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alliswell21 · 5 years

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Unmasked ~ Eighteen

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; discussions of miscarriage; discussions of minor character suicide; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to @alliswell21 and everyone else who has offered up their inbox for submissions. Please enjoy the eighteenth chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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~~ Chapter 18 ~~

The Harvest Festival lasts slightly longer than two weeks and usually provides us with a healthy income to sustain us through winter and well into spring. It is the culmination of three seasons of overlapping plantings, crop maintenance, and harvest. Hours upon hours of work. Everdeen becomes a hive of life with visitors from all across Southeastern Panem and sometimes even further. Booths are set up for the sale of wares and food treats. There are games for the children to play and contests for the adults. Planting the bulbs that will weather the winter in soil and hopefully flourish in spring carries a festive air in the task, as though we are planting the seeds of hope for the bounty of the present year to carry over into the next. In the evenings, the world comes alive with music and dancing, the lively reels and jigs of country tunes rather than the stuffier songs of the city and high society. Other than spring, it is my favourite time of year.

All through the day, I am occupied with sales and bargaining. Talking with tenants and people who need my attention. Normally my father would handle most of this while I stand beside him. This year, Father is busy dancing with nearly every female in Everdeen, from my mother down to Sae, leaving the bulk of the real work to me. It is heartening to see him so happy, waving away Dr. Aurelius’ concerns and insisting that he has never felt better.

When I mention this to Peeta, who has not left my side all day, he smiles. “Katniss, he is handing Everdeen to you. You have kept it running nearly an entire year. This festival is all due to you. It is your harvest.”

I am not certain how to feel about that and loop my arm through Peeta’s as we watch the festivities. My foot taps to the beat, but I know better than to ask Peeta for a dance, despite my longing to join. I do not wish to cause him discomfort, no matter that I could never feel shame or embarrassment when partnered with him.

As the night winds down, I find that I am exhausted. Once I am changed for sleep and laid out on the sofa in our room, my head resting on Peeta’s thighs as he reads through correspondence he left neglected today. His fingers comb through my hair, mine trace absent patterns on his knee, yet I can tell that something bothers him.

“What news, husband?”

“A friend. From the infantry. He has returned home to troubles. His brother passed, leaving the land to him. It took some time for him to return home and in the absence of a landlord, a large number of the tenants left. He’s in need of hands to help harvest or his wheat crop will be left to die in the fields.”

I pause in my aimless drawing on his knee and consider this. The answer is evident, and I know Peeta has already reached the same conclusion, much as we both dislike it. “How far?”

“The southern half of East Panem. With a hard day of riding Cicero, I could be there in a day.”

“You should go,” I say quietly.

“And miss the festival? Katniss, I do not wish to leave you.” I sit up then, to face him, maintaining as much of a stoic expression as I can manage.

“Nor do I wish you to leave. However,” I say before he can argue. “We will be quite fine here. The Harvest Festival is perhaps the easiest part of running Everdeen, and you will regret not going to his aid if you remain.”

Peeta tilts his head as he examines me and I smile, overcome with affection for my husband. I trace the scars on his face and then lean forward to kiss the edge of them, down along his jaw. “You never told me how you came by these marks.”

“Musket fired too close to the ground while I was seeing to a wounded drummer. Had to move us both to safety before I could continue, and you know what burning clothes stuck to skin can cause.”

“Hm,” I kiss down his throat, already plotting how to persuade him to take me to bed. “When will you leave to help your friend?”

“Tomorrow, I should think,” he says, the anguish in his voice a mirror of the pain in my heart. “He sounds in desperate need.”

“You should offer additional work and pay to several of our tenants. Take extra hands with you.”

“If that is alright with you.”

“Ask for volunteers. How long will you be gone?”

“I will not be gone longer than two weeks, I should think.”

“Then I shall see you back here before the end of the festival.”

“Yes,” he gasps as I shift to straddle him and press my body into his to feel how aroused he is already.

“Is that a promise, husband?”

“It is a promise, wife.”

“Promise me you will dance with me when you return? Just once, Peeta. It can be a slow tune.”

“Katniss,” he groans as I sink my teeth into his shoulder. He curses and promises me a dance.

My mind grasps onto the thought that now would be the perfect time to say it. To tell Peeta of my thoughts just this morning. Three such simple words that he uttered in the dark as though they were no more heavy than an exhale. But did he? Or did I dream the soft sigh of his love against my brow? I do not know, I was barely awake. I bite my tongue and kiss him instead, wild and uninhibited.

Peeta gathers me in his arms then, holding me close to his chest as he heaves us off the sofa and carries me across the room to our bed. I whine slightly, perturbed at being moved, but as he lays me on our mattress, I grasp hold of him and make demands.

As always, he readily gives me what I want. What I need. Clothes and wooden leg discarded on the floor. Whispered words and pleas, and a dance in the darkness. For what is intercourse but a series of bodily movements in harmony…a dance. I demand that he give me more and the creaking of our bed gives evidence to the desperate meeting of our bodies, almost violent in our need.

His hand clenches in my hair, twisting it around his fist, pulling tight against my scalp and bending my body. His moans roll over my skin as he plunges into me again and again. The short bursts of pain cause strange ripples of pleasure that overwhelm and steal my breath. He is holding back, waiting for me to succumb first. It is this knowledge combined with the sound of my name on his lips, a desperate breath of utter longing, that tips me over the edge into blissful, rapturous oblivion.

The rest of the world falls away to nothing as I revel in my release, in the feel of Peeta’s triumphant shout against my neck before he begins to thrust madly. I wonder for one second if we might break the bed and then he stops, his back arched and his head thrown back in exquisite relief, his abdomen clenching and his fingers tight in my hair.

The way he holds me after provides such an exquisite contrast. So perfectly gentle and soothing. His whispers are more effective in drawing me down into deep slumber than a lullaby, and yet…and yet…

My dreams that night are wild and reckless. A man cloaked in shadows and moonlight illuminating only part of his face, unending pleasure stemming from his touch. He takes pleasure from me like an animal, on all fours with his fingers digging into soft flesh, mine holding tight to bed linens and my throat dry with screams of pleasure I cannot voice for fear of waking the whole house. Whatever he takes from me, he gives back tenfold. The crazed thrusting of uncontrollable lust reaching deep inside me to places I’d never known a man could touch.

Then he takes me with his mouth, my legs splayed wide, immodest and desperate, pinned to our bed beneath his strong hands. The delicate scrape of his tongue on me, marking me. Branding me as his as I shatter again and again. And again. It is as though he is determined to ensure that I cannot forget him in his absence.

I am certain my legs have become useless until he settles me on top of him and I become the one crazed and desperate in motion. I long to tell him that I could never forget him. He has rooted himself in my heart, seared himself beneath my skin where I could no more remove my love for him than I can my own scars. But speech proves impossible for me.

Yet, in the moments when I am coherent enough to recognise the blue eyes watching me as I dance over his body with abandon, I capture the words he moans to me in his ecstasy and hold them close to my heart.

Yours.

I’m yours, Katniss.

Yours, yours, yours.

Everything I am is yours.

Always.

And…

I love you.

… I love you so…desperately…deeply…

I reach a final, tremendous peak with those words floating in the sultry air around us and then dreams yield their hold to the dark, blissful oblivion of restful, dreamless slumber.

In the morning, I am alone. The window shut against a driving autumn rain, and a single orange flower left for me atop of Peeta’s sketchbook, tied to it with a green ribbon. I haven’t the heart to look at the drawing he left me just yet, knowing that there will be no more for some time.

Then the evidence that my dreams last night were far more real than they were imagined begins to accumulate. My wild hair and the nearly wrecked state of the linens on our bed. The teeth and suction marks on my shoulders and breasts and even the back of my neck, the throbbing ache between my thighs. The ten round bruises on my hips where Peeta would have grasped hold of me as he loved me from behind, savage and wild and beautiful. Another set on my thighs where he would have held my legs secure to the bed while he made love to me with his mouth, again and again. My knees weaken at the very thought of it.

