#gale is a hypocrite here so if that's not your thing keep walking

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

When the Rooster Misses the Dawn

So I saw this post from @triassictriserratops and asked if I could have a go at it, since I do enjoy writing some oblivious Gale letting his arrogance where Katniss is concerned lead him into accidental voyeurism. What can I say? I hope you enjoy and this cheers you up a bit, my friend!

RATED M for mild sexual content, accidental voyeurism, and brief mention of miscarriage.

Written in haste and not beta read so all mistakes are mine.

***

There existed only a handful of situations dire enough to wrest Colonel Gale Albert Hawthorne from his duties. Of course, his duties lay so far afield from home that word of the disaster took months to reach him. 

The news first took the form of a letter from his mother. He hardly gave countenance to it. Surely she must be mistaken, he thought as he read the preposterous claims. Katniss engaged to be married? Impossible. She and Gale had an agreement. Nothing official, to Gale’s great chagrin. He had meant to formalize it before he left, but so many other details had captured his attention. Ensuring his family’s security before he left, for one. There was also the matter of that pretty little blonde claiming him as the sire of her brat. 

He couldn’t very well outright propose to Katniss while dealing with that potential catastrophe. It had been costly but well worth it in the end. While the tidy sum and stern words he’d given the girl had hushed her, Gale found himself floundering for the words ample enough to convey his intentions to his true beloved when the time came.

He thought she had understood. No. He was certain Katniss had understood. She had no wish to marry immediately but would welcome a proposal from a good man she could respect, one who could provide her with security and stability, she had told him. Who would help her see Primrose educated and launched into society at the appropriate age. A man who would be a dutiful father to her children and a willing caretaker to her mother, should Mrs. Everdeen live to see her elderly years. Gale had been certain she meant him. Who else could she have meant? 

He had left home, confident that Katniss would wait for him to secure his status in the army. They would marry as soon as he returned home. That was his understanding of the matter. His mother must be mistaken. 

Still, to be certain, he had dispatched a letter to Katniss, laughingly commenting on the preposterous rumors about her marital status. While he waited for her reply, he dispatched his military duties with alacrity, even with enjoyment at times. And if he occasionally spent a small, token amount of his earnings on pleasurable company, no man in his right mind would chastise Gale for the weakness. 

The fact that the number of women whose bed he had warmed numbered too great for him to count did not signify. He consoled himself with the conviction that his knowledge of the carnal delights would only enhance his skill in the marriage bed. Katniss, he was certain, would have no recourse to complain if he could provide her with unparalleled ecstasy as well as a parcel of strong, healthy children.

A second letter from his mother reached him before any reply from Katniss. In this letter, Mrs. Hawthorne delivered the news that it was done. Katniss had been married a sennight previous to the penning of the missive he held in his hand. His mother had been in attendance at what she called a “lovely but rather hasty affair.” A quick calculation revealed to Gale the horrific possibility. The letter had clearly been waylaid. If indeed it were true, his darling Catnip had been wedded and bedded four months prior.

Gale denied it as long as possible. Until three days hence when at last a letter arrived from Katniss herself. No, not a letter. A mere note of five sentences. It too had been mislaid, likely due to the dampness that obscured some of Katniss’s already messy penmanship. Had she been in tears when she wrote this?

My dear friend,

I haven’t the time to give the news more than a few sentences, but indeed it is no jest. I write to you as a married woman and we depart this very morning for my husband’s estate. I have only time to provide you with my new direction. Write to me, Gale. I fear you would not understand our marriage and I could not bear it if it were the reason for the dissolution of our friendship.

Lady Katniss Mellark

Lady! So then, she had married a lord. Gale seethed at the indignation. She must have been induced into marriage for the sake of money. The security and stability she had claimed to desire for herself and her family was to blame. He had known that Katniss and her family existed constantly on the verge of gentile poverty, but had he known the situation to be so dire, he would have offered for her hand much sooner. Far better to be wed and separated for an untold number of months rather than see Katniss sell herself into marriage to a lord. No doubt an old, doddering fool of a lord, at that.

Such injustice! Gale raged for months, convinced of his righteous fury at the indignity Katniss must be suffering at the hands of her revolting spouse. To be forced to play nursemaid to an aging fool, and to then submit herself to his no doubt odious and lecherous advances in the marriage bed. No! It was not to be bourne.

It took days for the Colonel to untangle his affairs, both military and personal, enough for him to request a leave of absence. He wrote to Katniss at her new direction, providing a date she could expect him to visit. The journey required interminable weeks which he spent planning his strategies. How to convince Katniss to escape her horrific marriage, or encourage her to speed her husband’s journey to the grave. He would, of course, lend any assistance she might need in the matter.

At last, he arrived at the estate of Lord Peeta and Lady Katniss Mellark, Earl and Countess of Baecare. As he reined in his steed, his gaze swept the rather humble facade of the manor home. A place so quaint should prove no challenge for him to storm. A mere servant greeted him and as he gave his name, he was informed that Lady Katniss was currently indisposed.

“May I show you to your room? My lady will join you in the parlor after you’ve had a chance to freshen up and settle in your room.”

Gale agreed to the terms of engagement and dismounted. He had little enough in the way of luggage and carried it himself as he followed the maid inside.

The interior of the house impressed him even less than the exterior. He could not be terribly wealthy, this Lord Mellark, Gale thought as he examined the house. So simple and lacking in ostentation. Katniss could not be happy to have sold herself for so little. How exactly was this Lord Mellark meant to support Katniss, her sister, and her mother if he could so ill afford the luxuries of a wealthy home? 

He found his chambers serviceable but unimpressive. He had shared a bed with a courtesan whose chambers put this one to shame in terms of wealth and opulence. This house was no more than a country farm. To think that her husband claimed nobility with this shabby residence!

Gale freshened his appearance, and satisfied that Katniss, although he had never known her to be given to flights of romanticism, might in fact be swept off her feet by his dashing appearance, Gale made his way to the parlor to wait.

A footman offered him a drink and poured a glass of Scotch for him, then left him in silence to contemplate the room. He found more of the same. Serviceable but falling short of his expectations for the home of an earl.

“Forgive my intrusion,” a voice broke Gale’s strategic concentration and he turned about to find a man entering the room, one arm working a gleaming wooden crutch as he limped closer, an affable smile on his face. A young man, dressed in simple but fine clothes. A dark blue coat over an intricately embroidered, pale green waistcoat. His shirt and cravat crisp white and his breeches a soft, almost buttery shade of tan. Despite the man’s obviously deformed leg and limp, he wore gleaming riding boots. 

“You must be Colonel Hawthorne. Welcome to our home. Katniss has spoken so warmly of you that I feel I know you already,” the stranger said and stopped far enough away to execute a polite bow. “Please, allow me to refresh your drink.”

Gale stood there as the stranger claimed his glass and refilled it.

“I hope your journey was swift and untroubled?”

“A little longer than I had hoped, but no challenges I could not handle.” The stranger chuckled and offered the refilled glass to Gale. He accepted it and attempted to puzzle out who this young, cheerful man could possibly be in relation to Katniss. Surely this was not the Lord of the Manor… or perhaps it was.

“Indeed. My lady has spoken at length about how capable her dear friend Gale Hawthorne is in all matters,” the man spoke the words and yet Gale could not absorb them fully. His lady. Of course servants address their mistress with the honorific, but this man did not dress like a servant. Perhaps the lord’s son and heir, then? A cripple, how embarrassing. Perhaps then the aging Lord Mellark had offered comfort and wealth to Katniss in the form of a dowager title in the hopes of producing a different, younger heir…

“Peeta. You are not teasing our guest already, I hope.”

Gale found himself paralyzed at the sound of her voice. Months now he had dreamt of her and her lovely voice. Now to hear it addressing this man, so familiarly, he could hardly bear it. Of course she must act as required. Still, it stung.

The pain only alleviated a little as he turned at last and noticed an unprecedented pallor to her skin. 

“Lady Mellark,” he managed to say as she came forward and clasped his hands, presenting her cheek for him to rest his against. An old family greeting. He could hardly stand to feel the meager brush of her skin against his when he longed to pull her fully into his arms. But then she was gone, removing her hands even from his grasp. “It has been too long.”

“Far too long, and you are a wretched correspondent,” she declared.

“No worse than you,” he retorted and the other man laughed. 

“She does seem to demand far more in words than she is willing to return,” he said. Katniss turned her face enough to scowl slightly at the man, but he seemed unashamed and unaware of her expression. “But no matter. My lady finds her own means of conveying her thoughts.”

The only advantage to her ire was the flush that rose to Katniss’s cheeks, chasing away the frightening pallor. Perhaps then the man was not so oblivious, Gale considered, but had no chance to delve into deeper strategic observations.

“You must forgive my husband, Gale. He believes himself to be an unparalleled wit,” Katniss declared with a saucy lift to her chin. So then this was in fact Lord Mellark. Young and crippled. Not much better a match than old and crippled. Still, perhaps Gale’s plans could still work. He sensed indeed that Katniss would need them to work.

They sat then, and conversed, covering Gale’s journey and the other required topics. All of it quite banal as tea was served and sipped. Katniss ate but one biscuit, a little surprising given how healthy her appetite had always been, at least to Gale’s knowledge.

He hoped for some time alone with Katniss, to pry further into the particulars of their marriage, so that he might fine tune his strategies for extricating her from what was clearly an unfortunate marriage. He became only more convinced of the need to free Katniss from the odious union when she suggested that she show Gale about the estate, and Lord Mellark intervened.

“My dear, the Colonel has ridden a long way on his journey. Perhaps he might prefer rest. Or perhaps a walk in the gardens.”

“I can manage a ride quite well enough. I am used to long days of difficult work,” Gale countermanded, but Katniss demurred.

“No, my husband is quite right. You should rest before dinner. We shall ride out in the morning instead,” she declared, and Gale could not argue without seeming rude. He bowed in acquiescence but rather than accepting their invitation to walk with them both in the gardens, he declined and retired to his chambers.

Yet he did not rest. Instead, he paced his rooms. At one point, he lingered at his window long enough to catch sight of them returning to the house. Katniss’s dress, he noted, seemed to be stained in several places and her hat trailed by the ribbons behind her. Lord Mellark seemed oblivious to her shocking state and even laughed as she gripped the balustrade before slowly making her way into the house.

Manners be damned, Gale was ready to charge to her room when a servant appeared to inform him that dinner would be served in a half hour.

Thwarted, Gale fumed as he dressed for dinner. He silently fumed as Katniss made awkward attempts to draw him into conversation over dinner and ate little again. Was she ill? What had the bastard husband done to her? Gale wondered as he ate what he would otherwise deem an exquisite meal. The table seemed populated with all his favourite foods, a detail that he noted as a plea from Katniss. A silent reminder that this should have been their marriage table. Not Lord Mellark’s.

She retired early, leaving Gale alone to converse with Lord Mellark in the study. He used the opportunity to study the man as best he could. What little he gleaned only further convinced Gale of the man’s unsuitability to act as Katniss’s husband.

A third born son, not even intended for the title, who had lost his entire family in a tragic fire at one of their older estates while he had been away. 

Third born sons, Gale mentally scoffed, so needless and undesired as to inevitably fall into the dissolute lives of gamblers, wastrels, amoral spendthrifts, and seducers of innocent maidens and opera singers. Gale wondered then if Katniss’s clearly declining health were due to the obvious unhappiness of her marriage or to something more sinister. Perhaps Mellark had infected her with some terrible venereal disease!

The idea gave him pause, but no. His love for Katniss transcended such petty matters. He would not punish her for her husband’s cruelty in inflicting such a disease on her. Gale would love her regardless, passionately even, and in every sense of the word. As soon as they were free of her husband.

Even if a venereal disease were not the culprit, Katniss could not be happy saddled with a crippled husband. Gale knew how she disliked dealing with injuries, suffering from queasiness at the mere discussion of her mother’s skills as a healer. Perhaps this was it then! Of course Katniss was constantly ill around her husband. He was permanently injured and she required to face such an injury each time he demanded his marital rights in her bed.

Gale continued to fume and build a case against her husband. When he spotted Katniss fingering a faintly tarnished trinket hanging on a chain around her neck, he formed the theory that Lord Mellark, as a third son, was ill equipped to handle the fortune entrusted to him. Yes, that must be the reason for the modesty of their home, and the gold locket perhaps the only bit of finery left to Katniss that had not yet been sold to pay for her husband’s debts. 

No matter. Gale would shower her with jewels, if she would have them, once they were free of her husband. If she would accept them, of course. Katniss had always hated the pompousness that came with wealth and the ostentation that seemed to flow from every thread of the lives of the wealthy, and even from their pores.

As the days passed, Gale only became more convinced of the need to free Katniss from her marriage. Because despite all the mounting evidence that Lorn Mellark must be the worst sort of husband for Katniss, and that she must be genuinely miserable in her marriage, Gale could not help but like the man.

Damn his eyes! Lord Mellark projected a character so opposite to what Gale knew he must truly be. The devious man made it nearly impossible to hate him. Until Gale recalled the privileges Lord Mellark enjoyed beneath Katniss’s skirts.

He had his strategy prepared, even allowing for the fact that they would need to make haste to retrieve her sister and mother, in order to protect them from Lord Mellark’s wrath and retribution once he realized Gale had spirited away his wife.

Finally, Katniss’s health seemed to improve, and on a night when she declared herself to be famished and then consumed a prodigious amount of food, Gale decided it was time to enact his plan. He suffered through the after dinner pleasantries, although he did fully enjoy the delights of Katniss’s singing. He’d never known her to have such a sweet, melodious singing voice, and he realized that he had never heard her sing before this night. 

Her voice seemed to take wing and soar about the room, and he was awash in emotion, so overcome that he hardly noticed her husband’s clumsy playing of the pianoforte in accompaniment to her song, nor did he countenance the small gesture of Lord Mellark grasping her hand and lifting it to his mouth for a soft kiss after the song had ended.

Katniss shivered in revulsion, and begged leave to retire shortly afterwards. That was all that mattered to Gale. Tonight, he would go to her and declare himself and his intentions. A sneak attack in her chambers, although he fully expected her to fall weeping into his arms in gratitude.

Perhaps not weeping, he amended as he grimaced and dismissed the servant. He packed his belongings then and waited, tracking the moon’s progress across the sky until the hour when he could be certain Lord Mellark slumbered in his bed.

***

Katniss sat at her vanity, brushing her hair. Her eyes fixed unwaveringly on the reflection in the mirror. On the open door behind her that led to her husband’s rooms. She despised this concession to wealth and nobility in their house. She had in fact been meaning to remedy the odious arrangements of their rooms since they first arrived. But the excitement and anticipation of waiting for him each night had provided a thrilling and diverting distraction for far longer than she had expected. And then the baby. The one she had lost.

She nearly began weeping again thinking of the babe, but no. She lifted her chin and forced herself to appear serene. It would not do to have Peeta see her in tears. He had been delaying this night far longer than she desired, far longer than the doctor had recommended, at first out of concern for her health, and then out of concern for her broken heart.

Tonight, she would wait no more. Peeta would return to her bed or she would march to his room and seduce him. But he would not ignore her summons. Of that she was certain. She had sent him a note. His precious words he always begged from her lips, although he wielded them far better than she ever hoped to do.

Come to my bed, husband, or suffer my wrath come the morning. Love me again.

With all my heart, body, and soul,

Katniss

Perhaps a bit pathetic, but she was desperate. Having Gale in the house only increased her frustration since Peeta seemed overly conscious of setting her childhood friend at ease. He had barely touched her this past fortnight and she was half starved and out of her mind with need for all the small intimacies she’d grown accustomed to receiving from him. That was why she’d nearly combusted and simultaneously melted into a puddle at his feet when he kissed her hand after she sang tonight.

Damn him and his sense of hospitality. She would have him tonight and have him fully. If she moaned loud enough to bring the rafters down on Gale’s head in the guest room down the hall, then so be it.

At last, she saw him filling the doorway, leaning against the frame as he gazed on her, a familiar and achingly welcome heat and longing burning in his blue eyes. She controlled her breathing as best she could, but her heart she could not command. It raced with excitement. With love.

It had taken her far too long to admit it to herself, but once she had, her heart seemed intent on making up for her slow awareness of her emotions, inundating her entire being with passion and love for this man. Even now after months of marriage, she yearned for him.

“You commanded my presence, my lady,” he murmured and Katniss shivered again, this time at the dark intimacy in his voice. The velvety promise in his tone. Her knees shook as she stood and she strode across the room, uncertain she would make it to the bed before she collapsed.

“And you were wise to heed my command, my lord.”

He smiled at her sassy retort and met her there, beside the bed. She stared at his chest, both of them breathing heavily, the air pulsing with anticipation. He leaned his crutch against the bed and cupped her cheeks in his warm, broad palms. She leaned into his touch letting his familiar, beloved scent wash over her.

“Katniss, my love,” he murmured, sounding almost in pain. It satisfied her to know he had felt the denial of their love as deeply as she had. It soothed her irritation at him enough to spur her into action. Katniss lifted her face to his, and rose onto her toes, opening her eyes only for a moment, so that she might see the hungry expression in his blue eyes before their lips met.

***

Gale paused outside the door and smiled to himself. His silent tread, developed through years of hunting beside his father -- a gamesman to a lord -- and then through years as a soldier, had come in useful tonight. He had arrived at Katniss’s chamber door undetected. He pressed his ear to the closed panel. No sounds within, but just as he reached for the door handle, a loud clatter sounded inside followed by a swift curse in a man’s voice and a feminine giggle.

A giggle?

Never in his life had Gale known Katniss to giggle. He pressed his ear more firmly to the seam between the double doors and listened. Silence again. Still, he waited. He could be patient. His quarry lay within and he would not be denied victory this night.

