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leviathanswingman · 4 years

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love is a losing game, chapter 7: tripping over skeletons

The exact same day he had his one on one with Lucifer, Barbatos called a last minute student council meeting. Despite everything, it was his duty to inform the other demons of the fact that they had to be careful when in contact with each other. Here at RAD they generally handled cases like these through meetings to ensure that the person in question's privacy wouldn't be invaded. If they wanted to, they would have the opportunity to reveal themselves near the end of the meeting.

„Welcome,“ Barbatos started. „I apologize for calling in a meeting at such short notice. However, I have been made aware of the fact that one of the demons amongst our midsts has been put on magical medication. Therefore, I would like to remind all of you to be cautious around each other.“

The room quickly filled with quiet whispers. Diavolo, who had been standing next to Lucifer in silence for a while, bumped shoulders with Lucifer who refused to jump in surprise. „Did you know about this?“ he whispered and Lucifer shook his head, his lips pressed together in a straight line.

It was almost impossible to lie to Diavolo, the demon could always tell whenever someone was trying to deceive him with their words, so begrudgingly Lucifer resorted to lying by omission instead.

Lying to Diavolo He hated having to do it, but in the end, what other choice did he have? Confess that his loyalty had been exposed as undeniable enamoredness in the course of one night? Certainly not.

„You know better than to talk during meetings,“ he whispered back sternly as he threw Diavolo a side glance.

Right, he realized. This was the first actual conversation they'd had in days. Was this what their relationship had turned into?

As the murmurs quieted down again Barbatos continued. „There is no need to panic. Keep a close eye on each other and if you notice anyone acting out in a suspicious manner please send them to me. I would now like to ask if the person in question would like to reveal themselves to make things easier for all of us.“

Lucifer crossed his arms and let his gaze wander across a room that was once again clad in complete silence, faking interest. His eyes locked with Barbatos' for a moment and suspecting the question on the other demon's mind, Lucifer shook his head ever so slightly, only for Barbatos' eyes to see. There was no way he would reveal his current weakness to the entire student council, his brothers included, and Lucifer was certain Barbatos was ever so aware of that fact. Still, he had quietly asked again, a simple plead for some common sense.

A minute or so passed.

“Alright, then,” Barbatos concluded. “I suppose there's nothing else of importance, so this concludes the end of tonight's meeting. Remain safe.”

As soon as Barbatos had ended the meeting absolute pandemonium broke loose. After all, there weren't too many ailments which required a demon to take magic induced medicine, more commonly known as MagiMeds™ . So of course, everyone started to debate on what might be the reason for it almost immediately.

Lucifer took note from afar of how his brothers huddled up in a big pile of conspiracy. As usual, he found himself disappointed yet not surprised and had to physically restrain himself from chewing them out. However, he couldn't afford to look too eager since right now, everyone was looking at each other with a certain sense of suspicion. So Lucifer rolled his shoulders back, taking satisfaction in the small crack he heard, and remained right in place.

He turned to Diavolo and sighed. “How truly troublesome,” he remarked.

“Indeed,” Diavolo answered, his eyes fixed to the ground. There was a strange silence between them for a moment. “It's been a while since the last one,” he eventually said.

“You are right.”

Thankfully, Barbatos approached them just then. “Young Master, Lucifer. How do you fare? Excuse me for not notifying you earlier about this issue, but I was fairly preoccupied.”

The arrival of Barbatos thankfully took care of the awkward air that had been threatening to suffocate Diavolo and Lucifer.

The demon prince cleared his throat. “Well, hello Barbatos. What an interesting course of events. I have already talked to Lucifer about this just now, but it has been quite the while since we've had an incident like this one. I know it's not really my place to ask, but would you mind telling me what kind of MagiMeds we are talking about here? Diavolo chuckled lightly. “You can't blame me for being curious! Please?”

For a moment Barbatos seemed to mull it over. His eyes wandered inconspicuously over to Lucifer, who let out the smallest of sighs before blinking once ever so slowly, a sign for only Barbatos to see.

Lucifer didn't see any reason as to why this should be kept from Diavolo. As long as his own name remained at a comfortable distance from the topic, it was alright to indulge Diavolo for once.

After all, if something managed to catch Diavolo's attention, there was no keeping him away from it. Diavolo would hold onto it tightly and refuse let go of it before he had gathered every single piece of information he could find on it. He was curious to a fault.

“Alright, my lord, but I shan't reveal anything more. You know I prefer to remain quite professional.”

Diavolo's eyes lit up like fairy lights and he grabbed Barbatos' hands in all of his excited glory.

Without any warning, Lucifer felt a stabbing pain run through the back of his neck. Reflexively, his hand shot upwards.

Barbatos mustered Lucifer with a knowing expression as he gently removed Diavolo's hands from his own. “Alright, my lord. It seems the magical medication in question is a special brand of bond-suppressants. A case of unplanned bonding, I have heard.”

Lucifer leaned his back against the table as he watched the interaction before him with intent eyes. Slowly, the pain in the back of his neck simmered down to a dull ache. He let his fingers run over the sigil hidden behind the thin material of his turtleneck, daring enough to trace it-that-shall-not-be-seen right in front of Lord Diavolo himself. If he wasn't so terribly opposed to the word in his own context, Lucifer would almost describe the action as soothing.

He kept his head held high and his nosed turned up as he took in Diavolo's reaction and tried his hardest not to let his perfectly constructed mask of glass fall.

“An unplanned bonding?!” Diavolo exclaimed in outrage. “That can happen?”

Barbatos nodded. “Yes, my lord. In the rarest of cases, when an emotional connection between partners has been denied or ignored for too long, their bodies might act on their own the second they are given the slightest of chances. Say you have two close friends who have denied their feelings for years and suddenly share a deep, meaningful moment. In a case like that there is the possibility their auras will latch onto each other, thus forming an unplanned bond. However, this proves much more difficult than the conscious forming of a bond. After all, if the partners are unaware that they have formed a bond, they will most likely not know to follow the bonding rituals. Side effects such as nausea, headaches and irritability can occur and suppressants will have to be used to deal with those side effects until the bonding rituals are either fulfilled or abandoned until the bond withers and dies on its own.” Barbatos smiled almost sadly. “Oh my, it seems as if I have been going on for quite a while, my apologies.”

Diavolo shook his head. “No, you have been very thankful, Barbatos,” he said as a contemplative look crossed over his face. “But to think that something like that could happen... I feel sorry for our fellow demon who has to suffer from this fate. It sounds lonely,” he said.

For a second Barbatos stayed quiet as he watched his Master while Lucifer pushed himself off the table and joined the conversation.

“It is very you to say that such an experience would be lonely,” he threw in as he approached Diavolo and Barbatos. “I would rather think it a nuisance, having to wait out such pestering symptoms until the bond has finally latched itself off. I do not see how that would be lonely rather than highly bothersome.” His eyebrows were drawn together in what most would interpret as annoyance, but was actually something else entirely.

Although Lucifer had told himself to stay out of the conversation, Diavolo's comment had struck him in a wrong way. Not that it was Diavolo's fault since he was still remaining blissfully unaware of what was going on with Lucifer and inevitably himself. In the end, a sigil would carve itself into Diavolo's skin as well, no matter what. All in all, it was a harsh reminder.

Diavolo smiled, happy to get to talk to Lucifer again like they used to. “That is fairly typical of you to say as well, Lucifer, but come on! Even you would be shaken by something like that!”

Lucifer's jaw was locked tight. He could feel his head brimming with shambled thoughts and his skin itch with a certain irritability.

If Diavolo only knew. With a deep breath Lucifer tried to calm himself down and ignore the way his body practically buzzed with troublesome energy.

“Who knows,” Lucifer eventually answered rather dismissively as his eyes wandered over to Diavolo's face. For a moment their eyes met and in that exact moment, an electric shock ran through his body and his eyes shot open in shock for a moment. Weirdly enough, Diavolo's eyes mirrored the same shock that must have been ever so apparent in Lucifer's eyes.

“Lucifer...” Diavolo eventually started, his hand reaching out towards his trusted right-hand man. The pads of his fingertips just so much as lightly touched Lucifer's cheek before Diavolo pulled his hand back again, suddenly fluttered.

Lucifer thought his heart was about to stop. As soon as Diavolo had come closer to him that strange buzzing feeling in his body had almost come to an overflow. His body felt locked in place and Lucifer hated every second of it.

Luckily, Barbatos had been watching ever so closely and had immediately caught on to what was happening, allowing him to swoop in and help out.

“My Lord, may I remind you, now that the meeting is over, that you are far behind on your paperwork? You wouldn't want to cause Lucifer any more trouble than he already has, am I right in assuming so?”

These few seconds were all Lucifer needed to snap out of it. With Diavolo's attention now on another subject, Lucifer felt his body relax again. The tip of his pointer twitched restlessly and then, as if a flood gate had been opened, his strength returned in a violent rush, shoving Lucifer forward a little.

Inconspicuously, he fixed his posture and put a slight smile on his face as he heard Diavolo whine to Barbatos about his tasks muted in the back.

“I will take my leave now,” he said. “If I slack off today I will fall behind on my paperwork.” He threw Diavolo an apparently stern look. “We don't like falling behind on paperwork now, do we?”

Diavolo visibly slouched down. “But, Lucifer...”

Lucifer lifted his hand to put it on Diavolo's shoulder reassuringly, but stopped himself mid-air as he realized what he was doing. He cleared his throat as he let his arm fall back to his side. “Finish your assignments quickly and you are free to do as you please.” After a second, he looked directly into Diavolo's eyes. “Show some restraint and you will be alright,” he mumbled almost quietly before nodding towards Barbatos and Diavolo and heading out.

He left the conference room with quick strides.

Finally left to his own devices, he allowed his thoughts to flow freely. With every step he took he could feel the vibrations of his feet hitting the ground, tingling and buzzing as his heart beat too fast and the nausea returned to his body. Lucifer kept going like that until he found himself safe back in the safety of his own four walls.

He stomped over to his dresser, unlocked the upper drawer and pulled out the orange pill bottle with much force.

During their little talk one thing had become rather obvious to him: One pill wasn't even remotely enough to suppress whatever it was he felt for Diavolo. Truthfully, he felt putting a name on their relationship would cheapen it in its nature, so Lucifer simply refused to. No matter how hard it aggravated him, he couldn't.

Lucifer shook two pills out into his empty palm and stared them down for a moment. He shouldn't, but for the first time in a long time, his emotions were speaking louder than his words. And that, Lucifer just couldn't agree with.

He threw back both pills at once before heading out of his room. Perhaps he should just go and get some of his work done. Perhaps being productive was exactly what he needed to clear his mind of thoughts of crimson hair and soft fingers on his cheek.

As he was heading towards his study Lucifer slowly felt the suppressants doing their job. The nausea subsided again and the strange buzzing sensation he had felt on his skin had now mostly let up as well. In many ways, he felt better, yet in different ways, he felt worse.

Although by nature, Lucifer was not what most would describe as a warm person, he felt downright chilly to the core. A certain numbness seemed to slowly encase his body and the second Lucifer felt it, he knew he despised it. It felt invasive and wrong.

Still, if those uncomfortable sensations were a necessary step on his way to getting rid of the bond, he had no choice but accepting it.

After all, when it was about the bond, Lucifer had never had a choice to begin with. All he was expected to do was put up with the pain and the discomfort until the bond would inevitably release Diavolo from its suffocating grip.

Lucifer massaged his aching shoulders as he arrived in front of his study, stepped into it and immediately turned up the heating before sitting down to work on some papers. He allowed himself to lose himself within the rhythm and comfort of work for several hours before he heard a slight tapping coming from his door. Confused, he lifted his head and listened. There again, he heard a soft rapping at his door.

“Yes?” he answered, trying not to sound annoyed despite definitely feeling bothered. No answer. Satan and Belphegor were probably trying to prank him again. Not today, Satan, not today.

Lucifer took a deep breath before getting up and ripping the doors open. “WHO-” he started to shout until he saw who the supposed prankster was.

“Diavolo?”

The demon in question was standing next to the door, his hand still resting on the door frame, with an uncharacteristically perplexed expression on his face. “Good... evening?”

Lucifer scrambled to collect himself again. “Excuse me, I didn't expect to see you here. I thought you were one of my brothers, I apologize” he offered after the initial surprise and opened the door behind him a bit further in an inviting manner. “I assume you have something to discuss with me?” he asked although the squashed down panic in his heart tried to break through the thick fog of the suppressants. Though normally, having a blank page of emotions was comforting to him, now it instead put him at even more distress. The fact that he could not calculate his own reactions due to the MagiMeds threw Lucifer off.

“Yes, thank you,” Diavolo replied as he followed Lucifer into his study.

Lucifer leaned his back against the mahogany desk and lifted his gaze to match Diavolo's. Diavolo stared back at him, but did not say a word. Eventually, he groaned in frustration and spun around to lean against the desk next to Lucifer, standing shoulder to shoulder. Once again, Lucifer felt Diavolo's warmth heat up the side of his arm in an instant. Only then did he notice how cold his study actually was. The damn heater had stopped working again.

Diavolo took a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about Friday night.” He could feel the way Lucifer stiffened besides him.

“Of course,” he said cautiously and almost recognizably uncomfortable. If there was one thing he did not want to talk about, it was Friday night. Lucifer certainly didn't feel like witnessing the exact situation he had avoided to think about for hours upon hours. Still, a part of him felt weirdly unbothered, felt strangely calm despite the situation, almost as if he were floating up on the ceiling, watching himself interact with Diavolo.

“Friday night-”

“You acted out on a whim,” Lucifer interrupted him with his gaze fixed to one of the floor tiles. He could tell the suppressants had fully set in by now, because he felt nothing at all. For a moment Lucifer simply sat there and took in the beating of his heart and the stream of cold air ghosting over his skin, feeling strangely detached. Despite all of his and the suppressants' best efforts to suppress his emotions, there was one undeniable truth.

His body was aching for Diavolo's presence.

If only he had the right to touch him. But could he really allow himself to do just that? Had he not sworn his utmost loyalty to Lord Diavolo? Was him giving in to this shaky bond a betrayal of its own perhaps? Or was him staying quiet about it maybe even more of a betrayal?

Diavolo's shoulder pressing into his own felt good, felt natural. Right now, the feeling of skin against skin stood in stark contrast to Lucifer's emotions, which were buzzing like static on a TV.

Then and there, Lucifer decided to ditch the MagiMeds. What kind of demon would he be if he couldn't withstand a good amount of pain in favour of staying himself instead of a drugged down zombie?

Lucifer didn't find the strength in himself to move away, so he stayed. It was almost as if his body had superglued itself onto Diavolo's, holding onto every sweet second of touch it could get.

“No,” Diavolo suddenly said. “Well, I mean also a bit yes, but. What I wanted to say was...”

“Diavolo,” Lucifer intercepted uncomfortably. “We don't have to talk about this. It's fine.”

Diavolo tapped his thigh in an almost nervous fashion. “No, Lucifer. You deserve better, I really have to apologize.”

Lucifer, if possible, tensed up even more. “Diavolo, you really don't have to-”

There wasn't much to apologize for now, was there? In the end, he had only done something quite normal. Diavolo certainly wasn't the first demon to flee the bed in the wee morning hours and he most definitely wouldn't be the last. Lucifer was the one who felt like he was supposed to apologize, yet found himself unable to do so. After all, how does one apologize for something the other person isn't even aware of just yet?

Diavolo took a deep breath and placed his hands firmly onto Lucifer's shoulders and faced him. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then closed it again only to lick his lips nervously.

Lucifer tried not to stare, but was immediately distracted by the way Diavolo's warm hands felt through the flimsy material of his wine red turtleneck. Ever so unhelpfully, his brain supplied him with flashing images of that night, pulling up memory after memory of Diavolo's fit form in the dark and the way his skin had tasted against his lips.

Finally, Diavolo had gathered himself enough to talk. “What I did to you was cruel. I shouldn't have left like that, but I panicked. You know me better than anybody else and are my closest friend, so how could I not have? Lucifer, we're talking about you here.” Carefully, he reached up towards Lucifer's face and cupped his cheek. “I need you in my life.” The pad of his thumb ran along smooth skin and Lucifer repressed a deep shudder.

Lucifer's body and mind were in a conflicted battle. Although he could feel the indisputable pull his body had towards Diavolo's, the suppressants forced his emotions into an uncomfortable state of insensibility. Despite all of that, Lucifer knew he was a goner, no matter how much he fought against it. He was devoted to the core, no matter how much he got hurt.

“It's alright,” he said as he reached up and placed his hand onto Diavolo's. “You are not to blame.”

For a moment, he felt awkward standing there like that, the two of them all by themselves when Lucifer had sworn to keep his distance. Perhaps this was where his devotion to Diavolo and his own determination inevitably interfered with each other.

Another moment passed before both of them realized what kind of situation they were in. As Lucifer let go of his grip on Diavolo's hand the demon prince retracted his arm to his own side as well.

“Are we good?”

Lucifer shook his head and allowed himself a low chuckle and a moment of sincerity. “Yes, Diavolo. No matter what, I'll always be by your side. I'll always be there, you know that.”

“Lucifer!” Diavolo suddenly exclaimed and threw his arms around Lucifer, who barely managed to refrain from stumbling to the ground. He dug his hands into the fabric of Diavolo's coat so he wouldn't fall to the ground. “I was so worried!”

Lucifer was overly aware of Diavolo's arms, crossed behind his neck, resting upon that cursed sigil. Reassuringly, he patted Diavolo's back as his body was filled with a tingling sensation, starting at the back of his neck and spreading throughout his every limb. Lucifer knew better than to fight it. “You are overreacting.”

Diavolo quickly pulled back and stared at Lucifer. “I am not! You know I don't lie. I would never lie to you. Never ever.”

Lucifer wished he could say the same about himself.

Guilt was a nasty thing gnawing at his innards.

Although morally, he knew he should tell Diavolo about their bond, realistically, he simply couldn't. A sigh escaped his lips as he ignored the way his bones were buzzing, almost vibrating in the presence of Diavolo. It was quite the discerning feeling.

“I am glad we had this talk,” he said in answer. “It's good to know there is no bad blood between us. That would be quite the bother.“

Diavolo beamed at him. “Definitely! Oh, Lucifer, this reminds me of this thing I overheard Solomon and Yuuta talking about. I think they called it 'kissing the homies goodnight'?

Lucifer tensed up again. He hated that due to his brothers' shenanigans he knew exactly what Diavolo was alluding to and even more than that, he hated the implications of Diavolo's carefree statement.

“Please don't even joke about that,” Lucifer forced out without any hesitation.

Diavolo tilted his head in confusion, but before he could ask about it, Lucifer was hit by another particularly painful shot of pain running through his neck. He barely managed to suppress a hiss.

“Would you mind leaving me alone now? I still have a lot of paperwork to go through, as have you,” he forced out.

With a strange expression on his face, Diavolo reached up and cupped the nape of Lucifer's neck, staring at him intently. “I guess there is no way for me to get out of this one?” he finally asked, his palm warm and heavy on Lucifer's skin, his eyes big and pleading. Although he hated to admit it, the feeling of Diavolo's hand flush against the back of his neck, unknowingly cradling that sigil felt far too good, far too comforting.

“Go back to your work, Diavolo,” Lucifer answered.

Your puppy eyes don't work on me, he thought.

Diavolo sighed before performing a lazy mock salute. “At your service.”

Lucifer's heart beat ever so irregularly as he watched Diavolo, in all of his glory, leave his study. As soon as the doors closed behind Diavolo's broad back, Lucifer's knees caved in and he fell to the ground, his only support being his hand holding onto his mahogany desk with whitened knuckles. Deep breaths escaped his lips as his body tried to adjust to the absence of his mate ever so desperately.

As Lucifer grabbed onto the edge of the desk, his head suddenly filled with static and his sight turned dark. Before he knew what was happening, his head hit the cold, marbled floor.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

#my writing #obey me #shall we date? obey me #dialuci #lucifer x diavolo #diavolo x lucifer #barbatos #fanfiction #mating bonds #angst #hurt #misunderstandings #slow burn #diavolo #lucifer #sorry no funky tags for this im slipping into a depressive episode

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earthfluuke · 4 years

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welcome to part 3! i’m very excited about this one, so i hope you all enjoy it!

just a reminder: i based some parts of the nymphs off of the nymphs from greek mythology, but for the most part, they are whatever i made them up to be.

parts: 1 / 2 / 2.5 / 3

Sarawat has the entire town fooled, but Earn is smarter. She knows her best friend, knows when there’s something he’s hiding. Finding resources and deciding if the land is stable enough to move in on doesn’t take this long. Weeks have gone by; enough is enough.

It should surprise her to find Sarawat entangled with a boy adorned in flowers, eyes taking over his face when he catches a glimpse of her. And it should surprise her even more when she finds herself chasing after them when they dart down the opposite side of the hill to the banks of the river. But neither can compare to the slack jaw, awe struck shock she feels when she sees her.

Ankle deep in the water, the girl stands proud. Back straight, arms stretched to her sides, her palms lay flat, fingers spread with the threat of forming another wave. Her brown eyes hold fear when they bore into Sarawat but morph to protective when they flicker to the flower-draped boy. Sun light reflects off the pink and gold scales that outline her cheeks and round over the curve of her temple.

To anyone else who happened to be blessed by her presence would consider her mystical, magical, otherworldly. But the only word that comes to Earn’s mind is beautiful.

Everything around her – Sarawat, the flower boy, the forest in front of them and the field behind – disappears, and there’s nowhere to look but at her. Her desire to go forward is just as strong as her need to pull herself back. Potential of scaring her off keeps her grounded, and all she can do is watch her through the hazy, golden halo her mind – or is it her heart? – has set around her.

Sarawat breaks her free. Hands shaking her arms, he begs her, pleads her, to keep what she’s seen to herself, to not under any circumstances tell anyone else in town, to please, for him.

“Who is she?” she hears herself asking between his cries. She looks over his shoulder towards the girl. She’s calmer now, at ease, as she takes the boy’s – the one she can only assume belongs to Sarawat – hands into her own. Her softened features send Earn’s heart into double time.

“I don’t know,” Sarawat answers quickly before he goes back to his frenzy. “But, Earn. Please. For me. For him. Tine; his name is Tine. Please don’t tell anyone about this. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. Just please. Please.”

She finally looks to her best friend, and she cannot remember a time he’s looked more serious, more scared. His fingers dig into her, but they shake at the same time. This boy must be special, if he can turn Sarawat to this.

“I won’t tell,” she finally swears and accepts the bone crushing hug she’s pulled into.

…

A condition comes with her promise. Not because she needs anything to maintain her secrecy but rather because she’s desperate.

She follows after Sarawat and parts ways with him at the apple tree. Canvas in her satchel, easel strung over her back, she sets her makeshift studio out along the banks of the river. Cups of paint circled around her, she picks out a brush and loses herself to her art.

She starts with the bases – the pale blue sky, the dark green grass, the teal river she shades to appear crystal. Fluffs of clouds and sharp tree branches follow. Final touches in the forms of a cluster of cattails growing at the edges of the river and the lily pads floating atop it near complete the painting. But there’s one thing missing.

Every so often, she lifts up her brush to glance at the river, pay close attention to it to catch bright eyes or mirrored scales. Luck comes to her just as the sun sets. When she goes to switch brushes, she spots her, the girl from the river, the beautiful mystery, the one thing missing from her painting.

Eyes peeking over the surface of the water, they watch her. She doesn’t raise up any further, but Earn has what she’s come for. It’s a rush job to add her into the painting, but she can’t contain her excitement.

She tip-toes towards the river as to not scare her. She bends, bends, bends over until the tip of her nose is a mere breath from the girl’s forehead. Only then does she duck away, quick movement startling Earn face first into the river.

She watches from beneath the water as the girl disappears downstream. The current that follows her carries one word to her ear: Pear.

…

Her mistake isn’t one she intends to make again, and it comes with consequences. For the next week, there is no sign of Pear. Earn remains optimistic, continues to believe that she will return when she once again feels safe. But by the seventh day, she’s beginning to grow discouraged.

She waits until the sky turns a golden orange, pink sprouting out from the setting sun, to add it to her painting. It’s the same scene she’s been painting for days, but this one is brighter, a burst of color against the familiar neutrals she now paints like they are second nature.

Sudden water droplets drip onto her pant leg, and her head is whipping to the side before she can stop herself. She’s met with a cheek covered in pink and gold scales, and now that she’s close enough, she takes note of how they also dip down her neck.

Pear isn’t looking at her, gaze instead set on her painting. Earn doesn’t dare move, barely lets herself breathe, as she steps closer. Her foot – also covered in scales that dissolve up over the outside of her calf – hits a cup filled with pink paint.

Picking it up, she dips in a webbed finger. It comes out the same color as the paint, the same color as her scales, and in one last surge of curiosity, she presses it to the very center of the canvas.

She looks both surprised and terrified to see that she’s left her mark on something that isn’t hers. Taking a step back, she’s ready to bolt within seconds. But Earn doesn’t give her the chance.

Quickly covering her own finger in red paint, she places her fingerprint next to the one Pear left. Turning to her, Earn offers her a soft smile, one that reaches her eyes and tells her everything is just fine. Pear returns it, and she feels a small flame warm her heart.

It only grows when she dips her finger back into the paint and decorates the entire frame. By the time she’s filled half the canvas, she motions to Earn’s hand. Too afraid to make the wrong move and send her hiding back in the depths of the river, she stays still. With an unsatisfied huff, Pear takes it upon herself to lift her hand and press her paint covered finger back onto the painting.

The feel of her hand wrapping around her wrist engulfs Earn’s chest with fire, and she burns. Her insides are impossibly hot from a single touch, and it worries her to think of what anything more could do to her.

She cools herself down by littering red fingerprints in the spaces between Pear’s pink ones. By the time they’re done, the image beneath is unrecognizable. And yet it’s the most wonderful painting Earn has ever made.

…

“You look happy,” Sarawat comments as they journey back to town.

“Maybe I am,” she says, readjusting the canvas in her arms. Stroking over the raised bits of paint, only just dry, she hugs it close to her. The distance between her and Pear dulls the flame in her chest, but it sparks at the thought of having this small piece of her. “I don’t think I really knew what happy was until today.”

…

Two canvases are heavy, but the extra weight is a small price to pay for her to see Pear waiting for her in the grass beside the river.

Setting up the extra easel, Earn gifts her with her own set of brushes. Lips pursed and eyebrows arched, she holds the brushes in the flat of her palm, running a tip through the bristles and watching them bounce back in intrigue. This innocent curiosity along with the tiny gasp she gives all but melts Earn into the ground below.

It’s trying to get the brushes to fit between the webbing in Pear’s fingers, but their attempts are finally met with success. “You can paint whatever you like,” Earn tells her, timid and gentle, nerves of scaring Pear away still bubbled high in her stomach. “There are lots of colors to choose from, see?”

Uncapping each cup, she offers Pear the pink. Familiarity hits her, and her smile outshines the sun. She’s off from there, and Earn should be as well. But each time she turns to her canvas, she’s drawn to the one beauty her art can never replicate.

Pear’s strokes are calculated, careful. And yet her wrist bends just so, loose and at ease, languid lines bleeding over the page. She’s very much the river she resides in; the calm stream flows freely, quiet and serene. But then there’s a wave, a crash against the banks, whenever she makes a mistake. Suddenly, she’ll still, wait, and Earn prepares for the flood that never comes. She breathes deep, exhales slow, and returns to tranquility.

The end product isn’t much more than a collection of lines with the occasional stray fingerprint. But it’s Pear, and for that, it is everything.

…

“What shall we paint today?” Earn asks, back to Pear as she adjusts the canvas along the ridge of the easel. Having watched Earn’s creations, Pear had become less keen on the abstract of her lines and wanted something more realistic. They’d begun with flowers, moved up to small frogs that politely sat still when Pear asked them to, advanced with the forest of trees on the opposite side of the river. Any mistake Pear makes is met with kind reassurance, a helping hand atop hers that guides the brush the correct way, a smile that she eventually returns.

Brushing off her hands on her pants, she turns to meet a held out hand. She accepts it easily, because of course she does. It fits nicely in her own, even around the webbing, and she dares a stroke of her thumb over the scales that cover her knuckles. They’re cool and smooth and unlike anything else she’s ever felt.

