#she's hedging paying everything off when my uncle passes away

[syvanna]

I've already spent $500+ on christmas gifts for both of them and they're still asking me for more things and yet nobodies bothered to ask/plan anything for my upcoming birthday OR christmas gifts 😭

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Heloo !! I hope all of you are doing well. I was wondering if there was another chapter planned for The High Road and the Low Road? I find the premise very intriguing and I can’t wait to see what happens next !!!!

After learning the truth from Claire, a furious Brianna runs to Craig na Dun to prove her mother’s crazy only to fall through the stones herself.

Part One, Part Two

The High Road and the Low Road - Part Three

“1968,” Roger repeated, almost in a trance after what Claire had told him. “Then… there’s a chance she hasna gone back yet.”

“A chance,” Claire agreed. “Though I couldn’t tell you the first thing about how we could even begin to find her… save camping out at the stones and watching for her.”

“And ye think it’s an ability that passes down from mother to child?”

Claire shrugged. “Or father. My own parents died when I was so young – when they were still very young – I doubt they ever even knew they had the ability, wherever one of them it came from.”

Fiona never took her eyes from the familiar road as she added, “Grannie and the others talk of it running in families – the fairies’ interest, that is. The tales say the fairies are like to take the daughters of women they stole before, mistaking the daughter for the mother.”

“Sounds like a way to explain something bein’ hereditary,” Roger conceded. “But all the tales I’ve heard speak of women taken. D’ye believe a man can pass through?”

“Geillis was only the first traveler I met,” Claire confessed, launching into an abbreviated account of her time in Paris and Master Raymond. 

“But the question of whether you can is easily solved – you touch the stones and something either happens or it doesn’t,” Claire said, looking at Roger, watching him and the grip he had on the small pack of clothes and supplies he’d hastily grabbed on their way out the door. “The more important questions is will you try.”

“I wouldna feel right watchin’ ye go on yer own,” he said too quickly. “And I feel Brianna going is partly my fault. My contributions to the conversation hardly calmed her.” He looked out the window, avoiding Claire’s knowing gaze. 

“Whatever your reason, I thank you for being willing to come and help me. I don’t know what might go wrong, but if anything should happen to me, it’s a comfort to know Brianna will have you there too.”

Roger continued looking away but nodded. He didn’t want to think of having to tell Brianna that something had happened to her mother (and that he hadn’t been enough to stop it). 

“We’re here,” Fiona announced, turning onto the road that inclined gently upward to the hill and the standing stones crowning it. 

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

“Have you run away from home before?” Brianna asked quietly as she held tight to the edge of the cart, praying they wouldn’t hit a bump strong enough to send her falling to the dusty road below. Ian looked far too comfortable where he was perched on a wooden crate next to one of the back wheels. He swayed but Brianna quickly noted that his movements worked with the swaying of the cart, adjusting and correcting for every tilt and jerk.

“I dinna see it as running away,” he explained. “Put that way it sounds like I dinna mean ever to return. It’s more… a brief change of scene. And I do try always to make myself useful,” he added. “This visit I’m fetching my da what he needs for farmin’ the fields and to help my uncle wi’ his business. He usually has plenty of work and no enough help for it. One of these days, I’m goin’ to ask him can I stay wi’ him for good.”

They had walked for a few hours before a man with a cart came up along the road behind them. Ian ran alongside and launched into Gaidhlig so Brianna had no clue what he’d said to convince the man to let them ride along, but within a few minutes the cart slowed enough for Ian to help Brianna up into the back. They didn’t dare take out Ian’s food stores with the cart jostling along (and a third party who might request a portion as payment for the ride). Instead, they chatted to cover the noise of their grumbling stomachs and Brianna glanced around at a landscape more lush and beautiful than she felt she’d ever be able to appreciate fully in her own time. 

“And what about you?” Ian asked, drawing Brianna’s attention back. “What were ye doing that ye became so lost?”

“I had an argument with my mother and took a walk to cool off. I just went further than I realized or meant to,” Brianna admitted, fighting the nervous impulse to laugh. She couldn’t have traveled much further if she’d tried. 

“So… ye ran away?” Ian teased. 

Brianna rolled her eyes at him, flushing as she heard him laughing at her. 

“What was it ye and yer mam argued over? Was it to do wi’ yer da? Ye said she told ye it wansa the man ye thought. Did she tell ye much about the man who is yer father?” 

“Yes, we fought about that. She lied to me my entire life – and about who I am. You’d be mad too if you found out yer father was someone you had never met.”

“Oh aye,” Ian agreed. “I’m named for my da. Dinna ken what I’d make of it were he no my father by blood… But I dinna ken it would change too much. He’s a good man, my da – better’n I ever manage. I dinna ken how to be like him so I dinna think it’s worth killin’ myself tryin’. Uncle – that is, I dinna feel my uncle is as disappointed in me when I do things wrong. Ken… there have been times when I wished my uncle was my father.”

Brianna said nothing. She had never wished for a different father – not that she could recall, anyway. There had been a few times she’d wished her mother were different – not that another woman was her mother, but that Claire had behaved more like other mothers, that sort of thing. But what if Frank had wished she were different? What if he had wished for a daughter more like him, a daughter who was actually his and not a reminder of the man his wife had left him for – a reminder that he was the consolation, that he was what was left when the love of his wife’s life was gone…

“Did she tell ye about him?” Ian pressed. 

“Only a little and I wasn’t to inclined to pay attention. She said I look like him – my hair, my eyes, my height… She said he was smart and kind, that he spoke several languages and was a strong leader to the men who fought with him,” Brianna listed. She was amazed she remembered so much of what Claire had told her. She was ashamed it wasn’t more. 

“Sounds a good man,” Ian told her. “Are ye sorry ye cannae meet him?”

Brianna shrugged. “You can’t miss what you’ve never had. I had a dad and he was pretty great. I’d want to have him back more than someone I never met… I think,” Brianna hedged. “I don’t know. Maybe part of me is curious, but what’s the point of wishing for it when it’s never going to happen?”

“I suppose that makes sense. Ye cannae be disappointed if ye never meet him, either,” Ian replied, a somber note in his voice. “But he might also be better’n ye could know if ye dinnae meet him and see for yerself.” 

“Which, again, doesn’t really matter as it’s never going to happen.”

“Right,” Ian agreed quickly, looking away to where a small flock of birds startled upward from the moor – perhaps disturbed by the sound of their cart passing.

Brianna and Ian allowed the silence between them to stretch comfortably as the miles slowly accumulated behind them. 

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

Roger came to first, but it took him a while to sort out where he was and what had happened. 

He was on the ground in the stone circle and everything seemed to pulse around him, a distracting buzzing fading in and out, ringing in his ears. When he turned his head, he saw Claire crumpled and unmoving a few feet away.

Cursing under his breath, Roger tried to roll in her direction but he found his body resistant to the idea, crying out in pain and frustration instead.

The noise succeeded in rousing Claire, however. With a loud gasp, she jolted upright, looking around until her eyes found Roger… and no sign of Fiona.

“Looks like we made it,” she declared, groaning as she struggled to her feet. “Though a little worse for the wear.”

“It was worse than ye said,” he grumbled, crawling to his pack which had ended up a few feet away.

“It gets worse each time,” Claire said. “I don’t… I don’t know if I’ll be able to get through again.” Panic hovered at the edges of her voice as she glanced to Roger. He could see her pushing it to the side as she moved to the edge of the circle and gazed down the hill toward the road. 

“She has a significant head start on us, whichever direction she’s gone,” Claire started. 

“Do ye think we ought to split up?” Roger asked. “If we go down the road in opposite directions, we can ask after her of anyone we meet. Then, if we know we’re on the right path, we keep after her and if we find she’s no been seen, we can turn back. We wait here till the other returns wi’ her and we all go back together.”

“That assumes she sticks to the road,” Claire countered.

“Have ye any reason to think she’d stray from it?”

“You mean besides the fact she took off here on her own in a huff and fell through inadvertently? It was dark when she came through. There’s a very good chance she missed the road altogether,” Claire theorized, yielding to her worst fears as she ran her gaze up and down the road, searching for impossible signs of Brianna.

“Do ye have another suggestion then?” Roger asked, the lingering headache from the journey and his own fears for Brianna adding to his frustration and erasing any care he might take for Claire’s position. “Hemmin’ and hawin’ willna accomplish anything but wastin’ time.”

“Well it looks like it’s delayed us enough to bring a small bit of good fortune our way,” she exclaimed, taking care as she started down the hill toward the road. “There’s a rider headed this way. You need to call out to him and ask if he’s seen a young woman hereabouts.”

“And why must it be me?” Roger queried, still frustrated and ornery as he followed her path of descent.

“I’m a sassenach in the Highlands,” she reminded him. “And a woman,” she added with annoyance.

“Right,” Roger sighed before beginning to wave his arms and call out to the man approaching on horseback.

The man slowed as he drew closer but he did not appear inclined to stop.

“My apologies, friends, but I’m on an errand that–”

He stopped the horse abruptly, color draining from his face.

Claire reached out and gripped Roger’s arm tightly, causing him to wince.

“Claire?” the man on the horse asked with breathless disbelief.

She responded in kind, “Ian?”

[cordonian-literature]

The Aftermath - Ch. 33

The Anointing Ceremony

Summary: Gabriel is anointed as the heir

Word Count: ~4.1k 

A/N: this is it! the next chapter is the last one :)

Warnings: none

*All characters belong to Pixelberry, except those that are unique to my story (I’ve also used some characters and fictional instances from Donna Tartt’s book, “The Goldfinch”)*

Tags: @captain-kingliamsqueen @gkittylove99 @lovablegranny @iam-the-kind-and-thoughtful @mom2000aggie @kingliam2019 @queenrileyrose @shanzay44 @cordonianroyalty @hopefulmoonobject @hopelessromanticmonie @twinkle-320 @amandablink @texaskitten30 @pens-girl-87 @ladyangel70 @sanchita012 @cordonianprincess @cordonia-gothqueen @queenwalton @yourmajesty09 @alj4890​ @choicesbutterfly​ 

I don’t know if the tags are working or not, but I hope I got everyone down! If you would like to be added or removed, let me know :) 

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

- Gabriel -

Ella and I were trying to see how many grapes we could fit into our mouths when Dad stands up from the picnic blanket. I don’t pay attention to him, but when Mom laughs, I turned to look at them to see Dad on one knee holding a ring box out to her. 

Ella’s hands fly to her mouth as she tries to eat quickly while I continue stuffing my face (I was on eight grapes). Mom and Dad laugh, then Dad slides the ring on her finger and they share a kiss.

“I thought you said you planned on proposing in the hedge maze?” Mom asks through a giggle. 

“I had to improvise,” Dad says. “I wanted to make it official so we could let the world know as soon as possible.” 

Ella swallows her grapes and goes to join the hug. I start rapidly chewing and wrap my arms around them, doing my best not to cough. After we finish everything in the picnic basket, Dad carries Ella over his shoulders and we walk back to the estate. 

Inside, Duke Bertrand runs up to us and wishes Mom and Dad congratulations. I wonder how he already knows that they’re engaged.

“Your Majesty, if I may,” Bertrand says, “I am absolutely elated at the news! I saw you as I was passing by the window in my office and well...” He pauses and clears his throat, letting his smile falter. “I would kindly advise that an announcement be sent out immediately seeing that the Anointing Ceremony is tomorrow-” 

Dad cuts in and through a large smile says, “Yes, Duke Bertrand, that would be appropriate.” 

“Wonderful! I’ll make it my top priority!” 

As Duke Bertrand walks off, Duchess Olivia catches Mom and Dad before we can go any further. She says she has something important to tell them, and the adults walk off together.

Ella and I make our way up to our rooms. My sister skips happily. 

“How do you feel about Mom and Dad being engaged?” I ask her, wanting to know what she thought. 

Ella shrugs and continues walking. “I guess it’s okay. Is it gonna be different than how it’s already been?” 

“Well, yeah,” I tell her. “We’ll be living together with Dad, have to go places with him. And with Mom.” 

“But we’ve already been doing that,” she states.

I take a moment to think about her words, and I can’t really prove her wrong. “I guess you’re right.”

The Beaumont estate is quiet since all the guests from the party had left the night before. Hunter and Heather had said goodbye to us this morning, and Uncle Leo had said that we would see them again tomorrow.

When we’re in our rooms, Ella says she wants to practice more dances with Countess Hana. We go around the estate looking for her, but don’t see her anywhere. We bump into Duchess Savannah, who tells us she’s left for the evening but will be at the ceremony tomorrow. The mention of the ceremony causes a wave of dread to flow through my chest.

The Duchess adds that Lord Maxwell and Aunt Rowan have left for dinner and that Bartie’s taking a lesson. Having nothing to do, we turn again towards the direction of our rooms. 

Before we get there, we see Duchess Olivia walking away. Figuring she must have just been where Mom and Dad were, we go in the direction that she came from.

Inside a room, We see Mom crying. Dad holds her to his chest. They haven’t seen us yet, so Ella and I keep quiet. 

Mom mumbles some things to Dad, but neither of us can hear it. There’s a deep frown on Ella’s face, and before I can stop her, she says, “Mama?” and walks up to her. 

Mom sits up, quickly wiping the tears from her face. She doesn’t say anything to Ella, but instead holds out her arms and collects Ella into her lap. 

I walk into the room and take a seat next to Dad. He puts an arm around my shoulder. Silent tears run down Mom’s face. I want to ask her what’s making her so upset.

After a while, she calms down, but the four of us don’t talk. Dad’s arm is around me and Mom, while Mom still holds Ella. 

“Everything okay?” I ask, hoping one of them would answer me.

“Everything’s wonderful, baby,” Mom manages a smile.

“Why were you crying?” Ella asks. 

“I was mad,” she answers. 

“About what?” I question.

“Just...” She takes a shaky breath. “Thinking about your dad. And Uncle Boris.”

Her words were directed at Ella, whose face falls. “Why are you mad at him?”

Mom doesn’t hesitate before quickly saying, “No reason, baby,” as if she’s trying to erase what she just said. She gives Dad a look. “Isn’t it getting late?” 

“But-” I try to stop them.

Dad pats me on the shoulder. I think he’s going to tell us to go to bed, but instead he says, “How about we end the night with a game? Or a movie?”

Ella’s face brights up. 

“We have to get up early for the ceremony,” Mom tries to protest, but Dad’s already picked up Ella over his shoulders. He puts a hand on my back and leads us towards our rooms. 

“Get all the sleep you need, love,” he tells her. “Meanwhile, we’ll be watching... what will we be watching, Ella?”

“Uh... The Lorax!” she cries. 

Could be worse, I think to myself. 

“The Lorax,” Dad finalizes. Mom stands in front of him with her arms crossed, and I can tell she’s doing her best not to smile. He leans forward to kiss her forehead, then we turn and walk away.

...

Mom wakes us up when it’s still dark out. Dad says we can sleep on the drive over, and I’m pretty sure he carried Ella into the car because she wouldn’t wake up. 

The morning is cold but quiet. We don’t talk when we get into the limo. Ella is still sleeping near the back, while I’m a few feet away from her. Mom and Dad are cuddled close, their heads leaning against each other. 

I watched the colors of the sky get lighter, signaling the beginning of a new day. But I wanted it to stay dark. I didn’t want this day to happen. I try to make myself fall asleep so I could calm down. 

But the closer we got to the palace, and the brighter the sun got, the less I was able to sleep. Maybe it was the annoying light. Maybe it was that my seat was uncomfortable. Or maybe, it was that I really, really didn’t want to do this anymore. 

I feel like I need to get up and run. I feel like something bad was about to happen. I want to tell the driver to stop, that we’re moving towards something terrible. My chest feels like it’s in knots. I don’t want to open my mouth or take a breath because I know I’ll start coughing. 

But I can’t suffocate myself. I open my mouth and start coughing and crying at the same time. Mom and Dad unbuckle their belts and rush to my side. 

The dread intensifies. “I don’t wanna do this,” I tell them. “I don’t wanna go!” 

“Why not, baby, what happened?” Mama asked. 

I couldn’t tell her what I thought. Well, maybe I could, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to tell her that I’m deathly afraid that I would do something wrong, and all the mean people at court would have something to say about it for the rest of my life. I don’t want to tell her that I had heard some of the things the noblewomen had said about her and Dad, and I don’t want to hear more of it. I don’t want to tell her that I want to skip the ceremony entirely. 

“Gabriel,” Dad catches my attention. “Breathe.” 

I can’t bring myself to listen to him. My chest feels tighter. I want to get out of the car.

“Breathe,” he says again, and starts breathing in a slow rhythm. I know he wants me to copy him, so as best as I can, through the tears and coughs, I follow him.

We do that for a while. For a moment I stop copying him and cry again; I felt like I was bothering him. But again Dad puts a hand on my shoulder and breathes with me. Eventually, the dread goes away and I feel a bit normal again. 

“Do you need anything?” Dad asks. I don’t open my mouth; I’m scared I’ll start coughing and crying again. “I know you’re worried, you have every right to be, but I promise it will not be as bad as you think it will.” I try nodding my head at him. “I’ll be there every step of the way. If there’s a moment where you want it all to stop, tell me.” I nod again.

Mom grabs me some water. The knots and nerve-wracking thoughts become smaller. Dad doesn’t leave my side. 

And when we reach the palace, I follow him as Mom and Ella go to their rooms. The palace is busier than I’ve ever seen it. Nobles pass by, rapidly whispering, quickly bowing in Dad’s direction, doing their best to get ready. Servants run around, carrying things from one hallway to another, making sure everything is in the proper place.

Dad keeps his hand on my shoulder as we greet people, attend some morning meetings, eat a quick breakfast, and make our way to the dressing rooms to get ready.

Watching him go through the routine of his day was calming. Before starting anything, Dad would ask me if there was something I need, and then asked if I want to leave and take a moment for myself. 

But I didn’t. The feeling of wanting to be near him was odd... but peaceful. Everything that Dad had to worry about flowed around him: passing by for him to solve it with ease, but never lingering long enough to bother him. He was in control of everything and he made people know that. I feel safe around him. He’s picked me up and scooped me away into peace.

We pass through crowds of finely dressed people while we make our way to the boutique. Inside, Countess Hana and Mom are talking excitedly. 

“Rashad and I went to speak to Neville yesterday,” she tells my mother. “We finalized everything! I’ll be staying in the palace for the time being, and I’m having servants pack my things and bring them to me.”

“And how did Neville react?” Mom asks. 

“He was surprised, I could see it on his face. There was some angry mumbling. But with Rashad there he didn’t have anything to say to either of our faces!”

“You’re finally single and ready to mingle!” Lord Maxwell cries out, wrapping Hana in a big hug. 

“She’s already been mingling,” Aunt Rowan says. “Duke Rashad is waiting for you outside.” She jerks her thumb in the direction of the door.

Duchess Olivia and Drake walk in together as the Countess walks out. Drake ruffles my hair and walks towards Dad. 

“Has Olivia told you everything?” Dad questions. 

Mom pulls me away to start getting dressed, but I can still hear Drake respond with, “Yup. We went to question Jessica this morning.”

“And? Did she have anything to confess?”

“Claimed that Boris had only told her what was happening that day I caught her with him.”

“We didn’t believe her,” Duchess Olivia states. “But she cried the entire time she told the story and said it was the truth. I suggest throwing her in the cells with the Russian.”

The outfit Mom hands me has many different layers. Every piece I put on made me feel fancier. After most of the stuff is on, I step out. Mom comes up to me and places something that looked like a cape over my shoulders. There’s gold on it. 

I look over to see Ella, who wears a rose-colored dress, a similar but smaller cape drawn over her shoulders. She runs her finger over the fur as Aunt Rowan fuses over her. Mom wears a cape, too, and the peach color of her dress is the same color as Dad’s sash on his dark blue military suit.

Mom finishes helping me and hands me a pair of shoes to put on. I take a seat on a chair, and she turns towards Dad and their friends.

“Drake, I’m so sorry,” Mom says to him. 

“Sorry about what?” His voice is heavy. 

“Sorry about everything. With Jessica. Boris.” 

They stare at each other for a long minute. Drake sighs and says, “There’s no reason to be sorry about Jessica. Don’t worry about Boris, either. He tricked all of us.” 

“But you were engaged to her. You loved her. Even if she was wrong for you...”

“Brooks, it’s better to be alone than with the wrong person.” 

Before anyone can say anything more, there’s a knock at the dressing room door. I go to open it, since I’m closest, and see that it’s Grandma!

She tightly wraps me in her arms, then grabs Ella into the same hug. When we part, Grandma goes around the room to greet everyone: hugging Mom and Aunt Rowan, while giving Dad, Drake, Maxwell, and Olivia quick nods. 

Once that’s done, everyone looks around at each other. Mom, Dad, Ella, and I stay in the room while the rest of them leave. Grandma turns to me again to ask how I’m feeling.

“Good,” I tell her honestly. “A bit excited. Also nervous.” 

“That’s okay, you’ll be fine” she exclaims, then turns to Dad. “I heard the news. I guess I should wish you two congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Brooks,” Dad says.

“But if you ever hurt my daughter again,” Grandma starts. 

“Mom, I need to talk to you about Theo,” my mother says. 

Grandma turns quickly. Dad leads us out of the room and we join Drake, Olivia, and Bertrand on the other side. 

“Everyone is in attendance,” Duke Bertrand tells us. “The Auvernese royals left last night and there’s increased security. Everything is in place.” 

Dad nods at him. Drake asks, “What’s going on in there?”

“She’s telling her mother about Theodore.” 

For a second I hope that Dad would go more into detail about it. I want him to explain what’s so important about Ella’s dad and Uncle Boris. My sister looks at me and raises her eyebrows. I shrug, telling her that I don’t know anything. 

The adults talk for a few more moments. The palace looks like it’s cleared out and there are only members of security and staff walking around. The guards made me a bit more anxious; seeing them made me think that there was something for me to worry about. But Ella starts talking to me and I’m distracted.

Finally, Mom and Grandma come out of the room. Grandma’s eyes are red. She pats Dad’s shoulder, holds Mom’s hand, and says a soft, “I’m sorry.”

Small smiles pass on the adult’s faces. I look up at my mother, wanting to know what she and Grandma discussed. Mom leans down to plant a kiss on my head and my sister’s. 

Duke Bertrand mentions that we’re about to be late. “The anointing hall awaits!” he calls, and leads us away. 

We pass by the lobby of the palace. Through the glass, I can see a large crowd of people cheering. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but they cry out excitedly.

We walk through corridors, up multiple flights of stairs, and through countless hallways until we come to a wing of the palace I’ve never seen before.

“We’re not going to the usual throne room?” Mom asks. 

“Tradition dictates that all royal heirs be anointed here,” Dad tells her, “in the original throne room.” 

“It’s a true honor,” Duke Bertrand states, a proud smile on his face. “One that will go down in Cordonian history... nay, the history of the world! Everyone will be watching!” 

Everyone? I think to myself. 

As Bertrand guides Grandma, Ella, and Drake inside, I try to take deep breaths to calm the anxiety that starts again. Dad notices and puts a hand on my shoulder. He matches my breathing until the panic disappears. 

“Ready?” he asks.

I nod.

Mom and Dad stand close behind me. The doors open, and rich music swells around me. People turn to look, and I freeze in place. There are smiles sent in my direction, and curious looks thrown in the direction of Mom and Dad. I see Hunter and Heather and their parents, Drake, Countess Hana, Lord Maxwell, Aunt Rowan, my sister, and my grandmother. 

I take a step forward, not entirely sure if that’s what I’m supposed to do. 

The closer I get to the throne, the more I notice my surroundings. There are nobles holding their house flags, one of them shouts out an introduction, though, through the thundering in my head and the loud music, their voices are drowned out. 

After the person finishes talking, people being to applaud. I look around nervously at everyone, but I’m thankfully met with kind eyes.

Halfway down the aisle, Duke Landon and his family hold swords above my head. I give them my best smile, hoping they wouldn’t drop the swords on me, and continue on. I was almost at the throne. It was almost over.

Near the stairs, I recognize some more members of the Great Houses. Duchess Olivia stands next to a crown. A Lady holds a golden scepter, and another holds a small vial of oil.

“We are gathered here today to witness Gabriel’s anointment as Crown Prince of Cordonia,” Duchess Olivia’s commanding voice says to the crowd. “This ceremony represents Cordonia’s unity, as we pledge our loyalty to our future king.”

A cheer rises from the crowd behind me, which is unexpected. The people are happy. For me.

“Gabriel Rys,” the Duchess turns to me. “Do you accept the title of Crown Prince, and all the responsibilities it carries?” 

Trying to sound responsible, I repeat her question in my answer, showing that I was paying attention: “I accept the title of Crown Prince and all the responsibilities that it carries.” 

“Lady Kiara of House Theron, you may now cross the heir with the royal scepter, that he may be ready to shoulder the station it represents.” 

I turn to Lady Kiara, and she does what Duchess Olivia said. The scepter glitters as it passes in front of me. 

“Countess Madeleine of House Fydelia,” the Duchess starts again, “you may now anoint the heir in apple oil.”

She puts a drop of the oil on my forehead, which falls down between my eyebrows and down the tip of my nose, dropping on my chin. It smells funny. I fight to keep a sneeze in. 

The Countess steps back, and Olivia picks up the crown. She faces me, and I bow my head slightly, allowing her to place it over my head. 

Dad had told me that it might be heavy, but that wasn’t what I was worried about. The crown fit perfectly on my head. When I stood up straight again, it didn’t tilt or move. I felt like I had just been given the final piece of a puzzle. I give a wide grin.

Duchess Olivia’s commanding voice heightens as she cries, “May I present to you the new Crown Prince of Cordonia, Prince Gabriel!” 

I let out a sigh of relief. The crowd cheers again. My parents’ friends and my sister surround me, giving me high fives and pats on the back. A photographer comes in front of us and snaps a picture. 

“Our first professional photo as a family,” Dad says to us. 

“So that’s it?” Ella asks.

“Well, you still have to be anointed as a royal,” Dad tells her, “but that won’t happen until your mother and I are married.”

“Oh, okay!” she cries. 

In the middle of the celebration, we’re led down to the main ballroom. We’re showered with enthusiastic congratulations, both for the ceremony and my parent’s engagement. 

Hours ago, I had been worried about what people would say to me or about me. But the nobles who come up to us say that they’re proud of me and excited for my future in Cordonia. Some of them even have gifts for Ella and I. 

Mom walks around to mingle with people. I walk with Dad and Ella, and we bump into Hunter, Heater, and their parents. 

“Congrats, kiddo,” Uncle Leo ruffles my hair. “You did good out there.”

“Thanks,” I say, as Hunter repeats the wish. 

“The nobles are under your control, huh?” Uncle Leo asks Dad. “I know some of them came to prove their loyalty to the crown after years of speaking against it. Having an heir changes everything.” 

“It truly does,” Dad says. “Not only will Cordonia be more stable, but the Great Houses will no longer dare to question my actions.” 

“They haven’t said anything about your engagement?” 

“Why would they say anything against their King? Or, for that matter, their future queen and the mother of the heir? That sounds borderline treasonous to me.” There’s a smile in Dad’s voice. I smile, too, when I understand what he's saying. He really did have everything under control. 

Uncle Leo chuckles. “I’m proud of you, brother.” 

After the party ends and hundreds of other pictures have been taken, Lord Maxwell and Aunt Rowan lead us into our rooms to get changed. 

Once she's in her pajamas, Ella flops onto the bed, but Aunt Rowan tells her to get up. 

We leave the room and weave through the hallways. It’s much later than we thought it was, and most of the guests are already asleep. We reach a pair of ordinate doors, which look like every other door in the palace, but on the other side of it is a large movie room.

The smell of popcorn and candy wraps around me. Mom and Dad are in the back row, talking to Lady Hana, Duke Rashad, Uncle Leo, and Aunt Katie. Drake, Bartie, and Hunter are picking out a movie, while Duchess Savannah, Grandma, and Duchess Olivia are near the popcorn maker.

“Thought we could all use some family-fun time,” Lord Maxwell says to us.

Though we had just watched a movie last night, this did seem fun, and I’m not about to complain. Ella runs towards the popcorn. Once she has all the snacks she desires, she finds a seat near Heather.

“Looks cool,” I tell Lord Maxwell as we walk towards Drake and Bartie. “What are we watching?” 

“Anything you guys want,” Drake says. 

“Can we not watch Disney?” Hunter asks. 

“Or The Lorax?” I say.

Drake laughs. “Alright, alright. Take your seats, The Lorax begins in a few moments.” 

Bartie, Hunter, and I roll our eyes and grab some snacks. The adults all take a seat near each other. 

When the beginning of the movie starts and someone dims the lights, the serenity around me lulls me towards sleep. I remember the uneasiness from this morning, and I almost laugh at myself for feeling that way at all. 

A couple of months ago, this wouldn’t have been the life I would have chosen. But looking back, I know that wasn’t up to me. The aftermath of the bombing brought my family surprises, but without it, would we all have been this happy?

Did Mom smile this way before? Did she laugh so carelessly? Did she used to have friends who laughed with her this way? 

Dad. I wouldn’t even have known him. Maybe before I was angry that he interrupted our family, maybe I thought that he was doing the wrong thing by trying to bring my mother to Cordonia, but everything ended up right. 

Through the sadness, desperation, and fear — fear that my mother might forget me again, fear that a strange man would take me away from Mom and my sister, fear that I would never be loved the same way again — came goodness and peace and family. The whole thing feels like a landmark: it’s led us all to a happier, more pleasant life.

[winchesterandpie]

Reminders (Thorin Oakenshield x reader)

Pairing: Thorin Oakenshield x reader

Sort of Modern!AU

Word Count: 1517

Warnings: some angst, mentions of death (nobody actually dies though)

A/N: So, I watched the Battle of the Five Armies when it was on TV as part of a Hobbit marathon... naturally this included Thorin, Fili, and Kili all dying and I was Not A Fan, so I had this fix-it imagination/thing. The reader (that’s you!) got transported to Middle Earth, and saved our boys and now those three dwarves plus you watched BOTFA (don’t ask me how they got transported to and from Middle Earth, because idk, it just happened). The two lines of dots are just my way of maintaining space on the mobile version! Gif is not mine (I got it from google, but it appears to have a credit in the top corner)! Love you all and hope you enjoy!

Shoutout to the lovely (hehe) @legolaslovely​ for helping me bounce ideas and get unstuck!!

The movie was over but I could barely push myself to my feet and through the halls of my house, muttering an excuse about needing to use the bathroom. It’d been dreadfully hard to live through Thorin and his nephews nearly dying, but to have to watch them actually die over again? It was just too much. 

Why did I let those blasted dwarves talk me into watching this movie with them? I could’ve just been faster to turn it off and we could’ve avoided this whole thing but noooo. 

Even now, they were watching the beginning of the first Lord of the Rings movie, unaffected by watching their own on-screen deaths and unaware as I tried desperately to force back the tears I could feel welling up. Without paying attention, I came to sit before a window in the other room, staring out at the yard and the streets as I tucked my knees close to my chest. I sucked in a sharp breath as flashes of memory struck.

.   .

.   . 

This one dies first.

Then the brother.

Then you, Oakenshield.

You will die last.

Ice filled my veins at the words I had heard so many times before in the movies. Now, though, it was real. Fili was real and a real friend, not just a fictional character.

Helplessly, we watched from below as Azog jammed his cruel blade through Fili before letting him fall to the ice. Instinctively, I reached out, trying to slow the blond prince’s fall. Miraculously, I somehow managed to catch him, though the limp weight of him knocked me to the ground. He lay unmoving atop me as I struggled to get out from under him.

.   .

.   .

Kili charged recklessly towards Tauriel’s voice, hearing her cry out as she was attacked by Bolg. I saw him move from across the ice, separated by a horde of goblins and orcs. Muttering curses under my breath, I followed, cutting my way through the army as quickly as I could, ignoring the cuts I received in the urgency I felt to get there before it was too late. 

Alas, fate, it seemed, was against me as Azog’s son threw Kili onto the stone steps. As I reached the ledge, I saw the dwarf’s head hit the stone hard and he didn’t get back up. My last throwing knife leapt of its own accord into my hand, where it was sent with deadly accuracy and force into an unarmored part of Bolg’s head. 

My knees were almost buckling under the weight of losing both of the dwarf princes, under the weight of my own failure to save them, but I forced myself to keep moving. There was yet one more son of Durin who drew breath on this hill, and I had to try. No tears, not yet, I told myself.

.   .

.   . 

From across the ice, I could see that Azog had some dwarf I couldn’t identify pinned beneath him. My breath caught in horror as I realized it was Thorin, trying desperately to stave off Azog’s blade. I had already used most of my arrows, leaving only two in the quiver. Still, I could tell I only had time for one shot. One shot in which to pull the Pale Orc’s attention to me, as I didn’t trust my aim to kill him.