When the clock down the hall began to strike the hour, he used the sound to mask his knock. A mere light rap. Likely not enough to wake Katniss, but he must try the polite approach before he intruded. He reached again for the door handle, but when he pushed down, nothing happened. 

Locked!

Steeling himself, he curled his hand into a fist and prepared to knock again. A little louder this time, he thought, but then a new sound reached his ears. It sounded… yes it sounded like moaning. Was Katniss injured? He tried the handle again to no avail and dropped to his knees. He felt a little foolish using the keyhole to spy on his beloved, but he had little choice. He needed to ascertain the situation before he charged within.

With his ear to the opening, he could hear much more clearly. Katniss was indeed moaning, a desperate and inconsolate sound. But just as he prepared to stand, intending to kick down the door and storm inside, coherent words reached his ear.

“Peeta, my love! Oh!”

Gale froze. The sounds morphed and penetrated his brain at last as Katniss’s moans grew in intensity.

Colonel Gale Albert Hawthorne had warmed the beds of many women. Too numerous to count, in fact. And as he knelt before the locked bedchamber door of his beloved Katniss, the sounds within finally coalesced into something truly horrific. His brain knew that it was time for a strategic retreat as he listened to Katniss moan and whimper in ecstasy. But his body would not obey his commands. All he could manage was to turn his head and peer through the keyhole. To spy upon his love and watch in horror as she threw her head back on her pillows, her bosom heaving beneath her askew nightshift and her hands grasping at a head of blonde hair moving between her thighs. At a pair of pale, bare shoulders as he pleasured her with his mouth. The wooden crutch discarded on the floor would reveal her lover’s identity even if the sound of his name falling in sighs off her lips did not.

“Ung! Peeta, please,” she whimpered and writhed and then gasped as her body convulsed.

Still, Gale could not walk away. Not while Katniss smiled and hummed and petted his hair in the aftermath of her passion. Not while he could clearly hear the wet sounds of Lord Mellark dutifully worshipping between his wife’s thighs. Not when Katniss’s breathing evened out and she released a content thigh, opening her eyes as Lord Mellark rose up above her, and her smile widened.

“Now… now I steal your words, husband of mine,” she said and placed one hand on her husband’s chest, deftly pushing him over onto his back. She followed him, straddling his thighs and Gale nearly vomited as he caught sight of Lord Mellark’s disgustingly pleased and clearly besotted face as he gazed up at Katniss.

When she reached for her shift and began to lift it off her body, Gale finally broke himself free of the spell and stood. He stood there, blind but unfortunately not deaf as he stared at the door and attempted to refigure everything he had seen during his visit in this house.

And when the sounds of mutual pleasure within grew too loud to bear, Gale finally forced his feet to obey. He walked away, back to his rooms, his tread disconcertingly loud, but it mattered not. Who could possibly hear his retreat that mattered when his beloved Katniss wailed and sang her pleasure with such unmatched enthusiasm and volume?

[apalestar]

(for Spawn Astarion)

Gale Dekarios loved Astarion with all of his heart and more if it were possible. Yet, the cost of godhood was to forsake all mortal feelings - something that Gale foolishly believed maybe because he loved strong enough, he could keep the feelings. It was the memories of love that drew the god to visit Astarion once more. Curiosity, to understand once again what allured the mortal Gale to this man.

"You once showed great ambition, Astarion, and I believe with the right guidance, you may achieve more than what most mortals, or undead in your case, may ever dream of." The smile he bore was shallow, the electric eyes of the god now ice blue, cold.

"I have yet to elect a Chosen, and given our history, I'm willing to look past our little transgression at the gathering a while back. After all, a part of the cause of my rise to join the divines was to help you, quite a significant part too as I recall. If you don't wish to join me in Elysium then perhaps here as a Chosen in Faerûn."

@galefcrce with unprompted angst in my box. You're learning.

Bad enough the bastard left him for six months without a word. Gale went back on his word. He became what Astarion told him not to become. If Astarion couldn't ascend, why did the hypocritical bastard allow himself to do nearly the same damn thing? If being a god was so all powerful why hadn't he cured him? Left him instead to the shadows.

Even Gale's smiles were hallow. Nothing left of the man he loved. Just this silver shell of a god masquerading as him. Did he think Astarion was stupid? Did he think so little of him as to forget the grief he witnessed? The fallout of being Mystra's Chosen and abandoned just as the wizard had needed the god most.

Astarion hadn't forgotten. He recalled having to chase the asshole out of Gale's mind. Time and time again. Sometimes, he even felt like he was competing with a memory of what once was between Gale and his ex-lover. And now Gale wanted that for him. To be a blind follower to a god who'd cast him aside at a whim.

"I will have to decline. I've seen what being the Chosen of a god—" The word left his lips like a slur. Nasty little title that. "—gets you. It'd be no different than waiting on my dead master begging for scraps." He had more self-respect than that. He had finally begun to love himself for who he was. Not to be defined by what other people wanted or did.

And that was a more precious treasure to him than any boon a god could offer. It hurt in a way to think Gale thought so little of him now. He already mourned the loss. He didn't care to have this wound in his heart reopened. Yet, here this 'god of ambition' was slicing it open again. At least Astarion had become rather adept at pretending. Shoving his pain and hurt so far down so it couldn't be seen. Couldn't be used against him.

"No, Gale. Whatever we had. Whatever that was. It's over. Best you and I walk our separate paths. I invite you to watch me all you like from that lofty position of yours. I'll be a magnificent bastard without you."

[captainseaweedbrains]

The Dance of the Color Guard, Op. 64 Ch. 3

Everlark meets marching band meets enemies to friends to lovers.

Tumblr: X X X

Read on Ao3: X X X

May  

There wasn’t a single childhood memory Katniss could pull that didn’t involve Peeta Mellark. Try as she might to ever forget they were friends—and she tried her hardest to forget—it was next to impossible. Peeta and her were, once upon a time, inseparable. Glued at the hip. Her parents used to tease that only the moonlight could separate them and even then, in the summertime, Peeta spent many nights sleeping on the living room floor next to her, giggling as they watched movies and ate popcorn, Prim snoring beside them. 

And then with her dad being an avid photographer, there were boxes of family albums documenting Katniss and Prim growing up throughout the years. From first steps to bath times together to dance and music recitals—her dad documented it all. “For future biographers,” he used to joke whenever Katniss would complain why they always had to take a picture of  everything. She’d roll her eyes in response and just let him snap away. There was no stopping the man. Now she wished she could take back all her tweenage-angst and let him take as many photos as he wanted of her. But she didn’t know what she knew now. Thus was life. 

On the rare occasion when he relented with the camera and accepted that she was not going to cooperate with any poses he suggested, Peeta was more than happy to step in and take her place, joking how his many admirers at school would kill for a candid photo of him. “It’s not candid if you’re posing, stupid,” she used to tell him, but he’d kindly tell her to shut her piehole and offer up suggestions on where to take the picture next, her dad eating Peeta’s enjoyment up with each click of the shutter. 

Peeta was in a  lot  of her family photos. It was impossible to flip through any family album after Katniss had turned three and not find him. Due to his parents constantly working at their family bakery turned mini corporation, Peeta and his older brother Rye were often left to fend for themselves and from early morning until sundown, Rye would kick Peeta out of the house and lock the door. Rye’s dickish behavior was actually how the two met—Katniss hearing Peeta screaming across their yard, asking if he was dying because he was crying by his back door, fists slamming the glass. 

“No,” he sniffed, rubbing his puffy red eyes. “My brudder—l-l-locked—me—o-o- ooout!” Peeta hiccupped, his hysteria growing with each syllable until he was back to crying for Rye to let him in.

“My daddy’s makin’ pancakes,” Katniss offered from her deck. “He makes them with funny faces and makes them sing. Want some?” 

There probably should have been some type of introduction between them before Katniss invited this total stranger into her home, but when Peeta came in with her, her dad just smiled and told him to pull up a chair. Names were finally exchanged over gooey chocolate chip pancakes and they became instant friends. 

After that, instead of crying when Rye would inevitably lock him out of his own home, Peeta would cross over to the Everdeen’s yard and walk on in, shouting out his greetings to whoever was in the kitchen at the time and seeing what she or her dad were up to for the day. There were countless memories of Katniss coming downstairs after playing with Prim and finding Peeta and her dad casually working together on the morning crossword puzzle at the kitchen table, or out in her mother’s garden doing yard work and chatting about everything and anything. He was always there, ready to hang out and see what she had in mind for them to do that day, and their photo albums showed it. Birthday parties, family dinners, sleepovers, holidays—there Peeta was, all smiles and dimples.

Peeta Mellark was a huge fixture in the Everdeen household until one day he just wasn’t. One day he was there, making her laugh so hard, milk came out her nose, and the next, he was gone and those boxes of happy family photos were just sad reminders of what used to be. 

No dad.

No best friend. 

It was fine. She was fine. 

Except maybe she wasn’t? It annoyed her that Peeta could still dig under her skin like that, his words in the locker room playing on repeat in her mind. At least her nerves about tryouts had a chance to calm down between stressing about Abernathy’s mocking jabs about her playing and her annoyance at Peeta thinking her a heartless loner. So what if she preferred to do things alone? It meant she was independent, mature for her young age. Was that such a bad thing? 

And what was up with accusing her of not being there for people? Not caring for them? Did she have to remind him that he made his choice and ditched  her ? That the second her dad died, he split? Was he ever really her friend, or was he just using her to get to her dad because his dad wasn’t around? Katniss had been wondering that for years, but didn’t have the courage to ask because she just knew if she did, she’d start to cry and shout at him and maybe shove him a bit and he and his stupid friends would laugh and probably call her a psychopath bitch.

What a fucking hypocrite Peeta Mellark was, calling her heartless when he was guilty of so much worse. 

The final bell rang at last, freeing everyone for the day. Katniss was so caught up in her anger over Peeta and Mr. Abernathy and really, just everyone at this point, that she almost forgot about the call sheet posting. Almost. As soon as Madge reminded her, asking if she wanted to walk over there with her and Gale, all those nerves resurfaced as they headed over to the band room. She kept discreetly wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, preparing herself to be disappointed, to expect someone like Glimmer to get it, but please, whoever was listening up there, please let her have made captain. If this crappy hellish day could give her just one thing, let it be that.

“I can’t look,” Katniss panicked when she saw the neon pink sign taped to the window connecting to the band office, halting in her steps. “If I didn’t make captain, I don’t know what I’ll do. Punch something?” 

Madge rolled her eyes and offered to check for her. “If Trinket didn’t make you captain, she clearly tripped in those heels and is suffering from some head trauma. Let’s see.” Her manicured finger scrolled down the long list of names until stopping on the Es. “Hm. Katniss, I don’t see your name on here at all.”

Her heart jolted. “What? That can’t be.” She wasn’t positive on being captain, but she was positive she’d at least make the  team  . Were the theatre and dance kids really that much better? She shoved Gale and Madge aside, looking for her name. Abrams...Banks...Carroll...Daly...Edwards...Evans...  Everdeen! And there was an asterisk next to her name! She was captain of next season’s color guard!

“You asshole!” she laughed, shoving Madge in the shoulder. “I’m captain!” She couldn’t help the large smile stretching across her face. She was captain! 

“You are!” Madge cheered, giving her a big tight hug. “Congratulations, Katniss! I’m so proud of you!” 

“Totally not surprised,” Gale said, messing up her hair in a brotherly fashion. She shoved his hand away and gave a playful glare. “And what about my favorite guard member?” he asked, looking down at Madge. “Did you make it, too?” 

Madge gave him a sweet smile and looked further down the list before pumping her fists in excitement. “I did! I made it! Take that Shelly Shoemon from 4th grade for saying I had the coordination skills of a cow!” 

“Totally not surprised,” Gale said again, laughing as he pulled his girlfriend in for a kiss. They locked lips for a while before Katniss cleared her throat and suggested they get a room if they wanted to continue. The couple smiled, Madge’s freckled cheeks tinted pink, but broke apart, their hands remaining clasped together. 

“Should we head over to Sae’s for burgers and ice cream to celebrate?” Gale suggested. “Thom just paid me for fixing his car, so I have the cash to spend.” Both girls happily agreed to his suggestion, excited to share the news with Sae, the diner’s owner and local grandmother to anyone under the age of 40. Good news didn’t feel real until sharing it with Sae. 

“Katniss,” Miss Trinket shouted from somewhere in her office, “is that you?” Her head popped out the doorway, startling the three. “Excellent, dear! I’ve been waiting to speak with you about something. Come in! Come in!” Her hand motioned for her to follow.

“Oh.” Katniss looked over at Gale and Madge, unsure what to say. “Am I in trouble?” 

Miss Trinket laughed. “No, not at all! I just need to discuss some color guard things with my new  captain.” She sang the last word, putting great emphasis on the middle consonants, and glared behind her at, presumably, Mr. Abernathy who probably said something rude in a remark.

“Sure, yeah,” Katniss said, feeling a bit dumb. Of course Miss Trinket wanted to jump right into the thick of things. The woman was the Energizer Bunny on crack when it came to choreography and scheduling. Of course she’d want to talk to her captain about the game plan and how she expected they execute it. “I’m free to talk.” Miss Trinket smiled and stepped back in her office. 

Katniss turned to Madge and Gale, wearing an apologetic smile . “I’ll meet you at Sae’s?” They nodded, not minding the wait, and wished her luck, telling her to text when she was leaving school.

*********

The first thing Katniss noticed amiss when stepping into the adjoined office was Peeta Mellark casually sitting there in front of Mr. Abernathy’s desk, flipping through a pile of sheet music. It wasn’t unusual for band students to volunteer time helping the surly man try to keep the band program organized, but it seemed a little late for a volunteer to still be in here. Abernathy and Trinket were a lot to take and only bearable in small, manageable doses. Most booked it the second the bell rang. 

She paused in the doorway, unsure if she misunderstood Miss Trinket. She meant for them to talk now, right? So what was Peeta doing here?

“Ah, Katniss,” Miss Trinket said, sifting through a stack of notes, not noticing her hesitation. “Take a seat, please.” She motioned to the wooden chair in front of her desk. 

Still unsure what was going on, Katniss gingerly sat down in the offered chair, her bag in her lap, and waited to see what exactly Miss Trinket wanted to talk about with Peeta still here. Guard stuff wasn’t technically private, but it’s not like it was riveting information either. Something didn’t feel right here.

Miss Trinket cleared her throat, catching Katniss’ attention from not looking at Peeta, and folded her hands on top of her desk with a bright, fluorescent smile. “Katniss, I want to be the first to congratulate you on a job well done. Your audition was truly inspiring. Honestly, I wish I could have taped it to show future guard members what true dedication looks like.” Katniss’ cheeks darkened at her director’s lavish compliments. 

“Thank you, Miss Trinket,” she said quietly, feeling a tad uncomfortable being told this in front of Peeta and Mr. Abernathy. “I tried my hardest.” 

“And it shows, dear. It truly shows.” The assistant director looked down at her notes, reading from one of the piles she was sifting through earlier, her long fingernails idly tapping the top metal surface in thought. “In fact,” she said, “I was so impressed with your audition, I’ve decided to make you a very prominent figure in this season’s show. The show’s leading star, as it were.” 

“I’m—um. What?” And then Miss Trinket proceeded to happily explain her vision for how their band was going to tell the tragic tale of Romeo and Juliet, with the occasional grunts from Mr. Abernathy here and there. She explained how she envisioned the houses being represented by the color guard and drumline, feuding together on the field as the music from the band crescendos to the climatic finish.

“Next to you, Katniss,” Miss Trinket said, holding up what looked like a handwritten list of names, “I haven’t quite decided who will play who for color guard, but we have time to iron out these details, dear. What concerns me is how long it is taking Boggs to decide who made it for drumline.” Her eyes slitted at Abernathy. “It seems someone forgot to pass along the deadline I imposed so we could avoid this exact problem.” Mr. Abernathy just gave a noncommittal shrug and continued flipping through the scorebook he was looking at. Miss Trinket rubbed at the corner of her eyes and gave Katniss an exasperated look before continuing on. 

“It took some wheedling to get him to bend to my will, but I do believe many of our seasonal veterans are returning to drumline this year, Peeta being one of them.” She smiled warmly at the boy. For someone finding out good news, Peeta looked bored out of his mind sitting there, listening as Miss Trinket prattled on about visions and forbidden love and what this will mean for the band come competition season.

This all felt like a lot. Like a lot a lot.  

“So let me get this straight,” Katniss said slowly, trying to process it all and not throw up like her stomach wanted. “You want me to be Juliet? Like the Juliet who falls in love and dies at the end? That Juliet?”

If it was at all possible, Miss Trinket’s smile grew, making Katniss feel even sicker. “The very one, my dear! Oh, Katniss, I cannot tell you how  thrilled  I am to have you as our Juliet. I’ve had my guesses who you’d play for a while now, since I decided we should do  Romeo & Juliet a few months back, really.” Mr. Abernathy snorted at that but said nothing to contradict her. “But now, after seeing how much you’ve improved since last season? Truly inspiring! And with your tiny frame, I think we can finally bring air flips into the mix now!  Wouldn’t that look amazing under stadium lights?”

Katniss really felt like she was going to be sick now. “You want me to be a spotlight guard?” Her voice sounded a bit squeaky to her ears. “But that’s—I’ve never been a spotlight guard before! Especially not something to that kind of scale. They’re, like, really important. Like judges judging them important.” 

It was Peeta’s turn to laugh next to her, trying to cover it up with a cough when she turned to glare at him. Why was he here? 

Katniss took a deep breath in to try and quiet the loud ringing noise suddenly blaring in her ears. She was clearly not making a first good impression as captain, but this was so unexpected! Miss Trinket had never had her be a spotlight before. Ever. It was one thing being captain, but this, having her performance carry the entire story? Yeah, no thanks.  

