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nexusnyx · 1 year

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baby, i'm gonna leave you

#NightSkyChallenge: Prompt 5 — The night I saw everything in your eyes. “It’s like looking in a magic pond… there’s so much hidden.” [8.2k] ⚠️Smut: unprotected sex, choking, body worship, rough-handling; | 🏷️ Angst, slow-burn, denial of feelings; | 📑 This work was commissioned by my darling Malin (@charlie-hunnam) and I hope they enjoy every single word of it.

SUMMARY: His first thought is that he messed up. Bucky messed up badly not only by sleeping with you, but by doing so while knowing how much everything about you got under his skin, fogging every corner of his brain in ways he wasn't used to. So Bucky fucked up. Whatever. It happened. Then, Bucky promised he would not do it again... Except—he does. Bucky does it again, and again, and lying to himself gets harder each time.

Being surrounded by books is the only comfort Bucky has.

Nothing else comes close.

Usually, work is his safe haven. Not everybody can say that. Everything about his books soothes him—the smell of them, their textures, arranging by authors, size, or colors; he has fun with his shelves, keeps his employees in line, and offers little to no sympathy for the University students who always come to him with Pussyboot Cat eyes and some shitty, feeble excuse as to why they need Bucky's help, desperately.

None of that is working today, and it's because of you.

Bucky feels irritable beyond words — an irony of destiny considering how many of them he knows — because, for reasons he's well aware of but refuses to accept or think about it too hard, you're giving him the colder shoulder.

If you don't look at him in the next ten minutes, Bucky might die.

If Steve were here, he’d call Bucky dramatic.

He’s not—that’s what he feels like.

Being in the same vicinity and yet getting no nod of acknowledgement from you was a kind of splint under his nails kind of feeling—something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Kind of ironic, he thought, that he’d be the source of his own pain like that.

Because it was his fault. Undoutedbly.

He’d been the one to fuck up.

Again.

For the sixth time. Counting them was never his intention; there had just been few of them, and each one was more memorable than the other. Not knowing how many times he fucked up would be the fucking miracle—Bucky had the imprint of your mean chuckle tattooed at the nape of his neck, followed by the distinct taste of your tongue against his skin.

Not for the first time, Bucky takes a deep breath and, tiredly, exhales.

“Good gods!” Wanda’s voice is but a whisper, but Bucky’s ears are trained to pick it up among the overlapping conversation going on at the library, the several computer clicks and trays of books moving back and forth. “That’s like, the fifth thousand time I’ve heard you huffing and puffing back there. What is wrong?”

I went and did it again. Bucky’s eyes trail to your table once more, “No need to worry your cute little head over it.”

While he had no clue what would happen after he ignored you like a massive dick for days, Bucky expected that the weak — but plausible — excuse would mend some of the patches.

Nothing.

A dry, curt “hi” when you arrived to grab the necessary books, and then straight to your table.

“Bucky, I can hear you thinking. It’s eerily loud, for some reason, and it’s just the two of us inside our Weird Moon Valley.” Her soft, even voice gets closer, and Bucky looks up to see Wanda sliding with her chair closer.

"You're frowning." Wanda slides a hardcover copy along the counter until it hits his still hands. "Harder than usual, that is. What's up?"

"Nothing."

“Bullshit,” she spits back with a trained customer-smile still on her face. “It started when your girl—”

“She’s not my girl,” he interrupts, as always.

“—when your girl,” Wanda quips back, as always, “arrived, looked at you like you were one of the flies that surrounded her horse’s shit, got her books, then went away. Since then, mysteriously, your face’s been looking like that.” She hums, feigning curiosity. “I wonder if those are connected.”

“Your sarcasm is really over the top, you know?” Bucky considers leaving the reception and going to organize some books, but the idea is dismissed as soon as it comes. “And that description was hurtful. I’m wounded. ‘The flies that surrounded her horse’s shit’ is kinda mean, even for you.”

“My sarcasm is over the top and your attempts to pull this conversation away from the point is as horrible as your inability to play coy.”

“Harsh.”

“Alright, fine,” Wanda’s hands fly up to the sky in surrender. “I yield. Mope. Pout. Sigh. Stare at her longingly—stare at her ‘till you forget how to talk, again. See if I care,” she finishes with a dramatic sharp turn of her body, and Bucky just grabs her by the string of her apron.

He pulls her back a few steps and hits his own head against her back. "Wanda."

"Bucky."

He yields. Of course he does. "She is so mad at me." It's barely a whisper, but he knows she's heard.

He feels her scoff more than hears it. "Astute observation, dude. Do I wanna know why? And weren't you two cool until, like, a week ago? This is starting to get ridiculous."

"We were. Now..." There's a moment of hesitation in which Bucky's face becomes a wince. He wants to hide even further behind Wanda's back. "You know why," he eventually says.

Two weeks prior, Wanda had said: you two float around each other. gravitate, or some weird shit like that. you keep making the same mistakes—you gotta stand on what you two decide, dude. she'll lose her shit eventually if you don't.

A second after he says it—one heartbeat, and she understands.

It makes her turn the same way as she did before, facing him again. “Shut the fuck up,” she mutters when her pin drops on what he meant. “You didn’t.”

“Hey—technically, we did it.”

Wanda’s stare could punch holes through Bucky’s ribs. “If we weren’t at work, your left cheek would be on fire right now.” It’s not often Bucky hears Wanda’s angry tone, but it makes all of his stupidity the more real. “Are you serious?”

Did you really do it? “I… yeah.”

Did you really go and fuck the girl who’s in love with you, and who you have feelings for, but can’t date, because unlike her you’re a slut — a polyamorous one at that — who’s never been and never wanted to be in a relationship, while she is someone who expects a ring on her finger? The woman who you entangled yourself with despite her telling you she couldn’t ever pursue something with someone like you and yet, and still, you seduced her because you ‘felt something you couldn’t ignore’ with her?

Bucky heard and saw all those words in Wanda’s fiery eyes, and for a moment, he wanted to take it back.

It came and went in a flash, because the reality still was— “If I tell you how it happened you might not hate me so much?”

“I highly doubt that, James.”

Damn. “Can I tell you?”

Wanda’s nostrils flare as she exhales. “Fine.”

With a lengthy exhale, Bucky retells the rollercoaster of Tony Stark’s engagement party, and watches as Wanda notes—he has a point, after all.

2 DAYS AGO

"She looks so good, Steve," Bucky whined.

He wasn't one for whining, but tonight in particular, he felt stupid.

And she looked good. She walked in — drunken eyes check the glowing numbers on the microwave — 7 minutes ago. Not that he’s counting. Bucky muffles another whine behind his cup.

"God, you're whiny when you're drunk," Steve exhaled the smoke in his lungs and laughed right in Bucky's face. Little shit, Bucky thinks. "She just arrived, Buck. Get your shit together before you make the same mistake again, I swear—"

"I know, I know," Bucky's heard the speech enough times by now. "Don't worry. We're not doing that shit again."

Steve gave him a look. A single look. A “I heard that shit before” look, and “I know exactly how that promise ended, buddy” look.

"We're not," Bucky insisted. They’re not. Not matter if he wanted to. Bucky didn’t—he liked your friendship too much to fuck this up. He took another sip of his beer, then immediately regretted it. Alcohol had memories attached to its taste, had things in it that made his thinking skills fly off the goddamn window. "I need some water,” he decided.

"Fuck water." Steve opened the fridge and grabbed a can of Coke. "Drink this, then we'll go back."

Fuck.

"And don't you dare whine about soda or any of your gym rat shit about calories and training, it's the last thing I wanna hear tonight," Steve looked out of the glass walls that separated the kitchen from the outside, looking for something at the party. Probably his boyfriend, because Steve was now in love, and monogamous. "I'm so fucking anxious. He's gonna fuck this up somehow, I just know it."

"He's not gonna fuck it up."

"He might."

"Tony's not that self-sabotaging, Stevie." Bucky downed half of the can in one go, and then felt that little prickle in his neck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hated going out. He should've stayed home. He should've stayed with his books, should've kept his mouth shut. Tony barely even likes him (a lie) and he wouldn’t even notice if Bucky wasn’t around (a bigger lie). "He's not gonna screw up the night he's been planning for months."

"What if he does? D'you know how hard it was to make that sculpture? I haven't slept in weeks. Weeks, Buck."

Bucky could tell.

"Ugh, look away from me," Steve grunted and flipped the rest of champagne down ungraciously.

Now Bucky laughed. "What?"

"Your eyes say I can tell and I hate you for that," Steve answered with a pointed finger at Bucky, who laughed only harder. "Do I look awful? Do I have eyebags?"

"Shit, I forgot how fucking chatty you get when you're anxious." Bucky knew his best friend better than himself sometimes, but it was easy to forget things when habits change, and going out was one Bucky lost about a decade ago. "Steve, hey, c'mere."

It took him a second, but Steve walked until he stood in front of Bucky.

True to his words — or eyes in this case —, Steve looked a little under the weather.

Bucky drank the rest of the Coke, smashed the can with one hand and threw it in the trash. Then, he placed a hand in each of Steve's shoulders, and smiled at him.

"It's all gonna be fine," he started, smiling at him.

Steve took his first deep breath.

"Good," Bucky praised. Some habits, on the other hand, never died. "Your art is beautiful," his smile softened, something only Steve's art could do easily. "Tony's a really lucky guy to have you as a friend. He's gonna be lucky to have Bruce as his best man, because—guess what? Piper's gonna say yes. God knows why—"

"'cause She made her with the biggest rope of patience in the world," Steve offered in a low whisper, and Bucky laughed.

"—sure, buddy, because She made her that way, Piper's gonna say yes. And then they'll be happy together, for many decades, hopefully. They might even have kids."

"Oh god," Steve expression changed drastically. "Their kid is gonna be president."

Bucky hummed. "I—yeah. Probably."

"I don't know if I'm excited or terrified for it."

"A bit of both sounds good." Bucky put his hands down. "You better now?"

Steve exhaled. "Yup. Everything's gonna be fine. They'll be happy together."

"Yup."

Then, Bucky heard a chuckle. A familiar one. The hair at his nape answered before he even heard the voice, raising just at the realization of your presence dawned on him.

"Damn. Am I interrupting something?"

Bucky is fucked.

He should've stayed home, with his goddamn books.

He's not ready for this.

"Hey!" Steve exclaimed happily, as oblivious as Bucky had been of your approaching. "Babe, you came!" Babe. Bucky wanted to puke on Steve and your parade. "And please," he scoffed, walking your way. "You know damn well I don't fall for those pretty blue eyes anymore, no matter how close they are to me."

It was true. Steve was now in a sweet, monogamous relationship. "You lived with these pretty blue eyes,” he started, dated as well, loved, painted them, sculpted them, “so how about no slander towards them, hm?" Bucky joked, turning around to see Steve's gigantic body engulfing yours in a hug.

“Sure thing, Buck,” Steve replied with only a third of his attention.

When you were present, the air in the room differed.

Bucky could hear your whispered conversation if he tried, but he opted out. Instead, he got another soda can from the fridge while you two said your hellos and whatever else you two loved talking about when he wasn't around and waited for it.

It took only a minute, but it came.

Your eyes on him.

Bucky was a coward. He hid behind his can, sipping the liquid as he drank the sight of you as well.

Impeccable.

"Evening," he nodded.

"Hi," you answered.

"How was your trip?" he asked, even though he knew.

You smiled, probably thinking the same thing. "Good. You know that," you shrugged your shoulders, and had Bucky's chest been this tight since he left home? Since you walked in?

Since you smiled, maybe?

"I liked the pictures at the party," he drank another sip, then put the can on the counter. "You and your friend looked nice with those costumes on."

"You said I looked, and I quote, wow, she's nerdy AND she's silly."

"It was a nerdy, silly costume."

Your smile widened. "Please. He's your favorite character and I know it."

"He is," Steve agreed, looking between you and Bucky with amusement. "It did look nice, though."

"Thanks, babe."

"Now—you two behave. I'm going outside to check on Tony. Gotta make sure he's not being, too—you know."

"Himself?" you offered.

"Exactly!" Steve kissed your cheek. "See you outside. Wait—did you come alone or did you come with Yelena?"

"Yelena."

Shit, Bucky thought. "Cool," Steve smiled because he wasn't Bucky, and he wasn't currently one of the people on Yelena's Shit List. "'m gonna look for her."

And with that, he left you two alone.

It’s tense, electric, and Bucky wants to swim in the palpable air.

“How’s your back doing?” he asked.

A week ago, you sent him a picture of your sunburnt back. Your face winced at his question, and then you turned around, taking off your coat and—fuck, fuck him.

Backless dress. It’s fine.

“Damn,” he whistled. Not because he could still see the marks of bikini on your back, but because he remembered what tracing the muscles of your shoulders with his tongue felt like. He cleared his throat as you turned back around. “Not hurting anymore, at least?”

“Nah. Lena’s been helping with that,” you answered.

“The great Lena.”

You scoffed, and walked until you leaned on the counter along with him. “She’s not pissed with you.”

“I highly doubt that.”

You had no arguments for him.

Bucky smiled, and you mirrored him. He missed seeing that in person. “You look nice,” he commented.

It was more than just habit—he liked the outfit on you, and the blush on your cheeks tasted like cherry on the top.

There was the pretty black thing around your eyes, and Bucky wondered if you made it that sharp because it killed him more. Pierced through his soul—your eyes always looked at him with so much swimming under them.

“Thanks,” you said. The drink twirled in your hand. “Is Nat around?”

Outch. Bucky’s smile stiffened. “Nope.”

“It’s just—I still have her jacket. It’s in Lena’s car.” The tapping of your rings against the glass told Bucky your next words were true. “Wasn’t trying to be a dick.”

“Okay.” He believed you. “She went to Moscow to watch one of her first students perform.”

“Oh. That’s really nice.”

“If you don’t care about being in Moscow on late December—sure. Sounds lovely,” Bucky laughed behind his cup.

“Call me crazy but I just feel like someone like Nat is immune to the cold. Does that make sense? I just can’t bring myself to see her bothered about something like minus fifteen degrees.”

“She isn’t. I’ve never seen her bothered by any weather, actually.”

“Stronger and cooler than we’ll ever be,” you muttered, sipping your drink. It sounded like an ironic and fun bite, but Bucky knew the feeling underneath it—the Romanoff effect.

It’s the thing that stands between you two, after all.

“She’s an alien,” Bucky whispered to you. Your eyes lifted, meeting his. “Or a secret agent.” The ghost of a smile appeared on the left corner of your mouth. “Let’s not dive into all the reasons we can’t be a Romanoff.”

Bucky hated to look at you now and realize what you were holding back.

“I don’t think I’d wanna be one, anyway,” you said eventually.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” The smile might’ve been hidden, but you made no effort to withhold with your look. “She’s not into horses,” you whispered, as if telling a secret, and Bucky walked towards you in instinct. “I can’t live without them. Not even to be an ex-dancer with a top secret job and the prettiest hair.”

“Your hair is pretty,” he retorted, gaining the smile as result.

“Thanks,” you chuckled.

“Plus—I’m sure you could pull off red if you wanted to,” he said, then closed his mouth shut.

It was too easy to get lost in it.

Not even two minutes in your presence and Bucky had walked closer, complimented you twice, and he was about to do it again.

He swallowed around the feeling of your eyes ranking up and down his body.

“I’m gonna go see if Tony’s embarrassed himself again,” ‘cause I’m a coward. From this distance — or lack thereof — Bucky smelled your perfume. “Wanna join me?”

One week without it and he was now drowning in it.

“Sure,” you shrugged. “Let me just get the beer I came for.”

Everything he carried as okay crumbled more and more with your steps, but Bucky embraced it all night long.

Watching you laugh and feeling it like a punch to the stomach because all he could see was you bathed in sunlight, laughing at his morning hair dressed in his shirt? It was fine.

The way you sometimes leaned in closer so your scent was all over his space? Fine, too.

(Lies.)

All night long, he ignored the longing glances.

It was a hard task to fulfil—your eyes and his had magnets after what happened before your trip, and the distance made it that the pull only got stronger.

Through the drinks and overlapping conversations, Bucky tried to focus on what is instead of was.

Instead, he got cornered.

Close to the grill at first, you showed up with your wine glass in hand and pretended to not see him until the last second, then smiled with your wicked ways when he was forced to guide you away from the heat with hands on your elbows.

What he got was your eyes blinking up him, muttering, “‘m sorry. Slipped,” as if Bucky wouldn’t know better.

As if he didn’t see you clear as daylight.

Then, as he wondered why you were playing this game with him again, you did it again when he ran for the kitchen and decided to stay there while Thor made a show of creating spicy cocktails.

You entered the kitchen applauding already, smiling at one of Thor’s nice tricks, and the next thing Bucky knew, he felt your body pressed against his. It was a bit crowded in there. Not enough space for all those grown, broad bodies, but that was no excuse—Bucky had been there for minutes already, but it was on him that you decided to lay rest and watch the show.

“You don’t mind if I sneak in here, do you?”

Bucky minded very much. You knew that. “Not at all.” Maybe this was punishment. A way of you to get back to him, somehow. “He’s got some talent,” he commented, sipping the rest of his drink. “Here, have my spot.”

He left because he knew it was the alcohol.

There was not a mean bone in your body — also a lie — and Bucky recognized the telltale signs of a pissed off you. The lashing out and pettines kind of gave it away.

So he tried to escape.

He managed to stop Tony on the way from one room to another, give him a hug and congratulations, and say he needed to head home.

“Already? Well. I’m not gonna say I’m surprised,” Tony looked happier than Bucky had ever seen. “Rhodey and I have this theory that you might expire if you don’t sniff a book every X amount of hours and your early cue actually puts my guess in advantage, so feel free to skadaddle.” He hugged Bucky again—definitely drunk. “Thanks for coming, Barnes. I don’t say it much, but I’ve grown fond of you.”

It was all in motion.

All Bucky had to do was make it out of that stupid, gigantic mansion and—

“Leaving already?”

Fucking hell.

Bucky turned around to face you, gripping his jacket a little tighter in his hand. He put on a smile. “Yeah. You know me.”

“Sure do,” you chuckled.

“Sorry—I didn’t find you inside to say goodbye.”

The next laugh came accompanied by a roll of eyes. “You really don’t need to lie to me.”

‘You have a tell when you lie. Did you know that? Has anyone ever told you that?’

‘Do I?’

‘You do. It’s adorable.’

“You never told me what my sign is,” Bucky’s smile softened at the memory, but he tensed again when he saw you stepping closer.

“Can’t give that away. That’s important information.” Your step was steady and straight for someone who’s had so much to drink, but then again, your tolerance was kind of high. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

“Sure.”

“Can I get a ride home?”

Are these eyes playing with me or does she really need me? “I thought you came with Yelena.”

You nod, but don’t touch your hair. Maybe you do mean it. “I did. She’s not leaving ‘till the party’s over, though, and I have training tomorrow.”

Plausible. Bucky knew how much you hated to train with little to no hours of sleep. “Yeah. Sure.” What hard could a ride do?

The smile you gave him was so genuine that he almost felt like letting his guard down. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he needed to stop being so full of himself. “Let’s go.”

It’s almost unbelievable what a little bit of your charm or smile would do to Bucky.