Unconsciously, I had drawn the bow, the fletching on the arrow brushing my cheek as I aimed carefully. One shot. One breath. One smooth release. The arrow flew on its way with a hiss.

It slammed into Azog’s upper arm, and his head whipped in my direction, just like I’d been counting on. Thorin’s attention was dragged to me, distracting him from Azog, which I hadn’t counted on. The orc moved to stab Thorin again, but I snapped off my last arrow before I started sprinting in their direction. The arrow tore through his stub of an arm, pushing his sword stroke aside. Or so I had hoped.

I thought I saw my arrow shift where his blade struck, but it didn’t stop him and I was still too far away. I saw the blade sink into Thorin, who couldn’t block it in his exhaustion, and the sight hit me like a physical blow. The loss of the brothers had hurt, but not like this. Not him, I begged to whatever deity would listen, Please, not him.

.   .

.   . 

I was brought out of my thoughts suddenly by a hand on my face, brushing away a tear I hadn’t realized was slipping down my cheek. My mind slowly processed and understood where I was, though the grief lingered heavily. They hadn’t actually been dead, thankfully, though that knowledge hadn’t been part of the memories I’d recalled.

“Come back to me, ghivashel.” Thorin’s voice filtered over my ears, I pulled my gaze to his face, still staring without seeing. With conscious effort, I forced myself to focus on him, registering his furrowed brow and concerned gaze.

“There you are.”

“Sorry,” I replied quietly, not wanting to disturb the quiet.

“No need to apologize. Where were you?” His hands, cupped around my cheeks, held me there as he gazed intently into my eyes.

“Erebor,” I hedged, hoping he’d leave it at that. I’d managed to keep my voice from cracking, but only just. He was worried enough about trying to get back to Middle Earth to have to worry about whether I was breaking. I was, however, betrayed when another tear slipped from the corner of my eye.

“What’s wrong, lass?” Thorin caught the tear with a gentle brush of his thumb. “I’ve been homesick, I’ve seen you homesick. This is something more. You don’t need to hide from me.”

“I… that movie… I didn’t expect… didn’t expect to watch you die today, Thorin.” My voice finally cracked as I put words to the painful thoughts.

“And you were remembering the battle.” His gaze became impossibly soft as he looked at me. Carefully, he pulled me into his chest, his fingers winding through my hair. I felt the gentle press of his lips to the crown of my head as I sucked in a shuddering breath. 

“That part of the movie always hurt, but this time…” I trailed off with a helpless shrug.

“It is understandable to be troubled by reminders of such times. You are not weak for that,” the king murmured soothingly as the hand that wasn’t cradling my head to him began to trace little patterns on my back.

“I don’t see you, or Fili, or Kili so troubled, and you were the ones who nearly died and then watched your own deaths!”

“Different things trouble different people. Besides, you were the one who watched what you believed to be our demise unfold before you in the real battle. Watching it now was as though you were reliving the memory.” 

I nodded slightly, supposing that what he said made sense. Safe now in the dwarven king’s strong arms, the tension and grief slowly loosened their hold, helped along by quiet reassurances that he was there, that they were alive. Every inhale brought Thorin’s scent into my nose, another reminder that he was real and alive. 

“What happened to Aunt Y/N?” I heard Kili’s quiet question but didn’t move. 

I didn’t really pay attention to Thorin’s reply, just the soothing rumble of his chest as he spoke. 

“Is there anything we can do, Uncle?”

“What do you think, love? What do you need?”

I shifted my head a little as I thought, feeling the soft brush of Thorin’s lips against my forehead. “Maybe we could watch something else? Something to take my mind off it?” I only paused briefly before my jumbled thoughts slipped from my mouth. “I’m sorry, I know I shouldn’t be-”

“No apologies, ghivashel,” Thorin cut me off gently, pulling back enough to lift my chin in his hand and look me in the eye. “You don’t ever need to apologize for having feelings. You are not a burden for them.” As usual, the dark-haired dwarf saw through me to where the immediate guilt was coming from. I nodded, closing my eyes and leaning into his hand as I tried to burn his reassurance into my mind. 

“We don’t know how to get to a movie, but we’d love to watch another one with you,” Kili offered after a moment had passed.

“Yeah, I should probably man the remote.” I chuckled weakly at the thought of them trying to work the unfamiliar technology.

“Fili, Kili, you get some food to eat while we watch. We’ll be there in a moment.” 

The brothers bounced toward the kitchen, jostling each other playfully as they went. I smiled at the sight before turning back to see Thorin watching me adoringly. 

“Thank you,” was all I could say. 

“Men lananubukhs menu,” was all Thorin said in reply. His hand found the back of my neck, pulling me in so he could rest his forehead against mine with the utmost care, and I knew that he knew everything I was failing to convey. 

Somehow, he always knew.

Translations:

Ghivashel: treasure of all treasures

Men lananubukhs menu: I love you

Hope you enjoyed!!

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@riddikulus-obsessions​ @addictionmarvel​ @peppermint--teas​ @mercedesbarnes​ @javapeach​

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[sarasmallmanwrites]

A-Level Playing Field

Nobody wanted my opinion on this, but it’s hard growing up poor. 

1988. It’s that damp kind of evening outside, clouded by condensation on the single glazed windows, and the smoke from my Nan’s Benson and Hedges. We’ve just had tea – this is North, of course – and everything is accompanied by slices of springy bread heavily lacquered in ‘soft spread’. The gold foiled butter is, usually, saved for my grandad, who works at a fibreglass factory. It’s a very long way away (actually 3.7 miles) and he leaves on his bike every evening with three rounds of tinned ham sandwiches in his bag. Tonight, my mum is out until half nine, working in the care home in the next town, picking me up at ten-ish, depending on how fast she walks. My mum is 27. Five years out of a loveless marriage, living in a council house, she has no qualifications but is working for her City and Guilds and her English ‘O-Level’, GCSEs haven’t hit our vocabulary yet, and won’t until my second cousin Mark does his two years later.

Tonight is Thursday. Nan goes out on a Thursday, which means she will leave the house at half seven in a haze of Vitapoint, Elnett and Lily of the Valley, to play Bingo at the local club. I am being looked after by Alan, my mum’s younger brother, living at home, working in the Mill that overlooks the town below like a stern Victorian overseer. He’s always grumpy, stuck in a town that has no opportunities, and no visible exit. The eighties have been cruel to young, working-class men. The vehement cry of ‘get the fuck out’ hasn’t reached our town but will do in eight years time, on a wave of Britpop, New Labour, cigarettes, and alcohol.

My uncle looks to the television for nightly escape. Thursday is Blackadder, it’s Not The Nine O’Clock News, it’s Comic Strip, it’s A Bit of Fry and Laurie, it’s Red Dwarf, it’s shipwrecked and comatose, and me engrossed on the couch, not sipping mango juice, but milky tea (the North!), as my uncle laughs his head off in between cigarettes. My mum returns, smelling like TCP and the outside, with salty, vinegary chips, and we eat them as we walk the newly tarmacked paths under the orange street lights. I ask her what a goldfish shoal is. She tells me to shush.

I decided that weekend that I wanted to be funny. I mean I could make people laugh when I did my Cilla Black impression, so surely that was a start, and thank to Carry On films I was brilliant at ‘Infamy, Infamy!’, I knew this because my grandad (the cleverest man I knew) had told me so. Even though I was only in Junior One, I knew that you had to be taught how to be funny, that there was definitely some kind of class that you would have to take to learn it, because I had never really been a natural at anything; apart from whistling, which I did with gusto in shrill, high- pitched tones wherever I could.

I read a lot, especially the paper – particularly the Daily Mirror, which probably explains why I am always heavily weighted to the left, and not just because of my ineptitude in heels – and found out that Hugh Laurie, who is obviously the funniest man I have ever encountered, went to Cambridge and was in something called ‘The Footlights’. Then was it, I decided. I was going to go to Cambridge and join ‘The Footlights’ and be funny like Victoria Wood and Dawn French. I imagine ‘The Footlights’ to be a rag-tag theatrical group living on their wits, humour, and more importantly, Pot Noodles. I tell my Grandad that I want to go to Cambridge. He tells me not to be daft.

Now, when I think about it, wanting to go to Cambridge was not a preposterous idea for any child at the age of seven; you are at the start of your education journey. There is plenty of time to get better at things, to practice, to be coached, to improve yourself; but for a working-class girl, who would eventually be the first member of her family to go to university, I might as well have said that I wanted to fly to Mars on fairy wings. But, children who attend private schools are told from the age of four that Oxford or Cambridge are the end goals for their education, with any of the higher-performing Russell Group universities being something that they could settle for, at a push. I didn’t even know what a Russell Group University was until about three years ago, and why would I? For me, in my small artsy primary school with forty children across four year groups, a dismissive attitude towards formal English education, and a liberal fancy for devoting the whole of the summer term to the end of year show, this was not something that was even thought about. Oxford and Cambridge were places printed on the back of books, they weren’t places that you went to university. In fact, most of my primary school teachers hadn’t even been to university but received their qualifications at the local teacher training college; the only exception is a brown jumpered gentleman with a penchant for using cupboards as a disciplinary technique. 

We’ll skip forward a few years later, and high school is a vigorous mixing bowl of talents, it takes until at least year nine before anyone even notices who I am amongst the squall of kids churning about in KS3. Dinner is pink sausage meat wrapped in a translucent puff pastry duvet, a treat even on the hottest days when the fat sticks to your lips; and the terms pass in a haze of cheap cider (the kind that tastes like sick), the floral pout of Cherry Lypsyl, and Chris Evans on the Radio One Breakfast Show; who is hastily snoozed every morning before I smell the lukewarm coffee my mum has left by my bed before she goes to work.  At this point my mum is a newly qualified nurse at the hospice two towns over, her fingers raw from hand sanitiser, but with rolls of antiseptic scented micropore tape that I use for a cacophony of projects. She is on nights right now, spooning gravelly granules of instant coffee into a mug, blurry from sleep, I am cobbling together a mask out of old Cornflake packets, stuck together with nursing supplies and painted with nail varnish that went past its best around the same time as the Thompson Twins. It is 1995, and the country feels like it is on the cusp of something.  I don’t know what, but I’m looking forward to the Year 2000 because I will be fully grown. Well, nineteen.

But what about Oxbridge? Well, for starters, if you attend a state school you have to be so immediately impressive to your teachers that they discuss you in the staffroom. It’s not enough to be good at one particular thing, you have to excel across the board. You have to be so amazingly shiny, that even the most jaded teacher in the school cannot fail to be dazzled by your brightness. For state school kids, Oxbridge is not something that they suggest to the average 10 A*-C kids, it’s not something that they even dangle in front of 10 A*-B kids who are pretty good. At state school, you have to be exceptional for your teachers to even consider you as a candidate, and then you have to achieve enough A*s in your GCSEs that you might as well open a Planetarium. Even then, all they can really do is say ‘I think you could go to Oxford or Cambridge, you know’, or flag you up to the local authority careers service as ‘potential Oxbridge’. There is no Oxford Fast Track programme in state schools, even for exceptional kids.

In a recent social media fracas, one lady proclaimed that if you gave kids a level playing field then poor kids would always triumph because they were more resilient - all those Crispy Pancakes, surely? But for children from a working-class background, we’re not even on the playing field yet; we have to borrow trainers with non-marking soles, scrape around for a quid for the bus. By the time we get to the playing field, we have already been running around for half the day trying to get there, we miss the warm-up because we were late and, honestly, by this point, we’re just knackered because we’ve had to work so much harder just to get there in the first place.

The warm-up is a given to those whose parents have been able to pay for their education – they even get complimentary orange slices for afterwards, just for extra pep and vigour. There are Oxbridge prep classes, extracurricular activities slanted towards the Oxbridge admissions interviews, and chances to take unpaid internships during the summer using family connections. It’s not just that though... it’s little things like knowing it’s pronounced ‘Barkshire’, not Berkshire, it’s when you use a napkin, it’s spending a week skiing at Courchevel. It’s olives. 

In 1998, I don’t know any of these things and, even if I did, my accent with its flat vowels and its Lancashire intonation would give me away in a heartbeat, because I sound like I’ve fallen off a pit pony on my way back t’mill. Things change quickly though. My mum has a baby. A screaming, mewling little boy born during The Simpsons on a Friday evening in October. Now there is absolutely no money for luxuries, and when our TV gets nicked, we end up using the small portable from upstairs. My Nan lends me money here and there to get to college, but it only covers the bus fare, and the small endowment that I receive  - supposedly to cover driving lessons - gets swallowed up with everyday things that seventeen-year olds shouldn’t have to pay for. I’m working for 4 hours a week in Woolies too, £3.10 p/h to stand around the toy department in a slippery polyester blouse the colour of synthetic mint ice cream, before skulking off to the bookshop to spend that money on things for college.  Nothing fancy but, by this point, I am well on my way to being a ‘Funny Girl’, studying a raft of ‘arty-farty’ A-Levels and English thrown in for good measure. The Cambridge Footlights hardly crosses my mind anymore, because Oxford and Cambridge are reserved for the kids doing the hard sciences, maths, law, politics, things that you need a calculator for. You don’t get into Oxford with A-Levels in Theatre Studies, Media, and Performing Arts, despite what they tell you about diversity.

Oxford or Cambridge do not offer a typical British university experience, and how can teachers who have never passed through the rigorous and exhausting Oxbridge admissions procedure be expected to offer any kind of advantage to their gifted and talented students? If you are a working-class parent relying on underfunded, underpaid and overworked FE lecturers to help coach your child through this, then you are immediately on the backfoot compared to a child whose parents can afford private tutors, admissions booklets, and interview coaches. This is no reflection on sixth form teachers in FE establishments across the country, who do all they can to nurture the kids with Oxbridge potential, but when some classes haven’t received new textbooks for two years, where students are encouraged to photocopy their own materials to save costs, you can see where the class difference begins to draw attention to itself without the need for neon yellow highlighters.

My UCAS book arrived in September; an impressive, thinly papered tome with a glossy black and white cover, University Colleges and Admission Services stamped across it in orange. It smells like a cross between the Argos catalogue and a phone book, which I feel is rather apt given that it contains the codes of institutions and courses that will break me out of this godforsaken town: a cypher that I etch out on the application form in black biro.

London

Southampton

Buckinghamshire

Preston

Liverpool

Manchester.

I don’t want to go to any of the bottom three, of course, far too close to where I came from to be relevant.  My second cousin Mark’s stint at Sheffield Hallam seemed to be an excuse for his mum to visit his ‘digs’ once a month with catering sized tins of Nescafe, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t quite looking forward to edging the lid off with a knife and stabbing through that ridged foil. My mum writes a cheque out in her secondary modern handwriting, crossing her fingers that they won’t cash it until after payday.

The discrepancies between low-income working-class families and those with a better income also show here too - this can be something as simple as slow internet connection, not having a working laptop and doing work on smartphones, access to transport, costs for travel to visit universities. Things like this are not included when factoring in costs for students from low income. How can you visit all the different university campuses, with all the travel costs and maybe even overnight accommodation, when your parents can barely afford to keep the lights on? There was only one institution that I wanted to go to. London Institute, a glamourous collection of art colleges that included the London College of Fashion, Central St Martins, and, more importantly for me, The London College of Printing.  The competition was fierce, but I was shortlisted for an interview in the capital with a former editor of the Daily Mirror. My house was showered in happy expletives that day. Even in 1999, tickets from Wigan to London were over £50 for a pre-booked return. My mum cashed in all of her Clubcard points for the ticket. But, just for me, because she hadn’t bought enough milk to cover the cost of two tickets. However, I must have impressed Tony Delano in that office in Clerkenwell, because he gave me an amazingly lowball offer meaning that my A-level results became a terribly graded self-fulfilling prophecy.

Oxford is different from usual universities in that there are colleges, thirty-nine in total. You might have seen them on University Challenge – Balliol, Trinity, Emmanuel, Brasenose – or from reading the Wikipedia pages of any of our last three Prime Ministers, including the incumbent Boris Johnson, who graduated with a 2:1 in 1987. That’s the other thing – you don’t study something at Oxford, you read it – you don’t start your studies, you matriculate, for which you need a robe. Now, I have been told by helpful and obstinate alumni via social media that Matriculation Robes are £25, ex-hire. However, I have also been told by a current Oxford student that the robe cost is £50 minimum, and no-one would dare wear a secondhand robe as ‘everyone would know’. It’s immediately singling yourself out as a Weasley in a room filled with Malfoys.

The accommodation costs are comparable to London prices; however, this does not cover the Christmas break, which means everything needs to be packed up and stored. Not only do you pay for the storage, but you pay for the boxes too. Much to my disappointment, no-one nips out for a Pot Noodle either, students are expected to dine ‘in hall’ (again, more cost!) where you can choose between an informal and a formal sitting – where your gown is required. I imagine for a working-class kid attending Oxford or Cambridge is very much like cosplaying on a Harry Potter set, but without the magic of a bottomless purse. There are balls too at the end of each term, formal affairs with ticket prices over £50. Again, said the former alumni, you don’t have to go! It’s not obligatory!

But let me tell you a harsh reality. Nothing ostracises a poor kid more than not being able to join in because they can’t afford it. Nothing. And we might have great friends who would all chip in and pay for our ticket, or lend us the money, but there is something very working-class about not wanting people to know that we can’t afford it. Surely we should not be asking these young adults who have studied and worked against all odds, to have a second class university experience because they know their parents won’t be able to help. You can’t even get a job to supplement your income either; the majority of colleges stipulate this, and as someone who had to work two term-time jobs at a much less prestigious university to live (even with the glorious student overdrafts of pre-austerity Britain), this really hit home at how much I would have struggled financially if I had gone to either of these institutions.

Recently my daughter applied for university. We get in the car and visit a university each week, driving miles up and down and across the country. We fight over choices and analyse each course based on employability, and whether or not she would like it. The process is completed in clicks and feels much more clinical than twenty years earlier, but rather than heading into unchartered waters, I have a map. It might be old and tattered, but I have a much better idea of where we are going now. My daughter believes that the meritocracy is a lie, and she tells me this in sharp, pointed tones as we receive her A-level results on a rainy Thursday morning. She goes to University in September and spends the autumn sending me videos of the Minster, or tutorials on how to swear in Japanese. She is only the second person in our family to continue on to higher education. I don’t just mean in her generation. I mean in total. We are the exception, not the rule.

One of the first questions someone at Oxford was asked by a fellow student last year was ‘private or state’, she replied ‘private’ and was met with a smile. There was no need to ask who the state school entrant was, as she queried the partridge and asparagus served for dinner – ‘this chicken is tough. Is that grass?’- and arrived for the formal sitting with her gown covering a denim skirt and shimmery top underneath. Private school teaches these things, no desperate faux pas for Isobel or Jeremy, whereas state schools do not have the resources or the knowledge to run classes on etiquette for the small number of their students that make it through the intense application procedures. This is not saying that low-income children should be discouraged – not at all – instead, it is saying that there is something inherently wrong with the system. At private school, you are disappointed if you don’t get into Oxbridge, whereas the state school child who gets in is an extraordinary anomaly talked about for years in hushed tones of reverence by the faculty.

And this is the issue with saying that children are on a level playing field, that everyone is measured on their own merit; because it is not true. For children on very low incomes, the odds are unfairly stacked against them, and the issues such as 2020’s disastrous A-Level results just add more bricks to an already near-insurmountable wall.

[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

Six Baudelaires AU, Part One {AO3} {Read from the Beginning}

Chapter Fourteen → in which the Baudelaires go to the Movies

After several seconds, they heard a knock on the door, and they all stepped back.

“Is that Olaf?” Nick asked, horrified. “Was that Count Olaf?”

“Are you all okay?” Lilac asked, as Klaus gripped tighter onto her arm.

“We’re fine.” Violet said. “What was screaming?”

“Nothing.” Nick said.

“If that was nothing,” Violet glared at him, “What was that noise?”

“Soli.” Nick said. “We saw you all on the stairs, and she imitated the screeching iguana to try and scare him.”

“How did he find us?” Klaus asked.

“That’s the wrong question.” Violet said, and they stepped back again as they heard more pounding on the door. “What do we do?”

“Okay,” Lilac said, “We can think of something. We can do something. There’s always something. We could call Mr Poe-”

“He didn’t believe us about Olaf when we lived with him.” Klaus said. “It took him too long to realize the truth, and then it was almost too late.”  

“I vote we run away.” Nick said. “Smash a window, run to a train station, get the fuck out of here.”

“And then what?” Lilac snapped.

“Then we’re out.”

“No, then he finds us again.”

“We don’t know that!”

“We could change our names.” Violet suggested.

“How would we get money?” Lilac asked.

“We could get jobs.” Klaus suggested quietly. “Or we could go to the police and bring them back. But we don’t know if Olaf would still be here when we return.”

“What if Olaf’s assistants have already surrounded the house?” Lilac asked.

“We can’t just stay here,” Violet said, “And wait for him to burst in and slaughter us!”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lilac said, her voice shaking. “He needs us alive for our fortune.”

“He needs you alive.” Nick said. “The rest of us are fair game.”

“Nick, shut up.” Lilac said, horror gripping her.

“Propositum,” Solitude said, meaning, “He must have some scheme, we just don’t know what it is.”

“We should never have let him in the house.” Lilac said.

“We can’t think about that now.” Violet said. “We need to do something.”

“Okay,” Nick said, “Here’s the plan. When he gets in, we’ll hide on the other side of the door, tackle him, and then just attack until he dies.”

“God, Nick, no.” Klaus said. “We’re not gonna beat him death.”

“To unconsciousness?”

“First of all, none of us are strong enough for that-”

“But together-”

“It won’t work. Also, we’ll get arrested for murder.”

“It’s self-defense.”

“Everyone shut up.” Lilac said. “I think that’s Monty’s car.”

The siblings did stop talking, listening carefully, as they did indeed hear a car drive up and park outside the house.

“We need to tell Uncle Monty.” Violet said. “He’ll believe us. At the very least, if we show him Stephano’s tattoo, he’ll ask for an explanation.”

“Monty’s the one who hired him!” Klaus said. “And he has Stephano’s eye as his hedge maze! For all we know, they’re working together!”

“Minda!” Sunny shrieked. “Don’t be ridiculous, Klaus!”

“If they were working together,” Nick said, “Why would Monty be so nice to us?”

“False sense of security?” Klaus suggested.

“Stop!” Solitude said, looking very upset.

“Stop scaring Solitude.” Nick added.

“She should be scared!” Klaus said. “Count Olaf is here and…”

They realized, then, that they no longer heard pounding on the door.

“And…” Klaus began, and then he slowly walked to the window, peering out in order to try and see the road. “And he’s talking to Monty.”

They all crowded against the window, pushing each other slightly in order to see better. Monty was indeed talking to Olaf, the two of them looking to be having a friendly conversation.

“He doesn’t know it’s him.” Violet’s heart sank.

“Or he does and he’s about to hand us over.” Klaus said.

“Stop saying that!” Nick said.

“Yeah, Klaus, shut up.” Lilac said. “Look, Monty’s coming inside.”

“So’s Count Olaf.” Klaus said.

They waited a moment, with Solitude leaning onto Nick’s shoulder, and Sunny nervously kicking her legs. Then, after a minute or so, they heard a voice outside the door of the Reptile Room.

“Children! I’m going to come in, just allow me to undo all the security measures outside the door!”

“Uncle Monty?” Nick called, moving towards the door, his siblings hastily following.

“Yes, it’s me! Just give me a moment!”

They heard him imitating several mechanical noises on the other end of the door, and Lilac smiled a little. “So he doesn’t trust Stephano with the knowledge there is no lock.” she muttered.

“That doesn’t mean much.” Klaus said hesitantly, though he also looked a lot more relaxed.

After a minute, the door creaked open, and Monty stood in the doorway. He spoke in a loud, almost overexaggerated manner, as he said, “Children, I am very sorry that you were frightened by the man at the door! But I can assure you there is nothing to be alarmed by!”

The siblings gave each other confused and concerned looks, as Monty glanced behind him and said, “It makes sense that you were alarmed, seeing as he chased you up and down the stairs with a knife, but there’s nothing to fear! He is my new assistant, Stephano, I have seen his papers and everything is in order.”

He glanced behind him again, and then waved a hand, as if gesturing for them to speak. “So, you see, there is nothing to worry about!”

Lilac was the first to catch on. “Oh, I see.” she said loudly, having trouble acting. “We understand now.”

She elbowed Nick, who happened to be closest to her, and he said, “How silly we were to be afraid!”

“Yes, Baudelaires,” Monty said. “Stephano has informed me that he has a very strict fitness regimen where he has to run up and down the stairs with a knife at least three times a day.” He almost broke there, grinning as he made a can you believe this? face. “So that makes. Perfect sense.”

Violet smiled slightly, and then said loudly, “I might join him on that exercise regimen.”

Monty almost laughed there, though he did shoot Violet a look and shake his head. “So, now that that is cleared up,” he continued, once he could safely speak, “Why don’t you help me bring things in from my truck? I even brought dinner.”

“Alright.” Lilac said. “Uh, everyone come along.” She knew that Nick hated bringing stuff into the house- every time their parents came home with groceries, he’d hide somewhere and pretend not to hear calls for him until the car was completely unloaded- but she really, really didn’t like the idea of any of them splitting up while Count Olaf was in the house.

Thankfully, her siblings seemed to have the same thought process, and they all stuck very close together as they walked, glancing around the house to try and see if Olaf was nearby. He didn’t seem to be, and after a moment, Nick asked, “Where is Stephano?”

“Hmm? Oh, he went upstairs to unpack his suitcase.” Monty said, opening the door for the children. “He offered to help me unload the car, but I said you children would be help enough.”

“Ton,” Sunny said, meaning, “There certainly are a lot of us!”

They walked outside the door and over to the car, and Monty said, “Alright, children, we should be fine to talk out here. I am sorry, children, I did not realize our enemies would catch up to us so quickly!”

“You recognized him?” Violet looked relieved.

“So, what are we going to do?” Nick asked.

“Call the authorities?” Klaus suggested.

“Oh, no,” Monty said, as he pulled a canoe off of the top of the car, “Do you think they’d believe us before something horrible could happen? Stephano does not work alone.”

He placed the canoe on the ground, and then opened the trunk of the car, passing bags of supplies to the children. “We must keep an eye on him. We will have dinner with him tonight, and take him to the movies, but tomorrow, I will tear up his ticket to the Prospero. He will not accompany us to Peru.”

They walked around the car, towards the house, and Lilac asked, “How do we know he won’t try anything today?”

“Lilac,” Monty said, “He wouldn’t risk-”

At that moment, something fell from the high window, landing on Monty and knocking him to the ground. It shattered, and they realized quite quickly that it had been the brass reading lamp from Klaus’s room. Violet screamed, jumping back and hugging Sunny to her. Nick gripped so tightly onto Solitude that she let out a slight cry, and Lilac and Klaus instantly ran to their Uncle. “Uncle Monty, are you alright?” Lilac asked instantly.

To their relief, Monty sat up, saying, “Yes, yes, it only hit my shoulder.” He glanced up at the window and said, “Whose room is that? The boys? You should be more careful-”

“Our lamp isn’t near the window.” Klaus said.

“It had to have been Stephano.” Violet said. “Uncle Monty, we really should go to the authorities.”

Monty considered a moment, as he got to his feet, and said, “No, children, trust me. I will be able to handle this. Everything will be alright.”

Dinner was an absolutely terrifying experience for all of the children. They sat awkwardly at the table as Stephano tried to talk up Monty, and none of them could tell whether it was working or whether Monty was simply a better actor than they’d have expected. At first, Count Olaf seemed to be hesitant to attend the movies with them, but as Monty kept insisting, he simply shrugged and accepted it. Lilac had the worst time of the children at dinner, as Olaf sat beside her, and whenever Monty wasn’t paying attention, she felt the cold knife pressed against her knee, rubbing her skin, just to make sure she was as terrified as possible. She held back the urge to grab onto Klaus’s hand beside her, not wanting to startle him. Thankfully, they ate quickly so as to make it to the theater. In the car, the siblings all crowded into the back as Stephano got into the shotgun seat. Monty shut the door for him, moving around the car, and as he did, Violet said, “We don’t know what your plan is, Olaf, but we will stop you.”

“If anything happens to us,” Nick added, “You’ll never get your hands on the Baudelaire fortune.”

“Dear me, dear me,” Olaf said, once again dropping his fake ‘Stephano’ accent, “If I wanted to harm you, orphan, your blood would already be pouring down this road like a waterfall. You needn’t be afraid of me, children- at least, not until we find ourselves in a location where crimes are more difficult to trace.”

“And where might that be?” Lilac asked. “We plan to stay right here.”

“Really?” Olaf glanced out the window, seeing that Monty had stopped to pick up his keys, which he had dropped onto the ground. “Why, I was under the impression we were leaving the country tomorrow.”

“You’re not coming with us to Peru!” Klaus said. “Uncle Monty tore up-”

Nick slammed his hand over Klaus’s mouth, but the damage was done. Olaf narrowed his eyes, and then said in a dark tone, “I wouldn’t rely on your Uncle, children. Even guardians with the best intentions could… fail you.”

Before they could say anything more, Monty entered the car, and Stephano started talking about some kind of snake, and Solitude huffed and leaned against Nick, murmuring about how he wasn’t even saying the right facts and he didn’t even know what he was talking about.

The drive was long, and the children got more and more worried every minute. Violet grabbed onto Lilac’s arm, and Klaus leaned his head onto Nick’s shoulder, and Sunny and Solitude reached over their siblings’ laps and held hands.

When they reached the theater, Uncle Monty went to the ticket seller, asking for a verified film discount, and then he announced they were to see Zombies in the Snow. He bought the children snacks, and as they walked into the film, he said, “Now, everyone: seventh row, right of center, that is the best spot.”

“That’s what Mother always said.” Violet said.

“Who do you think taught it to me?” Monty asked; as he did, Lilac glanced behind them, seeing that Olaf was pulling a very sour face.

The movie itself was very confusing for the children; it had subtitles in the same language it was spoken in, the characters all spoke in stilted and unrealistic dialogue, and whenever a bell rung, Nick and Klaus would hear Monty count every eighth word, write it onto his ticket, and then look at the confused, unrelated jumble of words and erase the sentence, muttering something about paranoia.

Towards the end of the film, Monty leaned over to Nick and said, “I’ll return shortly. I need to talk to the ticketseller. Keep an eye on Stephano, will you?” Nick looked a bit concerned, but nodded, after passing some popcorn to Solitude.

Monty left, and after a moment, Olaf stood up from the other end of the row. Nick caught Lilac’s eye, wildly shaking his head, and Lilac reached out, grabbing his sleeve.

“You shouldn’t leave us alone.” Lilac said. “We’re too young to be in a theater without an adult.”

“I’m sure you’ll manage.” Olaf hissed.

“No, really,” Violet added, “We’ll wander off or cause trouble, and you don’t want that.”

“You’re blocking the screen!” yelled a lady from a few rows back.

Hesitantly, Count Olaf moved back to his seat, and the children kept their eyes either on him or the screen, trying to figure out exactly what he was planning. But when the movie ended, they glanced to the side and realized Monty hadn’t returned.

“Fuck.” Nick said under his breath, and Soli quickly echoed him.

“Where’s Monty?” Klaus asked, as Violet hugged Sunny close and jumped to her feet.

“Come on,” Violet said, “He must be outside waiting for us.”

But as they rushed out of the theater doors, crowding together even as Klaus and Nick cursed at each other for pushing, they found that Monty was nowhere to be seen.

“Shit, shit, shit…” Nick muttered.

“Language.” Lilac said.

“It doesn’t fucking matter!”

“Dear me, dear me,” said Stephano, creeping up behind them, “Your Uncle is missing?”

“What did you do to him?” Violet whipped around, shooting a dark look at their former guardian.

“Why, I did nothing! I was sitting with all of you the entire time.”

“Where’s Uncle Monty?” Nick asked, starting to hold Solitude as tight as he could.

“I’m sure I don’t know.” Stephano gave a very dark smile. “Maybe he decided to meet us at home. Why don’t we drive back and see?”

“We’re not going anywhere with you!” Lilac said. “We’re going to stay here until Uncle Monty comes back!”

“Oh, children,” Olaf said, reaching into his pocket, slowly pulling out the hilt of his knife, only just so that the siblings could see, and nobody else, “Must we go through this again?”

Before he could do anything, though, Nick pressed Solitude against him with one arm, grabbed onto Klaus’s hand with the other, and yelled, “Stranger Danger!” He took off at a run, and without thinking, Lilac and Violet followed, with Violet shooting Olaf the middle finger as they did.

