#its all that animosity and jealousy he carries around

[actuallycassidyiambusy]

Just out of curiosity, what exactly does Gallow look like? I know you give a description of him in the fic, but I'd love to see a visual and how you see him!

Btw, I absolutely love how drew Cabaji and Mohji in that one post❤️

The average, boring bitch boy himself. Gallow.

And thank you💙 I don't draw Cabaji and Mohji nearly as much as I should.

[painted-flag]

Snow White and the Seven Bandits - Jacaerys Velaryon.

Story I of Between the Pages: a HOTD x fairytale series.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ series masterlist here. main blog masterlist here. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ pairing: jacaerys velaryon x reader .𖥔 ݁ ˖ warnings: depictions of violence and use of poison. .𖥔 ݁ ˖ word count: 11.4k .𖥔 ݁ ˖ note: this is a long one. the others in the series will be the same, perhaps even longer for a few, so would you be interested in me dividing them into parts for the future or just keep them as one text around 10k and release at once?

“It is imperative that you both exhibit the best of manners,” The voice of the kingdom's Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, carried throughout the carriage. The wheelhouse held her, Jacaerys, and Lucerys. The youngest, Joffrey, had stayed in Kings Landing with their father Harwin - as he is the prince regent and can act in Rhaenyra’s stead. The carriage rocked as it made its way down a country road. 

“Mother, we are always on our best behaviour,” Jacaerys responded, though it seemed his attention was somewhere else in pure boredom. Lucerys, who had been sitting across from him, sent a look of doubt his way. 

“Be that as it may, the Lady of Stonehill is… sensitive. The Lord of Stonehill lost his previous wife on the birthing bed. A few years after marrying a new wife, he passed. His daughter followed him in death a month afterwards. So please, do not bring up any subjects around Lady Alicent that may offend her. It may have happened years ago, but those scars do not fade.” Rhaenyra pressed the importance of their behaviour for their visit to Castle Stonehill. 

“Yes, mother.” Lucerys gave her a wide smile, the candied lemons he was snacking on made his cheeks puff out. 

Rhaenyra leaned to the side to enter Jace’s field of vision as he stared out of one of the wheelhouse windows. She raised her brow and waited for an answer. 

Jace broke out of his trance and smiled at his mom, though it did not reach his eyes, “Yes, we will be on our best behaviour.” 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎 ༻⊰───⋅

The afternoon sun shone down on the walled-in garden of Castle Stonehill. The white quartzite with streaks of gray reflected the sunlight, casting glittered specks of light across the garden. Songbirds chirped as they flew from tree to tree. The abundance of foliage covered every open area in green. The types of flowers present filled all of the colours of a rainbow and butterflies flew from patch to patch to suck the nectar from the plants. 

It was an area of peace and safety which you frequented often when not working. After the arduous hours of work throughout the morning, you relished the break of rest you got in the afternoon. They were spent in the garden, tending to the flowers that grew there. It was the only place in the castle that your stepmother, Alicent, never touched. 

Your birth had caused your mother to pass, leaving you with your father. He was a kind and gentle man, who often spent more time with you than he should have given his lordly duties. He did all he could to raise you on his own. His gentle voice and demeanour rarely fit his appearance, for the man looked strong enough to snap a log over his thigh. Many years after the loss of his wife, he married again. The woman, Alicent, had presented herself as nothing but a dutiful and godfearing wife - a trick most wicked. While your father had lived, she treated you with kindness. It was a veiled sweetness that covered up the foul taste beneath; jealousy, want, and animosity. 

Never was there a facade more barbarous than a woman who cut another woman down. 

Upon the death of the Lord of Stonehill, Alicent’s cloaked contempt compounded. The inheritance of the castle would pass to you once you came of age, an outcome most ardently rejected by Alicent. She spared your life under the guise of benevolence, should you fake your death and take up a job as a scullery maid in the castle. It was merciful, in your stepmother’s words, to keep you alive. However, the pain of losing your father and your previous life stung the heart that lay in your chest. A torture disguised as mercy.

Through the years your resolution did not sway. There was a resilience in your kindness, both inwards and outwards, that you displayed to the world daily. What had angered you at first became nothing but a small sting. There are worse fates that people could meet. 

The day had been ordinary, inexplicably so. You found yourself in your usual routine, picking flowers and singing in your few moments of daily rest. The knife in your hand cut the stems of some of the flowers and you placed them in a wicker basket on the ground next to you. Upon turning your gaze to one of the hedges, you saw that it appeared down, as though lacking water. You put down the knife and walked over to a well placed at the centre of the garden. 

Your voice continued to carry a tune as you pulled on a rope to lower a bucket down. As you went about your way, your voice carried over the walls and into the courtyard next to the garden. 

Now, Jacaerys had not wished to go for a walk, but quickly upon their arrival at the castle he and Luke were sent away. The adults were talking, and therefore the youth must let them be. A total disgrace, in Jace’s mind, as he was set to become king and therefore felt he should be included. Alas, the stern gaze of his mother had led to him walking aimlessly in a courtyard with his brother and hoping that the day could finish. 

Jace was walking with Luke beside him and the younger brother had not stopped talking. He was explaining his thoughts on everything they had seen during their trip, waving his hands around to emphasize certain points. Jace nodded along to his observations. It was during a particular rant about the knights of the castle's armour that Jace heard a voice in the distance. The tune carried over the gentle wind, gracing his ear in sweet pleasantry. 

“Do you hear that?” Jace interrupted Luke’s rant. 

Luke halted, “What?”

“That voice… it sounds like singing.” Jace did not wait for any response before he picked up his pace, marching across the courtyard. He followed the wall to his right until the voice got louder. 

“What in the seven hells are you doing?” Luke had been confused by his brother's actions. The whole trip he had been unusually bored, often unfocused and inattentive. Now, it seemed that life was breathed into him again. 

“Don’t you hear that?” Jace looked at the thick growing vines on the wall, rapt by the singing. 

“Someone is singing, does it matter?” Luke responded, “We should go back to mother.” 

“In a moment,” Jace spoke. He stepped forward and grabbed onto one of the vines. His gaze swept across the wall as if he was unsure of his movements. Deciding not to question it, Jace tugged on the vine to test its strength. Upon finding the results he wanted, he began to climb.

When Jaceaerys reached the top, he took in the sight. It was a flower garden. Despite the countless different flowers all mixed around, it looked organized and well-maintained. The singing that he heard came from a woman by a well. She was fetching water and dressed like all the maids, in rags made of cloth. However, Jace was not a blind man and could clearly see how beautiful she was. He paused for a moment and debated on whether or not he should disturb her. His mother taught him better, that a proper man should have manners and not disturb a lady. However, there was an enchanting allure from her. 

“Well,” Luke began, “What do you see?” At that point, Lucerys had become intrigued by his brother's actions. 

“She’s beautiful,” Jace muttered. Luke was unable to hear his brother's response and watched as Jace moved to climb down the other side. He stood there, agape at his brother's impulsive nature - a trait he knew he would never get used to. 

“What an idiot.” He muttered.

You were oblivious to the pitfalls of steps coming from the other side of the well; too lost in your song to care. You were pulling the bucket of water up and had it settle on the edge when an unknown voice broke you from your daydream. 

“Hello.” It was not a very deep voice, but the timbre notes were warm, like the sun's rays on a hot day. 

“Seven Hells!” You shout in fear, the pail of water falling back down the well when the rope in your hands is dropped. The man in front of you rushed to the well wall on the other side. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” He assured. 

You looked back and forth across the garden, scared that Alicent would be looking in. She did not like it when you talked to servants, and you had no idea how angry she would be if she found out you were talking to the prince.

“I am fine,” You did not wish to prolong this conversation any longer than it had to be, so you hoped a curt response would be a hint for him to leave. 

“I’m Jacaerys Velaryon,” The man spoke, “Who are you?” 

You froze at his words. He was the prince. Oh gods, you had just rudely tried to dismiss the prince. There was a moment of rushed thinking, wondering how you could get yourself out of this situation. There was no shame in running, perhaps. Maybe wish for the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Nice to meet you, my prince,” You bowed lowly and kept your gaze lowered to the stone on the ground, “I am simply a maid.” Your hands smoothed over the scratchy fabric of your gown, inwardly cringing at how underdressed you were in front of him. 

“Yes, but what is your name?” Jacaerys stepped around the well to be closer. He was dressed like a prince. Rich, finely woven fabric of dark blue matched the silver embroidered embellishments on the ends of his sleeves, around his collar, and down the front of his surcoat. The garments themselves were sure to be made by a multitude of servants, a look of divinity next to the one-colour floor-length dress you wore, which was accompanied by a light beige apron stained slightly from the dirt of cleaning and tending to the garden. 

“I must go, my prince.” You grabbed the sides of your dress and held them out as you moved down in a short curtsey. He looked confused at your insistent need to be away from him, something you were sure he was not used to considering his status. You turned and began your way to a servant's entrance at the side of the castle.

“Wait! I’m sorry if I scared you, truly,” Jace spoke up and positioned himself in front of you, “Please, I just wish to talk.” He looked as though he wanted to reach out but refrained from doing so. There was a certain glint in his eyes that was unrecognizable. You were used to the way men would threaten you with their gaze, an unsaid selfish want, but Jace did not have that look. It was something kind, an emotion you had not been on the receiving end for many years. 

“There is nothing a servant can say, my prince.” You curtseyed again - a signal of a final dismissal - and moved to the small oak door. The heavy metal of the hand felt cool under your grasp. You yanked it open and closed it behind you. The transition from the warm sun-soaked outside to the cold and damp servants' hallway gave a temporary shock to your body. 

Back in the garden, Jace stood defeated. He felt horrible for scaring a woman - something his mother would sharply scold him on if she ever found out, of which Harwin would sure to join. That was not how you were raised… to corner a woman like that, what were you thinking?

At a window far up on the castle, Lady Alicent stood looking out, having watched their meeting transpire. 

He retreated to the wall he had scaled and grasped the vines in his hand. Lugging himself up, he returned to the top of the wall to his brother standing on the other side. Lucerys was close to going for help because of how long his brother was gone. 

“What in the seven hells was your reasoning for that? Mother told us to be on our best behaviour, yet here you are scaling the walls of Lady Alicent’s castle!” Lucerys scolded as Jace dropped down next to him. 

Jace adjusted his clothing as he huffed to catch his breath from the drop, “You should have seen her, Luke.” 

“Seen who?” Luke had his arms crossed and a look of vexation moved across his face. 

“The lady in the garden.A servant. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone like that.” Jace looked sort of dazed. 

“So… you saw some random servant?” Luke said. 

“I’m telling you, there was something about her… she did not act like one.” Jace marched along the courtyard path and to the nearest entrance to the castle. Luke followed closely behind. 

“All the servants here look the same. Rags and all.” Luke dismissed his brother's whims. 

“Rags cannot hide her gentle face.” Jacaerys’ tone left little room for further resistance from his brother. 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

You sat in your room and skillfully embroidered a patch of fabric. The wooden loop was clutched between the fingers of your left hand as the right held the needle. It was a patch of vines being woven, like the ones the prince climbed to get into the garden. It had only been a day since your encounter with Jacaerys Velaryon, yet the memory clung to your mind and refused to let go. He was kind, uncharacteristically so compared to the people you have met in your life. 

The sudden opening of the door to your small chambers had you rushing to get up. The sewing fell from your lap and to the floor. You were frustrated by the sudden disturbance but swallowed it once seeing who was at your door. 

“Lady Alicent,” You bowed to your stepmother and watched as she stood in the doorframe of your room. Her judging eyes moved around the small space, cluttered with books and other belongings - the few you were allowed to keep. A look of disgust twinged at the corner of her mouth. She stepped into the room, her emerald gown glimmering in the small streak of light from the tiny window placed well above viewing height. Your room was ultimately like a cage but disguised as a servant's quarter.

“You have done well with your chores as of late,” Alicent began, “Good work should be met with rewards, I am generous that way.” Her words were short and snippy like it burdened her to even speak to you.

“Thank you, my lady.” You bit back the array of insults boiling within. 

“Ser Erryk will escort you to the woods, where you can pick wildflowers. Perhaps there may be new ones you can add to your garden.” Despite the kindness of her words, the tone dripped with false sincerity. 

“You are very kind, lady Alicent.” While there was an unsettling nature to her gaze, you were excited to go out in the woods beyond the castle. Since your father's death, you had been kept secluded in the castle walls, unable to even venture into some of the halls. 

“Yes, well, you best get ready then,” Alicent muttered before vacating the room as quickly as she could. The door was open still and a guard stood where she once was. 

“Good morrow, my lady,” Ser Erryk was perhaps the only guard in the castle who clued in on your identity. He was only a young man when your father died and his memory of your face stayed with him. When you were allowed to leave your room many years after your staged death to pose as a scullery maid, he instantly clocked into your true identity. He kept it a secret, for fear of what Alicent would do to him if she found out that he knew. 

“Hello, Ser Erryk. Let me just get my basket.” 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

You hummed away as you tended to the wildflowers on a hill. You were taken on a carriage ride deep in the woods. It had been the most excitement you ever had, for the feeling of freedom rippled through your body. Ser Erryk stood by the carriage a few feet away, watching as you went about digging up dirt and roots of pretty colours you have yet to add to your collection. 

A shadow loomed over where you sat, and your head turned to see Ser Erryk had gotten closer. He stood above you with his sword raised in the air. You did not have it in you to scream, for a wave of hopelessness crashed over your body. A sense of betrayal seeped into your bones. One of the only men who had yet to treat you with antagonism or lecherousness had hidden their evil deep below the surface. 

Ser Erryk’s arms had stopped with the sword raised. They shook ever so slightly in his frozen position. His face was twisted, pain and uncertainty carved across the skin. He stumbled back and threw the sword to the ground, curses flung from his mouth. His breathing was laboured and his chest rose up and down. 

“Run.” His gravelly voice hitched slightly. 

You paused, unsure of his display of goodwill, “What?” 

“I am sorry I ever tried, my lady. Alicent has my brother… she said she would kill him. Go, run far from here.” Ser Erryk spoke. 

“And your brother?” You questioned. 

“I will think of something,” He responded. He reached to his side and pulled out a long dagger, holding it out to her, “Take this and go, my lady.” 

You got up on shaky legs and slowly grasped the hand of the dagger. It felt awkward in your hand. There was never a point in your life where you ever held something sharp besides a kitchen knife or sewing needle. It was heavy and unnatural. 

“Thank you, Ser Erryk. I will never forget this.” You nodded to him. You turned to the woods, looking into the looming dark depths. The fear you had felt towards him had now moved to the woods. The dark trunks stood like knights on the ground, their looming presence instilling dread. Whatever nocturnal beasts lurked within the murky bowels of the forest suddenly seemed less frightful than the beast that would be waiting should you return to the castle. 

Death in the woods felt more merciful than whatever Alicent would do to you. 

Steeling your emotions, you surged forward. Your jogged movements quickly picked up to a steady pace. You leapt over each root and bush in your way. There was no path you followed, only faith to guide you from this terror. The trees surrounding you morphed into figures like monsters. The winding branches twisted around and appeared as hands reaching out to grab her. 

Your feet carried you beyond the winding hills and scattered foliage. Tears stung at your cheeks as the cool wind dried the saltwater on your face. What felt like hours, but had only been a single one, passed as you stumbled over a branch and fell. The choked gasps of your sobbing echoed in the forest. You were hunched over and crying. 

When you pulled back to sit on the ground, you looked up and spotted a decrepit cottage in the distance. You had happened across an open space in the forest. A stream cut through and there was a small shoddy built bridge over the water and a path leading to the cottage. It was a plaster and wood building with a thatched roof. A single chimney was seen going from the bottom of one of the sides to the top of the roof. It appeared to be two storeys high. 

You approached cautiously, wondering who may be around. 

“Hello?” You called out and then waited, but no reply came, “Is anyone there?” There was no response. You moved to one of the windows and saw it covered in dust, you tried to wipe it away, but it only smudged. The cottage had been left a long time ago. Your hand reached for the nob and turned. Surprisingly, the door opened. 

You peered in to see the state of disarray inside. What little furniture could be seen was covered in a layer of dust. When you moved inside the cottage, the dust made you cough violently. 

“Oh, this place is dreadful.” You mutter. There was a broom placed beside the fireplace, also covered in dust. You picked it up and shook the dust off, with only one thought in your mind. This is going to be a nightmare to clean. 

You had spent the next few hours cleaning the cottage from top to bottom. Countless tasks were completed as time went on. While it was exhausting, it felt like a piece of freedom. Here, you were cleaning because you wished to and for yourself, not to the demands of Alicent and any of her friends. 

Earlier, in the upstairs area of the cottage - which was more of a loft space - you found seven beds placed beside one another. It filled you with sadness. At one point in time, this cottage had been full of a loving family, something you had little experience with. You could not help but wonder what could have happened to them.

You finished the last of your tasks and sighed loudly. Your hands rested on your hips as you scanned around the open living space. It looked like an entirely new place as if you tore down the old cottage and built a new one. Your exhaustion was something never felt before. The events of the day finally came down on you; the early morning picking wildflowers, Ser Erryk sparing your life, the run through the woods, and lastly your cleaning of the cottage. The beds upstairs in the lofts seemed comfier than ever. You pranced up the stairs and plopped on one of them. The soup stewing over the fireplace could be left unattended for a good long while, so with that worry out of your mind, you drifted off to sleep. 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

It was in the deep stage of your sleep that the door downstairs opened up. A figure stood in the doorway with their sword raised high and scanned the room. Once they entered, six other figures followed behind. 

“The whole place is… clean.” One of them spoke in a sleepy voice. 

“I thank you for your astute observation, genius.” The one in front wielding the sword grumbled, his grumpy countenance exacerbated by his lack of patience. His free hand moved up to adjust the eyepatch on his face. The group moved as one. They surveyed the ground floor and found nothing except the almost extinguished fire and a cast iron pot strung over it. 

One of the men reached forward and pulled the lid off, exposing the wonderful smell of stew. It simmered just barely. Before they could inspect it further, the man sneezed loudly and dropped the lid back on the pot. The clattering sound emanated around the room. 

They all hunched slightly, ready to attack, but nothing came. The one who sneezed rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. They migrated to the wooden stairs and one by one made their way up the steps. Upon reaching the lofted area, a figure underneath the covers of one of the beds was spotted. 

“What the fuck?” The grumpy one spoke in a hushed whisper. He separated himself from the group and approached the bed cautiously. He adjusted the sword in his grasp. Once he stood at the foot of the bed, he reached out with his sword and nudged the covers. The figure shifted. 

Your state of unconsciousness began to wear off. The exhaustion you had felt earlier depleted. A yawn left your mouth as you moved to sit up in the bed. The covers fell to your waist and you stretched out your arms. After stretching your arms, your hands rubbed the sleep from your eyes. Blinking a couple of times to clear your bleary vision, you opened them to see a man at the foot of the bed with a sword pointing at you. Six men stood behind, all with varying faces of curiousness to skepticism. 

There was only one reaction that seemed fitting, which was to scream. When you did, the six men standing at the top of the stairs screamed as well. The one with the sword, who had silver hair and an eyepatch over his left eye, groaned with frustration. 

“Who are you?” He demanded. 

Before you could answer, a man behind him spoke up, “Stop pointing your sword at a bloody woman!” The man had a bashful expression on his face. 

“We don’t know her, Addam.” He responded to his friend and turned back to face you, “What are you doing in our house?” 

“I… I thought it was abandoned.” You responded. Shock still froze your body. It seemed as though wherever you would run, men would always follow. 

One of the men laughed at her words. He looked to be old, with silver hair and a beard. “Well, you’re not wrong about that assumption.” The man stepped forward and to the man with the eyepatch, grabbing the sword from his hands and placing it on the floor, “I apologize for scaring you. My name is Viserys, but most people call me Happy.” 

“Happy?” You questioned. 

“They are our cover names,” Happy answered, “My friend with the patch here is Aemond, but he goes by Grumpy.” 

“Not willingly,” Aemond complained. 

You mulled over their names in your head and thought on it for a moment. For some odd reason, the names felt familiar. They settled at the back of your mind, poking at your consciousness. A heartbeat passed before it struck you. The two names and the fact that there were seven of them in total.

“As… as in the seven bandits?” You gulped a bit of air after you spoke. 

“You’re corre-” The man who spoke up sneezed abruptly, “Correct. I am Laenor, but my nickname is, well, Sneezy.” 

“Let us just all reveal ourselves. Might as well just tell her all of our secrets while we are at it.” Aemond crossed his arms and stared her down. He looked at her as though she was a threat; some hidden weapon made to kill them. 

“You suck the joy out of everything, Grumps.” Another man stepped forward and nodded to you, “I’m Aegon.” 

“Dopey,” Aemond added on. 

Aegon glared at him and crossed his arms, “At least I’m not a killjoy.” Aemond squared his shoulders and stood chest to chest with Aegon, domineering over his frame.

“Well maybe if you were smart for once-” 

“That's enough.” Viserys spoke and placed himself between them, “Both of you can leave if you won’t get along. Stop crowding around the poor girl.” They backed off and joined the other men a few feet away. 

“I’m sorry, truly. The place appeared empty and I thought that I could stay for a while. I will leave.” You push the covers from your body and maneuver off of the bed. 

Viserys raised his hands in a peaceful motion, “Please, do not feel rushed. If I may ask, who are you and why are you here?” 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

Over the seven jewelled hills and beyond the seven falls, you happened upon a home of seven bandits a half year ago. Upon revealing your true identity, they had taken you in - much to the chagrin of Grumpy. However, you provided the skills learned as a maid to contribute to the house and were allowed to stay permanently. After a few weeks of asking, the men had begun to train you in the ways of the sword. 

You were beyond skilled at it, having nicked yourself and a few of the others many times over. It was a learning curve you gradually got over, though you had a long way to go. Despite all your learning, you have yet to join them on their missions. Happy assured you that your talent with the sword was enough, but truly did not feel good to have a woman join them, for he was worried about your safety. 

It was in this group of misfits that you found a family. While Grumpy was still not too keen on your presence, the others welcomed you relatively quickly. You got to know them all on a personal level and truly understand how fitting their cover names were. Aemond fit the Grumpy name. Viserys was always happy, Aegon consistently had a dopey look on his face, while Laenor sneezed near constantly. Addam had the nickname Bashful. He always blushed when you were around and got incredibly flustered when spoken to, but he was very loyal to his friends. Harrold, another one of the older men, was called Sleepy; something he proved nearly daily because if he was not training, he would be found anywhere around the cottage taking a nap. Corlys, or Doc, seemed to take up an almost leader-like role; even though they all worked together as a collective team.

Doc and Happy built you your own room in the cottage. There was a lot of open area on the downstairs level, so they picked a corner and set up walls for your privacy. That was a month after you agreed to stay permanently, and it felt like the final moment in truly becoming family. 

It was the early hours of the morning. You were making breakfast with the help of Dopey. While he was not the brightest, he followed directions well and seemed just pleased to help. The two of you were working diligently. He went to set the table as the others started to wake. They made their way down like clockwork, each settling down in their designated seats. 

When everyone sat and had a plate of food in front of them, Happy spoke, “We think it is time for you to join us on a mission.” His gaze was directed at you. You lowered your fork and tilted your head. 

“Really? I can come?” You held back the excitement that brewed within. 

“A short raid, you will stay back and only interfere if necessary. It is just so you can watch.” Happy reiterated, but you were already smiling widely. 

“Thank you!” You shot out of your seat and walked to his, wrapping your arms around him in a hug and kissing his forehead. Happy turned a shade of bright red. 

“Yes, well, don’t expect to do much,” Grumpy spoke up, “These rich folks always hire terrible guards. There won’t be a need for you to fight.” You walked back to your seat and rolled your eyes. 

“Rich folk aren’t always bad.” You tried to defend. 

“Like that prince you met?” Bashful asked. You groaned internally. A few months prior you let slip of your encounter with the prince and the kindness he showed, regardless of the rudeness you shoved his way. Since then, the men have teased you about him. 

“Not that. I am rich… well… I haven’t been for a long time.” 

“Once a rich girl, always a rich girl,” Grumpy mumbled. 

The morning was spent preparing for some scout work on one of the main roads. The group would wait for a carriage to pass, one that was obviously belonging to a rich person, and they would rob them. Half of the earnings would be distributed to one of the nearby towns, while the other half would go to supporting themselves. 

You now find yourself halfway up a tree that lined the main road through the forest. All of the other men were scattered among other trees, each within view of one another but not from any on the ground. Multiple people had passed, but all appeared to be townsfolk. It was after a few hours that a carriage began to pass. The wood had been carved delicately and embellished with gold. It was beyond a doubt that the person was rich. The only thing that threw her off was the amount of guards on horses surrounding it. 

There had to be no less than twenty men and you were unsure how your friends would handle this. You had never seen them in action before. They all shared looks and communicated through bird calls. You were still learning the meanings of the calls, but one immediately got your attention. It was the call for an attack. 

You watched as your friends descended from their hiding spots in the branches of the trees. They fell like lightning on the soldiers. Upon a closer look, you recognized the armour of the guards and almost gasped. They are royal guards. 

A figure emerged from the carriage with a sword in hand and prepared to fight. You immediately recognized who it was. There was no way you could forget the face of Jacaerys Velaryon. His unruly dark curls fell to his sharp jawline. His stature revealed how strong his form was. The sword in his grasp caught the light. 

You had to intervene. His soldiers were exceptionally trained and you could not leave your friends unaided. You swung from the rope that helped suspend you. Landing on the ground a few feet from Jace, you were intercepted by a guard. Your sword had only ever been used for practice combat, not a skilled soldier. You unsheathed it and blocked the guard's attack. 

The two of you went back and forth. Each time you struck he blocked it, with the same happening to his strikes. He pulled you in and turned your back to his chest. Just as he brought his sword up to plunge into your neck, you elbowed his face and kicked his groin. Once the guard was on his knees and more on your level, you used the hilt of your sword and swung at his helmet, effectively knocking him out. 

When his body fell to the ground, you looked up to see Jace standing there, having watched the whole thing. 

“It’s you!” He spoke. The two of you stood still, each grasping your weapons and unsure how to proceed. You did not wait to respond and swung first. He stepped back and dodged. 

“You’re that maid!” Jacaerys never swung at you but rather deflected your hits. The two of you were engaged in some kind of dance. 

“I’m her,” You responded. Your strikes got harder and Jace pushed back a few times. 

“I don’t want to fight you. Call off these men and we can go our separate ways.” Jace tried to reason. 

You wanted to do that, but knew it was not possible with your friends, “No can do, my prince.” 

The two of you were so focused on the fight, that you failed to notice one of the guards throw a dagger your way. It lodged itself into your shoulder and you cried out in pain, stumbling in your spot. It was then that Dopey called out your name. You watched as realization swept over Jace’s face. He quickly processed the words. 

“Wait, Lady Stonehill? You’re supposed to be dead!” Jace recognized the name as the lady who was said to have passed a mere short months after her father years ago. The name was unique and he pierced it together with you also having been at Castle Stonehill.

Dopey came up on the back of a horse he stole from a guard. He leaned down to lift your injured self onto the horse. Your stomach lay on the saddle behind him. You and Jace had yet to stop looking at one another. There was an underlying force to look at him that would not yield. You wanted to stay, to make sure nothing would happen to him, but it seemed with your injury your group decided to retreat after seizing everything of value. The point was not to kill, that was something that had been emphasized in your training. 

It was always reiterated that the jobs are a swift robbery of goods and nothing else. With that goal achieved, you repositioned yourself on the saddle and wrapped your arms around Dopeys waist. All of the others had clambered to other horses and swiftly fled down the road. The horse you were on followed. You looked back over your shoulder to see the other guards recovering and Jace staring you down. He did not look angry, but rather confused. You hoped he could forgive you. 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

“I humbly apologize for the raid while on your travel here, my prince.” The words of Lady Alicent rang out through the great hall of Castle Stonehill. “Those miscreants have targeted these parts for years, it is time my men put a stop to it.” 

Jacaerys had arrived at Castle Stonehill for a momentary visit to discuss taxes for the Crown, but the interception on his travel seemed to be the only topic of focus. None of his men were gravely injured, but he had lost a few pouches of gold and jewels. 

“Thank you for your kind words, Lady Alicent,” He paused for a moment, “May we speak in private?” Jace asked. 

Alicent waved off her guards and the hall cleared, “What is it you wish to speak about, my prince?” 

“I mean no offence, but there seems to be no other way to inform you of this. Lady Alicent, I believe your stepdaughter is alive.” Jace informed. Alicent’s face shifted from curiosity to something bordering on indignation and distaste. She blinked rapidly. 

“What, um, what makes you say such a thing?” Alicent’s hands placed themselves on her stomach in an attempt to keep herself calm. Jace interpreted her actions as reminiscing of grief. 

“The visit I made with my mother months ago, well I ran into this girl who I thought was a maid. When the raiders attacked my travel company, she was there as well. One of them called out her name and well, I believe it is your stepdaughter. She matches the description as well. Maybe-” 

“I am sorry, Prince Jacaerys, but I cannot hear anymore. My stepdaughter is dead, that is final.” Alicent stood firm on her words. 

Jace nods, “Yes, I understand. I am sorry for the distress I have caused.” He nodded to Alicent before making a hasty exit from the great hall. He kept thinking back to his encounter with the woman. He finally, after months of thinking about her after their encounter in the garden, had a name to match her face. 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

You shifted uncomfortably to try and grab a broom propped in the living space. The bandages on your shoulder moved and you hissed in pain at the sharp feeling hitting you. In the days following your injury in the raid, none of the men had let you lift a single finger. While months ago that would have been a horrible thing for the chores, you had whipped them into shape and they were able to clean properly. However, you still wished to contribute to the house. 

The group marched down the stairs with weapons in their arms. They were going on another raid, as the last few days they opted out so they could watch over you. You stood by the door and opened it for them. One by one, you hugged them goodbye on their way out, giving each a kiss on the cheek for all the help they had given you. The last one, Grumpy, stood in front of you with his arms crossed. 

“You don’t have to worry, I won’t hug you.” You joked. 

