, wringing his hands around his cup of coffee as he shakes his head. 

“What happened to him?” Killian asks, his eyes pressed shut as if he is afraid to make eye contact with anyone in the room. 

(He is, fearing that he knows the answer to his own question,)

“He lived for another four days, mumbling nonsense, and then one morning, he just didn’t wake up. Sixteen days.”

Eyes still shut, Killian nods. This was the answer he was expecting, though far from the one he was hoping for deep down. 

“Sixteen days,” he whispers, not needing to open his eyes to know that everyone in the room is focused on him. 

“Sixteen days after he came to the hospital. According to Will, he was at the Nephilim camp with him for at least another two weeks before that.” 

Killian lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. He does finally open his eyes, but the only person in the room he is able to look at is Emma, whose green eyes are full of sympathy, but not sadness. 

He’s thankful for that. 

“So that’s, what, a month? It’s already been a week since I escaped from Pan, a few days longer than that since they first used the Dreamshade on me.”

No one speaks. 

Until: “So, that means we’re going to Neverland now, right?” The question everyone was thinking comes from Mary Margaret, to no one’s surprise. 

Everyone turns to Emma, and the pressure of it all sucks the air right out of her lungs, so she shrugs to give herself a moment to recompose. “I don’t think we have a choice. I’d like to think Killian at least has a fighting chance, from how his wounds have been reacting to my magic. It’s certainly something I’ve never witnessed before, and much different than anything we experienced with Jeff.” 

No one speaks, and Emma takes a moment to look around the room, her eyes landing on Regina last. 

She, unlike everyone else in the room, looks shocked. "What do you mean, how his wounds have been reacting to your magic? " she asks after another moment, her voice both intrigued and slightly scared. 

Emma, in turn, can’t keep her confusion off her face. "You mean your magic didn't react weirdly to his wound?" 

Regina shakes her head, moving slowly towards where Emma still sits next to Killian’s makeshift cot. "Show me." 

So Emma does, conjuring a small light between her hands before focusing on the wound in Killian’s side, where she is able to create the same crackling effect that happened before.

Regina says nothing, her wide eyes unmoving, set on Emma’s hands. Mary Margaret tries to shake her out of her trance, and it takes a minute to work before she turns away from them and rushes back upstairs, still without saying a word, and returning moments later with a small vial of a shining grey liquid, which she hands to Killian. 

"Drink this." 

He raises both eyebrows at her, then looks down at the bottle in his hand. "Pardon?" 

"Just do it." 

When he turns to David, he just shrugs, so he empties the vial into his mouth in a single swallow. Everyone is watching him intently, waiting for something to happen. 

But it doesn't. 

"Do that thing with your magic again," Regina whispers, as if afraid to speak too loudly and break some sort of spell. 

Emma listens, drawing her power up into her hand before focusing on Killian's wound — and this time, along with the crackling and sparking, she is able to pull a viscous black liquid from the wound, though it startles her and she loses focus, so it all disappears. 

Everyone turns their attention to Regina, who just stares wide-eyed at Killian's wound, terror written across her face. "We have to go to the Athenaeum" 

"Are you crazy? I can't go to Nephilysis," David argues, and Killian agrees. 

"There are already enough people looking for us as is." 

"There has to be another way," Mary Margaret tries. 

Regina shakes her head. "No, it's the only place we'll find answers.” She stops, looking down at her wristwatch. “And we need to go now ." 

David huffs. "What do you expect us to do? Just sit around and twiddle our thumbs until you get back?" 

Regina rolls her eyes, but Killian clears his throat. "We could go to the cabin, see if anyone else is there."

This time, David scoffs, his attention on his friend. “Wait, you think we should split up?" 

"That really seems like the only logical plan," Killian replies, obviously not thrilled with the idea, but knowing that it really is their best bet.

"You need to come with me," Regina says, pointing to Emma, who has stayed quiet through all of this. 

After sharing a glance with David, Mary Margaret reaches out to take Emma’s hand in hers. "I'm not letting you go with her alone.”

Regina rolls her eyes again, ignoring the spite in Mary Margaret’s voice. "We have to leave tonight," she says again. 

Emma nods, turning to David. After a moment, he nods, too, turning to Killian. "We shouldn't stay put for too long, either." 

It's a plan — well, more of one than they've had this far. 

"We'll take a week and meet back together before we go to Neverland."

“How do you even get to Neverland?” Mary Margaret asks, looking around the room in hopes of someone having the answer. 

“You have to fly,” Killian says, his voice soft, obviously far away. 

"And how the hell do we do that?" Emma asks. 

Killian smiles. 

TAGS: @shireness-says​​ @cssns​ @kmomof4​ @thisonesatellite​  @teamhook​ @darkcolinodonorgasm​​ @cocohook38​​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @facesiousbutton82​ @hollyethecurious​​ @stahlop​​ @tiguanasummertree  @angellifedeath​​ @pepperpottss​​ @mariakov81​​ @scientificapricot​​ @kday426​​ @xarandomdreamx​​ @ohmightydevviepuu​​ @xhookswenchx​​ @nikkiemms​​ @carpedzem​​ @superchocovian​​ @resident-of-storybrooke​​ @snowbellewells​​ @courtorderedcake​​ @captain-emmajones​​ @killian-whump​​ @officerrogers​​ – want to be added or removed? let me know!

[sambergscott]

a peralta guarantee

“I promise I’ll come home safe, Ames. That’s a Peralta Guarantee.”

(missing scenes from 7x08 - amy worrying about jake)

hUge thanks to johanna for inspiring this fic and helping when i had a lil breakdown halfway through

When he approaches her desk mid-afternoon with a decaf coffee and the white chocolate chip cookies she’s been craving from the bakery across town, she knows he’s either a) broken something, b) wants something or c) has bad news. She narrows her eyes suspiciously, detecting an excited bounce in his step which can only mean it’s b and c; he wants something she’s not going to like.

“Hey, babe,” he tries to play it cool, clearing a butt-sized space on her desk on which to sit. “I come bearing gifts.”

“What do you want, Peralta?” She cuts to the chase.

“Damn it, you know me too well,” he mutters. “OK, so, here’s the thing: Doug Judy’s gettin’ married. He invited me to his Bachelor Party this weekend and I know he’s a criminal, Ames, but I really wanna go. Like, so bad. Would you be cool with that?”

She conjures up a mental pro and con list. On one hand, Doug Judy is The Pontiac Bandit, known felon, committer of God knows how many crimes, an overall bad dude. On the other, he’s Jake’s friend, singer of the smush songs CD in the glove box of their car that they always forget to take out, giver of the Le Creuset pot she adores. He’s always been nice to her and—.

“Sarge?” Gary interrupts her decision-making process with a quick question about a perp he just brought in, snapping her back to reality. She’s a Police Sergeant, her job is to serve and protect the city they call home and as much as she loves cooking her mom’s beef casserole recipe in Judy’s awesome wedding gift, she has a responsibility to bring him in.

“I’m sorry, babe. I just think it’s a bad idea.”

His face falls, his disappointment coming through loud and clear.

“What were you expecting me to say? Ignore the million arrest warrants out on this guy, many of them submitted by you, so you can drink beer and go to strip clubs?”

“You’re right,” he sighs. “You’re obviously right. Man, being good at your job sucks.”

She nods in agreement. “Remember last month when I had to shut that binder store down for running a secret drug dealing operation out back?”

“How could I forget? You cried for three days straight.”

“They had the best binder collection I’ve ever seen!”

(It was actually what was so fishy about it. In four trips to buy pregnancy binders, she hadn’t seen any of the founding members of the Brooklyn Binder Babes blog — Mary Sue, Catherine, Margaret or Jane — once. And there’s no way a stationery start-up would attract such long queues without their recommendation. It was a pretty easy solve from there).

“The point is, you can’t go to a criminal’s Bachelor Party.” She pats his hand. “You’ll just have to come maternity clothes shopping with me instead. None of my jeans fit me anymore.”

“As much as I would love to, you can take Kylie. I’m going to the party.”

“What?” She double-takes. “Jake, did you not listen to what I literally just said? We’re cops. We cannot be friends with criminals.”

“But we can be friends with informants who have helped us catch numerous, even bigger, more dangerous criminals,” he says with that look on his face, the one he gets when he finds a loophole that he can use to his advantage. She recognises it from home videos Karen has shown her where, instead of tidying his room like she asked him to, seven year old Jake shoves everything under his bed and carries on enacting a police chase with his race cars. “Captain Holt has given him immunity before, so technically I should be able to go party it up with him in Miami!”

“Wait... It’s in Miami? Miami... Florida?”

It’s a stupid question, she knows. Of course he means Miami, Florida. It’s just... they both promised on the flight home that they would never, ever go back there. After everything that happened with Figgis and not knowing if they’d ever see each other again, a statewide travel ban seemed a good way to put it all behind them, focus on all their future moments together, not on all the moments they missed.

“This isn’t like last time,” he reassures her. “It’s only for a weekend and then I’ll be coming straight home for snuggles with you and —,” he lowers his voice to a whisper because they haven’t told anyone she’s pregnant yet, “the baby.”

Her eyes fill with tears and she bites her lip so hard to stop them overflowing in front of all her uniformed officers. It’s pretty clear that he wants to go and she never wants to be one of them wives who control their husbands’ every move. All she wants is for him to be happy. And if going to Doug Judy’s Bachelor Party makes him happy, he should go, no matter how much she hates the entire state of Florida. She agrees, on one condition: “You have to text me hourly updates to let me know that you’re still alive.”

“Don’t I text you constantly anyway?”

“I guess so,” she sniffs.

He lifts her chin so she’s looking him in the eyes. “I promise I’ll come home safe, Ames. That’s a Peralta guarantee.”

“You better,” she warns, tears suddenly flowing down her face at the thought of him not coming home, not being there to watch Property Brothers with her, not raising their baby and proving to everyone what a great dad he will be.

Used to her extra strength pregnancy hormones shifting her emotions from 0 to 100 faster than John McClane can say “Yippie-Ki-Yay, motherfucker”, he pulls her into a tight hug, careful not to crush the precious cargo that is behind said mood swings.

He strokes her hair and whispers that he’ll be home before she knows it and that nothing, not even the worst state in the country, will tear him away from her.

When it’s time for him to leave, she follows him out to the street and, after a brief argument over the fact he packed his bag before he OK’ed the trip with her and another hormone-induced cry when his cab shows up, reluctantly waves goodbye.

True to his word, he texts her before the car is even out of sight. Miss you already 😘.

--

Her phone buzzes periodically throughout the rest of the day.

In a meeting with Holt and Terry: flying on mark cuban’s dope ass private plane!!!!! ✈️

Cooking dinner: florida is HOT (not as hot as u babe, dont worry)

Doing her crossword in bed: g’night ames, g’night baby, love u both SO MUCH

She smiles, tells him she loves him too and braces herself for the barrage of drunk texts and selfies coming her way.

--

Sleeping without him sucks. The bed is cold, her pregnancy pillow is not as good of a cuddle buddy and she tosses and turns all night worrying about him, where he is, what he’s doing, whether he’s safe.

Her eyes finally slip shut around 1 am when her phone buzzes. Again. And again. And again.

She tries to ignore him, bury her head under her pillow and go back to sleep, but the messages keep coming thick and fast. She groans, giving up and unlocking her phone.

There are 47 new messages from him.

Forty-seven.

Her initial annoyance at being woken up quickly disappears as she scrolls through the thread. He’s mostly sent her random, meaningless emojis and keysmashes, interspersed with the odd “I love you”, “you’re my best friend” and “I’m thinking about you” that warm her heart. He mentions something about their proposal, about crying with Doug Judy, which obviously makes her cry too.

(Dumb pregnancy hormones).

By the time she reaches the bottom, he’s sent her 10 more.

She decides for her sake — and the sake of all of her officers who would have to deal with a tired, emotional pregnant lady — to turn off her phone and reply to him in the morning.

She returns her phone to her nightstand, settles back into a comfortable position and closes her eyes.

She lies motionless for what feels like hours, unable to fall asleep. She tries the breathing technique her brother David brags about constantly, counting sheep like little Matthew, even reciting police codes like Teddy used to go to sleep after sex. Nothing works. She’s still awake.

She turns her phone back on to see what Jake’s up to now, only to see his messages ended abruptly with a caterpillar emoji over an hour ago.  

She immediately panics, dialling 911 into her phone.

Her thumb hovers over the green call button.

She’s heard thousands of crazy operator call stories, frequently reminded the general population to only call in a genuine emergency and watched the YouTube compilations for fun. She deletes the number, positive that if she told an operator her husband was missing because she hadn’t heard from him while he’s at a Bachelor Party, she’s positive she would be added to those videos.

In an attempt to stop her spiral, she contemplates the possible scenarios in which his constant texts would cease.