The children raced away, with Lilac pushing her siblings in front of her and hiking up her dress, suddenly wishing she had picked an outfit with a skirt that was easier to run in. Klaus managed to break out of Nick’s grip and he ran for the door, throwing it open. “Lilac, can you drive?” he asked.

“A little?”

“Okay, we’ll take the car-”

“Can you run him over?” Nick asked as he rushed past Klaus, who held the door open until Lilac arrived, fearfully watching Olaf running after them, catching up very quickly and looking very angry.

“Nick, that’s illegal.” Klaus said.

“Self-defense!”

But just as the children all escaped the building, starting to run across the dark parking lot, they slid to a stop as none other than Uncle Monty walked around a bend, smiling brightly. “Hello, children!” he said. “Did you enjoy the film?”

“Uncle Monty!” Lilac’s face lit up.

“Monty!” Soli cheered.  

They changed their direction, running to their guardian, but Violet and Nick both glanced behind them to see that Olaf had stopped dead in his tracks several feet from them, looking very displeased.

“Where’d you go?” Klaus asked, concerned.

“Just went to chat with an old friend.” Monty said. “Stephano, I believe I ran into some of your associates on my way out.”

“Oh, did you?” Stephano asked, and the Baudelaires felt very, very cold.

“Children,” Monty said, “Why don’t you go wait in the car, while I have a word with my assistant?”

“Will you be okay?” Lilac hesitantly asked.

“Of course. I am your Guardian. Run along.” Then, he whispered, “Lilac, you may sit up front if you wish.”

Lilac beamed and nodded, and the children smiled at Uncle Monty before returning to the car.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Nick asked, peering out the window.

“I can’t hear shit if you’re talking.” Violet said, trying to climb over him.

“You can’t hear anything anyway.” Klaus said, ducking under Nick’s arm. “The windows are closed.”

“Shh!” Sunny yelled from Lilac’s lap. “Be quiet, and maybe you could hear something!”

“They seem to just be talking.” Lilac said. “Solitude, stop eating food off the car floor, you don’t know how long it’s been there.”

“Jilke,” Soli said, meaning, “But why let it go to waste?”

“Spit it out.”

“Let her eat whatever she wants.” Nick said. “This is more important. Klaus, can you lip read?”

“Not from this distance. Neither of them are facing us anyway.”

“Poliziotto?” Sunny asked, which meant something like, “Do you think Uncle Monty called the police?”

“Hopefully.” Lilac said. “Are they still talking?”

“No.” Violet said. “No, Olaf’s walking away, and Monty’s coming towards us.”

“That’s good, right?” Nick asked.

“Is he just letting Olaf go?” Klaus asked. “Did he call the police?”

“What happened?” Violet added.

“Stop crowding the window.” Lilac said. “Sit back, okay?”

Violet, Klaus and Nick slowly moved away from the window, squeezing themselves into the backseat. Nick picked Solitude up off the floor, placing her on his lap as Uncle Monty reached the car, climbing into the front seat. He had already started to drive before Lilac finally said, “How did it go?”

“I believe it went well.” was all Monty said.

They drove in silence for a while, before Violet pressed, “So, um. Did… did you two argue?”

“Oh, yes. I confronted him, and the authorities are on their way.”

“Really?” Nick looked relieved.

“We’re just leaving him there?” Klaus asked hesitantly, sharing a concerned look with Sunny.

“Don’t worry, children, a very capable ticket-seller volunteered to watch him.” Monty smiled slightly. “Besides, if he does slip away, it will be none of our concern, will it? Tomorrow morning, we will sail off on the Prospero.”

“To Peru.” Nick said.

“Yes, to Peru! Baudelaires, I’m sure you have a lot of questions after that film, and I know I’d be just as confused as you were had my parents not taught me these things when I was your age. I believe our journey will be a formative experience for you all.”

“Snake!” Solitude cheered, and Nick and Violet laughed.

“Life is a conundrum of esoterica.” Klaus said quietly.

“Well said!”

When they arrived at Monty’s home, they changed into pajamas, and Monty made them hot chocolate while he showed them a map of Peru.

“And then, children, we’ll travel inward in search of some geckos who have an extra leg. First one to find one gets to name it.”

“I think,” Klaus said, bouncing Sunny on his lap, “We should disqualify Nick. He sucks at naming things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nick elbowed him.

“You named your stuffed bear ‘Beary.’”

“It’s a pun.”

“No, it’s not!”

“Boys, if you don’t stop fighting,” Lilac sighed, “I’m locking you in the house and leaving you here.”

“You can’t do that,” Nick said, “You’ll lose your ability to convince Soli to do anything.”

Solitude leaned up against Nick, quietly yawning, “Snake. Froggy. Croc.”

“I think you’ve got a new assistant already, Uncle Monty.” Klaus laughed slightly, reaching over to ruffle Soli’s hair.

“I don’t know, Solitude,” Monty said, “I’ll have to check your references.”

“I’ll be her reference.” Nick said. “She’s memorized everything I read her.”

“Snake!” Solitude said cheerily. “Froggy! Croc!”

“Ink!” Sunny giggled, gesturing to the Reptile Room.

“I’m afraid the Incredibly Deadly Viper is probably asleep right now,” Violet said, “But you can talk to him in the morning, Sun.”

“Yes,” Monty said, standing up and picking up Sunny as he did, “We should be getting you to bed. We have a scadillion things to do in the morning, and a boat to catch! Sunny, it seems you’ve finished all of your marshmallows.”

“Yie!” Sunny said. “They were delicious!”

“What my sister means-” Lilac began.

“I know what she means.” Monty smiled. “It seems we’ve finally found a soft food that you like after all.” He smiled at the children, and said, “Goodnight, children.”

“Goodnight, Uncle Monty.” they all said.

“Lilac. Lilac!”

It took Lilac a moment to recognize the urgency in Violet’s voice; she’d been sleeping so peacefully that she had momentarily forgotten she had any worries at all- something that was unusual for her. But when she heard the panicked strain in her sister’s words, she sat up, quickly rubbing her eyes and pushing hair out of her face. “Violet? What’s wrong?”

When she opened her eyes, she saw Violet standing only a few inches away from her, looking very panicked. Behind her, Nick held a half-asleep Solitude, who had her tiny frog on her shoulder, and Klaus was picking up Sunny from the chair she’d made a bed out of.

“Uncle Monty didn’t wake us up.” Violet said.

“Yeah? He doesn’t-”

“He was going to wake us up so we didn’t miss the boat!”

Lilac quickly got out of bed, grabbing a ribbon off of her bedside table and tying her hair out of her face. “He didn’t wake up any of you?”

“No! Babbitt got out and woke Soli up, but Uncle Monty-”

“Maybe he’s packing up some of the reptiles.” Lilac said, even as she felt her heart sink. “Let’s go check.”

“Lilac-” Klaus began.

“It’s okay.” Lilac said, her voice shaking. “It’ll be okay. Klaus, hold Sunny. We’ll just go check up on him. He probably just forgot.”

“Lilac-” Nick started.

Lilac moved to her door, pushing it open and waiting a moment for her siblings to follow. When they started to move, she raced ahead, and soon enough the children were all running down the stairs, starting to call for their Uncle.

They reached the Reptile Room, and were very, very scared to see the door swinging open.

“Uncle Monty?” Lilac called, and she pushed the door farther open, stepping inside and feeling incredibly cold.

On the far end of the Reptile Room, behind the desk, there was a figure sitting the chair, facing away from them. Lilac crept forwards, uncomfortably aware of how close her siblings were sticking to her, and how Klaus was starting to shake slightly, and how Sunny was starting to cry, and how Nick’s hands were going white with how much he was gripping onto Solitude, and how Violet grabbed onto Klaus’s arm and tried to hide her face so they couldn’t see her fear.

Lilac moved around the desk, took one look at Uncle Monty’s corpse, and then screamed.

[tasharii]

Your Colors: Chapter 15

A/N: Alright so this chapter came out a little late cause I'm working with a new beta reader. Hopefully I'll keep working with her, if I can write ahead of schedule....  Please take note of the warnings. There is a mention of past rape and abuse in this chapter, and it will come up again in future chapters. If that triggers you, than please skip it. I'll put *** before and after any scenes that mentions it in a more graphic fashion. It will likely not get any more graphic then what's mentioned in this chapter, and will be spoken about in past tense in future chapters, unless I find a flashback to be necessary for the story. As a survivor myself, I promise to try and handle this as realistically as possible based on my experiences, and people who have shared their own with me. Thank you for reading and commenting! I hope you enjoy the chapter <3

Summary:  Art was the one good thing between college, work, and the grey minutes in-between. Sometimes, it felt like she wasn’t alive at all. Just drifting. When she joined her new art class, she never expected to start experiencing everything in an entirely new light. All thanks to him. Or: Where Bucky Barnes gets more than he bargained from his new drawing partner.

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 8K

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of past rape and abuse

Masterlist

Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3 Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6 Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10 Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15

****

December 23

From downstairs, Y/N could hear her mom calling her name. Every syllable echoed up the narrow stairwell like the cry of an infernal crow. It was late Sunday morning. And she figured that she couldn’t hide much longer. Golden sunlight flowed in from the main window across from the foot of the bed. It was deceivably sunny out with clear skies and little wind to speak up. They’d arrived at her grandparents’ house the night before. It had taken her forever to settle down and fall asleep. Even after she shut her eyes, she’d found herself tossing and turning most of the night.

Slumped on her bed, Y/N stared down at the envelope in her hands. It was off-white and battered. Her name smudged on the front like a thumb had run over it before the ink dried. Slowly, she stood up off the bed and tucked it back into her art bag under the window. Everything was still packed up among her bags, and she had no intentions of changing that any time soon. Irritation made her empty hands clench when her mom’s voice broke through the quiet of the make-shift attic like a whip.

First a quiet knock on the door, then she heard it creak open, “Are you up yet?” Her mom leaned against the doorframe in a long eggshell blue sweater dress over black tights, “Your aunt and uncle will be here for breakfast soon.” She eyed Y/N’s clothes with an arched brow, “Are you really going to wear that?”

Exasperated, Y/N glared back at her mom. As she crossed the room back to the bed, her footsteps were muffled by a plush, old carpet overtop the cold wooden floor. Taking up a brush from her bathroom bag, she started running it through her tangled hair, “What’s wrong with it?” She glanced down at herself. Jeans and a thick black sweater. Comfortable and warm. Her grandfather hated wasting money on heat. Everyone’s toes had to chance frostbite in the house. If the pipes weren’t freezing, then the heat stayed low. No one touched the thermostat other than him.

“Why don’t you wear that Christmas sweater your grandma got you last year?” She persuaded, lips pursed into a fine line. Her fingers tapped impatiently on her arm as she watched Y/N toss the brush back down. Annoyance prickled underneath her skin at the feeling of her mother’s heavy gaze crawling across her skin like the feelers of an insect.

In the tense silence, soft humming floated up from downstairs. Along with the smell of frying bacon. Grandma must be in the kitchen then. The doorbell rang from the living room. Again. And then again. The dinging was piercing even from far up above it all.

Sheepish, Y/N shook her head and took out her travel sketchbook, avoiding her mother’s eyes. It was unlikely that she’d have time for it. But the moment they stopped paying her attention, she’d sneak to a quiet corner and draw. Out of sight, and out of mind.

“I didn’t bring it.” She admitted, much to her mother’s dismay. It wasn’t just that she didn’t bring it, she’d conveniently lost the monstrosity of wool a while ago. Pencil case in hand, she sat it beside her sketchbook, and zipped her bag back up.

Far from pleased, her mother huffed and stepped back into the hall, “Please just be down in a bit. Your cousins are looking forward to seeing you.” She stopped, already halfway turned to leave, and took a single step back. There was an awkward pause where she cleared her throat, then asked softly, “Are you feeling alright?” Concern flickered to life in her features, making her eyebrows draw low and the crinkles in her eyes deepen.

No, she wasn’t, but she didn’t really know what to say. Y/N tried to be as honest as she could with her mother, but she didn’t want to worry her. Especially when there was little that her mom could do. It only made things more complicated because it’d been her mom that had given her that letter. The one that brought all her old fears and nightmares to the forefront of her thoughts.

“I’m alright.” She offered, and when her mom gave her a knowing look, she managed a watery smile, “I will be.” Fingers twisting the sleeves of her sweater against her palms, she barely held that weak tilt of her lips. Luckily, it was enough to make her back off. Eyes softening, her mom smiled. A pretty expression even with the laugh lines and crow’s feet on the edges of her eyes.

“Good, let me know if you need anything. At all.” She declared, giving one last pointed look, before finally leaving. The rhythmic beat of her footsteps faded away as she made her way down the steep attic stairs.

The moment the door clicked shut, Y/N’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a long sigh. It felt like she was weary to the bone. Like pitch black sand filled up all the empty places inside of her and pulled her down. Slowly, she sank onto the bed next to her suitcase and took out her phone from her back pocket.

From downstairs, she could hear her parents greeting her aunt and uncle. Everyone laughed at something her little cousins cheered. Ignoring them, she flipped through her contacts and hovered over Bucky’s name.

They’d talked a little since she left Saturday. She let him know she’d made it safe, and he’d sent her a good morning earlier. After a second of hesitation, she passed his name and scrolled down to Peter. Taking in a quick breath, she hit call. He should be up by now. Right then, she just needed to talk to someone. Someone who knew.

“Hey! What’s up? Make it to No-Where Ohio yet?” Peter’s laughter was a spark of light in her heart. It danced warm and sweet inside her and made her brighten.

A surprised, weak laugh left her, and she curled up with her elbows on her knees, “Ya, got in last night.”

There was a moment of silence, and she could imagine the slight frown on Peter’s lips as he heard the tremor of pain in her words. After a second, he gently asked, “Are you alright?” The heater kicked on and stirred up some dust bunnies across the floor. No one ever used the attic for anything but storage, and overflow guests. So, dust bunnies ruled up here.

It felt different than when her mom asked. More comforting because he knew her better. There was a promise that he could help make it ok. Because he understood her. With another shaky laugh, she took in a harsh breath, “Not really.” She let her head rest on her free hand, covering her eyes. Today would be a bad day for makeup, but she’d already put on mascara.

“What happened? Family giving you a hard time?” Peter guessed, trying to keep his voice light and playful. The warmth in it made her feel just a bit better.

Huffing, she shook her head, “I wish. No, they’ll be doing that once I go downstairs.” She rubbed her eyes. They felt raw and she hadn’t even cried yet. Finally, she bit back the anxious nausea building up inside her far enough to admit, “Jason sent me a letter.”

Instantly, Peter’s tone rose three octaves at least, “He what? What did it say? Did you see him?”

Swallowing around the desert in her throat, she grimaced, “No. No he—” Y/N stared up at the bare oak ceiling, counting the rafters to keep herself calm, “He dropped it off with mom. She gave it to me yesterday.” Teeth clenched together to keep the shaking down, she forced in another breath, “I haven’t read it yet.”

Peter waited a second, to see if she’d say anything else, then gently prodded, “Why not?”

Frustrated, Y/N glared at her bag under the window. To the pocket she’d put the damned letter in. It was speckled innocently with sunlight and her words tasted like bitter copper on her tongue, “I don’t know if I even care to see what he has to say.” That was a lie. Or a half-lie. She did care, but she didn’t want to care. Half of her wanted to read it, but the other half was scared to even give her ex’s words a chance to sway her emotions. Cause of course he would try to say something to hurt her, or make her feel guilty, or sympathetic towards his situation.

“Guess that makes sense.” Peter hedged, and she heard Aunt May calling something in the background. After a second, he called back, voice muffled, “Be there in a minute!”

Guilt made her bite her bottom lip hard, and she tried to make her tone lighter, “If you’re busy, it’s ok.”

Instantly, he retorted, phone speaker crackling at the conviction in his voice, “No! It’s alright, she just wanted me to know breakfast was ready.” He let out a sigh and asked, “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Y/N let her eyes fall close as she tried to focus her thoughts, focus on the conversation and not all the buzzing ‘what ifs’. She curled her toes on the bedframe, the metal cold on her bare feet, “He told mom that the letter was an apology. That he just wanted to make peace or something.”

Peter snorted indignantly, “Bastard doesn’t deserve it.”

Reluctantly, the corner of her mouth twitched up, “He isn’t getting it.” She promised, “I’m glad he’s better, but that doesn’t mean I have to forgive him.”

“Do you really think he’s better?” He asked, skepticism thick on his tongue. Y/N shrugged and winced when she heard her grandmother call up to her this time.

“No—” She hesitated and stood up off the bed, “I mean… I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in over a year. Maybe he’s better, but it doesn’t change anything.” Part of her said that for him, to ease his concerns, but she needed to remind herself of it too. To remember that nothing had changed, and he still wasn’t coming back into her life. Even if he sent 100 apology letters.

“It doesn’t.” Peter agreed firmly, “Look, if he tries to bother you, you know I’m here. I’ll borrow some gadgets from Mr. Stark’s lab and pay him a visit if I have to.” He sounded so angry and vehement that she couldn’t help but giggle.

Bundle of socks in hand, she held her cell between her shoulder and ear, so she could put them on. Balancing on one foot, she hopped to keep standing and hastily slid on the striped sock, “I’d kill to see that.” Y/N mused, “You’ll have to let me tag along.”

Peter agreed whole-heartedly. There was a lull in the conversation and she got on her other sock. Then started to dig around for her makeup bag. Before she could change the subject, he asked, tone dropped to gentle concern again, “Does Bucky know?”

During her flight, she’d sent a few messages to the couple of important people who needed to hear that her and Bucky were officially dating. Peter and Darcy were both ecstatic for her. Biting her lip, she picked up one of her favorite necklaces and slipped it over her head, “Well it hasn’t really come up yet.”

Adjusting her hair, she stood in front of an old ornamental vanity mirror and scrutinized her reflection. Her eyes were tired, and she seemed paler than normal. Blatant signs to how well she’d slept the night before. Mascara smudged under her eyes, making the bags worse. Taking out a makeup wipe, she leaned close until her nose nearly brushed the glass and started to fix it.

“Don’t you think he’ll notice something’s up if Jason doesn’t let this go? Or that you’re upset?” Peter asked, and she felt a spark of spite bloom like poison in her chest. Leaking between her ribs and into her tongue.

“He doesn’t have to.” Y/N grit her teeth, attempting to keep the bite out of her tone. This anger wasn’t her friend’s fault. It was situational, and she didn’t want to take it out on him, “This has nothing to do with him. Jason can shove his apology up his ass and leave me out of it. And Buck’ll know when it matters. When I want him to. Not just cause I’m stupid and upset over nothing.” She didn’t want to worry him. Burden him with it.

Cause it was nothing. Just a letter. Really there was no reason for her to be this upset over it. Jason hadn’t shown up in front of her. He hadn’t approached her or talked to her. It was nothing.

Peter stated her name deliberately slow, and kindly corrected her, “You’re not stupid.”

“I’ve got to go.” She cut in briskly, letting out a breath, and it was true. If she waited much longer, her mom would drag her down by her ear, “Thank you. Really. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”

“Please just think about telling him.” Peter added hastily, “I think you’d feel better.”

“I’ll think about it.” Y/N offered, but she didn’t mean it. She just wanted her friend to not worry so much.

After she hung up the phone, she adjusted her hourglass necklace on her chest and tried to find a smile. If she didn’t, the day would be even longer.

Unfortunately, her reflection disappointed her with a frown.

December 24th

“Will you draw me?”

Y/N glanced up from her spot on the enormous and plush armchair in her grandparent’s den. After lunch, she’d managed to sneak away to there, leaving the majority of her family strewn between the kitchen and living room. The house was spacious and huge, but it was slowly starting to feel small. Between her grandparents, parents, and two sets of aunts and uncles and their kids, there was little to no oxygen left to spare. Everyone had meandered in over the course of the morning and afternoon, preparations for their big Christmas Eve dinner were well underway.

Four of her cousins played together, running in and out of the house. Their unending energy made her even more grateful that she was an only child. She didn’t have the patience for this, especially in the mood she was in. Sarah, who was a year older than her, had graciously taken over the role of babysitter, and had managed to entertain the other three. One was Sarah’s own younger brother, Johnny, and the other two were twin girls, Jewel and Emma.

It was Emma, age 10, who peered over the worn armrest of Y/N’s chair at her sketchbook. She’d been drawing a robin, visible through the frosted window on a thicket of branches. Jewel popped up by her sister, and smiled, “Me too!” Little hands rested on the armrest, and they stood on their tiptoes, leaning into her space. Jewel’s cheek pressed against her shoulder, so she could get a better look.

This wasn’t the first time that anyone had asked her to draw them once they realized she was an artist. Probably wouldn’t be the last. The only thing missing was the-

“Did you really draw that?” Johnny asked, age 13, when he came up to her other side. The robin flew away when his shadow passed over the window. He was already going through a growth spurt and leaned down to blink at the paper.

Snorting, she drawled, “Course I did.” Then Y/N looked at the twins and raised her eyebrows, “Think you can sit still long enough?” She really had nothing better to do. It would at least make her parents happy to see her interacting with them. Especially her mother, who was starting to get chronically worried over her. With how quiet and withdrawn she’d been over the last couple days.

Sarah strolled through the open entryway, two pairs of gloves in hand, “Hey! I thought you wanted to go build a snowman?” She waved the twins’ gloves at them, but the little girls were no longer interested.

“Y/N’s gonna draw us!” Jewel squealed, clapping her hands together and making her sparkly pink nail polish glitter in the wintry blue afternoon light.

Emma nodded enthusiastically, curly brown hair bouncing, “Can you make us fairies??”

Bored and annoyed at the sudden change of activity, Johnny scoffed. Then he rolled his eyes and stalked towards the door, “Well I’m goin’ outside.” He took his beanie out of his coat pocket and tugged it over his shaggy blond head.

Y/N blinked up at Sarah’s pretty smile. Her cousin was classically beautiful with a petite body, and pixie-like features. If she were being honest, she’d always been a bit jealous of her. They weren’t very close, but she could see the amusement radiating from her cousin. Delicately, Sarah shrugged, getting ready to leave. Apparently, her turn of babysitting was over.

But Y/N called, a bit panicked, “I could draw you outside! While you built your snowman.” She closed her sketchbook and untucked her legs from underneath her, sitting up.

The twins cheered, scurrying over to Sarah and snatching their gloves. A matching set of pink and purple. They brushed past her and went to go get their coats. It’d be a bit of a pain to draw them outside, but at least she wouldn’t be stuck with their wild energy alone.

Her fingertips were numb and the pencil in her hand might be frozen there. Despite the golden afternoon sun, the air was frigid. Like the heat couldn’t pierce through the layer of ice hanging in the atmosphere. Snow covered the yard and clung to the fence separating her grandparents’ corner lot from the road and their nearby neighbors. The single towering oak in the yard seemed to be nearly laying on the house, branches heavy with ice.

Y/N quietly sat on the front steps of the house, unable to feel anything other than the biting of the wind on her ears and nose. Across the yard, near the road where more people could appreciate their work, her cousins put the finishing touches on the snowman. A carrot swiped from the kitchen, expertly chosen pebbles from the driveway, and a reluctantly relinquished scarf from her grandmother’s closet.

Drawing finished, she balanced her sketchpad on her knees as she attempted to take a photo. Every swipe of her numb fingers was clumsy, and she bit her bottom lip, trying to focus. Wind swept through the yard, carrying with it the sound of a barking dog two houses over and Jewel squealed when Johnny pegged her with a well-aimed snowball.

Somehow, she’d gotten them all in it, surrounding the snowman. Jewel and Emma got delicate fairy wings and pointed ears as requested. Then she gave Sarah an elaborate crown of ice and snow. Johnny had wanted to look like a Viking, so she gave him a ridiculously inaccurate horned helmet and a fur cape. All done in pencil. She’d have to see if her grandmother had any hairspray that she could use to set it later and keep it from smudging.

Once she had a decent picture, Y/N sent it straight to Bucky. They hadn’t spoken much that day. He was busy with Becca and was supposed to go visit his father at some point.

Y/N: Think I should use this as my final?

Phone on top of her sketchbook, she cupped her fingers near her mouth. A full-on war had broken out in front of her. Emma and Johnny were ganging up on Sarah and Jewel. Every time a pair of eyes narrowed in on her, she held up her sketchbook as a shield and they didn’t dare.

It didn’t take him long to reply, and she smiled, blowing air in her cupped hands. The fact that he replied quickly always made her smile. Made her feel cherished.

Bucky: Don’t you ever do anything other than draw? You’re supposed to be on vacation!

Giggling to herself, she curled her cold toes up tighter in her boots, checking to make sure she still had feeling in them. Pretty soon, she’d have to give up and go inside. Maybe get something hot to drink to remind her body what it meant to be warm.

Y/N: Never! I’m afraid if I stop I’ll lose whatever skill I have…

As she waited for him to respond, she carefully ripped the drawing from her sketchbook. Then signed it at the bottom and waved to her cousins, “It’s done!” It took them a second to notice her. Johnny had fallen into a pile of snow, the twins ganging up on him to keep him down. He shoved snow down Jewel’s jacket and she screamed. They let him go, and Jewel started dancing around to try and get the snow out.

Upon finally processing what Y/N had said, the twins cheered and scurried over. Vengeance forgotten. Emma reached her first and took the drawing from her, and Jewel barreled into her sister, eager to see. Girlish giggles of delight filled the crisp air, luring Sarah and Johnny over towards the front steps. Closing her sketchbook. Y/N smiled at the little girls’ over-the-top reactions.

Johnny plucked the drawing from the twins’, making them whine, and laughed, “Sweet! This is so cool!” Sarah glanced over his shoulder and hummed in agreement.

Ready to head inside, Y/N’s phone chimed in the middle of her putting away her pencils. Excited, she balanced the pouch on her knees. Reading the message, she snorted.

Bucky: Maybe you should make a deal with the devil to keep your power.

The reply came a bit too easy.  

Y/N: I lost my soul long ago.

Bucky: What’d you spend it on? Hope it was worth it.

Y/N: I was promised true love, but I haven’t gotten it yet. I might’ve been cheated.

When she glanced up, she found Sarah watching her with a small cat-like grin, “Who ya talkin’ to?” Sarah’s long blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a braid, snow clung to the ends like small diamonds. She came over and sat beside Y/N on the stairs, handing the drawing to her. Instinctively, she tucked it away into her sketchbook for safe keeping, realizing that everyone was waiting for her answer.

A blush made her chilled cheeks painfully hot and she pressed her lips together to contain her goofy grin, “My boyfriend.” It felt good to say it. To declare it to someone and butterflies tickled pleasantly inside her.

Emma and Jewel let out equally painful squeals and spoke over each other, “Do you gotta picture?”

“I wanna see!”

The stone stairs on the porch was fairly big, and she leaned to the side so the twins could go up behind her. They sat behind her and Sarah, feet resting next to her hip as they leaned against her back, looking at her phone. Johnny stood on the bottom step, perched against the railing with a vague expression of interest.

Blinking in surprise, Y/N nodded slowly, waving a hand to shush them. It took her a minute to scroll through her saved photos, only for her to realize that her and Bucky had yet to take pictures together. As much time as they spent, she hadn’t really thought about it. Now that it was on her mind, though, she vowed to make him sit and take a selfie with her. That way she could use it as her phone’s background.

Luckily, he had a habit of sending her goofy pictures whenever possible. Finding one of her favorites, she held it up for her little audience to see. Bucky was slumped over on a counter, with a cup of coffee in front of him. He looked disheveled and tired, but his eyes were beautifully vibrant and blue in the morning light. He’d sent that picture from Rosalie’s early one morning, with the caption ‘End my misery’. White apron and black long sleeve shirt stretched over his broad chest. It had nearly made her choke on her ricocheting heart when she’d woken up to it.

It was Sarah who spoke up first, snatching the phone from her hands to get a better look, “Woah, he’s gorgeous!” Her eyes were wide, and Y/N could almost see the question on her face. It was one she often asked herself whenever she was reminded of how utterly handsome Bucky was. Too polite to ask, her cousin just stared at her phone screen, and finished wistfully “I’m so jealous right now. Is he a model?”

Snorting a laugh, Y/N watched as Sarah passed the phone to the twins who were swooning, “No, but he probably could be.” She could see the question right on the tip of her cousin’s tongue. So, she continued, “Honestly, I have no idea what he sees in me. We met in my art class.”

Propping her chin on her hand, Sarah shrugged, “I think I can see it. You’re pretty, and he’s,” She gestured to the phone screen that Jewel handed back to Y/N, “I think you look good together. Bet you mix well.”

Pride made a genuine smile light up Y/N’s face, “We do. I think our personalities work together. Like complimenting colors.” She looked down at the picture one more time before forcing herself to lock the screen and tuck the phone into her coat pocket, along with her frosty hands.

“Is he an artist too?” When she nodded, Sarah groaned, “You’ve got all the luck.”

Her phone buzzed, and she glanced back down at it, smiling at the text.

Bucky: Maybe I can help you find it. I’m not scared of no devil.

Y/N: My soul or true love?

Bucky: Why not both?

Later that night

*** Hands grabbed her. Touched her. Suffocated her. Fingers traced possessively up her leg, slipping towards the tender skin of her inner thigh. An oily residue coated every spot they touched, leaving her tainted and grimy.  Another hand trailed across her stomach and gripped her hipbone so viciously that it hurt. Everything hurt. She was shaking. Muscles coiled so tight that she started trembling. Every inch of her started shaking, until even her teeth were chattering. Her hands hovered up near her chest, frozen with numb fingertips as she tried to move. With every second, she willed herself to stop what was happening.

And Y/N wanted this to stop. Wanted them to stop. But when she opened her mouth to say so, no words came out. Her lips parted as she tried to find her voice, or even take a breath. But she couldn’t.

All her words balled up in her throat like a dam and pooled there in a bottomless ocean of fear and shame. Just swirled beneath the surface. And her lungs constricted tighter and tighter until every ounce of oxygen burned up inside her. She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t he see she was shaking? Didn’t he care? He was supposed to care.

A hand snuck towards the apex of her thigh and she thought she might be sick.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

But he never did. And she already knew he wouldn’t. ***

When Y/N woke from a nightmare, it was never a big production.

Her eyes snapped open and she stared into the darkness. Every uneven beat of her heart hammered between her ears and she twisted the blankets in her icy fingers. But couldn’t move. Anxious heat prickled her skin and sweat made everything sticky. The blankets were tangled around her legs and her hair fell across her face like a rat’s nest. After a second, she made herself take a deep breath in and quietly let it out.

As she slowly tried to remember where she was, she listened for him. For breathing. A voice. Any whisper of the sheets shifting, or blankets rustling. It felt like he was right behind her. In the bed.

Soon, he’d be reaching for her. Somehow, she’d just managed to roll out of his constricting embrace for a blissful second. But any minute he would realize what she had done and be grabbing her. To draw her back.

But that was ridiculous.

And yet Y/N felt it. Suspended in the very second before something sunk its claws into her. Petrified like a rabbit in a fox den with nowhere to go.

Little by little, she reached for her phone. Where it lay plugged in on the nightstand. She fought the fear and paranoia. Buried it. Every little noise released by the old house had the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

Tears stung her eyes and she unlocked her phone to check the time.

2AM Great start to Christmas day. Pumped full of adrenaline and unwanted memories.

Too early to justify getting up for the day, but she was too shaken to even attempt sleep. Too afraid she’d just fall right back into the jaws of that nightmare. Her fingers wouldn’t stop quaking, so she gripped the phone tighter. Light burned her eyes, and she blinked, tears escaping as she tried to adjust. Even as awareness woke her up, she had to fight the urge to check over her shoulder. To make sure no one else was in the attic with her.

Right above her head, hail pattered along the roof. Hard. The room was cold, and she curled up tighter to try and conserve any of the heat trapped under the blankets with her. Soft sheets brushed her skin, but even that was too much sensation for her overwhelmed system.

Sniffing back tears, she flipped idly through social media. Desperately tried to forget her nightmare. Tried to put it back in its box and destroy the key this time.

When Y/N checked her messages, she paused over Bucky’s. Rereading some of their previous messages and smiling a little at the bickering. All over whether she should bring him a souvenir or not. Not like there were many good shopping areas around here, but she thought it would be nice to bring him something from her trip.

She let out a shaky breath and hesitated for only a second before typing him a simple message. It took a couple tries. A few aborted attempts to decide what she wanted to say.

Y/N: Hey

If he was awake, maybe talking would help calm her down. If not, she could just tell him tomorrow that she couldn’t sleep. Not a lie. And it wasn’t like he had to know the exact reasons why.

She was still scrolling through Tumblr when her phone vibrated in her hands. It startled her, and she tensed up. Body going rigid and heart leaping up until it hovered against the back of her tongue. Only to realize what it was, and she let out a slow breath. Then opened the message.

Bucky: Hey, why you up so late?