Grumpy tilted his head to the side and hummed, “What I said about rich women that day… you’re one of us, not them.” It was the closest thing to an apology you would ever get from him, to be sure. Instead of acknowledging his apology, which would surely elicit a huff of annoyance from him, you chose another option. 

You move forward and wrap him in a gentle hug. His body went stiff, unfamiliar with such kindness. One of his hands went up to put your shoulder awkwardly. After a moment he huffed as a signal to let go. You backed off and flashed him a smile. 

“You secretly care for me, I know it.” 

He moved out the door and began to walk away, “Whatever makes you feel better.” 

You closed the door and looked back at the empty cottage. Making your way to the kitchen area, you decide that you should get started on making food for them when they get back. With your injury, it was bound to take longer than usual, so the sooner the better. 

Hours passed of you prepping pies with one arm. The other would sting in pain each time you tried to use it, so it would be best to get used to your current predicament in hopes it would speed up the healing process. While rolling out the dough, a knock sounded on your door. You stopped your movements and backed from the table. When you walked to the door, you reached for a long knife placed beside it. 

You opened the door while clutching the weapon behind your back. A man stood in a hooded cape. He carried a cane in one hand and a basket in the other. His leg appeared to be in some bandage, but something about it did not look like a temporary injury. 

“Forgive me, sweet girl, but I seem to have lost my way.” The man smiled, “My name is Larys. Could you help me find the right path to the local market?” 

“Oh, I can help you with that,” You notice the man looked bleary and most likely dehydrated, “Come inside and rest for a while, I can get you something to drink.” You ushered him into the cottage and to a seat while stealthily placing the weapon back in its hidden place. Once you served him a cup of water he thanked you immensely for the help. 

“No need to thank me, sir. Kindness always goes a long way.” You sat across from him at the table. 

“I have nothing to repay you.” The man muttered. 

“Oh, you don’t have to.” You spoke. 

He lifted the lid of his basket that was on the table, “Here, at least take one of these apples. I grow them back home.” He reached in and pulled out an apple. It was the most deep shade of red and covered in a shiny gleam. His hand held it out to you and you decided to pick it up. Holding it in your hand you inspected it. 

“Well, I was starting to get hungry. Thank you, sir.” You took a bite of the apple and relished the taste. Some juice dribbled down your chin and you wiped it away. “Oh, you’re low on water. I’ll get you some more.” 

Just as you get out of your seat, your body swayed oddly. Tingles made their way across your limbs and the edges of your vision dimmed. You stepped forward but stopped when your sight blacked out for a moment. It felt like you were losing control of your body. A sick feeling developed in your stomach. The apple fell from your hand. The sound it made when hitting the floor was muffled as if you were underwater. Your knees buckled under your weight and you felt yourself falling to the floor. Before you even made it there, your vision went black. 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

The band of men strolled merrily down the path to their home. It had been a successful day and they had just given half their share to one of the nearby villages. They joked with one another. Sneezy held Dopey in a headlock and began to mess up his hair, much to Dopey’s protest and Grumpy’s amused smile. 

Doc went to open the door and noticed it was unlocked and slightly ajar. He raised his hand to signal the men to be quiet. They all hushed up and saw what Doc spotted. All of them pulled out their weapons. When Doc opened the door, they funnelled in. The cottage appeared empty. Grumpy took charge and moved in further, but dropped his sword in shock upon reaching the other side of the dining table. 

The other men rushed to him and had similar reactions. Your body was on the floor, collapsed and unresponsive. Doc rushed forward and flipped you onto your back. He placed his hands below your nose but felt no air. He fell back from his crouched position as grief struck him. 

“She… she’s not breathing.” His voice came out in a helpless whisper. While the words were light, their meaning felt like iron chains on the men. They all stood around her body, both shocked and driven to hopelessness. Grumpy moved first, his eye having caught something peculiar. He reached down under the table and came back with an apple in his hand. A single bite had been taken out of it. 

After a moment, Grumpy spoke, “It was Alicent.” 

“We don’t know that for sure-” Doc began but had been caught off. 

“Seven hells, even I know it was her doing,” Dopey chimed in. 

Grumpy placed the apple down and marched upstairs. They followed him to see him rummaging through one of their large chests. Second after second he pulled out varying types of weapons and placed them methodically on the ground. 

“What are you doing?” Happy questioned. 

At first, he did not respond, not until everything from the chest laid out on display, “We are going to Castle Stonehenge and we are killing her for this.” 

“Grumpy, we don’t kill.” Bashful interjected. Some of them shifted in their stances. 

“So Alicent gets away with it?” Grumpy raised his voice, “We stick up for our own, and she was one of us.” 

Dopey crouched down and picked up a longsword, “I’m with you.” 

Grumpy looked at all the others with the hope they would join in. One by one they assembled their own collection of weapons. She may be dead, but there was no way they would let her memory die with her. Now, more than ever, they would fight stronger than they have in the past. Only one mission was left in mind, to avenge her death and spread her story - so that she would never be forgotten. 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

It started as a warmth building in your stomach. It spread throughout your body further, and the more it did the more that heat increased. It clawed its way through your veins, burning the capillaries and tearing through your muscles to burn the bone beneath. Your lungs worked in opposition, for every breath you took seemed to only increase that cursed fever that took hold. It was in your ceaseless torture that dreams spread forth; wicked and wild. 

Taunts of your lost childhood flickered on the backs of your eyelids. What-could-have-been’s propositioned like a devil's deal of a promised future, staked on the trade of your soul in exchange. Given the chance, you may have been persuaded to pray for such a deal. Your father's voice rang through your mind, but it was so faint and muffled you could not make out the words. Truthfully, to the regret and pain of every fibre of your being, you had forgotten his face and voice over time; even more so your mother. 

It was cruel, beyond any punishment that could have been warranted for transgressions in your past lives. Surely, the gods could be cruel, but to be so minacious in their plan for you bordered them on the side of the cursed souls in the seven hells. Perspiration covered your body as it fought off the fever. No amount of ice in the world could aid your affliction. Your mind fought for control, or really for any semblance of consciousness beyond that of the haze plaguing your mind. 

You could feel the thrashing of your body and the hands holding you down. They felt cold in comparison to the heat of your skin and you welcomed it. A voice, as foggy as the meadow outside your cottage and refreshing as the dew on grass in the morning, spoke through your haze. It was familiar, but you could not place its origins. 

“Come back to us, my lady.” 

The depths of the boiling ocean you were swimming in gave rise to creatures below. Faces of evil men in your past voyaged through those depths, like sharks surrounding prey. However, the most fear you felt was in the memories of your stepmother, Alicent. Her cruel sneer and wicked tongue that always seemed to be ready to fire a quip of the most vile of insults coated in a thin veil of sugar; sweetness afflicted with poison, her greatest weapon. 

Time was an illusion. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, and weeks made no sense in your haze. For all you knew years could have passed suspended in this torture. It would not surprise you. But just as quickly as hopelessness seated itself in your soul, the heat was doused in water and you felt yourself clear again. Your muscles ached and your head pounded, but the relief of no longer being under such a curse took priority. 

Your eyes blinked open and struggled to see through your blurry vision. When you managed to get a hold of your sight, the roof of a canopy bed was all you could see. The engraved wood was familiar. It took many minutes to get up, but once you were sat in the plush bed you recognized where you were. 

Your childhood bedchamber appeared to have gone through no change at all since your father's death. You could not even remember the last time you were in this room, having been cast out and forbidden to go in. Perhaps you were dead and this was your afterlife. You had no idea if it was heaven or hell. The happiness of being in this room was undercut by the pain you felt for what could have been. 

It was then that your memories came like an opened floodgate. The man you helped and the sudden feeling of blacking out. The apple… it had to have been the apple. You understood that it must be a plot construed by Alicent. Your placement in the room was not a gift, but one last taunt she made before killing you for good. You’d be damned if you went out without a fight now that you’ve learned well enough from your found family. 

You scrambled out of bed and searched around the room, looking for anything that could be of service. In a drawer in a random dresser, you found a sewing collection with some shears. This will have to do. 

You positioned yourself on the side of the door that would be covered when open and waited with bated breath. Shuffled footsteps sounded from outside and you prepared to strike. The door creaked open and the person walked in. You surged forward with your hand preparing to plunge the knife into them, but a hand caught your wrist with the shears. 

“It would be regrettable to stab me, for killing the crown prince is the most heinous of crimes. I would hate for you to meet such a sudden end on your twice emergence from the dead.” The voice of Jacaerys Velaryon shook you from your adrenaline-filled mind. You dropped the shears. 

“Prince Jacaerys?” He released your wrist from his grip and took a step back to give you space. 

“It’s a relief to see you awake, my lady,” Jace spoke. 

You swayed in your spot, the fear your body ran off of ebbed away, “What…” You stumbled forward and Jace moved quickly to catch you. One of his hands wrapped around your waist while the other supported your back. 

“You should still be abed,” He uttered. Jace guided you back to the bed and helped you sit down. Your back rested against the headboard. The prince grabbed a nearby chair and moved it to the side of the bed you sat on and settled on it. 

“I am sure you have… many questions.” 

You huffed, “That may be the biggest understatement of the century.” 

“You got me there,” Jace smiled gently, “Your, uh, friends stationed themselves outside the room and wouldn’t leave while you rested. There would never be more than two gone at a time. They’re staying in the room across from yours, I can wake them up so they can speak with you.” 

He made a move to get out of his chair, but you interrupted, “Wait, no. Let them rest. How long have I been out?” 

Jace hesitated before answering, “Two weeks.” You gaped at the answer, but he continued, “Honestly, no one was sure you would wake.” 

You looked down at the blanket strew across your lap and traced your fingers over the delicately sewn design of vines. Two weeks of missed time, suspended in that state of burning pain. You blinked back the tears that pooled in your eyes and cleared your throat. 

“Forgive me for my language, my prince, but what in the Seven Hell’s happened?” 

Jace rested his hands on his thighs and leaned back, conveying his openness, “To be honest, my lady, I am not entirely sure. It was a shock. I was having dinner with Alicent when your… friends descended. I still have no clue how they got past both the castle and my own guards. They were a fury to be sure. Hurling such accusations at Alicent.”

You wanted to speak, but violent coughing raked through your throat and had you seize for a moment. Jace got out of his seat and reached for a cup that was placed on the bedside table. He poured the water into the glass and held it out for you. When you went to reach for the cup, Jace grabbed your hand and moved it back down to the covers. He brought it to your lips and tilted it so you could drink. Once you had a sip, he pulled back and waited if you wished for more. You shook your head, muttering a thank you, and he put it back on the table before settling in the chair again. 

Jace continued, “They claimed Alicent faked your death to take your inheritance. That you had been ultimately killed by her with poison. I must admit, I did not believe them at first. But, a knight, Ser Erryk corroborated their story. Only then did Alicent fumble under the pressure, her story of innocence did not match up and began to crumble under scrutiny.” 

You were in a state of shock. Never, in any dream or wish, could you have ever thought of Alicent being seen as the true person she was. That her crimes would be revealed. 

“I had her arrested.” Jace’s words had rung in your head. The picture of Alicent in a cell came to mind, and the relief in that image could not be measured. Perhaps, finally, you may be out of reach from her conniving talons. 

“I… How am I still alive?” You questioned. 

Jace cleared his throat, “Well, I sharply questioned her for information regarding the poison. The castle healer knew of an antidote, but we were unsure if it would work, given how long it took to get to you. I am glad it did.” The corners of his lips turned up slightly. 

“I need to see her.” You spoke. 

“Absolutely not, I cannot allow that, my lady.” Jace shook his head. 

“I have a right to see her. I am the lady of this castle, am I not?” You retorted. Your eyebrow rose in challenge and Jace nodded. 

“You could barely stand for a few moments. When you are strong enough, I will personally take you to her. And yes, you are the lady of this castle so for you and your people, you must rest.” He emphasized the final three words, pausing after each. 

The finality in his tone had you lean backwards and close your eyes. The pounding in your head had yet to cease, but it had eased. You pinched the bridge of your nose and began to breathe in and out. 

“I sent word to my mother. She is coming to oversee Lady Alicent’s trial.” Jace lowered his voice, “Ser Erryk has physical evidence of a box meant for your heart. He was sent to carve it out of you… Um, another man was found, the one who gave you that apple. He is locked up and will be put on trial with Alicent.” 

That day when Ser Erryk helped you felt like years ago. You were a different person then. Naive enough to believe Alicent would do something kind for you for once. While it had been the lowest point of your life, without it you would not be who you are now. A changed woman, with a true family and purpose. 

“I wish to see my family now.” You whispered. Despite the conversation sucking all your strength, you wanted to see your friends. Jace stood up and nodded. He did not say anything further, in case he would stress you more than you were at that moment. His hand gripped the door handle and he opened it. Jace turned back around to you and looked as though he wanted to say something but refrained. His figure went through the door and closed it, leaving you to stew in the overwhelming amount of information you were fed. 

⋅───⊱༺ 🍎༻⊰───⋅

The following week waiting for the arrival of Queen Rhaenyra was spent recovering. The shoulder wound you had sustained in the raid against Jace and his men had almost healed. Your body had fought off the last of the poison days ago, but everyone around you still treated you like glass. It had begun to grind down on your nerves. 

Visiting Alicent had been a decision you turned against. There was nothing you wished to say to her and nothing she could ever say to you that would be worth your time. It would only ever throw you into more distress. Your new family settled into castle life surprisingly well, a fact you often teased them about. However, they still showed some form of distrust towards Jacaerys. 

The prince had become a close friend in the short time spent together. He would visit you often in your chambers as you recovered. When you were cleared to walk, he would escort you around the caste. In his words, he accompanied you in the event that you collapsed, but you knew he did not have to as there were plenty of guards that could have done the job. 

Despite the closeness between you two, some of your friends - mainly Grumpy - were still put off by him. Grumpy had approached you at one point to question Jace’s intentions, a conversation that made your cheeks flush and heart race. After clarifying that Jace was just being a gentleman, Grumpy acquiesced his hostility to the prince but still watched him with a piercing gaze when he went near you. 

It was not just Grumpy that had become more protective over you. All of the men had heightened awareness of every little thing that happened in Castle Stonehill. There was rarely a moment when no less than two were by your side. They went so far as to have you dismiss your night guards and take shifts outside your door. When meals were made for you, Doc and Happy would watch over the cooks in the kitchen. 

It was an unspoken fear they had; of the possibility of Alicent getting someone to come for you. You knew that so long as she was alive in a cell they would continue to act like this. Jace often joked about you having your own mini army, or legion of defenders that safeguarded your every waking moment. You would laugh if it was amusing. At first, their actions were endearing, but now they felt more stifling as of late. 

When Queen Rhaenyra arrived, you were surprised by the soft warmth she brought to whatever room she occupied. She was strong-willed and an excellent conversationalist. Her kindness was refreshing, and you could see the resemblance in personality between her and Jace. Though, you were able to note he must carry more of King Harwin’s looks than his mother. A small piece of yourself was jealous whenever you would watch Jace and Rhaenyra spend time together. They were close, and you yearned for what kind of relationship you could have had with your mother. 

A part of you wondered, had Alicent not been as vain, if you and her could have been close. 

You were in your chemise and struggled to change the bandages on your shoulder. Regret for having dismissed the doctor washed over you. You were standing in your room, with your head tilted to look at the stitched wound. The door abruptly opened. You looked up to see Jace had walked in. Upon seeing your state of near undress, he let out a surprised yelp and turned his back to you. The sound of his startled voice made you laugh. 

“I am so sorry, my lady. I do not know what I was thinking to not knock like that- oh, my mother will be furious. Again, I express my deepest condolences. This-” Jace began to frantically apologise. 

You began to laugh harder, finding this situation amusing.. Had it happened to you months ago, you would have been mortified. Now, it does not bother you. Especially since it was him who happened to walk in.  

“It is alright, Jacaerys. I know you meant nothing nefarious.” The two of you had common ground. When away from the listening ears of court, you could ignore propriety in referring to one another by your titles. It pleased a part of you to hear him address you by name rather than Lady Stonehill. 

He still kept his back to you, “I will, um, come back later.” 

“Could you…” You debated if you should ask, given that it was not entirely appropriate, “Could you help me?” Jace turned around to face you, but kept his gaze in line with your face. He coughed to clear his throat. A vibrant red flush spread from his cheeks to his neck. 

“Yeah, uh, of course.” He moved forward hesitantly. The table next to you had a silver tray with some ointment and wraps. He cleaned off his hands in the bowl of water beside it and took some of the ointment. Standing next to you, the height difference was apparent. His chin when looking down only reached the top of your head. Jace’s breath was calm as he applied the ointment to the stitched area on your shoulder. 

You had cursed yourself inwardly for asking him to do this. Your brain only seemed to focus on his calloused fingertips gently applying the cool ointment. Your mind ran wild and you closed your eyes in an attempt to calm your mind. He methodically wrapped up your shoulder. When he finished, his hands lingered on the skin around the wrap. 

You coughed subtly to get his attention. Jace blinked and backed away, moving his gaze to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

“Thank you, Jace.” You were unaware of the effect it had on him to use his nickname rather than his full name. You moved behind a room divider for some privacy and began to put on the other layers of your clothing. 

“Are you… okay? With everything going on.” Jace spoked to you from the other side of the wood divider. Today was the day of Alient’s execution. You had ruminated on it for countless hours during the last few days. 

“I thought that maybe I would feel bad about her death… I truly feel nothing but relief. I guess Sir Erryk never needed to cut out my heart, there seems to not be one.” You shuffled your dress over your head and adjusted the ties on your back, having perfected the routine by having to do it yourself for many years. 

“You have every right to feel that way about her execution. Everything she has done to you… you have a heart, I hope you know that.” Jace reassured. You walked out from behind the divider to look straight at him. 

“And you’ve suddenly become an expert in matters of the heart?” You raised a brow with challenge as you teased him. However, Jace did not seem as though he was joking. 

His gaze held an intensity you could not decipher, “Yes, recently so.” 

You ceased your jesting face and came to understand the gravity of his words. It was not a surprise, for this was something the two of you had been blatantly ignoring as of late. The two of you failed to evade one another. It was an invisible force that pulled you together. Jace took one step forward and there was only a few inches from you. 

“Jace, I…” You sucked in a breath. 

“You don’t have to say anything, I will not make you feel forced to. Nor do I wish for you to feel compelled to reciprocate what I feel. But, I know you have noticed it. I only ask for consideration.” Jace’s eyes held nothing but sincerity. He looked down at you and the closeness felt more intimate than anything you have experienced in your life. 

“I feel insane even saying it,” Jace clarified, “It has happened so quickly, feeling this kind of love, but I would not have it any other way.” 

You were finally able to respond, “I will be honest with you. I don’t know if I love you, Jace, I hardly know you. We have spent a lot of time together and I know there is something there, something I do wish to pursue. Why don’t we start by continuing to get to know one another?” 

Jace nodded desperately at your words as if he clung to every syllable. You reached out to rest your hands on his chest because of how close he was. When you did not push him away, Jace took that as a positive sign and moved his arms to wrap loosely around you with his hands resting on your back. He moved his face closer but stopped just short of yours. He waited for a sign of approval from you. When you gestured with your head in approval, Jace leaned forward and connected your lips. 

In that moment, everything around you ceased to be a reality. It was a promise of protection and devotion given by Jace. His lips were warm and soft, a reflection of his personality. His nose pressed into your cheek. The two of you moved in sync with one another. Normally, you are hyper-aware of all of your senses, but with him, they all seemed to fade away. All you could focus on was him; his arms around you, his lips on yours, and the feeling of desire coursing through you. 

Jace pulled back enough to rest his forehead on yours. Both of you inhaled deeply to catch your breath. Upon opening your eyes, you saw that Jace was already staring at you. He held a dazzling smirk on his face. 

“I hope I do not disappoint you.” He spoke. 

You decided to tease him a little, “I don’t think it could be as disappointing as that kiss you gave me.” 

Jace feigned a look of hurt, but it was tinged with a smile. “Oh, so that is how this will be?” 

“Of course, my prince. I will always have the upper hand.” You giggled. Jace moved his hands from your back to wrap around your waist and pulled you flush against him. The feelings that action elicited from you were all too new and addicting. The closeness of your bodies set your veins alight. This was something you would have no shame in getting used to.

“Well then, my lady, I shall rise to the occasion.” Jace leaned back in to kiss you. 

_____________

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ note: that was part 1 of Between the Pages! i am super excited to start off this series, as I had developed plans for this back in 2022. there were entire storyboards planned, but i never got to writing them. thank you for all the support <3

if you want to be added to any of my taglists, click here.

𖥔 ݁ ˖ taglist: @uniquecutie-puffs @dracaryxzs @beebeechaos @libdarkheart @whodis? @void21

[camuslittlesister]

From the OA Archive: Midnight in Venice

I have no memory of what the prompt for the challenge was, but I wrote a fanfic with MLQC Victor. Eagle eyed Austen fans will know that it is based on a famous scene in Pride and Prejudice.

Totally SFW. Happy weekend 🫶🏻

The rose façade of the palace glistened in the light of the torches in the distance, as our gondola made its slow and gentle way down the Canal Grande. I was lost in my thoughts as the sounds of feasting blurred in the background: the Carnival is a huge deal in Venice, and this masquerade ball is one of the biggest deals within it. We were lucky to be on such a guest list: my cousin Isabella was a TV producer in Loveland City and was secretly dating a famous popstar, who pulled some strings for our invitations. I was nervous on the way there: we had agreed to meet at the ball, and I was worried something went wrong and we couldn’t get in. The gondola docked in front of the palace at last, and we made our tentative way on solid land, the 18th century gowns making any semblance of gracious movement practically impossible.

We walked into the well-lit ballroom and it was like taking a step back in time. I smiled at the grandeur from below my hand-held mask, observing the couples dancing at the centre of the room with amusement tinged with jealousy. I was on the arm of my eldest sister, not acquainted with anyone in the room that we could successfully recognise behind the masks. Some were wearing the traditional full-face masks, adding a layer of extra mystery that was not there with simpler choices. One such masked man, with a large impressive black hat, walked purposefully towards us, and as the crowd moved in all directions, I noticed a familiar figure on his arm. Next to whom I recognised as my cousin Bella, with an extravagant half-face mask, was another young man. The mask was not enough to hide that he was handsome: he had a fine figure wrapped in a midnight blue velvet coat, and he carried himself with a noble demeanour and an air of mild disinterest in what was going on around him.

Bella rushed to us, holding our hands in hers with great animosity, but soon quieted down as she noticed my attention was divided. She leaned in to whisper in my ear: “That’s my friend Victor, he’s the CEO of the biggest financial firm in the city, and possibly beyond”. Before I could react to that news, he had vanished in the crowd. I had not noticed that someone else was part of that group (Kiro’s agent, Savin, who followed him almost everywhere), until I noticed him asking my sister for a dance. I was not in the mood for being a third wheel, so I encouraged Bella to join the dancing too, even if it meant dragging my heavy petticoat on a solitary walk around the rooms. Getting refreshments only bought me some time, and I headed for a quiet corner of the room from where I could enjoy the dancing without attracting too much attention to my momentary lack of companionship.

“You look like you’re enjoying the wine” a deep voice snapped me back out of my reverie, and I turned to see it was Bella’s friend Victor. “I am” I replied with a small smile. “It’s their best vintage” he said back, matter-of-factly. “You sound like you know your wines” I ventured, scrambling to find a topic of conversation out of a mix of politeness and curiosity. If my cousin considered him a friend, then he must be a great guy. “What if I did?” replied he, with barely concealed annoyance. I took another sip of the wine in an attempt to drop the subject without letting my vexation show. An awkward silence fell between us, but I had no desire to attempt a conversation again. After a while that likely felt longer than it truly was, Victor spoke: “So you’re Bella’s cousin...”

“Elizabeth” I filled him in, and returned to my wine

“I wasn’t going to come but she forced me to even out the numbers” he said, his voice expressing an emotion I could not quite work out “I had my own invitation, of course” (heaven forbid that I would think Kiro pulled some strings for him too!) “but I wasn’t going to fly all the way here for a ball”.

“I’m sorry that you were pushed into something so disagreeable on my account” I replied, but before I could make my excuses he reached for one of the canapés trays doing the rounds.

“You must try this, it’s the most delectable thing at this party”.

I had never met a man as enigmatic as he, able to leave me intrigued and indignant all at once. He professed he didn’t care for dancing, but then invited me for more than one dance (he danced with me and me alone). He acted like everyone in the room was beneath him, but then showed me the consideration of a lover in countless little ways. The night flew by, and the sun was rising gently over the sleepy city, the canal as bright as a sea of diamonds. The air on the balcony was slightly chilly, and I had been wearing Victor’s coat since he had placed it on my shoulders in a silent act of kindness. I heard my sister call for me from a short distance, as if she was hesitant to come any closer. I made for getting the coat off but Victor promptly took it from me with practised ease. Something inside me was holding me back from stepping away, and yet things seemed to be happening so fast. Our hands brushed as I turned, and I felt a piece of heavy paper pass from his to mine. I felt mildly elated at the gesture, and held my fist tight not to lose whatever he had handed me. I met my sister and turned back for a final goodbye, meeting his intense gaze, and I walked away in the dwindling crowd of party guests, a strong sense in my heart that I just lived through a night I will never forget.

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 11:

Gif Credit: @dudeitiskarev

A/N: I told you shit was going to kick tf off! Poor Hotch is not having a good day today.

Warnings: Explicit details of injury, strong language. 

———

“Each meeting occurs at the precise moment for which it was meant. Usually, when it will have the greatest impact on our lives.” - Nadia Scrieva

———

‘Fitzgerald House’ sits in white letters on an antique black board at the gateway entrance. Hotch turns over the engine and peers over at the notebook in McCall’s hand, squinting at the gated estate in front of him. 

They’re buzzed in by a security guard, and as they drive up, the estate expands. A pillared terrace is framed by dark brick, neatly trimmed shrubs line the circle driveway and encase a grand fountain. Behind it, a set of antique double doors are framed by more huge pillars and blossom trees umbrella the pathway. 

“Are you sure this is the right address, Aaron?” Mccall asks.

He nods. “Fitzgerald House. This is it.”

They step out of the car simultaneously, looking around them, the estate more intimidating up close. There’s something cold about this place, a familiarity he identifies with all too well. 

“This seem like the kind of place a twenty-something lives in?” McCall asks in disbelief. 

Hotch scoffs, air leaving his nose in an exhale. “Senator Fitzgerald’s twenty-something.” 

Hotch is light on his feet, feels as though he’s dirtying the kept tile pathway just by walking on it. Truth is, he’d grown up in a home like this - or spent his summers there at least. He’d felt just as uncomfortable then as he does now. He knows what kind of people are on the other side of those doors, and knows the kind of people that live here. Cold, calculating, drenched in privilege, toxicity and unbearable expectations. 

Borderline abusive. 

He was raised by them. 

He pulls his credentials from his inside pocket and reaches for the doorbell. They take a minute or so and when there’s no answer, he makes a fist and bangs on the door with the side of it. 

“Open up, FBI.” 

A woman finally pulls open one of the double doors, straining almost with the weight of it, the oak creaking. She’s around 40 years old, stands at 5’4 and she’s thin, dark hair pulled back into a tight bun, greying slightly towards her hairline. A black and white apron completes her uniform.

“FBI? Can I help you?” She speaks with an accent, a thick lilt to her words. Eastern European, maybe, Hotch thinks. 

“I’m Agent Hotchner, this is Agent McCall. We’re with the FBI.” They flip their credentials to show the lady, her eyes squint to read the writing on them. “And you are?” 

“I’m the housekeeper. Carolina.” She says. 

“Hello, Carolina. We’re looking for a Jordan Fitzgerald?” Hotch inquires with a smile. 

“Oh.” She stutters and glances behind her, frozen in place. 

“May we come in?”

“Yes, yes, sorry. Please, come in, I think Mr. Fitzgerald is still in bed. Just a second.” 

They step into the foyer of the home, taking in the room - it’s bright and airy, a white marble staircase leading up and off into both directions sits in the middle, framed by a dark bannister. The refined marble floor, and white walls make the both of them feel uncomfortable, uneasy. Tight-lipped family portraits and oil paintings of numerous well to do ancestors line the walls, casting a disapproving eye.

To the right, is a drawing room, where Carolina seats the two men, plush leather sofas are carefully placed in front of a massive window with a view of the front garden. An oversized antique ceramic vase sits in the corner of the room, perfectly polished and buffed.

Hotch swallows uneasily, his eyes scanning the room. 

They both sit tentatively, careful not to scuff the antique rug that lays below them. McCall glances at his watch and mutters to Hotch, taking care to look around so nobody hears him. 

“Bed? It’s noon.” 

Hotch scoffs, raising his eyebrows sarcastically. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, sees some missed calls from Haley that he skips over, shooting off a quick text to you. 

Hey. Good luck with your dad today. 

Talking to you is fast becoming one of the best parts of his day - he feels a little like a teenager again. His phone buzzes and he hopes it’s your name on the screen, he has a spring in his step whenever he’s on duty and he doesn’t have as much trouble waking up in the morning, knowing that you’re waiting for him. 

He’s suddenly ripped from his thoughts when giggles erupt from the top of the stairs, and two sets of footsteps approach. Hotch cranes his head in unison with McCall as a blonde woman with dishevelled blonde hair and smudged eyeliner stumbles down the stairs, shirt buttons done unevenly and skirt askew. 

She carries her shoes in her hands and has a purse tucked under her arm - Hotch concludes that she was probably drunk last night, the effects of which she’s still feeling now if her stumbling is any indication. 

Who he assumes is Jordan, trails behind her with a grin on his face. He’s undressed with only a pair of boxer shorts covering him and a dressing gown that lays open. Hotch and McCall shoot each other a wordless look and Aaron has to fight to stop himself from rolling his eyes. 

Jordan surprisingly has the decency to walk his unnamed friend to the front door, who turns and plants what looks like a messy and unpleasant kiss on his mouth. 

This is Jordan? 

Nice.

He’s tall but still stands a couple of inches shorter than Hotch, he’s broad with brown hair and matching eyes and has a tattoo across his clavicle, which he covers up when he pulls his dressing gown closed. McCall clears his throat when the unnamed friend releases herself from Jordan’s grip and turns to leaves after having Jordan swat her ass crudely. 