There’s a light tug, a shake of her arm, and it calls Earn’s attention upwards, to Pear’s pretty face and desperate eyes. They’re endless, large enough to hold oceans, captivate Earn to the point of no return. Only when Pear squeezes her hand does she break away to ask, “You want to paint me?”

The nod she gives is shy but firm. She’s head set despite her concerns, and Earn is in no position to deny her. She allows her to position her how she wants, tries and ultimately fails to keep her breath even when Pear pushes her every which way until she’s satisfied.

Behind the easel, she’s focused, pinched brows and scrunched nose taking over her features. Earn truly does her very best to maintain her far off gaze, but she cannot help but be magnetized back to Pear. Art is creating art before her; not staring is futile.

Time passes too slow and yet too fast, and Pear is shifting from foot to foot with her bottom lip between her teeth. Seeing her brush set aside, Earn gets up and circles around to the opposite side of the canvas.

Altogether, it’s a messy attempt. Edges are jagged, colors blur together. But there are lighter brown highlights that show the sun reflecting off her hair and curved lines etched into the center of her lips. Small details that Earn has only mentioned in passing decorate her portrait, and it sets her ablaze once more. The hopeful glances Pear gives her, hands clasped together in front of her chest, do little to extinguish it. This girl will char her to a pile of ash, but if her way to go is by the slope of her smile and the hesitant flush to her cheeks, then by all means, take her.

“It’s lovely,” she says. Her shoulders sag in relief, and Earn takes the opportunity to grab her hands once more. “I’ll have to find a frame for it. It’ll look so nice in my room.”

Smile widening across her cheeks, Pear pulls herself closer, giggling high and sweet, jingling bells sounding through her ears and heart. Earn lets their arms drop, dangle between them as her head tips forward. There’s still a space between them, but it’s enough. Especially when Pear doesn’t back away.

…

Guitar strings strum behind them, and they draw Pear from her canvas. Gaze up the hill, she’s distracted long enough for Earn to notice.

Setting down her brush, she swivels to look up towards the apple tree, towards where the notes are drifting from. “You want to listen to the music?” she asks. “We can; I’m sure Wat wouldn’t mind a bigger audience.”

She’s tugged backwards just as she moves forward. Both of her wrists are caught, and suddenly she’s being swung around the field, twirled around and around and around. It’s dizzying, and her vision kaleidoscopes; she can make out colors, patterns, but not much else. Catching a flash of Pear’s face, her wide smile, she’s serenaded by the giggles she gives as they fall into an unled dance.

Time passes, the song changes, but they still move together – in, out, back, forth. And then she’s falling, crashing into the shallow end of the river, water beneath her and Pear atop. She catches her by the shoulders, holds her up, and when the shock wears off, she realizes this is the closest they’ve been.

It’s terrifying and exhilarating all at once. She wants to stay, try for more, test the figurative and literal water with her. But there are boundaries, hurdles, stepping stones they have yet to get past, over, around; barreling forward head on will only get her hurt.

She’s held down as she goes to sit up, and she dares a glance. Wide eyes are hard to read, but at the very corner, small enough to miss, there is that ferocity Earn saw the very first day she’d spotted her. There is fear and pause, but along with that is passion, the very thing that keeps her strong and steady.

That passion drives her forward. Hand cupping the side of her head, Earn fits her fingers below her ear, threads them through her hair. Chin tipping up, still not daring a full lurch, her eyes flicker to Pear’s lips and there’s an intense want, an unquenchable need.

Patience dwindling, fire growing, she inches further. And that seems to be enough. Fists in her shirt collar, eyes on hers until they finally shut, Pear closes the gap Earn is too afraid to.

Every sense bursts to life at once. Scents of damp grass, river water with a touch of floral; sounds of dragonflies buzzing by and a familiar tune taught to her by the elders in the village floating from the top of the hill; touches of brown tendrils brushing across her cheeks as their heads tilt, soft skin and hard scales contrasting beneath her palms; tastes of apples and finally and yes; and the sight of the most beautiful girl, most beautiful creature, most beautiful anything that graces this very earth flushing pink and dipping her head when they pull apart.

Her fluster doesn’t deter her far. She lets herself be held, and Earn’s heart, spirit, soul soars far from her body. No more spaces between, no more hesitations. She pulls her back, waits for the slow sigh Pear gives against her lips before she deepens.

The fire roars on, and slowly the embers turn to ash.

…

Her return is met with a tangle of limbs and lips against her ear. Stepping back to steady herself, her hands come to rest upon the curve of Pear’s spine, fingers dancing up and down the ridges.

“Hello,” she breathes through a laugh, tilting up her chin when Pear nudges beneath it. “I’m sorry I haven’t come for a few days; my parents needed my help around the house. But I snuck a few of the tarts my mother made into my bag. Will that make up for it?”

Pear doesn’t go for her bag, for the treats. She instead goes for her mouth, bleeds relief and happiness and I missed you into it. Hands pressing against her waist, pushing their torsos closer, she turns to her jaw, her cheek, her nose, to brush all of her emotions there as well.

Earn lets her, soaks in every second. Only when she pulls back, gives a satisfied giggle, does she return the affection. Butterfly kisses flutter about her skin, followed by the whispers of longing and the promise of it will never happen again.

It has only been a few days, but the effect is strong. Paint brushes untouched, canvases downturned, her inspiration had fallen from her, dropped over a cliff into the abyss. Here – grass blades tickling her ankles, the coolness of scales beneath her fingertips, her beautiful nymph in her arms – her imagination bursts to life; it spills back into her. And as she rests her forehead against Pear’s temple, she cannot help but think the muse never left. It has only been waiting for her to return to it, for now it resides here. In this meadow, by the lake, with Pear.

…

Knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder. Not even a breath of air can pass between them, not with how close they’re sitting. Pear’s forearm pressing heat into hers, they look out towards the water. Sun shining down, the ripples crystalize under the light.

Earn turns to the nymph at her side. She’s blinded by the reflection of her scales and wonder of how someone like her – so astonishingly, mind-bogglingly perfect – can exist; and alongside that, how she has the pleasure of existing with her.

Fingers finding the root of a long stem beside her, she plucks upwards. A water lily – jasmine pearl, white petals fading to purple – fills her palm, and she goes to tuck it behind Pear’s ear.

Reaching to touch it, eyes questioning as they look to her, Pear doesn’t even realize how very fitting the scene is. The flower is her twin: a delicate, gorgeous bloom that captivates anyone who stumbles upon it, making it impossible to look anywhere else. It’s breathtaking. It’s stunning. It’s her.

“I can’t make you a flower crown,” she admits. Pushing back some of her hair that dares to fall over the flower, she offers her a smile. “But you deserve to get flowers as beautiful as you are from someone who loves you.”

Distance closing, she whispers, breath fanning against Pear’s lips, “And I’d like to be that someone.”

Earn sees a smile stretch across her face before her eyes shut fully and their lips come together. There are so many things to feel all at once. Love, desire, a raging fire. But more than anything else, happiness spreads through her, bursting wide like the flower behind Pear’s ear. Happiness, she thinks as their hands come to hold each other. This is it.

#2gether #2gether the series #earnpear #earn x pear #2gether fanfic #my writing #nymph!tine au #but now also #nymph!pear au

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cecilspeaks · 4 years

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172 - Return of the Obelisk

“Nothing lasts forever” is a phrase with two meanings, and they’re both true. Welcome to Night Vale.

All of Night Vale is aglow. There is music in the air. You know what that means, listeners: the Obelisk has returned. It’s been nearly 8 years since the Obelisk last appeared, but it’s right back where it always shows up, in Mission Grove Park over on the east side, right next to the Wailing Pit. But a little bit south of the Memorial Debris Heap. The Obelisk returns every 5 to 10 years, sometimes as long as 50, and it brings with it joy, anticipation, and a deep fear. A terror so deep in the gut that it feels like you’ve eaten too much ice cream, but in all reality, your body is simply bracing itself for death. The Obelisk has always behaved benevolently, but so hast he sun, and we don’t trust that thing fully either, so I dunno. Past performance is not an indicator of future results. Unlike the sun, the Obelisk radiates a soft blue light, but like the sun, the Obelisk makes a lot of noise. In particular, music. The obelisk sounds like a Bach concerto played like a French horn and a theramine from inside a refrigerator. Everyone in town is gathering at Mission Grove Park to see the Obelisk in person, to pay homage to this rare visit, and to confront their fears head on. Hopefully everything works out fine, because there are some cool events I want to get to this weekend, and it would be terrible to have to cancel them over a rogue obelisk.

Let’s take a look at the community calendar, shall we? This Friday night is opening night of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Tony-winning musical “Sunset Boulevard” at the Night Vale Community Theatre. I’m very excited to finally see this show, it’s supposed to be a really lavish production, too. And it’s based on one my all time favorite Billy Wilder films about an aging silent movie star who finds an amulet that lets her travel in time, but whenever she moves through time, she enters someone else’s body and can’t leave until she saves her life. This staging of “Sunset Boulevard” is directed and produced by… oh my god, Susan Willman?? Really? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerrhooonestly, this has been a pretty long week and Iiii might need to just rest at home on Friday. I mean I’m not trying to be rude here, but Susan Willman is the worst! Did you know she once judged the chili cook-off, and I came in third? Third! Behind Joel Eisenberg, which is fine, Joel’s an OK cook, but also behind who else? Susan Willman! You can’t be a judge and win first place. I’m also pretty sure Susan used a prepackaged spice mix in that chili. [laughs oddly] I don’t have that verified through a secondary source, but I can confirm, it was oversalted, again. I’m not saying, I’m just saying. Anyway, go see “Sunset Boulevard” on Friday if you want to watch uninspired actors and muddled blocking.

Saturday afternoon is the PTA bake sale fundraiser to send our Academic Decathlon team to a tournament in our state’s capital. The PTA secretary… [sighs] Susan WiIlman, says this money will go toward hotel and bus travel for our brilliant and talented Ac-Dec squad. “Academic Decathlon is about intelligence and perseverance,” says Willman in this overwrought press release. “Ac-Dec is about freedom and fastidiousness. It is a celebration of hard work, and we want Night Vale to show the rest of the state that blah blah blah blah blah,” God she just runs on! I mean yes, Ac-Dec is very cool and I wish our kids well. But chill with the grandstanding! Anyway, go buy a cake to support those amazing students, even though I’m sure Susan will still manage to mess up a box mix.

Sunday is Youth Reprogramming Day at the Night Vale Museum of Forbidden Technologies. Does your child love learning about new gadgets and advancements in technology? Well, come on down to the Museum of Forbidden Technologies on Sunday for a day-long reprogramming event. Docents and curators will engage those curious kids through hands-on unlearning. They’ll take their patented mindwipe beam and point it right at each child’s forehead until all interest in forbidden technology has been removed. Kids love the mindwipe beam, because it smells like grapes, and they don’t feel any pain for weeks after. Youth Reprogramming Day is a family friendly day of discovering that you know too much, and knowledge is treason.

Today’s appearance by the Obelisk is the 19th in recorded history. Little is known about what the Obelisk is, who controls it, or what it wants. Most scientists and historians agree that it was created by subterranean gods millennia ago, and they think its purpose is a type of census for life at ground level. The Obelisk is about 25 feet tall, it is oily and soft like a fresh brick of parmesan cheese, and when it appears, everyone in town carves their name into one of its four sides. We do not know why or when this practice began, it’s simply how it’s always been done. And to question tradition is to admit weakness. When the Obelisk eventually disappears, perhaps today, perhaps several days from now, it will take our names with it. And when it returns, those names will be gone and we will begin the tradition anew. No one knows what happens to those names. Are they simply erased, or are they read and recorded? Is this data mining for some ancient technology startup, or does the Obelisk truly belong to the gods? We only know what happens to one of the names carved on the Obelisk, and for that person, we feel both envy and pity. For while the Obelisk has always behaved benevolently, past performance et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.

Let’s have a look now at traffic. Route 800 is shut down until 4 PM today, as it has turned into a river. No cars are on Route 800, it’s just water. Rough and choppy, spiking white rapid caps atop nearly black rushing death. Highway officials are investigating the sudden appearance of this river, perfectly overlaying our main thoroughfare in and out of town. Beneath the quickly moving rush of the river, a single fish, probably a bass of some sort. Highway officials are uncertain because they don’t think about fish. Why would they? Highway officials are annoyed that you think so little of their awareness of fish species. They can tell a salmon from a marlin from a mackerel. “See what you made us do?” one highway official said. “We could have been repairing route 800, but you started picking on us for not knowing if that’s a bass or a mackerel or a whatnot. In fact,” the official continued, “we just looked it up on Wikipedia and it’s a bass. And fun fact,” they added, “did you know that bass can grow up to 25 pounds, have four rows of human teeth, and speak Spanish at a first grade level?” The river is now branching out down sides of streets and into neighborhoods. Pavement everywhere is a network of fresh water capillaries through town. Expect delays of up to 10 or 20 minutes, as you try to get to Mission Grove Park. This has been traffic.

The whole town feels like a carnival now with the flashing lights of the Obelisk and it’s crescendo of lively music filling the cool twilight air. We dance, we sing, we revel in togetherness and share our fears of what will happen next. What will the question be? And more importantly, what will be its answer? When every name has been placed upon the Obelisk, then the blue glow of the towering monolith will die away. The entire structure will turn black. All except one name. One name will remain lit on the Obelisk, and that person shall be sent forth to ask their question. They may ask any question they choose and the Obelisk will tell them and only them the answer. No one else will hear this communication. If the receiver wishes to share what they now know, they are allowed to do so.

Many years back, this ritual was more organized. Early Night Vale townships planned a democratic approach to this opportunity: a committee of the Obelisk was formed to decide on the single most important question to ask. This approach came about in response to the super blunder of 1932, when a 6-year-old boy named Bartholomew Thomason was chosen to deliver the question. He asked the Obelisk if he was, quote, “gonna have corn for dinner”. The obelisk apparently said no, because little Bart started crying and the Obelisk quickly disappeared, not to return for almost 10 years. By that time, the committee of the Obelisk was established and they chose the question: “how do you cure cancer?” Ah, this is a good and noble question. But the citizen chosen by the Obelisk was a farmer named Barry McKenney, who tried his best to take careful notes, but a lot of the detailed medical jargon was just too complex for him. The committee tried this question again 6 years later, but the Obelisk refused to respond to any question it had already answered. So Sidney Laynord of Old Time Night Vale, not having a backup question from the committee, asked if his wife Jessica was cheating on him with Gerald Framingham, and the Obelisk said no, but it only said that because Gerald’s actual last name was Framington, so Sidney just messed up.

Over the decades, the committee of the Obelisk asked: “Is God real”? And the Obelisk said yes, but nothing more. After that, they tried to ask questions that would elicit more detailed response. Um, one year they asked: “who planned the assassination of JFK?” and were disappointed to learn that it was a CIA - Fidel Castro – Frank Sinatra triumvirate that conspired to murder our 35th president. This was the most boring answer, but at least it verified what everyone already knew.

By the 1990’s, though, the committee of the Obelisk had kind of fallen out of fashion after years of corporate funding and corruption. See, this controversy exploded in 1997, when the question put forth by the committee, which at the time was headed by the CEO of Pepsico, was: “what’s the best tasting carbonated soft drink on the market today?” The Obelisk’s answer, to the chairman’s great disappointment, was Surge. Today, whoever is called on by the Obelisk is given free reign to ask whatever they choose. However many news outlets regularly publish lists of recommended question, but there is always the risk that someone will ask something frivolous like “what’s Jason Mraz up to these days?” or “where is the body of my missing fahter?” Please, God please, just don’t call on Susan Willman. She will blow it.

And now a word from our sponsors. Are you tired of wrinkled shirts? Do your clothes get static cling? [increasingly angry tone] How many times do you show up to work with your shirt all rumpled and not smelling like seafoam mist? You’re not going to get a promotion looking like that, and while no one deserves anything, you certainly should appear to earn that promotion. You need crisp, clean, non-ionised clothing that smells like seafoam mist. Don’t you wanna smell like seafoam mist?! Try Tide pods. With our special formula of citrus extract, kelp and milk fat, Tide pods can be the all natural solution to all of your laundry problems. You deserve Tide pods, because you deserve that promotion over Michaela, who’s only like 22 years old. What has she ever done to deserve a promotion? What’s Michaela’s deal even? Tide pods. Remember when we seemed like a big problem?

Oooooooo listeners, the Obelisk has gone dark. The music has ceased. The whole town encircles the tower waiting for its declaration for who shall ask the question. In the quiet night, under few start peeking thru the purple sky, we can hear only the sounds of crickets. The Obelisk, so black as to appear cut out from reality, suddenly shines a small blue line. It is a name, it is on the south face and is it… Oh no! No no no, listeners, I don’t know if I can stop this but I will try. Uuuh, let’s go now to the weather.

[“Pros and Cons” by Sugar & the Mint https://www.sugarandthemint.com/]

Welllll it’s too late. She’s asked her question. I’m not sure how I could have stopped this disaster, even if I made it over there before she could ask it. OK, as you know by now, the Obelisk lit up with Susan Willman’s name, and she grinned smugly and did that fake like “who me? What, oh my god!” gesture and then walked on up to the Obelisk. The crowd was calling out questions to her like game show audience trying to help a contestant, no single phrase discernible above the others, and Susan just looked around, her big goofy eyes scanning the people around her, as if she would actually lower herself to listen to their questions. [scoffs] She thinks she’s so high and mighty with her PT officer status and her hit Broadway musical. No no no, Susan’s above us all, just as important as she can be. She waved her arms like wings for quiet, and the audience obeyed, she’s so self-important, so attention seeking. And then she asked her question. The one question we as a town get only every decade or so, and Susan said: “Hey, so what’s your name?” What’s your name?!! God! What a waste! Did she forget we only get one question? The crowd began to boo, or at least I did. I started booing and I am part of the crowd.

The obelisk began to speak only into Susan’s mind and Susan listened closely. She giggled at first, like a little girl hearing a silly joke from a grandfather, and then her tear-filled laughs turned into tear-filled breaths, which eventually became tear-filled sobs. After about three minutes, the Obalisk vanished, and Susan stood alone on the small hill between the Wailing Pit and the Memorial Debris Heap, and she told us what she heard. Or [scoffs] she told us some of what she heard.

Susan said, in an unusually booming authoritative voice: “Whosoever speaks aloud the name of the Obelisk shall become the Obelisk. Whosoever becomes the Obelisk shall live forever. Whosoever lives forever shall know all things. Whosoever knows all things shall be damned. And whosoever hears the name of the Obelisk spoken aloud shall perish.” The crowd parted for Susan as she left the park. They mumbled their disappointment in both the question and its answer. Some spoke with pity, some with disdain, while some thought it was all pretty cool and now. “Much better than last time, when Dave asked who would win the 2013 NBA championships,” said one person. “Dave won a lot of money on that answer, though,” responded another. “He has a yacht now over at the Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area.”

But most everyone whispered their fear for Susan’s power itself. I mean, Susan received a gif today, a cursed cursed gifts. You know what? I think I might go see that “Sunset Boulevard” after all and I love it. I don’t get to tell Susan very often what a visionary theatrical director she is, but I, I, [chuckles] I might even put some stacks down on her cakes Saturday too. Really support that academic Decathlon team. And the spirit of American ingenuity and perseverance, and all that.

Good question, Susan. I’d like to never learn the answer, but good question nonetheless. You’re one of, if not the, best person I know. Thumbs up.

Stay tuned next for our newest game show, “Nothing will ever be the same”.

Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Bite your tongue. Fun, right?

#welcome to night vale #welcome to night vale transripts #wtnv #episode 172 #return of the obelisk

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fantasyoverreality98 · 4 years

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King of the Lost

Pairing: Aerin x F! MC

Summary: Raine says one last farewell before returning to Riverbend, but the desire to heal Aerin’s corruption finds her pursuing adventure once more.

Author’s Note: It’s been a long, long time, but I finally managed to finish this fic. Thank you to anyone who takes the time to read, like, reblog/comment, I appreciate every single one of you!

Word Count: 3,116

---

Children shrieked with delight outside, the sun casting a streak of light across the inn floor. Everyone celebrated without knowing how close they had come to complete and utter disaster. The world was just as it always had been.

But not for Raine.

As she forced herself out of bed, her muscles flared with pain. It was going to take a while for all the injuries to heal. Still, she could count her blessings that she had managed to survive the fight against the Dreadlord.

Someone knocked on the door after she’d finished getting dressed.

“Come in,” she said, tying her hair back.

The door opened to reveal her friends. Raine sighed, knowing what today would bring. She’d tried to convince herself that, when the moment came, she could handle it. It was a lot harder than she’d thought.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me, kit?” Mal grinned at her, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You don’t have to stay here.”

“I’m sure.” Raine took turns looking at each of them, a heaviness weighing on her heart. She took a shaky breath and tried to force a cheerful tone. “Well, are we all ready to go our separate ways?”

It was unclear who broke first, but in the next moment, they were all hugging each other. Tears burned at her eyes as she tried to keep it together. Not a single one of them looked unbothered.

Nia pulled Raine to her and hugged her tightly, whatever she said lost between the sobs. Mal joined in on the hug, tugging Imtura in alongside him. Tyril rolled his eyes before wrapping his arms around the group, his sigh long and heavy.

“I can’t believe this is goodbye,” said Raine, blinking away the tears. “I knew the day would come, I just—” The rest of the sentence got caught in her throat and she shook her head.

For several minutes, the group stayed in their hug. When they pulled back, no one spoke. Addressing the reality would only make it that much harder.

So, they walked out of the inn together instead.

“Remember that you are all welcome to visit Undermount whenever you wish,” Tyril said, obviously trying his best to keep his expression neutral. Mal smirked, opening his mouth as if to make a comeback, but the elf cut him off. “As long as you can behave yourselves.”

Nia turned her head away to laugh, and for a moment, joy enveloped them.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye. I’ll miss you land rats.” Imtura cleared her throat and stood up straight. “I have to return to my ship. Take care of yourselves.” She looked like she had more to say, but shook her head and turned, disappearing into the crowd.

Tyril went next. Then Nia, accompanied by Threep. Finally, it was just Mal and Raine. She still had Kade, who was waiting somewhere in the city for her, excited to stay for a while before returning to Riverbend.

“Off to seek out more adventure?” asked Raine, grinning through the tears that watered in her eyes.

Mal sighed, avoiding her stare. “You know me. I’ve got so much to see.”

Silence swept over them, the heaviness of this particular farewell hurting more than the others. Raine remembered the beginning of the journey. Had someone told her that she would end up here, that what was meant to be a simple quest would turn into saving the realm, she would have laughed. She was just a young woman from Riverbend. A nobody.

The thought of saying goodbye to Mal somehow confirmed that this was the end. She’d always known the day would come, that the group of them couldn’t live the rest of their lives trying to find the shards, but the change that came with this moment terrified her.

What if this was the end of everything? What if life held no more adventure, friendship, love? What if the memories of this journey faded into oblivion?

“Try not to forget about me,” Raine said, trying her best to maintain at least a little bit of dignity.

Mal’s smirk faltered. He sighed, shaking his head as he reached out to her. “Aw, come here, kit.” His arms wrapped around her, and that was when the tears came.

Raine hugged Mal tightly, clinging to this final moment. There was still so much left unsaid, so much adventure that the group had yet to embark on. Once he left her, she would be alone. Kade would go off and do his own thing, while she had one last person to visit.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Mal whispered, his breath on her skin sending shivers down her spine. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”

“I’m sure.” Raine pulled back, a slight smile tugging at her lips when he brushed away the tears trailing down her cheeks. “We’ll meet again, right?”

He nodded, a muscle in his jaw twitching as he studied her face. “Right.”

“Well, I guess this is goodbye, then.” Raine raised her chin, knowing she had a few minutes before she broke down again. “Until we meet again.”

Mal’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. He hugged her one last time, patting her on the shoulder before turning away, disappearing into the crowd like the rest of her friends without looking back. Raine stood in place for a long time, sighing as she tried to accept that she wouldn’t see her friends for quite a while.

The walk to the palace was quiet. Without the constant bickering, Raine felt more alone than ever. She wondered how she’d ever been fine in Riverbend with just Kade for company. A part of her had left with the rest of the group, and she had no idea if it could ever be recovered.

Now, she felt as though she was about to lose another part of herself.

King Arlan greeted her at the palace steps, dark bags under his eyes. He attempted to smile, but the result was lacking. His lips twitched, his shoulders remained down, his hands trembled slightly.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Raine said, chewing on her bottom lip. She hesitated, unsure what else to say, before dropping into a curtsy.

“Please, there’s no need for that.” King Arlan glanced at one of the guards. “Is he ready for visitors?”

The guard’s eyes widened and his face paled. “Your Majesty, I don’t think—Prince Aerin is not well, he—” With a sigh, the man bowed his head to the king. “Perhaps it may help him to receive a visitor. Though I would advise you not to leave him alone with her.”

“I’m not afraid of him.” Raine’s voice echoed in the courtyard.

Several guards turned their heads to look at her, most of them frowning. She could feel the fear radiating all around her. Everyone was scared of him. As they should be. As she knew she should be.

King Arlan nodded to the guard who had spoken. He forced another smile when he focused his attention back on Raine. “Come, let’s go see him.” The pair entered the palace, the large doors shutting with a resounding boom behind them.

Raine would never get used to the sight of the palace. It left her breathless each time she saw it. Even more so when she thought of how lonely it must feel to grow up in a place like this without a sense of belonging. No amount of riches, of privilege, could replace an emptiness that lived deep inside a heart.

“We’ve tried to discover a way to heal him, but the healers fear it may be too late.” Arlan’s voice cracked as he spoke the last two words. “Oh, my poor boy—”

“The moonblooms,” Raine whispered under her breath, remembering that night by the lake.

It was wishful thinking, the chances of it working were slim, but she wanted to believe. She looked up at King Arlan, focusing on keeping her expression neutral.

“Have you ever heard of moonblooms, Your Grace? Aerin—” Saying his voice out loud sent a flash of pain through her. Clearing her throat, she continued. “Aerin said that they could heal the deepest of corruption. Perhaps they could help him?”

For a moment, she feared the king would laugh at her. Instead, he cast his eyes down to the floor, his steps coming to a halt. Arlan took several moments to answer. “Perhaps…I suppose we have little to lose at this point.” He looked up at her again, and she could see in his eyes the words he did not speak. “I shall send someone immediately. Did you see some?”

Raine nodded, keeping her eyes focused ahead. “Yes. In the Deadwood.”

The guards around them shifted, their armor creaking in the quiet hallway. Someone took a sharp breath, another stifled a cough. It amazed her that they’d allowed the two princes to travel into the Deadwood if the people were this scared of it.

“I see.” King Arlan started to walk again, turning his head to mumble something to the guard nearest to him. “Thank you for the information, Raine.”

She smiled, not saying another word as they began to walk again. After a few minutes, they reached the tower where the dungeon was held. The smell of the damp earth and decaying stones made Raine recoil. It was dark, and she wondered why they’d left him here instead of somewhere where the Light was strong. Perhaps he didn’t want to escape.

Water dripped onto the stone, the sound echoing when they reached the bottom of the steps. Everyone paused for a moment, the sounds of their breathing mixed with the trickle of the water.

Many of the guards stayed back, waiting near the stairs. Even King Arlan hesitated, deep lines appearing on his forehead as he stared into the darkness ahead. A quiet tapping began from one of the cells.

“Maybe…do you think I should go talk to him alone?” Raine knew that too many people would make it impossible to have a proper conversation.

King Arlan opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked past her, further into the dungeon, and took a deep breath. “Are you sure that is a wise choice?”

A voice echoed in her mind, the words sending a chill down her spine. “You’d still have me? Even as I am?”

Raine closed her eyes to prevent her eyes from watering. “I need to be alone with him.”

“Very well.” The king glanced at his guards and nodded.

Everyone except for Raine stayed at the far end of the dungeon. The tapping grew louder as she approached, and soon a haunting lullaby filled the air.

Shivers ran down her spine at the words. It was a tale that she knew all too well because she had lived it. An adventure in the Deadwood, the struggle between the Light and Shadow, a young man too far gone for salvation.

“I made it up myself. Do you like it?” The voice was the same, and yet it had changed. Gone was the cold, power-hungry side of him she’d witnessed just days earlier. Now, he sounded defeated.