Scenario 1: He’s living in the moment and has put his phone away (something she has been encouraging him to do lately to reduce his screen time)

Scenario 2: He’s very drunk and has completely forgotten about his promise

Scenario 3: He used up all his battery texting her and his phone has died

Scenario 4: He’s fallen asleep (although a quick check of Trudy Judy’s insta reveals the party is very much still in full flow)

Scenario 5: Judy’s criminal buddies have killed him and thrown his body into the ocean

Once the thought pops into her head, no amount of squeezing her eyes shut will make the image go away.

Holt giving an emotional eulogy about wearing ties and being an amazing detective/genius.  

Some rookie taking over his desk.  

The sympathetic looks when she tells all the other moms in baby group that her husband died.  

Usually Jake is there to hold her when her nightmares get bad. She rolls over, expecting to see his kind eyes and soft smile, the untouched side of his bed only serving to make her cry harder.

She can’t lose him. Not yet. Not until they’re old and grey, and maybe not even then. She spent so long denying her feelings for her dorky partner, rueing every missed opportunity to be together, and when they finally, finally took the plunge, she had never been happier. She can’t lose him yet. They have so much more life left to live.

She can’t lose him because he promised her he would come home safe. He guaranteed it.

She clings onto the tiny grain of hope like one might cling onto a raft in the middle of the ocean.

He would never break a Peralta guarantee.

--

Her phone finally buzzes again an hour later.

From: Unknown

Ames, it’s me, Jake. Judy’s buddies found out I’m a cop + destroyed my phone. So sorry I couldn’t text before. Hope you didn’t worry too much, although I know you probably haven’t slept. You can stop worrying now. I’m safe. Love you + see you tomorrow.  

Love you too, she responds, yawning as she places the phone back on the side table.

Relieved that he’s OK, and exhausted from all the worrying, she falls into the easiest sleep she’s ever had.

--

Before she knows it, it’s the next afternoon, Jake’s keys are turning in the lock, he’s dropping his holdall on the floor and rushing to her side to kiss her all over her face.

“I missed you too,” she laughs, kissing him properly.

“Sorry it took so long — Doug and Trudy made me fly commercial —.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re home now. That’s all that matters.”

“I’m never leaving you two again,” he swears.

“You’ll have to leave us eventually to go to the bathroom and stuff,” she points out, raking her fingers through the unruly curls that she so hopes their baby will inherit. “Just don’t go back there.”

A solemn understanding passes over his face and he nods. “Never again. Not even if our kid wants to go to Disney World. We’ll take them to the California one instead.”

“Smort,” she says, stealing his line and in an instant, that familiar grin is back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

A dozen memories flood back, of oldies in short shorts and shuffleboard and Doug Judy getting away again. Of noice and smort and saying “I love you” for the very first time. Her eyes fill with tears — dumb pregnancy hormones strike again — as she buries her face in his shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and lifting her bridal style to carry her to their room. He places her carefully onto the mattress and flops down next to her.

She snuggles into him, eyes closing once more. “Did we even get an invite to the wedding?”

“Not even close,” he sighs.

“Damn it. I would’ve loved to see that trainwreck.”

“You and me both, babe. You and me both.”

[yourdeepestfathoms]

lambs have teeth, too

(Read Anne as Courtney!Anne)

Another revamped old fic that Tumblr ate

TW: Suicidal thoughts, self harm

———————

Before Joan even opened her eyes, she knew it was going to be one of those days.

She hauled herself out of bed, not caring enough to pick up her sheep stuffed animal that had fallen on the ground in the middle of the night. Usually, she would have scrambled to grab it, but today...today just wasn’t good already. It didn’t matter. In fact, even looking at something so juvenile made her blood boil.

She kicked the stupid thing under her bed and got dressed. She skipped breakfast for the fifth time that week and just opted to drink another cup of black coffee on her way to work. On her walk to the theater, the anger bubbled up inside of her.

Everything was too loud- the cars, the morning chatter, the birds, the construction going on further away, even all the footsteps. All the noises were drilling deep into her ears and she could barely control herself from yelling about it.

“Joan?”

Joan blinked out of her daze. She hadn’t even realized she had entered the theater until Aragon had said something. She turned her head around to the woman, trying to act as normal as possible.

“Are you alright? You look a little out of it.”

“Fine!” Joan replied. “Just a little sleepy still. That’s all.”

By all accounts she should be feeling fine. She shouldn’t have much trauma from her past life (and yet she did...), she had wonderful new friends (that don’t even care about her...), and she was living out her dream of playing music. But, somehow, Joan feels worse. You’d think the band and show would take her mind off of how much she wanted to die, but you would be very wrong.

Joan had...issues. If not eating for five days was any indication already. She just-

She hated herself.

Plain and simple.

Nothing she does seems to help her growing depression. Home remedies wouldn’t work. Getting more sunlight didn’t do shit, exercising is good when she can find the energy to do it, and self-taught breathing techniques that actually work are few and far between. Her chest hurts just thinking about it. Thinking about how she’s failed so many times, when really all she probably needed was a therapist.

But the trips actually working were a long shot. How could talking to a complete stranger help her? She’s cried out her emotions several times without much change in her desire to self loathe; she doesn’t need to do it in the vicinity of another person, let alone someone she doesn’t really know.

“If you say so,” Aragon said, eyeing Joan up and down. Joan smiled tightly and then darted away to the bathroom to clean herself up.

She considered drowning herself in the sink. She did that a lot, but never actually made a move to even try. She wasn’t ready for the pain, so she just sat in the theater shower with her knees pulled to her chest.

Scalding rain beat down on her skin as she stared at the water rushing down the drain. The hiss of the spigot was so loud, but couldn’t rival the voice that rose once again to torment her.

It began to whisper things over and over again in her head like a symphony of ridicule that she can’t escape. Not that she’d want to. She needs to hear it, she needs to know her flaws. It’s not fair to her friends if she just ignored what’s so obviously wrong about herself.

(They aren’t her friends, she knows. They don’t care about her. But saying they are, that they do value her life, is the only thing keeping her going.)

Tears are sliding down Joan’s cheeks like rivers of her hurting, completely disgusting and pitiful. God, she was so pathetic. She didn’t even have a right to be upset about this, she doesn’t have the right to feel sorry for herself.

And yet…

Joan stood up shakily. She needed to get out of the shower before she started sobbing because then she would be there all day and would probably miss the show. Unlikely, but the thought still taunted her, so she stumbled out, nearly tripping and falling in the process. Drying off her hair and getting dressed, she quickly exited the showers and made a beeline back for her dressing room. Surely there was something she could do to distract herself. Just for a little bit to give her mind a rest.

If that was even still possible.

———

It starts with a dull pounding in the back of Joan’s skull in the middle of Don’t Lose Ur Head.

It really was gonna be one of those days, huh?

The voices may have stopped because of the loudness of the show, but her body was still out to make her suffer. Not only was she desperately wanting to stim and fidget, she may have a sensory overload coming on.

Everything was just. So bright. So loud. She couldn’t even hear herself think, which might have been a good thing, but it still stressed her out. She didn’t want to listen to this music anymore; she wanted her earbuds and the comfort playlist she had created for herself. Could they really not play at least one of the songs on that track?

Apparently not.

Maybe it wasn’t an anxiety attack, though. Maybe she was fine. Could just be dehydration. When was the last time she drank water again?

There was a gentle touch on her shoulder during a part where the band didn’t play and Joan jumped. She looked to the side to see Anne standing beside her up on the risers, risking messing up the show just to check on her.

“You okay?” She whispered.

Joan swallowed hard and nodded.

But she wasn’t because she was definitely about to have a sensory overload.

All throughout Heart of Stone, Joan struggled. The sound was fine, but the spotlights were so bright. She felt like she was being blinded and had to close her eyes, but even then it didn’t help. Her headache was getting worse, too.

But Haus of Holbein is what made her spiral.

Everything about it was just too much. The bass, the drums, the singing, the stomping and jumping, the strobe lights- oh the strobe lights made her so nauseous. There were multiple periods where she threw up a little in her mouth and had to swallow painfully before she made a mess all over herself, her keyboard, and possibly even Joan’s back.

It was so hard to focus, and playing her keyboard was a whole other issue. The keys were blurring together into one big humming mass; she wasn’t even sure how she managed to keep up with the song or stay on tune with how hazy and spotty her vision was getting.

She felt like she was dying. Her head was practically cracking open and now her clothes seem to be too tight on her body. She had to scratch so badly, but her hands wouldn’t leave her keyboard. Fire ants continued to march beneath her flesh, gnawing and chewing on her muscles until they burned intensely.

The moment the show was over, Joan was off of the stage. A sob ripped free from her mouth when she got into her dressing room. She staggered forward and then collapsed to her knees, choking on the tears that spill down her cheeks. So many things run through her muddled mind and she just can’t keep up anymore.

Her skin continued to prickle. It wasn’t like a burn. It was a constant itch that, no matter what, surged through her veins and through all layers of her flesh and through her bone. Racking her entire body, leaving her vulnerable.

Until she struck back, that is.

Her fingernails raked over her flesh, scratching fervently until the skin broke and blood began to spill free. Even then, she didn’t stop, because the itch didn’t, either. She was losing the battle and the ants continued to swarm.

It was all just so much. Too much. Too uncomfortable and unbearable.

She wanted to get out of these clothes, she wanted to get out of this theater, she wanted to get out of her skin.

But would even that soothe her?

Nothing did. Not anymore.

She was a lost cause.

Another sob ripped free from her throat and Joan huddled in the corner, hugging her knees tightly to her chest. She pressed her burning forehead to the cool wall, crying weakly. The noises she was making made her chest hurt terribly, constricting her lungs with hot iron bands. Breathing was starting to become difficult, too, which only added to her list of problems right now.

Oh and great…there was someone in the room with her, watching and listening to her breakdown.

Wait-

Oh god.

The dark person she saw wasn’t a person at all, but a figment of her imagination, a hallucination her warped mind created for her to see. It was faceless and just stood there, adding waves after waves of terror to Joan until she finally tore her eyes away. Not looking, however, didn’t stop the voices.

They tell her how worthless she is. How pathetic she is. How she doesn’t deserve to be acting like this. How she should just kill herself if she thinks she is hurting that much.

She considered it. Considered ending it all. Maybe slam her skull into the wall until it splits open and brain matter oozes out.

But she doesn’t. Not because she doesn’t want to, but because she’s too scared. And she can’t move. The voices sneer when she doesn’t obey and continue to berate her.

Joan is quickly reduced to weak whimpers and hiccups. She wished Jane or one of her friends were with her. She wished she was being held right now, being told how loved she was.

But she wasn’t, was she? Nobody loved her. Nobody even liked her.

Nobody wanted her.

———

She has tried to push back those thoughts, though. But she’s weakened right now as she paces around her bedroom. Vulnerable.

“Poor little girl. In so much pain.”

Joan whirled around in circles, expecting to see one of the ladies in waiting or queens messing with her. Instead, there was a girl- a blackened figure, really. She spun on her heels and threw a pillow at it- it ducked. She grabbed something else and hurled it, too.

“How did you get in here?!”

“I’ve always been here.”

The thing ducked under a jar that was thrown at it and it shattered against the wall. A pen hit its shoulder and it disappeared.

“You’re-you’re not real! You’re…just another hallucination! Yeah, that’s it..”

“Oh, I’m very real, Johanna.” The shadow said in an almost identical voice, except it was hoarser and filled with more malice. It materialized right in front Joan, causing her to reel backwards in fright. “You’ve just been denying my existence for a very long time.”

“N-no… It’s just the lack of sleep. And food. And…”

The shadow raised an eyebrow and then chuckled deep in its throat.

“Wrong again, sweetie.” It said. “I’ve been with you ever since this new life. Haven’t you heard my voice?”

A cacophony of thoughts filled Joan’s head, all telling her about how worthless she was. It was painful to hear.

“No, no, NO!” She clutches at her head, clamping her hands over her ears in a vain attempt to get the noises to stop. “This. This,” She gestured to the space between them, “This isn’t happening.”

“Want to turn around and count to five then see if I’m still here, then?”

Joan blinked in shock. Was she being insulted by a hallucination? That’s one more thing to beat down her ego.

“You aren’t real.” She merely said again.

The shadow snorted.

“This is the exact definition of insanity.” The voice was coming from everywhere, but the illusion was gone. “Doing the exact thing over and over again and expecting shit to change. Your naivety is so cute, sweetie.”

Joan spun around to try and find the source of the voice before quickly realizing it was rebounding around in her skull.

“You believe you could have done better. You could be better.”

She looked up and saw her shadow standing there, smiling.

“But you can’t.”

“This is your fault!” Joan spat, reeling away.

“Keep pinning the blame on others, Joan. If that’s what gets you to sleep at night.” The shadow shrugged, “Keep blaming the world. Does it make you feel better?”