Jordan turns his attention then to the agents in his drawing room, padding towards them as they both stand in unison to introduce themselves. He glances at Hotch, eyes narrow, a miniscule flash of recognition appearing on his face. He subconsciously squares his shoulders and stands up a little straighter, gaze falling to the FBI badge Hotch has pinned on his lapel. 

“Mr. Fitzgerald? We’re with the FBI.” McCall tells him with an outstretched hand. 

Jordan takes it warmly, plastering a smile on his face. “What can I do for you gentlemen?”

McCall tells him that they’re here in connection with an ongoing case regarding you, to which Jordan has surprisingly little reaction, Hotch notes. 

Instead, he turns his attention to Hotch. “FBI huh?” He places his hands in his hips, an obvious attempt at trying to assert his dominance, and Hotch sees right through him. “Impressive,” he continues. “How old are you anyway, man?” His words drip with sarcasm and do nothing to veil the obvious insecurity he feels. 

He unsuccessfully tries to level with Hotch, subtly tiptoeing. 

Hotch’s jaw clenches as he looks down at Jordan. “24.” 

He repeats Hotch’s words slowly, ignoring McCall - who finds himself frozen in place, uneasy with the almost confrontational atmosphere between his partner and Jordan. 

“Wow. Someone’s ambitious. Got a lot to prove-” he flicks his badge. “Hotchner?” 

Hotch finds the words on the tip of his tongue, wants to chew this asshole out for being a sleazy piece of shit, difficult and lazy. But the thing that really bothers him, the thing that makes Hotch want to give him a black eye, is the fact that at one point, you were his - and his own actions sent you running back into Jordan’s arms. 

That thought makes his stomach drop, because it’s a feeling he’s wholly unfamiliar with. 

Jealousy. 

And he finds that most disconcerting of all. 

He’s used to being able to do his job with a degree of separation and compartmentalisation, to keep his emotions in check - but he finds himself in a predicament now, one that’s becoming alarmingly clear. The lines are blurred and he knows it, no matter how hard he tries to push it down. 

But he tries anyway. 

He takes a deep breath and goes on. “You mind putting some clothes on, bud? We have some questions for you?” His tone is biting, condescension masked with amiability, similar to the way he would speak to a child. He tacks on the ‘Bud’ to purposely get a rise out of Jordan. 

If there’s one thing he learned from his parents growing up, it was how to get under people’s skin with a smile plastered on his face, and he knew people like Jordan. 

He used to be a Jordan.

Jordan steps towards Hotch, his eyes narrow, a slew of expletives on the tip of his tongue no doubt until McCall subtly steps between them. He stops in his tracks, eyes still focused on Hotch standing behind McCall. 

His demeanour changes completely and suddenly, the animosity melting away to make way for his initial warm manner. 

He takes a deep breath and plasters an unnerving smile on his face. 

With a tilt of his head, he says, “I actually have back to back appointments today, may I come into your offices tomorrow?” His cadence sounds eloquent, polite, the way Hotch knows he was probably raised to speak. 

He frowns at the rapid 180. 

McCall subsequently agrees to let Jordan come into the office to keep the peace but Hotch knows better. The only appointments he would have would be with a few lines of coke and a bottle of scotch if his jaw movements and body odour were anything to go by. 

Still, Ben hands him a business card and tells him to come by at around 3pm for a few questions and bids him a quick goodbye. 

Hotch’s phone buzzes on his way out, a message from you telling him that you’re on your way to your father’s with Emily. 

‘Oh and like three MPD officers.’’ You add. ‘One’s new I think? How’s it going with Jordan?’ 

A small smile creeps its way onto his face while his attention is diverted and his eyes are glued to his phone. 

Jordan watches Hotch and McCall walk back down the pathway and into the car. His eyes narrow from the doorway as he gives a cursory glance to the business card he holds between his index and middle finger, and he flicks it onto the ground outside. 

McCall clears his throat once they’re in the car, but Hotch’s attention is still directed at his phone. He clears his throat again, a little louder this time.

Hotch’s eyes dart up as he looks at McCall. “What?” He asks innocently, slipping the phone into the centre console. 

“That who I think it is?” 

“Yeah, I just checked in to see if everything was alright.” He rubs the back of his neck, a dead giveaway gesture to anyone who knew him well enough.  

“Yeah? Then why do you look like that?”

“Like what-”

Without warning, McCall reaches over and pulls down the driver’s seat visor, sliding the mirror cover over. Hotch’s face is flushed, a ghost of a smile on his face, akin to a smug teenager. His guilty reflection stares back at him and stops him in his tracks. He didn’t realise he looked like that when he was thinking about you and he’s alarmed at how transparent he is. 

No, he thinks. So what? It’s warm, it’s even warmer in this car. 

It’s fine.

Still, he sighs, rolls his eyes. “What?” Hotch says, insistent as he turns a little in his seat. 

McCall sighs deeply next to him, hesitant. “Just. Be careful.” He says, head tilting to motion to his phone. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You know what I’m talking about, Aaron.” He says, his voice low. “I see the way you look at her. And what about that little display inside? Why were you so confrontational with Fitzgerald?” 

He rolls his eyes. “Oh come on. You gotta be kidding me! You saw the way he was antagonising me-”

“-Yeah and your job is to stay calm no matter what. You’re not supposed to let people get a rise out of you, especially not if you want a place at the BAU one day. Gideon got word of you, he thinks you’re good. Prove him right.”  

He sounds like an older brother lecturing him, but he has a point, Hotch thinks. Why was he so bothered by Jordan? 

He knows why. He doesn’t know how much longer he can deny it.

The feelings he’d tried so hard to bury deep inside were quickly rising to the surface, faster than even he could get a handle on them. Maybe all he could do at this point was to relax his body and let the water carry him - sink or swim. The possibility of what could be, maybe it was too big to keep fighting. 

He has feelings for you. 

He has feelings for you despite the numerous conflicts of interest, despite the moral implications and the danger to your investigation. 

He swallows dryly. 

“You have feelings for her.” McCall says, mirroring his conscience. 

He doesn’t know what to say back, but he certainly can’t bring himself to deny it. He’s not that good of a liar. Yet. 

He just stares back at McCall whose face is etched in concern for his partner. 

He has feelings for you. 

———

It’s dark when you hug your father goodbye. You hadn’t realised just how homesick you’d been for him until you’d visited today, more so now as you’re about to leave. 

You stand in the dreary rain and apologise again for not telling him about the restaurant incident, reassuringly rubbing his hand as you tell him you’re going to be okay. 

“Really, truly.” You tell him over the patter of the rain. “I’m going to be absolutely fine. I have Emily watching over me now.” 

He nods and places a kiss on your forehead. “Yes, but that doesn’t change the fact that I still worry.” He sighs. “Bye, baby.” 

You wave to him one last time, pulling your coat closer to your body before you and Emily drive away, MPD leading the way. You glare at her, watching her avoid your looks. She grips the wheel a little tighter, and keeps glancing in the rear view mirror despite there being nothing there. 

After a minute or so, she grits between her teeth, “What? I can feel you staring at me.” 

“You told Dad?” You hiss. “I specifically told you not to, and you still told him?” 

“I’m sorry! He asked me outright if anything had happened, what was I supposed to do? Lie?”

“Yes!” You squeal. “Yes! You’re supposed to lie if I ask you to!”

“Come on, that’s bullshit and you know it. He deserves to know that you’re okay. Think about it, what if it had been him? You’d wanna know.” 

In your attempts to not worry him, you’d forgotten that you were all he had, too. Maybe he was right for holding on so tight. 

“I am sorry, though. I should’ve let you tell him.” Emily whispers, glancing at you. 

“No.” You shake your head and apologise too. “You were right.” 

“Does he fly out tomorrow?” 

“Uh, no. Tonight. Some trip that’s been scheduled for months,” you reply distracted, watching the officers in front of you. 

The MPD car turns its hazard lights on, signalling to pull over on the side of the quiet road. You peer at the vehicle in front of you, confused, checking with Emily who shrugs. A text from one of the officers reads, 

‘Reports of a disturbance ahead, assessing alternate route.’ 

“Better settle in.” You show Emily the text and relax into your seat a little better now, leaning your head against the headrest and resting your eyes as the heater runs in the background. The rain slows to a drizzle now. 

She unbuckles her seatbelt to turn her seat. “Can I ask you a question?” Emily says after a while. 

“Sure.” You reply, eyes remaining closed. 

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” She whispers.

“Who?” You frown. 

“Hotch.”

You all but jump out of your skin. “What?!” You squeak.

Emily rolls her eyes now, embarrassed that you’re even trying to deny it. “Come on. It’s me. Don’t lie.”

Your mouth opens and closes, trying to find the words but your cheeks burn. It’s not entirely unexpected, Emily’s always been somewhat of an inner voice, a mirror that holds you accountable but you’d been quietly trying to work out your issues, the feelings you’d been having for Hotch, internally. 

Had you made it that obvious? Had you made yourself look stupid and naive, pining after a guy who was so much older and settled in life? 

“No of course I don’t, where is this coming from?” Your cheeks grow even hotter and you try to keep your voice even. 

She rolls her eyes. “Everyone can see it.”

“See what? There’s nothing to see!” 

You groan and bury your face in your hands in mortification. If everyone could see it, that meant that Hotch could too, he was on his way to being a profiler for God’s sake. He was probably just humouring you, sparing your feelings.

Oh God. 

“I mean the way you look at him?” Emily says.

“-Please stop, this is so embarrassing-” 

“-The way he looks at you?”

You freeze. “What?” You turn to look at her now and you find her smirking. 

“Come on, you’re seriously telling me you haven’t noticed? I noticed the day I met him, so you’re either blind or in denial, and I know you’re not blind. Even McCall knows it.” 

“What? No. He has a girlfriend and he wouldn’t-”

“Yeah that might be true, and I can’t speak to that. But it doesn’t change the way he looks at you. Even the way he held you that day? You don’t hold a friend like that.” 

Your chest feels fuzzy, warmth spreading to your bones, stomach flipping. 

“So?” Emily laughs next to you as she watches your expression. You try your best to stop the smile making its way onto your face. “I’ll take that as a yes,” She pauses. “He does too, y’know?” 

“What?”

“Have feelings for you.” She replies coyly. 

“Shut up.” You reply, rolling your eyes. 

Your smile reaches your ears now, cheeks aching from the strain. Still, you shake your head, and blow her off, instead turning your attention to the other side of the road. You chew on the inside of your lip, mulling over whether to let what you just heard go ignored or if you wanted to act on it. 

You turn back to confide in Emily but before you can, you see her squinting in the rear view mirror. 

“What the hell?” She mutters. You follow her gaze and see a car with beaming headlights, driving towards you, showing no signs of slowing down as it approaches. She sits up straight in her seat suddenly, as the car increases its speed and barrels towards you. 

The colour on her face drains as she fumbles with the gear stick and pedal, panic taking over as she attempts to move out of the way. You both flinch when the MPD car’s tail lights switch on, the engine revving and reversing. 

Both of your faces fall. “Emily...” You pant. 

“Oh God.”

It’s over in a couple of seconds. 

The headlights get closer and brighter, both cars barrelling towards you. You squeeze your eyes shut and brace yourselves for impact, your hand clasping hers as both cars ram into you, the seatbelt searing the neck of your skin. The airbags pummel your body from the front and side and your insides feel like they're turning upside down. 

Your neck snaps forward with the impact, glass shattering and piercing the skin on your face and arms as the blood pools slowly from your forehead. A high-pitched whine penetrates your skull as you look over to a barely conscious Emily, and then to the side mirror, a dark silhouette approaching the car. Your breathing is rapid, chest rising and falling as you hyperventilate before you finally black out with the taste of metal in your mouth. 

———

Hotch throws his keys haphazardly on to the table that sits next to the front door, loosens his tie and shrugs his blazer off. He finally breathes a sigh of semi-relief, feeling exhausted. He doesn’t bother calling out to the empty space to let Haley know he’s home, instead decides to just make his way upstairs and get a shower before turning in for the night. 

His shirt is unbuttoned and his socks are in his hands when he turns his attention towards the laundry basket in the corner of their bedroom. He goes to throw them in the hamper when he frowns, some stray fabric catching his attention behind the basket. 

Haley strolls into the room then, rubbing lotion into her hands as Hotch moves the basket to get a better view of the fabric behind it. She double takes when her eyes fall to what he’s doing, spotting what he’s reaching for. The colour drains from her face. 

She’s too late. 

Hotch pinches the fabric between his index finger and thumb and inspects it in front of him, frowning, Haley swallows dryly, going lightheaded.

A pair of boxers.

He frowns. They’re not his, but he swears he’s seen some like them before. 

“Hey, where did these-”

He barely gets through the whole sentence before Haley’s face gives her away entirely. Her lips are pursed and she’s breathing hard, wringing her hands. 

His face falls and he blinks at her, stuck in denial. 

Surely not. She couldn’t have- 

She averts her gaze, looking instead at the carpet on the floor, cheeks hot when the boxers are thrown at her feet. She flinches. 

“Explain.” He demands. 

She opens her mouth but no words come, her head hangs in shame.

“How long?” He asks. “How. Long?!” His voice booms.

“It happened when I left for those two weeks.” Her voice barely registers above a whisper. 

Anger bubbles in his chest when he does the math, “You’ve been cheating on me for two months? Two months?! Was that him this morning?” His nostrils are flared and he knows he’s getting louder now, but he doesn’t care. 

She nods. 

“Use your words, was it him?” He hisses. 

She sobs, “Yes.” 

His mind runs rampant with fury and humiliation, he’d spent the last four months trying to make sure he put her first, had tried to balance his personal and work life and instead of meeting him in the middle, she had betrayed him in such a humiliating way. 

He paces the length of their bedroom now, head scrambling at the proverbial slap he’s just received . The cold familiarity of where he’d seen the fabric before suddenly dawns on him, creeping up his spine.

He stops dead in his tracks, turning to face her, asking the question he doesn’t want the answer to. “What’s his name?” He asks evenly. 

“Jordan - Fitzgerald.” 

He’d always thought the phrase, blood turning to ice, was just a saying but when Haley says those two words, he feels as though the floor has been pulled out from under him and his stomach sinks. He tries to piece together all of the moving parts, tries to connect the dots - he knows what this is, but his brain is still playing catch up. 

He’s in a daze when he answers a call from McCall, his voice even. “I’m on my way to you, there’s been an accident.”

“An accident?” That pulls him out of his daze, a cold harsh push back into reality. Haley’s head whips up when she hears the words, tears streaming down her face. “Where?” He asks. 

McCall pauses. “It’s her.” 

Hotch can already feel what’s coming next, dread settling into his bones, his stomach churning when he remembers you’d planned to have dinner with your father. A violent shiver runs down his spine and he swallows down the bile that threatens to spill out. 

“Status?” He whispers.

“Missing.”

———

< Prev | Next >

Tags:​ @oreogutz @andromedasstarship @galacticnerd-78 ​ @izzyl13​ @bananabucky @crying-river @purpledragonturtles @gabbysblogthingy​ @archiveofadragon​ @yoshigguk @acidicbloody @jeor​ @ivebeenthinkingboutu​ @bauslut @averyhotchner @vashanatasha​ @hotchwhore15 @pjmjams

[yandere-society]

Roses | M

Sypnosis: You grew up dirt poor in the shadows of society, barely managing to survive without parents or family and very little money. Somehow through multiple part-times and endless overtimes, you land a job at the most profitable company in your country: the Jeon estate. Now you work for the young head of the estate, Asia’s most powerful man, Jeon Jungkook, as an assistant. One day, as you are preparing for the Grand Valentine ball which Jungkook has formally set up for his and his fiance’s anniversary, you realize two things; Jeon Jungkook and the rich like him will always live above people like you and two, Jungkook really loves his fiance. Or…is it really her he loves?

Pairing: Jungkook x Female Reader

Word Count: 5,350

Admin: @roses-ruby​​

Valentine’s Day Event Masterlist

Warnings: yandere themes, blood, death, murder, mentions of smut, mentions of sexual harassment, evil plans, letter openers; those knife looking kinds 

You had always been jealous.

“I’ve been thinking about her a lot these days…”

The morning air wraps around your frame with frigid clarity. You had to breathe once, then twice to be able to concentrate on the intense eyes before you.

“Your fiancé, sir?”

With a sober gaze, you focus on the handsome yet stoic man sitting in front of you. His stare was vacant but captured your whole torso in a viper like grip.

“About what to get her.” He speaks in the same dull tone as before.

“…Maybe roses?”

Women like roses, right?

He tilts his head at you, as if he was signaling you about how thoroughly he was contemplating your answer. The action raised goosebumps along your upper arm until they met with the cold polyester sleeves of your dress shirt. There was such beauty even in his most simple movements, but truthfully there was nothing quite simple about the raven-haired man that eyed you with such an unreadable expression. Even though you reacted in such a way, you refused to let him see you fazed. To invite him to sink his teeth below the upper casing like he so desperately wanted.

Not yet.

With a sigh that yelled defeat, he leaned back in his chair. Mumbling to himself.

“Roses it is.”

And just like that, he dismissed you. Looking off into the distance on the left, where a large window displaying the huge metropolis laid bare. You wonder how it must feel – the raw power of staring out that window, knowing that every inch of the land could be yours within seconds. All he had to do was say the word. How would it ever be like to wake up every day wearing uncountable riches and diamonds and dynasties upon your thick skin? Either to mold or to destroy.

How does it feel to hold the fragile earth within your fist?

Perhaps you were curious because you’ve never had that luxury. Left behind to rot by that very earth itself, you’ve never had any luxuries. For you were just a simple, everyday peasant unlike the heir to the Jeon throne himself. The differences between you both were similar to that of the sun and moon. He sat on a throne you could only watch upon, forced to stand up on your impoverished legs for the rest of your life until they were to cave when you were to finally die.

Only the red are privileged to sit.

Your pace is nimble, but you manage to make it back to your desk outside his office. With a sigh, you plop down onto your rolly chair. The cushions mold into your stiffened back and your muscles relax against the plush. In the back of your mind, behind your closed eyes, you picture someone pressuring each side of your heart. Being the cause of the faint ache you felt inside your chest.

But you don’t get to rest for long, as a loud bang enters your office hallway. Startled, you sit up – and as soon as you do, the chalky screeching surrounds your ears.

“My God, some people are insufferable! I mean how hard is it to clean a dress? A monkey with a sponge could do it! Accident they say, those lazy rats. Really – and today of all days as well. This is sabotage! I will have them regret the day they tried to cross me-”

You watch with wide eyes as the lady in red hair clacks around in her maroon heels. She was seething with anger, cheeks rosy and steam coming out of her ears. But even through her fury she remained the epitome of beauty, her doll like features heightened by her puerile attitude. All you could do was gape at her as the pounding in your brain grew from her each word. With one final stomp, she stops, right in front of your desk. Her body was facing your boss’ door as she glared into the distance quietly before whirling her head at you. Eyes squinted with menace making you jump in your seat.

If looks could kill.

“What are you looking at, pig?” She snarls

Before you could answer her, the door opens. He comes out with his hands in his pocket, heartless as usual. But his eyebrows were furrowed, and you could sense the annoyance in his stance.

“What’s with all the commotion?”

“DARLING!” It was as if all her animosity had vanished in that instant. She leaped over at Jungkook, arms flailing and eyes sparkling. Your lips twitched subtly at her shrill scream.

Wrapping her long arms around him, she practically moans into his neck. Her red lip gloss smearing over his soft skin. He places his hands on her hips to hold her – and himself – steady. They look so perfect together – a sight to behold. Yet something threatens to crawl out your throat the more you watch them.

“Darling, it was awful! The Chang’s, darling – they ruined my expensive, custom made ruby iridescent Prada evening gown! They ruined it, darling!” She loudly wails into his shoulder.

Jungkook listens to her cry, before sighing. You couldn’t read him completely, it felt like he was looking at a young child throwing a tantrum. A precious child. “Why would you even use an industrial dry cleaner when you have professionals at home babe? What did they do to it?”

She backs away from him, looking into his eyes like a hurt puppy.

“T…They tore a piece from the bottom…from the wash they say… Miuccia designed it for me herself Kookie…y-you can’t let them get away with this.”

Jungkook stares into her glossy orbs for a bit, before he glances at you. His gaze makes you jerk, facing elsewhere in a heartbeat. It felt like you were interrupting them, your cheeks burn with shame. Your heart even more until you heard him huff.

“Alright, I’ll contact Min. He’ll be able to handle it.”

“Oh darling, I love you so much.” She screeches, hugging him once again.

Min. That was the family lawyer. A cut-throat man who managed to make powerful billionaires beg for their livelihood on Jungkook’s feet. One small-time laundro mat was a speck of dust compared to them. Your chest ache grew as you clenched your fists beneath the desk. The poor Chang’s had just managed to put their oldest into college, they had no savings left. They were barely handling 3 more kids and multiple elders to nurture, 9 people in total in one small apartment. Something like a lawsuit was bound to put them out on the streets. But now that they had crossed paths with Jeon’s beloved fiancé, how horrible their fate was bound to be.

There were thorns in your throat.

“Darling, I just wish tomorrow will be perfect.”

Her tone always contained a particular weight that captures your attention back to her. Jungkook was still looking at you, his stare heavy, holding down your shoulders. You felt the red explode inside your pupils as she wrapped herself around him before kissing him.

“Don’t worry, it will be. I promise.”

They start to make out, unabashed. But what shame would a rich person ever have? The cold morning air surrounds you again, as you steady your breaths, and try to get back to work. Manage to yet again contain your jealousy.

Sadly, you end up missing the intense eyes that were still on your figure, gripping tightly and never moving off once.

-

Valentine’s day. A time of small importance to you.

Is what you say as you eye the crimson curtains and scarlet carpet. The chandelier had a red tinge in its shards, lighting up the vast room in an almost bizarre way. A ballroom fit for the never early King and Queen. You stare at the monotone waitpersons cavorting about, carrying colored shots and expensive sweets in their trays. Your eyebrow perks up as your gaze lands on one of them being subtly touched by an older gentleman. His aged wrinkles in his drunk, lustful gaze versus her frightened young orbs and doe posture. It reminds you of your past. In all those cheap diners and broken eateries, being groped and disregarded all at the same time. In those days as well, Valentine’s day meant nothing to you.

Turning back to the long table before you, you pop another chocolate covered strawberry into your mouth. At that moment you hear soft laughter, making you look toward the left end of the table. There stood your coworker, Jimin, in his pink tux and blonde hair. He was talking to another coworker. You turn your eyes away once he catches your gaze.

And coincidentally, they end up meeting with the man you’ve been avoiding all night. On the other side of the table, stood Jungkook. Your breath gets caught in your throat. Jungkook in his infrared suit. A blend of garnet and carmine and sanguine. Gelled hair, bright skin, dark glare. Such marbled precision. He was staring at you then too, when Jimin came to flirt with you a while ago. As well as when Taehyung tried his luck.

And oh, if looks could kill.

Your little moment is interrupted when another man in red walks up to him, starting a conversation. His red wasn’t as strong as Jungkook’s, you noticed. Actually, you’re sure Jungkook probably held the strongest red in the world, just like her. They were born with it after all. You, on the other hand, worked your whole life through the mud pit to be able to bear pink upon your frame. A few of your coworkers wore pink too, some of their attires barely blushing, while the ones worth more wore fuscia. The waitpersons wore white and that forced you back in time the most… the time you could only wear white like it was a scar engraved into your skin.

Maybe you should make peace with the fact that a day like today wasn’t something for people like you to enjoy. That even if some people still view you as nothing but a body to fulfill their desires, you now have a face to go along with it unlike the servants around you. Maybe you should be thankful you are more blessed than the help. And the helpless. Even if you desired a lot more. It’s always been like that hasn’t it. A few speeches of wisdom draped upon the less fortunate public.

“Be grateful for what you have.”

Startled by the voice, your head whips back, where the lady in glimmering red stood. It was her, the one who had arrived with him, hand in hand, half an hour late. Yet she had instantly been the main attraction at the ball, people swarming towards her like hungry bees. Her gown was the color of a rose’s center – the strapless dress, lingering the ground like a mermaid’s legs, hugging her slender figure so delicately – it was the epitome of perfection. Your pink sun dress fell short in comparison. The impenetrable beauty was addicting, attracting even the shyest of insects into her clutches. For a second you got high on her scent alone, before the malicious tone of her words settled into your brain.

Why was she here? A minute ago, she was stuck to Jungkook’s side like she was glued together with his larger frame. Perhaps she gave him some space to breathe for once, but that still doesn’t explain why she came up to you out of all the bugs about. Seething in her perfect set of teeth, she glares a hole through you, making you unnerved. Even with ill intentions written in her eyes, she presented a beautiful, kind smile on her cherry lips.

“You’re probably happy knowing that you’re the only secretary Jungkook hasn’t fired within a week. You’re probably thrilled to have someone like Jungkook promote someone like you to the department head. You probably get off every time he calls your filthy name.” She breathes into your face; her breath was cold and pupils sharp. “You might think you have him wrapped around your finger and I’m not sure you know who you are, but since your poor education has failed you so greatly, I’m here to remind you.”

She steps closer into your space, as a way to intimidate you. “You’re a mutt he’s taking pity on and nothing more, you understand me? A pig shouldn’t get so happy being fed the scraps of a stallion. You mean nothing to him and as soon as he’s fucked you senseless, he’ll forget about you like every other girl that has tried to take my place.”

Her smile never faltered. If anyone was watching this interaction, they’d think she was having a pleasant discussion with you. That the reason you were shying away from her was because you could not handle her radiant glow and pouring compassion. And in the same second the gears in your mind started turning, searching for a possible response, she took a step back.

“Don’t try to get too close to him. Don’t smile so much when he looks your way. Don’t let your pathetic feelings cross the line. Stay in your lane and be grateful for what you have. Because trust me, I can make everything disappear.” With a nod, she brushes past you. 

Gone, just like that. 

The spot that once held her being is forgotten, your head turning to watch her leave. A few butterflies fly up to her, each one wearing a thousand more on their figures and necks, but nothing that could be compared to her red.

It felt as if she never threatened you. As if she wasn’t the villain you just witnessed but a sweet cerise princess. You watch the girls gush about her life; about how luxurious her dress, her hair, her nails, her jewels, and the Grande Valentine ball was. About how blessed she is to have loving wealthy fiancé like Jungkook. She laughs agreeing with them while exhaling the same breath she took pretending to be humble.

Soon you were blending into the background. As usual.

Finally able to pry your eyes away, you stare at the ground, feeling the ache in your chest slowly cover your vision. It felt like the green, bitter thorns from a Rose’s stem, pressing against your heart with brutal force. You already felt like an outsider as soon as you stepped in here, but this was the final straw. The thorns grew amongst your chest, you spent hours finalizing every single thing about tonight on Jungkook’s command. All for his precious fiancé, choosing the colors out of your personal reach and decorations and the drinks and the food. And yet you feel like you just showed up uninvited to a stranger’s house. Knowing nothing here was meant for you.

Parting your lips, you begin walking towards the exit, ready to crawl back into your mouse cave where the lights weren’t so exposing.

You trudged along the exit hall, feeling the cheap heels of your shoes leaves sores against your soles. The ball was only an hour in, and you were fleeing way before midnight. It shouldn’t matter however; it was best to remember that Valentine’s day and its activities hold no meaning to you. Foggy thoughts run throughout your head as you watch the gleaming floor.

When you were almost at the door, a shadow overcasting the tiles and resembling a person makes you halt. Your head tilts up to catch the man in the elegantly fitted red suit, staring back at you with those familiar eyes.

“Leaving already?”

-

You aren’t sure how you ended up here.

All you remember was him telling you to follow along and you obeying his command silently. He led you out of the banquet hall, into his rumbling sports car and then straight inside his mansion. Jungkook never uttered a word, but his essence – his aura…it spoke for him. You walked behind him placidly, like the prey of a snake slowing moving inside the predator’s seams. When he walks into a room, the walls light up immediately at his presence. They glow of a lavish chamber leaves you jolting in place as he carelessly strides to his open bar.

How was this any different from where you just came from? If they wanted, they could have just held the ball here.

You watch as he grabs a bottle from the shelf, turning around and placing it on the counter as he picks up a glass.

“Would you like a drink?”

You immediately shake your head in decline. He shrugs, pouring himself a good amount of dark liquor. As you stand still, watching him take a sip, confusion finally settles in from the whole ordeal. Why would he bring you here? Your ignorance made you feel like scum on the back of his expensive shoes.

She probably always felt at home here.

Jealousy was a suffocating feeling and to deal with the pressure, you look away. Try to think about something else other than his ethereal face. On a small, decorative table to the left of you was a stubby golden vase, filled to the brim with roses. The vibrant flowers capture your orbs closely, like you were being lulled in by their appearance alone. You take small steps up to the table, your heart beating in your ears. When you were close enough you could see the thorns decorating the stems.

The thorns that hindered the beauty of the red.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you pick up a knife – possibly a letter opener from underneath the vase. You carefully take a stem into your hand, pinching it beneath your fingers. With a quick breath, you slice away a thorn, then two. Ridding the plants of its spikes and ugliness in animosity. Making it perfect with each removal.

Your haste movements froze when a hand grabbed yours. You look up to see Jungkook, holding onto you while staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“What are you doing? I thought you liked roses?”

That’s what you wanted to ask him, what was he doing? Why did he bring you here? But it’s not like the rich were born to be questioned. As you hold his gaze with anger, but bite your tongue from speaking, he sighs. Taking the knife out of your hands and placing it back on the table. He replaces the object with his fingers and your whole body heats up from the rush of your hands.

His scent was heavenly. Like a thousand roses laid amongst a field.

“You…at the ball…you seemed off.” He says, capturing your attention with the same incomprehensible face he always has on. “There were so many bugs flying around you there…I needed to take my chance.”

“…What?”

You watch closely as Jungkook tongues his cheek.