Y/N: Can’t sleep, you?

Bucky: Me either

For a minute or so, she stretched out on her back and debated what to say. Cool air brushed her face and she scrunched up her nose before pulling the blanket over her head. Before she could reply, though, her screen lit up. It hummed and buzzed, and her eyes widened. Seeing that he was calling, her heart stuttered. She hesitated for only a second, before giving in and answering. Her voice was rough and thick from tears when she spoke up.

“Hey!” Y/N tried to make herself appear normal. Like she hadn’t woke up crying. But it came off wrong, so she followed it up with a question, “Everything ok?”

“As good as 2 in the morning can be.” Bucky snorted. He sounded deeper over the phone, and hearing his voice soothed her. Like a cooling balm to her soul. Then he tacked on, “Merry Christmas by the way.”

Every word he spoke had the edges of her terror subsiding but then the tears started to come in earnest. Like the fear had been the only thing keeping them at bay. As the fear drifted off, the pathetic sadness and aching wound in her chest started throbbing harder. Louder. She swallowed around the burning lump in her throat and forced a shaky laugh, "Guess it is past midnight." She mused, and then added, "Merry Christmas sweetheart." The endearment felt right and good to say. It warmed the cold corners of her heart. Maybe if she kept laughing, kept trying to smile for him, the claws of despair wouldn’t be able to drag her too deep.

Bucky paused for a second, shifting the phone and asked quietly, "Are you alright?" It was the tender concern in his question that made her heart swell until all the emotions roaring inside her were too much for her to handle. It was all too much.

Embarrassed, she curled up onto her side and wrapped herself around an extra pillow. She thought she’d kept the tremor from her voice. Not well enough. Eyes closed, she covered her mouth to stifle the whine building in her throat. Then took a slow breath in and out and admitted, "Just had a really, really bad dream." She stumbled over the middle and was surprised he could understand her through the rasping and shaking.

Quiet again, Bucky hummed in understanding, but didn’t speak right away. It seemed like he was trying to pick his words carefully. In the dreadful minute before his reply, she tried to sort through her thoughts and figure out what she wanted to say. Worried about what he might say. Finally, Bucky simply asked, "Wanna talk about it?"

And Y/N wasn’t sure if she did. It was a lot. A tangled web of information. If she tried to explain the nightmare, she’d have to explain the memory that accompanied it, and the person. And the history and she just didn’t know how.

Her silence stretched as she thought about it and finally sighed, "I don’t know if I can." Rubbing at her eyes and nose, she shoved her hair back off her damp face. A few tears escaped, and she swiped them away, trying to deny that they were ever there in the first place.

"You don’t have to." Bucky swiftly backtracked, a bit panicked, "I just want to help. If I can." Every word stumbled out of his mouth, rapid and awkward. She picked at a loose thread on the pillow she wrapped herself around. Aside from the crashing of the hail along the roof, the house was quiet. Dead quiet and still.

It occurred to her then that this was all awkward. Because he had never comforted her before. It had always been her comforting him. Except that one time on Halloween and over dumb things like her grades, he’d never had to. Sometimes he had eased her concerns over their relationship, but that was stress he caused her by himself.

They had never done this before and she hated herself for not feeling comfortable talking to him about it. She wanted to but what if he couldn’t help? What if he hurt her with the information? It wasn’t that she thought he’d use it against her, but it would hurt if he simply didn’t understand. One wrong word over this topic could wound her. This was a vulnerable spot.

"It was more of a memory than a dream." She hedged and vaguely attempted to elaborate, "I dated this guy and he hurt me. Pretty bad. For about 3 years or so." Her lip trembled, and she bit it to still it.

The other end of the line was pin drop quiet for so long that she squinted at the blinding screen to see if the call had dropped. Then Bucky asked, "He’s still around?"

Scoffing, Y/N shook her head, "God no. I haven't heard from him in over a year." It was out before she remembered the letter. And she squeezed her eyes shut tighter, resisting the urge to look at where it lay hidden away across the dark room.

It wasn’t really a lie. But she didn’t know how to explain the letter. Didn’t even know how to explain the entire mess that led to Jason being out of her life.

"Good, I was getting ready to jump on a plane and come kick some ass." He joked, and it made her smile, even if it was watery. The tears were finally drying themselves up, and the acute ache in her chest drifted down to a dull throbbing.

"He’s back in Queens." She clarified, stretching out her legs in the bed, "But that won’t be necessary."

"He deserves it." Bucky insisted, "If you're having nightmares about it a year later, he deserves it and more."

The conviction made her stomach flip with the fluttering beat of wings, "How do you deal with the nightmares?" Changing the subject was one of her many defense mechanisms. It was something she’d always done to keep the attention off herself. To give the old reopened wound inside her a chance to clot the blood and stop the bleeding out of her strength.

Wordlessly, she hoped he didn’t ask how she knew about them, and was relieved when he answered, "Sometimes I go for a run if they're really bad." He snorted, "Most of the time I just don’t sleep."

Surprised, Y/N laughed at that, "Oh very healthy. Great use of therapy."

He chuckled, and his laugh was a lullaby for her heart, "Not all the time. Sometimes I watch TV and just crash on the couch at dawn." There was a beat of quiet then he asked, "Do you have nightmares often?"

"No." She sighed, shifting the phone to her other hand so she could flex her stiff fingers, "I used to have them all the time. Even a few months ago. But it's gotten easier. I think I'll just start calling you every time." She teased and the smile on her face felt sincere, even lighter.

"I wouldn’t mind." Bucky’s easy response made her smile even more.

"I'll keep that in mind." Staring up at the barely illuminated ceiling, she asked, "How was dinner with your dad?"

Bucky groaned in annoyance, "Worst year in a while." He huffed, "We were going to go over in the morning for gifts, but Becca doesn’t want anything to do with him now. Probably won’t for a while." It had to be pretty bad if even his sister didn’t want to see him. From what Y/N understood, Becca was the defender of keeping a relationship with their father.

Hesitantly she asked, "What happened?"

He snorted bitterly, the phone shuffling and he sounded a little more echoey, "He got stinking drunk. And I had to try and put him to bed. But then—" Bucky cut himself off and cleared his throat, "Well he just didn’t want to go. Made it hard for everyone."

It felt like he wasn’t telling her something. She mulled over brushing it off, but then decided to ask, "Did he do something?"

Bucky didn’t reply right away, and as the silence drifted on, she worried he wouldn’t. So, she tacked on, "A truth for a truth. Tell me a thought and I'll owe you one."

Bucky chuckled quietly, "Like showing our scars?" It sounded like he shut a cabinet, and then the microwave beeped. Must have been making a snack.

"Kinda."

He hummed and then gave in, "Alright... I'm thinking that my dad is an ungrateful bastard and if I had it my way, I'd only see him to make sure he’s still breathing." The statement ended in a soft growl, and then he continued, "I'm thinking Becca deserves better. That if mom saw what he'd become after she died, she’d be heartbroken." He trailed off, words cracking towards the end and then gave a little, weak laugh, "Think that means you owe me three."

"I do." Y/N mused, mind whirling with the information, "I'm thinking... we have a lot to still learn about each other. That... that I haven't opened up about myself much at all. And that I'm scared to." The confession was tiny and weak. Like she had almost been unable to finish it.

"Scared?" He asked gently, a bit surprised.

"Ya, its dumb but I am."

"It’s not dumb.” He protested, and then asked, “Why?"

"I guess cause if I let you in, you could hurt me." Nervously, she sat up and tugged her knees up, so she could rest her arms on them, chin on her forearm.

"Doesn’t that go both ways?"

"Ya but you haven't let me in much." Her sentence was muffled against her arm, the blankets bunched up over her knees. A shiver traced down her spine like a caress of a finger as the cool air nipped at her exposed skin.

Bucky scoffed, "More than anyone. Ever. Except Steve but he was there for most of it." He let out a breath, "Baby doll, if you don’t want to talk about it, I won’t ever make you. But you don’t have to be scared. I'd never hurt you on purpose."

"I know." Y/N swallowed the lump in her throat, "I know that." She internally cursed herself for feeling like crying again, "I'd rather tell you the entire thing in person."

"That's fair." He agreed.        

In the moment that followed, she felt just a little better. Like they’d reached a new understanding. Then she asked, "What are you thinking about?"

"I miss you." He replied easily, "And I think I like calling you doll."

She smiled, sniffing the tears back down, "Then we’ll keep that one. Cause I like it too." Uncoiling herself, she fell back onto the mattress, staring up at the dark ceiling. The hail had stopped, and through the window to her left, she could see it had started snowing instead. The snow glittered in the light of the streetlamp outside. Like tiny falling stars.

Reluctantly, she relaxed further into the mattress, slowly starting to feel sleepy. Her eyes fell shut and she tugged the blankets further up towards her chin.

"You?" Bucky’s voice was far away and quiet. Soothing. Like a dream all on its own.

"Mn?"

"Thinking about?"

The question made her brain focus. At least she tried to focus, and she hummed quietly in thought, answering without much consideration, "That I wish you were here."

"Ya?"

"Mmhm, I want you to hold me." She blushed at her confession, but was too tired to try and backtrack, "I think I could fall asleep easier if you were."

"I'd like that." Bucky admitted, and her stomach fluttered, "I'd keep you safe."

His voice started drifting in and out of focus and it took her mind a second longer to come up with a response, "Fight off all my fears?"

"Of course." He chuckled, "Get some sleep babydoll. I'll see you soon."

Unable to even form a protest, she whispered, "Night."

Blearily, she pushed her phone away and was asleep before he hung up.

December 27th

The plane shook around her as it stabled out. Tremors subsiding, a ding filled the air, letting everyone know it was ok to roam around. Relieved, she let out a breath; looking out the window and taking in the pink morning light. Golden crested clouds swept along beneath her view and she shifted to lean her temple against the window and watch the sky.

After a few minutes, she pulled out her phone from her purse at her feet, a new one her grandmother had gotten her for Christmas. It was pretty, and better than the raggedy one she’d had before. When she’d woken up Christmas morning, Y/N had still felt the residual exhaustion from her nightmare. But once everyone arrived, and festivities began, it had melted away. Lost the razor edges of terror and became something easier to ignore. Just a dark cloud in the back of her mind.

An older woman sat one seat over from her, an empty one between them, and blew her nose loudly into a tissue. It made Y/N jerk in surprise and remember why she needed headphones. Shuffling through her purse, she found her travel pair and started untangling them. Her family had been disappointed to hear that she was heading back earlier than her parents but understood when she mentioned the trip her and Bucky were taking.

No one would stop teasing her after she’d mentioned it.

Poking up from the bottom of her purse, the white envelope stared challengingly at her through all the random junk filling her bag. She still hadn’t read it. Every day that she’d been gone swung by too fast and made it so easy for her to ignore the damn thing. It’d been 5 days since her mother handed it to her.

Headphones in place, she hesitated before taking out the letter. The envelope had pencil smudges from being roughly handled, shoved in and out of her different bags. She needed to read it. And it would be better to read it now before Bucky picked her up from the airport when she landed.

Better to get it over with and stop being a big baby about it all.

As she finished ripping it open, Y/N ignored the tremor in her fingers. Really, this was just getting ridiculous. She adjusted her phone, finding a song to block out all the background noise of the flight. A baby had just started crying three rows in front of her.

Inside, she found three pages of notebook paper. Covered in his small chicken scratch. It took her a second to adjust to reading his handwriting. It always was a mess, and she could tell he had tried, and failed, to be neat.

Y/N,

I really wanted to talk to you, and since I don’t have your number, I thought I'd write you a letter. You'd prefer this anyway. You’ve always been a romantic. First, I need to say that I’m sorry, for everything that happened between us. It got so out of hand at the end and I never meant for you to get hurt. Second, that I miss you. Everything about you and I understand why you did what you did. I forgive you.

Over the course of an hour, she read through it once, and then twice. By the third time she had to pull up her hood and hunker down into a ball to try and hide the tears. They stung and made her throat swell up until no air had any hope of getting in. Embarrassed and angry that he had managed to make her cry, she bit her lip hard to fight it. In front of a plane full of strangers, it was the last thing she wanted to do.

Too many emotions had her flushing hot and then plunging into cold at her fingertips. Cold and numb as a panic attack crept up on the edges of her vision. Silently, she turned in her seat to face the window more. Hoping the older woman reading beside her couldn’t see her cry. Carefully she folded the letter back up and put it back in the envelope. Then put that back in her purse.

There was a soft buzzing filling her ears. It wasn’t coming from her music.

Phone in hand, she flipped through several different artists and tried to focus on the song playing. Rather than her swirling thoughts.

Jason wanted to see her. Wanted to make things up to her.

Just the thought of seeing him made her stomach revolt. No, she just wouldn’t reply. She’d ignore it. Ignore all of it until it went away. Until he got the picture and left her alone.

He didn’t have her number or address. He couldn’t find her.

As Y/N wiped at her eyes, she made herself think about Bucky instead. She would be seeing him in a short while and couldn’t wait. Taking in a shaky breath, she counted to ten and let it out. Focused on the plane. On the music, and the worn seat underneath her. Made her eyes track the fluffy clouds within reach from the window, and took in another breath, smelling the metallic tang of the recycled air in the plane. The mint from the candies the woman beside her kept popping into her mouth every so often.

Seeing Bucky wouldn’t fix everything, but he’d make her feel better. Just his presence would calm her. Even if he had no idea why she was upset, he would help. Just being around him and laughing with him would be enough. Y/N missed him.

All she wanted to do was feel him wrap his arm around her. Feel him kiss away the hurt with every touch, and just be with him.

The letter didn’t change any of that. It didn’t change anything. She wouldn’t let it.

Tags: @boy-leave  @wtfholland  @snjms02. @diariesofthebeautyobsessed @metalarmlover

[reyridinghood]

oh hailey can I get a meet cute between incognito prince Ben and Rey in a bookshop, I think I might die?

The Royal Treatment, Part I

No warnings apply! Ao3 Link

Niima was a cute town. Quaint. Quiet. Exactly what Ben needed.

Well, today he wasn’t Prince Benjamin Lucas Anakin of House Skywalker, heir to the Throne of Alderaan. Today he was someone else. Someone whom he hadn’t even figured out yet.

He adjusted his glasses on his face after leaving the little barbershop where he’d just gotten his hair cut shorter and pulled the collar of his Burberry trench-coat higher around his neck as he headed out into one of England’s rare sunny days. It was nice that he could walk down the main street surrounded by Tudor cottages and people who paid him no mind. He read every old-fashioned, hand-painted sign and took it in stride, wondering how long his simple “disguise” would work.

He had managed to evade his security detail and take one of the cars after the art gala with the British princes and left his Uncle Luke to deal with the other royals and the press. Maybe he was out of his mind, and he certainly had overstepped his bounds, but in all of his twenty-nine years as Prince of Alderaan he had not rebelled, not even once, preferring to bottle things up inside and further contribute to his own anxiety, depression, and anger from feeling the pressures of responsibility and perfection. He didn’t even have a playboy reputation to go along with his name - and how could he when he was so encapsulated in the business of governing? His father was useless - a retired American Formula One driver who just happened to get lucky meeting his mother after his big Le Mans win back in the late 70s, so most of the duties of the male monarch fell onto his shoulders.

His therapist had suggested pushing a few of his boundaries and doing something purely for himself before turning thirty. Though maybe she didn’t mean it in such a drastic way.

He had selected Niima as his destination mainly because there was a bookstore here that held a rare first edition of Emma that he wanted to procure for his mother’s birthday. It was difficult to buy gifts for a queen who had everything, so he had to prepare months and months beforehand to figure out what she needed and get it for her.The Sacred Texts Bookshop was a robust brick building that smelled of old parchment and firewood coming from the reading nook across from the counter. There wasn’t much natural light, other than the two front windows with creative Alice and Wonderland and Peter Pan displays for the back-to-school season, so there were many brass chandeliers with bulbs that looked like candle flames that gave the place a hazy, magical quality. Ben could get lost in here, forever, just among the rows and rows of oddly shaped, differently stacked books that made the shelves sag and sway and curve from wall-to-wall, not to mention that he could get sucked into the world of any of the books that he plucked off the shelf. But he had to make sure he didn’t. He was here on a mission, and as much as he wanted to abscond, responsibility nagged at the back of his brain.“Hello?” He called out, wandering among the shelves, calling out. “Is anyone here? The sign in the window said ‘Open…’ and I-”

He almost literally bumped into a young woman - tall, but still much shorter than him. He only saw her from the back, but it was a lovely back. She was dressed nicely, albeit in quirky way. She had a warm, peachy orange sweater with a polka dotted skirt that flared but still showed off her, umm, assets as she bent over to peruse the shelves, her black tights accentuated her shapely legs…Ben yanked his eyes up to the back of her head because he was a gentleman, mortal attraction be damned, and he of all people was raised better. He concentrated on the part in her hair that signified it was most likely in two braids, and golly did Alderaanians love their braids.His mother would love her. Maybe. Why was he thinking in these terms? He was just here to pick up a book. He needed to focus.He heard the faintest music - sounded vaguely 80s - and realized the young woman was listening to music. Not knowing how to approach her, he reached out and tapped her, awkwardly on the shoulder, instantly straightening back up out of habit as she turned to look at him. And she struck him with the most beautiful face he had ever seen.Bright green flecks shone in her hazel eyes in the fuzzy light eyes. The blush of her cheeks grew as she flashed him a dazzling white smile. “Ah…you must be Kylo Ren.”He had almost forgotten that was the false name he had used, pulling from his favorite obscure fantasy novel and hoping no one had noticed. “I-yes. Yes I am. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?” He held out his hand for her to shake. That was what normal people did, right?“Rey.” She said, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you. We keep our rarest books in the back. Let me go get it for you.”He couldn’t help but follow her like a lost puppy, inexplicably drawn to her but also not really knowing what to do with himself. “How did you know I was Kylo Ren?”“Simple, really. I don’t get many more customers. You’re the first I’ve had all day - all week really.”“It’s lovely in here. I’m surprised you don’t have lines out the door.”She shrugged as she came out of the back room again, the prized first edition carefully wrapped. “Most of the villagers are used to us I guess. We’ll get more professors in here at the end of the year again, the back to school rush just occurred.”He smiled. “Thank you so much, Rey.” Before he could snatch it from her hands she shook her head.“I’m not giving this to you without knowing your real name. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize the lead character of the Order of Revan series?”He sighed and smirked. “Okay. My real name is Ben.”“No last name?”“No.”

“Alright…Ben the American.” Thank God for him learning English from his father. “You passed the test, I suppose. Then again, your hefty payment will pay for renovations on the east wing of Tuanul Manor.”He cocked his head at her. “You own the manor house? I’m staying there. It’s a lovely hotel.”“I’m glad you enjoy it.” She beamed. “To you it’s a hotel, to me it’s my home.”His eyes went wide. “You…own it? That makes you the…daughter of the Viscountess of Jakku?”She giggled and nodded. “Aurelia Perdue, 17th Viscountess Jakku herself. I must confess I like the rhyme but the title doesn’t mean much anymore. Being a penniless noble isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”“I’m so sorry.”“Don’t be. It’s my family’s own fault. My great-great-great-great grandfather made some poor railroad investments in the Nineteenth Century, his son had major gambling debts going into the Twentieth, World War I and the taxes it brought were the death knell to most family fortunes, but the real killer of the fortune in my lifetime was my parents trusting Unkar Plutt, the hedge fund manager.”Ben shook his head. “They left you with that vile man’s Ponzi Scheme debts?”“Didn’t have much of a choice. They passed away a while back. Car crash.”“You’ve been through so much yet you’re so…positive.”“I get by. There’s no use in complaining when you’ve got a job to do.” Her bright smile faded a bit. “It can get a bit lonely…But I have a good staff at the manor.”He smiled, regretting his every complaint about his own life of privilege. “Why don’t I walk you back when the shop closes? We can get to know each other in the meantime. I’ll help you however you need and you won’t be alone.”She pondered, looking him up and down before her lips ultimately curled into a grin. “I’d like that very much.”

Ben had one of the best sleeps in his life that night after talking to Rey. She was wonderful, intelligent, gorgeous, everything he could have ever wanted in a woman. He’d take care of her, make her every wish and dream come true, bear the weight of all of her troubles if he could. Despite her noble birth she’d lived a life of hardship, succeeding at every chance she was given and overcoming the obstacles in her way. After all that she had been through she graduated top in her class at Cambridge and was running a thriving business, pulling herself out of noble poverty and making her own name.It made him feel guilty for resenting his position so much. He vowed he would be the best ruler he could be going forward, and somehow woo her in the process. There was no way he’d let the Alderaan Royal Council hold him back. He’d find a way to marry her, to make her his queen. He hated how smitten he was being - she didn’t even show any sort of feelings back, did she? He’d have to make his move at breakfast this morning.His thoughts were interrupted by a loud, impatient knock at his door. He got out of bed, not bothering to fix his hair or change out of his pajamas or look any sort of official as he walked over to the door and opened it up.“Oh, goodness, Master Ben, you look dreadful!” Ben huffed as Charles Threepio of the Alderaan Public Relations Committee threw his arms around Ben’s shoulders and kept speaking in a rushed manner.“We thought we’d lost you forever, your highness, you just disappeared and we were frantic, your uncle and mother-”“Get off me, Threepio.” Ben practically growled at the man for bringing reality crashing back into his life, and bringing a very exasperated looking Rey standing outside the doorway with her arms crossed.

“Ben,” She said through gritted teeth. “When were you going to tell me that you are a prince!?”

[master-sass-blast]

Strong as Stone --Part Thirteen

*claws way out of the grave* I LIIIVVVVEEEEEE!!!!

Sorry for missing the update last week! I’ve been really sick as of late.

However, better late than never, as they say. So, I present to you --a week overdue--the next update in Strong as Stone!

Last week, we got to see the Festival of Loves --and Dewani and Shuri’s first Pride together.

This week, we celebrate our favorite Princess’s birthday!

Rating: T/PG-13.

Warnings: mentions of death, grieving, mentions of abuse, swearing, angst, a touch of fluff, nudity, and implied sex.

Pairings: Okoye x M’Baku, Shuri x OC, and background T’Challa x Nakia.

Life is a struggle. The river, though it provides for us, also poses a constant threat to our lives. It is full of predators, hidden currents, and sharp stones that could end us all in an instant.

As soldiers of the Dora Milaje, death likely be a constant in your lives. To be a Dora Milaje, you have to be intimately familiar with it –how to inflict it, how to ensure it, and how to save your sisters from it.

However, despite the challenges and presence of death it brings, life is also a gift. It is the flowers growing on the side of the road, the cry of a newly born baby, the spark of a new friendship.

Celebrate life wherever you go, my loves. It is the only true way to keep death at bay.

Okoye allowed herself a small smile as she watched M’Baku’s ship land on the main platform outside the palace.

Normally, she could expect the Jabari chief to fly in for the scheduled council meetings, but those trips always promised varying levels of political jockeying and drudgery. A good amount of time spent on the ass, with too few practical outcomes pay off to justify all the sitting, in her opinion.

This trip, however, was special. Princess Shuri’s birthday was in three days, and Dewani and M’Baku had flown in special to celebrate with the royal family.

No council meetings, unless it was an emergency.

No new missions to be drafted and assigned until the birthday had passed.

No nationwide celebrations, ceremonies, or parades that needed to be monitored.

All that had to be done was cycling the guard rotations –which she’d already worked out.

It was like a little mini-vacation, one that she had been craving lately.

She kept herself carefully composed as M’Baku and Dewani disembarked, went through the formalities of greeting the King and the royal family, and engaged in the usual social niceties of greetings and conversation. Then, Shuri took Dewani by the hand and the two girls darted into the palace, giggling and talking.

T’Challa smiled as he watched his sister and her girlfriend, then nodded at Okoye and Chief M’Baku. “I’ll see the two of you after you’ve had time to catch up.”

Okoye sighed happily as she leaned against M’Baku’s shoulder. “I’m glad to see you.”

“And I you.”

She let her eyes close as he pressed his lips against the top of her head.

They were strolling through the garden in lieu of sitting, ambling along to give them plenty of time to talk and to let M’Baku stop as he pleased to study and admire the various flowers growing alongside the paths.

“It’s been too long since we’ve been able to spend more than a day together,” M’Baku said as he rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “I don’t like seeing you in only bits and pieces.”

“Well, it’d be easier to see each other if you let the transportation system link up with the Jabari lands,” Okoye said with a teasing smile.

M’Baku seemed nowhere near as amused as she did. “Or you could take a vacation every once in a while.”

Okoye sighed and stopped, tugging on M’Baku’s hand until he turned to face her. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“And it’s more complicated than ‘stubborn Jabari Chief shuns all technology,’” M’Baku shot back. “‘Koye, I love you, but why can’t you give up a little time to see me more often?”

“Because my job is more complicated than that. I don’t just guard the King and sit in on Council meetings. I’m also the woman in charge for all missions involving the King or the Dora Milaje, and I’m one of five people in charge of the War Dogs program. I can’t just… pick up and go whenever I want, especially since the commute to the Jabari lands is so long.”

“…So you weren’t just talking about the commuting system to egg me on.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

M’Baku let out a heavy sigh and pressed his lips against her forehead. “Under any other circumstances, I’d do it, but with my uncle in the picture…”

Okoye kissed his cheek before smiling up at him. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.” She leaned against him as they resumed their leisurely stroll through the garden. “I do have some mandatory time off in a little over a month. If it works for you, I’ll make sure I come see you then.”

“Like I could ever turn you away.”

Okoye smiled, squeezing M’Baku’s hand before letting go as they approached the royal family and Dewani.

T’Challa, Nakia, and Ramonda sat off to the side while Shuri and Dewani stood on top of a sparring mat, each wearing light protective gear.

M’Baku raised an eyebrow as he took the sight in. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re seeing who’s the better fighter,” Shuri said. “Or, we’re trying to, but someone is a little too worried that I’ll shatter like glass.”

“I am not worried that you’ll break apart,” Dewani shot back. “I’m worried that we’ll get into it and that you’ll start complaining that I fight too hard.”

Shuri gave her girlfriend a matter of fact look. “I am a descendant of the first Black Panther. The blessing of Bast runs through my veins. I think you should be more worried about my being too hard on you.”

Dewani, who didn’t look convinced in the slightest, wrapped her hand around one of Shuri’s upper arms, showing how easily she could bring her index finger and thumb together. “Right.”

“Strength isn’t all in how big the muscles are!”

“No, but more mass does allow for better ability to take a fucking hit!”

Shuri rolled her eyes, then pointed to her chest. “Come on, just hit me. As hard as you like, I promise I won’t complain.”

Dewani narrowed her eyes in suspicion, before shrugging and smacking her girlfriend in the chest with her fist.

Shuri bent over, clutching at her chest as the resounding thud of Dewani’s strike echoed off the glass walls of the palace. “Ow! You didn’t have to hit me that hard!”

Dewani threw her hands up in the air, exasperation evident on her face. “What did I say? What did I fucking say about—”

“You hit me on the fucking tit, idiot! Bast, that hurts!”

“Shuri,” Ramonda said in an admonishing tone. “Watch your language, please.”

“Look, say everything you like about your heart-shaped herb. It still doesn’t replace the practical experience of fighting, of building muscle and pain tolerance,” Dewani said. “I didn’t even hit you at my full strength, and you can hardly take it.”

Shuri narrowed her eyes, her face contorting into a defiant expression that Okoye had seen many times before –usually when someone told Shuri she couldn’t do something. “Okay, now you’re just bragging.”

“I’m not bragging. I’m being realistic.”

“Fine.” Shuri held her fists up. “Three rounds. Do your worst.”

“Your sister’s faster than I gave her credit for,” T’Challa said, eyes flicking back and forth.

The three matches had all ended the same way –with Dewani pinning Shuri in some fashion, and with Shuri complaining loudly about whatever excuses she could come up with. After the third match, Shuri had stood with a huff of frustration and challenged Dewani to a game of tag, with the gardens as the fair grounds.

Currently, Dewani was having no problems staying several feet ahead of Shuri, laughing as she ran through the garden with long, powerful strides.

“We lead very physical lives, as Jabari,” M’Baku said. “Anything we can do for ourselves, we do. You’ll never see a machine do something for us that we can’t do for ourselves.”

Okoye bit back an amused grin as she watched T’Challa roll his eyes. She knew that M’Baku was exaggerating the sentiment to get at T’Challa, but that didn’t make the antagonism between the two any less entertaining.

On the path below them, Shuri let out a shout of triumph as she chased Dewani onto a dead end path, blocked on the end by a massive tree.

Okoye watched, equal parts impressed and amused, as Dewani ran up the trunk of the tree and flipped over Shuri, quickly darting back down the path, onto a bridge, and hopping off the side into a stream below.

T’Challa let out a low whistle as Shuri let out a stream of breathless curses. “She’s got some skill.”

When M’Baku didn’t reply with some line about the superiority of the Jabari way of life, the gears in Okoye’s brain started turning. It’s not something he’s automatically bragging about… Dewani’s physicality is something he views as a natural extension of the Jabari lifestyle, but not her parkour and free running abilities…

Silently, she wondered if Dewani had developed her evasion skills during her time with F’Tendi. Logically, it made sense. The abuse she suffered at the hands of her uncle would’ve necessitated evasion skills like parkour, and M’Baku’s silence made it clear that her abilities hadn’t come from any sort of healthy motivation –if they had, he would’ve said so.

Okoye glanced over at T’Challa, and knew by the contemplative expression on her King’s face that he was undoubtedly thinking the same thing.

“I can’t see them over the hedges,” Ramonda murmured as she craned her neck, trying to catch sight of her daughter.

“I doubt they’ll do anything inappropriate,” T’Challa said in fond exasperation.

“No, but they’re booking it down there. I’d hate for one them to get hurt and us not be within easy reach. Besides, it’s almost time for dinner.”

“I’ll go find them, Queen Mother,” Okoye said with a quick bow. She looked up as M’Baku followed her down the steps that led to the lower levels of the gardens. “You’re coming too?”

“Dewani’s my sister. She’s my responsibility.”

“Ah. And here I thought you wanted to spend more time with me.”

“Well, that was the other factor…”

It didn’t take long to find the two girls. As it turned out, they had stopped shortly after they’d fallen out of sight of everyone else. All Okoye had to do was track Shuri’s kimoyo beads.

She rounded the last corner that lay between her and the girls, but ducked back behind the hedge when she caught sight of the two teenagers.

Shuri had tears streaming down her face, and was slumped against Dewani –who, for her part, was doing a good job of keeping her girlfriend upright.

Okoye held up a hand, motioning for M’Baku to stop. She peered around the corner again.

“—overthinking this.”

Shuri’s shoulders heaved up and down as she leaned against Dewani. “I’m not!”

“You don’t have to be the fastest, or the strongest—”

“And what happens when T’Challa steps down from the mantle of the Black Panther? You’re right; I can’t just rely on the heart-shaped herb to fill in the gaps.”

“Shuri.” Dewani gripped her girlfriend by the shoulders. “You’re only sixteen. I’m only sixteen. We are two sixteen-year olds.”

That made Shuri giggle, at least. “I know how old I am, doofus.”

“Good. I was worried that you’d forgotten for a moment, because I can’t fathom a single reason why you’d be worried about taking up the Black Panther mantle.”

Shuri twisted her hands as she stared at her feet. “T’Challa wasn’t expecting to become King so quickly… but Baba died all the same.”

Okoye’s heart sank as she watched Shuri hunch in on herself. She glanced at her kimoyo beads, grimaced when she realized that she had been watching the girls talk for five minutes, and cleared her throat before she fully rounded the corner.

Shuri stiffened as though she had been hit with a tazer, but Dewani was more than ready to react –or, given that it was Dewani, mouth off.

“Don’t mind us. We were just making out.” She gave her girlfriend a ‘what was that for?’ look when Shuri punched her in the arm.

Okoye bit back a laugh as M’Baku gave his sister the stink eye. “The Queen Mother sent us to find you,” he said. “It’s time to wash up for dinner.”

“Here.” Dewani knelt in front of Shuri. “I’ll carry you back.”

Okoye nudged M’Baku in the side as Dewani began carrying Shuri back to the palace, piggy-back style. “Are you going to carry me?”

He shrugged with an easy grin. “If you want me to.”

Dinner had gone smoothly enough –and quickly enough, since Shuri claimed she ‘wasn’t feeling well’ before the third course was even served, retreating to her room shortly thereafter.

Okoye knew that she had to be upset over celebrating her birthday without her father for the first time. The loss of T’Chaka had been shocking for everyone, had even taken her out at the knees when she’d seen the news report.