He got inside that car without a worry in his heart.

She just needs a ride. Chill, Buck.

The way his guard is disarmed by every single glance of yours out of the window instead of the chatty, witty remarks he expected.

The drive home happened without much conversation. This part you two already knew.

It’s how you got close, in the first place.

You two existed well in silence. Sharing space was enough—comfortable.

As it was, you picked the music. Bucky asked about your course, which you were ‘okay’ with, as always. You asked about his few students, his phD. Work.

Small talk.

It lasted all the way until your house.

When Bucky parked and said goodnight, he was examining your eyes in search for the alcohol and that glint he saw a few times during the night. Instead, he found a reflection—there was a search in yours, and his stomach tightened.

All the things we could’ve been…

“I’ll walk you to your doom,” his voice came out as nothing but a whisper. The air felt thicker, somehow. “C’mon.”

You nodded, and opened your own door before he walked out of his side and reached yours.

The light of your porch lit up after sensing presence, and Bucky was thinking about how to unglue his tongue from the roof os his mouth and whisper something plausible, something, just something when you said it:

“Remember the last time you came here?”

Just like that.

He paused, hesitating his next step. “I mean…”

Yes. His whole body felt in alert, and a part of Bucky felt glad to still face your back because he imagined his face looking very stupid right now.

The last time he’d been here the two of you watched movies. Had dinner. Three bottles of wine, and two shots of a special tequila you had as a gift from your best friend’s trip to Mexico. Then, when you were showing Bucky pictures of you and friends on a trip to the beach, you two had been a little too close.

A little too personal.

That time, there was no alcohol to blame.

No party, no high, nothing.

Just that thickness hanging heavy in the air and the notion that both of your bodies emanted so much heat it was palpable. It felt palpable.

Much like now.

“I never thought I’d have the guts to do what I did.”

Your confession felt like a caress. They broke him out of his stupor. Reaching the door, you turned around, facing Bucky.

He wanted to be a good guy and wanted to abide by what you had asked him of staying away, but it proved difficult when everything pointed towards the fact that you wanted this. He wasn’t crazy. “Why are you telling me this?”

Both your shoulders shrugged. “I don’t know.” You did. Bucky could see your eyes knew what the previous words meant. “‘Cause I’m still a bit tipsy? Or maybe—we just—we danced around it. Since we met. All the flirting and the kissing at Steve’s house parties.” Lower, you whispered. “I felt like a teenager.”

Goosebumps rose at the back of Bucky’s neck, and it felt like a confession of his own.

Despite being well over his thirties, he knew exactly what you meant.

You went on. “It was kinda exhilarating, I’m not gonna lie. I told my best friend about you and I kept thinking to myself ‘I never got this giddy when I was younger, what the hell is wrong with me’. And… I had convinced myself it was unilateral. You know? Just you indulging me in all my want.”

“That’s not true.” He couldn’t help but interrupt. “You know that’s not true.”

“I do now.”

He fidgeted with his car keys, deliberating if pushing was the right choice or not. “Where are you going with this?” came out after a heartbeat of silence.

“I don’t know. I just—I spent all night today trying to avoid the fact that all I wanted was to drag you back here.”

All he could do was whisper your name.

You weren’t finished. “And because of what? Because of me? Because I can’t deal with something that I already knew?”

Bucky barely has time to think of an answer before—

“What if I want it again?”

Just another whisper. It had his feet moving before he could put words in back in his mouth, then out of it. “You know my answer to that.”

The widened eyes surprised him, just as much as his answer apparently surprised you. “Really?”

“Really. But it’s not fair. Because you say this now, but I’m not sure you’ll feel the same tomorrow. You’re tipsy—”

“—you know that’s not true.”

“Still. You drank.”

A single pause from you, but Bucky knew this was a lost battle.

“Are you trying to find excuses? It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you said.

“I’m not. I’m trying to be rational. I don’t want you hating me tomorrow morning” it was very true. “I like our truce.”

“I do, too. But I also really like the way you’re the only man who’s ever been able to handle me. To do everything I wanted. I also really like the way I barely had to ask for things, and the way you gave them to me when I did. The way you stretched me out, and took no pity, and made me see how far even I can go. How much—”

Some things took a lot of effort, and others took none at all.

Pushing your body against the nearest surface was easy.

Muscle memory, even if he did it only a few times.

More than anything, Bucky liked the way you took work.

More than just with this—meeting you had taken work, getting to know more of you required gaining your trust. Unlike most people, you preferred to keep your life and energy private until someone proved they deserved to know more.

In bed, Bucky liked how none of it was performative.

Maybe he should count himself lucky—you fit him like a puzzle piece, if he was being honest, in ways very few people in his life did.

Steve, Natasha, you.

Winning him over was difficult, too.

All night long, Bucky let it all go.

He knew it was unfair the way he stared at you all along—Bucky saw in your eyes the way you dived in his eyes just like he dived into your body.

When he cupped your cheeks and your nails clinged to the back of his neck, Bucky knew how this would go.

Your kisses tasted like I’m gonna hate you tomorrow, and when you moan in his ear, his name coming out gravely and hoarse, Bucky heard the silent plea underneath. It’s hard not to spill empty words—Bucky bit his tongue so hard, so many times, that he wondered how he never tasted blood.

He preferred your taste, anyway.

It overpowered everything else, as always.

When all the clothes were on the floor and he pinned you against the nearest surface — your counter, just like the last time — Bucky wanted to slap himself instead of your ass.

“Stop starin’ at it.”

He slapped it. “You like it when I stare.”

“I like it better when you use your hands. C’mon, Bucky—”

“Fuckin’ impatient, as always.” He adored it. Your lust and his mixed in the air, clouding his thought. “I’ll give anything you want. You want my hands, baby?”

“Yes, goddamn it—”

“Then kneel for me.”

The sight of you on your knees between his legs would be his undoing for how long? He couldn’t tell, or bring himself to care. He held onto your hair, gripped your neck thigh just the way you liked it, and let himself feel your lips wrapping around him like velvet; it’s a deja vu, as well as foreboding—Bucky loved to have you on your knees because you loved it, and after he came so hard all his senses mingled into one, it was a pleasure to pick you up and drag you to your room whilst feeling what undoing him did to you.

“Look at this, baby. Look at how fuckin’ wet you are for me—”

“Couldn’t cum the way I wanted to—please Buck, please—”

“Shhh, I’ll do it. ‘m gonna fuck you all night, baby.”

The neighbours must have heard it that day.

It was more than the first time—it was pent up frustration, desire, heartache, longing; Bucky did what he promised, and you gave back just as good as you received.

There was a pause for food and drinks somewhere around five in the morning. Not many words were spoken during that time—the glass windows let in the faint light of the sky changing colors outside, and in your kitchen, Bucky just wrapped you in his arms and fed you the food you cooked for both. The whispered conversation was meaningless, but as warm as your bodies tangled together.

“You think we’ll have many more Stark parties to attend now?”

“Buck—that man will use any excuse to throw a party. Yes. We will.”

“Don’t laugh at me, he’s gonna be married now!”

“Married doesn’t mean dead.”

“Eh. For lots of folks it does.”

“Since when is Tony ‘folk’?”

“...you make a solid point.”

“Always do.”

When the first rays of sunshine came through, Bucky woke you up with his head between your legs.

Your thighs were reason for worship, he always said. And worship he did; Bucky saw the bruises already forming from the previous hours and admired his words with his hands as well as his mouth. He licked his way up, and when you finally squirmed awake, he was already pulling your sleeping shorts down so he could taste you before anything else that day.

The sound of his name on your lips first thing in the morning would follow him for the rest of the day.

It was also the only sound he’d hear for a few days to come.

+++++++ ++++++++

Even Wanda admitted him to be right when he said it wasn't really his fault. At least, not only his.

At least, not only his.

There was a lot involved in this.

Desire alone couldn’t sustain a relationship. He knew that better than anyone.

His desire for you alone could power a whole city—Bucky looked at you and the entirety of New York could have electricity to run for a fortnight; that’s how he felt.

The thing is—he also felt that way about other people. Few people, but still.

All it took was one Natasha and a few memories of Steve to stain what you two built over a year.

“You two worked better as friends,” Steve offered during brunch at Bucky’s apartment. Steve enjoyed offering his opinions, requested or not, and Bucky appreciated him for it.

“So do we.” The unspoken and yet, we were an item for over a decade hangs in the air. “Wish things were that easy, huh?”

“Nothing’s easy in life.”

Bucky laughed out loud at that. “Well, why don’t you preach.”

Steve smiled back, looking at him that way. “You know it’s true.” He scraped the rest of his food, and handed Bucky his plate. “I mean—take me and Sam, for example.”

“What about you and Sammy?”

“We—ugh, he hates it when you call him that.”

“I’m well aware.”

“You’re a douche,” Steve nudged Bucky with his hip, laughter stifled in respect for his man. “We shouldn’t have worked, right? I mean, we’re pretty similar except for all the ways that we’re not. He couldn’t handle the fact that I had non-monogamous relationships when we met ‘cause he didn’t understand it. Plus, he saw me the way most people do; as this goody-two-shoes that has unbreakable morals—”

“You do, though.”

“—and that’s, like, a republican or something.”

“Disgusting.”

“I know!” Steve sighed loudly, and prompted himself up on the counter. Bucky continued cleaning the dishes and did not think about how you loved doing that as well. “But then, we started getting to know each other better, bit by bit… and it worked out.”

“I’m confused.”

Steve turned to look at him. “Why?”

“Are you trying to say me and her are gonna work our shit our, or that we’re not?”

Steve hummed. “You know—I don’t even know?” He grimaced. “Sorry. I’m tryna say that whatever will be, will be.”

“Motivating.”

“I’m serious! If she wants to come here later tonight to talk, something’s gonna happen and soon you’ll know what.” Steve’s smile changed, and Bucky recognized it as his you smile. “She’s gonna be on her best behaviour.”

“What do you know that I don’t?” Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“Nothing much. Just that she’s been revaluating. She feels bad about ghosting you these days.”

“Really? ‘Cause from the way she ignored me every time she crossed my path I’d have thought she hated the guts outta me.”

“You know that—” Steve got interrupted by the sound of the phone ringing.

As always, Bucky knew who it was just by the sight of his eyes gleaming at the screen. While Bucky finished wiping the counter, Steve talked in his Sam tone about going back home in a few. He threw in a “Sam says hi,” to which Bucky replied with “Hi Sam, please answer my damn email!”; the laughter on the other side of the line could be heard even from a few steps away.

When Steve leaves, Bucky retreats to his safe haven.

His apartment is nothing much—small enough that he can clean on his own, but big enough to fit a study, a nice living room and a kitchen that’s not mingled with everything else. It’s been six years since he moved and only now Bucky realized he truly felt at home here. The staircase on the balcony outside where he sat for a smoke, sometimes with a book in hand or a cup of coffee, it felt like his place.

All of his home had tiny little memories of all the people that made up his heart painting the furniture and the walls.

He goes to his study for his two hours of research, writing and editing on his phD paper, but his mind is stuck elsewhere.

The phone call he got this morning which made him call for Steve keeps coming back, much like the dreams which are nothing but memories; Bucky saw you around campus these days without a word to spare for him, but inside his four walls, everything came back to him.

One single call and everything transformed into a hurricane.

The screen stared back at him, the numbers glaring holes into his skin.

21:32.

He ignored the way his stomach tightened even more.

She’s coming isn’t the thought that makes him anxious. It’s been months since she stepped foot here makes his palms clammy.

What had she said? ‘Right after work’, those were her words.

Bucky rubs both hands over his face, turns off everything in his office and heads for a shower.

Steve was right, he guessed. Whatever will be, will be.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Hey.”

“...Thanks for replying to my text.”

“You don’t gotta thank me.”

“I—yeah, I kinda do.”

“Hmmm. Why?”

“You know why. ‘Cause I need to apologize—fuck, I’m horrible at this.”

“You’re doing better than I did most of my life tryna apologize for stuff.”

“...of course you’d make me laugh.”

“I like your laugh.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.”

“...for what happened? Or…”

“For these days.”

A win. Bucky had counted that as a win. “Okay. Apology accepted.”

“Thanks… Can I come over later tonight?”

That had Bucky pausing. He almost knocked the pan out of the stove, because an apology came a long way, but an invitation, one for his house out of all places, was unexpected. “To my house?” he confirmed.

“Yeah. Right after work—I have a couple of seminars in the afternoon, then I have my client at the gym, can I go there after that?”

“I mean. Sure.”

“...’Sure’? Was that, like, ‘if you want, whatever’, or was that, like ‘’course you can even if I don’t know why the hell you’d want to’?”

It had been his turn to laugh. “The second option.”

“Okay. Then I’ll be there later tonight. Around ten? Ten thirty?”

“I’ll be here. It’s Saturday.”

“‘Kay. Cool. Is it ok if I bring a bottle of wine? Just one! Just—You know I’m nervous. It’s just so I don’t go to my cocoon or whatever.”

“Sweetheart. It’s ok. You can bring whatever you want.”

‘Bring whatever you want’ — why the fuck had he said that?

He’s unsure. He’s anxious, and excited, and his mind stays like this all night long until he hears the buzzing of you outside waiting to be let in.

Whatever will be, will be, Steve had said, but it’s sad when all that someone wants is one outcome.

He opens the door to find you outside in your work-out clothes. “Hey,” Bucky steps to the side to let you in, and watches as you take off your shoes and puts your gym bag on the floor.

“Hey,” your smile is weak, and tentative. “Is it a lot to ask if I can shower before we—sit, and whatever?”

Bucky shakes his head, and tries his hardest to push the images of you inside his bathroom naked out of his mind. “Not at all. You know where everything is,” he also holds back any stupid jokes or flirtatious comments that fall so naturally to the tip of his tongue.

While you shower, Bucky sets the station on the balcony outside. He brings two chairs to face the tiny table, brings the glasses, the pie Steve baked earlier. He sets everything on the table and rolls a purple haze for himself because if there’s one thing he needs right now, is to fucking chill.

That’s how you find him—with the corkscrew to open the wine in hand, and a blunt hanging between his lips.

Bucky mentally curses at the fucking scent you bring from the inside.

Peach. Wild berries.

“Do you take your stuff with you everywhere?” he asks before he can stop himself.

You frown. “What stuff?”

Bucky loves how big your thighs look in those shorts. He looks away to say, “Your creams and lotions and—skincare shit. All that.”

You laugh, sitting in one of the chairs, and you hold the bottle for him to open. “Not everywhere. Just when I go to the gym.”

“Hmmm.”

“Why?”

He shrugs his shoulders. “Dunno. You always smell the same.”

“I like the way my stuff smells.”

“I can tell,” he chuckles.

“It was a gift from one of my best friends—you remember Nyx?”

He has to dig in his memory a little bit, but he finds it. “The one you met on your trip?”

You nod. “Yeah. She’s brazilian—their stuff smells amazing.”

“I can tell.”

Three words only, and the air in his small balcony shifts from light to heavy. Sticky. Honey sweet.

Instead of asking why you’re here and rushing it all, he lets you pour the wine into the glasses. He goes for small talk for now. “How’s your week been?”

“Fucking cold. I hate this time of the year,” the way you pout when you’re angry makes him pissed off. Bucky never wanted to do something so stupid and cheesy as kissing someone’s frown away. “The snow melting’s so fucking incovenient.”

“That it is.”

“And your papers? Still ripping your hair out?”

Bucky runs a hand through his hair; “Still have some left,” he takes out the lighter from his pocket and sets the thing between his lips on fire.

As the smoke fills his lungs, Bucky breathes easier. It’s ironic—but then again, so is the fact that your presence both calms and electrifies every inch of him.

“I gotta tell you—I thought you’d be one of those unfortunate suckers who lose all of their glorious hair by the time they’re thirty five—”

“I’m literally thirty nine,” he laughs.

“See!? Exceeding expectations.”

Small talk also exceeds his expectations.

At least, it does with you.

Other people? Bucky would rather not exchange a single word with.

You?

Half a bottle of wine goes in the blink of an eye. Sober him had clammy, sweaty hands, and an agitated leg that bounced up and down like a child who’s high on sugar. Tipsy and high Bucky focus only on the now, on the curve of your nose and how beautiful your hair looks underneath the street lights.

Even you indulge in the transcendental offer that is something to clear the mind, or maybe make it foggy.

Not that he minds sharing—Bucky sips your wine, you take puffs of his blunt, and he appreciates the way your fingers hold it between your lips.

He really likes your lips.

Both of them — the wine and the weed — have their expected outcome; so much that when you drop the bomb he’s been waiting for, Bucky barely feels his heart leaping out of his throat. It’s more of a skip; a small jump, if you will.

It comes after a lull in silence where you two are finishing off the cigarette, and he’s a little lost in the way Alpine curls in his lap when you say, “I think I know why we never worked out. Like… properly.”

Bucky’s fingers still in Alpine’s fur, and the cat nibbles on his hand to get him back at his job of petting. “Do ya?”

“Yeah.” The tilt on your chin tells him it’s true. It’s your little tilt of ‘I’m an expert at this topic’, so he figures this is what you must’ve spent those days doing—ignoring him in favor of thinking meticulously about the two of you, from every angle possible. “I mean; it’s pretty obvious, in the end. At least it must be to everyone else. But I hate it the all the same.”

“It’s not obvious to me.”

“No?”

“No,” he wished it was, many, many times. “Enlighten me.”

With a nod, you lay the words on the table. “I want you all to myself.”

Only six words, and they manage to knots every inch of his insides. He feels them everywhere; inside and out, from the tip of his cold toes to every last strand of hair he still has.

When he answers, it’s only a single breath. Your name, which sounds like a plea.

“I wanted that since I first saw you. It's those eyes—god, I swear to god only the skies above know how much I fucking love your eyes. And the way you look at me, Buck... When you kissed me at that party for the first time, I couldn't stop staring at them, remember? They're beautiful. Looking at them... It’s like looking in a magic pond… there’s so much hidden. All I could think about was: I want him. I want those eyes on me, always. I want him all to myself. But I can’t have that, right?”

“Sweetheart, I’m not pie.” It comes out exasperated, and Bucky hates how tired he feels of it, but he’ll be damned if he loses you like he almost lost Steve once because of that same stupid idea.

“What?”

“I’m not pie, love. Just because you get me, and someone else does too, it doesn’t mean they’re taking a piece outta me that you’ll never get it back. You do have all of me. When I’m with you, it’s all me.” He gestures from his head to his toe. “Right now? All of me. Every inch right here is yours. My mind’s thinking about you. I wanna talk to you. I wanna feel you. Does that make sense?”

It’s funny to think that sometimes, you can see the effect words have.

When he looks at you, Bucky sees the realization dawning bit by bit—the puzzle pieces are almost visible as they fit in your mind.

“You want all of me?”

The question catches him so off guard that it almost hurts.

Had it really been so difficult to see?

Bucky swallows the knot that your question formed in his throat and nods. “I do.” Always did. “Since I fuckin’ met you—d’you think I do this all the time? This aggravating, stupid—fucking mating dance?” God, how he loves the sound of your laugh. “I hate the excpectations, and the unspoken rules and whatnot; you realize that you made me go to not one, not two, but three events last year? Three. I barely leave my house, sweetheart.”

