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sesamestreep · 4 years ago

Text

if dreams were thunder, and lightning was desire

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: It's one thing to agree to get married for symbolic reasons in the name of political unity. It's another thing entirely to actually be married. [AKA - further adventures in that arranged marriage medieval fantasy AU of Rogue One]

A/N: Here I am, arriving three years late with proverbial Starbucks, to post my now once-yearly attempt at fic! I'm actually posting this as a birthday gift to my forever girl @firstelevens who is also responsible for helping me flesh out this idea in the first place.... [checks notes] uh, four years ago. Happy happy birthday and thank you for being the most supportive and wonderful friend in the multiverse, even though I’ve recently become terrible at replying to texts. Further notes are there if you want them if you follow the AO3 link above!

Cassian Andor wakes up to an empty bed, which is not, in and of itself, a startling thing. In fact, there was a time, only a few months ago, when it would have been a much greater surprise to find the other side of his bed occupied. Even now that he is married, waking to find his wife already up and gone is not an uncommon occurrence. The first few times he woke to find her gone, he had been confused, certainly, but he has adjusted to her habits and the sight of her side of the bed empty no longer inspires panic or concern as it had in the beginning.

However, this morning is different. Cassian’s wife is an early riser almost without exception, but she is not normally so far ahead of him that her side of the bed is as cold as it is now when Cassian runs his palm over the linens. Even more startling is the darkness that still lingers outside the window. It’s not yet dawn, then, and she is already awake and about the castle. That is highly unusual.

Perhaps, if Cassian had slept well, he might let these confusing details go. But he never sleeps well the night before he travels and tomorrow—or today, actually, given the hour—he leaves on a scouting mission to the southern provinces. He has slept fitfully most of the night and apparently only got enough actual sleep to let his wife slip out of their chambers unnoticed. He sighs and throws off the bedding, knowing he won’t get any more rest until he knows where Jyn has gone.

In little more than three months of marriage, Cassian cannot say he’s gotten to know his wife well. She is secretive and aloof, as a rule, and he has done all he can to give her the space she seems to yearn for, because he knows that, while she has accepted him as a husband, she did not choose him. Their union is a symbolic one, designed to mollify two disparate factions of the Rebellion as they struggle to rule together. He and Jyn are not royalty or even particularly important people, aside from that. No one is waiting on them for heirs or anything of that sort, and they can spend the rest of their lives as indifferent to each other as they please.

Still, Cassian cannot help that he has learned things about his wife, in spite of the careful distance that exists between them. He is a spy, after all. His job is to discover new information, even—or perhaps, especially—when the other party does not wish to give it to him. Jyn is adept at hiding things from others, but even she is not a complete mystery to him. No one is, for one thing, but she has the distinct disadvantage of sharing a bed with him.

What he knows does not amount to much, truly. Except that he had heard his wife complain more than once, in an undertone to her brother, of how restless and bored she feels cooped up in the stone walls of the castle. That, and the early hour where almost everyone else will still be in bed, suggests to Cassian that he would do well to get dressed and try to find his wife outside.

His instincts are correct in this case, as he finds her on the southern lawn outside the castle, standing alone and, he imagines, waiting for the sunrise that is beginning to tinge the sky with an orange glow just above the horizon. He takes the opportunity, before she hears him approach, to pause and take in the image of her, alone in the pretty half-light of the early morning.

She wears no overcoat, which irks him for reasons he does not fully understand. By midday, there is a good chance it will be a balmy spring day, but now, it is still chilly and damp without the sun to warm them. Jyn could catch a cold in this weather and Cassian has never known someone who can be so cautious and so careless at the same time.

On the other hand, she did go through the trouble of getting fully dressed before heading out, so perhaps Cassian should be thankful. He apparently also got more sleep than he realized, because he hadn’t heard any sound at all while she got her clothes on in the dark of their bedchamber. He half-expected her to still be in her dressing gown, given her lack of concern with convention.

He wishes he could say she looked tranquil as she surveys the forested land that borders the castle, but, for all he can only just make out her features in the minimal lighting, he can tell she is frowning. He thinks, absently, that she is beautiful nonetheless and then regrets it. He should not be distracted by her looks when he knows she is unhappy.

The distant call of a bird draws her attention in his direction and he sees the way her eyes widen in alarm when they land upon him before she thinks to hide her reaction. His opportunity to observe her unnoticed is gone, and he has no choice but to cross the distance between them, though he does try to appear unhurried.

“Good morning, Captain,” she greets him as he comes nearer and he almost stops short.

It always trips him up when she refers to him by his rank. It’s fine when others do so—that is protocol—but hearing it from his wife always strikes him as odd. He has told her as much, but there are moments when she defers to it still. He believes, though he has no proof of this, that she does it on purpose, that she only uses it when she is in a certain mood. Cassian has yet to ascertain what that mood is—if she is being sarcastic, if she is angry, if it might be her way of showing affection, even—but he knows there is some motive behind it that he does not understand. If he knew, he might be able to respond in some clever way, but as it is, he is at a loss for words.

“Good morning, my lady,” he says, and perhaps he is cleverer than he gives himself credit for, because Jyn’s frown deepens momentarily before she can stop herself. “You are up early today.”

“As are you,” she says, her tone suggesting that she heard the question hidden in his statement and she won’t be responding to it.

Cassian laughs, without meaning to. “I couldn’t find my wife this morning. It was an alarming way to wake up.”

He expects a terse response from her, saying that she is always awake before him. Instead, Jyn’s eyebrows raise in surprise and her frown eases, just a bit. “You were worried?” She asks, disbelieving.

“I—of course I was,” he replies. He is always worried, he doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed yet.

“About me?”

“Yes,” he says, puzzled by her need for clarification. “We’re married. It is my duty to worry about you.”

Jyn tsks at that, whether in understanding or disappointment, he’s not sure. “And you are always dutiful,” she says, her tone unreadable still.

“I try to be,” Cassian says, feeling like he is stuck in a game of wits for which he is unprepared. He is capable and coherent around others, but his wife always has the upper hand on him. It never feels like he has the right answer for her. Even now, she nods before looking away, back at the horizon as it becomes rosier by the moment.

“Are you well?” He asks, when the silence starts to stretch out too long.

She blinks in confusion when she looks back at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I—yes, of course,” she says, and he realizes it was the question that confused her. “Do I not look well?”

Another question to which there is no right answer, he thinks. “It’s very early to be out of bed,” he says, instead of answering her question.

“I am always up early.”

“Not this early.”

“Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

“Jyn, I’m not chastising you,” he says, laughing. He’s not amused, not precisely, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably shout from frustration. This feels safer. “I’m asking if something is troubling you. I want to know that you are alright.”

His obvious frustration must outweigh her annoyance, because everything about her—her expression, her posture—immediately softens, the fight going out of her instantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, not when you’re leaving this morning, but I see that I did anyway.”

“You didn’t. I...never sleep well before a journey.”

“Oh?”

He hesitates to say more, lest he seem like he sought her out just to drop his problems at her feet, but she is watching him with interest and, if he’s not mistaken, concern, so perhaps she would not mind. “All of the details, the logistics of the trip, I go over them, in my head, all night long. I’m practically frantic by morning, most of the time.”

“I—” Jyn cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she had something to say and thought the better of it. “I have a hard time imagining you in a frantic state,” she says, instead.

“Well, then,” he says, feeling some strange twinge of pride, “I suppose I am doing my job well.”

“As a spy, perhaps,” she replies, her tone unreadable.

“What other job do I have?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s not, officially speaking, a spy anymore. His actual title has something to do with “intelligence,” a distinction he’s meant to care about a lot more than he actually does. He’s not spying in the same way that he was during the war, but he’s not delusional enough to tell himself that those aren’t the skills the Republic has kept him around for.

Jyn gives him a long, searching look. “It hardly matters,” she says, finally, waving a hand and looking off at the horizon again. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m a miserable excuse for a wife, though, not noticing that you couldn’t sleep.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Of course not,” she says, smiling, though the light of it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are far too polite.”

“‘Polite’ is not the first word most people would use to describe me, my lady.”

“‘Careful,’ then,” she says, pointedly.

Cassian nods, feeling as if he has lost this round. “That is far more likely.” He pauses before he says anything more, weighing the risk of it, but ultimately decides it might be worth saying. “I did not want to trouble you. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I often am, at odd hours,” she says, and there’s something light and teasing about it now. “And you could stand to trouble me more, Captain. I’ve never heard of such an undemanding husband before.”

Unable to parse what she means when she suggests he “trouble” her when he cannot sleep—and unwilling to use his imagination, knowing where it will lead him—he decides to address a less mystifying part of her comment. “I’ve told you that you needn’t call me that,” he says.

“‘Husband?’” She asks, innocently, though he sees a bit of performance in it.

“No. ‘Captain.’”

“Well, you still call me ‘my lady.’ Only one of those honorifics is still worth anything, and it surely isn’t mine.”

“I only call you ‘my lady’ when…”

“Yes?” Jyn’s features take on the expression of an animal that has backed its prey into a corner, leaving it no options of retreat.

Cassian thinks it unwise to point this out, though. He also thinks it unwise to finish what he was about to say, which is that he only calls her ‘my lady’ when he wants to call her ‘my dear’ or something equally sentimental that he’s sure she would not approve of. It feels disingenuous to him, as well. He simply finds his vocabulary for expressing the intimacy of living so closely with another person without encroaching upon the territory of affection rather wanting. He cares for her, of course—why else would he be out of bed and out of doors on a freezing morning if he didn’t?—but there is hardly a chance of love or even affection in a marriage as young and unfamiliar as theirs.

“When I do not know what else to call you,” he says, instead of the truth. It’s barely even a lie, but it nags at him like one regardless. He has been trying to lie less around his wife, but it’s a difficult habit to break.

“My name would work well enough,” Jyn replies, her tone caught somewhere between amused and suspicious.

“So would mine.”

She hesitates before responding, looking shy, although it is a rare thing from her. “I thought you might like it, being called by your rank.”

“Not from you,” he says, immediately. “I am called that by enough people. When I’m home, when I’m with you, I am just your husband.”

He doesn’t realize the way this sounds—sentimental, the very thing he was avoiding—until the words are out of his mouth and Jyn’s face goes blank with astonishment. She recovers quickly, though, looking down at her feet.

“As you wish, husband,” she says, quietly.

“Well, you know now why I could not sleep. What has kept you awake?”

“Bad dreams,” she says, matter-of-factly. “As always.”

“Always?” Cassian repeats, concerned. He didn’t know she had nightmares. She shifts in her sleep often, he has noticed, always twisting herself into shapes that cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s never known her to cry or panic enough to wake herself, the way he associates with nightmares.

“Most nights,” she confirms, looking away to avoid his gaze.

She crosses her arms over her chest, although he cannot tell if it’s a defensive gesture or simply because she is cold. He decides to proceed as though it is the latter and begins to slip his arms out of his coat’s sleeves. The rustling of the fabric draws her gaze back to him and her eyes widen with alarm when she realizes what he means to do.

“Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand to ward him off. “Don’t bother. You will freeze without it.”

“Is that so?” Cassian asks, ignoring her protests and pulling his jacket off completely.

“I know how cold you get,” she says, archly. There are things she has learned from sharing a bed with him, too, it appears.

He doesn’t take the bait to argue with her and instead steps forward until he’s only a single pace away from her and sweeps the jacket over her shoulders. She stands stiffly as he does so, as if she cannot figure out her part in this scene. Or perhaps she worries the slightest gesture will upset the moment they are sharing, though this idea might be romantic nonsense on Cassian’s part.

He draws the coat tighter around her body by the lapels and he fidgets with the collar so it will stand up and block the cold wind, since she has no scarf. He wants nothing more in the world than to take her hair that has gotten trapped in the collar and draw it out for her, if only for the excuse it would give him to run his hands through it without the risk of giving himself away. All the while, Jyn watches him with her chin tipped up, her eyes narrowed in obvious but neutral interest. Perhaps he has already given himself away.

“Do not worry on my account,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He has finished arranging the coat around her shoulders, but his hands still linger on the lapels, holding it together, not wanting to let go and give up his excuse to be close to her. “If I am any good at my job, I will convince you to come inside before I even feel the cold.”

“Your job?” Jyn asks, warily. “As a spy?”

“Yes, and as a husband.”

“It is your duty as my husband to ensure I do not freeze to death?”

“Amongst other things.” He means it plainly enough, but in this close proximity, he sees the way Jyn bites her lip and look away at the implication of his words and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, no matter how artlessly. “I have nightmares too.”

Jyn’s head snaps up. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“About the war?”

Cassian swallows and words feel more difficult than he anticipated, so he simply nods. It’s probably important that his wife knows these things about him, especially if he wants her to tell him things too.

She watches him carefully, as if she’s waiting for a trap but Cassian just gazes steadily back at her, to see if she’ll trust him. After a moment, she sighs and says, more to his chest than to his face, “most of mine are from when I was young.”

“I have a few of those too.”

Jyn nods, closing her eyes. Cassian transfers the lapels of the coat into one hand, so that his other one is free to rub her shoulder. He wants her to say more, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. Without warning, she steps further into his embrace, close enough that she’s able to perch her chin on his shoulder. Though her face is turned away from him, the sweetness of the gesture nearly overwhelms him. He places his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, just so she doesn’t think to pull away.

“I think the trouble is not having much to occupy my time here,” she says, after a moment, and Cassian could collapse with relief at hearing her speak. “I’m not accustomed to idleness. And when I try to sleep, my mind is still awake and it gives me these vivid dreams.”

He can’t help himself any longer. He smooths a hand over the back of her head, brushing back some strands of hair that have come loose from where she’s tried to tie it at the nape of her neck. He thinks he feels her pull closer. “And what do you dream of?”

“My brother and I, when we were young, we were always out of doors. We’d have breakfast with my mother and then she’d send us away and we’d spend all day together, collecting rocks and shells from the beaches or scrambling over rocks. We never came home until dinner.”

“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

“It was lovely,” she says, sounding pained, and he tightens his hold on her. “I had a very idyllic childhood, in most regards. Mostly because my parents didn’t tell me anything that was going on.”

Cassian laughs, lightly, at that. “That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

Jyn buries her face in his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “A lot of good it did me,” she says, and even her tone sounds closed-off.

“What happens in your dreams?” He asks, quietly. He knows she probably wants to end this conversation and pretend it never happened, but he needs her to know that he’s here, that he’s willing to listen.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to prepare herself. “It’s just me and Bodhi as children, running around wild like always. At first, it feels like a memory, but then it starts to feel…sinister. I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just this inexplicable dread that washes over me. Sometimes, we can hear people coming, a great mass of them, and we get scared. Other times, there’s some terrible storm moving in, faster than we can run. But we try to get home, anyway. We’re always running to find my mother, to warn her. It always feels so important that we get to her. And the ground falls away beneath our feet. Sometimes, I lose Bodhi; he falls or gets hurt and he’s crying out for my help but I can’t stop, or sometimes, he just disappears and I can’t remember how to get home. And I’m completely alone.”

After a moment’s silence, Jyn pulls back in his embrace. He doesn’t let her go, but he does give her some space. “Foolish, isn’t it?” She asks, with a false smile. He can hear the unshed tears in her voice and knows she’s trying to make light of it so he doesn’t think her weak.

“No,” he says, firmly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “Not at all. But you and your brother survived the war, Jyn. And you’re together. It must be some comfort to you.”

“Yes, it is. Of course it is. But our parents didn’t survive. And that version of us, the children who used to play on the beach together, they didn’t survive the war, either. Our lives are so different now. I think that’s what the dream is about.”

“You wish to go home?”

“I wish to go back,” she says, bearing his personal question with grace. She thinks on it a moment, before sighing in frustration and shaking her head. “If only it was as simple as returning to Lah’mu. But I know that the place will not be the same now as it was then. And I am different too.”

“Perhaps that’s why something is always wrong in your dream,” Cassian muses. “You long to go back to that time in your life, but you know you don’t belong there anymore. Maybe that’s the source of the tension you feel in the dream.”

Jyn looks at him, appraisingly, and he worries that he overstepped somehow. However, when she finally speaks, she doesn’t seem offended. “What do you dream of, Captain?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You said you have nightmares too.”

“Oh, yes,” he replies, with considerable effort. He’d forgotten about that admission. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Of course,” Jyn says, and her expression shutters immediately. “You’re under no obligation to tell me.”

Cassian reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s brushing against her collarbone, twisting the errant strand around his finger loosely. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says, quietly and more plaintively than he meant to. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about offending her by accident. “I’m not equivocating. I really do not know how to describe them.”

“Do you even wish to?” She asks, with a sharpness he deserves but is still unprepared for.

“No,” he answers honestly, which makes her blink in surprise. “I do not wish to tell you anything that will make you think less of me.”

“You should not worry about that.”

“Is your opinion of me already so low?” He asks, with every intention of making light of it but the question comes out unfortunately earnest.

Jyn, for her part, looks bewildered. “No,” she says, immediately. “Quite the opposite. I have a hard time imagining anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”

He takes a deep breath, looking away from her face and focusing instead on the strand of hair he’s still toying with. “I always dream of people I’ve…lost. People I’ve hurt or abandoned,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s much like what you’ve described, I think. They feel like memories but I know they’re not quite right. And I know there’s nothing I can do to change what happens. So I just have to live through it again. And again. Until I wake up.”

As he’s speaking, Jyn reaches for him, closing her hand around his wrist where it’s resting against her shoulder. When he feels the weight of her thumb pressing into the space between the bones of his forearm, he releases the lock of her hair, letting it unspool from around his finger. He’d pull his hand back completely, but her grip on him tightens like she’s read his mind. She brings his hand close enough that she can press her lips to the spot where his pulse is now racing wildly.

“You ought to have told me sooner,” she says, and she must be able to feel his heartbeat against her lips. The thought makes him warm with both embarrassment and anticipation.

He swallows with considerable effort. “To what end?��

“There are things,” she says, against the soft skin of his inner wrist, “that a wife can do. To help her husband sleep. To take his mind off his worries. I could do those things for you, if you wanted. You need only ask.”

She makes it sound so simple, as if they had the sort of marriage where they stated their desires plainly to each other, where they asked for what they wanted and then got it. But the asking is the most difficult part, in Cassian’s experience, or maybe the wanting is. They’ve been intimate together in the way Jyn is implying only once, on their wedding night, and, while enjoyable, it hardly left him with a strong sense of what his wife wants or expects from him.

Now, though, Jyn is offering that to him again. There was no mistaking it. His own need startles him, thrumming in his veins so loudly that he can hardly think. He has weeks of travel ahead of him, weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with only young, raucous soldiers for company. It will be cold and lonely and it will not even occur to him to complain, to dislike it, since it’s all he knows. Or, rather, it was all he knew before he was married. Before Jyn. He would be wise to avail himself of his wife’s offer while he can, enjoy the softness of her before he leaves and knows no softness of any kind for weeks.

He takes too long considering it, though, for Jyn’s face falls and she pulls back from him, only a little but it feels like a great distance, when they are this close. “Of course, you should feel no obligation to—”

“I don’t,” he replies, hastily. “I don’t feel any obligation.”

“I merely thought I should offer,” she says, and her eyes lower to avoid his gaze.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is…what I feel for you is not obligation.”

He can feel her looking at him now, the scrutiny in her gaze obvious even with his eyes still closed. “And what do you feel for me, Captain?” She asks, carefully.

An overwhelming and terrible want , he thinks. A desire so deep he has yet to discover the bottom of it. A dangerous kind of possessiveness, like they belong to one another, even though they’re not the sort of people who belong to anyone, or the sort to hold onto anything they’re given too tightly, because they know the pain of having it taken away.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking at her and the only logical conclusion to that action is to step forward and kiss her. His hand, the one she’s not still holding captive, curves around her cheek as his mouth covers hers. Her lips part for him without hesitation and their kiss deepens. It’s as good as their wedding night, but this time he’s sharp and clear headed, not hazy and tired from long hours of drinking and celebrating, and he intends to memorize every single detail. The way she wraps her arm around him and her fingers dig into his shoulder blade, desperate for purchase. The sound of surprise she made when their lips first met and how it mellows into a quiet hum of satisfaction, as if she’s been waiting for this.

When she pulls away from him after a few moments, it takes everything in his power not to whine in complaint. But they’re both breathing heavily and Jyn’s hair is even more disheveled than before, which might be his fault but could also be from the wind that’s doing its best to push them back to their warm bed. He’s beginning to think they should listen, and he’s about to say as much, when Jyn speaks first.

“You’re cold,” she says, and he’s about to take it the wrong way when she pulls his hand from her face and wraps it up in both of her own to warm it.

He laughs, more overwhelmed than anything else. “I don’t feel it,” he says, because he was too busy feeling everything else.

She levels an arch look at him, either because she’s not impressed with his effort to flatter her or because she’s actually worried he’s going to catch his death like this, kissing her on a hillside in the early morning. He’s going to die somehow, it might as well be like this, he thinks, but he doesn’t try to kiss her again. He has the sense that she has more to say.

“You can kiss me in our bedroom, you know,” she says, making it worth the wait.

His heartbeat races, caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “I can?” He asks, stupidly.

Jyn searches his face, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps, or sincerity. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she nods, slowly, and a smile overtakes her face. “You can kiss me anywhere you like,” she says, and it does his heart rate no favors.

Cassian steps back, grabbing her hand so he can pull her with him in the direction of the castle. She follows him and, as they walk, he pulls her into his side, burying his face in her neck and planting a kiss there. When she squirms slightly and elbows him in the ribs, he laughs against her skin.

“You said anywhere ,” he says, and she laughs too.

***

The next morning, the castle bustles with activity as Cassian leaves his briefing with Draven. Using the former seat of the emperor’s power as the headquarters of the government of the New Republic has always struck him as a smart choice on the part of the rebels, from a symbolic standpoint and in a practical sense of needing the actual work of governing the country to happen somewhere. By its very nature, a castle is almost comically oversized for one person’s needs, even a ruler’s, and so the former rebels had made a much better use of the space than the emperor ever had.

However, on this particular morning, with his mind already running through logistics of the mission ahead and planning what to say to the soldiers he’s bringing along, Cassian finds the crowded halls and corridors more grating than he normally does. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel this way during the war, when the emperor’s excesses had seemed so absurd and villainous, but Cassian is beginning to wonder if maybe the castle is too small for their purposes. The new government will loathe the idea of expanding, will object to spending money on something so frivolous, but it may be necessary, he thinks, as he bumps into yet another person in the crush of people moving about as he makes his way to the courtyard. The small party of soldiers accompanying him on this mission are gathering there now and they’re meant to depart in less than an hour. It will not set a good tone for the next few weeks if their captain keeps them waiting.

Much like in the old days—and it is staggering to think of the rebellion as something of the past, he realizes with a lurch—these missions are to gather information on activity across the Republic. However, unlike in the old days, he’s not trying to find the one piece of intelligence he’s certain will win the war for the rebels, which is a welcome change. He’s also, generally speaking, not in constant mortal danger anymore, though there are some areas of the country that the war ravaged worse than others, leaving desperation and crime in its wake. That’s why Draven still sends Cassian on these scouting missions, to see what corners of the nation still need aid or resources. Peacetime has been far from perfect for everyone, but even with the things he’s seen, Cassian can’t deny most people, himself included, are better off.

He’s so lost in his thoughts of the mission as he makes his way to the rendezvous point he arranged with the party that Bodhi must have had to call his name a half a dozen times before Cassian finally heard him. By the time he turns around, Bodhi is practically at his elbow, which is both impressive and guilt-inducing, from the way Cassian can see him leaning heavily on his cane. He does his best not to wince, because Bodhi doesn’t enjoy being fretted over, and slows down so his brother-in-law can more easily keep pace with him instead.

“Captain,” Bodhi exclaims, managing to only sound slightly out of breath, “I’m glad I caught you!”

“Coming to see me off, Captain Rook?” Cassian asks, pointedly.

Bodhi looks properly chastened. “Sorry, Cassian. I’m still not used to it.”

“Calling me by my first name or being a captain yourself?”

“Either,” he says, and Cassian understands. Bodhi was only promoted to Captain after his heroics in the Battle of Eadu and it was only a few months later that the treaty was signed. He’s only ever been a captain in peacetime. “I just don’t fully think of you as my sister’s husband yet.”

That does make Cassian wince and he isn’t quick enough to hide it from Bodhi, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm. “Not like that!” he practically shouts. “I mean, it’s nothing to do with you! I just can’t believe Jyn has a husband at all. In my head, she’s still six years old and telling me what to do all the time.”

“To be fair, she does still tell you what to do,” Cassian replies. “No change in your rank will ever change that.”

Bodhi laughs. “You’re certainly right about that.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Where is my sister, anyway? Isn’t she coming to see you off?”

“Oh, well, she’s—no.” He clears his throat. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”

Bodhi nods absently, seemingly satisfied with this answer and mercifully doesn’t ask for any further details. Cassian is not sure his nonchalant facade would hold up under questioning and the exact nature of the goodbye he and his wife shared this morning would soon be extremely obvious to her brother. It’s better for everyone if they somehow avoid that outcome altogether.

His relief is short-lived, however, when Bodhi suddenly asks, “And did she…uh…did she get a chance to, well…?”

They arrive at the training yard before Bodhi arrives at his actual question. Cassian pauses in the archway that leads into the yard and turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, I was just wondering if my sister got a chance to speak with you?”

“Bodhi, your sister and I are married. We speak with one another quite often as a result. You will need to be more specific.”

Bodhi makes a face that suggests he would much rather do anything else. “I thought she might have mentioned the incident with Senator Jebel?” he says, voice stuck between a statement and a question.

Cassian blinks, searching his memory for anything relevant. “Incident?” He finally asks, when nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“‘Incident’ might be too strong a word,” Bodhi admits apologetically.

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell me what happened and I’ll decide what the correct word for it is?”

“It’s just—if Jyn didn’t tell you about it, then it clearly didn’t bother her very much. I certainly don’t want to insert myself into the middle of your marriage!”

Cassian doesn’t point out that it’s a little late for that sentiment and instead asks, as calmly as he can manage, “What happened, Bodhi?”

“Well, it was just—” He pauses as a few people pass between them to exit into the yard, shifting his weight uncomfortably while trying to maintain his grip on his cane. When they’re gone, he continues, “Jyn and I were walking together the other day when we came across Lieutenant Tuesso walking with Senator Jebel. And, well, Kay was saying something to her about passing along some information for your upcoming scouting mission and—actually, Jyn told him to tell it to you himself because she’s not your secretary—”

Cassian smiles at that, able to picture it so clearly. Kay is perhaps his oldest friend and the person he trusts most in the field, but he and Jyn get along like oil and water. Still, if Kay had truly objected to Cassian’s marriage, he would have done everything in his power to stop it, but he’d only asked if Cassian was sure before giving his blessing. Well, it was more like his resignation, but coming from Kay, they’re basically the same thing. Cassian likes to imagine that Jyn’s fiery temper and sharp wit secretly amuse Kay but he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

“But that’s not the point,” Bodhi says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “The point is: Kay was talking about your trip and Senator Jebel asked why you were being sent off on a mission so close to your wedding, to which Jyn replied that it had been three months and that it wasn't terribly close. And then the Senator said she must have been very confident in…well, winning you over, if she was comfortable sending you off on your own so soon.”

“‘Winning me over’? What does that even mean?”

Bodhi looks uncomfortable. “You know, as a wife?” He says, sounding pained. When Cassian just stares at him blankly, he sighs and adds, begrudgingly, “Senator Jebel may have implied that a man of your rank might use a mission like this to…avail themselves of the sexual talents of women other than their wives, you know, during their travels. Unless, of course, the wife in question had already proved herself irreplaceable in that regard.”

Cassian knows that Bodhi has expressed himself clearly and put all of his words in the right order, and yet he still cannot comprehend a single thing he’s just heard. They stare at each other in silence—his baffled, Bodhi’s embarrassed—for a long time before anything clicks into place in Cassian’s mind.

“He said this to Jyn?” He asks, finally. It’s hard to speak around all of the dread pooling at the base of this throat.

Bodhi cringes. “Well, he really said it to me and Kay. He was talking over Jyn’s head, which sounds better but, as you can imagine, made it much worse.”

“And what did she have to say to all this?”

“I made sure to drag her away as quickly as possible and Kay distracted the Senator with just as much haste!”

“Bodhi,” Cassian says on an exhale. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on. “What did Jyn say?”

His shoulders sag in defeat. “She only said that she had no concerns on that front,” Bodhi says, plainly unsure if he’s helping or hurting at this point. “And then I made our excuses and got her away from him as soon as I could, I promise!”

“I believe you,” Cassian replies, holding up a hand in acknowledgement. “And I appreciate your efforts to take care of your sister.”