Worst of all, though, is the hollow feeling in my breast as I rise and move to the window and know. Peeta’s gone. He left before I could tell him that I love him too. How stupid of me not to reciprocate the words when he spoke them last night.

I rest my forehead on the cool glass, holding the sheet from our bed wrapped around me, my shoulders and my feet bare, hair a wild tangle down my back until Mary finds me like that.

“Mrs. Mellark?” she says my name like a question and I lift my chin. I am not some sniveling, weak willed, lovesick schoolgirl. And I will not act like one.

Peeta will return within the fortnight. I can tell him then. He promised me he would, and if I know one thing about my husband it is that he can be trusted to keep his promises.

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“This is good,” I say as my eyes skim over the written out history. It is far more thorough than I could have hoped. “Could she have returned to any of these places?”

“It is unlikely. She seems to have stayed for as long as she could,” Haymitch says and taps one line near the bottom. My cheeks burn as I realise what he is trying to tell me without saying it.

“Oh no. The poor thing.” I glance up at my uncle as he fixes me in place with a penetrating gaze.

“You are not appalled?”

“I am only appalled at the lengths women must sometimes go to in order to feed and house both themselves and the ones they love,” I say as I fold the pages of parchment together. “There are three years missing yet in your history for her.”

“I have some leads to fill that hole. I shall keep looking…unless you wish to stop. We may only find worse things than this”

“No,” I say and glance briefly over the crowd that has gathered for the afternoon games. The rain did not last long enough to force a cancellation of the festivities. The muddy fields have in fact drawn more people, it seems. Those eager for the fresh air and the tempting scents of meat pies on the cool autumn breeze. Children play, ignoring parental sighs that they will need another bath if they are not careful.

“No,” I repeat to Haymitch. “I want to find her, if she still lives. And the child.”

Haymitch scoffs at this and I scowl at him. “You think that wise?”

“You think Peeta would want to leave his half sister to suffer in an orphanage somewhere? Or worse?”

“There is no knowing who the child’s father is, nor what she has grown to become. She would be nearly seven by now.”

“I am aware of that.”

“It is also possible that your husband already knows of her existence and chose to do nothing…”

My neck heats as I consider the possibility but then I shake my head. “No. He would not. If he knows, then he has been searching for her as well. Which leads me to believe he does not know.”

“You will not be able to keep your search secret from him much longer if you are determined to save both,” Haymitch says with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Perhaps combining our efforts will produce faster results then. When he returns, can you provide him with your contacts?” Haymitch grunts, but he nods in agreement.

I wonder how on earth I am supposed to explain to Peeta that he has a sister, and that I already plan on adopting her, if possible. She belongs with her family, and if she has none now, then her family is here at Everdeen. And how am I to explain the existence of the child without shattering his heart? How to tell him that his mother was reduced to prostitution for a number of years. My heart aches at the thought of it and it is the only reason that I hope he already found this piece of his mother’s journey, so that I will not be the one breaking his heart.

The child will be easier to locate than the mother, it seems, and so I tell Haymitch to focus on that for now. “But we are not conceding defeat on finding Nancy, do you understand?”

“I understand completely,” Haymitch tells me with a strange look in his eyes. Before I can summon a retort, my sister calls for me.

“Katniss, I need to speak with you.”

“Can it wait?” I ask as I notice the massive hay bales being rolled in for the next contest. I am meant to judge who is able to secure and lift their bale the fastest. It occurs to me that it is a shame Peeta is missing this particular contest. With the strength in his arms, he would excel at a contest such as this.

“No it cannot wait,” Prim insists.

I sigh and motion for her to speak. I am developing a headache. Peeta has been gone four days already with no word from him, Haymitch has brought me both good news and complications in our search, and Maysilee is recovering from a slight fever. While the festival at least is a resounding success, it still leaves me drained. At the end of the day, I toss and turn, unable to find sleep despite my fatigue. The empty space in my bed taunts me with unspoken words and fears I cannot explain. The drawing he left me was of me as I slept, the words along the bottom of the page nearly bringing tears to my eyes.

Leaving you is near impossible, and so I go while you still sleep. Had you opened your eyes before I left, and looked at me as you have done these past days, I might never muster the will to depart. Yours always, ~ P ~

“I’ve had a letter from Rory,” Prim’s words intrude on my musings.

“Are we on a given name basis with him now then?” I ask, a little testy. She frowns at me and then I notice her quivering lip.

“I do not know anymore. I told him of your plans to take me to Capitol for a season and now I fear he is withdrawing his interest!”

“Mother and Father agreed to the season as well. Pester them about this,” I mutter and she huffs angrily.

“They only agreed because you insisted! It’s not my fault you regret how your husband hunt turned out. Do you know what Rory said to me about this whole season and more suitors for me fiasco?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Perhaps that is for the best,” she says and I nod.

“If he cannot handle the competition for your hand then his affections are not strong enough to last.” The competitors for the game have taken their places and I give the signal to begin.

Prim chokes on a sob. “I don’t want to him to have competition! I want to marry him! And you’ve frightened him off!”

“Prim,” I say as I turn to her and her watery eyes slice through me. I cannot stand to see her in pain. Perhaps this season idea was a poor decision, but she agreed to it, seemed eager even until now.

“All because you’re not in love with your husband! That does not mean that I will be miserable with my choice, nor do you need to make me miserable with mine! He was going to propose on his next visit, I am sure of it, and now he won’t!” She spins on her heel then, headed straight for the floor as bales of hay slowly rise.

“Prim!” I shout after her but she does not respond.

There’s a shout of warning and then one of the bales descends, the rope sliding through grasping hands and more yells fill the air. I run for her but I am too far away. Joe reaches her first, shoving Prim out of the way of the hay before it crashes to the ground. It disintegrates in a fragrant cloud. Several hands grasp hold of the rope at the same time and heave. With no weight, the hook swings free and wild.

A warning lodges in my throat as it flies up towards Joe and slices him straight up his spine.

He shouts and falls to the ground beside Prim as pandemonium breaks loose. Prim reaches for Joe, crying out apologies and attempting to see to his wound. Joe begins to screech.

“Hands off, witch! Devil take you and your herbs! I’ll not let you drag me to hell!”

Prim retreats as I glower at the man’s display. Everyone steps back from him as he holds his torn jacket and shirt together and waves a bloody hand at us to keep us distant. He raves about witches and sorcery. We are all too stunned to know what to do.

Madge pushes her way through the crowd and slaps Joe across the face. “Cease, man! I am no witch. Come with me and stop making a fuss!”

She grabs Joe by the arm and drags him away. He goes, surprisingly docile. I hurry to Prim’s side, although Mother and Father are already with her.

“I am fine,” she insists, taking their help to stand. The crowd around us whispers and wavers in shock and uncertainty. “But Joe…”

I squeeze Prim’s hand. “I will assist Madge.”

I scurry to follow them, leaving Prim with Father and Mother seeing to her. I pass by Haymitch as he tries to calm a near hysterical Effie and I leave him to it. Assured of Prim’s well being, I care for nothing but my husband’s injured friend — a friend who just saved my sister’s life, although I am certain he despises me.

I am able to follow their trail, a handprint left here and there that leads me to the house, to the bathing room. I fetch Mother’s healing kit along the way and enter the room, gasping and nearly dropping the basket as I take in the sight before me.

“Oh wonderful. Kitten has decided to join us,” Joe snarls as I stare at him…or rather… her…

Torn, bloody bindings and clothes litter the floor. Joe sits on the bench beside the tub, facing me, stripped bare to the waist. Madge bends over her back, her eyes wide as she stares at me.

“Katniss… shut the door,” she says in a wavering voice. I do so, too shocked to do differently. I lock it for good measure and gape, my mind grasping at connections and hints that line up with dizzying speed.

