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thekingdomofelfhame · 4 years ago

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Jurdan Fanfic: Highschool AU Part 1

Summary: Much to Jude's annoyance and surprise, she and Cardan have been paired for a school project. Cardan's feelings, on the other hand, continue to blossom when he arrives at Jude's apartment only to witness something beyond his comprehension.

Warnings: Mild cursing

This will be an alternative between Cardan and Jude POV just to get a good look at how their feelings develop.

Cardan POV:

She keeps staring at the ring enclosing her finger, her gaze never shifting to the notes scattered on her dressing, her walnut eyes intense with emotion. She kept humming the same tune over and over, her voice as smooth and soft as butter as she traced invisible patterns on her ruby studded ring, its bright red colour magnifying the beauty of her hand.

I had never seen her like this: bursting with emotions. Standing before me was the same girl who lived in impenetrable walls, walls that I had been trying to overcome only to lead us down a path of hatred. She was the girl of steel, no titanium, and yet she melted away like snow in early spring when no one was around.

Her voice echoes in the room which-surprise, surprise- is a mess of pillows and papers. This girl had been haunting my dreams since sophomore year but my foolish imaginations were nothing compared to the beauty that stood before me and when she starts vocalizing, I swear my heart skips a beat.

As she turns to pick up her phone, her eyes find mine and I am robbed of the melodious voice that had filled this room a few seconds ago. I am pretty sure I see her eyes swimming in tears but she immediately blinks them away. She has trained herself well.

I hadn't even realized she was in her bathrobe until she stopped singing and am left with her perfectly masked yet startled cuteness when she becomes aware of her current state.

"Why'd you stop?" I say clearly disappointed, "your voice is beautiful"

"Weren't you supposed to be here at 11 30?", she says completely ignoring what I just said, tightening her robe around her.

"I clearly said I'd be at your place by 11", my eyes skim over her robe and am pleased to see her cheeks flush with colour as I say, "maybe I'll make a habit of coming early"

"How'd you even get in?"

"Your roommate let me in and, oh, she told me to inform you that she will be staying with her boyfriend for a while"

"Wow. She and Van are really speeding things up", there a short pause that feels like eternity before she says, "Okay, now could you go wait in the lounge while I get ready?", she says and something tells me she is not asking. Though I would very much prefer to stay, I obey her orders for she is The Queen of my heart.

Jude POV:

I walk out of the room, no longer dripping, and am utterly surprised to find Cardan lounging on the white sofa, one of his legs draped over the arm rest. He looks...comfy.

I think about the way he was looking at me in awe when I found him leaning against my door, his dark black eyes peering into mine. I had never seen him so captivated. How long had he been standing there?

Your voice is beautiful...

His words ring in my ears and I can't help the faint pink rising on my neck. Cardan Greenbriar had complimented me; that was a first. I was surprised he didn't make fun of me just like he has been since the day I set foot into school. He didn't mock me as he usually would, seeing my emotional outburst. This was Cardan Greenbriar, the most spoiled rich kid who never gave a fuck about anyone.

I had never once let anyone past my defenses, not even my family, foster or not. No one knew about this small world of mine and I liked to keep it that way. That is, until today when I saw a pair of iridescent coal black eyes bewitching me into wanting to tell him everything about this tiny world I had created where I would doze off to whenever I wished. That was when reality hit me and I was reminded of why I had lived in an armour for so long, why I had never let anyone get close to me.

I snap out of my thoughts when Cardan interrupts, "Like what you see, huh?". I scoff and I didn't realize I had been staring at him as he further added, "Should we get on with the project or are you gonna stand there all day, thinking about me?"

"Asshole. You wish", I snap right back at him and he lets out a soft laugh as I go through his notes.

We had agreed on double-checking each other's notes before we started the project, and by the looks of it, we had a lot of work to do. Surprisingly, Cardan's notes were not only correct and authentic, they were thorough and much more organized than mine. He had even used fancy words like serendipity- I mean what does that even mean?

"Jude, I think some of your notes are missing", he says raising his black brows and a book with torn pages.

"Oh, yeah. The torn notes are in a green file right over there", I gesture to the stack of books behind him as he leans over to find it only to frustrate me further when he says, "Uh, Jude. There is no file here".

"It should be there. It cannot go anywhere", I stand up and walk towards the mountain of books.

That was when I realized my foot is asleep and I stumble over a book, covering my face with my hands, ready for impact. Only I don't hit the ground; instead I feel arms slide around my waist and when I remove my hands from my face, the first thing I see are Cardan's eyes partially covered by his black locks.

I almost get lost in the moment. The world stops when he runs his hand through his hair as if he is nervous and he stares back at me. That is, until I remember who he is.

Ughhh....

"Looks like you're falling for me, Jude", he teases.

I abruptly push him off of me and start looking for the notes. Despite my foot still being asleep, I try to walk as if nothing happened but the bastard still notices.

"Here. Let me help you", he reaches for my hand but I stop him with a gesture and he does.

Looks like my defiance all these years really did have an effect on him.

"If you want to help, start by looking for a green file. It is unlabeled, no fancy decorations what so ever"

"What else to expect from the boring Jude Duarte"

"Well, at least I am not like one of those stupid girls who are so easily charmed by you"

"Did you just say I am charming?"

"Fuck off"

"Okay, okay", he raises his arms in defeat and I go to my room to look for the file. My eyes shift to the scattered notes over my bed and my dressing and my carpet.

Shit.

This is going to take longer than I thought.

Cardan POV

As I search through her notes, my thoughts keep drifting to the moment I had her in my arms, her body fitting right into my hands. I battled with the urge to get lost in her deep brown eyes or to drop a kiss on her cute nose.

No, no, no. Stop.

Wine. I needed wine. I needed wine right now.

Jude hated me and I should hate her. She was the one person who had refused to let me get my way and would continue to do so. She could never want someone like me, let alone love. This was just a project and as soon as it would finish, we would go our separate ways.

And yet, I cannot help but think about her all the time.

Jude POV

I return to the lounge drenched in sweat, panting and gasping for air. I had been rummaging in my room for the past hour and had finally found that file.

I slam the file onto Cardan's face and he doesn't dare reply when he sees my tired state. I sink into the sofa, one hand covering my eyes the other blindly searching for the glass of water on the front table.

"What happened to you?", Cardan asks as I open my eyes to find him completely shocked but instead of answering him, I gesture towards the file while gulping down my third glass of water.

"Let's continue. I don't want to waste any more time", my voice is dry as I open my laptop to start typing in the outline and he continues to examine my notes.

"God, your handwriting is horrible", his voice is filled with surprise as he brings one of the papers closer to those haunting, dazzling eyes to get a better look but gives in and throws it back onto the table.

"If you can't read it, why don't you make me something to eat instead?", I say robotically while looking at my screen and had not expected him to actually go to the kitchen in search for food.

My eyebrows furrow together as I walk up to him and say, "I was joking! Come on, we gotta get this done"

"I know you were joking and I know we have to this done but I am hungry and if you are not going to ask me then I am going to make myself", he complains as he looks around, opening cabinets and drawers.

"I didn't know you could cook", I say clearly perplexed by his actions.

"There are many things you do not know about me, Duarte", he continues his search and when I have had enough of his noise I say, "Stop! Okay, stop making noise! God, it's like raising a child or something", I grab the spatula from his hands but he takes it back saying, "Well, I am hungry and I can't work when I am hungry and by looking at you, you should be too"

As much as I would hate to admit it, I was hungry and I felt like I hadn't eaten in ages.

"Fine, you cook and I am going to take a break and watch some Netflix", I say right before telling him about where I keep the food and where the utensils are.

"One more question. Should I make sandwiches or hotdogs?"

"Lilliver usually does the cooking so, whatever you want", I turn on the television and continue to watch Shadow and Bone, each episode more intriguing than the last.

I hadn't realized an hour had passed when Cardan came with sandwiches.

The room is suddenly filled with the smell of freshly made sandwiches and that does nothing to satiate my hunger as I reach out for the dish set in front of me but Cardan quickly grabs the dish before I can get my hands on a sandwich.

"Patience is a virtue, dear Jude", Cardan says raising a long slender finger in the air.

"First of all, never and I mean NEVER call me dear", I glare at him as I grab the dish back, careful not to break it, "And you took so long making sandwiches that I got hungry"

I take a bite of the sandwich and if I am being honest, I had never tasted such sandwiches in my life and Cardan must have noticed me and my increasing craving for his delicious sandwiches that only seemed to make my hunger more insatiable when he said, "Either you like them", he gestured towards the half-bitten sandwich and its cheese dripping from the side of my mouth, "or you haven't eaten all day"

"Hmm. Yeah, I think it is the latter", I lie through my teeth with ease as I take a second one into my mouth.

I would never compliment him to his face, especially since I don't want him spreading the story in school.

"Why are you acting like this?", I ask out of nowhere before I can even process what I just said out loud.

"Like what?", he asks dumfounded

"I don't know, you seem a bit more... tolerable, I guess", my voice almost drops to a whisper as I stare at my third sandwich, suddenly looking for something more interesting in a piece of food that would soon be in my mouth.

He doesn't answer but I am able to see his mood shift as his body language completely changes and his muscles become more stiff. His pupils become dilated and he looks every bit as horrifying as he did when he once threw dust into my food after I had punched him.

All of a sudden, I regret what I had said and cursed my stupid mouth for opening itself.

We don't speak to each other for the rest of the night and though I hated Cardan with all that I had, one small part of me felt that there was more to this person, that he was more than just a bully and that I had missed an opportunity to get to know the real him.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! Also, I will now on follow a policy of following back those who follow me, just to spread a bit of kindness!!

Taglist: @wanderingpages @thatrandomfangirlll @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @acourtofhearts @aelin-queen-of-terrasen @aesthetics-11 @angelpaulene @annihliation @anyaskywalker23 @ashlightgrayson @augustintodarkness @awkward-avacado-s @babycardan @beholdyourqueen1 @booklover-sleeplover @booksandothersecrets @booksofthemoon @b00kworm @cabeswater-and-camaros @cardaans @cardan-greenbriar-tcp @cardanslittletail @cardanstrickytail @courtofjurdan @feysand-babies @firestarsandseneschals @fizziefaerie @highladyofthefangirlcourt @highqueenjudeduarte @hizqueen4life @hoegreenbrair @hopefullyanauthor @hurema @iammissstark @im-wintermelody @iminsanenotobsessed @ireallyshouldsleeprn @jessacarstairs @judiecardan @junipersuns@jurdanhell @justtryintolivemybestlife @jyoti96 @katexrenee @katsemkitgostadetog @kevin-day-is-bi @kingandfireheart @kittkatandbooboo @knifewifejude @lady-thea-of-narnia @larrysaturn @leaff-life @lemon-check @life-in-black-lines @lifeminuspickles @livelovereading123 @localgoof @lordoftermites @greenbriarxrose @queenofbunnies13 @fanficreader435 @nightspeckle @thewickedkings @the-cruel-prince-cardan @myqueenjudeduarte @florafey

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xerxia31 · 4 years ago

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the Big Bang - an Everlark ficlet

Inspired by a story I read on CNN, that I couldn’t get out of my head. A warning - there are shades of dub-con here that may be disturbing to some readers. Rated M.

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Peeta Mellark was fit to be tied.

“I don’t know what you want me to say here, boy,” Haymitch drawled. “You knew where these characters were heading when you signed on.”

“Come on, Haymitch,” Peeta growled. He was standing in Haymitch Abernathy’s office, holding the week’s script while Haymitch, head writer and executive producer of the hit series The Arena, in which Peeta starred, stared at him from under a mop of greasy, overlong hair. Until now, Peeta had loved working on the show, loved the ensemble cast, loved the interesting storylines and well-written scripts.

But not today.

“They’ve been growing together slowly for three damned seasons and now, this week, bam!” Peeta clapped his hands for emphasis, “out of nowhere you have three fucking sex scenes in the script.” For three seasons the show had been teasing a relationship between the character Peeta played, macho FBI agent Barley St James, and his shy, brainy colleague, Allium Winterland. It was a fantastic story, well paced, the dialogue between them always fun. Nearly three years they’d been teasing the audience with it.

And now this week’s script turned everything on it’s head. “You’re just screwing with us.” There was no way the timing was coincidental. Because the actress who played Allium, the actress he’d be stripping down to his skivvies and dry-humping with on national television? She was none other than his now-ex-girlfriend.

Haymitch glanced away. Peeta thought it was in shame until Haymitch spoke.

“You might as well come in, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said, and Peeta spun to look behind him. “We were talking about you.”

Katniss Everdeen was standing just outside Haymitch’s open door. It was the first time Peeta had laid eyes on her in the flesh in two weeks. Two fucking weeks! He hadn’t seen her since the night she walked out of their house.

He knew where she’d gone though, the whole fucking world did. All of the gossip rags, and even the more reputable news sites, were reporting how her on again off again affair with one Gale Hawthorne, star of multiple movie franchises and People magazine’s sexiest man alive 2018, was definitely on again.

“Story of my life,” Katniss muttered as she walked the rest of the way through the door, schooling her expression into a dispassionate scowl as she did. Peeta had no idea why she went into acting, he could read her every emotion through the impassive mask. He always could. Today was no exception, her mask might be in place, but her eyes were flashing with fury, and something that looked suspiciously like hurt.

She didn’t acknowledge Peeta at all, striding into the room on silent feet and stopping a solid six feet away. Her arms were crossed protectively over her chest, but her copy of the script was clenched in one fist. No doubt she’d been planning on storming in here to blast Haymitch. But Peeta beat her to it.

“Save your breath, Sweetheart,” Haymitch said. “Like I told the boy, you knew this was coming.”

“It’s fine,” she said, shooting a cool look in Peeta’s direction. “I’m a professional.” Then she turned, and strutted back out the door, back straight, long, black braid swinging. He could only watch, jaw clenched.

“Brrr,” Haymitch said. “You two have got a lot of warming up to do before showtime.” He was right, of course, and Peeta knew it. The audience would be expecting a pair of lovebirds. Not two people who could barely look each other in the eye.

“Whatever,” Peeta grunted. She wanted to play it that way? He could be cold too.

o-o-o

The table read went smooth as silk. Katniss sat on one side of the room, chatting lightly with their costar Delly Cartwright between scenes, Peeta sat on the other, joking with Cressida Faulkner, who was directing that week’s episode. Most of the cast had no clue Peeta and Katniss had broken up, because most of them never knew they’d been an item at all. Haymitch had figured it out somehow, clearly, but none of the other cast noticed anything was amiss.

The following day’s rehearsal, not so much. Rehearsals were always in costume and filmed, so that the production team could splice in any good bits that came out of them. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in TV, especially in a weekly series where time was tight. Peeta was used to it.

His first few scenes were fine, his lines came easily, he hit every mark. Then came the first scene he and Katniss shared that week, the one that led up to the first of the three fucking sex scenes.

She walked onto the set, and Peeta’s heart did a slow tumble in his chest. She was utterly beautiful, her hair loose and flowing, and wearing a dress patterned with autumn leaves. Soft orange, his favourite colour.

The colour of heartbreak.

They both stumbled through their lines, avoiding each other's eyes, interacting stiffing and unnaturally. Cressida halted the scene over and over again. It was a huge drag on the rest of the cast, slowing down everything.

Peeta’s only solace was that Katniss looked as miserable as he felt.

Peeta left as soon as rehearsal ended and headed for the gym. The call sheet had them both in an evening meeting at the studio, and he was going to need to work off some steam before he faced her again.

He should have asked, though, what the meeting was about. Because when he got back to the studio he found Katniss, dressed in leggings and a tiny little tank top, her face bare and so pretty, sitting cross-legged on a gym mat and chatting with a willowy brunette who gave off crunchy granola vibes. “Did I miss the memo about mandatory yoga?” he drawled.

Katniss scowled, but the brunette smiled beatifically. “Hello Mr. Mellark,” she said softly, her voice like windchimes, musical and irritating. “I’m Annie Cresta, your intimacy coordinator.”

Peeta was too confused to make a joke. “My what now?”

Annie laughed. “Intimacy coordinator,” she repeated. “It’s my job to choreograph simulated sex scenes for actors.”

“I think we know how sex works,” Peeta grumbled, and Katniss flushed, obvious without the stage makeup caked on her skin, then looked down at her lap. But Annie was undeterred.

“Of course,” she said gently. “But it’s about more than just choreography. It’s about helping you both to be comfortable, about navigating respect and consent and keeping the set safe.”

Peeta had heard about this, once before maybe, in the wake of the #metoo movement. But he’d never worked with one before. Katniss must have requested it. Figured she couldn’t even trust him to be a professional on the set. “With all due respect, Ms. Cresta,” Peeta said. “I don’t think we need this. We’ve both filmed scenes like this before.” Not with each other, but that was a minor point.

Katniss, to his surprise, looked inclined to agree. Annie just smiled.

“Not negotiable, I’m afraid,” she said. “All of Panem Entertainment’s productions must have an intimacy coordinator on set.” Peeta frowned, they were in the third season of filming, he’d never seen Annie before. As if reading his mind, she nodded. “I worked with Thresh Watts and Rue Lamonte last year.” That scene had been filmed on a closed set, Peeta had seen the finished product, but not any of the lead-up, and it hadn’t occurred to him at the time to ask about it.

Peeta sighed, and resigned himself to having a stranger teach him how to have fake sex with his real ex-girlfriend.

“Have a seat,” Annie said, indicating the mat beside Katniss. Peeta gritted his teeth, but he sat, his knee brushing hers.

She didn’t react.

“Now,” Annie said. “Communication is key.” Peeta snorted, and Katniss scowled at him. Communication. With the woman who had spoken a single word to him in the past 15 days. Sure. "The most important thing is that the people involved feel safe.”

“Why would we feel unsafe?” Peeta interrupted. There was a Cubs game on TV tonight, he’d rather be watching that.

Annie was unperturbed. “You're revealing a lot in a scene, you're going to places where you're vulnerable, and that requires an awful lot of trust," she said, looking pointedly between Peeta and Katniss. He wondered with some annoyance just how much Katniss had revealed to Annie about their situation before he’d walked in. “I have the script, and an outline of how your director wants it to look. But you two will need to talk with each other and with me and say, 'What are you comfortable with? What are you not comfortable with?'”

“I don’t want kissing,” Katniss blurted, then flushed again. “I mean,” she amended, “I’m not sure I can concentrate on both that and lines and choreography.” Peeta knew that was bullshit, in three seasons he could count on one hand the number of times Katniss had forgotten a line or missed a mark.

She just didn’t want to kiss him. And it stung.

Annie nodded. “We can work around that,” she said. “There will need to be some close up shots of you kissing, but they can be filmed separately from the simulated sex.”

Great, Peeta thought. Their characters had kissed a lot over the past three seasons, but that had been easy. They were both professionals, and kissing Katniss for the camera had been no big deal. Fun, even, in a comfortable, familiar way. Never sexual, there was always too much lipstick and stage makeup to worry about for there ever to be more than a peck. But steady, and comforting.

He doubted it’d be like that now. Or ever again.

“Let’s start with directorial expectations,” Annie began. “I’ve been given a timeline for the scenes and an outline of the specific angles that are expected. The most challenging part, from an intimacy perspective, is likely to be the third, which will be shot side angle with you, Peeta, on top of Katniss and no sheets to shield anything. We’ll have to block arms and leg placements carefully, and it’s likely you’ll both feel very vulnerable.”

Peeta didn’t see how that would be difficult, yet when Annie positioned him kneeling between Katniss’s thighs, a ridiculous little brocade cushion between their bodies, it was incredibly awkward. Katniss couldn’t hide in this position, with their faces only inches apart, and he couldn’t ignore, looking into her silver eyes, just how much he’d lost.

Two hours of rolling around on the floor, blocking arm and hand and leg movements sucked any sexy out of the scene. It felt robotic and contrived and awkward as hell. Katniss, for her part, looked fucking miserable. “Well,” Annie said finally. “I’m sensing some discomfort, so I think we should close for the evening.”

Peeta rolled onto his back on the mat and stared at the ceiling. Why was this so fucking hard? He was an actor, for god’s sake. He’d filmed sex scenes before, and none of them felt this shitty.

“I think we could do with a couple more rehearsals,” Annie said. “I’ll ask Cressida to schedule some.” Just fucking great, Peeta thought.

Annie floated away like an ethereal being. Katniss hung back, maybe to talk with him, maybe just to avoid Annie. But he wasn’t in the mood. He’d been subjected to her stony silences for two days, his heart hurt and his pride was dented and he just needed to get out and lick his wounds.

“Peeta,” Katniss said softly. Peeta held up his hand.

“Not now,” was all he said.

She scowled. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Peeta almost leapt to his feet, his exhaustion morphing into rage. “Look, you haven’t said a damned word to me in weeks, you haven’t even come home for your things, and now you want to talk?” Peeta spat, cringing internally at his use of the word home to describe the house where they’d been living together until two weeks ago.

Katniss looked puzzled, under all of that anger. “Jo said you threw everything away.” Johanna Mason was a mutual… well... not quite friend. Peeta had often accompanied her to awards shows, in the early days of her career when she was concerned that if it got out that she preferred women, it would stop her from getting leading lady roles. She didn’t need to worry about that anymore, she was a bonafide A-lister these days, and her relationship with an adorably bubbly talk show host was in every magazine. But Jo generally had her own unknowable agenda and sometimes she liked to stir up shit just for fun.

“You think I’d do that?” he asked, voice deceptively soft. He might have thought about it, fantasized about it really, when he found out who she was staying with. But he had more dignity than that, and she damned well should know it.

In fact, everything was exactly as she’d left it when she stomped out of their home, out of his life, 15 days ago. Her toothbrush was beside the bathroom sink, her favourite sweater on her favourite chair. A shabby silver-framed picture of her parents nestled between their awards. All of the homey pieces of her life, all of her simple treasures, abandoned.

Katniss shrugged, like she didn’t care, like his worth, his honour, the life they’d built together, was inconsequential, and it just pissed Peeta off more. He hated her ice princess routine, hated how fucking above it all she was. She’d always been good at freezing him out, at making him chase her, but no more. He didn’t have to put up with her stone cold shit.

“Get you crap or I will toss it,” he seethed, walking away. She didn’t call after him, but then she never did.

o-o-o

Haymitch dropped two of the three sex scenes from the script. Peeta should have been relieved, he was relieved. But he also felt sick about it. Like he was destroying his career.

The tension on set was obvious and palpable now, and he knew it looked like he was the cause. Katniss, always quiet, remained quiet. But Peeta couldn’t fake it, once the cameras stopped. Cold didn’t come naturally to him, and too often he veered into mean and snappish.

He had to figure out a way to get past this, to get past his anger, his hurt, and work with Katniss again. But he had no idea how.

Peeta leaned back in his favourite club chair, in the cozy den at the back of his house, and allowed himself to relive that day, the day it had all come crashing down. Until then, he’d thought he had it all, had the world in the palm of his hand. A great job, a comfortable home and the most radiant woman in the world in his bed every night.

Katniss Everdeen had been a child star on a hugely popular sitcom. He knew her only by name when she showed up to screen test with him. He’d been expecting a cute little moppet. Instead, she was a silver-eyed stunner. And right off the bat, he was a goner.

They clicked, in almost every way. Working together was a joy, chatting together between takes a delight. He loved her intelligence and wry sense of humour. They moved from friends to more at breakneck speed, but it never felt too fast.

She was insistent that they keep a lid on their relationship, even when they eventually moved in together. He understood it, her previous relationship, also with a costar, had been documented to death, she’d been hounded and harassed by the paparazzi constantly, even now they followed her everywhere. He didn’t love keeping them a secret, but he loved Katniss, so he acquiesced.

And that day, the day it all fell apart? It was supposed to be a good day, a great day. The first day of their two-week mid-season filming break. They had grand plans to do nothing but each other. Peeta had run a few errands, then stopped by his agent’s office to sign a couple of endorsement contracts.

That’s when the shit started.

“I figured you’d want to hear it from me first,” Finnick Odair, the best agent in the business, said with a grimace. He handed Peeta a tablet. Loaded up was the National Enquirer, his mother’s smirking face beside a promotional shot of Peeta and Katniss, and the headline, ‘It’s Real’. His fucking mother had struck again. It wasn’t the first time she’d sold Peeta out to the tabloids.

“Shit,” Peeta murmured. Not because the headline wasn’t true, it was. But Katniss guarded her privacy with clenched fists, and for two years, they’d barely let anyone in on their secret. Finn knew, but he was very discreet and like he’d said when Peeta had first hired him, he couldn’t protect Peeta unless he knew all of his secrets.

“She’s going to be pissed, huh?” Finn said sympathetically.

He didn’t know the half of it.

Peeta was in a foul temper and all he wanted was his quiet house and a couple of fingers of scotch before he had to deal with Katniss, who was sure to be furious. But no, he wouldn’t even get that. Because Rye was standing at his front door when he arrived home. Peeta groaned, and parked in front of the house, instead of pulling into the garage, where the door he generally entered by was. They’d chosen this place because the gated community was supposed to offer them more privacy and security. He was going to have to talk with the guard at the gate again. Just because Rye looked like his brother didn’t mean Peeta wanted him here.

“Peet,” Rye said genially as Peeta unlocked the seldom-used front door.

“What do you want, Rye?” Peeta really had no time for his brother’s bullshit, not that day of all days, and he hadn’t bothered hiding his annoyance.

“I can’t just pop by to see my little brother?” Rye never came by unless he wanted something. Often it was money. Rye seldom worked, preferring to live off his association with Peeta There were a lot of people in LA who would wine and dine the families of celebrities, looking for an in. Rye had brought him a few abominable scripts over the years from people who’d promised him a big finders fee if he could get Peeta to sign on.

“Cut to the chase, Rye,” Peeta said impatiently. There was a small liquor cabinet in the living room closest to the front door. Not that they ever lived in this room. It was only for show, the place where outsiders were held, away from the parts of the house where they actually did their living.

“Fine,” Rye laughed. “Tell me it isn’t true, little brother,” he said. There was no point pretending Peeta didn’t know what he was talking about. Rye was a terrible gossip hound. Peeta shook his head. “Thank god,” Rye said. “You can do so much better than that. She’s not very big, and definitely not hot.”

Peeta sighed. Rye’s taste in women only included girls who fawned all over him. Katniss would never make that list.

“Where did Mom come up with that idea anyway?” Rye asked, eyeing the single glass Peeta poured with interest. Peeta was not going to offer him a drink. He wasn’t going to do anything that suggested Rye was welcome to stay. “It’s pretty fucking crazy, even for her.”

“I don’t know,” Peeta grumbled. He knew exactly where. She must have listened in on one of Peeta’s calls with his father. His dad was his best friend, Peeta just couldn’t keep secrets from him. But the old man wasn’t always careful when he talked to Peeta.

“Katniss Everdeen. As fucking if. You have much better taste than that,” Rye laughed. “Remember that chick you were with a couple of years ago? The one who was in Playboy?”

“Cashmere Solomon,” Peeta muttered half under his breath. He’s gone out with her twice, and she’d been a nightmare, only interested in what he could do for her celebrity.

“She was hot,” Rye nodded. “I hooked up with her, after.” That was more than Peeta needed to know.

“Look,” Peeta started, an attempt to get rid of Rye, to get back to his plans for a few quiet minutes before Katniss got home and he’d have to have another, very different conversation on this topic.

“Mom’s a mental case,” Rye interrupted. “Like you’d ever stoop low enough to fuck that Everdeen chick. Stuck up little bitch like that? You’ve got more pride.”

“Are we done?” Peeta was bone weary, and not at all in the mood to listen to one of his brother’s diatribes. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do tonight.”