“You’re always so…closed off. Like there’s nothing on your mind…like you couldn’t care less about anything. I always…notice.” He huffs, looking at the floor in concentration. “I remember, it was your third day. I was passing by on my way for an early brunch with a buddy. And I saw the support manager fall onto a wet floor. The way she screamed…I and everyone around us rushed to her. Through the commotion and her cries and everyone making sure she was okay…I spotted you sitting at a desk 10 feet away. I saw you…and you didn’t do anything, even though she was in obvious pain… you just gave her a glance and then went back to work. She ended up breaking her arm and suing the company, so I got rid of her but none of that mattered.”

He looks back up at you. “What mattered was you…you caught my eye. Your lack of interest in everyone, your empty eyes. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

It goes quiet for a moment and you now know how haunting the silence is in a big space like this. That and Jungkook’s presence made the atmosphere surreal.

“Would it have made a difference?” You question. His eyebrows raise at your response. “I mean…if I had cared…would her pain have disappeared?”

Jungkook gazes deeply into your eyes, like he was trying to read you. The hand that held you shifted slightly and you tried to not let the movements affect you. It was then that he broke out into a smirk, he seemed intrigued.

“I guess not.”

“No, it wouldn’t have. The one place there is no worth – no red – is in compassion.”

He chuckles. “I suppose with my status and what my family’s taught me…I’m inclined to disagree. But I can’t help…like this…like you.”

It was your turn to raise your eyebrows as he looks away, turning crimson. “I can’t explain why…so don’t ask me. I’ve been involved with plenty of other women…but it was always carnal pleasure. My fiancé always made sure they didn’t last long anyway but it doesn’t matter…they bore me. Yet…I don’t know what it is about you that calls to me. To keep you close to me.” He turns back to you with a determined face. “I want you and I want to get rid of anything in my way that keeps me from you.”

It felt like time stopped. The lull reverberated off the walls with intensity. There was a strange new sensation in your chest the more you stared at his sharp features. He was born with the beauty of red. When you finally felt like you could breathe again, you took your hand out of his. For a split second, you felt his whole physique embody a pout before you lightly placed your finger on his shoulder.

He froze under your touch. You continued to lightly rub at the fabric of his red coat, before placing your other hand on his other shoulder. Jungkook couldn’t look away. Especially not when you moved closer to him, not when he could feel your soft breath hit his face.

“Is this…close enough?” You whisper, watching the way his bright eyes turned dark. Within moments you felt a sudden source of heat around your waist, before you were pushed into his sturdy chest. His heartbeat matched your rhythm and your lips hovered one another as your orbs fought for balance. There was a cocoon of warmth around you, traveling up your spine as his thumb brushed your waist.

“It’s perfect.” He says before you feel his naturally red lips touch your coral ones.

It had been a while since your last kiss. That would explain why your tongue felt so sensitive and weak against his. Your hands hold onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady and at that moment, you recall how this very scene happened before you just yesterday, with his hand on her hips. You recall the jealousy. Bitter thoughts don’t ever completely vanish, do they?

As he bites your bottom lip, you fail to conceal a moan. He smiles into your kiss, before breaking away. Your lips were raw, and although you couldn’t see yourself, you knew they were swollen red. So you begin to smile as well.

“You’re so beautiful.” He says before kissing your cheek, down your jaw and into your neck. “All mine.”

You hold onto the back of his head as he nips at your neck. Gazing at the roses behind him.

“And you, mine.”

-

You woke up to the dark.

It didn’t take you long to figure out you weren’t in your house. The smell…the atmosphere…the scenery…it was all different. Not the familiar color you were used to. Your ear catches the sound of soft snoring, so you turn to see Jungkook sleeping peacefully by your side. His dark bangs covered most of his eyes and you slowly raised your fingers to move his hair out of his face. He seemed so different when he was asleep compared to his cold office demeanor. So calm and innocent – almost like a child.

In that second, your throat feels dry, so you try to sit up. Maybe you’ll have that drink he spoke of now. But a heavy arm thrown across your body stops you. You peek underneath the blanket to find Jungkook’s biceps holding onto you tightly. He was definitely the possessive type. With a quick inhale, you subtly try to remove his big arm off of you. Freezing whenever he faintly stirred. When you’ve managed to become free, you get out of bed, wincing as soon as you get up.

Even without the light, you could tell how damaged you were as you limp towards the door. He didn’t hold back in bed, wanting you to show him every expression of pleasure – of pain you were capable of. Him and only him, he said. There were bite marks on your neck and ass…he loved using his mouth. And then there was his endless fucking stamina. But truthfully you didn’t mind it one bit, it felt like he was pouring his deep rich wine upon you. You felt yourself inflaming up from the inside out, it was a feeling like no other – addicting.

Actually, you’ve always known about his interest in you. He had managed to make his face unreadable because of the position and line of work he’s in. But he’s still always slipped around you. You saw the subtle yearning and longing way before you came up with this plan. A plan that was necessary, you had never been this lucky before after all. And you wonder if she saw it too. If she knew you weren’t like Jungkook’s others. Perhaps that’s why she came up to you tonight. To try and stop you.

But mere warnings don’t work on the desperate.

As soon as you’re in the other room, the living room lights flash on. Prompting you to squint, while trying to adjust to the brightness. Once again, your attention is immediately captured by the vivid red roses in the golden vase on the small table across the room. You begin walking towards the vase mindlessly but once you were a couple feet in, you notice another shade of red to your left.

A glittering red.

You turn to face her, the princess of the kingdom, in her soon to be king’s castle. Naked and sullied in retrospect to her lavishly covered frame. But strangely, compared to you in this moment she was weak. 

It was her face. Her face as she glares at you, eyes squinted, and lips pulled back. Mascara and tears ran down all over her cheeks and her eyes were puffy swollen. She stood there, shaking in her heels as her hands clenched into fists. How could she look so pathetic dressed in red of all things? There was something funny about the sight…it almost made you burst into laughter. Instead you pursed you lips and raised a brow.

Right then she launched herself at you.

“You BITCH!” She screamed at the top of her lungs before you felt her sharp nails collide with your cheek. Your ears rung as you try to regain your balance. You didn’t have time to react as she pulled your face up using your hair and smacked you twice before pushing you down. Already frail torso crashing upon the tiles a bit too easily.

Really, you felt like laughing as you laid there while she screamed and pounded her weak fists onto you. You couldn’t feel the pain, nothing at all, not even when she banged your head against the tile. Not when she kicked you in the gut. So you laughed, and you felt her go quiet for a second. Small giggles turning into something insane. Your laugh got louder and louder as your cheek connected with the cold floor. The ringing surrounded your ears, but you still heard her curse underneath her breath, calling you crazy. You’ve always hated her voice.

“DIIIIEEEEE! DIE YOU CRAZY BITCH! HE’S MINE!” You could hear her tight dress starting to rip with every sudden jerk and twist. It was ironic. Your head felt light and your vision started to blur as she pulled at your stands frantically. Suddenly, you were being pulled up onto your legs with the world spinning around you and thrown right into the small table you couldn’t stop being called towards.

On impact, one of the legs gave out, causing you and the vase to slip onto the ground. You were completely out of it for a few seconds. After a blurry moment, you could finally feel the wet water and the broken wood and the shattered glass and the cold metal scraping against your skin as you struggled to get up. That…and the green thorns stuck inside your chest, bleeding raw.

Once you were up, you struggle to maintain your steadiness. As your slippery feet came to a halt, you stare down at your wounded chest. At the thorns in your heart, before you hear her shrill voice coming towards you again. So, you timed it in your head. Waited for the bottom ruffles of her beautiful dress to slide along the tiles and signal you. Let her red give her away.

And once she was close enough, you spun around. Extended your hand until you could tell the blade collided through something hard yet pudgy. Everything comes to a standstill. You hear her inhale loudly before her face actually appears before you. Eyes wide and mouth parted. Her hands were still in midair, they were coming for your neck. Her shaky pupils gape at you, before looking down below where the knife met her.

When she’s distracted, you take out the letter opener from her stomach before slamming it back into her once again, a little left. It made a soft, stubby sound and she gasped faintly. Your hands shook dimly with the blade still inside her, blood staining your fingers. The ringing had vanished now, and you were facing the silence of the mansion. Now that you had gotten the gist of it, as quick as you could, you stabbed her a third time. It was your final attack because as soon as you took the edge out, she fell backwards with a loud thud. You didn’t have time to process everything, just cringed at the way her head collided with the floor.

For a while, you just stood there. Weapon in hand, watching the way the blood slowly oozed out of her sides. Her eyes were wide open in shock, lips parted, and jaw unhinged. Bringing the blade up to your face, you closely examine the loose blood along the edges as the knife gleamed underneath the lights. Red was truly a magnificent color. If you were to split her open, would she bleed it all out before you? Let you have all her secrets and riches? You take the blade and carefully wipe both sides of the blood onto your chest, over your heart. Making a perfect x and letting yourself become red.

Like you’ve always wanted.

Once you were done with that, you look back at her. At her lifeless face and sunken eyes.

“What are you looking at, pig?”

Just then a hand grabs yours from behind. You dropped the letter opener in surprise, and it crashes onto the floor with everything else. The object is replaced by long fingers. Your head whips back to meet a bare Jungkook standing right behind you, as handsome as ever, staring at you with a smile. There was a little insanity in his eyes, the same one you saw every morning in the mirror.

“I was wondering how to get rid of her myself.” He says, before wrapping his arms around your shivering torso and placing his mouth on your neck.

It had only been a few hours after Valentine’s day, and here you stood. Being gently rocked by your boss, with his beautiful fiancé bleeding out on the floor in front of him. Even in death…she was the epitome of beauty. And you had always been jealous.

Not of who she was to Jungkook.

But because of the vibrant, glowing, bleeding red rose she always resembled.

What you were jealous of was the rose she embodied.

The rose you wanted to be.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 52 – How Come You Did Nothing?!

“We’re here.”

As a werewolf’s resolute howl was resonating in a deserted isle across the sea, Yuhyung’s eyes incandesced even before Rael’s words were met with a period.

He had kept his eyes open, unlike his previous trips upon Rael’s back.

With that moment just about few steps away from him, his heart did not allow his eyes to close.

“...Now what should I do?”

“Hide, of course. I...”

That was when concern smeared over Rael’s face as he looked around, and Yuhyung could imagine why.

The zone they had sought now remained completely desolate, following the visit from Lunark, Zarga, Urokai, and the 8th Elder.

Nobody would believe that this place once used to be as thick as Amazon rainforest with skyscrapers, just like any other spot in Seoul.

Being a deserted, uncluttered space, it appeared no different from the surface of the moon.

In other words, there was no place at all for Yuhyung to take refuge, except for one thing: a body of concrete that surely would have constituted a wall or a pillar of a building, stranded out in the open for some reason.

“I can stay behind this thing if you could raise it for me.”

Rael fell into awkward silence at the human’s suggestion.

Knowing that nobles can completely powder a telephone pole with a punch, Rael could tell that this chunk of concrete would be as good as nothing.

Nonetheless, he decided that it would be better than nothing. And Yuhyung had foreseen that Rael would decide so.

“One moment, please.”

Rael erected the pile, much bigger than his entire physique, with a single hand.

Behind him, Yuhyung rolled his eyes to watch whether Rael spies what is beneath his shoes.

And he was contented at the fact that Rael never once shifted his attention from the artificial rock.

In truth, this piece of concrete did not belong there; it was stationed after KSA’s cleanup of the war zone.

Its purpose was to serve as a cairn and a veil that signs and hides the equipment he entrusted Helga’s teammate with.

It worked in his favor that it happened to be Rael who accompanied him; had he been with anybody from KSA or RK, he would have faced accusation right away.

‘And now, I’ll have to distract him. But damn, what’s taking him so long?’

Yuhyung scanned his perimeter, scowling as inconspicuously as possible.

“...Here he comes.”

Yuhyung inwardly questioned whom Rael is talking about, before he reminded himself of the man both of them were expecting and made an inaudible “ah” with his lips.

With the sound of an object slicing through the air, something quite bulky stomped the earth.

“Oh, dear. That trip was meant to be elusive.”

Rael had not seen him for a while, but his smile was not at all like what was in his memories.

The noble was grinning in a cautious manner, not much discrepancy for them to see from his usual servile, overtly polite semblance.

However, Rael could see through what lay underneath: animosity, jealousy, and hostility towards him.

“Were you waiting for me? Or does this mean...”

Deneb eyed the human standing behind Rael.

Yuhyung, being truthful to his performance until the last moment, sluggishly moved for shelter behind Rael’s black robe.

“Well, not that it matters. I was bound to be caught as soon as I hit this country.”

“...So, are you actually planning on fighting me, Deneb Illiness?”

“Fight you? No, sir. I’m not here to fight you. I’m here to eliminate you.”

“...You know that making an enemy out of your own kind with no appropriate reason is an act of rejection of the lord’s laws, established by our ancestors and rooted deeply upon our motherland. You don’t have to be a head of a clan to be aware of this must-know rule. Not to mention attempt of disconnecting my path for good at this point is equal to sabotaging the QuadraNet project. Am I going too far to say that you have no interest or loyalty for the said project?”

“No, sir. I’m more than well-aware of the meaning of my actions. Of course I do. However, there is this golden teaching that applies to every era and race: dead men tell no tales.”

He must be out of his mind, thought Rael.

Even with the question of possession of soul weapon put aside, those from non-octaclans are inferior to those from octaclans in terms of combat competence.

Rael could bet Deneb would not even last a minute against Regis – the weakest of current heads of octaclans due to his age – or Seira – defined the weakest of heads of octaclans before Regis’s official appointment – even if they are to bench either one of their hands.

‘Looks like his obsession with Seira and jealousy against me have fatally clouded his judgment.’

On the other hand, Rael could not ignore the tug at his chest, for he flaunts a history of troubles he brewed out of his obsessional affection for Seira.

The prickly sensation in his heart was replaced with frigid heat.

As regrettable as it was that he was to exercise his power against his own kind at a time like this, when unity is the key, what Deneb was carrying out was a violation of the laws of noblekind.

Something that Rael, as the head of a Lukedonian clan, must not oversee.

Rael in turn handed something to Yuhyung.

“Here – I’ll need maximum concentration to wrap this up as quickly as possible. So I must ask you to please tend to any communication we may receive.”

What Rael offered to Yuhyung was an in-ear communicator he saved from Tao just in case he needs assistance from the RK, which he had picked up upon his visit to Korea as the Lukedonian ambassador.

However, his intention was to make this battle quick, one-time, and unnoticed, which means he will be unable to reply to any message from KSA or RK, if they are to ask where he and Yuhyung are.

Although he was not sure if it would be possible for him to finish a battle against a noble unnoticed, he was determined to do his best.

And that was when with a swish something flew towards Deneb in an arc that was barely visible.

Deneb snatched the object and rotated his hand, and Rael’s countenance grew as cold as ice upon recognizing that he was holding the communicator he just yielded.

“I can see that you have changed for sure. Before I wouldn’t have even imagined you’d be carrying human inventions.”

With a piece of bicker and a noise of something crashing, the communicator was shattered to dozen bits.

“What did you just...?!”

Rael shifted his off-balanced gaze towards the one who caused such rapid turnout; he paid no attention and strode as if he were out on a walk, towards Deneb.

Rael’s cognition blacked out for a second at the flow of events that was improbable and expected to be impossible.

“...What is the meaning of this?”

“...Isn’t it obvious?”

“No, it’s not! You said Deneb Illiness forced you to...”

“Yes, at first it was forced. So he did not tell you that what was forced was later coined into an agreement.”

Agreement? What agreement?

“He asked for protection during what he is about to unfold here. And part of my plan was to one day take you out if I must, so I deemed an extension of our relation necessary.”

As Rael was petrified at the revelation he could not and did not want to believe, Yuhyung was digging the spot where the concrete used to be.

As he was quietly stabbing the earth like a dog scavenging for a bone, Rael shouted out to him, “How could you?! Do you have any idea what meaning your actions hold?! He has forsaken the laws of Lukedonia! If you are to take his side...”

“It can be understood as rebellion against the QuadraNet project and Lukedonia and KSA, as well as rebellion against the alliance of Lukedonia, KSA, and wolfkind. Yes, I know. That’s exactly what I have in mind.”

His mouth open halfway, Rael posed shaky, distraught eyes at how Yuhyung’s speech became aggressive, his eyes vindictive, good enough to bewilder him.

‘Is this what he is really like?’

But why?

Rael’s last words failed to keep themselves tucked behind his lips, and in response Yuhyung straightened up and shoved his filthy hands into his collar, to bring out a bunch of silver chain necklaces with thin metal plates attached.

“This is what is left of my colleagues who were sacrificed back then. Yes, I’m talking about the incident that turned this place into a graveyard with no tombstones.”

Yuhyung snapped, having read what Rael’s eyes were asking.

“Am I doing this for vengeance? Yes, that’s the initial purpose. But what I am aiming for is to pioneer the power for vengeance. Had things worked out as originally outlined, I would have ended up with enough data at KSA, to build a bridge that will lead us to the power that can put us on par with your kind and werewolves. Though we would have needed a lot of time to as well.”

“...What are you talking about? Are you saying you consider nobles AND werewolves the subject of your vengeance? But... It’s true that nobles and a werewolf were affiliated in that incident, but...”

“The Union is to truly blame. Yes, it was Union that commanded the incident. But don’t you dare tell yourself that nobles and werewolves can avoid the blame.”

Yuhyung spat out through grinding teeth, back to his job of unearthing something.

“I know how elevated were the seats that Union once used to occupy on a global scale. Even with science and technology omitted from discussion, there is no field or area on this planet that is free from Union’s monstrous spider web. Which was why we couldn’t even dream of officially complaining to them of the destruction they wrought in this country.”

In the meantime, something finally came to reveal itself under his hands.

“But where were you while the Union had been cultivating its power all this time?”

Rael’s entire body froze, as he was trying to peek at the object about to show itself.

“I once heard from this Tao guy the origin of the term noblesse oblige. But if your lot valued nobleness and the balance of the world so much, how come you never stood out whenever Union butchered and thrashed about in this world? Huh?! I was powerless... We were powerless. Too powerless to protect our beloved. But you do have power. So how come you never stopped them?! How come you did nothing?!”

Yuhyung’s voice freed from its rein mercilessly speared Rael’s ears, to puncture his heart.

Rael could think of several counters, but for some reason he could not vocalize any of them.

“But now things will change. Now we will have the power to protect. But since we can never reach there if we stick to the humane method as we have... This is the only way.”

Yuhyung lowered his body, and his hands drew out a sort of a device.

As unfamiliar as he was with human technology, Rael could not ascertain what exactly was the purpose of the device.

If any of the ex-Union RK were there, he would have learned that the device was designed to launch something.

Without sparing a second for Rael to enlarge his eyes, Yuhyung stuck inside the device something that was safekept along with it.

“Now... All humans within KSA will get the powers we need.”

Leaving a smirk, Yuhyung violently jabbed the button that was bulging out from the device.

(next chapter)

At last Yuhyung has revealed what he was planning all this time. As you can see, his goal is to have his vengeance, but not simply on Union - he seeks vengeance upon wolfkind and noblekind alike.

As I was composing this chapter, I realized that it's been a year since I've been writing this fic (well, not exactly a year; the very first chapter was uploaded on 28th of April, 2020). The finale of this fic draws near, so I shall do my best for the remaining chapters as well. :)

[ilikebeesandflowers]

Finale? What finale?

That was just the Empty torturing a wayward gay angel... Here’s what really happened after Cas confessed his LOVE to Dean Winchester and was taken to Super Mega Hell...

Unedited, unproofread, unbeta’d- just pure, unadulterated, whiskey-and-rage-fueled fix-it fic. Ps, El Sol cerveza is the official beverage of fake-dream-worlds, and therefore the entire narrative of the finale is sus.

Love Lift Us Up (Where We Belong)

Cas slumbered, but fitfully. Oblivion plagued him with nightmares.

Some dreams replayed memories, even of memories that were not strictly his: one by one, everyone he loved torn apart at an atomic level, rent, poofed to dust. His sleeping self watched on a loop as Bobby, Charlie, Donna, nameless others fell, obliterated.

He saw Michael slay Lucifer, the foregone conclusion so many times delayed.

He saw Michael betray the Winchesters. But how? Why? Michael had changed, hadn’t he? Adam had changed him. Even asleep, Cas knew this to be true.

He watched Jack, his loving and beloved son, fulfilling the promise Kelly had known he held. Jack bringing peace to the world, restoring balance, returning all life on earth to its rightful places. Cas was certain that this dream was true. He felt Jack’s presence, unmistakable lightness and goodness and purity.

The Empty roiled violently, rippling the fabric of its realm.

The dreams changed again to nightmares.

Dean, alone. Sam, alone. Eileen, alone.

The hunters who had died were again whole and alive, walking the earth as if Chuck’s poisonous animosity had never snuffed them. And yet they were all isolated from one another. Oh, the younger children clung to their parents, but the parents drifted from one another.

Charlie, alone. Donna, alone. Claire, alone.

The loneliness of the hunters infected the denizens of the Empty, and the Empty smiled in its sleep.

Cas dreamed that he watched Dean dying, an ignominious death in a ramshackle barn. He felt a wave of revulsion, of jealousy, like he did in another barn, once upon a time, witnessing a kiss between Anna and Dean. What had he felt then, way back when, when feelings were still so new and frightening? Had he been in love then?

The scene repeated, again and again, a horrible parody of what should have been. A confession of love, two foreheads touching, hands held over Dean’s heart. The scene replayed a hundred, a thousand times, Cas viewing from the vantage of the beloved, but Cas never could see who received Dean’s love. He only knew it wasn’t him. He could only watch through someone else’s eyes, hearing and seeing and feeling with intense loathing what should have been his.

Then Dean was dead.

 The scene faded again. Cas saw Sam, living on, without Dean, without Jack, without Eileen, without hunters or hunting. In the space of a human heartbeat, he was married, raising a human child, a son. In another heartbeat, he was old, then dying, then greeting his brother in heaven.

He felt again a tug as if Jack were near. A faint glow.

Cas woke. Two amber eyes shone above him.

“Castiel,” said Jack, “something is wrong. I need your help.”

Cas scrambled to his feet. “The dreams? They were real?”

Jack couldn’t know what Cas had seen, and yet he shook his head and assured him that, no, those were the Empty playing tricks. “But reality is in danger. Heaven and Hell are out of balance. Heaven’s brightest are all here, when they should be up there. We’ll have to wake them.”

The Empty howled somewhere far off, something that sounded like, “Let me sleep!”

Jack stepped briskly in the inky blackness, tapping here and there, naming sleeping entities. “Hannah, you are needed. Duma, awaken. Gabriel. Michael. Raphael, your services are humbly requested.”

Soon, the din of awakened angels, archangels, seraphs, and reapers had summoned a furious cosmic entity of entropy and oblivion. “KEEP. IT. DOWN,” it hissed.

“And what will you do if we don’t?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow to the Empty, who stood before them in the guise of Meg Masters, circa 2009.

The Empty stamped its foot. “I took you in. You all died the death of immortals, a death that cannot be rewarded nor punished, but I took you in! And all I ask for is quiet!”

“But why?” Cas continued. “You despise us. Why do you trap us here?”

The Empty hesitated. “They dream,” it replied. “They dream, and so I dream.”

“We suffer nightmares of your making.”

“No-oo. The dreams are yours.”

“You enjoy the nightmares?”

“No.” The Empty faltered. “They wake me up. You stir, I stir; I must sleep!”

Jack spoke softly to the Empty. “Then expel them.”

“Expel them? What, just set them all free to commit chaos?”

“Just the dreamers.”

The Empty seemed to calculate the price of granting the nephilim’s wish. “That would be almost all of the angels and a number of powerful demons. They might return, clomping into my haven and disturbing my sleep.”

“No,” Castiel put in, his eyes lit with a wry smile. “If you expel them, they will be forever banned from your realm. They become subject to Purgatory, not Oblivion.”

Jack smiled at his father. “Exactly!” He turned again to the Empty. “So you’ll do it?” he asked brightly.

The Empty scowled. It nodded once, as if making a decision.

The world went white, then faded to reveal a sunny meadow. Roly-poly bumblebees flitted between fat heads of purple clover. A nest of chickadees chirped. Cicadas droned. A red kite soared above them, the string held by someone a long way off. Cas’ face softened, as if recalling a long-lost memory.

It hardened again as he sensed something amiss. “Jack,” he frowned, “the walls between the human heavens are failing.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, which is why we need more angelic energy. But watch.” He drew a small window in the air with his index finger. He pushed the cut-out, revealing an adjoining heaven belonging to a woman. Cas recognized her as the mother of the man with the kite. Her heaven contained a meadow: the same meadow that surrounded them, rather than the manicured lawn Cas knew from the man’s original heaven.

“They can co-exist,” he breathed.

“Yes. We can break these barriers and open Heaven. It doesn’t need to be a prison. We can fix it.” Jack grinned again, that same old smile he’d worn in life, when he learned the taste of nougat or the softness of a bunny rabbit.

The sight warmed Cas. The summer sky glowed just a bit brighter. “Tell me what to do, my son.”

***

For six days, as Heaven measures time, the angels, the archangels, and the nephilim worked. First, negotiating a truce with Hell and its imperious but righteous Queen, and then building a Heaven for all. On the seventh day, they rested from their labors. They gathered to watch the humans on earth for a little while. Almost no time had passed: the humans had had just enough time to recollect that they had watched their loved ones vanish; those unfamiliar with the supernatural had quickly forgotten the phenomenon, as well. The hunters in the warded hideout had had just enough time to embrace their newly un-vanished friends.

Sam was texting Eileen, only to remember that he still had her phone, abandoned on the sidewalk mid-text. He laughed at himself. “We have to drive to Eileen’s house.”

Dean lay hunched over the table, carving a word into the polished wood alongside the Winchester family initials. Thus far, it read, “CAST,” and he was just starting on the I. “Pack us up- I wanna finish this, but I can be ready in twenty.” They watched as he finished his tribute to Castiel. He put two fingers to his lips, then pressed the finger pads against the grooves.

Cas itched to know how Dean meant the gesture.

Dean hastily scratched the name “JACK” into the table, too. “You done good, kid,” he murmured, patting the letters as he might once have patted Jack on the shoulder.

The angels drifted back to their tasks. Cas stayed, watching his friends. His family. He followed their movements towards Eileen. He witnessed the tearful reunion.

Sam started sniffling long before Dean pulled up behind Eileen’s little red car. He stepped over the sidewalk, where he had first absorbed her death, and a sob escaped him. In a few strides of his long legs, he was at the door. His hand shook as he reached for the doorbell. The second phone in his pocket vibrated: her doorbell notification. How would she know that he was there? He clapped the knocker, stamped his feet.

The door opened. Eileen. A vision, a sight for even Cas’ sore eyes. Sam was overwhelmed. He croaked her name, and she was in his arms. Where she belonged.

Back at the curb, Dean turned his face from the lovers. He fiddled with his phone, but who could he call?

Cas heard Dean think his name. He felt a pang of longing, but it wasn’t his own. Or rather, it matched his own. Echoed his, merged with his, swelling the aching feeling until he felt full to bursting with yearning for something he thought he could never have. Had thought he couldn’t have. Now, he wondered.

He called to his son.

Jack appeared beside him. He followed Cas’ gaze. “It’s time for you to return to him,” he mused.

“Yes, but,” Cas tripped over the words he wanted to say and couldn’t bear to say.

Fortunately, Jack understood. Without another word, he took Cas’ face in his hands. For a moment, their eyes glowed brightly, then Castiel’s dimmed to their customary shade of blue. When Jack’s golden aura had faded as well, he pulled away from Cas. He glanced down at the slim vial now slung around his neck by a black cord. The substance within sparkled, swirled, its hue a dazzling, electric blue-white. It looked like lightning in a bottle.

Cas swept his son into a crushing embrace. “Thank you,” he wept.

“You can always come home,” Jack told him.

Cas pulled back. “No. Where I’m going is home.” He smiled through the tears rushing down his cheek. “Goodbye, Jack. I love you.”

He rather felt than heard Jack’s reply, as he crossed from the celestial plane to the mortal realm. He stood now on that same sidewalk. Far to his right, Sam lifted Eileen, carrying her bridal-style into her home, letting the door slam behind them. To his left, a long black car. He gripped the passenger door handle, pulled it open. The hinges squeaked. He folded himself inside before turning to the driver.

Dean looked every bit as awed as Cas felt. This was right.

Before he could say anything, even so much as a simple “Hello, Dean,” he found himself in Dean’s arms. Where he belonged.

[certifiedskywalker]

Academic Misgivings (Part One) - Peter Parker

Here it is! Part One!  Remember this is a Rivals-To-Lovers, slow burn story with a Fem!reader. This also takes place after Homecoming and before Endgame. FEEDBACK IS APPRECIATED!

You and Peter Parker aren’t friends, but you’re not entirely enemy either. You don’t like him but he always tries to be nice to you.  He has everything you’ve ever wanted and you’ll do anything to show him that you can make it on your own. But can you?

Blood was pounding in your ears, heart thundering in your chest as if spurred to life by some angered beast. The sensation of tingling nerves as your hand seemingly hovered, magnetically drawn, over the buzzer. Adrenaline drove you through the thrill as Mr. Harrington’s monotone voice echoed in your skull. The question floated in your mind, seeking its own answers locked away between the neurons of your brain.

With a snap of synapse your whole being jolted. Your palm slammed on the buzzer so hard that the light within shuddered a violent red. Mr. Harrington’s brown eyes widened in shock at the sound but her quickly composed himself.

“Midtown?”

“What is the Fibonacci Spiral.”

“Correct!” Mr. Harrington rang a little bell and turned his back to you. Finally, you allowed yourself to breathe, although it felt more like a wild gasp of air.

“Figures,” you heard someone grumble behind you, but you were too caught up in rolling off the high of affirmation. The mounting joy was building like the apprehension of riders on a roller coasters first crest of a large hill.

“Great job, Y/N. You’ll be heading the B team in Chicago.” And there was the stomach sinking drop. No cheers filled your ears, only disappointed thoughts barraged your mind.

“The B team? Doesn’t my improvement push me up to the A team?” The rest of the academic decathlon team fell silent at your question. You didn’t have to turn around to know that all eyes were on you. Almost all eyes.