“Leave me alone,” Joan growled, but it came out weak and shaky.

“You don’t want that,” The shadow said. “You don’t want to be alone. You want to be held. You want those people you work with to hold you and love you.”

Shame burned on Joan’s cheeks, turning her face bright red. She didn’t like hearing all of her desires and fantasies put out like this.

“But guess what, sweetie?”

The shadow waits for an answer it knows it won’t get.

“They won’t. They don’t love you. They don’t even need you. The show could do much better without an amateur coward on the keyboard. Your dep is so much better than you.”

Joan whimpered pathetically. She backs herself into the wall, shaking her head back and forth repeatedly. The shadow only turns to watch her, smirking widely at how helpless she looked.

“N-no. You’re wrong,” Joan said weakly and the shadow quirked a brow, “Th-they said they l..loved…”

The shadow blinked before howling in laughter. Joan whimpered again and covered her ears, but it did nothing to help, as the horrible sound ricochets throughout her skull. A third noise escapes her lips, but this one is a lot more agonized.

“They said they loved you?!” The shadow shrieked in amusement, still chortling. “Really?”

Joan opened her mouth, but then closed it and looked away.

No. They never did. They never said anything like that, Joan just wished they did. She pretended they did. She wanted to hear those three words so badly.

“That’s what I thought.” The shadow said, “Face it, sweetie, you aren’t a family. You aren’t even friends. You’re just people who work together and only somewhat bond because it’s convenient. But convenience can only keep someone around for so long until the little pianist they’re working with becomes too much to handle.”

It strode forward and cornered Joan, who cowers like a kicked puppy. She flinched when it leaned into her face.

“They will never love you.”

Joan shoved the shadow away and scampered out of the corner, scrubbing her eyes viciously. There was an angered hiss from behind her.

“You’re a mistake.” The shadow snapped. “Say it, Joan.”

“No.”

“Say it, Joey.”

“No…!”

Joan has her hands over her ears again.

“Say it.”

“No!”

“Please say it, darling.”

That was Jane’s voice. The sweet, soothing tone that Joan liked to think was reserved specially for her, when really it belonged to Kitty.

“I’m…a mistake.”

There was a deep chuckle. The shadow glides past to stand in front of her. It cups one of her cheeks with a freezing black hand and she hates how she leans into it. She was pretending it was Jane’s hand, Aragon’s hand, Anne’s hand, anyone’s hand.

“Good girl.” The shadow purred, stroking her cheek with its thumb. “Don’t take it personally, sweetie, you’re just not good enough for anyone.” It smiled widely at the way Joan whimpered, but still didn’t pull away. She was too touch-starved. “You’re a waste of time and space. Those people will realize that very soon. That is if they haven’t already, of course.”

There is a heavy silence between the two. Joan still isn’t pulling away. Her tears are being wiped away and she hates how much she enjoyed the gesture. She hates herself for being so weak.

“How do you recover from something like this?” She whispered.

“You don’t.” The shadow simply said.

She truly was a lost cause, then.

“Forgiveness is impossible. Forgetting is impossible. But…” A smile comes to the thing’s lips, “There is a way out.”

Joan watched as her shadow glided over to a drawer. It pulled it open and threw clothes across the room until it grabbed something wrapped in paper towels.

“How about it, sweetie?”

“N-no. Not an option.” Joan backed up, averting her eyes.

“It’s always an option.”

The shadow offered the object to the swaying girl.

“No way. I’m not doing it.”

“The painkillers aren’t working, are they?” The shadow said in that weirdly soothing voice that sends a shiver down Joan’s spine and makes her want to hear more. “Neither are the antidepressants. Or the dream-represents. Why not try something else? Come on…take it. You won’t feel a thing.” It tilted its head. “Isn’t that what you want? That’s why you stole it, right?”

“I… Yes… No…” Joan mumbled, “I-it was an impulse. It was a mistake. That’s why I’ve been hiding it for the past month.”

“What are you afraid of?”

“Death.” Joan said bluntly. She had fought so hard to stay alive and became a monster in the process. “And leaving. Jane. Aragon and Anne. The other Ladies. All my friends. I can’t do this to them...”

“Why? We’ve been over this. They don’t care. They aren’t your friends.” The shadow said, “You’re a waste of time- a hopeless cause. No one wants you.”

Joan stared into the shadow’s glowing eyes and saw more correctness than she has ever felt. She felt the box cutter slip into her fingers.

“Take it,” The shadow murmured soothingly, dissolving into her, “It’ll all be okay. You won’t feel a thing…”

…I promise.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, ilovepeetaanddarcy-peemadarzy

Happy Birthday, @ilovepeetaanddarcy-peemadarzy​! We hope you’re having a lovely birthday today, and got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To kick your party into gear, the lovely @mega-aulover​ has written a story just for you!

For: Ilovepeetaanddarcy-peemadarzy

Prompt: So, Katniss is pregnant for the third time and OMG they are twins!

A/N sorry it’s late I wrote two drabbles and I just couldn’t decide which one to choose…. So I hope you enjoy both...not beta’d so al mistakes are woefully mine.

Both Rated: G

Title 1: Mel’s Wish

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

“Mommy,” Mel said her toothy grin caused Katniss to smile. They were in the meadow. Her daughter was dancing. Peeta was in the distance with their son playing patty-cake.

“Yes Mel?”

“I want a sister.”

Katniss smiled and hugged her daughter tighter. “But you have Jasper.”

“He’s alright but he smells funny and he doesn’t like playing dolls with me.”

The problems of a four year old were not exactly an earth shattering, but Katniss loved that her children could face such trivial things. They did not have to think about hunger, mutts, or cruel arenas with looming reapings. Her children had a chance at peace. Something she was slowly accepting that things would never be what they were again. There had been two presidents since Paylor took office. After four years she ran for the Presidency and won by a landside.

When her second term was nearly finished many expected her to run again. In a groundbreaking move she addressed the nation and put forth a two term policy like their ancestors had during the ancient days of democracy. Following her example many senators also vacated their seats allowing themselves two terms as well.

Power in Paylor’s own words corrupts absolutely without checks and balances. This ideal became was an established amendment to the original contract written by the Districts. It read; “In order for a fair and equitable establishment and to bring forth new and valued ideals no one should have more than eight years in any seat of power.”

These rules and many others eased Katniss sense of forboding about their future. The arenas were torn down and those that weren’t became an attraction to show people a past that we must never return.

“So I am guessing you want a sister.”

“Yes mommy a sister to play with and she can braid my hair and I can braid hers. Someone to play catch with.”

“But you can play catch with Jasper.”

“Mommy Jasper doesn’t understand how to play catch with Mermaids…”

“But certainly teach Jasper,” Katniss tried once more.

Her daughter put her tiny hand on top of hers and stared directly into Katniss eyes.  “No mommy, I need a sister.”

“MEL!” Peeta called.

“Go with dadd,” Katniss urged. She watched her daughter laugh and dance all the way to her father. Mel was practical and although she believed in Mermaids no thanks to Fin, Annie’s son. Her feet was firmly planted on the ground. For her to ask for another baby took Katniss by surprise.

So much so that the thought of another baby stayed with her throughout the day. Having Mel was hard. She had to overcome a lot of insecurities and fears. All of those voices died the moment she held Mel. For Jasper she suffered less knowing the moment in the end holding him was going to outweigh all of pitfalls she faced.

A quick look at the calender let her know she was not getting any younger.  She found her hand straying to her womb as she thought of what it felt like to hold her babies for the first time. The soft baby smell, the downey skin, the way they gripped your finger. The new baby pang hit her hard, but she kept her thoughts quiet. She would as she’d done with Mel and Jasper speak to Peeta about her desire.

Katniss smiled she was determined as Peeta, he waited a lifetime to be with Katniss and their daughter had that same grit. That night as she got ready to go to bed. Mel whispered, ‘Don’t forget mommy.”

“I won’t.” Katniss said getting up and tucking Mel in. She drifted to the bedroom where Peeta was quietly pulling down the bed for the night.

“What was that all about?” Peeta threw her a pillow.

“Mel wants a sister.”

Chuckled, “Of course she does. Jasper refused to put on one of her dresses yesterday.”

“What.”

“There’s been a private battle between them. Jasper wants to do things his way and Mel wants things her way. Jasper refused to play with her.”

Katniss sat down. “How did I miss all this.”

“I only found out about it yesterday,” Peeta said sitting next to her.

“You know what is so crazy?”

“No.” Peeta looked at me expectantly.

“I was considering having another baby before it’s to late for us.”

“You were?” His eyebrows shot up.

Katniss nodded. “This may be our last opportunity for another child, before it’s too late.” Katniss glanced at Peeta. “Crazy right?”

“No not so crazy, and you know me I’ve always wanted a gaggle of children. I only want what you want.”

“You do realize Mel will get an inflated head.”

Peeta laughed. “Well it is her idea.”

“How are we going to get them to get along?”

“Mel has to learn that she can’t have it her way all of the time,” Peeta said.

“Is that why you called her to play with you guys?”

“Yup.”

“I knew you would always be the better parent,” Katniss grumbled.

Peeta kissed her and her heart rate tripled. He pulled back and winked at her,  “Let’s make a baby Mrs. Mellark.”

Four months later Katniss found herself hugging the inside of a toilet bowl. “Did I ever tell you how much I hate this part.”

Peeta didn’t answer he put a cool compress to her forehead.

“You going to say anything?”  Katniss laid back against his chest.

“Nope, I’ve learned my lesson.” Peeta diligently wiped her face.

She grinned petting his leg. “Good boy.”

“So we have our appoint with Doc. Stevens  today, excited?”

“I am, there are a few things I would like to understand.” Katniss looked at her belly she’d already popped.  

“Well you’ve been hungry.” Peeta teased.

“Stop making me laugh,” Katniss chuckled.

“So let's get in the shower before Haymitch brings back the little ankle biters back.”

“We're going to be outnumbered after this one you know,” Katniss slowly got up heading for the shower.”

The doctor's office was shut down early so that Katniss could  get her appointment done in privacy.  To this day she was hounded by the pres. Despite fifteen years having passed since the end of the war.

Katniss was laying back on the table as the doctor did a sonogram. She paused momentarily. “Huh,” her doctor said once more moving the wand.

“Is there something wrong?” Peeta asked verbalizing the terror that gripped Katniss heart.

Suddenly they saw it on the small screen, a second baby.

“Looks like you guys are having twins.” The doctor said.

Katniss was shocked and that night as they prepared dinner.  They were all sitting at the table when Mel just came out and asked.

“So mommy are we having a baby?”

Katniss and Peeta looked at the other and said. “Two, but we don’t know if it will be a girl or boy.”

Mel jumped up, “Really! Jasper we’re getting more playmates.”

Jasper laughed.

Mel danced around she’d gotten her wish.

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

Title 2:  The Accidental Surprise

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

This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to get pregnant not again. Peeta and I agreed that we were having two children. Yet here I am pregnant. The stick with the two bright pink permanent lines does not lie.

“Damit, Jo, why did I listen to you?” Katniss rubbed her face she’d casually mentioned how tired I had become recently.

Jo suggested I rule out a pregnancy.

I didn’t want to, in fact I got mad her suggestion and rebuffed her suggestion. But her words were like an annoying song that gets in your brain and you can’t help hum. I tried to ignore her words but after going down for a nap today I decided to give in and take the test.

The lines glare up at me.

How did I come to this moment I wonder, well actually I know how I got here. It was that weekend. Our anniversary, twenty years. Peeta and I well we acted like randy children. My reflection grins back at me. Getting your groove on with your husband and two kids wasn’t easy. Jo and Annie came down and took the kids on a magical weekend trip.

Peeta and I went at it like rabbits, we were barely functioning and walking straight when the kids came home. There are things that don’t work as right as you become older, Peeta’s back gave out on him on one occasion involving a table and on more than one occasion we did fall asleep. Ah the sleep so great to sleep in without an interruption.  

We did much more than sleep we made a baby.

This kid is an undercover agent because I don’t feel the normal signs, like the nausea, the feeling of being sick. The smelling. With both my kids I had a nose that was scientific. I could smell things from all the way in town. I splay my free hand over my belly and wonder if this real or could it be that this is a trick. I’m not exactly young anymore and because of the trauma I suffered in my youth my body is going through the early onset of menopause.

“Hey babe, you almost done in here?” Peeta opens the door and sees me holding the stick.

I smile, “Guess what…”

Peeta rushes in the bath room, he holds the stick. A riot of emotions filter through his face, shock, wonder, and disbelief. “Is this right?”

“The stick says it is.”

His eyes travel from my face to my stomach before traveling back up. “Why did you take the test?”

“Johanna.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I have been tired, more so than normal and I told Jo and she said to take a test to rule it out. I did and I am afraid this is one of false positives.”