“You… you…”

“I have breasts,” Joe states. “Quite nice ones, too.” She fondles them for a second and smirks at me. “I can understand you gaping at them. I have all of the other baggage that comes with being a woman in this world as well. Would you care to see?”

“I…” I have no idea what to say.

“I could use your help, Katniss.” Madge’s words bring me to my senses. “I’m quite good at sewing but have never sewn human flesh and… I do not know what herbs we will need.”

“Are you certain your patient will accept such witchcraft?” I ask and Joe gasps with pain and shuts her eyes for a moment before leveling me with a fierce look.

“I meant no insult to your sister. She has been nothing but kind to me. And I will… I will apologize to her later. But I could not let them discover me in such a public manner.”

“You had better apologize. You caused a shameful scene,” Madge scolds and Joe turns slightly to glare at her.

“And you slapped me, your highness!”

“I needed to get you out of there before you revealed yourself!”

“You knew?” I ask Madge and she sighs.

“Katniss, please,” she says again instead of responding to my accusation. “I will explain later. Right now I truly need your help. I am quite out of my depth here.”

I move to Madge’s side and help her clean the wound, taking too much pleasure in Joe’s muffled grunts as we warn her of the coming pain before we pour the spirits to kill infections on her opened skin. She releases a string of colourful curses that has both Madge and I sharing a glance.

“For shame, Mr. Mason! Such foul language in front of ladies,” I say in my most scandalized tone. Joe hangs her head and shakes it.

“Ladies,” she sneers and then laughs. It is precisely the reaction I was hoping for, distracting Joe from the pain as Madge carefully stitches her ragged flesh back together. “Neither of you count as ladies by any conventional definition and well you both know it. Your highness with your scandalous affair before your late departed husband was even cold in his grave. And you Kitten, with your insatiable lust, pouncing on your poor husband at every turn, demanding he tussle you in the stables, out in meadows—“

“It was by a lake,” I interject and she scoffs. “If you are going to accuse me, at least ensure that your accusations are correct.”

“As I said… Neither of you are truly ladies, only masquerading as one of them.”

Madge and I share another look, colour rising in both of our cheeks. The way Johanna says the word ladies makes it sound like it would be more of an insult to actually be a lady in her eyes. Madge looks away first when Joe releases another string of curse words.

“Here,” I say, offering my hand to Joe to hold through the pain. She bats it away and I return it to assisting Madge. “So then I assume your given name is not really Joseph…”

“Johanna,” she gasps and then releases more curse words. “My name is Johanna. Jo still works for short. That way, when someone tries to call me Joseph the way her majesty here did, I can tell them no one calls me Joseph. Explains why I don’t readily respond to it, and it’s not a lie.”

Madge’s face reveals nothing. She purses her lips and concentrates on her stitches.

“What is your story then, Jo?” I ask gently. “What leads you to dress as a man and fool everyone around you?”

She laughs sardonically and another stream of expletives makes me blush hot. For a moment, I think perhaps she will not share but then she takes a deep breath and speaks. “Same thing what makes the two of you hide your true natures. Disapproval. My father thought to marry me off to a rector. A man four times my age with two wives already dead in the ground and a belief that there is no ill that cannot be solved by a decent whipping. My dear Mama agreed. She thought the influence of the church was the only —“ More curse words echo off the stone walls and Madge halts her sewing for a moment until Johanna regains some composure. “—The only way to cure me of my evil nature.”

“What makes you so evil? I’ve seen no signs of devil worship about,” I say with a great deal of doubt in my voice. She turns her head to peer at me over one creamy, perfectly shaped shoulder and a sickening feeling fills me as I realise that she is in fact rather beautiful, even with her cropped short hair. A collection of pixie features I took for a boy’s in truth belonging to a lovely young woman perhaps four or five years my senior. She smiles at me and it brings me no comfort.

“My parents discovered that I have as great a thirst for a juicy cunt as I do for a big fat cock.” My face flames with her words but I allow myself no other visible reaction. Her words are meant to shock me. I will not give her the satisfaction. “I never saw the reason why my father and brothers could be so freely promiscuous, could fuck whatever they wanted… women, men, goats… without repercussions, but I was forbidden a single loving affair with a girl I loved.”

“Really, Johanna,” Madge admonishes.

“Allow me some fun, your highness. My back is shredded, I shall have yet another ugly scar, and unless Kitten here takes pity on me, I might be out of a home within the hour.”

“You are not exactly endearing yourself to her with that kind of talk,” Madge says and then an awful thought occurs to me.

“Does Peeta know?”

“Does Peeta know?” Johanna sneers again and my stomach feels as though I had just jumped from a great height.

I think of his words… one night of reckless abandon because he felt sorry for himself… surely he wouldn’t then travel with that person as a companion.

Madge says her name in a warning tone but Johanna fixes me with glittering brown eyes, her gaze unwavering as though she knows the precise direction of my thoughts.

“Of course Peeta knows. He’s been helping me maintain my ruse for years now. In fact, this is about how he found out. I refused my betrothal and when my dearest parents tried to have me sent to an asylum, I ran away.” She hisses and her next words begin strained then even out.

“I ran away, cut my hair, dressed myself as a boy, and enlisted in the infantry. I was a drummer for them. You know, the ones that beat the cadence to send commands across the fields. I was shot in the leg, and that would not have been a problem, but I panicked. Then some crazed loon took a bayonet to my side while I was attempting to drag myself from the field. I cut the lout’s throat but the damage was done.” More curse words and she smacks her hand on the stone bench.

“Nearly done,” Madge soothes and Johanna takes a few more deep breaths.

“Peeta found me. I told him I’d rather die right there on the field, knowing what he’d discover as soon as he started tending to me… God love the man, he tended to me anyways and barely even blinked. Not even with musket fire around us… a brush fire. An enemy soldier attacking him. He just… sliced the man the way you slaughter a pig then went back to sewing me together enough to move me. He even yelled at another medic who tried to help, sent him to assist the others wounded nearby instead. He stitched me up, and then lied to the doctors. Said the leg wound was the only one. He stopped by the field hospital every day after and saw to the wound on my side himself. When I was healed enough to rejoin the field, another drummer had already taken my place. Peeta convinced the commander to make me a part of the medical team instead.”

“Driving the cart to move the wounded and the dead,” I supply.

Johanna nods, lifts her arm then, and points to a long jagged scar over her ribs, curling beneath her breast. Exceptionally close to the orb. “This is the one Peeta stitched back together.”

I drop my eyes and watch as Madge finishes her stitching.

“He never asked me why. Why would a girl hide as a man and join the infantry. When I asked him why he never asked… he said he assumed I must have a damn good reason and it was none of his business. He trusted that I would tell him if and when I was ready to trust him. No one would willingly subject themselves to such a life unless they were desperate, had no choice, or wished death upon themselves, he said. It is quite cute when he is so naive.”

I wipe my hands clean with a rag and set myself to the task of crushing herbs.

“So then when he took that sword to his leg…”

“I couldn’t let him die,” Johanna whispers, turning her head just enough for me to see her profile but not enough to look me in the eyes. “I wanted to because then the only person who could betray my secret and see me returned to my family would take my secret to the grave. I would be safe without having to trust in a man. But… I couldn’t. He saved my life, so I saved his.”

“And did you and he…Were you one of the women he…” I trail off, unable to voice the despicable fear choking my throat closed.

“No, Kitten,” Jo says and finally meets my eyes. “I told you he’s a right gentleman. I offered, several times in fact, but he always refused. Said it wasn’t right to take advantage like that when he knew my secret. He saw that knowledge for what it was, something a lesser person would use to control me and so he refused to give even the impression of such control. The damn righteous bastard said he wouldn’t sleep with someone who felt they owed him a debt like that, and that the only reason I was offering was because I felt I owed him. Not because I loved him.”