Raine hesitated, lingering just out of sight. She had no idea what to expect when she faced him. Would Aerin still look like his corrupted self, or had he returned to normal?

“Come on. Don’t be shy.” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

With a deep breath, she stepped forward, coming face to face with Aerin.

Dark lines streaked across his face, his skin a pale gray. But he looked better than he had in the Shadow Realm. She could see the parts of the prince that she’d started to develop feelings for in the Deadwood.

“Hello, Raine,” he said, grinning up at her. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

She stepped closer to the cell, and Aerin did the same. They were separated by mere feet now. “Hello, Aerin. I came here to say goodbye.”

For a moment, the smirk faltered. His lips turned down in a slight frown, and he cast his eyes to the floor. But he collected himself within moments, meeting her gaze once more.

“And where are you off to now? Some more grand adventures with your friends?” He wrapped his hands around the cell bars, leaning in closer. “Or are you going to return back to your filthy hometown?”

Despite his words, she could hear the hurt in his voice. His cruel words no longer fazed her. Not when she could see that he was trying his best to hurt her, to fight against what good still remained inside.

“I think your father is sending someone to find some moonblooms,” she said, ignoring Aerin’s words. “He just wants to help you.”

The laugh that came from him sent shivers down her spine. Raine turned to look at the men waiting near the stairs, and was surprised to find the spot empty.

She was completely alone with Aerin.

“No one can help me.” He leaned in, and she found herself drawn closer, leaning in until their faces were inches apart. “You cannot be the hero this time, Raine.”

Aerin didn’t move when she approached, wrapping her hands around the bars, just beneath his. “I don’t care about being the hero. All I care about is you.”

Despite everything he’d done, how much chaos he’d created, she still cared. The idea of having to accept a world where the prince was forced to live out the rest of his days here was one she refused to accept. Even worse, she thought of what might happen if the people decided that Aerin should pay for his crimes with his life.

Raine refused to let that happen.

“You may try to fool everyone by saying it was all an act, but I know there is more to you, Aerin Valleros. Somewhere, even if it’s buried deep, there is still good in you. And I refuse to give up on that part.”

He studied her face, his expression unwavering. “What makes you so sure about that?”

She didn’t have a clear answer. All that she knew was there had to be more to him. Whatever had happened to make him turn to the Shadow, it wasn’t enough to extinguish all the light inside. Even the deepest of corruption could be cleansed. Raine believed that with every beat of her heart.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. She searched his face for some hint of the prince she’d thought she knew in the Deadwood, but it was difficult to tell whether any kindness survived inside.

The Aerin she thought she knew was dead. Perhaps he had never really existed at all.

“I need to believe that what we shared was real,” Raine whispered, so close now that she could feel his warm breath on her skin. “Tell me that I’m not wrong.”

She should be ashamed that she wanted to believe that any of the time they’d shared together was real. Aerin had kidnapped Nia. Every action proved how untrustworthy he was, and yet she was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The kiss by the lake lingered in her thoughts, haunting her late into the night. She needed to believe that there was hope for him.

He studied her face, his eyes flickering to her lips. “I think only you know the answer to that.”

Raine took a deep breath, the sharp inhale echoing in the quiet dungeon. It was the first time the two of them were alone since he’d revealed his true nature. There was no need to put on a show anymore. He had a bruise from when Kade had punched him, the skin near his eye a rich purple.

Footsteps pounded on the stairs, the sounds of life roaring around them once again. Raine blinked, giving her head a slight shake when she felt the presence of others near.

This was it. Perhaps she would never see him after this.

“Aerin—” She pressed her lips together, hesitating before releasing her grip on the cell bars. He kept his eyes locked with hers when she raised a hand to touch his cheek. “I’m sorry things had to be this way.”

Voices filled the stairway. The time for them to part ways had come.

And she knew in that moment that she wouldn’t rest until Aerin was freed.

His brows drew together as he looked at her face, his lips turning down in a frown. “I—”

Without taking the time to think things through, Raine leaned forward, brushing her lips against his. She cupped his face in her hands, kissing him with urgency. Her heart raced in her chest.

“Until the stars align for us again,” she whispered against his lips, pulling away before the guards arrived.

The two of them locked eyes one final time, hands clasped between them. As Raine turned to head back to the stairs, she allowed her fingers to brush his, shivering at the cold that rushed in when their skin no longer touched.

Her eyes burned as she walked past the guards with her head held high. No one would see her cry. Not today.

“How is he?” Arlan asked once Raine had exited the tower. His forehead had deep lines etched into it. “Is he alright?”

She had no idea how to answer that question. So, Raine turned to the king and tried to steady herself. “What’s going to happen to him?”

Arlan’s eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “There may not be much we can do for him. It may be too late for—”

“What if I find the moonblooms?” Interrupting the king was a dangerous thing to do, but Raine no longer cared. She would turn Morella upside down in search of a cure. This couldn’t be the end of Aerin’s path.

“I’ve already sent some of my most trusted men in search of them. You’ve done more than enough, Raine. It is time to rest.”

Less than ten minutes later, she left the palace, unable to ignore the feeling deep down that she had to do something. This was not the end. It was just the beginning.

Her heart yearned for adventure, and she knew exactly what she must do. Aerin’s words at the edge of the lake echoed in her thoughts. The memory of the moonblooms blossomed in her mind. There had to be a cure. She refused to give up so soon.

It was time to return to the Deadwood.

#aerin valleros #aerin x mc #blades of light and shadow #choices fanfiction #blades #bolas

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ren-c-leyn · 5 years

Text

To Duel a God...

It’s been a while since I’ve done a short story for this blog, thought I might give it a try since I’m still under the weather but want to try to stick to the habit of writing. This is a fusion story that I’ve been squirreling away prompts for for a while. I’m excited to finally have enough pieces in place to write it.

The prompts in question are these 1,2,3,4,5,6 by the always amazing @thependragonwritersguild, this one by @thewholekitandkabobble, these 1,2,3,4 by the lovely @givethispromptatry, and these 1,2 by @humdrummoloch. Thank you all for your hard work to make so many amazing prompts ^-^

Story warnings: This is a fight story, so there is fictional violence. It also mentions death in passing, but nothing in any great detail. There is a little swearing, as well.

It started with an old memory; a tiny cry from the void of hollow emptiness that had been eating me alive since that living nightmare.

Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t have to be any of those things to become a great hero. After all, heroes of legend are not the strongest or the wisest of us. They are those who had the selflessness and courage to do what was right.

But I know I am not one of those people. I had never been one of those people. If I had been, I would have been able to save him. If I am now, I would be able to avenge them now.

Perhaps my first warning that I still wasn’t one of those people should have been the way her face blanched at my statement and argued with me for an hour over it. Or, perhaps it should have been in my statement itself.

I’m going to challenge a god to a duel at sunrise on the anniversary.

Maybe they’d even add a line to the adventurer’s hand guide dedicated solely to warn against my insanity at the end of this: ‘Protip: Don’t challenge gods to duels.’

“You must understand! It was a hard fought victory; a truce that you are threatening to tear apart!”

“I don’t care. I promised nothing and was privy to no truce. I walk my own path and care little for the gods and their business.”

My best friend, my former comrade, the woman I had shed sweat and blood and tears with just searched my face with a lost sort of expression, similar to the one we had both worn that day, the anniversary, as we stared at the piles of corpses stacked up to impossible heights.

Eventually she sighed, shoulders sagging as her eyes closed.

“Why do you always do this?” she asked, voice tired and raspy.

“Why do you always ask me that when you know the answer you’ll get?”

And those dull, rust-colored eyes opened partly again.

“What’s going to happen to everything after you are gone?”

“I dunno. I’ll be dead, my friend. Figure it out for yourself.”

She snorted.

“So you admit this will be what finally kills you?”

“It’s more that I admit that I cannot guarantee it won’t, even with my so called talents. Still... can we really just sit back and say we’re fine with how things turned out in the end?”

“Obviously you cannot, and I cannot stop you. Go then, Payback. Do what it is you do best. I won’t join in your foolishness, but I will stand witness to your duel. I trust it will take place in the usual ring?”

A grim smile crept onto my face as I turned away from her desk and began to stride to the door.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With my friend and queen’s permission, or at least reluctant surrender, on the matter, I set about issuing my challenge. This proved to be the hard part. No priest or priestess in their right minds were willing to send my message to the war god, not even those of questionable sanity wanted to get involved, and several temples threw me out on my ear, quite literally. The last of which was the war god’s high temple itself.

Well, fine then. If I couldn’t get my challenge to the bastard through a third party, I’d just have to do it myself.

I climbed up the pillars, ignoring the indignant shouts of priests and temple guardians as I scaled up the front of the so called holy site, clawed my way through the ornate carvings depicting great battles and heroes, and then finally drug my armored arse over the lip of the roofing to get on top of the building itself.

Standing as straight as I could, I cupped my hands to my mouth and inhaled. Then, all at once, I roared up to the sky.

“WAR GOD!!! I CHALLENGE YOU IN SINGLE COMBAT FOR THE HONOR OF MY FALLEN FRIENDS! COME TO THE HILL OF ROSES ON THE SUNRISE OF THE ANNIVERSARY OF THE DAY YOU BUTCHERED THEM LIKE THE COWARD YOU ARE AND I SHALL HONOR THEIR MEMORIES WITH YOUR HEAD!”

Then, there was silence. A dead silence that was quite out of place for any part of the capital city. I wasn’t even sure if the people who heard me issue my challenge were breathing, but I couldn’t care less. They could hide in fear all they wanted, but I had faced god beasts and their other minions in the fields of battle during our war against the gods. I had looked servants of death in the eye, and even played cards with one during my queen’s negotiations for peace. There was nothing for me to fear from the other side.

Still, I found the silence a bit uneasy. Was I being ignored? Usually, my opponents responded to my challenged rather quickly. For example, you know the wizard accepts your challenge when a crimson bolt strikes. You know a thieves’ guild leader accepts your challenge when you have a knife and a dead snake pinned to the inside of your inn door the next morning.But how does one know when a god decides to accept a challenge?

Blood red lightening shot down from a cloudless sky and shattered an ancient oak that had been on the grounds for centuries.

I guessed that answered my question. The bastard had heard me alright, and it looked like he accepted my challenge. A broad grin split my face. Good, this would be fun.

Two weeks passed with nonstop training and uneasy anticipation. The nightmares of the past came and went in tides, mixing in with the present. Instead of falling victim to them, I used them to motivate myself, remind myself why I had to do this.

Then, the fateful morning came, or rather, the pre-dawn darkness before a fateful morning came. The queen and I stood on my usual dueling grounds, a flat-topped hill crowned with blood-red roses. It was a fitting place to die... for my enemies. Neither of us said a word to each other as we watched the eastern sky, waiting for our old enemy to appear.

Just as the deep blues of night began to turn yellow, and rays of sunlight began to caress the rosebuds, we felt it. That familiar stomach-twisting sickness from raw power. Both of us tensed.

Red lightening struck again, dancing in the center of the ring before us. It balled up, glowing brighter, and then went out entirely, revealing a tall man in strange armor made of heavenly metals and fangs and claws and hides of god beasts. A giant sword rested in his left hand, and a battle ax as broad as the queen’s shoulders rested in his right. Behind him was a cloaked figure I recognized as the commander of the war god’s army. She gave a nod to the queen and I, and we gave a nod back.

“Well, mortal, I believe we have a score to settle. Yes?” the war god’s deep voice growled out slowly, mockingly. “It shouldn’t take us more than a minute.”

I grinned up at him.

“I would think not. I should have your ugly head ready for my wall in thirty seconds.”

He howled out a laugh.

“You think you can kill me?”

“I think I can try and if I can’t then at least I can be an obstacle. I might even be able to make you bleed, or worse. Whose to know if we don’t fight?”

He chuckled darkly with a smirk to match.

“You will be lost in the land of the dead long before you make me bleed, mortal.”

A dark smile of my own surfaced.

“ I’m already as dead as my mercy. Come to think of it, you’re the one that killed me, on the inside anyways. You see, after you lose everything good in your life, all you can do is laugh. Laugh because you somehow managed to die along the way, but can’t remember where. But don’t worry, I have just enough mercy left in me to just make my vengeance killing you, instead of killing everyone you care about and turning you into a living ghost too.”

He sneered at me.

“Bold words for the empty shell of a pitiful creature. Don’t worry, I’ll put you out of your misery today. Witnesses! Begin the proceedings.”

“Yes,” the queen and the general answered instantly.

They both stepped back into the roses on opposite ends of the massive ring. Part of me wondered if they’d be okay, but it was a little late to take that into account now. They ran us through the dueling formalities, asking us to bow to each other, step back the appropriate number of steps, get into our stances, and then they began the count.

“Three, two, one, you may begin.”

They hadn’t even finished saying begin when the war god was bearing down on me, bringing both of his massive weapons down on each of my shoulders. I heard the queen scream, but I could only grin.

Invincibility is a real good time. Whenever someone tries to maim you, they always end up taking the damage. I just wish I had clothes to support that fighting style. Well, the cost of this armor was nothing in comparison to the priceless look of shock on the dumbass’s face when his own divine weapons bounced off my bones and sunk into his shoulders.

“H-how? What sorcerery is this?!” he hissed as he stumbled back.

“Oh, I guess no one told you. What a pity, for you. I’m the last person you want to fight. Every time you hurt me, it just reverberates back to you. My friends call me Payback.”

He laughed.

“I see, I guess I’ll have to stop fighting you like a mortal, and fight you as an equal!”

Lightening struck me and I felt it burn down to my bones. His weapons glowed red and he swung at me. Instinct kicked in and my body jerked out of the way, but the sword still caught my hand, leaving the first wound I had received on a battlefield in years.I retaliated with my own blade, going after joints and thinner spots of the armor. He blocked, dodged, countered, I ducked, rolled, and stabbed.

The longer the deadly dance of steel and lightening strikes went, the more of my blood dripped onto the trampled grass and hardened earth.

Ah. The one person I can’t defeat. Lovely.

And despite myself, I started laughing at the thought. Laughing as I rolled under his ax’s head and came up right in front of him, only to be kicked in the gut by the boot. I went down, and red lightening made sure I stayed down. As I laid there, jerking uncontrollably, I heard the heavily armored boots advancing on me.

Then, there was a bright white light.

“Enough,” a woman’s voice echoed.

“Out of my way, Life, the punk challenged me, not you.”

“The battle has been decided, War, lay down your arms.”

“It has not ended, it was a duel to the death.”

I heard her laugh, laugh right in his face. Had to hand it to her, she had nerve. I respected that. As much as a person spasming in the dirt can respect anything, of course.

“What’s so funny?” War demanded.

“In accordance to the treaty we made with the humans, duels to the death are prohibited.”

“Then why did you allow him to issue the challenge?!”

“I assumed to accepted knowing that you weren’t allowed to kill.”

“And if that mortal were to have defeated me, would you be hovering here in my defense as well?” he demanded.

“Of course, of course, it is my duty to uphold the treaty. Now take your bow, do your boasting, and let us return.”

I blacked out about half way through his big victory speech. Whether it was from boredom or the lightening still working its way through my body, I couldn’t say.

When I woke up, I was laying on the floor in the queen’s office while she scribbled something down with her quill.

“Still breathing?” she asked after a moment.

“Yeah....”

“Good.”

There was a long stretch of silence between the tense good and the end of whatever it was she was writing. When she put the quill down, though, I knew I was in trouble. She slowly turned in her chair, rust eyes narrowing at me.

“You know what? I’m gonna say it: you deserved that. You deserved all of that, including the awful speech he gave at the end of your duel. What kind of idiot challenges the war god to single combat? He’s the god of combat you twit!”

And it was half way through her speech that I realized Life had even less mercy than I did.

#my writing #short story #fiction #fantasy #high fantasy #angst #battle scene #writeblr #writer #am writing #long short story #a story by Ren

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ohmygoodnessgraciouss · 5 years

Text

Heist (Loki x Reader) Pt. IV

Masterlist

*ENDGAME SPOILERS*

Missed the first part? Read the first part here!

Author’s Note: Wow we’re this far in already?! I wanted to give y’all this a little early. I wanted to write more, but I know you’ve been waiting impatiently for the big reunion. Let’s jump right in, shall we?

Also, if you want anything special done with Loki, send me an ask! I love writing requests, and I get to them ASAP!

Taglist:

@angelofasgard16 @it-jinxed-us @dark-night-sky-99 @pyrowolfgirl1408 @heartsxhoney @twhgirl @xavierwoodsxkofikingston @panda-duuu @nonsensicalobsessions @marisayouass

Flying through the quantum realm was a trip you never thought you'd get to say. It flew by quickly, but it was like going at G-Force. Considering how small you were at the time, you may have been going at the speed of light. It made you sick to your stomach, no doubt about that. You were grateful to land in the dungeons of Asgard.

Arriving shortly after you was Rocket and Thor. They collapsed on the ground next to you. Clearly, they had similar thoughts about the quantum realm. You weren't excited about having to go through that all over again. If you could, you'd rather wait the 10 years to get back.

Unfortunately, that's not how this can work. "Alright, Y/N, I'm sure you know the way to Loki's cell. We'll follow you and move past to get the Aether. I can unlock the barrier for a short time if you want to do that and meet up with us in about an hour." Thor stated. You nodded and started making your way through the dungeon.

It was so dark in the dungeon that you felt like you were blind, and the brick didn't help the temperature. It'd feel great on a hot, summer day, but now was not the time to think about that. Now, you had to see Loki. 10 years without seeing him killed you, to say the least. You missed him dearly.

Rocket started running for it when you made it to his cell. Thor quickly passed by after taking down the barrier using a special control panel. It was Asgardian, so you had no idea how it worked. Either way, as a scientist, you wanted to know how that was possible for a land without electricity.

You slowly made your way to the barrier, peering in. There he was, tossing a cup in the air over and over again. He looked so much younger than you now, even for only 10 years. He looked exactly how you remembered him. Long, black, curly hair, his high cheekbones, and his emerald green eyes. You were happy to know that your brain hadn't forgotten a single detail about him.

The barrier slowly came down temporarily and you walked inside slowly. Loki noticed the sudden movement and turned to see you. He was shocked and quickly sat up. It had been a couple of weeks since he had last seen you. "Y/N where have you been, I've been waiting for-" The god stopped abruptly.

You weren't surprised by it. As he got a closer look, he could notice your aging. Your hair was cut slightly shorter than it was before, you had barely noticeable wrinkles by your eyes, and you looked maturer. "You're not Y/N, are you? Who are you?" He asked.

"Well," You started off, "I'm technically Y/N, but I'm not going to bother trying to trick you. I'm sure you can tell already that I look a lot older."

Even your voice sounded defeated. Loki's heart was slowly breaking at the sight of you. You didn't need to say anything, he knew that whatever happened, it wasn't good. You looked weaker than before, and your eyes spoke everything. Something happened that broke that spark you used to have. The joy and happiness he'd see every time you came to visit was gone. He couldn't imagine hearing your laugh coming from you at this point.

"What happened?" He asked quietly, studying your eyes carefully.

"I'm not from this time, as you can tell. In fact, I'm from 10 years into the future." His eyes widened when you said that. While 10 years was nothing for him, he knew it was somewhere around a tenth of a human's life span.

"What has the future done to you, my love?" Loki walked up to you carefully. He was worried it was a trick of some sort. He lifted his hand up to your cheek carefully. As if it were an instinct, you leaned into his touch. His touch was so much better than you anticipated.

"More than I have time to tell you, probably," You smiled slightly. Loki couldn't shake off the feeling that it wasn't you though. He knew something bad would be coming soon, but he didn't know what. He drew his hand back and you almost frowned at the action.

"How do I know it's really you? What if you're a Skrull or someone who's coming to invade Asgard?" Loki stepped back slightly.

You were unsure of how you could prove it to him. It suddenly popped into your head as to what could work. You pulled the necklace out from under your top. The stone was shining brightly under the light. "Remember when you gave me this? I still remember the day like it was yesterday. It was in my book with Shakespeare plays. You placed it on the page with Romeo and Juliet."

Loki was silent as he looked at the necklace and then back up to you. He wasn't sure why, but he trusted it. Especially because the necklace looked exactly like it did when he last saw it on you. Every time after he gave you the necklace, he'd see it on the next visit. Maybe you would put it on right before going to see him, but he didn't mind either way. He loved seeing you wearing it.

"What are you doing here so far from your present?" He asked softly. He walked up to you until he was only a few inches from you. He was tempted to pull you into his embrace. "What happens that takes the light from your eyes?"

"I don't know how much I'll change with telling you the future, but at this point, maybe it's not a bad thing." You said, trying to debate quickly what to do. Before you could say anything else, you felt his arms snake around your waist and bring you up against him.

All that did was bring you to tears. You quickly wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned your head onto his shoulder, breathing in his scent. Everything about him brought back memories. You couldn't help crying. You missed this so much.

Loki wasn't sure of what was going on. He didn't know, nor did he care. He knew this was still his Y/N. He knew that this was still the woman he loved. His hand moved up to your hair and he ran his fingers through it lightly in a comforting manner.

When your tears subsided shortly after, you decided to tell him limited details about what happens in the future. You couldn't mess up the timeline, even though you had been told it'd be alright. "Loki, I probably shouldn't tell you anything about it, but we've probably already messed up the timeline anyway." You realized that he had moved you both to the bed while you were crying.

"We?" He asked. "There are more with you?"

"Thor, and a raccoon, it's a very long story," You brushed it off quickly. Loki was confused by the raccoon part, but he didn't question it. "I know you know Thanos quite well."

He froze up at the thought of the titan. "Yes, I know too much about him. What happens?"

"In five years, he gets all of the infinity stones in the process of one week. Asgard is destroyed because of your sister, Thanos gets the stones, and he takes out half of all populations in the universe," You dodged telling him that he died. Loki rubbed your back in comforting circles.

"So, you and Thor are alright in the end?" He asked. That's all that mattered to him. He didn't care what happened as long as you and his brother were okay.

"I don't know if you'd say we're alright, but we're alive. We lost a lot of people though."

"Including me?"

You stopped for a moment and continued to look at the floor. You hadn't seen him in ten years and all you wanted was to be able to see him, but you couldn't bear to look him in the eye and tell him the answer to his question. It'd break your heart all over again, and how would he react?

The Norse God reacted to it better than you expected. He was calm and collected about it. "How? Where?"

"I only know as much as Thor would tell me. He said you gave up the Tesseract. You tried to pretend that you would pledge allegiance to him. When you went to strike him, he stopped you with the infinity stone. He-" You had to stop yourself for a second. It was getting to be too much. "He snapped your neck. Thor believes that you did it to delay Thanos from going to Earth, so it'd give Bruce time to warn the others."

He was quiet for a single moment, contemplating your words. "Bruce? As in the Hulk, you talk so much about?"

You laughed a little at his question. "Everything I've said, and that's what you get from it all?"

"If it makes you laugh, love, then that will be the first thing I take from it all," He said, knowing that his question would make you laugh. At least, it would make his present Y/N, so he was hoping it would work on you as well.

"I missed you so much," You quietly muttered. Loki sadly smiled at you.

"When do you have to go back?"

"Whenever Thor and Rocket come back with the Aether." He assumed when you mentioned Rocket you meant whatever a raccoon is.

"Could that be a while?"

"Knowing those two? They're going to take forever to simply figure out what their plan is."

"Then let's make the most of our time." Before you could ask him what he meant by that he was kissing you gently.

Your heart nearly stopped at the action. It may be cheesy to say that sparks would fly, but that's how it was when you'd kiss him. Loki was always gentle, in fear of driving you away by going any harder.

Once the shock wore off you kissed him back. You were rougher than he was, rushed because you didn't realize how touch-starved you were after all of these years. All you wanted at this point was him.

Instinctively you had started tangling your fingers in his hair. You could feel his arms around your waist bring you closer to him. It was probably the happiest moment in the past five years. Even if it wasn't in your timeline, even if you were ruining someone else's timeline, you didn't care. You were selfish when it came to him.

You and Loki broke apart when you needed oxygen. It may have been only minutes, but you could've sworn it was hours. "If you keep doing stuff like that Loki, I'm not going to want to go back," You laughed breathlessly.

"I'm afraid I can't allow you to stay. You have your own present to go back to. Maybe I'll be around in your present now, now that you've told me this."

"It doesn't work that way though. Time travel works in a strange way. What I'm doing, if you don't do the same actions you did in my timeline, it will create a new timeline."

"Unless this was how it was supposed to be from the start," He said, absentmindedly grabbing one of your hands.

"What do you mean?"

"Do you doubt my motives, darling? I've tricked my oath of a brother plenty of times into thinking I died. I don't believe I could forget how to do that of all things," He grinned.

"If that's the case, I'm going to kill you in 2023, I'm warning you now," You fired back.

Loki chuckled, happy to see you acting like this. You definitely needed it. You didn't realize how badly you needed him.

"I'm counting on it," He said.

"At least, in 2018, write me a letter, alright? Let me know you're still around," You smiled slightly. He promised.

Before you could say anything more, you saw Thor out of the corner your eye. Rocket was running closely behind him with the Aether in hand, or paw, for that matter. "Hate to break it up, but we gotta go!" Rocket yelled.

"Thor? What happened to you?" Loki was astonished to see his brother in the state he was. It looked like he had been crying before. With Mjolnir in hand, he opened the barrier, allowing you to be able to walk through again.

Thor didn't reply and instead waited for you to come through. Before you left the room, you hugged Loki tightly again, leaving a peck on his cheek. He smiled at you, and let you go, not before whispering one final thing to you. "I assure you, Y/N, the sun will shine on us again."

You slowly made your way down to Thor and Rocket. Thor took one final glance at his brother before tapping the button on his GPS. You and Rocket did the same motions, changing back into your suits. "Let's go reverse what that giant purple bastard did," You said. Rocket looked at you, pleased and amused with your nickname for Thanos. You all clicked your button at the same time, bringing you back the present.

The last thing you saw before going back was Loki watching you curiously from his cell. You wouldn't forget a single detail about this anytime soon.

#loki x reader #loki x you #avengers 4 #avengers endgame #endgame #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #thor #chris hemsworth #rocket raccoon #marvel #comics

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its-a-queer-thing · 5 years

Note

Gallavich for the ask thing (I had to 😉)

who hogs the duvet

Totally Ian and Mickey has actually pulled the blanket away and plopped on top of Ian to make the point “You don’t want to share the blanket, fine, the blanket is sharing us” xD

who texts/rings to check how their day is going

Ian, and Mickey likes to make up ridiculous tall tales about how horrible his day is going so when he only sends “fine” Ian knows he’s actually having a bad day.

who’s the most creative when it comes to gifts

Mickey. Ian is thoughtful with his gifts but Mickey always freaks out so much about what to get that he always ends up getting/making/arranging the best thing.

who gets up first in the morning

Ian.

who suggests new things in bed

They are both adventurous but Mickey has a more... shall we say wild streak.

who cries at movies

Mickey but if anyone revealed that (even Ian) he’d fuck their world up.

who gives unprompted massages

Mickey just rubs on Ian’s shoulders for absolutely no reason. He doesn’t even realize that he does it most of the time and just keeps going until he needs to move or until someone embarrasses him by bringing it to his attention.

who fusses over the other when they’re sick

They both do, of course!

who gets jealous easiest

Mickey. Just... Mickey.

who has the most embarrassing taste in music

Ian (but the best part is that Mickey usually ends up liking Ian’s picks even if he resents it and won’t let anyone else know)

who collects something unusual

Mickey has never wasted a lucky penny. He also has a knack for finding four leaf clovers (it contributes to his pessimism though since he does fall on rotten luck).

who takes the longest to get ready

Mickey. He’ll act like he’s ready for an hour but he just keeps building and building on what he’s done, making small excuses so no one knows that our boy likes to look good.

who is the most tidy and organised

Ian, and it get’s on Mickey’s nerves. More than once he’s shot at Ian “if I wanted to live in a fuckin army barracks I would’ve enlisted at 18!”

who gets most excited about the holidays

Neither of them are huge holiday guys but Ian is more easily swayed by a positive mood and Mickey just loves to see Ian happy so they always enjoy holidays. (Mickey’s HUGE on Halloween though).

who is the big spoon/little spoon

Mickey is the little spoon. Period.

who gets most competitive when playing games and/or sports

They rival each other SOOOOOO BAD. Game night has ended in a massive fight more than once, let’s just say that.

who starts the most arguments

Pssssssh they both know how to push the other’s buttons and they do it whenever they damn well please.

who suggests that they buy a pet

Ian wants to buy, Mickey just somehow acquires.

what couple traditions do they have

They go out for the anniversary of Mickey’s coming out every single year.

what tv shows they watch together

They both love National Geographic and the History channel.

what other couple they hang out with

None. If another couple is going to be sucking face they don’t want to be anywhere near it. Any company should be singles or triples so as to avoid “double dates.”

how they spend time together as a couple

Wrestling and drinking, and when they’re tired and out of breath they’ll split a cigarette and spill some deep thoughts that have been bugging them for a while and finally want to get out.

who made the first move

Kiiiiinda Ian but really Mickey.

who brings flowers home

Neither. They’re a waste of money and they die in four days. They take turns buying smokes and treating the other to a movie or dinner.

who is the best cook

Ian, but he’s teaching Mickey because Mickey actually likes cooking with Ian. They joke around, kiss, and make some interesting combinations.