Peeta embraced me and I melt taking comfort in his arms. “We’ll make an appointment with doctor Whitcombe.”

I nod against his chest. Three weeks later I sit gripping Peeta’s hand waiting for the results. They had urine and enough of my blood to make my clone. Leaning into his chest I feel his reassurance. The paper gown crinkles as I sit there. I’ve never been good with nudity so Peeta always brings me a blanket to slip on top of the blanket and socks. I need socks like I need air. Peeta doesn’t understand my insistence on wearing socks to bed. If not for the kids he wouldn’t wear anything.

“Do you think they’re taking so long because I am not pregnant and it’s just a hormonal imbalance?” I whisper my unspoken fear. “Do you think there is something else wrong with me?”

“Whatever they find we’ll face it together,” Peeta brings my hand to his mouth.

The brush of his warm lips against the back of my hand.

Dr. Whitcombe comes into the room with her nurse, Many. “Well congratulations are in order.”

“Congratulations,” I parrot back to him.

“We are going to have a maybe, I mean another baby?” Peeta whispers.

“Another.” Dr. Whitcombe smiled looking at them both. “You’re going to have twins.”

[animefan-overran]

Birthday Surprise (Twinleafshipping)

****PART 4 (RATING: CUTE/FLUFF)****

MEANWHILE

“Hey, Dawn. Long time no see. Even though we can’t see each other because we’re talking on the phone and all haha… ugh no that sounds even dumber than the last line!” Barry spoke to himself whilst urgently pacing back and forth in front of his phone. It was only yesterday that he had gone fishing with his good friend Lucas, and ever since then, their conversation has saturated his mind. 

“You’re gonna be 18 soon for crying out loud. You’re gonna have to man up sometime...” Lucas’s words echoed in Barry’s mind, making him cringe.

Ugh, I hate it when he’s right. I do need to tell Dawn how I feel at some point, but I don’t even know how to start out the conversation, let alone what I would even say when it comes to how I feel. Her smile ties my tongue, her humor pounds my heart, and her laugh sends chills down my spine… She makes me nervous, and yet I still want her to be all mine.

Barry shook his head clear, as he reached for the phone. “Ok, I’m thinking way too much. I just got to do it.” 

With each dialed number, Barry’s fingers struggled more and more. He couldn’t believe his actions. Where in the world did this nerve come from? It’s like some kind of secret urge woke up inside of him, and he needed to satisfy it- he needed to tell Dawn the truth of his feelings. 

His thoughts raced as the first ring fell silent. Oh boy, I’m actually doing this… 

‘RINNNNGGG,; The second ring came and went, still no one. Maybe no one is home right now… Barry silently hoped. Just as he was about to hang up, he heard a familiar voice on the other side of the line. 

“Johanna speaking, who might I be talking to?” Dawn’s mom answered.

In response, Barry seemed to freeze in fear. He totally forgot about the option of her mom answering the phone. “Uh hi, this is Barry,” he managed to croak out. “Uh, I would like to talk with Dawn. Is she home by any chance?”

For only a moment, there was a slight pause on the other end, before he heard a slight giggle, and an answer “Yeah, she’s home. Let me get her for you…” 

********

Dawn grinned “You have yourself a deal!”

Just as Dawn and Ash had finished shaking hands, the front door of the house opened revealing Johanna. “Oh hi Ash and Pikachu! It’s nice to see you again. Your mom told me you might be coming by Sinnoh.” Johanna greeted.

Ash and Pikchu smiled in return “Yeah,” Ash took off his hat, running his fingers through his hair. “Pikachu and I wanted to do some special training before we head off to the next region, and we thought Sinnoh would be a great fit.” 

“That’s great! Actually, I was planning on making some lemonade pretty soon. You and Pikachu should come inside for a glass, before you go and train.” Johanna offered.

“That sounds awesome, doesn’t it buddy?” Ash turned his head to ask Pikachu, who was already squealing with excitement.

“Cool! C’mon inside then. You know the drill, take your shoes off at the door.” Johanna explained, holding the door open for everyone to come inside. Being as discreet as possible, she pulled her daughter aside “Oh, and Dawn.” she whispered “There's a certain blonde waiting to talk to you on the phone. If I were you, I would act normal.” she encouraged patting Dawn on the shoulder. 

Dawn’s heart skipped a beat. “What? You actually told him I was home? Sometimes I hate it when you tell the truth.” she whined. “Ugh, but I get it.” 

Dawn sped over to the phone. She was unsure of what had gotten into her, but she needed to be on the other end of the line. A terrified curiosity had overtaken, her strides getting larger with each step. She tried not to think about how the next 5-10 minutes of her life would play out. Ugh, what if I slip, and end up saying something wrong? What if he tells me how he feels, what will I say then? she could feel the deep blush on her cheeks, as she finally reached the phone, slightly putting it up to her ear.

Dawn quietly breathed out one last time in an attempt to get rid of any last minute butterfrees that might have built up in her stomach. As much as she wanted to hear what Barry had to say, she equally wanted to be 6 feet underground, away from everyone. Ok, if Barry has the guts to call me, then I should have the guts to see what he has to say. With that thought, she found the courage to speak “Hey, Barry. What’s up” Dawn asked politely. 

“Oh, not much,” Barry started “I just wanted to see if you could hang out sometime in the next couple of days. I thought it’s been a while since we spent time together, and I wanted to do it before my birthday party this weekend.” Barry explained. 

Dawn held her breath in anticipation, contemplating on how to respond. Yes, of course she wanted to hang out with Barry, but she already had plans to give him his present during that time. Just as she found herself at a loss for words, her brain hatched a brilliant plan. “Yeah, actually. I would love to hang out with you. It’s Sunday now right? How about we hang out Wednesday? Come by my place at around noon? ” Dawn suggested. 

A slightly audible sigh of relief could be heard on Barry’s end, which only made Dawn’s smile widen. “That sounds good,” Barry said. “See you then!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dawn said as she hung up the phone. 

Oh my God, what just happened? Dawn tried to suppress her snowballing thoughts as she sauntered to the kitchen table. She took a seat next to Ash, who was busy working on his third glass of lemonade. 

“So, was that who I think it was?” Ash asked, wiping his mouth dry. Dawn’s quiet demeanor and lack of response gave her away instantly. Ash continued. “Ok, so how did it go then?” 

Dawn face palmed to hide her ever growing blush “I don’t know. We set plans to hang out Wednesday,” Dawn explained whilst pouring herself a glass of lemonade. “ But I didn’t tell him that I arranged a scavenger hunt for him. Now, I’m going to be scrambling for time as Wednesday reaches closer. Everything needs to be in order for this to work out. This is all so stressful!” Dawn put her head down on the table. “Oh, and Ash.” she looked up to look him in the eyes “I also found out… I really like the idea of me and Barry being more than friends… I really don’t know what to do.” 

Ash saw the confusion in Dawn’s eyes. He gave a knowing look to Pikachu who only nodded in return. “Dawn, it looks like you need some really good friends right about now. So, me and Pikachu are willing to forgo training in order to help you figure out every end of this. We want things to work out for you.” 

A glimmer of hope flashed in Dawn’s eyes, and strength found its way back into her body, as she stood up from her seat. “Wow, Ash. You would really do that? Thank you. I mean, I have some ideas of what I want to do, but there are still so many things up in the air.”

“Yeah, of course! And don’t worry,” Ash smirked smugly “I also have some ideas of what you could do,” 

[everlarkficexchange]

Shots Make Me Sing

I finished one! But only because I cheated. I had an angsty version of this all planned out but I just couldn’t write it so I made it sweet instead. Don’t be surprised if the other version pops up sometime.

written by @sunsetsrmydreams 

Beta’d by @justajjfan.  All mistakes are mine.

Prompt 81: Katniss finds her soulmate at her bachelorette party (aka Peeta)(Happy ending please) [submitted by anonymous]

One shot.

  And another.

  The alcohol burns her throat until it matches the burn in her eyes.

  How did she get here?

  Women scream in the living room. The stripper must have arrived.

  Katniss looks down at the sash strapped across her torso like a banner, marking her as the ‘Bachelorette’ and it makes her sick.  

  It seemed like a perfectly serviceable arrangement when Gale had come to her and expressed his feelings. They had been friends forever and he’d born witness to her struggles, so he came up with a plan that in his opinion, would suit them both.

  She would marry him and he would help her support Prim through Medical School. 

  That was the deal. Simple and clean, but it was far from it. 

  Katniss has been carrying a secret for as long as she can remember. A mark that makes her feel wrong about everything she’s done. 

  It means she lied to her oldest friend. 

It means someone is out there waiting for her.

She’s a coward who would rather ignore fate.

Months ago, it had seemed like a good idea. Marrying Gale was a nice alternative to ending up like her parents who were so in love that when one died, the other followed soon after. 

  Katniss knew damn well she’d be breaking Gale’s heart in the long run, but she’s just so afraid of the future. His offer had seemed like protection at the time.

But something had shifted in the last two weeks. She could feel it…something within her was reaching out…and she felt an answering tug.

The arrangement she’d tried to be so convincingly gung-ho about is now causing her to wake in a cold sweat every night. Saying ‘Yes’ had been a mistake. 

A big one.

Now hot flashes plagued her in the middle of the day for no apparent reason and sometimes, Katniss felt that if she reached out a hand he would just…be there.

  Even the very air she breathed seemed to be charged and the small birthmark on her hip burned. Her soulmark. The only thing Katniss could do was to throw back another shot and hope her guilt didn’t drown her.

  Loud, thumping music fills the room and the screams increase, followed by loud cat-calls. 

Johanna leaps into the kitchen and grabs her arm, pulling her into the other room as Katniss resists. 

  “Come on, Everdeen! You’re up!”

  Katniss rips off the sash filinging over Jo’s shoulder. “Why don’t you do the honors Jo.”

  “What’s up with you? There’s a hot ass man ready to dance all over your junk and you’re in here! Doing shots! Alone!”  

  “It’s not my thing, you know that.” 

  “Yeah. Yeah. Well, just this once, I’ll do you the favor!” Johanna grins wildly as she secures the slash tightly across her chest and with a whoop, she is off. 

  Katniss peeked into the chaos of the room and saw a tall, muscular, blonde man grinding on her friend’s lap as all the others looked on in excitement and approval. 

  The distraction he caused allowed her to slip out of the door undetected. Quickly making her way to the roof, hoping the cool night air would soothe her frayed nerves and cool the strange warmth in her blood.

  As she looked up at the night sky, drunk and squinting at the constellations in her memory, a song came to her. It was short and sweet and it was one often sung in her home. 

  Alone, on the cusp of making the worst mistake of her life, she couldn’t help but give in to the comfort. Her voice was smooth, the words low and soft, carried on the wind to the apartment right below her feet.

  It made her remember. 

  Though there was so much pain and anguish later in her parents lives, there had also been undeniable happiness. And love.

  They were soulmates who had stumbled upon each other at the tender age of 14. Almost three decades together wasn’t enough but Katniss, in this moment, was able to accept her parents wouldn’t have changed a thing if it meant living a life, no matter how long, without each other. 

  Since her parents died, Katniss had been so envious of Prim’s unmarked soul. It was freedom to make your own choices in life, so she pretended to be unmarked.

But just look where she is now.

Drunk and crying on the roof of her apartment building..It made her wonder if some souls were marked for a reason. If maybe she should be thanking fate instead of running from it.

  A door opens, the squeal of rusty hinges doesn’t startle her like it should, because deep down, she’s been expecting him. Her blood grows warmer with every step he takes towards her.

  Slowly, Katniss turns and bright blue eyes meet hers. He looks sleepy, with creases in his cheek from the pillow that had been cradling him and a riot of messy blonde curls. He’s not much taller than her and Katniss’s gaze drops lower to a white t-shirt, stretched over broad shoulders and a wide chest followed by strong thighs hidden beneath striped pajama pants.

  His eyes have been roaming over her as well and she can’t help but wonder what he sees. She’s small, plain and not particularly pretty, but the look in his eyes says differently. 

  The drink in her system causes her to sway forward and she looks down as his hand catches her hip. The arrow shaped mark, clearly visible on his palm matching up to the one on her hip.

  They blink wide eyes as the connection overwhelms them. His voice is soft and sweet. “I heard you singing.”

  Katniss looks into those deep blue eyes, “I was singing for you,” and when he smiles, she’s knows it’s the truth.

  “I’m Peeta Mellark. I moved in two weeks ago. I’m a baker. I never take sugar in my tea. I double knot my shoelaces and thank god I always sleep with the windows open.”

  For the first time in months, Katniss grins. “I’m Katniss Everdeen. I’m a landscape architect. I always take sugar in my tea. I love my sister and I knew…I think I knew that you would hear me.”

Epilogue

It’s been five years since they met on that rooftop and talked until the early hours, reluctantly separating so Peeta could rush off to the bakery to do the morning prep work. 