“I thought perhaps her feelings had been hurt by Senator Jebel’s comments, but since she has not mentioned the incident to you, perhaps she dismissed them as quickly as they deserved.”

“Perhaps,” Cassian says, for Bodhi’s benefit, but his mind is on his wife’s behavior this morning; all of her talk of the ways a wife could comfort her husband, how solicitous of his troubles she’d been, how vulnerable she’d seemed herself, even the kisses they’d shared and the way she’d allowed him to take her to bed. How different it all looked in this new light. Of course she wouldn’t mention the conversation with the Senator to him—to do so would be, in Jyn’s mind, to admit to a weakness, that she cared at all what others thought of their marriage or, worse, that she cared what Cassian thought of her as a wife—but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it as advice.

So she’d seduced him, and quite adeptly at that. He hadn’t even realized it was happening. He might have known better, under other circumstances, but he’d naively thought that being married to someone meant that you didn’t have to concern yourself with seduction. If his wife wanted to sleep with him, it seemed to him that all she had to do was show interest in such a thing or, heaven forbid, simply say so, and she could have her way. To play such games about it seems counterproductive to him, but given how easily he was manipulated on this occasion, Cassian might not be the person to ask.

“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Bodhi says, anxiously, at which point Cassian realizes he has been staring off into space for a long moment.

“Of course not,” he says immediately. “I appreciate your telling me.”

“You won’t tell Jyn I mentioned it, will you?”

“No. Like you said, if it had bothered her, she would have told me herself.” It isn’t true, not in the slightest, but Cassian can see that Bodhi needs to hear it. “Besides, now I can use my spare time on this trip to plan my revenge on Senator Jebel.”

“Revenge?” Bodhi asks, wide-eyed with concern. It’s sometimes hard to believe someone as tenderhearted as he is fought in the war, let alone survived it.

Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking of challenging him to a duel, Bodhi. Relax. But there are a great many ways a man of my position can make his life…uncomfortable and I shall enjoy thinking of as many of them as possible.”

“I am once again reminded how glad I am to be on your good side, Cassian,” Bodhi says, faintly. “And that you’re looking out for my sister.”

Cassian has never felt less capable of doing any such thing, not when Jyn is still keeping secrets from him and treating him as an opponent, but he nods anyway. His wife would likely roll her eyes at the sentiment, but he cannot stand by knowing that someone made her feel small even for a moment. He gets a savage sort of thrill out of the idea that she shall have his protection, whether she wants it or not.

“I am glad to be of service,” he says, vaguely. “But I’m afraid I must give the soldiers their orders now if we’re to be off on time.”

“Of course. Safe travels.” Bodhi offers his hand for Cassian to shake and then claps him on the shoulder as he takes his leave.

Cassian is certain that he relays Draven’s orders to the soldiers assembled in the yard as soon as he’s done speaking with Bodhi but he can’t actually remember a single thing he said by the time he’s securing the saddle on his own horse. His only excuse is that his mind is obviously elsewhere. Even though he knows he should focus on the mission ahead, he can’t stop thinking about Jyn.

As though he’s conjured her, she suddenly appears in the courtyard, with Kay and Senator Mothma in tow. The latter two are deep in conversation about something, while his wife doesn’t seem to be participating at all if the mild, far-off look on her face is any indication. It’s not surprising to see them all together; he’s sure that the Senator is the one who approved their scouting mission for General Draven and that he asked Kay to appraise her of the mission’s status because he’d rather not do it himself. And Jyn and Senator Mothma are often in each other’s company. Jyn often jokes that the Senator has claimed her as an unofficial assistant but Cassian suspects it’s just because she doesn’t want to admit that they are friends.

Before he can think better of it, Cassian calls out to Jyn, despite the fact that she’s on the other side of the courtyard still. It doesn’t occur to him until afterwards that shouting to get someone’s attention in a crowded area is probably bad manners, especially if that person is a lady. She looks startled to hear her name and the soldiers scattered throughout the area look up in shock at hearing him raise his voice at all. When her eyes meet his across the yard, Jyn’s neutral, distant expression shutters, turning into something more wary and focused. Cassian tilts his chin very slightly to beckon her over, not risking a bigger gesture lest the assembled soldiers think they’re about to witness something salacious. He’s determined they won’t, and Jyn catches his meaning anyway, even from a distance, and begins to make her way over.

He means to use the long moment it will take her to reach him to plan what he will say, how he will broach this delicate subject with her without implicating her brother in divulging the information to him, but he’s too distracted by the sight of her. She’s dressed plainly enough, not being one for embellishment, but her dress is a deep burgundy that suits and fits her well and she’s gingerly holding the skirt to keep the hem from dragging along the dirty ground. He only has to think on her clothing for a moment before his mind supplies the image of her this morning, as he was preparing to leave, just in her nightshirt, only deigning to get out of their bed to give him one last kiss goodbye. It was the only time he can remember being tempted to stay in bed rather than get on with his work. By the time she arrives, his face is warm with the sort of embarrassment he thought he’d grow out of once he was married.

“Yes, my lord?” She asks, and he’d tell her again to do away with such pointless formality if he couldn’t see the bright glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She’s trying to be funny.

He still has no idea what to say to her. His mind remains a complete blank, while his pulse is running wild. There is no way to tell her she should have trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with Senator Jebel, or that he knows the intimate moment they shared this morning was more inspired by that than by any genuine passion on her part, without giving away that he’s been listening to gossip. To admit that would only succeed in raising her defenses and causing an argument.

She didn’t trust him. That’s the heart of the matter and what is bothering him the most. Or perhaps it is that, for once in his life, he acted without suspicion or subterfuge and now he looks like a fool. Without realizing it, he’d begun to trust her but apparently the feeling is not mutual. It is only once this thought articulates itself in his mind that he catches himself; he’s embarrassed. She’s injured nothing but his sense of pride—that he always knows when someone is lying to him, that he’s always the man in the room with the most information.

But what, really, is the cost? So what if she outsmarted him? It’s not life or death, this. He wishes she had felt safe enough to be honest with him, but he can hardly blame her that she didn’t. In the grand scheme of things, they hardly know each other and three months is not long enough to change a lifetime of mistrust in others, especially if one is accustomed to it as a means of survival. He still doesn’t know much about her past before they met, but if it was anything like his, he understands why opening up to him might prove difficult.

And maybe some of it was real—the dream she told him about, the reasons she has difficulty sleeping. Maybe she needed the ulterior motive of seducing him to make sure he doesn’t stray as an excuse to tell him the truth. And what does it tell her if he gets angry? How does it look if he holds it against her for being as secretive and wary as he always is himself? How can he ever expect her to trust him with anything if he lets his ego get in the way now? And perhaps more importantly, what does it really cost him to let her be right?

If she did what he thinks she did, it was an act of desperation, to ensure that she had some control over the life she was unceremoniously shoved into three months ago. She was afraid of the idea of him leaving on this trip and forgetting the vows he’d made as soon as she was out of sight. He can see now all the ways that her own ego is tied up in this—not wanting to be seen as an inadequate wife, wanting to prove Jebel wrong after he’d been so crass and unkind to her, and perhaps even worrying that Cassian felt the same way, that he had any complaints of their marriage—but he can also see further, to the core of the matter, where it’s just Jyn being afraid and alone. How can he punish her for that, when all he wants is for her to feel safe with him?

It costs him nothing to let her be right, then; to let her believe that he’s blissfully unaware of any hidden reason for her behavior or any conflict and just play the role of the devoted, smitten husband. It’s not as if he planned to be unfaithful to her while he was away, and giving her some assurance on that matter without revealing what he knows should be easy enough. Let her believe that her machinations paid off and she’s won her husband over with her feminine wiles. There’s no harm in that. When he thinks of it that way, it’s barely even a lie.

“Cassian,” she says now, eyes full of concern at his silently staring at her. “Is everything alright?”

He comes back to the present moment when her hand comes to rest on his arm. “Yes, everything is fine,” he says, weakly. “I apologize. There were probably less dramatic ways to get your attention.”

“No matter. I appreciate the efficiency of your method, I must say.”

“Still, I do not wish to embarrass you.” When he sees she means to shrug at that, he adds, “under any circumstances.”

She blinks at him, surprised, so some of his implied meaning must come through. “You do not embarrass me,” she replies, warily.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Is that why you called me over?” She asks.

“No, I was—well, I realized I had forgotten to ask you if…well, if there was anything you needed.”

“Me?”

He nods, probably a touch too emphatically. He’s normally better at this, but Jyn has always caught him off guard. “Yes, I’m going to be traveling for the next few weeks and you can get almost anything from the markets in the southern provinces, so if there was anything you needed, I could bring it back for you.”

She stares at him as though he’s spoken in a language she’s never heard before. “I don’t believe I need anything at the present,” she says, finally, after considering her words for a long time.

“It doesn’t have to be something you need,” he says. “Something you want would suffice. Didn’t you lose your gloves recently?”

“No, I found them. I had left them in Senator Mothma’s chambers after she and I returned from a walk.”

“Still, I could get you nicer gloves.”

“It wouldn’t make much difference. I’d still forget them everywhere.”

“I could get you several pairs of gloves.”

“Cassian, what is this about?”

He covers her hand, still lingering on his arm, with his own, chafing her knuckles with his thumb. “Keeping your hands warm,” he says innocently.

She laughs incredulously. “You are not going away for the sole purpose of buying me presents. You will be busy with work. I imagine you will hardly have time to even think of me.”

“No, I’m afraid the real difficulty will be thinking of anything else,” Cassian says, his own pulse thundering behind his ears. It’s not the nerves of telling a lie and fearing getting caught, he realizes, but the panic of finally telling someone the long-guarded truth.

Jyn looks down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the gravel. “You don’t need to say such things. I do not require flattery to sustain me.”

“Well, whether you’re flattered or not is incidental. What matters is that it’s true.”

“Is that why you said it?”

“Yes. I know the truth and I have a complicated relationship, sometimes by necessity, but I try to be honest with you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that I get a little better at it with each try. It’s not much, I know, but—”

“It’s worth more than you think,” she says carefully.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking— you can be honest with me too or I wish we could know each other better —because it feels like asking too much or risking betraying Bodhi’s confidence, so he leaves it at that.

Behind him, one of the lieutenants whistles for everyone’s attention. “Everyone is here and accounted for, Captain,” he adds, to Cassian. “We’re ready when you are.”

Cassian nods to him before looking back at Jyn just at the moment the wind picks up and loosens several strands of her hair from where it’s pulled back. He attempts to brush them back into place, while she watches him with amusement.

“It seems I must be going,” he says.

“So it does,” she replies. She appears to struggle with something, turning it over in her mind for a moment before she leans in and kisses him. His hand is still buried in her hair, trying to keep it from blowing about in the breeze again, and it helps him to keep her close. He’d normally be reticent to have such a display in front of his fellow soldiers—he doesn’t want to give them inspiration for gossip or a reason to tease him mercilessly if he has to spend the next several weeks in their company—but he’ll have to make an exception this time. It feels like a coded message from Jyn, that she trusts him, that he’s done well as her husband, at least in this moment. She’s not one to say so directly, and that’s fine. He’s willing to learn to speak her language, especially if it means kissing her like this more often.

However, common sense prevails eventually and he’s forced to pull back from her before they embarrass themselves in front of all the gathered soldiers. He runs his thumb over her cheek just once, feeling the chill of the morning there more than in his own body. “Goodbye, Jyn,” he says, quietly so only she can hear, and kisses her knuckles lightly for good measure.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, in a rush. Like she’s tried to keep it to herself but couldn’t manage it. “I expect you home in one piece or there will be hell to pay.”

“Of course, my dear,” he says as he steps up into the saddle.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the lieutenant beside Cassian chimes in, looking amused. “We will make sure nothing happens to your husband. You have my word.”

Cassian shakes his head at the young man, who looks even more shamelessly delighted, but Jyn is pleased by this, he can tell.

“Good,” she replies, nodding at him. “You don’t know me very well, sir, but I will tell you this: you would not like to be on my bad side.”

The lieutenant laughs. “No, ma’am, I would not. I’ll lead the party out, if you’d like, sir,” he adds to Cassian.

“Thank you,” Cassian replies. When the group has started to move out from the courtyard, he turns his attention back to Jyn and reaches his hand out to her.

She takes it, and plants a kiss on his knuckles. “My thoughts go with you,” she says.

“And mine stay here with you.”

The answering smile he receives stays with him as he follows the rest of the party out of the courtyard, as he lies on the cold ground of their camp that night, even as the mission turns long and tedious. It lasts until he can replace it in his memory with the smile he gets when he returns home again and sweeps her into his arms once more.

#rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #au #vaguely medieval fantasy au #my writing #my fic #one day i will title one of the fics in this series with actual graceland lyrics but today is not that day #i've been staring at this fic for three years basically just take it away from me please #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since #HBD Zainab you elegant and industrious capybara

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magic-of-drawing · 4 years ago

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Extended content on Balan Wonderworld

Okay, the Demo has been released for a long while now and I know there is high criticism for it and many folks would likely turn away from it. But to anyone who is still interested in play the game after experiencing the Demo or still curious about it, then I will leave this message is for you (as someone who followed this game series since its announcement trailer) you can have a better understanding of it.

BALAN WONDERWORLD is a wondrous action-platformer game themed around a mysterious musical theatre. The stars of the show will use special abilities from a multitude of characterful costumes as they adventure in the bizarre and imaginary land of Wonderworld. So think of it.... as you playing Alice who is actually traveling to Wonderland. The game is more or less a successor to Night in Dreams but is something different. It's related but it's likely doesn't reside in the same world (take what I said with a grain of salt.)

~Now to get to the more narrative aspect of the game....there isn't a straightforward story but rather a theme to it. Here memories and vistas from the real world mix with the things that people hold dear. There are Twelve different tales (or Chapters) in Wonderworld and each with its own unique quirks (or settings). They are mostly labyrinthine stages, using all tricks and gimmicks whether out in the open or hidden, the player needs to get through them in order to get to the heart of each touching story.

So long story short: It's basically you traveling to different worlds that reflect their hosts, find their "heart", discover what brought darkness within their hearts, and freeing them. Basically a rescue mission with a twist.

~Next we move onto the game mechanics (which I believe, is the biggest subject that needs explanation), the random characters like Tornado Wolf and Jumping Jack are actually embodiments of power-ups or costumes. There are like 80 or more in this game and each of them is a representation of the Host and their world. What they represent is basically up to you.

So far there are like 5-6 costumes each in 12 chapters and each one has a unique skill or quirk to them that can help you guide around the stage and solve puzzles. And since there are usually 2 Acts on each chapter stage so there are likely 3 or 4 costumes in them as well.

The little creatures are called Tims and are basically the Chao or Nightopians of Wonderworld. They live on the Isle of Tims (which is your Hub World) and they are born from the happiness felt by inhabitants of the real world. They all come in colors and personalities, and they’ll help you on your adventures. For example, The Pink Tims help you collect items you overlook or past while the Red Tims attack your enemies.

The Drops are like food that changes their colors and quirks while also making them bigger.

The Balan Bout is basically a quick-time event where you play as Balan. If you play with all excellent you get a Balan Statue.

The Statues are mostly scattered throughout the Chapters and you will need to collect enough of them to move to the next chapters. It's always good to collect as many of them as possible if you can.

~ Moving onto the main characters, there only 4 we are aware of.

Starting off with the title character, Balan himself is the magical maestro of the theater with eccentrics of his own. He's mostly your guide in Wonderworld and basically the one Genie from Aladdin of Wonderworld. He's charming to say the least and easily the most fun to watch.

Next, we have the player: Leo Craig A 15-year-old boy who always acts cool but is really lonesome. Several years ago he had a big argument with his best friend and has preferred being alone ever since which explains in his cutscene on why he is kinda rude.

Then we have another player: Emma Cole, also 15 who is has a bright smile yet often concerns herself with whatever one says around her which makes her very self-conscious and nervous.

Finally, we have Lance, the mysterious being within Wonderworld who controls the Negatis and traps visitors in Wonderworld with negative energy to create monsters out of them. Not much information from him other than he is the antagonistic force of Wonderworld.

So far, this is much information on the characters as we can collect thus far.

Finshing up with the discussion, I believe the game itself is mostly a passion project for Yuji Naka and I can tell he put a lot of work into this too. There are some things that needed more focus on like the context as well as dialogue but as I mentioned earlier, the core of the game is mostly about finding Balance within yourself and understanding what makes you happy in life. And since the setting resides in a magical theater...I think going to expect music, dancing and probably singing as well.

A/N: This isn't me defending the Demo as I am aware that it has issues that needed to be fixed but I am also willing to give the game series a chance since it's the kind of game that I honestly don't mind playing. This message is just me explaining the game in a better context from the information that I and the discord server had collected over the time since the announcement so please do not judge those who still love the game.

TLDR: My discussion is a thorough extended content of BALAN WONDERWORLD,

~An action platformer game with puzzle-solving and collectathon

~The story is more of a Theme that is a central topic, subject, or message within a narrative. And it takes place in a magical theater about 2 teenagers with issues helping 12 other people with issues with the power of friendship, theater, and furry outfits.

~There are over 80 costumes that help throughout the Chapters/Stages of the game.

~The Tims are your helper sidekicks

~And game has good visuals and content but the execution of the demo was not but still giving it a chance.

#balan wonderworld #square enix #balan wonderland #games of 2021 #balan #game informer

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unfortunatelysirius · 5 years ago

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Goodbye, My Love // Jon Snow

「 ❁ 」PROMPT 「 ❁ 」 When it comes to saying goodbye, you’ve always had trouble. But it becomes especially hard when saying it to Jon Snow. 「 ❁ 」AUTHOR’S NOTE 「 ❁ 」 I am SO bad at updating… all I’ve got as an explanation. *shrug emoji* If you guys want a reunion companion piece [season 6] then hey, just ask. Otherwise, here’s this chunk of trash for you all ;) [It’s honestly rushed, I apologize in advance] 「 ❁ 」WARNINGS 「 ❁ 」 Swearing, Angst 「 ❁ 」WORD COUNT 「 ❁ 」

3027

YOU MET JON SNOW ON YOUR FIFTH NAMEDAY. You had always lived in Winterfell with your mother and father, who were (respectively) the seamstress and blacksmith. You were lowborn, but respectable, with parents whose gifts were renowned throughout Winter Town. You were never put in the finest dresses or presented in front of hand-picked husband prospects, that much was true; however, you never wanted nor needed to be highborn to feel like your life had meaning. Your first meeting with Jon Snow had you smitten, even at such a young age. You’d been running around Winter Town, a crown of flowers in your hair, when you’d stumbled into something warm and fleshy—a human body. You squealed and fell, the stranger following suit with a kidlike grunt. Only when you’d managed to spit out one of the petals that had fallen into your mouth did you look up, eyes snapping into some sort of trance. There was a blue-eyed gaze locked on your own. “Hi!” you’d immediately said, not bashful at all. You grinned at the strange boy, near the same age as you. “I’m Y/N. What’s your name?” The boy’s face was flushed red, a look of embarrassment on his face. He stood quickly. And he stayed silent, continuing to stare, like someone might would a predator. “Hellllllo?” You tilted your head. “You’re not very nice.” The curly-haired boy shook his own head, defiantly silent. His eyes flickered away from yours and back towards the way he came—the way you were heading towards. When you went sideways to see from around his body, you saw what he was looking at. Eddard and Catelyn Stark, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, as they stood on the railing of their tower. You were incredulous, to say the least, that this was what caught the strange boy’s attention. Was it why he was silent, too? “Why are you looking at them?” you demanded. “D’you wanna be a lord, too?” The boy snapped his head around to stare at you. “What?” he demanded, in a voice much too brusque to be a child’s. You giggled childishly. “Lord Curly,” you teased. “’Cause you’ve got curly hair, and I don’t know your name!” Though he remained alert and angry-looking, the boy finally caved. His mouth twitched into a grimace. “Jon,” he said simply. “Lord Jon,” you said. You smiled toothily up at him. “Bye, Lord Jon.” You pranced around him, sprinting in the direction you were going originally. And as you went, a stray petal untucked from your crown, and it was rushed backwards by the wind. It went and went, all until it fell at Jon’s feet. He picked it up. And he stared at it. What he wouldn’t admit to anyone, much less himself, was that he thought you were really, really pretty. As pretty as someone five name-days old could be. And he hoped he’d see you again. He really hoped he’d see you again.

It was three years and three moons later when you saw the mysterious Jon again. You were eight, hair reaching your waist and eyes ever so wide. You’d become curious and adventure-seeking, still carrying around that same naivety like a sleeve’s patchwork. You were hanging around the kitchens, stealing sweets your mother refused to let you have, just leaving when you caught a glimpse of a curly-haired boy. He was walking briskly. Was he angry? You dropped the biscuits you were carrying and went to pursue him.

“Lord Curly!” you cried, struggling to keep up. The boy was older and taller, his pace like that of a man running from a bear—only he was jogging. Maybe he knew you were following, even before you’d called out his nickname. “Lord Curly, please—stop running!”

He stopped abruptly. A bit too late, perhaps, as you rammed your nose directly into his back.

“Ouch,” you cooed, rubbing the offended spot, blinking. The boy had turned around in the time it took for the pain to disappear, and catching his bleary gaze locked you in place. In a very bad way, given his expression. “Are you alright?”

“I was,” he said coolly. Was that a hint at you being an annoyance? You never could tell with anyone, much less the brooding subject of your childish fantasies. “What do you want?”

“My, my, Lord Curly! I just wanted to speak to you.” You smiled.

“I’m busy.”

Your smile became a frown. “Oh? Doing what?”

Jon didn’t look very pleased that you were still there. He was an inch away from fleeing. He returned your frown and muttered, “I’ll get in trouble if we keep talking.”

You jutted out your lip and made a noise. A very inhuman noise. “Lord Curly, why do ya say that?”

He looked over your head at something in the distance. You knew it was the Lord and Lady of the castle, as that’s all that lay beyond Winter Town.

“You’re not Robb,” you stated. “So who are you?”

“No one,” said Jon in response. Quick—too quick. He didn’t want you to know.

You kept quiet in reply.

Jon pulled his cloak tighter around his neck and face, body twisting around. His back was to you, his curly head of charred hair the framework of his identity.

He was like a shadow and a puzzle, conjoined together to make one very difficult game. You were eager to be his friend, keen to know him better—but he kept disappearing. It’d been over three years since you seen him last. And now he was the one running away.

“Bye, Lord Curly!” you called out to him as his footsteps echoed into silence and his head of curls were no longer seen.

Jon had hoped to see you again.

But Catelyn kept watching.

And she didn’t want him to have any friends.

So many years passed. You got taller and curvier, growing into yourself, until eventually you stopped changing at fifteen. Your fifteenth name-day was a tremendous affair, with the Lord and Lady themselves in attendance. Jon wasn’t there, to your disappointment. You hadn’t seen him since you were eight. It’d been so long, too long, enough to make you forget he ever existed. But he plagued your memories, he haunted your dreams. His name was always on the tip of your tongue. The cusp of a breath.

You’d danced with several boys, wearing a flower crown on your head. Every boy was worse than the last. You always pretended they were Jon, even though you held no picture—hardly even an inkling—of his current appearance. How did he look now, with the two of you older and less naïve? You were sure he’d chiseled out. He probably looked more a man than your own father did, the child that he was.

You wanted to stop being eaten alive by questions. You wanted him to appear on a white mare and take you captive in his orbit. You wanted to fall in love the old-fashioned way, the against-all-odds way, with someone your parents would not approve of. You could not care less. You didn’t give a shite what they thought. All that mattered was finding someone who could give you a happy ending.

That was over a moon ago. You were beginning to feel like you’d never see him again.

You walked out into the snow atop your balcony on a crisp evening, wearing another crown of flowers. You were dressed in an evening gown—feet barren and your hair crowning your face. You’d spent the day dreaming about Jon, and crossed Winter Town over six times, desperate to see the boy again—even if he held no recognition for you. What were the odds that he’d appear? To you, chance was nothing; this was all fate. Whether you’d find him again, you knew not. You knew next to nothing on fate’s plans.

You felt the world was in your hands and odds were in your favor, however. There was a feeling in your gut, a feathery weight, that kept you lifting, refusing to let you land. You were not grounded. You were airborne.

What did this mean?

It meant having hope in naïve fantasies.

Your hair blew around your face, masking your vantage of the navy sky. The moon was a hair away, right above your head, crowning you Luna. It was glowing translucently. It was calling for you to give up your games. But you—really, honestly, truly—refused to leave this for children until you found Jon again. Until you saw his face. Until you knew his coldness for what it was.

Curiosity is a killer. As is love.

You knew it so, but that did not make you any less reckless.

A rustling sounded from below. Could this—be it? You thought maybe. You brushed your windswept hair from your eyes, glancing downward.

From the dark shadows emerged a shape. A lean, muscular shape, clad in black—or maybe that was the darkness. He was threaded with it, wasn’t he? When a glint of moonlight bounced off the shadow’s raven curls, you knew it so.

It was Jon.

“Jon?” you whispered aloud, just to be sure. This fantasy come to life needed cemented.

The shadow moved closer, bringing with him sudden light. It was like a scene from a fairytale, with the ruggedly handsome knight coming to rescue his damsel. Though, this one was much darker and much less renowned than what you’d normally expect; the princes in your books were blond, blue-eyed, and sunlit.

A new perspective, you declared it. Jon was perfect in your eyes.

The boy in question coughed. “Yeah, it’s me, Y/N.” He was silent for a while thereafter, as the two of you stared at one another. Then he said, “I’m sorry for how I’ve made you feel.”

“Sick with longing for a man I know nothing about?” You smiled, though wearily, and laughed at him. “I assure you, there is not any remorse.”

Jon sighed. If not for the crisp air, you wouldn’t have noticed it. “Lady Stark has no kindness in her heart for me. I am a bastard, you see—”

“I know what you are, Jon Snow,” you said. “And quite the contrary to what you think, I don’t care.”

“Y/N, I’m a bastard—”

You snorted, as unladylike as could be. “And I’m not highborn. So why would I give a rat’s arse?”

Jon looked uncertain, glancing between you and the way from which he came. “I came to apologize, Y/N, not to start anything—”

“Lady Stark is a bitter, middle-aged woman, Jon,” you said. “And I’m quite the opposite. I assume you like that. Why else would you come back here to woo yourself into my good graces?”

There was an intensity in the air. It made you want to scale down the balcony and take Jon for your own.

Jon seemed quite puzzled, like he couldn’t tell what to think of you. At last he said, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Then let’s not get caught.”

From this view, Jon seemed like he was considering what you said. You decided not to give him time to take back his visit and his words. You hopped up on the edge of your balcony’s wooden posts and curved your body to face the entrance to your bedroom. You gripped the posts tight, and dropped down a few feet.

Jon hissed, “What are you doing, Y/N? You’re going to hurt yourself!”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you grunted, using your limited view to catch what post to drop to next. Eventually you reached the last available post and you realized that you needed to jump down. “Jon, I have to let go.”

“Y/N, stop, no. You’ll get hurt.”

You smiled largely. “That’s why you’ve got to catch me!”

Your hands lost grip on the balcony.

You fell down, the wind gusting in your hair. You were flying, a raven born of air. You didn’t think about the consequences, not the possibility of death or severe injury, brain only centered on the beauty that being airborne was; and the idea you had a prince of darkness to catch your fall.

You roughly hit Jon’s rock-hard body, his arms coming to envelope you, the both of you falling into the snow. He grunted, and you squeaked. You had only dreamt of a proximity this close, and having him as close to you as he was now—

You flipped around to be chest-to-chest with Jon.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you said abruptly.

Jon blinked in surprise. “Oh. Um. Okay.”

You pressed a small peck on his lips, without an actual response.

Jon stared up at you, his cheeks a rosy red. His nose, too. He looked shocked, like he hadn’t expected you to actually kiss him—but then you did, and he didn’t know how to respond. How to think, even. This beautiful art-piece of a human-being, kissing him and touching him like they couldn’t care less what his namesake was.

Jon surged forwarded and kissed you hard, much more assertively than you did him.

You squeaked again, finding this roughness, this ferocity, such a difference from your own faint touches. He was gripping your body like nothing ever had, holding you close and center, with the snow just a background accessory in the face of his body heat, and his kiss—fuck, his kiss.

It was otherworldly.

Eventually, you found this had to stop.

“Jon, Jon, stop—my parents!” You giggled against his lips.

“Fuck the town. Fuck everything, Y/N,” Jon said, leaning back to stare at you. “We’ll have our own town. Our own world. I’m Lord Curly, right? You can be Lady Flowers.” He placed a delicate hand on one of the flowers in your crown.

This direction was so different from where you’d thought it’d go. You thought Jon would use you then discard you like a used towel, and you’d let him because you liked him that much. You had learned to take what you could get, regardless of how hurt it put you in the process. Jon wanted this as much as you, right? So you thought it’d be foolish of you to say no.