Gnawing on your bottom lip means you’re nervous, but not about thoughts—about what you want to do next. “I’m a really jealous person,” the whisper says I’m confessing, and I’m sorry about that. “I don’t know how I’m gonna act in the future, Buck.”

“You’re a grown woman, I’m a grown man. We could work it out, couldn’t we?”

“We could. But I…” you trail off, the words lost in the night, and he waits. “I don’t wanna lose you completely.”

“I can assure you that the only way I’ll be completely out of your life is if you actively kick me out. Use the words I don’t want you around anymore or something like that. Otherwise? I’ll just wait. I’ll keep coming back.”

“Bucky,” it comes out breathless, and Bucky wants to throw the table that separates you two out of the balcony and onto the street down below. “These days were miserable.”

When your lip trembles, Bucky thinks fuck it, and gets up. Alpine protests, he apologizes, but without any heat to it.

Kneeling down in front of you, Bucky searches your face for any shadow of doubt. Any lingering trace of pain, or uncertainty, and when he finds none of those, his hands come up to cup your cheeks the way he loves to do.

“I hate when you’re miserable.” Bucky hates how hard it is to hold back, too—the cheesy, honey sweet stuff that comes to his mind whenever you’re around are too much, but the dem is broken now and when you lean on his touch, Bucky knows you’re both doomed. “I want you happy, sweetheart.”

“I’m happy when I’m with you.” Another whisper. Another confession.

He smiles at that, and watches as you smile back. “Let me make you happy, then?”

For both of your lucks, Bucky has enough strength to hold you when you throw your body on him. He’s not a physical person like you — carrying books all the time holds no weight to what you do in the gym — but he has just enough to pick you up and carry you to where you should be.

He has enough in him to worship your body like he dreamt all week, and this time, with no worries about whether you’ll be there in the morning or not.

Bucky drenches you in him—sweat, kisses, sticky bodies clinging together until they’re nothing but one.

He sees the happiness in you, and feels it reflected in him.

He’ll make it last, for as long as you let him. As long as you wish him to.

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stariekis · 3 months

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EP 6 . the meeting (2) — note ¹ : the second part is finally here ~ and ou this is getting serious 🫷🏻our y/nwon are making MOVES ? we surely know that they are down bad for each other your honor ☝🏻 n e waysss my loves enjoy the episode <3 reblogs and feedback is welcomed ):

Jungwon returned to the backyard where the other boys where. Jay, Sunoo and Sunghoon were sitting on the porch while Jake, Riki and Heeseung where just messing around.

— 'Who was it buddy ?' Jay asked, jungwon's heart was still beating pretty fast as he sat on one of the chairs. — 'One of your sister's friend, they are now in her room' Jay nodded his head and looked at his phone again.

— 'Well Jungwon tell us' Jake approached the place where the other one where, Riki and Heeseung following after him. Jungwon looked at them confused — 'About the girl'

It is the right time to tell the boys that the girl from his university ? He wanted to but if he did they boys would probably tease him for the rest of the day.

— 'What about her ? It's just a girl i saw at uni nothing more' He answered playing with the ring on his finger while looking at his friends.

— 'Why are you so nervous then ?' Riki asked looking at Jungwon's hand playing nervously with the silver hoop. He stopped right after.

— 'You guys will never leave me alone won't you' All his friends smiled at him, the answer was obviously a no.

While the boys where talking in the backyard, the girls where having their own conversation in Yunah's room.

— 'This is the perfect opportunity y/n please let us help' Minji said while you were laying on the bed with your head hidden under the pillows. — 'You guys knew it and didn't tell me that's so mean'.

— 'But now we all know so we can help' Hanni said — 'Yunah ask your brother if we can hang out with them please' she added. You got up as quickly as possible looking at your friends with open eyes and tense jaw, Yunah on the other hand has a smirk plastered on her face.

She then started running downstairs, you and your friends running after her.

She opened the door that leads to the back yard, her brother and his friends looked at her with a shocked expression. — 'Slow down big girl, what do you want' Jay asked — 'Can we stay here for a bit with you guys?' Jay looked weirdly at his sister, she never asked him something like that before. But he didn't actually mind at all so he looked at his friends searching for their approval, all of them nodded their heads at the idea.

Jungwon and you, on the other hand, were a complete nervous wreck. Your eyes met and you smiled at him, the same way you always do whenever you are around him, trying to look relax and calm. Even though you weren't at all.

You and your friends stepped out of the house. All of them took all the empty seats, leaving the only one right next to Jungwon on purpose, they had a smirk plastered on their faces. You stood there, not completely sure if you wanted to sit there or run away once again — 'You can sit there, he doesn't bite i swear' one of Jay's friends, a tall and blonde boy, said. You giggled a bit at his comment.

You approach him and sat right next to him. The chair was pretty small, your and his knees were brushing against each other from time to time. You swear to good that you could pass out at that exact moment.

As everyone started talking with each other you and Jungwon just sat there, waiting for the other to start a conversation or not.

— 'The sky looks pretty today don't your think ?' You heard him asking, turning your head towards him and, when you saw his side profile looking at the sky, you looked up right away.

— 'It is really pretty yeah' Looking at the different colors of the sunset your smiled. What you didn't notice was that Jungwon stopped looking at the sky some time ago, his eyes were all over you now with a smile on his face.

After that the rest of the day continued perfectly. Jungwon and you talked a bit more and it wasn't awkward at all, finding out how similar you two actually were and how much you both have in common.

But, even though minutes ago you where wishing for the day to end, when you had to go back home you felt actually sad about it.

Hanni and Minji already left leaving you, Minju and Moka with the boys. — 'It was nice meeting you guys, you are actually fun to be around' Moka said with a sweet smile on her lips as she took Minju's hand in hers. — 'We should do this more often' she added.

— 'I don't know if i want to hang out with my brother more so we'll talk about that' Yunah stood right by their side. You got up from your seat, Jungwon had his eyes on you all the time and, when you made eye contact with him for the last time, he smiled and waved his hand. You returned the smile and followed your friends that were already going to the front door of the house.

Jungwon let out the biggest sigh ever. — 'Why were you so tense Wonie ?' Riki pointed out. Because he always gets this nervous everytime you were around.

— 'He is scared of women just like you Riki' Sunoo answered, and a whole new conversation started because of that. Jungwon thanked Sunoo on his mind for changing the topic.

He couldn't stop thinking about you for the rest of the day, he went to bed with your sweet smile plastered on his mind. And you were in a similar situation, the softness of his voice and the way your hands brushed against each other from time to time had your mind spinning.

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tag list (open.) : @wanderers-archive @ikeuizm @wonryllis @iheartjayke @lilacnini @isabellah29 @wwonwonism @bywons @jaeyunluvr @nishislcve @jiamini @ramenoil @copyhanni @ilovejungwonandhaechan @qaifiya @grah127 @dokidokior @sophi-eee

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sepublic · 2 years

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youtube

We got ANOTHER promo y’all!!! It’s technically a trailer but it’s thankfully very brief, given the runtime it’s hyping up is only two episodes, compared to usual TOH trailers that are advertising at least nine episodes! This is an official release and NOT a leak!

First off, Luz’s laptop!!! She’s doing this 11:09 pm at just 20%, she’s got references to Stardew Valley and Hollow Knight on her desktop, and I think that one Hades game? The one with Zagreus? Anyhow the Hollow Knight references are REAL, coupled with the S1 intro, makes you wonder if it influenced stuff like Hollow Mind…!

Luz also has a Good Witch Azura fanfic file! And she’s recently made art since her return to the human world; You can’t see all of it, but it appears to the Owl House’s roof, in a parallel to how the intro usually ends with Luz, Eda, and King on the roof when she ignites a light spell and pushes it into the sky! Augghhhh she’s coping…! And her username is @FriendofOwlsandTitans… Oh my GAWD! She accepts King as a TITAN she’s a friend to TITANS!!! Original art do not steal, just like her GF!

“All I ever wanted was to be good at something”… Good lord, if that doesn’t summize SO much about Luz. Her feelings of inadequacy. Her initial dreams of being a chosen one. Her desire to help others and be of service to them. Her need to JUSTIFY her own existence, to quote her girlfriend… That hit hard. Like I know but OW.

She’s making video diaries again as we guessed, but this time to HERSELF; Girl needs a place to vent, good for her! She probably stayed up and snuck to the kitchen to let herself indulge in her dark feelings and thoughts alone. Did Luz make a video for Eda and King and eventually give up, being forced to confront herself inward without any distractions? She says she knows what she has to do now, is… Is Luz about to do something rash? Something involving Belos? Babey don’t hurt yourself, or maybe she just means the general principle of making thing right!

Then skipping past stuff we DO know, we see Luz and Hunter dressed up for Halloween! Hunter has a HOOTY mask, likely meant to invoke his Golden Guard persona, and Luz is honoring King OH MY GAWD WAAAIIIIII!!!!! She’s MOURNING her Titan brother, just like she mourned Eda! They’re in a dilapidated house, the shack where the Portal opens? They’re armed… Probably investigating paranormal activity, AKA Belos. This fits with another shot of them entering a basement with the same coloring as the house, atop the stairs!

We get a proper look at Amity and Gus’ new designs in the show’s own art style! They look AMAZING… They painted Hooty’s face on the door, pffft, but also ouch. The longing. Treating this place as an earthly version of the Owl House because it kind of is with its role and even coloration! If they miss Hooty you KNOW it’s been a while. Willow must’ve grown flowery vines outside to spruce up the place, it seems to have been converted into a fulltime hideout! If this was the old Wittebane home, I’m sure Caleb would appreciate it… Philip on the other hand.

The door seems to have just… Opened on its own as Amity looks back. Or did somebody, probably Luz and/or Hunter (seeing a glimpse of Gooplos?) quietly leave, and Amity only notices when she hears the door swinging behind them?

We have a hand, either Amity, Willow, or Hunter’s, reaching out to some glow-in-the-dark night decorations; Including a symbol of the moon and sun. This is likely one of the characters mourning and being reminded of the Collector, rather than in-universe connection.

We see our cast, sans Luz, looking at some sort of box with styling reminiscent of the Portal! Not only does it suggest it was actually Caleb and his wife who made it (and Philip plagiarized), but also! Caleb must’ve left it behind in the human world. When Flapjack was pecking at the floorboards, was it to find this? It must be a clue, perhaps on how to make a portal, a Titan’s blood rift, etc.! Is this distraction what got Luz to sneak out earlier?

There’s some sort of book page we see next, presumably the contents of the box the kids found given their hands! I’m not sure the significance of the symbols, but the bottom one reminds me of the curse… Or is it just a reference to Clawthornes loving birds, AKA his wife? Is that some sort of teardrop? Maybe it’s Titan’s Blood and that’s meant to be a FURRY arm of a Titan! And what even IS that thing to the right?!

Hunter says “Did you know that HE was here?!” In a distressed voice. Is this him potentially confronting one of our protagonists for keeping information about Gooplos’ potential survival, regardless if they actually knew and were hiding? Or him talking about Philip and Caleb to perhaps Luz, with the realization that either was a town founder, and inquring as to how Luz didn’t notice!

Then we get Gus and Hunter THE BROS dressed up for Halloween, Hunter doesn’t want to hear spoilers because Gus is likely talking about a recent human hyperfixation of theirs! Brothers.

And then, finally… Luz and Hunter aren’t here, it’s just the other kids, maybe those two are at some other part of the zoo more personal like the aviary…

WE GET THE LONG-AWAITED ANSWER TO THE GIRAFFES!!! AFTER TWO YEARS, ARGUABLY THREE IF YOU CONSIDER WHEN THE FIRST TEASER THAT MENTIONED GIRAFFES WAS RELEASED!!! Since the very beginning, we have been haunted by this question and whether they’d answer it, but now… NOW…! It all comes to light.

The kids are obviously scared and locking arms in preparation, that’s so cute, venturing into ancient territory that hasn’t been traversed for generations. WILLOW HAS HER HAIRCLIP FROM WING IT LIKE WITCHES!!! Was it a gift from Amity, I MISSED IT SO MUCH! She takes a picture and a Giraffe, recognizing natives from its home realm, FREAKS…

We get one idea of why Giraffes were banned and it makes sense. God the kids’ reactions are so funny. Of course Willow the Bravest is bold enough to step ahead and take pictures for the rest! This is such adorable levity and I appreciate the closure, this is their one chance so of course they’d take it after two months of debating if they should risk it! Mayhaps they regret that risk now.

#the owl house #the owl house season 3 #analysis #luz noceda #the owl house hunter #willow park #amity blight #gus porter #augustus porter #vee noceda

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bluemoonhoon · 5 months

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santa doesn’t know you like I do

jake sim x fem reader mini series smau

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NINE

Jake didn’t remember the moment he fell in love with yn ln, which was weird because sim jaeyun was always a boy with a good memory; He remembered seeing 7-year-old yn playing alone in the park of his new neighborhood rocking a teddy bear on a swing; while all the kids were screaming and running around, yn played with the bear as gently as you would treat a baby. Little Jake felt genuine curiosity for the girl in pigtails and ribbons that oddly matched the bow of her bear, and when he talked to her in his limited language after moving to a new country and she answered him with a voice softer than the wind of that day; little seven-year-old jake knew at that moment that he wanted to know more of her.

Yn loved the Christmas season, Jake knew that pretty early on in their friendship, she loved winter, hot drinks, and the bright colorful lights that December brought, he remembered 10-year-old yn helping him and his family put up the Christmas decorations as soon as Jake birthday passed, yn was always a curious girl so when she asked “why are there only 4 puppies?” while organizing the ornaments for the tree and Jake explained his family tradition “we have one for each member of our house” and even though she smiled and told him how much she loved that, a part of him felt a yearning feeling in her voice.

He remembered yn at 15 crying in her new bed because the moving truck lost her teddy bear, where the only comfort her parents gave were the cold words telling her to “stop making a big deal out of this, teenagers don’t have teddy bears” he remembered hugging her so hard in hopes of helping her hurt less and he remembered the face of yn at 16 when Jake gifted her a teddy bear with a pink bow in her birthday with a note that said, “we can’t replace bear but you can have someone that helps you remember him”.

he remembered yn at 17 counting days for the college entrance exam, studying and sending applications to the farthest universities possible, he remembered her excitement when her acceptance emails arrived (which was even bigger than the joy she expressed when her high school crush asked her on a date) and he remembered her even bigger smile when they decided to go to the same college.

he remembered yn at 18 packing all her life in a suitcase before going away from her hometown, how even if she wasn´t smiling, her eyes had these hopeful sheen, relieved for finally leaving, and how the whole car ride was her waiting for the fresh air of a city without surreal expectations on her.

he remembered yn at 19 asking him to be roommates during summer break because she hated sharing showers in the dorm building, he had never agreed to something faster, just like 7-year-old jake, 19-year-old jake still wanted to spend more time with yn.

he remembers yn at 20 running to his room to tell him she got her first internship at a clinic, he remembers 20-year-old yn waking up at 3 am to make him a cup of coffee and pat his back while he was working on a project, getting sweets for them after her work, he remembers getting texts asking for him to get stuff for the grocery store on his way home, he remembers yn face when he forced her to try a new recipe for a dish he saw online, he remembers loving the routine that he fell in while living with yn.

He saw her relationships come and go, he started dating too, and he liked the girls he dated at the time, and he liked seeing yn coming home happy after a date; but at the end of each relationship and each heartbreak either his or hers, jake always wondered what would it feel to be loved by yn. he tried not to think of the what ifs as often, maybe once every full moon, but he could never bring a conclusion to his own secret dilemma: he found someone who knew him inside out, who was next to him in all his ups and downs without expecting anything back and he was pretty sure he knew yn in the same way, there were times where they wondered if they shared the same mind; but that only made jaeyun more hesitant over his romantic feelings because if he confessed them and it did not work out, he would be throwing away a friendship that gave him the best moments of his life.

he loved her, he always knew it, and as they grew up, that love he felt grew and transformed with him. he didn´t know what made him realize it: it could be the sleepless nights they share now in college or the gifts she makes for his birthday, it could be her hugs and how warm she felt, it could be how well she knew him or how they've shared pretty much half of their life together. but he was never brave enough to face the consequences of that fact.

he didn´t know what he was going to tell her the moment she walked through the door: he didn´t know if he was going to keep up with the lie or not, he didn´t know if it was a small argument or if it was going to affect their current relationship; he just knew he was going to say he was sorry, he was sorry for his attitude, and he was sorry for not being able to explain why it happened. he just knew he hoped she would forgive him and he hoped she wouldn´t leave the house angry anymore; he knew if that happened he would spend another sleepless night and he just hoped in this one his heart will finally calm down.

Jake couldn’t remember the moment he fell in love with yn ln, he always just knew that her presence was one of the most important things in his life, and he would go ages without telling her how he really felt only to keep seeing her smile for the rest of time.

taglist: OPEN (@ghostiiess, @02zluvbot, @greenmilkyee, @addictedtohobi)

#enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen imagines #sim jaeyun #enhypen smau #enhypen jake sim #enhypen x reader

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jsehungergamesau · 3 months

Text

Jameson Jackson, winner of the 26th Hunger Games

[Please check the pinned post on our blog for trigger warnings. This can be read as a stand-alone fic set in the same universe. Sorry in advance :) -Mod Oakley]

°○°○°○°

"Jameson Jackson!" Read the colorful woman from the Capitol.

The young man couldn't hold the gasp in the back of his throat at the sound of his name being called. All heads turned towards him and he looked around with bewildered eyes, but he took a deep breath and stepped out of the holding area for the 17 year olds. A pair of peacekeepers guided him to the stage but Jameson kept his head high and he.. smiled. Not only that but he hummed a familiar jaunty work tune as he neared the stage. He knew he couldn't let them all see his true emotions. No, Jameson was the one who always lifted the spirits through the hard work days, he couldn't let them see how terrified he truly was.

He might have been smiling, yet try as he might, his eyes betrayed him when he scanned the crowd. They were damp with unshed tears that caught the light of the warm summer's day sun. He looked from the crowd up to the treetops, one more time before being led away to the city hall clock tower.

Saying goodbye to his aunt Marry was filled with hugs and tears. Promises to take care of herself and to do what she needs to to survive. The older woman gave her nephew an iron locket with a small picture of his parents inside. A token to remember home while in the games. Jameson held it close to his heart and hugged her for as long as their time allowed, singing a quiet soothing song to Marry before being separated.

A few friends from the paper processing mill came and Jameson couldn't help but laugh, "Be sure to have a song written for me, would ya, lads?" He joked, playfully hitting one of their arms. Only a few of them smiled. "Buck up now, I've taught you all enough! You can lead the tune without me. Even if Jerry does sing like a broken water pipe." That got them laughing.

This is how he wanted to be remembered. Positive and joyful even in the face of the worst possible thing to ever happen to a young person in this country. He smiled goodbye until the doors closed.

Finally his best friend came to see him, and he let his mask slip. Maria was a slight girl with tanned skin and long frizzy blonde hair she kept up in a bun, and she hugged him tight enough to bruise. Maria was born without a voice in her lungs, so the two taught each other to sign from an old book when they were little. She loved when Jameson would sing and when they would dance together at the harvest close festivals.