Katniss went back to her apartment, climbing over several passed out friends to get to her phone.

  Breaking things off with Gale was hard. She almost went the easy route, telling him over the phone, but Katniss knew if she wanted to salvage any part of their friendship, she needed to do it the right way. She owed him that much at least. 

He was understandably upset, said some things that took Katniss a long time to get over. But it took less than a year for Gale to find the person he was meant to be with and now he has a house full with three kids and counting. And some distant semblance of friendship formed once again. 

  It also took less than a year for Katniss and Peeta to get married. Two months to be exact. It was a rushed affair at City Hall so Prim could attend before moving across the country for school. Far from the previous wedding plans that caused Katniss nothing but constant headaches and anxiety, theirs was easy and fun and held so much meaning for both of them.  

  Katniss arranges the pictures again.

  She’s nervous even though she has no reason to be. This has to be done before Prim comes home to visit. Katniss knows her sister’s eagle eyes will spot the change. The tiny bump that’s just started to make her pants too tight. Her doctor confirmed it this morning. It was a complete surprise but it shouldn’t have been. They had been trying after all, it’s just Katniss didn’t expect it to happen immediately.

  Katniss can hear the jingle of keys as Peeta makes his way through the door and when he spots her, his eyes brighten. They always do.

  “What are you doing home?” Peeta asks as he quickly moves in to kiss her, lingering over her lips like a newlywed. His eyes fall on the black and white prints placed strategically on top of the table and his eyes widen. “Katniss…?” He stares before delicately lifting one. Tears start to form in his eyes.

  “It’s real,” Katniss whispers as she wraps her arms around him.

  Peeta hugs her tightly and she feels the connection between them that will never fade. 

  It’s happiness. It’s love.

[shardminds]

The Swan that fell for the Sea (2/3)

Thank you to @itsfabianadocarmo for being so patient with me! This story, at this chapter, clocks in at 10k which is the longest thing I’ve ever written and there’s still one chapter to go! Your gift, my sweet, will continue on into 2020 as work and Christmas and other commitments have kept me from it :( I’m sorry for keeping you waiting but hope you continue to enjoy where this is going ♥ It’s been a pleasure to write for you! 

Another big thanks to @cssecretsanta2k19 for running this fantastic event! You ROCK! 

And, last but not least, we ALL owe a round of applause to @thisonesatellite for 1) putting up with me, 2) calling me out when things don’t make sense and 3) being an unwavering pillar of support through this whole process. THANKS LOVE!

Emma Swan falls for a man of the sea. She doesn’t mean to but she does all the same. The scent of salt and leather and rum lingers on her skin long after he’s gone and, as the warm summer breeze makes way for winter’s icy chill, she wonders if he’ll ever return.

He does, and things will never be the same again.

Part 1 ¦ Also available on AO3 ♠

Emma waits for him.

She waits and waits, dismissing any rational thought that tells her to stop. Four months is a long time but, despite the fallen leaves turning to mulch on beaten passageways in the town, she waits. Sweet ale in her tankard. The memory of a kiss on her lips.

She sneaks out of the palace nearly every night, dressed in plain skirts. The ones that now had her fading into the background, not to be noticed other than by those that looked too closely.

Ruby tries her best to bring the smile back to Emma’s eyes. Sometimes it works; dragging her up to dance and sing, around the people she’d come so close to, unlikely friends among the dirt, slamming tankards together in cheers and living in the moment. Those moments helped, patching up the longing in her heart, however temporarily.

The docks die down in the cold, the revelries of summer no longer calling forth traders and night markets, performers and tourists, or pirates. Emma still visits, hoping to see The Jolly Roger moored up, the crewmen she’d grown familiar with greeting her with fond smiles and the Captain she loves wrapping her in his warm arms, fighting off the ache in her chest that had settled when he left.

It hurts to see it empty.

After such time apart, their summer together seems like a dream. If it weren’t for the chain at her neck, she’d wonder if it happened at all.

She’ll know soon enough. Solstice is tomorrow.

The preparations spread throughout the palace with the first frost; wreaths and garlands adorning the entire place in swaths of green, red and gold, fireplaces eternally lit in an attempt to warm the cold stone floors to no avail. On the rare nights Emma didn’t venture down to the tavern by the shore, burrowed into soft blankets and furs smelling of woodsmoke and frost, she wishes that she wasn’t alone.

A giant spruce, felled recently, lays in the courtyard, a smattering of snow covering its evergreen foliage.

Emma uses it as cover, walking behind it’s thickest part to obscure herself from the prying eyes of servants whose whispers would inevitably make their way back to the ears of her mother. She hasn’t been caught yet, in her months of running away to the docks at the fall of night and crawling back home in the early mornings, but she dreads what would happen if she did.

She dips past the thick shrub along the palace wall that hides a long forgotten passage up, up and up until it reaches just shy of her chambers. In the past, they’d probably been used for more important things – escaping assassinations, fleeing coups but those days were long gone. Misthaven was at peace; her father made sure of that.

She climbs the staircase in the dark. It takes minutes to get to the tapestry-covered exit but, in the pitch black, it stretches seemingly into hours. The sensory deprivation is all-consuming, but she continues on. Exhaustion tugs at Emma’s limbs, causing her to almost lose her footing a couple of times, grabbing the cool stone walls for balance. How long has it been since she slept? Two days? Three? Between fulfilling royal duties and drowning the dull ache in her chest, there isn’t a lot of time for sleep.

When he returns. That’s when she’ll sleep.

Before she can reach to pull the tapestry aside, it’s already gone.

In its place, the Queen.

She’s cast entirely in shadow, light from the corridor outlining her in an ethereal glow but Emma would know that silhouette anywhere.

Fuck.

“If you don’t want your Father to chain you up, I would suggest using the south entrance to sneak in, far less prying eyes this time of year. People are getting wise to your ways.”

Her mother, cinched into an opulent gown that makes Emma’s threadbare and frayed skirts look like rags, fixes her with a questioning look. Despite her age, Queen Snow has always been beautiful, once holding the title of fairest in all the realm for both her rule and her appearance. As her daughter, Emma held a biased opinion, of course, but now, with one groomed eyebrow hiked up, she cultivates the seed of anxiety in Emma’s stomach until its vines wind around her limbs, rooting her in place.

“Mother, I–”

Snow’s expression softens, a cheeky knowing smile replacing any animosity Emma could’ve sworn had been there not seconds earlier. It knocks her back like an unexpected wave.

“Hush, Emma.” She steps to the side, allowing space for Emma to emerge into the empty corridor. Hesitantly, she takes it. The light, albeit dim, is still enough to be blinding after the total void in the passageway. “I too was young once. Come along now.”

“I think the circumstances were slightly different then,” They fall into step together, heading in the direction of Emma’s chambers. Nerves still tingle in the pit of her stomach, sharper and heavier than the crown her mother wears. She hadn’t expected such a… non-issue. If her father found her, she’d be having an entirely different conversation right now. “You were running from a power-hungry sorceress who tried to turn the kingdom against you. I, on the other hand, am under no such duress.”

“My stepmother was– yes. I suppose you’re right.” She muses, looking off into the middle distance as Emma pushes against the dark wood of her bedroom door.

The whole room is immaculately kept, further evidence that it had not been slept in for some time, but the hearth is lit, embers glowing, warmth only spreading as far as the dressing table and doing nothing to bite off the bone-deep chill that settled in Emma’s bones from the walk. On the bed, atop furs and throws and soft pillows, is a dress.

“I assume Father expects me to wear that.” She sighs, picking up the offending article between two fingers. It’s softer to the touch than she expected, pleated silk and silver beads, with elaborate lace sleeves that flare at the wrists.

“You assume correctly.” Her mother nods, taking a seat by the fire and swiping an apple from the fruit basket on her way. “Johanna prepared you a bath so you can make yourself a little more presentable for later.”

“Later?”

“Yes, your Father has requested our presence in one of his meetings this morning, which is why I was so anxious for you to arrive,” Emma rolls her eyes and starts towards the bath, peeling off her outer shirts and leaving a trail of clothes on the floor, leaving her undergarments until she’s safely behind the screen separating the clawfoot tub from the rest of the room. Snow tuts at the mess. “but enough about all that, I do believe I am owed an explanation.”

The water is just a touch cooler than scalding when she steps in, but her mother’s words send a spike of fear down her spine. The girl that exists there, at the docks and taverns, she has no place in this palace. Emma tries her best to shove her down, letting only the Princess remain.

“In order to rule the people, one must know the people.”

“Oh, how diplomatic! We’ll make a Queen of you yet.” Snow calls back, voice laden with sarcasm. “Now, the truth, if you will.”

Emma pauses, letting the heat from the bath sink deeper into her bones. How does she even begin to explain?

Oh yes, Mother. I spend most of my nights at the docks staring at the horizon, waiting for a Pirate, who I seem to have fallen in love with, to return from a voyage I regret refusing to join him on and when it all gets a bit too much, I find solace in drink and frantically attempt to sober myself up on the walk back to the palace at sunrise because I fear you and Father finding out the truth of my whereabouts.

“That is the truth, partly.” Letting her head sink under the water’s embrace, she sighs. The bubbles rise and pop, words she wishes she could say. She trusts her mother implicitly.

She doesn’t, however, trust her father, who would see Killian’s head on a spike if he ever found out.

Her lungs burn when she comes up for air.

“I’m suffocating here.” Emma can’t stop herself, words spilling forth like a burst dam. “My duties are limited to appearances and dinners, where all anyone wants to talk about is who I’m going to marry. I’m the fucking Princess, adored by all and all that rubbish, but I’ve never felt more alone than when I wear that tiara. I’m nowhere near ready to rule. I don’t know the first thing about defending my country and that scares me, but when I’m down there with the people– our people, I can be someone else, even if it’s just for a night.”

For a second, the only sound in the room is the gentle splash of bathwater and the faint crackle of embers.

“Emma–” There’s a creak of furniture followed by the soft clack of heels on the stone floor. Her mother pauses and Emma can see her shadow against the screen.

“Please, Mother.” She pleads, voice unbroken. “Don’t take this from me.”

Snow emerges from behind the screen, an apologetic look casting her face in a sad smile, and reaches for one of the perfumed soaps that had been laid out for Emma to bathe with. Unperturbed by Emma’s nudity, she comes to kneel behind her daughter’s head.

“I spent so much of my youth fighting to get into a palace that I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be trapped inside one.” Her fingers, small and dexterous as they are, massage the soap into Emma’s scalp, forming a liberal lather. Tension leaks out of Emma’s shoulders with each touch and, before long, she’s completely lax. They don’t speak, but Killian’s name sticks in her throat, a lump she can’t shift. In another life, were she not a Princess, perhaps she would have the courage to speak it.

Her mother and father have so many tales, stretched across years of rebellion and revolt; of the Evil Queen, of the dwarves sworn to fight by her side, of banditry and betrayals and true love– that’s what Emma had been searching for each night, between dirt and flame and ale. A story, an adventure, something for people to talk about in hushed whispers, of the Swan that fell for the sea.

They don’t have to know that the Swan is their Princess.

Not yet.

Her fingers are pruning in the lukewarm water, body lulled half to sleep, by the time her hair is washed and towel-dried. Her mother sighs, knees creaking as she stands – age has been kind to both her parents but it creeps in slowly, in the silver gracing their temples hidden by golden crowns. It comes for everyone eventually.

“I’ll ask Graham to scale back patrols on the south gate and Johanna to fetch you a better cloak than that which you’ve taken to using,” She starts, placing a fresh towel by the bath side. The satin skirt of her gown is darkened with damp spots from the water, but she pays them no mind, pressing a kiss to the centre of Emma’s forehead. “and please remember that I am always here for you, Emma. I mean it.”

There’s sincerity in her eyes, sincerity and love— so much love, more than Emma can even begin to comprehend, but she trusts it. In the list of moments she would pause for an eternity, this is one of them.

“Mother.”

“Yes, dear?”

Her voice catches, a soft hopeful smile making its way to her lips. “I love you.”

“And I you.” Snow nods, making her way behind the screen, leaving Emma to dress alone. “Meet us in the great hall in an hour.”

When the door shuts softly, confirming her mother’s exit, she emerges from the water.

--

Cold stone walls, cast-iron chandeliers with tall flickering candles, fires in every hearth, stained glass effigies of past kings and queens lit with the late morning sun, eaves decorated with garlands of holly and ivy, and, raised on marble steps, three golden thrones. The great hall really is just that. Great.

Emma grew up here, excited to be involved at first, to wear the tiara her father said she was born to wear.

As time moved on, so did she.

“Emma!” A voice rings out, echoing against stone.

Her father, the King.

Seeing him smiling, lines of age forming around his eyes and mouth, has her own smile falling into place as he walks across the great hall to embrace her, posture never slipping.