“Well we already have Mr. Parker leading A team. We need to keep our heaviest hitters spread out through the sets of questions.” Your hands curled into tight fists. It would take you and ‘Mr. Parker’ to even out the intellect on B team. You opened your mouth to say exactly that when the school library doors flew wide. A red faced, panting, Peter Parker had decided to show up. Now, all eyes were on you as you loomed over the table.

“So, so sorry, this won’t happen again, I promise,” Peter said, his bright eyes shifting from you to Mr. Harrington. The man peered at him through his thick rimmed glasses with an almost fatherly expression. Peter, like a scolded child, dropped his backpack next to the others and found an empty seat on the other table, opposite you.

“It better not,” despite the veiled threat, Mr. Harrington’s voice was soft. “We need you in Chicago Peter. You’re our secret weapon.” If it weren’t for Peter’s awkward laugh, everyone could have heard your eyes rolling in their sockets. Ever since you were both young, Peter Parker had never failed to show you up. If he wasn’t deemed superior under the circumstances, then you were put on an equal footing that always set you more on edge than his overwhelming victories.

For instance, there was the first grade summer reading program. The program itself was not, in name a contest; but as soon as the plump librarian dotted on the fact that you and Peter were ‘neck and neck’ with the amount of books you had both read, you drove yourself to collect on a phantom prize. At the end-of-summer reading palooza party hosted by the public library, the final count was drawn in a tie. You and Peter had read a grand total of 42 books a piece, a hefty sum for a couple of seven year olds.

Then there was the infamous war forged on the third grade front of Mrs. Davis’ classroom. The lovely lady taught science, arguably your favorite subject and Peter’s realm of fascination. Mrs. Davis had both you and Peter in her fifth hour class and would often call on either of you to run errands for her before lunch period. The battle to be her teacher’s pet was intense between you and Peter. It was only in fourth grade did you both learn that being a teacher’s pet was the worst thing anyone could be, ever. Nevertheless, the seeds of animosity had sprouted that year and sixth grade only serves to nourish the growth.

The second year of middle school had not only stirred up the beginnings of puberty but also supplied an outlet for your budding hostility towards your academic rival. You weren’t one for physical education, much preferring a good book than a good jog, but dodge-ball was a godsend. Peter was as lanky as a stick bug, making him a smaller target but that also meant he couldn’t throw very far either. The dodge-ball intramural championship gave you your very first win against district-wide admiration of Peter Parker.

Despite how tall and suddenly handsome Peter had gotten over Summer break, your jealousy towards him remained. The flames were only stoked when girls would, happily, go up to talk to him, compliment him. Burning with envy, for which party, that you were unsure of, you finally talked to Peter. All years past, your competition to outdo each other had been silent. Not a word had passed between you before seventh grade and it only served to anger you further.

Peter was kind. So kind that he made you feel like your bitter rivalry had been one sided. Further fueled, you competed against him in a school hosted trivia night. However, the fates seemed to be against your thirst for conquest because you and Peter ended up on the same team. Granted, that team had won, but between you and Peter, no winner was named.

This fervent yet unspoken clash continued to grow as you both entered high-school. Freshman year had consisted of fighting to see which one of you would join the academic decathlon team first. Peter had made the A team and you the B team. The results presented a persistent conflict between you and the boy genius that had followed up to the current Junior year. Was it childish? Perhaps. Were you ever going to admit that? No.

The sound of a loud practice buzzer went off, breaking you out of your reflection.  When you looked up at the table opposite, your jaw clenched. Of course it had been Peter to answer the question. His friend, Ned, clapped him on the shoulders and you felt your own tense up.

“Correct, as always, Mr. Parker.” Mr. Harrington changed the score on the board and you felt your skin crawl. Peter was always the star pupil, no matter how well you performed in his absence. “Alright next question. Hypertrichosis is colloquially known by this name…”

The meat of your palm stung when it impacted with the buzzer. “What is Werewolf Syndrome.”

“Correct!”

You smiled smugly, reclining back in the uncomfortable chairs that, on some vile whim, the school board had deemed perfect for the campus library. Ready to gauge Peter’s disappointment in himself, you spared a glance his way. You found his brown eyes on you, lips offered you half of a smile. You wanted to gag. The role of team player had never suited you, but Peter worn it well like the clothes on his back.

“Well, that ties up our practice scores!” Your head seemed to spin out of your control as you snapped your gaze to the white, erase marker board Mr. Harrington was holding up. Just once, that was all you wanted, to win. “That gives me the opportunity to talk about the trip to Chicago.”

A chorus of limited cheers and apprehensive stares flooded the room. MJ finally looked up from her book at the news of the field trip. Some of the team was still reeling from their last one. Washington had been a great victory if you ignored how they almost died afterwards.

“It’s gonna be fun guys!” A cheerful cry from Betty, a lovely blonde sophomore. She hadn’t been on the trip to Washington. Flash, how was sitting beside you, let out a snicker at the younger girl’s optimism.

“That’s right, thank you, Betty,” Mr. Harrington continued, “sadly, due to budget cuts, we will be taking a smaller bus this time. Pack lightly and tell your parents that you will be safe. Everyone signed the waivers, yes?” Most of the team spoke up in response. “Great. Now remember, meet at the front doors at five fifty-five. We’ll be leaving the school at six.”

“So much for the healthy, professionally recommended eight hours of sleep,” MJ remarked, bringing a smile to your lips. You had never had a long conversation with her, but from what experiences you did have with MJ, you took her to be the wittiest person you had ever met. Much to your amusement, that same wit had a tiring effect on Mr. Harrington who, after MJ’s critique, promptly dismissed the team.

You stood swiftly and began to gather your things. The team had a bad habit of stacking bags on top of one another, so it took a moment for you to find you backpack. Once you dug it out of the stack of bags, you spun on your heel and nearly fell face-first into Peter.

“Oh, s-”

“Watch it, Parker,” you snap before the blush on your cheeks became too visible. he warmth from his body had dulled the flames of embarrassment for a moment before you had realized how close you were to him. You didn’t give Peter a chance to reply as you pushed past him. Luckily, it seemed that no one had noticed the dusting of pink along your face.

The white-hot soreness was put to rest by the crisp afternoon breeze of New York. While Midtown School of Science and Technology wasn’t in the heart of the city, it was close enough to the bay where, every now and then, a gentle breeze would carry off from the water. Such a gust was especially felt after school when the sun was no longer at its peak. The receding sunshine made for a cool walk home.

You adjusted the straps of your bag more securely over your shoulders, hoping to keep your mind off of the moment before. Any interaction with Peter had the innate gift of setting you on edge. You clenched your jaw as you walked, the grinding of your teeth drowning out the pestering thoughts of him. However the one sound that wasn’t overshadowed was the quick pattering of feet on the length of sidewalk behind you.

“Y/N! Wait up!’ You turned your head for a brief moment and, after recognizing the figure chasing after you, you picked up your pace. “Y/N!”

“Not now, Flash, I have stuff to do!” You felt a hand grab your wrist and you stopped in place. Glaring at your peer, you yanked your hand away.

“It will only take a moment.” Teeth gritted, you stared at him.

“It better be worth it.”

Flash gave you a startlingly smug grin as you followed him into a nearby coffee shop. He ordered some absurdly complicated mocha-cappuccino concoction before you both found a secluded table. If it weren’t for the circumstances, you would have enjoyed the shop. It was painted a calming sea-blue and littered with antiques of all sorts. The interior gave off a relaxed aura that was brutally interrupted when Flash sat in front of you as he stirred an alarming amount of sugar in his already frothy drink.

“Alright, I have a proposition for you,” Flash said, placing his coffee stirrer on a napkin. 

“A proposition? What are you, a mob boss?”

“Nah,” Flash said coolly as he waved his hand in dismissal, “just a boss in general.” You had to keep yourself from gagging as he continued. “It’s clear to me, everyone really, that you’re not Peter Parker’s biggest fan.”

You let out an amused huff. “Really? You’ve noticed?”

“Neither am I,” Flash said, having ignored your remark. “Which is why I extend an olive branch to you.”

“What does this olive branch entail?” You leaned forward with a quirked brow, eyeing Flash. He had your attention.

“You want to be on A team, as do I. No one can move up with Peter sitting there with his other nerd friends. With the right manner of,” Flash leaned close to whisper, “sabotage, we can both get what we want.”

“Sabotage?” You leaned back in your seat, eyes skirted the features of the weasel before you. What Flash was selling was enticing, but the idea of stooping to his level was wholly unappealing. Or perhaps it was the prospect of playing dirty that appalled you, the risk of actually hurting Peter maybe. You shook your head. “Not interested.”

“Hold on, hold on, you haven’t heard my plan yet,” Flashed raised his hands to calm you, keep you listening. “One of us would befrien-”

“Really, not interested Flash,” you interrupted as you stood up from your seat. “I don’t need to ‘sabotage’ him, I’m better than him.”

“Judging by your stable and steady position on the B team, it seems like you might not be.” Rage, pure, unadulterated rage flooded your body and turned your sight red. You turned to glare at Flash before you stomped out of the coffee shop.

You didn’t need him, you thought as the cool air hit your face once more, don’t need anyone. For you entire life, you had been going it alone so what was something more? You would show Flash and, hopefully, Peter. That leading spot on the A team was going to be yours.

“Y/N, hold on! I’m sorry, but please, listen!” You kept walking and, when he realized he was being ignored, Flash hurried to your side. “If you don’t to sabotage him, can we at least train together? If we’re like really good maybe the city can organize for us to meet Spiderman or even Iron Man! He gave that internship to Parker of all people so maybe-”

“What is it with you and Spiderman?” You countered, hoping to get off the road of this conversation with a well-worn detour.

“I dunno, he’s just….he’s like really cool! Did I ever tell you about the time at Homecoming he took my car?! It was-”

“You told everyone about that,” you grumbled, clearly annoyed. “Why don’t you find someone that doesn’t know that story, yeah?”

You took advantage of his silence and darted quickly down the block. Flash’s strength of talking when no one wanted him to was also his greatest weakness. One that could be easily exploited if you were in need of a getaway. Home was just a few more blocks down.

As you rounded a corner, you nearly ran into a couple walking by. The man’s arm was lazily slung over the woman’s shoulder, who smiled so brightly it was almost like she had been paid to do it. The couple exchanged giggles as you passed by and your heart sank. It had been normal for you to be so painfully focused on the academic side of your life that you had neglected almost every other facet of it. That included romance.

Peter and his ridiculously large brain and his shy little smile took up far too much of your time for you to have even entertained a relationship. Books and trivia apps were your closest friends. Your family was a different story altogether. From the moment Peter Parker walked into your life, everything had changed. You imagined his life had changed too.

As you walked, a shadow fluttered over the length of sidewalk before you. Ever so curious, you looked up to see a man swinging from building to building; Spiderman, specifically. He was hard to miss with the bright red suit and flailing limbs, spindly like his name sake. The powered man looked just as you remembered him from the first time you had seen him. Up close, he had looked more like a boy than man as he safely loaded you and the rest of the team in the elevator inside the Washington Monument on solid ground.

It all felt like a distant memory as the apartment complex you called home came into sight. Everything that last year had felt clean and safe, perfectly juxtaposed to life now. Spiraled out of control, you had once said to your mother. She hadn’t responded and you knew that she wouldn’t. You climbed the steps, as the elevator was out of order, all the way to the eighth story.

By the time you had unlocked the door, your feet ached for respite. As you kicked off your shoes, the sound of them as they hit the floor echoed in through the apartment. There was no carry-over bustle from the streets. The exposed brick bore no life in the form of family portraits. No one was home except for you and your thoughts; as usual.

You woke the next morning at five. Luckily, before you had fallen asleep, you had enough foresight to pack for the Chicago trip. Textbooks to read during the drive, clothes for the three day stay, and your favorite green sweatshirt already thrown over your loose t-shirt. From the last trip, you had learned to wear comfy clothes for long bus drives. The twelve hours from the school to Chicago was the perfect excuse to dress lazily.

From the near-empty fridge, you grabbed snacks and bottled water for the road. Already, the idea of competing with the highest ranked schools in The Windy City made your stomach churn. With the twisting nerves, you decided to skip breakfast. A poor choice, you soon realized as you lugged your bag down the seemingly endless flights of stairs.

By the time five fifty-five rolled around, you were sweaty from the trek from your home to the school. Mr. Harrington looked exhausted but the ever spry young Literature teacher, Ms. Lauren, chattered away to the team as they boarded the small bus.

“Ok kids, I know you’re tired, but put your bags in the back of the bus so we can easily unpack it when we get to the hotel.” You wondered if Ms. Lauren happened to be a morning person or if the large, travel mug of coffee held tight in her hands had anything to do with her wide smile.

Once your bag was stacked with the rest, you settled in a seat towards the front. MJ’s mass of curls popped up in a seat nearby, her sneaker-clad feet hung out in the aisle. Ned and Betty, the blonde sophomore, idly chatted, talking about the last time they had been up so early. Late, as usual, Peter Parker made his way on the bus.

“You’re lucky this wasn’t practice, peebag,” Flash sneered when Peter walked past him. The skinny boy dragged a suitcase behind him, one of the front pockets unzipped showed a type of red workout shirt. Or at least you assumed as much, judging by the look of the material.

“Hi Peter,” Ned greeted loudly, making you crane your neck to glare in their direction. It was much too early for pleasantries.

“Hey, Ned,” Peter said quietly as he added his bag to the pile. He gave Betty a nod of greeting before working his way back to the front of the bus. He stopped beside MJ’s seat, just in front of you. “Can I?”

MJ only glared in response, her legs remained sprawled lengthwise along the seat. Peter sighed and turned to look for any other empty seat. As he did, the rather crabby looking bus driver had slammed the bus door shut. The small bus jolted and Peter gripped the edge of your seat tightly, as he kept from falling.

“Is this seat taken?” Peter asked you, his tried looking brown eyes met your gaze in earnest. You stared back at him, mouth parted as your mind tried to register what was happening. It seemed that Fate was against you once more.

“Sit down kid!” The gravelly voiced of the bus driver reached your ears and pulled you back to the present. Locked eyes tore away from Peter’s as you moved. You scooted down the bus seat until your side was pressed up against the window. Peter said a soft ‘thank you’ but you were much too peeved to reply. You hoped that if you pressed your cheek against the cool surface of the window that the blush that had burned into your skin would fade. No such luck.

However, what it did cool, was your heated thoughts. A dull ache that had plagued you since you had wakened vanished. Finally at some sort of ease, you allowed yourself to close your already hooded eyes. You felt warmth as you drifted off to sleep, a safety you hadn’t had in a long time.

Whether it was the jolt or the sunlight filtering through the slightly grimy bus window that woke you, you were unsure. All you knew was that you were comfortable. Slowly, your eyes opened as you cringed against the rising sun. It couldn’t have been more than a few hours since you had left, but tiredness still seeped into your bones.

It was when the sounds of snickering filled yours ears that you awoke fully. The telltale sound of a phone’s digital camera shutters clicked off and you were thrown into a frenzy of embarrassment as you realized why you were so comfortable in the first place. As if his body had burned you, you pulled your head away from Peter’s shoulder. You narrowly avoided knocking skulls thanks to an alarming quick reaction on Peter’s part.

“What?!” Your shout caused the growing crowd around you and Peter to scurry off.

“Ar-Are you okay?” Peter’s soft brown eyes met yours and held the utmost, disgusting amount of concern.

“Yeah, I’m fine. The bus jus-just jolted,” you grumbled in reply. Peter nodded but you knew that he knew it was a lie. You had never been quite good at lying.

“Oh, o-okay,” Peter murmured before he fumbled with his phone. You rested the side of your face against the window once more and watched other cars race by. Silently you hoped that the movement would keep you awake. Out of the corner of your eye, you observed Peter as he attempted to untangle his earbuds. He gave up halfway through and put the small speakers in his ears. The cover art on his lockscreen read ‘Bastille’ in bold white font. Of course he had good taste in music too, you thought bitterly.

The twelve hour drive dwindled down to it’s final hours, marked but the periodic buzzing of Peter’s phone on his lap. After it went off three times in a row you looked at in annoyance and hoped Peter would take the hint. The notification was a text from MJ with nondescript emojis, including the squirt gun one. Peter didn’t seem to have noticed your glare and happily responded to the messages.

You let out an audible groan at the sight of his smile. The boyish, upwards quirk of his lips was nothing short of adorable and it physically pained you. Not only was Peter Parker smart and seemingly kind, but he was cute too. As well, at least from what you assumed from the messages, taken by one of the smartest girls in school. It simply wasn’t fair.

“Is Pissbag Parker annoying you?” Flash’s voice crept up from the seat behind you and made you jump slightly in your seat. Before you replied, Peter plucked out an earbud.

“Is everything okay?”

“You being too loud? Y/N here doesn’t seem to happy.” Flash’s taunts seemed to frighten Peter as he looked to you.

“N-No I’ve been quiet this whole time,” he stammered. Flash rolled his eyes and opened his mouth with a readied retort. You took the pause and stepped in.

“Peter’s been fine, Flash. A more agreeable bus partner than you are to John.” You gestured over to the skinny, black-haired boy Flash was sat beside. “Why don’t you be quiet?”

“Alright,” Flash said as he sat back down in his seat. You groaned again and turned back, only to have locked eyes with Peter once more.

“What? He was being annoying,” you said, justifying your rudeness.

“Y-yeah, n-no it’s jus-” Peter was cut off by a buzz. His phone lit up in his hand. Another message from MJ. You bit the inside of your cheek to quell the jealousy, but your envy spilled out before you could stop it.

“You better answer that,” you snapped before you settled back against the window. You let out a huff and hoped silently that the next few hours of the drive would go by quickly. It was torture, being sat next to Peter Parker and knowing full well just how more complete he was than you. Or, maybe it was the fact he was complete without you.

What do you think, my friends?? I hope you liked the first installment! I promise this story picks up, it’s a slow burn, like I said!

[mrs-pissoff]

Your eyes (Reader x Thane)

(the title is pretty much a placeholder because I have no idea what else to call this lmao) 3rd person POV, Reader is referred to as she/her

A/N: So first of all, I usually don't know what the unholy crap I'm doing when it comes to writing. I'm also not a native English speaker. There may be a part 2 coming but I can't promise cuz once I do promise something it's surely not going to happen, ever. Nonetheless, please enjoy.

Introduction: You're whoever you are, and you've joined Shepard's crew aboard the SR-2 to stop the Collectors. You've become something of a close friend to Commander Shepard and may have caught spicy spicy feelings for them. Unfortunately for you, Shepard has eyes for a certain turian vigilante, but hey, this story isn't about them. It's about you and our favorite assassin.

Disclaimer: Mass Effect and its characters belong to Bioware.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An unusual stillness fell over the empty kitchen of the SR-2. The crew were all tucked away in their chambers, resting or talking about the day’s events. Even the lights of the Med Bay were dimmed, indicating that not even Dr. Chakwas was at her station.

She was glad no one could see her in such a state. Puffy eyes, hair and clothes in complete disarray. A mess, really. She didn’t need the looks of pity or the unnecessary and painful question ‘What’s wrong?’. No. She only needed a glass of cold water and some time. Some time to sort things out. Alone. That part was easy at least, since she thought no one knew how she felt. She kept it hidden, locked away. Out of sight, out of mind. Except when the feelings would resurface violently and erupt like a volcano. Like right now.

Head bowed and quietly sobbing into the sink, both hands resting beside the edges of it, she doesn't hear the silent footsteps approaching her. Too preoccupied with her spiraling thoughts of Shepard and her own confusing feelings. The footsteps of the cautiously approaching Thane Krios cease, as he stands frozen in place. The woman before him is the one that judged him for all his wrongdoings the day he stopped his son from stepping on the path of sin. Her once fiery gaze was now drowned in tears, head hung low and heavy with sorrow.

She's been feeling on edge lately, making careful but not very covert snide remarks to Garrus Vakarian and politely pushing away everyone who questioned her sour mood. She only smiled when Shepard asked, the storm clouds hanging over her head evaporating at the sight of the Commander as her face relaxed. And with a beaming gaze and the hint of a smile, she'd tell Shepard how everything was fine and she just needed some rest. That a nap would fix her up. A white lie to avoid worrying the Commander. He saw how her eyes lost their spark and how her legs would carry her around the ship without purpose. Only in battle she seemed alive. A raging whirlwind sweeping through enemies. A most unsettling change in behavior. He knew the reason behind it all.

Suddenly becoming painfully aware of his presence, her head shot up and a startled gasp left her lips. She pushed herself away from the sink in a swift motion and turned her gaze away from him, wiping the tears from her face. Desperately trying to make it seem like they weren't there to begin with.

"Damn, you're quiet. You should make more noise or you’ll give someone a heart attack."

Her tone had a slight bite to it and an uncertain shake she tried to mask. He could still hear it though. This was a moment of weakness she wished no one would witness. Much less him. He knew what she thought about him. She called him a gutless coward and a poor excuse of a father while still wishing him success to save his son, though not for his own sake, but simply because Kolyat deserved better. He had to agree with her, he told himself all of these things and more. It was nothing new. And yet, hearing someone else utter those words aloud cut even deeper. The look she gave him that day sent a jolt of shock down his spine. Her eyes filled with scorching ire, blame and so, so many questions. He felt small even if he was standing taller than her. Even though her mind seemed occupied and uncertain at the moment, he could still sense that she'd have preferred anyone but him finding her like this.

"Are you feeling unwell?"

Of course she did, he thought, but the words left his mouth before he could rephrase the question.

"No."

Her reply came almost too quickly as she washed her tear-stained hands and turned around, ready to leave without drying them. He knew she carried a great many burdens, and not all of them her own. She was much like him, and didn't leave her room frequently to socialize with others, but he knew that Shepard visited her just like the rest of them. Shepard always made sure to check on everyone, to talk to them and ease their solitude, but sometimes people forgot to do the same for the Commander. She didn't. She told him and Vakarian that Shepard had a tendency to hold onto everything, and rather than adding to Shepard's emotional cargo further, she preferred to ask and listen to everything the Commander had to say. No doubt a roundabout way of telling the two to do the same every once in a while. He wondered whether she herself shared her thoughts with anyone.

"If you need someone to talk to-" but he couldn't finish. She looked back at him and began speaking quietly, her tone now withdrawn and empty. 

"Perhaps you should focus your energy on your son to make things right, and mind your own business. I'll do the same as well." Ah, he knew she'd push away, but he still had to ask. He wished she'd at least talk to Shepard, but knew that she won't.

"Sometimes strength isn't about holding our emotions at bay, but sharing our weakness with others, however difficult it may be." His words seemed to catch her attention as she raised one eyebrow at him questioningly.

"True, but I don't see why you would bother."

Her statement was expected. They weren't on the friendliest terms after all. Of course there was no ongoing animosity between them, she simply voiced her opinion of him and they never talked about it anymore. Few words were exchanged between them even before Kolyat's attempt at assassination - aside from the usual pleasantries that is - , even less afterwards. He was aware of her presence and they passed each other aboard the Normandy more than once, but neither spared as much as a second glance. Both too lost in their own thoughts to notice the other. That was until he was caught in her eyes like a trapped varren, desperate to escape. He felt as if he was standing underneath a spotlight, all of his shame on display for everyone to see. It was then and there, where he truly saw her for the first time and began paying more attention to her unconsciously.

On rare occasions when she was having her meals at the same time he was, he'd find himself observing her closely, listening to her talking with others. He'd seen the pang of jealousy in her eyes as Garrus recalled all the time he spent with Shepard years ago and when he would ask specific things about human relationships once he and the Commander became closer. She would deflect his clumsy questions half-heartedly and leave shortly after, her initial friendly disposition towards the turian dissipated and a polite tolerance took its place. Garrus was none the wiser to see this change, such nuance seemed to be lost on him. Perhaps that was for the better. She couldn't blame either of them for falling for each other. Garrus has been there for Shepard for far longer than her.

During shuttle rides Thane could see how she tried to be casual and disciplined while Shepard spoke, careful to contain herself and not let anything slip even if her eyes had a playful and longing glint to them.

He came to adore those eyes. They told him everything she was hiding so carefully. The eyes truly were a window to the soul.

Sometimes he was also lucky enough to catch her in a conversation where she voiced her point of view on certain things, mostly concerning Cerberus whom she did not trust in the slightest. A sentiment many other squadmates shared. Surprisingly, she didn't let her negative opinion extend to Miranda and Jacob, or the rest of the crew wearing Cerberus colors. Short and reserved debates between them were apparently not uncommon. On her better days he could even hear her joking about with Zaeed and Jack. A wide and playful smile spreading on her face with every witty little comment she shared with them.

He's never realized just how aware of her he was until now. He wanted to let her know, but-

"You intrigue me."

The words escaped him once more.

His body tensed as he watched her carefully. Her eyes found the floor as a thoughtful expression crossed her face. She seemed unsure and deep in thought, and he began to wonder whether it was a mistake to speak his mind. A few agonizing seconds later she met his eyes again seemingly ready to respond, but deciding against it in the end. She gave him one last incredulous look before turning around and heading for the elevator without a word, leaving him in the dimly lit kitchen.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, here. I hope it was enjoyable? I honestly don’t know how to write Thane so he may be severly OOC. Hopefully not.

It’s just that I’ve been adding more dialogues to the custom Thane follower I have in Skyrim and I got inspired so I was like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ whatever, I’ll post it.

And I already have another scenario running in my head. A possible continuation to this, but this thing took me the better half of today to write. We’ll see. Feel free to let me know what you think.

[javistg]

Snapshot 8

Canon compliant, GBT snippets of every day life. 

Everlark. The first summer after the war.

Camp Nano has officially begun! 

I’m supposed to be writing new chapters for my WIPs, --and I am-- but I couldn’t resist the temptation to sneak one of these little pieces into the mix.

As some of you know, these snapshots are supposed to be 1,000 words or less, but this little story has been sitting in my drafts folder for years, so I guess you can understand why I was incapable of keeping it short. 

Alright, enough introduction! Hope you enjoy. 

Looking for the rest of the collection? 

Snapshot 1, Snapshot 2, Snapshot 3, Snapshot 4, Snapshot 5, Snapshot 6, Snapshot 7.

The Hunting Partner

The sun was high up in the sky when Katniss pushed her front door open. It was a lovely day with clear blue skies and not a cloud in sight. A gentle breeze came down from the mountains keeping the sticky summer heat at bay.

Filling her lungs with the sweet smell of the gardenias she had planted along the veranda, Katniss smiled. It was a little late to go hunting, but the world outside seemed so inviting that she still wanted to go out for a walk.

She was halfway down the street that crossed the Victors’ Village when she saw Peeta. He was sitting on a bench with his legs stretched out in front of him. A contented smile played on his lips as he slowly flipped the pages of the book he held in his hands.  

Katniss stopped in front of him, bouncing a little in place to release some of her new found energy. “Hi!”

Peeta looked up. As soon as he saw her, his eyes lit up. “Hey! Going hunting?”

Katniss shook her head. “It’s too late. I’m just going out for a walk.” Tilting her head towards the woods, she asked, “Wanna come?”

Peeta closed the book with a loud snap and stood up. “Sure! Do I need to bring anything?”

“Nope.” Katniss patted the hunting bag she carried over her shoulder. “I’ve got plenty of goodies right here. We can share.”

“OK.” Waving the book in his hand, he said, “I’ll just drop this off on my porch, and we’ll go.”

A moment later, they were on their way.

An easy silence fell over the pair as they crossed the gates leading out of Victors’ Village and turned onto the unpaved road that took them to the edge of the woods. It was a path they often followed --one they took every Sunday after having brunch with Haymitch and Thom and a few of their other neighbors—and the familiarity and peacefulness of their surroundings comforted them like a soothing balm.

When they reached a fork on the road, Katniss stopped. Pointing to the trail leading to the right, she asked, “Do you mind if we go this way?”

Peeta followed the direction of her finger. They usually kept to the pathway on the left, the one that circled the outline of the woods, but he knew Katniss went deeper when she was on her own, and he trusted her to know the way back. “No. Lead the way.”

Almost as soon as they began walking, the vegetation became thicker. Tall, majestic trees grew closer together, bringing shade and a welcome relief from the warm sun above.

Katniss quickened her pace. Peeta easily followed.

After a few twists and turns, he noticed a change in incline. Looking up ahead, he saw that the narrow path turned upwards leading up a hill.

After climbing for a few minutes, the pair reached a rock ledge overlooking a valley. The smooth, flat boulder was surrounded by a thicket of berry bushes which kept it hidden from prying eyes.

Katniss stopped and, for the first time since they’d started walking, Peeta noticed her shallow, rapid breaths.

Worried, he placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “You OK?”

Katniss nodded. She lifted her hunting bag from her shoulder and dropped it on the ground, right beneath the rock. “Want to sit down?”

“Yeah.” Peeta walked around the rock formation and waited for Katniss to sit before joining her.

As her breathing slowed down, Katniss folded her legs, pressing them to her chest, and wrapped her arms around them. She dropped her chin on her knees and stared at the valley down below.

It’d been a long time since she’d been there. Now that Gale was gone, it didn’t make much sense to go to their meeting spot anymore. She didn’t understand the impulse which had driven her out there that morning, --she certainly hadn’t been planning on taking that route when she’d first set out-- but something had snapped inside of her on that fork on the road; an inexplicable need to reconnect with this place and share it with Peeta.

It was a bit odd, being there with him, --his solid, sturdy presence, the sound of his breathing, his enticing scent were so unlike Gale’s-- but he didn’t feel like an intruder. Ever since they’d started going on their Sunday walks, the woods had become an extension of the life they shared together. One more routine they had created; one more hurdle they overcame as a team.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he was looking away from her. A small smile turned his lips as he took in the beauty of the valley below with its meandering river and lush clusters of bushes, wildflowers, and trees.

Hunting was something she did alone, but she liked sharing the beauty of the natural world with him. She loved seeing it through his eyes. The way he captured the essence of the places they visited in his paintings boggled her, and she couldn’t wait for the day when she felt strong enough to take him to her father’s lake.

Her mind flew back to the little cement building by the water’s edge, and the last time she’d been there. Unbidden, a dark cloud wrapped around her heart.