“Right, right,” Rye said. Peeta didn’t give a damn whether his brother believed him or not. He started to guide Rye back to the entryway. “I don’t know how Hawthorne puts up with her, “ Rye said. “Rumour has it she’s completely frigid.”

Peeta laughed, he couldn’t help it. Katniss was the furthest thing in the world from frigid, she was a live wire in bed, far and away the best sex of his life. And she had broken up with Gale Hawthorne some four years earlier, but the media still wrote about them as if they were just taking a break.

“Listen,” Rye said, though Peeta was already shepherding him towards the door. “I know this girl, Glimmer her name is. Tits for miles! She’s working on a pilot.” Working on a pilot was LA code for unemployed. “She’s so hot,” Rye continued, oblivious to Peeta’s irritation, “spend a little time with her, I’ll get my pap friend to follow you. That’ll make the Enquirer story go away. Kill any hint of association with that little piece of work.”

“Bye, Rye, Peeta said, pushing his brother through the door.

“Call me,” Rye said, and Peeta slammed the door in his face, flipping the bolt. Idiot. He exhaled slowly, then turned.

Katniss was standing behind him. Shit. How much of Rye’s crap had she heard?

“How could you let him talk about me that way,” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

Peeta cringed. Evidently most of it. “What was I supposed to say? You don’t want him to know we’re together.”

“We have to be together for you to defend me?” Katniss asked, incredulous. “Women are only worth defending if you’re fucking them?”

Peeta rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that bullshit,” he said. “You know I’m not like that.”

“Do I?” Katniss was pacing, little mincing steps that would fit on a pie plate. “Sure as hell didn’t sound like it.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Peeta was yelling. He flung his arms wide, expensive scotch sloshed over the edge of his glass, splashed his watch. Just great.

“How about ‘Katniss isn’t a stuck up little bitch’ for starters?”

“Jesus, Katniss, why do you even care? You know he’s an asshole.”

“He said awful things about me, in my own home, and you just stood there and nodded, like you agreed,” Katniss snapped. “That was a total dick move.”

“Well excuse-fucking-me,” Peeta said, “but it’s not even your house.” She lived there, but the lease was in his name. Her official address was an empty condo in Van Nuys, so that people wouldn’t figure out they were shacked up together. He hated the cloak and dagger bullshit, but she’d insisted.

Katniss froze, face twisted in disgust. “You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s not.”

Before Peeta even had a chance to respond, the door was slamming behind her.

Peeta knew, even before she’d gotten to her car, that he was wrong. But he was angry, angry with his mother, angry with his brother, and pissed as hell that Katniss insisted on hiding, like he was some dirty secret instead of the man she’d been dating for two years.

She didn’t come home that evening. Peeta wasn’t completely surprised. It wasn’t the first time she’d frozen him out. He’d give her the night, then apologize in the morning.

But when morning came, his phone had blown up with texts. TMZ was running a spread of pictures, grainy and obviously through a long lens. Katniss, standing on a balcony, and not alone. With her was Gale-fucking-Hawthorne, her ex. She was locked in his embrace wearing only a robe, while he was in boxers. The gossip sites were having a field day, former lovers reunited.

Peeta, still in bed, dialed his phone. She answered on the second ring, voice hoarse. “Are you with Gale?” Peeta asked with no preamble.

There was the slightest of pauses. “Yes,” Katniss said.

“You couldn’t fucking wait to go rushing back to his bed?” Peeta yelled. “Or maybe you never really left?”

The line died in his hand. It was the last time they’d spoken, until now.

o-o-o

Katniss made no further attempt to talk to Peeta, outside of what they said on the soundstage. She’d doubled down on the ice princess routine, speaking to him in cold, overly formal tones when the cameras weren’t rolling.

Working with Annie Cresta hadn’t gotten any better either, but at least they’d managed to memorise a routine—hand here, thigh there, twist this way, arch like that. Annie insisted it would look a lot more natural than it felt. Peeta wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t care. He just wanted the thing done.

The scene was set for late afternoon, after the rest of principal photography was done for the episode and the lion’s share of cast and crew had left. “Saving the best for last,” Cressida chirped, but no one really believed that.

Katniss had a rider in her contract specifying no nudity, Peeta knew that. He hadn’t bothered with one himself, he didn’t care who saw him, but Katniss had always been uncomfortable baring everything. In other scenes, the production sometimes used a body double for Katniss. But this scene, the scene, would be her and him, on a bed, doing choreographed dry humping. It had to be her, there wasn’t any other choice.

Haymitch wasn’t on set, something Peeta suspected was Katniss’s doing, but he appreciated it. The crew was at a bare minimum, to make it easier for the actors, but it was still a lot of people. Cressida was directing, busily setting up the scene. Two female grips he’d never met before were behind the stationary cameras, two of his favourite camera guys—Castor and Pollox—had the handhelds. Two more grips had the boom mics, a gaffer adjusted the lights, and a set designer, Octavia, was fussing over the bedding, rumpling it in an artistic way that Peeta knew from rehearsal would last about twelve seconds before they destroyed it. Annie, strangely, was nowhere to be seen. He’d thought that, as their intimacy coordinator, she’d be there to coach when they actually filmed. Apparently not.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Cressida called out, affecting a carefree tone. Peeta knew it was an act, an attempt to get all of them to relax. The antagonism and animosity between the two leads wasn’t exactly a secret, not anymore, and the mood on the small soundstage was tense. No one was looking forward to this.

Katniss had seen him naked a thousand times, had touched and stroked and tasted every inch of his body. Still, it was strange, even on a closed set, to be standing in front of her wearing nothing but a sock tied to his dick. She was clutching the edges of her pink silk robe so tightly her knuckles were white, and looking everywhere but at him.

Cinna approached and helped Katniss out of her robe, careful not to disrupt the cascade of windblown curls Peeta knew had likely taken an hour and several cans of product to achieve. Katniss’s hair was naturally pin straight, yet they were always curling it in the show, and she hated it. So focussed was Peeta on her hair that he didn’t notice what she was wearing until Cinna stepped away, leaving Katniss standing beside the bed in a pair of pasties and an adhesive pad that covered her pubic hair and not much else. Peeta couldn’t help but stare. It was far less than he was expecting, Annie had told him Katniss would be wearing a pair of flesh coloured panties and a little tube top over her boobs. “The sides of her underwear showed in the test shots,” Castor muttered in his ear. “Haymitch insisted on that instead.”

For half a minute, Peeta felt really bad for Katniss, knowing her discomfort, knowing what it was costing her to stand under the lights and in front of so many people wearing little more than three bandaids. But then she sighed, and barked, “can we just get this over with?” and any sympathy Peeta felt for her evaporated like spring snow.

The scene opened with them both on the bed. They’d practiced the routine, both on floor mats and on a set bed. But in rehearsal, they’d been clothed, pillows between them to minimise contact.

No longer.

Now, they were essentially naked, skin pressed to skin, staring wide-eyed at each other. She was so soft under him, fit him so perfectly. Her breath—sharp, nervous little pants—caressed his jaw, his throat. Her hands, small but so much stronger than they looked, clutched at this back.

His dick twitched and hardened, he couldn’t fucking help it. They’d fucked a thousand times over the previous two years, he’d always been insanely attracted to her. His dick didn’t know that this time it wasn’t real. He clenched his teeth and kept going. There was no way, positioned as they were, to prevent her from feeling it.

Katniss smirked at him, just a fleeting little hint of amusement, but coupled with his embarrassment at getting turned on when the ice fucking queen clearly felt nothing it was too much. Rage flooded his veins like venom. He sneered down at Katniss, uncaring if the handycam caught his expression. Then he deliberately rocked against her, rubbing his hard cock against her core, only a little strip of fabric and a glorified sock between them.

Her breath caught, a choked little sound.

“Like that, princess?” he spat, lowering his mouth to her ear. “You like knowing that you can still get me hot?”

She moaned softly. It just made him angrier. Was she acting, or actually responding? Was she thinking about Gale while he was grinding against her? Had she always been thinking about him?

The few lines he was supposed to say flew out of his head. “Does your boyfriend get you hot like this?” he groaned instead, anger and lust combining. “Do you moan for him like you did for me?” Her hands, which had been moving through the choreography much more fluidly than in rehearsal suddenly froze. “Does he fill you up as good as I did?”

“Peeta,” Katniss whispered, a hint of warning in her tone. But he was too mad. Mad and heartsick and wildly turned on, it was a potent brew. He couldn’t stop. He ground harder against her, his chest rasping against her breasts, bare but for a pair of stickers. He nipped at her earlobe with sharp teeth, and her gasp was loud over his harsh breaths.

“Do you melt for him, ice princess?” She said nothing, but he didn’t care. He angled his hips and thrust hard, the way he knew she liked. He rocked over and over again, forgetting about the others in the room, lost in Katniss, however fake it might be.

“Do you want to give them a show,” he growled against her throat. “Take off the guard? One last fuck, for old times sake?”

“Stop,” she said, so faintly it was barely a breath. “Please.” Peeta pulled back. Beneath him, Katniss’s eyes were screwed tightly shut, tears leaking from the corners. The anger rushed away, leaving him horrified and utterly ashamed.

He rolled away and climbed off the bed. “Need a break,” he grunted. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Katniss had curled onto her side, facing away, naked and vulnerable. The need to comfort her battled with the sick feeling in his gut over how cruel he’d been. How completely unlike himself.

Cressida called out to him, but he didn’t want to hear whatever she was going to say. Couldn’t stay another minute on that set.

He pushed past Castor who was staring open-mouthed, the camera on his shoulder still blinking as it ran, and stomped to his dressing room. There, he sank into a chair, the leather sticking to his bare ass. He pulled the modesty bag off his now-deflated cock and dropped his head into his hands.

How had it gotten to this?

How had he gotten to the point where he was tormenting the woman he loved more than life with fake sex on their job site? Bullying her to tears in front of their crew.

He was disgusted with himself. That wasn’t who he was.

He needed to go to Katniss and apologise, for more than just the scene.

Fifteen minutes later, he’d calmed down and thrown on sweats. Katniss’s dressing room door was closed, but he knew she wasn’t in there. He walked past the small set and the little office Annie had used, but he knew she wouldn’t be there either.

Down the hall, past craft services stood the door to the electrical room. It was never locked. Peeta pushed inside. Past all of the clutter and detritus of broken light stands and boxes of cables was another door, narrow and unmarked. A steep set of metal stairs lay beyond it, and at the top a door he had to duck to walk through.

Then he was standing on the roof, a soft Burbank breeze ruffling his hair.

It wasn’t anything special, this part of the roof, gravel-topped and housing the building’s HVAC system. But it was their spot, a place no one else ever went. A place they could find some measure of solitude in the midst of a busy studio. No one ever disturbed them up here.

Katniss was sitting on the low ledge that bisected the roof, wrapped in a robe, her pink silk clad back to him. He knew she must have heard his approach, the gravel beneath him crunched with every step. But she didn’t move, didn’t react as he straddled the cement to lower himself beside her.

She didn’t turn towards him, but she didn’t need to. Her profile said everything: smudged makeup, red nose, puffy eyes. The breeze caught loose tendrils of her hair, blowing them around her face but she was still and silent save for her uneven breaths. An island in a tempest. Her eyes remained fixed on the horizon, past the endless parking lots and low studio buildings to where the sun was sinking low, bathing the sky in soft orange. Her silence wasn’t icy tonight. Pain radiated from every line, every curve.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta started. Katniss nodded, her posture otherwise unchanged. “I was a complete dick in there, and you didn’t deserve any of that. It was inexcusable.” He took a deep breath, steeling himself. “I don’t want to go on like this. Making out for the cameras, then ignoring each other when they’re off. I was hoping that if I stopped being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends?” It would certainly make their jobs a lot easier.

“I’ve never slept with Gale,” she said softly, and Peeta startled. That wasn’t even possible. She’d run right back to him, was living with him again.

As if reading his mind, Katniss continued. “He’s been a good friend to me, a brother in some ways. But we’ve never had a physical relationship.”

“Bullshit,” Peeta sputtered, conciliatory tone gone. “You were with him for years.”

Katniss glanced at him then, a half smirk twisting her lips. “You were with Johanna for years too,” she said.

“You know that wasn’t real. And Gale isn’t gay.”

Katniss shrugged, and turned back to the horizon.

Peeta continued to watch her. He knew all of her expressions, her every tell. She wasn’t lying.

“Why,” he started, then stopped. That wasn’t the question he really needed an answer to. “You let me think you were together.”

“Maybe I wanted to hurt you,” she whispered. “Like you hurt me.”

Mission accomplished, he thought. He’d been in fucking agony since he saw the TMZ pictures, and the ones that followed; Katniss and Gale riding in his convertible, Katniss and Gale leaving a trendy LA cafe, Katniss and Gale sipping wine on the balcony of his oceanfront estate. It had been a form of masochism, adding her name to his news alerts and reading the day's gossip about her blossoming relationship with Gale Hawthorne.

Could it really have all been fake?

Katniss and Gale had been on the same sitcom as children, had played cousins. So when, years later, they moved in together, of course everyone assumed they were together. They’d certainly never done anything to contradict it.

“You never mentioned that before,” Peeta said quietly. Not that Gale’s name had come up often in their time together, but they’d talked about past relationships, and she’d never said that Gale had been nothing more than a friend. She’d really never said anything about her years with Gale, and that had always made Peeta insecure, wondering if she’d still harboured feelings for him. If she kept their relationship a secret not from the world, but from Gale Hawthorne. Katniss shrugged.

“I didn’t think it would matter. You’re in the business, you know how often dating is just for show.”

He did. But he’d been upfront with Katniss about Jo, he’d never let her think there was anything there. That she hadn’t given him the same respect, hadn’t trusted him, was gutting.

“He kissed me, once,” Katniss said, and Peeta’s stomach clenched in inappropriate jealousy. “I was seventeen. It was the summer after we’d both finished filming Seam Street, but before he got his big break on that superhero movie. Back when we thought we might still be normal.” She was smiling sadly, lost in the moment. “We both gagged,” she continued, and Peeta’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. Katniss laughed softly, but it wasn’t at Peeta. It was at whatever she was remembering. “All of those childhood friends to lovers tropes, it definitely wasn’t like that for me and Gale. Kissing him was…” Katniss trailed off, shuddering. “I love Gale, he’s mine, I’m his. But not like that.

“But it didn’t matter. Once the media decided we were together, they invented stories. Every time we went anywhere together, they took pictures and manipulated them to fit whatever story they’d decided to write about us that week.” Katniss sighed, and rubbed her eyes. “We couldn’t have a life, outside of each other. Anytime either of us was seen with another person, the tabloids went crazy. I got my own place, tried to put some distance there. But it didn’t stop.

“And after he started dating Claudia, it all got worse,” she said. “The media, and fans who decided that he and I belonged together, they couldn’t let it go. They hounded her incessantly, called her a homewrecker and things far worse. Trolled her on social media, harassed her family, and anything either of us tried to get them to back off only made things worse. When she finally broke things off with him, he blamed me, at least a bit.” She paused, and sniffled. “It’s why we’ve barely talked over the past few years. First because it bothered Claudia, and then because Gale was so pissed off. It came close to destroying our friendship.”

Peeta sat in stunned silence as realisation washed over him. “That’s why you wanted to keep us a secret,” he said. “You were protecting me.”

“Private,” she said. “Not secret. And that’s what you and I do, protect each other. Or did,” she added softly.

But he hadn’t protected her. Not on the set, and not from his brother’s vitriol.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta said. “I shouldn’t have let Rye talk shit about you. And I shouldn’t have been all defensive when you rightly called me on it.”

She nodded again, but didn’t turn towards him. And he didn’t know how to bridge the gulf. He’d been wrong, on so many levels. But she hadn’t trusted him, and still didn’t. She could have eased so many of his insecurities just by being honest. But she hadn’t.

He wanted to fix things. He wanted to be with her again, this time with more openness and honesty. To build a better relationship, one they both deserved. He wasn’t sure if it was possible with so much hurt between them. But he wanted to try. He just needed to get Katniss on the same page, and he knew from experience that wasn’t likely to be easy.

“We should go back,” Peeta said what felt like an hour later. The sun was almost gone, and though the air still held the perpetual California heat, Katniss was shivering in the breeze. “I’m done being a wounded prick, I promise.”

Katniss turned to him, finally. She still looked so sad, with her red eyes and ruined makeup. His heart clenched. “Cressida called shooting for the day,” she said. “Didn’t think either of us was in a good place to continue.” Haymitch would doubtless be pissed, any disruption in the schedule was tens of thousands of dollars wasted. Peeta sighed, but he knew it was the right call.

“Probably for the best,” Peeta said. “We’re a mess.”

Katniss laughed, just slightly, and Peeta grinned at her. When he extended his hand to help her up, she took it, and it felt so good to feel her fingers entwined with his again, not for show but in actual friendship.

They walked back to the dressing rooms together. “Do you maybe want to get dinner together?” Peeta asked, and he knew he sounded small and uncertain. But to his surprise, Katniss nodded.

“I’d like that,” she said.

They walked out to the lot thirty minutes later, and Peeta led her to his car. She was wearing jeans and a little tank top, her hair pulled back in a no-fuss braid and a pair of sunglasses shielding eyes that still bore traces of the evening’s emotions. She was in every way Katniss, the woman he loved. But he could feel her holding back, feel the stiffness and uncertainty in the way she looked at him, spoke to him. Not intentional, simply reflexive, like she was trying to keep her heart safe. From him. The wall between them loomed large. It was going to take a Herculean effort to break it down.

There was a restaurant, Sae’s, not too far from the house they’d shared. It catered to people like them. The front was nothing so much as a shabby little diner, but in the back were private, windowless rooms where they could have a meal without prying eyes.

Peeta ordered pasta and Katniss got her favourite goat cheese and apple panini. But the way she pushed the food around on her plate spoke to how distressed she still was. Katniss typically ate with gusto, like she was afraid she’d never see food again.

He left her be, keeping conversation light, trying to ease her back into being comfortable with him. Joking with her, the way he always had. She smiled, but it felt hollow. If anything, she seemed to get more sad as the meal wore on. Peeta’s spirits flagged.

He paid the bill, and they headed out the back door. There, he stopped, and pulled Katniss to stand in front of him.

“Talk to me,” Peeta said, voice gruff with guilt.

“About what?” She wasn’t being flippant, if anything, she sounded defeated.

“Katniss,” he sighed. She looked up at him, eyes unfathomable, dark pools in the lamplight. He could tell she was trying to psych herself up to talk. So he leaned against the restaurant wall and waited.

“I’m sorry, okay,” she said finally, and it wasn’t what he was expecting. “I’m sorry that keeping us a secret hurt you. It was never my intention to hurt you.”

Peeta opened his mouth, to say he understood better now, but she pushed on.

“And it didn’t mean I loved you any less.”

“Loved?” Her use of past tense gutted him. “Not anymore?”

In the deep shadows of the single street light, he could see her face crumple. She wrapped her arms around her body, as if shielding herself from another blow. “Does it matter?” Her words were choked, he could hear she was fighting tears again. “I know what you think of me.”

“Katniss,” he said, the word regret-soaked.

“Frigid little ice princess,” she parroted, but there was no anger. Only pain.

“I didn’t mean it,” Peeta said. “I know that’s not you.” She played at being cold sometimes. But underneath, she was a flame, burning bright.

“Everyone thinks that about me. They always have.”

“I don’t,” Peeta said, and he let the pleading come through in his voice, let her hear his own pain. “I know you’re not cold. You’re the girl on fire.” Katniss’s lips twitched at the old nickname, one she’d gotten as a teenager in an action movie. But her heartbroken expression didn’t change. “I was angry, and wounded, and I lashed out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said, then she was wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Peeta pulled her in close and buried his face in her hair. It was the first time he’d felt whole in more than two weeks, like the broken piece of his soul had returned.

Her little body shook against him, he knew she was crying. “Shhh,” he said, stroking her back. “Shhh. It’s going to be okay.” It was. He’d make sure of it.

“Just missed you so much,” she muttered. His heart soared.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Please come home.”

She didn’t say anything. But he felt her nod against his chest. And it was enough.

He took her back to his place, to their place. They were both exhausted, emotions raw, and had an early morning call, to redo the evening’s ruined scene. But she climbed into bed beside him, and he held her all night.

They were quiet the next morning, tentative and uncertain around each other, but they were together, and Peeta was committed to making things better, for both of them. He’d be patient. He’d communicate better. He’d lost the love of his life once, he wouldn’t let it happen again.

They climbed back into his car, since hers was at the studio, but as soon as the garage door opened Peeta saw Rye there, waving his phone. Beside him, Katniss tensed, and shrank down into her seat. He could almost smell her pain. Just fucking great. The moron had to show up now, when they had barely started patching things together.

“I’ve been calling you all morning,” Rye said as soon as Peeta stepped out of the car. It was just past eight, Rye didn’t typically get up before noon. Peeta suspected he hadn’t yet been to bed.

“Go home, Rye,” Peeta said. “This isn’t the time.”

“They’re saying this is you and that Everdeen chick,” Rye insisted, shaking his phone in Peeta’s face. Sure enough, on the screen was a dark and blurry shot of him, holding Katniss in his arms. Her face wasn’t visible, but her long black braid and sweet little ass were perfectly recognisable. Fuck. He thought they’d be safe at Sae’s. But he’d been wrong. Again. “I already told the Hollywood Reporter it was fake, that you wouldn’t slum with the likes of that—”

“Shut up!” Peeta roared, and for once, Rye stopped talking. “Katniss is the woman I love, and I won’t listen to you disparage her anymore,” Peeta said. “Now get the fuck out of here and stop fucking talking to the media about me.” Peeta was seething. He was going to make sure that security guard was fired. Maybe his boss too. And his boss’s boss.

Rye backed away, hands held up in supplication. “Sure, yeah,” he said quickly. “I’ll just get out of your hair. We’ll talk more later, yeah?”

Peeta didn’t dignify that with an answer. He spun on his heel, to head back to the car. But Katniss was there already, standing just behind him. She must have heard everything they’d said, and worse, Rye would have seen her there. He flinched, but she just smiled at him, then walked straight into his arms.

“Thank you,” she said.

Fuck. She didn’t need to thank him for defending her, it’s what any decent person would do. “I should have said that last time,” he admitted, tightening his hold on her.

“You said it this time,” she said. Then she stretched up onto her toes, and kissed him.

Relief and disbelief and so much love flooded Peeta. He cupped her ass in his hands and hoisted her into his arms, his lips never leaving hers.

He knew Rye was watching. Knew that some of their neighbours could see them too. “We should go back to the garage,” he whispered between kisses that were growing too hot for the street. “People are watching.”

“Let them,” she gasped. “I don't want to hide how I feel about you. Not anymore.”

He laughed against her lips, and kissed her more.

o-o-o

She was sitting in her favourite chair, a mug of camomile tea forgotten beside her, when Peeta got home. He glanced at the television glowing on the wall and groaned. “Access Hollywood? Really?” Katniss, his Katniss, was watching the creme de la creme of shitty tabloid TV.

Their relationship had been dissected endlessly by the gossip shows in the four months since they’d been outed, first by his attention-seeking mother, then by a slightly risqué public display of affection in front of their house that had been captured on cellphone video by multiple sources. Peeta understood so much better now why Katniss had tried so hard to avoid unwanted exposure. He was sick to death of the coverage.

But they were handling it together.

“Shhh,” she said, grinning. “They’re discussing whether we really did the deed while shooting Allium and Barley’s big scene.” Peeta glanced back at the television. The banner read 15 Times 'Love' Scenes On Screen Were Real.

“Oh my god,” Peeta groaned, and sank into the chair beside Katniss’s, covering his face with his hands.

The day after their disastrous first attempt at filming, they’d gone back to the set and found Haymitch waiting for them. The crusty old bastard had actually apologised for putting them in such a shitty position, and told them he’d take the scene out, make it a fade to black.

“No,” Katniss had said, silver eyes brighter than they’d been all week. “The script needs the scene. Our fans need it. And we’re ready this time.”

The second attempt had been so much better. It was still awkward, the choreography still felt strange. One of her pasties came unstuck and ended up caught in his chest hair. Twice they had to cut filming when Katniss started giggling.

Peeta had been loath to watch it, once it’d been edited. Afraid to reopen the barely healing wounds. But the end result, just as Annie promised, looked real. The cameras caught their very real joy at being reunited, their very real love for one another. And those things made the very fake sex look like something more.

They’d filmed several more sex scenes over the course of finishing the season, each easier than the last. Communication, it turned out, did make the scenes less awkward. And it helped with their real relationship too.

But the first scene, the one that Peeta still cringed thinking about, that episode had aired just days ago.

The television sound cut off abruptly and Katniss burst into laughter. Peeta peeked out from between his fingers. Frozen on the big screen was a shot of Peeta’s ass in all of its hi-def glory, and Mario Lopez was pointing to a spot just between his thighs where apparently a hint of nutsack had been caught by the camera.

Well that brought unwanted exposure to a whole new level.

Peeta groaned. “I’m putting a nudity rider in my next contract,” he mumbled.

#everlark #bang #xerxia writes #this one is a little out there #but what can I say?#and I make no apologies for naming him Barley

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astouract · 3 years ago

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The Smell of Soil — Chapter 2 (Y/N)

Synopsis: (Y/N) almost burns her house down, and of course Loki shows up to help

Words: 1901

Warnings: None yet 😈

—

You practically slammed the door behind you, leaving the god-turned-gardener on your front step. Something wasn't right. You weren’t supposed to be stationed at the house right next to his, why would they put you there?

Watch him from afar, they had told you, don't get too close. He's still dangerous. Unpredictable.

Your heart felt as if it would beat right out of your chest, you noticed, as you placed a hand on your chest and let the door support you. After taking a moment, you pushed yourself off of the door and wandered into the cottage. It definitely wasn't anything like the Asgardian architecture you were used to, floral patterns and natural wood instead of stark white marble and expensive accents. There was no television, which was almost a relief as you had absolutely no idea how to use one. There was, however, a little pink radio on a shabby looking green end table.

A floral sofa was the centerpiece of the room, placed in front of a small fireplace. Small tables held little knickknacks and tiny vases that could only hold one or two flowers. And, actually, it seemed like plants were taking over the house. They were everywhere, you realized with a groan. You’d have to water them every day, and they’d still end up dead.

You moved on and into the kitchen, where there was not nearly as much counter space as you were used to. The room was a cacophony of different patterns and colors, but somehow it all came together to form one cohesive style. A little round table sat in the corner, with two mismatched chairs and, of course, a potted plant. Everything looked like someone else had used it for twenty years and then dumped it on the side of the road somewhere. Even the gas stove could've used a cleaning. Cooking--yet another thing you would have to learn how to do. Fresh herbs hung from the wall above the large window, making the room smell faintly of rosemary and basil.

To the left of the kitchen was a small flight of stairs that led to the second floor, which you soon discovered was more of an attic with a bed and some windows. You let your hand trail along the puffy duvet, feeling its softness under your fingers. It wasn't an Asgard duvet, that's for sure, but you had a sneaking suspicion that you may like it more. It was plush and inviting, and you resisted the urge to sink into the mattress.

A little dresser held flowing skirts and dresses, and a few pairs of jeans. You looked down at your current outfit, your last work of magic before hopping through the portal, and the first assignment of your mission: a loose T-shirt, paired with blue jeans that had to be the tightest pants you had ever worn. Not your usual clothing choices, but you were to play the part and do it well. So, flowing dresses and flower crowns it was.

Your feet carried you to the window, where you brushed the curtains aside. You had a clear view down the street, and your eyes landed on Loki's house, where he was on his hands and knees in his garden.