As much as she may not enjoy the formalities of her role within the court or the isolation that it’s afforded her, she holds nothing but love and respect for her father. Love and respect and a sliver of fear.

“I was wondering where you managed to run off to.” Emma leans into his embrace, letting herself be wrapped up in his arms. One hand cradles the base of her skull, the way it always does when her father holds her. He pulls back to adjust the silver circlet woven into her curls. “I take it you like the dress, then?”

He takes a step back, admiring the fabric with its delicate drapery and flowing skirts, letting Emma twirl for him to better view the garment. Killian’s ring, tucked between what cleavage her bodice creates, threatens to come free, the weight of it tugging as she turns at her Father’s request. It longs to be free. “I do, Father. Thank you.”

“Excellent.” He nods, holding his arm out for her to take, and she does. “There’s only one audience today so this should be short but I wanted you here as a witness.”

Arm in arm, they walk the carpet running the centre of the room, ascending the marble steps to where their thrones, forged by the finest smiths in Agrabah, stand tall and proud. Emma slides into hers, the metal cold against her legs. It’s the first time in weeks she’s had to be present for an audience, usually boring affairs, with very little involvement on her own part and more just an excuse for David to assure the people of their strong and unified family. It’s true, for the most part.

“I must apologise, Emma,” Kneeling by her feet, David starts. Like this, she can see just how much age has crept into his features, how it lingers in his eyes and in the recede of his hairline and the grey and white peppered throughout his dark blond. “I feel like I’ve been lax on preparing you for what will inevitably be yours.”

“Father–”

He takes her hand in both of his, squeezing reassuringly as Emma’s face changes from confusion to acceptance.

“The crown will be yours, Emma, and I won’t be here to guide you forever. I should’ve done this sooner. From now on, I want you to shadow me in all audiences, all council meetings, everything. If I’m there, I want you by my side. I want you to speak up, to learn, to build your own opinions. I hope I can save you the struggle of finding your feet so, when the crown does come, you’ll hit the ground running.”

The thought of ruling is terrifying.

The thought of ruling without her father’s guidance? Even more so.

If she agrees—

She will never be Swan again.

She looks down at him, a smile, soft as the fur around his neck, meets her there.

“I’d like that.” She nods, wondering if he’s convinced by the lie that comes so naturally.

“Wonderful!” Her father beams, pulling her in for a hug. It’s an awkward angle but it doesn’t last for long. “We’ll start proper preparations after Solstice.”

Soon, David is standing, smoothing the wrinkles from his slacks and shirt before righting the fur edged robe around his shoulders. He’s a picture of opulence and authority. If Emma hadn’t seen him wear his royal garb over a thousand times already, she’d be in awe of it. Privileges of royal life, such as fancy silks and furs, didn’t draw her as they once had. She craved leather and linen and simplicity.

Summer had changed her.

“Who is it that’s requested an audience then?” Tracing the indentations in the arm of her throne, she probed, noting that her father had not divulged that particular information.

“Ah, yes.” He starts, lips pulling into a tight line as he paces before his throne. “I hired some external support on retrieving an item of extreme value from the edge of our kingdom. Upon my wake this morning, I received word that they’d returned and had requested to meet. That’s why I wanted you here today, Emma. To show you that, sometimes, even Kings have to convene with miscreants.” His voice drips with venom on the tail end of his sentence, as if the words burn as they leave his mouth.

She stays silent, the admission, dying on her tongue, that sometimes Princesses convene with miscreants too.

“Your mother will be here soon,” Taking his own seat, her father continues, picking invisible traces of lint from the flowing fur of his robe. “She’s just overseeing Graham’s security detail for the festival, you know how it is.”

That is not, in fact, what her mother is discussing with Graham but it doesn’t seem appropriate to mention it now.

They make idle conversation, discussing alliances and trade deals and all the politics that Emma is expected to learn when she takes her father’s throne. Most of it, she knows from the tutors of her youth but there are intricacies she’s not privy to that David is keen for her to learn. Agrabah will trade wine and jewels for grain when the harsh summers perish their harvests, Arendelle will trade furs, silks and meats when the arctic winters perish theirs. They will reach out in times of bountiful harvest too, offering to send what exotic fruit and spices will survive the voyage. Neverland rarely makes trade requests, their young ruler too stubborn to accept the aid of those his senior.

“Is it true his court is filled with children? I imagine that’s difficult come nap time.” Emma jokes, curiosity sparked by the mention of their most mysterious neighbour.

“Emma!” David scoffs, trying to stifle the laugh that breaks free. Like this, unconcealed laughter causing him to squint, crows feet deep and apparent at the corners, he’s no longer the King. He’s the man that wrapped her up in his furs after she’d fallen through the frozen lake as a child, who smudged cake on her nose every birthday until she was old enough to evade it, who would do anything to see her safe, no matter the consequences. “Wherever did you hear such a thing?”

Killian had told her. They’d been looking through his maps, his shirt covering her modesty and his arms circled around her waist. They hadn’t even made it to the tavern that night, need too prevalent, and after, when they were fully sated, she’d explored his cabin. He let her, watching from the bed as she went from shelf to shelf, admiring his treasures. He’d joined her by the time she reached his desk, never a fan of the distance between them. The maps outlined each realm, annotated with notes in Killian’s own cursive script.

“Neverland,” He’d said, pressing a kiss to her bare neck. “Would be far less treacherous if it wasn’t governed by children.”

She’d raised an eyebrow at him, reluctant to believe, the silent How? written all over her face. He shrugged in response, a smug smirk peering back at her.

“Magic, love.” He’d punctuated the words with a wink and they’d fallen together again, maps forgotten beneath them.

Emma can’t help her own laugh, partially at the memory but mostly at her father. It joins with his, ringing out in the echo of the hall. It’s been a long time since she’s been able to laugh with her father. It feels good.

Her mother appears, hurrying along the carpeted walkway with a determined look on her face. Their laughter dies down as Emma and her father both take her in. She’s flustered, taking the marble steps two at a time before sitting back in her spot on the King’s right. Emma gives her a questioning look at the same time David does. She smooths down flyaways at her temples and adjusts her dress to sit better against the throne before looking up at her family and nodding.

“He’s here.”

As if summoned, there’s a loud knock against the grand wooden doors directly ahead of them, at the foot of the great hall. It echoes against the stone walls, causing the chandeliers to shift slightly with the power of it.

The King straightens up, matching his posture to that of his title, and bellows in response.

“ENTER!”

Emma can feel the creak of the door in her bones as it screeches from the protesting hinges, it swings open slowly, only enough to let through one man before shutting with a slam. The man does not flinch; instead, he begins his walk towards their thrones. He’s familiar in a way that has her on the edge of her seat but his head is hung, thick dark hair touched with grey and white and the angle of her position obscuring his face.

With each step he takes, her heart stutters, he looks like– no, it can’t be. She’d been at the docks the night prior, The Jolly Roger nowhere among its moorings. She’d asked countless merchants and fishermen over the months for news of its return but none could provide any more than Killian had provided her on his departure.

I’ll be back when solstice comes.

Yet, this man, with his battered leather overcoat and dark embroidered waistcoat, strikes a pang of similarity in her she’s never quite felt. If it weren’t for the hook in place of his left hand, she’d have been entirely convinced that the man before them is, in fact–

When at the foot of the marble steps, he raises his head.

David tuts. “Captain Jones. You’re late.”

Emma’s breath catches.

It is him. Killian.

Her Killian.

Here.

She fights– oh, she fights – to keep her face void of emotion, praying the well of tears that threatens to spill at the sight of her love to lay dormant. He’s here. he’s here he’sherehe’sherehe’sherehe’s–

He’s here?

Joy turns to terror in her blood, clawing away until it’s consumed her entirely. He hasn’t yet noticed her or, if he has, he shows no indication of it. His eyes, as tempestuous as the day they met, are rage and fury and fixed only on her father.

Why is he here?

“Apologies, your Majesty.” He bites out, voice clipped and sarcastic. She has to bite the inside of her mouth to stop from smiling. “I’ve had to adjust to captaining a ship with one hand as the bloody dragon you neglected to warn me of seemed to enjoy slicing off my other one.”

He holds up his left arm, from under the wind-battered leather sleeve of his overcoat, the awkward brace of the prosthetic sits, a vicious curved hook attached to its end.

Emma gasps. The Swan he loves writhes beneath the surface of her skin, itching to be free.

“You knew the risks, Captain.” Her father adds, flippantly. “Treasure troves often acquire pests.”

Killian’s stare is fire and daggers, meant for no one but the King. It fills her veins with ice in a way she never knew he was capable of. In their time together, this was a side of him he’d never had to reveal. Emma wants nothing more than to go to him but she’s stuck on her throne, it’s golden embrace holding her tight as she watches steel form in her lover’s eyes.

“I have cleared you of all outstanding sentences, bounties and warrants held against you and your men and there’s five hundred gold ready to be transported to your ship,” David continues, motioning to the same doors Killian had entered through. His tone is terse, sharp as a blade’s edge. “I have upheld my end of our agreement.”

Killian scoffs, his eyes glance at her for less than a second and Emma’s stomach drops, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on who she is, refocusing his sights on the King.

She’s not sure what would hurt more, for him to know she lied or for him to not recognise her at all.

“I lost four men and a hand. Aye, we knew the risks, but the situation was not as you’d explained. We walked in unprepared and were almost destroyed because of it.”

“I trusted you with the information from my scouts, Captain. I hid nothing from you. Your lack of preparation is through no fault of mine.”

“Had I known the truth, I would not have lead my crew like lambs to the slaughter!” He shouts, looking for somewhere, anywhere to plant the seed of his own mistake. Beneath it all, Emma knows he’s in pain. She can hear it. She longs to soothe it. She cannot.

The King matches his shout, standing in the process. “That was your decision to make!”

A low growl rumbles between them and Emma doesn’t need to see it to know it’s Killian’s. The sound of it has imprinted itself in her mind, from when times were much simpler. He takes a step forward, but before his boot can even make contact with the polished marble step, David reacts.

Time slows to a halt with the familiar sing of unsheathed metal as her Father trains his sword on the approaching threat, poised to strike at a seconds notice. The breath leaves Emma’s lungs, stolen by the deadly sheen of steel forged in the belly of a long-dead beast. She wants to scream, to put herself between her lover and her father, she wants to but her feet are lead and her tongue is ash and all she can do is watch as Killian stares down the length of the King’s blade.

Killian’s eyes widen momentarily, fixed to the point mere inches from his face. It reaches almost to his throat, barely a step separating the tip of the blade from its target. Her father, the King, is power and justice with calculating eyes and, in that moment, Emma is afraid.

“One more step, Pirate.” The King spits, blade unwavering in his palm.

Emma’s heart stops, or maybe it’s racing, anxiety permeating every pump as it speeds faster and faster, fight or flight response triggered by the furrow forming in Killian’s brow. He does not step back and his eyes do not leave David’s.

“Don’t think the presence of my wife or daughter will impede me.”

“Father.” Her voice catches before she can even think to stop it, more forceful than she anticipates. David turns to her in complete silence, his gaze smouldering anger and his sword still trained mere inches from Killian’s throat. He’s met with her own powerful stare. One day, he expects her to rule this kingdom. One day, she will. It’s frightening and her stomach churns as the urge to bend to her father’s– no, the King’s will stirs within her.

Emma ignores it.

“Be rational, there’s been too much blood spilt already.”

The King’s fury softens, but doesn’t disappear completely. She half expects a reprimand for her outburst or at least a look to convey his disapproval but it never comes. He turns back to Killian, allowing Emma to do the same.

If he had been ignorant of her identity before, there’s no way to hide it now.

She can see the cogs turning in Killian’s mind as he takes her in; the top of her head and the circlet glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows, her face and the sad eyes he’ll find there, her neck and his own thick chain tucked beneath lace. He goes no further. At the sight of his own ring, something breaks within him. Emma can almost hear the shatter from where she sits. He is here but he’s never been further away and it’s killing her.

So many things she should’ve said cross her mind all at once, screaming inside her skull, begging to be freed.

Despair and disbelief flash across his features–

And then it’s gone.

He faces David once again, the fire and fury he once held now calm and cold.

“I apologise for my manners, your Majesty,” He begins, his voice is controlled and a vision of decorum. Not Killian. Not her Killian. “I am not myself. Those men, they were brothers to me. It’s– It’s my fault. I could not protect them.” Taking two steps back, he bows, low and deliberate. David lowers his sword but doesn’t sheath it.

“My daughter thinks you’re deserving of mercy.” He muses, waving a hand towards her that Killian’s eyes don’t follow. It hurts a little. “I suggest you take your gold and leave before I ask my wife what she thinks.”

The Queen, sitting silently throughout the whole exchange, raises a single brow at Killian.

He nods, opening his mouth as if to speak before thinking better of it and turning away, coat billowing behind him, footsteps muffled by the carpeted walkway.