Her life had been so disjointed then. The world had been at war, Peeta had been a prisoner of his ghosts, and Gale…

Gale had been angry —angry and hurt.

She remembered trying to appease him by kissing him during their visit to her home but, as usual, it hadn’t been enough. Once again, she had failed, and that gaping wound that existed between them --that chasm that had made it impossible for her arguments to reach him in District 2, and in Bette’s lab-- had only grown.

They had been friends, the best of friends, the kind of friends who shared everything they had but, somewhere down the corridors of District 13, she had taken a wrong turn, and she had lost him.

The boy who had once shared this very spot with her had finally found the appreciation and approval he sought in Coin’s command room. It was really no wonder he had given free rein to his darkest instincts. Blinded by his anger, Gale had simply searched for what he thought was the light.

Overcome by sadness, Katniss tightened her hold on her legs and let out a shaky sigh. It seemed impossible that this bright, beautiful day could turn gloomy at the drop of a hat.

Peeta’s soft voice broke through her fog. “You miss him.”

Katniss closed her eyes, cradling Peeta’s words against her chest. They weren’t a question or an accusation, just a statement of fact and, as such, she acknowledged them.

Pressing her cheek to her knees, she turned to face him. “How can you tell?”

Peeta shrugged. “It’s written all over you.”

Katniss looked away, feeling small and weak. Peeta was right. As much as she hated some of the things Gale had done, she still missed him. She missed his laughter and his warmth. She missed the simplicity of the lives they’d once shared.

Next to her, she felt Peeta shift. Suddenly afraid that he was going to leave, she turned towards him. “I’m sorry,” she apologized in a panicked whisper.

Peeta leaned closer to her –a sure sign that he wasn’t going anywhere. His bright blue eyes found hers, and she held on to his gaze. There was no animosity there, no recrimination, just acceptance.

“Don’t be sorry,” Peeta said. “Gale is this huge part of you, Katniss. I’m actually surprised that…” Cutting his words short, Peeta pressed his lips together and shook his head. With a soft huff, he turned away from her.

Katniss let go of her legs and turned to face Peeta. They’d had all sorts of conversations over the past few months but, for some reason, they’d hardly even mentioned Gale.

It wasn’t surprising, not really, her hunting partner had always been a thorny subject between them. She hadn’t been strong enough talk about Gale’s actions during the war with anyone but Dr. Aurelius but, sitting there, –on that ancient ledge where she’d spent so many happy hours-- she couldn’t escape the notion that, maybe, that was why she’d brought Peeta on this walk.

Reaching out to touch his shoulder, Katniss pressed, “You’re surprised that what?”

Peeta let out a long breath. His head dropped, and his shoulders slumped forward following the motion. His face was like a clean slate, devoid of any discernible emotion when he looked back up at her. “I’m surprised he isn’t here.”

“He has that big job in Two,” she reminded him.

Peeta chuckled at her weak excuse, “Yeah, I know, but… He hasn’t even visited.”

Katniss shrugged. “He’s busy.”

“Busy?” Peeta shook his head, unconvinced. “No, Katniss, that’s not it. You’re here. He’s not. Something must have happened between you two, I just don’t know what.”

And there it was, the moment when she’d finally have to come clean --when she’d have to fill him in in all the sordid little details of the horrible avalanche she hadn’t been able to stop.

Bracing herself for what was to come, Katniss filled her lungs with the familiar scent of green moss and damp earth which surrounded her and gathered her courage.

“You’re right.” She nodded, slowly acknowledging Peeta’s words. “I do miss him. I miss my hunting partner, my friend. I miss the boy who would sit with me on this rock to share a joke and a laugh. I miss divvying up our haul at the end of a long day. I miss knowing our families would be waiting for us on the other side of the fence.”

Straightening her back, she found Peeta’s eyes –they were still and steady as he hung to her words. “But I don’t miss all of him. I don’t miss his possessiveness and jealousy, or the way he made assumptions when I came back from my first Game. And I definitely don’t miss the angry Capitol hater who only dealt in absolutes and didn’t care for other points of view.

“Sometimes, when I’m having a bad day, I miss the brave fighter who raided the Capitol with us, our brother in arms,” she admitted, her voice hardening under the weight of her disappointment, “but I don’t miss the Mockingjay’s fan; or the overeager soldier who followed Coin’s instructions blindly.” Overwhelmed by the anger boiling within her, Katniss looked away.

Peeta, who had been momentarily shocked into silence by sadness and confusion, found his voice. “What instructions, Katniss? What did he do?”

Katniss sighed, the words were there, but she wasn’t ready to say them, not yet. So, she leaned back, lying flat over the cold, smooth rock. A canopy of bright green leaves hung from the branches up above, shielding her face from the glare of the midday sun and creating a kind of cocoon where she felt safe from harm.

In a soft, wistful whisper, she began. “Have I ever told you how Gale and I met?”

Curious, Peeta laid down next to her, propping himself up on his arm to look at her. “How did you two meet?”

“It was out here in the woods. I was still twelve, and --the first time we spoke-- he threatened me.”

“What?” Peeta blurted out, “You were a teeny little thing! Why would he do that?”

Katniss’s eyes twinkled in amusement at the shock on his face. “He didn’t mean anything by it, he just thought I was about to steal his rabbits, and he wanted to scare me straight.”

Softly, as if trying to keep her memories just between them, Katniss told Peeta about the tenuous alliance she had first established with Gale. She talked about their first trades, explained how they had eventually learned to trust each other.

A lonely tear ran down her cheek when she spoke about the first time Gale and Prim had met. Her heart clenched as she remembered Prim being a bit weary of the older boy who looked so much like a grown man. “But he was so nice to her, Peeta. She was like another sister to him.” Her voice broke at this, the memory too painful in light of what had happened later.

Peeta reached out to wrap his hand around her arm. “Katniss, you don’t have to--,”

“Yes, I do,” she sniffed, wiping the tears from her face and resting her hands like a protective shield over her chest.

“I don’t really know much of what happened when I arrived in District 13. I spent the first few days unconscious and, even when I was awake, I was completely disoriented. But I know that, soon after being rescued, Gale was…” Katniss stopped, searching her mind for the right word to explain what had happened. None seemed right. “I don’t know, I guess he was recruitedby Coin.”

Peeta creased his forehead. “Recruited? Wasn’t everyone recruited into Thirteen’s army as soon as they arrived?”

“They were, but this was different. The refugees, they all… They all said Gale had been the one to lead them out into to the woods. They said he kept them safe. I guess Coin was impressed by that, so she took an interest in him. She must have also found out we were friends at some point –maybe she even thought we were related, I don’t know, but I think that might have spiked her interest even more.

“By the time I started moving around, he was already entrenched in their little group, tightly wrapped around Coin’s little finger. They included him in tons of tactical meetings and assigned him to work in the weapons development lab next to Beetee. From then on, all his energy went into defeating the Capitol and winning the war.”

Peeta tilted his head, uncertain. “I seem to recall him hanging around you a lot.”

“He did. He was usually busy, but he made time so that we could have most of our meals together. He also came with me whenever I left the district, and we even went out hunting in Thirteen a few times.” The ghost of a shy smile turned her lips at the handful of pleasant memories she had from those unfamiliar woods. “He was supportive, patient even, and I was grateful. I thought we had gone back to just being friends.”

Katniss closed her eyes, losing herself for a moment on the comfort of the world around her; the delicate murmur of leaves rustling in the wind; the warm caress of the sun on her cheeks; the steady rhythm of Peeta’s breathing as he lied next to her.

The soothing pattern Peeta’s thumb had been tracing over and over on her arm brought her back. “I was so lonely, Peeta. I was just glad to have someone who knew me by my side.”

“I know,” Peeta whispered. After everything they’d shared in the past few months, she believed him.  

“You know?” she said, looking at him once more, “When he volunteered to get you out of the Capitol, I thought he was doing it for me --because I was so broken-- and I was so grateful, but I was also worried. I remember sitting by Finnick’s side, my head going round and round in circles, thinking I was going to lose both of you that day.”

Her chest tightened as she thought about those long dark hours she’d spent tying knots next to Finnick as they waited –and waited-- for the worst to happen.

Needing to ground herself in the moment, Katniss covered Peeta’s hand with one of hers. He immediately squeezed her arm in response. It was the gentlest of touches, but it was all the encouragement she needed to go on.

“But now, after everything that’s happened… I think that maybe Gale just did it because he felt guilty —because he felt like he owed you for standing up to Thread.

“I wouldn’t mind that,” she mussed, “I understand the need to repay a debt --and that was something big, what you did for him-- but I can’t escape the feeling that he was also doing it for his precious Mockingjay. Bringing back what I wanted just so that I could put on the uniform and start rallying the troops again.”

Peeta shook his head. “No. I mean, you’re probably right about him wanting to repay a debt —I’ve always assumed that was why he rescued me— but I’m not so sure about the rest. There’s no doubt Gale was devoted to the cause, —even I could see that— but I can’t believe the revolution mattered more to him than you did.”

Tears filled her eyes. That’s because you don’t know the whole story yet, she thought.

Tightening her grip on his hand to keep him close, she said, “The thing is… I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about his reasons or his motivations. All that matters to me is that he brought you back. You were confused and broken, and you hated me, but you were safe —safer, at least— and away from Snow. That’s all that matters.”

Letting go of her arm, Peeta turned his palm up and pressed it into hers, lacing their fingers together he brought both hands to rest on his chest, right above his heart. “Why are you so angry at him?”

Katniss’s eyes darkened, the storm within her aching to be set free. “Because he stopped listening, and he used what Snow did to you as an excuse to become ruthless. Because he reached a point where he only followed the path Coin set for him.

“When the rebels needed to bring down the military compound in Two. He was their man. He conveniently forgot his father’s death and turned the mountain into a mine that caved in on itself.

“When Coin asked for strategies to capture and kill the enemy, he developed them. He used his instincts as a hunter to trap the innocent, substituting his snares with locked gates and his arrows and nets for bombs.

“He didn’t care anymore, about who got trampled or hurt. As long as the rebels moved forward, he didn’t mind. And when we left for the Capitol, he left it all behind; the plans, the schematics, the details. A catalog of horrors just waiting to be used.”

Peeta’s pulse quickened beneath her palm, and Katniss went still, worried for a second that she might not have chosen the best place to share this information with him. They had dealt with his episodes before, but never when they were this deep into the forest.

Sensing her fear, Peeta gave her a small smile. “I’m OK,” he assured her, “I just…” He closed his eyes and dipped his chin, blocking the world outside to unravel the meaning of Katniss’s words.

A low hum like that of a wounded animal, heavy with pain and despair, rumbled deep within his chest as he slowly opened his eyes. His voice was tight with sorrow. “Coin used them, didn’t she?”

Katniss nodded. Her trembling lips pushed the words out. “In the City Circle.”

Peeta’s eyes clouded over with tears. He knew. He understood. There were no more words to be said.

In one swift motion, he let go of Katniss’s hand, wrapped his arm around her small frame, and pulled her to him.

Hungry for comfort, Katniss melted into his embrace, draping her arm over his waist and pressing her cheek to his chest to keep him close.

The echo of birds’ wings, fluttering high above, kept them company as they trembled and cried, tightly clinging to each other.

“I’m so sorry,” Peeta whispered into her hair, the words broken in his ragged voice.

Katniss pulled back with tear-streaked cheeks and wild hair. Now that her secret was exposed, and her tears had run out, she was exhausted —empty— but, for the first time in months, she wasn’t hollow.

It was as if, by setting her words free, she had allowed an empowering sense of calm to root deep within her, protecting her from the void Gale’s absence had left in her soul and filling her with a faint glimmer of hope.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching up to wipe the tears from Peeta’s face. “I don’t think I could do any of this without you.”

Peeta shook his head. “You’ve done plenty on your own, Katniss. You don’t really need me that much.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “But I do! I always have, Peeta.” Letting her hand travel up his behind neck, she reached the back of his head and buried her fingers in his hair. It was shorter than she liked, he always kept it that way in summertime, but she could still feel its silky softness as she massaged his scalp.

“When I’m with you, I always find the right path,” she whispered. “And I know that, if you had been there with me —back in Thirteen— none of this would have happened, because you would have found the words. You would have found a way to make him see what I couldn’t.”

Peeta dipped his head forward, granting her better access to play with his hair. A sad, disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips. “I don’t know what gave you that idea —what makes you think he would have listened to me— but I’m sure you’re wrong. It wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Katniss nodded. It wasn’t fair to put something like that on Peeta’s shoulders. “Maybe you’re right, you probably wouldn’t have been able to stop Gale, —he was too far gone— but I know you would have been able to change a few things, to make them better.” Tugging on his hair, she made him look up. Staring straight into his eyes, she said, “You don’t know the effect you can have, Peeta Mellark. When youtalk, the world stops to listen.”

A deep blush crept up Peeta’s cheeks at her words. His eyes twinkled. “I never wanted to talk to the world, Katniss. I just wanted to talk to you.”

She smiled, basking in the warmth of his words. “Well, I’m listening.”

In a slow, careful motion, Peeta’s hand traveled up Katniss’s back until it reached her braid. Tender fingers wrapped around the silky rope and slid down to the end where he gave it a playful tug. “So… Got anything good in that bag of yours?”

With a light, musical laugh, Katniss disentangled herself from him. “I do, actually.” Leaning forward, she grabbed her hunting bag by the strap and hoisted it onto the ledge.

They spent the next hour sitting there, talking about their plans for the following days as they sipped cold mint tea from Katniss’s thermos and shared the food she had brought.

He heart was so relieved after sharing her burden that she even let him have one of the cheese buns she had greedily kept to herself the previous night.

As they made their way back to the Village, their fingers laced together, their stomachs full, Katniss couldn’t help but think that maybe —just maybe— she had finally found a way to step away from the heartbreak she felt whenever Gale slipped into her mind.

That insistent little voice that talked to her whenever Peeta was around told her she was ready to move past the anger, and focus on the light.

XXXXX

Have a post mockingjay snippet idea? Let me know, I might turn it into a snapshot.

[h-styles-babes]

What About Us? | Part IV

Read Part III here.

FOUR

The rest of April passed without much fanfare. The pictures that got released of Harry and Val were still making the rounds on social media, but because they hadn’t been pictures together again since, the hype had died down. Val could easily enough avoid any nasty messages on social media because they were much fewer and farther between, which was nice, she supposed. 

Harry didn’t really officially make it back to London until early May due to his promo schedule. After being in America for a little over a week, he came back to London to make an appearance on the Graham Norton Show, and then it was straight to France to appear on Quotidien (where Val begrudgingly admitted to Nick that Harry looked very good, and her body betrayed her in its reaction to him. She couldn’t help it. The hormones made her horny. Or, that’s what she told herself, at least.)

As he’d promised, he was back in London in time for their next appointment. They went on a Sunday morning, when the office would usually be closed. However, due to Harry’s traveling schedule, the doctor had made an exception for them, which Val had thanked him for profusely. Much as the last time, they went in through the employee entrance, and they were greeted by Sara, who was smiley and seemed to be genuinely happy to see them again. 

“Glad yeh both could make it,” she said as she ushered them into the nurse’s station where she instructed Val to step on the scale. 

About a week and a half prior, Val’s tummy had popped out seemingly overnight. She now had a pretty sizable bump, and you could definitely tell that she was pregnant. Her roommates had gushed over it, extremely excited that she now looked like a proper pregnant woman. They’d squealed over the possibilities of the gender, mostly just excited to be able to start buying cute little outfits and toys once they found out the sex. Her parents, who Val had been out to dinner with the previous Saturday, had beamed when they’d seen her new belly. Her mum told her she looked like a glowing mum-to-be, and Val couldn’t hold back the smile she’d given her own mother. 

She was finally getting to the point where she was excited about having a baby. The first few weeks had been filled with turmoil and just overall shock that she was even pregnant to begin with. Then with Harry leaving to be the international star that he was, it was all just made that much more stressful. The pictures that had been posted of them hadn’t made things any better. But now that she’d had about a month to come to terms with everything, she got excited little flutters when thinking about becoming a parent. She couldn’t wait to see her baby on the monitor that day, and hopefully learn the sex so her and Harry could get to picking names and making arrangements at their respective homes. 

Val had been expecting a significant weight gain with the new addition to her body, and all the pregnancy books’ proclamations that the baby was now the size of a large mango or a grapefruit or what have you. So, when she stepped on the scale and saw she’d only gained seven pounds from her last appointment, she was quite pleased. She felt like she’d gained fifteen, but she supposed the shifting of her pelvis to accommodate the pregnancy was probably to blame for that.

Sara took down Val’s vitals and chatted with Harry about his recent travel as she escorted them into their room. Harry was excited about the impending release of his album, and while Sara didn’t seem to be a big fan, she was just as excited for him. He seemed so genuinely happy and proud that she couldn’t help but smile largely at him and congratulate him. Harry soaked it up, obviously, beaming back at her and thanking her for her kind words. 

The twinkle in their eyes made Val uncomfortable in a way that she wasn’t willing to admit to, and she hated that she felt that way. She knew it was jealousy that was creeping up in her belly, but she pushed that aside. She knew Sara wasn’t flirting with Harry, since she more than likely assumed that Val and Harry were together. However, the same could not be said for Harry. He had no attachment to anyone, as far as Val knew, and so there was no reason that he wouldn’t flirt with Sara. The young nurse was around their age, and she was pretty with her silky blond hair and pink-tinged lips. She was exactly the sort Harry went for normally. Val was the one that was out of the ordinary for him. It was a surprise that they’d made it as long as they had together. Maybe it was inevitable that they broke up in the explosive way that they had. There was no way what they had were to ever last. Val had only been kidding herself if she thought they’d make their relationship last longer than it had. 

Val had to force a smile when Sara had bid them farewell and told them the doctor would be in with them shortly.

Since she’d started showing, Val had taken to wearing baggier clothes to conceal it as much as she could, so Harry hadn’t had the opportunity to see the new evidence of their child. So, he was a bit surprised—pleasantly so—when Val pulled up her shirt for the doctor to take the doppler to it. 

She was fuller at the bottom, where her stomach flowed into her pelvis, and she stayed plump until just above her belly button. Harry was a little taken with the figure. He’d always been amazed by pregnant women, from their ability to create life to the way they looked with the rounded bellies. Everything about it was appealing to him. A subconscious part of him was proud of himself for getting Valentina pregnant, in a sort of primal way. And he was emotional seeing proof of her carrying his child. 

“Can I?” Harry asked, voice a bit hoarse as he held his palm open just above her belly. He’d wanted to experience her first pregnancy as her husband, being able to love on her and her little belly any time he wanted. Having to be relegated to this position where he had to ask permission for everything like they were strangers was a blow to his heart. He couldn’t believe they were in this position. He never wanted it to be like this. 

“Of course, Harry,” she assured, seeing the raw emotion in his eyes. They were a bit glassy, like he was holding back tears, and she couldn’t take the way it tugged at her heart. As much as she was upset at him for everything, she couldn’t deny him the opportunity to be as close to this pregnancy as he could be. It was the least she could do for him when they weren’t in a relationship anymore. 

When he hesitated, Val reached out herself and pressed his hand to her belly, on the side where the doctor wasn’t moving the wand around. Val left her hand on his as his long fingers encased a good part of her abdomen. Harry heaved out a sigh and let his shoulders relax from the tensed position he hadn’t realised they’d been in. With his conversation with Nick fresh in his mind, and the anxiety it had been causing him, this moment was like a breath of fresh air. He felt relieved, in a sense, that Val was allowing him to touch her. Surely, it was only for his sake, and he knew that, but it still seemed like a small victory.

“Baby’s cooperating today,” Dr. Christiansen proclaimed, clearing his throat to try to break the moment the couple was having as polite as possible. He sensed there was a backstory to whatever was going on between them, but it really wasn’t his place to pry. He was just here to make sure mum and baby made it through happy and healthy.

“Can yeh tell the sex?” Harry asked, perking up. He kept his hand against Val’s stomach, but his eyes were transfixed on the screen. He could very clearly make out legs, but seeing as he wasn’t educated in analysing sonograms, he wasn’t sure what else he was seeing. 

“I can. Would you like to know?” the doctor asked, smiling warmly at the two.  

Harry and Val shared a glance, and with a quick smile to each other, they nodded at the doctor. It seemed even time ad animosity couldn’t take away the intense connection they shared. They’d always been able to tell what the other was thinking, and they had silent conversations easily. 

“Baby Styles is a boy.”

Val and Harry didn’t see each other again until he was on the Breakfast Show that Friday for the release of his album. After their appointment on Sunday, he’d gone straight to America, where he performed on the Today Show and sung a song that Val knew was about another girl. She pretended like it didn’t sting a little bit. Enough of the songs on the album were about herself, she knew, but the fact that at least one had been dedicated to someone else smarted a bit. She hadn’t been around for the final cut of the album, either, so who knew what else snuck its way on since the last time she’d listened to it. 

Val had had dinner with her parents and brother on Monday evening, and she’d told them the sex of the baby. Her parents were just glad that both their daughter and the baby had been given a clean bill of health once again, but her brother was especially excited at the news. He’d always wanted another boy to interact with, considering their dad’s sister had three girls, and all of their mum’s family was still in Mexico. Poor guy had grown up surrounded by girls since he was little. It was about time that he had a boy to play footie with and do lads things. Val thought it was adorable that Mateo was so happy to be an uncle. 

Rebecca and Quinn were over the moon that they were able to go shopping now. They’d been chomping at the bit to find out the sex so they could start drowning Val in cute little outfits and toys. They were somewhat disappointed to find out it wasn’t a girl, because girls outfits were “just so adorable,” they’d proclaimed, but they were excited nonetheless. 

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Val got a phone call Monday midday, from a number she hadn’t seen pop up on her screen in months. It took her a few moments to answer, because her heart was thundering in her ears so loudly she could hardly hear. Finally, after three rings, she’d taken a deep breath and pressed the green button on her screen.

“Hello?” she answered, knowing full well who it was, but not having the mind to really answer any other way.

“Val, darling, it’s Anne.”

Just hearing her soothing voice and motherly tone was enough to set Val at ease. She let out a breathy laugh as she smiled hugely. Harry’s mother had always had this sort of affect on her. It was always nice to hear from her, and she’d been there as a shoulder to cry on, even during times when she was crying about Harry. Anne had always understood, and Val was infinitely grateful for it. 

“I know, Anne. How are you?”

“I’m fantastic, dear. Harry’s just told us the news. Can’t believe I’m gettin’ a grandson.”

The smile in her voice was evident, and Val was glad that she was so happy. She’d spent much of the last few months thinking that Anne resented her because of the breakup, but it was good to hear her in such high spirits, especially with everything that was going on with their family. 

“Yeah, my mum and dad are excited, too. Mateo’s glad to have a nephew,” Val laughed.

“Gem’s kinda disappointed it isn’t a girl, but she’ll get over it,” Anne snickered. 

Gemma was another point of contention for Val. Her and Harry’s sister had gotten along so well. They were best friends. But ever since the breakup, they’d barely spoken. Right after she’d heard, Gemma had called Val to sympathise over how big of a prat Harry was, and she’d let Val cry a bit over the phone. They’d gone out the next week to have coffee as well, and things had seemed fine. But Val hadn’t heard from the other girl since then, aside from the occasional tag in a meme on Twitter or Instagram. It was sad, really. Valentina missed her dearly.

“Gem’s just gonna have to have her own babies, isn’t she?” Val joked. 

“Can yeh tell her that?” Anne asked, sounding exasperated. “Thought I’d get a grandbaby out of her first. She’s laggin’ a bit.”

Val chuckled. “Leave her alone. She’ll come around eventually.”

Without even being in Anne’s presence, she could sense the sudden shift in mood. Where they had previously been jovial and a little giddy, it was now more somber, and Val could already tell where this conversation was headed. She hadn’t spoken to Anne since the breakup, and she knew the possibility of her having questions that Harry hadn’t answered was high. While Harry was open with his mother due to their close relationship, Anne was already going through her own hardship. It was entirely possible that he wasn’t telling her everything because he wanted to lessen her worries. While Val and Harry’s relationship wasn’t really Anne’s responsibility, she loved both of those kids with her whole heart, so she was involved almost as much as they were. Anne had been the first one to believe that they were going to get married. She’d been properly crushed when Harry had told her they’d broken up. 

“How are you lot handling this?” Anne asked, her tone more soft and careful. She didn’t want to overstep her bounds, but she was concerned. She had a feeling her son wasn’t telling her everything, and she could count on Valentina to be candid with her. 

Val sighed. “As best as we can, honestly. We’re just focused on the baby. It’s still early, so we haven’t made any concrete decisions yet.”

“Baby’s gonna be here faster than you imagine,” Anne warned. “And there’s lots for yeh to figure out. Custody arrangement, name, not to mention yeh have to decide how the media’s gonna play into this.”

At the mention of a custody arrangement, Val balked and there was a sudden feeling of nausea that settled in her stomach. Custody arrangement was not something any person wanted to have to consider when having a baby. She hadn’t really thought about that up until that moment. She did not want to have to think about all that. She never wanted her baby to have to worry about what parent she was staying with any given day or week. Val herself had been blessed enough to have two parents that had stayed married her entire life. Harry hadn’t been as fortunate, and she knew he had hated having to go back and forth between his mum and dad as he’d been growing up. She knew neither of them wanted to put their son through that, but what choice did they have?

“I know,” Val whispered, and correctly sensing her unease, Anne had changed the subject. Bless her.

Harry was in a special mood come Friday morning. 

It was extremely early, even for Val who had been doing these early mornings for years, but Harry came bounding in, looking way too good for how ridiculous she initially thought his suit was, and acting way too peppy. He said good morning to every person he passed in the halls, shook hands with the interns, and even indulged an employee’s little girl to a quick chat, a photo, and a signature on an old One Direction poster she brought along with her. He was just as kind and lovely as he always was, but there was a bit more bounce to his step and giddiness to his face. The release of his first solo album was obviously a big deal to him, and Val was feeling pretty privileged to be here with him on this day. She’d been with him through a lot of the writing and recording process of the album, and to finally see the final result get the love it deserved…it was amazing.

“Good morning, Harold,” Nick greeted while they were off air. Val was sat in her seat just on the other side of Nick, going over the playlist until Harry was to go on and play some of the songs on his album. She was in charge of queuing up the songs each morning, and Nick would make small adjustments when requests came in. It was one of the easier parts of her work days.

“Good morning, Nicholas,” Harry greeted, putting a venti cup of Starbucks coffee down in front of the older man. He bent down and pressed a kiss to the top of his head, which made Nick scrunch up his nose but smile at Harry fondly. “Soy latte with an an extra shot of espresso.”

“Good morning, Valentina,” Harry said, moving on to put down the same size cup in front of Val. He did the same as he had with Nick, but instead of the top of her head, Harry kissed her cheek with a smack that sort of surprised her, but she accepted it, not wanting to bring down his mood with a protest. “And a chai tea latte, since I’m sure yeh’ve already had your one allotted cup of coffee this morning.”

Val grumbled her affirmation, but took the cup thankfully. She really was experiencing pretty hardcore caffeine withdrawals due to the abstinence during pregnancy. It was making her a touch grumpy.

“Thanks,” she hummed, inhaling the spicy scent of the chai. “Good morning, Harry.”

Harry smiled as he took the empty seat beside Val. She thankfully didn’t even react when Harry reached over and placed his hand over her tummy. He gave a soft rub with his thumb over the swell of her belly. “Hows baby doing?”

“Good, been pretty active since the last appointment.” As if he’d heard his mum, the baby gave a firm push against the wall of her stomach, making her jump a little at the abruptness of it. “And now he’s awake, apparently.”

“He’d been still before this?” Harry asked, pressing his hand a bit firmer into the skin to try to feel it again. It wasn’t the first time he felt it, as he’d felt that telltale little bump the day of their appointment, but he was still in awe. There was a little being in there that was moving around and awake.

“Yeah. Hasn’t made a peep. Must know daddy’s here.”

The smile on Harry’s face rivaled any she’d ever seen him give in the entire time she’d known him. His bottom lip slipped between his teeth, and he looked like that boy she’d met all those year ago, just a smidgen cheeky and a lot a bit smoulder-y, and it was really killing her. There was a fluttering in her tummy that had nothing to do with the baby, and she quite liked it. She hadn’t felt it in a while. 

It was conflicting, though, because it was Harry.

Her hormones were fucked. She didn’t really like it. She was still hurt and upset, but her heart was still with him. And her body obviously still craved him. She was getting to that point in the pregnancy when she was horny more often than not, and Harry was who popped in her mind in the same vain. And thinking of him intimately like that again after months of suppressing those thoughts made her remember all the great times they’d had together. And then she got all heart-warmed about how great he’d been when he was there. Those cute moments where it was just them and they had fun and they loved each other endlessly. Those drew her in and made her miss him. But she always made sure her head took back over and reminded her that things had been bad when they broke up. 

They’re moment was broken by a hesitant but urgent Nick, who had to get Harry on the other side of the desk to start their morning. Val took the rest of the time to listen to Harry and Nick banter back and forth as they listened to his album. She hadn’t paid much mind to the songs, since they were ones she’d heard before. That was until one started in with a dodged explanation from Harry, the guitar cords soft and Harry’s voice even softer.

It only took a few seconds into the song to realise what it was about. Nick had introduced it as From the Dining Table. The lyrics were intensely intimate and sorrowful, and Val’s world sort of paused for the duration of the song. Her eyes locked on Harry’s, who was already looking at her with an intense gaze, which was full of knowing and remorse. 

The lyrics stuck in her throat in that awful way that foreboded a crying jag, and that’s exactly what happened a few seconds later as tears stung in her eyes. She sniffled once to try to suppress it, and then it was all over. She excused herself from the room, quickly walking across the hall to the restroom. 

It took only a two second delay for Harry to burst in right behind her. Him and Nick had already signed off before that last song, and Jeff had tried herding him away, since he had a One Show to get to pretty soon after the Breakfast Show, but he’d brushed past him to get to Val. 

“Valentina,” he called, seeing her stood in one of the stalls, ripping toilet paper off the roll to dab at her eyes. 

“What?” she sniffled, voice thick with her tears. 