You pushed yourself into him and got lost in the midst of frigid wind and falling snow, giggles and growls muffled under the pale light of the moon.

The two of you, for the better part of a few years, were rather invested in keeping up your connection. You’d hide out together and kiss, talk about your hopes and dreams, curse Catelyn Stark and her bitterness; all the while, you fell more and more hopelessly in love. You were once enraptured by Jon, thinking of him as the most honorable man you’d ever met aside from Eddard Stark, his father. But now, it was love.

Eventually, it caught up to you.

Catelyn Stark discovered your forbidden romance when she’d passed by the two of you kissing once. At once, she put a stop to it. She demanded Jon not to see you anymore, forced you all to put the shenanigans in the past. She knew who your parents were, and she disapproved of their child intermingling with a bastard. So much so, she went to your door a fortnight after you had last kissed Jon—and told your mother as she answered the door that you were in relations with her husband’s bastard.

Things got steadily worse after that. Your mother and father began fighting, as your mother did not like what you’d been doing while your father couldn’t bear telling you that you were wrong to love who you loved. Your mother would sleep alone in bed, your father made to sleep outside.

Jon never appeared again. He went moons without speaking to you. You felt like things were getting progressively worse, that the love of your life had been snatched away—

And then the King visited. And you learned from Robb Stark, who knew of your relation to his half-brother, that Jon was leaving for the watch.

You had to say goodbye.

Like you had two left feet, you clumsily left your mother and father’s abode, hurrying to the stables where Robb claimed Jon would be. You were terrified, thinking he had already left. This was the man of your dreams; if he left without giving you a deserved farewell, you wouldn’t know if you could forgive him.

You knew you wouldn’t forgive him.

You were flying through crowds of townsfolk, your legs aching and stomach receding into itself the longer you went, the farther you got. Eventually you reached the stables.

You stopped at the very edge of the entrance, peaking through. Your gaze swept past horses as they quietly moved their heads downward and ate from their haystacks. At one point, your sweeping gaze faltered, and you realized what had happened.

Jon had left you. He left without saying goodbye.

You didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.

You knew this day would come. Jon would get tired of running, and he’d get tired of feeling worthless, and so he’d put an end to both. He’d run until he got to a dead end. He’d fight until he was worth more than anything in the world. He’d do all he could to be something more than Eddard Stark’s bastard.

It meant throwing away your memories.

It meant leaving without uttering a single goodbye.

It meant letting your love be just as it was.

Never meant to last.

Jon kept running and running and running. He would run until his legs turned to jelly. He’d pant until his eyes rolled back with exhaustion. He’d scream and fight until he got where he wanted to be—somewhere new, somewhere different, somewhere not Winterfell.

(You couldn’t come with. Why couldn’t you come with?)

The running would stop.

(He never wanted to leave you.)

He only wished it didn’t mean losing the thing he’d loved most.

I love you, Lord Curly.

I love you too, Lady Flowers.

FIN.

162 notes · View notes

inevitably-johnlocked · 5 years ago

Note

Hey! Will go on a 10-day trip soon and I was thinking i would like to save some fics just in case i don t have data over there. Share some longer stories? (also really loving your blog, million heart emojis from me)

Hi Nonny!

Oh gosh, that’s exciting!! I love long trips! And lucky for you I LOVE long fics, because they’re perfect for a long trip! (that and I have SO MANY FICS for 20 to 25 and 25 to 50 that I had to choose one or the other for you, LOL).

Lucky for you I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to share that very list!! BUT if you prefer some longer fics, check out these past lists I made:

Top 20 Fave 40K+ w. Fics (April 2017)

Novel Length Fics: 50 to 100K (Nov. 2018)

Novel Length Fics: 100K+ w. (May 2019)

Smut-Free Fics Over 50K (Aug. 2019)

Otherwise, I think these fics will be perfect for your trip! And as always, I sort them by length so if you want longer fics, check out the bottom of the list and work your way up, or just want something that will last you a plane ride or a day of relaxation, check out the top to bottom!

—–

NOVELLA-LENGTH FICS: 25 to 50K w. (Aug 2019)

Among the Secret Things by Kate_Lear for coloredink (E, 26,073 w., 14 Ch. || Angst, Drama, Amnesia) – Sherlock would be the last person to describe himself as given to flights of fancy, but at the look on Lestrade’s face he could swear that something inside him curls up and dies. Part 1 of Among the Secret Things

Dropping the Act by jadztone (T, 27,258 w., 10 Ch. || Parentlock, Fake Relationship, Mary’s Family, Post-S4, Cuddling & Snuggling, Bed Sharing, Pining, Christmas) – Sherlock and John are quite happy living together with Rosie in Baker St. They might be even happier if they didn’t act towards each other like their love is only platonic. Mycroft brings troubling news in the form of Mary’s parents wanting to know just what their grandchild’s home life is like. The boys decide to spend Christmas pretending like they are in love in order to seem more like a "normal" family. It's easy enough to pretend when all you're doing is dropping the act.

And A Doctor by StillWaters1 (T, 27,393 w., 6 Ch. || Friendship, Doctor John, Whump, Soldier / Doctor Dichotomy, Five and One) – It was only when people actually saw John working as a physician that they began to understand: that it wasn't just about bullets and IEDs and trauma care under fire. That "doctor" actually covered a pretty wide field. And that John was bloody good at covering ground. 5 times Dr. Watson treated others and 1 time he treated himself.

Don't Leave Anything Out by lookupkate (E, 27,422 w., 24 Ch. || Letters / Epistolary, Misunderstandings, Angst, Happy Ending, Alternate Meeting, Sherlock in Love, Pining Sherlock) – The first letter John writes home from Afghanistan is meant to go to a woman he went on only one date with. How it ends up in Sherlock's hands is completely innocent. What happens next is not. What do you do when you find out the person you're in love with has been lying about something as monumental as who they are? What do you do when you're the one who lied?How on earth do you put the pieces back together?

Vena Cava by SilentAuror (E, 27,452, 1 Ch. || H/C, Infidelity, Angst, HLV Fix-It, Romance) – Sherlock has been shot in the chest; John has been shot in the heart. Though everything is broken, they do their best to heal the wounds that Mary left on them both.

Trust Me, Trust Nobody by BlueMoonOnTheRise (T, 27,751 w., 10 Ch. || Kidnapping, Friendship / No Slash, Adventure, Trust Issues) – Whatever he told Mycroft, John trusted Sherlock almost instantly. When a new case shows up - smattered with the usual thrill of danger, death and cool logic - such trust ends up pushed to its very limits...

26 Pieces by Lanning (E, 28,236 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Torture, First Time, Happy Ending, Schmoop) – Mycroft gives Sherlock the apparently simple task of solving a puzzle box containing a stolen microchip. It isn't simple.

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

An Experiment in Apathy Series by belovedmuerto (G to E, 28,701 w. across 13 stories || Empath John, Empath-by-Proxy Sherlock, Epic Bromance Becomes Romance, Angst, Nightmares, Experiments, Trauma, Dreams) – "No man is an island, John. You less so than most." A sequel to the EiE Series, wherein John and Sherlock explore their relationship.

To be Loved by You by TwisterMelody (M, 28,775 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, H/C, Friends to Lovers, Post-HLV, Infidelity, Character Death) – Too many times they had confessed themselves in the darkness, leaving it there, never to speak of it again. But this is different. This love deserves the light of day.

To Mend Icarus by AlessNox (T, 29,186 w., 14 Ch. || Post-TRF, Friendship, Drama, BAMF!John, Emotional Turmoil, Introspection, Harry is in this Fic, Angry John, Happy Ending, Queerplatonic Relationship) – After a case lands John Watson in court, he tells Sherlock that he is leaving. Not understanding why, Sherlock decides that the only way to learn the truth is to investigate his flatmate, Dr. John Watson. A revision of the story Mending Icarus.

The Wisteria Tree by SilentAuror (E, 29,773 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Emotional Love Making, Amnesia/Memory Loss, Sherlock Loves John So Much, Sherlock POV, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, First Times, Hurt/Comfort, Est. Rel., Retirement) – Sherlock wakes up from a month-long coma only to discover that he has no memory of the previous six years to his own shock as well as John's...

M Is For Moriarty by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 29,882 w., 12 Ch. || Suspense, Mystery, Case Fic, Worried Sherlock, No Slash, Whump) – A figure at the end of the hospital bed; a needle in the dark...Moriarty has John, and Sherlock must follow the paper trail through London to find him before time runs out. Sequel to BANG.

"finally kiss the bloody idiot" by Salambo06 (E, 29,812 w., 13 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Declarations of Love, First Kiss / Time, Angst, Misunderstandings, Fantasies POV John) – Inspired by a fic idea on tumblr : "John and Sherlock know the Yard has a pool going for when they’re finally going to get together. It’s been running forever, and it’s worth thousands of pounds. It’s all fun and games, hahaha, until they find out Lestrade is in dire financial straits (dog needs emergency surgery, he’s putting his kid through gymnastics training, I don’t know, something), and they decide to fake a relationship to win the pool for him. Sherlock figures out the day and way that Lestrade thinks it’s going to happen, and they act it out. It’s all for a good cause, fake relationship style, until it’s not." Part 1 of The Pool

Another Auld Lang Syne by DiscordantWords (M, 30,234 w., 31 Ch. || Post S4, Mutual Pining, Alternating POV, Introspection, Parentlock, Christmas, New Year’s, First Kiss, Past Drug Use, Angst with Happy Ending, Drinking, Sherlock Whump) – There had been years of missed chances.

Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (E, 30,568 w., 5 Ch. || Fake Rel., Roadtrips, Slow Burn) – “You love your mother, Sherlock?” John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk.“Then we’re going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 w., 15 Ch. || Sick Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock, Body Image Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional H/C, POV Sherlock, Oral / Anal, Thong, Frottage) – John brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a "harmless" virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

An Acquired Taste by kinklock (E, 31,059 w., 4 Ch. || Vampires AU || Vampire Sherlock, Misunderstandings, Bat!Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Humour, Magical Realism, Fluff and Angst, Blood Drinking, Holmes Family, Slow Burn) – At Montague Street when Sherlock was forced to sate his body’s needs, he was at least able to wander about the flat as much as he pleased. At Baker Street, it was mini-bags in a mini-fridge and bedroom confinement.

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 31,672 w., 1 Ch. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock, First Person POV Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock's plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he's being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

Love or What You Will by miss_frankenstein (T, 31,987 w., 11 Ch. || College/Uni AU || Professor John, Ph.D Student Sherlock, Pining John, Poetry, Falling in Love / Slow Burn, Light Angst, Happy Ending) – John is an English professor who specializes in War and Post-War Literature and Sherlock is the brilliant yet impossible Ph.D. student assigned to be his TA because no one in the Chemistry Department is willing to put up with him. And - somewhere between Waugh and Plath, e-mails and takeaway, novels and villanelles - they fall in love.

Here Comes The Sun by JennLynn77 (E, 32,126 w., 15 Ch. || Post S4/TFP, John Whump, Caring Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Emotional Sex, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Switchlock, Cuddling/Snuggling, Surgery/Injury Recovery, Endearments, Anal, Hand Jobs, Porn with Feels) – John suffers an injury and needs surgery. Sherlock, and those around him, help John recover. Along the way, John and Sherlock realise what they mean to each other, and what they've had together all this time.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It's a lot less cracky than you're probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

Five Times They Kissed for a Case, and One Time They Kissed for Real by fleetwood_mouse (M, 32,406 w., 6 Ch. || 5+1, Slow Burn, Fluff / Angst, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers) – A stolen ring! An artful blogger! And many more adventures for your enjoyment.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w., 8 Ch. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

a good old-fashioned happy ending by darcylindbergh (E, 32,731 w., 26 Ch. || Christmas, Frottage, Comfort, Est. Rel., Fluff, Insecure Sherlock) – For Christmas this year, Sherlock wants to get John something special: something every fairytale deserves. Part 2 of things fairy tales are made of

Our Enthusiasms Which Cannot Always Be Explained by withoutawish (M, 32,961 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas, Fluff and Angst, H/C, Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mild Gore, Sherlock Whump) – The list that is tacked haphazardly on the refrigerator of 221B reads, ‘Kidney(s), and/or a full cadaver (preferably male, late 30s, under six feet tall), bag of fresh toes, sixteen cow’s eyes (corneas retained), dual exhaust hand –held flame thrower, an unopened first edition copy of Joseph Conrad’s 'Heart of Darkness', and no less than ten abhorrently gruesome murders in the upcoming month.” The one neatly hanging next to it simply reads, “Sex.” One of these lists is not John Watson’s. If John Watson were to put what he really wanted in list form, to live in a land somewhere beyond ‘almosts' now that Sherlock Holmes has indeed returned to him, he would never be able to look his flatmate in the eye ever again.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w., 2 Ch. || Case Fic, HLV+, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock's shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

Bedtime Stories by Liketheriver (M, 34,388 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional H/C, Romance, Angst & Humour, Bed Sharing, John First Person, TRF, John Whump) – John's POV during Season 2 and beyond when Sherlock takes up semi-permanent residence in his bed. A collection of codas and missing scenes wrapped up into one long fic and topped with a bow that takes the story beyond Reichenbach and into happy territory once more. Part 1 of Bedtime Universe

carrying up his morning tea by darcylindbergh (E, 34,504 w., 5 Ch. || Post S3, Minor Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Wakes/Funerals, Estranged John, Pining Sherlock, Depression/Insecurity, Slow Burn, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Chronic Pain/Injury, Reconciliation, Awkwardness, Loneliness, Scars, Heavy Angst With Happy Ending) – His fingers tremble as he dials and he can’t force them steady. Familiar number, even though he hasn’t used it in two years. He isn’t even sure he should be calling it now, but she’d asked. She’d made him promise.

Inexplicable by emmagrant01 (E, 34,664 w., 6 Ch. || Body Swap, TSo3, Magical Realism / Artifacts, Infidelity, Angst) – So what was in that matchbox, anyway? John and Sherlock find out, the hard way.

Where Else Would I Be? by cwb (E, 34,910 w., 10 Ch. || Retirementlock, Domestic Fluff, Falling in Love, Parentlock, Fluff and Smut, Reminiscing) – John and Sherlock's five-year-old granddaughter spends the weekend with them in Sussex. Sherlock happily indulges her whims, and John takes care of them while quietly revisiting the past thirty years of their lives together.

The Yellow Poppies by SilentAuror (E, 34,952 w., 1 Ch. || H/C, Nightmares, HLV Fix-It, PTSD, Trauma, POV Sherlock, Doctor John) – Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow.

LHR-HNL by scullyseviltwin (E, 35,066 w., 7 Ch. || Hawaiian Vacation, Post-TRF, Friends To Lovers, Slow Burn, Just Talk Already, Drinking, Mutual Pining) – In need of an endangered flora sample, Sherlock and John must make a trip to an unexpected destination.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody's happy.

The Wrong Wagon by DancingGrimm (E, 35,663 w., 20 Ch. || Alternating POV, Molly x John [Molly pines for John], Public Sex, Casual Sex, Obliviousness, BAMF!John, Awkwardness, Angst & Humour, First Time, Virgin Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock) – Molly sees John in a new light and realises that she may have hitched her horse to the wrong wagon...or something like that. John pines for Sherlock and worries what he will think if he ever finds out. And Sherlock doesn't know what Molly's up to...but he knows he doesn't like it.

Classified(s) by blueink3 (E, 36,153 w., 4 Ch. || Wedding Date AU || Fake Relationship, Jealous, PIning, H/C, Idiots in Love, Happy Ending, Mary is not Nice) – Clara's American father is the ambassador to some such territory that Great Britain probably used to own, but she (and Harry’s undying love for her) is the reason John is getting on a flight at 12:30pm, flying across the second largest ocean in the world, and pretending to be in a perfectly happy, healthy relationship with an undoubtedly perfectly coiffed stranger. See, Clara is not only American (and wealthy to boot), she's also best friends with John’s ex-fiancée. Whom she's placed in the wedding party. As Maid of Honor. And John just happens to be Best Man. Bloody brilliant.

The Boy Who Drank Stars by kinklock (E, 36,157 w., 4 Ch. || Howl’s Moving Castle AU || Witches and Wizards, Slow Burn, Magic, Jealous John, Happy Ending, Bed Sharing) – “I’m looking for a castle,” John informed the scarecrow. “A moving one.”Except that, as it turned out, it was not a moving one at all.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Malediction by MapleleafCameo (M, 36,680 w., 11 Ch. || Ladyhawke AU || Magical Realism, Romance, Curses, Eventual Happy Ending) – Cursed to a half-life, John and Sherlock must fight the forces of evil to be reunited once again.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won't let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

The Unfinished Letters by SilentAuror (E, 37,391 w. , 1 Ch.|| Post S3 / S3 / HLV Fix it, Angst with Happy Ending, Romance, Infidelity, Depression, Case Fic, POV Third Person Sherlock, Love Confessions, Pining Sherlock, Letters) – A fire at Baker Street leads John to read something he was never intended to see: a notebook of half-written, unfinished letters Sherlock wrote during his time away...

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford?What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Goodness Gives Extras by mydwynter (E, 39,629 w., 6 Ch. || Fluff & Angst, Case Fic, Oral / Anal, Humour, First Time, Miscommunication, Snark, Christmas) – Christmas time. 'Tis the season to settle down with a drink, some food and a present or two, and to enjoy the quiet relaxation of the holiday. Instead, there's a case that drags them all over, missing presents, disappointed kids, angry parents, and a freak snowfall. On top of that John has to deal with Sherlock, who is being even more of a prat than usual. He really shouldn't have expected anything different.

Act IV by SilentAuror (E, 39,707 w., 1 Ch. || First Person POV Sherlock, HLV Fix-It, Indifelity, Angst, Drama) – After Sherlock is shot, John moves back into Baker Street. They spend the autumn together as John tries to make sense of his life and make some important decisions about both Mary and Sherlock. Canon-compliant, excerpts from His Last Vow.

A Week is Just Seven Days Isn't It? by scifigrl47 (T, 39,906 w., 4 Ch. || Humour, Friendship/Bromance, Stroppy/Bored Sherlock, Undercover/Army John, Texting, Pining-ish Sherlock, John Whump) – When John heads overseas for a week, Sherlock's forced to fend for himself. It goes about as well as anyone could have anticipated. Which is to say, very, very poorly. Don't worry, things'll be fine in just seven days.

(Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea by DiscordantWords (M, 39,968 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It || Grief / Mourning, Victor Trevor, Friendship, Sherlock is Not Okay, Nightmares/Flashbacks/Panic Attacks, Parentlock, Pining Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, John Comes Home) – Baker Street is very much the same. Only different. And Sherlock is just trying not to drown.

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

The Curious Adventure of the Drs. Watson by ShinySherlock (M, 40,883 w., 14 Ch. || BBC & ACD Fusion || Victorianlock, Time Travel / Magical Realism, Friends to Lovers, Love and Kissing, Romance, Body Swap) – What if ACD Watson and BBC Watson switched places... “Imposter!” Hands clenching the lapels of John’s coat, Holmes shoved him anew. “Yes!” John agreed, nodding, and then grimacing. “Sort of!”

There's Someone On Your Shoulder by halloa_what_is_this (NR, 41,215 w., 6 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Daydreams, Sherlock Loves John So Much it Hurts) – Sherlock trips and falls head over heels in love, makes a lot of lists and stares, stares, stares.

The Semantics of Crop Circle Formation: a case study by Sherlock Holmes [unpublished] bycanolacrush (M, 41,710 w., 9 Ch. || Sherlock POV, Aliens, Wordplay, Casefic) – “Look at these photographs,” I said, gesturing to the wall of crop circles. “What do you observe?”“Crop circles,” John replied.“Obvious. What else?”“Are…are those intestines surrounding them?” “Yes. The majority are bovine and ovine in origin. The farmers who have acquired these crop circles in their fields have also had a tenth of their livestock murdered and arranged thus.” “Why?” John said, presumably in a rhetorical fashion. I detest rhetorical questions. “That is what I must find out, John.”

Resistivity and Relative Charge by liriodendron (E, 41,770 w., 8 Ch. || Synesthesia, Angst, Case Fic, Romance, Est. Rel., Homophobia, Religious Content, Victor Trevor, Mild Jealous John, Mild John Whump) – In which Sherlock Holmes meets an old acquaintance, John Watson doesn't enjoy a trip to the country quite as much as he thought he would, and the past absolutely refuses to stay where it belongs. Part 3 of Conductivity

Right Hand Man by SilentAuror (E, 42,031 w., 4 Ch. || H/C, Injury, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Mary is Not Nice) – When John's left arm becomes paralysed after a car accident, Mary asks Sherlock to take him back to Baker Street to recuperate, as she's about to give birth. Despite the fact that the search for Moriarty is ongoing, Sherlock takes John in and takes responsibility for overseeing his rehabilitation as he adjusts to the loss of his arm.

In the Still of the Night by SilentAuror (E, 42,234 w., 1 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post-S4, Sherlock POV, Angst, Drama, Romance, Virgin Sherlock, Awkwardness, Misunderstandings / Miscommunications, Case Fic, Travelling, Pining) – As locals on the Northeastern coast begin to report UFO sightings, life at Baker Street becomes significantly awkward as John brings up his desire for more than friendship and Sherlock refuses him. They embark on the investigation from the confines of the tiny cottage Mycroft has rented for them, attempting to navigate both the clues of the case as well as their own inability to communicate...

Guidelines by WithLoweredVoices (M, 43,018 w., 15 Ch. || Winglock || Angels, Fantasy, Angst, BAMF! John, War, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Jealous John, Falling in Various Ways, Needy Sherlock) – The Good Soldier, one of the oldest and strongest of the fallen, is offered a bargain: to live as John Watson and to Guide a fledgling archangel so that he will stay on the path of good. Of course, Sherlock Holmes has different ideas about his destiny. Fantasy AU. Warnings for violence, occasional gore, and a whole load of hurt and angst.

Bloody But Unbowed by BeautifulFiction (E, 43,211 w., 8 Ch. || Abduction, John Whump, Mild Torture, Background Case Fic, Friends to Lovers, Post-TRF / S3 Rewrite, Hurt/Comfort) – When a familiar argument threatens to destroy the last remnants of John and Sherlock's failing friendship, both men are left questioning their worth to one another. Before either of them has the chance to make amends, circumstance intervenes. John is left at the mercy of his abductors, and this time, he's not sure Sherlock will bother coming to his rescue.

The Soul Remembers by i_ship_an_armada (E, 43,636 w., 10 Ch. || Oblivion AU || Post-Apocalypse, Movie Fusion, Science Fiction, Action/Adventure, Angst, Dreams, Bittersweet Ending) – John Watson is the lone security repairman stationed on a desolate, nearly-ruined future Earth. His dreams are plagued by a tall, dark-haired man, and when his dreams meet reality, he will be forced to question everything he believes is the truth about his life.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

Left by lifeonmars (M, 45,153 w., 9 Ch. || Magical Realism) – John Watson is left-handed. He’s tried not to let it affect his life, but as any Lefty knows, that’s almost impossible.

The Real Great Perfumers by shelleysprometheus (E, 45,355 w., 68 Ch. || Case Fic, Alternating POV, Gay Sherlock / Bi John, Canon Compliant with Divergence at TRF, Friends to Lovers, Oral / Anal, Pining, First Kiss / Time, Dev. Rel., Drugging, Body Worship, Bathing, Love Confessions, Travelling, Bottomlock, Cranky Sherlock, BJ’s, Alternating POV, Jealous John) – The case, this case. This extraordinary, fascinating, scintillating case. A house. Designed entirely by its eccentric owner, built by no less than five hundred expert tradesmen in the heart of Marrakesh. A house that had, seemingly not only driven its owner out, but also to his quite unpleasant death. And a perfumer, a chemist no less, the very thought of the secrets that house could reveal, would reveal was irresistible. Sherlock had to have this case ... and it seems, he also had to have John! Part 1 of the Forethought and Fire series

Corpus Hominis by mycapeisplaid (E, 47,709 w., 12 Ch. || Casefic, Fluff, Romance, Frottage) - John knows the human body intimately. He’s had plenty of opportunity for study as a doctor, soldier, and lover. There’s one particular body, however, he knows very little about. When Sherlock launches himself head-first into a new obsession and they get sent on a case in an unlikely location, the pair discovers each other’s bodies with confusing yet delightful (and sometimes hilarious) results.

The Norwood Love Builders by flawedamythyst (T, 47,798 w., 9 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Slow Burn, Post TRF Angst) – Sherlock and John go undercover to solve the murder of Joanna Oldacre, but things are complicated by the many feelings John has been repressing in the wake of Sherlock's faked death and return.

The Pieces That Fall to Earth by Itsallfine (M, 49,513 w., 84 Ch. || S4 Fix-It, Epistolary, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Parentlock, Past Abuse, Coming Out, Questioning Sexuality, Mental Health Issues / Therapy, Angst, Happy Ending) – John and Sherlock have hit rock bottom, but with all their armor stripped away, they can finally speak honestly, seek healing, and find the truths that matter most.An epistolary post-s4 fix-it fic. Now complete.(This fic is rated T except for one very clearly marked and easily skippable chapter, which is rated M.) Part 1 of The Pieces that Fall to Earth

Holmes is where the heart is by Rose de Sharon (T, 49,636 w., 13 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Post-TRF, Reunion Fic, Bromance, Empty House Inspired, Adventure) – Three years after the Reichenbach Fall. On the anniversary of Sherlock's death, John pays a visit at 221 B Baker Street… and he gets the shock of his life.

Bedroom Tales by Junejuly15 (M, 49,950 w., 22 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Through the Years, H/C, Military Kink, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Insecure Sherlock, Voyeurism, Post-TRF, Ficlets, Fluff and Angst, Fix-It Fics) – Bedroom Tales is a collection of John and Sherlock ficlets. They are set at various stages of their relationship and are in no particular order. Some are fluffy, some sexy, some angsty, there is hurt and comfort, romance and love. What unites them is that they all play in a bedroom, but not necessarily the one in 221B.

A Love with No Name Series by aceofhearts61 (M, 49,955 w. across 20 fics || Ace!Sherlock / Straight!John, Queerplatonic Relationship, Cuddling/Snuggling, Soulmates, Caretaking, Platonic Romance) – In which Asexual!Sherlock and Straight!John are platonically in love life partners.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #long fics #my fic recs #e-rated fics #Anonymous #long posts #25 to 50k words

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everlarkficexchange · 5 years ago

Text

Unmasked ~ Twenty-Four

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

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

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery.

Dear readers, we continue with our game. I thank you for allowing me to write and share with you from behind a mask, for embracing this story wholeheartedly despite not knowing my identity. Remember, learn my name, you must use the clues in each chapter starting with 21 until the end to hunt for a word in the text of each chapter itself. Gather the words, hold onto them, for they will provide the final clue to the puzzle.

Please enjoy the twenty-fourth chapter of this adventure. It is again a lengthy chapter. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Chapter 24 ~~

The morning we leave Everdeen dawns cold and grey. Frost covers the ground and a chill seeps from the stones through my boots as I make my way outside to the stables. Inside is warm, the pungent scent of horse and hay heavy in the air. Peeta is already here, silent as he communicates somehow with Cicero, through touch alone. Peeta turns to give me a wan smile, alerted to my presence by the response of both horses to my scent. We have chosen to leave our mounts here at Everdeen, in Johanna’s able care, and will travel by carriage, but we cannot leave them without a farewell. We stand side by side as we do so.

When we leave the stables, my hand seeks out Peeta’s and he twines our gloved fingers together. We walk with matched steps towards the carriage, two well worn trunks tied to the top and a quartet of horses waiting, stamping their hooves in the chill air to keep warm. Frederick sits atop the box, draped in coats and scarves and blankets for warmth.

We embrace and bid farewell to our family. The last time I left, it was with determination and trepidation. I feel those same things again this morning as Madge murmurs words of encouragement to me. Yet there is more inside me. As I ascend into the carriage, my fingers tucked into Peeta’s as he assists me, I also feel a joyful sort of anticipation.

The carriage leaves, and we wave to those we leave behind until they are out of sight, faded into the distance. I ensure that my healing kit is secure beneath my seat, then I seize one of the fresh, warm blankets Sae stocked the carriage with and leap across to the opposite seat to sit beside him.

Peeta laughs as I insert myself in his arms, pressed tight to his body. He adjusts the blankets about us, creating a cocoon of comfort. “Much better,” I declare as he leans down and kisses the tip of my nose.

The journey takes several days, all of which begin cold, and gradually warm to a comfortable temperature by afternoon. Night brings the chill once again. As we travel north, the cold only permeates deeper, lasts longer, until the day is nothing but cold. We spend our time in the carriage seated as close as possible, talking or reading, and on one especially dull stretch of road…kissing madly. Peeta’s hand wanders beneath my skirts, toying with the ribbons on my stockings and teasing me until my thighs quiver with the need for him to touch me, to bring me to climax on those clever fingers of his.