Send me a ship and I’ll answer these questions about them! :)

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aurorasmitty · 4 years

Text

‘cause there’s a beauty in being broken, i’ve been seeing it || aurora & hook [closed] {part 4}

Fifty four years ago...

Pouted pink lips blew luck onto a mismatched pair of dice, before the blonde leaned back onto Blake’s lap, and held her breath as he tossed the dice. The group cheered and moaned depending on who they’d bet on.

“Aurora Smith, you never fail me,” Blake grinned, planting a kiss on her neck, before reaching for the dice once more.

Rory glanced up across the bar, and made eye contact with James. Everyone had turned up for the grand opening of Mulligan’s new bar, and while they all seemed, as a majority, happy, Hook looked less than thrilled. Aurora gave him a nod, before turning back to blow on the dice again.

The uproar that followed made Rory laugh, and Blake planted a kiss of gratitude on her lips. Knowing that James was watching, she put her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. There were whoops and jeers as Blake moved his hands round her waist, pulling her close.

“Good luck charm, you are,” he murmured into her ear. “Won me enough gold to drown everything out for a month,” he grinned, nipping gently at her ear.

Rory tilted her head back and giggled, stealing another quick glance at Hook, who was staring at her with an intense fire that both startled and excited her. Eyes on him, she leaned forward and whispered in Blake’s ear.

“Shall we christen one of the rooms upstairs to celebrate?” She asked, blowing a warm tunnel of breath into his lobe. Blake’s reaction was near automatic, as he gathered up his winnings into a small leather change purse.

The men begged him to let them try and win their money back, but the young Hook only laughed. He tossed a few coins to Mulligan behind the bar, grandly telling him to send a round of pints to the losers on him. Rory then took him by the hand, leading him to the stairs near where James was sat. She ignored the captain, though she could feel his gaze upon her, and took Blake upstairs.

Three a.m., the same night...

Rory rolled off of Blake and stood beside the bed, straightening her shift. She’d forgotten how younger men could just go back to back like this, and gave Blake a mischievous smirk.

“Blake Hook, I had no idea,” she grinned, backing away from the bed slowly towards the little round table that held a carafe of wine.

“What? That I’d be any good?” he chuckled, turning onto his side a moment.

“Oh no, I knew you’d be great. But five times--that’s a new record for me,” she laughed, turning to the drinks.

“Me too,” he joined her in a laugh, before leaning back, propping his arms behind his head. “I’d say we go for six, but I’d hate to injure you.”

Rory threw her head back with a laugh, pouring them each a glass. She padded softly over to the bed and held one of the long stemmed glasses to him. They each sipped the sweet, red wine, eyes on each other, as if daring the other to do something. Rory drained her drink, and looked down at him.

“I’d love you to injure me like that,” she shrugged, a minxy smile on her red stained lips.

Blake raised his eyebrows in surprise, before letting a single, disbelieving snicker out. When she quirked a brow at him, Blake set his glass down, and threw the blanket off his lap.

“Well get over here then.”

Four a.m., the same night...

Aurora pulled Blake’s jacket over her shoulders, and tiptoed out of the room. Downstairs, the bar was silent and bathed in darkness as the candles had long been doused. Rory was hoping to find some bread or something, as she was entirely famished. And while Blake hadn’t injured her, she moved gingerly down the steps, quite sore.

The blonde felt a little eerie to be in the dark in a strange place. Blake was fast asleep upstairs, and after all their activity, she doubted he would stir for anything any time soon. Rory fumbled for a candelabra and a box of matches, and lit two of the three candles before her ears perked up. She could hear someone breathing in the room with her.

Aurora spun around, dropping the box of matches, which scattered around the floor.

“James,” she breathed, hand flying to her chest. He was sat right where she’d last seen him earlier that night. “What the bloody hell are you doing there?” She asked in a rush, a scowl forming on her brow.

He rose from his seat, and crossed to her. This was something she’d never seen on him, or anyone else for that matter before. A silent, calm fury, that chilled her to her core.

“Now, is that any way to talk to your captain?” James asked, reaching up to her neck. His fingers traced along her collar bone, before clamping gently around her throat. It was not a hard or tight grip, but she dare not move.

“What do you w-want?” She asked breathily, swallowing against his palm. His thumb moved up and touched her lip, parting bottom from the top.

“I want you,” he said, pressing the curve of his hook against the middle of her slip, where her legs met her center. “Do you want me?” he asked, pressing her back against the bar. James moved his hook to the hem of her shift, the cold metal against Rory’s skin making her pulse jump.

It had been a year. A year since he’d touched her, a year since they’d been this close. A year of sins and strangers, of being catcalled and propositioned. Three hundred and five fucking days of being ignored by him. Enough time, at least, to teach her to unlove him.

“I don’t,” she said in a shuddered voice that even she didn’t believe.

“No?” James asked, hook paused at her thigh; he leaned forward, forehead nearly against hers, and ran his thumb along her bottom lip again.

“N-n-no?” she returned in question. At this, he let go, and pulled the hook away, now warm from the contact with her skin. He took a few steps back from her, and Rory was frozen against the bar. The candle flickered, surrounding them in a dim and broken light.

“Are you very sure?” He asked, pressing his thumb against the curve of his hook.

“No,” she breathed, hands moving to her thighs. “I am not sure of anything with you, James,” she added, heart pounding. The look he fixed on her held her in place, and she felt like she might melt through the floorboards.

“Do you want me?” Hook asked again, and Aurora gave him a pained and quizzical look. Did she want him? She wasn’t sure how to answer him. Was this all just a cruel trick? Did she even care? They stood there a moment, just staring at one another.

“Oh hell,” Rory breathed, and crossed to him, throwing her arms around his neck. “I fucking do,” she answered truthfully, before they both met each other in a passionate kiss.

James wrapped his arms around her, and stagger walked them to the corner booth. With his right arm, he relieved the table of it’s salt and pepper tins, as well as the paper with written specials. With his left, he lifted Aurora and set her atop the raised table. She began to fumble with his belt, but he halted that to slide Blake’s jacket off of her. As he tossed it to the floor behind them, Rory undid his trousers. James gently pushed her down flat on the table, and clamored atop her.

Smith sat up on the edge of the table, and Hook held his hand out to help her down. She gave a sheepish smirk, and looked up at him.

“I missed you,” she told him, placing a hand on either side of his waist. “I missed having you inside of me,” she added, looking up at him through heavy lids.

“I missed you too,” he said, but there was a hollowness to his tone. “You can come to me whenever you tire of the others,” James stated, words that loosened her grip on him like oil on rusted machinery. “And I will come to you.”

Rory looked up at him in question, swallowing the anger and sadness his words caused. The emotions soured on their way down, and made her stomach pang with sickness.

“Is that it, then? You want it to be this way?” She asked, melancholy filling her eyes. “You don’t...you don’t want me to be yours exclusively?”

“I’ve had that before. And I don’t want that again. To ask you to be faithful where I never could, would be unkind.” He explained, and all she could think to do was nod.

“Any rules?” She asked, raising her gaze to meet his again. “I mean, in a relationship there are dozens that go without saying. But this,” she said, motioning a half circle in front of her with both hands. “This is all new, Captain. So do you have any rules to set to this new arrangement?” She asked, biting back her bitterness.

James was shrugging on his jacket now, watching her as she spoke. He tucked his shirt into his trousers, and expertly fixed his belt.

“Yeah, actually. You can sleep with anyone in port. You can sleep your way through every shop, yard, and every bunk on the ship if you want,” James told her. “As long as you want to,” he said, buttoning his coat sleeves. “But there is one thing you must never do again,” he said, as the sound of a door opening upstairs broke the fantasy that they were alone.

“Name it,” she said, anxiously glancing to the top of the stairs. James moved to the door as Blake started down the stairs.

“You must never fuck him,” he said, pointing at the confused and bleary-eyed Blake. Hook then exited without another word.

The silence that filled the dim barroom was incredibly loud. Rory shifted on her feet, before retrieving his jacket from the floor. She walked cautiously to the stairwell, and held it out to him. Blake just stared at her, processing what had just happened.

“Well that sucks,” he finally broke the quiet, shrugged, and turned back upstairs.

Current time...

James sat in his booth at Mulligans, running his fingers along the bottom of the table. They brushed and then connected with a well worn notch where he had held onto for support one night with his hook, many years ago. He didn’t think of Rory on her back atop this table every time he came to the bar, but when his fingers hooked into that groove, the memory of it came flooding back.

She had asked him to meet her there, which was ominous in itself. He didn’t know what to expect, especially considering how they’d left things.

The pub was busy, as the day’s work had ended for most, and Hook hoped she would hurry up and get there so he could leave. He’d be sick if one more kiss ass brought him another pint. James thrummed his fingers on the top of the table, impatiently while he waited. Luckily, the next time the door opened, Rory was enveloped in, wearing a black dress that trailed by her ankles in the back, yet exposed her legs to just above her knees in the front. James decided to attempt to keep things light.

“Is that another new dress, Smith?” he tutted as she drew near.

“It is,” she replied with a smile. “Do you like it?” Rory asked.

“I don’t know, give us a turn,” he suggested, spinning his finger in the air.

Rory did so, and then kicked up one heel, giving a smirk of innocence as she looked up to the ceiling.

“It’s very pretty,” James admitted. “Although I don’t know where you’ll find the space in your cabin for it,” he added, tone bordering on chastising.

“That’s actually what I asked you here to talk about.”

“No, no, Rory, we’ve been over this. You can’t turn the broom cupboard into your second closet,” he told her, raising his his hand as she scooted into the booth across from him, laughing.

“I don’t need more space,” Rory told him, placing her palms on the table.

“Don’t tell me you’ve duped Cookson to let you use pantry space?” Hook teased, and Rory shook her head with a slight laugh for his benefit.

“No, nothing like that,” she said, picking up one of the three pints that sat in front of James. “I’ve moved into port,” she added quickly, bringing the beer to her lips, and immediately began drinking.

“You what?” James asked, aghast. “You can’t be serious, why on earth would you do that? What do you mean? What happened? For God’s sake, Rory, put that down before you give yourself hiccups!” Hook reached out, taking the three quarter drunk pint from her hand. “What is going on?”

Aurora sighed. She knew he couldn’t really have been expected to take the news calmly. She had hoped, but she should’ve learned by now that wishing was for children.

“I just can’t be on the ship anymore, James. It’s not working out anymore.”

“And why not?”

“You know why not. If we want to salvage any sort of friendship, I need to do this,” Rory told him softly. “I can’t be so close to you, available any time you’re hungry. And I’m sick to death of being around all of those pirates, all the time.” She said, leaning forward a bit. “I have to go.”

“What, now?” James asked, trying to wrap his head around this new concept.

“Yes. The last of my things are being delivered to Franny Taft’s place now,” Rory said, knowing she’d have to keep it brief if she was going to retain her nerve. Hook looked so taken aback, that part of her wanted to reassure him that nothing would change. But that would be a lie.

“But Aurora,” he said finally, as she slid out of the booth. “What have I done?”

Rory wanted to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. A lie. She wanted to say it was just in her nature. A lie. She wanted to take the blame and not make him question his actions. An injustice.

She cupped his face with one hand, and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. Her thumb caressed the stubble on his face, and she gave a sad smile.

“You never apologized,” she sighed, and turned to go.

“For what?”

Rory glanced back, lips pressed together in a sad line. For making me what I am now. For yanking me around all these years. For underestimating me. For making me feel so small and that my only worth is what’s between my legs. For using me.

“For what you said to Starkey. I’ll see you around, Cap.”

#this is long #and also the end of this miniseries paha #beauty in being broken #closed #also considered calling this installment 'a family affair' but nah #about #part four of four #part four #fin

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gottalovetheletos · 7 years

Text

Bright Lights, Big City. Series. Chapter 7. (Christmas Special)

Authors note: First of all I would like to wish everyone a very happy holidays and new year!! I wish you all love, health and wealth 💖.

I am 3 followers away from 300. Thank you everyone for following, reading, liking and commenting. I appreciate every single one of you.

I hope you don’t mind the phone image. I’m trying something new.

Okay this wasn’t meant to be that long but it’s happened so... My bad lol.

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED LEAVE A COMMENT BELOW SAYING SO AND I WILL TAG YOU. 💖💖💖

Warnings:

Finally I get to write some SMUT.

This does have a daddy kink (Name only for now) Sorry if you don’t like it. But I do lol.

Naught lingerie.

Word Count: 4,328.

Bright Lights, Big City. Chapter 7.

If you haven’t read it here’s: CHAPTER 6

From the beginning. Chapter 1

CHAPTER 7

I didn’t sleep a wink the whole night. I kept thinking about the pros and cons of this three person relationship. How would I tell my friends? How would they tell their mom? Did she already know about their previous three person relationship?

*The next day*

I looked at my calendar in the kitchen. Christmas eve. My god. Already. I needed to clear my mind so decided to take the dogs to the woods. I loaded all three in the car.

I let the dogs off their leashes and got lost in thought again. ‘I’ve never done anything so.... out there before. Maybe I should just go for it. Yes, I’m gonna go for it. On the way home I popped into the grocery store to pick up some last minute things for my lonely Christmas tomorrow. I wasn’t that close with my family after my past, they didn’t want anything to do with me. Once I’d finished I walked into the lingerie store across the street. I needed some new bras and matching panties. I saw something very Christmas-ey that caught my eye. I paid for my things and drove home. I decided to message the boys to see if they were free to come over, they did.

“Hey, come in” I welcomed them in. “I led them into the kitchen where we sat at my breakfast table, I had made their favorite drinks and already laid them on the table waiting for them. “I’ve made a definite decision, I want to do this” the boys smiled at each other. “Great” they said in unison. “Oh and while you’re here I wanted to give you your presents for Christmas”. I walked off to get them from underneath my tree.

“Wow, thank you” Jared spoke. “Thanks babe” Shannon smiled. “We’ll open them tomorrow” he added. “Got any big plans for tomorrow?” Jared asked taking a sip from his drink. “Oh absolutely, I plan on having Christmas dinner with the dogs and getting drunk alone whilst watching crappy TV” I sarcastically spat. “Spend it with us” Shannon blurted out without hesitation. “But what about your mom?” I asked concerned. “She’ll be fine. We’ll just have to hold off on any romantic things for now. Like we’re just friends. You can stay over too, there will probably be alcohol involved” Jared beamed. “Sounds good, thanks guys. Are you sure you’re mom will be okay with this?” I asked concerned. “Yeah, bring the dogs. She’ll be busy with them all day” Shannon laughed. “Right we gotta go. We’re actually picking mom up from the airport soon. We’ll see you tomorrow gorgeous!” Jared stood first, then me, then Shannon. I gave them both a kiss and saw them out. I went straight upstairs and packed my bags so I was prepared. I found an ugly Christmas sweater and paired it with a plain tank top and leggings. ‘I’ll wear that to his’ I thought. After I’d packed my bag I went back out to the store to buy their mom a gift. Once home I wrapped the gifts for her and I had bought the boys a little something extra too. Before I knew it the whole day had vanished. It was nearly 5 pm. I was just about to start making dinner when my phone rang. I picked it up without looking to see who it was. “Hey, Do you wanna come out for dinner with us?” “Jared?” I asked, still not knowing who it was. “Yeah?” he answered back. “Oh. Sorry I didn’t recognize your voice” I giggled. “Um. Isn’t you’re mom with you? I’m already imposing tomorrow. I don’t think you’d want me there tonight too” I added. “Actually it was her idea. She said seeing as she’s meeting you tomorrow we may as well do it now” he told me. “What exactly does that mean” I laughed. “I don’t know, but please just come to dinner with us. Shannon will be there too”. “Oh god, J. What are you trying to do to me?” “Pleeeaasseee” he begged. “Okay give me an hour to get ready” I jokingly huffed. “Perfect we’ll pick you up” he hung up the phone.

I managed to get ready in the time frame I was given.

I had just slipped my arms into my coat when the door bell rang. “Hang on” I shouted as I tied the belt of the coat up. I opened the door to a very dressed up Shannon. He came in and shut the door behind him. As the door closed he lunged in for a kiss. “You look beautiful. Mom and Jared are standing outside of the car so they can say hi properly. Well so mom can say hi properly” he corrected himself. I took a deep breath. “Okay, I can do this. I might need a little help getting through this” I winked, walking towards him for another kiss. He grabbed the back of my neck deepening the kiss. “I would’ve wrapped your hair around my fist but it looks too good” he whispered in my ear. “Maybe when we’re doing nasty things to each other you can wear it down” he added. “Mmm.. I’ll remember that”. I grabbed my clutch and locked the door behind us. Thank god for liquid lipstick, otherwise we’d have to wipe the evidence from our faces. We walked down the driveway to the car parked along the sidewalk. “There she is” Jared announced. “Mom, this is the amazing, beautiful woman we’ve been telling you about” he gestured towards me. “Don’t over do it sweetie. I’m just a normal being” I shouted back. “Hi, Ms Leto. How are you?” I held out my arms for a hug which she accepted. “Hi sweetie, I’m good thank you. Ready for some food. Also please call me Constance. Ms Leto is so... formal” she answered. “As you wish” I replied. “Shall we make our way to the restaurant then?” Jared asked. We all nodded. Constance and Jared sat in the back, Shannon drove and I hopped into the passenger seat. Jared and his mom were catching up and Shannon and I were listening in. “So are you all packed for tomorrow?” He asked me, momentarily taking his eyes off of the road. “Yes, I’m very excited” I told him. “Maybe I’ll pay you a visit before bed” he whispered. I smiled and looked out the window nervously. His hand landed on my knee in an attempt to comfort me. We arrived at the restaurant and the valet boy took the car and gave Shannon the ticket. We walked inside where we were shown to our table straight away. Perks of being with Jared and Shannon I suppose. Shannon helped his mother take off her coat while his brother helped me. His hand slowly grazed my ass. “You look fucking perfect in that dress Y/N” he whispered. We sat around the square table. One person to each side of the table. Mid way through our meal Jared came out with. “Hey Y/N why don’t we make this Christmas a 2 night thing. We can take you back to your house and you can grab your bags and some extra PJ’s and come home with us” I looked at the other two faces who were smiling. “I mean is that okay with you Constance. I’m already imposing on Christmas day...” “Y/N, you are not imposing. We’d be happy for you to join us if you want to” she cut me off. “Uh, Yeah, Okay, why not”.

We carried on with dinner and once we’d finished the boys split the bill and we made our way out to the car. Shannon drove everyone back to mine. I quickly ran inside and up to my room to get my bag. I packed some spare pajamas and my new underwear and the very Christmas-ey lingerie just in case. I also packed some ‘protection’ ‘just in case’ as well. I grabbed every ones gifts and put them in another bag. I leashed up the dogs and made sure I picked up their over night bag too. Once I made sure I had everything I locked the door with my three bags and three dogs. Jared ran out the car and helped me with my bags. I put the dogs in the trunk of the car and my bags in my foot well. I crossed my legs and belted my self in.

“By the time we’d gotten in it was about 10. “Shall we get in our jammies and put on some movies?” Constance asked. “Yes! I love that idea” I sang. Jared showed me into a guest bedroom. He pushed me against the wall, he whispered into my ear “If we had more time I’d rip that dress off of your body and fuck you right now” he leaned in and his soft lips crashed into mine. “All in good time” I said breaking the kiss. He left the room and I walked into the en-suite. I showered quickly and put on my night dress, panties and slippers.

I braided my hair and walked out into the hallway where I ran into Constance who was about to make her way downstairs. We walked down together chatting about our lives and made our way into the dimly lit living room where the boys had already planted themselves.

Constance took a spot on the armchair (that she claimed whenever she was round Jared’s house) and wrapped herself up in the fur blanket that was on the back of it. So I was left to sit in between the boys who were also covered with blankets. They opened up their blankets so I could sit in between them and covered me as well as themselves. I leaned into Shannon who put his arm over me and I put my legs onto Jared who stoked them every so softly. Jared put on the first movie. Whilst it was playing I looked around at these faces that made me so happy. It was the first Christmas where I didn’t have to spend it alone with the dogs. Speaking of the dogs, Blue had made his way onto Constance’s lap. “Blue, no, get down you are too big” I tried to tell him. “He’s fine. Y/N. Honestly. He’s lovely” she defended him. “Okay but if he starts to squish you just roll him off” I laughed. We continued watching the movie. Shannon’s hand was roaming my body. Caressing my boobs and thigh under the blankets . Sending tingles right through me.

Once the movie had finished another one followed. While Constance picked another festive themed movie he slid his hand down into my panties and slowly started rubbing my clit. I froze not knowing what to do. His mother’s back was about 10 feet away from us. I was definitely tingling. His hands doing all the right things. He withdrew his hand as Constance came to turn the light back off and sat back in her chair. Once her concentration was back on the TV his concentration was back on my sweet spot. Like I said to Jared, it had been 5 years since I’d been intimate with someone so this was turning me on.. Majorly.. he used his middle finger to sweep up through my wetness and used it to help his finger glide effortlessly around my sensitive bud. I saw Jared smiling. I knew he knew what was going on under the thick faux fur blankets as he quickly sprung into action and pulled me a little closer to him using my legs. His hand swiftly pulled my panties down to my ankles then off. He slid them down the side of the sofa. His hand now rushing to my burning core. He was using my arousal to slowly ease his fingers into me. My eyes rolling back slightly at the pleasure I was receiving from both brothers. Shannon pace met his brothers, slow and steady. Jared fingers working some sort of magic on me. I was trying my hardest not to moan. The build up was rising and my grip on Shannon’s leg tightened. He let out a small chuckle. Constance looked over at us, checking we were okay. The movement under the blanket ceased and they boys managed to look like they were really engaged in the movie. As soon as her head was turned, the movement started again. This time a little faster. Shannon’s hand making my body jerk from time to time and Jared’s making me want to grind down on him. “Shannon I’m close” I whispered. “I’ll be back guys. Can you pause the movie. I have to pee. Too much wine maybe” Constance giggled. ‘Thank fuck, what good timing’ I thought. Without removing himself from me Jared paused the movie and Constance left the room to go and pee in the upstairs bathroom. Once they heard that she was half way up the stairs both of them continued what they had started at a pace that my body couldn’t keep up with. Shannon’s finger stroking just the tip of my sensitive spot and Jared curling his finger up. Almost silent moans escaped my lips as the knot in the pit of my stomach came undone. I was writhing under the pleasure that just their hands were giving me. Imagine what the rest of their bodies could do to me! They allowed me to ride out my orgasm and cleaned up the mess. Just as Shannon leaned over to put the tissues in the bin Constance came back into the room. “Okay, you can play it now” She beamed. Not having a clue as to what has just gone on.

Once the second movie had finished we all went up to bed. After about half an hour. I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about our time on the sofa. It was turning me on again. I decided to put on my Christmas-ey lingerie. I took a selfie in it and started a group chat for me, Shannon and Jared.

I heard a quite rumble of foot steps approaching my door. I sat on the edge of the bed with my legs crossed. The door swung open and they both walked towards me. I stood up and Jared made his way behind me he began to kiss my neck. “We’re gonna treat you real good princess” he breathed sounding somewhat Joker like. Shannon walked over and kissed me, his soft tongue begged at my lips. I allowed him. They both stopped. Jared joined his brother round the front. They both then grabbed an end of the ribbon each and tugged. The ribbon fell to the floor revealing my whole naked body before their eyes. I laid back onto the bed and Shannon was first to pounce. He peppered kisses all the way up my legs. Once Jared was undressed he came and positioned himself behind me. I propped myself up on him. I then opened my legs up to Shannon. He was starting slow and gentle. Like he wanted it to last a lifetime. He was lapping up all of me. “You taste so good baby”. I hummed at the ecstasy. Jared’s hands running up and down the skin on my chest. Goosebumps were forming. “You’re fucking perfect” Jared whispered in my ear, still with his hands flowing all over me. Shannon was thrusting his tongue in and out of me. “Uh, fuck.. Don’t stop. I’m so ready to cum” I squirmed. “No, not yet. You need to cum around one of us” Jared said pulling out the drawer to the table beside the bed. Turns out I didn’t need to bring protection. He had a whole drawer full. They both ripped open the silver foil packets and placed the condoms over themselves and Shannon was now undressing. As they did Jared started with “We’re gonna play a game. We get 30 seconds each to fuck you we have to switch once our 30 seconds is up and you have to try not to cum. Now since Shannon got to taste you, I get to go first”. “I like the sound of this game” I told them. “Good! On all fours Princess”. He teased me, running his dick up and down my entrance flicking my clit with the tip of his finger. Slowly he eased his way in, giving me time to adjust “Holy crap, you’re tight Y/N” he grinned. The first full thrust made me moan. His dick was so long, it hit my g-spot. “Fuck that was powerful” I moaned. “That’s just the tip of the iceberg baby. Right, 30 seconds starts now” another powerful thrust he was pounding me so hard I had to bite the pillow. There’s no way I was gonna make it through this ‘game’. For the full 30 seconds my mouth was connected to the pillow. “Times up” Shannon shouted. He positioned himself behind me and entered me. His dick was wider than Jared’s. “Fuck you are tight” Shannon moaned. He began to thrust, he pulled me up by my arms and held them behind my back as he was pounding upwards. I had no pillow to bite into now. I was moaning out loud. Shannon pulled out. I collapsed on the bed. “Right let’s make it 1 minute” Jared said. “Ride me” I climbed on top of his rock hard erection and did as I was told. His hand on my hips guiding me and letting me know what speed to go. As I bounced down he thrust-ed up. “Uh fuck Jared”. Call us Daddy” he demanded. “Fuck Daddy, you feel so good” My legs were beginning to buckle. It was Shannon’s turn. He took me from behind again. “Do you want to be called Daddy too?” I asked in between thrusts. He grabbed my neck “Yes Princess”. He pushed me forwards. “I’m close” Jared was sat in front of me. “Let me suck your dick daddy” I held him in my hand and flung off the condom knowing full well it was going to be Shannon making me cum...This time... I placed him in my mouth and began lick up and down his shaft. I forced him into my mouth. I took him whole. “Good girl” he moaned. I was moaning around him too. I ran my tongue around the tip. He wanted more, but I wanted to tease. He wrapped his hand around my hair and guided me, once again. You could tell the man liked to be the dominant one. Shannon’s hand crept down to my clit. Forcing me to grind down on his dick. I once again moaned around Jared. I could feel it again. The knot in my stomach, it was forming. I was ready to let go. Jared let go of my hair and let me come up for air. “I’m gonna cum” Jared’s hand was around my neck forcing me back down. Shannon’s hand rubbing my clit faster and faster. Here it comes. The euphoric feeling was here once again. I was moaning and grinding. Riding out my orgasm on Shannon. “Uh yes baby, I’m gonna cum. Take it like a good girl” Jared released. I licked him up like a lolly pop. Shannon was next to cum. The contractions of my pussy must have sent him over the edge because before I knew it he was draped over me and his movements grew sloppier.

“Will you both stay the night?” I asked them. They both agreed. We cleaned ourselves up and got into bed. I had a gorgeous man either side of me. Before we drifted off to sleep I said “I’ve never had a threesome before and I think that’s the most non-vanilla thing I have ever done. Thank you” They both giggled and snuggled up to me. We all fell asleep straight away.