“Are you sure you want it to be me?” she asked, her voice a lot calmer than she felt. “I was thinking you’d want someone like Madge—or Glimmer—for something this important. You’re always saying how swan-like Glimmer is on the field. Don’t you want Juliet to look like a swan?” 

“Told you she wouldn’t be for it,” Peeta muttered next to her, a knowing smile on his face as he shook his head in amusement. Oh, he just thought he knew everything about her, didn’t he? Like he was some Katniss Everdeen expert.

“Why are you even here?” she finally asked him. “This clearly has nothing to do with you. Can’t you file music somewhere else?” 

“Isn’t it a bit obvious why I’m here, Katniss?” he asked her incredulously, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “I thought you were more observant than this.”

Before she could reply, Miss Trinket held her hands up. “Enough! Peeta, I’ll kindly ask you to please sit there quietly, as we discussed.” Discussed? When did they have time to discuss this? Then she remembered earlier. Miss Trinket needing to speak with Peeta, breaking up their argument. They were discussing her? Why did Peeta have to know that Miss Trinket wanted her as Juliet. She was clearly missing something obvious, like Peeta said, but her mind was shot. Barely able to process anything anymore as her anxiety kicked into gear. 

“And, Katniss.” She looked up at the sound of her name. “Please keep an open mind about this. I understand to some, being a lead is scary, but trust me when I say, I have my absolute faith in you. 

“Madge and Glimmer are talented girls, yes,” Miss Trinket explained, “but I’m afraid they are too tall for what I have in mind for choreography. You know how important these things can be. We need someone petite like you, Katniss. Someone Peeta can easily pick up and twirl without fear of dropping.” She motioned a manicured hand at Peeta, his face staring at her expectantly. 

But Katniss’ brain was still running in circles. “Peeta’s not on guard. Why would he be picking me up?” 

Miss Trinket’s patient smile looked strained now. “As I already told you,” she said slowly, surely believing Katniss dense now, “Guard and drumline will be representing the two houses. Guard will be Capulet and drumline Montague. Peeta’s on drumline, so naturally he’d be our star Montague.” 

Her mind finally caught up to what everyone was suggesting. “Wait,” she said, sitting at the edge of her seat now. “If I’m Juliet and you’re saying he’s the star…” Her focus drifted to Peeta, who gave an amused, cocky wave, surely enjoying the multitude of emotions crossing her face in this moment. Her stomach dropped, this news hitting her harder than the spotlight one. “You’re Romeo?” 

Instead of just answering with a simple yes/no like a normal person, or even some Ding! Ding! Ding!  joke, Peeta lowered himself to the floor and responded in all his annoyingly obnoxious flair:  “‘But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.’” He closed his eyes on the last word and reached for her hand, giving it a gentle kiss, his lips soft and warm against her now clammy skin. She swatted her hand away, tucking it around her bag for protection. 

No. No, no, no. No! 

This had to be a mistake. Her and Peeta Mellark? As Romeo and Juliet? 

That was what Miss Trinket wanted to talk to him about, she realized. It wasn’t about her at all. She wanted to talk to him about being Romeo for the field show. 

“I don’t understand,” Katniss said at last, when her stomach had finally recovered itself. “How can  Peeta be Romeo when he’s going to be busy marching around with a snare drum? What about Finnick? He’s tall. Taller than Peeta, for sure. I’m sure he could just as easily lift me.” 

Was she seriously that desperate to prefer the preening peacock Finnick Odair? 

Yes, yes she was. 

“Finnick will most likely play our Tybalt,” Miss Trinket remarked. “And as he is on guard, he will play a Capulet role.” 

“What about gender bending the role?” Katniss suggested. “Who says Juliet has to be a girl? We are in the 21st century. And didn’t Shakespeare have men play the female roles, anyway? Let Finnick play Juliet to Peeta’s Romeo. He’d be perfect in the role.” 

“Should I feel insulted that you don’t want to be my partner, Katniss?” Peeta innocently asked, enjoying this way too much. Her fists gripped her bag hard, her eyes deadly slits. People often told her how intimidating she looked, but Peeta didn’t even bat an eye. He was all smiles and dimples. If only looks could kill...

“Katniss,” Miss Trinket said curtly, snapping her attention back on the director, “I chose you as my next in command because I trust in your talent and know you are a driven young woman who people look up to. Now we both want the pleasure of seeing this band win first place at PSU, don’t we?” 

“Yes, but—” 

“And we will do what is necessary to move this band toward that goal, correct?” 

“Of course, but—” 

“But nothing, Everdeen,” Mr. Abernathy interjected at last, kicking his feet off the tall pile of sheet music laying by his desk. “You want to win?” He shook his hand at her, not needing a response. “Stupid question. Of course you do. I can see it all over your face. You’re too competitive to hide it. Well, to win you have to please the judges. Plain and simple. Judges like this kind of flair nonsense. So play our star-crossed lovers—” 

“We’re not star-crossed lovers!” Katniss grit out, a bit harder than she intended, unable to look at Peeta as she said it. Not like it mattered. She could practically feel his amusement radiating off his person. “This won’t work, Mr. Abernathy. Don’t you want people who’ll get along? Peeta and I hate each other. We have for a really long time.” 

“Who cares?” Mr. Abernathy asked, throwing his hands up in exasperation, his longish black hair falling in his face from the motion. “Pretend. Act like your lovesick classmates. I don’t care. It’s all a big show, anyway, and if pairing you two up wins us enough brownie points to win and shuts Trinket up for a year, then that’s what we’re going to do. Mellark’s already agreed to it and he’s never danced a day in his life. So now it’s your turn to be a good girl and agree to the plan, Everdeen. Got it?” 

“Got it,” she muttered, slouching low in her chair. Of all the things she expected to hear today, pretending to be in love with Peeta Mellark was not one of them. This was definitely going to blow up in everyone’s faces, she was sure of it. Putting on a performance smile for judges was one thing, but acting like she was in love with Peeta was another. And then hoping he wouldn’t drop her when doing those stupid flips Miss Trinket mentioned? She was going to be in a body cast by the end of the season.

Peeta seemed to have dropped the amusement act at last, mirroring her sour mood as the two directors discussed extra one-on-one rehearsal time with Miss Trinket to better prepare Peeta since he had zero dance experience. Katniss tried to pay attention, but she couldn’t stop her eyes from glancing over at Peeta, wondering what he could possibly be thinking during all this. His jaw was clenched, she could tell, but he wasn’t looking at her or Trinket or even Abernathy. He was focusing on picking at a hole in his jeans, his eyebrows scrunched together. She understood the conflict—was feeling it herself—but he didn’t look mad. Just...troubled. Like something was said that he was having a hard time with.

Where to begin? Katniss thought bitterly, still unable to believe they were actually being forced to play Romeo and Juliet, like they were in some teenage drama or something.

“I know we have lots to work on, but just seeing the two of you together like this,” Miss Trinket said, motioning between them, “tells me I made the right decision. Look how adorable you two look! Pearls on a necklace! Didn’t I say that’s what they reminded me of, Haymitch?” She turned to Abernathy, who was now busy digging dirt from under his nails with his baton. Miss Trinket frowned before catching herself. “I did, I did! I said that earlier when I found you talking in the back.” She winked and oh god. Could they just go already?

********

It took another fifteen minutes of talking and goodbyes that were very much not goodbyes before they were truly free from the office. Katniss bolted out the side door as quickly as she could, cursing under her breath at how long she’d been in there. That took almost an hour! Madge and Gale were probably wondering what was taking so long. Or maybe not. It was Trinket, after all. 

The parking lot was nearly empty now as she crossed it, digging around for her battered up phone to text. Hopefully they were still up for burgers because after that talk...yeah. She needed the greasiest burger available. Wait until she tells her friends she’s playing Juliet and that Peeta Mellark was her Romeo. They might not believe her, thinking it a practical joke and asking what Trinket really wanted. That’s how absurd this whole situation sounded. 

“Katniss!” she heard her name called out. “Hey, wait up!” She turned and saw Peeta waving her down, his long legs quickly catching up to her. Part of her wanted to pretend she didn’t hear him and keep moving, her car just across the street from where she stood. It’d be a safer bet, too, moving along, because nothing good was ever said when she was upset. This afternoon being a prime example. But for some reason, she was curious what Peeta had to say about all this. She stopped at the street corner and pretended to check for traffic despite the road being empty of any moving vehicle. 

“Damn,” he laughed, a bit breathless as he caught up next to her. “I forgot how fast your fight or flight response is.” 

“I’m not fleeing,” she frowned, checking the street for real this time before crossing. She dug around the front pocket of her book bag, pulling out both her keys and phone. “School’s done and I’m going to Sae’s with Gale and Madge. You know, my friends.”

“I know who Gale and Madge are.” 

“Just checking,” she stated cooly, flipping her braid over her shoulder, “since you practically accused me of having none earlier.” 

He winced. “Yeah, not the finest thing I’ve ever said. I’m sorry about that.” 

She shrugged. “It’s fine, Peeta.” It wasn’t, but if she kept telling herself that, maybe she’ll believe it. “We can’t all be Mr. Popular like you.” 

“Right.” He looked back at the student parking lot where he parked. Unlike her family, his could afford the $350 the school charged for a parking space. “Listen, about what you said in there. About us hating each other.” Katniss raised an eyebrow, curious where this would lead. “I don’t...hate you.” 

Well that was...unexpected. Was that why he looked so troubled in the meeting? Because she said they hated each other? She took a step back from him, realizing he was closer than she felt comfortable with, and waited for the rest of it. It didn’t sound like he was finished, like there was a big but hanging at the end of his sentence. What else did he want to say?  But I still don’t really like you?  But I think you’re annoying and working with you is going to suck? But I think you’re a bitch? Honestly, the list could go on about all the negative things Peeta could say about her, but he said nothing. He just looked down at his shoes and kicked at some loose pebbles in the street. 

“Oh,” she said, unsure what else there was to say. “I guess that will make rehearsal easier.” 

He nodded, a bit too jerky to look natural. “Yeah. I just—it’s important to me that you know that I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you. Mad beyond belief? Yeah. Lots of times, actually. But never hate. I could never hate you, Katniss.”

“Oh,” she said again, dumbfounded. “Well, thanks, Peeta. I guess. That’s... Good to know.” And just because her sour mood couldn’t help itself, “I’ll be able to sleep happy tonight knowing you don’t hate me.” She made a face, instantly regretting her words, and yanked open her car door, needing to just leave. “Listen, I gotta go. Gale and Madge are already waiting for me and Trinket took forever rambling about how we’re pearl necklaces. They’re waiting for me.” 

He didn’t say anything as she got in the car, the loud, embarrassing screech of her engine once on making any type of conversation near impossible to hold. He stepped away and gave a halfhearted wave, all bravado gone now, as she pulled away from the curb. By the time she thought to wave back, it was too late and her car was halfway down the street. 

God, she really was a heartless bitch.

*******

It was only hours later—after returning home from drowning her frustrations in the thickest chocolate shake Sae could make and celebrating her good news with her mom and sister over pizza—did she allow herself to think about Peeta Mellark. 

On a whim, she pulled the framed photo she kept of her and her dad off her nightstand and held it, her grip tightening as she studied the ridiculous faces they’re making at the camera. It was one of the last pictures they took together before his passing. She can’t remember what prompted them to make the faces, but she wished she could go back and make them again with him. To be with her dad for just one more day. One more hour, even. She’d do anything for that. 

Katniss closed her eyes and hugged the frame close to her chest for a moment, trying to stop any tears from slipping past her tight emotional control. She was safe to cry in her room, but wanted to wait until she was in bed with the lights turned off before crying over this emotionally draining day. 

When it felt like she had her emotions under control, Katniss used her longest fingernail to lift the tabs on the back of the frame and carefully took the picture out, unfolding the right-half of it to reveal a young curly-haired Peeta smiling up at her, her dad’s arm thrown over his shoulders. 

She stared at the full photo for the longest time, remembering how mad she was at him for taking this one simple thing from her. She never minded Peeta being in her family photos before. She sometimes pulled him in for ones when her dad or mom shouted, “Picture time! Show us your pearly whites!” But that was when she still thought they’d have more time. Why wouldn’t there be more time? Dads weren’t supposed to die until you were old and had kids of your own. That’s how it was  supposed to be. They weren’t supposed to die when you’re eleven and barely old enough to understand the cruelty of the world. The unfairness of it all. 

Katniss barely remembered a time when it was just her and her dad. Alone. No Peeta. No Prim. Just Dad and her. 

She didn’t even have a good photo of just the two of them.

Just boxes upon boxes of photos of him, her, and Peeta. 

The magical trio.

The full photo didn’t bring up any past resentment this time, though. Instead, it reminded her how much fun the three of them used to have, bumming around town while Aunt Lulu watched Prim at her shop, singing along to the radio and playing Punch Buggy. Her dad always made it a point to include Peeta on any outing they made, even if it involved going to the grocery store. How disappointed Dad would be seeing us now, she thought, tracing over his face with her thumb. Her and Peeta not friends anymore.

But Peeta Mellark doesn’t hate her. Katniss didn’t understand why hearing that felt like a weight had lifted off her, but she felt lighter now, the more she thought about it. Like it was easier to breathe again.

“Peeta Mellark doesn’t hate me,” she whispered to the photo, the words tasting sweet on her tongue. A small smile pulled at her lips and she said it again. “He doesn’t hate me, Dad.” 

Katniss didn’t understand why Peeta thought it was important she knew he didn’t hate her, but it was all her mind kept thinking of, and she was glad to hear it. 

He didn’t hate her. He never had.

[azure7539arts]

Beacon

Pairing: Q/James Bond (00Q)

Prompt(s): Blaze + Reverse a common trope

Warning: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, possession, idiots

Summary: One day, perhaps people will forget that a Flame Alchemist has ever existed, but the same can never be said of his subordinates. And today is not that day anyway.

Or: 00Q but Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood AU

A/N: this was supposed to be a drabble… And here we are. Again. If you find this intro familiar, thanks for reading Sword! If you have no idea what Sword is and just know my penchant for biting off more than I can chew, please refer to my previous post. Thanks!

Also, look, @solarmorrigan​, pyrokinesis! And @opalescentgold​, because you know the fandom and may appreciate some references. Damn, I have been dying for a FMA AU for. so. long. And now I’ve managed to somehow realize it into fruition. Jeez. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this!

-

Q couldn’t stand. The rush of adrenaline and sheer agony were urging his heart into overdrive, as if in beating a punishing pace right then, it would somehow make up for the gaping hole wedged in his side.

He bit back a sharp cry, alchemy flaring as bright as the pulsing pain invading his system. In what was either an eternity or no time at all, the wound was cauterized in a fit of smoke and sizzling burnt flesh, effectively staunching the intolerable amount of blood loss in a matter of seconds. His head spun.

(For as long as he’d lived, Q had wished for a lot of things. Right then, though, there was only one thought that kept repeating itself in the confines of his mind—)

Footsteps were approaching. Q scrambled to get to his feet with whatever remaining strength he had left and snapped his fingers again. Vicious ropes of flames sprang forth like spiteful cobras, eliciting an intense wall of fire that stood guard between him and his would-be captor.

One steel arm shot out from among the blaze and seized him by the throat.

Q choked.

The rest of that body stepped through quickly enough, like an emerging monster materializing from the depths of hellfire.

“Ultimate shield, remember?”

Q clawed uselessly at the still squeezing hand around his throat. “L–Lieutenant—” he wheezed, bitter reluctance warring with his struggling will to survive. “Bond—”

“Hm?” The steel receded, and Bond looked back at him now, head tilting to the side. “What, the old owner of this body?” He tutted, visibly frustrated despite the good humor gleaming in those too sharp eyes. “I told you: He’s gone—he’s become one with the stone. I’m the one in charge now, and the name is Greed.”

He grinned, and Q’s guts twisted at the sight, eyes watering from the lack of oxygen. (He could still hear the sound of Bond’s screams piercing all the way down the long corridors. The way his body had writhed and bucked in violent pain as it died and regenerated again and again, rejecting the philosopher’s stone that had been wrongfully injected into it. The way he had suddenly gone lax while Q had done his best to burn through the literal living wall of obstacles out of existence to get to him.)

He gathered all his strength to curl up his legs and kick Bond in the stomach.

No, not Bond. (But that was still his face.)

Not anymore. (Still his eyes, his voice, the low gravel of his laughter, chest-deep and oh so warm.)

Just Greed.

(What if he was still in there?)

The momentum of that kick thrusted Q out of the vice-like grip as he landed onto the ground with a dull thud. A twang of stabbing pain in his side knocked the air out of his lungs, distracting him from the stings of having steel claws dug long strips into either side of his throat.

(The thing was that: if he really was still in there…)

“Damn it,” Bond—Greed—hissed, staggering back before steadying himself with an annoyed huff of breath.

Like this, Q recognized that whoever was in front of him then, despite appearing and sounding exactly like him, didn’t have the firm stance that Bond had always maintained, edged into his bones from all the arduous training he’d put himself through.

The red Ouroboros tattoo on the back of his left hand seared into Q’s vision like a brand, as though sealing a death sentence.

(... If he really was still in there, Bond wouldn’t have willingly punched a hole straight through Q.)

Once the thought sank in, Q’s stomach plummeted.

“Could you stop being such a nuisance?” Greed clicked his tongue.

When he tried to reach out again, molten fire engulfed the room at another snap of the fingers.

And in the roaring flames, Q screamed.

-

He wakes with a startled gasp, cold sweat breaking all over.