Still, the specific pain that Shuri was experiencing was distant, even intangible to her. Yes, she’d lost her own father, but she’d lost him so young that she couldn’t even remember his face, much less his name or his manner. There were times –sometimes her birthday, sometimes the New Year—where it would occur to her that she ought to be celebrating with her family –or have family, period—but even those epiphanies did little to crack open the well-papered over pain that she could barely remember. She could see the absence in her life –see the family shaped hole that had been gouged out by Klaue’s actions—but she couldn’t quite connect to it.

Okoye paused from her slow sifting through mission reports to stop and reflect on the loss, to try and connect to it –and, by proxy, what Shuri was going through—better. She dug as deeply as she could, trying to piece together fragments on hazy memories seen through far younger eyes.

All she found was the memory of finding their bodies and howling in anguish.

That, in and of itself, was painful. The only thing she had left of her parents was their death.

A sharp knock on her office door broke her out of her reverie. Okoye quickly wiped tears off her face and cleared her throat before welcoming the knocker in.

Ayo walked in, dirt and soot smudged across her face and expression weary. “Please tell me you still keep a bottle of whiskey in your desk drawer.”

Okoye’s eyes widened as she pulled out a glass bottle and cup. “Should you even be here right now?”

“I’ve already been cleared by two medics. I just want something to drink.”

“I take it the mission didn’t go as planned, then?”

Ayo hissed through gritted teeth before downing half the glass. “Fuck no. Klaue’s associate knew we were coming. Had the entire place booby-trapped with explosives and heat-seeking machine gun turrets.” She went silent for a moment before adding, “I lost two of my people.”

Okoye moved out from behind her desk to clasp Ayo’s shoulder sympathetically. “I’m sorry, but I won’t pretend that it’ll never happen again.”

“I know. I know.”

“It would seem, however, that Klaue’s faceless associate is going to be more of a problem than we had anticipated,” Okoye murmured as she flicked the missions catalogue onto the main display. “What, this is the third mission they’ve evaded us on?”

“Fourth, if you count the dead end in Morocco,” Ayo added before letting out a disgruntled sigh. “Don’t tell me that you’re going to spend the night here, chasing patterns that don’t exist, instead of seeing M’Baku.”

“What makes you think that I’m seeing M’Baku?” Okoye pursed her lips as Ayo raised an eyebrow at her, then gestured to the tight black tank top and even tighter blue and green skirt she was wearing. “Okay, fair enough, and no. I won’t be staying here all night. M’Baku was already expecting me. I just wanted to make sure you got in alright.”

A ghost of affection flashed across Ayo’s face before being replaced with the same heavy bitterness she had come in with. “I’m fine. Go spend time with your man.”

Okoye held Ayo by her shoulders. “If you need me—”

“I am a grown-ass woman—”

“First failed missions are hard. I would know. If you need me, call me. M’Baku will understand.”

A flicker of a smile played at Ayo’s lips –and stayed this time. “You’re a good friend, Okoye. Now, go get laid.”

Okoye snorted and patted Ayo on the shoulder before leaving. “Believe me, I plan on it.”

If there was one thing Okoye had to list as an all time favorite fixture in the palace, it wasn’t the training room –even though it had the best equipment and shock absorbing training mats the world could offer, courtesy of Shuri.

Nor was it the private break room for the Dora Milaje, which had its own privately-stocked coffee bar –although that particular spot ranked high on the list. She was serious about her coffee.

Not even the luscious, immaculately kept gardens could come in at the top of her list –though, she was developing a new appreciation for them, thanks to her time spent with M’Baku.

No, if Okoye had to pick one thing about the palace that she would never, ever change, it would be the beds. They were the perfect balance between soft and firm, layered with gorgeously soft sheets and blankets, and had the best pillows propped up at the headboard –neither too firm or too soft, and always cool to the touch.

Ideal for sleeping --and other things.

Currently, she was sprawled on her stomach across the bed in M’Baku’s guest suite, watching her lover rummage around the room.

A sight to behold on its own, certainly, but made even better by his nude state.

“‘Koye.” M’Baku grinned as the drawl of his nickname for her finally caught her attention. “I asked what you were thinking.”

“Nothing. I’m staring at your ass.”

M’Baku chuckled as he strode back to the bed, rolling her on her back as he kissed her passionately. “And what do your eyes tell you?”

“They tell me that feeling is better than seeing,” she shot back as she groped at his rear. “Roll on your back. I want to be on top this time.” As he shifted to acquiesce to her, Ayo’s face flashed through her mind, unbidden. Okoye frowned slightly as she stilled, preoccupied with worry for her best friend.

“Uh-oh. I know that look.”

“What look?”

“Your mind is being consumed with something, and it won’t stop until you follow the thought all the way through.” M’Baku sighed, but smiled fondly nonetheless as he rubbed his hand up and down her side. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing. I was just thinking about Ayo.”

“Oh, so we’re trying to have sex, and you’re thinking about your best friend. Great.”

“Not like that!” Okoye smacked her hands against his formidable chest as he cackled. “She had her first failed mission tonight, lost two people. I’m just worried about her, is all.”

M’Baku sucked a breath through his teeth. “That’s hard. Do you want to call her?”

“I would, but she’d probably yell at me about hovering.”

“Then you should probably leave it be. Unless you think she’s in danger from herself.”

Okoye shook her head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just that this mission has being an on-going process of frustration and figurative hair-tearing.”

M’Baku propped himself up on one elbow. “How so?”

“Well, Klaue had an unnamed associate that hid some of the vibranium he stole. We’ve tried to track the mystery person down more than once, but they always seem to know that we’re coming. They even had a trap laid down for Ayo’s team tonight. That’s how she lost two people.”

M’Baku’s brows furrowed. “Wait, there’s still more vibranium outside of the country? Klaue had associates?”

Okoye’s eyes widened as she realized the mess she had just stepped in. The King… didn’t tell him… about the missing vibranium.

Granted, it wasn’t exactly common knowledge, but all of the council members knew about the missing vibranium cache that linked back to an unidentified associate of Klaue’s. She had assumed…

Assume makes an ass of you and me.

M’Baku breathed in and out, once, twice, before shaking his head. “No matter. The Jabari do not concern themselves with vibranium. It can be the King’s headache.”

Okoye shot M’Baku a disbelieving look. “You’re dropping it? That easily?”

“Yes,” M’Baku said as he sat up and wrapped his arms around her, holding her flush against his chest. “Because, right now, I have the most gorgeous woman in my bed. The last thing I want to think about is the King and his vibranium headache.”

Okoye chuckled and tilted her head back as M’Baku pressed a trail of kisses down her neck. “Okay, okay. Point taken.”

“I’m so glad you see it my way. So, are you still hellbent on being on top for this round?”

“Yes.” Okoye shoved at his chest, pushing him back onto the bed. “You got to be in charge for the last two rounds. It’s my turn.”

M’Baku laughed. “In charge? Which one of us is a Chief?”

“And which one of us is the indomitable General of the Dora Milaje?”

“Ah, how could I forget? Forgive me, my love.”

Okoye grinned and leaned down to kiss him.

“That went on twice as long as it had to.”

“Did it? Or are you just being grumpy?”

“I’m never grumpy.”

Okoye laughed quietly as she walked through the garden with M’Baku.

The palace had hosted a formal dinner thrown by the Wakandan Society of Scientific Research and Development in Shuri’s honor –a celebration for her birthday. While “formal” by technical definition, it had been a far sight more enjoyable than nearly all of the formal functions she’d attended while travelling with the King.

“Was it really so horrible?”

“Oh, I suppose not. It was kind of them to give her recognition for all her efforts in advancing technology and to celebrate her birthday –especially with this being her first birthday since T’Chaka’s death.”

Okoye hummed in response as they strolled under the cover of the night sky. “So, what has you so grumpy?”

“It was just so… confined. Everyone at separate tables, no one mingling or talking outside of the people they were sat with.” M’Baku looked down at her with a worried expression. “Is that how you celebrate birthdays down here?”

“No. Tonight was just a formal event. Granted, each tribe has their own traditions pertaining to birthdays, but there’s generally a celebration with the immediate family on the day of, then a celebration with the extended family and close friends the next day, and a celebration with the village at the end of the week.”

M’Baku raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That sounds very similar to how we do things in the Jabari lands.”

Okoye grinned and elbowed him in the side. “See? We’re not so different after all.” They rounded the corner that led to the palace, and Okoye stopped so quickly that M’Baku almost tripped over her. She quickly nudged him back around the corner, stepping out of sight before they were seen.

Shuri and Dewani were sitting on the steps that led to the palace. Shuri was sitting in the circle of Dewani’s arms, sobbing loudly.

“I think you’re still overthinking all of this—”

“I’m not!”

Okoye retreated further, ducking behind a tall hedge as Shuri tore herself away from Dewani to stagger down a couple steps.

“Shuri, perfection isn’t possible. It’s just… it’s just not.”

“Science hasn’t proven that it isn’t!”

“Okay, but you always say that anything can be improved upon—”

“And, someday, I’ll hit the point where it can’t be! And then things will be perfect!”

Okoye grimaced as she listened to Shuri’s hoarse, hysterical screaming. She glanced back at M’Baku, only to find that he was wearing a similarly somber expression.

“Shuri, I don’t doubt your genius or abilities, but that’s a heavy burden to put on yourself –it’s not one you deserve.”

“Do you think I have a choice?” Shuri shouted, anger and pain making her voice crack. “Look at what happened to my father! If I had designed the necklaces sooner, then he would’ve lived.”

Okoye frowned as pang of sympathetic pain shot through her chest.

M’Baku let out a quiet hiss. “I had no idea she blamed herself so heavily for her father’s death.”

“Neither did I.”

“Shuri.” Dewani’s voice sounded from around the corner, soft and sad. “It’s not your fault.”

Shuri was silent for a moment. Then, in a quiet, broken whisper, she said “I have to be the best, Dewani. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Okoye was between deciding whether to take one of the other paths out of the garden or two step up and comfort the Princess when M’Baku stepped past her without warning.

“Trying to be the best is a path that only leads to nervous break downs,” M’Baku said as he settled himself onto a step next to Dewani. “I would know.”

Shuri stiffened and puffed herself up to her full height, clearly caught off guard and uncomfortable with M’Baku seeing her in such a broken down state. “Would you, now?”

“Absolutely. When my father died, I felt the burden of his death so keenly that I threw myself into the idea of being a perfect Chief. It sucked so much out of me that I didn’t notice my uncle’s atrocities until it was literally pointed out to me.” M’Baku sighed heavily as he shared a bitter grimace with Dewani before refocusing on Shuri. “Perfection, being the best… they aren’t worth the toll it takes on you and the people around you.”

Okoye let out a deep breath and stepped out from behind the hedge. “He’s right.” When Shuri turned to face her, Okoye did her best to keep from snapping into her on-duty posture. “There are always going to be wrinkles in any plan, things that happen that you couldn’t have seen coming. You learn from them as best you can, but nothing can ever be one hundred percent perfect.”

Shuri shook her head, her braids whipping back and forth. “No! No, there’s a difference! There’s a difference between failing a mission and losing your father!”

“Yes,” Okoye agreed gently, “there is. But that doesn’t make it your fault.” She gently, almost gingerly, placed her hands on Shuri’s shoulders. “Your father’s death was the fault of the man who set the bomb. None of the responsibility falls to you.”

Shuri stared up at her, eyes blazing with barely held in pain and glistening with unshed tears. Then, her lower lip started trembling, and she crumpled against Okoye as she started crying anew.

Okoye caught Shuri in her arms and patted her back. “Come on, Princess. Let’s go find your mother.”

Okoye smiled serenely as she watched Shuri banter back and forth with Dewani. And so, a new day brings new joy.

The royal family, M’Baku, and Dewani were seated around a wooden table in the center of the garden, enjoying a quiet lunch to celebrate Shuri’s seventeenth birthday.

Ramonda clasped her daughter’s hand as the servants cleared away the last of the dishes. “Well, my dear, I think it’s time to give you your gifts.” She picked up a smooth black box tied with a gold ribbon from the seat next to her. “Your father and I picked this out for you shortly after your sixteenth birthday. I know he’d be so proud of the woman you’re becoming.”

Okoye didn’t miss the way Shuri’s smile faltered or the way her hands shook as she undid the ribbon and opened the box.

Shuri gasped softly a lifted a gorgeous black and gold beaded necklace out of the box. “It’s beautiful.” She managed a smile for her mother, but her eyes glistened with barely contained tears. “Thank you.”

Ramonda smiled back, eyes equally as wet, and kissed her daughter on the cheek.

T’Challa gave his sister a cropped black leather jacket that Shuri looked over appreciatively before sliding it on.

Nakia gave her a pair of bright purple wedges that the Princess squealed over before putting them on in place of the shoes she was already wearing.

The King groaned as Shuri modeled her new shoes for Dewani. “How do you always end up picking the better gift?”

“There are some things you just have to be a woman to know,” Nakia said with a smile.

M’Baku gave her copies of agricultural studies and genetic modification conducted by Jabari scientists.

“It’s a wonderful gift,” Shuri said. “Thank you, Chief M’Baku.”

Dewani handed Shuri a gift that had been carefully wrapped in light purple paper with a shy smile. “Here. I made it myself.”

Shuri’s happy smile shifted to one of mild confusion as she opened the box, forehead creasing as she ran her fingers over the intricate leather cover of a massive book. “You made this?”

“Well, I didn’t do the binding, but everything inside –yeah. I made it.”

Okoye craned her neck to see the pages as Shuri casually flipped through the book.

There were illustrations, sketches, poems, pages of ramblings, thoughts on Jabari life, and what looked like intermittent diary entries.

Okoye allowed herself a small smile. Well done, Dewani. You’ve given her an amazing gift.

“I love it!” Shuri squealed, eyes wide with amazement as she brushed her fingers over the pages with the reverence of a scholar.

“Really?” Dewani asked, slightly shocked.

“Yes, really!” Shuri pressed her lips against her girlfriend’s cheek in an enthusiastic kiss. “It’s like you’ve given me a look inside of your brain! I love it so much! Thank you!”

Dewani looked up at Okoye as Shuri pulled her into a hug and mouthed a quick “thank you” in her direction.

Okoye shot her a wink back, along with a grin.

Okoye glared sharply at Ayo’s mission report, scanning it line by line.

--we approached the suspected warehouse once the sun fully set. Scans indicated there were sixteen life forms inside, but upon entry the warehouse was barren.

Okoye frowned. So, they can fool our scanners. Klaue’s associate is definitely testing the limits of what vibranium can do. She pulled up her notes on the other missions they’d run to try and recover the last of Klaue’s stolen vibranium.

There were consistencies among all of the three missions. Each time, the location they’d discovered had been empty when they’d found it. Each time –when they’d had more than enough evidence to prove that Klaue’s associate would be there—everyone they’d surveilled at the location was gone, with no signs of anyone having been there at all. Each time, the vibranium was gone as well.

We know it’s not the men Klaue had working with him during Ultron’s uprising, Okoye thought as she sat back in her chair. Nor is it anyone we had on record working with Klaue –or N’Jadaka, for that matter.

Who could it be, then? Who had they missed? Was there a mole in their operations? A Wakandan that had sided with Klaue and was feeding their mission information to the unnamed associate?

Or an American, Okoye thought with a sinking stomach. Agent Ross knew about Klaue’s access to vibranium.

Perhaps it would be worth contacting the agent again, seeing if she could get information about Klaue out of him.

Okoye flinched at a sudden, harsh wrap on her office door. “Come in,” she said, quickly dismissing the displays of the mission logs and her notes.

The opened a crack, and Shuri peeked in, a shy expression on her face. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“Princess.” Okoye stood quickly and bowed, doing her best to conceal her surprise. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“Call me Shuri, please,” she said, stepping over the threshold of Okoye’s office. “I’ve been ‘Princess-ed’ more than enough for one day.” She gestured to the chair that sat in front of Okoye’s desk. “May I sit?”

“Of course.” As they sat down, Okoye grinned when she realized that Shuri had Dewani’s book tucked under her arm. “I see you have the book.”

“I’m not even halfway through it yet. She put so much in here. Dewani said…” Shuri hefted the book. “She said this was your idea?”

“I suggested she make something for you. The book was all her idea.”

“Well, thanks for inspiring her. Having something like this…” Shuri’s voice trailed off and her eyes started glistening. “It’s made today easier.” She cleared her throat. “There was something Chief M’Baku said I should talk to you about.”

Okoye raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What was that?”

“He said that you would understand what I’ve been through—”

Okoye’s heart dropped. He didn’t.

“—because you’ve lost your friends on missions before.”

Okoye did her best to conceal the depths of her relief from Shuri. He didn’t. He left it as your choice. He didn’t tell her. “I have…” She hesitated, then pressed on. “But I suspect the Chief was thinking of something else.”

Shuri frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I lost my parents in the explosion set off by Klaue,” Okoye said quietly.

“I… I had no idea.”

Okoye waved her had dismissively. “There was no reason for you to. It’s not common knowledge.”

“So… you do understand.”

“To an extent, yes. I was six when I lost my parents, so I don’t remember them as well as you remember your father.”

Shuri let out a weak laugh. “It’s strange, isn’t it? No matter how similar the loss is, there’s always something to make it different from all the other losses around it.”

“The river of life flows differently for all of us.”

Shuri ducked her head as she held onto Dewani’s book like it was the only thing keeping her afloat in the wake of her grief. “Does it… does it ever get better?”

Okoye studied the Princess –her shaking shoulders, bowed head, and white knuckle grip on the book—before answering. “Yes.”

Shuri’s head popped up, eyes wide and tears trickling down her cheeks. “Really?”

Okoye nodded. “But it takes time.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“I know. Unfortunately, it’s true.”

Shuri sniffed loudly and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand. “Do you still miss them?”

“Sometimes. Mostly around my birthday and the New Year.”

“Well, at least you have the rest of your family.”

Okoye grimaced, then shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

Shuri frowned. “Were they killed in the explosion as well?”

“I don’t know. I ran away after my parents died and went into the Dora Milaje program when I was eight. I’ve never heard from the rest of my family.”

“Then… where do you go during New Year’s?”

“I have an apartment in Birnin Zana.”

“Don’t you ever get lonely?”

Okoye shook her head. “Not often. My friends in the Dora Milaje keep me company –and M’Baku keeps me company when they can’t.”

“I feel sorry for you,” Shuri said after a moment. “I don’t think I would’ve made it through this without my mom and brother.”

“Just because I am an orphan doesn’t mean I don’t have a family,” Okoye said. “Mine just doesn’t share any genetics with me.”

“Well, I’m glad you have people to care about you.” Shuri smiled, wiped the remaining tears from her cheeks, and stood. “I think I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you, Okoye.”

“Any time… Shuri.”

Shuri nodded, started towards the door, then stopped. “If—” she turned to face her once more “—you ever want help finding the rest of your family, let me know.”

Okoye smiled, and nodded. “You’ll be the first person I talk to.” She sat back in her chair and let out a sigh as Shuri closed the door behind her. But first, I have to figure out how Klaue’s associate keeps staying a step ahead of us.

[stlgeekgirl]

The Case of the Lost Belief

The second gift for my Secret Santa @iamtheno1cumbercookie  Today calls for a little Sherlock and Rosie fluff.  Hope you enjoy it.  

Warning:  Do not let any kids still within the magic of Santa read this!

“I want to hire you”

The childlike voice suddenly appeared out of seemingly nowhere from the direction of his sitting room.  Sherlock poked his head from the kitchen.

Eight-year-old Rosie Watson stood just inside his doorway, small fists clenched at her sides.  He squashed down his first involuntary question: Does your father know you’re here?  because obviously if John knew where his daughter was, he’d be here with her.

The second obvious yet involuntary question that sprang forth:  How did you get here? was also squashed.  Young Watson was intelligent enough to know how to get to Baker Street by either taxi or train.  To prove it as he stepped into the sitting room, the small blonde pointed towards the landing.

“The taxi needs money, I didn’t have any.”

“Sit.”  he ordered, hurrying past her and grabbing his wallet and phone from the fireplace mantle as he passed.  “Your chair.  Don’t move until I return.”

He hurried down the stairs to pay the taxi driver.  Luckily it was one of his regulars.

“Afternoon Mr. Holmes.”

“George.  How much?”

“Twenty-three quid. Picked the young Miss up from Adlington.”

Sherlock handed over the notes and thanked the driver.  He unlocked his phone as he stepped back into Baker St. and texted John.

 Rosie is at Baker St. She’s fine. SH

 “Now Miss Watson,” he said as he stepped back into the flat.  Rosie, who was sitting in the chair deemed “Watson’s” turned to look at him.  “What is this nonsense about hiring me?”

“I wanna hire you.”  She repeated as if it were the most normal thing in the world for the Consulting Detective to be hired out by eight-year old’s.  Although there had been a couple.   She began pulling coins and notes from the backpack sitting on the floor beside her.  

“I don’t have much money, but I hope it’s enough.”

“Put your money away   Rosie-mine, I’ll not take it.”

“I’m serious.”  Her blue eyes glinted like icy steel and Sherlock felt the old familiar pang of loss when he saw Mary in her look.  “I have a case and I need you to solve it.”

She was serious.  As much as an eight-year-old could be.  

Sherlock crossed the room and sat in his chair, across from her, giving himself a few minutes more to look her over.  Tear-stained face, agitated posture, red cheeks, papers poking from her open backpack.  Someone had upset her.

“Why don’t you explain what you wish to hire me for and then we’ll discuss payment.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket as he spoke, and he slid it out to read the message.

 WHAT!  JW

I’ve been looking all over this bloody school for her! JW

 “I want you to prove that Father Christmas is real.”  Rosie stated.

Oh.

OH!

Oh.

He was in no way prepared to destroy his eight-year-old God daughter’s belief system.  Especially a belief system that had been expressly forbidden by John, Mrs. Hudson and Molly that he was not even to express a peep about.

He watched her silently waiting for her to continue ranting.  If she was upset about something, he found that just standing there and allowing her to stomp around and shout about it usually led to her discovering the solution on her own.  His Rosie was extremely clever.  

This time, however, she merely stared at him, daring him to refuse her.    As if he could refuse her anything.  

Mary had been gone these past eight years and while he missed her every damn day, as Rosie had grown, she’d effortlessly slipped into that hole he had in his rarely used heart where her mother occupied for the short time she’d been in his life.  Rosie only had to ask, and Sherlock would fight metaphorical dragons for her.  He would do anything for her.  

Including upsetting everything she believed in and thereby regulating him to the couch to sleep for who knew how long when her Godmother discovered what he had done.

“What happened?”

“Jack said Father Christmas was a myth.”  The story exploded from her and frothed over like a raging volcano.  “He said that our parents give us our presents, that they lied to us about a magical man who comes and brings us presents.  Katie said only babies believe in Father Christmas.  So, I pushed her.”

“Rosamund.”  he admonished.  

“She made me angry!”  Rosie exploded again, a smaller one this time as her vitriol was quickly running out.  Her eyes reddened again, and Sherlock pushed back the usual panic he got when the woman around him began to cry.   “You never lie to me Uncle Sherlock. You promised me you’d always be truthful with me no matter what.  I trust you to tell me the truth.”

Sherlock sighed heavily.  Caught in a web of his own making.  He could practically hear Mary’s cackling laughter behind him.

“I did promise Rosie, but first, are you sure you want an answer to your question?   It doesn’t matter what the truth is, it only matters what you believe.”  He folded his hands underneath his chin and studied her. “Answer me this Rosamund, what do you believe?”

Rosie sat on the edge of the chair, her nose scrunching up in thought.  She knew that if he countered with a question, there was a reason for it.      

“I believe in... something,” she hedged.  “It’s hard to get into our home and my presents are usually split between my house and here and there’s no reason for Father Christmas to drop presents here.  Plus, there is no way one man can get around an entire world in a night without the use of a time and space machine or a teleporter, neither of which have been invented yet.”  She looked up at her, her blue eyes watery.  “But why do parents tell this story and their kids continue it when they become parents?”

Wasn’t that the question of the hour?  He stood up and held out a hand.  Rosie climbed from the chair and slid her small hand in his larger one.  He led her towards the sitting room window, pulling back the sash and picking her up.  She was still light enough that he could do this although her long legs made it difficult to navigate anywhere.   Her legs wrapped around his waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck.   He stood in front of the uncovered window and nodded towards the picture outside.  

“Observe young Watson.  What do you see?”

 People were bustling around the sidewalks, arms ladened with packages and bags.  On the corner was a bundled-up figure ringing a bell next to a red bucket.  Several people dropped coins in as they passed.  A group of people stopped just in front of the sidewalk across the street and chatted pleasantly for a bit before going their separate ways.

“People talking.  Putting money in the bucket.  Lots of packages.  A pickpocket’s dream really.”

Sherlock laughed loudly, before planting a loud kiss on her temple.  

“I adore you Rosie-mine.  You have been around me far too much.”

She grinned back at him.  Mary’s grin.  

“The attempted larceny aside, there’s something about this time of the year that brings out the best in most people.  Father Christmas was a real person in the sense that there was a St. Nicholas.  But an actual man who rides a sleigh led by eight reindeer that can fly, no.”

 Rosie took in his words, her brow furrowed as she stared out the window in contemplation. 

“But…why do parents lie?”

Sherlock walked back from the window, Rosie still in his arms, towards his chair.  He let her down and she waited only long enough for him to get comfortable before she scrambled up onto his lap. 

“It isn’t that they lie Watson,” he began.  “Rather the world we live in is cruel and harsh and rife with generally not nice people.  Most children see the world not as it is, but as some sort of magical and wonderful place. There’s a kind of magic in the air around this time of the year where people aren’t as cruel or impatient as they would normally be the rest of the year.   Your dad just wants you to have that magic as long as you can before real life crushes your soul.”

“So…I shouldn’t be mad at Dad and Aunt Molly and Nana Hudders?”

“Rosie, we all love you and we try very hard to keep you somewhat ignorant of the evil that truly happen out in the real world.  They more than I admittedly. You are a very clever young lady and you have an ability to think outside the box that I admit I cannot do at times because I’m jaded.  If you tell anyone I said any of that, I will firmly deny it and return your Christmas present.”

Rosie grinned excitedly.  “You got my Christmas present?  What did you get me?”

“And spoil the surprise?  Your Aunt Molly would kill me, and I have cases to solve come the new year.”

Rosie curled up in his lap, resting her head against his chest.  His hand came up to stroke her blond hair and pull her snug against him.

“Thank you, Uncle Sherlock.  I promise to let Dad think that I still believe in Santa for another year or so.”

“I’d appreciate it, Watson.”

“You’re going to make a great Dad.”

He snorted lightly.  “I have you Rosie, I hardly need any other children.”

She tilted her head up to look at him.  “But don’t you and Aunt Molly want kids?  They won’t be as adorable as me but, they’d still be kind of cool.”

His lips quirked upward as he continued to stroke her hair.  “Your Aunt Molly and I are…complicated Rosie, I very much doubt children are anywhere in my near future.’

The door to the flat slammed shut and was followed by heavy footsteps on the staircase. 

“Ah, it seems your father is here Watson.  Do try to go easy on him.”

Rosie remained where she was as her father ran into the open door of the flat, face red in fear and anger.  She felt Sherlock’s grip tighten on her for a mere moment before relaxing as her full name was shouted in terrified exclamation.  Reluctantly she slid off Sherlock’s lap and was snatched up in a fierce hug. 

“You scared the hell out of me and your Auntie Molly!”  John shouted.

“You called Molly?”  Sherlock asked as the sound of the main door slammed shut again followed by footsteps. 

As Rosie looked over her father’s shoulder to the relieved face of her Godmother as she came into view she thought about what her Godfather had said, how this makeshift family she had loved her and only wanted to protect her and keep her innocent of the terrors that await her as she grew.  She held back a knowing smile as she watched Molly shoot a concerned look over their heads to Sherlock and hoped she was here when her Godfather found out what Molly was giving him for Christmas.  For all his talk sometimes, he didn’t truly observe what he saw around him.  Especially when it was someone close to him.

  ޫz���

[hennessy-jacen]

Jacen Hennessy (Pre-Henneson)

Basic Facts.

What is Your Character’s Name?

Jacen with a "c", Denver like the city, Hennessy like the brandy.

How does the character feel about his or her name?

I like it well enough. It's a great conversation starter.

How did he or she get this name? Was it passed on from a family member, or did the parents read it on the side of a cereal box the day the child was born?

My parents wanted to be unique? Just swapped an "s" for a "c", an "o" for an "e"? They met in Denver and my dad is super

Irish

. Like embarrassingly Irish.

What is the meaning of the name?

It comes from a Gaelic name that sounds similar but is spelled with more vowels than I can fit in my mouth.

What culture did the name originate from?

Irish.

Super

Irish.

What regions of the world did the name come from?

Ireland. Like many Irish things.

What connotations or stereotypes does the name have?

I'm an alcoholic from Colorado named Jason?

_____________________________________________________________________________________

How old is your character?

25

When was he or she born?

October 5, 1991

What events were happening locally, nationally and globally the year your character was born?

Terminator came out. My parents got into a fight cause my mom insisted on watching it in theaters six months pregnant. So basically Arnold Schwarzenegger is to blame for everything that's wrong with me.

What is the zodiac sign?

Libra

Does his or her zodiac sign have any bearing on their personality traits?

My mom says I have great patience like all good Libras.

What Chinese Horoscope year were they born in?

The year of the great goat lol

How does this influence their personality traits?

I make b-a-a-a-a-a-ad jokes?

How does your character like to celebrate his or her birthday?

Like it was any other day. It's a treat to be busy and have consistency in my day to day life. I'm fine if no one knows or cares.

What does your character look like?

Like a pasty hobbit?

Is your character Athletic or Overweight? Tall or Short?

I'm 5'9 so reaching for things is a struggle but they made sure I could lift three times my weight if push came to shove during paramedic training so I guess I have that going for me.

Hair color and length?

I used to have blonde hair when I was a kid but it got darker real quick. It's pretty brown now and I like keeping it short-ish. Just as long as it's out of my way, I'm good.

Eye color?

Bl...ue? I think that's what my license says.

Any scars or birth marks?

A couple of scars here and there just from getting scraped up on the job. Nothing serious.

Does your character have a physical disability?

No, thankfully and luckily, considering how easy it is to get bent out of shape in my job.

What actress or actor would you have play the role of your character if it was a movie?

Haha, maybe if I was more photogenic, tall, and muscular, Ryan Gosling. Basically, if I wasn't a pasty hobbit then Ryan Gosling.

What style of clothes does your character wear?

I like being comfortable. But I also like looking good when I don't

have

to be comfortable. I own a lot of flannel plaid, a couple of leather-ish jackets, a ton of jeans, a lot of t-shirts and a lot of sweatpants. Not very inventive.

What clothes would he or she wear every day on a casual basis?

All the plaid in the world. And then some.

For a night out on the town?

I own slacks. Somewhere. And some button-downs that aren't plaid. And cologne.

To bed?

Shorts or just my boxers.

Does he or she wear any special jewelry or accessories?

Can't really wear jewelry to work at the risk of it ending up on the ambulance floor and at that point it's gone forever.

What type of shoes does your character wear?

Sneakers for days. All the Dr. Scholl's you can handle is under my feet, day in, day out.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Where does your character live?

Girard Estates, South Philly.

Is it an Apartment? House? In the backseat of his car?

It's the second floor of a house so it's pretty comfortable.

How does your character feel about the current living arrangements?

Pretty comfortable lol I've been there for a while, I like it, it's home.

Does your character live with anyone else? Who are those people?

Not anymore.

How does your character get along with his or her neighbors?

My downstairs neighbors are pretty cool. Their dog shows up on my doorstep sometimes so that's cute, I guess? Who has a dog door on their front door and not the door leading into the backyard? Anyway, they're a couple, they're cool.

What is the view outside of your character's window?

Trees, hedges, sidewalk, some cars. Most people park in their garages or driveways though.

What items do they keep next to their bed?

My phone, my Fitbit, a lamp. A chapstick when it decides not to roll off on its own accord.

What is your character's most valuable possession?

I value all of my material things with the same amount of indifference lol I don't have anything crazy valuable. I guess I'd be mad if someone stole my TV or laptop or headphones but that's just cause they were expensive, not cause they're sentimental valuable. Unless you meant monetarily valuable cause then definitely my TV. The thing cost an arm and a leg.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

What does the character do for a living?

I'm a paramedic.

Do they find this work enjoyable?

Yeah, it's rewarding even though it's like 80% organized chaos and 20% escorting highly inebriated people to the drunk tank to sleep it off.

What is your character's dream job?

I guess I'd like to properly go to medical school someday, get my degree and all...but I also feel like I procrastinated it for too long. I'm 25, by the time I go to school and get into the practice I'll be ancient...I dunno. Maybe one day. I love it where I am though and I don't know if I'd miss the energy if being a paramedic if I was confined to a building all day.

What is your character's financial situation?