I was the first to wake. I gave Jared a kiss then Shannon. “Merry Christmas”

I put my night dress back on and the boys dressed back in their pajamas. There was a delicious smell coming from downstairs. “Mom must have made breakfast” Jared said to Shannon. We walked down together. “Morning everyone Merry Christmas” Constance greeted us. “Morning, Merry Christmas” We said in unison. We sat at the breakfast table and ate together. “Shall we take the dogs on a Christmas walk?” She suggested. “Great idea” I enthused. We finished up at breakfast and got dressed. I opted for a Christmas sweater and leggings and threw on my old hiking boots.

I looked in my overnight bag and found some nice socks that felt Christmas-ey too. After we were all dressed we met down stairs and left for our walk. Jared lived in a very wooded area it was beautiful. I offered for Constance to hold the leash of Blue as both of them seem to have bonded. Jared had Tank and I had Nellie. Jared took my hand whist his mom and brother were talking in front of us. “Did you sleep well?” he asked. “Yes thank you. Plus I woke up to the two of the most gorgeous men on the planet by my side... sides..?” I giggled then placed my head on his shoulder. He let go of my hand and placed his arm around me, whist mine found its way around his waist. Constance turned around. “If people didn’t know better, they’d think you two were dating” We chuckled at her comment. “She’d struggle to choose between us” Jared joked back.

Once we were back from our walk the boys went off to do something together. I stayed with Constance in the kitchen. “Can I help?” I asked her. “Sure” she smiled and handed me a bowl of cake batter. “So how come you’re here for Christmas? What’s your story sweetie?” she sparked some conversation. “I don’t have family from around here and my story. Well, I wasn’t the best kid. So I left, not wanting to cause my folks any trouble. I was sofa surfing for a while. Then the charity I work for now actually helped me out and I got a job with them. I am now a manager for some of the projects which is how I got to know your lovely boys. I was going to spend Christmas alone at home with the dogs and a bottle or two of wine, but the offer came up to spend it with you three. I hope that’s okay?” I basically told her my life story. “Oh honey, You know. I think you’ve changed for the better. You actually sound like my boys. When they were growing up I didn’t have a clue what they were up to. Then they found music to occupy themselves and managed to turn it into their career”. Her words actually made me miss having loving parents. I started tearing up. I had to leave, she can’t see me cry. As I walked towards the door when she said “and Y/N, I’m glad you’re spending this day with us” I used my sleeve to quickly wipe the tears away and turned back to her. I rushed over and gave her a big hug. “Thank you” I whispered in her ear, my voice broke. She squeezed me. Deep down I think she knew how much I needed this hug.

“I’m gonna take a bath and cool off if that’s okay? Thank you for letting me help in the kitchen” “No problem. I’ll see you at dinner time” she smiled. I ran up to my room and started to run the bath in the joining bathroom. I removed my clothes and stepped into the tub full of water. I slid down and felt the water rush over my face. I slid back up and watched the steam dance around the room. A figure appeared at the doorway. It was Shannon. “Hey beautiful, mom said you were a bit upset. So I’ve come to see how you are”. He walked towards me and sat on the edge of the tub. “Your mom is so nice. To be honest I miss having my family around” I admitted. “Pass me the shampoo” I passed him the bottle “ In time I hope Jared and me can be your family” he proposed. “I’d like that” I accepted. Not another word was spoken. He was so sweet. He washed my hair and helped dry me off. As I got dressed Shannon sat on the bed just watching me. I put my hair in a bun and basic make up.

“I’m gonna see how every one’s doing downstairs. Don’t want them talking do we” he chuckled as he pulled me in close, then kissed the tip of my nose.

Shannon slipped out of the room and joined his brother in the living room. I was close behind. I walked in on them both chatting away to each other.

Jared was seated on the floor and his older brother on the sofa. I sat in between them Jared grabbed my feet and took off my slippers and started giving me a foot rub. I sank into the chair. “Best Christmas ever!” I laughed. “Dinner!” Constance shouted from the kitchen. We all sat at the dining table. “I just wanna say thank you for all putting in a little time to help me today” she said sincerely. “Dig in” she added. After the meal we all sat on the couches once again. Stuffed. I was squished in between the boys again. “I’ve said it once but I’ve got to say it again. Best Christmas ever. Thank you” We spent the rest of the night laughing, drinking and having a very Merry Christmas.

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Chapter 8

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Tag List:

@shannonfreakingleto

@meghan12151977

@pheenixpeterson

@blondiefrommars

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#Bright Lights Big City Series #BLBCSeries #gottalovetheletos #jared leto #jaredleto #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fanfiction #jared leto imagine #shannon leto #shannonleto #shannon leto fanfic #shannon leto fanfiction #shannon leto imagine #jared leto smut #shannon leto smut

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raendown · 7 years

Link

Hey guys remember when I actually paid attention to this collection?? @carnivorousgekkou I have no self control...

Pairing: TobiramaKagami Word count: 2365 Soulmate au: The one where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your arm at birth

Follow the link of read it under the cut!

Chapter 94 - Tobirama/Kagami

Sometimes coming from a rather large family was a good thing, like while he was going through school and there had been literally dozens of cousins happy to help him out whenever he was a little short on his bills. Other times having a family as big as his own was extremely annoying, like when one of them decided to bother him about his soul words and the rest of them picked up on the idea as well, nattering at him one by one until he felt as though he might throw his phone against the wall if he got one single more text from any of them.

Kagami loved his family, he truly did, but the Uchiha as a whole were even nosier than a group of bored old ladies. If he had to fend off one more question about whether or not he had met his soulmate he was likely to go mad. And seeing as how most of his friends already thought he was mad for various reasons – usually his propensity for playing with fire – that wasn’t likely to endear him to his soulmate if he ever did manage to find them.

Blowing out a heavy sigh that spoke loudly of exasperation, Kagami turned off his cellphone and flopped down on the bed, dragging his laptop on to his belly and waking up the screen. His fingers skated over the flat mousepad, going for the messaging system by sheer muscle memory. If there was anything that was likely to cure his bad mood it would be talking to his best friend. Kagami just hoped he was online.

The day appeared immediately brighter at the sight of the little green dot next to his friend’s username.

Spitfire: Hey, remember how we were joking the other day about you taking a job as an assassin? Can I be your first client? I’d like you to kill my entire family please.

SeTo: As willing as I am to go to jail for your sake, I’m afraid I just took a job in another city so I’m a bit busy at the moment. Raincheck on the murder?

Spitfire: Ugh. Fine. Where’s the new job?

Already feeling the tension ease from his shoulders, Kagami settled farther down in to the pillows on his bed. He might not know much of anything personal about “SeTo”, not even the guy’s real name, but he felt more connected to him than anyone he had ever met in real life. They had met playing some online game that neither of them had really liked, only playing it at the behest of others, and Kagami had nearly pissed himself laughing reading the chat as his soon-to-be friend floundered just as hard as he was doing.

Nowadays all of their interactions were through a messaging app he had installed solely for speaking with this man. The only thing he knew about SeTo’s personal life was that he travelled a lot for his job as a stunt man. An honest to god stunt man. As if Kagami needed any more reasons to think this guy was cool.

SeTo: Back in my hometown, actually. I haven’t been back to Konoha in a while. Give it half a week and I’ll probably want to kill my family as much as you want to kill yours.

An unintelligible noise escaped Kagami’s throat as he sat bolt upright on the bed, sending his laptop flying and forcing him to scramble to catch it before any terrible accidents could happen. Then he stared at his screen in unadulterated shock. When he typed out a frantic reply his fingers were nearly shaking with excitement.

Spitfire: Are you fucking serious? Where in Konoha!?!

SeTo: The east end…why?

Spitfire: Fuck me sideways! I live in the east end of Konoha!!!

SeTo: Seriously? That’s…unexpected.

Spitfire: Please tell me you wouldn’t be creeped out by the idea of meeting up somewhere! We have to! It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity!

It seemed as though it took his friend ages to answer and Kagami held his breath the entire time. When another message finally came through he almost shoved his nose in to the screen in his eagerness to read it.

SeTo: I would like that.

Spitfire: YUSSS! I mean...uh…insert normal reaction here.

SeTo: I won’t be flying out for another couple of weeks. Filming won’t start until sometime in the new year but we do have to start training several months before the shoot.

Spitfire: This is so cool. So. Cool. I can’t believe I’m gonna get to see your dumb face.

SeTo: Yes, please do try not to go blind upon first sight. I shall endeavor to return the favor.

Spitfire: AND! You know you’re gonna have to tell me your actual name now, right? Should I be this stupidly excited? Who cares! I am anyway!

SeTo: If you don’t calm down you run the risk of getting me excited about this too.

Spitfire: Heaven forbid, you block of ice. ;P

Carefully setting his laptop down on the bed, Kagami leaped up in to the air and pumped both of his fists wildly, shouting wordlessly at the top of his lungs. He could hardly believe that in just a couple of weeks SeTo would be standing before him. He was actually going to meet the best friend he’d ever had in person for the very first time. It felt like Christmas and his birthday had both come early.

The two of them chatted late in to the night, just the same as they usually did, and it was hardly the first time that Kagami signed off with a stupid grin nearly cracking his face in half. What was new was the tiny little nugget of information that he whispered to himself over and over again, filling up the darkness of the room with it.

“Tobirama,” he whispered to the empty air. “His name is Tobirama.”

Bringing his arm up in front of his face, he traced the letters that he couldn’t see but knew the location of off by heart. Golden and written in an elegant, patient script, his soul words had bothered him for many years for one simple reason: the nagging feeling he had that he should have met them a long time ago. Despite how many friends he had, Kagami had always felt strangely alone. Somehow, however, with the knowledge that he would soon be meeting Tobirama, he didn’t feel so alone anymore.

Now he fingered the letters of ‘I could say the same of you’ and for once didn’t even bother to wonder what they could mean. All he could think was that waiting for a soulmate would be so much easier with Tobirama in his life, even if only for a few brief months.

For someone as excitable as him two weeks was a long time to wait and by the time the day finally rolled around that they had set for their meeting he felt as though the sheer anticipation was likely to give him a heart attack. He had exchanged cell numbers with Tobirama several days before, switching their endless conversations from the app on his computer to long strings of text messages, and even now he turned the device over and over in his hands, reading his friend’s last message obsessively.

His friend had actually landed in Konoha yesterday but of course he would want to see his family first. Evidently he had three brothers who lived barely twenty minutes from Kagami’s own apartment and his texts last night had been filled with piteous please for rescue from their overzealous hugs.

Now they were meeting at a coffee shop halfway between them and Kagami couldn’t stop squirming in his seat, filled with impatience. Every person who came through the door had him sitting up straighter in his chair only to slump back down with disappointment. In his excitement he had actually shown up more than a half hour before the time they had agreed upon and he had long since finished the coffee he’d ordered. Now all he had for entertainment was the screen of his phone, unlocked to show the text from Tobirama saying that he was on his way.

A jingling sound perked him up and Kagami whipped his head around to see who had just walked in the door. Suddenly he was glad he was finished his coffee for surely he would have choked on it upon first sight of the sculpted god that had just walked in the door.

Mr. Actual Adonis was looking around curiously and as he turned his head to the left Kagami ducked his own before he could be caught staring. He raised his phone and let his thumbs fly over the keys to send a text.

You better get here soon. I swear to god the hottest guy I’ve ever seen just walked through the door.

Pressing send, he peeked up at the god in the doorway again only to watch him frown lightly and reach for his own phone. He cocked his head, apparently reading a text, and then his eyebrows immediately shot upwards. A smile was blossoming on his face as he typed out a reply.

Less than a full second later Kagami’s phone buzzed and forced him to look away. When he checked the screen it appeared Tobirama had replied.

That would be me, Kagami.

Face aflame, his head shot up once more to see the man in the doorway making another sweep of the room. Only this time there was a delectable looking sly smirk raising the corners of his lips. Before Kagami had time to duck for cover again the man looked directly at him and paused, holding eye contact and slowly tilted his head to one side. Kagami’s face felt like it was about to melt off from the sheer heat of his blush.

Tobirama – because apparently the god in the doorway was actually Tobirama, proving once again how unfair the world was – walked towards him with steps that could only be described as a prowl. Dropping his phone on to the table, Kagami covered his face with both hands and sank down in to his seat. Of course he would embarrass himself literally the moment they met. Of course! He’d been hoping for his awkward dorkiness to wait at least through the first five minutes but apparently his bad luck was out in full force today. When light footsteps stopped right next to him Kagami shook his head and refused to uncover his face.

He nearly leaped out of his seat with shock as a deep voice rumbled right next to his ear in almost an intimate whisper.

“I could say the same of you,” Tobirama confessed to him quietly.

By themselves those words would have shocked him quite enough. What made Kagami go rigid, however, was the warm sensation rippling across the skin of his forearm and the silent ringing so deep inside him it could only be coming from his very soul. Shock made him drop his hands and gape up at Tobirama with wide eyes.

“You’ve been my soulmate this whole time!?” he demanded. Tobirama blinked down at him, blinked at his own arm, and then blinked at him again.

“I…oh.” For a moment they both sat there and stared at each other wordlessly. Then suddenly Tobirama began to laugh, the very sound of it sending shivers down Kagami’s spine. “I should have seen that coming. Of all the people I’ve ever known that phrase could be for no one but you.”

“Wow…wow…I can’t tell if I’m happy or embarrassed but it’s probably both so if I die from blushing too hard please do not resuscitate me.” Kagami snapped his jaws shut before he could really get on to a roll and babble the whole day away as he was wont to do. The heat in his cheeks didn’t seem to be even close to abating and neither was Tobirama’s smirk. He whimpered as the other man cleared his throat and lowered himself in to a seat adjacent to Kagami’s.

“Can’t say I was expecting this, although I also can’t say that I am disappointed in any way.” He leaned back in his chair casually, eyes running up and down Kagami’s form in an openly appreciative manner. “Maybe Anija was right; I really should have come home a long time ago.”

“How are you not running for the hills right now?” Kagami demanded. Tobirama chuckled.

“And what would I be running from, pray tell? My incredibly attractive soulmate? Who has the most adorable blush I’ve ever seen and also happens to already be my closest friend? Oh yes, that does sound scary.”

Kagami shifted in his seat, pressing both hands to his cheeks with a very real fear that they were glowing brightly enough to blind unsuspecting passersby. A tremble passed through his limbs when his companion reached out a hand to cover one of his own, gently pulling it away from his face. One simple touch and he could already feel his heartbeat rewriting its patterns, the entirety of his existence shifting. Quite suddenly nothing in this world mattered like the man sitting with him.

“If it’s alright with you,” Tobirama murmured, lowering their still connected hands to the table, “I think I’m rather happy right where I am now.”

“Wow,” Kagami breathed again, hardly able to believe his luck.

It probably wasn’t very often that one got to make friends with one’s soulmate before discovering the connection and he felt incredibly lucky to have done so. While there were still a hundred things he didn’t know about this man he already knew that they were perfect for each other just from the hundreds of pointless conversations they’d had over the years. And from the moment he had laid eyes on him a whole new world of possibilities had opened up, the kind of desire he’d only read about in terrible romances filling him to the brim.

As excited as he was to see where they would go, however, he had to agree with his soulmate. He was rather happy right where he was.

#soulmate collection #rae writes #tobikaga #tobirama #kagami #fanfiction #naruto shippuden

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simmonsjosephine1991 · 4 years

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How 2 Stop Divorce

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#Save A Toxic Relationship Wonderful Useful Ideas #Can I Stop Paying Mortgage During Divorce

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foreversillythings · 7 years

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roses are red, roses are white chapter three

This took way longer to finish then I thought it would, I hope it was worth the wait! Thank you for reading and Happy Gadge Day!! :)

chapter two

roses are red, roses are white part one now rises the sun of york chapter three the fool of hearts

The very next day, Madge is woken early by a maid.

“What is it?” she asks, head thudding a bit from too much wine.

“The Duke requested I wake you, my lady, as he wishes you to prepare to leave as soon as possible.”

For a moment Madge is confused. The Duke? Oh. Cold realization washes over her and the maid means Haymitch. Though still Earl of Warwick, marriage to her mother has also made him Duke of Clarence, a far more impressive title, not to mention one with royal connections.

“Did the Duke mention where we’d be going?” she asks, the word Duke tasting sour on her tongue. The maid shakes her head.

“No, my lady.”

Madge sighs and collapses back into bed, frowning into her pillow.

Officially my step-father and still, he is determined to keep me in the dark.

Dressed in her one traveling gown and with her things packed, Madge breaks her fast with her mother, still with no idea where they’re going.

“Has he mentioned to you where he’s taking us?” she asks as she nibbles on bread and Margaret shakes her head.

“I haven’t seen him since the feast last night and he didn’t say a word about leaving.”

Madge is both pleased her mother and Haymitch spent the night apart and beyond aggravated that he won’t even trust his wife with their travel plans. She settles on a mild frown. I suppose I should have expected that this would be no marriage of equals. Her mother sighs tiredly and forces down some cheese, last night’s festivities having clearly taken their toll. Madge bites her lip, worried as she always seems to be lately and then Lord Haymitch himself decides to grace them with his presence. Her mother immediately stands to greet him, Madge following much more reluctantly. They curtsy and he nods to them, a harried look on his face. He seems distracted and Madge wonders what could have him so on edge.

“Greetings, my lord husband,” her mother says and Haymitch’s face twitches.

“Are you packed and ready?” he asks, tone impatient. Madge feels herself bristling.

“Yes, we are both ready to leave whenever you wish it,” her mother answers and he nods again. Madge cannot help but admire her mother’s skill, showing not a single sign of ruffled feathers at Haymitch’s snappish mood.

“Good. You’ll be moving to Warwick Castle immediately,” Haymitch commands and Madge barely restrains her frown. She’d figured he was probably sending them away to one of his properties, but she’d been holding out hope that it would be one of the castles he’d gained from her mother, something at least familiar to Madge. Instead they are headed to the very seat of Haymitch’s power.

“Will you not be accompanying us?” her mother asks and Haymitch shakes his head, just a hint of frustration washing over his face.

“No, there is much too much to do here,” he says and Madge feels her interest rise. “I will join you when I’m able. Marvel will escort you.”

Madge feels her stomach drop.

Not Marvel, anyone but Marvel.

Her mother nods like this is perfectly agreeable and so does Madge, even as she wants to scream. Her step-brother is the last person she wants to spend any time with, and certainly not a long journey followed by close quarters in Warwick Castle with no one else to distract him. As much as she hates London, hates Westminster, she’d much rather stay here and find out what’s gotten under Haymitch’s skin than be banished away to Warwickshire with Marvel as company.

But of course, Madge won’t be getting what she wants.

She never does.

They’re loaded into a litter and Haymitch does not come to see them off, stalks away with murmured apologies, but there’s just so much to do.

Marvel is waiting for them in the courtyard, dressed in fine velvet that must be roasting him in the summer sun. He mounts his horse, his black cape threaded through with silver swinging around him dramatically and his hat, decorated with a bejeweled peacock feathers, glittering. He pulls on his gloves and Madge rolls her eyes. He is certainly overdressed. She goes to settle back into her seat when she sees him, Gale of Salisbury, exiting the castle and moving towards Marvel. She narrows her eyes and watches them converse, her own vow from last night echoing in her ears.

One day, Gale of Salisbury, you will love me.

Just as the carriage starts to lurch forward, Madge leans out the window.

“Fare thee well Lord Gale!” she calls, waving her handkerchief at him. He turns to her with wide, confused eyes and Madge smiles as brightly as she’s able. He is used to her being polite when they are forced to interact, but this, her being cheery and friendly when she could so easily ignore him and no one would care, this he cannot understand. He does not answer, probably cannot, but he watches her as the carriage pulls farther away, never once looks away.

It isn’t much, not yet, but it’s a start.

Madge looks out the window at Warwick Castle as they roll through its gates and only one thought comes to mind.

This is not home.

Marvel helps her dismount, somehow managing to pull her flush against him as she steps down. He doesn’t let go, holding onto her for an uncomfortably long time and Madge begins to wonder how to politely extricate herself when her mother nearly trips down the carriage steps, forcing Marvel to release Madge and attend to his step-mother. He takes her mother by the arm and then thrusts his elbow at Madge, something she takes with barely concealed reluctance.

“Welcome to Warwick Castle!” he bellows and Madge looks up at the imposing castle, her blood chilling. “And now, allow me to give you a tour.”

Madge peeks over at her mother, tired and swaying on her feet. She turns back to Marvel.

“Actually, would you mind terribly, my good lord, if we went to rest until dinner? The ride has exhausted me.”

Marvel looks down at her and for a moment she is afraid he’ll refuse.

“Ah yes, of course. Women are so delicate, so fragile,” he says with a smile and reaches out to stroke her cheek. Madge feels a shudder trying to beat its way up her back and forces it down. She plasters on a smile and can feel it twitching in the corners.

“Thank you for understanding,” she manages. He claps his hands to summon the servants.

“Show the ladies to their rooms,” he orders. They do just that and Madge dismisses those who wish to help her unpack. She collapses face first onto the bed and tries, at least for the moment, to pretend she is somewhere safe.

(she can’t help but wonder if she’ll ever be safe again)

The bed sheets are cool, but she knows body heat will change that. As for the rest of the room…She pulls herself up onto her elbows and looks around, the whole place elegant but lifeless, grey and dull. It is clean, but feels unused, everything from the wall tapestries to the finely carved furniture lacking any brightness or warmth. This does not feel like a room she is meant to feel at home in.

It feels like a guest’s room.

She’ll need flowers, lots of them, maybe some new pillows, even some embroidery to hang on the walls, anything to add a splash of colour. She can’t be sure if this is some game of theirs, to remind her of her place, but Madge won’t bow to it. She will make this room her own.

After all, enough small victories and eventually, she’ll win the war.

Her mother takes dinner upstairs and Madge is left to suffer Marvel’s company alone.

They sit across from each other in the smaller, more intimate dining hall reserved for immediate family and Madge tries not to flinch every time she feels his foot brush up against her leg. He takes the liberty of choosing all her food for her and smiles leeringly. Madge commends herself on not vomiting.

“With all the excitement, I‘ve been away from my properties far too long,” he says with an easy laugh and Madge suppresses a frown. Excitement? Because war and bloodshed are just so very exciting.

“But first I plan to stop at my new properties, gifted to me by the Queen,” he says smugly and Madge supposes she is meant to be impressed. She digs deep to summon up a smile.

“Oh,” she says and winces at her lack of enthusiasm. It turns out not to matter, Marvel much too busy nodding to himself to notice.

“Yes, she has just recently presented me with Stourton Castle in Staffordshire and Clare Castle in Suffolk. I must visit them to ensure they are up to my standards. I tolerate only the best.”

Madge smiles in what she hopes passes for understanding. Marvel reaches across the table to pat her hand.

“I shall be leaving in a day or two,” he says and Madge’s eyes widen in surprised relief, “though do not worry,” he hurries to continue, squeezing her hand, “I am sure we shall not be parted for long.”

Madge smiles, torn between relief and the inevitability of what he’s said.

“I’m sure,” she agrees, because as much as she wishes otherwise, she is sure he’s right.

But at least he’ll be gone soon. Thank the Lord for small mercies.

Madge embroiders by candlelight, shining silver bells ringed in red roses to hang on her walls. She is certain the servants will report it immediately to Haymitch, certain he will order them removed and perhaps burned, just like her banner. If asked, she will plead ignorance, that it was merely because the red contrasted so nicely with the silver.

Madge knows it is contradictory to her aim of winning over these Yorkists, but then, as much as she wishes she were a creature of logic, her emotions have always held greater sway. This little act of rebellion might well undermine her efforts, but hearts so rarely listen to reason.

(and anyway, the red is not for Lancaster)

(it’s for blood)

(and rage)

(and heartbreak)

The next day dawns bright and beautiful and warm, but Madge hardly notices. She spends it entirely in Marvel’s company, his presence casting a pall of darkness over everything. She comforts herself with the knowledge that he’ll soon be gone, just survive a little longer. Just a little longer.

He takes her for a very, very long tour of the gardens, which normally would have been enjoyable, except of course, that she has to spend it with Marvel. He regales her with details of the castle, the gardens and grandiose tales of his family’s glory, some of which she most certainly does not believe.

(one she can believe, on the other hand, is that apparently his ancestor once helped to decapitate King Edward II’s lover Piers Gaveston)

(after all, she knows all about their murderous habits)

He sits her down on a bench and recites poetry, though thankfully not his own. She applauds when necessary and keeps a smile frozen on her face, does her absolute best not to cringe when he reads something about love and then winks at her suggestively. He tucks a flower behind her ear, fingers trailing unnecessarily through her hair and then they’re off again, this time for a tour of the castle itself. He talks so much she’s surprised he hasn’t gone hoarse, fills her head to the brim with stories of his glorious ancestors, all the way from the time of William the Conqueror.

At this point Madge has had enough and feigns heat exhaustion, sagging into his arms and pleading to be brought to bed. He carries her to her chambers, assuring her over and over that she will be well taken care of and chuckling about the fragility of women.

(which he seems to believe is a good thing, most probably because it allows him to play the hero)

(Madge is beginning to wonder how he could possibly have managed to support Katniss, what with all his ideas about the inherent weakness of women)

(she is smart enough not to ask)

He sets her down and she allows all her mother’s ladies to fuss about, pressing cold cloths to her head and fanning her, because anything is better than more time with Marvel. He offers to linger but she waves him away, invents some story about not wanting him to see her in so disheveled a state. He nods and agrees, telling her he does not want “to tarnish the image of your beauty I have in my mind”. Madge barely manages not to gag.

At dinner she is forced to descend to the dining hall, but thankfully her mother joins them, dragging at least part of Marvel’s attention away. He tells them all about his exploits in the war, his heroism and daring, how he apparently won the day nearly single handedly. Madge wonders how Katniss, Gale and Haymitch would feel about this particular retelling.

And then finally the evening ends and Madge is allowed to escape. Marvel informs them that he will be leaving in the morning and her heart soars amid all his apologies. She assures him all is well, that she understands how important he is and allows him to slather kisses all over her hands.

Madge falls into bed with a true, genuine smile on her face.

I have survived King Coriolanus

Survived Queen Katniss’ court

And now Marvel

If I can survive all that

I can survive anything

Madge sees Marvel off in the morning, in a far cheerier mood than she’s been in for quite some time.

“I hope you will not be too distraught without me,” he says, entirely serious, and Madge smiles, her joy eclipsing any annoyance she feels at his words.

“I shall try my best to find a way to survive your absence,” she responds and he nods gravely, squeezing her hands.

“I’ve given strict instructions to the Constable, after all, two women alone is a very dangerous situation.”

Madge doesn’t roll her eyes even though she wants to. She wonders if he’s aware that she and her mother spent most of the war alone and managed just fine. He leans in very close.

“Perhaps a token, to carry me on my way?”

Madge, wanting him gone as soon as possible, plucks a ribbon from her hair and tucks into his glove. He grins and pulls her near, their bodies touching in a way that makes her very uncomfortable. He inhales deeply, nose buried in her hair and she closes her eyes, hoping he moves away soon.

“Sweet, sweet sister,” he croons in her ear and then kisses her cheek, his lips pressing against the corner of her mouth. She stiffens, eyes opening wide, but knows better than to say anything. He finally pulls away and mounts his horse, Madge’s good mood strangled somewhere in her chest. She waves to him as he rides out with his retinue, her stomach clenching when he tosses her a wink. The sun is hot on her head and yet she feels cold, the urge to scrub herself clean bubbling beneath her skin.

He’s gone now, she reassures herself, at least he’s gone now.

(he’ll be back)

(of course, there are still Yorkists everywhere)

(every servant is also an informant, every groom and clerk and lady watching her every move)

(there is no freedom here)

(nor anywhere in England)

(at least not for her)

Two days later, Haymitch comes clattering into the courtyard on his horse.

Madge and her mother greet him in the entrance hall, pretend to all the world that they are pleased to see him. He looks frazzled as he pulls off his gloves, hair windswept and frown lines deep in his face. He sighs and then turns to the Lord Steward waiting just a few steps behind them.

“Ale,” he says shortly, the Lord Steward hurrying off to fetch it and Madge wonders if he’s even noticed the two of them.