Unfortunately, just as I think we’re getting somewhere, we reach our midday stop and he withdraws his hand. I consider pleading ill and demanding we take a room at the inn for the night rather than merely stopping for sustenance, but this is not a purely pleasurable trip. We’ve a child waiting for us and can not afford to tarry longer than planned.

After our noon meal that day, I curl up and sleep, content and warm, reclined against Peeta’s shoulder. There are occasional unplanned stops when the nausea and dizziness overwhelm and I can no longer withstand the jostling of the carriage. On those stops, I must run for the side of the road. Peeta is unfailingly there to help me right myself and to comfort me after. He is, for the entire journey, perfectly solicitous and perhaps a tiny bit overly protective of me. I feel it in the way he guides me in and out of establishments when we stop, in the way he uses his body as a physical shield between mine and strangers. It is in the way he tucks me into blankets and confers with Frederick to ensure everything is safe and secure before we depart. The knife always near at hand, even when we are locked in our room for the night and tucked into bed.

At night, we sleep bodies pressed tight together on cramped inn beds, too tired to engage in much beyond holding one another and a few murmured words before we sleep. Besides that, I am uncertain of the cleanliness of these beds and their comfort leaves much to be desired, so I restrict myself to chaste nights with my husband. De Vale will certainly have clean, comfortable beds for us to make use of and provide time for us to better rest.

Peeta does not seem to mind. In fact, the closer we get to de Vale, the more distant he becomes. At first, I am annoyed and hurt by this, but then I think about what it must mean to him, what it must take to fulfill this request – no this demand – from the man who might biologically be his father but whom is such only because he raped Peeta’s mother. What a sticky, uncomfortable position that must have constantly put Peeta in as a young man, even now as a man fully grown. Their relationship forever one part reluctant gratitude and one part utter loathing.

I cannot fathom how he handles it and manage my annoyance at his growing distance by lacing my fingers with his, kissing his cheek, and murmuring that I love him and that he can speak to me if he wishes to.

On the third day of travels, Peeta shifts uncomfortably, waking me from a nap after a fitful night of sleep. “What is it?”

“We’ve reached the border of de Vale,” he says simply.

“Oh good. I could use a cup of tea and a long stroll to stretch my legs,” I say and Peeta caresses over my cheek, tilting my lips up to his.

“I’m afraid that is still a few hours away, my love.”

“What?” I ask and practically crawl across his lap to lift the curtain and stare out at the lands.

Sharply sloped hills lead to craggy cliffs. Snow twirls through the air, tossed about by haphazard winds. The land is grey and brown and dismal, the snow sticking to the ground in patches without accumulation that make it appear… spotted and ugly. There is no sign of a house or a lane.

Peeta shifts me so that I may see better, ties back the curtain. I shiver and he wraps his arms and the blanket around me.

“It’s so…cold,” I say and he nods.

“And we’re not even to the house yet.”

I snort and set my hands over his so he will continue to hold me. “Is it truly another several hours’ journey?”

“Yes,” he says and I sigh.

We pass the next few hours sharing only scattered words. I would demand he put his hands under my skirts again to distract him, except he seems so agitated that I am uncertain of his response. As we draw closer, I can no longer stand the silence.

“Should we pretend to be miserable together? Would that satisfy the Marquis enough to hasten our visit?”

“It does not matter how we present ourselves. He will think he has won somehow.” I have no answer for that and turn a quizzical look towards Peeta. He runs a hand through his hair, disturbing the carefully styled curls that have behaved themselves all morning since we left the inn, but he explains. “If we are miserable, he will delight in it and claim it is because it is what we deserve. If we are happy, he will claim credit for that and arrogantly assume it is all his influence.”

I snort at this and make another suggestion. “And if we are silent and apathetic?”

“Close enough to miserable for him delight in that as well.”

“Are you not supposed to be making me like this man? He is technically your father.”

“He was never my father, not in any real sense. More of a benefactor.” Peeta looks out the window, away from me. His jaw tense and his frame rigid in his seat. I slide across the carriage seat to wrap my arms around him and kiss one cheek, then the other, claiming his attention.

“Then we might as well be just as we are, husband, no pretending, no games.”

“And what are we, wife?”

“Madly in love and ridiculously happy, of course,” I tell him and he smiles.

“That is an act I can manage quite easily, for it is no act at all,” he says and we distract ourselves with kisses for a few minutes.

Then the carriage slows and curiosity gets the better of me. I lean against the window as we turn down a lane marked with a massive stone archway, carved with intricate statuary. Angels pluck harps, wild stag flank the entrance, a fox scampers low to the ground. There are words inscribed at the apex of the arch, but I do not have a chance to read them before we are beneath it and moving on.

Peeta shifts again and when I turn to him, he is tugging at his collar as though it chokes him. I take his hand and pull it away. Our eyes meet and I tend to his collar and cravat, ensuring that it is once more perfect.

“Thank you.”

“It is just a cravat,” I whisper and I see my own feelings reflected in his eyes. We both know he means to thank me for far more than a bit of knotted silk. “And what of my appearance?”

“Perfect, although I now wish I had more time to have you looking well kissed,” he says with a slow, lopsided smile that makes me feel as though I could brave just about anything with Peeta by my side.

“I am always well kissed if you are present, husband.”

It seems to take an age to traverse the lane, almost as long as it would take to travel the breadth of Everdeen in its entirety, and still I am not prepared when the house finally comes into view.

“That is a castle… not a house,” I say and Peeta chuckles, the sound rather dark, but I shake my head, wondering how he can laugh. I imagine him as a boy, frightened and facing this for the first time. I am a woman fully grown and I feel the urge to run and hide at the imposing facade. “How terrified you must have been coming here for the first time.”

“It was not the first such manor I had seen. I grew up on one.” I glance back at him and scowl, waiting for the truth. He shrugs and examines his gloved fingers, folded in his lap. “It is quite different entering through the front door of one of these places as opposed to the servants’ entrances… So yes. I was petrified. By the time the Marquis brought me here, I had been living as part of his household for nearly six months and had already made an infinite number of errors, been at the sharp end of a strap countless times. At first, I feared the Marquis would toss me from the moving carriage on the road somewhere between Capitol and here and be done with me. I think in some ways I almost hoped for that to happen.”

“But he did not,” I say and Peeta nods.

“My presence kept Robert occupied and entertained so that the Marquis could read his papers the entire journey. I suppose he saw me as useful for the first time after that.”

My scowl and my dislike of the Marquis only deepens. Peeta takes my hand and squeezes once as the carriage reaches the courtyard. As soon as it halts, the door is opened.

“Master Mellark. Welcome home,” a nasal voice greets and Peeta gives the man a half smile that is more grimace than anything else as he heaves himself from the carriage.

“Thank you, Branson. How is Anastasia?”

“Ill with the grippe again, sir.” He sounds more annoyed than worried and I wonder at this.

“My condolences. I presume Doctor Hassel has been to see her?”

“We expect him this afternoon, sir.”

“Good,” Peeta says and extends his hand to me. I take it and carefully descend. “Branson, my wife, Katniss Mellark.”

“An honour, Madame,” says the dour looking man as he bows to me. He snaps upright and spins about, waving his hands in some sort of signal. A handful of servants descends on the carriage as Peeta and I slowly walk towards the front of the house. A carved archway, identical to the one over the gate, frames the front door, a massive and imposing thing of polished wood with ornate handles and knockers that I am not certain I could even grasp, they are so thick. I can make out the words on the archway this time and read them.

“Non ducor, duco.”

“I am not led, I lead,” Peeta translates and I shudder. From what I know of the Marquis, he is the last sort of man who should be allowed to lead anyone. Controlling and manipulative, cruel and untouchable, amoral yet seen as an example.

As we ascend the stairs, a woman with regal bearing and dressed in deep shades of purple steps onto the wide verandah, her hands folded in front of her.

“Whatever you do, do not give in to her bait,” he says under his breath. “She will attempt to have you screeching in anger or crying in despair at some point during this visit.”

“You wait to tell me this now?” I ask and he sighs.

“I feared that if I told you, you’d abandon me to face this alone,” his voice carries a slight whine and I cannot help but laugh at his discomfort.

“How many times must I remind you, husband…”

“You are not so fragile,” he finishes with a smile at me, but it fades as we reach the verandah. His usual, easy expression vanishes in favor of one far more somber than I am used to seeing. It is an expression suited to a funeral, not a homecoming.

“You grace us with your presence at last,” the woman calls out as we reach the top.

“Lady Mellark,” Peeta says when we halt in front of her. He bows and I curtsy, but I keep my eyes on this woman, who could have been my mother in law and instead is now simply a nuisance to me. “May I present my—“

“I know precisely who she is. The chit who was not exceptional enough for my Robert.”

Lady Tabitha Mellark is rather petite and delicate looking. Her brown hair a light shade, close to that of some of the reeds that grow alongside the lakes of Everdeen. Her nose tilts up the smallest amount and her green eyes seem almost vacant and unseeing, or perhaps bored as she flicks her gaze over us, dismisses us both. I add haughty and bitter to my list of descriptors for her.

“I am pleased to meet you, Lady Mellark,” I say in as sweet a voice as I can muster.

“Hm. Well, you’re not as pretty as a Mellark wife ought to be, but at least you are only married to an illegitimate son.” I’ve no idea how to respond to such insults and hold my tongue, refusing, as Peeta suggested, to rise to her bait. “Branson will see you to your rooms. Tea in an hour. Do not keep me waiting.”

Her edicts delivered, she spins about, her skirts flaring and her slippers clicking on stone then marble as she leaves us in the doorway.

“That went well, I think.”

“No bloodshed, tears, or screeching. I deem that a rousing success,” Peeta says and I laugh. The sound bounces off the walls as we enter the hall and I spot at least one servant who is startled by the noise.

We are barely over the threshold when a silent servant pauses in front of Peeta and presents a silver tray with a folded and sealed piece of parchment on it. I attempt to hide my surprise as Peeta accepts it with a murmured thanks and the servant disappears. He opens it, the sounds unbearably loud in the hall. As he reads, I examine the foyer and understand in an instant why Peeta implied that the house itself would seem far colder than the weather outside.

The place is a monument to wealth but feels nothing like a home. The foyer alone would hold one whole wing of Everdeen. Ornate fixtures and paintings turn the walls into a veritable museum. Tall narrow windows admit the faint winter light but the heavy, dark blue velvet drapes that hang in perfect shapes to imitate waterfalls give more the feeling of entrapment. I cannot help comparing the shimmering crystal chandeliers, and perfectly polished marble floors with no carpets to add warmth to the room with the warm tones, abundance of fabrics, the sturdy metal light fixtures, and worn wooden floors of Everdeen. The sprawling ceilings of de Vale to the cozy comfort of my own home.

I shiver and Peeta grumbles as he pockets the note, turning to rub warmth into my arms. “I am summoned already. Will you be alright getting us settled on your own?”

“I will be fine,” I assure him and tilt my head back to accept his soft kiss, a reassurance that I need before I watch him walk across the hall in one direction while the dour butler named Branson leads me down a hallway and up a flight of stairs in the other direction. The hallway on the second floor is lined with gleaming wooden doors on one side and more of the massively tall and narrow windows with their suffocating, imitation waterfall drapes on the other. Still no carpets. I will need to wear shoes at all times in this place.

I am pleasantly surprised by the room Branson shows me to, however. The wealth in it is still an excess and a little intimidating, but there is a cheery fire in the hearth, several thick rugs to hold the warmth, and the bed appears luxurious and inviting. Decorated in cheering yellows and warm green tones, the room is a circle of spring in a vast winter prison. It is the nicest piece of de Vale I’ve yet seen. A maid bobs a curtsy and scurries from the room as the butler mutters something to her. I do not hear the words, but I do hear the biting tone.

“Welcome to de Vale, Madame,” the butler says to me with a bow. “Lucy will be in shortly to assist in your unpacking. If there is anything you need, the bells are on the wall.”

“The bells?” I ask and turn towards where he gestured. A quartet of velvet cords all with etched placards. Kitchens. Laundry. Personal Maids. Housekeeping. “How efficient,” I mutter but when I turn around, Branson has disappeared.

In his place, a footman carries in my trunk and sets it near the bed. He bows and is gone before I can even speak. It is strange and coldly efficient and…aggravating. A maid appears on his heels, not the one from before, and curtsies before moving towards my trunk.

“There’s no need,” I say and she purses her lips.

“You do not wish to unpack?”

“I can manage for myself,” I say and smile at the girl. She’s young. Barely older than Prim, if I had to guess. This must be Lucy.

“But the Mistress…”

“Oh there is no need to worry about that. She’s no need to know that I unpacked my own things.” The maid stands there, looking confused and something strikes me then. “Where is…where is my husband’s luggage?”

“It would have been taken to his rooms,” Lucy states as though that is obvious.

“His rooms? Next door then?” I look about for a door to an adjoining room, for surely that must be what the maid means by his rooms, but I see none.

“No, ma’am. His rooms are in the east wing, with the family.”

“And what is this?” I ask, growing more aggravated by the second.

“This is the west wing…for guests.” I stare at her and she shifts her weight on her feet.

“For guests,” I say and clench my teeth. Whether this is Lady Full of Insults or Lord High and Mighty Mellark’s doing, the message is clear. I am not welcome. I am a guest, an interloper, and despite our marriage, despite that they never truly loved him as I do, Peeta somehow still belongs to them, not to me.

“Shall I unpack your things now?”

“Indeed not,” I say and move towards the door.

Glancing up and down the hallway I hail yet another servant who is carrying a parcel of firewood down the hall. “You there! Do you know your way about this monstrosity?”

“Er…me?”

“Yes, you. There is no one else presently in the hall.” He glances about him and seems almost surprised that he is in fact alone. “Where is that firwood bound?”

“The Neptune Room….just there.” He tilts his head towards the door adjacent to mine and I nod.

“Very well. If you would be so kind as to deliver your firewood and then return to assist me with my things? Oh I suppose I should ask…are you capable of carrying them to Mr. Peeta Mellark’s rooms?”

“Master Peeta’s room?” The man gapes and turns nearly puce at the mention of the name. I gather my skirts and my temper as I respond.

“Yes. He is my husband and by some error, I seem to have been banished to the far reaches of Egypt instead of placed with him.” Lucy the maid snorts and the man still gapes at me. “Can you assist me?”

“Assist you with your things?”

“Yes,” I say and smile. “Unless I need ask Branson to–”

“No!” The man nearly shouts then clears his throat. “No need, Madame. I can see to your needs.” He scurries down the hall and I grasp hold of my healing kit. The footman returns, wiping his hands on his trousers and lifts my trunk. “This way.”

Lucy follows us, despite my earlier assurance that I do not require her assistance. It is a bit of a long journey, winding through the halls to the other side of the house, and when we reach it, there’s little difference in the decor. Wealth drips from the trimmings and trappings and yet none of it appears loved or worn or even lived in. The place is spotless. Even as a bright shaft of sunlight pierced the gloom outside and lays across the floor, I find no dust motes dancing in the illuminated air. I feel as though one must tiptoe in a place such as this and place a protective palm over my womb, as though our mere presence in such a soul sucking place might snatch the life growing inside me straight from my body.

Then I catch Peeta’s voice coming from an open door that spills warm firelight and the welcome tones I am now so familiar with into the hallway. I hurry around the footman and ignore his mild protest as I come to a halt in the doorway.

“Oh. Forgive the intrusion,” I say as two sets of eyes turn towards me. One set is blue and belongs to my husband, the other is green and belongs to a man of similar build and vaguely similar features, though not an exact replica. His hair is stick straight and a soft shade of light brown, the exact shade as Lady Mellark’s. He is undeniably handsome, impeccably dressed, and his lips quirk as we stand examining one another.

“Ah, Katniss this is Ethan,” Peeta explains, motioning towards his brother.

“So I gathered,” I say and manage a slight curtsy as the eldest Mellark son examines me from a distance. No matter, I am doing the same, attempting to determine if this is an ally or a foe. Peeta’s only spoken of him in vague terms. I keep my eyes on Ethan and aim my words at Peeta. “I’ve had my things moved.”

“Moved?” Peeta asks and I nod.

“Yes, it seems there was some mistake that placed me in the west wing. Lovely room, but the distance to the dining room and parlor seemed rather formidable. I suppose with such a large house and so many guests in and out that it is a mistake that must happen at least once. I’ve seen it remedied and had my things moved to your rooms, husband, with the assistance of this fine man.” I motion towards the footman still balancing my trunk.

“Jefferies?” Peeta asks and the footman shifts nervously on his feet.

“Yes, sir. I’ll just deliver this and be back to my chores,” the footman says and shuffles down the hall several doors. I then examine the room where Ethan and Peeta stand and notice the family crest, complete with the motto in Latin, woven into the tapestry on one wall. A portrait of the Marquis and Marchioness hanging over the mantle along with a pair of crossed swords. A door leading into a separate bedroom, for this is only an antechamber, a sitting room. This is the room of a first born son and heir, I realise – Ethan’s room, not Peeta’s. I flush at my blunder before taking a step back.

“Well. I think I shall go freshen up for tea. Wouldn’t want to be late,” I say and incline my head towards them before sliding down the hall.

“Good lord. You were not exaggerating,” I hear Ethan say with laughter in his voice. I would take offense at this seeming insult, but Peeta’s answer comes with a clear note of admiration in it, the words themselves praise as well.

“Not in the least. The heart of a lioness.”

“She’ll need it. Mother’s itching for a squall.”

“Is that why you’re here without Sarah and the children?”

“Partly, though now I regret it. I feel as though your wife and mine might make a formidable pairing.”

“Crafty, unstoppable, and terrifying,” Peeta answers, his words slightly muffled as though uttered into a glass near his mouth. Ethan laughs at this.

So the Marchioness is itching for a squall, is she? I’ve no need to hear any more. I roll my shoulders back and march towards the door through which the footman disappeared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

At first glance, I thought his room to be much like the others – imposing with its impeccable wealth and taste, cold in its impersonal attempts at intimidation, masculine with its heavy woods and dark draperies – but the longer I examine it, the more I notice the small touches of Peeta hidden throughout.

A well worn sofa before the fire with plush cushions and even a large footstool. I examine the thing and make notes to add such a piece to our own sitting area. A low shelf with books, both for reading and for sketching. A box tucked next to the sofa filled with watercolors and charcoals. He should bring those with him when we depart. A cane leaning against the mantle, the handle worn smooth. We should take that as well, as he mentioned that sometimes the cold weather aggravates his leg and makes walking difficult.

Paintings adorn the wall, not the classic portraiture in heavy gilt frames meant to impose feelings of gratitude for the Lord and Lady, but a wide landscape painted directly on the plaster walls, sprawling green fields and gentle rolling hills dotted with sheep and trees, up to the ceiling painted as a sky around the ornate mouldings. It looks very much like Everdeen and I wonder who painted it.

As Lucy and I unpack, I open a rather ancient looking wardrobe to perhaps hang my dress for dinner and startle at the black as night coat trimmed in blood red and moonlight silver that greets me. Peeta’s uniform. It is ready to be worn again, odd for a garment that has spent more than a year hanging here unused and will likely never be worn again. The bright brass buttons are polished to a high shine and the silver braiding over the cuffs and lapels gleams even in the faint winter light, the red collar stands at attention. I reach out and run my hand over the shoulder, turning it slightly and staring at the decorations pinned to the breast. A regimental insignia and an ornate cross hanging from a short bit of red ribbon. I slide my hand beneath it and read the words etched into the polished silver.

Cum Fortitudine et Honore

My Latin is patchy at best, primarily focused on botany and the natural sciences, but even I can decipher the phrase. “With Courage and Honour.” Did my husband receive some sort of medal of valour then? I’ve no answer and will not find it here. I step back away from the thing and then step forward again to push it into the shadows. Then I hang several of my dresses next to Peeta’s other coats, ones I recognize, to better hide the reminder of where the Marquis sent Peeta to disappear, to perhaps die.

By the time Peeta joins me, I have freshened up and changed my dress with assistance from Lucy, and am now enjoying some quiet time to myself. I sit on the sofa, gazing into the fire and tapping my nails on my teeth, forming a battle plan as best I can to prepare for tea. The sound of the door shutting startles me and I relax when I see Peeta leaning against the panel.

“Who is Jeffries?” I ask and Peeta shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“Straight as an arrow and right to the ugly. Jeffries used to be Robert’s valet. After Robert eloped with Delly, the Marquis dismissed him. Or at least, I thought he had. Ethan tells me that Jeffries begged for mercy. His wife was with child at the time, they now have a newborn infant. She had been one of the seamstresses the Marchioness employs. Now she is a laundry maid and he is a footman. A significant pay cut and demotion for them both, and I suspect something else possibly unsettling although I cannot yet be sure, but at least they are not starving on the streets.”

“Such generosity,” I sneer and Peeta moves to sit beside me. “I should think he deserves a raise, not a demotion.”

Peeta laughs and turns my face to kiss me. “I did consider hiring him, and his wife.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but as I was not certain you would want to add any more bodies to our household right now, I did not wish to make a decision without consulting you.”

“I think it inspired! As thanks for the great favour he did us both. Although I think we should warn poor Jeffries that a post as your valet will be most trying.”

“As will a post as your seamstress,” Peeta says, encircling me with his arms. I care not if he will wrinkle my dress. I feel that I need this moment with him before we take the field against the Mellarks, and it seems that he does too, as we both quickly yield to the need to kiss one another.

“Your room is the most welcoming in the house,” I say forlornly when he lifts his head, and he sighs.

“It was not when it first became mine. It required several years of secret alterations and at least a dozen arguments with Lady Mellark to make it so.” I tilt my head and gaze into his eyes, trying to imagine what that must have felt like.

“We should give Miranda a choice of rooms.”

“That or give her the option to change whatever she wishes, to make her feel at home, as though she has some form of choice,” Peeta agrees. We pass what time we have left before tea just like that, murmuring soft plans for our future with an adopted child. Ensuring that we are in agreement, a united front as parents, before we even sign the papers for her custody. We need not even say why, but being here in this house makes it clear to me what sort of parents we do not wish to be.

Eventually, we can tarry no longer and Peeta leads me down the halls and into the parlor. I feel as though I am being crushed almost the moment I enter. The ceiling soars to a painting of angels and demons locked in some sort of combat and the dark shades of burgundy and purple make me think the walls are bleeding. What a pleasant room for tea.

My fingers clench on Peeta’s arm as Ethan joins us. The two of them resume their conversation as though nothing is amiss. Ethan shares news of Sarah and his children, his voice happy and light. He speaks of a place called Medora and Peeta explains that it is one of the family’s lesser properties, acquired as part of a dowry nearly a century ago.

“The place is gothic but Sarah adores it,” Ethan explains. “Until we moved in, it rarely saw any use. Now it is thriving. You should visit for Christmas sometime. Sarah sees the place decorated with so much green it feels near to summer inside. The children fashion ornaments to hang from all those grim suits of armour in the hall.”

“That sounds lovely,” I manage to say, because the more Ethan speaks about his family, the more I think he was right. I grow to like the sound of his wife and his family and wonder at how the first born son and heir wound up so different from the current Marquis. How did he avoid the influence and shaping his personality after his father as so many young men attempt to do?

We’ve sat and talked for close to a half hour before Lady Tabitha finally deigns to join us. It is rather annoying, her tardiness after her insistence that we not be late. Tardiness is apparently reserved for the titled and wealthy, the privilege of others excusing your poor manners due to your wealth. She sweeps into the room with a maid bearing tea service in trail.

“Mother, you look well,” Ethan greets and stands, as does Peeta. Ethan kisses her cheek lightly when she turns it up for him. She sweeps right past Peeta with no acknowledgement and stands in front of me.

“You will serve, and you will not embarrass this family,” she orders and then turns to carefully arrange her skirts before sitting, prim and stiff. She watches me closely, every movement of mine under scrutiny. What little conversation we have is stiff and formal.

“Sugar?”

“Two lumps, if you please…no not that one. Those are stuck together.”

“How were the roads, Ethan?”

“Cold and barren but not much ice yet. It should still be safe for me to return to Sarah as planned.”

“Hmmm and how do you find de Vale so far….?” It takes a moment for me to realise she addresses me since she gives no name.

“Magnificent. I do so love the mural in our rooms. Is the artist still living or was that done some time ago?”

“Mural? What mural? There is no mural in the Proserpina Room.”

“Oh no, Madame. I am not staying in the Proserpina Room, but with my husband.” I say and take a delicate sip of my tea. Ethan attempts to hide his smile as Lady Mellark turns to Peeta.

“I suppose this was your doing? Countermanding me again? Have you no shame?” Before he can answer, she moves on. “I suppose you’ve grown accustomed to how things are done in a less refined area of the country. How do you find your new residence?”

“Thriving and fertile, madame.” Her face colours at these words and the bare minimum of courtesy seen to, she returns focus to her son.

“The children should come home for Christmas, Ethan.”

“We would, Mother, except Sarah is…well not feeling well lately.”

“Is she with child?”

“No, Mother. We’ve spoken about this.”

“It is ridiculous. You need a second son. I bore three. Sarah can manage two.”

“She had great difficulty with Genevieve. We do not wish to risk–”

“Pish. Motherhood is sacrifice. Marriage to a Marquis is a duty. She must be willing to make the sacrifice and perform her duties to carry on the name or not be a mother at all. Really Ethan, you have been married far too long for her to be so derelict. You must guide her in these matters if her understanding is so lacking.”

Somewhere in this exchange, I begin to wonder if there is nightshade or perhaps hemlock growing anywhere on the grounds. I might attempt more pepper in the tea at the very least if that would cease her damnable judgements, only I fear some poor servant would feel her wrath instead of me, much like Jeffries. While I am contemplating lacing her tea with poison, Peeta devises an entirely different method of dealing with her.

“If it is the continuation of the Mellark name you worry for, my lady, then there is still much hope. Katniss and I are happy to announce that we are expecting.”

“Indeed we are. Sometime in the summer,” I confirm and bat my lashes shamelessly at Peeta.

Ethan coughs violently into his tea and I bask in the angry flush that sprouts around Lady Tabitha’s collar and quickly spreads up her neck to her face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lady Tabitha does not attend dinner, begging off with a headache and choosing to take her meal in her chambers. The Marquis does attend dinner, however, and my opinion of him remains unchanged from our first meeting. I search for redeeming qualities in him, as he must have something redeeming, but by the end of the meal, I am convinced that any good qualities he can lay claim to are not truly his…they belong to his sons.

The Marquis spends the time interrogating me on everything from the health of my father and my uncle to the status of our harvest to Peeta’s announcement at tea that I am with child. He sneers at most of my responses and I see precisely what Peeta meant in the carriage. The man clearly believes the world revolves around him. The arrogance, conceit, the need to lay claim to and control every aspect of his miniscule environment is astonishing and infuriating. I am struck with the insane urge to call the man out for a duel for the sheer audacity of insulting my husband at every turn. I care not that he was somewhat generous in financially providing for Peeta. He is a wretched father. To all his sons.

I am forced to sit next to Ethan, Peeta across the table from me. I would complain and pitch a fit, except that he has shifted his seat so that his booted foot is pressed up close to mine beneath the table. This small connection feeds me at least a touch of his steadiness and strength, bolstering me enough to deal with the constant line of questioning and beratement, and the fact that I am unable to finish a single course.

The food appears, enticing in aroma and appearance. Clearly the Marquis employs only the finest for his kitchen staff, yet I am not given opportunity to enjoy it. He asks the questions, I am expected to answer. I do so as quickly as possible, and Peeta does attempt to answer in my stead several times. Unfortunately, the Marquis seems to recognise this tactic of his and manages the conversation so that I am almost forced to answer, and before I can take more than a few bites, the dishes are whisked away, hardly touched in my case.

When dessert is finally cleared, I am ready to leap after the poor footman to claw my slice of cake from his grip and scarf it down in one bite.

“Thank you for the pleasure of your company,” the Marquis states, pulling my chair back and helping me from it when dinner is done. His touch on my hand has my skin crawling and I manage a forced smile as I compliment the excellence of the food. He nods as though it is expected, then turns to his two sons. “Shall we retire to the study?”

Peeta lingers, risking censure no doubt for the signs of affection he bestows on me. He leans over to whisper in my ear. “I have something waiting for you in our rooms. Don’t wander or it will spoil.”

I nod and fight back tears. I am tired and hungry, angry and heartsick and he is abandoning me to drink bourbon and smoke cigars in the study with his arrogant bastard of a father, sending me straight to bed like an errant child. Peeta gives me a gentle, lingering kiss on my cheek and then he is gone. I consider wandering about the halls against his advice, but I am so tired and fear another bout of nausea that I trudge back to our rooms.