It takes a moment, but the familiar ceiling of his office finally shifts into focus once more, and Q lets out a shuddered sigh. The documents he was looking at lie strewn across the littered desk surface right where he left them, and at this very moment, the phone rings, shattering the disquiet that has settled over his foggy mind.

He doesn’t notice the long overcoat that’s, apparently, been laid over his person while he slept until he reaches over to make a grab for the handset. It slides down from over his shoulders and pools in the middle of his lap with a rustling of fabric.

Q purses his lips and picks up, free hand settling over his now healed side to ease the aching phantom pain.

“Yes.”

“Brigadier General, sir,” the operator greets. “Major General Moneypenny is on the line for you.”

“Put her through.”

The line clicks after a final ‘yes, sir,’ and instantly, Eve’s voice filters through from the other side. “Why am I not surprised that you’re still there despite the atrocious hours.” It isn’t a question, and he smiles.

“Hypocrite,” he replies without heat, thumb smoothing along the raised ridges of those scars that he can still feel even through the thick layers of his uniform. “How has Briggs been welcoming you back?”

“Oh, you know, the usual warmth and sunshine,” she says, a joking lilt to her tone, and Q winces just from imagining the howling gales of a normal Briggs snowstorm that must be sweeping through the barracks even as they speak. “Now, enough of your diversion scheme. How are things on your side?”

Q thinks he’s too tired to do much of anything else and chooses the easy way out. “I’m fine.”

“Right,” Eve hums, entirely unconvinced, but doesn’t point out that his answer isn’t all that she asked. She knows him too well by now to press. “Sometimes, though, I do wonder if you should’ve just retired and gone to Rush Valley to do whatever it is that you automail enthusiasts do.”

The sentiment sends a soft snort through his nose. Not that he doesn’t wish to be a simple automail mechanic from time to time, especially when the price paid doesn’t seem equivalent to subsequent results, but in life, simple wants and actual needs are two different things.

They’ve all learnt this the hard way.

Even so, Q appreciates Eve looking out for him. Thousands of miles away, she’s still one of the few people who truly know and understand him. One of the few whom he trusts with his life. “Oh, definitely—once I find someone suitable to man the post for me, that is,” he muses, only half-serious. “No promises otherwise.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Sir.”

“Come in,” he calls and straightens up, popping the crick in his neck. “Gotta go now. Send my regards to Captain Tanner, would you? God knows the length that man’s gone to to keep up with you.”

Eve laughs, and he smiles, too, just as Bond walks in and closes the door behind him.

(There’s no Ouroboros tattoo on his hand, Q notes and subconsciously relaxes.)

(He shouldn’t feel bad for it—but he does anyway. Just the same as Bond, who didn’t mean to lose control long enough for Greed to hurt Q the way he did.

Emotions are fickle things.)

Eve has gone quiet for a long second as well, probably considering her words. In a way, Q feels he already knows what they are going to be, and grim satisfaction paints his tongue when what she says next is precisely just that, “How’s First Lieutenant Bond?”

How are things between you two, goes unsaid, but he hears it loud and clear nonetheless.

Bond is patiently waiting for him—hands tucked behind his back, perfect military posture, too proper and formal to bear—and Q squeezes the coat that remains in his lap.

(He misses the casual dynamics, easy tandem they used to have. One not laden with guilt and second-guessing.

It’s just one more hurdle for them to work through, he supposes.

Together.)

“We’re… getting there,” he replies, mildly surprised by his own honesty. “Talk to you later. Goodbye, Major General.”

He hangs up, and Bond has gotten closer, despite maintaining a minimum distance of three steps.

Q crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits, eyes expectant.

Eventually, Bond can’t but break the silence. “Was that Major General Moneypenny, sir?”

Q suppresses a sigh and nods. “Yes. Just one of her usual check-ins.” He pauses. “She did ask about you, about us, and how we were doing. And I said we were getting there—you heard.”

When Bond doesn’t reply, Q narrows his eyes, shrewd. “So, are we, Lieutenant? Getting there?” Most likely, he’s coming off much harsher than he originally planned, but Q doesn’t give a damn about that. Not right now. “You said you were following me to the top. Is this how you intend on doing it? By pretending to be a good little model soldier while keeping me at arm’s length?”

At this, Bond seems to further straighten, if that’s still physically possible. There’s steel in his eyes, but not the lost, abandoned kind given into avarice like that of Greed.

It’s all just sheer solid nerve and hardened integrity. It’s all Bond and so much more.

“I will do whatever it takes to protect and help you reach your goal—”

“Don’t you get it? You can’t protect me for damn if you’re always three steps away from me! That only means we’re no longer the team you seem to think we are.” Q’s mouth twists into a snarl. “Do you understand what I’m getting at, Bond?”

Bond turns his head away, staring out into the endless expanse of the night through the large panel of Q’s windows. Bond has never liked them, these ‘uselessly big windows that Central Command seems to prefer for their offices.’ Makes his job harder than it already is, he said.

Q tears himself away from the sudden memory.

“My only mission is to protect you,” Bond grinds out, hands that have fallen to his sides clenching into fists.

“And you have not failed.” Q’s voice has somewhat softened as he stands and clears his throat. “What happened, back then. It just means that we need to update our measures of counterattacks.”

They stare at each other now, mutual challenge shining in their eyes like a beacon to safety in the middle of a raging storm.

(“Q. I’m sorry.” Bond said, desperation ripping his voice raw and vulnerable. Q had never heard him like this. “I–I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“James, there’s nothing to forgive.”)

“We can discuss that tomorrow, then.” Bond bends down to pick up Q’s coat from the floor and gives it a few perfunctory pats before handing it back over, a tentative smirk on his lips. “Are you ready to go home for the night, sir?”

Q scoffs and takes it, not hiding his own smile. “Just about.”

It’s a long road ahead, but they’re getting there all right.

-

-

Bonus art:

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 8: The Light]

Hi y’all! Thank you so much for reading and supporting my writing. Each and every message/reblog/comment/etc makes me smile, and it’s a dream come true to get to share my work with you! 💜

Chapter summary: John shares a secret; Y/N excels at Scrabble; Brian makes peace; Roger suffers a misstep.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy (not who you think!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @bookandband​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

Medicine teaches you to be fiercely skeptical of things that seem too good to be true. Bodies fail—completely and inevitably, though the timing may differ—and patients lie. Medical records don’t, fingerprints don’t, track marks up the underside of an arm don’t, blood and paternity tests don’t, oftentimes the eyes don’t; but given half a chance, people will lie themselves right into the grave.

Those bruises, doc? Got ‘em from a nasty fall down the stairs. I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck!

Nope, never done drugs, not even a joint, I swear on my mother’s life.

I’ll give it up, I’ll go to rehab. Never again. I promise. I don’t want to die.

Doc, I don’t care if the timing doesn’t seem quite right. My husband IS the father. There’s been no one else!

That doting fiancé is flirting with the nurses. Those grown-up children who fluff pillows and dab away tears are asking about the will. That wife is never going to testify against her abusive husband. That addict is going to relapse again...and again...and again. Are there exceptions? Of course. But if you get in the habit of trusting people—of believing all those tantalizingly attractive, hopeful lies—it’ll break your heart six ways to Sunday. There is no perfection in medicine, and there are very rarely miracles.

And so during those first few weeks with Roger—as you watch him from the reeling crowd, from the other side of the tour bus, from across the restaurant table, from the tiny viewfinder of the Canon F-1—you can’t stop searching for the cracks, the shadows, the lies, the dark malignancies breeding beneath the surface. Because everything about Roger Taylor is too good to be true. He’s bright and he’s loud and he’s brilliant and he’s always smiling, always warm. He careens backstage after every show—you keep bracing yourself not to be disappointed when the novelty wears away, when it ends, but it doesn’t—pushing aside roadies and reporters, shouting “Where’s the love of my life? Where’s my Boston babe?” with the most absurd grin you’ve ever seen until he finds you, collides with you, scoops you up and spins you in ungainly circles as your toes skim the floor. Then he cradles your face in his scarred hands and kisses you, breathes you in, tells you everything about the show (even though you were there to see it) in a rush of pure, manic adrenaline. And you stumble into some dressing room together—or a hotel room, or a taxi, or a limousine, or an elevator—and finally it’s your bare thighs his palms are gliding over, your tongue tasting the Heineken and craving on his lips, and it feels impossible for that to ever change. Roger is too good to be true, that’s undeniable; but when you watch him with those doubtful, cautious eyes, you can’t find anything but light.

He wakes up at 6 a.m. to join you on a bayou tour in New Orleans, taps his cigarette over the moss-covered sides of the boat, points out the alligators with leathered skin and ancient yellow irises lurking in the depths. He walks Fremont Street with you in Las Vegas and makes you choose his numbers for the Roulette wheel, for his fate. He snaps photos of you on a sun-drenched balcony in Miami, roaring cobalt waves crashing in the background. He takes you to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, the Art Institute of Chicago, the National Aquarium in Baltimore, the Philadelphia Zoo, Myrtle Beach and the Saint Louis Arch and the Santa Monica Pier. Because he was telling the truth when he said he could show you the world all those months ago when Queen was at Top of the Pops; he was telling you the truth about the list that’s etched into the rushing scarlet chambers of his heart.

When the American leg of the tour ends and the band gets a brief reprieve in London, you move into Roger’s paltry, disorganized flat and scrub away all the remnants of his past life: dust and empty cigarette boxes and women’s socks, ashes and copies of Vogue, a tube of lipstick that isn’t yours. You don’t complain, don’t even frown; you’re under no delusions that something eternal can be founded on resentment, on lies. And so you clear out the clutter and open the windows so sunshine and crisp spring air can breathe through the apartment, so you can both start fresh along with the bellflowers and delphiniums and roses and the tawny newborn ducklings scampering behind their mothers. You hang photos from the tour and John’s sketches on the refrigerator, place your Canon F-1 and pink conch shell from Ostia on the nightstand, litter the drawers with your own socks and makeup. You teach Roger how to sew (although he’s not much good at it) and how to treat blisters (although you’ll always be there to do it for him); and in return Roger teaches you how to trust, how to believe, how to stop searching desperately for faults in the light.  

On the second day of April, Queen boards their flight to Tokyo. Brian settles into a plushy, billowing blanket and loses himself in an astronomy magazine; he’s an engaged man now, an honest man in the eyes of society at large...and, far more importantly, his parents. Freddie pens lyrics in his notebook, humming disjointedly, napping like a cat when the mood strikes him. Roger snacks constantly and tries to get John chatting, but John is particularly subdued today, preoccupied, prone to gazing unfocusedly at the clouds that drift by outside and wringing his hands.

And you think, as you peer down into the glistening sapphire waters of the East China Sea: Brian’s a willow tree, Freddie’s a lightning storm, Roger is wildfire...but what is John?

Something deep, something beautiful and strong and constant and hidden.

The ocean, you decide as Queen’s private plane soars over the quicksilver waves that conceal the abyss. John is the ocean.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You didn’t have to stay, you know.”

John is lying on his back under a small grove of cherry blossom trees outside the hotel, sketching grey outlines of petals and arcing branches in a new notebook. He hasn’t given any sign that he heard you coming, doesn’t turn his head to see you. You freeze, startled.

“How’d you know it was me?!”

“You have very distinct footsteps. Dainty, yet purposeful.” He sets aside his notebook and sits up, crossing his long legs. “Why didn’t you go to lunch?”

“Because you didn’t. You turned down ramen, and you never turn down ramen. I was worried. Plus someone has to make sure a roving posse of screaming Japanese girls doesn’t carry you off.”

That makes him laugh. The Japanese fans are inexplicably obsessed with John; or maybe it’s not so inexplicable, maybe they just have a better eye for quiet, unassuming wonders. “Always so thoughtful.”

You sit down beside him, open a pack of chocolate-flavored Pocky and offer John a piece, frown when he lights a cigarette instead. “That’s really bad for you. Seriously. You should quit.”

“At last. One thing you and Brian agree on.” He exhales a gale of smoke and peers up at the cherry blossoms.

“John?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t break up with Veronica, did you?” Chrissie and Mary didn’t mention anything about her tearful devastation, and you suspect they would have had John gone through with it.

He sighs. “I did not.”

“And...are we feeling...okay about that...?”

He twirls the cigarette nervously between his fingers. After a silence, he surrenders. “Look, I haven’t told anybody yet, but I’d tell you first anyway. So here it goes.” He glances over at you guiltily, gloomily, wishing he could disappear. “I didn’t break up with Veronica because she’s pregnant.”

Your jaw falls open. A half-eaten stick of Pocky rolls out of your mouth and onto the grass. She’s what? She’s WHAT?

“Please don’t be disappointed,” John pleads. “I’m disappointed in myself enough for both of us, believe me.”

“I...I...I’m not disappointed, John, I’m just...” You blink at him. “Oh my god.”

He nods, acquiescent. “I’m in complete agreement.”

You shake your head, gaping at him, stunned; and suddenly you don’t like what you’re feeling at all. Because it isn’t just shock and horror, it isn’t just apprehension. You hate the thought of him touching her, of her delicate white hands on him, of innocence stripped away and memories impressed into muscle, into soul.

Because you know she’s not right for him. Because you know he doesn’t love her the way he should. Because you want the best for him and always have.

Oh, there’s a comforting rationale; but is it true?

And then: You fucking hypocrite. Since when do you get an opinion on who anyone sleeps with?

“It must have happened in January,” John says miserably. “Right before we left for the States. She didn’t want to tell me over the phone...I guess maybe she thought if she did I’d never come back. So she told me as soon as I landed in London. And here we all are.”

You stare down at your shoes, trying to compose yourself. “What are you going to do?”

“There’s only one option.”

“Actually, there are quite a few. But I know you’d never consider them.” John’s father died when he was ten, and he never talks about it; which is precisely how you know it’s a wound that can’t ever heal, a gash that goes straight down to the bone. He would never leave his child, never banish them to some dusty, repressed corner of his consciousness while he moves on with a blissfully unencumbered life. You whisper: “I’m so fucking sorry, John.”

That snaps something in him, something he was choking back. He buries his face in his hands. “What the fuck am I doing?” he moans. “I’m twenty-three years old, I’m broke, I turned down loads of jobs, good jobs, as an electrical engineer, I’ve somehow become the bassist in an increasingly famous rock band...I mean, how the hell did this happen? How did any of this happen?”

“It’ll be okay,” you insist with newfound resolve. I have to save him. I have to protect him.

John rolls those soft greyish eyes, hopeless, distraught. “Sure.”

“It will be, I promise you. The tour is going great. I had my doubts about the band when I first met you, I’ll admit it, I didn’t know if there was a future for Queen. But you’ve made me a believer. You’ve made millions of people all over the world believers. The money will keep rolling in, Queen will finally start seeing some of it, you won’t be broke forever. You’ll have two more months on the road and then we’ll be back in London, and it’ll be on to recording the next album, more shows, more money...the hard times are almost over, John. You can do this. And I’ll help you.”

His brow furrows. “You will?”

“Of course. If it’s easier for Veronica, it’ll be easier for you. So I’ll be extra friendly, take her to appointments when you’re busy, help organize the wedding, babysit the littlest Deacon whenever she needs me to. We’ll get through this. I’ll be there to help every step of the way.”

“You’re happy, aren’t you?” he asks suddenly. “You and Roger. You aren’t going anywhere.” He’s reading you closely, sifting through your words and forced smile for something deeper.

“I’m happy,” you assure him. “You don’t need to be concerned about that. I’m staying with the band, I’m staying in London. Whenever Queen is home, that is.”

He nods, but perhaps that wasn’t exactly what he was looking for. He finally accepts a piece of Pocky from you and takes a bite. “Then I guess we’ll plan for a summer wedding.”

“You could do a double one with Brian and Chrissie.”

He laughs so hard he almost inhales the Pocky, then doubles over coughing. “I think Bri would rather slit his own throat, but a charming thought. Thank you for that. Bravo.”

You smile at John, genuinely this time. “You’re going to be an amazing father. I hope you aren’t worried about that part of it, at least.”

“Will you be their godparent?”

“What? Me?!”

“Yeah. Because, you know...” John averts his gaze. “You’d be the person I would want to raise them if something happened to me and Veronica. You’re the most dedicated, stubborn, capable, nurturing, remarkable person I’ve ever met. You’re my best friend. And maybe Roger’s your best friend and you’re his, and that’s all fine, that’s alright, but you’re still mine.”

“Roger is a lot of incredible things, but he’s not my best friend.” You lie flat on the grass and lace your hands behind your head, tracking the weightless snowy clouds as they float by above. When did we become adults? When did all of these rules catch up to us? “I would be honored to be your child’s godparent.”

John plops down beside you. “Don’t tell the others yet, okay? I want to wait until the tour’s over. I don’t want them to panic and think I’m leaving and try to replace me or anything.”

“They wouldn’t try to replace you, John.”

“No?” he asks doubtfully.

“No. Roger knows it, Fred knows it, I think even Bri knows it.” You reach out and weave a lock of his hair through your fingers as cherry blossom petals tumble in the breeze. “You’re irreplaceable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Sod,” Freddie mocks. “That’s the best you could do? Really? Sod?”

Roger flings up his hands in frustration. “Freddie, I’ve got like a million Cs!”

“You could have done cod,” Brian notes, sipping a cup of hot tea. “Cods, actually.”

Roger glowers down at his Scrabble tiles. “Fuck.”

“And I’m so delighted he didn’t!” You place your tiles, expanding on sod to make rhapsody. John high-fives you and records the points in his notebook. Freddie and Brian groan in defeat.

“What the hell is a rhapsody?!” Roger snatches the Official Scrabble Dictionary off the table and flips through it.

“It’s a, like a...” Freddie waves his cigarette, scattering smoke through the air. “It’s like an epic poem. Or an opera. With lots of bizarre, different parts all pieced together.”