It was so odd, seeing him like this. Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, was on his hands and knees digging through dirt to care for fruits and vegetables. Loki, who a week ago would have killed anyone who even looked at him wrong, came over just to help you with a yard sign. His hair had been thrown haphazardly into a top knot, and he'd had dirt smeared on his cheeks. He wasn't in Asgardian robes, trading his armor out for cotton button-ups and flannel pants. What had become of the prince you’d known your whole life?

Shaking your head, you stepped away from the window and retreated back to the first floor. The rest of the downstairs consisted of a small bathroom and an equally small study, where picture frames hung on the wall presented pressed flowers of all kinds and random journal entries. A wooden desk sat against a big window, and a small bookshelf was tucked into the corner.

You made your way back into the kitchen and through the back door, where nature had reclaimed the property. It was immensely overgrown, with so many clusters of weeds and flowers that your eyes couldn't find a place to settle. There was a rotting shed, and a greenhouse hidden behind greenery. Various gardening tools were scattered around the area, and you couldn't even imagine what else might be hiding in the bushes.

"It's. . . Charming." Loki's words echoed in your mind, and you rolled your eyes.

You liked a good project.

"Shit shit shit shit!"

You clamped your hands down over your ears, rushing into the kitchen and throwing the oven door open. You reached through the billowing smoke and grabbed the pan, crying out and dropping it immediately as burning pain overwhelmed your senses.

"Fuck!" You switched the oven off and held your hands helplessly in front of you, coughing.

You didn't know what to do. Your hands were an angry shade of red, an alarm was blaring from somewhere in the kitchen, and the smoke wouldn't stop billowing out of the oven. Somehow, above all of the noise you were able to hear a series of knocks at your front door. You crossed the distance from the kitchen into the living room, and carefully pulled the door open, hissing sharply at the pain rolling over your hands.

Shit.

There, standing on your doorstep for the second time that day, was Loki. Of course it was, because what else could happen when you were supposed to be watching him from afar?

He looked into the house behind you, and back at you with wide eyes. "Is everything okay? I heard the alarms and some loud crashes, and. . . Your house is full of smoke." His gaze asked what he wouldn't say out loud--asked if you needed help. Norns, he was practically begging you to let him help.

Who even was he?

You sighed, and then did the unthinkable: you stepped aside to let him in. He followed you into the kitchen, and you realized just how much of a mess you’d made. The oven door was hanging open, with smoke still billowing out relentlessly, and there were charred cookies all over the floor. The baking pan was upside down in the middle of the room, but Loki didn't seem to notice as he rushed around the room trying to reconcile the smoke issue.

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, propping the back door open and sliding every window open that he could.

"I made cookies. I think."

Loki reached up above the door frame, and pressed a button on a white box that stopped the screeching alarm. He started opening every drawer in the kitchen, until he found what he was looking for. He offered you a tea towel, but you just stared at it.

"I can't," you murmured, looking down at your hands. Loki's gaze followed.

"Oh my God." He sucked in a breath, "You need to take care of that."

I would, if I could use my magic, your subconscious snapped.

He turned on the sink, and gently guided your hands into the cool water. "I think maybe you should go to Urgent Care."

"Urgent Care?"

Loki didn't seem to hear you, lost in thought as he looked around the room. He pulled over the chairs from the kitchen table, offering one to you at the sink before leaning against the counter while you soaked your palms.

"Did all of this furniture come with the house?"

You nodded. "It was mostly furnished when I got here, I just had to add a few small things. I only brought one suitcase with me."

"I see. Where did you move from?"

Shit. Why was he interrogating you? Did he know something?

You removed a hand from the water to gesture vaguely. "Just some run down old town about a day's trip north of here." The lie came effortlessly, and Loki accepted it with a nod.

"Where's your bathroom? Though I really think you should see a doctor for your hands."

"To the left of the entry, and there’s no need for medical treatment. I’m a fast healer." You grimaced, not daring to move your fingers.

Loki disappeared into the next room, and returned a moment later with gauze bandage. "It's going to hurt, but you have to wash your hands with soap before I can wrap them."

"What?" You asked stupidly.

Loki took the old soap from beside your sink and squirted a bit into your open hands. "Just wash them real quick. The internet said so."

Gods, being mortal sucked.

You did as told, and Loki turned off the tap before grabbing the gauze. "I'm going to wrap them now, okay?"

You offered him a hand, and he began to unwind the bandage with extreme delicacy onto your skin. It was mesmerizing, watching someone who you knew to be an actual war criminal act so selflessly. Gone was the dark, brooding prince, and standing in his place was a mortal, kind and simple. And concentrating.

Loki released one hand and moved onto the next, and suddenly, those green eyes were staring right back at you. Your breath caught, and for one, fleeting moment, you were swept up. The atmosphere felt different, like a static kind of electricity clung to the air.

War criminal. He shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be here, with your hands gently in his.

The things those hands had done, the lives they’ve ended. The cities destroyed, each one’s story carved into the lines on his palm. Those hands were unpredictable. Dangerous.

War criminal.

"That should do it," Loki said softly, "and look, the smoke has cleared!"

You grimaced as he collected the charred cookies from the floor. "You don’t have to do that. ."

Loki only grinned, putting the now dented pan in the sink. "I'm more than happy to help."

You walked together back through the house, and ended up back on the front steps for the third time that day. The sun was setting behind the trees, the sky a breathtaking canvas of oranges, yellows, and pinks. The world outside was quiet, peaceful.

"Seriously," Loki emphasized, turning to face you. "If you need anything. You know where to find me." He offered a sympathetic smile.

And, unfortunately, he knew where to find you.

Loki pointed to your hands. "You should take the bandages off in the morning and see what the burns look like; your hands will likely get worse over the next twenty-four hours or so. Whatever you do, don't apply ice. And, don't apply any ointment until the burns have cooled. Make sure you keep them clean and wrapped."

You cocked your head slightly to the side, regarding him curiously. Suspiciously. “How do you know all of this?"

Loki smiled all the way to his eyes. "Internet."

"Oh. Right.”

Loki rubbed his hands together--something that you wouldn't be doing for a couple days, by the sound of it. "Well, you seem to have had a rather. . . eventful. . . day so I'll leave you to it. Have a good evening, (Y/N)."

"Loki," you called out, stopping him on his way down the steps, "Thank you."

He smiled.

#loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki x reader #cottagecore #original post #avengers #loki #marvel

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noxshade · 5 years ago

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Day 9: Tomboy

(Who is Marisa? She’s a western-style witch, who lives alone in a youkai-infested forest, despite having living family in the Human Village. I decided to focus on the rebellious attitude and interests that define a tomboy, to me.)

It was only two days into the deal, and both Marisa and Alice were beginning to lose their tempers. It had seemed like a straightforward arrangement: Alice needed new reagents for her doll-making spells, and Marisa had offered to distill the ephemeral resin she needed in exchange for a favor. Alice had jokingly offered to clean Marisa’s house with her dolls as aids, and Marisa had accepted, much to Alice’s surprise. And while more willing to part with the junk that had accumulated in her remote forest house than Alice had initially thought she would be, she still clung to so much. Every time Marisa interrupted with a “wait” or a “no, not that one” it ground her nerves more.

For her part, Marisa found this arrangement just as stressful, mostly because she was coming to understand the full scope of what was hoarded away in her house. After the first day, Alice had re-negotiated the deal to just Marisa’s study/living room, and Marisa had agreed. As Shanghai floated past her with a clump of chemical-stained rags, she deliberated over a few very old hair bows she used to tie her side-braid. They were navy blue or black, and two of them had begun to fray, with the material growing stiff with age, but when she thought of her first memories of them-

-“You shouldn’t grow used to such things. A young woman will not be accepted if she adopts these foreign trinkets.”

She swept the bows into a drawer and looked away, trying to banish the sudden recollection of him out of her mind, but it was difficult. Literally sorting her past was only going to be more common as she and Alice cleaned out this room. Alice was sitting by a table by a growing stack of books that her London dolls kept contributing to as they found them. Alice set a book on leyline interaction into the “keep” pile, then picked up the next one to be sorted and frowned.

“Marisa, this an old grimoire,” she said “You keep your notes and spellbooks with your reference books?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Marisa responded, distracted as another doll whizzed by.

“Regardless, this one’s in terrible shape,” Alice said, examining it “It’s spine’s been torn twice, half the pages are nothing but water damage, and the formulae are nearly illegible. I’m going to-”

-She watched helplessly as he tore the spellbook in half, ignoring her pleas to stop.

-“Papa, please no!” she shouted. His massive hands made short work of the tiny journal, and he tossed the shreds out the door, into the muddy street.

-”I will not tolerate these profane interests of yours any longer!” he bellowed “You are a daughter of the Kirisame household! It’s time you acted like it!”

Marisa crossed over and snatched the worn journal out of Alice’s hand.

“I...I still have some aetheric equations I need to transcribe out of this one,” she stuttered out, putting it in the drawer with the bows. Alice opened her mouth to object, but reconsidered, and continued sorting books in silence, until the end of day two.

~~~~~

On the third day, Marisa had finally gathered enough sap to start her end of the bargain in earnest. Bucket in hand, she gathered the different components needed to create the resin, and began to set up her distillation rig on the newly cleaned countertop.

“Now I see why you wanted the place cleaned before you got started,” Alice remarked, looking at the vast array of beakers, flasks, and glass tubes that Marisa was constructing. “You never would have been able to set this up without clearing off the counters.” Marisa only nodded, began to partition out the ingredients after connecting the last tube. With gloves and a facemask on, she avoided direct conversation, focusing on her work. Alice gazed around, her eyes falling to a small pile of unused glass containers in the corner. She walked over and stared down at it, picking up a flask from the pile. It was chipped all along the edge with tiny spider web cracks throughout the rest of the glass. Each of the other pieces was in a similar, sorry state.

“Do I have your permission to throw this broken glass work out, Marisa?” Alice gestured to the pile of beakers and flasks, half-contained in a burlap sack-

-She struggled to lift the enormous sack over her shoulder. Father had found her alchemical set-up in the attic, and gathered all of it and her books into a burlap sack, and tossed it out into the pouring rain. She had run out to collect it, but Father had closed and locked the door behind her. She had pounded and screamed to be let back in, but he refused to answer. Now she struggled to haul her most prized possessions down the street, hoping that maybe she could find shelter at Kourindou.

“It’s a restoration work-in-progress, don’t touch it.” Marisa said, trying to refocus on her work. Alice thought about saying something to Marisa about the pattern she had noticed. She was still human enough to know what this behavior was, but she dared not speak up about it. What right did a former human have to say about a human’s issues?

~~~~~

On the fourth and final day of the deal, the two magicians were mostly silent. Marisa was carefully monitoring the pressure needed to force the finished resin out through a tube into a jar, and Alice and her dolls were finishing the final sorting of junk in the corner. At the bottom of a pile of clothes, Alice found something unexpected. A dress and witch’s hat, both deep purple velvet. It wasn’t the outfit that was surprising; Marisa’s entire wardrobe was nothing but such dresses and hats, but the color. Alice knew that she favored pure blacks and deep blues, not this fuzzy, purple color, and besides it was very, very old. Alice stood and took the dress and hat over to Marisa, standing beside her and waiting to be noticed, as not to startle her. Eventually, Marisa noticed her.

“Do you want to keep this as well?” Alice asked.

-“How DARE you come back to this house -MY house- dressed like some foreigner!” he shouted, his face turning red. “As a daughter of the Kirisa-”

-“Oh shut up!” she said, only elevating her voice to be heard over his shouting. “I came back to tell you I found my own place to live. You can do whatever you want with my room, I’m never sleeping here again!” She hadn't meant to start shouting, but now that she had started, it felt good to shout at him. “I found someone to help me build a house, outside the village! This is goodbye!” She turned to leave.

-“Maruko Kirisame, if you take one more step out that door, you’ll-”

-“That’s not my name anymore! You can’t control me!” she screamed.

-He charged her, finally ready to act on years and years of threats. But she was ready. She raised her new Bagua-engraved magical furnace towards him, and released a minor pulse of force. It pushed him back, and he stumbled, off-balance, back against the wall, speechless.

-“Don’t ever call me by that wretched name again,” she said “I’m Marisa Kirisame, and I’m not some impure spirit or youkai witch! I’m a perfectly ordinary magician!”

Marisa stared at the dress and hat for a long moment before responding.

“Yes. It was a gift from Rinnosuke. That was my first outfit as...as a magician.”

Alice nodded, and set the wide hat and long dress aside.

#gensokyofestival #touhou #noxcontent #fanfic #marisa kirisame #alice margatroid #tw: parental abuse

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xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx · 6 years ago

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Nerd - Gerard Way x Reader

Request: Hi! I miss you 💕💕 When you're back, could you write about Dallon or Gerard meeting a nerdy reader? She is out with friends, and sarcastically says sth like "yeah, 'cause a girl who daily references LotR, Doctor Who and other stuff is every guy's dream." He overhears, and starts: "Actually..." Thanks and have a lovely holiday ✨✨✨😉

Reader: female

Warnings: fandom references, many of them

Word count: 1 843

Even though it was one of the bars in town that was on the fancier side, people still dressed pretty normally. At least the guys did. But most of the females in the room were wearing skirts and dresses that seemed to be several numbers too small so short that you wondered how they sat down without the skirt riding up so far that too much skin was exposed. But maybe that was the whole point. You did not really know much about these things. The only thing that you knew was that people did not like it when you said that their skirts were shorter than those of the uniform dresses in Star Trek OS. So you kept that comment to yourself, while you pulled on the sleeves of your cropped “Wings of Freedom” jacket, the latest treasure in your collection of merchandise.

Going out with your friends was never as easy as you would have liked. They were, just like the other women in the bar, dressed in these terribly tight clothes, and you, dressed in a soft, fitting, dark shirt with a tiny TARDIS pattern, some skinny jeans, sneakers, said cropped jacket, and an Evening Star necklace, stood out like a torch in a dark forest.

You knew your friends did not mind. They had been out with you before, and they knew this was the fanciest you could dress for a relaxed night out. But you had been very aware of the stares from other people in the room, men and women alike.

“(Y/n),” one of your friends called over the small table on which the group was seated, trying to get your attention over the loud music that played on the dancefloor, “spotted anyone you like already?”

You grinned, knowing Grace would absolutely love to set you up. The beautiful girl had braided her curly black hair to the side, wore metallic green eyeliner and a matching dress that sparkled beautifully against her dark skin. You loved how easy it seemed for her to put herself out there, and sometimes you wondered if you could do that too, if you had more self-confidence. After all, the lack thereof was probably the main reason you were hiding behind your merchandise.

Trying to answer her question, your eyes skipped through the room, trying to find the man again who had drawn your attention to himself earlier. Now he was sitting at the bar, a strand of his almost shoulder long, raven black hair brushed behind his ear. He was sipping from what looked like a glass of water, in the other hand holding a pen, and fumbling around with it.

You nodded into the direction of the guy, very well aware that someone as attractive as him could directly look at you, and still not see you.

Grace turned her head, following your eyes, and nodded approvingly.

“He’s cute,” she stated.

You nodded, embarrassedly turning your eyes away.

“Wanna go and talk to him?”

“What? No, no way,” you quickly answered, looking up at her alarmed.

“Alright, alright, chill,” she laughed.

“Hey, would you like to dance?”

A man had approached Grace from behind, the third one this night. You wondered how some girls like Grace seemed to pull people in, while you always seemed to repulse them.

“Sorry, I’m not in the mood right now,” Grace answered friendly but firm, “Later maybe.”

The guy nodded and trotted off again.

“Should we go get some more drinks,” she asked you, motioning to you empty glass, “we could go talk to Mister Mysterious over there as well.”

You groaned.

“Come on, you know how that will go. No offence, but I don’t even have the splinter of a chance with you next to me. Not to mention, that a girl who daily references Lord of the Rings, Star Trek, Doctor Who and other stuff is every guy’s dream.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, wanting to add how you talking to that guy would never happen, when suddenly a voice sounded from behind of you.

“Well, actually…”

You turned around, more reflex than anything, and stared up into brilliant hazel eyes. It was the man who you had watched while he had been sitting at the bar, but the conversation with Grace had distracted you, so you had not noticed that he had gotten up. The strand of hair which had been brushed behind his ear had fallen into his face again, and the way he was fidgeting with the pen he was still holding gave away that he was somewhat nervous, which relieved you to a certain degree. Also the fact that he wore a washed out Star Wars t-shirt managed to settle some of your nerves right away.

The conversations around the table had died down, everybody expectantly watching the scene unfold. After all, it was the first time in all the nights they had been out with you, that someone had tried to chat you up.

Honestly, you were at a loss for words. You were not sure if that was because the man in front of you was just seriously beautiful, because all of a sudden you had been approached by someone, or if it was because he had basically said that a nerdy girl like you could be someone’s dream girl. But whatever the reason, you could not find an answer, or just anything to say really; so you sat there, somewhat helplessly, blinking up at him.

The man smiled slightly, apparently not minding your speechlessness.

“Your drink is empty, may I invite you for a new one?”

Before you could even answer, another friend next to you, Carol, encouragingly nudged you, tearing you out of the haze you momentarily been in.

“Oh, yes, that would be great,” you quickly answered, standing up from your chair.

“I’m Gerard, by the way,” he introduced himself, offering you his hand.

“(Y/n),” you replied.

He nodded thoughtfully.

“It fits you,” he decided, before suddenly blushing, realizing what he had said. “Shall we… get drinks?”

He lead you over to the bar, where he found two chairs for the two of you, before he asked what you would like to drink, ordering the same for himself as well.

“So… you are well acquainted with fan culture, I see,” he said, nodding to your clothes.

“Yes, I-“ nervously you reached for the Evening Star necklace, wrapping your fingers around it, “it’s like… I don’t really know, it’s like-“

“A protection from reality?”

You nodded, smiling shyly at Gerard’s comment.

“Yeah, exactly. Just, some worlds to feel safe in, you know, where heroes will always safe the day.”

“I totally feel you,” Gerard agreed, “you should have seen my locker in high school; it was a Lord-of-the-Rings-Star-Wars-Doctor-Who shrine.”

“I’d pay to see that,” you laughed, feeling the nervousness slowly melt away. Gerard seemed to understand you, seemed to get why these fictional worlds were so important to you.

“Fascinating,” he giggled at your response, making you crook your head.

“Was that Star Trek reference intentional,” you wondered, narrowing your eyes at him, making him laugh lightheartedly.

“Take an educated guess,” he challenged, nudging your knee with his.

“You’re a nerd,” you answered, rolling your eyes at him.

“Says the one with the TARDIS shirt,” he defended, laughing.

“Says the one with the two decades old Star Wars shirt,” you kept going, poking his chest.

“Okay, that is true,” Gerard gave in, giggling.

Just in that moment the bar tender brought over your drinks, and Gerard handed you one.

“May the force be with you,” you spoke, raising your glass for him to click his glass against yours.

“And may you live long and prosper,” he winked, gently bumping the glasses together.

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and chatter about your favorite movies, a heated discussion about the best Star Wars Movie, anecdotes about building light sabers and Stormtrooper uniforms from when you were kids, and too many references to keep up with it (anything ranging from single word exclamations, to page long monologues).

It was well past midnight when both of you decided to call it a night. Your stomach hurt from laughing so much, and Gerard’s hair was completely disheveled from how often he had ran his fingers through it.

Both of you stepped outside into the cold night, and you wrapped your jacket, tighter around your body, feeling the napkin, on which two hours earlier Gerard had written his phone number and a doddle of himself, in your pocket press against your leg.

“So… will you call me,” he asked teasingly, but you noticed how important it was to him.

“I’ll think about it,” you grinned.

“Fantastic,” he nodded, obviously already excited.

“Yeah, yeah, alright doctor,” you laughed.

“Get home safe,” Gerard mumbled, giving you a quick hug that left you slightly blushing.

“You too, see you soon.”

Your flat was not far away, so you used the short walk to calm down from the exciting night. Gerard’s face was burned into your memories, and his giggles still rang in your ears as you walked down the dark streets.

A big illuminated display at the entrance of the cinema that was just down the street from your apartment pulled your attention to it.

“Late Night Showing of the Planet of the Apes”

A crazy idea came to your mind as you pulled out your phone and checked the time; the movie would start in ten minutes, this had to be the universe pulling a prank at you.

Without hesitation you pulled out the napkin, and dialed the numbers which Gerard had scribbled down for you.

“Gerard? It’s me, (y/n). Do you know the Starlight Cinema, five minutes away from the bar?”

Gerard on the other side of the line, agreed eagerly.

“Planet of the Apes in ten?”

“I’ll be there in five, don’t go in without me!”

You giggled at his excitement, hearing how he seemed to start hurrying while hanging up. This was crazy. But maybe you needed a bit of personal crazy in your life; you could not live vicariously through screen heroes forever.

And sure enough, five minutes after you had called him, Gerard came running down the street.

“You really waited,” he cheered, throwing his arm around your shoulder, as if you had known each other since forever. “I want popcorn and we need to share a big coke, but only one straw, so we can accidentally kiss, because you better believe that I won’t let you walk away without kissing you tonight. Because someone who calls me at half two in the morning for a late night showing of Planets of the Apes can’t just walk away like that from me.”

You laughed at his rambling, blushing at his words, but being pretty sure that you would not mind such a kiss. He held the door open for you to slip into the building.

“Okay,” you agreed, “but first we need to buy the tickets, dork.”

“I know, nerd.”

#gerard way x reader #gerard way fluff #gerard way #gerard way x reader fluff #fluff #cute #fluffy #fanfiction #fanfic #fandom #sherlock #doctor who #star trek #star wars #The Lord of the Rings #fangirl #fanboy #planet of the apes

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caffeinated-mendes · 5 years ago

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bel amour - a shawn mendes story (chapter 1)

word count: 1.8 k

"i can't love you until you learn it for yourself”

a/n: i wrote about a third of this story a long time ago, so it might not be my best work. but i planned out the rest of this so i wanted to see if i could finish it. hope you all like it!

warnings: swearing

*if you prefer, you can read this work on my ao3 or my wattpad

"mila, we should really get going now, we have a lecture in a half hour."

"fine, just let me look for one more minute." a girl rifled through several spines in the two-story bookstore, bent over to look at the bottoms of the shelves. taking three large books in her hands, the girl stood up. now fully standing; she was quite tall and had dark hair that was cut past her shoulders.

mila followed her friend from the behind, the girl much shorter than her. they took the staircase down and paid for their books, making their lengthy walk to the college campus. "you always spend too much time in there, i always try to tell you to go after our lectures but no! i wanna get some new books!" she mocked. mila made a distasteful face at her, pushing her new books into her bag. "how are you even going to read those bricks? you schedule a trip to the bookstore every payday."

"you know i purposefully read an hour every day, sometimes more. it's actually methodically planned out so that-"

"okay, nerd, i don't wanna hear the rest of this." she laughed, pulling mila into the lecture hall. inside the expansive hall at least sixty students sat down, illuminated by the fluorescent lighting. the two of them found seats in the middle and sat for a quite dull hour and a half. "what did he say?" mila's friend asked after the lecture was over.

"you want me to repeat and hour and half's worth of a lecture, lea?" she grinned and shook her head as they made their way back into the city. "i got work in a half-hour, can you just remember to put the heating on when you get back home? i don't want to freeze my ass off." lea nodded and bounded a different direction, curls swaying in the wind. mila walked for another fifteen minutes before turning right and pushing through a heavy door with a chime.

"you're late again."

"i know, simon, i had-"

"i worked for ten minutes over my shift. you owe me." mila scoffed as the man at the counter grabbed his things and pushed his way out the door with a scowl on his face.

"asshole," mila muttered, putting her pin on and clocking into work. mila worked at a music store owned by some old man's son, though he was never there, only employees. she sat behind the counter, scrolling mindlessly on her phone until the bell on the door chimed. looking up, she saw a tall guy in a hoodie, maybe her age. she only saw the back of him, but he had curly hair and was muscled. "hello." she greeted the customer like always. he turned around and just looked at her for a second.

the guy looked strangely familiar. the two of them didn't say anything. he had a chiseled jawline, eyes she couldn't really tell the color of from her distance. she stood up. "is there anything you need help with today?" she couldn't deny he was attractive, but mila couldn't get over how familiar he was. where had she seen him before?

"hi.." he paused another second before clearing his throat, "where are your guitars?" mila pointed to the back of the store with a smile, "thanks," he said with a grin. he had a light voice, but on certain vowels, mila noticed it deepened. she sat back down in her chair, this time grabbing a ukulele from the back wall and fingerplucking random chord patterns. she couldn't help but look back at the guy. his hands plucked each string meticulously in a beautiful melody, and when mila had looked away, she hadn't noticed that he looked at her, too. it was a game of tennis with their eyes. return each glance without knowing your opponents next move. the guy spoke up this time, "how much is this one?" he gestured to the one in his hands.

the guitar was pale and seemed to be made from light wood, too. "seven-hundred fifty dollars." mila stated, glazing her eyes over the shiny finish.

"could you keep it on hold it for me? i forgot my wallet." he said with a chuckle. mila stood up.

"sure. i'll put it back here and write it down so none of my coworkers take it." he got up and carefully handed it to her. mila took the neck and body in both hands, brushing his fingers. she felt callouses on the tips of them. placing it on a rack, she turned back to him, as he was still standing there. it was a bit awkward, but she placed both her hands on the counter. mila could see his eyes up close now. they were brown, but with flecks of green and amber in them. his pupils dilated, she could see. "anything else i could help with?" she broke the silence.

the guy shook his head, seeming to want to get rid of the tension, too, "nope. thank you, i'll see you tomorrow?"

"no-actually, yes, i have a shift at this same time, if you're coming then."

"alright, i think i will. thanks for the help."

"anytime."

- - -

"i'm home, lea." mila said from the front door of their apartment. she plopped onto their couch and immediately turned on netflix. lea stepped out of her bedroom door, which was to the left of the living room.

"how was work?"

"fine, we had only one customer, but he was familiar, for some reason. like i'd seen him somewhere before." mila paused her netflix show.

lea moved to the kitchen on mila's right and poured herself a glass of water. "what'd he look like?" lea had her hair pushed away from her face in a messy bun and was wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

"he had curly brown hair, but not really curly, still in a style. and he was tall, he had really strange eyes-"

"are you already in love with the man, mila?" mila scoffed, moving her view back to the tv. she ignored lea for the time being, but lea quickly added onto her thoughts, "well, he does sound familiar even to me. maybe he just looks like someone famous. you know, the other day i met a girl who looked exactly like jennifer laurence."

"i really doubt that," mila laughed, and then put her head back on the couch. "alright, we have to do our work and study for that test on friday." mila stood up from the couch and moved to their miniscule dining table that had been pushed against the window, offering a city view.

"what test on friday?"

the next morning was difficult for mila. she hadn't slept well, thinking about her upcoming exams and why that customer was so familiar. as hard as she tried she couldn't get her mind off of it. mila went through the same routine of getting ready in the morning; having too much caffeine, eating a honeycrisp apple (she would not eat any other), and cleaning her room. after she went through this mental checklist she went downstairs with lea and out their apartment building.

"mia wants us to meet for dinner after your shift," lea continued, "she's paying is what she said."

"good," mila smirked, "i will only pay if we go to a normal restaurant. she takes us to classy ones where we have to dress up and my exponentially tiny meal is thirty dollars." lea snorted loudly, nodding in agreement.

they opened the door to a different lecture hall, "well, the woman is rich. she's living on daddy's money while we're here working our asses off on scholarships and loans." mila thought about how so many people got so little and worked their entire lives only to get nothing in return. mia could sit comfortably without lifting a finger. she loved her friend, but she didn't think it was fair.