When I arrive, I shut the door and am preparing to fling myself on the bed to have a good cry when I notice the massive silver tray with a domed cover sitting on the footstool before the fire. I hurry over and lift the cover, laughing and crying at the sight of an entire dinner, all of the courses I missed out on, waiting for me. I savor them and relish the tastes. One dish at a time. A creamy, yellow squash soup, a plate of cool greens and ripe cucumbers in a dressing flavored with dill. How did they manage cucumbers at this time of year? There must be a greenhouse for vegetables somewhere on the grounds. Roast quail and orange marmalade, crusty bread with rosemary. Beef braised in a dark almost cherry flavored wine sauce. Fluffy chocolate cake and a creamy white chocolate beverage.

When I finish with my feast, I ring for Lucy and dress for bed. When Peeta joins me, I am sitting on the footstool, warming myself by the fire and brushing my hair.

“Thank you for the dinner,” I say softly. “It was delicious.”

“You should have been allowed to eat it at the table with the rest of us. I am sorry that I could not keep him from interrogating you so.”

“Hm,” I hum and chuckle slightly. “I begin to understand what you meant when you first described the reason for this visit.” He sits on the sofa behind me and takes the brush from my hands, assuming the task of brushing my hair.

“I used to despise this place, this room. I may have altered it to fit my tastes as much as possible, but it was still never truly mine. I was reminded of that constantly, reminded that I would always be unwelcome,” he whispers. I relax under his gentle ministrations and tilt my head so he may kiss my neck. I shiver at each intimate touch. I can smell the sweet smoke of cigar on him, but underneath that, unable to be fully doused or eradicated, I catch the scents of vetiver from Everdeen and Peeta’s skin. He is still mine, we are still us, despite what rifts the Marquis and Marchioness may attempt to cause. He sets the brush aside and begins braiding my hair for me. “You make it feel more like home than it ever could have before. I think because you have become my home, Katniss.” When he is done, he slides his arms around my waist, his palms spanning my stomach, protecting our child. “Should I apologise for my abrupt announcement at tea?”

“No,” I say as he once more kisses my neck, causing such delightful shivers to tremble through me. “No it was worth it to see her lose her grasp on her arrogance. If only we could come up with some such announcement to affect the Marquis.”

Peeta chuckles against my neck and continues kissing me. “She would have badgered Ethan another hour if no one shocked her out of it.” But I do not wish to speak of Ethan nor of Lady Mellark when there are much more pleasant things we could be doing.

“Peeta, I feel as you do. Everdeen is my home, but you are as well. We brought our home with us in a way. Let me show you?” I whisper and turn to face him. I kiss him, tasting the bourbon on his tongue, gently pushing him back to relax on the sofa, so that I might climb into his lap and curl up in his arms, to kiss him for as long as I wish to.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you know what I want right now?” I say into the stifling darkness of our rooms as we lay in bed, the moonlight a cool companion and the fire a crackling balm.

“Mmmm, I would not even attempt to guess at the desires of a pregnant lady. I however,” Peeta murmurs and pulls me roughly up against his chest, “would like a smaller bed so that my wife would cease wandering so far. I am beginning to miss those tiny beds at the inn.”

I chuckle at this and wriggle deeper into his arms. My stomach makes a most unladylike noise then. “But clearly that will not be what you are wishing for so let’s have it, wife. Was the dinner I had sent in not enough?”

“It was at the time, but I am making a child. This requires great sustenance.”

“What do you need, my love? Say the word and it is yours.”

“Bread,” I say and sit up. “Fresh, warm bread.”

“Now that I think I can help with,” he says and joins me in sitting up. We are giddy as children as we pull on whatever clothing we have nearest and cover it with dressing robes and slippers. We scurry through the vast, empty halls, ignoring the cold and the snow as it falls outside the wide windows.

“When we were children and would sneak to the kitchens like this for a late snack, Robert and I would pretend the halls were haunted. We had to evade all the ghosts and goblins that inhabited the drapes at night.” I laugh as he continues telling me the story, imagining the two boys dodging spectres while in search of a tasty pudding or wedge of cheese.

We reach the massive kitchens and I gasp in appropriate awe. He laughs and fires up the ovens, inserts a loaf that has finished rising to bake. Then he quickly sheds his dressing robe and rolls up his sleeves. I do the same and stand before the wide table.

“Teach me?” He smiles and turns me so that he stands behind me, his arms around me and his hands guiding mine as we flour the surface then mix the ingredients and work the dough together. As we knead, he murmurs instructions. It is heady, rhythmic work, coaxing the dough into something usable and nourishing. I barely hear his words, my entire body alive and pulsing with warmth at performing the simple task with him. When our bread is set aside to rise and the loaf he placed in the oven sits sliced on the counter, emitting curls of steam and burning my fingertips as I grasp a slice, I smile and hoist myself onto the plank, kicking my feet as he moves to stand near me.

“Tell me about your father.” A cloud passes over his eyes and I shake my head, grasp hold of his shirt and pull him closer, to stand between my knees. “No. Not him. I meant the baker. William Thackeray. Tell me more about him.”

“He was…kind and quiet, but when he spoke, it was always worth listening. He…he always had a story to tell me, some about the people on the estate, many more that I’ve no idea where he came up with them. Perhaps they were born of his own mind.”

Peeta’s face relaxes then, and as he speaks and we eat, the kitchen fills with warmth and light, laughter and evident love. The cold intimidation of this place cannot touch us here. He tells me the stories. About the man who raised him, taught him kindness and to view the world as it ought to be rather than how it is. Who taught him the importance of acting as one ought rather than as one can get away with. A man who could spin tales from nothing but sugar and air and coaxing them from words the way we did bread from dough.

“I wish I could have met him,” I say when he falls silent and Peeta nods, lifts my hand to his lips.

“As do I. He would have adored you, but then… you and I likely never would have married. Probably never even met, had he lived.” The truth of Peeta’s statement does little to dull the regret that I see in his eyes, that I feel in my soul. I shift my arms to wrap around his neck and hold him close, close enough to remove all of the cold air between us, close enough to wrap my legs around him and bring him closer still. Peeta buries his face in my hair, his strong arms around me and his lips just touching my neck, sending warmth spiraling through me, down to my toes. My fingers twist strands of his hair and this…this moment here feels far too good to let it end.

“I think I am ready to sleep now, husband.” I eventually say when a loud yawn over takes me.

“Sleep or…is there something else you require, now that you are fed?” He lifts one eyebrow at me and I laugh.

“No, sleep will suffice. We will need our rest for the morning. I am sure the Marchioness will have regrouped and be prepared with fresh salvos readied for breakfast.”

Peeta laughs and hand in hand, we return upstairs to our bed where he holds me close to him through the long, cold night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The days pass much like the first. I see little of the Marquis, although he does send word every so often, summoning Peeta to his side for one thing or another. When I am forced to be in the Marquis’ presence, I am constantly unsettled, uncertain if the roiling nausea is due to pregnancy or to the way in which Peeta’s father regards me, like some sort of specimen to be dissected and then consumed. He frightens me with his cold blue eyes that could be Peeta’s, his joyless smile that could be Peeta’s. His well crafted biting words and insults that could be Peeta’s, for even in his cruelty I can recognise the talent with words that his son wields, only with far more kindness and grace.

And that, I think is the crux of what makes me so ill at ease, seeing this dark, twisted, mutilated version of the man I love and knowing that Peeta could have been like this… except that he is not.

I spend half my mornings bored and sitting in the parlor with Lady Mellark, pretending to be industrious at sewing. Afternoon tea with Lady Mellark and Peeta by my side where we trade veiled insults as much as we trade pleasantries. It feels like a constant war and after one particularly gruesome tea time, I mutter to Peeta that the infantry must have felt like a stay of execution after life here. Dinner with Lord Mellark, Ethan, and Lady Mellark if she feels up to it, then I am sent to my room like an errant child, banished from the evening, manly entertainments.

It is a strange manner of entertaining guests, so unlike how we entertain at Everdeen. There, it is an entire event, all focused on ensuring the happy nature of our guests’ visit. Here, I feel as though guests are not welcome. A nuisance, and interruption of the importance of the family. When I am not expected to perform for our hosts, I spend my time wandering. I walk in the gardens or explore the vast halls. Peeta is able to join me on some days and instead of boring me with the history and importance of each room, he weaves a different sort of tale, just as he did our first night here.

As he speaks, he paints such a picture that I can see it as though it is happening before me. Peeta and Robert as boys, enacting the stories William Thackeray gave to his son, a dowry of irreplaceable wealth for the life he was to lead here and then adding their own creations to the repertoire – sword fighting with the suits of armor outside the dining room, launching expeditions into the cellars to slay dragons, befriending them instead and pretending their dragon companions accompanied them as protectors on all future expeditions.

“Phineas and Isabelle,” Peeta tells me. “They preferred to eat lemon custard and cherry tarts rather then boys and lambs.”

“They did or their human companions did?” I ask with a smile and Peeta shrugs.

“The poor dragons were blamed for any number of pilfered desserts.”

The ballroom becomes a desert to be crossed and the gardens outside their wall of stained glass doors the oasis. A little used kitchen intended to prepare quick meals for the guests to consume in their rooms is turned into a sailing ship, each guest room a new island to be explored. Treasure buried under mattresses or wardrobes, disgruntled maids and guests when they discovered it. The grounds themselves presented limitless possibilities, too many for Peeta to cover while we are indoors but his words give me an inkling. All of the stories Peeta’s father brought to life in a warm kitchen on another estate in another time, used here as a shield against the dismal silence and suffocating expectations, a source of bonding for a pair of half brothers both in desperate need of someone to love them unconditionally, to care for them.

It sounds so lovely when he describes it, so much like my own childhood with Madge, hiding in corners of our own homes, venturing forth on the grounds. But here at de Vale, the lofty house almost demands more fantastical imaginings than she and I conjured, and Peeta provided. A thousand different worlds unleashed from his mind with Robert by his side, then locked away again when the Lord and Lady entered the room. I am glad that Peeta was able to find some shred of light, laughter, happiness, beauty, and love here.

On days when he cannot join me, I dress warm and wander on my own, all about the gardens, impressive even in their dormant winter state, through the humid greenhouses as I inhale the pungent scent of warm earth, digging my fingers into the soil to feel any sort of connection with my home, to remember who I am. Into forgotten rooms still kept pristine, where lessons were once taught and now silence reigns. An art studio with brushes awaiting an artist, half done paintings on a pair of easels, paints in a neat line, the only proof of use the speckles of color on the floor beneath and on the lip of the easel itself. A library with shelves upon shelves of books on every subject imaginable. I read as much as possible, sitting upon a cushioned window seat and basking in the cool shafts of winter sun that dare to poke through the clouds. The place is silent most of the time, like a tomb or a palace lost in time. So very silent and somber, it drives me near mad, and I am grateful when Peeta is able to join me and fills the world with such beautiful imaginings.

“Because Ethan and Henry both refuse to live here with their children,” Peeta explains the silence now. There are no more children to fill the barren halls of de Vale with laughter and games.

Together, we find some hidden treasures that I cannot resist asking Peeta about. In a room that Peeta calls the Music Room, there are half a dozen instruments covered in canvas coverings, piles of untouched sheet music beside the piano bench, and a half covered painting. When I peel back the fabric draped over it, I gasp in shock. It depicts a stunning woman and her lover, caught in an amorous embrace, only a sheet wrapped about their hips to preserve a shred of modesty.

“That would be Aunt Chastity. Not my aunt, but Robert’s and the others as well. Lady Tabitha’s sister.”

“How does a lady named Chastity wander into such a …salacious painting? In her sister’s home no less!”

“Chastity ran off to the continent to become an opera singer. She was rumored to be exceptional. Eventually, she became a paramour to a French prince. She sent this painting of herself and her prince as a birthday gift for Lady Tabitha one year. The Marchioness wished to burn it, the Marquis refused. They fought terribly over it and the final solution was to hang it in the Music Room. None of us have taken up an instrument and Lady Tabitha has not played since years before I even came here, so it remains mostly unseen back here.”

I laugh for at least an hour over that story. Although I should feel some pity for Lady Mellark, I instead feel some affinity for the mysterious and daring Lady Chastity. We leave the painting uncovered when we depart the room.

Despite our shared moments of levity, I begin to dream of a fog, silent and lethal as it creeps towards me and chokes the breath from me. When that happens, Peeta is there to soothe me, his own sleep poor in a place full of unpleasant memories. We do what we can, holding one another, sneaking into the kitchens late at night to bake and to talk.

Perhaps it would be easier to manage if we were not separated so much during the days. Perhaps it would be easier if we could lose ourselves in physical love in the nights, but with each night that we remain here, passion and desire seem to drain from us a little more. The cold surroundings leech all warmth that dares to challenge the manor’s solemn hold, and that includes lust. This place steals it from us in small degrees until I feel it is near a miracle that we even embrace as we sleep.

It does not help that I am in constant war with my own body, as the violent swings in mood continue. I cycle between ill, irritable, and sad with alarming speed and no warning. The moments of feeling happy or desire become shorter and infrequent, and it frightens me but I’ve no idea how to cure such a thing. I write to Mother about it yet know the answer will not reach me until we are in Capitol.

Every night, I lay close to my husband, resting my ear on his chest that I might feel and hear the steady thump of his heart, a soothing lullaby. His physical warmth and the steady strength of his arms about me serves as both a shield against the crippling cold of this place and as a reminder of the warmth, the heat that lives and breathes as part of his soul, even if it is forced into submission and retreat in this tomb of a house. I will not allow it to be extinguished. I cannot lose the man in the mask, my husband, my love, my Peeta.

Near the end of our stay, I ask Peeta to show me the family portrait gallery, that we might repeat our game from the masquerade. Most of them are as expected, grim and somber, an entire family full of its own importance. Peeta has very few stories to share about them, though.

“Ethan would be better able to give you the family history,” Peeta admits but then I find one he must know about and drag him before it. “Ah yes. The Marchioness delivers an heir.”

I tilt my head and examine the portrait of Lady Tabitha, smiling and benign, holding a chubby infant looking equally as tranquil. “The painter failed to capture the essence of her smile.”

Peeta shakes his head, clearly hiding laughter as we move to the next. Lady Tabitha again with yet another cherubic looking infant. “Henry?”

“Henry. And Ethan in the frame next to him at three years of age.” I smile at the painting of Ethan sitting and looking disgruntled with either his bonnet or the wooden toy horse in his meaty fists. “It became a tradition thereafter. First at birth, then every three years after, a new portrait of each of her sons. The math conveniently worked out as they were spread three years then six years apiece.”

I take another step and quickly peruse the next set. Ethan at six, standing and holding the reins to a squat horse, Henry as a toddler with a wooden sword and a vacant expression. Then onwards to Lady Tabitha with Robert on her lap as an infant. Nine year old Ethan in what appears to be a school uniform, six year old Henry sitting at a desk with quill and parchment. A pictorial timeline of the boys as they grow older by three year leaps with every few steps that I take.

My shoes scrape the marble as I halt and stare at a face out of the timeline, to be certain, I glance back at the ones I’ve only just viewed. Ethan at one and twenty, dashing and confident. Henry at eighteen, stoic and studious. Robert at twelve, charming and mischievous. Here now a fourth face in the grouping. I glance back at Peeta for an answer.

“Robert refused to sit for his portrait the year he turned twelve…unless I sat for one as well. The Marchioness spent a full three days in isolation after the Marquis ordered it hung here.”

I turn back and tilt my head to examine Peeta at fourteen years old, his blonde curls haphazard. Blue eyes somber. There is, as always, no denying the brotherly similarities.

“So there are more portraits of you here?” An excitement fills me at the idea of seeing some part of Peeta’s growth through the years.

“It was one of Robert’s many small acts of rebellion, in addition to insisting on calling me his twin. Every three years, he demanded that I be painted in portrait and join them here as one of the brothers Mellark, ensuring that I was at least shown to be part of the family, if not always made to feel as such.”

“No wonder you would do so much for him,” I muse as I continue down the line of portraits.

While I note the maturation of each brother as we walk, it is Peeta’s face I seek with each new set. At seventeen, showing the signs of the man he would become, the full lips and chiseled jawline more prominent, his youth still evident in slightly rounded cheeks. And then…

“Oh,” I say as I stop once more in front of him, at the age of twenty this time.

“What is it?”

I do not know how to account for the difference. It is still his face, the same collection of features though aged and mature — the devil may care styling of his curls, freckles dusting his nose, limpid blue eyes, the exact curve of cupid’s bow, his ears just right. Yet this portrait is entirely different, and not simply because he is all man in appearance. It is undeniably clear in his expression as well. The hint of a smile lurks about his lips and the expression in his eyes!

Heaven and mercy! had I been in Capitol for Madge’s debut as had been planned the year this portrait was painted, and not at Everdeen dealing with a poor harvest year, had I met this expression across a ballroom, I fear that my heart would have been forfeit in an instant. Even now it patters madly at this almost knowing and teasing and tempting expression. This gaze that taunts and whispers: Follow me to shadowed alcoves. Share your secrets. Lift your skirts a bit. The pleasure I can offer will be worth the danger of ruin.

I am heated then chilled in rapid turns and cannot look away as my knees acquire all the rigidity of blackberry jam. Then words rise up from memory to provide an answer, an explanation for the change in him.

The stupid impetuousness of youth.

Of course. This portrait is of a young man who has recently discovered the thrill and satisfaction to be found in a woman’s body. The portrait of a man who has recently removed a corset and thus his boyhood.

“Who was she?” I ask.

“Who?”

“The woman you were thinking of when you sat for this.”

“What do you mean?” I turn to face him and clench my hands together, a sense of dread and foreboding filling me.

“Peeta… I am not stupid, nor am I so naive. I’ve seen you look at me with this expression. I know what it means. Who was she?”

“Ah,” Peeta makes a noise or two of discomfort.

“Who was she?” I repeat.

“Are you certain you wish to hear? I cannot take it back, Katniss. I cannot change the past.”

“No but I can use it to understand who you are now.” He hesitates and then turns me back to face the paintings. To face his captured visage as he discovered manhood and sexual prowess. I hate her. Whoever she is, I hate her, as illogical as it may be.

“Her father was on commission with the Marquis. He painted every portrait in this series,” he points back down the hall from whence we just came, “and she was his apprentice for nearly thirty years until his death, some time prior to my twentieth birthday. While the Marquis and Marchioness had reservations hiring a female painter when it came time for this set to be done, she challenged them to give her a chance. She painted Ethan first,” he moves me back down the line and points to the difference in skill, in the fidelity and shading, the techniques between the years before and this set. I must admit to myself that even Ethan at nine and twenty and Henry at six and twenty appear more like themselves, more alive when captured with her brush than they did under her father’s. “The Marquis acknowledged her skills far surpassed her father’s. She has painted every portrait since.”

“And how did you wind up beneath her skirts?” I ask, unable to keep the bite of jealousy from my voice.

“We shared a commonality, low birth and an interest in art,” he says as we return to the portrait of him. “I began drawing as a child. Pigs and cats and things drawn with bits of rock and chalk, on the paving stones at Hilston House. Then parchment and charcoal when I continued to show a desire to draw. My mother… my mother taught me. She used to draw as well and my father would spend what he could spare on parchment and pencils for us. When I came here, Robert learned of the interest and asked the Marchioness to hire a painting master to teach him, and by that he meant to teach us, even though Robert had no interest in studying the arts.”

“Because she would have refused if she knew it was truly for you.” Another way in which Robert showed his affection for Peeta.

“Yes. She,” he points back at the portrait, “was willing to speak with me at length about art and that led to discussing other topics. We became friends of a sort.”

“And that led to not talking and not being friends,” I mutter. “You had a torrid love affair with a painter who was twice your age.” Peeta does not answer, for there is no need to.

It burns, the knowledge that this expression of sublime flirtation and desire was aimed at some other woman than me. I knew there had been someone before me, but seeing him thus, through her eyes, burns almost as badly as running through open flames. Because I have seen something like this expression myself, hovering over me in our bed, teasing me across drawing rooms when he knows my thoughts wander to the salacious and I can do nothing about it. I thought that look was mine and mine alone yet here it is in oil pigments, permanently captured and saved for someone else to remember his lips, his embrace, his body against hers.

I can see it so clearly. Peeta sitting in a chair, confidently flirting, slinging witty remarks and distracting a blushing beauty as she attempts to paint him, admonishing him to stop moving so she may finish and they might engage in other activities. His hands wandering up her skirts, eliciting soft moans and high pitched cries of pleasure. His mouth…learning the intricacies of a woman’s pleasure under her tutelage…bodies spread across that massive bed beneath the wide azure sky painted on his ceiling… I am on fire with rage and jealousy and the need to smash something and watch it burn too.

“Katniss, please,” he reaches for me. I feel the approach of his touch in the change in the air around me. My body responds and I shake my head, stepping out of his grasp. “You wanted to know.”

I did, and now that I have asked, a hundred more questions tumble about in my mind, several of them spill from my lips, forced out by the sheer overcrowding of my thoughts.

“Did she paint your mural? Your beautiful sky and meadows? Did she leave her permanent mark on your bedroom walls after you loved her in your bed? Did she stare up at that blue sky and think the color matched your eyes as she cried out your name in ecstasy? Is that why the Marchioness would not give the name of the artist? Because it belonged to your lover?” My voice is shockingly cold and calm, given the fires raging inside me.

“Had Lady Mellark known of the affair, she would have given you every detail she knew of and several she would have made up, simply to cause a chasm between you and I.” He is undoubtedly correct and still I seethe. “Lady Mellark would not give you the name of the artist because I painted that mural.” I stop moving away from him, stunned. “I started it when I was twenty, yes. But I had known her,” he gestures towards his own face, “several years before that. She may have given some guidance at the start, but she never saw the mural itself… because she never set foot in my chambers.”

I march down the hall, uncertain that I believe him and unseeing until I reach the frame that will show him at three and twenty. I spin on my heel, prepared for another assault of a happy, seductive Peeta and am instead met with ice. My fury is quenched in an instant.

There has always been an undeniable physical resemblance to the Marquis, but there was always something in his eyes and the way he holds his mouth, in his manner of expression, that belonged only to Peeta, that set him apart from his sire. But this painting… in this painting, he truly and fully looks exactly like his father.

My jaw drops open as I stare at him, at the cold and foreboding glower of a man with no joy and no love in his life. Once again the change from the previous painting is astonishing and unnerving. Still dashingly handsome, nearly devastatingly so, but his eyes burn now not with the playful desire and flirtation of a young man engaged in a love affair, but the cold reticence of a man who has seen far too much. He wears his uniform in this one and his face…his face is scarred. So then he had already spent time away at war. Had already saved Johanna’s life and was keeping her secret. Had killed a man, slaughtered him like a pig, perhaps more than one.

“I came home on a medical furlough after they removed shrapnel from near my ribs. Just in time for Robert’s birthday.”

“And yours.”

“And mine… so we sat for our portraits and I could barely sit still. Nothing would hold my attention for long. I felt…out of sorts in all company. I was in pain and unsure if it was from healing wounds or something fractured in my soul. This place… had begun to feel more like I might belong before I had left but when I came back, I was a stranger again.”

His words strike on memory. I burn as he speaks. Not with rage or jealousy but with memory. The sudden looks of pity, disgust, uncertainty. The carefully treading of well meaning people as they come to believe my worth, my place in the world, my chances for happiness, have been forever destroyed. How to treat a creature mutilated and damaged by flames, be they the flames of war or the flames of a fire. I burn with the cold radiating from his expression and know…I was right about us. We recognise and understand something in one another that few others can. The way scars on the soul burn deeper than scars on the skin.

“As I attempted to hold pose and she attempted to cajole me into laughing for her… I couldn’t even smile. My body wouldn’t even allow a false one. That essentially describes my entire week at home before I returned to my regiment.” I nod mutely as I absorb the aura of the painting.

“Did you and she…while you were at home that is…?”

“Yes. Once. We were not in my chamber. As I said before… She never saw that room at all, so to answer your other questions, all of them… No.”

I want to ask him where then, where did he lay her down and love her? Perhaps one of the guest rooms. Or did he make the effort to leave this place and seek her out elsewhere? Perhaps they conducted their affair in dark corners of the manor here, frantic fumbling and the thrill of a rushed tumble in shadows.

“What is this line of questioning truly about, Katniss? Do you truly wish for me to paint a sordid picture for you? Or is there something else prompting this?” He asks and runs a hand through his hair.

“Have you thought of her when we are in bed together here?” Some of my fury leaves me as I voice the words and I realise it is because I thought he had touched her, loved her, seduced and been seduced by her in the sanctuary of his room, in his bed that we have now shared, yet has not known our love, as he has barely touched me since being here. And my jealous mind now assumes it is not because this place discourages romance as I had thought, clearly that is not the case if he had an affair right under the nose of his benefactors, but because he must be remembering her.

“No. I’ve not given a single thought to her until this moment when you asked me who she was. Katniss… I love you. I married you. I have pledged my life to you. I would not change that for the world. And I have neither seen nor spoken to her since the last time she painted my portrait. She was a piece of my past but she was only one part. You… you are everything to me. I am, in every way… yours.”

I nod and he seems to deflate a little, but I know it is in relief. Still, I have a few lingering curiosities and so I ask.

“Why did it end?” I ask softly and he takes my hands in his and lifts them to his lips, his eyes growing hazy and pained as he explains.

“She told me that there was something twisted and dark inside me. She wanted me to be who I was at twenty, but I was no longer that young man. You see the scars on my face in that portrait. You know what caused them. What I had seen and done. She knew none of it, only saw the effects and did not care for them. I returned to my regiment … and my leg was… and I realised she was right about me. There is something dark and twisted. You have seen it too. But I—“

I cover my mouth with my hand and close my eyes. Was he as wild with her during their last time together as he was that night with me? Did the savage and riotous force of his need to love and be loved frighten her? Did she recoil in horror from the brute? I can feel the damnable wetness leaking from my eyes down my cheeks. The schism inside him in these paintings, the change within his eyes alone is staggering and unbearable. But I know that this is only one piece of my husband. A portrait can capture only a moment, a brief instance, and one expression. There is far more to him than this one moment. Surely a painter would have known that? And that’s when I realise what a fool she was and accept that I’ve no reason to envy her. It falls away lime the cloak of winter, shed to absorb the warmth and light of spring, of hope.

Just as I cannot sever my scars from my skin, from my soul, neither can Peeta. I already knew this when I wrote to him that I could handle the brute in the night and the gentleman in the sun. That I am strong enough for all of him. And that is when I understand. She held a piece of him for a short time. I hold all of him, from now until death parts us.

“Katniss.”

“I do not know why I am crying!” I say and Peeta brings me to his chest, holds me in his arms. He soothes me when it is I who should be soothing him. I cling to him and expel my tears onto his coat, and when he tilts my chin up and whispers my name, I cannot help kissing him. Kissing him even in the middle of the hall with sunlight slanting across the marbled tile and his face. I invite the brute and welcome the force of his kiss. I demand it.

And when he finally releases me, I cannot help asking one more thing. “What was her name?”

He stares at me and finally answers, the syllables dull on his tongue. No remorse, no excitement, nor any longing. Simply stating a fact. “Ophelia.”

I nod and then compose myself, running my hands over the fabric of his coat, ironing out any wrinkles I may have caused in our moment of abandon. “I will be present at the sitting for your portrait come this spring or you’ll not be painted at all, husband.”

“Of course you will be present, if there is such a sitting. I would want you to be painted beside me.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, and I would not complain if we took some inspiration from Aunt Chastity for it.”

“Lecher!” I accuse, but I am suddenly laughing and smiling, as is Peeta when he gives me one more, chaste kiss. “Even if there is something dark and twisted inside you, you do not let it rule you. That makes you the man, not the monster.”

He smiles at me and caresses my cheek, such a loving gesture and I am struck with an idea. I tuck it away for later, another time when I am alone. For now, I take his hand in mine and lead him towards our room, shutting the door and uncaring if it is unseemly to do this in the middle of the day. We have never paid heed to that stupid rule of propriety anyways.

“We haven’t much time,” he whispers as we kiss and heat builds and builds inside me, pushing out the numb of the past few days.

“We have enough,” I whisper back as we lay across the bed and he lifts my skirts to my waist. I cling to his hair and relax into his touches and kisses, gaze up at the blue, blue sky above me. Then down at his eyes between my thighs as he watches me unfold. I gasp, keeping the sounds quiet as he loves me. I hold tight to it, so tight that I’ve no warning and no chance to prepare. My sex seizes all control as I am flung into rapture, my spine arched on the bed and his name a ragged cry that echoes off the ceiling back to my ears. My body convulsing in waves. I shudder and moan and then his lips are on mine, feeding me the taste of my own desire, my own pleasure, my own release.