Jameson had nicknamed her Maple from her love of the sweet syrup from the trees. They've only had the chance to taste it a few times because peacekeepers would punish them if they got caught dipping their fingers into the collection buckets. But it was Maria's absolute favorite. So the nickname stuck.

Neither of them ever saw each other romantically. They had shared a kiss once but almost immediately decided it didn't feel right. Yet they still remained thick as thieves. In his private thoughts, Jameson wouldn't have minded if they shared a home together. Perhaps not as husband and wife, but it would be theirs and they would be happy. Especially compared to the alternative that was his imminent fate now.

They stand with their foreheads pressed together in the quiet and Jameson quietly humming from his chest. There wasn't much to say, really. They said their goodbyes this morning when they split into their standing areas. So the two of them try to savor the other's company for all that it's worth.

She kissed his cheek, “Goodbye, Jamie.” She signed, and any idea or dream of a happy future with Maria was extinguished as soon as the heavy doors closed behind her.

°○°○°○°

Everything became a blur after that.

The train ride, speaking with his mentor and fellow tribute from 7, pulling up to the Capitol, the ridiculous outfits, the chariot ride. The whole time he smiled and waved and laughed- he felt unmoored. Floating in his own mind as he watched himself perform the jolly tribute from District 7 act for the entire country to see.

Jameson came back to himself while in the training center. A pair of identical faces had joined him at the camouflage station without him noticing, and upon realizing he wasn't actually going crosseyed he jumped.

Oh right, the twins from District 8. The brother, Tim, had volunteered as tribute to be with his sister, Tamery, who was reaped from the bowl. Neither of them could stand being separated, so they walked into the games together. Jameson wondered if either would walk out, and if one did, which?

"See, if you add a bit more of the raspberry juice you get a darker mixture." Tamery explained as she took the bowl Jameson was idly swirling around, smashing a few of the red berries into it and mixing it around with a stick. Dipping her fingers in, she painted a swatch on her arm to demonstrate, "See? It's almost black now. If you added some charcoal it would be easier but not everyone can make a fire."

Tamery then began mixing several things together as Tim leaned back on his hands, watching Jameson with a faint grin. When she was done, Tamery had made a color that when swatched on her own skin, basically disappeared. It matched her skintone perfectly.

"That's incredible! How did you learn to do that?" Jameson was impressed, looking from her arm back to their pale faces and ashy blonde hair. They must not have gotten a lot of sun working in the factories. Jameson could relate since his own complexion outed him for working in the paper press mills back home.

"We worked with the dyes back in 8." Tamery explained with a small shrug.

"We have to figure out how to make everything the exact shades of colors the customers want." Tim picked up from his sister, "Sure there's standard recipes for each color, but most of the time we have better results by eyeballing how much of each dye to use." He grinned, using some moss to paint a deep purple texture onto his arm that made it look bruised.

"Fascinating!" Jameson exclaimed, truly intrigued by the pair, "In the paper mill, we usually just make white, so we just bleach the tree pulp. But occasionally we use these powders to make colored stationary. It took weeks for the gaudy orange to wash off my skin."

The twins barked similar laughs to each other.

"Oh tell me about it! When we were dying a batch of red silk, it looked like we had bloody hands for ages!" Tim snorted. Nobody comments about how it might become a reality soon.

"Though seeing the Capitol folk walking around with dyed skin makes me think that they were inspired by us." Tamery rolls her eyes with a smirk. "It took the preps almost two hours to finally scrub us clean. I think they had to take some skin with 'em as a souvenir to make it work. To add insult to injury, one of them was dyed robin's egg blue."

Tim scoffs with a roll of his eyes as well and they all go back to painting, listening to the instructor on how to use stones and bark and other unconventional materials to hide themselves from plain sight. Jameson was okay at it, but when the new trio moved to the traps and snares station, Jameson picked up the skill quickly.

After learning the basics, the gears in Jameson's mind turned and he fashioned a tripwire that would drop a massive weight onto a test dummy. The weight crushed it's plastic skull and for a quick moment Jameson felt pleased with himself. Then he remembered he had an audience and scanned the room, several tributes had watched him and he could feel his cheeks burn. He was used to people watching him perform, but this was different. This was showing the others his skillset, even if it was new to him as well. Tim and Tamery clapped for him but they all quickly moved on to another station.

Jameson and the twins got on like a house on fire. They were all witty and laughed like the career pack at stupid jokes. And without saying anything, they all decided to team up in the arena. It made for better odds to be in an alliance than staking it out on your own.

It was a good thing too, because Jameson watched Tim wrestle his instructor to the ground and Tamery disarmed her knife wielding instructor in seconds. Jameson had tried to pick up a bow and a spear but they didn't feel right. He found some small throwing axes and hit the targets from a good distance away, but his mind kept going back to the hunting snares.

So while most of the other tributes took their lunch break, Jameson stayed behind a little longer to learn some more complicated traps. Whipping branches, pitfalls, small stone catapults, rope snares that left people dangling 20 feet up. He stuffed his brain with as much knowledge as he could until he was pulled away by the twins, one grabbing each of his arms and dragging him.

“C'mon, pull your own weight, James!” Tamery laughed.

Two days later while showing off their skills to the Game Makers, Jameson didnt hold back. Taking several minutes to construct an elaborate trap from rope and weights and netting.

When he used a spear to trip the wire, a cluster of ropes with small weights on the ends got flung a few inches off the ground and tangled around the ankles of a practice dummy. And before it could fall over, two weights dangling from ropes were released- and met in the middle to crush the dummy between them.

The people observing him gave a few impressed nods before dismissing him.

He scored a 10.

°○°○°○°

Jameson resisted wiping his hands on his sleek navy blue suit as he walked up the stage to meet Lucky Flickerman, shaking the weather man- turned host's hand firmly with a brilliant smile and having a seat.

"Jameson Jackson! What a very musical name you have!" Lucky proclaimed as an icebreaker, his copper powdered hair shiny and perfectly in place. Jameson quietly admired his mustache as he chuckled at the host's words. "Very bouncy and fun to say!" Lucky then repeats Jameson's name to a jazzy tune a few times that makes the audience giggle and clap.

"Yes well I am actually quite musical myself, according to my mates back home in 7. They can hardly get me to shut up sometimes." Jameson grins cheekily, causing the audience to laugh, "Though, those guys just call me JJ for short."

"JJ! Incredible! So you do sing? Did you put on any performances growing up?" Lucky asks, leaning forward as the crushed velvet of his blue suit shifts under the lights.

"Hah, maybe one or two when I was younger at school. But mostly I sing to pass the days in the paper mills. Keeps the spirits up, yaknow? If everyone is happy while working, then you know the paper you write your love letters on is made with love." Jameson has to resist rolling his eyes. That was corny even for him.

But the people love it, it makes the audience collectively aww and put their hands to their chests at the sentiment.

"Well you can't hold out on us, then! Would you like to sing a little something-something for the people?" Lucky looks to the audience conspiratorially, "What do you think, folks?"

The citizens of the Capitol roared with cheers and encouragement. And Jameson pretended to hide his face in one hand and wave them all off with the other, but this just seems to goad them on until Jameson sighs dramatically and stands, “Alright alright, you've swayed me!”

Lucky shushes the crowd and Jameson took a deep breath, singing from his stomach a tune from back home, his voice rich enough to fill the large room by himself. He thinks of Maria as the people hang on to every note that pours from his mouth.

Stay with me til dusk my dear,

Sway with me til morning comes.

Together we'll sing 'long with the breeze,

And here we'll sleep for eternity.

Stay with me, my dear, my love.

Stay with me,

Stay.

As he holds the final note the audience erupts into applause and Jameson humbly takes a bow with his hands clasped tightly together.

"We're almost out of time but Jameson, that was enchanting! Absolutely enchanting! Thank you so much, was that a song from your District?" Lucky Flickerman asks, his stark white teeth gleaming unnaturally under the studio lights.

"Yes it is. It's sung as a lullaby for many of the children." Jameson lies. Yes it is a lullaby, but its a song about two lovers seeking sanctuary in the forest. He didn't want them all to latch onto the wrong idea about him though.

"Incredible, absolutely incredible. Well, here's hoping that all of Panem won't lose your special gift so soon, James."

"Thank you, sir. I really appreciate that." Jameson smiles winningly.

Lucky gestures for him to take another bow as the timer dings for the next tribute to come on, "Jameson Jackson, ladies and gentleman!" The crowd cheers and applauses again, sending Jameson backstage where his face falls and he heaves a dramatic breath.

"That was a lot." Jameson chuckles faintly, hands on his knees as if he just ran a mile. He felt a pat on his back from Tamery as she passed him to go on stage.

"Thanks for the bode of confidence, James." She remarks, fluffy rainbow skirt bouncing around her hips as she walks on stage when her name is called.

Tim then helps Jameson stand again, his own suit colored in a bold gradient to match the sunset, “You blew us all away, JJ.” He pats Jameson on the opposite shoulder before lightly pushing to send him back to his team.

°○°○°○°

Jameson lied awake for a long time in his room the night before the games. He should have been sleeping, but his mind was like an angry trackerjacker hive. Staring up at the ceiling, gently rolling the grape sized locket in his fingers, he couldn't help but think of home. Occasionally bringing it up, he clicks the locket open to see the yellowed pictures inside.

He stared in the dark at the small hand drawn portraits of a husband and wife he never remembered meeting, but shared so many similarities to himself. His father's soft eyes, his mother's nose and faintly rounded cheeks. The same thick curly black hair. Jameson couldn't help but smile at his father's styled mustache. It curled in a funny way towards his nose that Jameson always assumed he must have greased it to keep its shape somehow. He remembers his Aunt Marry using the word “dapper” in a teasing tone to describe the unique look of her late brother.

To Jameson, Aunt Marry was his true mother in every way. But she insisted that she always wanted to be an aunt, so the title stuck like sap. She raised James by herself and never once complained- never complained around him, anyway. She taught him all the songs he knew and so much more about how to survive. How to live and how to smile despite the hardships. He wishes there was a picture of her in the locket, but there was barely room to fit his parents into the cramped space.

The surface of the locket had a relief of a maple seed- a "helicopter" as the older folks of District 7 had described them when they began to shower down in autumn. Twirling all the way down like dancers until they touched the ground safely. Jameson wasn't sure what the nickname for the seed was referring to, but he remembers picking up small handfuls of them and tossing them in the air so they spun back down into Maria's hair. Revenge was swift as Maria got back at him by shoving a handful of the seeds- and some dirt for good measure- down the back of his shirt. Jameson couldn't blame her, it was a nightmare trying to untangle the deceptively spiky seeds from her frizzy hair. The frizz always collected debris so easily when it was let down.

He absently ran his thumb over the polished gray metal as tears rolled down his cheeks. He missed District 7. He missed home so badly.

Exhaustion finally took over him at some point. The sound of his younger self's laugh and the crunching of leaves under Maria's shoes echoing in his dreams, before they slowly morphed into nightmares.

°○°○°○°

Jameson could hear the blood rushing in his ears as the metal platform slowly raised him up.

He made a plan with the District 8 twins on the last day of training that they would try to meet and stay as a group. Jameson told his fellow tribute from 7 that if she could find them she could join if she wanted to, but she just shrugged and told him maybe.

The cornucopia glared like a raging hot fire against the harsh sunlight, reflecting golden light into everyone's eyes. Jameson tried to get his bearings of the surrounding area but all he could see was white.

He understood quickly why his jacket was so thick and why his pants were lined with some kind of warm water proof material. He pulled his knitted hat more firmly over his ears as a harsh wind bit through his little exposed skin.

Snow.

The arena was a snow covered forest of pine trees nestled between three mountains. The sun was dazzling against the brilliant sparkling white of the snow and Jameson had seconds for his eyes to fully adjust- and take in what was directly in front of him.

“Let the 26th annual Hunger Games… BEGIN!” Announced the air before the bongs of the final countdown began.

Jameson knew he wouldn't stand a chance in the middle of the bloodbath, but he did see a small backpack not too far from him. And when the alarm rang out he bolted for it. About half the tributes slipped immediately and fell and Jameson nearly joined them. Catching himself on a knee before springing forward again.

He slid right past the backpack the first time because the entire ground around them was pristine glass-like ice, but he quickly scrambled back up- just in time to dodge a spear being thrown at him. He turned his torso just enough to avoid being stuck like a kebab as the spear stuck into the ice, sending a web of small cracks across the ground. Jameson didn't hesitate, he grabbed both the pale blue backpack and the spear sticking out of the ground. To say the least he was not great with a spear in training, but it was better than no weapon at all as he skated across the ice field- finally gaining traction in the snow at the edge of the field and sprinting for the treeline.

He didn't dare look back as he crashed through the naked brush. The echo of canons followed him the deeper into the sparse forest as he went. He knew he wouldn't be able to easily hide his footsteps, but neither could anybody else without great effort. So Jameson decided to get as much distance as he physically could and ignore the trail he blazed behind himself.

It took about an hour of traveling through ankle high powder before Jameson found a rock outcropping to hide under and take stock of his mystery supplies. He'd never been this exhausted in his entire life. Sure, he sometimes went and chopped up branches when they were too big for the wood chipper, but he worked in the paper mill. He wasn't a proper lumberjack. While he could climb trees and did so often, he was a shop kid who worked in the paper presses. He didn't have the same level of skill for scaling trees like a squirrel, or the stamina from long work days in the forests. Shaking the doubts in himself aside, he carefully started pulling everything out of the bag and laid it all in a neat row.

There wasn't much.

Thick dark tinted goggles, flint and steel, a shiny piece of plastic material that Jameson realized is a thermal blanket, a small pack of jerky, and an empty tin thermos that was already cold to the touch. And of course the spear, which looking at it now, Jameson saw it had something- someone's- blood on it already.

Okay. Horrifying. But he could work with this. Hell the silvery blanket was already way more than he could have prayed for in an environment like this.

He throughly cleaned the blood off the spear with snow- throwing some fresher powder over the stark red stain when he finished- and slipped the goggles on, already so thankful that he wasn't being blinded by the sparkling snow anymore. He was starting to get dark spots in his vision from looking at the blinding white for too long.

Jameson debated for a while after packing everything away if he should keep waiting for the twins here in the rocks or move on– when he heard the noise of snow crunching under foot.

Two sets of feet. But was it them?

Jameson tucked himself deep into the rocks, spear at the ready, he strained his ears to get an idea of who was here.

"Are you sure he went this way? I can barely see anything out here!" One person, a boy probably, whispered harshly. Jameson could hear his teeth chattering already from his hiding spot.

"Yes, I'm sure.” The second voice, probably a girl's, snapped. “Besides, we've followed the tracks this long. It's either JJ or somebody else. Let's just hope it's not that little boy from 10. He seemed like a sweetheart."

“Okay, but if they try to kill us I'm killing you again myself.”

The girl let out a snort for a laugh.

Jameson perked up at the familiar bickering and carefully peeked his head out from his hiding place. Immediately brightening when he saw the matching pair of friendly hazel eyes look in his direction when he called out.

As soon as they get into the outcropping Jameson says, "Are either of you hurt? Did you manage to grab anything before getting out of there?"

"Tim managed to get a few ice picks and some kind of spiked shoe cover things. I grabbed a bag of apples and some rope but that's it. Tim got into a bit of a scrape over the ice picks, but I shoved the girl off and we got away with only a few small cuts." Tamery said, vaguely waving to a thin slash going across her eyebrow and cheek but missing her eye entirely. Tim was sporting a few slashes in his jacket and a slightly bruised eye but that was about it. Jameson checked them over but there wasn't any deep gashes, so they should be fine. He gently pressed some clean snow to Tim's cheek and told Tamery to use clean snow and wash the blood off her eyebrow. They were all incredibly lucky.

Jameson wondered how long the luck would last.

It turned out, not even a day and a half.

The first night was horrible. Jameson and Tim wrapped themselves around Tamery as they all shared the thin thermal blanket. They had dug out a small burrow in the snow with their hands and ice picks, hiding themselves inside for the night. At least they weren't out in the wind or exposing themselves with a fire. Tim poked his head out like a rabbit when the projections of the dead tributes shone across the sky to the tune of the anthem.

When it finished, Tim snuggled back in, relaying the 5 tributes who were killed today in the bloodbath. He frowns and looks at Jameson, "I'm sorry, JJ, the girl from your District… she didn't make it..."

Jameson pales as Tamery hugs him tightly, he clings back and hides his face against her jacket, hoping the cameras couldn't see his tears while they were in the burrow.

No fire means no extra warmth, so the three huddle close and fitfully tried to sleep through the night.

As soon as the sun broke over the mountain the three went hunting. They had basic knowledge of snares from their training but not much in the way of hunting with weapons. Jameson took the rope from Tamery, unraveling it into thirds to make thinner cord and setting up some simple traps to hopefully catch some hares. Tim spotted the tracks for them so they crossed their fingers that it would work.

In the meantime they all debated the pros and cons of starting a fire.

It was daylight so it wouldn't be terribly noticeable like it would be at night, but the smoke could signal somebody to their location. However if they strayed from other tributes for too long the game makers would probably send something at them. Something far worse than getting jumped by a career pack.

They decided to risk it and built a small fire inside their burrow to conceal the smoke somewhat. Jameson shoved as much snow as he could into the cup of his thermos and set it on the coals to melt and hopefully boil. He repeated this several times while Tim kept watch. Tamery used the end of JJ's spear to slice into an apple and passed out slices to each of them.

It was quiet for the most part. They all decided to stick together and have nobody wander off. So when the trio went to go check on the snares for any rabbits, they were slightly more prepared to face off against the boy from District 4.

The fight was brutal, and Tamery thought her wrist was broken, but Tim got the final blow and used JJ's spear to finish off the other boy. The canon fired and Jameson immediately searched the boy's belongings for any food. Tamery debated shucking off his jacket, but Tim turned it down, queasy about the blood soaking through it. Instead he took the laces from the boy's boots and his gloves which were a little tight on Tim's hands but worked.

They watched the hovercraft carry away the body over the small mountain range and Jameson felt a little sick holding the new knife and small sack of bread. But what else could they have done? The boy was just as ready to kill them as they were. He swallowed back his tears and checked on the snares.

They decided to try and move uphill after making a splint out of branches and one of the boot laces for Tamery's wrist. Tim holds tightly to her other hand as Jameson leads them through the trees. It was when the sun was about to kiss the opposite mountain goodnight when a scream echoed up from deeper in the forest. Another canon sounded. Could have been anyone. They decided to make camp for the night.

About a quarter of the way up the mountain the next morning, they came across a pool of some kind. It was frozen over with a layer of powdered snow so they didn't have a good sight of what was under the ice. Tim tapped the glassy surface with his spear and it chimed like one of the crystal glasses at the dinner table back in the tribute's center. The hairs on the back of Jameson's neck stood up as he whipped his neck around. Something was off, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

"Hey, Tim? Maybe lets leave the weird glass pond alone." He says slowly, trying to pinpoint what changed. The ringing of the ice still sang around them in a sweet tune. Carrying much longer than it should have.

"But nothings happening?" Tim replied uneasily but lifted the spear to tap the surface again.

"Well don't do it again!" Tamery hissed, grabbing the spear to stop it. The twins began to bicker then there it was.