“That sounds made up.”

Freddie cackles. “Darling, it’s a real thing, I swear!”

Roger locates the pertinent page in the Scrabble Dictionary and his shoulders slump. “Goddammit. Fucking...too smart...nerdy...college-educated...girlfriend.” He drags you into his lap and kisses your temple. “You’re lucky you’re cute. I don’t usually tolerate being conquered like this.”

Bri smirks from behind his teacup. “I rather think you conquered her, Rog.”

“Oh, a rare good one from Bri!” Freddie trills as everyone laughs, although John soon busies himself with clearing empty bottles and cigarette butts off the table.

“Yes,” Roger agrees. “Against her superior judgment, I finally won her over. Only took eight months. Which is approximately...wait, let me count...seven and a half months longer than it has ever taken me before.”

You trace your fingertips across his stubbled cheeks, his soft lips, his little dark blond tufts of sideburns. “No one knows how to say no to you, do they?”

“It’s impossible. I’m too charming. Blindingly heroic. Perseus in the flesh.” He kisses your forehead and steadies you, his hands on your waist, as the brakes squeal and the tour bus lurches to a halt.

Freddie leaps to his feet and claps. “Alright, darlings! Off to the new digs we go. Deaky, hand me my shoes, they’re under the table...yes, right there...and toss over Brian’s hideous clogs as well.”

You help the roadies and the band drag luggage into the hotel (no small feat, as the elevator is out of order), unpack your toothbrush and hairbrush and a floral-patterned dress for dinner, giggle as you listen to Roger’s feral, raspy singing in the shower. It’s something about loving a car, how perfectly on-brand for him. Then Roger goes to fetch Freddie and John for dinner while you find Brian. Bri is collapsed on his bed in a striped t-shirt and jeans, freshly-washed and dewy, gazing up at the ceiling in a daze.

You tap gently on the doorframe. “Bri? You want to join us for dinner? There’s a sushi place a few blocks away that’s a local legend, apparently. Lots of veggie options too.”

He looks over at you. You haven’t spoken about the argument since you had it two months ago. Brian sometimes grimaces or smirks or rolls his willowy viridescent eyes, but he never says anything; not to you, and not to Roger as far as you’re aware. “I’m sorry,” he says simply. “I may have been out of line before. Incorrect, even.”

“No need to apologize, Bri. I’ve forgotten all about it.” You haven’t, but there’s no reason for Brian to know that.

“I just want what’s best for you. For you to be happy.”

“I know, Brian.” You cross the room and take his long, moon-white, artful hands in your own. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ll be in the wedding party, won’t you? I know Chris will ask.”

“Of course. And I’ll proudly wear whatever dreadfully tacky and uncomfortable bridesmaid dresses she picks out.”

“Even if they’re a frightful shimmery green?”

“Oh god.” You swallow noisily. “I’ll still do it. And then burn the photos.”

Brian chuckles as he climbs out of bed. “In a stroke of luck, I suspect she’ll ask you to take the pictures. So you can avoid being in them as much as you’d like. And conveniently lose the unflattering ones.”

You study him thoughtfully. “Are you happy, Brian?”

“I am. Chrissie’s excited, my parents are thrilled, they’ll be sitting in the front row with the proudest smiles you’ve ever seen. Next comes a proper house, and children, and all the rest of it.” But something in those mellow olivey eyes is resigned, melancholy. His words from two months ago echo in your skull: It’s necessary. It’s self-preservation. Because sometimes the people who set us on fire would burn us alive.

“Do you still think about New Orleans?” you ask softly. About the woman he’d fallen in love with there before you ever met Queen, about the utopian passion he never quite stops searching for. Everyone has demons, secrets, shadowy trenches like cracks in porcelain; you’ve learned all about Brian’s. What about Roger’s? What about mine?

He shrugs, staring out the window at the dusky skyline of Yokohama. “Maybe I’ll always think about New Orleans. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have to grow up and start taking responsibility.”

“Responsibility,” you reply cynically, before you can stop yourself. “Is that all love is about anymore?”

“Not for you. Not for Roger. You both want your freedom, your adventure, your true and uncomplicated love. And you’ll get to keep it.”

For now. But you don’t say that. Instead, you smile appeasingly and gesture for Brian to follow you out into the hallway.

The others are waiting by the door to the stairwell: John in a smart grey suit, Freddie in his black-and-yellow jacket, Roger in sunglasses and a ridiculous leopard-print vest he’d dug out of a trashcan somewhere and precariously tall boots.

“At last, Nurse Nightingale and my darling Brian!” Freddie chirps. “Come on, I’m positively famished, and also I’ve bet five pounds that I can consume more sake shots than Roger and I could really use the dough.”

Roger pushes through the door, leading the way. “Prepare to lose!”

“Roger, please,” you implore. “New livers don’t grow on trees, and I can’t give you half of mine. I’m the wrong blood type.”

Roger laughs as he bounds down the steps, then whirls to grin up at you as he walks backwards. “Relax, Deaks will share! You’re type A, aren’t you John—?”

Roger’s heel slips and he plummets down the flight of stairs. He tumbles as the four of you shriek in horror and bolt after him, slams into the wall of the landing, ricochets off of it and plunges down the next flight as well. There’s blood, you think frenziedly as you descend, screaming Roger’s name. There’s blood all over the steps.

Roger, crumpled on the maroon-streaked landing, slowly unravels and groans. He glances down, appraises himself, then hammers his left fist against the concrete wall of the stairwell, roaring in raw agony and rage. “No no no no no no!”

“Roger—!”

And then you see it.

Roger’s right arm hangs uselessly, unnaturally, his snapped radius bloody and splitting through the skin.

[rosemakh]

Talking Topics with Taika - Episode 2: Weatherliness

[spoof interview show with call-in listeners and guests]

[Author's Note: This was originally written in 2014 as a script for an audio series. I wrote two episodes but was unable to continue the project. This is the re-written version, with visual descriptions added as needed. It reads sort of like a script. Just imagine this as a televised talk show with guests seated on a stage, in front of a studio audience.]

Taika: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Tonight, we tackle an issue that affects the life of every living thing on this planet: Weather Change. With the Weather Awareness Conference taking place in Tornado, West Virginia this weekend, Weather Change is once again a hot-button topic. There are many opinions and hypotheses surrounding Weather Change. Tonight's guests are here to help us sort through it all. Please welcome to the show:

Virga Gale, author of "Weatherliness: How to Weather the Weather without Becoming Weathered, Whether You Want to or Not";

Virga: "Thank you, Taika"

Taika:  "Thisisa Nalias, founder of Caring Responsibly And Providing Offerings Lovingly Annually;"

Thisisa Nalias: "Thanks a bunch, Taika!"

Taika: "and Foliaj McGreenly, author of "People are Plants Too: the Complete Guide to Living Without Eating or Drinking."

Foliaj: "I thanketh thee~!"

Taika: "Why don't we start by defining the topic at hand. Miss Virga, what exactly is Weather Change?"

Virga: "It's weather that changes, Taika. Because the weather seems to be changing all the time, we think this is the way things should be, but as I explain in my book "Weatherliness" (which, by the way is available now in bookstores nationwide, and at Weatherliness.com), the truth is this: these weather changes occur because we continue to disrupt the Earth's naturally tranquil and weather-free temperament.

You see, when we are experiencing storms, droughts, snowfall, earthquakes, and nighttime, it's clear that the earth has weather changes, though many people continue to deny it."

Taika: "So, earthquakes and nighttime are also caused by Weather Change?"

Virga: "Yes! When the ground shakes and the sky grows dark, it's clear that something is wrong with our planet!"

Thisisa: "Ooo! Ooo! Ooo! Me! Pick me!"

Taika: "Would you like to respond, Mr. Thisisa?"

Thisisa: "Yes! I completely agree with Miss Virga. Something is very wrong with our planet! Mother Earth is upset because we walk all over her and dig pockmarks into her face and build huge towers on her smooth, supple skin. All we have to do is cheer her up and all this bad weather will go away."

Taika: "An interesting theory. And how might we cheer her up?"

Thisisa: "Chocolate! Women love chocolate!"

Virga: "Excuse me?"

Thisisa: "You know! Chicks like chocolate!"

Virga: "You sexist--"

Thisisa: "So if we give some chocolate to Mother Earth, she'll calm the heck down. That's why my foundation is currently working with government officials to pass a law requiring every nation to give her an offering of one metric ton of chocolate candies for every one million citizens, on January 5th each year."

Taika: "I've heard there is a lot of pushback from the other nations in opposition to that law."

Thisisa: "Yes, but they have to come onboard! If Mother Earth doesn't get her chocolate fix, she'll keep nagging and whining and the weather will only get worse!"

Virga: "You sexist pig! You really think chocolate will be enough to calm Mother Earth, simply because she's a woman?"

Thisisa: "Hey, chill out, toots!"

Virga: "You dare call me 'Toots'? You must die!!"

[she smacks him hard with her hand, hear the slap!]

Thisisa: "Hey, stop it, you cow!"

[she smacks him again, with a book this time]

Virga: "Shut up, pig!"

Taika: "Miss...Miss Virga..."

Thisisa: "That hurts, horse-face!"

Virga: "Good, worthless dog!"

[The fighting continues in the background as the show goes on]

Foliaj: May I speaketh upon this matter~~?"

Taika: "By all means, Mr. Foliaj."

Thisisa: "Elephant!"

Virga: "Rat!"

Foliaj: "I disagree-eth with this flawed assumption that the Earth is a female, for just as we-eth are genderless, so too-eth is the Earth. It is all explained-eth within mine book "People are Plants Too" (availableth now at NeverEatethnorDrinketh.com)."

Thisisa: "Manatee!"

Virga: "Weasel!"

Thisisa: "Buffalo!"

Virga: "Worm!"

Foliaj: "Usingeth this soil-filled flower pot, I shall demonstrateth as per the diagram on page 37-eth of my book."

Foliaj: "When we sticketh thine feet into the Earth's soil, remove our restrictive garments [he drops his robe, now in his boxer shorts] and stretcheth our branches to collect the sun's rich light-eth, we are as the plants of the Earth, genderless and gentle, not angering the Earth by taking-eth of animal-eth or plant-eth, but merely soaking up that which is given-eth to us. We needeth not food. We needeth not play, for in reality, we are not humans - we are plantmans."

Taika: "er... this may be out of line on my part, but since you're standing here in a flower pot in nothing but your underwear, I'll go ahead and say it. You look like you're literally starving to death Mr. Foliaj."

Foliaj: "This is merely the form of a mature plantman~~! One begins to resembleth the strong branches of a tree as one's body deepens its reconnection with the Earth~~!"

Taika: "Those aren't branches, they're bones! All of your bones are sticking out!"

Virga: [laughs] "What is wrong with you, plant guy?" [keeps laughing in the background]

Thisisa: "Yeah, you're a real freak, man!" [laughing] "And your fake accent is so stupid!"

Foliaj: "Quieteth thine tounge~! This accent makeseth me soundeth mystical... Waiteth a minute! As I am one with the Earth, it has spoken to me and I remebereth thou, sir~~!"

Thisisa: [still laughing] "Oh, do you?"

Foliaj: "Thou arteth in truthality Willa Wonky, owner of Choco-lotso, the world's largest producer of chocolateth candies~~!"

Taika: "Oh my gosh! He is!"

Virga: "Ah~~ The Chocolate King…? I'm a huge fan!"

Foliaj: [building up power around, almost as if he's gathering power to cast a very powerful spell, hear the sounds of wind rushing, vines sprouting, and so on, and it gets louder as he continues speaking] "Is that why you wanteth every nation to giveth chocolate to the Earth, when the Earth is the one who creates-eth chocolate in the first placeth~~? To linest thine grimy pockets with gains takeneth from Earth-honoring people~~?! YEE~~ FOWL~~ HYPOCRITE~~~" [the noise has reached its peak and the air is sparking with electricity]

(GASPS) (RELEASES A DEATH MOAN) [he has just died and is silent now. All the other noises die down as well]

Virga: [Screams at the top of her lungs]

Taika: "He...died! It looked like Mr. Foliaj was going to cast some sort of...plant-based magic spell, but he just bent over backwards and died! Someone call a doctor...or maybe an arborist would be better?"

Willa Wonky: "Phew! He almost killed me with those magic vine things. Must be my lucky day!"

Virga: "How can you be happy? Someone's dead!"

[Foliaj McGreenly's voice echoes throughout the room]: "Do not fretteth thou, for I can now finally returneth to the Earth..." [his last "to the earth"s fade out softly as a magical transformation sound is heard, which occurs because he is transforming into a small bony flower that has his face]

Willa Wonky: "What the heck is that ugly thing?"

Taika: "He turned into a bony flower."

Virga: "The part between the petals looks like his face. It's kinda cute."

Willa Wonky: "I don't think 'cute' is the word for it. Gross."

[The lights fade to black as the ending theme music fades in]

[bugaboosandbees]

Reine Ruse AU

Reine Ruse AU

Welp, hello all. I’ve been a wallflower in the Miraculous fandom since it got started. I haven’t really written fanfic or published AUs or head-cannons online since middle school, but things this season have finally pushed me to the point where I guess I’m writing again. I’ve been so inspired by @imthepunchlord , @apex-primus, @gale-of-the-nomads  , @zoe-oneesama, @lenoreofraven and @miraculouscontent that I guess I’m here with my own post-chameleon salt au.

Buckle up kiddos, here we go.

So I’m calling this the Reine Ruse AU. I’ve started writing a fic, but finals are coming up so I might not really get to sink my teeth into it for another month or so. Basically, here’s what goes down.

-During Chameleon, Chloe makes it clear that she doesn’t trust Lila and attempts to call the class out for being hypocritical. It obviously doesn’t go well, but Marinette hears and it surprises her.

-Chameleon follows pretty closely after the Queen’s Battle arc and Heroes’ Day, so perhaps Chloe has been noticeably trying to be a better person and Marinette/Ladybug has been keeping an eye on this and can see her trying.

-A few weeks have passed since Chameleon and Lila keeps escalating. The seats never got switched back, so Marinette is still stuck alone in the back of the room. She’s having a miserable time and she really needs to talk to somebody about things. She doesn’t want to bother her parents because they’re really busy with things in the bakery and she doesn’t want to trouble them. She obviously can’t talk to Alya about things right now as she’s still firmly on Lila’s side. Tikki is wonderful support, but she’s a tiny god and despite her many years of life and experiences she just doesn’t really understand. Frozer happened pretty recently in this AU, maybe even after Heroes’ Day. In any case, Frozer and Glaciator are pretty fresh in Marinette’s mind and she really loves her partner as a friend, but she’s getting a bit concerned about looking to Chat for support as Ladybug. She really doesn’t want to believe it, but some of his past behavior is making her question if he’ll think she owes him something if she relies on him like that.

-She’s not getting enough sleep and is spending a lot of time running over the rooftops with no particular destination in mind as Ladybug, just trying to forget what’s going on. She’d never admit it, but sometimes Tikki’s reassurances can get to be too much when it’s plain that no one else is there for her and she needs support but not that kind and she just wants to be alone.

-One night her feet bring her to the rooftop of the Grand Paris Hotel. It’s raining and she’s been running around for hours and she’s crying and tired and she doesn’t know why she’s here, but she starts thinking of how much better Chloe has gotten and even if she doesn’t like Marinette, she adores Ladybug and goddammit she just really needs somebody right now.

-Before she can second guess herself, she’s knocked on Chloe’s balcony door.

*snippet from what is already written*

The last thing Chloe Bourgeois would have expected when she woke up that morning was for Ladybug to knock on her balcony door in the middle of the night. Nonetheless, she was nothing if not adaptable, especially for her idol. She adjusted her silk pajama robe and ran for the door to let Ladybug in.

“Ladybug! It’s so good to see you? Is there an akuma? Do you need my help? Did you stop by to say hello to your favorite civili---” Chloe cut herself off. The darkness had prevented her from noticing it, but the light that spilled out of her suite made it abundantly clear -- Ladybug was crying.

“Can I come in?” the heroine’s voice was unusually small.

Wordlessly Chole moved out of the way. Ladybug took short, sad steps past her, pausing listlessly when she reached the middle of the room.

Oh god, what was she supposed to do?! As far as Chloe knew, there was no established protocol for dealing with crying superheroes bursting in on one in one’s pajamas. And that didn’t even touch the fact that Ladybug’s eyes were so much more blue this close and Chloe was in her very short and very thin pajamas. She shook her head. It was apparent that Ladybug needed her, and if Queen Bee couldn’t help, then Chloe Bourgeois would have to do. She hesitantly walked over to Ladybug.

“Do you want to talk about it?” The words were uncharacteristically quiet and soft. Chloe rifled through her memories, desperately trying to remember how Adrien’s mother had consoled her after so many tears in her childhood. It hurt, to think back to then, but if anyone was worth it, Ladybug was. Ladybug believed in her when no one else did and she’d never admit just how good that made her feel inside.

Ladybug turned towards her, tears still leaking out of her large, bluebell eyes. Without warning, she shot forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Chloe, breaking into incoherent sobs. It felt like forever before the spotted heroine stopped shaking like a leaf, tears drying to sniffles. Chloe awkwardly kept rubbing circles onto her back the whole time, hugging Ladybug as best as she could even as her mind whirled at a hundred miles an hour. What in the ever-loving-fuck was happening? Who could have made Ladybug so upset? It was a good thing she didn’t have her miraculous or she’d venom whatever bastard did this to her… Then again, she could probably still claw someone’s eyes out outside of the suit as well… No, Ladybug needed a shoulder to cry on, not a homicidal sometimes-superhero on the warpath.