“Greetings, my lord husband,” Margaret says and Haymitch finally looks at her. Something about him seems older, which is silly, Madge knows, as it’s only been a week since she’d last saw him.

“I hope you had a pleasant journey,” her mother continues and Haymitch grunts.

“I won’t be staying long,” he informs them, “just until tomorrow.”

Madge blinks in surprise, hardly believing such good fortune. Her mother waits politely for Haymitch to continue.

“I must ride out tomorrow to join the Queen on progress,” he explains and everything becomes so much clearer. No wonder Haymitch has been in such a sour mood. A Royal Progress is usually planned out over several months, not the single week Katniss seems to have allowed.

“Will the Queen be stopping here?” her mother asks and Haymitch shakes his head.

“No. She had wanted to, but we can be assured of my loyalty. It makes much more sense to honour those whose loyalty needs to be guaranteed.”

Her mother nods.

“I won’t be back until at least August, that’s why I’ve come now. I need to make sure everything is properly arranged for my absence.”

Her mother nods like it’s not an insult to suggest she wouldn’t know how to run a castle and Madge forces herself not to bristle. The Steward reappears and hands Haymitch his ale, the cup filled to the brim. Haymitch drinks deeply, almost as if he intends to drain it all, and then turns to Madge.

“I’ve brought you back someone from London. A maid, to do your hair or clean your chambers, or whatever it is you need. She’s waiting outside.”

Haymitch turns to leave before Madge can say anything, not that she knows what she’d say. She watches his departing back, something about this feeling off. Why would he bring her a maid all the way from London? If this girl is just meant to clean her things, would it not have been simpler just to hire a local? Madge steps outside cautiously, uncertainty prickling at her nerves and there she is, the new maid dressed in a ratty traveling cloak and a worn dress, her head turned to the dirt below her feet. She has very dark hair hanging down around her face and Madge can’t get a clear look at her, something in her gut tightening in concern.

“Hello, I’m Lady Madge. My stepfather the Duke informs me that you are to be my new maid,” Madge begins, hoping she sounds welcoming. The girl nods timidly, pale hands clenching into fists in the folds of her dress as she curtsies low, her skirt sweeping the dusty ground.

“May I know your name?” Madge asks and the girl pauses, bending even farther forward so her hair obscures her every feature.

“Anne, my lady,” she whispers and Madge leans forward to hear her better.

“Anne,” she repeats and bites her lip. “It’s a very nice name. I had a friend called Anne once.”

“A friend?” Anne asks, voice thin and terrified.

“Yes, or at least, I always thought of her as a friend. I can’t say what she thought of me,” Madge laughs, trying to make a joke but Anne inhales wetly, as if about to cry. Madge’s eyes widen in alarm.

“Is everything alright?” she asks and Anne buries her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry, my lady, I’m sorry. Please forgive me,” she sobs and Madge shakes her head in bafflement.

“Whatever for?”

Anne doesn’t answer, still in tears, and Madge gently pries her hands from her face.

She gasps and drops Anne’s hands, all of her blood freezing in an instant. I know that face… It’s been years, but still, Madge recognizes her instantly.

“Anne? Anne of Oxford?” she asks in horror and Anne shakes her head.

“It is just Anne now, my lady. My father is a traitor to the crown, and thus he has been attainted. I am no one now.”

Madge shakes her head slowly, feeling sick.

“Lady Madge, the Duchess has requested your presence inside,” someone says from behind her but she doesn’t answer, eyes still trained on Anne.

“Lady Madge?”

The Yorkists have to pay.

I’ll make them pay.

In blood.

Madge is a storm about to explode at the dining table, sits through a meal with Haymitch while lightning crackles in her veins.

How dare they? she thinks, Anne’s voice echoing in her head.

I am no one now

The eleven year old Anne Madge remembers was a bit nervous yes, but she’d smiled easily, laughed, looked alive and happy. The seventeen year old Anne of today was pale and terrified and forced into servitude against her will. Madge doubts Anne choose this career of her own volition, doubts too that Anne will receive fair wages or have the choice to leave and seek employment elsewhere.

This is a punishment. But for what? Her father’s sins?

Be careful Yorkists.

Are you ready to pay for your sins?

Madge returns to her chambers and orders that Anne be brought to her. She waits impatiently, nervously, and dismisses everyone else when Anne is finally brought to her, head downturned and eyes avoiding Madge’s. Anne looks frail and gaunt in the afternoon sun and Madge can feel a cacophony of words swelling on her tongue.

What do I say? What can I say?

“How did…how did this happen?” she finally asks and Anne closes her eyes. A dark shadow crosses her face and Madge digs her nails into her palms, so hard she wouldn’t be surprised if she drew blood.

“My father was fighting for the King, I hadn’t heard from him in so long and then…then the Yorkists came.” Anne’s voice is oddly flat, eerily devoid of emotion and Madge feels a knife digging deep into her gut. “They stormed the castle and took me prisoner; they didn’t even give me a chance to change out of my nightclothes. They wouldn’t tell me what had befallen my father, but it was clear the King had lost. I was brought to London and put in a cell in the Tower. I stayed for months, in the dark, with no news, no idea what was happening. Finally, Lord Haymitch came. He told me my father was a traitor, had been attainted and I was no one now. But he had an offer. I could leave with him, to serve you.” Anne’s voice suddenly becomes small, so quiet Madge can barely make it out, “Anything is better than the dark.”

Madge covers her mouth with her hands and has no idea what to say.

“I apologize, my lady. It is not my place to complain.”

Madge feels a hot fire erupt in her stomach, hatred clogging her veins.

“Do not apologize, Anne, not to me. It is the Yorkists who should be begging your forgiveness.”

Anne looks up at her finally, eyes wide and wet.

“What?”

“They had no right to treat you like a criminal, but then, they had no right to any of this.” Madge steps forward and grabs Anne’s shoulders, squeezing them firmly. “You are Anne of Oxford, no matter what they say. We are both traitors’ daughters, but we are not alone. You will always have an ally in me, a friend.”

Anne’s face crumples and she covers it with her hands, her whole body shaking.

“I…I…I never thought I’d see the sun again, never thought they’d let me out of that dungeon. I…I just…thank you, Madge.” Anne pauses, voice struggling in her throat. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Madge pulls her in for a hug, Anne’s arms clinging to her tightly.

“You won’t be Anne, I promise. We have each other now.”

how could they do this?

how?

weren’t they supposed to be liberating us from evil?

liars

Anne’s tears finally run out and she and Madge sit on the floor, heedless of the dust and dirt. Madge rubs her back and Anne fiddles nervously with a thread from her dress.

“Do you…have you heard of any Lancastrian survivors?” she asks, clearly terrified of the answer. Madge squeezes her hand in reassurance.

“Your father is fine. He’s in Scotland with the King.”

Anne scrunches her dripping eyes shut and presses her forehead to her knees.

“Oh thank goodness, thank goodness,” she sniffles and Madge smiles, happy she has good news to give.

“Were there…any others?” Anne asks quietly and Madge pauses in thought.

“Yes…Brutus, the Duke of…”

“Somerset,” Anne supplies, her tone cold. Madge frowns and looks down at Anne’s hands, curled tight into fists. But then she remembers Christmas, that horrid, wicked Christmas and Lord Brutus with his cruelty, the way he’d dragged that serving boy off with bloodlust thick in his eyes.

(perhaps his survival is not one worth celebrating)

“Also,” she hurries to continue, wanting to blot away the memories, “Boggs, the King’s half-brother and their nephew, Finnick of Richmond, are both in Scotland as well.”

Anne’s whole body shudders as she bursts into tears again, Madge staring at her shock.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Anne wails, “I’m just so relived. I was afraid, so horribly afraid. They’re alright. Thank the Lord, they’re alright.”

Madge takes one of her hands and squeezes it, noticing for the first time the ring she’s wearing. Unlike everything else Anne has on, this ring is beautiful and clearly quite costly. It is a gold band with a sizeable diamond in the center and tiny clusters of sapphires on either side. Madge blinks at it and somehow, Anne must have kept it hidden through her months of captivity.

“I’m sorry,” Anne says again and Madge shakes her head.

“You don’t need to apologize, Anne.”

“Annie,” she interrupts and Madge tilts her head. “If we’re friends, you must call me Annie.”

Madge smiles.

“Annie,” she says and Annie looks up, wiping at her eyes. “We are friends, that I can promise. And I shall pray for your father every night, that the two of you will soon be reunited.”

Annie smiles through her tears and Madge cannot help the pang she feels in her heart, because no matter what she prays, her father will still be lost to her. Perhaps Annie can read her mind, for she wraps an arm around Madge, pulling her close until their heads press together. Madge can feel tears prickling her eyes and frowns.

“I shouldn’t be crying,” she finds herself saying, “I’m sorry.”

Annie shakes her head.

“Don’t be. And thank you, Madge. I shall pray for your family too. Perhaps we shall still have our happy endings.”

My father is dead, Madge thinks, I shall never be happy again. Instead of saying it though, Madge simply hugs Annie close and chooses, at least for this one moment, to believe in a better tomorrow.

Annie stays with her all night, the two of them not quite ready to be alone. They lie together under the covers and Madge keeps a candle burning to stave off the dark, Annie still shrinking from every shadow.

“I’m sorry,” Annie breathes but Madge shakes her head.

“Don’t be.”

Madge tells Annie everything then, all about the war, all that has happened since. Annie listens patiently, squeezes Madge’s hand when tears threaten her voice but never shares her own story. Madge does not mind. She might find comfort in telling, but Annie might find it in forgetting. Madge cannot blame her.

(strangely, even though Madge tells her everything, she omits just one fact)

(one day, Gale of Salisbury, you will love me)

(for some reason, she keeps that to herself)

The next morning Haymitch leaves as promised, loosening Madge’s shackles, if only a little.

She and Annie take a walk in the gardens, though Madge is careful to let Yorkists spies think it is just a lady and her attendant, at least until they‘re out of sight. When they are, they lie back in the grass and try to divine the future from the shapes of the clouds.

“That looks like a rabbit. Aren’t they lucky? Perhaps fortune is soon to favour us,” Annie says and Madge wishes she could believe it.

“I suppose that looks like a boot,” she offers and doesn’t say perhaps we are soon to be crushed underfoot.

“Mm,” Annie agrees, “I think it does.”

At night they sit in her room and embroider, Madge stitching a memorial to her father to hang above her bed. Annie works diligently at what could be a dragon and Madge looks at it curiously. Annie notices and blushes.

“It’s a wyvern,” she explains and Madge shrugs, having never heard of one. “It means valor and protection.”

Oh. Well, Madge can imagine why she might want that.

They could both use all the protection they can get.

(but will it be enough?)

(could anything be enough?)

Madge stands for the fitting of a new travelling gown, her old one starting to fray at the edges.

The tailor measures and pins while Madge’s eyes sweep over her room, the maids busying themselves with cleaning. Or at least, that’s their stated purpose. In reality, they pull back the covers of her bed, reach hands to feel around beneath her mattress, open and riffle through every drawer and cupboard. In their guise of tidying up, they are really searching for signs of disobedience, of subterfuge, of rebellion. Madge pretends not to care as they shake out her pillows, peer behind every tapestry and frown at the red roses hanging on her walls.

The best defense she has right now is that they think her ignorant of their true purpose. They think they’ve fooled her, think she truly believes they’re just cleaning. Madge knows better. There is nothing for them to find, not really, she has made sure of that. Let them pilfer and search and comb over every inch of her chambers. Madge owns nothing incriminating and even if she did, she would never leave it anywhere they could find it. She is part of no conspiracy, has only vague ideas of vengeance. If she were to ever make solid plans, if she ever did join a full blown plot, they would never know.

Madge has no choice but to be one step ahead of these spies at her side.

So she will be.

(how exhausting it is for England, to live in such a state of utter distrust)

June fades into a hazy July and Madge thinks about the Royal Progress, wonders where the Queen and her retinue are now.

At least they’re not here.

Annie and a few of Madge’s other servants have a chamber adjoining hers, just in case she should need them. Some nights, when Madge cannot sleep, specters dripping blood into her dreams, she can hear tears, wretched, heart rending sobs, the kind that make Madge herself want to cry and bawl and wail.

Sometimes, she simply buries her head beneath her pillow and tries not to listen, but most nights Madge rises from bed and sits on the floor, ear pressed to the door between their two rooms. She knows, without having to look inside, that it’s Annie. Even though Annie never speaks about her time in the Tower, even though she tries so hard to act as if nothing is amiss, Madge knows she is lying. Maybe because Madge herself is a liar, every day, smiling, happy, as if her entire world hadn’t burned down into ashes. She thinks, sometimes, of going inside, of holding Annie until the tears stop, of trying to find some words of comfort. But what could she say?

It’s alright? But it isn’t, none of this is alright.

It’ll be okay? But Madge cannot guarantee that, finds it hard to believe that anything will ever be okay again.

I’m here? You’re not alone? But Annie already knows that and clearly, it’s not enough.

In the end, Madge presses her forehead to the door and swears I’ll avenge you Annie, I’ll avenge us all.

Maybe, one day, it will be the Yorkists crying themselves to sleep instead.

At least once every week Madge receives a letter from Marvel, always filled to the brim with self-aggrandizement.

She sighs as she opens the newest one, Annie peering over her shoulder. It is mercifully short, just a bit of bragging about his new castles, the improvements he plans to make and of course, how he would so love a visit from her. Madge rolls her eyes.

“As Master of the North, it is my duty to have the grandest castles I can. Not that anyone here could ever hope to come close to my splendor, but still, I must always strive for more,” Annie reads with barely concealed giggles. Madge gags.

“He’s certainly something,” Annie says and Madge nods with a grimace.

“The North is a wild land, but rest assured, I have tamed it,” she quotes and Annie bites her lip, a smile threatening her face. Madge tears the letter into pieces. “Be glad you haven’t met him,” she tells Annie.

“Oh don’t worry, I am.”

Annie sweeps up the letter fragments with a laugh and Madge closes her eyes, tries to blot out the final few lines, the ones she’d made sure Annie never saw.

I still have your token, sister sweet, and oh how I yearn for more. Come to see me and I promise, I shall make it worth the journey.

Sometimes, Madge fells like she cannot breathe within Warwick’s walls, needs to escape the eyes watching her from every corner. The gardens with their hidden grooves are her only sanctuary; even the chapel filled with spies cataloguing her every move. Nestled between the hedges, Madge feels a little safer, comforted by the illusion of solitude and she and Annie spend most of their days there, embroidering or reading or weaving flowers into necklaces.

On one such day, Madge looks up at the sky, bluer than anything she’s ever seen, and sighs happily.

“I love summer,” she says and Annie nods, a faraway look in her eyes.

“We used to spend most summers at my father’s castle in Essex, near the coast. I loved the sea.”

Her voice is wistful, yearning and Madge reaches over to squeeze her hand.

“Finnick had a castle not too far away,” Annie murmurs and Madge raises her eyebrows in curiosity.

“Oh, did you know him very well?” she asks and Annie looks up at the sun, her eyes reflecting its glow.

“It almost feels like another lifetime now,” she whispers.

It is another lifetime, Madge thinks, a better lifetime.

Once, just after supper, Madge stumbles upon Annie crying. She muffles her tears into a scrap of fabric and the hand wearing the pretty ring she never takes off is cradled next to her heart. Madge freezes, unsure what to do. Annie has not cried in front of her since that first day, keeps her pain carefully hidden.

Oh Annie…

Madge takes tentative steps forward and lightly touches Annie’s shoulder, not wishing to startle her. Annie looks up at her and Madge notices a wyvern in shimmery thread stitched onto her handkerchief. Annie bites into her lip and ducks her head, Madge taking a seat beside her. Neither one of them says anything, but Annie leans against her, body shaking, and Madge wraps her arms around her, hoping that at least for now, this will be enough.

the Yorkists cannot get away with this, they just can’t

August arrives in a golden glow and it would be easy to forget she was a prisoner, locked up tight behind Haymitch’s walls. Her mother seems healthier, strength returning to her; Annie is here, her friendship a greater gift than Madge could have imagined; and the Yorkists exist only peripherally, far off somewhere on their great progress.

Except of course, she cannot forget.

Warwick Castle still does not feel like home, she must still guard her words, must act like Annie is nothing but a maid when anyone else is near, still has no freedom to leave the castle grounds.

It is a gilded cage certainly, but still a cage. She must never forget that.

(how could I?)

In those long, hot days, Madge begins her fight.

She uses Haymitch’s gold to supply her maids with new clothes and furnishings. Her excuse to the Steward is that they need to look their best if they are to serve her, while proper bedding will give them better rest and thus allow them to work harder. She buys tapestries, supposedly for her own room but then hangs them in the servants’ quarters, picks them flowers from the gardens, tips them handsomely from Haymitch’s coffers. She smiles at every servant, from grooms to clerks to cooks, makes a point to learn all their names. She greets them as they pass, asks after them, is sure to thank and compliment them whenever appropriate.

Madge behaved much the same back home at Bedford Castle, has always despised those who treated their servants with disdain or cruelty. They may be paid to serve her, but they are still human, just as much as she is. She would be kind anyway, but now, in this new England, Madge has even more reasons for her actions.

Firstly, these maids are spies, instructed by Haymitch to keep careful watch over her and Madge hopes to win their affection, their loyalty. Underhanded it may be, but she is tired of being watched. She wants them to know that she would be happy to be their friend, if only they would be hers.

Secondly, Annie has been made a servant as punishment for her father’s loyalties. Madge is determined to make this the most comfortable punishment she can.

Haymitch will not win this game. Madge has generosity as her weapon and she will use it.

Let kindness be their downfall.

“If you could go anywhere in the world right now, where would you go?” Annie asks as she helps Madge dress. Faint morning light shines through the window and there are so many possibilities, glittering foreign courts, exotic locales, but in the end, the answer is obvious.

“Home.”

In late September, they finally hear word from Haymitch.

They are breaking their fast when a messenger comes bearing a letter with Haymitch’s seal, the first they’ve heard from him in months. Her mother takes it and pays the courier, all while Madge cannot help the flood of bitterness welling inside of her. It’s a wonder Haymitch even remembered they were here. Her mother breaks the seal and scans the message quickly, a frown carving deep lines into her face.

“What is it?” Madge asks, nerves tightening.

“Lord Haymitch commands us to move south immediately and to take up residence in his castle of Warblington in Hampshire.”

Madge feels her stomach curdle.

“Why?”

“He does not say, but he orders that we do not tarry.”

Orders? Madge wants to spit in frustration, but knows she can’t. Haymitch’s spies stand all around them, would be more than happy to report any misbehavior on her part.

“Can we not go to your castle of Portchester? It too is in Hampshire.”

Her mother shakes her head.

“His orders are that we go to Warblington, so we will. Be ready as soon as you’re able, darling.”

Madge bites her tongue and nods. This is a cruel reminder, but a necessary one.

The Yorkists are still their masters.

(but not for long, Madge vows, not for long)

Warblington Castle is an austere place. Or at least, that’s how it seems to Madge, this new and unfamiliar prison.

Annie helps her unpack and Madge can’t help but wonder what Haymitch is up to. Why move us from Warwick? Why not tell us why? There had been no message awaiting them when they’d arrived and something about this feels secret, dangerous even. Something’s going on, but what? Why Warblington? Why south?

And then it comes to her.

The King is in Scotland and for months there have been rumors that he was planning an invasion. Finally, half a year since he lost his throne, King Coriolanus must be making his bid to reclaim it. That has to be it. Haymitch has moved Madge and her mother as from the action as he can and kept them thoroughly in the dark, all to ensure they can’t rally anyone to the Lancastrian cause.

They’re afraid of us.

Madge drops to her knees and begins to pray. Annie looks over in alarm.

“Madge?”

“The King has invaded,” she says, hands clutching her rosary. Annie doesn’t question how she knows this, she simply kneels beside her and joins Madge in prayer.

Let Lancaster prevail

Let York fall

Please, let us win this fight

Madge had almost forgotten how horrible it is to wait for news.

Every day she hopes for some word from the front, but there is nothing, always nothing. Devoid of any idea of the state of affairs up north, Madge focuses instead on what she’ll do if (when) Lancaster wins. Annie will surely be welcomed back into the fold without issue, after all, she is being held hostage here, obviously against her will, not to mention her father is still alive to vouch for her. Madge’s situation is far more problematic.

Her mother has married Haymitch, the King will no doubt count that as a betrayal of the highest order. Their only hope is to convince the King that they have suffered greatly, have been forced into this arrangement and abused for it. She thinks about starving herself, burning her gowns, beating her skin until it turns black. The King will not believe anything she says, if she cannot show him she was mistreated, he will never forgive her.

It is not a particular appealing prospect, but if it’s a choice between that and survival, Madge knows which one she’d choose.

News does not reach them until November.

A messengers canters into the courtyard, the punishing rainstorm making it impossible to discern whose badge he’s wearing. He drips a puddle in the entrance hall as her mother takes the letter from him, Madge’s whole body swollen with anxious desperation.

Please, let my prayers be answered

Her mother reads it without a single flutter of emotion and Madge thinks she might vomit, so powerful is the panicked curiosity inside her.

“Mother?” she asks, her voice stretched and stressed.

“We are to go to London. Lord Haymitch wishes us to join him at Baynard’s Castle.”

we lost

why do we always lose?

The only positive Madge can find is that Baynard’s is not a royal palace, belongs solely to Haymitch. At least they’re not headed to court. Madge clings to that thought as their carriage trundles through the countryside, squeezes it between her hands.

(of course, if they’re going to London, a trip to court can’t be far off)

It is a fairly mild day for November when they arrive, but to Madge it feels as if a hulking black cloud has covered the sky, blotting out the sun.

Haymitch and Marvel are awaiting them as they roll up to Baynard’s and Madge knows it’s time to don her mask, smiling and so happy to be reunited. Haymitch helps her mother down and Marvel extends his hand to Madge, his smile curdling her stomach. She takes it and does not wince when he squeezes her fingers and then tucks them into the crook of his arm, pulling her much too close to his side. He leads her inside, just behind Haymitch and her mother and Madge is dying to know what happened up north.

“I have asked you to come to London because my cousins are getting married,” Haymitch tells them and Madge bites her lip. Cousins? Does that mean all the rumors about Katniss and Gale are true?

“Rory is going to marry the Duke of Suffolk’s daughter and Vick, the Earl of Pembroke’s,” he continues and Madge blinks. Oh. They are very young though, aren’t they? They can’t be more than twelve and ten. Then again, maybe it’s better this way. They won’t be expected to live together for several years yet, which will give them plenty of time to get to know each other. If I was married off tomorrow, I’d be expected to be a true wife to him in every way, even if he were a complete stranger.

“How wonderful,” her mother says and Madge nods along in agreement. Katniss is shoring up her alliances, using her cousins to solidify bonds of loyalty.

“Yes, it is,” Haymitch agrees, sounding weary. “Before the wedding though, there will be an investment ceremony. The Queen will be bestowing a title on both of them.”

Madge barely restrains her frown. Back to Westminster already?

“The court is currently at Windsor, so we’ll be heading there in a few days.”

Madge breathes a silent sigh of relief.

“Yes, but that’s not all we’re celebrating,” Marvel cuts in with a boast and this is it.

“More glad tidings?” her mother asks and Haymitch frowns even as Marvel smirks.

“Indeed. Coriolanus is right now in our custody, languishing in the Tower.”

Madge’s mouth drops open and Marvel nods, puffing out his chest.

“He invaded with help from Scotland, but Father and I made quick work of his forces. Now the false king is ours. Those that escaped, including Enobaria and their bastard Cato, have fled to France.”

Madge feels as if she is drifting out to sea. King Coriolanus captured? No, it can’t be.

They’ve cut the head right off of Lancaster.

“Bastard?” she asks, desperate to grip onto something solid. Marvel opens his mouth to answer but Haymitch quickly cuts him off.

“Enough Marvel, this is not talk for women.”

“Of course,” Marvel agrees, properly chastised and Madge can feel curiosity burn in her like the sun. What does he mean by bastard? He can’t possibly… Cato is now our only hope, as horrifying a thought as that is. We need him.

This is a disaster.

Madge recognizes Marvel as her best chance at getting information and duly seeks him out. He smiles when she finds him, eyes shining like two perfect emeralds. He opens his arms.

“Ah Madge, how I have missed you.”

Madge stops short of entering his embrace, curious, but not quite that curious.

“Yes, it is lovely to see you again. But what did you mean about Cato being a bastard?”

Marvel frowns.

“My father was right, that is not appropriate talk for women.”

Madge steels herself and then steps closer, placing a hand on his chest.

“Oh, but I’m ever so curious,” she says, looking up at him. His face melts into a grin and he wraps an arm around her, holding her securely against him.

“Well, there are rumors, ones I’m inclined to favour, that Cato is not actually the son of Coriolanus.”

Madge’s eyes go wide.

“What?”

“It took them years to have a child and one cannot blame Enobaria for being less than impressed with her ancient husband. Perhaps he is not even capable anymore,” Marvel chuckles and Madge frowns.

“But who…?”

“Who else? Brutus, the once Duke of Somerset, of course. He is well known as the Queen’s favourite.”

Madge feels the shock reverberate through her. True or not, the Yorkists will encourage these rumors to flourish. It can only help them if people begin to lose faith in the legitimacy of the line of Lancaster. With the King in custody, Cato will be the focus point of rebellion but if the Yorkists can undermine him without lifting a sword…then what?

The rebels turn to Mother. She’s next, isn’t she?

This changes everything.

Lying awake that night, Madge ponders the future.

If only I could find some way to discredit these rumors or stamp them out, but how?

I don’t want to be heir to the throne. We are too vulnerable as is, we cannot afford any more dangers. But what can I do?

I cannot rely on kings or princes or knights, if I want to make it out of this alive, I have only myself.

(and never has Madge felt quite so lonely as she does right now)

I will win Gale’s heart

He is the Queen’s most trusted man, if I have him, I’ll be safe

(he owes me, they all do)

I will spread rumors of my own

If I can convince the people that Cato is truly the King’s son, they will not think to rally around Mother and me

(he is definitely the King’s heir in cruelty)

I will free the King

If I can get him out, the rebels with have their leader back and the Yorkists will be on the defensive

(but how does one rescue a king?)

I’ll find way, I have to. I don’t have a choice

Madge wears a new dress to Rory and Vick’s ceremony, red velvet and gold silk, determined to look her very best. Annie winds her hair into a complicated set of braids and rubies, glittering jewels dotting her wrists, ears, neck and gown. She slaps her cheeks pink and affects her most charming smile, armed and ready to face her prey.

When they arrive at Windsor, Marvel escorts her to the ceremony, swaggering about as if he owns the place. Madge ensures that she has perfect posture and graceful steps, can’t afford a single mistake. Gale of Salisbury won’t go down easy, she knows that, and he is the very first step in her loose plan to take back England for Lancaster. She has no hope of rescuing the King alone, but if she can charm Gale, if she can win him over, she will have more power than almost anyone in England. He is the kingdom’s Lord Constable, charged with its safety and defense, he knows every one of Katniss’ secrets and he is one of the chief Yorkists. With him, Madge could do anything.

I’m coming for you Gale, are you ready?

(and she’d be lying if she said there wasn’t a tiny part of her that relishes the idea of having power over Gale, of someone else being the powerless one)

Marvel helps her to the front of the hall, where the privileged will stand, and Madge smiles pleasantly at everyone they pass. Her mother and Haymitch soon join them, followed closely by Ladies Hazelle, Posy, Primrose and the Duchess Elizabeth. Madge bows her head to them, demurely keeps her eyes down and finally the trumpets sound, the honoured making their appearance.

The Queen leads the procession, dressed in a stately blue gown and a gold mantle trimmed with ermine. She wears a gilded crown and everyone watches as she makes her way to the front of the room, settling in her throne with a stiff back. Then comes the Salisbury boys, Rory and Vick dressed in their very best. Rory looks smart in black velvet woven through with silver while Vick shines in white and gold. Gale follows behind them, his pride making him glow. Madge makes sure to keep her eyes on him as he stands just a step behind the Queen’s throne, hopes her expression is suitably admiring. She doesn’t listen to Katniss’ words, acts as if she is far too enamored of the Queen’s handsome cousin to pay attention. Part way through the ceremony, Gale must feel her eyes on him, for he turns, a confused expression on his face. Their gazes meet for just a moment and then Madge drops hers as if in embarrassment. She looks over at him from the corner of her eye and offers him a shy smile, his brows furrowing.