A low rumbling coming from higher up on the mountain they were climbing. All three heads slowly turned up and in the distance they saw a massive rolling wall of snow. It was somewhat unclear if tapping the lake caused it or another tribute higher up did, but they did not stick around to debate. Sprinting as fast as they could back down the mountain as the avalanche chased them with accelerating speed and hunger.

The avalanche was louder than anything Jameson had ever heard in his life, and he had visited the giant dam in District 7. But this, it was roaring loud and deep unlike anything Jameson had ever known.

He and the twins were going as fast as they could, but Tamery slipped on a hidden patch of ice so Jameson had to double back and help her up before they all kept sprinting into the trees.

"CLIMB!" Jameson commands as they make it a few trees in, he boosted up Tamery and Tim first before scampering up behind them. Unlike District 7 kids who have an innate ability to scale, it seems that District 8 kids don't have the same climbing ability. But they are going as quick as they could as Jameson looked back to the too-close avalanche. "Hold on! Hold on!" He called, wrapping his arms tight around the trunk of the tree and the twins do the same. He thinks Tamery is screaming in fear but its drowned out by the crashing sounds of the snow rushing into the forest. Jameson is just praying the tree holds steady and the snow doesn't pile high enough to bury them from the ground up.

The tree they cling to as a lifeboat shudders and threatens to give way a few times. Jameson pressed his forehead to the trunk and thought he faintly could feel his fingers bleeding from gripping so tight to the bark as stray snow and ice chunks pelt his back.

Jameson was about to call up to the twins and see how they were holding up- but something hit the back of his head. His eyes rolled in his head and blacked out almost immediately. The last thing he was conscious of was feeling his grip slip from the bark.

Then nothing.

°○°○°○°

In his dreams he's looking up at the gold dappled light through the trees. The first warm winds of spring blowing through the branches and his hair. He looks to his right and finds Maria- his Maple- using her deft fingers to weave a crown from the fresh green grass they were laying in. He reached towards her but there was some kind of unseen barrier between them. He sits up and touched it again, the invisible surface rippling under his fingers and Maria did not seem to notice him at all. But she did turn her head in the opposite direction, and Jameson followed her gaze.

The trees beyond them were breaking and curling forward, as if they were snapping joints into place to create some kind of rooted mass of a beast. Giant spikes for teeth and claws, the approximation of where eyes would be; burning like hot coals. But Maria didn't move, simply staring at the monster that was coming to kill her.

Panic settled into his bones, he started pounding on the invisible separation, screaming her name to no avail. He couldn't even hear himself. Just the gentle rustling of the leaves over head and the gnarled snapping of trunks and branches barreling towards them.

Maria slowly stood up and turned to face Jameson, and he jumped back in horror. Her eyes were now deep black gouges where sockets should be, her jaw hinged and hung low on her head, broken. She was made entirely out of wood. She was a wooden puppet and suddenly Jameson could see the strings that held her up disappearing into the dark sky above- when did it become dark? He looked back to her in horror, but her empty eyes stared empty into his. A block of wood acting as her hand waved to him. Jameson goes to put his hand over hers but found his hand had also been transformed into timber. Looking down so has the rest of himself, it was all roughly carved into a mockery of a person's body. He wanted to scream but he felt his jaw unable to move. He uselessly paws at his face and found that he doesn't even have a mouth.

James suddenly snapped his head up as the howling tree monster barreled into them both, breaking whatever barrier was there and snapping strings, trampling them both bodies into sawdust and splinters. He could feel the arm-like logs crush every part of him, collapsing what was once his ribcage and knocking Maria's head from her body entirely.

He tried to scream again, but the only sound came from inside his own head, as if he was trapped inside a wooden casket with no hope of escaping.

°○°○°○°

He's not sure how long he was out for, but when Jameson's eyes fluttered open it's a herculean effort to not let them close again and go back to sleep. His head throbbed in pain, but more so than that, he was cold, and his body immediately began shivering. Which in turn did not help his pounding headache and he groaned low in his chest.

Tim was the first one to enter his vision and the boy from eight's smile was like a ray of sunlight, "Good morning, James. Thought we really lost you out there. Have a good nap?" He laughed shakily, tucking some of Jameson's hair back under his hat and pulled it more snugly over his ears.

When he managed to push through the pain in his head and ask how long he had been out, Tamery pipes in that it had been about a day. The twins took turns explaining what had happened up in that tree.

Jameson got knocked out by something- a chunk of flying ice- and Tim leaped down to catch him. Tamery held onto Tim as he held onto Jameson's dangling body over the rushing snow. It was a miracle the branch didn't snap while it held all three of them at once. They used some of the rope to tie everyone to the trunk and they both held onto Jameson, hoping he wasn't dead.

Eventually the avalanche did stop, and weirdly it seemed like the extra snow just distributed itself across the arena evenly. Must have been some weird game maker stuff. They didn't spend too long thinking about it. The twins worked together to lower Jameson's body down and they assessed the damage. The back of Jameson's head was bleeding sluggishly, but after cleaning as much blood as they could they found it wasn't that deep of a cut- but it still left him out cold.

They loaded Jameson onto Tim's back and they started walking away from the mountain, seeking shelter so they could take care of each other. Tamery's wrist is properly broken now after trying to catch Tim and was sporting a new splint. The twins managed to find a tight cluster of pine trees and Tim dug out another burrow. Tamery held onto Jameson so he wouldn't lose more body heat and Tim started a low fire just outside their burrow. They needed to keep Jameseon warm as best they could.

5 tributes were killed in the avalanche.

Evidently, the fire did attract another tribute, but Tim had finished them off quickly and drug the body away from camp for pick up.

Jameson felt a bit numb. Already Tim had killed 2 other tributes. He looked over to him and could now see the slight hollow look in his eyes despite his easy grin.

"Why didn't you let me go?" Jameson asked, "You could have just dropped my body and let the avalanche take me. Why did you risk your necks for me?"

Tim scoffed like it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard, "Because we're a team. And I'm not the kind of man to let my friends go without a fight. You can't ditch us that easily, James.”

Friends. Jameson could feel both his stomach twist and his heart warm at the word. It was wonderful that the three of them had bonded, but then reality crashed back onto him like a dead tree.

Only one walks out. Only one person walks away from the arena alive.

He swallowed that down and pulled Tim into a hug the best he could while laying down. Faintly Jameson was aware they're on camera, so he reached his hand out to Tamery and pulled her into the hug as well.

That night, after they coaxed him into eating and drinking something, Jameson was squished between the twins. They had extinguished and buried the fire under snow, but Jameson still stayed awake for a while, listening to the world outside their little bubble.

There were no faces in the sky that night.

°○°○°○°

The next morning, they decided to stay hunkered down and give Jameson some time to recover.

Tamery checked to see if the coast was clear before collecting some sticks to build another small fire once the sun didn't cast the mountain's chilled shadow over their little sanctuary.

All things considered, they were doing okay. They had food and some water left, a small source of warmth and company.

"I didn't see any names last night. What about the night I was knocked out?" Jameson asked Tamery while Tim was out setting some more snares. They lost their original traps to the avalanche and the jerky and bread were gone.

Tamery hummed in thought as she set two apples next to the fire to roast them, "Girl from 12, and boy from 11 I think. I didn't really pay attention to all of them but I heard a few more canons during the avalanche so that's…" She paused to count in her head, "13 total? I think?"

Jameson nods slowly. 13 dead, and he would have been one of them if Tim's hand slipped. He's extremely grateful as he bites into his piece of the last frozen bread roll.

They spent about 2 days in this location. The trees provided cover and they had a good amount of food to ration thanks to the traps. The trio spoke quietly of their lives back home, the family and friends they miss dearly. They even swapped stories to pass the time and keep Jameson from focusing too much on his pain.

At some point, another canon fired in the distance, and some time later a silver parachute hangs itself neatly on a tree branch. Tim scampered quickly to get it and brought it back into the burrow.

They're not sure exactly who it was for, but inside was a steaming pot of hot chocolate. Little white puffs still floated around as steam lazily rose up. They each savored one large sip of the creamy drink before they decided to save the rest for later. For a special occasion.

The next morning Jameson decided he's well enough to move again. The twins shared a doubtful look with each other but they packed up camp anyway. The trio decided to head for the opposite mountain. Tamery pointed out that there wasn't snow at the top of one so maybe the rocks were warmer somehow? They didn't think too hard about it, the hot chocolate helped a little but the cold had been slowly getting to them. They needed to move.

Unfortunately they weren't the only ones who had this same idea about the rocks without snow.

When they got to the rock shelf up on the mountain they quickly realized it was occupied.

A fight broke out and everything happened so fast Jameson barely processed any of it at the moment.

Two larger tributes were cooking at a fire when the trio approached. They had a sword and an axe and they rushed the three of them. Tamery tried using her good hand to swing an ice pick but it was barely any good. Jameson tackled the girl with the axe and wrestled her for it, ripping it from her hands as Tim stabbed at the boy with the spear. Jameson rolled away from the girl and kicked some of the hot coals into the other boy's face- causing him to thrash wildly with the sword. It had cut Tim's arm deep enough for him to drop the spear and the other girl to nab it. Tamery came around behind her however and plunged an icepick into the girl's back. The other boy screamed and turned on Jameson, but Tim stepped in front of him as the sword plunged deep into Tim's side.

Jameson was in shock and couldn't move- watched Tim fall to his knees clutching his side. Tamery snarled and leaped at the bigger boy. Jameson didn't see what she did because he was focused on Tim, but soon enough two canons fired and Tamery limped back over. Covered in blood. Jameson was just quick to leap and catch Tim as he finally topped over.

Tamery's face broke as she fell to her knees with them and ripped her brother away from Jameson's hands to hold him close herself. She wailed into the quickly cooling night air and Jameson crawled over to be by them. Taking Tim's hand he whispered to him over and over again, "I'm sorry, Tim. I'm so sorry. Why would you do that-? You- I'm so sorry…"

Tamery tried her best to choke off her tears as she pressed her hand over the rapidly spreading red stain on her brother's light blue jacket.

Tim coughed faintly, his breathing was shallow but he looked up to the two above him. His lips cracked as he smiled again, "Mind.. mind singing me away, James? Better-" He coughs again, specks of blood spraying out. "Better to hear that than my dumb sister crying." He chuckled wetly.

Tamery smacked him, but it was barely a tap. She pressed her forehead to his and tried to swallow her tears and noises down.

Jameson quickly wiped his eyes and nodded quickly. He took a shaky breath and started to sing a gentle tune, never letting go of Tim's already cold hand. A song about the warmth of home and being surrounded by those who love you most. Jameson cursed himself for letting his voice shake, but Tim didn’t seem to mind. His hazel eyes drifted from his beloved twin back to Jameson and finally settled onto the sky. Strange lights of greens and blues and purples danced over their heads. Tim thought they are the most beautiful colors he had ever seen.

His hand went slack in Jameson's and the canon fired.

It took a long time to pull Tamery away from her brother's body after Jameson slipped the other tribute's and Tim's unneeded supplies into his own backpack.

"Tam, we have to go-"

"No! I'm not leaving him!"

"Tamery, it's not safe here- more people will be coming soon. We have to move!" He pleaded.

"Fuck you, James! Its your fault this happened! If you had just-"

"What could I have done?! We were both fighting and he stepped in front of me! So much was happening I-"

"YOU COULD HAVE NOT LET MY BROTHER DIE!" She screamed, her voice echoing across the arena. "IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU!" It felt like the whole mountain shook under the weight of her grief.

Jameson swallowed hard and set his mouth into a tight line. He knew deep down she was right. But there wasn't anything he could do. In that moment he swore he was going to get them off that fucking mountain. The easy way, or the hard way.

Turned out, to nobody's surprise, it was the hard way. Jameson had to pry Tamery away from her twin's body and practically drag her down the mountainside kicking and screaming. Which was impressive in its own right because she gained a massive gash in her leg to match her broken wrist during the fight.

It took about an hour for Jameson to find a cave and pull Tamery inside. She was exhausted at that point, refusing to look at JJ as he did his best to clean and wrap her injuries with the new medical kit he took. He handed her a cup of water from the thermus and some rabbit meat and sat against the opposite wall to her. She spent a long time just staring at the objects in her hands uncomprehendingly before she finally took a bite. When she did, Jameson suppressed a sigh of relief as he moved to make a small fire on the stone floor. They're deep enough in the cave he wasn't too worried about their light being spotted immediately.

Though upon lighting the small blaze he realized they're not a cave. What he thought was the back of the cave seemed to stretch further into total darkness. It was a tunnel. A tunnel that stretches past the pitiful light of the fire and down deep into the heart of the mountain. Jameson swallowed hard then suddenly hoped Tamery didn't notice. What could be in there?

Tamery didn't notice as she pulled her knees close to her chest and buried her face in her arms, effectively blocking out the world. Jameson's heart broke for her. He could not even begin to fathom what must have been going through her head. Losing a sibling was one thing, but your twin? The person you had literally spent your entire life with? That was something else entirely.

"Guess I'll take the first watch." He mumbled to himself half heartedly, warming his hands over the small fire and scanning back and forth. From the pitch black night at the mouth of the cave, back into the pitch black nothingness in the throat of the tunnel. The fire seemed to temporarily protect them from being swallowed with its small bubble of golden light.

He didn't dare to even hum to comfort himself, afraid that a tune would carry farther than he'd think and alert someone- or something, whatever- to their location.

Jameson watched the coals burn low and wondered to himself if he could have done anything to save Tim. Maybe it should have been Jameson that died on the mountainside with the twins watching over him instead. But no. He stepped in the way, and Jameson couldn't stop stubborn Tim even if he had a chance to try.

Jameson's head was dipping dangerously low when he decided he couldn't stay awake any longer. He got up and gently shook Tamery awake, but she wasn't asleep at all. Her gray eyes rimmed red and her cheeks were damp. Heavy purple bags rested under her eyes as tears quickly cooled her face. Jameson took Tim's- his glove off to wipe them away before they froze to her skin.

They stared at each other, grief and regret bouncing between them like a hall of never ending mirrors, until Tamery grabbed his jacket front and pulled, hugging Jameson tight. He did not hesitate to return it just as fiercely.

Backs against the cave wall, Jameson dozed on Tamery's shoulder with the thermal blanket wrapped around them both. They didn't utter a word to each other as the fire flickered out.

°○°○°○°

It was hard to tell what time Jameson was shaken awake. It was still dark outside the cave's mouth and Tamery looked panicked as she slapped her good hand over his mouth. Jameson was about to protest when there was the sound of something inside the tunnel.

Breathing. Low and slow. Sleeping.

Their eyes silently met and communicated. As fast as they dared, the two picked up their camp and carefully made their way to the mouth of the tunnel. Pausing every few steps to let the faint crunching sounds of their boots on rock settle back into harsh silence.

A shift and rumble of an unseen beast's body made them pause after a few more steps. Daring to look back, they saw a set of glowing yellow eyes illuminated in the darkness.

There was a beat of stillness.

Jameson and Tamery bolted, practically threw themselves out of the mouth of the tunnel and down the mountainside like two bullets shooting from a gun. All the while an enormous furred beast chased them with slobbering snarls and booming steps. When it roared, Jameson and Tamery couldn't stop their own screams of terror as they fled, half running and half rolling down the lower part of the snow covered mountain.

Adrenaline gave them the wings to fly through the ice-covered powder in the dim early morning light and Jameson's mind reeled.

Where could they even go?

There were very few places to hide, and there was no way Tamery could climb a tree fast enough with her leg. His head throbbed with the remnants of his lingering concussion.

Suddenly, an idea hit Jameson like a block of ice.

"Get to the cornucopia!" He yelled, turning on his heel as he threw the axe at the hulking white monster that was all dingy white fur and yellowed teeth. Some kind of muttation that Jameson vaguely figured was inspired by a bear of some kind. If the bear was built like a brick house and had two extra rows of shark teeth where its gums should be.

The axe struck the creature in the shoulder but it easily dislodged from its flesh, the weapon flying away in an arch before being lost to the powder immediately. But it bought Jameson enough time to catch up to Tamery who was limping as fast as she could. He managed to help drag her along and he forced himself to ignore her cries of pain. He yelled encouragingly at her to keep moving. Just keep running. They were almost there!

As soon as they broke through the trees that surrounded the golden cornucopia, the careers who made camp inside it immediately burst out with weapons drawn. When the beast shatters two trees in its rampage, however, the tribute's faces turn from a pack of dogs on a hunt, to a bunch of terrified children.

There was a flurry of confusion as Jameson and Tamery ran across the ice- the cleats on their boots gripping into the ice and allowed them to not slip on their asses. In fact, it allowed Jameson to shove Tamery out of the way as they split off, sending her skidding across the ice with a shout and allowing the giant beast- with no traction on the ice- to slide right into the career pack.

The sounds of screams and crunching bones filled the crisp morning air and Jameson froze for a moment to witness the carnage.

The stark contrast of bright red blood on the pristine white snow was dizzying. He could feel the meager dinner from last night churn in his stomach, but he had no time to throw up, as one of the careers from District Two tackled him to the ground. She was furious, yelling at Jameson and trying to plunge a massive hunting knife into his head. He dodged left and right before getting his spiked boots under her and kicking her off to go sliding- away from the beast.

A couple arrows stuck out from its matted fur but it barely seemed to notice as he was tearing into the stomach of the girl from 1. Jameson quickly scrambled to his feet and looked for Tamery in the confusion, spotting her darting into the mouth of the cornucopia. He quickly joined her and they both hid behind a black crate, splattered in the blood from the other tributes.

Tamery clutched her freshly bleeding leg. Teeth clenched so she wouldn't cry out when Jameson put pressure on her reopened wound with a cloth. They both listened for an agonizingly long time as the beast tore the small career pack to shreds. The wet sounds of meat being torn from bone and whimpers of agony ringing out into the air as snow began to fall. Snowflakes immediately melting into the warm pools of blood.

Jameson located a small handheld crossbow among the piles of supplies located inside their hiding place. He loaded it as quietly as he could. He knew it wouldn't do much against that creature, but if a tribute came in there all it would take is one shot to the head…

The sound of the three booming canon shots seemed to scare the beast back to its cave, grunting and huffing with every step to keep its balance on the ice.

Jameson and Tamery stayed where they were, not wanting to expose themselves to survivors or draw the attention of the monster back.

They waited and listened as the hovercrafts retrieved the dead before they let out matching sighs of relief. Jameson handed the crossbow to Tamery before moving to check on her leg. The torn cloth bandage was soaked through so Jameson turned his back to look for a medical kit, “They have to have some proper bandages stashed somewhere in h-”

He froze in place when he heard the click of the safety being flicked off of the crossbow. Horrified, Jameson didn't need to turn around to know that Tamery had the bolt trained on Jameson's back. He slowly lifted his hands in surrender and turned around to face the stand-alone twin.

Jameson searched her face and could barely get the whisper out around the knot in his throat, "Why?"

Tamery just shook her head, face hard set with tears cutting through the smudges of grime and blood on her face. "Get. Out." She spat through her teeth. Jameson felt himself shaking.