Chloe took a deep breath in and maneuvered them so that they were sitting down on one of the plush sofas in her suite. She moved to extricate herself from Ladybug and dammit if the way she tried to cling to Chloe with a small whimper didn’t give her feelings.

She awkwardly cleared her throat. “You need to stay hydrated. You’ve been -- I’m going to call for some refreshments. Did you want anything in particular?”

Ladybug wiped her eyes on the back of a spotted glove. “Cookies, if you have them,” she said quietly. “I’ve been out for hours, I need to recharge.”

Chloe nodded, not quite thinking of the magnitude of that statement and picked up the phone at the side of her bed. She didn’t even wait for whoever was on the other end to say hello. “Yes, I need a mug of warm milk and a plate of cookies as quickly as possible. Understood?” She hung up as soon as it was clear that someone had heard her and went back over to Ladybug. “It should be here in a few minutes.” Ladybug nodded silently.

Chloe sighed and braced herself. Clearly, Ladybug needed someone to talk to and for some unknown reason, she’d come to her of all people, so she was going to have to do her best. This really wasn’t her strong suit. “Alright,” she said briskly, breaking the silence. “As many lovely qualities as I have, I have to admit that I’m wondering why you came here tonight. Clearly, you’re upset. Why not talk to that mangy alley cat about it? Or a friend from the other side of the mask? As much as it pains me to admit, I haven’t been… the best person in the past. It seems like there’s someone out there who could give you a hell of a lot better advice about whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

Chloe didn’t miss the way Ladybug flinched, first when she brought up Chat Noir and then civilian friends. Oh, something was definitely going on and somebody was sooooo going to pay for this.

Ladybug twisted her hands together. “I…. I can’t,” she said. “I… I don’t think I have any friends outside of the suit anymore.”

“What happened?” Chloe questioned, trying to make her voice as quiet and reassuring as possible. It felt like squeezing into a too-small shirt, but it must have worked because Ladybug continued.

“They betrayed me.” Her voice broke. “Rena Rouge, Carapace, I knew them both as civilians… I trusted them with the miraculous because they were my best friends. But they took the word of someone they barely know over me and they hate me.” She paused. “They were all I had. Before this year, I didn’t have any friends at all. They were my very first.” A watery smile broke over her face and vanished. “I tried so hard to be a good friend -- I didn’t want them to leave me alone again. I was just trying to protect them from being deceived and manipulated… Oh god, it hurts. It hurts so much.”

Fat tears rolled down Ladybug’s cheeks and Chloe’s heart about broke in her chest. If there was one thing that she understood so very well… She scooted closer to Ladybug and wrapped the heroine in as tight a hug as she could manage. She could feel as the shoulder of her robe was dampened by Ladybug’s tears.

-Needless to say, Chloe really comes through as a friend and confidant to Ladybug that night. Marinette doesn’t really plan to go back, but it felt so good to be listened to and seen for the first time in a long time that she just keeps dropping by Chloe’s balcony.

-Ladybug and Chloe get closer and Marinette is able to hold herself together better now that she has someone. Not that anybody really notices because she’s a bit of a social pariah, but she’s much nicer to Chloe at school.

-I can’t decide if this AU is gonna be romantic or platonic Chloenette, but maybe Chloe has been a (somewhat repressed) gay mess for Ladybug the whole time and shit her school nemesis is also kind of cute now that they’re not constantly fighting oh no. Alternatively, we get some A+ female friendships.

-Either way, Ladybug is a pretty much nightly visitor to Chloe’s house at this point. They paint each other's nails and watch TV and there is some altogether wholesome interaction. Chloe is proud that she’s managed to bring Ladybug’s smiles back and starts to gain confidence in what she’s able to do to make things better by herself, on her own power and without a miraculous.

-Things are kind of improving. Lila is still being awful, but it’s much easier for Marinette to deal with her now. Ladybug and Chat Noir’s partnership is still kind of strained with his flirting, but they’ve been managing. Ladybug has kind of just been ignoring the problem and Chat Noir because she doesn’t know how to handle it and she really does care about him and doesn’t enjoy breaking his heart. She just needs to find some way of communicating to him that she feels like he’s disrespecting her, but the akumas have been getting more intense and she can’t risk another repeat of Frozer if she confronts him, so she doesn’t really know what to do.

-Eventually, the Lucky Charm says that they need back up. The fox makes the most sense to take, but Marinette just can’t trust Alya anymore. There’s really only one person that comes to mind.

-“Chloe Bourgeois, this the miraculous of the fox. It grants the power of illusions. You will use it for the greater good and return it to me when the battle is finished.”

-And finally, we get to the point of this entire rambling mess as fox!Chloe, or Reine Ruse appears. I think that her suit would use brown as an accent rather than black like Rena Rouge’s so it could incorporate some gold piping as sort of a subtle shout out to her past as Queen Bee. Chloe is a sleek, sleek fox. I also totally have an image of her having like 9 real fox tails that spread out behind her like the skirt of a ball gown or something (she is both regal and dramatic as fuck). She can also move them and as she becomes more involved with the miraculous squad she likes to wrap them around Ladybug especially when she gets cold in the winter.

-Reine Ruse absolutely kills it as a hero her first time out. Chat’s like “wow, it’s like you’ve done this before!” Chloe, who has listened to how much grief and indecision that this cat is causing Ladybug is 100% not happy with Chat Noir and pretty much straight up ignores him. If she speaks, she’s probably passive-aggressively sassing him.

-Hawkmoth is sending out progressively more akumas and they’re stronger too. It gets to the point where the lucky charm calls for help during every fight and it’s getting really hard to escape to get the backup Miraculous. Marinette has a talk with Master Fu about Chloe and the fox, sticking up for Chloe and how much she’s grown and making a case for her to be a permanent member of the team. It takes a bit of convincing, but Master Fu eventually comes around.

-“Chloe, you can’t be Queen Bee anymore… But you’ve come such a long way since we met and I would be honored if you would fight by my side as Reine Ruse, permanently.”

-Chat is grateful for the help but has no idea what he’s apparently done to get on the new heroine’s shit list. The first time they patrol alone together, she gives him a thorough verbal lashing about how he’s been treating Ladybug and doesn’t leave until she’s sure he understands.

-Adrien begins to rethink his life choices. Plagg attempts to help as best he can.

-Maybe Chloe rescues Marinette as Reine Ruse or she decides to try to get closer to her in her superhero form because she thinks that she’s totally blown it in her civilian form. Marinette who knows what is going on is just so happy and proud of her best friend/maybe-future-girlfriend.

-Give me a Chloenette love square pls

-Obviously, Alya isn’t happy when there’s a new fox hero. She probably gets akumatized over it, let’s be honest. At least it’s a better reason than getting mad because some middle schooler says he could outrun a panther.

-Lila is probably able to manipulate this situation somehow. She might not even know she’s doing it. Alya asks why Ladybug didn’t pick Rena Rouge and Lila says that Ladybug was just being a bitch or something, idk.

-Chloe thinks it's weird that Alya is so up in arms about this. Maybe this is the start of her figuring Marinette out.

Gosh, this post got so freaking long. I might add more later if anyone is actually interested, lol. I was thinking that the miracusquad in this AU would eventually include bee!Kagami and turtle!Luka as I don’t think Alya or Nino would reach the point that Marinette could trust them with miraculouses again. She might forgive them, but trust is a fragile thing.

Thank you all for listening to my ranting. I hope that this was somewhat coherent. I’m sorry that it’s so long and so rambling, but I really haven’t been involved in fandom for a while. I’ll try my best and I hope to improve in the future!

[inrainprose]

Fic tidbit if interested, so I always thought it'd be an interesting headcanon if Naruto grew up in/near the flower district and was raised/befriended by those ladies of the night. They get looked down upon for their profession he gets treated like shit, etc they have comraderie. And it was through that association that he learnt/developed sexy no jutsu. Like srsly where else does a 10yr old come up with that sort of modelling? Doesn't even find porn until meeting Jiraiya. Look and learn mb?

Never gave it much thoughts, but here we go now haha.

cross-posted on ao3

Red Flower, Strong Heart

“Tell me again what happened exactly.”

“He jumped me for no reason, that’s what happened!”

Iruka winced at the loud, angry tone, and by his side Naruto flinched too. But he said nothing.

“Naruto,” the Sandaime urged gently, “is that true?”

The boy only shrugged, looking sideways. His face was scrunched up in a sulking frown, and he had been stubbornly silent ever since the shopkeeper had dragged him all the way to the Hokage office to plead his case. The man’s chin was red and puffy and still sported specks or dry blood – small as he was, Naruto had elected to jump up straight toward the man’s face, crushing the man’s chin with the top of his head. He had bitten his cheeks hard – his teeth were read when they flashed as he spoke.

“Why did you do it?” the Hokage asked again, to no avail. Naruto refused to answer. “If you won’t explain…”

The threat hung in the air – if he didn’t try to defend himself, they would take the man’s words as the truth and punish the boy accordingly. Iruka had stumbled upon the scene purely by chance, and he was glad he would be here to soften the blow as best as he could, but still, this was pretty serious.

“Naruto, why don’t you tell us what happened?” he tried, puzzled by the boy’s reluctance.

“He doesn’t want to get us into trouble.”

They turned to see two women strolling in, one barely older than Iruka, looking shyly down at the ground and backing up the older one, who was closer to her fifties and stood proud in front of them. He didn’t know them, but he recognized them all the same – the flashy colors of their tight kimono, wrapped low on their shoulders, their outrageous makeup and intricate hairstyle.

No doubt coming straight from the Red Flower District.

“Why’d you come?” Naruto exclaimed, displeased. The older woman ignored him, but when she stepped in, she came to stand at his side and rested a light hand on his shoulder.

“Naruto only came to Himitsu’s defense,” she said, pointing at the younger girl. “But it was her mistake for being out in the shopping district in the first place. Please don’t put the blame on him.”

Both women bowed deeply, graceful. An elegance lessened by the vast expanse of exposed skin displayed by their clothes. The oldest had crimson chrysanthemum printed on her kimono, the symbol of their cast.

One of their matriarchs then.

“Defend you from what?” Iruka asked, unable to hold his tongue and unwilling to let this go. Naruto was turbulent and aggressive at times, but it was rarely devoid of meaning or reasons.

The woman pinched her lips, cast a sideways glance at the shopkeeper who huffed, disdainful.

“She had no business being here at this hour,” he defended. “I was in my right to tell off that b…”

Displaying a speed that was very commanding for his age, Naruto zoomed past Iruka in a second and kicked the man in the leg as hard as he could. He aimed well too, straight on the bone. The man howled.

“Don’t insult my friends!” the boy yelled, furious.

“You little…”

“That’s enough!”

The Hokage’s firm voice cut through the altercation, stopped the man with a hand raised midair and Naruto bracing up for the blow, fully intending for it to land.

“It’s not your place to police anyone’s whereabouts,” the old man said to the shopkeeper. “This is what the actual police is for. And you should know better than to wander in such ways,” he added to the two women. The man swallowed his indignation with great difficulties – the women remained impassible.

“As for you, Naruto. You don’t get to hit people like this, under any circumstances.”

The boy had the gale to snort.

“I’ll hit anyone being mean to the girls,” he declared defiantly, with a hard gaze at the shopkeeper, who was more than twice his size and looking more pissed off by the second.

The Sandaime sighed, weary.

“The matter is closed, you’re all dismissed.”

“But…!”

A cold glance was enough to keep the man silent when he was about to protest. He spun around with a dramatic flurry and left the room without another word. A little stunned, Iruka turned to Naruto, ready to walk him out too, but the boy wasn’t paying attention to him.

“Come on, Naruto,” the older woman said, hard face broken into a gentle smile as she took the boy’s hand. “We’ll take you home.”

“Okay!”

He seemed unfazed by the whole thing. Being scolded by the Hokage himself had worked for a while, but he seemed immune now.

Mostly though, he probably just felt justified in his actions, and in such cases no reprimand could have any impact on him. He had gotten into plenty of fights, and he was never apologetic about defending himself or others against words and punches. Iruka supposed injunction against violence ought to be pretty useless when one, the kids were taught to fight at school, and two, none of them bothered to hold back either.

Iruka watched the two women walk out with Naruto, wondering when that had happened, what he was seeing there exactly and what he was supposed to think of it. Feeling utterly useless, he followed in silence.

.

“That shitty fucker, I’ll fucking kill him!”

“Natsuko! Mind your words in front of the kid!”

Naruto giggled as Himitsu tried to wrap her hands around his head to shelter his ears, but he kept wiggling around so that she couldn’t get a good hold. Natsuko waved her hand as if to sweep the words away.

“You should have kicked him in the balls, Naruto.”

“Natsuko!”

Naruto laughed again and popped another dango into his mouth. The sun was yet to set, so the girls weren’t at work, and they could hang outside the inn and eat the lunch’s leftovers. The others were scattered around too, talking and relaxing before they would have to go change and prepare themselves for the night.

He couldn’t pretend to understand what work they did exactly, but he knew that people looked down on them for it, and yet those same people they came to visit the Red Flower District, nights after nights. Naruto wasn’t allowed to stay out past dinnertime. The girls made sure he went back to his apartment just a few streets away and went to sleep at a reasonable hour – usually one of them who was off duty would accompany him. Sometimes they helped to tidy up his place and wash his clothes.

He didn’t get why people were so mean to them. But then again, he didn’t get why people were mean to him either – it was just… one of those things.

“You’re right, Himitsu, a kick in the balls is effective, but it’s not very subtle. You need to learn something else, Naruto. Something that will knock down most men instantly.”

“Really?” he perked up. If there was such a thing, he was very interested. He was small and weak for his age, and often wanted to fight with people who were older and stronger. Having a winning trick up his sleeve wouldn’t hurt.

“Natsuko, really…” Himitsu pleaded, although there was the barest hint of amusement on her face, despite the bruise darkening under her eye where the man had hit her earlier. Naruto greeted his teeth.

“Please teach me!” he said, earnest. He needed to learn. He needed to know how to deal with those bullies.

How to protect the girls, who were so nice and smelled so sweet, who gave him food and had taught him how to read, who were never turned him away. He wouldn’t let them get hurt.

Natsuko grinned.

“Alright, here’s what you’re going to do.”

.

Iruka heard the commotion before he spotted Naruto running down the streets, dirty brushes in hand and a delighted grin on his face. A few steps behind him a man was giving chase, clothes and hands smeared with paint, shouting threats.

Just when Iruka was about to step in, Naruto spun around to face the man and joined his hands into a seal.

“Sexy no Jutsu!”

In a puff of smoke, the eight-year-old boy was replaced by a tall, blonde and completely naked young woman, bearing striking resemblance both to Naruto and to the young girl from that time in the Hokage’s office.

The man stopped dead in his track, stumbled on nothing and crashed on the ground, at Naruto’s feet. The girl laughed, pleased, and stuck her tongue at the man, before changing back and running away.

“Suck it, you pervert!”

By the time his pursuer could get back on his feet, Naruto was long gone.

It was probably bad of him, as a teacher and an adult, that the only thing he could think of was that at least Naruto had managed to learn a jutsu properly at last. And even a useful one, quite tragically.

As for Naruto’s dubious frequentations, Iruka would feel like the worse hypocrite begrudging the boy the few scraps of support and companionship he had managed to find for himself, no matter how unorthodox.

All in all, he decided the matter was best forgotten entirely.

And that he ought to thank those women, maybe.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday fellingjane!

We want to wish @feelingjane a Happy Birthday for 23rd of July! Apologies for the wait, but we hope you enjoy the Everlark story the wonderful @mega-aulover has written just for you :)

TITLE: Thin Line

PROMPT: Enemies to lovers on any universe, smutty would be even better ;)

RATING: M

A/N: A special thank you to @katnissdoesntfollowback thank you for helping me with the first kiss...the hands always get me. And to my friend and beta @norbertsmom, you are always encouraging and you always give my brain the necessary creative jolt. Joyous birthday to @feelingjane...sorry it was late.

Set AU Canon the games never existed, the population in Panem dwindled to dangerous levels because of the war and the chemical weapons The Capitol and District Thirteen used causing many to become sterile, giving cause for the marriage edict, from the Capitol to District 13.

It was a beautiful day for weddings. All of the candidates wore their best dresses or shirt and slacks. Those who could afford it wore a wedding dress or a suit.

Katniss didn't want to get married. But she was forced to wear one of her mother's best dresses, a blue one that her mother brought with her when she moved to the Seam.

Maybe she'd get to be by herself like Gale who didn't have a girl the year he turned 18. In the early years they tried to pair the leftovers the next year; however there was an argument in the Capitol when an older woman was paired with an 18 year old.

What they did now is take all of the candidates and put them to work with the marriage bureau. Gale had the freedom to choose his spouse from the pool in the bureau from of all the districts.

It happened, not often, but it did and this year she'd counted; there were more girls than boys. Katniss wanted the opportunity to choose her own path.

Effie Trinket walked out onto the stage jingling as she moved. Her dress was covered in tiny golden bells. “Welcome, welcome. How exciting for our young brides and grooms participating in the time honored tradition.”

The video began, showing the destruction of war, the aftermath, the low population and the women giving birth to stillborn babies.

 Katniss didn't care for the video or the explanation of how they are helping to repopulate the country. The only good thing was the money they received. Every couple was given a man's yearly salary in the mines. The money was used to buy a house and furnishings, to supplement the couple’s income. Most families in the Seam took in the newlyweds and it helped feed the family until they had enough to buy a bigger home for all of them to fit.

Effie Trinket dipped her hands in the bowls. One for the girls and one for the boys. The first couple called was always was given the better house and the benefit of a better job, weather it be at the mines or in the case of a second or the rare third Merchant child the inheritance of the family business. No one from the Seam ever got picked first, that distinction always fell to a Merchant.