I'm doing good, I'm comfortable. I can get nice things that I want without having to think too hard about it so it's a luxury I feel like I'm lucky to have.

What does your character spend most of his/her money on?

I spend a lot of money on food. It's dumb, I like to treat myself to nice meals. That and recreation, I like new experiences a lot so I don't mind paying for like scuba diving lessons and stuff.

What would your character do if he or she won the lottery?

I'd probably help some people out, like pay some medical school bills for some friends. I know some really good people who help others out a lot that are drowning in crippling debt cause they made the decision to help others out and that's not fair. And then I'd probably get myself a really good steak.

W

hat is your character's highest level of education?

I have a bachelor's in health science.

What things do they wish were different about their current profession?

I wish there was a little better support from administration sometimes. I wish equipment wasn't updated once in a century. My hospital isn't one wealthy or high enough on the radar to get trial equipment so we have to wait the years it takes for licenses, patents, and mass production to roll out things to us that could save lives today. It's frustrating to know there's knowledge and equipment out there that's reserved for the richest, the best in politics, and so forth.

...Is it too late to say don't get me started?

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Who are his or her parents?

My dad is Caden and my mom is Angie. Hennessy.

Does he or she have any siblings?

Nope, they decided I was trouble enough. Kidding, I think they tried but it just didn't pan out before or after me.

A spouse or other romantic partner or love interest?

Not at the moment.

How about children?

The only person I figured I'd have children with left me so...no.

Other family? Aunts? Uncles? Second Cousins Twice Removed?

I have like 15 cousins. My parents both have a lot of siblings and a lot of them have kids who also have kids. Family reunions are kind of nutso.

How does your character feel about family functions and events?

Speaking of... lol They're okay, really. It's a lot of people but we usually rent out big parks or places where we can all exist without getting on too many nerves and there are ample hiding spots. The kids are cute and there's always good food and my parents always spoil me a bit hoping I don't get annoyed and stop showing up one year so that's nice too.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Who are your character's closest friends?

Mostly people I work with. I spend a lot of time with my squad so they really know me better than anyone else.

How did your character meet his or her best friend?

Work. I guess if I really had to pick someone I'm closest to on the squad it would be Jackson. I've known him since my first day on the squad, we started together.

What do they value most in friendship?

Fun, good naturedness. I like being able to relax, it's really important that I can just be myself around the people I hang out with.

Does your character make friends easily?

I guess. I don't get on people's shit list easily, I don't think.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

What was your character's first romantic encounter like?

Um embarrassing and in college? Also not totally sober? I went away for college so being away from home for the first time was an experience lol

How does your character display affection?

Uh...I like being close I guess? Like in proximity, I just like having people close and comfortable with me. I like holding hands and stuff. I dunno, just your generic stuff.

What is your character's idea of a perfect romantic date?

Something that makes us both really happy. Something meaningful. I like having a purpose when I go places, discovering things is so much more worthwhile with another person.

Has your character ever had his or her heart broken?

I mean, yeah.

What qualities does your character look for in a romantic partner?

The same stuff I look for in a good friend, I guess. I just want someone I can really be myself around. Someone that can make me smile and someone that I can make smile.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Does your character have any pets? What type?

Nope, I'm really not home enough to have a pet.

What are your characters favorite animals?

I like cats and dogs. I think it'd be kind of neat to have a ferret or a bearded dragon but I think I'd feel bad about keeping a bearded dragon in literally a tank all day.

How many times has your character visited the zoo?

I used to go a lot as a kid. My parents would bring me or I'd go with my cousins. Once for school, that was cool. I bought my parents a stuffed monkey from that trip and they still have it so I guess that's kind of important to me or whatever :')

_____________________________________________________________________________________

What are his or her favorite foods to eat?

I like a lot of things, food is literally my favorite. I like ramen and lamb and a lot of roasted greens. This is a hard question, I like a lot of things a lot.

Does he or she enjoy to cook?

Yeah. I get really ambitious and it isn't always excellent but I like to try.

Any food allergies or sensitivities?

No, thankfully.

What foods can he or she not stand to be around or eat?

My dad's family has a pallet for some things I don't love. Irish baked goods are just not that great and I don't get the hype about black and white pudding I'm soRRY I SAID IT YOU CAN KICK ME OUT NOW.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

How does your character spend a lazy Sunday afternoon?

Lazily lol I don't get up too late cause I know it'll throw off my routine but I like to make myself breakfast at my own pace and watch whatever I've been meaning to catch up on for days. Maybe make a trip to the grocery store and peruse the aisles at my own leisure. Come home and play some video games? If I'm gonna have a lazy day I'm gonna commit to total leisure.

What are their favorite places to go when alone?

With friends?

I like going to the park alone. Walks are nicer with a podcast to think about. I can be a part of society without actually bothering myself, it's basically perfect. If I'm with friends I like to get a drink or go play board games at someone's house, that's pretty neat.

Where would your character like to travel?

Anywhere! It would be great to take a break and just have the incentive to go somewhere and enjoy something new.

How does he or she want to get there?

Driving, flying? By boat. I don't care. I haven't found a mode of transport I've hated yet.

Does your character have preferences on types of lodging?

Not gonna lie, I'm not a roughing it kind of guy, I don't love fending for myself. I like somewhere with running water and internet at least. And no bugs. Don't like bugs.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

What are your characters favorite movies and TV shows?

I guess I like hour-long shows that I can really get invested in. Like Peaky Blinders and X-Files and stuff. I like getting immersed in the stuff I watch, which is a lot more TV than movies.

What are their favorite actors and actresses?

I like a lot of people. Peter Dinklage, Gillian Anderson, Sam Neill. A lot of people have a lot of talent. I have a fucking huge crush on Emma Thompson. That's embarrassing but she's literally so fun.

How often do they watch movies and/or television?

I usually watch TV to turn my brain off after a long day so often. Almost every evening? I usually watch something over dinner.

What genre of music would you find your character most likely listening to?

My iTunes is mostly rock, I guess.

When do they listen to music? In the car? While working?

When I'm working out. Or we play music in the ambulance sometimes when it's empty.

What artists and bands does your character enjoy listening to?

I like the Arctic Monkeys and The National and stuff like that. Stuff that I can really appreciate on noise-canceling headphones. If it can get me in my feelings I'm there.

W

ould your character go to a concert and enjoy it?

Yeah! I used to go to concerts a lot more often before but I do enjoy the experience if it's for the right band the right atmosphere.

Does your character play any musical instruments?

No. I used to play guitar when I was a kid but I lost interest ages ago.

What are his or her favorite books?

I don't read as much as I should...but I do like reading books of movies and TV shows after I watch them. When I can't get enough of the world it built it's nice to fill in the holes with the book.

What books are on his or her bookshelf at home?

A lot of my college reading material to make myself look smart to my dust bunny house guests. Plus all those movie and TV show books.

What titles does he or she borrow from the library?

I don't really go to the library. If I'm not sure enough about a book to order it online I usually don't get it at all.

What genre of books does your character enjoy reading?

Romance Fiction? Non-fiction? Thriller Crime Novels? Historical Fiction? Self-help? Poetry?

Historical fiction, post-apocalyptic, sci-fi, basically any kind of fiction really. I'm here for a good, gripping story.

What is your character's favorite quote and why?

“If not us, who? If not now, when?” ― John F. Kennedy

[jihope-tension]

And darling I will be loving you 'til we're 70

Since Tumblr became cancerous and I don’t really know why I’m just gonna drop this little drabble. I love the album so much I have this on repeat on Spotify since yesterday, so I’m seriously leaving Tumblr for a while to let everyone chill and calm down about it. I know we all have opinions, but you know what, I’m not gonna be fake and say ‘Yes, I understand your point’ blahblahblah. Call me a bitch or anything you want but this album is positive to me and so beautiful, and I really don’t do good with bad opinions on things I like and enjoy so Imma just stay away and not get involved :) I love every single one of BTS’ songs and nothing will change that.  Love you guys anyway.

‘Come on, Jennie, cheer up. For me?’ Jungkook makes puppy eyes hoping the girl would finally stop staring blankly outside the car window. 'Look at me. Come on, come on.’ The boy starts poking at Jennie’s side to make her move, but the girl doesn’t do as much as blink. With a sigh, Jungkook shifts his gaze back to the road.

There’s a familiar song playing on the radio, an instrumental version of one of Jungkook’s favourite songs of all times, gentle flute, and catchy beat humming in the background. It’s an old song, from around 2017 if he remembers correctly, belonging to his grandad’s favourite boy group at that time.

'Could you turn it off, please?’ Jennie asks silently without looking at Jungkook, her skinny hands pressing harder together in her lap. It’s not much, but at least Jungkook knows she’s conscious. He’s been worrying for the entire ride if his friend has had an emotional crisis to the point where she lost the contact with the reality. Without a word, Jungkook shuts the radio down, hands coming back to the wheel.

They continue the rest of the trip like this, full 4 hours of thick silence with only two stops for toilets and one coffee stop for Jungkook.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have just taken Jennie’s hand and told her everything would be okay soon. But it’s Jennie, and it was never this simple with her. She didn’t need a banal hug or a plain word of comfort. All she needed was some space and silence.

But when she came to him two days ago looking like her entire world shattered right in front of her eyes, Jungkook didn’t know how to help her, how to ease her pain. Maybe they’re only 20, but they’re capable of love and that day Jennie looked like her heart had been ripped out of her chest in the slowest, most agonizing way.

'We’re almost there.’ Jungkook’s lips curve into a small smile against his will when they pass a sign 'Welcome to Busan’. From the corner of his eye, he can see Jennie stealing a curious glance as well before she quickly turns back to the window. Under other circumstances, he would have been teasing her, calling her 'Gangnam Princess’ since she’s never been to Busan before. Now, though, all he can do is hope that spending a few weeks in his hometown would do something, anything to help forget. Well, not his hometown per se, more of his mother’s but he spent half of his life here so it could as well be his hometown.

Driving further and further into the city, passing by the all familiar houses and shops, Jungkook can’t help but feel nostalgic. He didn’t visit last year, something he deeply regrets, but knows that none of his grandparents will be mad at him. His their first and only grandchild after all and he’s been spoiled by them all his life.

The fuel reserve light turns on catching Jungkook’s attention, so he drives for a few more minutes before stopping at the last gas station before his grandparents’ house.

Jennie still doesn’t move even when Jungkook makes funny faces at her from the other side of the window, so he just refuels and goes to pay. Fumbling with his wallet, he doesn’t notice a person walking towards him resulting in bumping into them with a groan. Before he can apologize, a big, triangular smile appears in front of his eyes and then the rest of the face, and without much thinking, Jungkook throws himself at the man.

'Uncle Taehyung!’

'Kookie! Told you to call me Tae! God, I swear, you’re getting taller every year.’

'You say so every year!’

'Well, not last year.’ Uncle Tae shoves at Jungkook’s shoulder making Jungkook almost fall over. 'You’re so handsome, I wonder after who. Surely not after your grandfather.’ The man shakes his head rubbing at his jaw in a fake deep thought.

'You know, I always have another-.’

'Oh my,’ Taehyung whistles 'and who would that be?’ Jungkook furrows his eyebrows following his uncle’s line of sight until he locks eyes with a curious looking Jennie. 'Is that your girlfriend?’ Taehyung waves at her and to Jungkook’s genuine shock, Jennie waves back with a shy smile.

'No, just a good friend from college. She’s- Her boyfriend broke up with her, and I just thought she would like to see Busan. You know, maybe have some fun? You get it.’ Taehyung scoffs.

'Of course. I might be old, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know stuff. See, when I was young-.’

'Uncle.’ Jungkook puts a hand on top of Taehyung’s shoulder. 'Why don’t you come over later? We’ve been kinda driving for a few hours, and I’m sure Jennie would appreciate some shower and rest.’ He gives his uncle an apologetic look to which he receives a curse, but as it turns out, he’s not the one being cursed at.

'Shit, you’re right. I’m a fool. Go. And tell this old prick I’m expecting my martini to be nice and cold when I stop by sometime during the week.’ He adds louder as Jungkook walks over to the car.

'Of course! See you!’

'Who was that?’ Jennie waves again at Taehyung and Jungkook might be seeing wrong, but he swears the top of her uncovered ear turned slightly pink.

'Uncle Tae, he’s a good friend of my grandparents.’ The best, he thinks.

'Wow, so how old is he?’ Jennie turns in her seat, and Jungkook bites his lip to prevent himself from smiling wide. Better safe than sorry.

'Hmm, if I’m correct he’s my grandad’s age so it would be 64-.’

'64?!’ Jennie’s eyes widen comically. 'He looks no older than a little over 40!’

'Time has been merciful for him, I agree.’

'And he’s so handsome! Like, you know, this manly kind of handsome that comes with age.’

'Guess I’m not manly.’ Jungkook shrugs his shoulders.

'Maybe a bit? But he’s on the entirely different level, so you kinda suck next to him.’

'Nasty.’ Jungkook laughs and lets out a small breath of relief when Jennie giggles as well for the first time in two days.

'Wow.’ Jennie looks around her as Jungkook starts pulling their suitcases out from the trunk. 'It’s so nice.’

Jungkook stops to look over the house, white elevation with wooden elements here and there, big front yard with different kinds of shrubs and nicely shaped hedges lining the fence, so the whole place feels cozy and safe. Nothing changed since two years ago. He nods slowly.

'Yeah, it’s nice.’

'Kook?’ A slightly deep yet silky like honey voice calls out making both Jennie and Jungkook turn to the source of it. 

A man, dressed in the comfy looking pants and an oversized blouse, looking like he walked straight from one of these 'mature sexy men magazine’ appears on the stone path leading to the main entrance. He’s holding a huge flowerpot with different, colorful flowers in it, his glove-covered hands are dirty from the soil, and the bronze skin of his face is grazed with pink. He sets the pot on the ground then pulls off the gloves with a smack.

'Hey, grandpa.’ Jungkook smiles slightly before jogging over to the man and straight into his wide open arms.

'My baby Kook.’ The man coos before he starts tightening the grip around Jungkook. 'You didn’t say you were going to visit you fuckin. Little. Shit.’

'Sorry.’ Jungkook manages to gasp out before the grip loosens and his grandad pats his shoulder blades.

'Seriously, you even brought a girlfriend. I didn’t clean up the house!’

'She’s not my girlfriend. Don’t worry; she won’t mind-.’

’I mind. What is she going to think of your grandparents, huh?’

'Seriously, don’t worry about it.’

'You fucking-.’

'Um.’ They snap their heads towards Jennie who managed to walk over without being noticed. Jungkook’s grandad quickly composes himself running a hand through his surprisingly thick and blonde hair. 'Hello. My name is Jennie, and it’s a pleasure to meet you.’ She bows slightly before the man sends her a charming smile and takes her hand to plant a kiss on top.

'It’s indeed a pleasure, such a beautiful lady with such good manners. If I wasn’t taken already-.’

'But you are.’ Jungkook peeps in, but Jennie just smiles shyly admiring the handsome man in front of her. There’s something youthful about his eyes and the way he talks that almost draws her in like a moth to a flame.

'A dog in the manger. Alright, since my lovely grandson didn’t bother to mention you were going to come, we’ll need to organize something.’ The older man spins around with a wink and starts walking towards the house completely ignoring the pot. Jennie looks briefly at Jungkook.

'Oh, maybe we should just go to the motel? I wouldn’t want to intrude-.’

'What?’ The man stops in his tracks before storming back to Jennie. 'Sweetheart, you’re not intruding. I just need to change bed sheets and maybe clean the bathroom a little, but I believe Jungkook will take care of you for an hour, right?’ He smiles sweetly, little crinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes and Jennie finds herself nodding fervently.

'Pops…’ Jungkook groans then jumps to the side to avoid being hit.

'Please, make yourself home.’ He squeezes Jennie’s arm gently before leaving.

As they both watch the man entering the house in a hurry, Jennie turns to look at Jungkook questioningly.

'Pops?’

'My childhood nickname for him. I like to tease him.’

'Are all old people here so handsome?’ Jennie furrows her eyebrows.

'What can I say. You’re not the only Gangnam Princess.’

'Alright then, princess. Let’s unpack. I could die for a cup of tea, also?’ Jungkook salutes.

'Got it, milady.’

Jungkook closes the door to Jennie’s room quietly before joining his grandfather on the couch downstairs. Reaching for the empty glass he lets the older man fill it with dry red wine.

'She’s very nice. But she seemed kinda sad?’ As usual, his grandad is pretty much observant and pretty much straightforward. Jungkook leans against the backrest.

'Her boyfriend of four years dumped her for someone else. After cheating on her multiple times. She didn’t know until two days ago.’

'That’s awful.’ His grandad nods rising a glass to his lips.

'She was devastated. Usually, she can take care of herself, but it was different this time. I could just sit and watch her becoming an empty shell.’ Jungkook rubs at his forehead out of a silent frustration. The older man doesn’t say anything for a while before humming into the wine with a smile.

'That’s why you brought her here.’

'This place can heal everything.’ Jungkook answers but not without a hint of affection. 'I missed you.’ He’s immediately crushed between two strong arms.

'We missed you too Bunny Boo.’

——

It’s been four days since their arrival, and even though Jennie looked relatively fine, Jungkook knew it’s not true. She met Taehyung properly, on the second day, laughing all the time at the old’s man antics. But she’s been looking at her phone every few minutes, and sometimes her eyes would glaze over, and she would excuse herself to the bathroom every time they did. Jungkook was to say at least, frustrated.

'Kook?’ He lifts his head to look at his grandfather.

'Yeah?’

'Could you prepare the fireplace? Taehyung’s coming over, and I thought we could grill some sausages? I’ve got marshmallows?’ He wiggles his eyebrow making Jungkook snort.

'Sure.’

'Maybe I could help with Jennie?’ Jungkook turns his head around to glance over his grandad.

'How?’

'I don’t know.’ The man shrugs. 'She’s too beautiful to be this sad.’

'I know.’ Jungkook sighs throwing thin pieces of wood into a plastic box. 'She’s hurting so much because of some stupid asshole. I wish someone just beat the shit out of him.’

'You really care about her, huh?’ Jungkook stops for a second then continues with searching for the wood.

'She’s not an ordinary girl, and she helped me a lot in college. She’s kind but stands for herself. She doesn’t deserve to be treated like this.’

’Nobody deserves that.’ His grandad pats his shoulder before walking away whistling quietly.

'No. You got it wrong. It was completely different from what you just said.’

'Taehyung, I swear, it was you who jumped from the scaffolding-.’

'You old fool, I would have remembered something like this-.’

'Then maybe it’s time to check your memory you goddamn prick-.’

'Woah, woah, woah.’ Jungkook walks over to the fireplace. 'I’m leaving you for a minute, and you’re almost fighting.’

'Who’s fighting you little shit?’

'Right! You’re just a bug to us so shut up.’ His grandad fist bumps Taehyung before they start cackling together.

'You’re awful.’ He whines with a frown. 'Here you go.’ Jungkook wraps a soft dark blue blanket around Jennie before plopping down next to her on top of the bean chair wrapped in his own dark pled.

'Thanks.’ She mutters softly through a mouthful of marshmallows. She seems cozy and definitely warmer with the blanket but for some reason, her eyes are getting dangerously glossy again, so before she could untangle herself and run away, Jungkook instinctively pulls her closer. She looks up at him, but he just presses a finger to his lips to shush her.

'Is it a storytime?’ Taehyung runs both hands through his thick brown hair.

'Of course.’ Jungkook’s grandad shakes his head like it’s the most obvious thing in the world and to be honest, it kinda is. Jungkook has always loved storytime with his grandparents; they either made him fall asleep in minutes or kept him awake for the entire night. To this day he believes there was magic behind these stories, the kind of magic that even his wonderful parents couldn’t create.

'How about it, Jennie? Do you wanna listen to his old man’s story?’ Taehyung gets more comfortable in his rocking chair. 'I promise, they are only the best quality.’

'I don’t doubt it.’ Jennie smiles and nods her head. 'I will gladly listen to your story.’ Absentmindedly she snuggles more into Jungkook’s side creating an extra dose of warmth between them. Not that Jungkook complains.

'Let’s see. Hmm. Okay, what about Jungkook’s favorite story?’ The old man gives him a questioning look as well as excited Taheyung and curious Jennie.  

'I haven’t heard it in years.’ Taehyung nods appreciatively then makes puppy eyes at Jungkook. And damn, is it working.

'Yeah, I wanna hear that.’ Jennie agrees. 'Since it’s his favorite, it must be good.’ Jungkook locks his eyes with his grandfather’s. Actually, he heard it only twice and only when he became an adult.

'Yes. Yes, it is.’

'What is it about?’ Jennie reaches for her cup of tea. Jungkook’s grandad smile to himself.

'I hope you don’t mind a little- spice.’

——

At first sight, I could recognize you As if we were calling for each other The DNA in my-

'Um, excuse me?’ Jimin quickly pulls at his earphones to look at the stranger hovering over him. 'Is this seat taken? It’s full everywhere.’ Jimin glances at the seat where his bag sits then back at the stranger. It’s hard to tell his features because the sun is directly behind him, but Jimin supposes he doesn’t look like a freak. So quietly, he puts his bag between his legs motioning at the now empty seat.

'Please.’

'Thank you.’ The man bows and sits down in front of busy putting an earphone back in Jimin.

None of this is a coincidence Because we’re the two who found our destiny-

Jimin ignores him for the good thirty seconds before curiosity gets the best of him and before he can stop himself, he’s looking up from his phone. Everything would have been fine, Jimin would have taken a quick look then hid back behind his screen where he’s safe. But what he didn’t predict was that the stranger could be already staring at him as well. And oh, boy. He does have some nice features to look at. 

His hair is fiery orange, slightly wavy and parted in the middle. He’s dressed nicely but not overdressed, with nice pants and loose longsleeved shirt. Suddenly Jimin feels half-conscious about his plain black jeans and the hoodie. They both avert their gazes at the same time pretending to like the scenery outside the window more than the person in front of them.

The train is moving at the speed of 300km/h, but Jimin swears his heart is beating faster. He’s not sure why. No, he has some fair idea why, but he’s better than that. He’s better than judging someone by the looks.

The boy doesn’t look at him for the next few minutes until they reach the next station and the speakers above the door to their section announce that there’s an over hour-long delay due to some reparations on the tracks.

Jimin slumps in his seat, stuffing both hands in the pocket of his hoodie. The sky is getting pinky orange now, so before he reaches home, it’s going to be plain dark outside. Great.

'Guess we’re stuck here for a while.’ The stranger’s voice makes Jimin flinch, but if the said stranger noticed, he does a good job of pretending he didn’t. He shrugs.

'I guess.’

'I can just leave you alone and shut up if you mind me talking.’

'I don’t. It’s okay.’

'Okay. But stop me if I’m too much. Sometimes I forget not everyone is like me.’ Jimin raises an eyebrow.

'Like you?’

'Overly excited.’ The other eyebrow follows the first one.

'About what?’ Jimin asks unsurely. The stranger smiles mischievously.

’Everything.’

Jung Hoseok wasn’t lying that day in the train. He was overly hyped and continuously made Jimin want to shove his fist down his throat whenever he started to talk at the speed of light about things that weren’t interesting to Jimin. But most of the time Jimin didn’t shove his fist down Hoseok’s throat. Actually, he never did. However…

'Fuck.’ Jimin’s fingers are so tightly curled in Hoseok’s hair that he thinks he would literally pull every one of them out if he did it any harder. 'Fuck. I- fuck.’ He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know why he feels like he has to say something at all.

It’s just that it doesn’t feel right when there is silence between them. Well, maybe except for the moans and filthy sounds of slurping but silence beside that. With Hoseok’s constant talking he can think. Without it, he’s a mess like this.

He thrust and thrusts, and for a moment he becomes scared that he’s going too fast, too hard. But then Hoseok lifts his teary eyes and smirks around him, and he looks like he’s in his favorite spot in the world right now doing what he likes the most and Jimin doesn’t have the heart to take it from him. So he simply gives in.

And Jung Hoseok wasn’t lying that day in the train. He’s overly excited about everything.

'That was- intense.’

'No shit.’ Hoseok pants out trying to wipe the sweat away from his face. 'I feel like my soul left my body.’

'Same.’ Jimin agrees, quick, sharp breaths leaving his chapped lips. 'Any particular reason behind it?’

'Just a choreography for this boy group. Sorry if I went too hard.’

'No!’ Jimin flinches when Hoseok turns his head to look at him questioningly. 'I mean, it was fine.’

'Someone likes it more on the rough side, hm?’ He’s teasing, Jimin knows, but he still turns bright red at the indication. Hoseok raises an eyebrow. 'You really do.’

'I guess? Never really knew until today.’

'Did I wake up a best in you?’ God, yes.

'What was that?’ Jimin frowns. 'That was cheesy at so many levels.

'Not on your level shortie.’ Hoseok winks rolling around across the bed to run from the potential hit. He grabs his underwear and skinny black jeans, jumping to get them up his legs.

'Look, who’s talking. President of the 'want to be tall’ club.’ Jimin throws a pillow at him squeaking as Hoseok dodges it to steal a kiss from him. The mattress squeaks as well when Hoseok presses his palms on both sides of Jimin’s head.

'Whatever shortie. I gotta go home. Call me when you have time.’ He gives Jimin one last kiss, a little longer, maybe a bit lingering before he throws a shirt on and like this, he’s out.

'So you’re fuckbuddies with some Hoseok dude from the train.’

'Yes.’

'And it’s been four months?’

'Yes.’

'But you checked if he’s clean?’

'Yes.’

'Is he good?’

'Yes.’

'So it’s strictly physical relationship.’

'Yes.’

'But you talk beside that.’

'Yes.’

'And you want it to be more.’

'Yes.’

'Come on, teach me.’ Jimin laughs as they kiss in the middle of his apartment.

'You’re not even a dancer.’ Hoseok raises an amused eyebrow, then adds. 'Ballerina, maybe.’

'Just a few steps. And then I’ll suck you off, nice and clean.’ Jimin pulls at the rim of Hoseok’s shirt. Hoseok clicks his tongue.

'Alright. Let’s see if you can keep up with me.’

'Alright.’

'So we start with a jump-.’

—

'You’re a shitty person. You know that?’

They’re sticky and sweaty and too warm to be laying this close to each other, but somehow none of them moves an inch.

'It was you who said I’m not a dancer.’ Jimin giggles, wiping fresh strikes of cum on his stomach with wet tissues. He’s worn out, slightly sore and his throat is getting lightly red from the earlier ministrations on it.

'Cuz you never told me?’ Hoseok takes one of the tissues to wipe at his face. Jimin bites a lip at that but doesn’t stop wiping at his skin as he speaks.

'Cuz I didn’t know you would like to know.’ He only lifts his gaze when a hand wrap around his wrist and another one takes the almost dry paper away. He looks into Hoseok’s dark eyes and he stops breathing.

'Would you like me to?’ Jimin shrugs his shoulders, unsure.

'I guess.’

'I’m just gonna remind you that I’m overly excited about everything.’ Hoseok searches for something on Jimin’s face, in Jimin’s shining eyes, thick lips. They curve into a smile under his gaze before moving softly.

'I know.

'Pass the coke?’ Jimin wipes sweat away from his face with the back of his hand.

'Coke is bad for your gorgeous body.’ Hoseok hands him a glass of water, dropping a kiss on the side of Jimin’s head. 'And you’ve got something here.’ He points at Jimin’s forehead, white stripe of paint contrasting sharply with the gold undertones of his skin. Jimin touches it with his fingers then looks at the back of his hand.

'Fuck.’

'Here too.’ Hoseok points at something at his face again, and Jimin rushes to check it. When he furrows his eyebrows in confusion when nothing comes off on his finger and opens his mouth to ask, Hoseok’s already pressing a dirty brush against his nose. 'Right here.’

'Hoseok!’ The older laughs loudly before Jimin paints his cheek, chin and the side of his neck laughing as well.

'You did not.’ Hoseok dips his hands in the bucket with paint before dirtying any area on Jimin’s clothes and body he can reach. The paint splatters around the paper-covered floor as well as across the unfinished wall, but none of them seems to care, too caught in their own world. Hoseok catches Jimin’s midsection from behind spinning them around with Jimin’s legs dangling in the air. He trips over the paint roller, though, and soon they’re both kissing on the dirty floor, painted hands wandering everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

'I love you.’ Hoseok breathes into Jimin’s neck when they curl up together on the only mattress in their still empty apartment. It’s cold and pretty much dark, but it’s just the beginning, and they don’t have much energy to get up and go to Hoseok’s house to sleep.

Despite the temperature, Jimin feels like he’s burning on the inside, even underneath the thin worn out blanket. He puts his chin over Hoseok’s head sliding his fingers into his boyfriend’s hair. He inhales the faint mixture of paint and some random shampoo, not an unpleasant scent, and exhales.

'I love you, too.’

It was an agreement. It was a mutual decision and an easy solution.

Hoseok was leaving for America and Jimin- Jimin wasn’t.

Hoseok had a chance to become a big choreographer, and he craved some different. Something not-Korea.

Jimin was opening his academy in Seoul, and he loved his country, and despite loving Hoseok like crazy, he knew he would never be happy away from home. He was 23, they got to spend amazing three years together, but they just weren’t meant to be. Simple as that.

He didn’t cry at the airport, not when they kissed one last time, not when Hoseok whispered 'You’re my whole world,’ not when he whispered it back and not when the plane finally took off.

He knew that that day at the airport they were both lying, but for once, Hoseok wasn’t overly excited about something.

'Thank you for today. I had a great time.’

Seulgi was a beautiful girl, with fiery hair and soft eyes and Jimin shook his head as if to convince himself it’s just the coincidence. He asked her out because she was kind but brave, she was funny and she made Jimin blush more than once since he met her. She was just one of his employees in the academy; a modern dance teacher that only added to Jimin’s admiration for her.

He hasn’t heard from Hoseok for a few months now; another point in their agreement. He was going to move on and it was the only way. Sometimes he caught himself following him on Instagram or Twitter anyway but the day he saw a pic of Hoseok’s new partner, he just stopped for all.

'Yeah, I had a great time too.’

Thanks to Hoseok, he was all knew to dating stuff. It came naturally to them after everything they’ve done earlier. But this situation right now is so much different, with a person he wants to impress, with a person who is a girl and a person who is not Hoseok.

He kisses Seulgi slowly and carefully, feeling something nice warming up all of his body. He deepens the kiss, a bit, and hums when Seulgi responds boldly to it. He likes her so much and really hopes they would work out. He deserves happiness and in this moment he’s sure everything will turn out just fine.

He opens his eyes, slightly, catching a sliver of fiery hair and closes them immediately letting the kiss take over him.

Jimin smiles widely at everybody at the table pulling Seulgi closer to himself.

She was amazing, really. He loved her so much. He even told her about Hoseok. She was nothing but understanding, and he loved her even more for that.

Now, though, surrounded by their mutual friends and under the shimmering stars in the backyard of Seulgi’s house, he swears he feels like on cloud nine.

Seulgi is showing off the ring proudly, Irene and two other of her friends cooing and giggling and congratulating her in every possible way. Her hair is blonde now, something Jimin is quietly grateful for, but somehow, it disappoints him whenever he runs his fingers through it. Jimin’s friends, Namjoon and Seokjin, keep patting his shoulders, congratulating every time they open their mouths. Seokjin is more excited about it. He didn’t get to meet Hoseok but Namjoon was their mutual friend since the beginning, and while he is all smiles and kind words, Jimin can feel him being slightly less happy about it than his boyfriend.

He laughs at something one of the dancers from his academy says clapping his hands and covering his mouth with a sleeve. He feels lightheaded, from alcohol, from overwhelming emotions, from love for his fiance. He excuses himself to the bathroom, planting a lingering kiss on Seulgi’s wine-stained lips on the way before he disappears inside the house.

His phone vibrates in his pants as he’s making his way back. He steps in front of the glass door leading to the backyard, watching his friends having a good time. He can’t hear them through the glass but just by the looks on their faces he can proudly say they are happy for him.

He pulls the phone out, skipping through the notifications on his Instagram, comments, and likes underneath the pic of him proposing to Seulgi on top of one of the Seoul’s skyscrapers. He couldn’t thank Kai enough for taking it for them.

His phone vibrates in his hand again, an unknown number appearing on the screen. He opens the message and immediately sits down on the closest chair.

From: Unknown Congratulations :) H.

Jimin deletes the text quickly joining the rest at the table. He laughs for the rest of the night, drinks with everybody, kisses Seulgi whenever he feels like it and later in the night makes passionate love to her.

But that day he was lying to himself thinking that that one message didn’t stir something deep inside of him.

He plays with the sharp edges of the creamy paper card, moving it around and flipping it back and forth, eyes fixed on the elegant letters. It’s a plain invitation, classy with small embossed patterns around the edges. There’s not many of them, Seulgi wanted to invite only the closest family and a few friends.