Confused and still pumped with adrenaline. He shook his head and went to speak again but she cut him off, "Get out, Jameson Jackson! I don't want anything more to do with you!" Her voice was rough, it starkly contrasted the anguished scream from last night with a coldness that cut through Jameson's bones. "You have put me and my brother into so much danger. It was your idea to climb that mountain and it was your idea to lead that THING into the careers! How long until you get me killed with your stupid plans! Just like Tim!" Her eyes narrowed, “Was that your game plan from the start? Make us trust you then get us all murdered?”

“No! Tamery I would never-”

“Bullshit! One one of us walks out of here Jameson Jackson and it shouldn't be you.”

"Then why don't you pull the trigger?" Jameson asked, his chest twisted into a harsh knot. This is probably the first time in his life he has truly felt betrayal.

Tamery hesitated. Jameson could see her hand shaking the small crossbow, "Because," she took a deep breath, her hazel eyes once holding glimmers of a rainbow, now were dark like a raging thunderstorm, "Because Tim would be so disappointed in me."

For the second time in 24 hours, Jameson's heart shattered.

“Tamery-”

“Go.” She growled, baring her teeth with a cornered animal.

Jameson swallowed hard and slowly stood up, never turning his back on the crossbow trained on him as he grabbed a sack of random supplies. He wanted to say goodbye, but something from the treeline startled him. He took off running as soon as left the mouth of the cornucopia.

He swore he could feel his heart bleeding in his ribcage.

This was the nature of the games. It was better this way. Better than having your friend kill you at the end of the line. He held in a sob.

Jameson ran deep into the forest before scaling a tree, wrapping his arms around the trunk and allowing himself to break. Just a little. Hastily wiping the tears from his cheeks before they could freeze to his skin. Taking deep shaky breaths he tried to center himself again. But the images of Tim dying and Tamery's fury flashed in his mind and the tears started up all over again.

He had to get it together. Tamery had half of the supplies when they escaped the cave so Jameson maybe had a day or two left of food if he rationed. She took the flint and steel as well as his silver thermal blanket. Upon searching the sack of supplies he hastily grabbed, all he could find was more rope, a knife, and some sort of.. wheels? He picked one out of the bag and realized it was a pulley. There were only a few of them but the rope threaded into them perfectly.

Gears turned in Jameson's mind and he started formulating a plan. Afterall, there were only so many of them left.

Going back to their old camp in the cluster of trees, Jameson began using his ice pick to dig a new burrow. But he wouldn't be sleeping in there. No, under a layer of snow, Jameson carefully laid out a rope snare that led back to the highest tree in the cluster. Carefully weighted with a heavy branch, all Jameson had to do was wait for someone to go inside and investigate and the trap would go off.

He built a fire, not caring that it gave away his position in the quickly setting light. That was the point. He toasted the last apple, boiled more snow into water, and sipped the hot chocolate. The sweet creaminess of it felt bitter in Jameson's stomach now, but it was warm and filling. He threw some green pine branches onto the fire, immediately making it more smoky, before he traced his own steps in the snow towards the big tree. Jameson had made sure to thoroughly stomp around the area so his tracks would be harder to follow to his hiding place. He shook some of the lower branches free of their snow, just for added measure.

Then he hunkered down in a high up branch and waited.

This was by far his worst night in the games.

Without Tim and Tamery's body heat or the protection of the thermal blanket, Jameson could feel his body heat being leached out of him with every gust of frigid wind. He tried to see it as a blessing when the snowflakes started coming down in larger globs. The fact that it was snowing at all meant it was technically warmer than a cloudless night sky. And feeling the snow pile against his back, he convinced himself it would add more cover from the wind. Jameson pulled the hood of his jacket tight over his face and tried to stay upright.

His head was pounding from his concussion and the exertion of the day. Between that and the bitter cold he wanted so badly to just sleep. He didn't feel the cold as much when he slept, but he knew it would be a bad idea.

Catching himself dozing, Jameson began to wrap some extra rope around himself and the trunk of the tree when he heard it.

Snap!

Jameson tried not to jump, instead freezing in place and listening carefully to the movements below.

In the distance he heard a canon fire.

Who was that? Tamery? Jameson thought to himself before getting thrown back into his own situation.

He looked down and saw a tribute, cautiously walking into his fake camp like a nervous rabbit, ready to bolt at any moment. It was hard to tell who it was- they were bundled so much in a long blue scarf that Jameson couldn't see much of their face. But it didn't matter.

Setting his resolve, Jameson put a hand on the log weight attached to his trap and watched as the tribute approached the fire. He watched the tribute take their thin gloves off to warm their hands- Jameson could see from his place in the tree that their fingers were blue. Almost touching the licking flames with seemingly no fear of being burned.

They did this for a minute, giving up as they turned to the burrow, carefully crawling inside hoping to seek shelter from the wind.

There was pressure on the rope.

With a heaving push, Jameson shoved the heavy log out of its wedge and the rope snapped tight, ensnaring whoever was inside by their ankles as it dragged them out. The burrow collapsed on top of them before their body got ripped across the firepit. They let out a scream as the hot coals caught on their clothes and started to burn almost immediately. But the rope and pulley system Jameson rigged wasn't finished in its trajectory. Jameson must have miscalculated- because it practically flung the tribute into the air before gravity clutched them in its fist and slammed them back down onto the frozen earth. It looked as though something invisible grabbed the tribute's chest and tried to drag their heart directly into the ground.

There was a sickening thud and crunch, but no canon fire. Jameson scuttled down his tree with his knife in his teeth. He didn't want whoever that was to suffer- so without even registering their frostbitten face, he plunged the knife down. Through their scarf, and into their throat.

The canon sang.

This was the first person Jameson had directly killed. Sure, he led the beast to the career pack, but before that it was Tim and then Tamery who had actual blood on their hands. This was the first time it properly stained his now-gray gloves.

Red oozed from the tribute's neck, seeping deep into the pristine white snow. Globs of snowflakes were already working hard to try and cover the red as Jameson cut the tribute's ankles free and backed away into the shadow of the falling sun's light.

As soon as the craft crested back over the mountain out of sight, the Panem anthem began to play, displaying the faces of those who had fallen that day.

Three out of four members of the career pack, someone Jameson barely recognized from the training center, and the little boy from 10. The one Tamery wished would join their party if they ever found him. Was he the one Jameson just killed?

He immediately discarded the thought, knowing it to be true deep down but if he let it, the thought would break him.

No, that person was too big to be the boy. He remembered the twelve year old being so much smaller. It couldn't have been him. But he was so much lighter than Jameson expected for any of the older tributes…

He slammed the lid shut on that train of thought before it could go any further. He screwed it tight and hid it away deep in his mind. He couldn't afford to lose his grip now.

Only one walks out.

It shouldn't have been Jameson.

It should have been that little boy.

What did they all think of him now back home in District 7?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Jameson carefully took apart his trap and stashed everything in his backpack. Sparing a glance to the blood stain in the snow before turning harshly and walking out of the ring of trees.

He couldn't stay here and let the guilt swallow him whole.

°○°○°○°

Trudging through the snow was difficult when it had gotten to knee-height and he could barely see in front of his own face. Jameson forced himself to keep moving, steering clear of the hollow areas under the trees where no snow collected.

He remembered his aunt warning him and Maria never to play in them when they were children. Yes, it looked like a perfect place to build a fort, but Marry grabbed one of the branches and gave the whole tree a harsh shake. It sent pounds of snow crashing down through the branches and filled the gap almost instantly.

"You would be buried under there and suffocate in the snow. Nobody would be able to find your tiny bodies until spring when it all melts away."

Maria had burst into tears at the scary thought, but they both got the message loud and clear.

Still, the patches of dry-ish earth under the canopy of a pine tree looked extremely inviting. A shelter ready and waiting to keep someone trapped forever. Maybe one of the faces in the sky had tried that already.

How many of them were left now? Jameson thought to himself, shivering with each step he took. He counted in his head as he wrapped his arms around himself.

He had to stop when he realized.

Killing that other tribute meant that Jameson was now in the top three. Everything was happening so fast in the games he barely registered that they had made it that far.

It was him. Tamery. And the career girl from District 2.

Jameson immediately scaled up a tree to hide, a new shot of adrenaline heating him from his core. Surely the game makers wanted a grand show for the finale. So what on earth could it be?

It took about an hour of him clinging to the tree, the cold slowly tempting him to doze off when he got his answer.

The mountain with no snow on its top, it wasn't a mountain at all.

It was a volcano.

The top of it burst into a shower of orange fire and rock. All Jameson could do was watch in horror as the lava rapidly spewed out like a giant canopy, sending burning rock and magma across the entire arena.

But after the first spew, Jameson watched helplessly as the main river of lava flowed directly towards the cornucopia. Replacing the ice field with boiling magma. The steam from rapidly melting snow connecting with the unrelenting lava blocked out any visibility in a barrier of white. Jameson couldn't see what was happening down there but all he could think about was Tamery.

All of the lava seemed to flood directly into the ice field, but burning hunks of rock still flew across the entire arena, catching some patches of the forest on fire in an instant. Jameson knew he had to move, but where could he go?

Even if he did try to run away, the game makers would try to either flush him back towards the others or lead them to him. He was paralyzed with indecision until he heard the canon fire. Jameson snapped his head up to the sky to see the image of Tamery, his friend from District Eight, blaze across.

“Tamery…” Jameson whispered, willing himself not to let it come out as a cry.

Something inside of him shifted. It was like he was drawn back into his own mind as his body moved without his input.

Jameson climbed down the tree, ignoring how the top had caught alight.

He couldn't fully comprehend what he was doing or what was happening around himself. His hands moved independently from his mind.

Tying knots, looping rope around branches, a small ball of fire whizzing past his cheek-

He chased the ball of fire to where it landed. It had melted a deep hole through the snow and partway into the ground. He followed it with his ice pick and started to dig.

By god did he dig.

His icepick moved fast but rhythmically down, down, down into the earth as the world around him began to glow brighter.

At some point he found himself grunting with effort to climb out of the hole he had made.

How had he dug that so fast? It didn't matter.

Jameson watched his stiff hands as they set up a very similar snare to the one he made earlier that morning. The one that killed the small boy from District 10. Only someone so small could have flown so high.

Jameson found himself wishing that this trap would actually work on someone bigger than a scrawny twelve year old.

It didn't matter. His mind blurred as he finished his project, not fully sure what this thing would do but he covered the pit with a layer of pine branches and snow.

Jameson climbed a tree that wasn't on fire and waited.

Naturally, the game makers didn't want this going on forever, so it wasn't long until Jameson heard crashing footsteps and unhinged laughter from the woods. The girl from District 2 staggered into view from below, and Jameson felt nothing.

Dancing flames licked at the trees behind her as she called into the night air in a sing-song voice, “Jaaaamesooonnn,” She sang and Jameson became an ice statue.

“Jamie-son, Jamie-son, Jamie-son JACK-son!” The girl sang in the same jaunty tune that Lucky Flickerman had playfully done at the interview. He could see her now through the branches, half of her body was covered in cuts and burns, her snow clothes flaked away from her in chunks of ash. “Come on out, little songbird.” She mocked in a cooing tone, another cackle seemed to rip from her throat unbidden, “COME ON OUT!” She yelled, arms throwing her loaded bow around with an arrow nocked into place.

Between the cave beast attack and the volcano, she must have completely lost her mind. Her voice dipped low as she scanned the trees around her, singing quietly in a haunting tone, “Come out, come out wherever you are…” She giggled as if this was a child's game of hide and seek.

Jameson felt himself slipping, so he carefully tried to shift his weight to get a better hold onto the tree-

The branch snapped under his hand in betrayal. As quickly as it broke the girl from 2 let an arrow fly, striking him directly in the knee.

A cry rips from Jameson as he feels his entire kneecap shatter on impact. One hand shook as it hovered over the arrow sticking out of his body and he debated if he should pull it or not.

Jameson's gaze locks onto the girl just as she shot another arrow at him like he was an unsuspecting squirrel clinging to the bark. His hand flew up instinctively to try and catch the bolt as it lodged right into his throat.

He tried to gasp as Jameson fell from the tree like a bird shot from the air. His leg with the arrow through it slammed against a branch on his way down before he fell onto his side in a pile of snow. He was choking on his own blood as he tried to grip the arrow in his neck, too in shock to pull it out or do anything at all except struggle to breathe through the blood.

As he desperately struggled to breathe, the girl from two couldn't stop laughing. Her cackle ringing like scrapes on a chalkboard through the air. He looked at her with one eye that wasn't full of snow and just watched her, unable to do anything else.

Her arms were clutched over her stomach, her laugh howled like one of those hyena muttations Jameson had seen the year prior. She dropped her bow and stumbled around in circles, smiling wide at the sky, “Ladies and gentlemen!” She called, the cloud of her breath easily seen as she stepped backwards towards Jameson, “Your winner… of the HUNGER G-”

Her words were cut short as she stepped back, directly into the hole that Jameson had dug.

Her weight broke through the thin layer of branches that concealed the pit and her body dropped down like a bag of stones. She screamed before the rope caught around her throat- cutting off her windpipe and quickly snapping her neck thanks to the extra height of the short drop.

Jameson lied there, dumbfounded and drowning in his own blood when he heard the canon fire.

It was like a dream when a disembodied voice spoke like a fading radio in Jameson's ear, “Ladies and gentlemen, our winner for the 26th Hunger Games!”

Jameson allowed himself to close his eyes as the fire blazed around him. He finally felt warm even as the snow tried to blanket him in white.

°○°○°○°

They told him it was two days later when he woke up.

For what felt like a short eternity, floating in the darkness of his own head, Jameson Jackson was certain that he was dead.

He was certain that if he kept searching this void he was in, eventually he would find his parents and maybe the twins somewhere. But no.

When his eyes fluttered open, he knew immediately he was alive because everything hurt.

His head was pounding, he couldn't move his leg, and his throat felt like he swallowed some of that lava directly. When he cried out in pain his voice sounded gargled, completely unrecognizable. It had even hurt to whisper.

Very quickly the doctors ordered him not to speak as they injected morphling into his system. The drug dulled the pain almost instantly, and all other emotions that tried surface as well, allowing him to float on a pink cotton cloud of blissful nothingness.

He was very lucky, so they told him. It was hard to believe anything when his mind felt like cloud soup.

They said they were quick to extract him from the arena. That they were able to save his leg for the most part though he would probably walk with a limp. And they said they managed to drain the blood that had collected in his lungs. But there was something else.

A doctor with a soothing voice, one that was kind and had a soft face full of sympathy, gently told Jameson that they weren't so lucky with his vocal cords.

It was a miracle in itself; the chin of his locket had caught the arrow just enough so it wouldn't fully enter his throat. It was that small amount of extra resistance that saved his life. But he was still pierced in just the right way. The woman held his hand and told him he would probably never speak clearly again.

These words didn't sink in until they weaned him off the morphling two weeks later. Then it came to him all at once like a crushing wave.

Jameson Jackson would never speak again.

Jameson Jackson… would never sing again.

He followed the doctor's orders and did not even so much as hum. They gave him a wheelchair that his mentor used to push him onto the stage to meet Lucky Flickerman again. The show host obviously carried the conversation after a joke about him being quieter than an avox as they went over the two hour highlight reel of the games.

The world around Jameson was completely gray. Eyes not able to focus on anything as everyone's words sounded like his head was completely underwater.

He felt hollowed out, like an empty puppet getting moved across a stage without any of the strings in his own hands.

At some point, Jameson registered that he was finally home, back in District 7, but it wasn't his original house. No, they carted him directly to one of the houses in the Victor's Village where his Aunt Marry had already begun moving some of their belongings into it.

For a long time Jameson just stayed curled up on the couch. Staring off into space or gazing into the fire with a heavy pile of blankets over him. He vaguely understood when people came to see him, but none of the pairs of legs or blurred faces registered in his brain. The gentle fingers that ran through his hair were unfamiliar as they lulled him into fitful nights of sleep.

He didn't really know when he came back to himself. But one day, Jameson found himself sitting in front of the fireplace as it was burning low with glowing embers and.. wood shavings?

Jameson looked down, confused, at his hands and was surprised to find a whittling knife in one and a piece of wood in the other. The wood didn't have a defined shape, not really. He slowly turned it in his hands trying to decipher what it was he was making with curiosity. It looked vaguely like an oval. All the corners and edges were rounded, but nothing else remarkable aside from the texture.

Looking down at himself again, he found his lap full of wood shavings, some shifted as he lifted his arms in mild bewilderment. There was way more than what should have accounted for the wood piece currently in his hand.

He blinked, unsure how he got here, but tentatively resumed adding to the pile. The glide of the small sharp knife steadying his mind.

Some of the wood shavings flew off into the fire as he worked and Jameson realized that's probably why he was sat here. To get as many pieces as he could into the fire and then mostly likely sweep the rest in afterwards.

But he didn't remember where he got these things. He didn't remember moving from the couch. How long had be been sat here?

Upon registering that he did, in fact, have a body, his leg screamed.

Jameson tried to scream too, but it came out sounding horrible. Choked off and gnarled and like it's still full of pine smoke. Jameson dropped his tool and gripped his leg tight, trying desperately to stop the shooting pain that traveled from his knee to his ankle and all the way back up to his hip and spine. Every movement felt like knives in his bones as hot tears rolled down his face as he let out strangled sobs.

This seemed to alert someone nearby because Aunt Marry quickly came around the doorway, completely in shock. But it passed as she rushed to him with someone Jameson couldn't see behind her in tow.

When they got Jameson back to the couch and brushed off most of the wood shavings, they carefully helped to prop his leg up on a stool. He kept his eyes screwed shut as the waves of pain rolled through him. A hand found his own and he squeezed.

A minute later when the pain finally subsided, Jameson opened his eyes to see tanned hands holding out a small plate of food and a cup of water. He takes the cup and plate in shaky hands as he finally looked to his Aunt beside him, and up at the girl before him.

Maria. His Maple. She was here and smiling down at Jameson with barely contained joy.

“Map-” He tried to say, but his throat felt like it caught fire again, sending him into a coughing fit. He felt soothing hands on his back and heard Marry gently encourage him to drink the water.

He did and it's the most refreshing cup of water he has ever had in his life- downing the rest of the cup quickly.

Maria pulls one of the plush chairs over and sits in front of Jameson as his aunt sits close at his side, an arm wrapped around his shoulders protectively.

Maria begins to sign, “I… We thought you were gone for good, Jamie.”

It takes a second for Jameson's brain to click back into place to remember how to sign, but tentatively he does so back, “I think I was. For a little while.”

Maria's honey brown eyes sparkled with tears, “But you're back. You're home.”

For the first time, it actually hit him.

Jameson Jackson had won the Hunger Games.

He had won and now he was home again. Home with his aunt and his best friend and his District. He felt a lump form in his throat trying not to cry. He just opened his arms out to Maria.

She didn't hesitate as she threw herself from the chair into his arms, both of them clinging to each other like either of them would disappear if they let go. Aunt Marry wrapped her arms around both of them and they sat quietly like that for a very long time, bodies shaking from time to time with tears of relief.

°○°○°○°

The flashbacks had become part of Jameson's new normal. Alongside with his leg occasionally giving out from under him and needing a cane to walk, and almost exclusively using sign language to communicate, the flashbacks and nightmares have become part of his routine.