- - -

mila brought her book to work that day. it was one of the classics she was trying to get through and understand. sometimes, she had to take notes to remember what was happening. an entire notebook page was filled and sat on the counter at work. a few people came in and every time the bell chimed, she looked up to see if it was that stranger again.

at last, the door chimed fifteen minutes before mila was off her shift. she looked again dreadfully, but suddenly a smile was brought to her face. it was him. this time he wore a t-shirt and black jacket with jeans. "hi." mila said in a rather quiet voice.

he turned and smiled at her. "hi, i actually have my wallet today." mila chuckled, getting up from her chair and setting down her book. "what are you reading?" he asked.

"lord of the flies. do you read?" she looked at him, and he stepped closer to the counter. she could see his eyes again.

"no, i'm just really bad at comprehending things. i'm also a terrible speller." he put his hands on the counter.

mila turned around before he got too close, "that's the terrible school system for you. well, i've got the guitar here, still. do you want a hard case or a soft case?" she assumed he knew a lot about guitars, considering he played one with incredible skill.

"hard case, please." she turned back around and grabbed one from the storage containers under the counter. she placed it carefully on the tabletop and gently moved the guitar in there, watching her small fingers zip it up. "thank you." as he payed, he moved his eyes to her name tag. "mila. that's a beautiful name. what does it mean?" he looked up in her eyes and stared at her like she was a beautiful thing.

"don't know, maybe i should look it up." she looked at him and handed him the receipt. "what's yours?" she was surprised by how fearless she sounded.

"shawn. shawn mendes." mila's eyes widened. that's who he was. lea was almost right, he was famous. no wonder he was amazing at the guitar, how had she not noticed he was the singer?

"that's why you're so familiar. shawn mendes, the youngest pop star to get nominated for a grammy, right?" he nodded, smiling. "well, it's nice to meet you, shawn mendes." she held out her hand, and he shook it gently, "i'm mila. mila hall, a nobody, unlike you."

"i really doubt that." shawn put his wallet back, and grabbed the hardcase. "it was a pleasure to meet you, mila hall." she took her spot back in the chair. he began to open the door on his way out. "see you tomorrow."

mila jumped out of her chair, but he was already gone. she muttered, with a very confused look on her face, "what the fuck?"

#shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes #shawn mendes x oc #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes fanfic #bel amour #caffeinated-mendes #mila hall #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes smut #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes blurb #shawn mendes fan fic #shawn mendes story #shawn mendes imagines #shawn mendes stories #shawn mendes writing

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mezzomercury · 6 years ago

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Bohemian Rhapsody in Blue Chapter Four: Thank God It’s Christmas

A/N: I know it’s not close to Christmas at all, but I thought it would be cute to have something centered around it.

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: Pregnancy, brief mention of alcohol, near panic attack

**************

December 25, 1985

The Garden Lodge

London. United Kingdom

Christmas Day at the Garden Lodge was always a day of elaborate gifts, celebrations, and all around merriment, but this year’s holiday was particularly special for a number of reasons: The first reason was that it was Freddie and Jim’s first Christmas with their new surrogate mother-turned-friend Nadia, who had been living with them since the beginning of the third trimester of her pregnancy. The second, since Nadia was Jewish, was that this would be her first real Christmas, previously spending the day with her family by going to the cinema since the theaters were almost always empty on this particular day of the year. The third and final reason that made this year’s holiday so special was that it would be Freddie and Jim’s final one before their daughter was born next month, January 23rd, as predicted by their doctor. The couple did everything they could to make Nadia feel welcome in their home, as they insisted she live with them, arguing that she was far too pregnant to be living on her own as she normally had been before. While she didn’t want to cause any inconvenience to them or bother them in any way, she agreed to stay at the Garden Lodge up until the baby arrived, knowing that they were nervous fathers-to-be and they genuinely cared about her well-being.

The winter holiday celebrations at the Mercury-Hutton household commenced two weeks ago. This was a bit earlier than usual, for Freddie and Jim tried to make Nadia feel more at home by celebrating Hanukkah, much to her surprise and appreciation. On the first night, Nadia came home after a full day of teaching private lessons to the sight of Phoebe and Jim trying their best at cooking a chicken tagine along with sfenj (traditional Moroccan Hanukkah doughnuts), and a bronze, antique menorah she had never seen before placed in the center of the table. She chuckled upon noticing it, knowing that it’s traditionally supposed to be placed by a window, but the effort that her four new housemates had gone through was nothing short of impressive. Due to her out of control hormones all thanks to pregnancy, she then broke down crying. Jim, who was within earshot of the scene, immediately ran to her side, concerned that she was upset by it or she didn’t like it.

“Of course I love it. It’s just…...no one has never been this kind to me before,” she choked out in between sobs, “Thank you, all of you. I’m truly blessed that the four of you are in my life.”

The rest of the night was spent with Nadia showing Freddie, Jim, Phoebe, and Joe her family’s Hanukkah traditions, eating an exquisite Moroccan dinner, exchanging gifts, and sitting around by the fireplace having fun conversation. The quintet carried on like this for the next seven nights, truly enjoying a holiday that the majority of them had never celebrated before.

Now it was Christmas, a holiday that Freddie did not skimp out on with any expenses or details. Although it wasn’t a wild party like he typically threw per se, he still planned a celebration as if the Garden Lodge were Buckingham Palace. The family of five had just finished opening gifts by the tree, and were now doing last minute preparations before guests arrived. It wouldn’t be a particularly large affair, just the other members of Queen, their families, Miami, Mary and her new boyfriend, and Freddie’s younger sister Kashmira. Still, Freddie decorated the house from head to toe, wanting it to be an extravagant day, even though it would be more family-oriented.

Nadia was currently sitting on the chaise lounge in the drawing room, as instructed by Freddie, who nearly had a heart attack upon witnessing her try to help Joe in tidying up.

“The baby will slip out of you and onto the floor if you’re not careful, darling!” Freddie playfully scolded her as he practically scooped her up in his arms and brought her to the chaise.

The singer was evidently in full-blown panic mode since Nadia started her ninth and final month of pregnancy. She could tell by his crazed look in his eyes that he hadn’t slept at all the previous night, but he was still as chipper and excited for the festivities as ever. As she sat down and watched the commotion going through the house, she involuntarily rested a hand on her belly, trying to calm the restless baby inside her. Her mind wandered off to what the house would be like a year from now. There would be a little eleven-month-old girl crawling, maybe even walking around then, no doubt receiving grandiose gifts from her fathers for her first Christmas. It was hard to believe that this is what the near future had in store, but that little girl would be here in a few weeks, whether everyone was ready or not.

Upon getting lost in her imagination, Nadia suddenly pondered a big question that never crossed her mind before: What about me? Where will I be a year from now? She hadn’t really thought ahead about what she will do after she gives birth. Of course, she would still perform and teach privately, and even had a couple of auditions lined up not too long after her due date. She even had an audition last month to play in the pit orchestra of the Royal Opera House. The poor woman went to her audition, eight months pregnant and carrying a cello on her back, nearly fainting after having to climb up only two flights of stairs. The audition itself was fine, but she wouldn’t hear from them for a while, and she figured that it was most likely that they wouldn’t offer her a position, or if they did, it would be out of pity due to her condition. That’s not how she wanted to get ahead in her career. The main thing Nadia was thinking about when she had the question What about me? was in regards to the friendships she had made over the past nine months. Although she was their surrogate, Freddie and Jim had grown so near and dear to her, and the feeling was absolutely mutual. In the beginning of this whole adventure, Nadia promised herself that she wouldn’t become emotionally attached, neither to the baby or to the couple that she was carrying it for. That, however, became increasingly difficult to live up to, as Freddie and Jim treated her like total royalty and their friendship seemed to become closer and closer as days went by. She’d like to think that even if circumstances had been different, they still would have a very special bond, baby or not. Alas, she had to remind herself that she was just providing them with a service, and she’d most likely have to pick up her life where she left off once she gave birth, living as though the past nine months never happened.

Nadia’s endless thoughts were interrupted when Phoebe came to the chaise and sat down beside her, offering her a cup of herbal tea, which she graciously accepted. She continued watching Freddie scramble around, frustrating himself further and further over the most minute details.

“Does he act like this every year?” she asked Phoebe as she sipped her tea. The question caused him to chuckle,

“Yes, but this is the most panicked I’ve seen him since I’ve known him,” he paused before looking at her, “I think it’s because it’s technically your first Christmas, and he wants to make sure it’s extra special for you.”

This caused Nadia to sigh, surprisingly enough, as she was still thinking about her future.

“And probably my last.” she muttered under her breath.

She wasn’t quite sure if Phoebe had heard her, as he got up and took back her cup once she was done with it. Tiffany, one of Freddie and Jim’s many cats, pounced up onto the spot where Phoebe previously had been sitting, and crawled over onto Nadia’s lap, subtly guarding the tiny human growing inside her womb. Nadia spent the next couple of minutes scratching behind the cat’s furry ears before cooing,

“You’re already very protective of your little sister, aren’t you girl?”

Tiffany, of course, couldn’t respond verbally, but started purring as if she understood.

Whilst Nadia was lost in thought again, this time stroking Tiffany on her lap in a semi-hypnotic pattern, Freddie pranced up to her, accidentally startling the poor woman.

“Sorry, darling. It’s just me!” Laughing as she yelped, he handed her a delicately wrapped box, “I had this upstairs and somehow I forgot to put it under the tree. It’s another gift from Jim and me.”

Nadia studied the elegant wrapping paper and the fine ribbon before Freddie requested with impatient excitement,

“Go ahead, open it!”

Carefully unwrapping the box and opening it, she gasped as soon as she caught a glimpse of what was inside. She carefully pulled the fabric out of the package to reveal a floor-length, red velvet gown with long sleeves. Her jaw felt completely unhinged from her body and her eyes were permanently wide. It took her a couple seconds before she could find the right words to say.

“Freddie, this is way too beautiful beyond words. I don’t know if I can accept this.”

“Nonsense, darling!” scoffed Freddie, “My daughter’s mum should have the absolute best of everything. I got it from Princess Di’s personal designer. Like I said, you deserve the best.”

He seemed to ramble on, wanting to convince Nadia to accept the gift. As he kept listing the multiple reasons why she deserved it at a rapid fire speed, she suddenly cut him off,

“Thank you so much, Fred. You and Jim have been way too kind to me.”

He smiled as he watched her hug the dress close to her before saying,

“Try it on, lovie. What else were you planning on wearing today?”

She looked up at him in question, not before looking down at her midsection, noticing how much it looked like she was hiding a watermelon under her jumper.

“Will it even fit me?” she asked him, earning a chuckle from him in response,

“Of course it will, darling. I made sure of it.”

She rose up to her feet with Freddie’s assistance and went into her bedroom to try on the dress, feeling nervous about how it would look on her.

As Nadia emerged from her bedroom to reveal her new outfit that fit and suited her perfectly, Freddie and Jim stood at her doorway and cheered as they saw how stunning she looked in it, showering her in endless compliments.

“I told you she’d look breathtaking in it, Jim dear, didn’t I?” Freddie asked his husband.

“Yes, yes, dear, but I already knew she would. She looks beautiful as always.” Jim answered.

Blushing and yet still self-conscious about her ever changing figure, Nadia asked them,

“Are you sure I don’t look like a beached whale?” to which Freddie scoffed and replied,

“Not at all, darling. You are a fierce tigress, and don’t you ever think otherwise.” as he approached her, kissing her cheek and placing a hand on her belly. “The little cub seems to think so, too.” he chortled, referring to their baby who had not stopped tossing and turning in her confined space since earlier this morning.

“I think she’s excited. She’s been sticking her feet in my rib cage all day and won’t stop.” Nadia told the couple, both of them smiling in response.

Before she knew it, they whisked her away back into her bedroom to help with her hair and makeup, something she didn’t even think about doing on account of how exhausted she was, leaving Phoebe and Joe to do the rest of the grunt work around the house.

Almost immediately after Freddie and Jim were finished with pampering their surrogate, the doorbell rang, and upon Phoebe answering it, everyone who was invited seemed to pour into the Garden Lodge in seemingly all at once. The trio in Nadia’s bedroom ran to the entrance and exchanged greetings, hugs, and kisses en masse with all of their guests. Nadia was rather overwhelmed, but was saved by Phoebe, who somehow managed to find her in the sea of people and have her sit back in the living room.

“Don’t worry, they’ll all come to you.” he whispered to her as he helped her sit down, hoping that for Freddie and Jim’s sake she wouldn’t leave that spot too often.

Just like he said, everyone seemed to eventually gravitate towards the expectant mother, bombarding her with questions about how she and the baby were faring, complimenting her on her new dress, and offering any sort of help that she may need to get through the day. Little Joshua Deacon, Deaky and Veronica’s youngest child at two years old, immediately hugged his former nanny as tightly as he could and plopped down onto her lap, having no intention of detaching himself from her anytime soon.

The party seemed to go by in a blur to Nadia, who more or less remained seated on the chaise the entire time, with the exception of getting up to pee, something that happened quite often. Everyone in the house would not let her stand up, especially Freddie and Jim, who insisted that they bring everything to her. It was slightly irritating, but she appreciated that so many people were concerned for her. The only time that Nadia got up other than to pee was when Freddie wanted to take a photograph of her and Dominique, Roger’s long-time partner, together comparing their baby bumps. Dominique was of course pregnant with her and Roger’s second child, but was only about four months along, making Nadia feel gigantic when she stood next to the considerably petite woman. Other than that, she observed Freddie gradually becoming piss-drunk from eggnog, several children running around chasing the cats while a couple others gathered around her to poke and prod at her tummy, asking a lot of questions about their new “cousin;” Kash, Freddie’s sister, and Mary assigned themselves the task of helping Nadia with anything she needed, especially bringing over food and water from the kitchen. At one point, Deaky and Miami herded all the children together into the living room to present Father Christmas, although really Jim in disguise, who gave the little ones an endless amount of gifts. This part of the celebration called for a lot of photo opportunities, including one with an incredibly drunk Roger sitting on Santa Jim’s lap, much to the latter’s discomfort. The festivities seemed to wrap up rather late in the evening, when Freddie gathered everyone around the piano to sing Christmas songs together. Most of the adults were quite tipsy by then, and would occasionally have difficulty remembering some of the words to some of the more easier songs. Nadia wasn’t all too familiar with any of the carols, so she watched in amusement at the chaotic scene in front of her. Jim sat next to her during all of this, letting her rest her head on his shoulder, though he was still dressed up as Father Christmas. Before any of the children got too tired, Brian did the annual tradition of reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas to them beside the tree, with Jim helping before he pretended to depart for the North Pole, meaning change back into his regular clothes.

It was now eleven o’clock at night, and the majority of guests had already departed, the only who stayed behind was Kash, as she would stay the night here out of her brother’s concern for her safety. She had already retired to one of the guest rooms, admittedly having had too much wine during the party. Phoebe and Joe had finally finished cleaning up after the party and were on the sofa sharing a bottle of much-deserved port. Nadia and Jim were both sitting side by side on the other sofa. Last but certainly not least there was Freddie, who was now close to crashing from a combination of tiredness and intoxication, splayed out across both of their laps, laughing hysterically at some wiseacre remark made by Joe, though Nadia didn’t remember what it was. Freddie seemed to calm down as she gently scratched the back of his neck, sighing contently as he looked up at her glowing face.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are, darling.” Freddie managed to slur, making the woman blush furiously.

“No really, I mean it. I really hope that Liza looks like you. And perhaps Jim, of course.” he remarked, bringing one hand to her belly.

Jim looked on and leaned over to give his husband a kiss. Witnessing such a tender moment between the two made Nadia tear up instantaneously. Damn these hormones, she thought to herself before the couple before her were concerned by her perceived sadness.

“You two are going to be the most perfect fathers.” she sobbed, trying to wipe away her tears.

Jim then gave her a big bear hug and muttered,

“I’m glad you think so. As you can tell, we’re getting rather nervous.”

Nadia nodded and chuckled, glancing over at Freddie, whose mood drastically changed, seemingly remembering that he would become a father in just a few short weeks.

Without warning, Freddie sprung up and started pacing nervously, as though he was trying to gather his scattered thoughts. Due to the fact that he was still quite drunk, he stumbled around a bit, trying to keep his balance even though his head was spinning. Nadia didn’t really know what had gotten into him; nevertheless she tried to get up to comfort him, but Jim motioned her to stay seated and got up instead, approaching his husband and taking both of his hands in his own. She couldn’t tell exactly what was going on, but saw that Jim was whispering something inaudible to her in Freddie’s ear, which made him relax a bit more and kiss the Irishman in gratitude. Not wanting to interrupt the moment between the two, she leaned back into the sofa, still watching to make sure everything was alright. The room was now almost dead silent, save for whatever Jim was whispering to Freddie. Phoebe and Joe had paused whatever they were conversing about to look on as well, but they knew that this was just Jim helping Freddie prevent an unanticipated anxiety attack. Joe caught Nadia’s eye from across the room and nodded to her in reassurance, silently telling her that everything was fine, as she had never seen Freddie in such a state before.

This went on for about ten minutes or so, and Freddie eventually went back to his normal self, sitting back down in emotional exhaustion. Nadia, who was next to him, gestured him to lie back down with his head in her lap, which he accepted the invitation for, resting his head on the curve of her massive baby bump and lightly stroking it once he got comfortable. Jim sat down next to the two and put a blanket over Freddie, knowing there was a high possibility of him falling asleep there soon. As he took deep breaths through his nose and out of his mouth, Freddie continued rubbing Nadia’s belly as if he were in a trance, knowing that feeling his daughter move around beneath his hand would soothe him a bit.

“I’m sorry if I worried you, darling.” He said to Nadia after a while, “It’s just becoming more real, you know?”

She nodded in acknowledgement.

“I know. I’m doing fine, but I think the little Eliza’s got the hiccups. She was awfully concerned there.” she quipped as she felt sporadic little flutters coming from her womb.

Freddie chuckled and moved in closer to speak to her bump, all while in constant amazement,

“There there, little love. It’s alright, Daddy’s here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He placed a gentle kiss on her belly, something he had never done before, but it certainly wasn’t unwelcome. Nadia ran her fingers through his hair as he yawned.

“She’s so lucky to have you as her dad,” she added before looking up at Jim next to them, “and you as her Papa.”

“And we’re infinitely lucky to have you, dear.”

Jim reciprocated the compliment and watched as his husband started to drift off.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get up before he falls asleep completely and uses you as a pillow?” he asked, getting up about to wake up his fading husband. “

No, I’ll be fine.” Nadia assured him.

Jim shrugged in response before kissing Nadia’s temple and leaving the room to feed the cats.

“Happy Christmas, dear.” he whispered before sauntering off.

Now it was just Nadia and Freddie alone by the fireplace, as Phoebe and Joe had left go go outside for a smoke a while ago. Freddie was fast asleep already. It was amusing to Nadia how energetic he usually was, but now he slept like a baby in her lap. She took a moment to look over at the elegant Christmas tree a few feet away, and then at the roaring fireplace. Feeling content and without worry, Nadia looked down at her belly and started rubbing it involuntarily.

And to think that little baby would take her first steps in this very room in exactly a year from this day…

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panismightier · 6 years ago

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Generation Three

"Generation Three" is the short story I wrote for my fiction workshop this past semester! It's about 13 pages long (double spaced), so be sure you have time for it! I'll reblog it a few times for a bit after this. CW: a brief mention of suicide.

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I was born in a tin can to die in a tin can.

My name is Sylvia Chavez, and I’m in Generation Three of the Miranda mission. When my parents were kids, old enough to remember but too young to have a say, their parents signed up for the world-expanding, paradigm-shifting mission of interstellar travel. The Miranda mission will take hundreds of people, thousands by the time the ship arrives, to TRAPPIST-1e, and they’ll start a colony there. Build a brave new world.

I won’t be around to see it.

See, the TRAPPIST-1 system is nearly seventy light years away. The Miranda doesn’t travel at the speed of light, only about a third of it. It’s a two-century flight, give or take. One way. Of course.

My life on this ship is pretty straightforward. I won’t have any responsibilities until I hit breeding age around thirty, and then I spit out a few kids and help raise Gen Four.

------

I eat lunch every day with this girl Lauren. That’s it, just Lauren—she was born to very communal, “takes a village” people. Lauren didn’t get a last name, because she’s the whole station’s daughter.

It felt like it, too, when she was born. She’s only sixteen. She was born after everyone thought Gen Three was full, and then Marcus offed himself and Lauren’s parents jumped to fill his slot. I was only eight, but it’s easy to remember how everyone doted on her.

She’s tiny, and not just because she’s young, with pale skin and ratty blonde hair that makes two little ringlets in the front where she twirls it. She’s always in the same worn-out blue sweater, except for the days it’s getting washed, and she always eats applesauce.

Lauren works in fashion design. Not that it means much here. She’s on a team of five, and they make the clothes for everyone on the station. They get to define fashion. Lauren mostly makes pajamas and lounge clothes, though, so I don’t think she cares much how it looks.

She’s scribbling down patterns now. She’s finished her applesauce—she always scarfs the stuff—but she’s waiting for me today.

“Don’t you have a special desk for that?” I ask her, pointing my fork at her patterns. It’s hard, to my untrained eye, to work out what kind of garment it is, but her paper hardly leaves room on the table for my plate.

“Yes,” she says. Eli waves to us on his way out of the lunch hall, but Lauren either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

“Why don’t you use it?”

She shrugs, not looking up from the table. “You’re here. I like you.”

I grin. “I like you, too.”

“I want to show you something after.” Lauren pulls something from her bag that looks like a big, curved ruler and lays it on the table to trace.

“Show me what?” I move my plate to the bench next to me as she shifts the paper to cover the last clear foot of table.

She smiles, but still doesn’t look at me. “It’s a secret.”

------

Lauren’s secret is a tour of where she works. I’ve been there before—I’ve been to every one of the Miranda’s 700-odd acres more times than I can count, and Lauren’s workspace is, frankly, one of the least interesting. Not nearly as fun as the 0-G rec center. Well, Lauren’s always had an odd idea of fun.

She works in a big room on the second floor of the community center, full of long, cloth-strewn desks, scattered dress forms, several mirrors, and a line of sewing machines. Lauren grabs my sleeve and tugs me to the second table from the back. It’s even more of a mess than the others, and she pulls out the pattern she was working on before and drops it over the top of everything. Silently, she pulls up her chair, picks up a pair of scissors, and starts cutting the pattern out.

I watch her for a while, uncertain of what I’m meant to be doing. “Not that this isn’t fascinating,” I lie, “but why did you take me here?”

“I thought you’d want to see. Here, hold this,” Lauren says, shoving a piece of the pattern at me. It looks like the front of a shirt, so I hold it up to my chest.

“See what?” I ask as Lauren starts tugging at the paper, pinning it to my t-shirt. “And what are you doing?”

“Measuring,” Lauren says.

It’s the closest thing to an answer I’ll get out of her. I’ve learned to trust her judgement despite how little she explains. I wait for her to make her marks and unpin the pattern before I ask again: “What did you want me to see?”

She doesn’t stop moving. “This.”

“This what?”

“This.” She lets go of her work long enough to make an expansive gesture around the room.

I follow her gesture, watching carefully for anything terribly interesting. “I don’t get it,” I admit.

Lauren shrugs. “Something. Just something new.”

“There’s nothing new here.”

Lauren doesn’t answer. She moves behind me to pin something to my back.

“Why’d you want to show me something new, then?” I ask, watching her work in the mirror across the room.

“You’re bored all the time,” she says. “You should do something.”

“Like wh—ow!” I flinch away from a pin prick. Lauren mumbles an apology and pats my shoulder where she pricked it. “It’s fine,” I assure her. “I should do something like what?”

“Something,” Lauren says.

I won’t get any specifics out of her, then. “Why should I do anything?” I ask instead. “I have everything I need. It’s nice not to have to do anything.” Like Grandpa’s always told me.

“But are you happy?” Lauren asks around a mouthful of pins.

“What?”

She unpins the pattern, sets it on her desk, and spits out the pins, then leans forward to look me in the eye. “Are you happy?”

------

Grandpa’s putting together a jigsaw puzzle on one of the greenhouse tables. He loves the things. I’ve tried to show him the app on our tablets that would give him thousands of puzzles, with the added benefit of never getting messed up by gravity fluctuations, but he insists on the physical version, something about how the pieces feel in his fingers. There are six jigsaw puzzles on the Miranda. Four are for toddlers, and the other two Grandpa has committed to memory. His favorite is missing three pieces. At least one of those, I ate as a baby.

“Don’t you get bored?” I ask him. The greenhouse is hotter than the rest of the station, so I’ve taken off my shoes and jacket.

He shakes his head, snapping in a new piece every few seconds. “I love that I can do what I want here. That never gets boring.”

“Doesn’t it?” I poke my fingers through holes in the table, even though I’ve gotten them stuck enough times that I should know better.

“Are you getting existential again?”

“Maybe.”

Grandpa sets down his puzzle piece and looks up at me. “Listen, Sylvia,” he says, “I don’t know if there’s some grand design. But I do know that you were lucky enough to be born knowing exactly what you’re for.”

I give a noncommittal grunt.

“Have I told you about the paradox of choice?” Grandpa asks, leaning forward over the table.

“Yes.”

“The more options you have, the less likely you are to be satisfied with what you choose,” Grandpa explains anyway. “You have one choice—”

“—so I have no choice but to be happy with it, I know. I try to gesture, but my finger is stuck in the table. “You know it doesn’t really work that way, right?”

Grandpa chuckles, like he doesn’t think I mean it.

“Lauren asked me earlier if I’m happy,” I say.

“Lauren’s a bit of an oddball.” Like I haven’t heard this from him before. “All the workers are.”

“I know,” I say quietly.

“Why work if they don’t get anything out of it? I’ll never understand them.” He’s gone back to his puzzle, placing piece after piece in neat rows. It’s a picture of the launch of the first Miranda capsule, the little pod that took the first couple families to the station. We use it as storage now. I wonder if Grandpa’s realized he’s just assembling and reassembling a broom closet getting thrown into space.

“What do you get out of puzzles?” I ask.

His mouth opens, silent. “It feels good to finish them,” he says eventually.

“Even though you take them apart again right after?”

“It’s not the same thing,” he says, catching on to where I’m going. “This is a hobby, not work.”

I scowl. “I don’t get it.” I catch sight of a gardener pruning back a hedge behind Grandpa, so I call to them, twisting my finger out of the table to wave them over.

Clive is short and stout, with brown skin slightly wrinkled with smile lines. They’re one of the younger Gen Two people: they were the youngest baby when the mission launched, and moderately famous until Zo became the first baby born on the ship and eclipsed them.

“Why do you do greenhouse stuff?” I ask them. Clive stows their shears in their overalls’ pocket and pulls an exaggerated thinking face.

“Sylvia won’t understand the difference between a job and a hobby,” Grandpa explains, “so maybe you can shed some light. I don’t understand you workers.”

Clive brightens. “Oh, I don’t think there is a difference, for me,” they say. “I work in the greenhouse because I love it, and if it makes other people happy, all the better.”

“So that’s the difference?” I ask. “Work helps somebody else?

“When you ask Lauren for dresses, it’s work,” Grandpa says, “but when she makes you one without you asking, it’s a hobby.”

“There’s no real difference for her.” I’ve asked, and she’s nothing but delighted when people commission her. “Besides, if an artist draws for themselves, but puts the picture up in public, is that work or a hobby?”

“Does it matter?” Clive slides on the bench next to me and folds their gloves on the table. “We only do anything because we want to. Nothing’s really work.”

“I watch you sweat out here every damn day,” Grandpa says.

Clive shrugs. “And I watch you put together those puzzles. Why don’t you glue one and have something to show for it, for once?”

“I’d run out of things to do.” Grandpa’s nearly finished with this puzzle. He can’t have been here longer than an hour. “Besides, someone made sure I wouldn’t have all the pieces.”