“Can we talk, please?” Harry didn’t want to beg, but he was at the point where he had no other options. They’d gone a month and a half of being reunited, and they still hadn’t talked about any of the things that were weighing heavy on them. Val seemed to be avoiding it every time Harry even attempted to start a conversation about it, and he was sick of it, frankly. He couldn’t take this awkward limbo of trying to coparent and maintain a relationship with her while also having this history of such intense love and compassion between them. 

“Not now, Harry,” she sighed. “You’ve got places to be and I’ve got a job to get back to.”

“I don’t think Nick would mind if yeh left for the rest of the day, and I have time.”

“Harry…” she warned. She balled up her wad of tissue and threw it away, a bit bothered by how much of her makeup was coming off into it. 

“We can’t keep tiptoeing around all this! We’re havin’ a baby, Valentina. We need to be in this together, and we can’t do that if yeh keep pushin’ me away.”

“Where was this when we were together?” she demanded, angry. She was trying not to raise her voice, since this was her place of work, but she was getting worked up in the worst way. Her feelings of nostalgia from earlier were long gone. “How can yeh care now but not’ve given a shit four months ago? Why are yeh so concerned about our relationship now?” She really hated how sloppy her accent got when she was upset, but she couldn’t care about it now.

“Because I’m still in love with yeh! I want us to be okay for our baby! What about that is so hard to understand?” Harry was gripping at his hair now, his frustration needing to be exuded physically or else he would just about explode.  

“What’s hard to understand is why that matters now but not back in January when you’d promised to be there! We broke up because yeh failed to show up when it mattered. All I’ve ever done is support you and be there for you for those important moments, even when it meant missing something that I had planned. But you couldn’t be fucked when it was something that was important to me! All our friends and family were with me to celebrate my first solo broadcast, meanwhile you were out with your mates gettin’ pissed in some bar! And you’ve never even apologised for it.”

“That was one time, Val,” he huffed, pulling at his bottom lip. 

“No it wasn’t! You think I broke up with you over a one-time thing? You weren’t there for the celebration when I got hired on at BBC after graduation. You weren’t there for my birthday two years in a row. You weren’t there at my actual graduation. You missed out on a lot of things Harry, and they were all because something in your life was more important than mine. I don’t see how any of that has changed now that I’m pregnant. The baby may be your priority now, but that doesn’t inherently include me. I’d never expect it to, but just because I’m havin’ your baby doesn’t mean I’m gonna fall back into your arms.”

Harry was silent, and Val saw the way his chest heaved with his laboured breath and his jaw ticked as he clenched it. Harry only ever got silent during an argument when he was either too angry and didn’t want to say any words in anger that he may regret later, or when he knew he was in the wrong and really had nothing else to say. Val wasn’t sure if she was ready to face either of them. 

Finally, he took a deep breath that seemed to ease him a bit. He closed his eyes on his exhale and didn’t reopen them until he’d let it all out. The emotion she saw in them once they met hers again was heartbreaking, yet there was also something uplifting and determined as well. A determined Harry was something to be wary of, though. He was a force to be reckoned with. 

With no warning, Harry took a step closer to her and wrapped her in his arms, cocooning her in his chest. He buried his face into the crook of her neck and kept himself there, even when Val struggled at first. However, she was a sucker for his warm embraces, so it only took her a moment to relax and melt herself into him, tucking herself against him. The comforting, intimate contact after such a long time of only associating Harry with all things negative was too much for her. Her tears started up again, and she couldn’t even blame the hormones on that one. This was all her and her pent up emotions about the only boy she’d ever truly loved, and who she’d never actually fallen out of love with. It was intense. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered into her skin as she sobbed. He clutched her tighter when her frame rattled with them. “I’m so sorry. I was such a shit boyfriend, and I knew I was pushing your important things aside for my own, and I’m sorry. I was selfish and a prick and I never deserved your unwavering support. Yeh can never know how fuckin’ sorry I am. Yeh were my world, and I’m sorry I didn’t show yeh that enough. Yeh deserve so much more than I can ever offer, but I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

And it wasn’t all fixed with his apology. It would take them time to heal and rebuild that trust they’d once had. But it was enough for that moment. It was the first stitch in Val’s tattered heart, but it was enough to keep her going.

[ayalaatreides]

Nanbaka Fic: Drop That Penny!

Chapter 2! Continued from Chapter 1! Enjoy!

Summary: Momoko's secret is out, but what is Hajime going to do with this new information? Will social awkwardness ruin it all???

Chapter 1: Kind of Embarrassing Pairing: Momoko Hyakushiki/Hajime Sugoroku Rating: General Audiences Characters: Momoko, Hajime, Mitsuru, with a Jyugo guest appearance.

Momoko stared in open-mouthed shock, one hand outstretched towards the door that had just slammed shut. He… he just ran away again!

She put her palms to her face and let out a pitiful wail. "What just happened?! It was going so well!" she whimpered behind her fingers.

Of course Hajime would get scared off eventually! Clearly, she'd done something wrong, again, but she didn't even know what it was this time! She slumped in her chair and listlessly rested her head in one hand as she picked up her chopsticks and fiddled with the rice on her plate. Her eyes landed on her other hand, the one that had brushed against his for one glorious, heart-stopping second.

Wait, what if he saw how I reacted? What if he realized…? Momoko's eyes widened in horror. But if he realized how I feel, and he ran away again, then… "Oh, nooo!" she cried, burying her face in her palms again. What a complete disaster!

------------------------

Dealing with a Warden who hated him was easy enough; all he had to do was keep his head down and work hard. Hajime Sugoroku found himself utterly at a loss for how to proceed with a Momoko Hyakushiki who liked him.

The Warden. The head of Nanba Prison, his superior officer. She, apparently, was harboring a crush on him.

Well, at least the Dog's jealousy and animosity made sense all of a sudden. If the Warden had been pining away all this time, then she'd probably never even noticed Kenshirou's own longing gazes. Which was kind of sadly ironic for Kenshirou, but not really Hajime's problem.

All this was going through Hajime's mind as he sat at his desk, going through the paperwork he hadn't had time to finish before going to dinner with the Warden.

Everything had a routine when it came to filling out reports.

Paperwork was calming.

Orderly.

No unexpected events.

Unlike a certain revelation he'd had earlier that night.

The click of the doorknob made Hajime jump in his chair. He hurriedly steadied himself and shuffled his papers. Seitarou walked into the room, registering some surprise that Hajime was still there. He inquired, "Ah, sir, did anything important come up at the meeting with the Warden? I understood you were taking the night off for the dinner."

Hajime forced himself to remain impassive as he shook his head. "It was uneventful, but the Warden had to take a call from the Ministry of Justice, so we ended a bit early. I decided to catch up before I go to bed." He frowned. "Actually, why are you here? Did Prisoner 1315 try to escape again?"

Seitarou shook his head. "No, it's Prisoner 1399. He's convinced himself he has to hide outside his cell to complete his ninja training. I was going to find Deputy Supervisor Yamato, but you're here..."

"And he won't go back in his cell," sighed Hajime. "All right; let's go sort this out."

------------------------

Hajime was usually very, very focused. There wasn't much that could distract him from his work. However, he'd never had to deal with a superior officer wanting to date him before. Here he was, in his office the day after that dinner, and he still couldn't pay attention. He'd actually made mistakes, plural, on his paperwork. He'd even had to get a new form for one report write-up, since the first form had so much white-out on it.

"This is absurd," he muttered, shoving the paperwork away. So, the Warden had some sort of crush on him, so what? Why did that mean that he couldn't focus all of a sudden? He wasn't some sappy schoolboy- even when he'd been an actual schoolboy, he'd never been the sappy kind. So what the hell was wrong with him all of a sudden? It wasn't as if he was looking for a girlfriend and was actually considering this as a potential opportunity. "I'm almost thirty, I'm too old to be fidgeting over shit like this," he grumbled.

He hadn't really dated since he was a teenager. Once he'd decided to get serious about a career as a correctional officer, he'd put all that aside to stay focused. It had been surprisingly easy to stay single all this time; he was fine on his own, generally speaking, and he always had been. Plus, most women seemed to find him off-putting. They'd approach him and then leave shortly after he started talking to them. Maybe he looked too mean. Maybe he was too brusque. Regardless, it had never bothered him much. Most of those women hadn't really had anything in common with him, anyway. The one time he'd tried to date again, in his early 20s, the woman in question had cited his "workaholic" tendencies as the reason why she was breaking up with him. It'd stung, but he'd respected her honesty- why should two people stay together if they couldn't keep up with each other's lives? It wouldn't be fair of him to expect a woman to put up with his admittedly aggressive ambitions, and it wouldn't be fair of her to expect him to be less ambitious, even if it did make him a workaholic.

I've heard that one, too. The Warden's words from the night before popped back into his mind. Now that he was thinking about it, he supposed that was something they did have in common. The thought, oddly, made him even more jittery.

He got up and went to the break room. Maybe the short walk and a cup of green tea would calm him down and get him back to normal. A few minutes later, he sank onto the break room couch with a sigh, sipping from a steaming cup of tea as he waited for the liquid to cool some more. He felt himself uncoiling a bit as the warmth from the tea began to suffuse within him.

As he sipped his tea, he realized what the source of his problem was: it had never occurred to him that the Warden was… a person, really. He wasn't one to question his colleagues' personal lives, generally speaking, and even less so when that colleague was both his superior officer and utterly terrifying and out for his blood (or so he'd thought). Obviously she was a person, but he'd never stopped to wonder what she did with her free time, what she was like off-duty- or what kind of people, if any, she was interested in. As it turned out, the answer to that last one was "Hajime Sugoroku", and that was the kicker. He'd never even considered that the Warden might have romantic inclinations sometimes, and it would never have occurred to him in a million years that those feelings might be aimed at himself.

And that was why the dinner last night had been so surprising. He'd actually been enjoying her company, if he was being totally honest with himself. Sure, it had been weird at first, but at a certain point he'd felt… comfortable. And it was because he'd been spending time with the Warden as a person, rather than his superior officer. He'd gotten to meet Momoko, rather than Warden Hyakushiki, and it had been actually pretty nice- in fact, it was probably the nicest social interaction he'd had in years.

"Guess there's nothing wrong with a friendly, casual dinner once in a while," Hajime said grudgingly. A friendly and casual dinner, with a colleague… who was also his superior officer… who was also a woman with a crush on him… a very tall and striking woman with an imposing bearing and a piercing stare, and those were admirable traits in a superior officer... but she also had those traits as a person… a person with feelings… a single person with feelings specifically for himself...

She did have kind of a cute smile, too.

He groaned harshly and buried his face in his palms. "This is so ridiculous. This is childish," he muttered into his hands.

It was rather good fortune that nobody entered the room in the five or ten minutes Hajime had to himself. Just as he was bracing himself to go back to his paperwork and its slew of mistakes, his radio went off with a call from a very, very lost Deputy Supervisor. Hajime practically bolted out the door of the break room, glad for the distraction.

After he'd sent Yamato on his way, a slight movement in the shadows caught his eye, and he barked, "Prisoner Number 15, get out of there. I'll be taking you back to your cell."

A muted sigh echoed down the hallway, and Jyugo stepped out into the light. "That was faster than usual."

"I was paying closer attention this time," Hajime retorted.

Jyugo reluctantly fell into step with Hajime after a moment of enduring Hajime's expectant stare, and they began their walk along the twisting path that led back to Cell 13, Hajime having made sure he kept Jyugo's uniform firmly in hand so the prisoner wouldn't run off on the return journey.

"Hey, Hajime, are you in a worse mood than usual?" Jyugo asked out of nowhere. Hajime's grip tightened on the collar of his jumpsuit as he tried not to visibly jump at the sudden question.

"Why do you think that?!" Hajime growled. Jyugo just shrugged.

"Uno always says I have a good sense about people," he remarked.

"Number 11, huh?" Hajime muttered. "Makes me question his sense about people if he actually thinks that."

"Does it have something to do with that dinner invitation from the Warden?" Jyugo asked.

Hajime stopped dead in his tracks and whirled the cheeky brat around, bringing him face to face.

"How the hell do you know about that?!" he snapped.

"It was noisy in my cell last night so I went to the break room for a nap. Your office was unlocked- usually that doesn't make a difference to me, but I normally stay out of there, just as a courtesy," Jyugo told him.

"Courtesy?!" Hajime echoed, outraged.

"Yeah. Well, I saw that invite on your desk and-"

"Keep your nose in your own business where it belongs!" Hajime ordered. With that, he hoisted Jyugo up by his collar and carried him all the way back to his cell, suspended in the air like a misbehaving pup.

After he'd tossed the thrashing, whining brat into his cell, Hajime retreated to his office to finish up that paperwork- only to remember he hadn't procured a fresh copy of the last form he'd messed up beyond repair. He threw his hands up in the air and shook his head in dismay. This entire day had been an absolute waste of productive working hours. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll be in the right frame of mind to do this properly, he decided. But not before locking up that invitation. Once it was safely stowed away, he stepped out again and headed towards the officer's mess hall. It was almost dinnertime, anyway.

------------------------

"Hey, Hajime, was that dinner meeting a date with the Warden?"

Hajime bit back a startled yell as he stepped into his office, only to find Jyugo sitting at his desk with Kuu curled around the back of his neck.

"What the hell, Number 15?!" he roared. "I was gone for less than an hour!" This was getting absurd; he'd just stepped away for dinner and this was what he'd come back to?

"Yeah, well, I told the other guys what happened and they think you had a date with the Warden," Jyugo remarked. He stood up and walked right over, holding his wrists out docilely. Kuu, having jumped off Jyugo's shoulders when he stood up, padded over to a corner of the room and began licking his paws daintily. Hajime eyed the prisoner suspiciously.

"You came all the way over here just to give up? Just like that, huh?" he said warily.

"I was gonna go to sleep, but those guys thought you might need a pep talk," Jyugo said with a shrug. He held his arms out even further and flapped his fingers slightly, like he was telling Hajime to get on with it.

"What do you mean, pep talk?" Hajime growled. He wasted no time in grabbing his cuffs and securing the wayward prisoner's wrists. If this kid really was going to let himself be caught and returned to his cell so obediently, Hajime wasn't about to let the opportunity go to waste.

"Ow! Those are tight," Jyugo muttered as the cuffs closed around his wrists.

"Shut up, we both know you'll loosen them anyway," Hajime snapped. He pointed sternly at the door and marched Jyugo out into the hallway. "Now, why the hell do you think you're going to give me a pep talk?"

Jyugo heaved an aggravated sigh and explained, "You came and gave me a pep talk after the tournament, remember?"

"You're an idiot," Hajime told him briskly. "That 'pep talk' was because you were just shutting down and giving up, rather than dealing with your problems head-on."

"Maybe," Jyugo muttered, sulking a little at the frank assessment. "But you're not being much better than that right now, are you?"

"I'm absolutely dying to see where you're going with this," Hajime said dryly, teeth gritted over his indignation. This kid had quite the brave streak, trying to discuss his supervising officer's personal life.

Jyugo proceeded to keep talking, apparently immune to the sarcasm. "Uno reckons you had a date with the Warden but you're not gonna go for it because, uhh- oh, right, he says you have a stick up your butt."

"Oh, does he?" Hajime ground out through gritted teeth.

"Nico thinks so too, because he read a manga like that once," Jyugo rambled on. "It was something like, the queen's bodyguard denies his love for her because he thinks-"

"Your cellmates have some interesting opinions about my personal life," Hajime interrupted pointedly.

"Anyway, like I said, you're the one who told me I wasn't selfish enough. You said I should want something for myself; shouldn't you take your own advice too?" Jyugo said. "Otherwise you really shouldn't lecture people, right?"

Hajime opened his mouth to tell the brat off, but… damn, did the kid have a point there? "I think I'm pretty well positioned to be lecturing a kid who's been a prisoner most of his life," Hajime retorted, but it sounded weak even to himself.

Jyugo just turned and lifted an eyebrow to Hajime. Hajime supposed he could call it a small favor that after that last final riposte from the brat, he kept blissfully silent the rest of the way to Cell 13 - until they were mere steps away from the cell door, where Jyugo just had to pipe up one more time.

"Also, Rock reckons it'd make life easier for us if you had a girlfriend because it might calm you down-"

Hajime bristled. "Get in there!" he snapped, hurling the damn kid into his cell. Neither he nor his cellmates had anything to say after Hajime slammed the cell door shut and rammed the bolt home.

------------------------

"That brat has a hell of a rude mouth on him!" Hajime fumed as he returned to his office. No other inmate in the prison would've dared to speak so casually to him. He was going to have to put his foot down and be stricter from now on, and remind Seitarou and Yamato to be on their toes more around those four characters in Cell 13, in particular.

Hajime began busying himself processing the paperwork in his "in" tray, thankful that he hadn't had to reach for the white-out at all, that his pens weren't going dry at an inconvenient time, and his signature stamps were crisp and clear each time he thwacked the wooden cylinder against the page.

The routine quickly lulled his mind, and his thoughts wandered back to his dinner with the Warden. It had gone pretty well until that strange incident with the magazine; come to think of it, the Warden hadn't sent any memos regarding anything in the last day or so, so that could be good - or bad. What did her silence on the subject mean? Was she angry that he'd run out on their dinner? Was she embarrassed?

If she wasn't mad about it, though, then maybe, if Hajime was being honest with himself… it might be nice to try again. He surprised himself with the thought; he'd been so sure that he was past the desire for companionship. That he didn't need it or want it.

You said I should want something for myself; shouldn't you take your own advice too?

Prisoner Number fifteen's words went through his mind, unbidden.

But then-no, it was absurd! Warden Hyakushiki was his boss, and it wouldn't be appropriate. It couldn't work out.

Or could it?

It was hardly the first or last time in human history such a relationship had begun. They were the same age and Momoko clearly wasn't the type to take advantage of her authority over him; if she was going to, surely she'd have done it already. The lack of memos from her office suggested he probably wasn't going to get fired for running off. She was too young and too driven to let such professional discourtesy happen… which is exactly how he'd have handled it if he'd been in her place. They really were alike, after all.

And wasn't that, mused Hajime, at least one definition of companionship? Knowing each other's nature, especially the parts normally kept hidden from everybody else? After all, nobody exactly knew just what was going on in the Warden's head when she cast her flat looks at the guards and supervisors around her; even Hajime was only just starting to get an inkling of the truth, but that was more than anyone else at Nanba probably had.

Hajime reached automatically for the "in" tray, only to jerk in surprise as his hand hit the plastic bottom. He looked at the time and realized it was long past due for him to have a break. There was just one last thing to take care of before he went for yet another cup of coffee. Grabbing up a piece of paper and a pen, he crafted a carefully-worded request to the Warden. Strictly business, that was all, but his heart was pounding embarrassingly fast as he wrote. Which was ridiculous. He just had some reports to deliver - they did need to discuss any number of prison-related issues, after all.

Although it wouldn't hurt to try and gauge her mood after the disastrous end to that dinner. He should at least figure out if she resented him… for professional reasons.

------------------------

Momoko was pretty proud of herself; right from the start, she'd always made it a priority to not let her feelings get in the way of professionalism. As much as she utterly adored Hajime Sugoroku, the last thing she wanted was to let her emotions undo all the effort she'd poured into getting this far in her career. Not to mention, she'd just die of shame if he ever felt pressured because of her. She was well aware of how it could look in his eyes, with her being in a position of authority over him. And so she'd spent all this time walking a razor-thin line to hide her emotions and keep her wild daydreams separate from mundane reality. Even when dining with him, aside from that one slip-up at the end, she'd carefully kept a safe distance between her emotions and the polite detachment of a professional working relationship.

But oh, never before had it been so incredibly difficult! It had been two days since that dinner, with zero contact between herself and her dear Hajime. Of course, it wasn't as if they'd had regular contact before this- their duties had always dictated the few but precious moments she got to spend in his company. But now, the silence was glaring and agonizing. Was he angry, now that he knew how she felt? Was he appalled at her inappropriate feelings? Or had she misinterpreted his reaction entirely and he still didn't know? She had no idea, and that was the worst part.

And so, when a missive arrived from Building 13, she was practically shaking as she dismissed the messenger and waited impatiently for him to shut the door on his way out- and she tore the envelope open in her haste to get at its contents.

"He… wants to meet with me!" she gasped. Granted, it was just a request for a normal meeting about prison business, but it was still a chance to see him! Maybe there'd be some sign in his behavior to reassure her that he didn't hate her now.

Forcing composure upon herself, pulled up her scheduler and set the meeting for first thing the next morning, then she reached for a blank piece of paper and a pen to write out a response acknowledging receipt of the meeting request and the time. She deposited it in her "out" tray, then tried to push her anticipation aside as she reached for her daily paperwork.

------------------------

The next morning, Warden Momoko Hyakushiki took extra care in front of her mirror: her uniform buttons were all polished, her suit and pants utterly free of any stray lint, and her cap set firmly on her head. She'd also taken extra time brushing her hair after her shower, making sure no strands fell out of place.

She tugged her uniform jacket down just a bit, then nodded to herself as she turned to leave her quarters: she was ready to see Hajime Sugoroku. She was even proud of herself for not drifting off mentally during her trip to her office (even if she had momentarily wondered what it would be like to touch his ungloved hand).

In her office, Momoko sat ramrod straight as she awaited Hajime's arrival. It was, in fact, just a minute shy of nine in the morning; he was quite punctual, and as her watch ticked over to nine precisely, the door alert signalled that he was present.

Hajime stepped into her office (as usual, her heart leaped) and, apparently all-business, stepped forward to greet her. "Warden. I believe we have some business to discuss."

Momoko briefly stood, hoping she didn't look as nervous as she felt, and gestured to a chair. "Let's begin."

As she sat down, she studied Hajime's face, scrutinizing his features closely for any hint as to the workings of his mind while he flipped through his reports. His expression was so flat, she couldn't tell a thing! She clasped her hands on her desk, trying not to fidget. What if they went through this whole meeting without even acknowledging that the dinner had happened? Was she going to have to confront disappointment once more?

With the last report done, Hajime stood and bowed graciously. "Thank you for your patience, Warden. I'll… take my leave now."

"Of course, thank you for presenting your reports," Momoko replied, her heart sinking. Was that really it? He was going to leave without even talking about it? But at the same time… had he hesitated for just a second there?

Hajime inclined his head politely and turned towards the door, walking slowly away from her desk- only to stop short halfway to the door.

Momoko, sure he could hear the sudden thud of her heart against her ribcage, said, "Is there anything else, Supervisor?"

He huffed slightly and shifted his weight. "Well…"

Momoko sat forward, palms sweating inside her gloves. "Yes, Supervisor?" She wasn't sure if she ought to be excited… or worried!

Hajime actually scratched the back of his neck at that point and now Momoko could hardly sit still. He never fidgeted like that, not in her presence! "It's kind of embarrassing, actually," he muttered. Without turning around, he added, "I forgot to thank you for hosting me at dinner the other night."

"O-oh. Well, the evening did end somewhat suddenly," Momoko said, her foot bouncing under her desk.

"Right… I wanted to apologize for that, too," Hajime said. Momoko was glad he wasn't looking her way; she was leaning forward so far that her hair was brushing her desk's edge. "Uh, I hope I'm not overstepping, or- or misinterpreting, but… the dinner was… pleasant. It was nice. I realized that I don't really know you that well, so, uh- Perhaps if… we were to have a second dinner?"

"A-a second dinner?" Momoko echoed, heart pounding in her ears. Inwardly she chanted, please please please let this really be happening, please please please...

Hajime glanced back at her, not quite making eye contact. "Yeah. To… get to know each other better."

"I see," Momoko said, and her voice had hit an embarrassingly high pitch. He could definitely see how red her face was. Could he tell that her clasped hands were shaking on her desk?

"Well?" Hajime prompted, and now his face was red too, and Momoko honestly thought she might cry.

"Y-yes, we could- certainly- yes," Momoko agreed, her composure breaking and a wide smile spreading over her face.

"Good. Thanks. I'll go now." Hajime bolted out the door.

Momoko counted down from ten, and then buried her face in her hands and let out the loudest squeal of delight she'd yet uttered since she first laid eyes on Hajime Sugoroku.

This time, dinner would be perfect!

[the-haven-of-fiction]

The Prize, Ch.7

Summary: AU Tom, set in early 19th c. London.  Madeleine and Tom have known each other since they were teenagers (her brother is married to his sister). Can they overcome their fears and choose each other?  

Genre: Romance/Angst/Drama (Written as an experiment in the heaving bosom/bodice ripper vein)

Rating: T (non-explicit sexuality/mild violence in later chapters)

Author’s Notes: Thank you to @i-wanna-be-toms-body-pillow for her continued enthusiasm and assistance. I’m still surprised that people are interested in this story.  Thank you for the kind words.  I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the beginning kind of had me hot and bothered. ;)

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

The library was always the first place she went.  It was her domain, her refuge, her kingdom.  After time away, her heart would beat a little faster in anticipation as she made her way down the hall.  Stepping over the threshold was to be transported.  No matter the frustration of things great and small, no matter the pain of life and loss, she always found respite here.  She walked through the room, sighing contentedly, her hands caressing the spines of her treasures, shelf by shelf, feeling the binding against her palms, the smooth edges of the lettering.  Deep breaths filled her lungs, the scent of dust and memories and dried lavender relaxing her.  A few favorites, for she had many, were picked up with reverence and pressed to her chest, embraced as a beloved.  Among them were gifts from her parents and she traced her fingertips over the words they had left on the inside cover.  

“I missed you,” she told them.  And she heard them all respond in whispers, each page rustling softly in her ears, the cooing intimate words of a lover meant only for her.  

She abandoned her slippers, letting her stockinged toes curl into the carpet, then gathered several more volumes in her arms and began to dance around the room in slow twirls and turns with her eyes closed.  They were the perfect partners, her books.  They never stepped on her toes, they never had sweaty hands, they never regarded her awkwardly.  They were constant, they were comforting, they were companions.  

Although she always brought a supply with her when she was in town, it was never enough; and it wasn’t simply the books themselves, it was this place, this room.  This room with its old almost thread-bare scarlet upholstered furniture that the housekeeper, Mrs.Copplan, was always chiding her to replace. This room with the globe in its stand and her mother’s watercolors of birds on the walls. This room with its dark aged wood and tall mullioned windows.  She moved to them and pressed her cheek against the cool glass.  More deep breaths.  This was home.

Tom stood at the threshold watching her, captivated.  He’d never seen this before.  She had left the door open this time and he convinced himself in a second that it was an invitation.  

She was wearing a new gown with a pink flower pattern against white and it was a beautiful compliment to her hair.  The sunlight streamed through the windows and she stopped for a moment, lifting her face to soak it up, eyes still closed, a smile illuminating her countenance in a way that the sun never could.   He had taken a single step forward and caught himself before the second step interrupted her reverie. He wanted to take her hands and dance with her as she had done with their niece and nephews when they were children. He wanted to spin around with her until they were dizzy and breathless and laughing, until they collapsed onto the floor in a heap of her skirts.  He wanted to take her flushed cheeks in his hands and feel her breath on his lips. He wanted to cradle her head and lay her down on the sun-warmed carpet and tell her a story she’d never heard while he wrote the words on every inch of her silky skin.  

He struggled to give this a name and again found himself wanting to consult her about it.  She would know.  She would quote something in Latin from one of these books and smile at him and pat his shoulder and speak in her rational way and soothe him as she had for years.

But would she share it? Would she understand?  Would she only look at him in confusion if he spoke so impassioned to her?

But her eyes opened and fixed on him with a look of pleasure, as if she had known the whole time that he was watching.  As if she wanted him to watch.  And even though he knew it seemed to be lacking in sense, seeing her like this was just as intimate as when she had been clad only in her nightgown at the inn.

He stuttered and had to clear his throat, informing her that Mrs.Copplan had tea ready to be served.

“Thank you, Tom.”

She placed her armful of books on the round table by the globe and looked around for her shoes.  

“I’m famished.  I’ve been anticipating some of Cook’s tarts for weeks.”

After tea.

He would do it after tea.

Yes, he told himself, you will.

The last drop of his second cup was being drained when a servant entered the room with a request for Tom from the old gardener, Elton.  Tom had always enjoyed being outdoors, especially interested in the talents of those who kept the grounds.  Elton had a new variety of plant that he had been cultivating by the pond and was eager to share his success with Tom.

It was on the tip of tongue to suggest that he plan a meeting with Elton the next morning instead when Mrs.Copplan exclaimed “Yes, please, sir, go.  The man won’t be satisfied until he has your approval and I can’t bear to hear him muttering over his stew tonight.”

Tom snuck a glance at Madeleine and saw that she was attempting to stifle a giggle.  The ancient, or so it seemed, tension between the two faithful retainers was something of an ongoing source of amusement for the rest of the household.  No one knew quite exactly how it originated.

Madeleine gave Tom a smile and mouthed “Go” as she brought the teacup up to her lips.

Reluctantly he arose and made his way to the flower garden and down to the pond.  The weather was unusually fine, warm for so early in the spring, and he took his time, enjoying the eager young blooms that were already showing their faces for the season.

Elton was puffing on his pipe and seated on the weathered three-legged stool that he had taken to carting around the estate.  He greeted Tom warmly and proceeded with great animation and speed to proudly show his handiwork.

“I suppose Mrs.Copplan made some kind of untoward comment about me before you left the room?” he asked with a feigned air of disinterest.

Tom smiled at the old man and decided to throw caution and decorum to the wind.

“What happened with you two? Why the animosity?”

Elton’s shoulders slumped in a heavy sigh and he turned to face Tom.

“Fear.  Love.  Mostly fear, I suppose.”

He answered matter-of-factly, honestly, with ease, giving Tom the impression that in uttering those few words, he was relieving himself of burdens that he had carried for far too long.

Keen eyes that were dimming, but not with wisdom, latched onto Tom’s, and he took another drag on his pipe.  The smoke curled up into the air and a few puffy clouds temporarily shielded them from the bright sunshine.  

“Don’t let fear win the fight, my boy.  It will grow like weeds,” he motioned towards the flower garden with a gnarled hand, “and choke out the life that is battling to break through.  A gardener can’t let the weeds go wild because he is afraid the seeds won’t bloom.  Only a fool would do that.”