He does pick up the lumberjack's woodpecker code for easier translation around town- tapping out small phrases against his cane fashioned from an off cut oak branch- but he doesn't get much of a chance to use it when something reminds him of the games. A sound of breaking bone from the butcher, a particular cackling laugh, the first cold wind of winter- his mind slipped back into the arena.

Most often it just makes Jameson freeze, mind drifting off and becoming unresponsive. But on more than one occasion now, Jameson has snapped back into himself when a large pair of peacekeeper arms hoisted him into the air. He quickly took stock and realized he attacked another person in the middle of the square. The people around him looked a mixture of angry and terrified.

Another part of his new normal, for obvious reasons, was the people of District 7 began to avoid Jameson. Either from politeness, a fear of awkward conversation, wariness due to his actions outside the games, or even to avoid their own sadness of never hearing him sing again. It didn't matter.

They kept their distance. And in turn so did Jameson.

He would only leave his house to purchase food or more off cuts of timber, then go back to his house as quickly as his leg would allow. No friendly waves. No lingering. No small talk. Keeping everyone at arm's length so he wouldn't reach for them when his mind replaced their faces with the boy's who killed Tim.

°○°○°○°

The Victor's Village was left mostly untouched for a long time in 7, having only been built a handful of years ago along with Snow's changes of the entire proceedings of how the games were conducted.

The houses were a bit gaudy in Jameson's opinion. Though, he did enjoy the extra privacy being separated from the rest of the District gave. But he knew Aunt Marry wasn't as thrilled about it.

Before going on his Victory Tour, Aunt Marry told Jameson that she had decided to move back into their old home over their small general goods store. Jameson tried not to take it personally, he knew Marry's knees weren't like they used to be and the shop was on the opposite side of town. He told her it was alright and pulled his childhood wagon that carried her things.

The camera crew came a week before he was set to board the train, and Jameson gave them a tour of his new home. Showing off a small collection of the creations he has whittled since being home again.

It was a new thing the Capital was trying along with many other ideas. The victor of the Quarter Quell, a girl named Marvin from District 4, was so fascinating to the citizens of the Capital that they wanted to see more of her after her victory. So they sent a crew to her home and interviewed her. She showed off the hobby she picked up to spend her free time and the people adored it. Marvin's pastime was tying overly intricate, decorative nets- weaving beads and crystals and colorful pieces of coral into some. So because of this popular concept, Jameson was advised to do something similar to show to the people of Panem on television what the heck he's been up to. Minus the nightmares, the flashbacks, the crippling anxiety, and the chronic pain he now dealt with.

So he stuck with wood carving.

He whittled a myriad of things by that point. Mostly animals he would see running around their forests. Figurines of squirrels, birds, little bears. He also tried creating more complicated things. Spinning tops, perfectly smooth spheres, pipes. And… dolls.

The camera crew actually flinched when Jameson first pulled them out.

Little dolls with linked-together limbs, they could be moved about by strings from above. Jameson had made a little under a dozen wooden marionettes that were carefully carved and painted to resemble tributes from his games.

The girl from District Two who shot him. The little boy from District Ten he killed with the trap. The three careers that were killed by the snow beast mutt. The two larger tributes up on the mountain that killed Tim. Tamery and Tim. And finally, one of himself. That one wasn't as carefully made as the others, Jameson's stylist pointed out, “I think the leg on this one is broken. And there's some kind of scratch here on the neck.” Jameson pretended not to hear the comment.

“I plan to carve all the other tributes,” Aunt Marry translated Jameson's sign for the cameras when they started rolling. “I may not have interacted with many of them personally, but it's my way of trying to honor their memory.” That collected a round of heart-warmed coos from the crew, despite their obvious discomfort of how creepy the whole hobby seemed to them.

“The faces freak me out, JJ!” One of the members of his prep team had cried when he first saw them, “They almost look dead!”

“They are.” He signed and Marry translated uneasily.

They stopped making comments about the puppets after that and tried to wrap up filming quickly. Good. He wanted them all out of his house.

Yes, Jameson did want to honor the fallen in some way of his own. But in reality, this strange hobby was one of the only ways for him to stop seeing the dead in his nightmares.

He would lock himself away in the attic of the house and spend days, sometimes even weeks on a single marionette. Carving and painting away in hopes that the subject's ghost would stop haunting him in his dreams. But they would always come back eventually.

The completion of each project gave ease for a few days, not showing up in Jamesons dreams at all. But a new face would take their place. The previous ghost would come back occasionally, but they were no longer screaming.

Each stroke of the knife dug the tribute out from a prison of wood, revealing their features so they were no longer trapped in an awful, dark place. The only time his hands didn't tremble was when he painted them.

°○°○°○°

Returning from the Victory Tour around the entire country, Jameson was exhausted.

Smiling for the cameras and standing in the center of the stage signing to the families of the fallen tributes. He didn't try to say anything other than what was written on the cards. Jameson found out quickly when trying to say more to the parents of Tim and Tamery in District 8, that his Capital escort did not actually know sign language, so she was completely lost as a “translator” if he went off script. He tried not to be too upset, it wasn't her fault, but he felt completely silenced by the restraints. There were so many apologies and pleads for forgiveness that the lone standing parents would never get to hear. Jameson just prayed that they could see all the anguish in his eyes and hoped it would be enough. I would never be enough.

The only positive thing out of the entire trip was that he got to meet a handful of the Victors from previous games.

Marvin from District 4, and Henrik from District 3 connected with Jameson quickly and he really liked them. He made pleasant conversation with them once he had acquired a small notepad and pen.

Marvin was clever and playful in that almost sharp cat-like way. She laughed easily and was liberal with any shreds of gossip she heard from her time in the Capital. Jameson was surprised somebody so vicious and cold in the arena could act like this afterwards. But then again, he knew all too well how strong certain masks could be.

She put Jameson at ease immediately when she glared daggers at the host behind the camera. The young hotshot made a joke about Jameson needing to speak up, and if they weren't being broadcast live, Jameson was sure Marvin would have ripped the host's throat out for good measure. She gave him a hug and told him to write and not be a stranger. Jameson hugged back tightly and promised he would try.

Jameson was genuinely surprised that Henrik was the last Victor in the original arena based in the Capital. A broken down gladiator-inspired theater that once upon a time hosted events like the circus. But was transformed into the death ring it was inspired by originally to host the Hunger Games. Henrik lived in terrible conditions before the games even began and it was remarkable that he didn't die from exposure or infection before entering the arena.

President Snow changed the proceedings of everything for the 25th Hunger Games. Henrik, for better or for worse, had just missed the change in management.

He was still lanky and thin, but not quite the sickly skeleton he was when he stepped in the ring. Henrik was very intelligent and curious, asking Jameson almost endless questions about sign language and how he learned it.

Jameson decided he liked Henrik when he started taking notes on his palm for an idea, “I lost hearing in my right ear during my games.” Henrik explained, “Learning sign language could prove to be very helpful. Though not many know it in Three… I think I might have an idea.”

Jameson really did try to follow along with Henrik's techno-babble, but the drinks had started getting to him by that point so he just listened to the soothing tones of his voice without much comprehension.

Jameson wished he could have spoken more privately to both of them, about their experiences in the games and how they try to cope with it all. But the cameras never left his back on the tour, so neither did Jameson's pleasant mask.

He entered the attic almost as soon as he returned home, planning to lose himself into a new project before the ghosts could even try to find him. Stepping inside his now familiar space, his small haven, he stopped in his tracks.

By his work desk, surrounded by piles of wood shavings he never bothered to sweep up, stood Maria. Her frizzy golden hair acted as a halo against the gray snowy backdrop of the window. In her hands she held one of the wooden dolls Jameson had started making before leaving for the tour.

She turned, revealing to Jameson what he already knew, and his cheeks burned with shame. It was the beginnings of a carving of Maria.

Maria ever so gently set the wooden version of herself back onto the work table, supporting the head as if it were an infant, and turned to fully face Jameson, “Do you see me as dead too, Jamie?” She signed, face trying not to twist in hurt but failing.

“It's not like that, Maple,” Jameson signed back quickly. The only sound in the room was the winter breeze trying to push its claws into the cracks of the house. He repressed a shiver and pushed forward, “I don't make these just for the dead. I make them because I don't want to-”

“What? Not to lose me?” She snapped, knowing Jameson too well, “Jamie- you're the one who is pushing away from you! Your friends at the paper mill have only seen your face a handful of times since you've come home!”

“They don't look at me the same anymore! They treat me differently.” He tried to reason.

“Because you can't be their personal radio anymore?” She rolled her eyes with a bitter laugh.

“Because I've killed people, Maple!”

Jameson and Maria had fought only a small handful of times before. Words choked Jameson's throat when he was upset, so they both signed in rapid fire at each other. He remembers once Maria's father had broken them up by saying “Stop yelling!” And it made them all burst into giggles. But in the attic space, they were alone.

Jameson frowned deeply, “I killed innocent people! Children! It doesn't matter that it was the games, I still have their blood on my hands and it can never be washed clean. And since I can't tell anybody what actually happened in my own words, they see me as a murderer. I can't tell them! They think I'm a monster so now they treat me like I'm- Like I am a-”

“A freak?” Maria finished for him, a scowl deep in her features.

Jameson flinched, immediately realizing what he said and his anger flowing out of him in an instant, “Maple-”

“You think they see you as a freak because you can't speak anymore?” She scoffed, “Jamie, they see you differently because you are different now. When you came home from the games you were catatonic for days! Barely able to move or show you were still alive in your brain! When you did start moving around, all you did was carve. Not even making anything, you just shaved blocks of wood into kindling. And when you did finally wake up you started avoiding everybody like they were going to stab you in the back!”

“Can you blame me for that?!”

“No! I understand that! But I do blame you for pushing us all away when all we want to do is help you, Jamie! You have barely spoken to me at all since you've come back!”

“Not like I can speak anymore!”

Maria laughed, bitter and a hint of self-deprecating, “I wonder what that's like!”

Jameson growled in his chest, he didn't care that it burned, “I don't want to hurt you! I've attacked people!”

“You can't control-”

“I don't want to hurt others-”

“I don't want you to hurt yourself!” Maria hiccuped, roughly scrubbing her eyes with the back of her hand and glaring at Jameson, eyes damp but not allowing tears to fall.

They stand in the silence. A cold draft danced by Jameson and he instinctively wrapped his arms around himself with a harsh shiver. He hated the cold now. When the first snow of the year came he rarely left the warmth of the fireplace for anything. The first draft he felt sent him into a panic attack.

Maria sniffed loudly, signing slower, “You don't take care of yourself when you lock yourself away up here.” She looked around the room, it was still somewhat empty, but a shelf held a collection of small statues, and the marionettes of the fallen tributes hung from the rafters. “You ignore me when I knock and throw pebbles at your window, and you don't eat the food Aunt Marry brings you. You… You disappear, Jamie. And it scares us so badly. We think that you won't come back again every time.”

Jameson was stunned. He didn't realize he got so engrossed in his work. He looked to his side and seemingly for the first time, noticed a small stack of plates next to the door, untouched. He looked back to Maria and didn't know what to say. His hands fluttered, stumbling over his words and unsure how to respond.

“Let me stay.” Maria said suddenly.

Jameson was completely bewildered, “What? Why?”

“So you don't have to be alone anymore. So someone can be there to take care of you.”

“No I don't-”

“Why?” She asked quickly, “Why do you so badly want to push me away, Jamie?”

“I don't want to hurt you!”

“You could never hurt me, you're so kind and gentle-”

“I hurt Aunt Marry!” He burst out and that made Maria stop. Jameson took a slow breath, not meeting her eyes for a moment in complete shame. Once he gained the courage again, he looked her in the eye, “Once when I was…” He laughed bitterly, “Gone. She tried to bring me back by touching my shoulder. I must have been back in the arena because I lashed out at her. I wasn't in control of myself, I didn't know what was really happening.” Jameson took a deep breath, “But I hurt her… and if you stay, I could hurt you too. I could kill you, Maple.”

Maria closed her eyes, hiccuping again before wiping her cheeks of the tears that managed to escape.

He tried to step forward, tried to go comfort her, but his leg screamed, sending daggers from his knee outward. He didn't have his cane so he reluctantly froze in place, putting his body weight onto his other leg with a hiss.

When she opened her again, she looked at Jameson with a hardness of finality that sent an icicle through his heart. He immediately regretted his words and wanted nothing more than to take them all back.

“Maple, wait-” He reached for her.

“I can't do this.” She started to walk towards him, moving to the door behind him. “I'm not standing by and watching as you push me away. I-” Maria shakes her head and throws her hands down in frustration, trying to shove past Jameson but he catches her in his arms.

Maria struggled for a moment before they both lock eyes. Maria's honey brown steady and wet, and Jameson's pale blue desperately searching for… what? A sign that she was joking? No, it was obvious that she was very serious about not wanting to stand by and watch him destroy himself. Perhaps he was looking for a second chance? Again, nothing. Jameson's shoulders slowly slumped in defeat as he forced his eyes not to water.

Maria scanned his face and sighed, standing slightly on her toes to kiss his cheek so lightly he almost didn't feel the whisper of her lips, “Goodbye, Jamie.” And she stepped back slowly, Jameson released his grip, and she left.

Just like that she was gone. Jameson stood still, frozen in time until he heard the front door open and close downstairs. He tried to tell himself that this was for the best for the best, that Maria would be safer and happier away from him.

His resolve crumbled as another draft of cold wind swept through the room, cutting through to his bones. He finally let his leg give out and he crashed to the floor on his hands and knees. When the pain stabbed him again he rolled onto his side on the floor and hugged his knees to his chest. He tried in vain to curl so tightly into a ball that he would completely disappear. Fold in on himself enough times he would become a speck of dust and fly far, far away from here. But he didn't turn into a speck of insignificant dust. He laid curled on the floor, ignored the splinters from the stray wood shavings, and screamed.

It took over three weeks for him to finish the doll of Maria.

°○°○°○°

As the years go on, Jameson is expected to be the mentor for the tributes of the reaped District 7 children. Every year he sternly told himself to not get attached or grow actual bonds with any of these children. It would be harder to let them go if he let them find places in his heart. He never followed his own instructions. Because for the next 5 years, he watched over, cared for, and witnessed the death of 10 children from his district. Every time the canon fired for one of his own, it shattered his heart like the arrow shattered his knee. Even though he knew that he did everything he could by treating these children with kindness and encouragement and empathy, it felt as crushing as Tim's death each and every time.

He had marionettes of them all, alongside several others now.

Capital people that taunted and gawked at Jameson like he was an animal at the zoo, filler for his nightmares, they looked more like actual colorful puppets with their ribbons and feathers. You would think that they weren't real people at first glance, with all of their bright colors and painted faces. But they were. And they were discarded into a corner of the room when he was finished. It felt satisfying in a way, throwing them aside like they did to him when his novelty ran out.

Among the colorful cabinet of Capitals, there was also one marionette that was made to look like the young President Snow. A small silk flower acted as the signature rose on his lapel, and Jameson had added the detail of painting the president's hands red. He thought about Tim telling him about the red dye and how it stained his skin to look like blood. Jameson added some gloss to the red on Snow's hands to sell the effect better.

This one, this likeness to the president of Panem, had its strings knotted beyond hope of untangling and wrapped tightly around the puppet's throat. It was thrown harshly into a dark corner of Jameson's workshop, broken and almost buried in the wood shavings that carpeted the attic space up to Jameson's ankles now in certain piles.

This year, like all the others, Jameson put on his clean shirt and favorite blue vest. Carefully doing up the buttons with clever hands and adjusting his simple black bowtie snugly around his throat to hide the scar. He trimmed his mustache and brushed away the remaining wood shavings off his black slacks. Grabbed his cane, and made his cryptid-sighting appearance on the stage.

His knee always ached worse on Reaping day, but he tried to stand and smile at the blurry faces of his District. He forced himself not to search for Maria in the crowd, again, as he took his seat and waited as the tribute's names were drawn. He forced his hand to not grip and wrinkle his pants against his bad leg.

Ivy Cinders, and Chase Brody. This year's District 7 tributes for the 32nd Hunger Games. And Jameson's new wards.

Seeing the young woman in the crowd, who was obviously pregnant, crying her eyes out for the boy on the stage made Jameson's heart twist in a strange way. And he knew right then and there that he would be breaking his own rule to not get attached for the sixth year in a row.

#jse fanfic #jameson jackson #writersofjack #jse hunger games au #hunger games au #mod oakley #septicartparty #as a treat #I wrote most of this in the span of 3 days because JJ from this universe possessed me /j

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tilly-tilly-2827 · 14 days

Text

Leave it by Degrees #6

The unhinged love story loosely based on Shakespeare's Love's Labour's Lost that I can't get out of my head.

Synopsis: "What have we done?"

Post in AO3 from here!

Previous chapter from here

Benedict was at the entrance of Out of The Blue at 19:00 sharp. Being led by a six seat table in the terrace, he had to chuckle seeing Sophie Beckett wearing the same navy suit with a white collar shirt, while the other ladies sat next to her were respectfully in their holidays attires; one in a teal colored summer dress, the other in a pink floral A-line.The restaurant was placed at the end of the island, on one of the seaside Villas, and Benedict silently observed the three musketeers from a distance; the two girls were absolutely dazed by the sunset before them, while the other seemed to be completely focused on the small bucket of breadsticks before them. Somehow Benedict couldn’t take his eyes off the girl who sat at the edge of the table, her short brown curls waving in the ocean breeze, the sunset giving her a radiant gleam. The absolute fascination, joy, and wonder on her face ticked something inside him, as if a certain gear had been reattached to their place in his anatomy.

“I love that you are more invested in the scenery than me, Ms. Beckett.” He grinned as he slid into the seat in front of her. Her moss green eyes hardened as her gaze met his, Benedict felt a lump in his throat. Didn’t she want him, like she whispered last night? That she needed him? Quite honestly, her heated gaze last night was the only thing that he decided to join the dinner, to perhaps grab her offer when she was not, well, heavily drugged. Well, maybe not just her gaze, Benedict secretly thought to himself as he again sized her up over her suit of armor. Yes.Perfect.

“Mr. Bridgerton.” Sophie gave a brief nod, “Thank you for coming. This is Posy Reiling, she would be negotiating the deal…”

Posy gave a little cough.

“…This is my step sister. Posy.”

“Nice to meet you, thank you so much for saving my sister.” Posy smiled sweetly, “Please, call me Posy.”

“Posy, nice to meet you…”

But just as he was about to shake his hand, there was a huge crashing sound from the back, followed by a small yelp. Benedict was quite surprised to see Hugh Woodson collapsed on the wooden floor, papers and papers of Emails dancing around the air, his laptop screen miserably cracked in two.

“Hugh, are you all right?”

Benedict hurried from his seat, reaching out to help him, but he was a second late. Hugh was already taking Posy’s hand, with a dreamlike daze in his eyes he had never seen before.

“Are you hurt?” Posy peered into Hugh’s brown eyes, her neck craning up to match his lean figure, “I’m terribly sorry about your laptop.”

“I, I…I’m…Huu, Hu…”

“Hugh.” Posy smiled sweetly, shaking his shivering hand. “I’m Posy.”

The whole universe stopped for just a second, the orange sunset shining from the distance between them. As if everything was in slow motion, Benedict watched Hugh’s pale face turn into the same shade as the sky before them.