No matter what, it was still nerve wracking. Katniss stomach clenched when she saw Effie’s fingers skim over the folded pieces of paper.

She pulled out a paper from each.  “Ladies first,” Effie said into the microphone. All eyes were on her fingers as she broke the seal of the paper. “Katniss Everdeen.”

Katniss gasped and she turned pale. All eyes turned to her; she wanted the ground to swallow her up.  A seam girl had never been called first. Her only consolation was that the money she received would be doubled.

Effie opened the other paper, “And her groom to be, isn’t this so exciting!”

Katniss just wanted to know what Seam boy she'd be tied down to. She was confident that history wouldn’t repeat itself. There were only a handful of Seam and Merchant marriages. Her mother was one of them.  

“Peeta Mellark.”

Katniss eyes flew to the blond she loathed with all of her heart.

***

“Of course nothing is too good for the first couple.” Effie waved her hand around as she escorted them to their home in the coveted Victor's Village; the homes were made for the fiftieth reaping to promote excitement the participants. The first couple got to spin the wheel to see if they won one of the coveted homes in the Victor's village. Katniss and Peeta had the distinction of being one of the five families that won the fully furnished home.  

Katniss trailed after Peeta as they passed by a row of Merchants that were staring as if she were blight.  Peeta never looked at her and this raised her ire further.

“Hypocrite,” Katniss muttered under her breath as she walked. He treated everyone nicely, even other Seam folk, but not her. He treated her like she was a street rat.

It all began when they were sixteen, after he lost his championship. Katniss recalled it well, she’d finally gotten the courage to thank him for the bread that saved her life. He’d let his girl ridicule her. If it wasn’t for Gale showing up and defending her, Katniss would’ve turned and run. That’s when they became enemies, a line was crossed between them and they couldn’t stand the sight of the other.

 Whenever they traded he'd call her every tacky name a guy called a girl, baby, dollface, sugar, ect. Peeta knew it bothered her. In turn she[1]  and Gale called him ���cake boy.’

“This is your home.” Effie smiled brightly; her Capitol accent caused her to sound snobbish.

“Thank you Miss Trinket,” Peeta said.

“Have a wonderful evening and congratulations.”

Effie left, and Peeta opened the door of the house and walked in. Katniss stood outside wanting to walk away.

“You coming inside or are you going to spend the rest of our marriage standing outside and scaring the neighbors away.”

Katniss narrowed her eyes at him, and stomped up the front porch. She was forced to stare up into his cold blue eyes.  There was a challenge in those eyes, daring her to say something to him. Katniss wasn't good with words, but she was good with actions. She gave him the sweetest smile possible before she stomped on his foot and stormed into the house.

“YOU!” Peeta shouted as he hopped around on one foot.

Katniss smirked until she saw him coming after her. She ran through the interior of the house. Peeta tackled her onto the sofa. She struggled trying to get away, but his hands pinned hers on either side of her face. His weight should have bothered her, but it didn’t; she was annoyed at being caught.

“LET ME GO!” Katniss spat, her chest heaved.

“NO!” Peeta’s eyes were dark like the bottom of a pool of water. “We’re stuck together.”

“Not if I shoot you through the eye cake boy,” Katniss said between her teeth.

“Not if I stick to town.”

“Ha,” Katniss struggled, she was tempted to head-butt him but he held his head at a safe distance. “Let go of me!”

“No,” Peeta said, his mouth thinned and he sounded frustrated, “Not until you listen to me.”

Katniss refused to look at him; she stubbornly cast her eyes to the side.

“You don’t have to look at me to listen to me, Katniss. We can agree we don’t like each other; hell you might hate me.”

Katniss’ eyes slowly turned back to stare at him.

Peeta shook his head, “But for better or worse we are stuck with one another. All we have to do is be civil to the other.”

Katniss didn’t want to admit that what he was saying made sense, but he was right, they were stuck together. Divorces were expensive; only the super rich could afford one. It was cheaper to stay together. “What are you suggesting?”

Katniss watched the way Peeta’s eyes drifted to her lips, before they shot back up to look at her eyes. “We set a few ground rules.”

“Like?”

 “First, I know you go out of the district, and catch game; I’m okay with that.”

Katniss was relieved that he wouldn’t stop her from hunting.

“But you’re not to bring Gale Hawthorne here.”

Her eyes flashed at his request. Gale was her best friend, and her hunting buddy. “Gale’s-”

“I don’t care what he is or what you are. I don’t want him here. Do you understand? If we’re going to make this marriage look real. When you’re out there in the woods you can ’hunt’ to your heart's content but don’t bring him here,” Peeta demanded and his high handed ways made her angry.

“Fine, you don’t want to me bringing Gale here. I’ll do that, but don’t you dare bring any of your floozies here.”

His lips quirked with mirth, “None of my floozies?”

“Yes, those big breasted girls you’ve been seen down at the heap with, like,” Katniss scowled, “Like that Alicia!”

“Alicia?”

“Yeah that Alicia Bayard.” Katniss didn’t like Alicia; she was a manipulative bully. All throughout school Alicia brought nothing misery toward Madge.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me.” His face got near to hers and her eyes widened. Peeta was handsome, broad shouldered, with muscular arms, and had the bluest eyes framed by delicate golden lashes. She swallowed as she watched his lips move; lips that she’d thought about in secret when alone. His top lip looked firm and his bottom was full, luscious.

Katniss had watched him from afar. Never daring to get close to him because they were enemies, but she couldn't deny she’d thought about kissing him.

Her eyesight dipped lower, to watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and she absurdly wanted to lick him there. Katniss grew warm and felt flushed all of the sudden. She could feel the heat on the apple of her cheeks. Her eyes searched his, the coldness was gone, and he looked at her with interest. This intrigued her.  

“I’ve seen you once or twice coming back from the slagheap early in the morning,” Katniss tried to sound outraged, but her voice sounded strange, it sounded husky.

He raised an eyebrow then purred, “Jealous, wanna know what the hype is about?”

Katniss wanted to run. The instinct to flee and find shelter, to not have to deal with the way he was affecting her overwhelmed her. Peeta was dangerous.

She wiggled about on the sofa trying to get free from his grasp, but instead she caused them to fall to the floor.  They rolled around but Katniss found herself loosely pinned by him once again.  They were both panting, their limbs tangled together, their mouths only a breath apart.  Katniss was unable to move as he bumped noses with her, right before his lips met hers.  The pressure of his tongue dipping in and out several times, as if to test the waters, made her go limp. Pleasure shot through her small frame. It radiated from her mouth down to the pit of her stomach and beyond. Katniss didn’t understand why there was a pulling sensation between her legs.  

She’d been kissed before, once by Gale before he went to his reaping, but it was nothing like this. That kiss was full of saliva and frankly awkward. Peeta’s kiss made her tingle. His lips applied pressure to her bottom lip, plucking it between his, and she did the same to his top lip.  His hand cupped the back of her neck, softly playing with her hair. She found her hands gripping his shirt, and opening her legs as his knee nudged them apart. His other hand came to rest on the edge of her breast, and she felt her nipples pebbled up at the nearness. There was pleasure, but it wasn’t enough. Katniss couldn’t pinpoint what she felt, and instead of it scaring her she wanted more.

“Knock, knock!”

“Donner we shouldn’t be in here,” A man with a gravely voice whispered.

The woman whispered back, “The door was practically opened, Haymitch.”

“See Donner, I told you they weren't here.”

“Abernathy, I didn’t see them leave; now shut up.”  

Peeta groaned in frustration.

Katniss hearing the squabbling couple caused her to realize what she’d done. She was colluding with the enemy. She pushed him off of her and he grinned as he got up.

“Oh sorry!!” The blond woman said nearly dropping the dish.

“Coach Abernathy, I” Peeta exclaimed.

“Mellark, sorry about the intrusion. My wife Maysilee wanted to bring you guys over a casserole.” The man was Seam and Maysilee was Merchant.

“You’re Madge’s Aunt,” Katniss blurted out.

“Yes, you must be Katniss. Madge has mentioned you in the past.”

Katniss didn’t know how to react, she hugged herself.  

“How about we put that casserole in the kitchen?”Peeta asked.

Peeta and Maysilee walked into the the other room.

“So how are you holding up?” Haymitch asked as he sat on the sofa, his legs extended.

Katniss wasn’t sure what to make out of Haymitch Abernathy.

“I saw you and the kid getting cozy.” Haymitch raised an eyebrow.

“It’s none of your business,” Katniss spat. In reality she didn’t know what to make of the kiss; she was so confused. She felt a deep connection between them. However, while she was with him she wasn’t afraid of how it made her feel, but now, with a clear head she couldn’t let that happen again.  She was weak.  

“Look, far it be from me to give any advice, but this thing you’ve been pushed into, it’s not an easy thing. I know you guys didn’t get along while in school, It’s a shame because I can see the sparks between you.”

Katniss didn’t know if she could trust Haymitch. She slowly sat on the sofa beside him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, come on Katniss, I’ve seen you stare at that boy when you thought no one was looking, and vise versa.”  Haymitch tipped his head in the kitchen’s direction. “You and the boy locking lips is more than just a physical thing. I can see how affected you are, if it were just physical you’d act like it was nothing.”

Katniss didn’t make eye contact with Haymitch for fear that he would see what she was really feeling. Peeta and Maysilee came back laughing.  Haymitch stood and joined his wife.

“Hey, coach maybe we can have dinner tomorrow.”

Haymitch eyes traveled from Peeta’s face to Katniss’. “Yeah sure, as long as sweetheart or you can cook.”

Katniss’ eyes narrowed as they left, but when they were gone occurred to her that she was once more alone with Peeta. She turned on him.  “Don’t you ever touch me again?”

Peeta laughed and joked, “What’s the matter sweetheart? Didn’t you like kissing me?”

Katniss growled, and pushed passed him.

“Where are you going?”

She walked out to the porch. She didn’t sign up for this, she thought she’d be with a man from the Seam or even end up like Gale. She sat out there until she got a little cold. Getting up, she walked back into the house.  It was around six in the evening.

The kitchen looked foreign. The stove didn’t need wood to work; the top had a series of knobs and buttons. She couldn’t figure out what the cavern on the bottom was used for. Perplexed she abandoned the kitchen to explore the first floor of the house. It was nicely furnished, better than anything found in the Seam. The fabric of the chairs was softer than a rabbit's pelt. The dark wood looked opulent, and there was even hot water. The bathroom had a toilet; many homes in the Seam had outhouses because there was no running water. They had to use a well to get all of their water.

It looked like the bedrooms were upstairs and she wasn’t ready to face the reality of having to share a room with him. She looked out of the window of the study. Peeta was out back meeting the neighbors. Katniss listened as he easily introduced himself. His smile bright, his blue eyes shined. He fit in with the people and the house while she didn’t belong. She was a fish out of water.

She rarely cried, but out of pure frustration she wanted to. She slid to the floor in the study, her head hung. She listened to his laughter; it hurt that she wasn’t able to make friends as easily as he did. Curling up on floor near the desk, she fell asleep.

***

She woke up with a start a scream from her nightmare on her lips. It was all too real, the explosion, her father's body buried under ash and rubble. She dreamt she was there, she was dying. Disoriented she tried get free but couldn't.

Strong arms lifted her from the sheets. Tears poured down her face, as she fought to be set free. “Let me go.”

“Shhh, it's okay. I've got you.”

Katniss felt the arms pull her against a solid warm chest. Tears were running down her face. She hiccupped several times.

“Peeta,” Katniss muttered against his chest; she closed her eyes.

“I’m here, I won’t leave you,” his hands soothed her back.

“Okay,” Katniss sighed, slowly the tension in her body left. She felt at peace, safe. His arms were familiar to her and she felt like she belonged here with him. Her breathing evened out, as Peeta rocked her back to sleep. She was so tired and soothed by the rhythmic sound of his heartbeat, she fell asleep.

***

In the morning she woke up wrapped around Peeta. She’d never slept with a man and she should’ve been freaked out, but she was cozy; once more she felt at home with him. Katniss felt his breath on her neck and part of her wanted to feel his mouth there and that scared her. Shaking her head she reprimanded herself for having such thoughts about Peeta. He looked so innocent. Then she recalled how she saw him leaving the slagheap in the mornings and she became angered once more.  She got up from the bed and slunk away.

She went in search of the familiar, her home in the Seam.

 She couldn't wait to see her sister. “Prim, I’m home-” The words died on her lips. No one was at home.  Her sister must have been out with their mother tending to the sick. Only that darned cat was home, and he hissed when he saw her and scurried out of the room.

Dejected, Katniss sat in her home alone, and felt so alone. The only time she hadn’t felt like this was when she was with Peeta. Katniss didn’t want to admit it to herself, but it was there like a mountain lion, or a peacekeeper roadblock. Last night she’d felt safe, and cared for.

The sensation was too much.

Getting up, she shook her trembling hands. Needing something to do, she went to her old bedroom. If she did something then she didn’t have to think about it. Needing to feel like herself, she changed out of the dress.  Katniss collected her things. For a second she thought about leaving the dress and shoes behind, but something compelled her to pack them up.

She didn’t have much; everything fit inside of her father’s game bag. When she left she headed straight to the forest and sat there thinking.  She managed to catch a small bird and after cooking it, ate it while she was there.  

It gave her time to think about the kiss and how last night he’d found her and brought her to bed. And how he’d calmed her after her nightmare. He was kind to her when he didn’t have to be. Katniss wondered why, and she admitted that it would be easy if he just treated her poorly, then she’d know how to treat him back.

When the evening came she headed back to the village; she dreaded entering the house. She heard laughter coming from inside, and she saw it was filled with people. Katniss wasn’t in any mood to deal with people so she found a drainpipe and climbed up it to the second floor window that was open.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Katniss faced Peeta; he was walking into their bedroom.  “Out,” she put her game bag on the floor.

“Well get dressed, we’ve got a house of our neighbors and they’ve been asking about you.” Peeta crossed his arms.

Katniss rolled her eyes. “I’m not going downstairs.”

“We agreed to keep the illusion, so get dressed in something nice and come downstairs.”

“I only have one dress,” Katniss said through clenched teeth.

He paused, “Is it clean?”

“Yeah, well I hope so.” Katniss said picking up the game bag and putting it on the bed.  She sat down to take off her boots. She couldn’t wear the dress without the other shoes.

“Where were you?” He shrugged, “You know, just so I can explain it.”

“I went home to pick up my stuff, and then into the woods.” She took the dress she was wearing this morning. It was wrinkled, she sniffed it, it still smelled clean. “Look I have to change, do you mind.”

“Sure,” Peeta turned around. “So were you alone?

He sounded strange, she shrugged, “Yeah, I was alone.” Katniss finished dressing; she looked into the mirror and quickly re-braided her hair. He watched her through the mirror.

“So you didn’t see Gale today?” He got closer.

“No.” Katniss rolled her eyes, turned around and walked around him. “Okay, let’s go get this farce over with.”

They walked downstairs and while Peeta talked to the five couples that were there she sat in corner with an empty cup in her hand.

“So you and the kid decided to put your differences aside yet?” Haymitch sat down next to her.

Katniss scowled and shook her head. She wanted nothing to do with Haymitch. “Listen old man, just leave me alone.”

“But your scowl is so lovely,” He said before drinking from his cup.

“What do you want?” Katniss was unable to understand why he was so interested.

“Just wanted to tell you to give the kid a fair shake.” Haymitch pointed Peeta, “He’s always had it bad for you. Look at him he's staring at you right now.”

Her eyes flew to where Peeta was standing, “No he's not!” But he was. Katniss shrunk back into her chair. Haymitch laughed.

Katniss wanted to be swallowed up. Peeta's look was intense, not cold, but not warm either. Her skin pebbled and she glanced away wishing she could hide the rosy blush that appeared on the apple of her cheeks.

He turned, but the warm feeling in her heart did not disappear. In fact an hour later while they were cleaning up, it was still there. She kept on glancing at him and she caught him once or twice glancing at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. It felt as if something was blossoming between them, but she didn’t quite get it.

“You got it bad, and so does he. Trust me sweetheart. He lost that first wrestling match because he saw you with that Hawthorne guy.”

Katniss didn’t know what to say or do.

“You are clueless aren’t you?” Haymitch sat forward in his chair. “You don’t see it, the attraction, the jealousy that drove you apart.”

“I’m not jealous!” Katniss shook her head no, but she knew she was lying. Even as she spoke their neighbor Misty Feldman was cozying up to Peeta, her hand was on his arm and she was giving him a sultry look.  Katniss’ fist balled up as she watched the woman’s hand slide down to his bicep. She threw her head back, giggling and her hair flopped over her shoulder.

“You are so jealous,” Haymitch stated.

Katniss whipped her head around, narrowing her eyes, but realizing she was caught.

“You both like the other. You’re jealous of women like Misty and he’s jealous of Hawthorne.”

“Gale,” Katniss said incredulously. “What the hell does Gale have to do with Peeta?”

Haymitch replied, “It's so funny that Hawthorne tried to put a stop to you two to get together and the odds weren’t in his favor.  Sweetheart, you and the kid are fated to be together.”

Katniss glanced at Peeta; he’d escaped Misty. She had a lot of questions but when she turned Haymitch was gone.  She questioned if maybe she was wrong about him.

 That night she walked out of the bathroom shyly not knowing what to expect. He was wearing just plaid pajama bottoms. Her cheeks heated up when she saw how fit Peeta was. He had a sculpted abdomen, like a washboard. His arms were massive and she knew how gently they could hold her. Her body felt overheated.

She watched him take a pillow and blanket.  He walked out of the bedroom and headed down the hallway toward the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“Downstairs, the other bedrooms don’t have a bed yet. They are empty, for when...well you know.” His eyes traveled down to her midsection.