“Yes, of course,” Tom murmured, with full awareness that Elton’s words were indicative of what he wasn’t saying, that he saw a familiar struggle in Tom’s eyes.

“One fool amongst two men is enough,” Elton laughed, although it was tinged with regret.

“Life is very strange,” he continued, “We are taught that selfishness is wrong and surely it is; but we have to let ourselves be…be…”

His grayed eyebrows knit together in concentration as he searched for the words.

“Brave?” Tom offered.

“If we are convinced it could bring happiness, selfishly brave, in a way,” Elton nodded in agreement, “If that makes any sense.”

“I understand,” Tom answered, looking out across the garden back to the house.

The clouds moved on and the pond was again bathed in sunlight.  Elton informed Tom of the plans he had drawn up for a new gazebo on the east side of the water and they had been chatting for quite a while when Tom noticed a carriage he didn’t recognize approaching the house.  The east side of the pond afforded a glimpse of the drive some distance away.  He thanked Elton and promised a complete surveyance of the estate in the morning before walking back through the flower garden, gathering a handful of lavender for Madeleine, and into the house.

He was curious as to whom the visitor might be, but he was also eager to speak with her before his courage was lost.  

The voice that fell on his ears before he rounded the corner of the hall caused him to halt.

It was Mr.Kingston’s.

He was here.

In Madeleine’s home.

Her suitor.

His rival?

Was it too late?

The surge of jealousy that raced through him was so intense, he was nearly crushing the delicate stalks in his hand in reaction to the horrible idea that crossed his mind. Surely Mr.Kingston would make such a journey for one reason.  He quickly turned and exited the house, stumbling slightly in his haste. 

The walled garden.

It was the first place that came to mind.

He sat on the brick bench in the wall for an hour, the shadows of evening creeping in around him, as the events of the weeks since the ball played on the stage of his mind.  He thought of how happy she had been about Cassie’s engagement, how happy she had seemed every time Mr.Kingston called on them. He thought of the accident, of his terror that she might be hurt or worse.  And he thought of her waltzing into his room in the inn, closed his eyes and remembered the sweet agony of sitting still while her hands were on him, of the lace wrapper that she placed over his thighs, of the vision of her dancing with her books in the library mere hours ago.

Elton’s words came to him.

He heard the neighing of horses and the sound of wheels on gravel.

And he rose with purpose, with resolve, moving with long steady strides to claim the prize that he couldn’t bear seeing in another man’s arms.  

Instead of going through the house, he walked around the perimeter to the front entrance and was greeted with the sight that made him hastily step back from view in alarm.

The sight of Madeleine embracing Mr.Kingston.

[piermanwalter]

Thief’s Apprentice: Old Surenia, Old Sidra

SUPER SUMMARY: This isn’t even close to how many cultures and ethnicities there are in Surenia, but it should get the vibe across. Surenia’s hostile climate and geology forced its residents to become magically and technologically advanced to survive and withstand outside invasion. After near total depopulation following the plague, previous ethnic and cultural boundaries fell apart and people formed identities around their city or lack of city instead.

Although Sidra is peaceful and agreeable, its descendant civilisations on other continents are intense and terrifying, and their continued self identification as Sidrans even after thousands of years of cultural divergence raises great fear and suspicion in other parts of The World. Although there are many advantages to cultural cohesion, after one Sidran in Surenia invented the plague, it caused the reputation of all Sidrans to fall, leading to the formation of Gehenna, the most intense and terrifying Sidran descendant civilisation so far.

A man once rode on the back of a giant bird to an island covered in treasures. He was warned he must leave before the sun rose, so he quickly filled a few sacks with jewels and went home. The man’s neighbor, jealous of his new wealth, also went to the island on the back of the giant bird and collected too much treasure for the bird to carry, burning to death when the sun rose after the bird abandoned him. In the south of the continent Surenia, sheer cliffs of malachite tower hundreds of feet out of the ground, shot through with seams of pure copper as wide as city streets. In the north, desert sands are so filled with flecks of silver and gold that when wind blows over the dunes, they shine like waves on the ocean. Whenever a volcano in the mountain range that runs down the entire continent erupts, it leaves diamonds and peridots embedded in soft ash. Rivers gather these stones and ores as they pass through them. As the rivers converge, widen, and slow, polished gems are deposited into wide sweeping beaches.

But Surenia’s vast mineral resources also render it incapable of naturally supporting life. Groundwater in Surenia is almost always contaminated with heavy metals, and often dried up, became more contaminated, or drained out somewhere else after earthquakes. Indigenous humans of Surenia, the Ophtha, survived by using magic to scry for pure water and cure poison. Early Ophtha were nomadic. Because of Surenia’s extreme climate and geology, Ophtha lived with minimal contact with the rest of the world until about 4000 years ago, when sailors from Sidra Minor landed near what is now Alhambra.

Because Ophtha could magically identify areas with arable land and non-poisonous water and Sidrans could not, early Sidrans on Surenia had to trade with and/or pillage existing settlements to survive. Sidrans had no self-sufficient settlements on Surenia for about a century until they invented distillation, which they used to purify water and live in previously uninhabitable lands, allowing them to expand inland away from coasts and rivers. Sidrans and Ophtha were able to coexist in relative stability since neither peoples could control each-others’ resources for about 1500 years. Sidrans in Sidra and Sidrans in Surenia have become mutually unrecognisable but they are still on good terms.

During this time, the Alexandrian Empire originating from Beringia took over their home continent and began expanding into northern Surenia. After some wars, many northern Ophtha were absorbed into Alexandrian society. Because of Alexander’s continued beef with the original Sidra, northern Sidrans were antagonised, but refused to move and to survive, became extremely hardcore and desensitised towards death. This is a surprise tool that will help them later. While the Empire prospered around them, Sidrans continued to carve their lives from wasteland. The Alexandrian Empire soon collapsed under infighting and mismanagement, but much of their language and culture were preserved in the northern Ophtha.

Then Ophtha advancements in magic increased agriculture production and healthcare, causing a huge population boom, encroaching on Sidran territory. Ophtha entertained the idea of technological advancement, but human workers and magic were orders of magnitude cheaper than labor-saving devices. Meanwhile, Sidrans, squashed into infertile but ore-rich wastelands, improved Industrial Magic and invented steel. This started a period of constant bloody wars that lasted 400 years and ended when competition changed from combat to city planning.

Sidrans would challenge Ophtha to build a functional society on the worst land in Sidran territory and vice versa. The point of this is to flex on how resilient your own people are for surviving in such harsh conditions, and if the other people couldn’t live there, it proves you are better. Villa Princeps was built in a snake-filled swamp slowly sinking into the ocean. Villa Cardeia, now known as Veilheim, was built on an arsenic spring in the middle of the desert.

Bear in mind this was only going on in northern Surenia, since other Ophtha weren’t influenced by Alexandrian culture to stop their nomadic lifestyles, and thus had no reason to fight Sidrans, and southern Sidrans weren’t forced to become hardcore as hell.

While the two groups remained culturally distinct, the spite cities built in each others’ territories reduced animosity between them. About 800 years ago, people from other continents attempted to control Surenia for its minerals. The earliest attempts focused on northern Surenia, since it was closest to other coasts, but the post-Alexandrian Ophtha inherited the military training and tactics that led Alexander to conquer half of The World, and the northern Sidrans continued making weapons, making Northern Surenia hard to occupy. The intentionally shitty placement of major spite cities rendered northern Surenia even harder to occupy, since they were impossible to find by normal logic, and even if conquered, the occupiers would quickly starve or go insane from metal toxicity. Thus Surenia always had control over trade and extraction of its own minerals and maintained its reputation as mysterious and impenetrable. 

Although Sidrans and Ophtha saw each other as very different, common practices on Surenia such as not wearing pants, polytheism, and reliance on magic were seen by the rest of the world as barbaric. Unlike other places, who were able to become populous enough to organise into large kingdoms and countries with a centralised leadership, Surenia government never progressed beyond unaffiliated city-states.

Southern Surenia was subject to many failed colonisation attempts, but what Surenians considered mundane and acceptable loss, outsiders saw as fantastically huge riches, so there’s no end to new invasions. The need for dangerous magic to compensate for low local population in fighting off foreign powers created a new class of mages who were no longer focused on survival or improving society. Taboos on certain types of magic were removed and mages could research anything, regardless of how harmful it is for regular people. While this was happening, Sidra had an easy pipeline of Surenian minerals from trade, which caused great jealousy and privateer wars.

The plague was a combination of Death and Gore Magic developed by a Sidran in the Ophtha merchant city of Cyrene on the first river delta which was buried using Doom Magic to prevent the plague from spreading. This area is no longer a delta, as the wreckage of the city slid into the river and dammed all the shallow tributaries.

Was the plague first created as a weapon or to save people? Nobody remembers and it doesn’t really matter anymore. The plague did technically free Surenia from colonisation by making it ungovernable. Lasting settlements would succumb to mad revenant attacks, while smash-and-grab expeditions would bring lots of gold and jewels home, but the plague with it. As the plague spread outwards from central Surenia, many fled, including the Ophtha ruling class of most northern spite cities, leaving the rest behind with no leaders. Cure Quest is a fictionalised account of these chaotic times. Despite impending plague hell, Sidrans took this opportunity to move in and become the new ruling class. Culturally ok with death, when they realised revenants could be sane, they were more willing to accommodate them and design societies devoted to dying properly.

Veilheim, objectively the largest and most prosperous city in Surenia, was originally one of these northern spite cities abandoned by Ophtha and recovered by Sidrans. The same geographical features that made life harder for the living happened to be very good for revenants. The sun dried and preserved revenants, and they could bathe in the poisonous arsenic springs to kill bacteria and maggots. Culturally, Veilheim is very much like the post-Alexandrian Ophtha that made up most of its starting population, but people in general don’t place as much importance on their history and ancestry, and identify as Veilheimers above anything else. Although boundaries between Sidrans and Ophtha are less defined, Sidrans such as the Rambush family continue to be powerful among the living. While living Veilheimers dress in post-Alexandrian Ophtha style, dead Veilheimers dress more like Sidrans, because the first sane revenants were mostly Sidran and later revenants copied them.

Traditional core Sidran values, which are extremely unintuitive to everyone except for other Sidrans, such as having literally no standards as to who identifies as Sidran, negotiating with anyone no matter how inconsequential or abhorrent, and avoiding conflict with other wildly divergent self-identified Sidrans, still heavily influence Veilheim and some other cities in Surenia today.

The Sidrans that first settled in Surenia believed deities are too powerful to have names, being referred to by euphemism like Singing Goddess or Sleeping God instead. When revenants started appearing, it wasn’t that far of a stretch to go from “powerful nameless deity” to “powerful nameless corpse”.

While The Necromancer was wiping out newly restored cities and absorbing their bones, early Veilheimers overcame their fear and disgust and spoke to him appealing to greed and investment, convincing him that if he wiped out a city now, he would lose out on all the potential bones the city would produce if it became large and prosperous.

Veilheim looks out for other cities with acknowledged Sidran presence, such as Alhambra, Punt, and Cyrene, but Villa Princeps prides itself on being Imperial and therefore anti-Sidran, so they beef endlessly.

You’d expect a culture with zero in-group out-group distinctions to die out, but Sidra has been unified for five thousand years and all of their descendant civilisations still identify as Sidran. Being Sidran is more like being part of a decentralised noninterference agreement than part of a specific culture, nationality, or ethnic group, although many people are driven to identify as Sidran because of outside beliefs on culture and phenotypes. “We’re all Sidran here.” is a conflict diffuser that either works beautifully or leads to disaster depending on who you are talking to.

Although Ophtha make up a majority of living Surenians, they ultimately have less of an impact on recorded history because their usual cultural policy of bailing out and leaving when things get bad is not very conducive to starting huge dramatic conflicts, making new discoveries in the face of hardship, or leaving lasting permanent structures.

After Beringia got obliterated by plague to one third its original population and the sheer mass death caused transmission to slow and things to stabilise somewhat, because a Sidran mage in Surenia invented the plague, Sidrans and magic users were scapegoated and exiled to the seacoast of Gehenna along with people with disfiguring diseases and injuries. Gehenna was the southernmost member of the Holy Pentacle, but was almost completely destroyed by plague. The few remaining local Gehennans survived by holing up in churches, but instead of hating the rest of Beringia for treating their homeland as a dumping ground for Sidran plague wizards, they treated the exiles with kindness and hospitality even if it meant risking plague.

While this was going on, Mu was able to eradicate the plague at the cost of completely destroying their own ecology by killing all wild nonhuman vertebrates and stayed plague free by establishing their isolationist sea gauntlet that sunk all foreign ships. Sidrans in Mu were scapegoated again and exiled back to Sidra. Soon, Sidra was not completely plague free, but stable enough to get involved with world events, and heard about how badly Beringian Sidrans were being treated. 621 years ago, Sidra sent a navy to aid Gehenna, who treated them as God-sent saviors, adopted and improved upon their plague-fighting techniques, and began purifying the rest of Beringia.

Although Sidra contains many ethnicities, because the Sidrans in Surenia were originally descended from Red Sidrans, Red Sidrans became the archetypal Sidran across The World. Other Sidrans were more easily able to blend into the general population, or maintain enough wealth and clout to escape to Sidra before persecution. Thus, Gehenna has significant Red Sidran ancestry, which can be seen in the red eyes common in the royal family.

Although Gehenna is currently the undisputed greatest power in Beringia, many people are angered by the extreme measures used to maintain it.

The biggest remnant of the Alexandrian Empire, Alexander’s continued beef with Sidra is so great that it refused to be placed under Gehenna protectorate until 255 years ago, when Pontiff Wine Uncorked and Poured into Glass Basin Noise smuggled an actual revenant into the Alexander court in their capital Alexandria to terrorise King Alexander DXXX into signing away its coastline. There is much debate over if Gehenna purposefully reintroduced the plague to Alexander to justify annexing it, but comparing dates of plague outbreaks at court in Alexandria showed that the initial infection happened before Pontiff Wine Uncorked and Poured into Glass Basin Noise pulled his stunt. That hasn’t stopped people believing that Gehenna secretly introduced the plague before, or that they messed with official records.

Hapsburg’s Vampire Court and reclamation of its coast from Gehenna has already been covered in extensive detail.

As of now, Gehenna is in a weird grey area where the royal family is Sidran, as well as many citizens in their original borders, but as they began taking coastlines of other countries under protectorate, Gehenna as a whole can no longer be considered Sidran. To appease its people and avoid conflict with the rest of Beringia, Gehenna acts against Sidran interests as often as it acts for them, such as by fining Sidran ships anchoring on its ports and constantly asking to place Medina, more commonly known as Ass of Sidra, under protectorate. 

Gehenna is also in a different weird grey area because they owe their existence to the church, but as the royal family became more and more magical, they realised most of the church’s beliefs concerning souls were factually incorrect. Also, the Holy Pentacle faith became the dominant religion in Beringia and the church has since ballooned into a monolith of wealth and power, a far cry from the humble merciful people who first saved them. Although Gehenna’s culture is full of religious practices and motifs, in terms of belief, they are the ultimate heretics. The church can’t do anything about it because the other safeguards against the plague are vampires and Sidra, who has since resumed trade with Mu for some truly remarkable guns.

[immoralrpg-blog]

Congratulations, GRAY, you have been accepted for the role of JAMES POTTER, with the faceclaim of JORDAN FISHER. James’ ambition is what really drives his character, and you knew precisely how to play to that strength without making him seem entirely like the villain. I like the way you played up his ego a little --- he’s a teenager, and those flaws made him seem all the more fleshed out as a character. His loyalty also made him rather endearing, too. Nice job! Please head along to the CHECKLIST for your next steps.

IC

CHARACTER NAME: James Fleamont Potter GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cismale & he/him pronouns (I do have some interest in him exploring his gender identity as things go on, if that’s alright) FACECLAIM: Jordan Fisher, John Boyega, Keiynan Lonsdale 

BIOGRAPHY:Born to older parents, who had always wanted a child and nearly given up hope of it ever happening, James was treated like a little miracle from the start. He never wanted for anything. Though he was taught he deserved the world, his parents also did their best to instill a deep sense of right and wrong in James to… mixed success. They were certainly able to teach him how to love and feel and want with his whole heart, without hesitation.

From his first steps into Hogwarts, James found himself surrounded by all the friends he could want, though he was still careful to pick and choose who he let closest. There’s a difference between friends and fans after all. And while the adoring smiles and cheers from most of the school were nice, James knew without a doubt who he’d want at his side should the world ever turn on him. He befriended Sirius and them Remus and Peter in his first year and the four of them were inseparable from that point on.

While school was interesting enough, James’ interests lay more with bending the rules or finding ways around them with what he learned in class. While his first love would always be quidditch, he was always looking for a new project to keep him busy. Mapping the castle was one such endeavor.

Then of course came the discovery of Remus’ secret. James would always beat himself up later for not realizing sooner. From the very start, it was clear there was something off with one of his closest friends. Sneaking out on one full moon toward the beginning of third year and hearing the howls just confirmed what he had suspected for ages. There had to be a way to help Remus… or at least something to do to keep him company. He was never sure just how the book of animagi found its way to him, but James wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The process was a long, complicated one, and there were plenty of false steps and nearly disastrous mistakes, but eventually, he, Sirius, and Peter managed it.

Of course, it wasn’t all sneaking around after hours or running through the woods on four legs. James still had plenty of time to fawn over dear, sweet Lily. She was perfect, the girl of his dreams, and–naturally–one of the only people in school who wouldn’t give him the time of day. Still, James kept up the playful flirting, eventually growing enough to deflate his ego just a bit, just enough for Lily to let him in a little closer.

Though for years, he was sure the one and only obstacle between him and Lily was one Severus Snape. The animosity there was brewing from day one. James would push and Snape would shove. He was a worthy adversary, that much was certain, though James couldn’t pretend there wasn’t a touch of jealousy spurring him on. But as long as they stood on even ground, it was alright, then he wasn’t just a bully. They were more rivals than anything else. It was easier to think of it that way. Then he wasn’t the bad guy. Though the more he pushed, the more he wondered… what would be too much?

Sirius would be the one to answer that for him.

The night of the full moon, when he yanked Snape away from werewolf claws and dragged him from the Shrieking Shack changed things. They had been running unchecked for too long, he needed to change, to get better. James was no killer, and he would be damned if he let any of his friends end up there either. So he began pulling back, reining himself in a bit more. That left more time for quidditch anyway, something he needed as much as possible if he was going to make the international team once he left school.

Injuries here and there, including a particularly nasty one that left him bedridden for weeks, weren’t going to hold him back. For as long as he could remember, being a star quidditch player was all he wanted to be. Being an auror like his mother would’ve been nice, but his heart was always on the pitch. So imagine his disappointment when the talent seeker arrived and told him no before so much as letting him off the ground. They weren’t looking for chasers that year, the seeker told him, and really hadn’t James had too many injuries this year? That didn’t look good for a potential pro.

So James acted without thinking. There was no one else around to see, no one who could’ve possibly overheard him cast the spell. Like a switch had been flipped, the talent seeker changed his tune, guaranteeing James a spot on the team. James had accepted with a wide grin and taken the man’s hand, doing his best to ignore the strange hollow feeling in his chest. This was his dream, what he had always wanted, but… but he hadn’t earned it. Not really. Not yet. James did his best to force all that down. He could prove himself in time. Of course he would. And as long as no one else was the wiser, his dream was his for the taking. Now, if he could just make it that far before the guilt swallowed him whole.

QUESTIONAIRE

describe your secret in your own way.

James shifts in his seat, discomfort creeping along the line of his shoulders, though he does his best to fix a smile into place. “Alright, I know how it looks. And I’ll admit to it. I confunded him, yeah. He wasn’t going to even give me a shot otherwise. Said they weren’t looking for chasers this season, can you believe that shite?”

Scoffing, he shakes his head, sitting up a little straighter now. “Once I get out there with the team, it won’t even matter, now will it? I’ll earn my spot, same as any of them. I just… I just needed a chance, alright? But I’ll prove I deserve to be there and then it won’t matter how I got there. No one needs to know. It… it doesn’t matter.”

Maybe if he says it enough time, he’ll start believing it himself.

your family life. how’s it like?

“My family? They’re great.” James’ smile is easy and fond as he crosses his arms behind his head. “My mum’s a bit strict, but she’s the toughest witch you’ll ever meet. She worked as an auror for ages, only retired a few years ago and I still reckon she could take down any dark wizard who crossed her. Very proud, my mum, doesn’t take anyone’s nonsense, y’know? But she’s softer than she’ll admit. I think she was about ready to adopt Sirius on the spot the first time he came to visit, Remus and Peter too.

“My dad’s well… a bit more like me. But I’ll be damned if I end up as forgetful as him. Mum says he’d lose his head if it weren’t screwed on, and I think she’s got it right there. He’s brilliant though, a potions genius. I think he’s always been a little disappointed I didn’t take after him there. It’s not that I’m bad at potions or anything, I just… I get a bit carried away sometimes and add a bit more than the book says I ought to or change something to what dad’s taught me. Sometimes it works… sometimes it doesn’t. But I know he’s proud of me. If I end up half the man he is, I’ll be happy.”

expand on one ( or more ) of your connections. tell us about them. your relationship with them.

“Sirius is my best mate. I don’t have siblings and… I had friends growing up, but it was always a little lonely. It’s not like that now. Hasn’t been since I met Sirius. I expected him to be a right prick at first, all that blood purity his family goes on and on about. I never cared for any of that shite. But Sirius… he’s not like that. I know he can be a bit much sometimes, but he’s a good person. Don’t care what anyone says, he is.”

Grinning, James cocks his head to one side, his eyes warm as he thinks back. “We’ve been friends since we met just about. Sirius just… he understands me, y’know? I know I can be a bit of an arse sometimes, but he knows when I’m joking and I don’t have to hold anything back around him. He’s been living at my place for a while and I can’t believe I didn’t make him stay sooner. It’s gonna be brilliant once we’ve got our own place. Just the two of us, no rules–and we’ll have the best parties. Sounds a bit sappy, but… he’s my other half. Dunno what I’d do without him.”

why were you sorted into your house? do you think you belong there?

“Damn right I belong in Gryffindor. I mean, I’ll do the hard work when I have to and I’m not an idiot, but if there’s anyone out there braver than me, I’ll eat my broom. There was no other place I could go really. It only makes sense.”

worst moment of your life?

James fidgets, playing with the end of his sleeve, trying to force a smile, but he can’t make it stick. “It uh… it’d have to be that night when Sirius convinced Snape to go out to the Shrieking Shack. I never thought he’d pull something like that. I mean, we pull pranks on Snape and I’ve landed him in the hospital wing a few times myself, but… that was too far.”

He swallows hard and shakes his head. “Just knowing that he could do that to Snape and to Remus… I-I dunno. But the worst bit wasn’t until I got out there to stop him. For a second I thought… I thought I was too late. If Remus had hurt him or… or worse… I dunno what they would’ve done to him. And I can’t stand Snape, but I’ve never wanted him dead. He’s a prick, but he doesn’t deserve that…”

what can you see yourself doing in the future? what side are you on? order of the phoenix? death eaters? neutral? Why?

“Order of the Phoenix, obviously. I expect I’ll get wrapped up in the fighting eventually… seems like everyone does, but of course I’m fighting that load of tossers. You don’t just get to go around saying who should have magic and who shouldn’t. It’s not right. They’re a bunch of cowards if you ask me, too afraid to move with the times. The Order’s got it right, working from the shadows to take care of them. The ministry isn’t doing enough and that’s not likely to change, can’t be rocking the boat and losing the old pureblood money. Once I’ve had a few good years on the International team, I reckon I’ll join up with the Order, it’s the only thing to do really.”

what do you smell in amortentia?

“Made that in potions last year, mine came out a little weak cause I over did it with the stirring, but I remember smelling the ones from the next table over. Evans and Sniv–Snape made it perfectly, of course,” he says, failing to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

He closes his eyes, trying to think back, an absent smile spreading over his face. “It smelled like the quidditch pitch on the first day of practice, when the grass is fresh and the air’s clear. And a bit like the forest, old trees and kicked up dirt. Like those cakes my mum makes when Peter and Remus are over and that old leather jacket Sirius won’t get rid of. And… flowers, soft and sweet, and clean robes fresh out of the laundry and… something that’s a bit like the potions classroom, the smell of a fire under a cauldron…”

A slight frown replaces the smile as his eyes flick open. “Although… that part could’ve just been being in the classroom. It’s sort of hard to tell. I wonder if it smells different as you get older. I might have to try whipping up a batch again and see if it’s any different this time around.”

what’s your boggart?

James frowns, suddenly uncomfortable. The room feels a bit colder and his stomach turns unpleasantly. “Oh, that? It’s uh… it’s always different for me. Sometimes it’ll change a few times before I can beat it. Usually it’s my mates dead or… or dying. Or my parents. I know they’re older. Never uh… never really know how much time they’ve got left. Don’t like thinking about it, but I know they won’t be around forever.”

He blows a breath out his nose and drags a hand through his already unruly hair, sending his curls a dozen different directions. “Suppose that’s nothing too shocking, there is a war on after all. People die… doesn’t make thinking about it any easier. I dunno what I’d do if… if–y’know, it doesn’t matter, cause it’s not gonna happen. I won’t let it.”

[cinedave]

REVIEW: Split - Welcome back M. Night Shyamalan!

Although the initial 2007 live action incarnation was good, I still rate the original 1986 animated feature as the best Transformers movie (sing it with me..... “You’ve got the touch”). Thinking back on it some more it was also my surprising childhood introduction to notions of schizophrenia and multiple personalities; aka the spinning 5 faced Quintessons Judges. Many years later I can even remember being told about the psychological condition and having a cartoon image of them flashing into my head.... and yes, this was way before Dr. Splitz in Captain Simian and the Space Monkeys in the late 90s. Does every generation have a mental disorder explaining cartoon? Anyway, the idea of one being many (DID - Dissociative Identity Disorder) is an idea that’s long fascinated many forms of fiction and now Mr. “let’s twist again” M. Night Shyamalan becomes the latest to utilize it and in very successful fashion. It’s official, Shyamalan has turned his career around and Split this is year’s 10 Cloverfield Lane.

While leaving a teen birthday party the 3 friends of Claire (Haley Lu Richardson – Edge of Seventeen), Casey (Anya Taylor-Joy – Morgan) and Marcia (Jessica Sula – Skins) are kidnapped by Kevin Wendell Crumb (James McAvoy – X-Men franchise); a troubled man with 23 distinct personalities known as The Horde.

They must escape before the 24th “Beast” personality emerges to kill them all. The Cloverfield Lane comparisons are more than a statement of quality as Split replicates many successes of Dan Trachtenberg’s bunker busting thriller; such as periods of captivity, claustrophobia and tension punctuated by sharp bursts of release. It also works a rushed introduction very well, skipping the typical early character building chapters that are instead told throughout the film via memory flashbacks. The quick abduction places the audience within the same state of fear and confusion as the victimized girls and in these sections Shyamalan nails the pacing; slowing things right in points of suspense and uncertainty before speeding things up as panic induced escape scheming unfolds. The teen trio has a good dynamic too with Claire as the self appointed leader, Marcia as the follower and Casey as oddly composed outsider. The three of them reluctantly combining for a combine goal makes for nice imagery of Kevin’s identities doing the same. The film is also a lot funnier than many will expect dealing primarily in dark humor and shock reactions to Kevin’s switching between identities. The undisputed comedy king is his 9 year old Hedwig persona. McAvoy makes nearly his every line into a laugh, not to mention his dance moves.

Yet the film’s masterstroke is its bi-polar nature. It’s simultaneously a claustrophobic mystery thriller while running a separate story of exposition focusing on the Kevin and the condition itself via interactions with his therapist Dr Fletcher (Betty Buckley – Carrie). The later subtly becomes the more fascinating and delivers a delightfully complex and warped examination of Kevin’s inner workings as a balance of order and chaos between his personalities. That each does not only exist as an entity but can carry jealousy and animosity towards each other or even states of conflict. It also delivers notions of Kevin’s identities being conceived through necessity than desire as his way of dealing with aspects of his reality which all builds towards the idea of The Beast being born to out of a need to show the world Kevin’s mind is really capable of. Sadly that ultimately becomes the film’s biggest weak point as said emergence builds towards a more action-thriller climax. There’s some good science fiction and supernatural ideas in the mix over Kevin altering his physical condition by will and thought (“We are what we believe” – Frank Turner approves) but it takes it too far. Everything that precedes it is engaging because it’s presented in a very believable manner and switching things into a more of a creature feature feels very out of place. However there is still some good story work involved as Casey’s childhood hunting flashbacks culminate well in the final showdown and overall it’s another trip down Cloverfield Lane; I wasn’t crazy about that alien fighting ending either but it didn’t spoil the rest of the film for me and it’s the same with Split.

It must also be noted that (as some may expect), this film isn’t James McAvoy playing 20+ different characters (for that see Sharlto Copley in Hardcore Henry) as only half a dozen feature for anything more than mere moments. That’s absolutely the right choice as it allows those few to feel solid and developed but some may feel they’ve been undersold on the film’s concept. While we’re splitting hairs, although they have a payoff, some of Casey’s flashback scenes do feel more filler than content and one or two could certainly have been cut.

It quickly becomes clear why an actor such as McAvoy would be attracted to playing this role(s). The scope and range of his multiple performances is incredible. He feels like a force of nature on screen from his wild mad eye grinning by stern sedate composure. The girls impress too. Anya Taylor-Joy spends most of the film playing it very cold and closed yet still gets across her thoughts and emotions well. Haley Lu Richardson makes some excellent switches from fear to confidence and following on from Edge of Seventeen looks like a promising young talent. By contrast Jessica Sula is the least memorable of the three but by no means bad.

A surprising end link to the Shyamalan back catalogue feels odd but doesn’t do any harm and overall split sees the director delivering his best film since 2000s Unbreakable by favouring consistent quality rather than betting everything on a twist. If you’re looking for an interesting and thrilling watch this an ideal choice and despite some jump scares it is safe for the squeamish. This is no split decision, it’s a clean win.