I give him a dirty look.

“The nice thing about gardening,” says Clive wisely, “is that you don’t run out of things to do. They stretch their arms over their head, showing the tight muscles in their arms. “That clear things up, Sylv?”

“Yeah,” I lie. “Thanks.”

“Any time!” Clive scoots back off the bench and tugs their gloves on. “Any chance of a new recruit for my greenhouse squadron?”

I force a smile, but don’t answer as Clive returns to trimming the hedges. Grandpa finishes the puzzle and I stick my fingers in the table.

------

Lauren meets me for lunch the next day with three bandaged fingers and a folded-up grey cloth. “Try this on,” she instructs me without preamble, pushing the cloth at me. “Over your shirt is fine.”

She drops her bag on her usual bench and goes to the kitchen. I shimmy out of my skirt and pull the new dress over my head. It fits impeccably, as always. It’s hard to make out the style from here, but it’s a heavy fabric, almost like canvas, with a loose skirt dropping almost to my ankles. Each side has a pocket big enough to stick my arms in nearly to the elbow. I twirl and smile as the skirt billows out

Lauren returns with applesauce. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I tell her, “Like always. What inspired this one?”

Lauren brightens. She loves talking about her process. “I like the gardeners’ overalls,” she says. “I wanted to make something to remind me of them, but the dress probably isn’t good to work in, so I thought, Sylvia looks like she should work, but doesn’t, so maybe she wants it.” She takes a scoop of applesauce.

For a moment, I’m reeling. The rough fabric scratches at the base of my neck. “What do you mean, I look like I should work?”

“You never answered me yesterday,” Lauren says. “Are you happy?”

I look at the table, one thumb tracing the inside hem of the pocket.

“I’m not unhappy.” “Are you happy?”

“No.” Suddenly, I’m irritated, a heat flaring under my skin. “Is that what you want me to say?”

Lauren swallows the last of her applesauce, and then swallows again, blinking hard. “I was just asking.” She lets the silence hang as she collects herself. “Do you want to get food?”

My stomach growls. “Yes,” I decide, and head towards the cafeteria, the heavy new skirt swishing around my legs.

------

It takes me another four days to visit the greenhouse again, even though Grandpa makes a visit without me. He says when he gets back that Clive asked after my “quest to understand the nature of labor,” so the next day I go myself.

Clive is still there. I’d say they sleep in the greenhouse, if I didn’t know better.

“Hi,” I say, almost nervous. Before Clive can turn around, I ask them,

“Did you mean it about recruiting me for the greenhouse...whatever?”

Their eyes light up. “Of course! Does that mean you’re interested?”

I hesitate, even though I’ve known my answer for four days. “I...think so, yes.”

Clive beams and bounces on to the balls of their feet. “I could hug you!”

“Go ahead.” I grin back and open my arms. Clive is warm and solid and hugs so tight they crush the breath out of me.

Gardening is harder than I thought. Clive is a patient, enthusiastic teacher, but they pile so much on me so fast I have no idea how to absorb it all. After a few hours and a frustrated threat of quitting, they tell me to scrap everything they’ve been telling me, dart into a shed half-hidden in the hedges, and come back with a dried-out pea. “We’ll start slow.”

I take the pea. “We’re planting this, then?” I ask, too exhausted by the past few hours to question them.

“Yep!” How Clive has maintained their enthusiasm is beyond me. “Put it on the ground.”

I do.

“Poke it in with your finger, about an inch deep.”

I do. The soil is cool, and fluffier than I would have expected before Clive’s boot camp.

“Done.”

“Done?” I look up at them. “It took you hours to tell me to stick a pea in the ground?”

“Done for now.” They grin and offer me a hand up. “Sylvia Chavez, that is your pea.”

I blink. “Yeah?”

“You’re its mother. You planted it in the ground, and now it’s your responsibility to water it and check on it and make sure it grows into a healthy pea plant, one that you can pick pods off of and eat right there.”

I gasp. “I’m going to eat my grandchildren?”

Clive snorts, then doubles over laughing. “A poorly-chosen metaphor,” they concede. “The point is, it really doesn’t matter if it’s a job or a hobby. That pea is your something, because it’s your something.” I pull a face.

“Listen, Sylv,” Clive says, their smile fading. “I don’t know you too well, but it seems to me like you’re aimless. Maybe gardening isn’t your calling, but just try it out, okay?”

I wasn’t really prepared to Clive to get serious on me. “Why?”

“In about a month, that pea is going to send little shoots up,” they say, pointing at my finger-shaped hole in the ground. “And I think you might understand then why I garden, and why your grandpa does puzzles.”

“And why Lauren makes dresses?” I ask.

Clive’s smile returns. “And why Maurice cooks, and why Zo cleans things, and why Pax likes singing better when people listen.”

Nervously, I smile back. “Seems like a big ask of a little pea sprout.” “Then you’re giving the pea sprout purpose, too.”

------

A month later, I have a surprise for Lauren. I swore Clive to secrecy, but the greenhouse is public and gossip travels fast on the Miranda, so I’m concerned she already knows. If she does, she hides it well.

I make her close her eyes as I take her to the greenhouse. It’s not a long walk—there are no long walks on the Miranda—and the heat and earthy smell of the greenhouse is strong enough that I see a knowing smile on her face as we approach. She still doesn’t say anything.

I take her to my plant and tell her to open her eyes. She doesn’t see it at first. It’s tiny, barely sprouted an inch out of the ground, and its tiny leaves don’t draw much attention. But when I kneel down to point at it, her face lights up.

“Sylvia!” she says. “You did something!”

“I did!”

She crouches down next to me, then drops to her hands and knees to give the plant a gentle kiss. “You made it grow all by yourself?”

“Clive helped me,” I confess.

“But it’s yours.”

“It’s mine.”

She leans back, sitting on the balls of her feet and looking somewhere over my left shoulder. “How does it feel?”

I look at the plant. How does it feel? This little sprout is alive thanks to me. Its soil is damp (too damp, Clive keeps telling me) thanks to me. How does it feel?

It feels like a lot. There’s been dirt under my fingernails for a month, because Clive’s thick gloves were too clunky for the gentle touch the pea plant needed. My back and legs ache from all the crouching I’m still not used to. A month was long, and more than once I wanted to quit, but Clive threatened to let the pea plant die if I did. To my own surprise, I found I cared too much about the seed to risk calling their bluff.

I feel beaten. I feel proud. I feel tired. I feel full.

I pat the little pea plant’s leaves and glance back up at Lauren. “I’m happy.”

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secret-rendezvous1d · 6 years ago

Text

D E C E M B E R 2 N D

REQUEST Are you doing Alex requests for Blogmas? If so, maybe his and Y/N's first Christmas together since the war and he decides to propose to her?

The first AU of Blogmas and it just had to be Alex - our little, strong-willed but absolutely adorable darling.

A little something different to the original storyline and I’m so pleased with how this one has turned out; it’s probably my favourite one, at the moment, and I hope that you all think positively of this one. There could be some flaws in this one, because the history of the war has never been my strong suit, but I’ve done as much research as I could in order to make this as perfectly factual as possible - and I hope you guys enjoy it.

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read.

Enjoy. xx

2 3 r d D e c e m b e r , 1 9 4 5 .

Alex halted in the entryway.

Fingers working on rolling up the sleeves of his button-up, made from a thick cotton that drowned his upper body and hung loose around the curves that she wished he showed off more often then when he hid them away, that had untucked from his tweed trousers during his afternoon nap. His feet no longer in his wool socks and now slipped into a pair of slippers, smaller than his usual shoe size and barely fitting his foot properly - slippers that she liked to nick when she nipped outside to take the bins out or to put the washing out if the day was delightful or to grab the newspaper from the end of their pathway when the paperboy had dropped it off on his cycle down their street. And he must have slept longer than he had expected himself to sleep because, by the time he opened his eyes and took in the state of the bedroom, the afternoon had turned into night and the natural light that filtered into the room had turned into darkness, with all but a slither of light creeping under the gap of the bedroom door. The house was unusually silent from any chatter, because his sister liked to pop by on her way home from work at this time of the early-evening, and there was no static coming from the speakers, that would usually be switched on whilst his wife cooked dinner, and he had noticed that the television was switched off when he scuffed through the living room.

Before him was a sight that he had always adored.

On their first Christmas spent together, two years before the second world war had broke out, he had unintentionally walked in on his mother teaching her how to make Christmas decorations. After a walk out with his father to collect wood for their open-fire and to stop off at the shops to see if there was anything they could feast upon. Catching them rummaging through scraps of old newspaper from his father’s collection and crumpled pieces of paper that were covered in scribbles and Sunday shopping lists and addresses belonging to his mother’s friends that were sitting in piles on the tiny kitchen table, set beside mugs of warm tea and biscuits that Anne had brought home from her shift at the bakery on the corner of the street. A chainlink of circles, made from torn strips of paper and long enough to hang over the edge of the table, as they shared personal stories - and no doubt stories about Alex and his childhood - and giggled amongst themselves.

On their second Christmas spent together, they were in their own home and settling in as a couple who were taking the next step of their life together. He failed to notice how his newspapers went missing until he caught YN, sitting at the table with cake on a plate and scissors in her hand and the radio playing a beautiful rendition of ‘Winter Wonderland’, with sticky fingers and paper stuck to her fingertips and humming along to the merry melody filling the warm kitchen. And it dawned on him, in that moment, that he could never find his paper after he read the headlines because she took his papers soon after he was done with his morning bathroom routine. A homemade chain link curled up on the chair beside her, another hung above the kitchen door as she worked on another... that had been made too-long and she ending up draping it over her shoulders to give herself more space.

What they had expected to be their third Christmas spent together, and having made plans to have both families join them for Christmas and feeling the excitement of being with everyone that they considered their nearest and dearest, had been brutally torn away from them with a sudden announcement that England was going to war... again. That all young men were due to be drafted off in September with no given date as to when they would be arriving home. YN didn’t know when she was going to see her loverboy again, Anne didn’t know when she was going to see her son again, Gemma didn’t know when she was going to see her brother again and Alex didn’t know whether he was going to come home safe and uninjured... and he could bear to think about whether he would die fighting for his country or whether he would come back as a brave soldier who helped save their country. Never to spend Christmas with his girl again. Never to eat a delicious dinner that she managed to cook up from whatever they had in their fridge.. Never to playfully scold her for taking his newspapers after he read them. Never to see her make paper chains and call for him so he could pin them to the ceiling. Never to kiss her under the mistletoe again.

Before him was a sight that he had longed to see when he was deeply hidden in a dug-out trench and surrounded by blown pieces of shrapnel, dead bullets that had missed a target and the dead bodies of soldiers he would smile at in the mornings, share soup with at lunch and who he would sit beside at night and share a blanket with as the weather turned south and brought an horrific chill to the air. A sight that kept him going when things got tough, when things got to a point where all he wanted was to give up and cower away and because he was determined to make it home safe, alive and well, to spend the festivities with those who he loved and adored and missed. A sight that seemed to be his guardian angel; all he needed to think about was her and his strength had been regained. To fight the bastards that never showed signs in giving up.

YN, deep in her creative mind and dressed in a beautifully-bright sundress (despite how cold and nippy the weather was outside), making the paper chains that his mother had taught her how to make.

“So,” he hummed lowly, hands clasped behind his back as he leant against the doorframe of their kitchen, “this is where my morning papers go in December, huh?”

YN glanced over her shoulder and blushed a deep magenta pink, darker than the speckled flecks of pink in the pattern of her sundress, as she took in his rugged yet sleepy appearance; his tousled hair that looked knotted and stood in all directions and curled around his earlobes, after having grown longer in the few months he’d been home from fighting, and his deep green eyes were bleary and misty and made him look disorientated. His pigeon-toed feet, that were clad in his slippers, making him look clumsy.

“It was folded up and placed on the kitchen table this morning. I thought you were finished with it,” she admitted, her eyes widening in sudden realisation, and he scuffed across the wood floor of their tiny home with a hearty chuckle hissing between his clenched teeth. The wind blowing and howling outside, rattling the windows of the kitchen, rustling the trees of their garden and blowing thin and crispy leaves through the air. “Were you not finished with it?”

“I only had the crossword to do. Was going to do it in bed tonight when we settled down,” he spoke softly, rubbing his belly before cupping her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. His nose deeply inhaling the flowery smell of her perfume that seemed to follow her and fill any room with an inviting aroma. “What are you doing anyway? I thought you would have come and joined me during my nap. Never pass up on a sleep in this weather.”

“You looked pretty tired when you came home from your shift at the florist so I thought I’d let you sleep for a little bit,” she tilted her head back and looked up at him, smiling widely at the slight stubble that looked scruffy and sprouted from his skin in patches along his jawline. His lips looking a delicious pink and a dribble of toothpaste seemed to have caught at the corner of his mouth from that morning; that he must have missed because it was a little speck but didn’t seem to miss her eyes. He looked refreshed and it felt nice to have him home. “You deserve some uninterrupted sleep and I had lots to do anyway.”

“Lots to do like... tearing up my newspaper?”

“I’m actually making some Christmas decor for the house. Your family are coming around tomorrow and our home doesn’t look... christmas-y yet, does it?” She informed him, frowning as his presence disappeared from behind her, swivelling in her chair to watch him reach up for his mug in the cupboard above the cooker. “I think your mum would like to see it a little more decorated, don’t you? She gave up decorating when the war started because she was needed at the factory and I went to see her last week and there was nothing around the house that screamed Christmas.”

His body leaned over the counter as he reached for the kettle, left beneath a knitted tea-cosy that YN must have made whilst he was away from home, for whenever either of them fancied a beverage to warm them up from the bitterness in the air. A bitterness that billowed in from the cracks in the wood of their window panes, came from down the chimney because they hadn’t covered it up, and from the gaps at the bottom of their front door that he had been meaning to fix - but that was before he was sent for physicals and drafted as a soldier. She didn’t have the heart to remind him that he needed to be a domestic boyfriend because he’d lost a lot of strength in the six years he was away.

“Not everyone wants to jump back into the Christmas happiness when the war has only just finished. Only months ago were people fighting for their lives in gunfire,” he bit back and she couldn’t help but let her eyes fall to the ground as she felt guilt slither through her veins. The clang of the lid closing echoing around the room and making her jump as she jerked in her seat yet didn’t bottle enough courage to look at him. “People lost loved ones, YN. They lost friends, brothers, boyfriends, husbands. Families are broken up. Their first Christmas without their loved ones. We might have been one of the lucky few families but-” he scoffed heavily as he set the kettle down on the cooker, allowing the water to heat up, and spun around swiftly, fingers tugging on his hair with the sudden burst of anger that broke free. His usual reflex when he felt angry. “-But some people weren’t so lucky. Mum is sensitive about this. The first world war broke her to bits because she lost her father so close to the end. She was probably terrified to have lost me in the fight. My death would have been out of my control.”

A shaky sigh left his mouth before he looked at her; her eyes watering and her bottom lip fighting the urge to keep quivering, biting back tears as she refused to let them fall. Refused to make him feel guilt for a burst of emotion that he couldn’t control himself. His heart thudding in his chest.

“Oh, darling-”

“No, Alex. I understand,” she whispered. Her eyes slowly driving up his body; from his slipper-clad feet to the tweed knees of his trousers to the twiddling of his thumbs to the soft expression that took over his features when he realised he’d spoken so coldly to her. His arms stretching out and his fingers wiggling as he offered them for her to hold - something she couldn’t have left him hanging over - and she gladly accepted. Pulling herself up with his help, of course, he brought her to his chest and laid a kiss to her hairline. “I didn’t know about your grandfather.”

“Mum never really speaks about it. I don’t think she grieved properly and,” he sighed and rested his chin upon her head. She knew his sentence had come to an end and she couldn’t find it within her to ask him to go further. “He was amazing. Did so much for us when we needed it so it was a horrible time when we got a telegram. Well, when mum received the telegram. She broke down and it was the worst we’d ever seen her. She cried and cried, changed into a different person, and we were sure she’d never come back to being our mother again.”

He supposed that was another reason why he fought so hard to stay alive.

He couldn’t bear to make his mother feel that worst kind of heartache again. He didn’t want her to break down and go through an episode of pure upset and sadness, that put herself in danger and meant her motherly instincts would dribble away and Gemma would need to pick up the pieces. And if he couldn’t bear to think about his mother feeling that way, because of his death, then he couldn’t ever think about YN going through that.

He didn’t want to think about that.

YN never thought about how she would feel if he never came home; it crossed her mind but she refused to delve deep into where her mind would take her when she was alone with her thoughts. Of course, she would grieve over his loss and cry that they never experienced the life they had always spoken about and she would scream about how unfair it was that he was taken away from her - because all the good people were taken from the world and it just wasn’t fair to those who never deserved it - because she always envisioned a future that involved him, children she made with him, growing old with him, and dying with him after a well-lived life that was full of stories and anecdotes to tell their grandchildren. Watching the world change, adapt for the better, all because of him.

And she couldn’t have felt any more thankful than when she watched him step off the train at the train station.

3 R D S E P T E M B E R , 1 9 4 5.

The train whistled as it approached the station and it took everything within YN to stop herself from following a randomly-chosen carriage until the vehicle came to an abrupt halt. She stood upon her tiptoes - toes which were hidden behind a pair of daisy-covered clogs - as her eyes scanned each and every face, of each and every soldier, that she could see behind the dirty, mud-smeared windows of each carriage that blurred past. Wives, mothers and daughters standing around her, all dressed to the nines and making it a difficulty for her to push her way to the edge of the platform so she could be easily seen if Alex stepped off.

If.

When Winston Churchill’s voice had announced that the end of the war had come to its highly anticipated end, Alex was the first person she had thought of; the man she had kissed before he was sent off to fight in Dunkirk when the war had begun, the man she had helped nurse back to health through his tiny traumas and injuries and his shell-shock that knocked him for six, the man who had allowed her to cry into his neck and cuddle against him when he was called back to fight in the war and had been the only man she hadn’t seen, but had been all she had thought about, for four years.

Four years of survival, herself, and four years of praying and hoping that Alex had survived himself.

With an horrific creak that seemed to stop everyone, who stood on the platform and crowded the exits, in mid-sentence, the doors had opened and in an orderly fashion, like they had been taught during their training, they disembarked the vehicle with eyes searching high and low. Each time she prayed and hoped that he was the next one off, that she would see his tall figure duck down beneath the frame and look for her amongst the many strange faces. And each time she felt a trickle of hope slip away; the chance of him stepping off was one in a thousand... and there were plenty of people around to have her debate the chances.

And there he was.

The twentieth man off the coach - not that she was counting or anything.

Eyes wide as they searched the crowd of patient families who were rocking back and forth with excitement to welcome their loved ones back on home soil. His hair a mess, knotted upon his head and longer than it had been when she last saw him, a face full of scruff because shaving was a luxury that they were lucky to have had in the trenches, and his olive-coloured skin was no longer full of colour and looked pale, tired and jaded, a face smeared and caked with an amount of dirt that seemed to have become a second skin from how thickly it clung to him.

“Alex!”

His head snapped to the left, noticing an arm and a waving hand thrown up in the air, with a dotted sleeve that he knew belonged to his girl. A head bobbing up and down as she jumped on her feet and grinned at him, his boots scuffing across the tarmac as the crowd subconsciously made a path for him to shuffle down. His body language full of trepidation as he opened his arms and went to give her a hug. She looked so beautiful, so elegant and he looked rough and was covered in muck that he was sure would stain her gorgeous dress.

“Alex,” she whispered, taking control as she jumped from her place and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs hooking around his waist as he cupped her thighs and twirled them both around in the minimal space they had available. The feeling of watching eyes, belonging to the strangers around them, didn’t bother them because he was back. Back with her, back home, back to love her, make love to her, to comfort her when she needed a hug and a cuddle in front of the fire and he was back kiss her when she fancied a kiss - thinking about them no longer worried her because she could have them for real, now. “God, I missed you. I missed you, Alex. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, darling,” he cooed softly. And after promising himself that he wouldn’t cry when he saw her, he couldn’t help but let a tear slide down his cheek and dribble into the material upon her shoulder. “I’m home. I’m back home,” he sobbed, eyes stinging which only enticed more tears to break free - his strong personality deteriorating as he pushed his face into her neck and cried with her. Fingers raking through his hair as she undid knots and felt how straggly it had become. “I’m back with you, darling. I’m here. The war, it’s over and I’m back.”

“You’re back,” she squeaked and he chuckled wetly, warm breath hitting her exposed neck, “you’re really back. You’re here.”

She leant back, with the support of his arms holding her to his front, and cupped his face with her shaking hands. Palms holding his cheeks, fingers tickling behind the shells of his ears and her thumbs rubbing his cheeks, outlining his plump lips and stroked his eyebrows upon his browline. He looked different; mature and older and... happier.

“I love you,” she swallowed a sob and smiled, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he laughed, forehead knocking against hers whilst their noses bumped, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I’m never leaving you again. Okay? I’m never leaving you alone again,” he informed her boldly, pulling away from her hug but still leaving his hands upon her hips. Fingers scratching against the material before hooking into the belt of her dress. “I’m staying here, with you, until we’re forced apart. Until someone has to physically take me away from you. Until one of us gets bored with the other. And I can only hope that that never happens because I love you. I love being with you, living with you, love calling you my girlfriend and I love showing you off. Love dancing with you at that god-awful diner down the road and I love holding you and loving you so perfectly. I’m so happy with you, I adore you and-”

He paused suddenly.

A pregnant pause that she wasn’t expecting.

And when she tilted her head back, his face was pinched with a look of thinking and it seemed like he wasn’t expecting himself to pause, either. His mind wracking in his pretty head as his mouth stayed open on the last syllable that had left his mouth; if he was going to say something else, she wished he would say it now because he was confusing her...

“Alex?” She asked wearily, gulping nervously as she wiggled in his hold and bent her elbows, placing her hands upon the backs of his. Fingers curling around his wrists and guiding them away from her body. Eyes scanning his face. “Alex, sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

“I’m-” he grinned widely and held her hands tightly, “I’m so happy with you, I adore you... and, Christ, I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife, I want to be your husband, and I want to be with you for the rest of my life. I want to give you a wedding you deserve, in a church that you choose and with our friends and our families surrounding us. I want to grow old with you, I want to work hard to give you what you deserve and I want to have a family with you,” he watched her eyes go big, circular and showing a ring of white around the coloured orbs that homed her pupils. He knew it wasn’t a good proposal; he didn’t even have a ring, for goodness sake!

But it felt right.

And there was no way he would take his proposal back. There wasn’t a single other woman that he could picture himself spending his life with; YN was the one he had fallen for, the one who was the first girlfriend to meet his family and the one who he loved more than anything, the one he changed to impress and the who he would dream about and look forward to seeing after a hard day, the one who had looked after him when he struggled with shell-shock and could dream of nothing but war and being back on the frontline. She’d been there through so much of his life and he’d been there through so much of her life, even though six years were spent apart with no means of contact but the odd letter they were allowed to write and read, and he couldn’t bear to lose her.

She was it for him.

“Marry me, YN?”

“Marry- you-” she took a sharp intake of breath and covered her mouth with a hand she tore from his hold, “Alex-”

“YN, you mean more to me than anyone. I love you, you love me, we’ve spent so many years of our life as a couple, so why don’t we get married? You always agree when people say we act like we’re already married so why not make it official?” He queried. A look of confusion, possible upset ( he was preparing for heartache because he’d be broken if she said no...) and hope mingling on his features as he waited for an answer. Granted, he knew it was almost a life-changing question that would take huge amounts of thinking but it was painstaking and he needed to know. “Marry me, YN?”

“You’re sure?” She wondered, reaching a hand to cup his cheek and touching his wrinkled forehead. His head nodding up and down. “You really want me to be your wife till the end of time? The one who scolds you for not closing the fridge or not covering the kettle?” And it was in that moment that he remembered - he still hadn’t made his tea and the water was beyond boiling now, most likely, but that could wait because their future was on the cards. He nodded profusely; nothing more. “I love you and-” she pressed up on her toes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “yeah, let’s get married, baby.”

He wrapped his arms around her waist and cackled happily, twirling the both of them around in the open space of their kitchen as she squealed and dug her fingers into his hair. Scratching his scalp and tugging on the knots of his bed-head. No watching strangers to stare at them as they revelled in the excitement of life; a strong deja-vu moment that classed this as the second happiest moment of their lives.

“My wife,” he whispered into her ear and his smile felt bold and prominent against her ear. “my bride-to-be.”

#harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles writing #harry styles prompts #harry styles concepts #harry styles preferences #blogmas 2018 #one direction imagines #one direction preferences #one direction prompts #one direction writing

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2ptonpt · 6 years ago

Text

Thinking Out Loud

Somethin' Bad

Shelby Bates grew up with the Winchesters. Fighting along side them and saving the day as needed, she was living the life she loved with the man she loved. Until a dark family secret comes out and she is kidnapped while Dean can only watch helplessly. Dean struggles to live without her- the only person who ever made him feel like he was worth something, until she shows up years later.

Pairing: Dean Winchester X OC(Shelby Bates)

Word Count: 2,627

Rating: M

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter One: Somethin' Bad

Stand on the bar, stomp your feet, start clappin'

Got a real good feelin' somethin' bad about to happen.

-Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood

"Shelby, hey I was wondering if yo-"

"Jesus Dean, knock next time!" The tall, tanned brunette flung herself on the other side of the musty bed as a twenty year old Dean Winchester barged into the cheap motel room. Instead of turning around like any courteous young gentleman would do in this situation, he stood with his hip cocked and his arms crossed over his chest, with a smirk gracing his lips. The green-eyed man waited a few seconds before speaking.

"You can come out anytime, you know. Nothin I haven't seen before." Shelby rolled her eyes. She could just hear Dean's grin when he called over to her.

"There's a difference between the cheap hookers you bring here every other weekend and the body I work hard to maintain. Thank you very much!" Dean chuckled softly, shaking his head as he turned around. He stared hard at the blinking vacancy light outside the dusty window as he spoke.

"Sorry, just thinkin' out loud. You can come out now Shelby. I'm not looking." Shelby poked her head above the flowery patterned comforter and arched an eyebrow as she quickly grabbed the black sports bra and gray tank top off the bed. She ducked down behind the bed and quickly pulled them on before she snapped back up.

"Okay loser, I'm decent. What did you need? Are John and my dad back yet?" She had a nervous look in her eyes as she asked about their dads. Last time she saw them it was as she ran out of the motel room a few towns back, angry tears in her eyes because they wouldn't take her to the nest where the vampire that had killed a little girl, whom Shelby had taken quite a liking to, was residing. Dean grimaced. That memory was not the best.

Both of their dads had refused to take the young woman on the hunt with them. Dean had been on Shelby’s side; she was the best hunter out of their little posse. He didn’t know why, she had the same training as Dean did. She just seemed like more of a natural when it came to destroying monsters. He shook his thoughts about the huntress away and replied.

"No. I haven't heard from them since yesterday. They caught another hunt so they won't be back for at least another week." Dean smiled when Shelby sat down on the bed with a relieved sigh. She pulled back her long, curly, dark brown hair into a high ponytail, glancing at Dean, who cleared his throat as she raised an eyebrow in questioning. Dean continued,

"Anyway. I was thinking that the bar down the street looked like it had a couple of cowboys just asking for you to kick their ass in pool." At those words Shelby smiled brilliantly. Dean looked away after a second and cleared his throat again, waiting for more of an answer than her sneaky smile.