Gale drags his eyes away when Katniss wraps up the investment ceremony, declaring that Rory is now the Marquess of Dorset and Vick the Marquess of Montagu. Katniss stands, horns blaring again, and leaves, Rory, Vick and Gale following after her. Madge watches Gale bashfully, mulling this new information over in her mind. As Marquesses, Gale’s brothers technically outrank him, even though in practice he is more powerful than any Duke in England save Haymitch. But still, why give the younger Hawthornes such illustrious titles?

Unless, of course, Queen Katniss has something even grander planned for her favourite cousin.

But what?

When she retires that night, Annie is waiting with gossip and rumours gathered from the hallways.

“I’ve heard whispers, that the Queen didn’t just bestow titles on her cousins, but castles too.”

“Oh?” Madge asks, unwinding her hair. Annie nods.

“Corfe Castle in Dorset and Rufus Castle on the Isle of Portland for the new Marquess of Dorset and for his brother, Somerton Castle in Lincolnshire and Gloucester Castle in Gloucestershire.”

Madge bites her lip.

Didn’t Haymitch say something about honouring those whose loyalties were not yet guaranteed? I think this might be doing quite the opposite.

Good

The weddings follow a week later.

Madge dons the same silver gown she wore to her mother’s wedding and knows today will be the perfect opportunity to get a foothold on Gale. He is confused certainly, uncertain of her intentions, but that’s not enough. If she wants him to love her, she must go on the offensive.

It is to be a double wedding held in Windsor’s chapel and Madge takes her seat at the front, sandwiched in between Marvel and her mother. Katniss has a special seat reserved for her, gilded and cushioned with velvet. It reeks of King Coriolanus, this overt display of power and luxury in God’s very own house. Katniss sits in it gingerly and Gale takes the seat right beside her, looking handsome in blue velvet, his chains of office glittering around his neck.

(and that is one thing Madge supposes she should be glad about, that Gale is, without a doubt, a handsome boy)

(if she must woo him, at least he is not ancient or hideous)

Vick and Rory stand at the front of the chapel, awaiting their brides and Madge almost smiles at the sight of them. They wear matching doublets of creamy velvet with fine gold embroidery and white rose badges made up of pearls and gold pinned to the front. They each have a gold circlet on their head, but while Vick looks excited by what’s to come, fidgeting anxiously and bouncing from foot to foot, Rory does a very poor job of concealing his scowl. They’re both so young and she could almost laugh at their opposite reactions. Instead, she looks wistfully over at Gale until the music starts, the two young brides making their appearance.

The Duke of Suffolk escorts his daughter Philippa up the aisle and she looks about Rory’s age, with dark brown hair and a pretty blue gown offset with gold and decorated with jewels. A proudly smiling Earl of Pembroke leads his daughter Petronella, her red hair contrasting oddly with her yellow dress. She might be eight or nine and both girls are handed off to their grooms, the vows they pronounce sounding strange in their child voices. The ceremony ends and Rory kisses Philippa so quickly Madge almost misses it, but poor Vick is so nervous he lands his kiss just beside Petronella’s nose instead of on her lips. His face burns red and Madge winces. Poor Vick.

Both couples make their way out of the chapel and soon everyone joins them, a lavish feast awaiting them. Madge is not given a seat at the head table this time, but she does not mind. This way she has a better vantage point to observe Gale and she sends him many a longing look, hoping the court gossips pick up on it and spread the story as far and wide as they can. Let everyone know just how infatuated I am with the handsome Earl of Salisbury. She can tell by his posture that Gale’s noticed her gaze but he does not acknowledge it until dessert, the servers bringing out individual roses made of marchpane for every guest. He finally looks away from Katniss and over at Madge, who does her best to appear both pleased and nervous. She bites her lip, tucks hair behind her ear and Gale watches her with narrowed eyes, entirely unsure what to make of her.

So far, so good

And then comes the dancing. As usual, Madge suffers through the first with Marvel, his roving hands touching her in all sorts of places they shouldn’t. She tries to ignore it and focuses on the newlyweds, Rory dancing stiffly with a disinterested Philippa and Vick looking down at his feet rather than at Petronella. She smiles faintly before being handed over to Haymitch for the second dance and forces herself to be as pleasant as possible. She dances once each with the two fathers of the brides and then the Duke of Buckingham for the group dance. He is young, perhaps only a year older than her, with a charming smile and very red hair. He is a much better dancer than the Earl of Pembroke and Madge spins around with a laugh, eyes seeking out Gale as she twirls. He is sitting beside Katniss, having only danced the first three dances with his mother and two new sisters-in-law. Madge notices with a thrill of victory that he is watching her and she beams at him, hoping to entice him onto the floor with her.

Vick partners her next, anxious and stumbly and then she’s given to a nervous Thom who refuses to look her in the eye. Madge peeks over at Gale and he’s still watching her, expression inscrutable. Dance with me Gale, dance with me she thinks and maybe he hears those thoughts as he murmurs to Katniss and then stands, heading out onto the floor. Finally! she cheers internally as the dance ends and Gale walks up to her as she curtsies to Thom.

“May I have this dance, Lady Madge?” he asks, voice devoid of any warmth but Madge will not be deterred so easily.

“Yes, of course Lord Gale. I would be delighted,” she answers, suffusing her words with as much joy as she can muster. The music begins and they move well together, their dance not nearly as stiff and awkward as last time. Gale still does not look at her and keeps a healthy distance between them, but progress is still progress.

“I’ve never been to Windsor before, have you?” she asks, somewhat breathless from all the dancing.

“No,” he answers shortly and Madge nods, not at all off put by his standoffish manner.

“I do hope they have a garden here, you know what a big fan I am,” she laughs and Gale continues to look at a point just above her head.

“There is,” he says, “my sister’s dragged me around it many times already. She’s quite impressed.”

Madge gasps and smiles.

“Perhaps you could give me a tour?” she asks excitedly, looking up at him through her lashes. He hesitates, clearly trying to think of an excuse to refuse and Madge leans in a little, their bodies nearly brushing.

“If you’re busy, I could ask Lord Haymitch,” she says with a disappointed sigh, lips pulling down in a pout. He tenses, perhaps the thought of Haymitch reprimanding him for a lack of gallantry filling his mind, and then deflates.

“I suppose I could,” he agrees and she beams, squeezing his hand. He grimaces in his attempt to smile back and Madge is flushed with victory.

Check

Your move Gale of Salisbury

(Gale doesn’t quite understand it, but he finds himself watching Madge of Bedford, his eyes following her whenever she’s in the room. She’s pretty yes, he can’t deny that, but there are plenty of pretty girls at court. Why can’t he look away from her? She’s the enemy, a traitor, a Lancastrian. It doesn’t matter that her dresses always highlight the curves of her waist, it doesn’t matter how well she dances or how she tosses her hair, that bright and shimmering gold.

He hates her, he does.

Often, he finds her watching him back, but she always looks away when he catches her, biting her lip and smiling shyly. He can feel that traitorous tug in his stomach, finds his eyes lingering on her mouth and curses himself. No matter how his body responds, his mind knows the truth. She is up to something, she has to be. There’s no other reason she’d be showing so much interest in him lately. She can’t possibly…she doesn’t, no. It’s impossible.

She may flutter her eyelashes at him and her laughter might be bright and easy, but Gale won’t be fooled. She can smile at him all she wants, can look at him with blue eyes like the summer sky, but he won’t fall into her trap.

Madge of Bedford is dangerous. She has Coriolanus’ blood in her veins, Gale will not forget that.

He can’t)

Madge takes special care the day of her meeting with Gale, carefully considers every item of clothing and the style of her hair.

She settles on her pink dress with the golden rose pattern and Annie does her hair, leaving most of it hanging free except for at the very back of her head, where she weaves in a chain of pink and gold roses. It is cold out but not too cold, so she dons one of her lighter cloaks, the fabric pale purple with silver birds embroidered at the hem.

Annie is clearly suspicious as Madge holds several earrings to her ear before choosing a pair of pretty gold baubles, but Madge does not answer her silent question. She doesn’t know why she’s so reluctant to tell Annie what she’s planning, but it’s like there’s a wall inside of her, forcing her to keep this a secret.

Madge has noticed Gale watching her in the halls, has felt his gaze and she can feel a thrill dance across her skin every time it happens. He does not like her, certainly, but just as she has been forced to admit that he is quite handsome, with his broad shoulders, strong jaw and stunning eyes, so it appears that Gale, quite against his will, admires her looks as well. Madge has never thought of herself as overly beautiful, not even when Marvel waxes poetic about her looks, but Gale’s reluctant interest has kindled a fire in her bones. She is no fool, she knows the surest way to a man’s love is by first capturing his lust and if Gale thinks her pretty, she is that much closer to her ultimate victory. They dab her with rosewater and Madge takes a pair of gloves just in case.

“Well, I’m off then,” she says with faux cheeriness and Annie manages a limp smile. Madge nods and then leaves, unsure why everything about this feels so awkward. Why can’t I just tell her? She shakes her head and heads down to the garden, needs to be focused and ready. She can worry about Annie later.

Gale is waiting for her when she arrives and his posture immediately stiffens when he sees her. Oh Gale, still as determined as ever to hate me, aren’t you? Madge smiles warmly.

“Good day, Sir Gale,” she greets and his face does that odd twitching thing she assumes is his attempt at smiling.

“Hello.”

“I’ve been looking forward to this for days,” she confesses, looking away shyly and he makes a noncommittal noise in his throat.

“Yes well, should we…get started then?” he asks, voice flat as he gestures out at the garden and Madge nods. They head out, a significant gap between them and Madge can’t help but look around in admiration.

“Well…this is the garden,” he offers rather lamely and Madge barely manages not to roll her eyes.

“It’s beautiful,” she says and Gale shrugs. He points out various flowers, trees and bushes and Madge listens intently, nodding along to his words. She moves a little closer as they walk and Gale either doesn’t notice or doesn’t mind, but either way, Madge feels a flare of confidence.

“What’s this?” she asks, looking down at a stone cat resting on a bench. Gale makes a face.

“It was a gift for the Queen.”

“Oh?”

He lets out a pained sigh.

“Based on her badge, it’s a cat.”

He sounds genuinely offended and Madge bites her lip.

“Well, I suppose that makes sense, a cat for Katniss,” she laughs and Gale frowns.

“She didn’t choose it for that. Cats mean courage, vigilance and liberty.”

Madge ducks her head in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I don’t know much about heraldry,” she admits and Gale presses his lips together. “Though I wish I knew more, it’s so interesting that every badge has a meaning. I think you can tell a lot about someone by what badge they choose. You can see what they value, or at least, what they want you to think they value.”

Gale blinks.

“You really find it fascinating?”

Madge nods and she’s not even lying.

“I do, I always have. My father had a bell and I always wondered why.”

The words came out without thought and her smile drops, that great wall of grief she always feels when thinking about her father rising up within her. Gale’s jaw tenses. Madge closes her eyes, her misery mixing with the knowledge that she’s just ruined this whole encounter. Excellent job, our very first attempt and we’ve already blown it.

“It’s said that bells have the power to disperse evil spirits,” Gale says gruffly and Madge looks up at him in surprise. He is determinedly looking in the opposite direction, but Madge feels a smile on her lips. Perhaps I haven’t ruined anything after all.

“And what does a white rose mean?” she asks, Gale’s posture relaxing just slightly.

“Love and faith, charm and innocence.”

“Hmm. It’s impressive you know all of this by heart.”

Gale shrugs and starts walking again. Madge hurries to keep step.

“Not really, it’s easy to remember. I mean, I’ve always found it…interesting.”

Madge smiles.

“It is that. Alright, what’s your badge then?”

“A two headed eagle.”

Why does that sound so familiar? Oh! Thom was wearing that, wasn’t he?

“And what does it mean?” she asks, Gale slowing his pace to match hers. Good, he’s starting to feel at ease.

“Well, all birds represent home and family. A two headed eagle specifically, means a protector.”

“So family means a lot to you, then?”

Gale stops and finally turns to look at her, the silver oceans of his eyes bright and glowing.

“There’s nothing more important,” he says gravely. “It’s my motto too. For Justice and Family.”

“I like that. Most people’s mottos and are all “Glory!” or “For Triumph!” I like that yours has real meaning,” she says softly, looking down bashfully and Gale takes a step back as if alarmed. He clears his throat.

“Yes well, um…”

“Gale! Gale! Gale!”

He and Madge both turn to see little Posy running through the hedges towards them, her harried nurse hurrying after her. Gale softens all over and grins, striding forward to meet his sister. She flings herself at him with a squeal and Gale scoops her up, settling her on his hip. Madge cannot help but stare. This is the Gale she’s only had glimpses of, the Gale without rage or hatred burning bright and hot in his blood. It’s disconcerting.

“You’re in the garden,” Posy accuses and Gale raises an eyebrow.

“I am,” he agrees and Posy pouts.

“You didn’t invite me,” she says and Gale laughs, tweaking her nose.

“How rude of me,” he says and Posy nods fervently.

“You’re mean.”

Her nurse gasps.

“Lady Posy, that is no way to speak to your brother,” she begins but Gale just laughs again.

“I am a bit mean, aren’t I? Well, you’re here now, will you let me make it up to you?”

Posy thinks about it, still glaring at Gale petulantly and that’s when she sees Madge. Her eyes go wide, her unhappiness vanishing.

“Lady Madge!” she calls excitedly and tries to climb out of Gale’s arms. He sets her down, brow furrowed and Madge smiles.

“Hello, Lady Posy,” she says, sweeping into a curtsy. Posy’s face lights up and she drops into her own clumsy curtsy, cheeks pink.

“I want to thank you for that bouquet you gave me a few months ago. It was very beautiful and it made me feel so much better. I told your brother to thank you for me, but I’m so glad I get to do it in person,” Madge says and Posy presses her hands to her cheeks in glee.

“You really liked it?”

“I loved it,” Madge assures her. “And I’m so glad you’re here, it’s always nice to meet someone who loves a garden as much as I do.”

Posy smiles widely.

“I bet you know more about this one than your brother, care to give me a tour?”

Posy nods eagerly and grabs Madge’s hand, dragging her off and already chattering a thousand miles a second. Madge can feel Gale’s eyes on her as they walk away and she turns back slightly to see him. He’s staring at her, expression a mix of confusion and suspicion. But there’s something else, small and barely visible, that tells Madge she has a chance. There’s a softening in Gale’s eyes, just slightly, ever so slightly, eroding his ever present loathing.

I’ve got you now Gale, you just don’t know it yet

(She’s using Posy to get to me, she has to be.

Gale tells himself that over and over again, until the very thought is imprinted against his skull.

She’s a liar and Posy doesn’t matter to her at all.

But still, there’s that tiny, tiny, tiny part of him that says what if she isn’t? Gale doesn’t bother to answer that part of him, because the answer is obvious.

She is)

(she has to be, because how he could he hate someone who made Posy smile like that?)

(he couldn’t)

“I have a special request to make of you.”

Madge looks up at Haymitch in surprise and quails at the serious look on his face. What could he possibly want from me?

“You may not know this, but currently, the Queen’s only lady-in-waiting is her sister Primrose.”

Madge frowns. She hadn’t known that. That was an odd choice wasn’t it? After all, queens were usually served by the relatives of England’s most powerful men and Katniss, as a new monarch who’d won her crown by war and as the first queen regnant, could certainly use all the allies she could get. But by not giving these coveted positions to the wives, sisters and daughters of England’s leading men, she was pushing away allies, instead of gaining them. What was she doing?

“I have managed to convince Her Majesty to allow you to serve her,” Haymitch continues and Madge’s eyes widen.

“I am honoured,” she says automatically and all she can think is it can’t be worse than being Queen Enobaria’s lady.

(I hope)

“Yes, well, that is not all. I would like you, as the Queen’s new lady, to encourage her to accept more ladies into her household. There are many women from noble families that would serve her very well, if only she would allow them.”

There is an edge to Haymitch’s voice and it’s obvious he doesn’t agree with Katniss’ decision to shut out the ladies of court. Just like Madge, he must realize the damage this is doing to their cause. Clearly, he has tried to get her to change her mind, so why is she so adamant?

“I will do my very best, Lord Haymitch, I promise.”

Haymitch nods and he must be very desperate if he’s willing to turn to her for help.

What is Katniss doing?

Madge takes a deep breath before knocking on Katniss’ door.

“Come in,” the Queen’s voice calls and Madge squares her shoulders before entering. Katniss is sitting by the window while Lady Primrose embroiders and Madge drops into a deep curtsy.

“Welcome, Lady Madge,” Primrose says cheerily and Madge stays where she is, awaiting the Queen’s command to rise.

“Thank you, Lady Primrose,” she replies, “it is an honour to be here.”

“Prim, you must call me Prim. We are family now, after all. And please stand up.”

Madge hesitates for a moment, unsure what to do.

“Yes, please stand,” Katniss says, tone somewhat dull. Madge rises.

“Thank you for allowing me to serve you, your Majesty. I will endeavor to do my very best.”

“I am sure you will,” Katniss says quietly, looking back down at the stack of documents in her lap. Madge blinks. Well, Haymitch did force me on her, it isn’t surprising she’s less than enthusiastic about it. Prim gestures her over and Madge goes, settling down on a seat beside her.

“I am so happy you’re here, it’s a lot of work, being the Queen’s only lady.”

Madge nods, remembering the many ladies Queen Enobaria had attending to her.

“I am happy to be of help,” she says and Prim smiles, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

“We shall make a good team, you and I, I can tell.”

If you could read my mind, I doubt you’d think that

Madge merely smiles in response, her heart squeezing.

(I wonder, would I be the villain in your story?)

A few days later, Madge is alone in Katniss’ chambers when Gale arrives.

“Hey, Katniss are you-oh.”

Madge turns at the sound of his voice. Gale stands half in the room and half out, his hand still holding the door. She smiles and nods to him while Gale quickly tries to turn his look of disappointment into something a little friendlier.

(he does a dismal job)

“Is Katni-” he clears his throat, “Is the Queen here?”

Madge shakes her head.

“She was, but Lord Haymitch had some matter of great importance to discuss.”

Gale frowns.

“We were supposed to go hunting.”

Madge nods and gestures at the outfit she’d been laying out on Katniss’ bed.

“I know. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.”

Gale runs a hand through his hair.

“Right.”

He rocks on his feet, never quite looking at her and it’s obvious he doesn’t want to stay here with her, might leave and wait for Katniss somewhere else. Madge can’t afford to let that happen, can’t squander this opportunity.

“Do you like archery?” she asks, noticing the bow in his hand. He stares at her coldly.

“I wouldn’t hunt with bow and arrow if I didn’t,” he says and Madge barely keeps her smile on. Did your parents never teach you any manners? I really thought we’d made some progress last time…but wait. Maybe we did. Maybe this rudeness is your attempt to compensate for the fact that you don’t really hate me as much as you think you should.

(at least I hope so)

“Perhaps not. I could tell how much the Queen adores it when she spoke of it earlier, it could very well be that you only partake in archery because the Queen enjoys it so.”

Gale turns away to stare out the window.

“I enjoy it just fine,” he says but then his face starts to soften, a smile quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Though I’m not nearly as good as she is, of course. No one is.”

Madge narrows her eyes for a moment and can’t help but wonder if those rumors she’d heard about Gale and Katniss had any truth to them. That is a complication she cannot afford. After all, how is she meant to compete with a queen?

“Well, you must be very good or I doubt the Queen would want you as a partner.”

Gale’s face hardens again and he shrugs.

“I don’t much like hunting,” she says and Gale rolls his eyes, “but I think I would like to learn archery.”

He turns to look at her with skepticism.

“You want to learn archery?”

“Is that really so surprising, Lord Salisbury?” she asks with a smile and Gale spends a moment chewing on his words before seemingly deciding it would be wiser to say nothing. See, we’ve definitely made progress. You never would have shied away from insulting me before.

“Will you go hunting again tomorrow?” she asks and he shakes his head.

“No.”

“Too busy?”

“No, I always make sure to have some time off in the afternoon, lest I go insane.”

Madge nods and then looks down, fingers fidgeting in her skirt.

“Would you…I wouldn’t want to be a bother, but…well, would you be willing to teach me?”

Gale blinks at her.

“It’s just the Queen clearly sets good store by your skills and I cannot imagine there could be any better teacher,” she hurries to continue, peeking up at him shyly.

“You want me to teach you archery?” Gale repeats slowly, as if he must’ve misheard. She nods and Gale shakes his head in disbelief.

He’s already told her he’s available tomorrow, to change his mind now would be an obvious slight. A little while ago, Madge is certain he wouldn’t have cared in the slightest about offending her, but things have changed now. Katniss has been trying hard to convince the rest of the world that Madge and her mother are fully entrenched on the Yorkist side, she would not take kindly to Gale threatening that illusion. Furthermore, Madge has been working hard to chip away at Gale’s rage, even if just a little. She knows he does not like her still, knows he does not trust her, but that’s fine. All she needs is for him to loathe her a little less, to see her and think person I hate rather than enemy. Madge is more than willing to play the long game.

He sighs.

“I suppose I could.”

Madge beams and curtsies.

“Thank you, Sir Gale, thank you.”

He grimaces.

“Yes, well, my…pleasure.”

It will be Gale, I intend to make sure of it.

(She is up to something, she has to be.

Madge has wormed her way into their lives, has somehow even tricked Haymitch into nominating her for a position in Katniss’ household. Whatever power she wields, Gale will not succumb to it. The others may have fallen for her beauty and charm, but Gale will not be so easy.

Marvel may be smitten and Haymitch may think her a dutiful step-daughter, Prim might think her friendly and sweet while Katniss finds her competent and Posy may adore her, but Gale knows better. He can see through Madge of Bedford, all her pretty smiles and perfect manners.

She is a Lancastrian and they never change)

(but should resisting her really be this hard?)

Gale stays true to his word and brings her out to the archery fields, the weather crisp and clear. He demonstrates his own skills first and Madge is genuinely impressed.

“You’re quite good,” she tells him and he shakes his head.

“Katniss has me beat, easily,” he laughs, always more at ease when Katniss is the topic. “Do you want to try?

Madge nods and moves towards him.

“Alright,” he says, “have you ever done this before?”

She shakes her head. Gale nods and hands her the bow before moving around behind her to help her position her arms. He is very close, chest occasionally brushing her back, but she does not feel nearly as uncomfortable as she does when she’s with Marvel. But maybe that’s because Gale is merely trying to help and not making any attempt to grope her inappropriately.

“See, you have to tilt it slightly, not too much, just a bit, there. No, no, hand a little higher, bend your elbow. Not entirely, just a little. Hold it…see? Like this. Good. Alright, I think you might as well give it a try.”

Gale steps back and Madge takes a calming breath. Eyes on the target, you’ve got this. She pulls back the string and releases, her arrow going only a few feet before sinking into the grass. She frowns.

“Well, that was awful.”

“It was your first try, it could have gone worse.”

Madge rolls her eyes.

“Oh, well that’s good to hear. I was terrible, but not as terrible as I could have been. What glowing praise,” she teases and Gale looks at her in surprise, eyebrows slightly raised. He laughs, just once, and then stops suddenly as if shocked by himself. Madge smiles.

“Well,” Gale says, clearing his throat. “Maybe you should try again.”

Madge nods and takes her position. She fires and her arrow goes slightly farther, still falling well short of the target. She frowns.

“Here,” Gale says, coming towards her, “you’re grip isn’t quite right.”

Madge nods and hands him the bow.

“Hold this, will you? I think it’s these gloves, my fingers are too stiff.”

She pulls them off and Gale frowns.

“You could get calluses,” he says and Madge shrugs.

“Better calluses than continual failure, right?”

Gale blinks and then almost smiles, something a little like the beginning of admiration in his eyes.

“Right.”

Madge takes back the bow, assuming position and Gale stares at her hands. At first she thinks he’s just focused on her form, but there’s something else in that look, a question he’s unsure if he should ask.

“Am I doing this right?” she asks and he shakes himself.

“Yes, yes, it’s fine. I was just…you’re always wearing the same three rings,” he says and Madge is surprised he noticed, a hot splash of victory crashing inside of her.

“Most ladies change it up,” he continues somewhat lamely, as if trying to justify his observation. Madge bites her lip and looks down at her hands

“Well, they’re the only ones I brought with me when we left home.”

“I’m sure Haymitch would buy you more, if you wanted.”

“I don’t though, want anymore. These three are special.”

Gale is clearly surprised and Madge smiles wryly. Did you think I was some sort of greedy witch, planning on bleeding Haymitch dry? Which is funny, since half his money is mine.

“This one,” she says, indicating the ruby ring on her left hand, “is from my grandmother, Princess Cecilie of Norway. I never met her, she died before I was born. But I have this, not just to remember her by, but to remember my royal roots, the king’s blood running through my veins.”

“I didn’t know about your grandmother,” he says, sounding slightly uncomfortable and Madge almost smiles. Does it worry you, that I’m more royal than your Queen? Madge stares at her other two rings and knows she should make up a story, something fluffy about how she thought they were pretty. The truth could ruin everything, could thrust her right into the fire. Lie, you have to lie.

(she won’t)

“This was a present from the Earl of Huntingdon, Henry,” she says and holds up her right pinky so Gale can see it. He stares at it and blanches, clearly recognizing Henry’s name.

What are you doing? Stop!

“I was going to marry him,” she continues, voice growing a little harder, “this was a token of his esteem. Of course, we never did marry. Rebels made sure of that.”

Gale stiffens, hands balling into fists.

“He chose to fight,” he says, voice taut and Madge snorts.

“He was fourteen and he had no weapon. But you’re right, he did choose to fight. He chose to fight for his King. At least he died with honour.”

Gale steps back, face so shocked she could have slapped him and Madge takes advantage of his stunned silence to keep going, heedless of the danger she’s putting herself in.

“And this one was a gift from my father, when I was a child. It’s all I have left of him.”

She glares at Gale as she says it, his ire climbing with very word.

“He was a traitor! You should not want to remember him,” he explodes, voice savage enough to draw blood.

“A traitor?” Madge shouts back, hysteria mixing in with her fury. “How is it treason to fight for your sovereign? To honour the oaths you made to him and to God? It is your father that died a traitor!”

(Madge is honestly surprised Gale doesn’t strike her, she knows most in his position would)

“How dare you,” he whispers, voice frigid. His whole body shakes, an angry red creeping up his neck. “My father died to free this country of a tyrant!”

“Your father died fighting his king! He broke his oath and plunged this country into chaos. He betrayed us all.”

“Shut up! You don’t know anything! My father was a hero! He fought to save us, would you really celebrate those that wanted to keep someone as evil as Coriolanus on the throne?”

Madge laughs and shakes her head.

“You ignorant fool. You think you hate the king? You don’t know hate.”

“Excuse me?”

“I hate King Coriolanus far more than you could ever. You never walked his halls in terror, you never watched him execute someone and laugh, you never smiled and curtsied all while knowing he held your life in his hands and would love watching you suffer.”

Gale stares at her with a mixture of horror and outrage but Madge cannot stop, feels almost insane from the anger pounding in her ears.

“You never cursed his every breath as you sat in his hall, never prayed the ceiling would collapse on both your heads so you could be rid of him. Prince Cato never beat you to the floor because you dared to suggest going into Sanctuary. The King did not abandon you and your mother to the Yorkist hordes. Did you ever wonder if you were going to Hell for hating him, did you ever cry yourself to sleep because you thought it an utter betrayal to think him evil?”

Tears start to blur her vision, but still she goes on, years of pent up feelings spewing out of her, her voice rising in pitch and gaining momentum.

“I hate him. I hate him for taking my father from me, for ruining this country, for his wickedness, his cruelty, for abandoning us after everything we did for him. I hate him for the murder and the bloodshed and the fear. I hate him, I hate him because I knew him. Did you know him, Gale? Did you talk with him and walk with him and serve his wife? Did he haunt your every dream and waking moment? Did he reach into your home and drag your father away? Did he make your mother sick and frail? Are you suffering now, still punished for his evil deeds? Because I am.”

She can barely breathe, chest heaving and Gale looks at her in complete disbelief.