My spine grows stiffer and my motions as I grind the herbs more forceful with every word she speaks. It sounds like something Peeta would say, but I don’t know if I can believe Johanna.

“Don’t tell him I said it… but he was right to refuse me. He’s been the only real friend I’ve had in years and I am glad he wouldn’t allow me to ruin that,” Johanna says and then she grins. “But he wasn’t above listening to me every night I got drunk and a little too talkative about all the reasons my father thought I needed divine intervention. All the maids and local girls. The boys I let beneath my skirts. My favorite though was a dairy maid named Portia. Ah she was a sweet treat indeed. And you’ve reaped the benefits of my big mouth, haven’t you, Kitten?”

I mix the herbs with the cream despite the burning on my cheeks. I am at least appeased that I am not healing one of my husband’s former lovers, but the fact that Peeta apparently learned much about pleasing a woman simply by listening to this one aggravates me. I smack the cream onto her back and she startles, once more cursing and glaring at me.

“Is that why you hate me then? Because I have been intimate with him while you were not.”

“That would be too simple, Mrs. Mellark. Give me some credit for having more depth of emotions than a jealous harpy. I despise you because the two of you are free to love one another openly and no one will question or recoil from you for it. No one will accuse you of being unnatural, sinful, or an abomination for having that tussle in the stables or by the lake and wherever else on this green earth the two of you have been when you cannot control yourselves. I despise you because you have a real and extraordinary love right in front of you, and you are too much of a coward to admit it.” I blink at her and she scoffs.

“I am not a coward.” Madge stares at me as I spread the cream along the stitched seam of Johanna’s back. “But I won’t admit it to you before I say it to him.”

Johanna’s eyes widen, astonished and so feminine in that moment that I wonder how I did not see it before. The curtsies, the things she’s said to me, the way Peeta reminded her on the day we met that a rough serving man cannot just grab a lady and pull her from the mud without her permission…

I turn to Madge to keep Johanna from questioning what I just confessed to her. “You have been awful quiet during all of these revelations. How long have you known?”

“Since the day after your father awakened.”

I am taken back to that day. The stables. The tea.

“The tea for the monthlies was for Johanna,” I say and Madge nods.

“I did not like keeping it from you, Katniss, but I thought it best at the time. Even though Johanna insisted she and Peeta had never been intimate, I feared the truth coming to light just then might ruin what was growing betwixt the two of you.”

“Which begs the question, Kitten…what will you do now?”

I look between the two women and consider the options, all of what has been revealed to me tonight.

Pulling long strips from the healing kit at my feet, I meet Johanna’s gaze. “Now I will bandage your back. When I am done, you shall return to your dwelling, drink every drop of the tea I am sending with you. You will sleep on your stomach and not disturb or scratch at the bandages. In the morning, Madge and I will tend to your wound. You will only admit either her or myself to see to your care. While I do not believe that my parents would turn you out should they learn the truth, I will not take that risk without your blessing. And once you are healed, you will stop teaching Maysilee to jump side saddle and teach her how to do the thing right. Safely astride. I’ll not see her break her neck over something so foolish as propriety.”

Johanna squints her eyes at me as I speak and then laughs when I am done. “Now I see it, Kitten. I know why he’s so hopelessly in love with you!”

I ignore this and bandage her back, but I have the strangest sense that I have somehow acquired a new ally.

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To be continued… look for chapter 19 on the blog of @everlarkficexchange.

#efe 2019 #submission #M #everlark #everlark fic exchange #chapter18 #anonymous

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years

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Unmasked ~ Three

Written by: M

Prompt #88

Rating: E (Explicit) This fic will contain consensual sexual content; mild language; discussions of injuries, illness, and amputations in a historical setting; references to non consensual sexual situations.

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Please enjoy the third chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

~~ Chapter 3 ~~

As a child, my father used to set me in front of him on his horse. Astride with my skirts flapping in the breeze like a bird’s wings as we rode across the farm. When my mother complained of his habit of treating me like a son, Papa found a pair of breeches that would fit me to wear when we rode or moved about the farm, seeing to the needs of the land and our people. One day when he felt I was old enough, he took me into the woods, teaching me to hunt. It wasn’t a skill that I necessarily needed. We were wealthy enough to hire someone else to hunt meat for us, but my father insisted that I learn where everything we relied on to survive originated. He wanted me to have an understanding and a respect for all living beings, a humility found in the knowledge that in taking a life to sustain our bodies, we owed the earth a debt to care for her soil as she has cared for us.

Perhaps he intended it, perhaps not, but the lesson he taught me that now burns in my mind is that nothing comes from nowhere. I cannot sit in my damask chair and expect the world to care for me or to see to my needs, nor to those of the people depending on me. I must take care of that myself. Food does not appear on the table simply because I feel hunger.

“Are we going to stare at it or dare we go in?” Madge asks with a soft teasing lilt and I thrust myself from the carriage and towards the gaudy city dwelling I am now faced with, ignoring the outstretched gloved hand offering assistance. I am used to hunting in the quiet of the woods, in isolation surrounded by nature. Not in this stone and smoke urban jungle. I march boldly up the stairs and prepare to knock. Uncle Haymitch reaches my side then and pulls my lifted fist away from the door.

“This is not the country, and Effie would never forgive me if you knocked on the door for your first dinner party.” I glance over my shoulder at Effie as she fusses over Madge.

“Do I stand here and sing for entrance then?”

“No,” Haymitch says with a deep chuckle. “I do the knocking. You do the hunting.”

The first step of hunting is to stalk your prey, which requires silence and observation. We are welcomed and ushered into a parlor where we are handed a small glass of something that fizzes and makes my head spin a little. We already know the hostess, having spent at least a week squandering our time in teas and salons and parlors meeting every woman of Aunt Effie’s acquaintance and many who were not until recently.

“Darlings!” Effia had greeted us when arrived at her and Haymitch’s town home, before I could even knock on the door. Clearly I was unaware of this societal rule forbidding me to knock. At the time, Effie’s embrace had been welcome if a touch effusive. After several days of travel, all Madge and I wanted was a nice bath and a good nap. It wasn’t to be. “You came to your uncle and I for assistance in finding a husband and that is precisely what we shall be doing. He can provide introductions to gentleman, I can provide a thousand other things. A foot in the door through the ladies, a fabulous wardrobe. Alicia! Send word to Cinna that we shall need an appointment post haste! And Margaret, my dear… We’ll have Cinna whip up a few dresses for you as well. I won’t hear any arguments! Mourning is no excuse for a countess to dress…” Her eyes dragged over Madge’s plain grey woolen travel habit and she shuddered. “So…so…”

“Drab?” Uncle Haymitch had suggested and then protested as Madge and I both imposed upon him for embraces. He pretended to be annoyed, but I know him better. He was happy to see us both.

That began our week of parlor visits and stiff high collared tea dresses while I waited to be unleashed on the real marriage market. A steady stream of women with their daughters or nieces and even a handful of ladies came to call, drawn by the rumors of a heretofore unheard of eligible young woman and her widowed friend. I’ve learned all about the eligible sons of these women and have yet to see a single one of them.

Father always did say that before laying a snare, one needed to know what sort of beast you planned to trap. A snare meant for a rabbit would never hold a wild boar. This is what I tell myself every time I balk at the guidance or instructions Aunt Effie doles out to me. While I attempted to follow Effie’s example and instructions that first week, I did not care for how much time I spent seated in her parlor, sipping tea and hearing the same gossip on endless loop, answering the same questions about who my parents are and how long I plan to stay in town. I have a husband to shop for and do not appreciate being restricted to the parlor. Everyone knows that one cannot hunt from inside the parlor. You might spill blood on the carpets and then Aunt Effie would die of apoplexy.

I also do not appreciate meeting the mothers, and sisters, and widowed aunts, and fourth cousins twice removed of every potential suitor on Haymitch’s list in addition to a few who are not on his list, but not the suitors themselves.