"Hell yeah! Just let me change. I can go for a run later I guess." Dean nodded and went over to the t.v. and flipped it on, then ungracefully flopped onto the couch. Waiting for Shelby to change, Dean called Bobby's house to see how Sam was doing. No answer. That wasn't unusual. Bobby was always reading up on different legends for the other hunters and Sam was probably holed up in the tiny upstairs spare bedroom with his nose in his school books, trying to live a 'normal high schooler's life'.

Dean snorted and rolled his eyes as he put the cell phone back on the side table just as Shelby came out of the bathroom. She was wearing a loose fitting black tank top with a gray rose on the front. Her blue jean cut-off shorts seemed to elongate her tan, toned legs, which were thick from all the running she did. Shelby would always comment on how much she hated her legs; Dean would just snort and roll his eyes, silently reassuring her she had nothing to worry about.

She was only nineteen but when she went out to the bars, no one asked any questions. She knew how to dress for the occasion. Dean stared at the lean brunette as she slipped two black flower and dragon bracelets around her left wrist. She needed her right wrist cleared for pool. Shelby could feel her companions stare as she buckled her rhinestone studded black belt. She knew the men stared, and sometimes it made her feel self-conscious. But if she wanted to make sure her and Dean ate that week, she needed to look good and innocent while she hustled the bar patrons for their money.

Shelby turned around to look at herself in the dirty mirror while Dean mumbled something about using the toilet before they leave. She sat down on the bed to pull on her stenciled grey, well worn cowgirl boots. Going along with the rose theme for tonight she had black rose studs in her ears and a multi-string beaded necklace. Her final touches were her black rose ring with diamonds lining the petals. She sighed. Her mom loved roses. She stared at herself in the mirror. What would her mom think of her if she saw her now? Hustling guys in dinky bars for money.

She smiled a bit. Her mom was one of the best hunters this side of the states. Her dad used to tell her stories growing up about how her momma would bring home the bread and butter for their little family. He’d say most guys would be jealous the way she would walk around hustling money, but he knew her momma would always love her dad and no other man. Shelby’s smiled brightened a bit at the thought of how much her parents loved each other. Dean cleared his throat for the umpteenth time that night.

“You look fine, Princess.” Shelby rolled her clear green eyes as she turned from the mirror and walked past him. He eyed her figure as she swaggered out the door letting her pony tail down and ruffling her curly hair as she headed towards her dad's royal blue '69 Camaro. Dean rubbed his hands on his pants and jogged out to meet her, slamming the motel door behind him.

"I'll drive there if you drive back." Dean nodded to the girl as she slid into the driver's seat and turned the engine over. They both smiled widely when the engine roared mightily back at them. They had changed the oil, replaced the carburetor, and changed the breaks for most of the morning. Happy with their work, Shelby threw the American classic into first gear and peeled out onto the gravel road, ready to hustle some drunks.

-TOL-

Walking into the dimly lit bar, Shelby headed straight towards the pool tables and grabbed a stick, smiling towards the two young men standing near the empty table. They tipped their cowboy hats a little drunkenly before sharing a look and each grabbing a stick. Dean watched the scene unfold with hard eyes. Shelby could handle herself but that never stopped him from trying to be protective over her. It was a habit after knowing her for almost ten years. His hand instinctively padded his front right pocket, where he felt the familiar bump of her birthday present. Tomorrow, she turned twenty.

Dean smiled openly as he watched Shelby sensually reach around one of the cowboys to grab the cue ball. His friend bumped his shoulder as they watched her bend over to break the balls up. Their smiles faded when almost all of them went in. Her father had taught her well. After about fifteen minutes of watching Shelby crush the Cowboy’s dreams of the night, Dean turned away as a pretty blonde passed by, smiling at him. He looked back at the only constant in his life, questioning if she would be okay for a bit.

He smirked as she held her hand out towards the taller of the two men who had lost horribly. He handed her a wad of twenty dollar bills and walked away solemnly. She looked towards him before rolling her eyes at the blonde standing behind him and laughed, which was her way of saying 'go have your fun'. Dean only hesitated for a moment before the blonde tapped him on the shoulder. Might as well find something to distract him from his huntress for a while. Wait, his?

Shelby sighed as she watched Dean walk out the back door of the bar with the slutty looking blonde. Typical Dean Winchester she thought with a little more sting than she would have liked. She ignored the catch in her throat and counted her wad of cash stoically. She finished and turned around as a couple of bikers eyed the pool tables. She smiled innocently as she sauntered up to them. They looked like fun.

"Hello, boys. Care for a friendly game of pool? I'm trying to practice a bit before my sister gets here." Shelby winked at the end of her sentence. The bikers glanced at her and smiled like the Cheshire Cat. Nodding, they walked past her a little roughly and grabbed some sticks, nodding to her to get the balls ready.

She played her routine like normal, only after collecting the four hundred dollars she had just hustled out of them, they didn't just walk away like the cowboys had. Shelby thanked the men and backed away as calmly as she could while still looking like she wasn't slightly freaking out at the look the older bikers were giving her. Figuring this was a good distance to turn and hightail it outta there, she did just that, only instead of setting eyes on the front door, Shelby came face to... chest with a third biker she hadn't noticed earlier. The guy was easily six and a half feet tall, making her five foot ten inch frame look slightly silly against him. She groaned internally, knowing they would be taking back the four hundred, and probably the two hundred she made from the cowboys earlier.

The third biker, who was sporting a mohawk and tattoos up the sides of his head, growled and grabbed Shelby's upper arms hard, most definitely trying to leave a bruise. Shelby didn't think then, she only acted. She slammed her head into the bikers chin and kneed him in the family jewels. Distracted by the kick, his hands left her arms. Shelby only had time to turn around as the first biker came towards her quickly. He also towered over her and it only slightly intimidated her after her face off with Mr. Tattoo. She smirked and ducked out of his reaching arms, sliding under a bar table and jumping over the pool table.

The second biker, who had tear drop tattoos on his face, screamed before he took his pool stick and swept the young hunter off her feet. This attracted the bartenders attention to the scramble going on and he yelled at the biker. Shelby took the advantage of the distracted creep to grab a beer bottle and smash it over his bald head. She practically flew out the back door of the bar as she heard sirens in the far distance. She opened the passenger side door of her dad's car and roughly grabbed the blonde by her bra strap and yanked her out of the car, landing her on her ass on the asphalt. The bimbo barely had time to catch her top before Shelby's voice rang out, yelling at Dean to DRIVE.

-TOL-

Dean had been having a good ole time forgetting about a familiar brunette huntress until that certain someone literally yanked it from his hands. Shelby mumbled something about never dying her hair blonde for the sake of not being prowled on by Dean. He peered over at the young girl.

"What was that sweetheart; you know mumbling is unbecoming." Shelby scoffed at Dean's sentence before retorting,

"You heard me, ass. I was just thinking out loud." She lowered her voice the best she could to match Deans, which only made him laugh loudly. He turned his head back to the wet pavement and flipped on the windshield wipers. The warm Georgia night finally had the rain the weatherman had been talking about all week. He glanced at the turn for their motel, and did nothing but press the gas harder, driving right past the ugly neon sign.

"Dean, I would really appreciate it if you could turn around. I've not had a good night." Dean looked over at the brunette. She did have a rough night. She could handle herself, sure. But that didn't mean she never felt horrible after the fact. Dean had seen her take down many monsters and not bat an eye. But humans, preferably of the male species were a whole other story for her. Especially when they weren't falling at her feet. Which she seemed oblivious to anyway.

Dean decided not to push her buttons tonight. She was already shaking. He looked at her face in the passing street lamp glow. She was beautiful but she would never say that; and Dean didn't know how to say that. Sure, he slept around with girls a lot. But that was easy, he wasn't worried about what they thought about him. He didn't count on them to save his ass when he tried to go into a djinn nest alone. He smirked at the memory and kept driving. He needed to wait out the cops.

"I'm just gonna drive around the block a couple of times. Don't need the cops finding where our little hustler is staying now do we?" Shelby smiled sheepishly. After looking back out the window as they passed various store fronts and street lights, Shelby slid over to the middle of the front seat and laid her head on Dean's shoulder. Dean smiled softly, finding himself wishing this happened more often, instead of when she was scared; Shelby silently wishing she was brave enough to do this when she wasn't freaked out.

By the time Dean deemed it safe enough to head back to their room, Shelby had fallen asleep. Dean picked her up bridal style and walked slowly to the room. Opening the door as gently as he could without waking Shelby, Dean slipped inside before gliding to the bed and laying the young woman on the ugly patterned comforter. He smiled gently as she rolled over immediately and started to snore lightly. Ha, she owes me ten bucks. Dean pulled her boots off and pulled the heavy cover off of his bed for her, since she was laying on top of hers. Dean slept hot anyway, so he wouldn't need them.

Heading over to his bed he pulled his own boots off and crawled onto the hard mattress. He was almost asleep when Shelby started whimpering. Dean immediately got out of his bed and laid down next to the sleeping girl, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing circles on her back methodically. She stopped her whimpering after a few minutes and Dean sighed, trying to slide out from under her. After he stopped her nightmares most nights he crawled quietly back to his own bed, not wanting to impose on her sleep any more than helping her.

He stopped trying to wriggle out of her hold when she tightened it and spoke. If her face wasn't resting in the crook of his neck he wouldn't have heard her whisper one word.

"Stay."

-TOL-

#2ptonpt #dean winchester #Shelby bates #dean Winchester x oc #Dean x oc #Dean Winchester oc #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #thinking out loud #something bad

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astouract · 5 years ago

Text

cottagecore (a loki fic)

two - being a mortal sucks

Wattpad | ao3

A/N: Told you the next chapter would be longer.

Cas practically slammed the door behind her, leaving the god-turned-gardener on her front step. Something wasn't right. She wasn't supposed to be stationed at the house right next to his, why would they put her there?

Watch him from afar, they had told her, don't get too close. He's still dangerous.

Her heart felt as if it would beat right out of her chest, she noticed, as she placed a hand on her chest and let the door support her. After taking a moment, Cas pushed herself off of the door and wandered into the cottage. It definitely wasn't anything like the Asgardian architecture she was used to, floral patterns and natural wood instead of stark white marble and expensive accents. There was no television, which was almost a relief as she had no idea how to use one. There was, however, a little pink radio on a shabby looking green end table.

A floral sofa was the centerpiece of the room, placed in front of a small fireplace. Small tables held little knickknacks and tiny vases that could only hold one or two flowers. And, actually, it seemed like plants were taking over the house. They were everywhere, Cas realized with a groan. She'd have to water them every day.

She moved on and into the kitchen, where there was not nearly as much counter space as she was used to. The room was a cacophony of different patterns and colors, but somehow it all came together to form one cohesive style. A little round table sat in the corner, with two mismatched chairs and, of course, a potted plant. Everything looked like someone else had used it for twenty years and then dumped it on the side of the road somewhere. Even the gas stove could've used a cleaning. Cooking--yet another thing Cas would have to learn how to do. Fresh herbs hung from the wall above the large window, making the room smell faintly of rosemary and basil.

To the left of the kitchen was a small flight of stairs that led to the second floor, which Cas soon discovered was more of an attic with a bed and some windows. She let her hand trail along the white duvet, feeling its softness under her fingers. It wasn't an Asgard duvet, that's for sure, but Cas had a sneaking suspicion that she may like it more. It was plush and inviting, and she resisted the urge to fall onto the mattress.

A little dresser held flowing skirts and dresses, and a few pairs of jeans. She looked down at her current outfit, her last work of magic before hopping through the portal: a loose yellow shirt with--surprise surprise--white flowers on it, paired with blue jeans that had to be the tightest pants she had ever worn. Not her usual clothing choices, but she was to play the part and do it well. So, flowing dresses and flower crowns it was.

Her feet carried her to the window, where she brushed the curtains aside. She had a clear view down the street, and her eyes landed on Loki's house, where he was on his hands and knees in his garden.

It was so odd, seeing him like this. Loki, God of Mischief, Prince of Asgard, was on his hands and knees digging through dirt to care for fruits and vegetables. Loki, who a week ago would have killed anyone who even looked at him wrong, came over just to help her with a yard sign. His hair had been thrown haphazardly into a top knot, and he'd had dirt smeared on his cheeks. He wasn't in Asgardian robes, trading his armor out for cotton button-ups and flannel pants.

Shaking her head, Cas stepped away from the window and retreated back to the first floor. The rest of the downstairs consisted of a small bathroom and an equally small study, where picture frames hung on the wall presented pressed flowers of all kinds and random journal entries. A wooden desk sat against a big window, and a small bookshelf was tucked into the corner.

Cas made her way back into the kitchen and through the back door, where nature had reclaimed the property. It was immensely overgrown, with so many clusters of weeds and flowers that her eyes couldn't find a place to settle. There was a rotting shed, and a greenhouse hidden behind greenery. Various gardening tools were scattered around the area, and she couldn't even imagine what else might be hiding in the bushes.

"It's. . . Charming." Loki's words echoed in her mind, and Cas rolled her eyes.

She liked a good project.

"Shit shit shit shit!"

Cas clamped her hands down over her ears, rushing into the kitchen and throwing the oven door open. She reached through the billowing smoke and grabbed the pan, crying out and dropping it immediately as burning pain overwhelmed her senses.

"Fuck!" She switched the oven off and held her hands helplessly in front of her, coughing.

She didn't know what to do. Her hands were an angry shade of red, an alarm was blaring from somewhere in the kitchen, and the smoke wouldn't stop billowing out of the oven. Somehow, above all of the noise she was able to hear a series of knocks at her front door. Cas crossed the distance from the kitchen into the living room, and carefully pulled the door open, hissing sharply at the pain rolling through her hands.

Shit.

There, standing on her doorstep for the second time that day, was Loki. Of course it was, because what else could happen when she was supposed to be watching him from afar?

He looked into the house behind her, and back at her with wide eyes. "Is everything okay? I heard the alarms and some loud crashes, and. . . Your house is full of smoke." His gaze asked what he wouldn't say out loud--asked if she needed help. Norns, he was practically begging her to let him help.

Who even was he?

Cas sighed, and then she did the unthinkable: she stepped aside to let him in. He followed her into the kitchen, and she realized just how much of a mess she'd made. The oven door was hanging open, with smoke still billowing out relentlessly, and there were charred cookies all over the floor. The baking pan was upside down in the middle of the room, but Loki didn't seem to notice as he rushed around the room trying to reconcile the smoke issue.

"What happened?" He asked breathlessly, propping the back door open and sliding every window open that he could.

"I made cookies."

"I can't," she murmured, looking down at her hands. Loki's gaze followed.

"Fuck." He sucked in a breath, "You need to take care of that."

I would, if I could use my magic, her subconscious snapped.

He turned on the sink, and gently guided her hands into the cool water. "I think you have second degree burns. You should keep your hands in the water for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes?"

Loki didn't seem to hear her, lost in thought as he looked around the room. He pulled over the chairs from her table, offering one to Cas before sitting on the other.

"How did you get settled in so quickly?"

Cas shrugged. "It was mostly furnished when I got here, I just had to add a few small things. I only brought one suitcase with me."

"I see. Where did you move from?"

Shit. Why was he interrogating her? Did he know something?

If Cas had a hand available, she would've waved it dismissively. "Just some run down old town about a day's trip north of here." The lie came effortlessly, and Loki accepted it with a nod.

"Where's your bathroom?"

"To the left of the entry." Cas grimaced, not daring to move her fingers.

Loki disappeared into the next room, and returned a moment later with gauze bandage. "It's going to hurt, but you have to wash your hands with soap before I can wrap them."

"What?" Cas asked stupidly.

Loki took the soap from beside her sink and squirted a bit into her open hands. "Just wash them real quick. Please."

God, being mortal sucked.

She did as told, and Loki turned off the tap before grabbing the gauze. "I'm going to wrap them now, okay?"

Cas nodded. She offered him a hand, and he began to unwind the bandage with extreme delicacy onto her skin. It was mesmerizing, watching someone who she knew to be an actual war criminal act so selflessly. Gone was the dark, brooding prince, and standing in his place was a mortal, kind and simple. And concentrating.

Cas' gaze wandered up to his furrowed brow, to his tousled raven hair. To his eyes, deep green and focused, and she realized that there were actually mesmerizing specks of gold in them. If she didn't know better, she never would have guessed that the man in front of her had been through a lifetime of heartbreak and resentment. His eyes held countless stories, but they weren't those of the God of Mischief. They belonged to Loki Prim, the gardener and friendly neighbor.

Loki released one hand and moved onto the next, and suddenly, those green eyes were staring right back at her. Her breath hitched, and for one, fleeting moment, she was swept up. The atmosphere felt different, like a static electricity clung to the air surrounding them.

Snap out of it, she scolded herself, he's a prisoner. This isn't really him.

Thrown back into reality, her cheeks flushed pink as she tore her gaze back to her bandaged hands.

You're a powerful sorceress. Get a grip.

"That should do it," Loki said softly, blinking a few times as if he too was just returning from the clouds. "And look, the smoke has cleared!"

Cas grimaced as he collected the charred cookies from the floor. "Sorry about all this."

Loki only grinned, putting the dented pan in the sink. "I'm more than happy to help."

They walked together back through the house, and ended up back on her front steps for the third time that day. The sun was setting behind the trees, the sky a breathtaking canvas of oranges, yellows, and pinks. The world outside was quiet, peaceful.

"Seriously," Loki emphasized, turning to face her. "If you need anything. You know where to find me." He offered a sympathetic smile.

And, unfortunately, you know where to find me.

Loki pointed to her hands. "You should take the bandages off in the morning and see what the burns look like; your hands will get progressively worse over the next twenty-four hours or so. Whatever you do, don't apply ice. And, don't apply any ointment until the burns have cooled. Make sure you keep them clean and wrapped."

Cas cocked her head slightly to the side, regarding him curiously. "How do you know all of this?"

Loki smiled to his eyes, awkwardly scratching the back of his head. "I was a boy scout."

"Oh." Cas had absolutely no idea what a boy scout was, but based on his reaction, it was embarrassing.

Loki rubbed his hands together--something that Cas wouldn't be doing for a couple days, by the sound of it. "Well, you seem to have had a rather. . . eventful. . . day so I'll leave you to it. Have a good evening, Cas."

"Loki," she called out, stopping him on his way down the steps, "Thank you."

He smiled.

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springdayismyaesthetic · 7 years ago

Text

Barbies: A Jimin One-Shot

Genre: Romance; Unrequited love??? I don’t know what genre this is

Pairings: Jiminxreader

Warnings: angst, lots of angst, character death, some fluff, and slight swearing.

Word count: 3042

Author’s Note: This is based loosely around the song: Barbies by P!nk, one of my favorite songs to listen to. I actually cried while writing this and I love it. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do. I know I’m not the best writer but I can see the improvement I’ve made. Enjoy!

Oh, I wish I could go back to playing barbies in my room

They never say that you gotta grow up, quite this soon

How fast things change, and now I'm here and all I wanna do

Is go back to playing barbies in my room

Your mother and father had always told you to be careful with your heart. It was a precious stone that could crack with the slightest tremor. And so you protected it with all your might, or so you thought. Heartbreak was something that was unexplainable to you, it was a heart-wrenching pain that delved deep into your core. It felt as if your whole body would split apart the time your cat had passed. Mittens was the one who was there for your first steps, first words, first everything. It was the first day of kindergarten when Mittens got sick. Jimin Park, a dark-haired boy, noticed your tears and tried to console you, offering hugs, candy, trying anything to see your smile. Jimin grew to be your friend, the two of you unstoppable against the rest of the world. He would come over and play on rainy days, when his parents both had to go in to work due to the weather. You weren’t sure what exactly they did, but you were happy to spend time with Jimin. He put up with playing barbies for hours on end, brushing their hair and dressing them, he even played along to your ridiculous soap opera stories, throwing the hated Jessica doll down the stairs in the end. Both of your giggles would fill the air as the toy was sent tumbling down the stairs, looking back, you wish you could go back to those days. They were dull days, no worries or care in the world except for who Ken would date next. Sadly when Jimin grew older, he turned into your Ken doll. The girls all hovering and cooing over him and into middle school, you disappeared from his life.

You didn’t disappear entirely from his life; he still came over to study with you. Those nights were your favorite; you got to see the real him, the one without all the fake smiles he gave to everyone else. One night, in particular, stuck out to you, where you knew that you could never overstep the boundaries of friendship. “My parents are splitting up.” He said, two years into high school and his family was falling apart. He trusted you enough to spill his worries, trusted you enough to keep his secret, to be his shoulder at this time, and you were. He cried into your shoulder for hours that night, the math homework lying incomplete on the table. Your shirt was stained with tears as he cried into your neck, your shaky hands drifted up and down his back in a soothing pattern. “I’m here.” you quietly say once he seems to calm down, “Thank you, Y/N,” He says quietly in return, not moving from your shoulder, his now dyed blonde hair, tickling your neck. He leaves quietly about an hour later, just hums of acknowledgement leaving his throat. Jimin changes after that, once his parents split up, he becomes a whole new person to you.He has new friends now in his third year of high school. A group of seven altogether and you left on the sidelines to watch. His popularity grows, and he soon has a girlfriend, leaving your heart to break for the first time. Silently you lock yourself up in your room, you mother knocking on the door for dinner. “I’m not hungry.” Your reply from your bed, tear-stained pillowcases surrounding your head. You think back to the old days, where the Barbies in your attic brought the most joy to you.

Jimin seems to have a new girlfriend every couple months from your view. He always gets tired, leaving them crying in the hallway of your school, leaving you staring from your locker at his dyed blonde hair, his eyes meeting yours for an instant, before turning away. Things changed so fast; your friendship was like walking on eggshells when he came over to study. It happened less frequently now, and within months he was gone, drifting away with his newfound friends. Gathering your strength, you finished high school with strong and flying colors. Graduating third in your class and headed off to college to be an actress. Portraying stories had always been a fun hobby of yours, and now here you were, fulfilling your dreams ever so slowly. Somehow Jimin Park ended up going to the same school as you, and miraculously you had some of the same classes as him. Fate has a funny way of playing the game sometimes, you think, fate is a cruel joke, the other side of your mind says. Jimin slowly comes back into your life, thanks to the two classes you have together at University. Jimin wants to be a music teacher, his love for singing was easy to spot, even at just a glance. His now pastel pink dyed hair helped accentuate his features, almond eyes shaping into crescents when he smiled. His laugh brought you the most joy, making butterflies bubble in your stomach. That’s when you realize you truly love him. When the simple questions he asks has your heart beating faster, and the light touches against your hand leave a static shock behind. So, with gritted teeth you ask him to coffee, your hands shaking with fear. Jimin smiles, a real one, and accepts, your heart flying through the roof. Finally, after years you had a real chance with him.

It was an unfortunate chance really; the odds had never really been in your favor with Jimin. The spark is going up in flames just to burn out a week later. The coffee date started wonderfully, him being a gentleman, paying for your coffee, giving you his jacket to hide your shoulders from the chilly spring day. You notice all the little things after that, the way he seems to turn his body away from you, his glances to the pretty barista at the counter, and the way he keeps glancing at his phone. It comes to the point where he pointedly stares at his phone while you talk about the book you just finished reading. It was a beautiful book, about people escaping death and finding love and- he’s texting someone with a little smile on his face. The way his eyes glitter at his phone sends an angry fire racing through your heart. Your heart breaks for the second time in your life, “If you don’t want to be here, you could have just told me Jimin.” You say as calmly as you can. He looks up from his phone, guilt lining his dark eyes. Eyes you had come to love. He opens his mouth to speak, and you shake your head, fighting tears. “Save it Jimin.” You whisper and get up, leaving the cafe quickly and disappearing into the city crowd, mascara leaking down your cheeks. You ended up in a park, wandering as your sniffles filled the quiet air. A cold park bench is where you end up, the metal frigid under your thighs. The one thing on your mind is a wish. To go back to playing barbies in your room. Cold tears slip out of your closed eyes and your crying again, cursing to yourself as you frantically wipe your eyes. Oh, the mess you must look like when people pass by. Giving you sad, pathetic looks. “Y/N.” A low voice says, Jimin, and it has you clenching your fists. “Let’s go home, yeah?” he says, easing you off of the bench. You didn’t speak as he led you back to the dorm, gently closing the door behind him as he leaves you in your room. The smiling face of your favorite barbie staring back at you from her shelf. Your heart shatters, and you are left crying yet again, because really, in what world would Jimin ever love you.

Summer doesn’t come fast enough, and you’re eager to get home to your parents. They take you to a beach this summer, a small one with tiny beach houses lining the shores. Even if it was only a couple of weeks long, it was the best time of your life, spending time with your parents together. There was one night, you sitting on the edge of the beach, water lapping up onto your legs. The sea was calm tonight, gently urging itself farther up the sand. Your bare legs have goosebumps rising on them, and a lone seagull yells across the sea. The gentle wind blows your hair off of your shoulders, and you close your eyes, basking in the quiet moment. The moon’s lowlight is sparkling off the water. You turn your head, seeing that you’re not alone. A tall, pink-haired man is staring at you from across the beach. “How on earth had he ended up here.” you think to yourself and instantly connect the dots, your mother had said something about inviting him to come visit the beach house tonight. With a silent groan, you turn your head back to the sea, feeling his gaze pierce your shoulders. “Um, hey, Y/N,” he says softly behind you, in which you hum in return, “The sea is beautiful tonight, isn’t it,” you say carefully and feel him sit down in the sand next to you. Heart thumping in your chest you stare at the sea, wishing your heart would just shut up and forget about the boy sitting next to you. “Are we still friends?” Jimin asks, his voice filled with worry and concern, “I know I hurt you at the cafe, and I’m sorry.” His apology comes out of nowhere, and it has you biting your lip in thought. “Yes, we can still be friends.” it comes out softly, almost a whisper. It’s the worst thing you’ve ever said, it will be the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but his quiet answer of “Thank you.” has your face heating up and butterflies fluttering through your stomach. You spend the rest of the night staring at the sea; you sit until the sun rises and Jimin stands to leave.

The worst day of your life is when you go to a small party at a cafe. Jimin joined a band, and he asked you to come to his first performance, reluctantly you went to the little scene and watched him perform. He was fantastic and sang his heart out; the other members were all part of his high school group of friends. After the performance he gave you a sweaty hug, lingering for just a second too long and sending your brain into a frenzy. The quiet ringing of your cell phone has you picking it up. An unknown number flashes across the screen, and you answer, giving Jimin a concerned look. “Hello?” you ask, a woman’s voice fills your ear, the words you never thought you would hear flow easily through the small speaker. “Is this Y/N L/N?” with a short answer of “Yes.” She continues, “I’m sorry, miss L/N, there’s been an accident, your parents are in the hospital, I’m afraid they have little time left.” The rest of the words are being tuned out as the phone drops from your hand, knees quaking together as the words connect in your head. Jimin is catching your falling body; his words are mushed together as your brain tries to understand what is happening. He picks up your dropped phone, putting it to his ears and saying a few words the to the woman across the line. “We’ll be there,” he says shortly. Quickly he drags you to his car, sliding you into the passenger seat, you’re shocked form speechless and hands shaking. He’s turning your head towards him, “Hey, Y/N I’m here, okay? We’re going to the hospital; everything is going to be okay.” He lies so quickly, and your heart is breaking a third time, but not for him, for your parents. The funeral comes immediately, a black dress slinks down your thighs and reaches the grass, and a black umbrella stands tall over you. Jimin stands tall beside you, a strong arm wrapped around your shoulders as the coffins are lowered into the ground. Later, you’re hiding in the attic, setting up your barbies, makeup staining your cheeks as you pretend that everything is okay.