“And yet, you still think your father a good man? After supporting a king like that?”

“The best of men. He would have fought for the Yorkists, had he a chance. But he did not. How can you blame men for following their oaths? How can you blame them for remaining loyal? It is all fine and well to call yourselves heroes now, but you were the traitors, you were the rebels. The men of England swore before God to support King Coriolanus. How can you hate them for doing just that? If you had lost, they would have died-”

“Better to die for freedom, than live for oppression,” Gale interrupts and he means it, face set and determined. Madge wants to laugh, wants to cry, could almost admire his convictions if her heart wasn’t seething with rage soaked despair.

“And what of their families? The King wouldn’t have spared anyone. They would lose everything and then their wives and children would have died gruesomely, horrifically. For someone who claims to believe so highly in the bonds of family, you are very quick to condemn others for loving theirs.”

Gale opens his mouth to speak but Madge doesn’t give him the chance.

“And what could my father have done? You would not have welcomed us. The King is my great uncle, you would never have forgiven me that. My parents knew it, knew the King was their only option. And yes, they fought for him. Should I condemn my father? Should I hate him for loving me? Tell me Gale, what would you have done, if your father had chosen the King?”

“He wouldn’t have. He never would have.”

“Maybe you’re right,” she whispers, heart aching. “I’ll give you the moral victory, Gale, if that’s what you want. Lord knows that the House of Lancaster is rotted to the core. But I will never, ever give you my father’s memory. He was a good man, a better one than you could ever hope to be. Hate me Gale, report me to Haymitch and the Queen, lock me away in the Tower forever. I don’t care. But don’t you ever speak ill of my father again.”

She can barely see Gale through her tears and Madge turns, rage and heartbreak weaving through her like a million tiny needles, sewing their suffering into her skin.

I hate you Gale, I hate you so much

Madge runs, flees, gasping for breath she cannot find.

I will never, ever forgive you

(Gale watches Madge leave and feels as if the world has tilted sideways.

No one has ever spoken to him like that, not once in his life.

He is supposed to hate her, despise her and yet, in this moment, he thinks he might just understand her. The pain in her voice when she spoke of her father, he can feel it echoing in his bones, mingling with his own still aching grief. What would he have done if his father had chosen Coriolanus? Could he really have turned against him?

He never would have dreamed that she could hate Coriolanus so much, never would’ve thought she would admit to wanting him dead. He believes her too, knows no one could fake that level of loathing, that fear he could still hear as she spoke of him, the fury crackling through her voice.

What the hell is going on?

Madge of Bedford is supposed to be the enemy. She’s a Lancastrian, she supports that monster Coriolanus, Christ, she’s related to him! He cannot empathize with her. He can’t. She is everything he despises in the world, but as he stares at the empty space she once stood in, he is having a hard time remembering why.

She’s the reason Father’s dead.

Is she? She didn’t fight at Wakefield, she didn’t order her forces to mass there and attack. Coriolanus is the enemy as are his lackeys, like Brutus of Somerset. Madge was sitting at home the whole war. What exactly did she do that was so terrible?

She… she wanted Coriolanus to win!

Of course she did, her father fought on that side.

That’s not an excuse, Coriolanus is a monster, any decent person would support his overthrow.

At the cost of their family? Would I have, if I was in her position?

Gale has never known such turmoil. All Lancastrians are evil, he’s always known that. He’s been raised on the stories of Coriolanus’ atrocities, the cruelties inflicted by his supporters.

Madge never supported any of that. She stood with Lancaster because she had no choice, because of blood and love for her parents.

We did the right thing. We’re not the bad guys. We did what we did for all of England.

Maybe, but you know not everyone on our side was a saint. You were horrified when you heard about Henry Holland, weren’t you? You condemned the men that terrorized Ludlow, all the rapes and murder. If we were the good guys but there were still bad apples on our side, doesn’t it stand to reason that though they were the bad guys, there might still have been good people on their side?

For months now, Gale has been looking at Madge and seeing the enemy, a liar, a coward. But what if she’s none of those things? It took courage to shout at him like that, to admit to her anger and hatred. He can’t blame her for wanting to protect her father’s memory, can he? He would do the same. As for supporting Lancaster…maybe she’s right. Would they have accepted her and her family onto their side? Would they have trusted her, as closely related to the King as she is?

You don’t trust her now, so why would you have then?

Just like him, she holds the other side responsible for her father’s death but unlike him, Madge has at least made an effort to be friendly. Maybe she wasn’t up to something all these months, maybe she was trying to move on.

And maybe, it’s time Gale did too)

Madge runs into her room, slamming the door with so much force Annie jumps in her chair.

“Madge?” she questions, sounding worried but Madge ignores her, rushing into her bedchamber and flinging herself onto the bed. She presses her face into her pillow, her tears soaking into the fabric. Well, that’s it then. I’ve officially ruined everything. Gale will certainly never love me now. I’m sorry Mother, Annie, Father. It looks like I won’t be avenging us after all.

“Madge?” Annie asks again, settling down beside her. “What is it, what’s the matter?”

Madge can’t answer, feels the weight of her failure pushing down on her. What was I supposed to do? Let him attack Henry and Father? They were good people, how I could stand by and let him say those things about them?

Madge is so caught up in her thoughts she doesn’t notice Annie leaving, not until she returns, voice concerned.

“There’s someone here to see you,” she says and Madge forces her head up.

“Who?”

“The Earl of Salisbury.”

Madge blinks. Come to insult me some more? She feels a spiteful urge build inside of her and rises, not bothering to clean her face, after all, she has no reason to try and impress him now. Annie looks at her in surprise but Madge moves past her into the next room where Gale is waiting. He turns at her entrance and winces. That ugly am I?

“Would you give us a moment, Annie?” she asks and Annie frowns before curtsying.

“Of course, my lady,” she says and returns to Madge’s bedchamber, closing the door behind her. Madge does not say anything; she merely looks at Gale, wringing his hat in his hands. The silence is painful but Madge is in no mood to be helpful. If Gale has something to say, he can say it.

“I came here to…apologize.”

Gale won’t look at her and Madge feels her eyes go perfectly round.

“You did?”

He nods.

“Yes. What I said earlier, that wasn’t very fair. I realize now that I’ve been blaming you for a lot of things you had no part in. You did not fight in the war; you did not take my father from me. I have spent a very long time hating Lancaster, but you are not Lancaster,” he says and Madge nods.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re right about Henry Holland, I was horrified about what happened to him. He was just a boy. He shouldn’t have died. You’re right to be angry about that, we should all be angry about that.”

Madge feels her heart lurch and squeezes Henry’s ring around her finger. Gale takes a deep breath and nods.

“I understand how it feels to lose a father; I cannot blame you for missing yours. I didn’t know him and I will never agree with supporting Coriolanus, but…I can understand why he might have done what he did. I don’t know what I would have done in his position, but I cannot fault him for trying to keep his family safe. I shouldn’t have said what I said about him, I’m sorry, Lady Madge. I am sorry too, that I have not made you welcome these last few months. I’ve always said that we fought this war to liberate England, but here I am, treating you like a pariah. I can’t take any of it back, but I hope to do better in the future.” He pauses, thinks for a moment and then nods again. “I should thank you for opening my eyes, Lady Madge. I have been very determined to hate you, to blame you, but I realize now I was out of line.”

He bows and Madge bites her lip, her chest feeling uncomfortably tight. How strange to have a Yorkist apologize. I feel like I’m dreaming.

“Yes you were,” she agrees, wiping at the smudges around her eyes. Gale nods, head still downturned and Madge feels oddly light as her rage drains away. “But so was I.”

Gale looks up in surprise as she continues.

“I let anger get the best of me. I hope you will forgive me.”

“I do, I have,” he says and even though it’s strange, Madge believes him.

“I’m sure your father was a good man,” she says and Gale nods, finally straightening up.

“He was, thank you. Perhaps…we could return to the archery field another time? I didn’t finish your lesson, after all.”

Madge smiles slowly and nods.

“I would like that, Sir Gale.”

”As would I, Lady Madge.”

(and if Madge feels any guilt, buried deep down inside her, well, that’s a secret she’ll never tell)

“What was that about?” Annie asks after Gale leaves and Madge bites her lip, emotions still shaking.

“Nothing. We had a bit of an argument, but it’s fine now.”

“About what?”

“Nothing, just…he doesn’t think I’m very good at archery.”

Madge smiles faintly and Annie frowns, clearly not believing a word of it. Why won’t you just tell her the truth? She must hate the Yorkists as much as you do, she’d probably love to hear about them being made to pay.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” Annie asks and Madge smiles, squeezing her hand.

“Yes, thank you. I’m fine.”

Madge sits down and picks up her embroidery, a clear sign that she’s done with this conversation. Annie continues to watch her and again Madge thinks just tell her.

She doesn’t though, keeps this secret locked up tight.

Why?

(because)

The canopy above her bed is dark, shadows dancing across it in the flickering of her bedside candle. Madge stares up at it and wishes she could get comfortable, but there’s something writhing inside of her, an emotion she can’t afford to have.

This is what I wanted, I can’t fold up now

She tells herself this over and over, but still guilt stings her nerves and turns to lead in her stomach. Gale’s apology fills her ears, hacking away at her resolve and he wasn’t supposed to be sorry.

It doesn’t matter. He can be as sorry as he wants, it doesn’t change who he is.

He forgave me.

For what? I did nothing wrong. He did though, he fought in the war, he condemned my father, brought blood and battles to England. I have every right to hate him.

But if he’s truly sorry?

Sorry won’t bring Father back, it won’t remove Haymitch from our lives, it won’t change what they did to Annie. And he isn’t sorry, not for what matters. He’s sorry I yelled at him; sorry he thought I was a threat, when now he thinks I’m just a silly girl who misses her father. But I’m going to make him truly sorry, I swear.

But he’s right, Coriolanus is evil. If he can’t blame me for loving a father who supported a bad king, can I really hate him for fighting against one?

And what about Annie?

He might not have had anything to do with that.

The Yorkists have to pay. And now they will.

(a conscience, Madge decides, is the wickedest thing of all)

Madge heads to Katniss’ chambers, arms laden with a special delivery. The royal dressmaker had just finished a new, glittering, gem encrusted gown and Madge is almost afraid to hold it, like she might ruin or sully it with her hands. It is gorgeous; truly, the type of dress only a queen could get away with wearing. Katniss will look lovely in it, but then again, Madge is fairly certain anyone would look magnificent in such a finely crafted gown.

“This is not a discussion Katniss!”

Madge stops short just outside the door to the Queen’s audience chamber, surprised at the loud, angry voices drifting from under the door.

“I am the Queen, Mother.”

“Yes and Queens have responsibilities! This is not something you get a choice about. You will do this, whether you like it or not!”

Madge gasps at Duchess Elizabeth’s tone and can’t help but wonder what they’re talking about. What is Katniss refusing to do?

“Where are you going? Katniss!”

Madge’s eyes widen and she hurries away, well aware that the price for being caught will be far too steep.

And really, she’s heard enough.

(cracks are beginning to show)

(it will be Madge’s job to widen them)

Gale does take her back to the archery field and there’s an air of awkwardness between them, an invisible barrier wedged between them. Madge wishes she knew how to surmount it, but Gale is distant, not in a rude way, but almost like he’s afraid to upset her, like he’s trying as hard as he can be to be polite. This is no good. He’s traded hatred for fear. Madge watches him as he picks up her scattered arrows and chews on her lip. What do I say? How do we get past this?

“Do you want to try again?” he asks and Madge feels a lump forming in her chest, like a rock has replaced her heart.

“I’m happy we’re doing this,” she blurts and Gale stares at her in surprise. “I know it may seem hard to believe, after what I said, but I really do want us to get along.”

Gale nods slowly and steps back a bit, sinking down onto a nearby tree stump. Madge interweaves her fingers and squeezes.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but so do I. I fought hard against Haymitch’s marriage to your mother, I couldn’t understand how anyone would want that, Coriolanus’ niece as a wife. I know she’s rich, I know she has many lands and a title, but still. I suppose that was another thing I was wrong about.”

“I didn’t want it either,” Madge admits, catching him off guard. “I was furious. But now…I’m glad.”

“You are?”

“I never had a big family and now I do. Haymitch treats my mother well, treats us both well. I will always miss my father, but I’m happy too, to be your family.”

Her voice lowers as she says it, quite against her will and Gale just looks at her, looks at her in a way that makes her stomach tie itself into knots. What’s happening to me? He smiles then, the kind of fresh, young smile that makes her knees feel weak.

“So am I,” he says and she feels that guilt again, like ice in her veins. He’s…he’s the enemy. There’s nothing to feel bad about. The wind picks up and Madge seizes the opportunity to turn away from him.

“Perhaps we should go back inside before we freeze,” she says, fingers starting to numb. Gale nods and offers her his arm. She takes it and her skin prickles all over, straight down to her toes.

“You’re getting better,” he assures her and she manages a grin.

“Who knows, maybe I’ll soon be better than you.”

Gale laughs and Madge knows she should be proud. He despised her only months ago and now look; one might almost call them friends.

this is wrong whispers the voice in her head, sounding strangely like Annie.

the whole world is wrong she whispers back.

“You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with the Earl of Salisbury,” Annie comments during their nightly session of embroidery and Madge shrugs.

“Have I? Well, we are cousins now, aren’t we? It can’t hurt to get to know him better.”

Annie narrows her eyes but doesn’t say anything and neither does Madge.

(Why? Well, that’s a question Madge doesn’t want to examine too closely)

Defeat though, is always just around the corner.

She has been hitting wall after wall with Katniss, the obvious distrust she holds her in as grating as it is expected. Madge spends every day smiling, pretending, keeping her feelings bottled up and locked away. The Yorkists are nowhere near as kind. While she does everything that is asked of her without complaint and does her utmost to be the best lady in waiting she can be, the Queen rewards her by behaving as if Madge is doused in poison, as if her mere presence is a threat to the entire kingdom. Madge does not expect them to trust her entirely, does not expect them to love her, but they could at least put on a show, could at least make some effort to disguise their dislike.

Katniss never speaks to Madge except to give her orders and even those come through Prim far more often than they come from Katniss herself. Madge is given the most mundane of tasks, from laying out Katniss’ gowns to acting as scribe for generic thank you notes and boring summons. When anything of even the slightest sensitivity comes up, Katniss always contrives of some reason to send Madge away, usually something as ridiculous as asking the cook what they’ll be having for dinner. She is not allowed to even hold sealed letters containing any real information and anyone who comes to speak to the Queen stares at her with hostile eyes, refusing to utter a word until she is shuffled off.

Madge suffers this with as much graciousness as she can muster, greeting every suspicious envoy and minister politely, diligently performing her tasks and never showing even a hint of annoyance as she is sent on yet another pointless errand. I have never done a thing to any of you. You hate me based solely on the actions of my family. My hands are bloodless, unlike most of yours.

Madge is currently on her way to talk to the Steward to ask if any messages have come for the Queen, even though if they had, he certainly would have sent word immediately. The real reason she’s been sent away is because Haymitch had arrived with urgent eyes, clearly harboring information of some importance. Madge had known instantly what that meant. Maybe, one day, if she does everything right, never complains and always smiles, they will decide she can be trusted.

(she is not holding her breath)

Madge turns a corner and stops in surprise. At the end of the hall is Gale, walking hand and hand with Posy. They’re talking, laughing and he may be the enemy (he is, he is), but at times like these, she could almost forget. She smiles unconsciously and heads towards them. Posy is the first to see her and she beams, skipping forward with renewed enthusiasm.

“Lady Madge!” she calls and Gale looks over at her, the faintest of smiles touching his lips.

“Hello Sir Gale, Lady Posy,” she greets and Gale bows his head.

“Gale’s taking me to the stables! I get to see the ponies!” Posy tells her excitedly and Gale smiles fondly down at his sister, Madge’s heart softening just a bit.

“Wow, that sounds amazing. I’m a little bit jealous,” she says and Posy’s eyes go wide.

“You can come with us! Can’t she Gale? Can’t she?”

Madge watches him, wondering what his answer will be. Let’s see how far we’ve really come.

“Well, if she wants to,” he says and Madge smiles brightly. How times have changed.

“I’d love to, but I’m on an important mission for the Queen,” Madge tells them, leaning in like it’s a secret. Posy gasps and covers her mouth with her hands.

“Next time then,” Gale says and Madge looks up at him in happy surprise.

“Definitely,” she agrees. “Enjoy the ponies.”

“Don’t worry, we will. And good luck to you on your mission,” he says and Madge raises an eyebrow. Are you teasing me Lord Gale? Times certainly have changed then, haven’t they? Madge watches the two of them leave, her previous melancholy thoroughly trampled.

Who cares if Katniss doesn’t trust me, I have Gale.

That’s all I need.

December settles in softly and gently powders England in white.

Windsor Castle looks picturesque in the snow, like something out of a fairy tale and Madge tries her best to find joy in that. All she can think of though, is last December, sitting anxiously at home awaiting news, finally hearing that the Duke of York was dead and foolishly rejoicing, believing the war was won. It feels like it’s been so much longer than just one year, decades maybe, a lifetime perhaps, but not a year. What a cold, bitter anniversary…

A soft giggle interrupts her thoughts, followed by a lusty grunt. Madge feels her ears burn and wonders why this keeps happening. First Prince Cato and now this… Judging by the sounds, Madge would say they’re nearby, just around the corner. She knows that knowledge is power, knows finding out just who is moaning nearby could be a potential weapon, but there are some lines Madge is not quite prepared to cross. She starts to turn around, intending to just walk away but that’s when she hears it.

“Faster, Gale, faster.”

Oh.

“God , yes,” is his answer and Madge feels odd, embarrassed certainly, but something else, almost hollow.

Oh.

Madge leaves quietly, feet light as she moves through the corridors and she doubts either of them even had an inkling she was there. That’s good, at least. Madge closes her eyes for a moment and no matter how far away she goes, she can still hear them.

faster Gale faster

God yes

(oh)

For two full days, she and Gale do not interact.

Madge is always busy, always finds some reason not to be in the same room as him, the mere thought of speaking to him making her face burn. Her imagination has become a monster, filling her head with all sort of lurid images. She remembers Cato but now it is Gale she sees, thrusting thrusting thrusting up under someone’s skirts. There are legs around his waist, hands in his hair and he’s kissing someone, her mouth, cheeks, jaw and neck. Madge shouldn’t be thinking anything of the sort but she can’t stop, and worse, she is invaded by other worries as well.

Does he do this often?

Is she his mistress? Does he love her? Or does he just enjoy doing…that with random women purely out of lust?

If I do succeed in winning him, will he continue to rendezvous with women in corners? Will I win this fight only to have to fight against all the other women in his life?

And what of the Queen, is he involved with her? Does he want to be?

What if his heart is already won? Or what if it doesn’t matter? What if he’s a carnal sort of man who cannot resist temptations of the flesh?

What ifs plague her worse than any disease and the thought of Gale with this mystery woman bothers her so profoundly she cannot hope to explain it. She tries to tell herself it doesn’t matter, she must continue on with the plan just as before. Make him love me, so much that no other woman will be able to compete. Nothing’s changed.

(except it has)

On the third day, Madge pulls herself together.

It doesn’t matter what he does or who he does it with.

Nothing has changed.

Nothing.

She seeks him out, finds him just as he’s leaving from a meeting with Haymitch and Katniss. He’s mussed up his hair, always runs his hands through it when he’s frustrated. Madge watches him, with his eyebrows pulled down and his nose crinkled (all his tells for annoyance) and wonders what it was about, wonders what could have bothered him so much. She waits until Haymitch has gone off in another direction, waits longer for Gale and Katniss to part ways and then she moves towards Gale, a jovial smile on her face.

“Sir Gale! There you are, I’ve been looking for you.”

He turns at her voice and tilts his head a bit in surprise, some of his tension already starting to fade.

“You were?”

“Yes,” she says with a nod, “I was hoping you wouldn’t be busy. Are you?”

He bites his lip and looks for a long moment in the direction Katniss left in, so long Madge fears he might say he is, but then he turns back to her with a shake of his head.

“No, I think I can find some time. Why?”

“You did promise me a trip to the stables,” she reminds him with a grin and he starts to smile.

“That I did. But Posy will be disappointed if we go without her.”

“Well, we’d best go and get her then.”

“You wouldn’t mind?” he asks and Madge looks at him confusion.

“Why would I?”

Gale’s whole face seems to lighten and he shakes his head.

“No reason. We’d better go, she’s probably terrorizing her nurse as we speak,” he says and Madge laughs.

“That does sound like her.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” he agrees, joining her in laughter and then he offers Madge his arm. She takes it and they start down the hallway together, Madge’s almost crumbled confidence building itself back up.

It doesn’t matter, nothing’s changed.

(she may be older, but Madge is still naïve)

Madge embroiders quietly while Prim chatters beside her, Katniss staring pensively off into the distance. Madge can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking about, wishes she could peer inside her head. What has you so deep in thought?

“I was just telling Philippa that there was no way-“

Prim is suddenly cut off by a sharp knock at the door, followed shortly by Duchess Elizabeth’s voice.

“Open the door Katniss, we need to talk.”

Katniss’ whole face turns stony.

“I’m sorry, Mother,” she calls, “I am terribly busy now, you must come back later.”

Duchess Elizabeth is silent and Prim bites her lip, looking anxiously between Katniss and the door.

“Of course,” comes the Duchess’ icy reply and Madge feels a kernel of hope plant itself in her belly.

Perhaps the Yorkists will tear each other apart and save the rest of us the trouble.

Madge makes her way back to her chambers with heavy limbs.

Even with that potential ray of hope, serving the Queen feels a bit like swallowing glass. Every smile, every kind word, it eats away at her, rubs her raw until she is sure all her bones must be showing through her skin. All these lies, how am I ever supposed to find my way out? Sometimes I think I might forget what the truth even is.

Madge knows she has no choice. This is her life now, whether she likes it or not. It could be worse, she tells herself, repeats it like a mantra. However awful she finds her current life, it could be worse.

(while true, it isn’t exactly a comforting thought)

Madge turns a corner and suddenly it is worse, for standing a few yards away is her step-brother. She thinks of going back the way she’d come but Marvel looks around at the sound of her footsteps and smiles, an oily thing that makes her feel dirty.

“My darling sister,” he purrs, bowing nearly in half. Madge inhales and moves grudgingly towards him, allows him to press kisses to the backs of both her hands. He doesn’t let go, keeps her caught in his grip and she feels something hot growing in her stomach.

“We have not spent nearly as much time together as we should,” he says and forcing a smile has never been so hard.

“The Queen keeps me very busy,” she apologizes and he grins.

“It is a terrible pity, that one so lovely must spend so much time shut away.”

Madge supposes she is meant to blush at the compliment and hopes he isn’t too offended when all her skin does is crawl.

“I do not mind,” she answers and wishes he’d let go of her.

“Well everyone at court certainly does,” he insists and she’s not sure she believes him.

“There is many a young man who would wish to win your hand,” he continues and this she can believe. With her Lancastrian blood, her connection to the Yorkists and her grand inheritance, she is sure many men would eagerly wed and bed her. She’s just not sure the feeling is terribly mutual.

“I have been thinking a great deal on this matter, sister dearest, and I believe I have found the perfect husband for you.”

“Oh?” Madge asks, feeling slightly nauseated.

“Who better than the Queen’s most loyal cousin? I am already Earl of Northumberland, with a grand estate up north and I am the descendant of kings. I am wealthy, young and I promise, I would love you very well.” His voice lowers as he says it, grin salacious and Madge tries hard not to retch.

“I will be Earl of Warwick as well when my father dies, and you would make me Duke of Bedford and of Clarence. No couple in all of England would be a match for us.”

His tone is thick with ambition and Madge cannot find any words to answer. Thankfully, he does not appear to need one.

“The Queen could not possibly refuse. Dispensations would be needed of course, but we have the money and the Pope is eager to make friends with England’s new queen.” He leans in then, breath wafting over her face and heating her ear. “I will speak to her,” he whispers, “and soon, my love, we shall be joined forever.”

He kisses her cheek, lingering much too long and then finally he is gone, leaving Madge feeling as if there is a sword dangling just above her head. She has always known she would be sold off to whomever the Queen wished to reward, but the reality that it could be soon, so very, very soon, has never hit her until now. All her plans, so carefully plotted, could go up in smoke in a heartbeat if the Queen decides the time is now. It may not be Marvel, but it will be someone, some loyal Yorkist who cares nothing for Madge aside from her money. He will be her jailer, ensuring no one can rally around her to dislodge the Queen and he will reap the benefits of her inheritance while she is kept hidden away from court. Her life stretches out before her and she is nothing but a prize for the Queen to give away as she pleases, nothing but titles and land.

She’s not even a person, not anymore.

Madge is meant to be embroidering an undershirt but her hands shake, her stitches coming out messy and uneven. She looks down at her fingers as they quake and abandons her task, a heavy ball of lead weighing down her stomach. Annie’s eyes are on her, anxious and worried but Madge turns to the window and counts snowflakes as they drift past.

“Is something the matter?” Annie asks quietly, coming to stand behind her. Madge thinks of saying no, thinks of pretending all is well but lies have become harder and harder to spin.

(maybe because they come so easily now)

“Yes,” she admits and Annie rests a soft hand on her arm, her reflection in the glass one of sympathy. Madge sighs.

“I know the Queen is going to marry me off and I’m…afraid. Those loyal to York still hate me, have branded me a traitor as sure as if I’d cut down their men myself. I don’t want a husband who’ll want me only for my inheritance, my blood, and despise me for everything else. Is it so wrong to hope for happiness?”

Annie gently turns her around and Madge feels silly for the tear she can feel sliding down her cheek.

“It’s not wrong, hope is never wrong.”

There’s an odd conviction in Annie’s voice, less like confidence and more like desperation, like she needs it to be true, like hope is all that’s keeping her afloat. Madge nods and wipes at her eyes.

“I’m just being silly,” she says and the light catches on Henry’s ring. She runs a finger over it and almost laughs.

“You know, I used to be so excited to get married, I couldn’t wait. And now I’m starting to hope I never will.”

Tears try and build in her eyes again and Madge presses her thumb down on the ring until it aches. Perhaps this is a part of growing up, she thinks, realizing happiness is just a dream. She looks back at the window; the dark sky dotted with white and wonders what it would be like to swim among the stars, far away from all her worries.

“I should be married now,” Annie whispers, gaze distant and Madge turns to her in surprise.

“Really?”

Annie nods, twisting her pretty ring around her finger.

“I should be Countess of Richmond.”

Madge feels her eyes go wide. “You were going to marry Finnick?”

Annie doesn’t answer and Madge bites her lip, gaze drifting down to the ring Annie’s still fiddling with. Is that from him?

“I suppose it doesn’t matter now, he’s so very far away,” Annie murmurs, a lonely, aching sadness dripping from her words. Madge feels a pang in her chest and presses her hands to the fabric over her heart, grief and sympathy welling up inside of her.

“I’m sorry,” she breathes and it feels so inadequate. Annie smiles, eyes wet and shining.

“Don’t be, he’s alive. That’s what really matters.”

Madge nods, tears gathering and threatening to spill over. She doesn’t ask if Annie loves him, knows it can’t do anything but make everything worse.

Oh Annie….

Madge knows there’s nothing she can say, so she flings her arms around her and hopes a hug can soothe the heartbreak in her eyes. Annie doesn’t say anything either, but her fingers cling to Madge’s sleeve, tears wetting the fabric.

Wasn’t the whole point of this rebellion to lift the King’s shadow from England? To give everyone a chance at a happy life?

Why then, are we still miserable?

December continues on, the holiday season inching ever closer.

Madge has not spent a Christmas at Court since she was nine years old and horrid memories start to rise up, blanketing the season with dark clouds. They are at Windsor, not Westminster and it is Queen Katniss’ court, rather than King Coriolanus’, but still, she cannot fight the chill lingering just below her skin. That Christmas, six years ago exactly, ruined her, peeled back the layers and exposed the rotting core of England, stripped away the illusions she’d been clinging to. It had marked the beginning of the end, her first taste of the nightmare to come.

Madge cannot help but fear what this Christmas will bring.

(the end)

(of what?)

(everything)

#gadge #gadge day #gale hawthorne #madge undersee #war of the roses au #historical au #fanfiction #Hunger Games

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