“I thought you a better man than most, Captain, agreeing to undertake such a perilous task for the chance to pardon your crew, give them clean slates. I admired you for it.” David shouts after him, returning his sword to its place at his hip. Killian stops in his tracks, turning only slightly to look upon the King’s face. For a second, there’s grief in his eyes, genuine hurt that Emma knows she put there. He blinks it away without acknowledging it ever existed.

“I am truly sorry for your loss.” David continues, all traces of anger gone from his voice. “But, disrespect me again and I’ll have you hanged.”

The slam of the door shatters the paralysis she’d fallen under, lips parted and eyes wide, watching the space where Killian had been not seconds before. The weight of David’s words hang in the silence.

[the-hilda-librarians-wife]

The Mistakes We Made - Chapter Fourteen

Summary:  When her high school girlfriend comes back to town after two years with a baby and a terrible story she won’t tell, the Librarian has to deal with the feelings she had worked so hard to keep at bay.

Notes: The flashbacks in this chapter happen pretty much immediately after the ones in chapter 11, so you might want to read it again. Or not, it’s not really crucial to the understanding of this chapter. Anyway... this is it guys... The Talk. I hope it lives up to what you were expecting.

Read it on ao3: (chpt1)  (chpt2) (chpt3) (chpt4) (chpt5) (chpt6) (chpt7) (chpt8) (chpt9) (chpt10) (chpt11) (chpt12) (chpt13) (chpt14)

The wind made Maven’s hair sway as she picked a key from her skirt’s pocket. It was a chilly Saturday night, and Mr. Kavindi had asked if she could work for three more hours today, in order for him to go home early and be with his wife on their anniversary. She had accepted, of course, not only because she was very fond of him, but also because she could use the money.

As soon as she had finished locking up the library’s doors, she turned around and saw a woman running up the long white stairs, and she sighed.

“Sorry, we’re closed for today.” The woman coming towards her had flowing red hair and a strong jaw. As she climbed the last step, Maven noticed she was taller than average. She wasn’t from Trolberg, which made her wonder what had happened for her to end up there. At the same time, Maven had the impression of having seen her before.

“Do you work here?” The quick climb ought to have made her breathless, but it seemed like her determination was bigger than her exhaustion.

Maven lifted an eyebrow and crossed her arms, wondering what other explanation the woman had for her having the keys to the library. “I do.”

“And you know Johanna, right?”

The question hit her like a blow to the chest, making her blink in surprise and step back. Ever since she’d seen her being driven away from the town, cheered on by all her friends, Maven had tried her damnest not to think about Johanna. And now this.

“Why do you want to know?”

Taking this as a yes, the woman took a step closer. She’d only seen the librarian once before, and only briefly, but it was enough to remember that this is who she wanted to talk to. “She’s my friend. We began talking at college, but now she’s suddenly stopped talking to me.”

The librarian stared at her for a beat before snorting. “Well, it does seem like she’s making a habit out of it.”

Not wanting to talk about Johanna to anyone, much less a complete stranger, Maven began walking down the stairs, hoping that the redhead would have the sense to understand that she wasn’t in the mood for chatting. No such luck.

“Please, I really want your opinion on this!”

“I truly don’t know what makes you think I even can help.”

Even though this woman was taller, she had difficulty keeping up with Maven’s large strides. “Johanna introduced me to one of her friends. Maybe you know her, she’s called Lucy.”

Maven scrunched her nose. Lucy had always been somewhat close to Johanna, so of course she knew her. She just wasn’t particularly fond of her.

“Well, she mentioned you when Johanna was distracted with something else. Said you were a former friend that worked in the library or something along those lines.”

When they were at the base of the stairs, Maven stopped and turned to the woman. “If Lucy was your source of information about me, you must be here because you hate me. I am, unfortunately, a very busy woman, so please schedule an appointment with my secretary so I can make some time to hear your complaints about my disgusting personality. Have a good night.”

“Oh, come on!” The woman moaned in the face of her sarcasm. “Just hear me out for one second! Lucy is how I knew where to look for you, but I know about your friendship with Johanna because she told me so.”

“My statement about scheduling some time to yell at me remains.”

“You are a smart one, aren’t you?!” She snapped. “Just answer me one question, then I know if you’ll be able to help me.”

Intrigued, the librarian nodded. It wouldn’t hurt to arrive home five minutes later, and she supposed she could give this woman the benefit of the doubt.

After taking a deep breath, the woman asked. “What do you think of Torrin?”

The sound Maven made could only be described as one of pure disgust. “He’s awful. He’s fake and entitled and cares about no one. Why?”

A smile slowly bloomed in the woman’s face, and she suddenly threw her hands up. “Oh, man!” She exclaimed. “I could kiss you right now!”

Not used to having someone agree with her about Torrin, Maven’s mind took a few moments to register the situation. “Don’t take me wrong, you’re a very pretty woman.” She said when she came back to herself. “But I’d rather you didn’t.”

The woman rolled her eyes. “You’re like, the first person who agrees with me. Ever since I’ve met the guy, I didn’t get a good feeling about this. Last time I was in their house, he kept staring at me like he wanted to murder me, it was so creepy. But the Lucy girl said I was imagining things, and I was just at Johanna’s parents’ house and they told me to stay out of this!”

“You tracked down her parents too? With all due respect, that’s very scary.”

“You were the only remaining option. Of people who knew her before, you know? If you said there was nothing wrong with him as well, I’d just give up and admit that I’m paranoid, but seems like I’m not!”

This woman’s enthusiasm and determination were somewhat entertaining to Maven, even though the topic was upsetting. She thought she’d have a good time if she ever sat down to talk to her about something else.

“I can guarantee that you’re right about him, Miss…?” She let the question hang in the air, hoping she’d grant the information.

“Willa. Willa Sandalwood.”

Willa extended her hand and Maven shook it. Her hand was large and calloused, making Maven assume she had a hobby that went beyond graphic design. Maybe something athletic or crafty.

“Willa, Johanna has made her choice. You can rest assured that she knew about all the problems with her current husband. She has simply decided to ignore it, even if I’ll have to agree with you and say she shouldn’t have. She’s chosen her path, and there’s nothing we can do.”

Willa looked down at her feet, her brow furrowed in thought. When she looked up again, she gave the librarian a smile. “Would you mind if we talked about this some more? I’ll even pay you tea if you want to.”

If the chance for getting information, even if just a little, about Johanna’s current situation hadn’t already made her make up her mind, the promise of tea would have. “Alright. I know a nice place”

“Cool!” Walking to the sidewalk, she gently tapped the seat of a red and black motorcycle that had been parked right in front of the library. “Can I give you a ride?”

Maven lifted her eyebrows. “I’m not climbing into a stranger’s motorcycle.”

“Oh.” She looked at the motorcycle with her brows creased, as if she hadn’t thought of that. “That’s understandable. Is it safe to leave it here for me to come back for it later?”

“Sure.”

They walked together as Maven led them to the Poet’s Retreat. Just as they turned a corner, she spoke up again, getting genuinely caught up in the conversation.

“So, you don’t trust Torrin, and Johanna suddenly stopped talking to you, is that right?”

“Yep. And I think she did that because he doesn’t like me.”

There were some people in the streets, mostly going out to meet their friends and family. They shot the two of them weird looks as they passed by, probably thinking Willa must be either insane or evil to be talking so comfortably to Maven.

“I just don’t see where I come in this. Why did you look for me?”

She shuddered. “When Johanna talked about you, she told me you were worried for her, but that you shouldn’t be. So I thought you might agree with me.”

“She told you about me?” Maven asked with a tremulous voice, a spark of hope being lit in her heart against her better judgement.

Willa gazed down and rubbed the back of her neck. She didn’t miss the hope in Maven’s voice, so she tried to let her down gently. “She did when I asked her about you, that day you wanted to talk to her after class.”

Suddenly, the librarian remembered where she’d seen the woman before. “You’re the person who was talking to her when she left the classroom, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, that’s me!”

Maven’s pace slowed down as she thought about that. When asked about her, Johanna had said she was well meaning; could this mean she still had a chance at a friendship with Johanna? Should she even want a friendship with Johanna at this point?

“You seem to be the only person left who can talk some sense into Johanna. It’s not asking for much is it? You just need to send a message. Tell her her friends are worried because Torrin has been showing… questionable behaviors. I think you can do that.”

“Yeah.” She breathed, somewhat terrified at the prospect of texting her oldest friend. “I think I can.”

_#_#_#_

Maven overslept. Hardly a sin, since it was Sunday and the night before had been extremely tiring, physically but mainly emotionally, but once she had woken up and still remained in bed for half an hour more, she knew she was only trying to stall the inevitable.

They would have to talk. For the second time in little more than a month, Maven would have to sit down with Johanna and discuss the things that had happened between them. She was burnt out just by thinking about it.

For two years, she’d done everything she could to forget all that had happened. She had locked up the hurt in a box deep in her mind and pretended it wasn’t there at all. And now, she would be expected to open up this box and calmly go through its contents. She just wanted to stay in bed, read a book and ignore the matter at hand.

But that would be acting like a coward. She’d been choosing the path that hurt less for all this time. Now, she had the chance to allow her heart to ache in exchange of the possibility of moving forward, and she’d be damned if she didn’t take it.

Telling herself that facing this would be the only way to move forward, she pushed the blankets aside and got up, heading straight for the window. She opened the curtains in one swift movement. She’d had enough of living in the dark.

She lit a scented candle she had lying around, wanting to be distracted by its sweet perfume while she dressed herself. She picked dark grey pants and a plum shirt, along with knitted coat with flower patterns that a great aunt had knitted for her. When was the last time she hadn’t had black in her outfit?

Not surprisingly, Johanna was already in the living room when Maven climbed down the stairs. She had Hilda in her arms, and though Maven couldn’t distinguish the words, it sounded like she was talking to her daughter. Whatever it was, it was making the child smile.

“Good morning.” Maven greeted, her voice still groggy from sleep. Johanna turned her head to look at her, and gave her a bright smile.

“Good morning! How are you feeling?”

She walked up to the sofa, smiling at the child as she turned her gaze to her. “Surprisingly well. The cuts are itching, but that’s to be expected, I suppose. How did you sleep?”

“As well as a person taking care of a baby can.” Johanna snorted. “Anyway, I made scrambled eggs. They’re in the counter, so help yourself.”

“Oh, thank you.” The eggs were still warm, so Johanna couldn’t have been waiting for her for too long. While Maven ate, Johanna gracefully questioned her about how things were going in the library and at college, in return talking about what she and Hilda had been up to while she was away at work. Those were interesting little nothings, and both of them knew that it was not going to take them anywhere. Nevertheless, it helped to calm them down for the conversation they would need to have sooner rather than later.

When she finished her meal, swallowing down a cup of tea, Maven took the plate to the sink and washed it. As she turned to the living room again, Hilda had been put in her stroller, where she was joyfully slapping at some toys that hang from the top of it.

“Johanna.” Maven said, calling forth every inch of determination she had to aid her in this moment. “Can we talk?”

Johanna sighed but smiled timidly at her. “Yes, I suppose we should, shouldn’t we?”

Maven sat down on the armchair, so as to give them both some space. She was silent for a beat, before getting herself to ask the question that had haunted so many of her days.

“Why did we break up?”

Johanna fixed her stare on her, her eyes restless. Her face twitched, her eyebrows coming closer for a moment, and funnily enough, it looked like she didn’t know the answer for that either.

“I don’t remember a fight, or a reason. So what happened? Ever since you began talking to Torrin, everything went downhill, but you never told me why.”

Maven stifled back a hiccup. It had been years. This shouldn’t still hurt so much, but goodness, all she wanted was to understand where had she gone wrong.

“It was not your fault.” She answered after trying to read her friend’s expression for long moments. “Not really. I’m afraid the blame of it isn’t even Torrin’s. It’s my parent’s.”

Maven felt surprise hit her, like a bolt of electricity shocking her awake. Not that her parents had been involved in their separation, of course. She’d long since known that, as soon as they learned about the two of them, they had done something. But it was nearly frightening to see Johanna finally admit it to herself.

Seeing the shock in Maven’s face, Johanna’s shoulders slumped. “It seems you were right about that. Looking back, not only did they do everything they could to make me stay away from you, but also to make me believe that I wanted to stay away from you. They drilled into me that you’d been trying to isolate me so that I had nowhere to go for affection but you.”

“Why did you believe?” She hissed, though her anger wasn’t directed at Johanna. Maven clenched her fists and took a deep breath. The last thing she needed was to to snap at Johanna when she’d just began to believe that Maven wasn’t as bad as she thought.

“They made it hard not too. Every time I tried to talk to you, there was a punishment. And every step I took away from you they seemed to reward me and trust me more.”