Jimin’s light in your life seems to grow every day, he brings food over to your house each night and helps you go grocery shopping once a week. Your parents had left you everything, the house, the car, and money. It was undoubtedly a curse. To walk your home and see memories of their lives on every wall, every room, it leaves you shaking and running to the bathroom to throw up. You can’t imagine living in a world without them, a world without their smiles and laughter. There are bad days during grief, and there are good days. The good days consist of small smiles to Jimin’s goofy behavior, him forcing you to dance in your kitchen, and most of all him growing closer to you. The bad days seem to outnumber the good the first few months after the funeral. You had refused to eat the first week, making yourself sick to the point of dry heaving in the bathroom, smiling family pictures laughing at your shaking form next to the toilet. Jimin finds you next to the toilet, his spare key coming in handy when he rang the doorbell. His eyes are filled with sadness as he wipes your face off and fixes your ponytail. He helps you to bed, curling up next to your unmoving form. “I miss them.” you say, “I know,” he replies, letting his arms envelop you to his chest.

Slowly, you realize just how strong your feelings are for Jimin, just how there his is for you. How unmoving he is as your best friend. Even if his band is getting more popular and he is booking his first small tour, he still makes time for you and even gets you to go along with him on tour. It’s the first night back in your town, him walking you home, when he confesses out of the blue. “Hey, can we stop for a second?” he asks, hands fidgeting in front of him and his eyes glance around. “I know I haven’t been the best person to you, God, I was horrible to you.” He pushes a hand through his hair as he struggles to get his words out, “But I can’t help but to keep falling for you every damn day, Y/N, I- fuck.” he swears, laughing softly, “I’m horrible at words.” he says and your heart tightens in your chest, fingers clasping together in front of you, “It’s you, it’s always been you, and I tried to change that, I was scared to fall in love. I was scared to hurt you.” He’s speaking faster now, as if he’s running out of time to speak and your mouth is dry while your heart is dancing in your chest. “I know I’m not doing this right, but I am in love with you, and nothing will ever change that. I loved you the moment I first saw you, when you were crying about Mittens. I loved you when I played barbies with you. I loved you when I told you about my parents. I loved you when you asked me to coffee. I loved you when I was a horrible jerk to you. I will never stop loving you, I can’t get you out of my damn head.” He says, tears filling your eyes and he sees this, hands gripping your shoulders. “Was it something I said? Did I hurt your feelings? I’m so sorry, oh my God, how do I fix this. Don’t cry. Please.” His concern has a soft laugh escaping your throat. “I love you too, idiot.” You say and his smile lightens up your entire world. You’ve chased after this moment your entire life and it’s finally here. He’s pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips as you hook a hand around his neck. He’s laughing against your lips. It’s funny how fast things change in life.

Three years have passed, and the daughter of your dreams sits comfortably in your husband’s lap. Jimin snores softly on the couch, Mina pressing short fingers into his cheeks, her hair as black as her fathers once was. Ever so gently you picked her up off of Jimin’s sleeping and carried her up to her room, eager to show her what you had brought down from the attic. She squeals at seeing the number of dolls on her floor. Your barbies have a different purpose now, and it makes your heart swell. She sits quietly now, brushing a doll’s hair and humming to herself softly. The one in your hand had stark blonde hair, and the smile you once hated on her face was now dear to you. You softly left Mina to herself and headed back down the hall of your house, bumping into Jimin’s tired body at the top of the stairs. “Careful, love.” His tired voice laughs, hooking an arm around your waist, he holds you close and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Is that Jessica?!” He laughs, taking the doll from your hands with glee, “It is.” you laugh in return, leaning into his chest. With a smirk he tosses the doll down the stairs, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips. “I love you.” He says against your lips and Mina runs out of her room and into your legs. You wouldn’t want it any other way. You don’t wish you could go back in time anymore; you’re glad of where life had taken you. Here with Jimin and Mina, life is perfect.

#park jimin #I spy some angst #unrequited love #lots of angst #wow #I'm in an angsty mood #plus this is a sad song #sooo #who can blame me #bts #bts angst #bts fluff #bts au #bts is my life #i love bts #so much #with all my heart #haha #okay i'm done now

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therabidjackalope · 5 years ago

Text

A Sakti’s Smile

Ethan sighed in relief as he felt the carriage come to a halt. The long ride had not been a smooth one and he ached in more places than he could name. He couldn't wait to step out and stretch his legs after spending so many hours sitting on the hard wooden bench seat. The thin padding had barely softened its surface.

When the door to his enclosed carriage was opened, the man scurried out as quickly as his stiffened limbs would allow and pretended to adjust is clothing as he did some much-needed stretching. He then straightened his back and took a deep breath of fresh air. How sweet it smelled after all that time within the stale carriage.

He finally turned to his driver and smiled. “Are we finally there or is this another break for the kordox?”

“We are here, sir.” The driver replied with a small bow. “Sish Metow.”

“Ah, Sish Metow.” He repeated to himself as he began to look around at his surroundings. “At long last.” The carriage was stopped in front of an elaborate gate surrounding a large building of stone. From a distance, there was no obvious break for the bricks and mortar, as if the entire thing had been carved from a single boulder. Given the rumored magical ability of the sakti, it would not surprise Ethan if it were true.

Movement drew his gave to a growing shadow as a hidden door opened within the building. A moment later, a figure slipped free of the entryway and began to make its way down the paved pathway toward the gate. The figure was covered in elaborate, colorful robes and sashes, which hung freely from its slender form and danced back and forth mere inches from the ground without touching it. The figure seemed to glide rather than walk down the pathway, the gates opening as it approached.

Ethan straightened his stiff back, hiding a groan of pain as he did so, and raised his head, striking his most dignified pose. As the robed figure came to stand before him, he gave a deep bow, biting back a grimace of discomfort. “Greetings and well met, sakti.” He said politely.

The robed figure, face still covered in shadow and veil, returned the bow before reaching up to pull back the hood. A decidedly feline face stared back at him. Eyes blue as the purest sapphires peeked out from a mask of dark fur. Dark ears marred an otherwise cream-colored head. “Greetings and welcome, human.” The sakti finally replied, her voice soft and undeniably feminine. “I hope your trip here was not too taxing.”

“Not at all.” Ethan lied smoothly. He raised one hand, his palm facing the sakti in a gesture of greeting. “My name is Ethan Dunn of the Flat Lands, and I come on behalf of my king, Trenton Gladwell the third, who also sends his regards. We are quite eager to open trading between our people. Sakti goods are unmatched anywhere in the world.”

The sakti smiled, her puffed cheeks pulling back slightly to expose her tiny sharp teeth. “I am Seelale Mirris Raerem Niatas mu Sesen of the sakti.” The sakti's eyes relaxed slightly. “You are well met, Ethan Dunn of the Flat Lands.”

“Please, call me Ethan.” The ambassador said with a small bow of his head. “No need to be so formal, I like to think our two people will be on very friendly terms by the time I go home.”

“Very well, Ethan, then you may call me Mirris. May our friendship bloom like the flowers of the gardens.” The sakti's voice was nothing but polite, but somehow Ethan felt as if he were being mocked. “You must be tired after your long travel. Come, you may refresh yourself before we speak further.” The sakti turned and began to walk back along the path, not once looking back to see if she was being followed.

Ethan glanced back at his driver. “Please bring my bags.” He said before hurrying after the retreating sakti. As soon as he crossed the gate, the ambassador was surprised at all the blooming flowers that had lain hidden just out of sight. A rainbow of exotic blooms filled almost every bit of space to either side of the path. A small rock pond peeked out from a ring of orange lilies. Insects, every bit as colorful as the flowers, flitted back and forth among the petals. It was a stark contrast to the mostly empty and sometimes even barren lands just outside of the ivy-covered walls.

Ethan was so taken in by the beauty of the flowers that he nearly collided with the sakti, which had stopped walking to watch him with amusement. “Do you find them to your liking, Ethan?” Mirris asked as he finally took notice of her.

“Breath-taking.” He sighed, taking another glance at the flowers before turning his attention back to his guide. “I'm afraid there's nothing like this back in my kingdom.”

“Pity that.” Mirris replied. Although there was no hint of scorn in her tone, Ethan once again felt as if he were being mocked. Before he could reply, she turned and continued up the path.

As the pair approached the stone building, Ethan studied it again, seeking the signs of construction, or even the placement of the door he had seen Mirris exit from, but not even the smallest crack or line made itself visible to his scrutinizing eye. When they came close to the end of the path, a small black line suddenly appeared, outlining the door, and growing wider the closer they stepped, until the portal was opening soundlessly.

Ethan was amazed at the command of magic he had witnessed so far. He had never once seen a single motion from Mirris that would indicate she was controlling the gate or hidden door, and yet they seemed to follow her demands regardless. He had heard rumors that the sakti were masters of magic and sorcery, but he had never dreamed them to be as powerful as those minor displays of ability were leading him to believe.

His surprise only grew as he entered the stone building. Inside was as bright as the sunlight at full day, the entire wide, open room lit in every corner, but he could not spot a single light source. Not one sconce decorated the walls. Not one torch burned. Not even a single candle flickered within his sight. The walls, as smooth on the inside as the outside, were painted a soothing beige, occasionally decorated with colorful tapestries showing various beasts in flowering gardens. A few showed scenes of monsters being defeated by brave sakti who's names he didn't know.

The floor was covered in soft fabrics that cushioned his every step. Pillows of varying sizes and colors were scattered in a seemingly random pattern across the floor, some of them surrounding the few round wooden tables space near the walls. Various other sakti sat on the pillows, some chatting with each other, some following more solitary pursuits, and a handful were even curled up for naps. The entire atmosphere was very relaxed.

“We have a room for you just this way.” Mirris said, giving a small sweep of her arm to indicate direction. “Your things have already been taken there. Do you wish to freshen up a little before we begin our discussion?”

Ethan turned to look behind him. The wall was once again as unbroken as before, no sign of a door or even a window to show the outside world behind him. His driver had never passed him he was sure. Despite his fascination with the foliage, he was certain he would have noticed. “Um, yes. Yes, I think that sounds like a fine idea.” He said, turning back to his sakti guide. He was finding himself overwhelmed with all the wonders of the strange city. Without comment, the sakti again offered her toothy smile before leading him through the vast room of pillows and into an equally lit hallway.

There were no indications of doors in the hallway, but suddenly Mirris stopped in front of a blank wall and a doorway appeared. Ethan was taken aback by the suddenness of it and fought not to allow his surprise to show. “Take your time, Ethan. Rest if you would like. There's no hurry. I'll be nearby when you have need of me again.” Mirris held out one arm to indicate that he should enter the room, then turned and walked back down the hallway.

As Ethan watched her go, he was struck by the gracefulness of the sakti. They made him feel clumsy and oafish in comparison. Even the most noble of women in his own kingdom could not come near to matching the subtle grace and confidence of the felinish people. He briefly wondered what it would be like to be born among their number as he finally entered the suite.

He was immediately distracted by the opulence of the large room. Tapestries of silk embroidered with gold decorated softly glowing walls. Statues of gold and precious gemstones stood in every corner. The giant pillow that served as a bed was bigger than his entire bedroom back home. Large and plush, covered in warm-looking silk blankets and smaller pillows. Ethan was tempted to leap onto the bed to see how soft it truly was, but as he spied his luggage, as promised, he felt shame course through him. While his kordox-hide bags were quite high quality and in high demand in his own home, next to the fancy trappings of the sakti he felt they looked like a begger's rags.

“What goods could we possibly offer them?” Ethan asked himself. “Wood? Wheat?” He sighed and looked around the room once more, taking in the grandeur of his surroundings. “Do cats even eat wheat? I hope I'm not the mouse, instead.”

It was several hours before he was finally ready to exit his suite, washed and dressed in borrowed sakti finery that had been left for him. While the multi-colored sari was very different from his much more familiar frock coat and trousers, he had to admit that the robe was much more comfortable. It had taken him several minutes to figure out how to apply the multiple layers, and then he had taken several more minutes to get used to the garment. While he could not quite make himself glide as he had seen Mirris do, the looser robe-like outfit did make him feel closer to the gracefulness of his host.

Once he had become comfortable enough to leave his chamber, however, he found himself unable to find the door. He could not even remember which wall it had been set in. Patting the walls with his hands had accomplished nothing. Approaching from the center of the room also failed to yield the desired results. In a desperate attempt he tried saying the words “Open door.” out loud, but only made himself feel foolish. “Now how do I get out of here?” He asked the empty room in exasperation.

As if in response to his words, a hole suddenly appeared in one wall, Mirris standing in the entryway. “Ah good, you're dressed.” She said pleasantly.

Ethan spun toward her, a mix of relief and surprise filling him before giving way to questions. “Ah, I was just about to head out to find you.” He said, attempting to cover up his prior confusion.

“Well then my timing was quite fortunate.” Mirris replied. Her tone was completely polite, but Ethan could not shake the feeling that she was completely aware of his actions before her arrival and was amused by them. “If you'll follow me, we can go somewhere more conducive to our talk.”

Ethan offered his best smile and nodded, moving to follow his guide once again. “I have to say, from what little I've seen, your city is quite beautiful.” He said. “It must take a lot of work to keep everything maintained.”

Mirris glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Not at all.” One of her arms swept outward to indicate their surroundings. “Everything you see has already been established. Once established, only minimal care is needed.”

“That is amazing.” Ethan admitted. “The stories I've heard barely even scratch the surface.”

Mirris offered another smile over her shoulder but volunteered no more information as she led him back through the hall into the pillowed room. As they approached another wall, a door appeared from the smooth surface where nothing seemed to be a moment before. Ethan was beginning to get used to the way doors worked in Sish Metow, but he knew he would never truly become comfortable with the ways of magic.

The sunlight was faded as they exited the building, but the human ambassador still had to blink several times before he was able to see. Puddles of sunlight streamed down in seemingly random places, all claimed by a napping sakti on a pillow. More sakti wandered the open courtyard, a living rainbow of silks and fur. Rope bridges stretched into the woven canopy above his head, also populated by wandering sakti going about their tasks. Hardly any of them seemed to notice the human in their midst, yet Ethan felt as if most of them were watching his every move. He wasn't sure if it was paranoia or more magic at work.

Before he could take another step, however, another strange sight caught his eye. A large circle of sunlight felt on a mound of desert sand in the center of the courtyard. A few rocks and even a single spiked plant populated the circle, but what caught Ethan's attention was the large beast pacing within it. “What in Eidra is THAT thing?” He exclaimed before he was able to catch himself. “I mean...”

“Hm?” Mirris turned to see what he was referring to and gave a small murring sound. “Oh. You mean the Kin?” She asked.

“Kin?” Ethan repeated. “Is that creature another kind of sakti?” Mirris gave him a patient look that Ethan translated to mean “Of course not you foolish fleshie. Why would you ask such a stupid question?” He turned his attention back to the beast to hide his blush. “I just mean...” He let the sentence go unfinished as his words failed him.

“The Kin is what they call themselves.” Mirris explained patiently. “Would you like to see it better? It's no problem at all. Come with me.” With a small gesture of her hand to indicate he should follow her, she turned and headed toward the Kin.

As Ethan came closer he was taken aback by the size of the creature. Easily as big as a kordox, the wolf-like beast stalked with the same grace as the sakti that surrounded it, but where the cat-people had subtly, the Kin had power. Thick cords of muscles rippled beneath it's ragged grey coat. Finger long teeth lined long jaws, exposed every time the creature panted. It's eyes, dulled with age, still flicked from target to target, blazing with hatred and blood lust. Just looking at the creature frightened him down to the marrow of his bones. What frightened him even more was that there was no visible barrier between himself and the vicious creature pacing only a few feet away.

Mirris walked to one of the pillows set near the circle of sand and waved a hand. “Would you like to have a seat?”

Ethan glanced at the pillow, so close to the ring of sand, and ten back to the slavering monster a few feet away. The Kin's nose quivered as it caught the human's scent and it's eyes tracked him while the beast moved back and forth. “I-is it safe? Your, uh... Kin there looks a little hungry.”

Mirris let out a giggle, her voice lyrical. “Of course it's safe.” She replied. “The Kin have sworn to kill us all. You don't think we'd leave one to simply roam around loose, now do you?”

“Well, of course not, Mirris.” Ethan said. “That would indeed be quite... unsafe. But how do you keep this one in place? I don't see a single chain or bar.” Several more pillows surrounded the exhibit, some of them claimed by curious sakti that watched the Kin. A few of them were even younglings.

“Of course you don't.” Mirris replied patiently, as if correcting a child. “We don't need them.” She settled herself on another of the scattered pillows, her gaze falling on the Kin. “We consider him a kind of pet.”

Ethan turned his attention back to the circle of sand. He could see no barrier between where the artificial desert ended and the grass of the courtyard began. Cautiously, he tried to dip a toe into the enclosure and was surprised to find his foot pushed away. Curious, he reached out with his hand and was equally surprised when the empty air seemed to push back against his palm. He tried pushing harder and the force against his hand increased, as if another hand were pushing back against his own with equal force. The harder he pushed against the invisible magic, the harder it pushed back until he finally relaxed, and his hand was gently repelled.

He had been so engrossed in the invisible barrier that he had failed to notice the approach of the Kin. A gust of humid warmth grazed his face and a stench of spoiled meat filled his nostrils. Turning his attention from his still raised hand to the enclosure, his gaze was met by the hateful glare of the Kin a mere few inches from his own face. “Release me, human!” The Kin snarled, the words mangled, barely recognizable, but echoed loudly in Ethan's ears.

Ethan screamed and threw himself backwards, scrambling away on hands and heels as soon as his backside hit the ground.

Safely behind the invisible barrier, the Kin did not advance, but it continued to stare at him, lips lifted to reveal its yellowed teeth. Mirris stepped into view a moment later, extending a hand in offering. She watched him with a relaxed gaze, her eyelids half closed, and there was no sign of scorn on her face. Ethan accepted her help rising to his feet and looked around him as he adjusted his clothing. None of the other sakti gave him so much as a glance, but he felt as if they were all aware of his blunder. “That.... that... that...”

“It's alright, Ethan.” Mirris said soothingly as she placed a hand on his arm. “He takes pleasure in doing that to the kits now and then.”

The man was far too caught in the grip of his terror to be shamed. “It spoke!” He exclaimed. He began stabbing the air with a finger as if the large creature had somehow managed to hide itself. “That thing spoke to me!”

With gentle pressure, Mirris pushed his pointing hand down and led him to the seat. Once he had settled, she sat beside him and turned her gaze back to the Kin. “Yes.” She finally spoke, her voice holding a note of affection. The Kin turned away and went back to the center of it's circle of sand to resume it's pacing. “He can say a few words of common, if badly.”

Ethan stared at his host with wide eyes. “It's intelligent? And you keep this dangerous creature as a pet? Allow it so near your children?”

Mirris did not answer immediately. Her dark ears twitched thoughtfully and her tail, curled around her legs, thumped softly against the ground. Ethan had almost given up on getting a reply when she finally spoke again. “The Kin are proud creatures, but they are also very violent. Our legends say that they were once a race of even more proud and honorable people. But they turned to darkness and were cursed with an existence of misery and bloodshed.”

Ethan looked back at the Kin. He could see the violence in the beast, barely even below the surface. It was a predator surrounded by prey that was just out of reach. “Why do you keep it captive? Why not let it go or put it out of its misery?”

“Despite what you may have heard, Ethan, we are not a bad people.” Mirris chided. “We do not keep him here as a punishment. When we found him, he was badly injured and near death. We had little hope for his recovery when we brought him into our home. But we cared for him anyway. Day by day we nursed him back to health and even recreated his natural home.”

“He sounded like he wanted to leave.” Ethan replied, the memory of the Kin's demand still fresh in his memory.

“If we released him, his own kind would simply slay him and leave his corpse for scavengers.” Mirris replied, her voice carrying sadness like a necessary burden. “We have never mistreated nor harmed him. We feed him, keep him healthy, and keep him safe. In exchange, we ask only that he remains in the space specifically set aside for him.” She turned her head to study him with her half-lidded eyes. “Is that not a kindness?”

“A kindness.” Ethan repeated, reconsidering the wisdom of opening trade with such an enigmatic species. “Yes, I suppose it could be considered a kindness in it's way.” He continued to watch the captured Kin, the creature's displeasure radiating from it in almost visible waves. “But a sakti's smile has many sharp teeth.”

#A sakti's smile has many sharp teeth #The Wolfcaller Chronicles

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summylise · 7 years ago

Text

The Beginning of the End

A/N: OML THIS IS SOOOOOO LATE I CAN’T EVEN. I MEANT TO POST THIS TWO DAYS AGO BUuutt i was kind of on the road and couldn’t post it from my phone ahaha. So here is the third chapter of Nightmares, Scars, and the END.

title: Nightmares, Scars, and the END

prompt: END, duh

chapter 1, chapter 2 , chapter 3

rating: T

pairings: nalu

words: 5417

summary: He had given in, and she was too late. There was nothing she could do besides beg and plead for him to come back to her. She knew it was in vain, that the words would never reach him. But there was still a sliver of her that hoped he was still in there. In the end, her kindness gave her scars that would never let her forget when her happiness had slipped through her fingers.

Eight months earlier

Lucy’s alarm screeched in her ear, ripping her eyes open and had her sitting upright in her bed faster than you could say “Aye.” All the blood rushed to her head, sending stars in every direction. God how she hated having that damn alarm clock. She’d only bought it because Erza kept insisting that “to be the most productive, you must start the day off with a bang,” or something. Now she was seriously considering throwing it from her second story window. But for now, she just settled on slamming the off button and smothering it with a blanket.

Lucy rubbed the sleep from her eyes and glanced out the window. At least it had woken her when the sun was actually up, rather than yesterday when it was still the middle of the night. She groaned and padded to the bathroom.

Half an hour later, surprisingly fast for Lucy, she was showered, dressed, and marching down the street towards Fairy Tail. Magnolia was alive and bustling, even this early in the morning. The baker across the street placed all sorts of treats and confectionaries out for display in his windows and waved to her as she passed. The local fruit vendor was just arriving and setting up his stall, ready to take on a day of sales and hopefully leave without any rotting or bruised produce. Her favorite yogurt shop was just opening for the day, the elderly owner flipping over the closed sign and waving at Lucy as she passed. She smiled and took in a deep breath of fresh, spring air.

Her hands pressed against the rough wood of the guild hall doors. The scent of beer and fried food wafted in through the open doors, instantly easing the tension from her shoulders. The only thing unusual about the guild hall was the sheer lack of anyone, really. Mira still held her place by the bar, gently wiping down the glasses that were surely used the night before, Cana in front of her drinking from a wine glass, instead of her usual barrel of alcohol. Max swept through the rows of tables and chairs, too preoccupied with cleaning to notice her walk in.

Lucy padded to the bar and took the seat next to Cana, slamming her head on the table the instant she sat down. Despite being up and out of the house in record time, her brain was still in sleep mode. She automatically nodded when Mira asked her something, not giving much thought to what the bar maid’s muffled voice had said. Mira slid a small plate of eggs and bacon towards her a few minutes later, a mug of coffee following soon after. Lucy blindly reached for the mug and brought it to her lips.

“I don’t know how you can stand that,” said Cana, gesturing to her mug.

Lucy rolled her eyes and lifted her head to face Cana.

“Says the girl who only ever drinks one thing,” Lucy countered.

Cana’s mouth opened then closed again, as she thought of what to say next. She ended up smirking and tilting her glass in Lucy’s direction.

“Touché.”

Lucy picked the fork from its thrown position beside her and poked at the eggs haphazardly. Her eyes felt heavy, and she couldn’t help the yawn that slipped out.

“Dang seems like they partied hard last night, huh?” she said to no one in particular. She continued to stare at the breakfast and after a second started eating.

“Well you know how they are,” Mira started, her ever-present smile visible. “Most of them collapsed in the guild hall, but I kicked them out pretty early this morning.”

“And you’re still here this early?” Lucy said, almost wrenching her gaze from her plate. Mira looked unfazed by the lack of sleep, her face bright and clear as usual.

“Whatever would we do without our responsible barkeep and mother hen, Mirajane?” Cana said with a wink.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I was going to comment on your being here early too, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Cana smiled and wrapped her arm around Lucy’s shoulders, nearly causing the fork to stuff its way down Lucy’s throat.

She was gagging when Cana said, “Hey, the earlier I am, the more booze I get. Haven’t you heard the saying ‘early bird gets the beer’?”

“I don’t think that’s how that’s how it goes,” Mira mused.

Cana rolled her eyes and lifted the arm from Lucy. Lucy’s eyes watered, still recovering from the almost suffocation by fork. Her hands sought after her mug and greedily gulped it down. She tried to ignore the course, burning as she chugged the coffee, instead relishing in the relief it gave her when she could finally breathe.

Being without taste buds for a while was a hell of a lot better than dying, she thought.

It wasn’t until about ten that morning that people started filing in, most making a lethargic beeline for the bar begging for Mira’s hangover-cure-all. It got to a point where, after seeing Mira overflowing with the numerous requests, Lucy had decided to help the poor bar hand. By the end of it all, Lucy was sat slumped over the bar and wishing she could just go back to bed and the bar looked a lot emptier, and a lot dirtier, than it had when she arrived.

Lucy twisted in her chair to watch as the life slowly returned to her insane guild. Elfman and the Thunder Legion were the worst victims, still slung over a table in the darkest corner of the room, groaning about headaches or how men never got drunk. Alzack and Bisca along with Team Shadow Gear, well just Levy really, had abstained from the party, instead focusing on their daughter or pouring over books. Gray and Erza had been the quickest to recover, Erza already starting on her morning dose of confectionaries whereas Gray was helping Juvia through a particularly uncomfortable hangover. Well, it was more like she was sobbing while holding onto him for dear life while he just stroked her hair and let it all pass. Wendy was the only one moving any faster than a snail’s pace; she raced from table to table, administering varying degrees of her affectionately named “Hangover Magic” as Mira’s cure-all slowly kicked in.

It took her a second to realize that something was off, not quite right. It was as if the guild hall was warm and welcoming but that there was just one piece, one portion missing from the intricate pattern. Her smile began to fall as she glanced at all the faces around the hall. Erza, too, had lifted her head from the basket of breakfast sweets to sweep the hall. It was just too…quiet. Too calm for this to be right, even for the morning.

The answer hit her like a freight train, and she didn’t know why it took so long to figure it out.

There was no arm slammed over her shoulder, no one yelling at her to pick a job, no fighting, nothing. Just an eerie calm that began to press on her like a thick, woolen blanket. No blue cat sat on the bar top, happily munching at today’s fresh catch of the day. No dragon slayer stood beside her, bragging about his latest fight with Gray.

“Natsu,” she murmured.

Her mouth parted as she turned to Mira, ready to ask her about the dragon slayer.

The great, wooden doors of the hall slammed open as a something came whizzing in her direction, slamming into her chest. The wind rushed out of her, and her body crashed to the ground with a bang.

“Lucy!” screamed the creature sobbing in her chest.

Happy, she realized as she glanced down at the blue cat. His claws dug into her shirt as if his life depended on it. His tiny body trembled violently as each sob racked his body. The entire guild froze, their eyes glued to Happy. No one dare say a word. No one even breathed. Lucy’s heart picked up, and her eyes widened. She tentatively placed her fingers on his fur, lightly stroking it in the hopes that he would calm down if only a fraction. He tensed for a moment when her skin touched his fur.

“Happy,” she almost whispered, her voice straining. “What happened? What’s going on?”

Happy shook his head and pressed himself further into her chest.

“He…it. It was so scary and then…and then-Natsu-“

Lucy jerked her head up and tried searching for her friend at the mention of his name.

“Happy, where’s Natsu?”

“Natsu! He-he got Natsu! He just-“

“Woah, woah, woah, slow down, Happy,” mused Mirajane. She tried to appear calm, but Lucy could see the way her eyes strained and how her smile was thin. Lucy’s stomach twisted. Her arms began to tremble, blood running cold.