I watch him struggle with his trousers, myself still drifting on a cloud of sublime release, and then he groans in frustration when there is a knock on the door.

“What is it now?” He growls and climbs off of me, yanking my skirts back down to cover me and leaving me feeling hollow, needing him to fill me, as he strides across the room and opens the door enough to speak to but not enough to reveal any of the room to the person on the other side.

“Lady Mellark reminds you of tea, sir,” comes the timid squeak of an answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The tension continues to build, even though I’ve gained more of an understanding of it and of Peeta as a result. There are more members of the household feeding it than just us. It is like a sleeping demon preparing to rise and wreak havoc on all the world. I grow agitated and jumpy and Peeta is the same as tea is served.

Steam curls from my cup in tranquil tendrils yet I know the violence that rages inside the kettle as it heats. I press my thighs together beneath my skirts, eager for this to be over that Peeta and I might find a quiet moment to continue where we were interrupted. I have had my release and still feel the pressure building inside me. He must be near to bursting.

Then, the stifling quiet build of tension is broken at last by the arrival of an unexpected visitor. Sir Robert.

As he enters the parlor in the middle of tea, Lady Tabitha rises with a smile on her face. It is the first genuine such expression I have seen on her.

“Robert, my darling!” She says and practically falls on top of him. “Do you travel alone?”

I give Peeta a questioning look at her eager inquiry and he shakes his head, indicating that I should watch, observe, before I speak.

“Mother. Yes, I travel alone this time.”

“Oh I am so happy to see you! You have been away from home far too long, neglecting your mother. How long will you stay?”

“Not long. Only a night and then I must return to town.”

“No, Robert! So soon?” Lady Mellark laments.

“I am afraid so, Mother. I only came to collect a few things and to make my excuses for Christmas in person.”

“Not coming for Christmas?” Robert ignores his mother’s whining question and forges onward.

“And I have good news to share. Delly and I have secured lodgings of our own.”

“What?” Lady Mellark practically yells and Ethan once more coughs in his tea. Peeta asks if he takes pepper in it, peering into his brother’s cup, and while Ethan and Robert both laugh at this, Lady Mellark only seems befuddled.

“Of course not. Why would Ethan take pepper in his tea?”

“Katniss poured today,” Ethan answers through his tears and I give Lady Mellark my best look of innocence as she scowls and shakes her head, clearly deeming it not worth her inquiries as she turns back to Robert.

“But darling, you are always welcome here. You know that! What will I do without you?”

“I have quite decided on it, Mother. And you will be fine! You’ll finally have time to yourself as you’ve always wished for more. Besides that, Peeta was right. I cannot continue to be a burden on you and Father. I am a married man now and must stand on my own feet, care for my wife. My wife and I thank you, brother, for the assistance. I shall pay you back, as promised.” Lady Mellark whirls and glares at Peeta, opening her mouth and clearly prepared to launch into a tirade, but Ethan intervenes.

“Splendid! I shall bring the girls and Thomas by sometime soon! Where will you be staying?”

“Hartford Road,” Robert says and Lady Mellark sputters some more.

“But that is…you cannot!”

“I cannot live in the Merchant Quarter? But whyever not? My wife is a cobbler. It is an excellent location for her to build her trade. And I am to be a barrister – oh! That is the other bit of news I had for you. I have–” he claps his hands together gleefully “– at long last decided to make use of that fine education you and Father provided for me with a profession of my own!”

“Drinks are in order!” Ethan declares and hurries across the room to a sidebar as Lady Mellark flounders, her face growing redder by the second. “Happy news for all the family!”

The brothers move to distribute glasses and see Lady Mellark seated before she swoons. I get the distinct impression that this is a carefully orchestrated, well practiced routine for them.

“What news for you, Ethan?”

“Sarah wrote that she is much better. The doctor believes it a bad reaction to clams. So the solution is simple! No more eating clams! I detest the things anyways. Slimy little buggers.”

“Henry and Angelica?” Peeta asks now.

“Emma has surpassed Mr. Bowland’s skills by far in her studies of Greek, Latin, and Hungarian. They are making plans to travel to the continent next summer to immerse her in the cultures and languages as well as to hire more skilled tutors,” Ethan reports. Toasts are made to Emma’s brilliance and likely future as a scholar. Lady Mellark grips the cushions beneath her. She takes deep breaths, the sounds whistling through her teeth.

“That leaves you, Peeta,” Robert says with a grin and Ethan once more delivers the news, gesturing towards me.

“Expectant father!”

“Congratulations, brother!” Robert shouts and smacks Peeta heartily on the back.

Lady Mellark screeches then and Robert thrusts a glass in her hands. “Oh Mother, forgive my rudeness. Your sherry.”

She gulps it down and then stands, storming from the room and throwing the glass as she goes. It shatters against one of the paintings on the wall. A door slams down the hallway and all three brothers drink calmly, as though nothing had happened.

“Is that painting difficult to repair?” Robert asks.

“Probably,” Peeta mutters and Ethan shrugs.

“I am certain Miss Ophelia will be glad of the work.”

Their nonchalance in the face of such hysteria is troublesome. For one moment, I feel sorry for Tabitha Mellark. I stand slowly and clear my throat. “Do none of you feel guilty for antagonizing her to cause that scene?”

“Oh trust us, it would have happened sooner or later,” Robert says with a heavy sigh. “Best to get it over with fast. The longer it takes, the messier the resulting fit.”

As if hearing this, there’s shouting down the hall and the sudden sounds of more smashing glass. “AND SEND FOR THE DOCTOR! I cannot breathe! And my heart! Oh! You have broken me this time! Are you happy for breaking your poor mother’s heart?”

I watch as Robert mouths her entire diatribe nearly word for word until the last, which makes him visibly wince.

“…UNGRATEFUL WRETCH!”

A harried looking maid practically runs past the door to the parlor as the one down the hall once more slams shut.

“Oh good. An immediate call for Doctor Hassel. Usually she waits for at least an hour before she does that,” Robert says.

“You did tell Mrs. Hastings that you were here with announcements, to give the staff a warning, yes?” Ethan asks.

“Of course! I am not a complete ass,” Robert says. Then smiles at me. “Most of the time. I’ve made rather a habit of it lately but I am trying to turn it around.”

An apology. Having learned all that I have of their life here and of more of his relationship with Peeta, I am inclined to accept it.

“That poor maid,” I say with a shake of my head.

“Who was it this time?”

“Noelle,” Peeta answers and Ethan nods.

“I’ll see she’s compensated, as usual. If Henry were here, he could tell us just how fast we managed it this time. It seemed rather swift, did it not?” Ethan says, returning to their previous line of talking.

“Robert usually isn’t the cause. I think she was unprepared for that,” Peeta points out and Ethan laughs, punching Robert on the shoulder.

“At long last, the favoured brother falls.”

Robert heaves a sigh, the sound oddly relieved. “It was still Peeta that sent her over the edge, getting his wife pregnant. For shame, man!”

“I am happy as always to fulfill my family role,” Peeta says and I sit back down, strained laughter spilling from my lips.

“Are you alright, Katniss?” Robert asks me then and I shake my head.

“I think I have been here far too long.”

“Cheers to that,” Ethan says and lifts his glass to me with a wry smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, we spend an hour of talk in our bed. Peeta caresses over my back and my shoulders as I whisper in the dark, spilling more of my own secrets, the days following the fire and how it affected all my hopes for the future. He listens as I tell him of the young man who had been writing poetry to me, perhaps the early stages of courtship and how his desire turned cold after the fire. The knowledge of my scars a deterrent to love.

After, when I’ve run out of words and my throat aches, Peeta kisses me softly, across my cheek and down to my scars. “He was a fool. You are exquisite in every way.”

Peeta sleeps soundly that night, yet I cannot. Excitement courses through me with each beat of my heart. Tomorrow we leave. Tomorrow we head to Capitol and if all goes as planned, in a few days we will be bound for Everdeen with one addition to our family.

I trace the dark circles under my husband’s eyes as he sleeps. Kiss each one and then his lips before I slide from our bed and slip into my slippers and dressing robe. I find a taper and light it, silently leaving him to sleep as I seek out the room I need.

The cold is biting tonight as I hurry on silent feet through the strange halls. I imagine the ghosts pointing the way, helpful spectres who only desire to be left in peace to rest. When I finally reach it, I inhale the lingering scents of paint and turpentine.

At first, I plot a thousand kisses to overshadow his memories in this room, a thousand ways to make this ours when we are next forced to visit here, and when I spot a divan I had not noticed on my previous visit, I have one lurid thought before it careens out of control and instead of dreaming of Peeta touching me, I am picturing him holding paint stained skirts out of the way and thrusting between creamy unmarked thighs wrapped about his hips, glossy hair spilling over the divan and fingers spotted with bright oil paints gripping his buttocks.

I shake my head and turn away from the divan. Perhaps they did conduct their affair here. And perhaps Peeta is right. He cannot change it, and I cannot erase it. This room, that affair is a thing of the past. I have only struggled with it so because I have been faced with the proof of it, whereas before coming here, I had only a vague knowledge of it. Now the lover has a name and a story. Ophelia.

I run my hands over the soft bristles and note characteristics of the brushes that Peeta would have used. His birthday is in a few months, and now I know precisely what to get for him, another piece of him to welcome to Everdeen and bring home with us.

Satisfied that I have gleaned all that I can from the history in this room, I leave and return to bed, sliding with ease into Peeta’s arms. He wraps me in his embrace and murmurs in his sleep.

“Katniss, my love.”

And with that, I am at last able to find rest as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lady Mellark remains closeted the rest of the day after her fit at tea and into the morning. Her throwing the wine glass is the last I see of her. Lord Mellark delays our departure in the morning by summoning Peeta after breakfast and keeping him far too long. I pace the marbled hall, dressed for travel and ready to leave.

Robert has already departed an hour ago, calling me “sister” with an odd sort of affection and soliciting a promise that Peeta and I would see him and Delly in town. Ethan too, has long since left, rising with the sun and departing before the rest of the house had even stirred, leaving only a note reminding Peeta that we are welcome at Medora any time we wish. Even Jeffries and his wife Lydia have left in a hired carriage, a trunk filled with Peeta’s things as well as their own belongings in their care, a letter in my hand addressed to Father explaining who they are and how they are to be employed at Everdeen.

Our own bags are packed and the horses hitched. Frederick sits on the box with reigns in hand. I await only my husband. At long last, he hurries up to me, grasping my arm and fairly charging out the door.

“Do not look back. Just leave,” Peeta mutters. He moves rather swiftly, given the wooden leg. He steers me down the stairs and into the carriage, following right behind with four words of instruction. “Capitol, with haste Frederick.”

“With pleasure, sir.”

I am still settling in as the coach lurches into motion and I fall backwards, right into Peeta’s lap. His arms surge around me and he holds me tight. He inhales and releases it, a shuddering and desperate sound. “God I couldn’t bear another second of it. It’s harder to bear, knowing life need not be like that at all.”

“Peeta…I cannot breathe.”

“Apologies,” he says and loosens his hold enough to help me onto the seat. “I hope you did not forget anything. If you did, I fear it is now lost. I will not go back there for all the riches in the world.”

“What happened?”

“They were bickering and making it impossible for me to cross a room without risking something being thrown at my head.” I gasp and push his hat off his head to examine him for injuries, he chuckles and takes my hand in his, bringing it to his lips in what has become a familiar and comforting gesture between us. “No injuries, my love. Only a desperate need to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible for as long as possible.”

“For me as well, husband,” I murmur and settle in, comfortable against his shoulder and chest. “What were they arguing over?”

“Me, or rather what we did.”

“Oh?”

“They did not take the news well that I had hired myself a valet and a seamstress for my wife.”

I glance up at him and he smiles at me. I return the expression and kiss his jaw, happy that Jeffries and his wife will no longer suffer. I am too afraid to ask what the other thing is that Peeta suspected was happening to the couple, what other payment the Marquis had extracted for Jeffries protecting Robert.

We ride in silence for a time, watching the snow dance outside the carriage. It is already nearly midday and we still have a fair distance to travel.

“We might need to stop at an inn on the edges of town,” Peeta says and I nod. “We’ll send word ahead to Haymitch when we stop.”

“Peeta,” I say, attempting to order my words and waiting for him to make a sound of encouragement for me to continue. “How is it that none of you wound up anything like the Marquis? Or the Marchioness?”

“Well…for Ethan I think it was school. He spent most of his life away at boarding schools. The best ones, only the best for Ethan. He stayed away for so long that by the time he returned home to learn the particulars of the title and estates he was to inherit, he was already his own man. Henry…no one paid any mind to Henry. They did not know how to handle his thirst for knowledge and his constant questioning of everything. They left him to his books instead, hired tutors and left him in their charge. He found mentors and guidance elsewhere, through his academic studies and letters he sent to scholars, anyone who would correspond with him. Then he too went away to university and met Angelica. Robert spent more time in the care of the Marchioness than the others did. In many ways, he is most like them out of us all. In others he is nothing like them. Since he was the third son, the Marquis had no interest in parenting Robert other than using him as a source of pride. He was content to leave the youngest in his wife’s hands.”

“Until you came along.”

“Until I came along. Then Robert spent a great deal more time with me than anyone else in the household since we shared tutors and school lessons, went off to school together for several years.”

“I suppose that is why she favours him and despises you.”

“Likely, among other things. Robert grew closer to me and grew away from her. She has accused me more than once of poisoning both Robert and the Marquis against her, which is laughable. I am not her son in any form. She has no reason to care for me at all, and she has never once called me anything other than ‘you’ or ‘that boy.’ I only serve as a constant reminder of her husband’s indiscretions and his disregard for her wishes. I am not the only bastard he has fathered. I am not even the only acknowledged one, but I am the only one she was forced to even converse with.”

“I almost felt sorry for her. Up until she insulted me for the thousandth time and threw a glass across the room. It is not as though she could control her husband’s actions, but she can control how she treats everyone around her. Look at Madge. She was married to a tyrant and managed to maintain the kindness of her soul. As did you,” I say. I yawn then and snuggle closer to my husband.

“Are you suggesting that I married a tyrant?” He asks, and I smile inside at the teasing note in his voice yet I turn a scowl to him.

“Not as long as you packed some of those rolls with the cheese on them.”

“They are under your seat.”

I gasp in delight and he chuckles. As I search for them, I find something that I packed as well and present it to him.

“Why did you bring this?”

“For the cold days to come. You mentioned that the cold affects your leg.” He smiles at me and I can see the lifting of the dark clouds from his eyes as he accepts the cane and sets it next to his seat. Then he grasps my arms and hauls me into his lap.

“You are too good to me,” Peeta whispers and nuzzles my nose.

“It is what you and I do, husband. Take care of one another.” He kisses me then, my entire body awakening as we drive away from the tomb that is de Vale. It is as though spring has arrived early. Warmth blooming in my chest and birdsong fluttering in my head.

From there it is far easier to speak and enjoy the ride, wrapped up in his arms and cosied together, and yes kissing here and there.

Only as we continue, it becomes clear that this journey is taking far longer than expected. The roads and ice necessitate a slower pace. We stop for a late midday meal that will likely double as dinner. We send word with a rider ahead to Haymitch. Frederick lights the lanterns to dispel the darkness. Peeta wraps me in warm blankets and fur, and I allow him to pamper me. Then we continue on. I am drowsy and begin to nod off as the sun sinks from the sky.

The sounds of horse and carriage remain as I dream, swaying and floating in a strange sort of way. My feet grow cold as I walk through frosted woods. Flashes light the trees and I cannot place them as I follow faint tracks in the frost painted ground. I catch the scents of cinnamon and dill, vetiver. There’s a brush of a hand on my cheek and I attempt to capture the hand, to hold Peeta close to me. His fingers slip through my grasp.

A loud crack of thunder startles me. My eyes fly open to the screaming of horses, a sound of collision I cannot place, the lurch forward as the horses break into a mad gallop, the precarious swaying of the carriage as it dashes through the night. The lanterns outside follow the movement, a macabre dance of flames through the glass. Peeta attempts to move me and I am sluggish to respond. Then the carriage leans to the side too far and Peeta shouts something, grabs my shoulders and turns me away. We are suspended for one moment then I land on my back atop him.

Glass shatters and wood splinters. My head strikes something. The already dark world turns hazy and spins before my eyes, then everything turns black. Black as death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To be continued…

Your clue for chapter 24: When we build a life with someone, we are already a person with a past, secrets, and this one word you seek. Words rise up from it to cause a bit of strife. A stroll down this lane can be painful, cathartic, and sometimes both but usually necessary to reconcile past and present in the name of the future.

#Springtime Edition 2019 #late submission #M #prompt 88 #submission

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therandomanimefan · 5 years ago

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Okay, so I know most everyone is upset about what’s going on with MID, and believe me, I completely understand! We’re all waiting to play something new and are itching for a new mystery. That’s why I decided I’d recommend other games that gave me serious Nancy Drew vibes while playing them. Hopefully I can give some within the Clue Crew community a chance to try something new without feeling the tension of waiting for MID! All of the games mentioned can be found on Steam. No spoilers under the cut, it may just be a long read.

The Painscreek Killings

Website Synopsis: As Janet, a young and upcoming journalist, you have been asked by your editor to investigate the mysterious abandonment of a once lively town. Based on the information released by the media about the deaths of the townspeople, you set foot into the town thinking you would find an interesting story to publish, only to uncover secrets that were meant to stay hidden forever.

This is by-far one of my favorite games to play! There is no hand holding whatsoever as you are let loose in a semi-open environment, so you are free to go your own pace and choose which secrets you want to uncover first. This style of gameplay makes finding clues and progressing all the more satisfying! The beautiful setting and the subtle things that happen throughout help you stay alert while you play this fairly calm game. The mystery you slowly unravel is fantastic and helps you stay invested to keep going until it’s solved.

The cons: While the graphics may be great, not all computers or laptops might be able to handle everything, causing it to lag. It’s not unplayable, but if you hate any kind of lag, make sure to check if your hardware can handle it first. The game can also be very long if you want to find every secret (my first playthrough lasted about 11 hours).

Gray Matter

Steam Synopsis: After a tragic accident, neurobiologist Dr. David Styles has become a recluse, rarely leaving his home, the Dread Hill House. One day, Samantha Everett, a street magician, appears at Dr. Style's doorstep just as he is seeking a new assistant.

This was a surprising little gem! Made by well-known video game designer and author Jane Jenson, creator of the Gabriel Knight adventure series, you play as both Sam and Dr. Styles as you try to figure out who, or what, is causing strange accidents that are happening around Oxford. This game implements an interesting mechanic as you use Sam’s expertise in magic to help progress forward. The music, art, story, and mechanics give this game it’s own style, making it stand out in the point-and-click adventure genre.

The cons: Though not bad, some of the 3D graphics and gameplay can lead to the game feeling a bit sluggish at times, especially when getting from point A to B. The voice acting can be a bit cheesy as well, but it is not bad by any means. Towards the final chapters of the game, there are various segments that can be pretty tedious, and sometimes feel like they are unnecessary.

Agatha Christie - The ABC Murders

Steam Synopsis: The ABC Murders is an adventure and investigation game adapted from the classic Agatha Christie novel. You are the famous private detective Hercule Poirot and, once again, you find yourself up against a mysterious serial killer who goes by the name of "ABC".

Since all of us are probably mystery nuts, most of you have likely heard of Agatha Christie or Hercule Poirot before. Or you may have already read the book this game is based on (like myself). If you’re in the mood to play as another famous detective, this game may be for you! The cartoonish style gives this point-and-click adventure game charm as you follow the story of The ABC Murders. The puzzles can be quite enjoyable and the unique mechanics, though simple, only add to the charm.

The cons: This game is pretty short (the game took me barely 3 hours to finish the first time I played through), which would not be bad if you are looking for a quick fix in mystery. This game also tends to hold your hand more than other games within the point-and-click adventure genre.

Art of Murder (Games 1-3)

I’m going to be recommending 3 of the 5 games in this series, as I haven’t played the final two.

The Art of Murder series has you play as a young FBI agent named Nicole Bonnet. The first three games in the series, FBI Confidential, Hunt for the Puppeteer, and Cards of Destiny have you on the hunt around the world as you stop various serial killers, all with their own unique modus operandi. Being an older title, I actually grew up with these games alongside Nancy Drew. Though being a point-and-click adventure, the puzzles and atmosphere are effective in making you feel like you need to hustle before the killer finds their next victim.

The cons: The games are old, so the graphics and voice acting may not be the best compared to today’s standards (I love Nicole, but her tone can be way off sometimes). Some of the puzzles in these games can fall into “How in the world was I supposed to figure that out on my own?” territory, leading them to be quite tedious.

Hopefully I caught the eye of those needing a new mystery to solve while we wait for MID, and if anyone has any other recommendations, please feel free to add them! Happy sleuthing!

#Nancy Drew #The Painscreek Killings #Gray Matter #Agatha Christie - The ABC Murders #Art of Murder #Clue Crew

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sea-side-scribbles · 5 years ago

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Fanfiction: Sympathy For A Downer

link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22737214/chapters/55722046

Chapter 10

Now, that was finally settled, Nick thought with relief, leaning back in the couch and closing his eyes for a while. It was finally some progress after all his struggles! Now, he needed some calm and quiet, so he actually had to leave the hotel, because in here the guests kept staring at him or trying to pull him into a conversation. His suite wasn’t safe either, unfortunately. All of a sudden he preferred to stay here, but he also knew that his mind wouldn’t leave him alone until he came back to the place where it all had started. He was all tired again when he raised up and made his way out of the hotel.

Climbing down the ladder into the underground he couldn’t help but think about the first time climbing down, how he had to overcome his fear to even try. Now he was used to it and still, every step deeper into the tunnel felt very uncomfortable. He had to force himself to go on and remained very attentive, watching and listening into the dark, to notice if someone was coming. It was much more eery than usual, even though the man he was looking for wasn’t really dangerous.

Entering his improvised home, he found the same chaos that he had tried to clean up yesterday. Was it even yesterday? It seemed to be ages ago. Everything had changed since then. He looked at the couch where he had sat with Arthur. Without knowing why, he sat down at the same place where all the drama had happened. It was like Arthur was still there and at the same time it was weird that he wasn’t there anymore. Perhaps it was for the best, he told himself, thinking about what he had done to Arthur, who had only wanted to help. Nick had ruined it.

Not that he ever had a chance. It was rather his behavior at Sally’s place that made him feel miserable. The fact that he didn’t hold back his anger even thought he had no right to be angry at anyone. That he had tried to ruin it for Arthur, that he kissed Sally right before his eyes, to show him that she wasn’t his, to make it look like Arthur was only one of many customers she used to play with. In fact, nothing had happened between him and Sally for years. He didn’t know if she had changed until now.

It was all just a show, the revenge of the great Lightbearer. How pathetic! He slapped his forehead in frustration. He hoped that he didn’t destroy what had looked like an intimate relationship. He wouldn’t wonder if Arthur hated him now. And that was why he was afraid to meet him again, that was why he couldn’t handle being here. „I’m sorry“, he said to the empty space next to him and it’s answer was silence.

He raised up again and walked over to his bed, remembering that he hadn’t made any notes for a long time. And now that so many things happened he didn’t know where to start. He found his old notes in his bed stand and the words he wrote seemed strange to him now. He could barely handle what he had written about Arthur. For a moment he was about to rip the notes apart but then he couldn’t face doing it. Perhaps he could at least learn from them and avoid the same mistakes in the future.

While he was clumsily writing a new note he couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur and Sally. What if he as a downer had also other reasons to visit her than personal interest? What if she was helping him to survive? And what if Nick had destroyed this now too? He had to explain what happened. And if he couldn’t look Arthur in the eyes again he had to write a letter at least.

So he stopped his own notes and started to put something together that was both an explanation and an apology. He had to rewrite it multiple times and covered the floor around him with crumpled papers until he had managed something he could accept. Now he had to let Arthur have it without meeting him in person. He sneaked towards his hideout, as quietly as possible, praying that he won’t come out and left the letter at his doorstep, hoping that he would find it in time. Then he left the place as fast as possible and fled back into his improvised home, where he wanted to fall back on his bed and calm himself down when he noticed a black envelope lying there, that he must’ve overlooked until now.

Nick stared at it as if it was about to jump at him, wishing he would’ve stayed in the hotel. But then again, he was sure that James would’ve found another way to contact him. In fact, Nick wasn’t surprised that the Parade had become aware of his latest adventure. With an uneasy feeling in his stomach he took the envelope and slowly opened it. The letter inside was rather small, so Nick guessed James wouldn’t tell him what he had planned for him. Just as always.

Dear Nick, I know what happened. Don’t be afraid. Meet me there:

He described a street in Maidenholm. Nick asked himself if it was the same house he had brought him for the painful procedure. He turned around the paper but of course, there was nothing written on the backside. Now he wondered how long the letter had lied there. Nick didn’t want to let James wait any longer, but also he didn’t want to meet him. Then again, he didn’t want to stay either - and he needed his Joy. The effect of the Vanilla pill was slowly fading, so he didn’t have a chance but to follow the invitation.

The second walk through the tunnel was uneasy again, but not a lot more than standing at the doorstep of the said address. It seemed to be much more sinister than all the other houses in town. Of course it could also be caused by the Joy withdrawal and his anxiety. He ringed the bell, fighting the urge to run away. James didn’t let him wait for long. Stepping in, Nick thought that he was an eerie sight even at daytime.

„Is that…the same house?,“ he asked quietly and looked around. James raised his eyebrows as a silent question. „The same as last time…“, Nick added louder and James understood. He gave him a faint smile and nodded. „How are your hands?“ Nick immediately clenched them into fists. „They are alright…completely healed.“ „Good,“ James simply said and pointed along the corridor. „Please, Nick, have a seat in the living room.“

There was no sign of taunt or anger in his voice, if anything, it was soft and careful. Nick hoped it was a good sign and obliged, already relieved that James didn’t lock him up in the bedroom. „Let’s have a drink,“ James offered when he followed him into the living room. „Scotch, cognac, or do you prefer something sweet?“ Nick would’ve gladly accepted such an offer from someone else but now he wondered if it was a test. „I take whatever you prefer,“ he said and watched James serving the drinks. Whatever the test result was, James didn’t show.

When he had sat down across from Nick he began to speak again. „I’ve made a great mistake,“ he said and Nick decided not to interrupt him. „I scared you with my last actions. When we first met I promised to help you out of your cage but then I made it look like I locked you up in another.“ James gave him a pained expression that puzzled Nick. „I made you suffer. Don’t get me wrong, I still want you to get off the drugs but I feel like I’ve been too harsh to you. Instead of being your friend, I made you fear me. All I want is to let you know that whatever you do, and whatever happens to you, I want to help you. And I beg of you to give me a second chance to prove that I’m not a cold-hearted overseer. I’m not here to judge. I want to help you as a friend.“

James gave Nick an intense look and Nick was baffled, he didn’t know what to say to begin with. He felt is anxiety melt away and felt sorry for the man he had seemingly horribly misjudged. But there was still a rest of mistrust in him.

„That sounds…rather like a very personal interest to me than an official task“, he finally concluded. „Does the Parade know what you’re doing here?“ James smiled mysteriously. „They know. But coincidentally I can combine business with pleasure. Do you know the Executive Committee is right now urgently looking for new symbols of hope?“ Nick had never heard of that before. „I’m not quite up to date anymore,“ he confessed. „Why right now?“

„A great anniversary is coming up: The Twentiest Victory Memorial Day. That’s all they talk about in the Parade District.“ „…but that’s just a yearly celebration…“ „Not only that, Nick. It’s going to be the day of renewal. They say Coconut Joy will be introduced that day.“ „The new flavor!“, Nick blurted out. He had been waiting for it ever since. James nodded.

„Of course it’s all top secret,“ he said and winked at Nick. „S..sure, I won’t say a word…“, Nick became nervous again, but James softly interrupted him. „I know, Nick, it’s alright…My task is to set up a new beacon of hope and - as you might guess by now - I chose you!“ Nick was baffled again and took another sip of his drink, being glad that he had the glass to hold onto. „But…all I’m doing is pop music,“ he said helplessly and James smiled again.

„My new symbol is expected to sing the anthem of Wellington Wells at the opening.“ „Okay, I guess I can manage…“. Nick wiped his forehead. „Unfortunately you’re not the only possible candidate. Do you know who’s the favorite at the moment?“ The uneasy feeling in his stomach came back. „…Birdie Callagher,“ he simply said. James leaned back, looking content. „I see you can follow me.“

„Virgil didn’t tell me anything…“ „Well, Virgil went a bit rogue, didn’t he?“ James sounded amused. „But he might’ve come back to his senses by now.“ He gave Nick a suggestive look, who asked himself if it was finally time to pay for his sins and sunk down. „I made a mess again, didn’t I? I’m sorry…“, he whined and James put down his glass and leaned closer.