Katniss looked down at her stomach, and comprehension dawned.  A baby, he was talking about children. Her eyes became wide. “OH!”

The Capitol allowed the couples to decorate those bedrooms any which way they want. “Haymitch and Maysilee have never decorated the other rooms. Only two of the families that live here have been able to have children. Misty and her husband are still trying.”

Katniss swallowed, “What if I don’t want kids?”

He walked up to her, the pillow and blanket fell on the floor. His eyes searched hers. She could see his question before he asked it. “Why wouldn’t you want to have kids?”

Katniss hugged herself, trying to make him, a Merchant, understand what it was to grow up Seam. “Because kids are the ones who suffer. They’re the ones who are hungry and don’t understand why there isn’t food or why they can’t get warm enough in the winter. Seam kids don’t have much in the way of opportunities. They...we all know we’ll end up working in the mines.”

“Or why they can’t eat the food that you make all day long.  Or how the Merchants have to save every penny to pay the heavy taxes the Capitol levies on the families, leaving us with not even enough money to live. We buy canned stuff with long expiration dates. The only time I eat fresh anything is when you or senior grumpy come to trade with us.  Until last night I’ve never tasted a piece of fresh bread. ” Peeta rubbed his neck, and was staring at his feet. He then looked up at her.

Katniss hid her smile at his description of Gale; she didn’t know that was how his family lived. Everything that Haymitch told her, the kindness she’d witnessed from him, made Peeta seem different in her eyes. Like less of a bad guy. She looked up at him, into those beautiful eyes of his. The words came out whispered, “I’m sorry.”

His hand gently cupped her cheek, “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“Why are you so kind to me? You don’t have to be, I stomped on your foot and I call you cake boy.”

“You're not who I thought you would be, and I do work in a bakery,” Peeta grinned, “and I was acting like an idiot when I said you’d scare the neighbors.”

Katniss chuckled, “My face is known to scare people.”

“It hasn’t scared me.” His face was near hers. She watched as his tongue wet his lips, she leaned up on tiptoe and kissed him. It was explosive like a lightening bolt went through her. They wrapped their arms tightly around the other, not wanting to let go.  Peeta moved and not wanting to break the contact, she wrapped her legs around his middle. He walked while still kissing her.

Katniss threw her head back as his lips found her neck, moaning as he deposited her on the bed. He followed, kissing her. His hand on landed on her knee and it slid upwards under the hem of her nightgown, as his hand began to stroke her nether lips through her underwear.  She jumped at the contact intending on closing her legs, but his tongue swept inside of her mouth pressing against hers. Her legs fell open and she felt him tug at her underwear.

“Peeta,” she panted.

“Let me touch you,” he said kissing her neck; his mouth connecting with a pulse point.

She nodded as currents of pleasure shot through her body. It radiated and pulsed between her legs. Peeta stoked her fire; his hands slipping through her folds. She closed her eyes, and felt when his lips descended upon her. His tongue swiping and it felt like kisses down there. She cried out his name, her hands grasped the sheets. She was hot and she felt something wanting to burn out of control. His finger entered and began to slide in and out; her panting grew, and suddenly she combusted on fire.

“I want to, please let me, be with you,” Peeta asked. Her walls were convulsing and she wanted him there inside. She nodded her consent. Peeta quickly pushed down his pajamas but before he crawled on top of her he gave her a questioning look. Katniss was ready, she said, “Yes.”

The pain was instant. Tears fell from her face, her nose pressed against his neck. “Peeta.”

“Katniss,” Peeta whispered, she could feel him pulling away in a panic.

She thought she’d done something wrong.  

He rolled off of her and onto his knees to stare at her. Katniss pulled down the hem of her nightgown, but Peeta stopped her. He ran his hands through his hair. “I…I-” He stammered before he ran to the bathroom. He came back with a wet towel and gently wiped her down. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I swear Katniss, I thought Gale, I mean Gale said.” He worriedly muttered, “Let me take care of you, Katniss.”

Katniss sat up and winced in pain, confused by what he was saying. “Peeta?”

He raced out of the room back to the bathroom.

She heard the bath faucet turned on before he came back to her. Peeta stood nervously by the bed. “I’m running a bath for you, can you stand?”

He looked so nervous watching her stand up, as if he had broken her somehow. Katniss knew that her first time was supposed to be painful; it was drilled into them at school about a woman’s duty. She’d always rolled her eyes at this. She didn’t believe the male superiority over women. But as she stood, she thought about what he’d blurted about Gale. Haymitch had also said something similar and she wanted to know.

She winced in pain. Peeta scooped her up and carried her into the bathroom, and settled by the tub. She felt shy, but then recalled that he’d touched her, and he was naked as well. Slowly she removed her nightgown. “Will you join me?”

This was uncharted waters, and they needed to talk about what happened. He sat behind her, “What did you mean? When you said you didn’t know, that Gale told you.”

“When we were sixteen, the day of the tournament, he came to see me. Gale said he’d been watching me, he knew I had a crush on you. He said you and him-” Peeta sighed. “He implied you were sleeping with him, that you belonged to him and that I should stay away, and I did.” Peeta lowered his head. “I didn’t believe him then I saw him kiss you right before the match. I was angry, so much so I couldn’t concentrate.”

Katniss was appalled that Gale would do such a thing. She turned around as best she could in the tub. “I never was with him. Gale told me you were like your brother Graham, then I saw you with Alicia and you let her insult me. After that you were mean to me and that’s why I was mean to you too. Then I saw you coming home from the slagheap.”

“I used to give some of the bread we couldn’t eat to the women who, well made their living there.”

“Oh,” Katniss was embarrassed. Of course Peeta would be doing something honorable and she had been casting Peeta in the wrong light. “I was wrong about you.”

“You mean you liked me too?” He looked so hopeful.

Katniss bit down on her lips. “I still do,” she whispered before she leaned in and kissed him. He groaned as she pressed herself against him. The water splashed over the side as they kissed, and this time when they joined Katniss was ready, because she’d crossed over that line, and believed that they belonged together.

[foreversillythings]

An Ocean Between Us Chapter 2

aka Titanic!Gagde

First off, if there’s a way to respond to replies, I’ve yet to figure it out, so to everyone who replied, thank you! I really appreciate it and they make me smile :)

Any ways, on to the story, I hope you enjoy!

An Ocean Between Us

Friday, April 12 A Little Like Catching Fire

“My, my, someone’s in a good mood,” Delly said over breakfast and Madge froze, her egg sliding off her fork and flumping back onto her plate.

“What do you mean?” she asked, heat starting to climb up her neck. Delly nudged her, smirking.

“You’ve been smiling all morning. Had a good night?’

Madge blushed. “No, not at all. And why shouldn’t I be smiling?”

“You were miserable yesterday, have been ever since your parents decided to leave Ireland. I’m just curious to know what brought about your sudden change of mood.”

Madge bit her lip and peeked over at her parents, deep in conversation with Mr and Mrs Cartwright.

“Oh, alright,” she sighed but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a bit giddy about telling Delly about Gale. Delly leaned towards her eagerly.

“Last night, when I was on the promenade deck, this…boy came up, climbed over the railing.”

Delly’s eyes went wide.

“From Third Class?”

Madge nodded. “Yes, I actually…saw him before, earlier in the day.”

Delly gasped.

“That’s what you were staring at!”

Madge nodded again, cheeks flaming. “Yes. Anyway, he climbed up and well, we talked, only for a few minutes, but…oh Delly, he was so handsome.”

Delly clapped her hands together with a smile.

“Are you going to see him again?”

Madge blinked in shock.

“Of course not!” she insisted, surprising even herself with her vehemence. Delly frowned.

“Why not? You liked him, didn’t you?”

“Well, it doesn’t…that’s not important! I barely know him, it would be highly inappropriate to spend time with him. And anyways, I know nothing about him and it’s not like we’ll ever see each other again after we get to America. What would be the point?”

Delly grabbed her hands and squeezed.

“Madge, listen to me. Now is the perfect time. We’ve left behind our old life and the new one doesn’t start until we reach New York. The days we have here, this is when we should be doing things we never would normally-”

“If Father Brown could hear you now,” Madge interrupted, face red. Delly frowned at her, more serious than Madge could ever remember seeing her.

“Well he can’t. I’m just saying, if you like him, you should give it a chance.”

“I don’t,” Madge said firmly, even as her stomach swooped at the thought of his grin.

“Fine then,” Delly acquiesced, “I’ll leave it alone.”

“Thank you,” Madge said with a nod. They turned back to their food and it was for the best really. Everything she’d said was true. There wouldn’t be a point. She couldn’t be feeling anything but a slight, silly interest in him and there was no reason to pursue it.

Gale was best left behind.

(why then, did what she’d said to Delly feel less like the truth and far more like a script she’d spent her whole life preparing to read?)

“Alright, so I was thinking we’d go for a bit of a walk, get in some fresh air and then we could commandeer some deck chairs and read those books we got from the library. Then we’ll go for lunch and after, we can have a dip in the pool,” Delly rattled off and Madge laughed.

“You certainly have everything planned out.”

Delly grinned.

“I just want to make sure we make the best of our time here.”

They started off then, heading for their promenade deck and Madge did everything within her power to banish Gale from her thoughts. Forget him. Just forget him.

(but that smile, those eyes, they were impossible to forget)

She allowed Delly to lead and when Madge looked up, she realized they’d reached the Second Class promenade deck. She couldn’t help but look over at the Third Class passengers milling about below them and Oh. No. There he was, Gale, standing by the railing on the Poop Deck again, chatting with a boy about his age. She felt her heart jump and turned to Delly.

“You did this on purpose,” she accused and Delly shrugged.

“I just wanted to get a look at him, see if he really was as handsome as you said. So, which one is he?”

Madge frowned, thought about simply walking away but couldn’t. She pointed.

“Over there, by the rail.”

Delly’s whole face lit up.

“Well, aren’t they a pair of fine things. Which one is yours?”

“Neither,” Madge snapped and then inhaled sharply. “The one with the hat.”

Delly nodded approvingly.

“Very nice. I mean, personally, I think the other might be shade more handsome, but yours is still good.”

“Delly, he’s not mine. I’m never going to speak to him again.”

“Of course not,” Delly agreed. Madge breathed in again.

“Come on, weren’t we supposed to be commandeering deck chairs?”

“Of course,” Delly said and they moved off, arm in arm.

(but even with all her denials, Madge couldn’t help herself from looking back)

(forgetting might not be as easy as she’d hoped)

All day, Gale haunted her thoughts.

She was meant to be reading some romance she’d borrowed from the library, but every scene ended up twisted in her mind, Gale playing the handsome hero.

“You are my lady love, my truest heart and there is no enemy I would not fight to keep you safe,” Gale said, holding her hand against his beating heart. Madge wept bitter tears, devastated at their inevitable parting.

“Take my favour into battle, bravest of all knights,” she managed to say, tying her scarf to his gauntlet. “And carry all my love with it.”

Gale took her in his arms then, embracing her with-

Madge slammed the book closed. She had to stop, her face so hot she was sure it could melt ice. Delly questioned her and Madge mumbled something about it being terrible, the thought of Gale sweeping her off her feet still fresh in her mind.

Forget him, not fantasize about him!

In the pool she kept wondering what he’d look like in a swimsuit and was appalled with herself. No well brought up young girl should be having such thoughts and yet there they were, ballooning up inside her without end. She could picture him standing by the edge, water glistening on the muscles she’d just gotten hints of beneath his clothes, wet hair shining in the bright lights and his smile charming. She dunked herself beneath the water but it did nothing to cool her down. She was actually surprised the water didn’t boil from the heat she could feel circulating through her, her whole body like a furnace.

Somehow, someway, Gale had wormed himself inside her and wouldn’t leave.

(but of course, if you asked, she’d say she barely remembered him at all)

(liar liar liar)

Madge knew she was a hypocrite.

After all her talk to Delly about it being inappropriate and pointless, here she was again, sitting on the Second Class promenade deck just in case Gale came back. He wouldn’t of course; he’d said last night that it was too risky. Still, here she was and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t embarrassed. He was a stranger, a handsome stranger to be sure, but still a stranger. And yet, it seemed he’d somehow caused her to take complete leave of her senses.

The gossip there’d be if anyone ever found out… She shuddered. It was mortifying just to think about. Late night rendezvous with boys, oh her parents would just die if they knew. Not that it mattered, he wasn’t coming. Which was probably for the best. Definitely.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Madge nearly leapt off her bench, her heart jumping up into her throat. She would’ve screamed, except her voice seemed to have died of fright.

“I seem to be making a habit of scaring you out your skin,” Gale said with a laugh, righting himself after his climb up over the railing. Madge pressed a hand to her chest.

“You could have killed me,” she accused and Gale laughed again, Madge’s consternation fading at the sound. He stuffed his hands in his pocket and moseyed over, stopping just before he reached her bench. She looked up at him, a rush of warmth flooding through her.

“I thought you said it’d be too dangerous for you to come up here?” she asked and he shrugged.

“Some things are worth the risk.”

Her chest fluttered and then he grinned, leaning slightly towards her, his eyes glowing in a way that made her want to swoon.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Madge looked at him and there was something about him, not his looks, thought they were gorgeous, something else, something she couldn’t put her finger on but it made her trust him, always made her want to smile. Some essence of Gale that touched her every time they interacted.

“No,” she finally answered, failing to keep her own grin at bay. He smirked a little wider and then gestured at her bench.

“Mind if I join you?”

She shook her head and scooted over, shy in an excited way. Gale sat down, stretching his arms over the back of the bench and Madge felt hyper aware of everything around them. There were only a few inches between them and she burned, the side of her body tingling with his proximity. He was silent and Madge wasn’t sure what to say, so she followed his eyes, turning hers up to the stars. No one said a word and yet Madge couldn’t help but find this nice, something peaceful and comforting in the two of them just sitting here.

“It really takes my breath away,” she murmured and Gale nodded, a faint smiling pulling at his lips.

“It certainly does.” He turned to her and the shift caused his knee to brush hers, goosebumps tickling her skin. “You’re Irish then?’

She rolled her eyes.

“How’d you guess?”

He smirked.

“Oh you know, I’m very intuitive.”

She laughed.

“Definitely. And I’ll bet you’re English.”

“Brilliant deduction, I dunno how you do it.”

“It’s a gift.”

“Whereabouts in Ireland?” he asked and she found herself leaning slightly towards him, leg pressed against his.

“I’m certain you’ve never heard of it.”

His eyebrow went up, eyes lighting up with the challenge.

“Oh really? Lemme have a guess then.”

She gestured at him to go ahead, her smile refusing to dim. He narrowed his eyes in thought, tongue just poking out of his teeth. She couldn’t help but stare.

“Dublin?”

She shook her head.

“Alright…um, Belfast?”

She shook her head again.

“Queenstown?”

She shook her head for the third time, a laugh bubbling in her throat. He threw up his hands in surrender.

“Alright, you win. Where’re you from?”

“Well, you were close, it’s…somewhat near Queenstown. Well, they’re both in County Cork, at least. It’s called Ballycotton, it’s a very small fishing village.”

“Do you fish then?”

“No, I don’t much like boats.”

Gale snorted.

“So this is the perfect trip for you, then?”

“Yes, it’s going lovely so far. And what about you, where are you from?”

They were much closer now, their bodies touching all up the side.

“Have a guess,” he said and she bit her lip, Gale’s eyes drifting downwards.

“London?” she hazarded and he laughed.

“Look at you, first try!”

She beamed.

“I told you. I have a gift.”

“Course, London’s rather big. Bet you can’t guess which part of London,” he challenged and Madge shook her head, entirely clueless.

“You ever heard of Whitechapel?’ he asked and Madge paused for a second before it came to her.

“Oh! That’s where all those murders were, wasn’t it?”

“Yep. See, if Whitechapel’s the worst part of London, I’m from the second worst part. Stepney.” His voice lowered in distaste and Madge giggled into her hand.

“So it could be worse, then?” she asked, just managing to keep the mock serious tone of her voice.

“Terrible,” he said, shaking his head even as they both laughed. “Alright then, Miss Irish, is it true you’re all as obsessed with potatoes as I’ve heard?”

She rolled her eyes at his teasing.

“What about you, do you do nothing but sit around drinking tea all day?”

He leaned in very close, so close she was sure she could tilt her head up and knock his nose if she tried.

“Do you not like tea?” he asked and he was so near that she was sure she could count his eyelashes.

“I love it actually, I drink it all the time.”

He grinned.

“Well, if we’re being honest, I’m a total fiend for potatoes myself.”

She laughed and they shared a smile, every part of her feeling warm and happy. She looked up into his face and their eyes met, time seeming to slow all around her. Kiss me, she thought suddenly, drowning in the silver of his gaze. That thought was entirely, totally scandalous, but she found she didn’t care. Kiss me, she wanted to beg, felt like electricity was chasing through her veins. He moved closer again and she could feel his breathing, barely more than an inch between them.

“It’s getting late,” he murmured and she nodded.

“Yes, my parents are probably expecting me.”

Neither of them said a word, kiss me echoing around inside of her. He hesitated a moment, her blood hummed and then

“I should go,” he said, “someone could come by. I’d hate to get you in trouble.”

She nodded, even as her whole body protested at his leaving.

“Goodnight Madge,” he whispered, voice soft and sweet like a lazy summer breeze. His eyes lingered on her lips, yearning shaking her bones and then he pulled away, Madge’s limbs suddenly cold. He stood and so did she, like she was being pulled along in his wake. She watched him return to the rail, the memory of his silver eyes still making her blood warm. He looked back before he climbed over, a half smile painting his mouth. Their eyes met, held and Madge wished she had something worth saying, something to make him stay.

And then he was gone, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Goodnight,” she breathed and never, in sixteen years of life, had any night been quite so good as this.