Lucy slowly peeled Happy away from her chest and looked him in the eye. The poor cat was a mess: his eyes, swollen and red, were wide with terror, tears streamed down his cheeks, making the blue of his fur turn a dark shade of navy. She placed her palms on his cheeks and wiped at his tears with her thumbs. Happy sniffed, and his sobs began to dissolve. His little paws grasped onto her wrists and gripped with all their might.

“Natsu…he…he was kind of attacked? It all happened so fast I…I didn’t know what happened. But it seemed to be taking him over or something. Next thing I knew, he was yelling at me to go to the guild, and it was Natsu but…wasn’t him…like it was his voice, but it sounded very scary. Very not-Natsu,” Happy started.

Lucy’s mouth slowly parted, her eyes widening a fraction. Her stomach twisted painfully again. Something attacked Natsu? And he couldn’t beat it?

His sobbing picked up again. “A-and there was nothing I could do! I just floated there for a second and couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything!”

Mira walked around the bar and crouched to make herself eye level with Happy. The smile was gone from her face, her jaw clenched. Her hands were fists at her side, but even Lucy could see how much they shook.

“What attacked him, Happy,” Mira said slowly.

Just as Happy was about to speak again, Jet raced through the doors.

“Guys! Something’s attacking the town! South-side! It’s tearing everything apart!”

Southside. That’s near Happy and Natsu’s place.

The blood drained from her face, and she slowly turned back to Happy. The cat’s eyes were wide, terrified. He stared up at Lucy with those huge, tear-filled eyes, and she knew. Something had been scratching at her all morning, but the look he gave her confirmed her suspicions.

Her blood flushed from her body. Erza was the first to speak up and yelled something that jumbled in her ears. Her mind was laser focused. She could only think of one thing as she was hauled out of the hall and started to the explosions in the distance:

“Natsu.”

~~~

The scene they arrived to was straight out of one of her novels: fire everywhere, in the buildings, in the bushes, on…people. Smoke clawed out of buildings like caged animals, ignoring those caught inside. The smell was just as bad as the sight, if not worse. Smoke, sweat, blood, so much blood. It all invaded and enveloped her senses so fast; she barely had time to clamp a hand over her mouth before it tore its way into her throat. Lucy couldn’t help but gag at the smell and taste of it all.

People everywhere were screaming, pleading for help. Civilians raced paced her, and she barely managed to keep herself standing. Mothers held their children precariously out of windows of the burning buildings to those waiting below. Lucy couldn’t stand the sight of it and had a hard time holding in her breakfast.

If it wasn’t the people themselves, it was the creature, far enough in the distance for her to not be able to see its features but close enough to smell the death and decay and hear its vicious roars. The roars that were purely demonic, dark and scratchy, like gravel thrown into a paper shredder. It was animalistic, rough and deep, but with a hint of something else. Something raw. Something…human.

Erza stepped forward, breaking her from her thoughts.

“Alright, everyone! Spread out! Shadow Gear and Thunder Legion! You handle rescues. Make sure everyone is safe and stays that way. Wendy! Help the rescue teams. Make sure everyone makes it out of here alive! Gray, Happy, Lucy. You’re with me! Everyone else, try and back up the rescuers and keep the damage to a minimum! And make sure that thing doesn’t get any farther than this square!”

The instant she finished, everyone kicked into gear. Lucy raced to Erza’s side, closely followed by Gray and Happy.

“Please tell me you have some kind of plan,” Gray asked.

Erza slowly shook her head, her eyes glued to the creature slowly lumbering towards them.

“We just have to take it down as fast as possible. No matter the cost. We can’t let that creature harm any more people,” she stated through gritted teeth, her face almost impassive. She took a quick breath and broke off into a sprint after the creature.

Lucy locked eyes with Gray and nodded, turning to face the demon as well. Lucy took a steadying breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She shook out her hands. Her lip snuck between her teeth. Then she too was racing after the creature.

“Open!” she called, slashing her key downwards. “Gate of the archer! Sagittarius!”

She pointed the key ahead of her to the roof of a building above the demon. Seconds later, a bright light flashed into existence. A man in a horse costume carrying a fairly large bow appeared, his hand already saluting her even from a distance away. Lucy pointed towards the demon as she pulled out her second key. As she neared, she saw Sagittarius nod and lift his bow to aim. She gripped the second key between her fingers and swiped it downwards as well.

“Open! Gate of the Lion! Leo!”

A light, even brighter than Sagittarius’, flashed into existence beside her. Loke, wild orange mane and all, appeared beside her matching her pace.

“What are we up against this time?” he questioned, his tone serious.

Lucy panted, feeling the slight pull on her magic from summoning two spirits. She grit her teeth. There was no time for her to be getting the least bit tired; the citizens of Magnolia were in danger.

“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it was strong enough to beat Natsu pretty easily so watch out.”

Loke nodded, his eyes never leaving those of the demon.

As they neared, the true monstrosity of it came into view, and she had to bit her lip to suppress the gasp. It was coated in dark, inky liquid that dripped onto the cobblestone path, coating it with its oily substance. It was tall, the top of its head almost reaching the second floors of the surrounding buildings, with great horns that curved back to form a sort of helm of dark ivory. Its dark wings shot out from behind him, almost touching the buildings on either side of him. Its large, sharp claws nearly the size of her shoe slashed at the few people that tried to escape around him, instantly setting him ablaze. He tossed a ball of fire with his other hand into the apartment building just behind Lucy, sending embers in every direction. His muscular, shadowy arms tensed as it caught sight of the small group before him. His golden eyes widened a fraction before narrowing on each of them. It paused and scanned each of them individually before stopping on her and Happy. Lucy clenched her fists and glared into its deep eyes, challenging it despite her fear almost overwhelming her.

Then the creature dipped its head and smirked, revealing its large sharp canines. It was almost as if it was taunting them, bragging. The shadows and inky liquid coating it slowly dripped down and off its skin. The creature itself began to shrink, its features becoming more defined. The wings seemed to flex and pulse as if trying to shake off the oily substance. The horns remained but the liquid melted from its body revealing…no.

It couldn’t be.

The last of the ink slid down his cheek and dripped into the pool that formed beneath him revealing tanned skin. Lucy’s eyes widened, her hands flying to her lips. He continued grinning at them, that same grin that used to make her heart skip, now infected by darkness and contorting into a mocking, baring of teeth. His eyes still golden, held a sort of insane mirth, something she had never seen in him in all of their years together. The dark horns, his horns, protruded from his blazing pink hair like a dark inkblot on a crisp, clean page. It was foreign. It was out of place. It was…wrong.

“Natsu,” she murmured between her fingers.

She saw from the corner of her eye, Sagittarius’ bow lower and Loke tense. She could hardly register the shock of her friends around her, their astonishment that their fire-breathing maniac of a friend had deliberately set fire to Magnolia and killed its residents. It was as though tunnel vision had taken her over and all she could see was Natsu. Crazed, destroying, and horn-toting Natsu but also…not-Natsu.

The creature-no Natsu- laughed, the noise something straight out of a horror novel. That wasn’t Natsu’s laugh. It was dark and gravelly and thick. It was as though someone had taken Natsu and infected him with dark magic.

“Nah, that guy’s long gone. Made sure of that the moment I took over,” he growled in his dark, evil voice.

“Liar.” Lucy ground out the words. “That’s not true, and you know it. Natsu’s still in there.”

“Lucy,” Loke warned under his breath.

Natsu narrowed his eyes. A challenge.

“Oh really?” he taunted. “Why don’t you come over and find out.”

Lucy grit her teeth.

“I’m not going to do that. I can’t fight you. I can’t fight Natsu,” she said.

Natsu’s large, black claws flexed and a tick in his jaw clicked. The muscles in his shoulders tensed and Lucy saw, with a deep shot to the gut that his guild mark was nowhere to be seen, instead covered by a large, black stain. He snarled and reeled back on his haunches.

Natsu leaped in the air, launching himself directly at her before she could even register he had left the ground. Lucy couldn’t think of what to do other than squeeze her eyes shut.

But no attack came.

She slowly peeled her eyes open to see a pair of glasses and a bright orange mane staring down at her with wide eyes. Natsu slammed into the cobblestone where she had just stood, smashing the rock and sending debris in all directions. Adrenaline shot like lightning throughout her body, and her eyes shot wide. That could have been her. Terror flashed through her, sending a chill down her spine. She slowly lifted her eyes to Natsu’s, expecting pure hatred and rage.

Instead, she saw a flash of onyx, gone so fast she thought she was imagining things. He didn’t immediately charge at her. He could have easily released a fire attack and killed them instantly, but he chose not to. Because Natsu was still in there and Natsu couldn’t kill them. And if Natsu was fighting, so would she.

Lucy gulped and took a calming breath.

“Loke,” she said, her voice steady.

Sensing her intentions, he placed her on the ground.

“I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So do I. Wish me luck?” Lucy said, lifting her eyes to him with a smirk.

He chuckled, a bit more strained than she would have hoped but he mimicked her smirk. He shifted his glasses and placed his hands on his hip.

“You don’t need it. You’re Lucky, Lucy Heartfilia, remember,” he retorted.

Lucy grabbed his arm as he turned to return to the Celestial World. Loke paused. His eyes glanced to the fingers that gripped his black, suit sleeve then followed them up his wizard’s arm to her determined face. Her eyes stared at the ground, her mind somewhere else.

“I want you to promise me something, Loke.”

Loke slowly turned to face her, the corners of his lips quirked. “Anything for you, Princess.”

Lucy rolled her eyes. She paused and took a breath, choosing her words carefully. She couldn’t risk him coming back.

“Promise me you won’t come back. No matter what. I don’t want Natsu hurt in any way-”

“Lucy-”

“Promise me,” she repeated. Lucy lifted her eyes to his. “No matter what. You have to trust me.”

The spirit stared at her for a moment, eyes searching for something, anything that indicated doubt. Instead, he found a fire, an unwavering determination to Natsu. He could feel her emotions through the keys, how much she cared, how much she really cared, about the dragon slayer and how much she absolutely needed to save him.

He sighed and inevitably nodded.

“Just try not to blow up the town, ok? Magnolia’s kind of grown on me over the years,” he said, dissolving into gold stars with Sagittarius soon behind.

Lucy rolled her eyes as she snatched at her whip and raced to Natsu, still crouched and stared at her with those deep golden eyes. Erza requipped a few feet away from her and Gray pressed his fist to his palm, mist already forming at its center.

“Natsu’s still in there, I know it! We just have to draw it out!” she called out to them. “But try not to hurt him! We don’t want to hit Natsu!”

Gray paused a moment before nodding. Natsu roared and charged toward the group. Erza let out a battle cry, racing to meet him halfway. She jerked up her Flame Empress sword, countering his fiery slash.

“Now, Lucy!” she cried, grunting against his force.

“Natsu!” Lucy called, leaping back behind Gray. “I know you’re in there! If you can hear me, please say something!”

Natsu growled when Erza held her ground against his attack. His claw closed around her sword. Erza’s eyes widened. Natsu pivoted his body abruptly, extending his wings and slamming into Erza’s side. With a resounding oof! Erza was sent skidding backward. She barely managed to keep herself upright.

Natsu slashed down with his dark claws, narrowly missing Erza’s head and threw a large, deep orange fireball directly at Gray. He barely managed to throw up a shield before the ball barreled into him, sending him careening sideways.

“You’re stronger than this, and you know it!” she cried, staying on the edge of the battle, searching for an opening. Lucy tightened her grip on her whip handle, attempting to stop her trembling hands.

Natsu turned his focus back on Erza, ignoring Lucy’s voice again, his attacks doubling in speed and ferocity. He growled when she deflected almost all of his blows. His sharp claws clanged against the metal of her blades, not hitting her a single time.

Gray let out a war cry and slammed his hands onto the cobblestone streets. A stream of ice shot from his fingertips, racing along the floor towards Natsu’s clawed feet. The ice quickly encased around his talons, rooting him to the floor. Natsu snarled, his eyes lifting to zero in on Gray.

“Come on, Flame Brain,” Gray yelled. “Snap out of it!”

Natsu kicked against the barriers at his feet. His body began to heat at an alarming rate, sending excruciating waves of heat in all directions. Lucy threw her hands to her face, shielding herself from the blast. The clamps at his feet melted almost instantly, and Natsu’s black wings flexed. He lifted off the ground and charged at Gray.

“We’re not leaving here without you, Natsu!” Erza tried, requiping into her Black Wing Armor. She raised the sword above her head, ready to jump to Gray’s defense.

Lucy slashed her arm down, sending the whip to wrap around his foot. She slammed the whip to the ground with a grunt. Natsu crashed, hard, to the ground, splintering the brick road. Lucy winced. The sound of skull hitting concrete was unmistakable.

The snarl that left his maw, the sound deep and gravely. Definitely not Natsu. He snatched at the whip wrapped around his feet, ripping it above his head taking Lucy with it. Lucy screamed. She heard Gray and Erza call her name as she slammed back to the heard. Her head smashed into the cobblestone with a sickening crack, the air forced from her lungs.

Stars exploded across her vision, shattering and shooting in every direction. The world twisted and tumbled, churning like waves in the middle of a storm. She felt pressure then a sharp snap in her arm, a cry flying past her lips before she could catch it. She clenched her jaw, trying to block out the pain.

Someone shrieked, the sharp noise piercing through the loud ringing in her ears. Lucy lifted her head, dropping it a moment later.

Lucy lolled her head to the side, toward the scream. A large black blur lifted a red figure and tossed it haphazardly to the side, shooting into the air a moment later. Lucy blinked and blinked, but the dots would not fade. A deep voice bellowed and stared up at where the blur had shot. Lucy clenched her eyes shut, hoping that her vision would finally focus.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Natsu dive into Gray. Gray let out a deep, gravelly bellow as he used his Ice Make abilities to keep himself upright. He coated his fist with ice and aimed it at the demon. Natsu dodged with inhuman speed. He threw a hand out and snatched Gray’s other fist before it made contact. His golden eyes glinted. Gray faltered. Before he could blink, Natsu threw a flaming punch into his gut, sending Gray flying into a building fifty feet away.

“Please, Natsu! This isn’t like you!” she called weakly.

Natsu snarled and turned his dark gaze onto her. Then there was only her.

Lucy’s stomach twisted sharply, and adrenaline shot through her like a bullet. She was the last line of defense against Natsu’s reign of terror. She had to throw everything she had at him. She turned on her stomach, the world finally starting to even out. Her arms trembled as she pushed herself onto her elbow. She wouldn’t let her fear show. She had to be strong, if not for herself but for him.

She stared back at him, firmly holding her gaze with his flashing golden one. He smirked again, egging her on. He lifted a shadowy claw to his mouth and licked something, blood, from its tip.

“And then there was one. If an Ice Make wizard and the great Titania couldn’t take me down, a Celestial Spirit mage who can hardly move should be a piece of cake,” Natsu taunted, strutting his way towards her.

“I know you’re still in there. I know you can hear me,” Lucy grunted, making sure that he heard every word she said despite her frail voice.

“I’m getting very tired of your playing the hero thing you’re doing right now. Really starting to piss me off,” Natsu said, the smirk dropping from his face. He crouched beside her head, cocking his head. Analyzing her.

Lucy gulped. She steeled herself for her next attack. She knew she was likely not going to make it out of here, but if she could disturb him, somehow make Natsu fight back against this thing, it would be worth it. She took a breath.

“What would Igneel think?” Natsu tensed. “He would be ashamed to see you beaten without much of a fight!”

His eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. His wings jerked open. He roared, a gruesome, oily noise and hardly gave Lucy time to think before he pounced on her and flipped her over. His claws closed over her throat.

“How dare you call me a coward?” the beast bellowed, squeezing.

She glared up at him, ignoring the pounding in her ears. She felt the blood rush to her face. She gulped at air desperately, wishing his knees weren’t pinning her hands down. The gold in his eyes faltered, flickering to onyx for all but a moment. Natsu shook his head violently. The hand loosened and Lucy gasped.

She turned her eyes to meet his as he raised a large blackened claw above his head. Lucy’s eyes slammed shut. Natsu snarled as he brought it down.

Warm liquid dripped down the side of her face, tracing a line down the side of her neck. She waited in anticipation for the pain of an attack that didn’t seem to come. More warm droplets trailed down the side of her cheek, her neck, and even down her shoulder. For a moment, she wondered if it was raining, if suddenly he had moved and it had begun to rain.

But then she tasted more blood, more iron in her mouth and tried to open her eyes. She knew that he had, in fact, cut her, carved a deep wound from the top of her brow to the tip of her shoulder and that one of her eyes would not open. The warm substance wasn’t rain. It was blood. Her blood.

It registered then. The pain, the excruciating pain that rippled through her like a wave beating against an ocean. It felt as though someone had placed a hot dagger at her brown and carved a sharp line down the length of her form. Her eyes flashed white, and she screamed.

She screamed so loud that her ears rang. She let out a scream that tore and ripped and clawed its way up her throat and out her mouth. She screamed so loud that even Natsu recoiled. She thrashed beneath his clawed feet pressing her arms into the stone street, the pain just not subsiding even a fraction. It just kept crashing into her, wave after wave of white hot, spasming pain.

Tears streamed from her eyes, the salty liquid stinging more as it leaked from her unopened eye and touched the fresh wounds. Her screams turned shrill, like nails on a chalkboard, making the hair on her arms stand on end. More tears spilled over her cheeks, creating a seemingly infinite cycle of agony.

Natsu roared somewhere above her. Thick hands pressed back down on her neck, instantly cutting her off. Lucy choked and gasped, desperately scrambling for air. Her body thrashed again, more violent, more desperate than before. This time it did it out of a need to live rather than pain. Lucy could do nothing but desperately gasp and try and gulp down air she desperately needed in her lungs. Blood raced past her ears, trying to get as much oxygen to her brain as possible.

Natsu said something above her, but the ringing in her ears overwhelmed her senses. She could only focus on one thing. Air. Air. She needed air.

“Natsu,” she choked out. One final attempt. One last try. “Please.”

Her limbs grew cold and limp, her thrashings slowing to a stop. Lucy struggled to keep her eyes open. Her chokes turned into pitiful whimpers. Blackness encroached on the edges of her vision. Her lungs screamed for air, for something, for anything.

She looks up at Natsu one last time and swears she see his onyx eyes flash into focus again.

Someone called her name from somewhere behind her.

Then, as suddenly as he was on her, the weight loosened. Lucy gasped and gulped and clawed at any air she could get her hands on. Color returned to her vision, but her limbs still refused to function.

She felt her body go weightless, felt her body being pulled from the ground, her feet leaving it. And then the hand around her neck was gone too. But she was still weightless. Still flying. Air whooshed passed her violently, too quick for her to be falling.

She slammed into a hard surface and crumpled into a heap.

And then there was nothing.

#ft fanfiction #nalu #nalu angst week #nalu-angst-week #angst #summer writes

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writerspink · 6 years ago

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K-12 Words

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anything syllables past describe winter even also eleven moon fruit sand apple women nose solve Math problem plus minus equals stone pants shirt starry thousand divided just train shall held short lay dictionary twelve suddenly mind race clothes learn picked probably raised finished end plaid years bill place hundred different drop came river milk beautiful square lake hole fingers flat sea type over new sound take only little work know live me back give most very after things our name good sentence man think say great where help through much before line right too means old any same tell boy follow want show around form three small

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interest job because such think thirteen subject answer letter meet north length need times divide (by) times table edge soft months present energy point sound log south wide members exercise flowers set found things heart cause site brother teacher live read billion another distance written kept direction developed wall east happy million world must house turn west change well twenty felt put end does large big even here why ask went men land different home us move try kind hand picture again off dress play spell air away animal page mother study still learn should America

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paragraph weather window third believe discovered simple gone paint new store form cells matter follow perhaps cannot good means around line center kind reason move forest sentence return instruments beside represent wild study back farmers sum difference product quotient remainder mother animal land region record summer general caterpillar scratch modern adjust passenger promise equal creak almost croak book dainty song high every near add food between own below country plant last school father keep tree never start city earth eyes light thought head under story saw left don’t few while along might close something seem next hard open example begin life always those both paper together got group often run

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misty poor caution pest phrase life startle squirm alone centaur rise mountain above illustrator footprint temperature decorate country sweat sometimes hair smiled everything began thick compass themselves enough took although splendid crowded second act attach sly talk wonder let’s whirl someone Africa borrow beat belong blink per fasten pain begin drenched bed shell free earth tiny slippery count factors important until children side feet car mile night walk white sea grow river four carry state once book hear stop without late miss idea eat face watch far Indian real almost let girl mountains cut young soon list song being leave family it’s

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drowsy bashful hatch glad copy possible wicked grin sibling shovel run verb sail polish ride young steep case Indian laughed soil appear bolts costume melody narrow behave howl example flee together lot filthy alarm spiral selfish idea conductor fight rolled middle glacier tree dizzy gather sneaky already construct every miss lively metal couldn’t gold plant mask chat nation hear either bundle section near rescue face divide sob celebrate family loosen jealous crash chimney daily own cozy ripe cut son natural serious carry care paper broken cue within body music color stand questions fish area mark horse birds problem complete room knew since ever piece told usually didn’t friends easy heard order red door sure become top ship across today during short better best however low hours black products happened whole measure remember early waves reached

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being instead ache exactly hard speed buy age late artistic close affordable fraction eyes appetite complain sleep seem eat below remove rusty grow glum stormy trust enormous scale open add grab upset weed denied expensive story terrified lead jumped died basket side bear bend list tomb while batch grateful father gleaming dress light sprinkle amount exclaim result yank leave cheat whimper angle outside remain heap champion surprise dodge moment fancy squeeze pretend village shriek city thunder rapid iron striped don’t attitude bell hat tug isn’t applause children honest cross spring freezing listen wind rock space covered fast several hold himself toward five step morning passed vowel true hundred against pattern numeral table north expert slowly money map farm pulled draw voice seen cold cried plan notice south sing war ground fall king town I’ll unit figure certain field travel wood fire upon

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pattern cave hope mile group travel blush killed seed bottom hide important let ticket timid pounds restart silent cranky keep real bright quite curved repeat trip without dart consonant mountains quiet apologize roar grip groan bolt food injury century exhausted cabin atmosphere floor it’s scold transportation delighted giant hill something build fog method rough left everyone obey deserve speak therefore soon french switch until pushed state knob hobby between surround collect fire I’ll arrive road happened certain top order astronomy inches club catch farm nibble color yourself received connect told gaze check wear English half ten fly gave box finally wait correct oh quickly person became shown minutes strong verb stars front feel fact street decided contain course surface produce building ocean class note nothing rest carefully scientists inside wheels stay green known island week less machine base ago stood

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round award crowd slowly yet products, goods, services vowel himself strange whose draw team hold feel flood sent save stood yard notice warn enemy deep please flap coast music wrote safe blast behind island lizard figure famous garden correct whisper listen joined clear share net thus calf maybe cried piece fold seen england decided bank fell pair control clean telescope trouble glass float morning horse produce course hunting rest step statement contain shouted filled zigzag accident cents instrument fly single express visit desert seeds chew dome experiment break gravity against branch size low plane system ran boat game force brought understand warm common bring explain dry though language shape thousands yes equation government heat full hot check object am rule among noun power cannot able six dark ball material special heavy fine circle include built

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mark wealthy row feeling across attention ran map students inside design art mouth ring skill hot during shelter full till log (book) blossom discard bring quickly scientists party town covered wise early cram grain harm goal pause inform heal clue fame freeze badge pimple dim missionary diet dumb rod march agree stick government bulb mall ban greed skiing poison stove image grew fact material dangerous flow gap ago stack explain didn’t strong voice true drawing surface gift corner cloud since king dawn pulled dozen friends greedy burning upon knew insect decimal nervous pay foot weak smooth aware steady serve lost nonetheless beach front atlas questions less cost slight motor banner wire area carefully separate equation local minutes fast table plan fine waves fair sing dive suppose boat thousands shape among toward gas factory birds wait understand sure ship report captain human game history reflect special brave bounce though else can’t matter square syllables perhaps bill felt suddenly test direction center farmers ready anything divided general energy subject Europe moon region return believe dance members picked simple cells paint mind love cause rain exercise eggs train blue wish drop developed window difference distance heart site sum summer wall forest probably

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include cage language base red brain building feast better built demolish excess leap tower ocean plains cold claw information scholar climbed woman worry strand heavy herd common ground damp pack choose president least increase half english invent class measure dash tremble object become doubt became bare wheels continued shiver engine core couple business stars week peak numeral brought nothing touch reached uncle symbols however rumor evening inasmuch (as) force curious heat career system valley dust flock spray robber practice lonely remember luxury warm heard calm rock frighten leader difficulty best gum cheer key support universe stream bit usually fish parade balance money note cliff stand proof you’re pale machine complete cool shown street today shy easy several search unit war power caught settle itself fuel mention fresh planet plane straight period person able direct space wood seal field circle lady board besides hours passed known whole similar underline main winter wide written length reason kept interest arms brother race present beautiful store job edge past sign record finished discovered wild happy beside gone sky grass million west lay weather root instruments meet third months paragraph raised represent soft whether clothes flowers shall teacher held describe drive appreciate structure visible artificial

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afraid absorb british seat fear stretched furniture sight oxygen coward rope clever yellow albeit confess passage france fan cattle spot explore rather active death effect mine create wash printed process origin rose swift woe planets doze gasp chief perform triumph value substances tone score predict property movement harsh tube settled defend reverse ancient blood sharp border fierce plunge consider terms vision intend total schedule attract average intelligent corn dead southern glide supply convince send continent brief mural symbol crew chance suffix habit insects entered nursery especially spread drift major fig diagram guess wit sugar predator science necessary moisture park ordeal nectar fortunate flutter gun forward globe misery molecules arctic won’t actually addition washington cling rare lie steel pastime soldiers chill accordingly capital prevent solution greek sensitive electric agreed thin provide indicate northern volunteer sell tied triangle action opposite shoulder imitate steer wander except match cross speak solve appear metal son either ice sleep village factors result jumped snow ride care floor hill pushed baby buy century outside everything tall already instead phrase soil bed copy free hope spring case laughed nation quite type themselves temperature bright lead everyone method section lake iron within dictionary bargain loyal resource struggle vary capture exclaim gloomy insist restless shallow shatter talent atmosphere brilliant endure glance precious unite certain clasp depart journey observe superb treasure wisdom

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prepared journey trade delicate arrived track cotton hoe furnish exciting view grasp level branches privilege limit wrong enable ability various moreover spoil starve dollars digest advice sense accuse pretty wasn’t industry adopt loyal suggested blow treasure cook adjective doesn’t wings tools crops loud smell frail wisdom fit expect ahead lifted deed device weight gradual respect interesting arrange particular compound examine cable climate division individual talent fatal entire advantage opponent wouldn’t elements column custom enjoy grace theory suitable wife shoes determine allow marsh workers difficult repeated thrill position born distant revive magnificent shop sir army struggled deal plural rich rhythm rely poem company string locate church mystify elegant led actual responsible japanese huge fun meat observe swim office chart avoid factories block called experience win crumple brilliant located pole bought conditions sister details primary survey truck recall disease radio rate scatter decay signal approach launch hair age amount scale pounds although per broken moment tiny possible gold milk quiet natural lot stone act build middle speed count consonant someone sail rolled bear wonder smiled angle fraction Africa killed melody bottom trip hole poor let’s fight surprise French died beat exactly remain fingers clever coast explore imitate pierce rare symbol triumph ancient cling disturb expose perform remote timid bashful brief compete consider delightful honor reflex remark brink chill conquer fortunate fury intend pattern vibrant wit

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capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

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evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

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apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

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exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

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stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

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feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

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install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

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warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

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