“How can I select a husband if I never meet any men?” I had asked an exasperated Aunt Effie as I stood still for her dressmaker, a lovely woman named Cinna who worked quietly and seemed to see things in my face that I didn’t know existed.

“Good bone structure. Lovely eyes and hair…you carry yourself with regal bearing and strength. If I didn’t know better, I might have mistaken you for a duchess. My dear we shall be showcasing your spirit,” she murmured as she circled me and examined my body and face.

I still have no idea what she meant by that. While Effie’s wardrobe with it’s excess of ruffles and shimmering fabrics leaves me in physical pain sometimes, the day dresses and dinner dresses Cinna has already managed to finish for me are quite lovely. Still, I see no real show of spirit in their delicate folds. I haven’t worn breeches in years – at my mother’s insistence after the vicar’s son wrote a rather explicit poem for me shortly after I turned fifteen – and dresses like these do not make me miss it, yet I still worry about the ball gowns that will expose my shoulders and back to the world. Perhaps a shawl would work to cover my scars and it might become my signature accessory. I don’t have much time to devote to such thoughts, however. There are still a few days before we have a fitting in our ball gowns. I also have a farm to protect and a husband to ensnare.

“We are spreading the word, darling,” Effie insisted about all our parlor visits and teas. “You cannot meet a suitable husband without a proper introduction.”

Unlike the woods, I cannot simply saunter into a ballroom, select a groom, and drag him to the altar. This type of hunt requires more finesse, I am told several times a day. Which is where Madge enters the picture apparently, because I lack finesse on my own, although I would argue that stalking prey in the woods requires a certain level of finesse. What good is hunting if you announce to your prey that they are your target? None.

“Euphegenia, so glad you could join us tonight. And I see you’ve brought your lovely niece and her friend. I don’t believe you’ve met my nephew. Mr. Cato Baxter. Cato, darling, this is Miss Katniss Everdeen of Southeast Panem and her dear friend, recently widowed the Countess Hargrove, Lady Margaret Charmaigne.”

The introductions and small talk continue as guests arrive and while Effie insists there will be several eligible bachelors in attendance tonight, I find myself restless and disappointed with the offerings. Mr. Baxter seems arrogant, although he supposedly fits the requirements on my list. Mr. Marvel annoys me within seconds of conversation.

“Green does not fare well with your complexion. Perhaps you should wear more of a rosy shade, Miss Everdeen,” he says with what I imagine he thinks is a helpful smile.

“How unfortunate that my favorite color does not fare well with my complexion,” I say with a tight smile in return. “At least in your esteemed opinion. I however find men wearing burgundy to be quite ostentatious.” Madge coughs quietly at that and Effie hisses to me to watch my tone. Altogether, the dinner party turns out unremarkable.

It’s the same all week. The guests vary little and I start to wonder if perhaps this task of mine will not be so simple. Everyone who seemed so kind over tea in Effie’s parlors now seems amused by the comments their relations – all supposed gentlemen. Comments on my dress, my lack of style, my brash tones, my outspoken demeanor, or even my age.

I begin to miss my home. I miss my father even more, although Prim reports no change in his health.

“A walk in the gardens,” Madge insists one day after another string of fruitless parlor visits. Mr. Thresh Jermaine appears interested in courting me, and he seems pleasant enough if a little quiet. He radiates force and intimidation, the sort of person whose will becomes law, and yet there is a gentleness about him whenever his young cousin, Miss Rue Beauchamp is about. And yet, something about him keeps me from pursuing more than a cursory acquaintance. I feel as though we might be good friends and not work as a couple.

Madge leads me outside to the gardens as I smile gratefully at her.

“I shall need to marry a prince simply to pay for the dresses.” Several more arrived earlier today and tomorrow we have an appointment for a first fitting with our ball gowns, for an upcoming masquerade party.

“They didn’t cost as much as all that,” Madge says softly. “Besides, the surest way to scare off prospective grooms is with the rumor that you’re seeking a fortune. And the best way to allay that rumor is with dresses that shout to your financial well being.”

“But I am seeking a fortune,” I remind her.

“Better he not know that.”

“Is that not dishonest?”

“Perhaps a little,” Madge concedes. “But what recourse do we have?”

I suppose in a way, she is right. We talk of Maysilee for nearly the entire time we walk. I can see the struggle in my friend’s eyes, the battle waging in her heart. She wishes more than anything to be at home with her child. While I have no claim of motherhood over my sister, I understand the fear I sometimes see in her eyes, at least a little. The fear of responsibility and the effects of absence. I worry about Prim at home with our absent minded and preoccupied mother. At least Prim has Maysilee and Sae to keep her company. I fear I am little comfort to Madge. It does her good to speak of her daughter, though, I think. Even more good when a letter arrives from Prim, detailing their adventures.

We are going to be the best of friends, Maysilee and I, when you return. Take care of Katniss for me and be sure she does not land herself into too much trouble.

Prim wrote in her last letter, making Madge smile and relax at least for half a day.

My letters from home come from Prim but mostly from our steward, Thom. He can manage most issues, but I still cautioned Prim to write me of any emergencies that might require me to return early. I did not need to say it, but she understood that I spoke of Father.

“We shall be fine,” Prim assured me with a smile as we left. “We shall see you when you succeed. You are the best huntress in Southeast Panem. Who would think that one day you would use that skill to catch a husband?”

I laughed at the time, but the hunt grows long and I grow impatient.

“You are hoping to find him, are you not?”

“Who?” I ask and Madge shakes her head.

“Your Peeta Mellark. He has piqued your interest.”

“I just wonder why Haymitch did not include him on the list of potential suitors. He was dressed in wealth, which is my top requirement. Mother indicated that his father is a marquis so his bloodline is respectable. He claimed to have been in the military which means he’s likely a second or later son, not in line for the title.”

Madge hums and bends over to sniff a sprouting bloom. “Perhaps another reason then. His father may not be generous enough to settle money on him. He was in the military after all, and you did say you would not consider gamblers, womanizers, rakes, invalids, or reprobates. Perhaps he has a reputation.”

I did say that, and I did call him a brute. The gift of the shoes confused me after his abrupt treatment of me in the mud, however, tardy or not, it was appreciated. He remembered the destruction caused in his haste and thought to correct a slight. Kindness such as that has always intrigued me. And I suppose in a way, I am hoping for a friendly familiar face at some of these social functions, even if it is a face I cannot stand to see again since it is linked to my humiliation. How can I face him in a drawing room let alone a crowded ballroom when he has seen me at my worst and his hands have ventured up my skirts before we knew one another’s full names? I am certain to blush horribly and give away my thoughts. That won’t do.

“Nor anyone who wishes to add to his land holdings through matrimony. Or perhaps Haymitch determined that I am not even suitable for a second son of a Marquis,” I add. I come with little to no dowry and none of the holdings variety. I am…disfigured in a way that would likely offend a high born gentleman, although I say that makes him a prat. Before Madge can refute me, I take a deep breath and straighten my shoulders. “It is best then that I not find him again. ‘Twould be embarrassing to relive the circumstances of our first meeting.”

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

A month and still no luck in the husband hunt. I’ve opened my mouth one too many times and the number of potential suitors has dwindled drastically. Mr. Cato Baxter in all his glorious arrogance is the only one still visiting or bringing flowers. Awful roses grown in a hot house and stinking of an overpowering perfume. They are lovely to look at, and yet as soon as I get close to touching them, their scent makes me wish to claw out my nostrils.

Effie insists that my luck will turn with our first ball next week, but I am not so sure.

“I’ve never been away from her overnight, let alone for this long,” Madge says as we sit at the table for dinner. We are rarely placed next to one another, a tactic meant to encourage socializing with new acquaintances. However a few of the guests tonight appear to have not shown and the hostess shuffled the seating arrangement to avoid large empty spaces at her table.

“Prim and Sae are taking good care of her,” I assure my friend.