„Nick…Nick, I’m not mad at you…“, he said in a gentle tone. „And I won’t tell anyone.“ „But I was the downer in the news!“ „What downer?“, James shook his head, „It was all a game. Uncle Jack said it, so it must be true.“ „What if the Parade knows better?“ James shook his head again. „They will forget. It’s rude to know more than you’re told, even in the Parade.“ Nick crossed his arms and looked back at James.

„And what if I don’t make it? What if I’m not the new beacon of hope, what are you gonna do with me then?“ James sighted and the painful expression took over his features again. „Nick…believe me, whatever happens, I’m at your side. It doesn’t matter if you’re the new symbol or not.“ Nick stared at him with wide eyes. „You’ll help me…just like that?“, he asked doubtfully. „What do you get out of it?“ James silenced for a while, pondering.

„It’s probably unusual, but I’m sentimental. I don’t like to see old idols die. And I believe that you deserve better.“ Nick proceeded to be surprised. „I…don’t know what to say. That’s…honestly not what I’ve expected to happen today…“ „It’s alright. All I want to know is if you can give me a second chance. Please, think about it.“ „I…sure…“, Nick stuttered. „Sorry, I didn’t hear many excuses in my life…“ „That’s sad,“ James said compassionately, „I wish people knew you deserved better…“ Nick finished his drink, trying to sort his thoughts. He felt like there were thousands of questions he didn’t ask yet.

He let James pour him another drink before a question took shape into his mind. „I’m wondering…How do you plan to help me? Except with…Blackberry Joy?“ James took his time to fill his own glass, probably thinking about his answer, before he spoke again. „You see…with everything you went through, you’ve been more or less alone, with no one to look after what you really want, or what you felt. I’m not saying that I know all these things but I could help you finding out, if you want. Again, I’m not here to judge you. I want to help you find out how you built yourself that cage and how to get out.“

Nick had never thought about finding out what he really wanted. It all sounded very complicated to him, except for one thing: having someone to listen. Someone who wouldn’t punish him for his actions. Someone he could tell secrets he couldn’t tell Morrie or Virgil. Someone who could help him to change his ways. „That’s tempting…“, he admitted. „You don’t have to decide yet. Take your time. If you want, you can leave for now and tell me next time we meet,“ James gently offered.

Nick asked himself if he wanted to leave. He didn’t know where to stay right now, and he didn’t trust himself to keep his head clear when he didn’t know what to do with himself. When he stayed here instead he had someone to look after him, and he thought it couldn’t hurt to be James’ guest for a little while longer.

The night was starry and cold, but Nick didn’t freeze. He was comfortable as he followed James along the dark alleys where the fog was slowly swirling around them. The small droplets of water tickled on his skin and the smell of motilene was energizing. He knew exactly what he had to do. „I’ll bring you a souvenir,“ James whispered when they parted. Nick started to climb a gutter. It wasn’t the first time he used that way. When he reached a certain window he knocked against it and a woman dressed in a night gown opened.

„Nick,“ she hissed when he climbed inside, „he’s still upset. He could be still awake…“ „Why don’t we just wait and see,“ he whispered, stroking her cheek before he pulled her into a passionate kiss.

What’s wrong with me, Arthur asked himself, sitting on the big comfortable bed in the center of Nick’s abandoned tunnel suite. He had tried to move on and forget about the incident at Sally’s place but he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and more to his surprise, he couldn’t stop thinking about Nick. Coming back to his shelter he had found the letter that had been written in a scrawly handwriting.

Dear Arthur, I’m sorry for what I did at Sally’s place. Sally and I are just old friends and we didn’t see each other for years. There never was anything serious between us. I think she really loves you. Give her a chance. She’s a good girl. Yours Nick

It took a while until Arthur had made out the handwriting and then it had been harder and harder to read on. He had simply wanted to see Nick, maybe to tell him that Sally wasn’t the innocent angel he thought she was. And then what, he asked himself and curled his fingers into the blanket.

Maybe it was for the best that Nick wasn’t here, so they couldn’t have this embarrassing conversation. But looking around the empty suite, Arthur felt a blunt pain in his chest. Would Nick ever come back? Arthur didn’t even know what he wanted from him. Perhaps he was simply used to his presence and that was why he missed him now. Still, he kept sitting there, unable to leave.

#we happy few #whf #wehappyfew #nick lightbearer #whf arthur #foggy jack

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the-concept-fountain · 5 years ago

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What are your other favorite games?

OKAY! I have dozens upon dozens of games that bring me joy, and that have inspired/influenced my life as a whole, honestly I could ramble on for days, but I will share my top 11 in no particular order. Besides the top 3 hehe ;)

11. Dokapon Kingdom

I was into Dokapon before everyone decided it was cool to play Dokapon Kingdom, but this game is just a blast to invest time into! I have played many campaigns, and each one is a drastically different story from the last. Easily one of my favorite games of all time, blast to play and I am always looking for a reason to play.

10. Splatoon

I won’t lie, when I first saw Splatoon come out, I had no interest in it. I completely brushed it off and thought nothing of it. But then my brothers would end up getting it, and OH BOY. I feel head over heels for this game, I am in love with the sense of style the series has, I am captivated by the cool mechanics, and I bump the soundtrack in my dorm. My fashion style has changed to try and match this game! I can’t get enough of it, and I have invested hours upon hours playing matches.

9. Fire Emblem Blazing Sword

I was not a fire emblem fan, at all. I played Awakening and was mildly interested in the series, but this game put Fire Emblem on the map for me. I am sucker for the sprites in this game, having all of my units feel unique and have some type of a persona. The game play is addicting to me, and feeling of seeing my favorite characters develop into powerhouses is like no other.

8. Cave Story

I have been waiting 11 years to play CaveStory, I originally got a taste of this game on the demo off the wii shop channel. But me being forgetful, I never sought after it despite buying many other games off the wii shop channel. That would change in 2018, and I felt like I have been missing out. The story, the music, the easy to pick up hard to master gameplay, GOING THROUGH HELL! I have died many times in this game, and it always keeps me coming back for more. Everyone should play CaveStory at least once!

7. Celeste

Now unlike CaveStory, the moment I saw Celeste I knew this game was going to be fantastic! Before the game was released I would jam out to the bits of the soundtrack online, and the moment it landed on the eshop I snagged it up. Its similar to Cavestory in gameplay being easy to pick up but hard to master, but the story. I can’t spoil anything but I cried alot while playing this game, and it inspires me to bring together the good and the bad I see inside myself. It helps that the soundtrack is perfectly atmospheric, I think it is criminal if you haven’t given Celeste a chance!

6. Guilty Gear XX Accent Core Plus R

Spoilers, but this is the only fighting game I have on this list, they are all great but this game will hold a special place in my heart. Guilty Gear is an anime, air-dashing fighter that has exquisite game design. I wish I could FD in all fighting games period, but alas I can not. This is the first game that I got my behind handed to me on a daily basis, all my late bus rides home were spent playing this game and coming to terms that I did not understand this game. I sucked at this game, but getting my ass kicked just to slowly grow and become a beast with my main Ky Kiske is the kind of determination that will never leave me.

5. Mother 3

Please go play Mother 3, it is a fantastic game with an even better story. I know from friends that the gameplay isn’t the best thing in the world, but I think it keeps things entertaining enough to most rpgs. This is a game you have to play with sound on, the sound design and soundtrack is fucking great. There were many tears that fell on my keyboard due to this masterpiece which is why I can’t say too much but I got attached.

4. Xenoblade Chronicles

I still remember the day Shulk got announced for Smash for Wii U/3DS and everyone look at me like I was a crazy person for knowing who he was. Xenoblade has consumed many days of my life, just mindlessly exploring the gorgeous landscapes, and getting engulfed into this tightly crafted story about a guy who has the power to change the future. Which would lead me to take my own future into my own hands and where I want it to go.

3. GitarooMan

If any of you know even remotely what Gitarooman is, please message me because no one realizes this game exists. This is another case of me thinking lowly of a game until falling madly in love with it. GitarooMan has these wonderful little themes and a little story that just work in harmony with one another, despite being a short rhythm game. U-1 journey from his humble start to his satisfying ending resonates with me, and inspires me. It also helps that the gameplay and the music feel great to play and listen too

2. The Legend of Zelda Spirit Tracks

This was my first Zelda game, and the only game I have ever 100% completed everything. I originally gave this game to my best friend as a birthday gift, to only get the game myself two days later. I think the train is adorable, the story is great, the spirit flute can go burn in a fire, and I remember the feeling of satisfaction of figuring out a puzzle that halted my progress. This game would give me the courage to face my fears while I was younger, and always serves as a reminder that I can’t do everything on my own sometimes.

1. Pokemon Mystery Dungeon Red Rescue Team

Not the first video-game I ever played, not even my first Pokemon game, but this would be the first videogame I would beat and the first to make me cry. I have created many rescue teams, each with their own team names and mottoes, all of them being unique and rewarding with their experiences. My sense of adventure was created from this game, going out just for the sake of getting lost and figuring what was out in the unknown. Always having my partner, alongside my team. to keep me grounded, to support my goals, and to go on adventures with. This game is a part of the core that makes me who I am today, and there isn’t a day that goes by where I am not searching for my next partner and to lend a helping hand to someone in need

#asks #feel free to ask questions!#this was a blast to do #thank you for asking this question #this was my study break hehe #and honestly these are like tl;dr versions of why I love these games #holy orders was my theme song for all of high school #maybe I will come back and elaborate more #maybe

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decadentrpg-blog · 6 years ago

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WELCOME EM, YOU’VE BEEN ACCEPTED FOR THE ROLE OF GENEVIEVE WOOD

Admins Note: Wow what a powerful, bad ass woman you’ve developed. I love the insightful head cannons exploring her curiosity and her urge to understand the world in her unique perspective. Her relationships have been beautifully explored - from Darius to Ophelia to Proserpina, all being a special fragment of her existence. She’s everything I could have hoped for! I can’t wait to see her on the dash, breaking and putting things back together! Congratulations on your acceptance again, please make sure to head your way to the checklist and submit your account within the next 24 hours!

Out of Character

Name / Alias: Em

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 24

Timezone: EST

In Character Application

Full Name: Genevieve Wood

Sexuality: Pansexual

Gender/Pronouns: Cisgender Female, She/Her

Hogwarts House: Ravenclaw

Headcanons:

ONE :: GIRL QUESTING, GIRL QUESTIONING. Your childhood days are perhaps characterized best by a reluctantly unbound exploratory curiosity. Your family is not old blood or money in the way other families are, but it hardly matters; the place you call home is deceptively expansive, leaving you nooks and crannies and rooms to make your own. You are young the first time you realize your home violates the principles of reality — bigger than it ought to be when you see it from the outside you are five the first time you really understand what magic is in a physical sense. And though five is thought to be too little to grasp the finer points, you question and you question and you question until the finer points start to unravel themselves. Perhaps this is where it all begins, because when you finally understand, there’s satisfaction of a sort before you realize something that imprints itself into your memory: there is so much you don’t know and you want answers for all of it.

Over the years, you become adept at destroying, learning and then in a twist, creating things new. There’s a certain pleasure gained in tying your hair up with a ribbon, destroying something, studying the pieces and then improving upon it as you rebuild. Such tendencies—often mechanical in nature—exasperate your mother profoundly because she dresses you in pretty things and you inevitably make ruin of them, because she would prefer you be more the quintessential pureblood daughter, soft and dear and obliging, but there is no stopping you.

Through trial and error, through exasperation, time outs and threats ranging from laughable to somewhat terrifying for your youth, your mother and father learn that there are only two ways to stop your questioning: one) give you answers until you’re satisfied or two) provide the means by which you can obtain answers for yourself. Punishment only silences you temporarily, and rules, both new and old, are ignored with equal fervor. And so, your parents, though they love you dearly, often opt for the second of the two options, if only because you try their patience with their questions, because you are enough to make their heads spin. Perhaps you ought to feel badly for that, for the way you are trying, but the truth is like so: questing girls pursue their aims without regard paid to consequences, questioning girls need answers and you, you are a questing girl, a questioning girl, fearless and insatiable.

TWO :: ON THE MYSTERIES OF A HEART. There are societal conventions that speak to what love and attraction should be in various forms, but you reside well outside any of them. In this, like so much else, you are a thing ill-defined and seemingly without particular rhyme or reason. A curious woman, wont to interest bordering obsession as regarding whatever catches your eye, you have a penchant for inquiry that leads you to the heart of things, of people. Like so, for you the appeal is not a type, the appeal is what lies beneath.

This leads you to Darius, to a sweet, almost chaste kiss as a venture into exploration, an answer to questions you don’t dare ask aloud, but wonder about all the same. Though, perhaps, calling it chaste is unfair because that implies a lack of passion; perhaps it’s better to say innocent and questioning, for like so much else, the knowledge and experience earned helps you evolve, though it comes at a cost. You want to learn about Darius, and you do, but what you learn you do not entirely like; Darius is not like you, questing and questioning, unabashedly true to what the heart demands. He is cowardly in his devotion and though you might have fallen for the facade once, for those golden curls and a winsome smile, you’ve never been attracted to what you see underneath.

And it leads you, eventually, to Proserpina, though that path is somewhat winding with other boys who possess features and traits that make you look twice before you see her. There’s a naïveté to what exists between you, at first. Again, it’s curious and curiously born, a bright-eyed interest and a first of a different sort. She is an answer to questions about yourself, the beginning of an unbinding from traditional labels, but she is so much more than that; she is ever fascinating. Perhaps you’re a fool to fall for a woman who whispers lies as she breathes and does it so convincingly, but hearts are not meant for rationale, they want as they will and yours has been long undone by the puzzle of Proserpina. After all, didn’t you once trail fingers along her form if only to touch her and whisper, “my dear heart”? Would you not do it again were you allowed a chance?

Ultimately, there are those less true than their word, but you are absolute, an unerring truth in a world of lies and falsehoods; reckless as it might be, you fall in love with the heart of people and you pity anyone who loves for less.

THREE :: THE PATH NOT TAKEN. Before you even think about stepping foot in Hogwarts, it is clear you will belong in one of two houses: Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. It might be Gryffindor for the way you play with a certain reckless abandon, even in your childhood, unquestioningly certain of your right to what pleases you no matter what the rules might say, unafraid of the truths such recklessness might show. But then, it could be Ravenclaw; with an insistent sort of curiosity that is equal parts your greatest virtue and your worst vice, you are, in some ways, quintessentially of the sort that cannot make a home anywhere but the high tower, wearing blue and bronze.

You are a coin flip, two distinct parts that ought to be at odds, but come together to make a wild, bravely questing girl, so much so that even those who know you best cannot decide what you will be. Your mother says Ravenclaw, your father Gryffindor, though his choice might be more pride and a desire to see you follow in his footsteps speaking than a true reckoning.

You yourself hardly know what to think, except it doesn’t matter. When the time comes, you unintentionally oblige the Sorting Hat well and make yourself known. There are children in this world that are chimeric mysteries, who might truly belong one place and another, who might be influenced or even created, by the choice made for them, but you are not one of them at heart. No, you sit under the Sorting Hat, not thinking of what might be, not telling yourself to be brave for what will come or trying to want one future over another. Instead, you find your thoughts tangential to the moment, in that you simply wonder about the Sorting Hat’s magic; it’s a shame, you reflect as you wait for your future, that the hat is something you cannot destroy and remake until you understand it. The hat only laughs at your thought process, says, “With curiosity like that, it better be Ravenclaw!” and that is the end of that.

For every question and option, even for that singular moment where your world is a coin standing on edge and Gryffindor is an equally acceptable choice for that earnest reckless of yours, Ravenclaw is where you belong. Unquestioningly.

FOUR :: A LADY’S GUIDE TO IMPROPRIETY & NON-MALICIOUS RULE-BREAKING. The older you’ve gotten the more the style in which you display your non-compliance and unconventionality has changed. Only don’t be fooled. It’s not about that. It’s never about that.

In childhood, it’s always about understanding. Rules are a prison that stymie intellectual curiosity in the name of safety, a thing for which you’ve never had any use; with a world full of possible paths for exploration all about you, you hardly have time to think about something so foolish as caution, nor patience for the very same. These years are full of solitary time, of wild adventures, of incessant questions, interspersed with necessary socialization, which sounds lonelier than it feels. You suppose you have friends, but truly, you prefer the solitude of your own seeking and the satisfaction found in answers to the play-pretend games others your age want to play.

School and adolescence change everything. You could hardly be called quiet, with the way you so vocally wonder, but in truth, by comparison to others your age, there is something lacking to your social skills. A mess of a contradiction, introverted in social interactions, extroverted in inquiry, the two resolve into something between when you learn to find people as interesting as things. It’s different, of course, because you cannot destroy and rebuild people in the same way you can do things, but it’s that very condition that proves to make people all the more interesting. After all, things are as they are while people are variable, changeable, manipulatable. Perhaps that’s why you come to get along so well with some of the Slytherins, like Ophelia, during your later days at Hogwarts. You aren’t afraid to say things that are less than polite, or do things that are less than kind if only to find out what will happen. It’s not a matter of hearts or feelings but one far more linear; A leads to B and then on to C and you like to know what reactions will occur. And if you’re being honest with yourself, when it comes to the unbinding of people, there’s something messy in it that you’re loathe to delve into; far better to have someone else spill the guts and leave them for you to study.

Adulthood has different rules too, because it’s here you are taught the questionable virtue of propriety. The older you get, the more you ought to simply know better as if being older means being better, as if curiosity is not justifiable cause and lies are acceptable means by which to make it through the day. You never quite mean to become a beacon of truth, to become something unflinching blunt, but as you leave Hogwarts behind, you come to realize that the real world is not half so simple as the walls of your school were — there’s privilege and wealth and the delusions born of it and there’s fervency and new causes and a belief in change. Perhaps you fall in line with the latter because at least there you find more truth, or perhaps it’s because you like to see how things shake and stir and propriety is not a world lilted off tongues and praised profoundly. To make change one must be true and improper. Is there anywhere else you belong?

In Character Paragraph:

The ballroom was the oddest battleground she had ever encountered, though to call it that was perhaps inaccurate. Hypothetically, this evening had been proposed and planned in the name of charity and was being attended under the very same guise, but underneath the glitz and the glamour and the music, there was a subtle rippling, an divide amongst the younger generation that did not echo in their older American counterparts — it was a world of differing problems and concerns, though Genevieve darkly figured everyone would be dragged into it in the end.

Problems had a habit of eventually rearing their ugly heads at the least convenient moments, as she well knew, considering she had, more than once, done her part in bringing the truth embedded within them to light. It had earned her a reputation of a sort, though she hadn’t ever bothered to give that much thought. She acted as she did not because she wanted to harm, but because she simply valued the truth enough to make sure it was known, and, perhaps too, because when it was all said and done, she liked to be able to step back and watch the consequences of unpleasant truths unfold as they might.

It was so interesting to watch people react.

Tonight, however, was not a night for such a course, not that she didn’t think on it for a moment; there was interest to be had, in making the divide between them terribly plain, but what was the point? To bring it into the open would only ruin the cause that brought them all here, which even she wasn’t heartless enough to do. Plus, there was loyalty to be had yet, and perhaps, maybe, a kernel of a belief in the just nature of the cause to which she had aligned herself. Change was worth sitting on the truth for, at least for now.

That being said, aligning herself to a cause and alienating herself from people she was fond of had never been her way; though she stood with The Coalition, she didn’t ignore The Pride Society, the way others did, the way others might have wished her to. Perhaps that marked her as wrong, Darius certainly liked to assert that sentiment, but she was truer to her heart than any sort of external ideal and there were women across the room who certainly held pieces of hers.

Firstly there was Proserpina. Decorum and discretion dictated she wasn’t supposed to stare, yet the secret that was bound between them all but commanded otherwise. Perhaps that was only fair, that she stare if she so please because the fact that it was secret was neither Genevieve’s desire nor her demand. Secrecy meant so little to her, but it meant so much to Proserpina; it was a fool’s game, one without reciprocity of a kind, but she cared profoundly for what the other woman wanted.

Tonight the other witch was as radiant as ever and it made her want in a way she couldn’t explain. What was she to do about Proserpina when the woman somehow took her words? It was equal parts intriguing and irritating to love a woman that simultaneously defied explanation and stole the words that might allow an honest try at making one.

And secondly there was Ophelia. Though dear to her, despite the fact that they were no longer children and the difference in their lifestyles at this point, Genevieve had begun to view the other woman with dread of a sort; her marriage was not doing her the wonders sometimes advertised and the woman Genevieve had once known was gradually slipping away from her. She pitied her, but no matter what words she had tried so far, she had been frustratingly without effect. Genevieve was beginning to think that Ophelia, the friend perhaps dearest to her, would prove to be another puzzle she could not solve.

The very idea made her heart ache and yet, she would greet the woman all the same, and use their proximity as means by which to, perhaps, steal a moment with Proserpina. It was likely unfair to use Ophelia this way, but if Ophelia knew, Genevieve felt fairly certain that she would consent willingly; one of them deserved a moment’s happiness, no?

The band swung into a new song and she found a familiar face in front of her, a hand outstretched and an offer put to air: “Will you dance, Genevieve?”

For a moment, she barely heard, thoughts elsewhere, intent on women she wasn’t supposed to associate with. And yet, the sentiment repeated itself, so her gaze flicked across his face, noting a warning there. It was a subtle thing, resting in the muscles somewhat tense and a certain gaze in his eyes, but once she saw it, it couldn’t be unseen.

It made no impact.

“No, thank you,” she replied simply, before side-stepping him, intending to stay true to her course. She wanted what she wanted, damn the costs. Only, before she could take a step forward, she found that previously outstretched hand, now resting on her arm, holding in place, albeit gently in obedience to the concern of appearances on a night like this.

“Don’t go over there. Don’t talk to them.” It was a low warning and were she more an ideologue, more devoted to the cause itself, she’d heed it unthinkingly.

“Let go of me,” she returned in a soft warning; she was not known for her temper, but a hint of one flashed in her gaze at the idea of being denied. And when he didn’t move fast enough for her, she wrenched her arm from his grasp and said bluntly, “If you think you can stop me from going to greet my oldest friend, you are sorely mistaken. And to pretend they don’t exist or that they’re monsters and therefore easy to hate is the coward’s way. I disagree with her, but I care for her still.”

Before he could reply, because really she didn’t want to hear whatever would come of it, she walked away. She had intended to skirt the room, to cross an unspoken, undrawn boundary with a measure of discretion simply for the ease of it, but now it felt like there was no choice but to be openly true in a way that made a statement. That was fine, she wasn’t particularly bothered by that; perhaps she was always meant to be the one who walked across the invisible line with her head held high and an unerring certainty that it might have been breaking unspoken rules, but the rules were inconsequential when compared to a heart’s desire.

Extras:

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aeneasx · 7 years ago

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How to get the signs to fall in love with you

Aries: Act confident: A quiet air of confidence is sexy; bragging about yourself is not, so don’t stray over that line. Make a bold move: A great kiss, virtually stolen from her lips, just might make her believe you’re strong enough to take her on. If she slaps you, don’t retreat completely. Respond with a confident cheeky grin, and she may just let down her guard for you. Let her take the lead: Once you take the initiative and she accepts, gently allow her to take the lead. You can encourage her advances by letting her know how much her touch pleases you, and respond in kind. Look good: You may not be the most attractive person in the room, but you’ve got to make the most of what you’ve got. Be clean, smell good, dress well and take care of your hair and face. These qualities will evoke the Ram’s desire. Display some self-esteem: Aries don’t typically go for shrinking violets, so let your confidence shine through. He’ll find it sexy.

Taurus: They also truly dislike it when folks play fast and loose with their feelings, so if you tell a Taurus you like him/her, really mean it. While Taureans are not particularly known for being overly expressive, they do get their feelings hurt. When that happens, the cut usually runs fairly deep, so tread accordingly. Taureans also tend to fall in love with people that are financially stable and project an air of financial confidence. This is because Taureans are usually so financially secure themselves that they are attracted to those that share the same spirit of financial responsibility. Crisp and clean: Whenever you are going to meet a Taurus, or even if you just thinkthere’s a chance you’ll run into that special one, try to make sure that you’re freshly showered and properly coiffed. As a matter a fact, the more fragrant and fresh your hair smells, the more Taurus will respond. Shine on: Soft skin is also a must. This can easily be achieved with a little exfoliation and some body lotion.

Gemini: Seduce a Gemini man by being spontaneous. This sign is one that loves surprises. They don’t do well with routine and schedules. Are you a type A personality that likes everything to be planned out to the last detail? If so, then maybe you need to take a step back and let loose to attract your dream guy. This sign needs constant change, and you need to be able to keep up or he’ll start walking. Give him space, and keep your calendar full. There is no bigger turn-off for a Gemini man than a woman who wants to tie him down. To make a Gemini man fall in love you have to keep your distance. Don’t drop everything when you start dating. Keep your life busy and don’t forget about your independence either. Have your own opinions. As much as Gemini’s love to talk about anything, they won’t respect you if you don’t have your own views about things. If you believe in something, explain yourself. Tell him why you’re passionate about what you’re talking about and why you believe it is so important. Make it personal and show him what you stand for. Beware, he will play devil’s advocate and try to find holes in your arguments, but stand your ground.

Cancer: Act a bit helpless: The number one tip for attracting a Cancer man is to act a little bit helpless. He’s likely to respond much more positively if he thinks you’re in need of some tender loving care. So although in reality you may well be quite tough and capable, make a point of showing him your more vulnerable side. You’ll have to make the first move. Emphasize your love of family. You should talk about the love you have for your current family as well as any dreams you have about marrying and starting a family of your own. Cancer men generally dream of having children someday, so it’ll help your case dramatically if your dreams are in line with his.

Leo: Always dress your best. Leos are attracted to ladies who dress their best. In order to hold a Leo’s attention, your hair, your face, and your nails – everything must be groomed to perfection. It does not matter whether you’re going to a fine restaurant to eat or just sitting at home eating take-out; either way, you should be dressed to impress. A Leo Man wants to know that you are interested in him as a person. It is okay to ask questions, but you do not want to be intrusive. Nod affirmatively when the two of you are talking and squeeze his hand to show agreement. If your man is a Leo, that means he was born with the sign of the lion. As such he is very loyal and protective.

Virgo: Pay Attention to Your Appearance: Appearance is important for attraction in general, but a Virgo man places a great deal of value on his partner’s appearance. He tends to prefer a neat and coordinated look over trendy fashions, so your hair, clothes and makeup should be simple yet perfect. Be SupportiveA Virgo guy can be just as critical of himself as he is of others, and he may be more insecure than he lets on. You can show him you care about him by supporting and encouraging him in his endeavors, and this should really attract his attention. Show Him You Have an Honest CharacterYou won’t win this man by playing games or trying to be someone you’re not. Be straightforward about who you are and what is important you, but have some tact and don’t try to bowl him over. Just be honest about your strengths and let him know you’re willing to work on your weaknesses.

Libra: ACT FAST: By far, one of the top ways to attract a Libra is to move fast. This is a sign that is a natural flirt and you don’t want to wait around … only to have someone else snatch up your crush! Libras are a sign that loves to flirt and truthfully, they are rarely without a date, so if your crush is single and he or she is a Libra, act fast! The hugest thing that you have to remember about Libras is that they don’t decide things right away. They like to keep their options open for as long as possible and truthfully, they don’t like to rush into something right away. This is a sign that can’t be with someone that is snobby or rude. Politeness goes a very, very long way with this sign! They love compliments and they really like to be shown the respect that they show you. Holding doors and opening car doors are huge for this sign! Libras aren’t into people that are narrow-minded and aren’t willing to consider the outrageous or the off-the-wall. You’ve got to consider all of your options and then open your mind a little more to be with this sign!

Scorpio: CREATE AN AIR OF MYSTERY ABOUT YOURSELF: The number one tip for attracting a Scorpio man is to create an intriguing air of mystery about yourself. He’ll find you much more fascinating, and be keen to get to know you better, if you hold back at first from revealing everything about your life. Nothing appeals more to the Scorpio male than solving difficult puzzles and uncovering hidden information. If you make things too easy for him by presenting yourself as an open book, he’ll quickly lose interest in you. A Scorpio man is unlikely to fall in love with someone who has deceived him or taken him for a fool, so play your cards wisely to win this guy’s heart. Because this star sign finds it hard to forgive and forget, once you’ve given a Scorpio man reason to think he can no longer trust you, he will probably be turned off for ever. However good you may consider yourself at getting away with little white lies, be aware that you’ll always be found out by a Scorpio. These guys have a fearsome talent for ferreting out all kinds of secrets and misinformation. If there’s something in your life you feel ashamed of or uncomfortable about, it’s far better to be totally upfront with a Scorpio man than try to massage the facts in some way. Scorpio men have a lot of respect for honesty, but only contempt for liars and cheats.