The wedding’s in three weeks. He should be jumping in happiness and not be able to wait this long. But the longer he looks at the invitation, the more he feels- tired about everything.

The wedding rings, tuxedo fitting, shoes, decorations, cake, constant meetings with the consultant. He thanks God Seulgi has her friends to help her with a dress.

And then there’s this feeling, the voice at the back of his head which appeared the day of his proposal and stayed with him since then. It fills him with thoughts he doesn’t want, leaves him distracted most of the time that sometimes he’s unable to hide it even from Seulgi.

And she noticed. Of course, she did. She could say something is off about Jimin, but she didn’t say anything. She was loving and caring and left him when he visibly needed space.

Jimin couldn’t be happier to have someone like her in his life.

He reads over the invitation once again before slipping it into an envelope with 'Jung Hoseok’ at the top and the address he got from Namjoon underneath. He pushes it through the slit of the mailbox quietly hoping it’s not a correct address.

As he starts the engine and takes off, he swears the painful feeling behind his sternum is just the anticipation.

–

                                                  Kang Seulgi                                                         and                                                    Park Jimin

                                        joyfully invite you to share                                               in their happiness                                         as they unite in marriage                                                           on                               Saturday the 16th August 2023 at 4 pm

                                           PARK HYATT SEOUL                                     606, Teheran-ro, Gangnam-gu                                      Seoul,  South Korea, 06174

She looks beautiful. She looks so beautiful walking down the aisle Jimin needs to blink for w few times. She dyed her hair back, fiery orange underneath the thin lacy veil and she looks like a Gangnam Princess with her dark red full lips and delicate eyes. Her simple, elegant dress flows down to the floor, like cascades of white gold and she looks so damn flawless Jimin knows the whole world is probably jealous of him.

Right, the whole world would probably kill to be him, to have such a beautiful wife, so kind and so damn loving. Every person on this planet can only wish to be in his boots right now. Jimin’s got the whole world in front of him yet there’s another person with even more fiery hair that catches his attention, in the furthest point of the church, right next to the main entrance.

He chokes on his breath, feeling sweat gather between his shoulder blades. He sees Seulgi, smiling, but there’s worry in her eyes, the one he knows so well. He sees his friends, Seulgi’s friends looking happy for him, for her. But his eyes wander to that damn spot next to the door, and he feels his chest contracting because if it’s possible.

Hoseok looks better than he remembers, in a navy suit and rich red bowtie and somehow, Seulgi, his wife-to-be, looks almost bland next to him. Everything rushes back to him, every kiss, touch, word. He’s 20 again and so utterly in love.

He bites his lip though when he takes smiling Seulgi’s hand, smiling at her as well through teary eyes because the love of his life is right here and right now but not the one whose hand he’s holding now. He swallows down the sob, feeling pathetic because this woman gave him his life and his love and Jimin loves her so much it hurts him sometimes.

But she’ll never be the love of his life, and it’s something that he’ll remember forever.

He’s the first to say 'I do.’ and he does say it, smiling wide with heart beating wildly in his chest. It was all in this past and he’s finally stepping into the future.

'Oh God.’ Jennie wipes at her eyes, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the light of the crackling fire. 'Wow, you’re such a good storyteller. I literally couldn’t stop crying.’ Jennie giggles a bit when Jungkook presses her even closer against his side. He started stroking at her arm some time ago but she doesn’t seem to notice at all.

'The best.’ Taehyung agrees, lifting a glass of martini to his lips. There’s a delicate smile on his lips pressed against the rim of the glass.

'I feel sorry for Seulgi though. Kind of? I hope Jimin just finally forgot about Hoseok and loved her to the end. I think Hoseok just left after the ceremony and, I mean, they weren’t meant to be anyway? Though I thought you were going to bring them back together somehow, I really loved their story.’ Jennie continued with Jungkook still stroking her side.

'Well…’ Jungkook starts popping one of the marshmallows inside his mouth.

'What? Am I wrong?’ Jennie looks up confused then back at Taehyung and Jungkook’s grandfather, both of them looking at each other with a smile. Jungkook’s grandfather laughs quietly and there’s something nostalgic about it. Jennie watches him suspiciously.

'Oh God, they are real, right?’ She points an accusing finger towards the older men with wide eyes. 'You know them.’

'Of course.’ Taehyung laughs happily and Jungkook’s grandpa nods in agreement. Jennie turns to Jungkook but the boy just smiles with his eyes almost closed.

'Oh, my. So what’s the end of the story? What happened? You can’t leave me hanging like that.’ Jennie whines hitting Jungkook continuously.

'Pops, please. She’s going to kill me.’ Jungkook cackles trying to catch Jennie’s abusive fists.

'Well-.’

'Mickey!’ Taehyung exclaims making everybody turn to the small puppy running towards them, barking happily until it jumps onto the man’s lap. Jennie watches curiously how the dog licks furiously at Taehyung’s face but then catches sight of Jungkook’s grandpa. He watches the dog with adoration on his unbelievably young-looking face, the wrinkles around his eyes showing up. Then from the darkness emerges a person Jennie sees for the first time, the silhouette moving closer until they stand right behind Jungkook’s grandfather. Two slender hands, just a bit wrinkled make their way onto his shoulders and then the rest of the person comes to a sight. Jennie gasps in Jungkook’s embrace.

'Welcome home, Hoseok.’ Jungkook’s grandfather says softly, head turning to the side to snuggle into one of the open palms. There’s no mistake with the fiery orange hair and handsome face.

'It was you.’ Jennie breathes out and Jungkook’s father- Jimin it turns out, smiles at her brightly.

'I guess.’ He shrugs his shoulders and Jennie opens her mouth in awe.

'And who would be that beautiful lady?’ The other man, Hoseok, asks already walking towards her and Jungkook. She’s so shocked she forgets to stand up but Hoseok just kneels on one knee taking her skinny hand in his planting a kiss just like Jimin did on the first day.

'I’m so sorry, my name is Jennie and I’m Jungkook’s friend.’ She rushes to move but he presses a palm onto her shoulder.

'Nice to meet you. I’m Hoseok, and this little shit right here is my grandson.’ He ruffles Jungkook’s hair playfully. If I knew you were going to visit, I would visit Yoongi some other time you brat.’

'Sorry grampy.’ Jungkook smiles cutely, his bunny teeth showing and soon both Jimin and Hoseok are cooing and calling him Bunny Boo which Jennie finds enormously endearing.

'Wait!’ She interrupts their little reunion, instantly going red when they turn to look at her. 'I’m sorry, oh my god, so it was you all this time but how? I thought you said yes?’ Jennie presses further not really getting what’s going on. 'What about Seulgi?’ Hoseok sits down next to Jimin with a smile on his face, immediately joining their fingers together and planting a soft kiss against his blonde hair. Like this, they really look like teenagers they once were, in love and so content. Jimin closes his eyes laughing.

'She said no, obviously.’

'Jungkook?’ Jennie calls out as she watches from the window of her bedroom Jungkook’s grandparents cuddle on the wooden swing in the light of candles hanging from the branches of the huge chestnut tree.

'Your mother, how did they-.’

'They adopted her when she was 6. She quickly got pregnant with me but my father is the best man in the world and they were the happiest when I was born.’ He answers softly, thinking about his parents and promising himself to visit them as soon as possible. He looks at Jennie hugging herself in front of the window. He sits down on her bed.

'You know,’ he starts, 'when grandpa Hoseok left, grandpa Jimin told me he felt like his life was taken out of him that day. He thought it would be easy to move on, that it was just a puppy love. He didn’t cry that day but cried every next one until he met auntie Seulgi.’

'Auntie?’ Jennie turns around.

'Yeah, they’re still in contact. She’s great. And really beautiful. She got married and has a big family. She’s happy even though she was really heartbroken then. But she was also too kind and understanding.’ Jennie sits down next to him, leaning her head against his shoulder. 'My point is, not everything is the end of the world. Grandpa Jimin said he never knew he wasn’t really happy until he had grandpa Hoseok in his arms again. And now I am telling you, that someday everything will be fine. You’ll be happy again, Jennie.’ Jungkook takes her hand and squeezes.

'I know.’ Jennie squeezes back leaning more into Jungkook. 'Of course, I will.’ She closes her eyes letting Jungkook embrace her fully. They sit like this for some time, enjoying the warmth between them. Outside, Serendipity, another Jungkook’s favorite old song, plays from the small speaker installed in the swing and he doesn’t need to see to know that his grandparents are dancing slowly in the fading light of the candles, whispering and sharing warmth as well. He hears grandpa Jimin giggle softly and knows that grandpa Hoseok said either something stupid or nasty. He’ll never know.

He strokes Jennie’s arm.

'Let’s say I would like to take you out for a date. What do you say?’ He asks casually and Jennie snorts into his hoodie.

'I would say yes.’ Jungkook smiles in the darkness.

'So you think I am manly handsome.’

'I guess.’ She shrugs her shoulders and they both laugh hugging each other for the rest of the night.

'And you, Seulgi, do you take Park Jimin, to be your husband? Do you pledge to share your life openly with him and to speak the truth to him in love?’ The priest turns to Seulgi, gentle smile on his wrinkled face as he waits for her to answer. Jimin squeezes her hands, pushing Hoseok to the back of his head as he looks in the eyes of his fiance. She opens her mouth, smiling through the tears and her lips are finally moving, but Jimin doesn’t hear anymore. He hears gasps, feels himself gasping as well and watches Seulgi dumbly. Time stopped for him.

'W-what?’ He croaks out, stuttering as she presses her lips together. She remains silent for a moment then clears her throat before speaking loudly and clearly. One of her soft hands come up to cup Jimin’s cheek, stroking the skin lovingly.

'I love you, Jimin. And I know you love me, too. So much. I wish I could be your wife and have your children and that we could be happy together. Forever.’

'Baby-.’

'But you and I know that sometimes love isn’t enough. You love me, but I’ll always be just someone you love, not someone who is your life.’ A few more tears slide down her cheeks, but she doesn’t move to wipe them away.

'What are you saying?’ Jimin frowns but in the back of his head, the nagging voice nods furiously, absorbing every word and engraving into his body.

'I’ll never be the love of your life. I’ll never be him.’ She presses her forehead against Jimin’s temple as she turns his head to the side. He can barely see through the tears but the bright spot, that fiery spot is still there and as he blinks to get his vision clear, he notices Hoseok’s wet cheeks and pleading eyes.

'I-.’

'I’ll take care of everyone.’ She whispers into his ear, like a snake, like she tries to persuade him to sin. 'I love you, Jimin. But you would make the biggest mistake of your life marrying me.’

'Stop, we can fix this.’ Jimin tries to face her, but she keeps his head in place. 'How can you even know what I feel?’

'I don’t have to.’ She shakes her head. 'Knowing what he feels is enough. You looking at him after all these years is enough. I’m not stupid.’ She giggles but it’s low and raspy and Jimin sobs as she pushes him gently down the aisle.

'Seulgi-,’

'Go away, Jimin.’ She smiles waving her bouquet at him before throwing it almost hitting him in the face. 'Go to him and never let him go again. Promise me.’

Jimin keeps looking at her stubbornly but hesitates. Everybody watches him, his every move. Nobody says a thing. Women are standing with hands pressed together; men are keeping their breaths in. Seulgi suddenly lifts her eyes and nods at someone. Jimin spins around to face Hoseok who’s mouthing 'thank you’.

His head starts to hurt; everything becomes too much for him to bear but then Hoseok is catching him by the hand, and nothing around them matters anymore.

'You’re my whole world, Jimin.’ His voice is exactly the same, his lips are exactly the same, and everything is so familiar about him- 'Nothing changed. I’m sorry for leaving, for leaving you, for not trying to find a better solution. I let you go, and only today I fully realized I could completely lose you. And I can’t afford that.’ Jimin feels the tears on his cheeks as he stares into Hoseok’s eyes as if there were answers to all the questions in them as if there were galaxies or the key to immortality. But there’s only pure love in them and galaxies can go fuck yourself as long as Jimin can have that love forever. 'I love you.’

'I love you too.’ Jimin breathes out immediately surprising even himself.

He turns one last time, to his parents, to his friends, and finally, to Seulgi. She’s doing a great job of keeping her tears at bay, and she’s smiling this lovely smile, the one that cured every one of Jimin’s worries and he thanks her, soundlessly, before he leaves with Hoseok’s hand in his.

He can hear people talking, asking Seulgi if everything’s okay when clearly, nothing is. He feels terrible. He always will.

'Hoseok.’ He stops at the side of an empty road, feeling like everything is going to crash upon him any moment now. He reaches with a shaky hand to shove at his shoulder. 'Hoseok you shitty-.’ But he never gets to finish, never gets to yell at him, never gets to do anything except for kissing, no, drinking his soul back from Hoseok’s lips. After all these years, he finally understood the difference between his love for Seulgi and for Hoseok.

She was warmth. She was lazy flicks of flames on his skin in the morning while Hoseok was a raging fire in the middle of the night, taking over him in seconds and leaving him in ashes before he could even react.

'It’ll be a good story one day, you know?’ Hoseok pulls away, breathing harder than before and looking more alive than through the whole ceremony. He holds Jimin’s wrists in his hands like he could just run away if he didn’t. Jimin waits for his own breathing to calm down, counting from ten to one before crashing against Hoseok’s chest with a sob.

'Let’s go somewhere. Please.’ He asks with face pressed into the crook of Hoseok’s neck, inhaling deeply. He needs to think about everything, needs to fix some things and he certainly needs Hoseok to help him right now.

In the rear mirror of Hoseok’s car, he sees Seulgi getting into a taxi and taking off in the opposite direction.

'Jimin?’ He watches the window silently but lets Hoseok intertwine their fingers together.

'Hm?’

'Everything will be fine.’ And the way he says it makes Jimin smile. He shrugs turning to Hoseok. He places a long kiss on his neck, staying there and inhaling him.

'I guess. You’re here now.’

[shsummertimefest-blog]

Enjoy, @onthecyberseas!

Surprise OnTheCyberSeas!!🎊🎉🎊🎉 I’m your Summer Fest Gifter!!!  I really, really hope you like this LOL 💚💚💚 HUGE HUGE  thanks for the lovely souls Kriszti and Mac for letting me vent and for the Beta work 😁

~*~

Lydia plops the plate onto the countertop in front of  Alec, a tense moment of them just eyeing the dessert promptly following. But her steely gaze never falters, a set jaw telling Alec she’s ready to fight him on any critique…of which there is aplenty if there’s anything he has to say about it.

“‘S too much frosting.”

“I like frosting,” Lydia grits out through clenched teeth,  her glower only deepening further, and honest to God Alec wouldn’t be surprised if she just started too stomp her feet and shoved  the pastry straight into his face out of frustration.

“It takes away from the cake itself.”

“Fine,” she snarls. “I’ll scrape it off. Anything else oh great arbiter of baked goods.”

Alec kindly chooses to ignore the snub, and moves to instead pick out a toothpick from the jar sitting precariously atop a shelf over his shoulder, piercing it into the slice of cake before him. “The middle’s too raw.”

“Is not,” Lydia squawks, hands flying to her hips. “You just have some anti raspberry agenda! Admit it!“ She waggles an accusatory finger at him.

“And if I did?”

“Well if I owned this joint, I’d let my hired bakers make whatever they please, and have total and complete faith in their pallets.”

“Good thing ’s not your bakery then,” he snarks back loftily, focusing more on the piping of some hedge  fund banker’s anniversary cake, than on Lydia’s increasingly reddening face—Most probably looking like she might actually start fuming from her ears if you know—this were a Disney cartoon or some shit.

Alec here’s Lydia’s frantic sputtering before the tell tale smack of the kitchen door slamming shut.

“Why is Lydia cursing your name while smashing together a bunch of fresh pastries? Ooo wow the girl’s got some rhyming skills.” Izzy perches atop the stool opposite Alec, looking out of place in the vanilla scented, wet doe splattered kitchen in her pencil skirt and razor tipped red bottom heals.

“She was trying to get me to sell that raspberry concoction again.”

“Hey, I like her raspberry cheesecake,” Izzy defends with pinched lips, a discrete finger scraping across one of the bowls strewn across the counter top before  licking it clean.

“Yeah,” Alec scoffs, spinning the cake to the next side. “Maybe if we were an amateur bakery run by a single mom out of her kitchen.”

Izzy cuffs him on the back of the head. “Rude.”

“Factual.”

She sighs through her nose. “You are such a neurotic perfectionist, do you know that?”

“You say that as if it’s news,” he needles with a hiked brow, Izzy’s lips twisting up in exasperated annoyance.

“Fine I’ll tell you something you don’t know loser,” she stretches across the island to smooth her thumb across his forehead consolingly. “IF you don’t learn how to actually relax, you’re gonna start getting premature wrinkles. And we don’t want this pretty face disappearing before ‘s time, do we?”

Alec smacks her away where Izzy’s moved to start pinching his cheek—like they were kids again and she was taunting him about his crush on Mr. Starkweather.

“You’re a pain.”

“You say that as if its news,” she parrots all too smugly, and Alec can’t help but smirk right back.

“Extra! Extra! Hot off the presses!” Max shouts out from where he’s marching through the doorway, ever a little shit.

“What the hell! Do you have to be so loud? It’s like eight in the morning.”

“Oh ho, big brother don’t you give me that attitude now,” Max kisses Izzy’s expecting cheek, leaning besides her. “I’ve got some intel on Code Name Sparkles.”

“Code Name Sparkles?” Izzy deadpans with a decidedly disapproving  glower. “Dios, do you think you guys are actually in the FBI or something?”

“Oy, I’m affronted big sister,” Max grapples for his chest, pained. “The CIA is way more bad ass , and if it were not for the laws of this land, I would have you slain for your insolence.”

Izzy just rolls her eyes before locking her  arm around his neck., and  grinding her knuckles into his scalp.

“Ouch, fuck ouch! Iz! Uncle! Okay! Uncle, uncle! I give up, women are superior in every way! Your prettier than that dumb racist Ariana Whiteclaw from your finance class! You can totally borrow my car whenever you want!” Finally satisfied, Izzy pulls off with a smirk, and readjusts his bangs.

Alec watches the tableau  with a very subdued downturn of his lips.

“Okay, now that you guys are done, Max, you said you had something on Bane?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Max straightens. “They’re having a huge half off any dozen purchased sale this Saturday at Pandemonium.” He passes over an almost obscenely pink flier.

“You mean the same exact day that we’ve been planning to reveal our brand new cake design for the past three months?” Alec seethes, almost ripping the paper in half with an iron clad grip.

“Ah, I guess—maybe it was a coincidence or something?” Max reasons with a noncommittal shrug, far more interested in the chocolate croissant he’s currently munching down, over any potential calls to arms that Alec’s way too close to declaring. “Dot just told me bout it today.”

With a start, Alec cuts a skewering glower at him, “That better not be a fucking croissant from the enemy Max.”

His lips pinch with a peevish scoff.  . “Hey! Don’t bite my head off, It’s the only way I could flirt her up on a daily basis, Dot said that if I came back a hundred days straight with an original come on, and buying something from Pandemonium,  that she’d let me buy her lunch, and tell me her favorite color. But I can’t miss a day or else I’ll have to start over.”

“She’s dating Maia! You do realize that right? You understand  that she’s just playing you to spend your money there!” Alec feels like he might faint of fatigue over his sibling’s almost blasé attitude over this very real rivalry against everything that has to do with  Magnus Bane and all his stupid hotness—NO! Not hotness! Stupidness—All his stupid stupidness! That’s what Alec meant—he definitely does not find Magnus Bane attractive in the least.. And even if he did, that would not detract from the fact that he is a total assmunch who’s trying to run Heavenly Sweets out of business.

“Oh hush Alec,” Izzy toots, carding a fond hand through Max’s mop of curls. “He’s in love.”

“She’s the enemy! We can’t be fraternizing with the enemy!”

“Doesn’t stop you from checking out Magnus’s ass any chance you get,” Max huffs, with a pointed crossing of the arms.

“That—That is not true! Slanderous! I have never! Nor would I ever! With the enemy? As if!” Izzy starts to cackle, and Max smirks like the cat who’s gotten into the cream. Alec hates them both. This is why Jace is his favorite.

“Jace told me that you were drooling last week when you ran into him headed to his yoga class,” Izzy snorts…And scratch that. Alec hates them all, every single one of them. He’s disowning himself—No better yet, Alec’s gonna fire’m all and pick out his own, personalized siblings. One’s who  don’t tease him about nonexistent crushes, or broad around in his personal life, or eat half the merchandize before they could even get them out on the display to lure in paying customers. Honestly they’re all such blunders, Alec would  be better off just starting with a clean slate.

Izzy just gives him a vapid, unimpressed look, as if she could read Alec’s every thought and is not amused in the least, —)Which actually maybe quite possible considering how she’s a certified, scientific super genius and is only helping out with Heavenly Sweets’ number crunching on her downtime between taking over the world, and going on romantic holidays with Clary. But not the point.

The point is that Bane is a bonafide douchesnozzle supreme, and Alec needs to beat him playing his own game.

“Staff meeting, in ten minutes stat!”

“That’s definitely not how you use the word stat…”

“Not the time Iz! We’re planning full out warfare!”

“Ah—Right?”

Max leans close to her ear, “I think our little Alexander has lost a few marbles.”

If he had the time, Alec would point out how he’s got a good five inches on Max—but he doesn’t because Magnus’s stupid face is searing through the paper in his hands and boring into Alec—taunting him, nudging him to do better, be better.

“This means war.”

“More than a few Maxy,” Izzy groans. “more than a few.”

~*~

Alec met Magnus for the first time on a Tuesday afternoon.

At first Alec mistook him for a costumer, and he was just this beautiful enigma that Alec couldn’t stop marveling over. All impossible cheekbones, and eyes that flashed molten when they hit the light just right, and a charisma that appeared to enrapture any and every passerby. And then his smile, his fucking smile, just a little, upturn of the lips, but it was so totally disarming.  A small gesture  that promised elicit nights and swept away whispers, and scorching touches on throbbing skin. And Alec just couldn’t reign in the hunger to lick off every rogue spec of frosting that dotted Magnus’s beautiful face…

But then he thrust out his hand, and opened his mouth.

“Hello, I’m the owner of Pandemonium—the bakery right next door.” he gave Alec a deliberate once over, leering in that coquettish way that tells Alec that Bane likes what he sees—And he might be just a tad bit smug that the visceral   attraction is mutual. “sorry if we end up running you out of business cheekbones, you understand ’s just the rules of the jungle. Nothing personal on my end.”

At that, Alec kind of jolts back, affronted. “Put the champagne on ice, why don’t ya?” He scoffs derisively, to which Magnus just fucking beams, as if this is a fun little game he’s amused by—a dog chewing on his favorite toy. (Yiyks, Alec should definitely not imagine Magnus’s mouth doing anything to anything related to a bone…far too dangerous of a picture.)

“You sound doubtful towards my sincere apology,” he noted, rocking back on his heels.

“Ever heard of not counting your chickens before there hatched?” Alec needled with a one eyed squint.

“No, I must admit that particular idiom has never crossed my mind cheekbones.”

“Is that right sparkles—“ Okay, so admittedly a whole hell of a lot less charming than cheekbones, but it’s factual. Magnus’s got on this shimmering gloss, and his jewelry is all bright and shiny—and his personality…It’s just all sparkly and Alec’s always been a man of facts over opinion. It’s a fact that Magnus Bane is an all around sparkly guy.

“Well yes, it’s not necessary to heath that particular  warning if you’re always right, don’t you agree  pretty boy.”

And that was it. Their fate was sealed.

IF Alec was anything, it was competitive. So now it was his fucking duty to not only thrive, but turn the tables and make it so Pandemonium was the one hanging for dear life, and it was Alec offering up his condolences to the dying business.

Oh yeah, it’s so on.

Alec is going to destroy him. It’s law now…Admittedly not a very easy one to follow when Magnus is standing there before him, all haughty smirks and double edged words…But he can’t let a pretty face fuck him over.

“We’ll see about that Sparkles.”

“I welcome the challenge.”

~*~

It takes more like fifteen minutes for everyone to meander into the dank break room in the back of Heavenly Sweets, save for Izzy who magnanimously offered to man the register up front. (“Anything to get out of listening to Alec’s insane diatribe  against Bane for the third time this week.” “I heard that Iz.” “You were suppose to loser, and while you’re listening take my advice and finally quench that thirst.” “I’m leaving.” “You know I’m right.”)

She is so wrong. Izzy is so wrong that Alec and all his entire one and a half semesters of law school could not begin to articulate each and every way she is mistaken. Seriously—it’s just a time concern, that’s why he can’t list off the reasons Izzy’s wrong—Alec’s to busy conducting a very important meeting that is not all about lamenting over Bane, and everything he has ever done that proves how awful of a human being he is.

A very important meeting.

“So, hold up,” Jace raises a placating hand after Alec’s finally finished.  “You want us to come up with three brand new flavors to premier on the ninth?”

“Yes, what’s so hard to understand about that,”

“And then we’re gonna have a fifty percent off sale on every transaction—“ Raj tacks on doubtfully.

“Glad to see you’re all literate.,” he sniffs curtly.

“Bro, this wouldn’t have to do with a certain, sexy, owner for the opposing side, and your total rock hard woody for’m. Would it?” Max rolls back his entire head—obviously finding merely his eyes as to tame of a gesture to properly communicate his annoyance.

“I have no clue who you’re talking about,” Alec plays dumb.

“So the date was just a coincidence then?” Lydia challenges, her eyes sharpening,  and looking as if she might just start to give him a lecture about etiquette or how his brash attitude is completely off-putting. (It’s happened before, and yeeesh Alec was properly chastised, but mostly  just mournful for whenever John fucked up.).

“’s not important, this is our agenda for the next month. No questions asked.”

“Alec I love you, you know that right?” Jace’s face goes pained, but Alec just gesticulates with the paper in his hand  for him to continue.  “Don’t you think it’s gone a tad bit far…You know this rivalry thing—Like. both businesses  are pretty well off. THere’s no need to continuously be at each others throats like this.”

“The north never forgets Jace!” Alec flails, very nearly toppling over a whole stack of order forms. “This is full out warfare!”

“A game of baker hats wouldn’t you say?” Max provokes with a shit eating grin.

“Shut up Max.”

“Hey, I’m just saying we better have some bad ass dragons to help us out on the battlefield. Bane ’s pretty fierce, and trust me Dot’s a force to be reckoned with all her own,” he gets heart eyes,  earning a fist bump by Raj, a roll of the eyes by Lydia, and Alec shooting him what he hopes is the most terrifying glare Max has ever been on the receiving end of. (Well there mom is Maryse…So probably not, but it’s the effort that counts.)

“Listen, I’m just saying, the ninth is a big deal for Bane’s crew. That orphanage is locally owned, and they know the owner Catarina really good…and well  they’ve been doing this drive for like the past three years. It means a lot to’m.”

“How do you know it means a lot to them?” Alec spits out to an increasingly reddening Jace. And yeah, his suspicions that Jace’s been seeing that fucking Pandemonium cashier—Sheldon or whatever—on the sly, are being so totally proved as they speak.

NO loyalty, Alec swears, every last one  of them is sleeping with the enemy. Well not him, no, nope,, never Alec. His only intention in life is to destroy Bane, not to sleep with him. He has no interest in seeing all the lithe muscle Magnus oh so inconspicuously hides underneath apparel that makes Izzy green with envy—or to hear the way Magnus moans from being stretched out beneath him—or knowing how his face looks like when Alec is giving him the best fucking blow job  of Magnus’s entire life.

Yeah—none of that.

Alec is a fucking temple of zen—And its definitely not zen getting all heated over the prospect of fucking stupid Magnus and his fucking stupidness and just generally fucking Magnus stupid.

Alec tries drinking some ice water as discretely as possible.

“Look,” Jace tries to temp down his still blazing blush, but to no avail. “I’m just saying, they’re doing a good thing for a charitable cause, we shouldn’t mess around with that.”

“Oh but brother you missed the best part,” Alec leers before presenting them all with the cover photo of the local Animal Humane Society, that he had printed off right before they all ambled in.  “We’ll be donating that other fifty percent of the order to a local animal shelter.”

The room stays silent.

“Please, don’t bother keeping your applause to the end,” Alec snarks, tossing back the sheet of paper.

“So…We’ll essentially be making no money,” Raj deadpans.

“Not the point!” Alec reprimands with a huff. “The point is our name will get out there even more, and Bane won’t get any customers, and we’ll finally win!”

“Yeah, that definitely seems like a totally plausible sequence of events,” Lydia snorts flippantly.

“You guys should just fuck and get rid of the UST,” Max blithely recommends  from where he’s moved to practice balancing a spoon on his nose.

Alec pointedly ignores him.

“Man, I still feel like this ’s a bad idea.”

“Warning noted Jace, but I’m the manager and I say this goes full force ahead.”

“This is gonna end badly,” Lydia jeers with a sing-song sort of voice, helping Max tare off the spoon he’s somehow gotten plastered onto his face.

Again—they’re all such blunders.

~*~

“Lightwood!”

With a bit of a start, Alec pivots around to meet a very blotchy faced, and scowling Magnus. curious Hazel eyes piercing into very cross Brown ones.

“Bane, hate to chat, but thankfully I actually work for a living.”

“What the hell is this,” he pounds a finger into the neon flier Alec had commissioned Clary to make, one which advertises the sale, and charity event that  Heavenly Sweets will be holding.

“Paper…I didn’t think you were that daft.”

Magnus’s brows lower even more—Alec had no clue that such a deep vee could mold into the bridge of someone’s nose like that.

“You know what I meant,” he seethes. Alec should probably think it’s ridiculous that none of his staff is even bothering to glance there way, but has long ago been lectured by a very irritated Maia  how they all  have plenty better things to do than be witness to Alec and Magnus’s  little melodramas whenever one gets all huffy and decides to storm the other’s grounds of operation.

Even though  Alec is pretty sure he should still be concerned that one of them yells at the other so often that it no longer deserves even the slightest bit of attention, he always ends up just forgetting about the whole ordeal, unintentionally opting to just get distracted by everything Magnus whenever he so much as steps into a room, instead.

“Oh, you mean the sale we’re having?” Alec perks with a sneer.

“You know that we have our charity event for Loss’s Orphanage every year on that exact date.”

“Oh?” Alec blinks, eyes going owlish. “Is that right?”

“You are such a fucking piece of shit!” He fumes.

“Language Magnus, we’re in a professional setting,” Alec clucks his tongue and awaits the sharp comeback that Magnus always shoots back his way. Something debauched, and cunning and with a pixilated gleam to his eyes all the while. Probably an innuendo, or taunt about going somewhere a bit less professional—his words forever hugged with something this edge of dangerous. And Alec would just clip something back until they’re in the midst of a  full out repertoire that makes Alec feel alive and giddy and just more buoyant than he ever has before. (And then Alec would usually round the day out by shamefully jerking off to the little sparring match in the secure darkness of his loft, where he is never forced to face any unwanted feelings.)

But the thing is, Magnus never opens his mouth to drawl out  one of his artfully precise remarks.  He just stands there for a moment longer, glare deepening, and this look about him.

This look that kind of shakes Alec to his very core—and Alec doesn’t care how fucking pretentious or trite that sounds, the feeling’s factual.  Magnus is looking at him As if he could not believe the gall of Alec, as if Alec has just blazed across  this line they’ve been teetering on ever since they had first met. As if Alec had gone so far past it that Magnus can hardly recognize him. And Alec’s actually tempted to ask what makes this so much worse than all the other slights they’ve doled out to each other throughout the years, but then Magnus just gives a rough shaking to his head, and sashays out of the building without ever looking back, or tossing Alec one last smirk.

And Alec feels hollow for it.

~*~

“You’re sulking.”

“Am not.”

“Jace is he sulking?”

“Hmm, well he did just eat an entire bowl of uncooked doe…”

“I did not,” Alec harrumphs, giving each of them a downright mutinous glower, stirring the ingredients with much more force than necessary.

“Well denial is the first step,” Izzy commends with a nudge of her elbow.

“That’s for grief.”

“Yes, and you’re grieving how a certain someone hasn’t bothered to even speak with you since the incident that shall not be named.”

Alec gives her a very flat look. “I have no idea to whom you’re even speaking of,”

“Sure,” she sneers. “So then you don’t want any advice from either of us—you know two people who love you, and  are both in serious, fulfilling relationships themselves.” Jace doesn’t even try to flounder for a way to contend with Izzy, it’s basically common knowledge that he and that cashier have been sucking face for the past six months, no use in trying to deny it.

Alec’s gaze goes steely. “I don’t know why you think I’d want to relate with you and Clary or Jace and Stefan.”