Maven nodded. She wanted to understand, she really did. So she did her best to stay quiet even as she had to admit to herself that she felt betrayed. Johanna was not a dog to be won over with rewards, so there must have been something else.

“You see, when I got closer to Torrin they gave me my phone again. When we began dating, they let me stop going to therapy, and so on.”

Maven tilted her head at that. She remembered Johanna mentioning therapy one day, but she never explained what that was about.

“They made me see this psychologist after they found out about our notes.” She explained after she, too, remembered that Maven didn’t know what that was about. “But I don’t think the guy even deserves to be called a psychologist. I’m quite sure my parents were paying him to convince me of your bad intentions as well. That, and to try and talk me out of liking girls.”

Maven gasped at that, eyes wide as she stared at Johanna. She had had no idea of the lengths her parents would go to. It was so much worse than she had imagined.

“Maven?” Johanna asked, concerned at the way she seemed to have stopped breathing.

“They tortured you?” It was a wonder Maven even managed to whisper it, startled as she was. She’d heard of the things done to people who were submitted to conversion therapy, and the image of Johanna going through that was making her want to vomit.

“No, no!” Johanna quickly assured, her hands spread in front of herself in a gesture meant to calm Maven down. “Nothing of the sort. Nothing physical, at least.”

“Okay” she breathed, her heartbeat slowing down to normalcy. “That’s… something, I guess.”

Uneasy silence fell over them, too lost in their own minds as the events of years ago replayed themselves on their minds, the blanks being filled. It was only broken when Johanna spoke.

“Maven, why didn’t you try harder?” She asked, her arms now crossed around herself and her gaze towards the ground, sounding miserable. “I understand that I didn’t treat you well, but you already knew what my parents were doing, didn’t you? At least to some extent.”

Maven blinked. Of all the things she expected to be called out for, keeping her distance hadn’t been one of them. “Yes. They never really liked that we were friends.”

“Then why didn’t you make more of an effort to talk to me? One of the things that helped me convince myself that you didn’t really care is that you just… let me go. And it hurt.”

“But I did that because I was respecting you! Everything you did led me to thinking you didn’t want me around!”

“But you knew those weren’t my wishes.” Now looking at her Maven again, only Johanna’s eyes revealed how miserable that had made her feel.

“But that wouldn’t have mattered! I know it wasn’t your fault, but you had begun seeing me like everyone else. There was nothing I could-”

“Stop it” Johanna hissed, sounding more frustrated than angry. “Don’t do that.”

Eyebrows lifted, Maven crossed her arms. “Don’t do what?”

“This! You’ve always done this. You’ve gotten it into your head that if someone acknowledges your reputation, any chances at a relationship with them are over. I understand that you don’t want to insist on people who treat you like an outcast, but don’t you see how so many people have the wrong impression about you because you never tried to prove them wrong?”

“I can’t change who I am, Johanna!” Her heart ached. She thought they were beyond this. She had thought that Johanna didn’t see her like that anymore.

“Thank goodness!” Johanna exclaimed. “Thank goodness you can’t change, because you’re an amazing person!”

Where once she had been sitting straight as an arrow, Maven let herself relax against the back of the couch, her brows drawn together. This was getting too confusing for her to follow.

“You’re a selfless, caring and interesting person. You’re intelligent and dedicated to the people you love, and no one knows this. Ever since you were a child, you just got it into your head that everyone would see you as some sort of monster and there was nothing you could do about it. And so you never did anything. You never tried to make friends, or call people out when they lied about you. You seemed to revel in your reputation.”

“I don’t owe anyone explanations.” Maven muttered under her breath, only loud enough for Johanna to hear her.

“That’s true.” She acknowledged. “But you can’t just give up on people like that. Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson about insisting on them even when they stop caring about hurting you, but the same way it has always been upsetting to see you not fighting for the respect you deserve, it harmed me even more to realize you weren’t trying as hard to keep us together as I was. It made me believe that I didn’t mean that much to you after all.”

Maven’s first instinct was to defend herself, to justify her actions even though she could see that Johanna’s words were not meant to be an attack, and nor was she meant to take it as such. Instead, she took a few deep breaths. It was hard to swallow that she’d had some part of the blame in their separation.

“I hadn’t realized that this was an issue during our friendship.” She said, organizing her thoughts in as clear and concise a manner as she could. “I am sorry that it has upset you before, and I’ll reflect more about it, I promise. But Anna, I did make an effort when it came to us.”

“You did in the beginning.” Happy as she was about how well Maven was handling this, she needed her to understand her pain, to acknowledge it. Maven hadn’t been the only one to feel like the other had disappeared.

“I did until you told me not to. I was respecting your wishes.”

Tilting her head to the side, Johanna made an effort not to frown. Although she knew she hadn’t at all valued their relationship enough after things went wrong, she’d never actually told Maven to stop talking to her. She knew that sometimes people remembered past events differently, but that sounded like a bit of a stretch.

“But I never did tell you to stay away. You said it yourself, at the time you knew most of my behavior was because of my parents.”

As she sighed, Maven hugged her coat tighter around herself, as if it could shield her from the memories. “Please don’t pretend that didn’t happen, Johanna. It hurt me. Quite a bit.”

To say that it hurt her was an understatement. She’d spent nights without sleep because of those words, even going as far as crying into her pillow. She’d believed those words, taken them right into her core, to the point where she distanced herself from everyone she loved for months, believing that she was doing it for them. The only person to have a meaningful conversation with her during that time was her mother, her health quickly deteriorating in the hospital. Meanwhile, Johanna tried to understand what she meant. This could be about the time when Maven tried to warn her about Torrin, but she didn’t think she’d told her to stop talking to her then. “Are you talking about that day in Ericsonberg?”

“No! I’m talking about those messages!”

“When I broke up with you?” From what she remembered, that had been the last occasion in which they texted each other, but Johanna was sure she had been perfectly polite. Of course, she understood why Maven would have been sad about it, but it still didn’t make sense.

“Johanna.” Maven sighed, burying her face in her hands. “Did you really forget?”

She couldn’t believe that something that had cut her so deeply, left her so bitter, had simply been forgotten by Johanna, but she supposed she’d had other things to worry about. When she lifted her face, she found Johanna staring at her phone.

“I can’t find it.” She said. “Our messages were deleted. But I really don’t know when I did that.”

“So you really did forget.”

“Maven, I didn’t just forget!” She ran one of her hands through her curls, clearly unsettled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”

_#_#_#_

Maven’s grip on the phone was hard enough to hurt her palm. Shock alone kept her from crying as she read over the words on the screen time and time again.

“It looks like you still haven’t understood this, so I’ll spell it out for you. I don’t care for you or any of your advices. I know you’re just trying to harm me, like you do with everyone, and I don’t ever want to hear about you again. Quit being a happiness sucking spirit and leave me the heck alone.”

Nothing could have prepared her to hear (or rather, read) those words from her best friend. For half an hour, she was rendered incapable of doing even the most basic of tasks, her textbooks lying forgotten on her desk as she stared out of the window into the overwhelming brightness of the day outside.

Her heart broke a little more with each beat. She’d been a fool to text Johanna. She’d been a fool to even care. She wouldn’t commit that mistake again. Johanna had picked her side, and it definitely wasn’t hers.

She’d saved Willa’s number on her phone, and called her as soon as her mind cleared over. The phone didn’t ring for long, and soon she heard Willa’s confident voice on the other side.

“Hey, good morning, Maven! How are you doing?”

“Forget about her.”

There was a beat of silence between them before the woman recomposed herself. “What?”

“You want an advice? Forget about her. She’s made it very clear how certain she is of her choices. So forget about her, and let her suffer the consequences herself.”

Willa had began protesting, trying to to get Maven to explain what had happened, but the librarian ended the call. Tears stinging at her eyes, her knees gave out under her and she was dragged down. She was left a sobbing mess on the floor, knowing that if the person who knew her the most thought these things, there was no way they weren’t true.

_#_#_#_

Maven had never been good with being vulnerable, so it showed a great deal of commitment of her part that she opened the messages on her phone, and scrolled down until she found her conversation with Johanna. Never had she felt as exposed as when she handed Johanna her phone, letting her see the words that had haunted many of her nights.

At first, she squinted at the phone, adjusting her eyes to the weak light at which Maven kept her screen. As her eyes began moving, her face gained a horrified look to it. Just as the librarian had a hard time swallowing the message the day she’d received it, she looked like she could not believe what was in front of her.

“Maven?” She said with a tremulous voice. “I- I didn’t write this.”

Maven sighed, admittedly annoyed by the denial. The harm had already been done, it was no use pretending that it never happened. She supposed Johanna felt guilty about it, now that she realized that Maven had only wished to help, but she wished she would just apologize. Maven now knew everything she’d been facing at that time, she could finally put that behind her if only she could hear Johanna say she hadn’t meant it.

“It’s okay, Anna. I’m not blaming you.”

“No, listen to me!” Clearly distressed, Johanna locked her gaze with Maven’s, her eyes asking her friend to believe her. “I swear, I didn’t write this. No matter how confused and hurt I was, I’d never tell you these things. On top of that, I don’t remember ever receiving your message! I never got to read it.”

Damn her for making Maven hope so fiercely. “So, you didn’t mean those things?” She asked, still having a hard time wrapping her mind around it.

“Those words aren’t mine!” Johanna raised her voice, anger burning in her eyes for someone who was definitely not Maven. “Only one other person had my password. He did this.”

A part of her mind wanted to doubt; it told her that if something sounded too good to be true, then it probably wasn’t, that she should ask for proof that Johanna wasn’t trying to make a fool of her. But what would she even get for lying to her? She knew she’d be forgiven either way.

What really did convince Maven was her anger. Johanna was a naturally calm person. She always had the patience to help, to understand. But the way angry energy rolled off of her in that moment left Maven with no doubts that she was telling the truth.

The librarian sat up taller, straighter. She couldn’t believe she, too, had been played by the man. “He didn’t even tell you about the message?”

Relieved that her friend seemed to accept her explanation, Johanna let her shoulders drop, relaxing them. “No, he didn’t. Oh goodness, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She said sympathetically. Her soul seemed to grow lighter, some of the cracks in her heart being mended. She’d spent so long bitter over all that had happened, distressed by the things Johanna told her, and it had all been so pointless. She couldn’t say it felt like all the hurt melted away, like she had hoped it magically would. But it did feel so far away that the pain could barely touch her anymore.

“It’s not.” Johanna protested weakly. “This is awful. No wonder you were so mad at me when I came back.”

It was then that Maven realized just how awful she’d been when she met Johanna that evening at the cafe. How she’d screamed at her for things that weren’t even her fault and lashed out because of her pain, not even stopping to consider that Johanna had been the one who took the most hurtful fall.

“Oh shit, Anna! I’m so sorry.” Her hand went to her face, squeezing the bridge of her nose. “I was such a huge jerk that day. I’m so sorry.”

Johanna got up, and then sat down again, but in the end of the sofa closest to Maven, touching her wrist. “Hey, don’t beat yourself up. You had already apologized.”

That was true, but at the time, she hadn’t known just how hurtful her remarks could have been. After listening to the whole of Johanna’s story, that conversation gained many more layers.

“We-” Johanna stopped for a moment, caught by a wave of emotion. She moving her hand to touch Maven’s cheek. “We can’t erase the mistakes we made, but we can try to heal together.”

The look her friend gave her was filled with a mixture of hope and doubt, and Johanna wouldn’t have been able to look away even if she wanted.

“Do you really believe that, Anna?” She asked softly but with her voice filled with pain. She wished for nothing more than for that to be true, but she had to be realistic. Intentionally or not, they’d harmed each other too much.

“What do you mean?”

Maven could see in Johanna’s face that she was bracing herself for pain, and this is exactly what she meant. Could they really heal together if they were always waiting for the other to hurt them? It was extremely difficult for her, to be this close to happiness and to push it away, but it was something she had to say.

“Do you really believe we can heal together after everything that happened? What if I hurt you again?”

Brushing a strand of hair away from Maven’s face, Johanna inhaled deeply. “Yes, I do. And I’m not saying we can go back to where we left off. We’re different now from we were then. But what good did complete distance do to us?”

Maven leaned into her hand, trying to let her gentle touch soothe her.

“None.” She whispered.

“And if we hurt each other, we can apologize and work towards getting better. At least we can be friends, right?”

Tears stinging at her eyes, Maven had to control herself not to let her bottom lip tremble, and she could see Johanna’s situation was not much different from her own. She nodded weakly, afraid that any harsh movements would make this moment break. But then Johanna threw her arms around her, hugging her tightly, even if somewhat awkwardly with the arms of the couch and the armchair between them.

Maven was helpless as she began sobbing, shaking in her friend’s embrace, but it had been a long time since she’d felt so whole. After so long, she finally had real hope that they would put the past behind them and start over again. And maybe this time, she’d even feel like she deserved it.