Sagittarius: This is a particularly strong point in attracting a Sagittarius man. They love women who are confident, know their abilities and can stand strong. They do not seek women who are weak, unsure or ‘play it safe’. If your confidence shows, they will be attracted to you! The Sagittarius man loves a mystery. Even after your third or fifth date, you still need to keep them wondering and guessing about you. Hold back some things and give him only bits and pieces as he loves puzzles. The Sagittarius man loves to feel good and compliments are a sure way to make him happy. If you can bring a smile to his face or, even better, laughter, you are well on your way to attracting a Sagittarius man. The Sagittarius man is always seeking a new challenge, new opportunities and adventure. If you want to attract a Sagittarius man be sure to give him a challenge. Don’t just jump at him and agree with everything, playing hard to get is a fun way to attract this man. You should allow him the hunt, the work involved in obtaining your affection.

Capricorn: Dress for success. Bling is not going to impress this man. He has definite goals and wants everything in his life to be a part of his plan. Clothes and accessories should show that if you have not already achieved success yourself, you are aware of what it takes to do so. Study how successful people in his field dress and emulate them. Admire him. The Capricorn has an enormous ego despite being a shy man. He wants to be admired and liked. Tell him often what you love about him but keep it real. He will spot false praise. Show interest in his plans by asking questions. Be enthusiastic and encouraging when he talks about them. Your Capricorn guy needs your eyes to sparkle for him alone. Avoid flirting. This man has has a tendency to be overly jealous. A Capricorn man wants a woman who is his own prize. Her attention needs to be focused on him alone. Flirting will not coerce this man to profess his interest in you. It may cause him to hold back and re-evaluate his feelings for you instead.

Aquarius: An Aquarius is a sign that is so out-going, so over the top and so out there, it’s hard for them to really pinpoint exactly who they like. That means that you’ll have to stand out in a crowd and you’ll really have to work to impress your amazing Aquarius-crush. Remember, learning to attract an Aquarius is difficult, but it isn’t impossible at all! Most Aquarians are some of the bubbliest people in the world. They don’t like negativity and definitely don’t want to be with someone that is going to bring them down. That means that you’ve got to be at least a bit positive to entice this sign to like you. One thing that you’ve got to know about an Aquarius is the fact that he or she loves to be friends first. They never, ever want to rush right into anything and instantly become boyfriend or girlfriend. Never, ever try to tie down an Aquarius with a label first and foremost. While the conversation about labels will absolutely come later, after you’ve established a relationship, you can’t immediately expect a label right off the bat. When you are with an Aquarius, you can’t immediately think that they are going to confide in you and that you can bring up all kinds of emotionally charged discussions. Truthfully, this particular sign doesn’t deal well with emotions at all. In fact, they try to avoid admitting them at all!

Pisces: Pisces men love to flirt. They are naturals in the seduction game and they also enjoy when a woman flirts back. Looking directly into his eyes, putting on a winning smile, and winking at him every now and again is enough to drive him wild. Pisces men are secretive and quite mysterious. If you’re the kind of woman who likes to know everything that is going on in a man’s head, then he will drive you crazy and not in a good way. Just because he likes to keep part of himself private does not mean he is being unfaithful or unkind - this is just their personality. There is no such thing as complimenting a Pisces man too much, they just can’t get enough of hearing how great they are. Unfortunately mood swings come with the territory when dating a Pisces man. The problem is you won’t ever know what is really bothering him, as most of the time he doesn’t even know himself.

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ygobigbang-archive · 7 years ago

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Fic Summaries

Attention Artists!

Fic summaries are now available for you all to take a look at! We are expecting a few more fics in but don’t worry everything will be on the form when it goes out! Please be aware artist claims do not start until the 26th May, this is a preview so you can figure out what you might want to work on when you give us your Top 3/Top 5.

You do NOT need to have registered as an artist to claim anything when claims open but if you’d like to register your interest now you can do so here. If you do, you’ll be e-mailed a link to the artist claims form when it goes up! Now that all the admin things are out the way enjoy and please reblog so all the YGO artists out there might see!!

Please be aware that claims will be done via Google Form where you must give your Top 3 and can give us up to your Top 5! Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters

DM1 Pairings: Thief King Bakura/Bakura Ryou Characters: Thief King Bakura, Ryou. Yuugi and the gang Content Warnings: Alcohol Use (nothing overt but it’s there) Summary: Modern day AU, no Millenium Items. Bakura (TKB) is a grave robber, Ryou can talk to ghosts. Ghosts don't like it when their graves get robbed so one complains to Ryou about Bakura and Ryou confronts him one night at a cemetary. They butt heads at first but then Bakura pisses off a ghost and needs Ryou’s help. They get closer as a result. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM2 Pairings: Atem/Yugi, Mai/Isis Characters: Yugi, Jou, Anzu, Ryou, Honda, Ryuji, Atem, Mahaad, Mana, Mai, Isis, Kaiba, Insector Haga, Dinosaur Ryuzaki, Keith, Thief King Bakura, Malik, Rishid Content Warnings: blood, self injury, storms, fighting/violence, guns Summary: Sky pirate AU where Captain Yugi Mutou wins the disassembled puzzle in a game, solves it, and inadvertently gets himself chased down by Captain Atem Al-Saqr, who needs the puzzle in order to get to him family's hidden treasure. Art needed: 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic + 1 (one) coloured sketch OR 1 (one) greyscale line art OR 1 (one) graphic banner OR 3-5 (three to five) panel inked comic OR 5 (five) panel coloured sketch comic

DM3 Pairings: Kaiba/Jounouchi Characters: Seto Kaiba, Katsuya Jounouchi, Mokuba Kaiba, Yugi Mutou Content Warnings: Explicit sex Summary: It's been years since the Pharaoh left for the last time, and the friends have all gone their separate ways. Jounouchi wins a Kaiba-sponsored tournament that involves a dinner with Kaiba at his mansion. Despite the awkwardness of the dinner, things take a slight turn for the romantic and soon they're realizing they're really not so different. But is their newfound attraction convenience, or something more? Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM4 Pairings: hints of puzzleshipping, hints of puppyshipping, a bit of chaseshipping flirting if you blink Characters: Yugi Muto, Joey Wheeler, Tristan Taylor, Tea Gardner, Seto Kaiba, Solomon Muto, Atem... Content Warnings: minor character death, flesh and People eating scarabs, a few gruesome descriptions of People dying, resurrected mummies and discussions of Zombies, discussions of mummifications, discussions of People getting killed Summary: AU: The mummy adaption. 1927, Egypt. Yugis grandfather spend his life searching for games, adventure and the occasional treasure. But one day, he doesn't return from one if his trips , the only thing arriving home is an old papyrus, hidden in a metallic box. A map, leading towards Hamunaptra, the legendary city of the death, grave of Egypt's riches. Yugi tries to follow this only lead to his grandfather, but the sand of Egypt hides something far more darker than gold. Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

DM5 Pairings: Puzzleshipping Characters: Yugi, Atem, Mokuba, Kaiba = main characters. Joey, Grandpa, Duke, Tristan, Mai, Bakura = secondary characters Content Warnings: Violence/torture, sexual themes every so often, insanity, mental health issues Summary: Seto Kaiba was never content after visiting Atem in the afterlife at the end of DSOD; his desire to defeat him pushes him past the bounds of normality and over a cliff into raging insanity. On the pretext of conducting an experiment, he brings Atem back to their reality, lets him reunite with Yugi, only to kidnap him later on and attempts to “defeat” him - via torture and violence. Atem is rescued, but finds himself not only severely injured, but severely traumatized, and must recover under Yugi’s care. Mokuba, meanwhile, has discovered what his brother has been up to, and is grimly determined to both keep Yugi and Atem safe, and protect the company that his brother built up so successfully - because now, Kaiba’s sanity hanging by a thread is endangering his work, their livelihood, and the integrity of everything they’ve fought for. Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

DM6 Pairings: Angstshipping - Malik Ishtar/Ryou Bakura Characters: Malik Ishtar, Ryou Bakura, Seto Kaiba, Isis Ishtar, Yugi Muto, Yami Malik (Namu), Yami Bakura (Bakura), Maximillion Pegasus, Rishid Ishtar, Mai Valentine, Joey Wheeler, Serenity Wheeler Content Warnings: Murder, Mystery, Blood and Gore, Gun Violence, Knife Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Torture (this will be rated explicit on AO3 to give an idea - its a Victorian London AU so I went grim) Summary: A madman haunts the streets of the Whitechapel district in London. His trail of blood leads to a most unlikely victim. When Isis suddenly goes missing, Malik is convinced Jack the Ripper has targeted his sister. All doubt him except the eccentric Detective Ryou, who is determined to capture this serial killer. The two race against time to save Isis, though neither is prepared for what lurks in the shadows… Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

DM7 Pairings: Puzzleshipping Characters: Atem, Yugi, Anzu, Honda, Jou, Kaiba, Mokuba, and Siegfried Content Warnings: Atem has guns, prison breakout, smut, kidnapping, Kaiba being a cock block Summary: After being thrown in prison for his sexuality, Yugi never thought he'd see his sexy Mercenary again. Atem is more than happy to break his gaming king out. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM8 Pairings: Puzzleshipping Characters: Yugi Muto, Yami/ Atem, Hiroto Honda/ Tristan Taylor, Katsuya Jonouchi/ Joey Wheeler, Anzu Mazaki/ Tea Gardner, Ishizu Ishtar/ Isis Ishtar, Rishid, Malik Ishtar/ Marik Ishtar, Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba, The Sacred Guardians/ High Priests, Pharaoh Akhenamkhanen, Ryou Bakura/ Yami Bakura, Yami Malik, Imaginary twin Heba Content Warnings: Injuries, battles, light blood mention, explosions, Lord Dragon Dick is here too, and there's some sadness Summary: Yugi Muto didn't expect that his summer vacation would take place in Egypt or involve finding the unopened tomb of an unnammed person, but it did. Yami didn't expect to wake up in the 21st century but he did. Now they need to work together in order to prevent the darkness from returning to the world and send them all back to the dark ages. Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

DM9 Pairings: Yugi Motou / Atem Sennen (Puzzleshipping) Characters: Yugi, Joseph, Ryou, Bakura, Atem, Malik, Odion, Pegasus, Weevil, and more! Content Warnings: Minor character death, the undead, a little bit of horror (if you didn't like The Mummy (1999 version) you won't like this) Summary: EGYPTIAN MUSEUM OF ANTIQUITIES - 1925 Yugi is an American librarian in Cairo struggling to achieve his dreams of becoming an accomplished explorer like his grandfather. He may have finally caught a break when his cousin Joseph unwittingly procures an ancient map from a questionable source. It’s a good thing the curse of Kul Elna is only a myth, right? At least there’s no chance that the criminal they have to spring from prison is ridiculously hot. REWRITE OF THE MUMMY (1999) MOVIE - PUZZLESHIPPING Gunslinging Egyptian cowboys, Necrophades, and fabulous 1920s fashion. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work + 10 (ten) 100x100 icons OR 1 (one) moodboard OR 1 (one) greyscale sketch OR 3-5 (three to five) panel coloured sketch comic

DM10 Pairings: Puzzleshipping, Logicshipping Characters: Yuugi Mutou, Atem, Priest Set, Priest Isis, Priest Siamun, Thief King Bakura, Ryou Bakura, Zorc, Sugoroku/Solomon Mutou, Isis Ishtar, Jounouchi Katsuya, Anzu Mazaki Content Warnings: Violence, Mild Gore, Mildly Explicit Sex, Mild Descriptions of Parasitism Summary: Once seven, now three. A broken Pendant, a crumbling empire, and tugging at the seams of reality, hints of a sinister power returning. His faith in destiny strained past breaking, newly-crowned-and-deposed Pharaoh Set makes the questionable decision to try and solve the Millenium Puzzle with magic. As it goes with magic, his efforts are rewarded...but not quite in the way he expected. Now Yuugi finds himself catapulted to an Egypt where Atem is five years dead, there's a heap of political trouble brewing, and something dark and dangerous is stalking the shadows. Season 0-flavored Time Travel/Canon Divergence AU where Yuugi never received the Puzzle in his timeline. Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

DM11 Pairings: Yugi/Atem Characters: Yugi Mutou, Atem (Puzzleshipping) Content Warnings: Character Death, Bones/Skeleton, Alcohol usage, minor blood mention, uhhhh copious amounts of SAD THINGS and Mourning, Memory Loss Summary: Atem is a siren/merman and Yugi is a ghost haunting a sunken ship Atem comes across. Atem is intrigued by the ghost, hangs around enough that they start to get to know each other, getting attached, and falling for each other over time. But Yugi's memories start to fade, as ghosts don't get to stay forever on the living plane, and Atem has to deal with this loss. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM12 Pairings: Vaseshipping, hints of whatever IsisxMahaad is Characters: Mana, Atem, Mahaad, Isis Content Warnings: N/A (I don't think there's anything all that triggering...I'm a pretty tame person) Summary: For the past while, Mana struggles with her feelings for her friend, who just happens to be the Pharaoh of Egypt. As the mysterious threat looms closer, she has to choose: remain his eternal friend and servant or step up and become his Queen, abandoning her life as a magician. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM13 Pairings: Ishizu Ishtar/Mai Valentine Characters: Ishizu Ishtar, Mai Valentine, Noa Kaiba Content Warnings: Some swearing Summary: University AU: Mai and Ishizu's first impressions of each other aren't exactly the best, but over time they manage to make things work. Life just keeps throwing curve balls along the way. Mai/Ishizu, a sort of prequel to my previous ongoing series but works as a standalone. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM14 Pairings: Yugi/Atem (puzzleshipping) Characters: Yugi, Atem, Seto, Jounouchi, Anzu, Ryou, Honda Content Warnings: Mentions of wrist implants late fic, many fighting scenes but nothing gory Summary: Piloting is all Atem has ever known. Since the day he found himself waking up as a teenager with no childhood memories, he threw himself into a life always behind the wheel of a vehicle, discovering a seemingly natural talent for it. He worked his way up onto the admiral’s flagship in space, where he fights alongside mechs- giant dragon shaped machines of great power. But he’s not the only one on the ship with a strange past, and sometimes, secrets can’t stay hidden for long. Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

DM15 Pairings: Puzzleshipping, Hints of Puppyshipping, Protectshipping and Danceshipping Characters: Yugi Mutou, Atem, Seto Kaiba, Ryo Bakura, Yami Bakura, Thief King Bakura, Honda Hiroto, Anzu Mazaki, Mai, Jounouchi Katsuya Content Warnings: References to child abuse Summary: Yugi Mutou is a highly successful game developer, well known by all but seen by none. With the help of Kaiba Corp technology, he was able to create a completely immersive virtual reality RPG called “The Kingdom.” Atem Sennen was thrilled when he received the opportunity to become a beta tester for the Kingdom. But, as his past comes back to haunt him, he and Yugi are quite literally thrown together in order to stop it from destroying the very world around them. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic + 1 (one) coloured sketch OR 1 (one) greyscale line art OR 1 (one) graphic banner OR 3-5 (three to five) panel inked comic OR 5 (five) panel coloured sketch comic

DM16 Pairings: none Characters: Yuugi, Atem, Anzu, Jounouchi, Honda, Ryou, Y Bakura, Malik, Kaiba Content Warnings: lots of talking about "moving on to the afterlife" as a desired goal, which might be uncomfortable for some readers Summary: Yuugi loses the final duel. Now Atem is stuck in the living world, until someone can finally beat him at a game. Literally any game. This is harder than it sounds, but luckily his friends are there to help. [Gen/Humor, character exploration with an emphasis on platonic relationships, very fun and a little bit silly] Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM17 Pairings: Deathshipping; Thiefshipping Characters: Ryou Bakura; Yami Bakura; Marik Ishtar; Yami Marik; Odion Ishtar; Mai Valentine; Duke Devlin Content Warnings: Explicit; Sex; Stripping; Marijuana use; References to prostitution Summary: The Ishtar brothers run Domino’s most exclusive strip club, Min Saboten. When the Bakura brothers come for amateur night - one to dance and one to thieve - they end up finding themselves in debt to the Ishtars. Having no choice but to work for the Ishtars, will Ryou and Bakura break under the pressure? Or will they flourish in the seedy side of Domino - and maybe find love too? Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work + 10 (ten) 100x100 icons OR 1 (one) moodboard OR 1 (one) greyscale sketch OR 3-5 (three to five) panel coloured sketch comic

DM18 Pairings: None (Gen) - (very slight joukaiba if you squint upside down in a foggy mirror) Characters: Jounouchi Katsuya, Kaiba Seto, Mutou Yugi, Mizaki Anzu, Rebecca Hawkins, Atem, Mana, Mahad, Yami Bakura, Zork Content Warnings: Sci-Fi Violence, Referenced Genocide, Disabling Injuries Summary: Jou just wanted to become a space pilot and reach the edges of their own solar system. He didn't mean to bond with a sentient robot dragon and get stuck in the middle of an intergalactic space war with three of his friends and his mullet-headed rival. But he's seen the horror the Galra Emperor has caused, and there's no way he can just let it go on without doing his part to stop it. The YGO-Voltron Crossover nobody asked for. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work + 10 (ten) 100x100 icons OR 1 (one) moodboard OR 1 (one) greyscale sketch OR 3-5 (three to five) panel coloured sketch comic

DM19 Pairings: None Characters: Yugi, Yami Yugi, Joey, Kaiba, Tea, Tristan, Gramps, Trudge, BEWD, REBD, Gandora Content Warnings: n/a Summary: Yugi solves the millennium puzzle, and it's only the start of his life changing. He and his new friend Joey Wheeler discover they both have etheral dragons that stand by their sides, reacting to their emotions. As they search for an explanation, they find links to Duel Monsters, ancient Egypt, a nameless pharaoh and Yugi's sudden loss of time. When they discover their classmate Kaiba with his own dragon and a knowledge far deeper than them, their search for answers is only interrupted by Kaiba's insatiable desire to collect every copy of his ka. (First ep/ch of s0 + first ep of DM s1e1 + JoJo’s Bizarre Adventures stands) Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

DM20 Pairings: VERY LIGHT Puzzleshipping Characters: Yugi Muto, Yami Yugi/Nameless Pharaoh, Solomon Muto, Yugi's Parents Content Warnings: Psychotic break, sexual assault, forced medication, emotional abuse Summary: Yugi has been forced to go to a psych ward by his father. Committed and alone, having the puzzle taken, Yugi struggles with what it's like to be labeled crazy. Being forced to take medication and no one truly believing him, will he break? Will he get out? The issues both inside and out of the hospital, will truly test the limits that Yugi has. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work + 10 (ten) 100x100 icons OR 1 (one) moodboard OR 1 (one) greyscale sketch OR 3-5 (three to five) panel coloured sketch comic

DM21 Pairings: n/a Characters: Main characters are Ryou Bakura, Akefia Bakura aka Thief King Bakura, Yugi Mutou, and Kek aka Yami Marik. Other important characters are Ishizu, Rishid, and Anzu. Lots of other people appear as side characters. Content Warnings: mild horror, non-graphic recollection of a monster attack in which people were killed Summary: It's a Star Trek AU! Ryou and Bakura are brothers who left their desert homeworld behind to join Starfleet, and were assigned to the USS Millennium. Bakura doesn't get along with Captain Atem at all, so when the captain's brother Yugi joins the crew on an unexpected and secretive mission, Bakura is ready to despise him too. One creepy rescue mission on a rapidly decaying ship later, Bakura is reluctant friends with Yugi, Ryou is much less reluctant friends with a flaming ghost, and Marik's quest for revenge probably attracted the attention of something Dark and Evil. This is written in the style of Star Trek, so it's part of a larger story and could be expanded, but is (hopefully) a completed episode that can be read on its own. It's a mixture of humor, drama, and a bit of horror, and doesn't really focus on any ships besides spaceships. I would probably rate it T for the swearing and brief mentions of death by monster attack. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic DM22 Pairings: Thief/Citronshipping, Deathshipping, some mild Blindshipping Characters: Malik Ishtar, Yami Bakura/Thief King Bakura, Ryou Bakura, Yami Malik (Kek), Yugi Mutou, Atem Content Warnings: Alcoholism, depression, body dysmorphia, dissociation, occult dabblings, character death of adults and children, and scenes of a graphic sexual nature. Summary: Bakura’s second chance at life isn’t going too well. Trapped in an endless cycle of self-loathing and depression, he’s sunk lower than he’ll ever be able to pull himself out of alone. Malik’s been out of the picture, but now he’s back in Domino and ready to kick his old friend’s ass into gear…or so he’d hoped. It turns out it’s going to require more than tough love and a few kisses. As the Shadows themselves beckon, the “Roku no Sennen” step into the unknown to retrieve Bakura’s soul before he is lost to the world forever. Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

DM23 Pairings: n/a Characters: Atem, Kaiba, Yugi. Sort of Minor Appearances: Joey and the Ishtars Content Warnings: No warnings or triggers! Summary: Shadows have descended upon Domino City, and Yugi is stuck asleep. Atem knows the two are connected, he just doesn't know how. He teams up with Kaiba to solve the mystery. Kaiba is only begrudgingly along for the ride. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

Yu-Gi-Oh! GX

GX1 Pairings: N/A Characters: Chazz Princeton, Jaden Yuki, Syrus Truesdale, Alexis Rhodes, Atticus Rhodes, Tyranno Hassleberry, Dr. Vellian Crowler, Bastion Misawa, Slade Princeton, Jagger Princeton, Chancellor Sheppard, Ms. Fontaine Content Warnings: Depression/anxiety, panic attacks, depictions of abuse, psychological torment, mild torture/physiological torture, swearing, small bits of violence Summary: Chazz Princeton has never had a simple or easy life. Used and abused by his older brothers his entire life to achieve their own selfish goals, after losing to Jaden in the school duel in their first year Chazz thought he was finally free of his brothers and their tyrannical grip on him. But as his depression developed from years of oppression and mental and physical abuse, Chazz’s panic attacks expose his fractured mental and emotional state to Jaden and the others, Slade and Jagger mastermind a dastardly plan of their own. Planning to somehow harness his ability to communicate with duel monsters, Chazz is kidnapped from Duel Academy and subjected to experiments and even a little torture. Jaden and the others discover their friend’s kidnapping and rush off to rescue him, but can they reach Chazz before it's too late? Or will he be overtaken by his brothers’ evil, swallowed by the darkness, and lost to them forever? Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

GX2 Pairings: Yubel x Juudai Characters: Yubel, Juudai, one major OC, past life Juudai parents, Content Warnings: past life wingfic!AU, child kidnapping, referenced child murder (doesn't happen but he wants to do it) Summary: There is a world where Yubel only had wings after being changed. This is not that world. This is a world where almost everyone has wings. But Prince Juudai doesn't. He also doesn't have Yubel. Not yet anyway. And before he meets Yubel, he's going to in the deepest danger of his young life. The Light wasn't going to wait for him to have a guardian. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

Yu-Gi-Oh! ZEXAL

ZEXAL1 Pairings: Mizael/Kaito, mentioned Mizael/Vector, background IV/Rio Characters: Mizael, Kaito, Vector, Durbe, Ryouga, Alit. Secondary characters: Chris, Thomas, Rio Content Warnings: Alcohol, brief nongraphic suicide attempt. Summary: A modern AU featuring various individuals whose paths cross in Heartland City. Part 1: Durbe's a cubicle drone with an average life. He lives with Alit, a carefree policeman who works graveyard shift, and befriends Kamishiro Ryouga, a coworker from the finance department. Part 2: Mizael's an hourly worker who failed out of university. He lives with Vector, a fellow flunkie with a troubled past, and meets Tenjou Kaito, an astrophysics graduate student completing a Ph.D. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V

ARCV1 Pairings: Preyshipping, very small amounts of Hostageshipping, Sora x Reiji is implied. Characters: Shun Kurosaki, Reiji Akaba, Sora Shiun'in, Yuuya Sakaki, Yuuto, Yuri, Dennis Macfield, Kaito Tenjo, Reira Akaba, Ruri Kurosaki. Content Warnings: Gore, Blood, Surgery and Medical Talk, Body Horror, Death Mention, Talk of Murdering People. Summary: Shun Kurosaki wakes up in a hospital bed to discover that his blood is now colored golden due to nanobots that have been injected into his system. Now he's nearly invincible since the nanobots can heal nearly any would within seconds. The man behind it, Reiji Akaba threatens to kill Shun's sister unless Shun goes to kill the rest of Reiji's experiments including the Faceless Dennis MacField, parasitic vine and human hybrid Yuuri, literally conjoined twins Yuuya and Yuuto Sakaki, and Sora Shiun'in, the boy with a saw in his chest. It's just the start of a never ending nightmare for Shun Kurosaki. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic + 1 (one) coloured sketch OR 1 (one) greyscale line art OR 1 (one) graphic banner OR 3-5 (three to five) panel inked comic OR 5 (five) panel coloured sketch comic

ARCV2 Pairings: Moonblossom (Ruri/Serena); minor Tune (Yuzu/Rin); platonic Fruit (Yuzu/Yuuya) Characters: Ruri Kurosaki, Serena, Yuzu Hiiragi, Rin, Ray Akaba, Zarc, Yuuya Sakaki Content Warnings: magical violence; themes of depression, anxiety, and suicide; manipulation; Summary: "Don't forget. Always, somewhere, someone is fighting for you." When Ruri learns of puella magi - beautiful warriors that protect the dimensions in exchange for a granted wish - she nearly gives up her soul. However, time and time again Serena stops her. Alongside her classmate Yuzu and fellow puella magi Ray and Rin, Ruri seeks out a way to help her friends when she feels pushed aside yet trapped in a terrible, nightmarish plot. Based on the series Puella Magi Madoka Magica. Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

VRAINS1 Pairings: (Background but present) Revolver/Spectre, Ema/Akira, Vyra/Faust Characters: Ensemble (Aoi & Yusaku main, Go, Ema, Shoichi, Hanoi family, etc. supporting) Content Warnings: Body Horror (HnK/LotL style) and injury, mentions of animal death, canon-level mentions of violence against children (as part of backstory) Summary: Fantasy AU, Book 1 of 2. Yusaku is a created being known as a Sentinel working with Kusanagi in order to uncover the truth about Jin's disappearance- only to have the ritual meant to bring them answers go terribly wrong. Aoi is the Crown Princess of Sol and the youngest in the line of Zaizen witches, whose magic is said to have once felled a piece of heaven itself- and yet the High Council seems determined to keep her from using her power. A city full of desire, a captive god, and childhood memories forgotten.The key to it all lies with Hanoi- with the angels that have haunted them through both past and dream. (The problem is they're fighting blind... and no one involved intends to work as a team.) Art needed: + 2 (two) completed art work OR 3-5 (three to five) panel complete art comic

Crossover

XOVER1 Crossover series: Yu-Gi-Oh! ZEXAL, Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V Pairings: Vector/Zexal II Characters: Vector, Zexal II, Michio Motoka, Mieru Hochun Content Warnings: Zexal II is a female, She get's pregnant but it's only for a small portion. As a heads up this is an AU where Arc V continued after Zexal. Summary: Eliphas senses that Earth might be in danger and sends the Zexal forms there to keep it safe. As a precaution Zexal II is told to watch Vector, in case he might be the cause of the next disaster. But living together can lead to certain feelings being created. Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work + 10 (ten) 100x100 icons OR 1 (one) moodboard OR 1 (one) greyscale sketch OR 3-5 (three to five) panel coloured sketch comic

XOVER2 Crossover series: Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters, Yu-Gi-Oh! 5D's Pairings: Atem/Yusei Fudo (pre-relationship) Characters: Yusei Fudo, Atem, Yugi Muto, Officer Trudge, Mina Simmington, Crow Hogan, Blister (mentioned), Leo and Luna (mentioned), Akiza (mentioned), Kalin Kessler (mentioned) Content Warnings: less mystery, more character establishment for a potential series, character development, pre-relationship, Maggie Needs an Alibi AU, inspired by MNaA more than following it. Summary: Yusei Fudo has made a successful life for himself out of nothing. Living alone in a garage he bought, he spends most days as a freelance mechanic. In private, however, he has secret. He is the author of a popular court room drama series staring Atem Sennen, Criminal Defense Attorney extraordinaire, and his partner in crime (solving), Yugi Muto. His characters, incredibly detailed and believable, have driven the series to great acclaim. But now Yusei's contentment is disrupted when his creativity turns out to be a little too good. Atem and Yugi have gained sentience and decided to pop into Yusei's reality. It seems they have good timing, though, because suddenly, Yusei is on the spot for his ex-boyfriend's murder... Art needed: + 1 (one) completed art work OR 3 (three) panel greyscale sketched comic

#yugioh #YGO GX #Zexal #arcv #vrains #ygobb

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