“His name is Simon,” Jace cuffs him on the back of the head irritably.

“And you shouldn’t be sleeping with him in the first place.”

“oh, damn. Point,” they knuckle punch.

“Fine,” Izzy interrupts their little bro moment,  flipping back a lock of her hair facetiously. “I guess I won’t tell you about this major fight me and Clary had way back at the start of our relationship.”

It’s an involuntary  response when Alec strays his gaze to focus on her. and It’s something rote when Alec inclines his head, silently pushing her to continue, as if he were actually at all interested beyond the arbitrary older brother trying to protect his baby sister from the scum of the earth alertness.

Izzy’s smirk tells him she knows she’s caught him, hook line and sinker. “Well it wasn’t anything terribly serious, just about trying to balance our times so that we don’t sacrifice our relationship to all the other shit swarming around us. You know, just trying to get serious.”

“How did, erm,” Alec coughs, and tries to not sound so terse over how Izzy’s squeezed him into admitting how the severe lack of speaking with Magnus has effected him. “How did you guys resolve the issue.”

She beams like the fucking sun. “You’d never guess, it’s a totally retro practice!” Izzy leans closer, as if to divulge to Alec a long hidden cure to all relationship perils. “We spoke to each other, put everything on the table and went from there.”

Alec glares at her, but Izzy’s probably been long ago immune to Alec’s surliness considering they’ve been siblings for her entire life.

“I know, don’t go crazy over the sudden rush of information.”

“I loath you,” Izzy just pets him like mollifying an upset pug. “Does it actually work? Just talking I mean,” he directs the question to Jace, because again, he loathes Izzy.

Jace gives him a one armed shrug, “Worked last weekend when me and Si were trying to decide between Lord of the Rings, and Star Wars for our movie night.”

“Aww,” Izzy gushes, locking her arms around Jace’s bicep. “You guys are so totally like an old married couple.”

“Yeah, we are,” Jace’s face goes sickeningly fond, and his eyes look like they’re actually shining stars.

Alec’s heart gives a sudden thud when he thinks to how unbelievably happy  his siblings are with their other halves—even fucking Max and his unrequited reverence   over Dot.

Alec’s stomach twists when he pictures the face of the only person who has ever made him remotely that passionate.

~*~

He spends the remainder of the day telling himself that he won’t let Izzy or Jace’s words effect him, telling himself that he doesn’t care that he hasn’t spoken with Magnus since the verbal lashing Magnus gave him nearly three weeks ago. He tells himself that he’s fine, and he doesn’t need to see Magnus to alleviate this tension that’s begun filling the wholes that Magnus had once mended over with his megawatt smiles and dancing laughter that use to make Alec want to cocoon himself within it’s warmth.

Nope, he’s fucking the great wall of China, that’s how unmovable he is.

~*~

Alec is admittedly a very weak man when it comes to Magnus—and he won’t even bother to psychoanalyze that fact. So it’s unsurprising when later that day he finds himself standing outside of Magnus’s door, a tray of lemon squares in one hand, and hoping that they could convey how sorry he is to Magnus—even if Alec doesn’t know what it’s over.

“Okay Lightwood, you got this,” Alec hypes himself up, sucking in a breath before giving three quick wraps against the wood, holding in a gasp once detecting the subtle puttering of feet striding ever nearer.

Magnus swings open the door, finds Alec standing there, and promptly tries shutting it again.

“Whoe, just hold up,” Alec tries pushing his weight against the force, but fucking hell those bolding muscles are not just for show. Before the door could shut completely, Alec squeezes the lemon square tray to act as a temporary barrier.

“There’s nothing I want to say to you Lightwood,” Magnus growls, just glaring all the more mutinously.

“Okay, fine I’ll leave you alone,” Alec raises his hands up. “But I just don’t get why you’re angry, I mean we’ve always been in competition with each other. I don’t get why you find it so offensive that I bested you this time around.”

At that, Magnus’s pallor goes scarlet, and he moves so that he’s standing close enough that Alec could feel tendrils of Magnus’s warm breath skirting across his lips. “You don’t actually think I’m upset over this shitty rivalry, do you?”

Alec gulps dow a breath he hadn’t known he was holding—he thinks he never really knows what he’s doing where Magnus is concerned. “Well yeah—I mean why else?”

“God cheekbones I didn’t think you were this fucking dense.”

Alec parts his lips to retaliate, but then Magnus’s pressing a finger to his mouth in admonishment, and cutting his gaze to a clock behind him. (One of those posh, grandfather contraptions that only the elderly and people as staunchly fashion forward as Magnus, actually bother to keep in their homes.)

It’s still early, Alec knows that for sure. He had come straight hear after closing shop. It couldn’t be past quarter after three.

“C’mon, let me show you why I have a fucking problem with this shit you’ve pulled.”

Alec knows damn well he’d start spewing a thousand different questions, and would refuse to go anywhere until any of them were answered, if it were not for the fact that Magnus grabs his hand, and Alec kind of loses focus of everything but them, and where they’re interlocked, and how fucking good that looks, and how that’s not something someone should think about their fucking business rival.

Alec doesn’t care, because damn do they look good holding hands like that.

~*~

Alec isn’t really surprised when their little promenade through the congested Brooklyn streets ends with them standing outside of Loss’s Orphanage.

“Um, why are we here? I mean it’s not as if i didn’t know what charity you guys were donating to.”

“Just shut up for a while Lightwood,” Magnus bites back before strolling in.

He greets the pretty woman in the front, Catarina, easily, sharing a chemistry only developed between the closest of friends.

“Who’s this Magnus?” Catarina flashes Alec a kind grin after at least ten minutes of them catching up,  and he thinks she might’ve been an angel in another life.

“Cat, this is Alexander Lightwood, cheekbones, this woman deserves nothing but the upmost respect, so cut the bullshit now.”

Alec glares at him, and Cat’s smile goes mischievous. “Oh so this is the James Dean wet dream you couldn’t stop talking about?”

“Oh, woah there Cat, you feeling okay?” Magnus pounces to clamp a hand over her lips, and an arm around her shoulders—Alec just standing there very confused. “Those kids running you so ragged that you’ve started spouting nonsense  again?  

“I like him,” Cat tells Magnus in a stage whisper, ignoring his antics.

“Can’t say I feel the same way about you at the moment my dear.”

Cat’s laughter is something booming and lively. And Alec can definitely see how the pair have become such close friends—both larger than life, and seemingly standing on a pedestal that normal folks could only dream of reaching.

“Testy, testy. Well I’ll go grab Madzie, stay put and don’t do anything I wouldn’t while I’m gone.”

Magnus and Alec burn matching shades of scarlet.

“You were leaving, yes?”

Cat just follies him another smirk before disappearing into the back dormitories.

Alec is jolted back to being a kid, finding Jace in one of these orphanages after his fathers death, and then the elation he felt once the two close friends could finally regard each other as brothers. It’s a strangely bitter sweet sensation, and Alec wonders if any of the kids in here are another family’s future Jace—someone to make them finally feel whole, and complete.

“You’re uncomfortable being in a place like this?”

Alec is thrust back to the present.  “Huh, no…Why would you-?”

“You’v been pretty silent, even for your standards, since we’ve gotten here.”

Alec hadn’t noticed how close Magnus has gotten, his breath hitches with the proximity—the way Alec could take in every shadow that dances across Magnus’s lovely eyes, the way  he smelt like the most darling combination of sunlight and sandalwood—Alec could feel himself losing touch yet again, but he can’t help it. He thinks Magnus is the embodiment of a fucking fire—awing, and beautiful and consuming, but when it’s gone all it leaves in it’s wake is ash and burnt embers—he could most probably destroy Alec if he let him, and the worst part is…Alec would. Alec would let Magnus destroy him over and over and over again, and that’s so fucking dangerous that he gives a harsh shake to his head, and chides himself to focus, all the while ignoring the pang of longing that hits his chest.

“Ah, no. No not uncomfortable,. I guess maybe wistful’d be the best way to describe it?” Magnus kinks his brow in question. “My brother, Jace, he was adopted, and I guess I’m just thinking back to when we first got to call each other brothers. Me, him and Iz all got these weird matching tattoos that were suppose to symbolize thicker than blood or some shit. Even colored one in on Max’s leg when our mom wasn’t looking.”

Magnus laughs, and Alec thinks he could live in that sound for the next eon to come.

“Mangnus! Mangnus!” Before Alec really has time to process it, a little ball of kinetic energy, and thick curls is leaping into Magnus’s waiting arms. She has big brown eyes, and sparkles in her hair, and a smile that could rival the fucking sun.

“Look, look,” Crowing, she smacks a small hand against Magnus’s cheek, using the other to emphatically gesture towards her hair. “S’pose to be just like yours!”

“It’s lovely love, absolutely beautiful. I must have you do my hair one of these days.” The little girl, Madzie, beams.

“My darling, I’d like to introduce you to a new friend. This is Alexander, he’s here to play with us today.”

With all the vitality of a five year old, Madzie whips her head towards Alec—big, cat like eyes brightening ten fold once catching sight of him. “Oooo he’s pretty, just like you Mangnus! ’S he you’re boyfriend?”

Queue another round of awkward blushing.

“You’ve been talking to Catarina for too long,” Magnus mutters morosely, to which Madzie just titters with glee. “No pumpkin he’s just a friend.  Is that alright if he interrupts our playdate, just for today?”

“Hmm,” Madzie kicks against Magnus, wanting to be set down. Then, with assurance in her every step, she saddles up right to Alec, glaring up at him with a terribly adoring grimace. “Mangnus is the best,” she informs him.

“Ah, yes—I think he’s great also,” Alec offers timidly, knowing she wants a response but not knowing how to at the same time.

Madzie starts to rub her thumb against her little chin, assessing Alec—And Alec is really far too worried of what she’ll decide than what should be warranted.

“M’kay,” she finally decrees measuredly, taking his hand in her own, and then doing the same to Magnus. “C’mon, you can color in my unicorn.”

“I’m honored.” Madzie preens, and Alec’s overjoyed that he’s actually said something right.

~*~

It’s close to seven when Cat finally steps into the makeshift playroom and tells them that the orphanage will be closing for the night, and that Alec and Magnus have to see their way out.

It’s begun snowing once they finally meander into the open streets, and Alec can’t help but marvel at how the puffs of snow swirl around Magnus in a heavenly glow—It’s not the first time Alec has thought that Magnus is beautiful.

“I can see why you make such a big deal about that promotion at your bakery every year,” Alec shuffles closer to him, basking in the glow of fairy lights, and aroma of hot chocolate clogging the air. “Those children are remarkable.”

Magnus flickers his gaze up at him, a ghost of a smile dancing over his lips.

Alec feels lighter for it.

“Thank you Alexander, but I must admit my intentions are not as pure as merely adoring all the children, and Catarina to the moon and back.” Befuddled, Alec gives him a one eyed squint, hip checking him to continue.  “The little girl we were coloring and playing dress up with today-“

“Madzie.”

“Yes, Madzie.” Magnus’s gaze turns softer when realizing that Alec actually enjoyed his time today. “You see, I’ve been trying to adopt her-“

Stunned, Alec petrifies right there, in the middle of the sidewalk. “No shit.”

Magnus hikes up both his brows. “Surprised?”

“Yeah, I mean—I guess just a little. Fucking hell, for how long?”

Magnus let’s out a breath through his nose, before continuing his walk a bit more briskly. Alec almost needing to jog to catch up. “Three years.”

“Wholly hell, does it ordinarily take that long?”

“NO,” Magnus shakes his head solemnly. “But I’m a single, bisexual, man…Not exactly prime material for a candidate to adopt a little girl.”

“That’s fucked up, you love her. A fucking monkey from space can see that.”

Magnus let’s out a little huff of a laugh. “Yes, well I did feel an immediate kinship with her—but that really has no room in the logistics of the whole ordeal. I just thought if the lawyers handling the case saw how I was donating, and helping the orphanage, while spending every afternoon with her…”

“That they’d see the potential of you guys being an amazing family. But then I just fucked it all up.”

Magnus just smiles at him consolingly. “Not your fault at all—They’ve been pressuring Catarina to close up the place for a while now. Too many kids and not enough resources, and trust me if you knew Cat you’d know how she’d rather quit eating for a decade than leave one of those munchkins without a toy for the holiday.”

“I fucked it up,” is all Alec could say. Over and over again.

“Alexander, ’s just how the cookie crumbles. I’m sure a nice, two parent, unit will find Madzie and demand to adopt her soon enough—just not me. Now c’mon, there’s a Gelato place a couple blocks down, and you’re not such terrible company.”

Mechanically, Alec follows suit, but knows that he needs to do something, to make a difference.

~*~

Izzy practically squeals with delight when Alec explains to her his intentions, and it’s not very hard at all to get the rest of the crew, from both Heavenly Sweets and Pandemonium, to join in on the plan.

~*~

The morning of the ninth Alec is leaning against the register of Pandemonium when Magnus pads through the doorway.

“Ah—Alexander, not that it’s not wonderful to start my day off with your pretty face, especially now that I don’t want to scratch your eyes out any more but-“

“Follow me,” Alec doesn’t give him time to shed off his jacket, just snatches Magnus’s hand, mildly notices how his heart still decides to do a gymnastics routine whenever they touch, and leads him into the back kitchen.

“What are you-“ Magnus’s words die on his lips.

The whole crew is piled on top of each other, mixing, and frosting and pulling out of ovens. Simon’s adoringly looking over Jace’s shoulder while the former ices very intricate roses onto a red velvet cake, while Clary, Meliorn,  and Raphael are sketching out their intended creations for later on in the day. Maia,  Izzy, and Lydia are pounding together the base of a particularly large project, with Dot   sitting imperiously on the back counter, instructing them all, and basking in the fawning by Max and raj.

It’s a disarray, but a functional one.

“What, what’s going on?” He looks back up at Alec, as if seeing him for the first time—and yeah, Alec can’t help the swell of pride that comes over him when he sees that look on Magnus’s face.

“We postponed the pet shelter special for the eighteenth,” Alec just shrugs blithely, laughing out loud when Magnus punches him in the arm. “Look Bane, I don’t care what you say, it’s just fact that with us working together you guys will be able to make more goodies to sell out to the public, and get more money for Loss’s Orphanage, and it’ll just be better for all of us.”

Magnus still looks flabbergasted, scanning his gaze around all the faces of everyone that Alec’s wrestled together. “I still don’t get why you would do this for me?”

Alec feels his face heating up. “I wasn’t lying to Madzie when i told her that I think you’re great—I actually think you’re fantastic and brilliant and a bunch of other shit I’m sure a five year old wouldn’t have the patience to listen to.” Magnus laughs again, something light and wonderful. “Oh, by the way I got Cat to bring her and all the other kiddos over here to help us sell—You know using guilt against people and all that jazz.”

For a moment, Magnus just freezes, boring his eyes into Alec’s, and making him feel like his heart is on fire. But before he could try and lighten the mood, Magnus just pushes his head forward, and slants there lips together.

Alec thinks Magnus tastes like lilac skies and warm summer days and promises made to be kept and Alec thinks he loves him. Thinks he’s loved him for longer than he could remember not loving him, and it’s this edge of spectacular.

When they finally pull apart, they both pointedly ignore money being exchanged, for just kissing over again, and again, and again.

~*~

They make enough that day to safely say that the orphanage will be up and operational for a long time to come.

~*~

They get Lydia’s husband, John, to take on Magnus’s case for adoption, and he wins custody of Madzie six short months later.

On the one year anniversary of them being a family, Alec proposes. Madzie is  the flower girl and couldn’t be happier over her pretty daddies.

Alec and Magnus still banter and jibe like nothing else, but now their words are lilted with fondness, and their feelings are modified by hungry kisses and proud I love yous screamed across any room.

[kuriquinn]

Penthesilea [3/?]

Cover & Disclaimer

Chapter Summary: For a week Sasuke wrestles with himself, knowing that they need a more advanced healer—knowing exactly who would be the most competent person to seek out. But certainly, she wouldn’t be so foolish as to heal the leader of the enemy forces. Sasuke doubts even Uzumaki could shrug off that as anything but treason, not to say what Senju Tsunade would think of it.

Chapter Beta: Sakura’s Unicorn

戦国時代

Sasuke is constantly exhausted and yet, sleep eludes him every night.

For months, he occupies himself with battle strategy in the bleak, restless hours before dawn. He runs numbers in his head and tries to outthink the plans of his rival. Uzumaki is a bit of an idiot, but Nara Shikamaru is at his side, and the shadow manipulator is known to be a genius. Itachi could keep up with his ploys with ease, but Sasuke struggles. He’s not an anticipatory thinker, preferring to react to problems as they present themselves. That kind of approach is fine when it’s only himself, but with so many lives dependant on him now, he can’t rely on such personal tactics.

As time goes on, however, Sasuke’s ruminations change in a bothersome way. Offensive strategies and possible promotions give way to imaginings of brilliant green eyes and a mouth curved into an impish smile. This, more than battle tactics, keeps him awake at night, and he hates himself for being so weak and fallible as to be distracted by a woman of all things.

There’s little point in spending hours staring at the canvas ceiling of his tent, and so most nights, he will get up and walk. It’s a simple thing to slip away from the constant din of the army camp and into the forest, far enough away that he can’t hear people. It is easier to pretend…something. He isn’t sure what.

Tonight, Sasuke sits at the base of a large oak, staring up into the sky at the giant moon hovering above the tree line. He wonders if there are people there and if they, too, are embroiled in an endless battle.

He begins to understand why Itachi always yearns for silence.

“Do you know the story of how this war got started?”

Sasuke’s muscles tense, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword, but as he touches it, the voice registers and he pauses.

“There are few people who can sneak up on me,” he points out, refraining from turning to her. However, out of the corner of his eye, he can see her ensconced in the branches of the tree, eyes on the moon, legs swinging idly back and forth.

Sakura, he thinks, as if remembering it for the first time, even though her name has been burned into his brain since he learned it.

“My perfect chakra control has allowed me to mask my presence since I was twelve,” she states matter-of-factly. It’s not a boast or a challenge or even said to impress him—just an answer to an unspoken question.

“That would be a useful skill for a spy,” he remarks.

“Yes, it would.”

“Is that why we’ve never seen you before?”

“Among other things,” she replies, a bit of a teasing note in her voice. “So, do you know it?”

“Do I know what?”

“How all this started.”

She’s avoiding the question, but he allows it for now, if only to spend time getting a clearer picture of this woman. “I do.”

The stories were told to him in his cradle, passed down by grandparents, parents, aunts, and uncles. No Uchiha is brought into this world without knowing the story of Indra and Asura—the two brothers who were the progenitors of the Uchiha and the Senju, and the stolen birthright which started everything.

“The Senju have been selfish opportunists from the beginning,” he goes on. “They take what does not belong to them—credit, power, control—and then blame others for their failures.”

“And the Uchiha have been perfect examples of restraint?” Sakura counters dryly. “Your people spent decades slaughtering each other and everyone else.”

He can’t exactly argue with that. Those dark days are literally written in stone.

“Senju Hashirama,” Sasuke offers quietly. “Your beloved leader’s grandfather is the reason for the conflict.”

“You would say that,” she sighs. “I suppose you never heard the story that he and Uchiha Madara were friends. A lot like you and Naruto.”

Sasuke splutters and glares up at her. “I am not friends with Uzumaki. In case you’ve failed to notice, we spend most days trying to kill each other.”

“And I’m having a conversation with the man who stabbed me,” she shrugs. “Humans tend to do things that make no sense.”

He has no idea what to say to that, but he suspects offering any argument will lead to more of her twisted logic.

“People say they tried to find peace,” she continues, as if she didn’t just make the most ridiculous accusation. “Hashirama and Madara tried to build a village together, to stop all the fighting. But it didn’t work.” She snorts. “Which version did you get growing up?”

“Version?” he echoes, looking up this time.

“You really think we all know the same story?” Sakura asks, amused, gazing down at him. The moonlight makes her hair look silver. “If that were the case, I doubt there would still be fighting.”

Sasuke doesn’t answer, wondering if she’s right and suspecting she’s not. He knows that as long as there are humans, there will always be needless battles and wars.

“My parents used to say it was because of the daimyō,” she goes on, as if they’re having a conversation about the weather. “They were worried about the shinobi becoming more powerful because they were united now. And so, they engineered a war to bring down their numbers. Only it backfired because the Senju and the Uchiha could not work together.”

Sasuke thinks on this.

He is familiar with the theory that the daimyō were worried about a centralised shinobi power arising. But the story his family always told was that Senju Hashirama betrayed Uchiha Madara in the worst way possible. No one knows exactly what the betrayal was—the specifics vary according to who tells the story. Sasuke’s father told him Hashirama tricked Madara out of the leadership of their utopian village. His mother said that it was all down to a woman they both loved, and who ultimately chose Hashirama. Sasuke always found Mother’s tale to be completely unlikely. He’s never had a use for such emotional drivel. No one woman could inspire such a change in ideals, to cause a war where countless lives have been lost and lands torn apart by deep-rooted hatred.

And even if one could…

His thoughts trail off as he stares up at Sakura as she gazes at the moon. A second later, Sasuke shakes his head.

Even if he survived long enough to meet such a woman, it would mean nothing. He will marry Hyūga Hinata to strengthen his bloodline and finally wipe out the Senju and Uzumaki threat. There will be no sentiment involved, no confusion. He won’t have to worry about his future wife making him question himself with irrational flights of fancy.

And yet, he can’t find it in himself to reach for his blade and attack, or to raise the alarm for the watchmen to come running. Trying to cover his own confusion, Sasuke turns his back on the tree and the woman in it.

“The next time I see you on our borders, I will kill you,” he hisses as he walks away. He refuses to look back to see if Sakura has left, or if she’s still perched in the branches like a tree spirit.

戦国時代

Within weeks, it becomes clear that Itachi’s preference for solitude has never been just about needing momentary solace.

Sasuke learns that his brother’s blindness is not the result of an enemy jutsu, but a symptom of the disease Itachi has hidden for years—a sickness that weakens him every day, sapping his strength and mobility. Before Sasuke’s eyes, his brother grows thinner and weaker, coughing up blood and fighting just to raise a hand.

“Put it out of your mind, little brother,” he says, smiling gently whenever Sasuke visits him at the end of the day. “There’s still more than enough time.”

But when he reaches to tap Sasuke’s forehead in affectionate reprimand, the gesture is as feeble as the graze of a butterfly’s wings.

This stark reality adds to Sasuke’s wakeful nights and keeps him preoccupied by day. He tells his clansmen and their vassals that Itachi has caught an aggressive pneumonia—the damp conditions in the trenches make this a believable lie.

In secret, he seeks out help.

Through the course of months, Sasuke quietly brings in every medic among their forces, every village healer and hedge witch, but no one has an answer or hope to give. Even Obito’s wife, Rin, a talented healer in her own right, is mystified.

For a week, Sasuke wrestles with himself, knowing that they need a more advanced healer—knowing exactly who would be the most competent person to seek out. But certainly, she wouldn’t be so foolish as to heal the leader of the enemy forces. Sasuke doubts even Uzumaki could shrug off that as anything but treason, not to say what Senju Tsunade would think of it.  

He tries to ignore the naïve part of him that believes she would agree if he asked. For the most part, Sasuke succeeds in this until one night when Itachi’s condition worsens.

A coughing fit sends Itachi into a seizure, and when he emerges, he can barely speak. His usually keen eyes are dull with pain and confusion, and Sasuke decides right then that he will take whatever chance is necessary to help his brother.

He slips away from the camp by night, extracting from Hyūga a promise that he will keep Itachi safe before setting off to find the one woman who can help. It’s a mission that could get him killed if he gets caught—might get her killed, too—but it’s a price he’s willing to pay. Itachi has been the only constant in his life, a good and peaceful soul trapped in a war he never should’ve been part of. Sasuke will burn down the world if it means saving the man who practically raised him when their parents died.

The current border between Uchiha and Senju land falls along a barren, rocky seashore. Upon reaching it, he hesitates. The moment he steps over the boundary, he is risking not only his personal well-being, but is also handing the enemy a pivotal bargaining chip. More than that, he’ll be asking someone for help—something he hasn’t done since childhood.

It’s a distracting enough conundrum that he doesn’t notice, until it’s too late, that he’s not alone.

Three figures materialise around him, and before he can react, he feels a swift, burning pain lance through him. From the sudden difficulty Sasuke has breathing, he suspects one of his assailants has landed a blow beneath his floating rib.

Turning to face them, blood soaking down his front, Sasuke makes out two men and a woman wearing the mark of Oto—mercenaries with loyalty to the highest bidder. This insult more than anything else infuriates him, and he wastes no time in disposing of them.

Still, the damage is done, and he knows before examining the broad slit in his side that the wound is fatal. His attacker’s blade cut deep, nicking either a kidney or a vein, and his violent disposal of his attackers did not help.

As his knees buckle, it starts to rain.

He lies there in the damp sand, inches from lapping waves, gasping and alone, thinking how this was not how he was supposed to die.

戦国時代

Unconsciousness bring with it a rare peace.

Sasuke dreams of Sakura, imagining her voice and a soothing coolness against the raging pain in his side. He envisions being lifted from the damp ground and cradled against her chest—it must be her chest because he hears a heartbeat, and it’s racing too fast to be his own. For once, any embarrassment or self-repudiation he might feel is blissfully absent.

When he awakens, he’s no longer on the seashore, but in a damp, dimly-lit cave. In the distance, he hears the lap of water and steady rush of rain, suggesting he isn’t far from the shore where he fell.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees his sword propped against a rock, his bloodstained haori and hakama draped across another. A fire has been constructed nearby which casts shadows across the damp walls. It and the unfamiliar haori draped over him keeps him warm and dry.

And of course, it’s Sakura who kneels by his side, her face set in what he assumes is an uncharacteristic frown.

“You almost died,” she whispers.

He coughs. “You should’ve let me.”

Sakura shoots him an unamused look. Her eyes crackle with an anger he hasn’t seen before. “You damned idiot.”

And for some reason, he wants to laugh, but the first dry chuckle hurts too much, and Sakura pokes his shoulder in reprimand.

“Stop it—I healed all of your injuries, but you are still weak.”

Sasuke grimaces at those words. “I am not weak.”

“Poor word choice,” she acknowledges. “Your body will be compensating for the rapid cellular regeneration for a while, so please refrain from making any more stupid decisions.”

“No more moonlit walks through forbidden ground,” he agrees, and he thinks his blood must not be replenished yet because that comes out more as banter than sarcasm. Obviously, he’s still lightheaded.

Sakura reaches for his brow, ostensibly to check his temperature, and Sasuke shivers at the sensation of her palm on his skin. He suspects she’ll find it warmer than it should be, although he’s not entirely sure that’s due to his body fighting off infection.

“What were you even doing there?” she asks softly, and instantly, he remembers his mission.

Itachi.

Sasuke struggles to sit up, not wanting to have this conversation with her while lying on his back. It’s bad enough he’ll have to ask her for help, especially after she just saved his life. It’s incredibly fortuitous that she was close by.

Wait.

He frowns at her. “What were you doing there?”

Sakura’s cheeks flush with colour and she looks away.

“Sometimes, I go there to think. The water is calming and sometimes…sometimes, it’s so quiet along the shore that I can pretend all the rest is just a dream,” she confesses. There’s no need to elaborate on what all the rest means.

“And by some coincidence, you chose tonight to do this?” Sasuke asks, suspicious. “You just happened to arrive right after I was attacked, but not before. And you just happened to be there to help?”

She stares at him now, confused. “Do you think I set you up?”

“Did you?” he challenges. “Because healing the enemy is something no one in this war but you would conceive of. Not without some ulterior motive.”

“You’re…angry at me…because I helped you?”

“We are on opposite sides,” he snaps. “And you’re the only one who refuses to understand that.”

“This did not happen in battle!” Sakura shoots back, gesturing at the newly healed scar in his side. “This was someone—someone not on my side—trying to kill you!”

“No one knew I was there,” he reasons stubbornly. “I took particular care. The only people who would attempt to assassinate me is one of you damned Senju or Uzumaki. Or your hired mercenaries.”

“Those people I found beside you were not ours,” Sakura insists angrily. “Hired or otherwise.”

“You don’t know that—your side counts rabble among your allies,” he dismisses. “Men and women who do not even belong to a reputable shinobi clan.”

“Why does belonging to a clan matter?” Sakura demands, and he can see that he’s insulted her. “It made no difference to them. They almost killed you.”

“Almost.”

“Because I saved you, you ridiculous man!” she snaps. “Do you even hear yourself? Repeating some inane story over and over again until you think it holds truth! That’s insanity! You never answered me before, Sasuke-kun—do you even know why we continue to fight?”

There it is again. That maddening familiarity—as if she has the right to call him by his name.

Sasuke jerks away from her and struggles to his feet. She follows his movements, but it’s a little less impressive given that she’s half a head shorter than he.

“It’s simple—I am Uchiha. You are not my ally. And I should’ve known better than to come looking for you,” he says, turning toward the mouth of the cave. “A fool’s notion. I won’t make it again.”

She’s behind him, steadying him with a gentle, but firm, grasp.

“You were looking for me?” she asks, voice soft and sounding so hopeful that his stomach jumps.

Sasuke scowls and pulls away from her.

“Don’t touch me,” he growls, but there is an edge of panic in his voice. He swallows it down—She can’t notice it!—and adds in a more threatening tone, “My mercy has its limit, and you are testing it.”

Sakura takes a step back, although he’s chagrined to see it’s not in fear, but as if she’s simply acquiescing to his wishes—a medic humouring her patient. The insult rankles, and before he can think better of it, he lashes out at her.

He’s still weak, though, and she pins him with an ease that would embarrass if anyone else saw it. He’s pushed against the rough cave wall, her hands immobilizing his wrists. She stops him from sweeping her feet out from under her by pressing close to him, bracketing his leg between her thighs. Her hair is in his face and she smells like firewood, rain, and something floral. It makes it hard to concentrate on her words, which are angry and frustrated.

“What’s the matter with you?” she demands. “Why are you like this? Do you even know what gratitude is? If I wanted to kill you, I could have so many times already, but I didn’t!”

“Because you want something,” he bites out.

“I want nothing!” she snaps. “At least…not in the way you think. I have no interest in enemy secrets or battle plans or…or anything to do with this damned war! I just want to help the people who are hurting, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted!”

Sakura’s cheeks are flushed with colour and there are tears in her eyes, but he senses they’re angry instead of sad.

“If that were true, you would’ve left this land and found somewhere untouched by the war,” he tells her coolly. “Your idealism means nothing here—it doesn’t differ from a child’s.”

Her fingers tighten painfully around his wrists, and he tries to hold back any visible wince.

“Do you never dream of something more?” she asks, searching his face desperately. “Do you ever want more? Or do you just want to keep fighting like this? Keep distrusting everyone you meet for the rest of your life?” He remains silent. “Is there a single place in your heart, no matter how small, that doesn’t see an enemy when you look at me? Or has this war completely destroyed that?” When he continues to glare in silence, she sighs. “Never mind.”

Sakura loosens her grip on him and pulls away. Sasuke immediately turns the tables, grabbing her and shoving her back against the cave wall, one hand around her neck.

“I doubt your abilities can heal you if I break your neck,” he growls at her, leaning in until they are inches apart. He feels the hard ridge of her oesophagus against his palm, knows the exact amount of force it would take to crush it, and silently dares her to give him an excuse.

“Doesn’t…really matter, does it?” she rasps in reply, her polite speech evaporating in the face of impending death. “My…childish ideas mean nothing here…you said it yourself. You’d be…doing me a favour…right?”

Sasuke tightens his grip incrementally, staring into her eyes and watching the flash of alarm as her oxygen is cut off a little more. It would really only be the matter of adjusting his position slightly…

When he moves, it’s not the way either of them expect.

Instead of crushing her windpipe, his hand slides from her throat to the collar of her kosode, fastening onto the fabric there and hauling her toward him. Crushing his mouth against hers, he feels the startled, oxygen-deprived gasp against his lips, and senses the flail of her hands as they try to find purchase somewhere. One lands on his bare shoulder and it’s as if a current has been run through him—the hairs on the back of his neck rise and a shiver creeps down his spine.

Sense forces its way past impulse and Sasuke pulls back, shocked and appalled by his loss of control. Of all the ways he’s been trained to deal with an enemy, this is certainly not one of them.

In the flickering dimness of the cave, he catches sight of something dark and hungry in those damned green eyes of hers. Then she’s the one to shove forward and kiss him, just as furious and angry as he was moments ago. Her hands are in his hair, teeth tugging hard enough at his lower lip that he tastes blood.

This is not how it’s supposed to go—not an intelligent course of action in any way. But as she wraps one leg around his hip to draw him in closer, he finds he doesn’t care.

In fact, it’s worryingly easy to give in.

 つづく

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