“I know,” she whispers and then faces me with sadness in her eyes. “Would you think me insane if I told you it is myself that I fear for more during this separation?”

I shake my head in confusion and Madge wrings a napkin in her hands.

“It is a fear that…she will be just fine without me. What then do I mean to her life if she barely misses me? It is selfish, I know, but for the past five years no one has loved me or needed me save for Maysilee. From the moment she opened her eyes, I knew that she loved me as I love her.”

“But that’s just it, isn’t it?” I ask. “You love her and she returns that love naturally. You’ve already taught her to love. She misses you, Madge. Perhaps it will not cripple her, but I think you don’t want that either.”

“Of course not! I suppose in a way, I am also afraid that I don’t know who I am without her anymore. Ever since she was born, every choice that I made was for Maysilee.”

“Well,” I suggest with a cheeky smile. “Now you can mother me. You are one of my chaperones, after all, Countess.” And tonight, she is acting without Haymitch and Effie. My aunt and uncle had a prior engagement and were unable to join us this evening.

Madge groans at her title but a rosy blush stains her cheeks as she smiles. We both know that her title demands a certain level of respect and affords us a kind of protection during this venture. We’ve already seen it’s effects. Doors opened and invitations issued that might not ever be extended to simply Miss Katniss Everdeen.

Not to mention several gentlemen have noticed Madge’s sunny charms over my surly demeanor. It may only be a matter of time before she is wed again, this time perhaps happily so. Once her time of mourning has passed, of course.

The dinner is more enjoyable with Madge at my side, although the seat to my left remains empty. It is the first evening in a long time that I have not had to smile for a man and feign interest in his prattle while already marking him off the list of potential suitors.

“Apologies! Lady Roth, please, accept my apologies for my tardiness,” a male voice proclaims as a man hurries into the dining room, interrupting all conversation.

“Of course! Robert, my dear I am simply glad that you could make it after all. We were a few short on gentlemen this evening.” Lady Roth stands to greet the new arrival.

“You are too kind, cousin. I heard that quail was on the menu and cancelled all other engagements! Your cook’s quail demands my attention,” he declares as he enters my field of view and I nearly choke. Madge elbows me and I turn my head to whisper to her.

“He looks just like him!”

“Who?”

“I don’t believe you know all of our guests, Robert. Please. These charming ladies here.” Lady Roth rattles off Madge’s name and mine as he smiles down at me and I’m a little stunned at how handsome he is when he’s not soaking wet or showing the fatigue of travel. I have to remind myself that this is not the same man who plucked me from the mud. The word brother rings in my head for surely there’s no other explanation and I am certain it is confirmed when Lady Roth finally reaches the point of giving us his name. “My dears this is Sir Robert Mellark. Third son of the Marquis de Vale.”

Madge now coughs at the name, although we both manage to nod at him in greeting. Sir Robert snatches my hand off the table and bows low over it with a charming smile.

“Enchanted. Miss Everdeen.”

“Robert we’ve already rearranged the seats but there is a vacancy next to Miss Everdeen if that is agreeable.”

“More than agreeable,” he says, eyes never leaving mine as my cheeks heat and my heart seems to have grown wings in my chest, beating wildly against its flesh and bone cage.

Warnings ring in my head at his smooth flattery, but I silence them within seconds of him sweeping his chair back and sitting next to me.

Sir Robert speeds through the necessary pleasantries with breathtaking speed, which I appreciate as I am tired of repeating them on end, and he soon has both Madge and I laughing at his tales of searching for the perfect plums at market that morning. It seems so strange. The son of a Marquis searching for his own plums, but the way he speaks to everyone at the table, I form the impression that he wears his nobility carelessly, as though it were merely a speck of dust and not something that defines him.

“They were an excellent fruit and I wish I had some to share with the party,” he says and Madge smiles before turning to speak to someone across the table from her. My attention, however is drawn to Sir Robert, leaning in close to me and speaking softly, so that only I can hear. “Have you had the joy of sinking your teeth into an especially tart plum recently, Miss Everdeen?”

I am not sure what sort of innuendo the man intends, but his voice caresses and teases. And then I’m not thinking of Sir Robert’s plums but of Peeta’s hands on my ankles. A thrill slithers up my thigh and I draw my ankles close together, as though someone might see beneath the table and my skirts and somehow guess at my thoughts. A sinner’s touch, a sinner’s voice. Yes I am almost certain they must be brothers.

“Not lately, although you shall be the first to learn if I do,” I say and am rewarded with a dazzling smile. I wonder if my mother felt so bewitched by my father and turn to focus on my soup after that.

After dinner, the ladies gather in the drawing room while the gentlemen abscond to the study with Lord Roth.

“That isn’t him, is it?” Madge hisses as we sit down to play cards.

“No,” I whisper back. “Brothers perhaps. Though the features are almost identical.”

“Then your Peeta is quite handsome.”

“He is not my Peeta,” I hiss. Madge nods and we continue on, although I notice a gleam in her eyes. It’s not until the men rejoin us and Sir Robert occupies a vacant seat at the card table that I discover what mischief she has planned.

“Sir Robert, I believe my dear friend has already had the pleasure of meeting your brother,” Madge says with a bright smile. I for one, do not appreciate the direction of the conversation. I told her I did not wish to relive my humiliation in the mud. I only wound up there through a series of unwise decisions, after all. And I cannot seem to stop thinking about it while I would rather forget the entire thing.

“Oh? Which brother? There are several of us, I am afraid.” He says with a slight laugh that draws attention to our conversation.

“He gave his name as Peeta,” I explain since I’ve little choice. Madge has dragged me into this fiasco and I cannot be rude. Effie reminds me almost daily that my lack of polished manners drove away Mr. Marvel and Mr. Thresh Jermaine as suitors for my hand. I argue that they were not truly interested.

“Ah so you met my twin.”

“Twin?” Madge asks with real curiosity in her voice. Our fourth at the table, a Miss Davenport, snorts indelicately at this.

“Can you really call him that, Sir Robert?”

“We share a father, were born on the same day, any number of people confuse us for one another–”

“Yes but I don’t believe this is a proper conversation for polite company.”

“Miss Davenport is scandalized. I apologize Countess. Miss Everdeen.”

I am about to ask him why his speaking of his brother would be considered improper when something in what he said seems to click into place, like a tumbler in a lock. I share a look with Madge, her eyes wide as she purses her lips and shakes her head slightly. Before I can confirm, Sir Robert deftly moves the conversation to the masquerade ball the Duchess of Cashmere will be throwing in a little over a week. It is all that anyone can speak of these days.

“Will you be in attendance, Miss Everdeen?” Sir Robert asks quietly. “At the masquerade?”

“I believe we planned on it,” I tell him and he smiles.

“I am glad to hear it.”

He moves on from the card games after that, leaving me with a hundred questions and a fluttering pulse. The fluttering thankfully only lasts a moment or two and I am able to enjoy the fresh night air on the drive home. A rain cleared the sky this afternoon and now the scents of early summer abound. I miss my home. The thought causes me to withdraw further into my own musings.

“So then. Sir Robert is a cheeky flirt and the mysterious Peeta is an illegitimate son,” Madge says as we prepare for bed that night. They share a birth date and a father, Sir Robert had said, implying that they do not share a mother. “Perhaps that is why Haymitch kept him off the list?”

I say nothing, still too lost in the quagmire of my thoughts to formulate an intelligent response.

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

Sir Robert visits for tea. He sends flowers and asks for a dance at my first ball of the season. The Duchess of Cashmere’s masquerade. Aunt Effie is thrilled.

“I told Haymitch he should expand the list a little higher. After all, a third son–”

“Does not usually stand to inherit a thing,” Haymitch reminds her.

“Yes except everyone knows the Marquis has settled a healthy income on all his sons and lands of some sort on most of them. And why shouldn’t he? The man can afford it.” Haymitch opens his mouth to argue and Effie snaps open a fan, fluttering it madly in front of her face. Madge speaks up to avoid the fight brewing.

“What of a fourth son?” I glare at her.

“There is no fourth son,” Effie says with a click of her tongue that closes the conversation and answers the question of why Peeta was left off the list. Or perhaps I am wrong. Haymitch’s mood takes a turn for the worse and I wonder at it. He is my mother’s half brother after all. He must know of her history with the Marquis. Perhaps there are more sinister secrets lurking in that family beyond a slightly ruthless nature and a bastard son.

I avoid the parlor that afternoon in favor of walking in the garden behind the house. What I truly wish to do is ride Sagittaria, but Haymitch insists riding in the park is not something unmarried ladies do alone and he no longer rides. That is surely why I accept Mr. Baxter’s invitation to ride in the park, despite how much his pompous demeanor annoys me.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #prompt 88 #M

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turnabouttoothbrush · 6 years

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Reckoning, Chapter Eleven

Today’s sporkers: Fallen, Aziz, and Cade again.

Cade: Hey! No fair!

(Excuse me.)

Fallen: So you were in the last Reckoning sporking. Aziz and I were in the last sporking in general.

Cade: Yeah, yeah...

Aziz: ...why does it feel like it’s been forever since we last updated?

Fallen: Because it has. ...well, to be fair, we’ve been really busy!

Aziz: We really should update our askblog sometime this week...

Fallen: I think at this point our followers are used to there only being one update every six months!

Cade: That’s not a good thing.

Rating: M

Cade: Fuck me.

Aziz: No.

"What? Tell me what?" Axel asked, reaching out and grasping my chin, lifting it lightly until I looked at him.

"I… I don't know exactly," I said, calming a little when I looked at his face, "but whenever I'm not around you, I think about you all the time… when you're close by, I feel happy, when Luxord hurt you… I couldn't stand it, I tried to be quiet so you wouldn't get hurt, but…" I said breaking down. I had to pause and look away for a moment before I could get my composition back. "When I thought you'd died… I… " I said, looking at him again, shaking as fresh tears started streaming as I looked into his widened eyes.

"Roxas…" He whispered, gripping my shoulder, bringing me closer to him, extremely slowly so I could get away if I wanted to. "Roxas," Axel whispered again when his lips were nearly touching mine. I still didn't pull away. Then, he slipped his hand to the back of my neck and pulled me toward him until my lips met his. I shivered at the initial contact before allowing him to kiss me. It calmed me a lot.

"Is that love?" I asked, pulling back a little when he paused.

Axel smiled up at me. "That, or something like it."

Fallen: I am now realizing that, last chapter, you missed the chance to post

youtube

Cade: The line here is “Is that love?” not “What is love?”

Aziz: Close enough.

Cade: You’re right, and anyway it’s a good song.

Fallen: Shame on you and Silverpelt and Hawksky!

Aziz: It’s always shame on those two anyway...

It took about a week of being in the hospital, before Axel had nearly fully recuperated.

Cade: Hope he has good insurance.

Fallen: He’s blackmailing the hospital staff, remember? They’ll probably just write him off.

Aziz: Or else he’ll just toss the bill in the trash when it gets sent three months later, the hospital has no real way to collect and I don’t think a gang leader’s gonna care about wrecking his credit score. Anyway, wasn’t he just shot? Generally they don’t keep you in the hospital that long.

Fallen: To be fair, it wasn’t specified what kind of damage it did or if there were any complications. If it were just soft tissue damage only, no vascular injuries, bone not hit, no complications etc. he should have been discharged days ago but staying a whole week over a gunshot wound is totally plausible.

Aziz: Hang on, I found a study.

The average length of hospital stay in days varied according to the type of injury sustained by patients. Forty-three out of 97 (44.3%) patients with soft tissue injuries only were discharged on the day of admission, most of which underwent non-operative treatment. The average length of hospital stay for soft tissue injuries without vascular damage was 1.2 days (range 0–10). Patients who sustained bony injuries along with soft tissue injuries average length of hospital stay was 7.1 days (range 0–88). The average length of stay for patients who sustained vascular injuries along with other soft tissue injuries was 11.7 days (range 0–24). Those injuries that included a combination of vascular, bony and soft tissue injuries stayed for an average 17.0 days (range 0–35, 0 = died same day of admission). Patients who sustained multiple organ injuries had hospital stays at an average of 13.5 days (range 2–33).

Fallen: So I guess, most likely, Axel had soft tissue and bone damage, but no vascular injuries...

Cade: Girls, please don’t kid yourselves about the author actually thinking this through. We all know they didn’t. Anyway, let’s get back to the fic.

During his hospital stay, I had stayed close to him the entire time much like he had done for me when I'd been in the hospital. I even stayed when Demyx and Zexion visited, declining leaving with them afterwards. Once they'd left, I told Axel everything that had happened to me, from the kidnapping to discovering my mother. I didn't bother recounting the rape. Axel already knew every detail.

Aziz: And Roxas is very casual about it.

"Oh, Roxas," Axel said sadly, gripping my hand once I'd finished. "I can't believe that your dad made you look at your mom like that. I can't even imagine… I'm so sorry. God you've been through so much…"

I glowered at him. I wouldn't stand for him pitying me. "Didn't I tell you last time we were in a hospital not to pity me?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, Rox." Axel said apologetically.

Fallen: Uh, there’s a big difference between pity and being sympathetic and trying to empathize when your boyfriend has something traumatic happen to him. You don’t need to dismiss that concern out of hand?

Cade: Also, Roxas throwing a fit about being pitied makes noooo sense considering how much time he spends flaunting his twagic backstory.

I looked at Axel studiously for a moment. He looked like he meant it, so I forgave him.

"Roxas," Axel said gently, gripping my hand after I'd gone silent for a few minutes. I gave him my full attention when he squeezed my hand. "Can I give your mom a proper funeral? Would that be okay with you?" he asked. I felt the familiar sting of oncoming tears.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked.

Aziz: Because not everyone’s a heartless sociopath like you are?

Fallen: I think at this point Axel has more respect for the dead than the living.

I still hadn't even given him a proper answer about giving him a chance. I mean… sure I'd admitted feelings for him, but that still wasn't an official answer.

"Because, Roxas," he said, grimacing slightly as he sat up to get closer to me, "she deserves it," he said wiping away the tears that had formed at the corners of my eyes.

Cade: *as Axel* Gotta pay respects to the pussy that popped out my favorite bitch so far.

"And she meant a lot to you, didn't she?" he asked, smiling when I nodded.

"Okay," I said.

Aziz: *as Axel* So, you good with cremation?

Fallen: *as Roxas* Why, you got coupons or something?

Aziz: *as Axel* Or something.

Almost two weeks later, once all of the preparations had been made and he had been released from the hospital,

Cade: You just said that after a week Axel was “nearly fully recuperated”. How did he stay there for a full week after that?

Fallen: Freaking malingerers! A drain on resources!!

Axel held a funeral for my mother. I'd managed to find a photo of her to put on the casket in a dusty frame when we'd gone back to my house to get her body. I never did hear what happened to my father's corpse. Perhaps it was just buried somewhere, since there was no family to claim it. I really didn't care.

Aziz: lol, of course you didn’t.

"Axel," I whispered, gripping his hand at the funeral. They were just beginning to lower the casket into the ground next to a lovely gravestone Axel had helped me pick out.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"Thank you," I said, throwing the rose that I'd been holding in my other hand onto my mother's casket just before it was swallowed up into the ground and hidden from view. Axel just nodded.

Cade: *as Axel* So, now that this part of your tragic backstory has been resolved... I don’t have to hear about it anymore, right?

Aziz: If I remember correctly, Roxas’ mom literally doesn’t come up again after this.

Cade: Of course she doesn’t.

We stood there until we were the last ones at the gravesite. Demyx, Zexion, and Xaldin had headed home already as well as everyone else. Axel squeezed my hand lightly before slipping his hand away and putting his arm around my shoulders, drawing me closer. "Ready to go home, Rox?" he asked. It was mid November and the winter chill that came with it was starting to creep in. Today was especially chilly. I shivered slightly before allowing him to lead me to the car, still looking back. "We can come back as often as you'd like," Axel said reassuringly.

"I'd like that," I said, smiling up at him as he opened the car door for me before going around to the driver's side.

"Axel," I said as he started the car, making him look at me. "Could we just… drive around for a little while?" I asked.

"Sure," he said, putting the car into gear.

Fallen: That way he can monitor his territory and flex on rival gangs.

Aziz: Maybe do a few drive-bys.

Fallen: Life on the streets: A romantic setting

Axel drove around for about an hour, before taking off, going out of town, obviously having a destination in mind. He stopped at a place called 'crystal fissure'. Axel said that it was a natural wonder and it was located in a town called Radiant Garden. I looked at it, amazed, as we got out of the car. It was absolutely beautiful.

Fallen: I’m gonna give the author the benefit of the doubt for not describing this at all and assume it’s an in-game location and we’re supposed to know what it looks like already!

Aziz: Actually, it is.

Cade: Isn’t this the same author who felt the need to tell us what Axel looks like earlier?

"Do you like it?" Axel asked. We'd arrived just before sunset, so it was reflecting the different hues that the sun was giving off.

"It's beautiful," I said, awestruck.

"So are you," Axel said, grasping my hand. I stared up at him and he gazed straight into my eyes. That was definitely bold of him.

Aziz: Hasn’t he been doing this shit all fic?

"No I'm not," I said, softening my gaze a little, searching his face in an attempt to know what he was thinking. He smirked down at me.

"I think you are," he said. I felt my cheeks heat up at those words. I turned to leave so he wouldn't see, but he gripped my hand more tightly, pulling me close and turning me around.

"Axel…" I whispered, staring at him wide-eyed and shivering a little from the cold. He smiled briefly before looking away. He probably thought he was scaring me.

"Look Roxas," he said, indicating the fissure, "its magenta now." I didn't tear my eyes away from his face.

Cade: Axel’s prettier than some stupid ol’ crystals any day.

Aziz: I wish I could argue with that.

Fallen: Why is he so pretty?!

"Axel," I said a little louder, making him look at me again. He looked like he was about ready to speak, but I beat him to it. "Do want an answer to your question now?" I asked, looking up into his surprised face.

"Ready to give me an official answer?" he asked, sounding as surprised as he looked and blinking.

I smirked up at him. "Yeah," I said, "something along those lines." Axel continued to look at me as anticipation worked its way across his face. "I'd love to be your boyfriend," I said, "if you don't mind me not being able to get over my past yet and if you can accept the fact that I can't handle much physical action."

Fallen: Not that it’s a good idea to jump right into ‘physical action’ anyway... *cough*

Cade: ...isn’t this chapter rated M?

I literally saw Axel's face transform, from anxious to extremely excited in a matter of seconds, making him look a lot like a child in a candy store, as his face lit up. "Of course not, silly," he said gleefully, bending down and kissing my forehead, making my flush darken a little. I couldn't believe that he was so happy just because I'd said yes and even had conditions attached. "I can be patient," he said, brushing his nose against mine.

Aziz: *as Axel* But I do expect sex eventually, trauma be damned, you got that?

"I'll even listen if you ever want to talk about the past."

"I'd like that," I said, turning toward the fissure again. We watched it until the sun had set then made our way back to the car as it got dark.

Cade: *insert low-effort joke about stumbling over something and falling off a cliff here*

By the time we got home, the last traces of twilight had completely vanished and the stars had already come out. Axel and I went inside his darkened home. He pressed a finger to his lips, looking back at me when he turned on a light, before locking the door. I peered around him and saw Demyx snuggled up on

top of Zexion on the couch.

Aziz: Don’t they have, like, their own house or something? Why are they always at Axel’s?

Fallen: I honestly don’t remember anymore.

Cade: We really need to update more consistently...

Both were asleep despite the TV being on. I smiled at them as we passed by and Axel shut off the TV. He turned back and grasped my hand, smiling as he led me into his bedroom.

"Do you want to stay in my room or would you like a room of your own?" Axel asked, taking off his shoes.

Fallen: And I thought lesbians move in on the third date jokes were stupid.

Aziz: Lesbians move in on the third date. Gays move in on the first.

I took off my shoes as well as my jacket before answering.

"Staying in yours is fine," I said, taking off my gloves, "if you don't mind," knowing full well that he wouldn't. "Axel, will you tell me about yourself?" I asked, sitting on his bed.

"Sure, Roxas, but first, I need a shower," he said. I nodded just before he vanished.

Aziz: Forever, hopefully.

As soon as he was gone, I searched through his dresser. I found a clean shirt and underwear, not bothering to look for anything else; I'm sure the rest of his clothes would've been way too big on me, since he was so tall. I slipped away and went out, past the sleeping lovers, going to shower myself as well. I was sure I needed it.

I wanted to get done before him though, so I didn't take more than five minutes then got dressed in the clean clothes, gathering up the dirty ones, and heading back. I barely beat him, just sitting on the bed again before he came in, in only underwear.

"I see you raided my dresser," he said, smiling at me before sitting next to me.

"Yeah, I hope you don't mind," I said.

Cade: Pretty sure none of it fits.

Fallen: Yeah, Roxas has a pretty normal build while Axel is built like an anorexic giraffe.

Aziz: Roxas bends over and the underwear rips because it’s too tight on his hips. “Oh no~” he trills, putting a finger on his lower lip and glancing back at Axel. “My entire ass is on display~”

Cade: Can we get to the M-rated part already? At least bad sex is usually entertaining.

"Not at all," he said shaking his head. I smiled at him before letting my eyes wander down to his chest. For someone who was only twenty-three,

Cade: How old is Roxas again, sixteen?

Fallen: At this point I literally just remember child bride jokes.

he sure had a lot of scars. Guess that that was part of gang life. I winced. Two of them had been my fault. "What's wrong, Rox?" Axel asked. He'd seen me start to look a little upset.

"Did it hurt?" I asked, running my thumb across his two newest scars. Axel laughed lightly.

"Of course," he said, "But saving you made it worthwhile," He said.

"Does it still hurt?" I asked, looking into his face.

Aziz: For him? No. For us?

Fallen: Maybe.

He shook his head no, but looked a little pained as if he'd just remembered something. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Just thinking," he said. I smiled, but felt a little bitter.

"Just thinking…" I said, "about Luxord?"

Fallen: *as Axel* About that ass I won’t get until you get over your PTSD shit or whatever.

He didn't answer me and I knew I was right. "Did he injure your heart or your mind?" I asked, sliding my fingers along his chest. I was surprised when he shivered as I touched him. When he still didn't answer, I pushed him down gently.

"What are you doing Roxas?" He asked, clearly surprised as I kissed first his chest then his forehead, both deliberately slowly and lovingly.

"Whenever my dad would get angry and hit me when I was little, before my mother passed, she'd kiss me where I was hurt like that and I'd feel better," I said, running my fingers along the tattoos on his cheeks. "Was I wrong?" I asked, widening my eyes a little.

Axel smiled at me warmly. "No," he said, "I feel much better."

Aziz: Well, that’s corny.

Fallen: And scene.

Cade: ...wait, seriously? Where’s the porn??

Fallen: Um, in the next chapter maybe?

Cade: Why was this this chapter rated M, then???

Aziz: *clicks through* They all say that.

Cade: Uh. How did we just notice on chapter eleven, then?

Aziz: Because they’re in the author’s notes and we always ignore those.

Cade: Ah... well... that’s stupid. What’s the point in pointing out the M-rating every chapter?

Fallen: ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

To be continued...

#mst #kh #cade #fallen #aziz

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