“P, Posy.” He stuttered, “My sister loves Posies. We, we have a patch in our gardens,” Hugh was still shaking Posy’s hand, his glasses almost slipping out from the bridge of his nose . “The, the most beautiful flower in the universe, in my opinion…”

The three watched in awe as Posy’s cheeks turned into a deep shade of crimson, and Hugh wrapped both of his hands into hers.

“Y, you are the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, Hugh.”

“I, I, I…I fell for you.”

“You fell for me?”

“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Both Sophie and Benedict snorted sparkling water out from her nostrils. Kate casually took a bite of a breadstick, almost as if she were watching a rom-com on a Friday night.

“Was it just me or did I just hear a love declaration?”

Benedict sputtered, not quite processing the scene that laid before him, and by the flabbergasted look from Sophie, he knew she had the exact same reaction.

“I’m afraid I heard it too.”

Hugh, still grasping Posy’s hand into his, fell into one knee, his usually wandering eyes looking straight into Posy’s blue ones, with fervent passion Benedict had never seen on him.

“I am in love with you.”

“Oh,”

“Wow.”

“Damn”

“Posy, will you marry me?”

“Should I stop him?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

Benedict quickly peeled Hugh from the floor (“But I haven’t got her answer!” He cried out. “But Hugh, you don’t even know her full name!”), also picking up the papers on the floor. Sophie quickly joined him, but when the two raised their heads, the couple was already seated at the table shoulder to shoulder, happily giggling over a cup of lemonade. Barely five minutes have passed but they were already like a couple on the honeymoon faze.

“Well, that was quick.”

“I know.” Sophie softly said. “But it was quite beautiful, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.” Benedict smiled, taking a stack of paper from Sophie’s hands. “It’s not everyday you get to see people fall in love,”

“Just like a movie,”

“So, you wish for romance as well, Ms. Beckett?”

“Well, that’s a rather private question don’t you think?” Sophie eyed him wearily but Benedict didn’t miss her ears turning slightly red.

“Worth a try,” He quipped with a small wink, “Do you think your step sister said yes to Hughs proposal?”

“Oh I literally have no idea.”

“So Hugh. Are we hearing wedding bells tonight?”

Hugh completely ignored Benedict’s question, his chocolate eyes entirely focused on Posy and Posy only.

“We are starting from friends, actually,” Posy replied, but her eyes never left Hugh, dripping with the same dreamily look. “But Hugh was telling me about the beautiful cathedral nearby, and the one built over the sea…”

Sophie slid into the seat next to Kate, flinching slightly as Benedict casually seated himself next to her.

“I was rather hoping that you would sit on the other side.” Sophie said hesitantly.

“Wouldn’t want to disturb the two loves birds, would you?”

“Well, yes, but if you’re not going to…” Sophie's words trailed off, noticing that there was still an empty seat. “Mr. Bridgerton, I’m wondering,”

“He’ll be here in a few minutes,” Benedict replied gallantly, looking at the watch, “I think he’s just finished his third rotation of meditation.”

Kate choked on her glass of wine.

“Excuse me,” Kate coughed, “Went the wrong way. So the rumor is true. The Great Anthony Bridgerton truly on a cleanse?”

“Whistledown does it again,” Benedict replied sarcastically. “I can’t figure out why she’s so obsessed with us.”

“I personally think she’s more besotted with Colin Bridgerton,” Benedict was surprised to see Sophie with a playful smile on her lips. “She seems to know every location your brother is at, now matter how far corner of the world he could be.”

“You are quite an observer, Ms. Beckett.”

Sophie blushed for the first time that night, not being able to quite look back into Benedict's eyes.

“This one is actually obsessed with Whistledown.” Kate quipped from her seat with a teasing grin.

“Katie!”

“Actually, Sophie clips all the photos of you from Whistledown, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Posy!”

“That’s a pleasant surprise.” Benedict couldn’t suppress a smirk, seeing Sophie’s face change deeper and deeper into a shade of crimson. Yes, he knew that she liked him, “What part of me intrigues your attention, Ms. Beckett?”

“It’s work related,” Sophie mumbled, slightly squirming in her seat. “Nothing personal.”

“Oh, then do you clip every photo of my dear brothers? For research purposes?”

“Well, no, but…”

“Then I am flattered,” Benedict tried to snake his right hand to her waist, inching closer to Sophie, “Anything it was about me, what caught your attention is a good thing, I believe…” But he gave a miserable yelp, feeling a sharp pain on the back of his hand.

“Hands off, Bridgerton.”

A pair of sharp brown eyes were glaring at Benedict, eyeing him suspiciously behind Sophie’s shoulders.

“I believe we haven’t been introduced.” Benedict managed to croak out despite the striking pain.

“I believe so,.” Kate smiled elegantly, her hands were delicate despite the enormous strength she demonstrated a few seconds earlier, “Kate. Kathani Sharma. Sophie’s friend from uni. I’m here as her guardian and moral support.”

“Ben. Nice to meet you.” Benedict shook her hand. “Which uni are you two from? My brother and I are from Oxford by the way…”

“YOU.”

Benedict turned his head and saw his brother in his green Khaki pants and a white line shirt, the mixed expression of shock and amusement in his brother’s usually stoic expression.

“Brother! You missed the beautiful proposal from Woodson…” But Benedict was then interrupted by the last person he had imagined, Kate Sharma.

“YOU!”

Kate pushed the glass in Sophie’s hands, her posture suddenly became rigid, the corner of the lips tightening.

Not a good sign, Sophie thought.

“YOU are Anthony Bridgerton?”

Anthony’s lips turned into a slight grin.

“You didn’t notice me?”

“Why would I notice you?”

“Well, I am quite famous.” Anthony took a seat next to Hugh, puffing his chests as he seated himself deeply in the chair. Kate scoffed at his words, crossing her arms with a frown.

“So you’re not only deficient but ignorant as well.” Kate rolled her eyes, “Just as I imagined…”

“Hold it right there. What part of me is exactly deficient…”

“Wait, Katie, you’ve met Anthony Bridgerton before?”

“He’s the aggravating man I told you this morning!”

“Ohhhh the guy on the running course? Why didn’t you tell me that guy was Anthony Bridgerton?”

“Why in the hell would I notice him? He was in shorts and sunglasses, he didn’t have the gorgeous sideburns I saw in Whistledown…”

“Oh so you liked my sideburns?” Anthony replied with a smirk. “I’m surprised that those were the only things that caught your mind.”

“I was being sarcastic, Mr. Bridgerton. Do you need an introduction to dry humor?”

“You didn’t seem so dry this morning actually,.”

“Brother?”

“Sophs, remind me to add the word pervert in his wikipedia page,” Kate took a swig of wine from the bottle, (“Katie!” Sophie yelped.) “The world deserves to know that as a fact. And by the way, other than the sideburns, nothing about you was even remotely memorable.”

“Why don’t we step away from the topic of sideburns?” Benedict smoothly interjected, seeing the color slowly drain from Sophie, “Any preferences on the drinks? The drinks from the bar are exceptionally good…” But Benedict was interrupted yet again by his very brother. Well, his brother would die to have the last word in the argument, he mindlessly thought.

“Well, I would add infuriating at the top of your characteristic traits but I don’t suppose you even have a wiki page. Wouldn’t want to put useless effort in even searching your name.”

“Oh infuriating would be on top of your resume, Mr. Bridgerton. Seeing how you repeatedly kept going over my pace in the course this morning, I’m shocked those words weren't tattooed on your forehead!”

“YOU were the one overtaking me!” Hearing his irritated tone; Benedict was surprised he didn’t see Anthony jabbing his finger towards Kate Sharma, “You kept interfering with MY pace which I was specifically set at eight kilometers an hour.”

“Is mathematics such a difficult subject for you?” Kate snared, “From where I saw, you were definitely NOT running at eight kilometers an hour. I would barely define it jogging, considering your pace.”

“My apple watch specifically says that I was keeping a stable speed…”

“I thought you were on a digital-free holiday,” Kate raised her eyebrows, “Already breaking your oath, Mr. Bridgerton? Never considered you as a weakling,”

“Katie. Katie Cat.” Sophie tried to tug her back to her seat. “You do realize that you are snapping at the head CEO of Audrey Cooperation…”

“His social standing in society doesn’t mean that he gets the special license to be a total dickhead!”

“Katie!” Sophie froze in horror, but Benedict had an amused smile on his lips, as if he were enjoying the verbal slander his elder brother was getting. Posy and Hugh were apparently still on the topic of the best wedding cakes.

“I personally think lemon and raspberries are the best combination,”

“I agree with every word you say, Posy,”

“YOU don’t have any right to call me a dickhead,”

“Well, I disagree with everything you say,” Kate replied. “I find it difficult to find any other description.”

“I rather thought of you as delusional,” Anthony snared, “Suddenly walking and suddenly sprinting in the road, don’t tell me that was ordinary behavior…”

“Let me teach you the interval running method, Mr. Bridgerton,”

“I’m already well versed in the area.”

“Then you must know that short bursts of high intensity triggers mechanisms in the body that enhance the burning of the fat, building of the muscle…”

“Improvement in the cardiovascular system, yes I know that.”

“So you do know that by using the interval method your Vo2 max improves two times faster than the regular run,”

“Speed is no guarantee of efficiency.”

“Well, stability doesn’t exactly bring the thrill does it?” Sipping red wine from her glass, Kate crossed her legs, exposing her glowing legs from the slit of shimmery teal summer dress. and Benedict could swear he heard his brother's sanity shatter into pieces.

“I…I…I don’t exercise for the thrill.”

“You don’t surprise me, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“I’d rather focus on endurance, stamina, strength, rather than thrill.”

“Really? I doubt that you can last the first six minutes of my routine, considering the speed you consider as running.”

“You’ll be surprised what I can do in 6 minutes,”

“Um, Brother?”

“Don’t believe you.”

“Katie?”

“Won’t need a minute to make you beg.”

“Brother !."

“Prove it.”

“Kate!”

“Oh, Hugh, I would love to meet you parents tomorrow!”

“Oh my parents are going to love you Posy, Let me pick you up at the Villa at 11:00, my mother cooks amazing dishes from….”

Sophie took a deep breath, trying to keep herself from yanking all her hair from her scalp. What did she do wrong? Perhaps she shouldn’t have invited Anthony Bridgerton to the table, but she needed him to keep the dinner professional. Perhaps she shouldn't have invited Kate, but she needed her to keep the air casual…Perhaps this situation was inevitable, her plan was conflicting all along…

“Have you noticed that my dear brother and your Katie Cat are practically eye fucking each other from the other ends of the table, Ms. Beckett?” Benedict whispered into Sophie’s ear, his deep voice sending shivers in her spine, “Bet a pound they’ll be fucking each other in 5 minutes.”

Oh how Sophie wished for a cigarette.

Despite Benedict’s predictions, Anthony and Kate did not fall into intercourse right there on the table as he had expected; rather they went further and further into disagreement. It was rather interesting, Benedict thought as he observed the complete opposite sides of the spectrum; Kate and Anthony practically barking insults at each other from the other ends of the table, while Posy and Hugh whispering endearments, sitting practically glued together in the corner. Despite having seven siblings, Benedict knew that this was the correct definition of Chaos. But thanks to the Chaos, Benedict had managed to lure Sophie Beckett to the bar, who seemed quite shaken by the whole fiasco.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” Sophie asked him with a guilty look as soon as they reached the stalls.

“No, not at all.”

“Thank you.” Sophie quickly took out a pack from her pocket, lighting one up in one swift motion. Benedict also took one as she offered him wordlessly, knowing that his brother would be too busy arguing than to notice his violation. But he was surprised how smoothly Sophie offered him a light, expertly lighting him with one settled between her lips with a glass of water in the other.

“Heavy smoker?”

Sophie smiled weakly between puffs. “Trying to quit.”

“Yet, I never see you without one,” Benedict said teasingly, remembering how he had first seen her with a cigarette between her fingers, “But everytime I see you with one, I always feel it doesn’t suit you.”

“Because I am a woman?”

“No, no, no, no, no.” He almost dropped the ashes between his fingers. “You just give me the impression of…being innocent?”

Sophie’s gaze averted from his, as she slowly shook her head, with somewhat of a wry smile on her lips. Benedict noticed that she had no further intent to continue the conversation, seeing how she looked out in the dark blue ocean, the surface having a mystic glow in the moonlight, her eyes dimming oceans deep.

“Sorry about my Brother.” He blurted out, “He’s, um…sexually frustrated.”

“I also have to apologize on the behalf of my friend, especially on her language.”

“Is she the competitive sort?”

“Very.”

“My brother as well.”

Their eyes met just for a second, both breaking out in a laugh at the same time.

“I still don’t know if we are the worst or the best matchmaker in the entire universe,” Sophie managed to wheeze out between giggles. “Hugh and Posy, yes, but Kate and your brother? I didn’t know if they were going to kiss or shoot each other in the head.”

“Definitely the best, Ms. Beckett.” Benedict laughed, “I could just see the sexual tension between the two sizzling.”

“I know!” Sophie cried out jokingly, “The sexual implications in the conversation was just killing me.”

As the wave of laughter ceased, Sophie dropped the cigarette on the ashtray, feeling the nicotine in her blood, she finally felt she was ready to talk to one Benedict Bridgerton.

“I wanted to say thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t get a chance to say it properly, but you truly saved me from a terrible fate.” Sophie continued, “Thank you. For saving me.”

“No worries. Anyone would have done that if they were in that situation.”

“But you were the only one who noticed.”

Benedict again could return in a grunt.

“And who stood up to help.”

“I have four sisters,” Benedict mumbled, “Just doing the right thing.”

“Not everyone has the courage to do the right thing, like you did last night.”

“Have we ever met?” Benedict asked abruptly, craning his neck slightly. “Your tone, it's oddly familiar. Do you live in London?”

Sophie’s breath hitched slightly as his piercing blue eyes met hers. “I work in the arts department in the Gunnningworth Foundation,” She managed to croak out. “Perhaps our paths might have crossed in the London gallery somewhere.”

Benedict only hummed in response, taking another whiff of the smoke.

“Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Won’t you call me Benedict?”

“I’d rather keep in professional,”

Benedict groaned, tilting his whole body sideways. “Must we?”

“Mr. Bridgerton, there is only advantages in this offer,”

“I thought this was a private dinner, Ms. Beckett, away from the foundation or the contract…”

“Wouldn’t you like to be independent from your family?”

Benedict froze, stopping dead in his tracks.

“You have been working on your projects with the financial funding from the Audrey Cooperation for the past four years, including People Watching, your most celebrated work yet. I do understand that your brother must guarantee you the freedom of your artistic agency, but I can assure you that the Gunningworth foundation will support the same artistic freedom at higher costs.”

“Supporting my freedom?” Benedict sneered; he hated his tone, but Sophie was the one who was crossing the line, bringing up the deal when she promised him privacy, bringing up his deepest insecurities about his work and the family money… “Here you are, invading my privacy on a private holiday. Not the best action to convince me that you would support my creative freedom.”

“This is the extent to show you how the foundation is willing to support you at any costs, Mr. Bridgerton.”Sophie’s voice was quiet, but her words were firm and determined. “The foundation believes that gaining independence from your family funds may broaden your originality even more,”

“Are you implying that my work lacks originality?”

“No.” Sophie shook her head, a slight panic appearing in her almond eyes, “I was saying that the foundation believes further potential in your works…”

“You keep saying the Foundation.” Benedict interrupted her monologue, his eyebrows narrowed in irritation. “The foundation believes, The foundation believes…you sound like you are convincing yourself, not me.”

Sophie’s lips were curled into a straight line, biting the other bottom part of her lip.

“Do you even like my work, Ms. Beckett?” Benedict hated the desperation in his voice, hated the fact that Sophie wasn’t answering his inquires, “You only seemed to be focused on pleasing the foundation of yours,”

“Pall Mall.”

“Pardon?”

“Pall Mall.” Sophie continued, repeating the words almost like a prayer. “Finished in the summer of 2013. Watercolor and pencil on paper. Size 31.0×43.2. Inspired by your childhood memories, the summer you spent in the countryside of Kent. The intricate details of each expression of your families. The soft pastel colors bring out the nostalgic air.”

“Ms. Beckett,”

“The Portrait of a Young Man,” Sophie closed her eyes, trying to picture it in her mind. “Completed in the spring of 2014. Winning your first Wells Art Contemporary. Oil on Canvas. Thick coating method, using the palette knife. The gray background, the dark suit almost drawn almost like a rough sketch…but the details on the face was magnificent. The right side of his eyebrows, the highlight under his eyes, each stroke of your brush creating a beautiful shade, bringing out the specific details of your brother’s expression. The absolute focus on the coloration. Now that I’ve met him in person, I can see how you managed to capture his entire aura. Size 64.1×52.8. ”

“Sophie,”

“People Watching,” Now, Sophie couldn’t stop the words slipping out of her mouth, “The eight series of portraits created between the period of January 2015 to April of 2016. Your masterpiece,”

For the first time in years, Benedict blushed, his gaze dropping to his feet.

“You exaggerate. It was slandered by the critics,”

“To my eyes, it was a masterpiece. You wouldn’t believe how much it saved me…” But she couldn’t quite continue her words, she didn’t know why she was suddenly on the verge of tears. Sophie raised her eyes to the sky, no she was not going to cry in front of Benedict Bridgerton.

“You like my paintings,” Benedict softly said.

“No.” Sophie shook her head, but she couldn’t look into his eyes. “I love your paintings.”

Benedict found himself quite a loss for words.

Sophie took a deep breath, trying to inhale every inch of air around her. “It would be the greatest honor for the foundation,” She stopped for a second, starting the sentence again, “It would be the greatest honor for me to have the opportunity to support your future works, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Sophie was finally able to look him in the eyes, his ocean blue eyes meeting with hers. The waves were still swaying, she thought, but she did noticed the change in the wind,

“Would you like to come to my studio, Ms. Beckett…”

“SOPHIE BECKETT!”

Benedict’s offer was completely silenced by the angry voice of Kate Sharma, who had stomped into the bar with a fierce look on her face.

“THE MOST ANNOYING MAN I HAVE EVER MET,”

“Kate, what happened? Are you all right?”

“WE ARE LEAVING, SOPHIE BECKETT.”

“Kate, I’m kind in the middle of something here…”

“I refuse to spend another second with that infuriating man,” Kate snared, taking another shot the bartender had wordlessly offered, “Sophie Beckett, you shall not talk with Anthony Bridgerton ever again.”

Linking Sophie’s arms to hers, Kate Shama marched herself out of the bar and the restaurant, and Benedict could only stand them dumbfounded to the speed Sophie Beckett disappeared from his sight.

Did she convince him through?

Sophie’s mind kept wandering as she stared at the ceiling, watching the five petal wooden fan move round and round in circles. She wasn’t confident if she had succeeded, but she knew that it worked somehow, seeing the change in Benedict Bridgerton’s eyes. Maybe he’ll sign the contract tomorrow. The sooner she finished the job, the faster she could get away from him, knowing that if she had to spend another hour with him, she would fall in love with him all over again, melting herself into his ardent eyes. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t make the same mistakes.

Kate had apologized for interrupting the conversation, (“Lost my temper,” Kate admitted weakly) and had gone to a midnight run to cool off her mind. Sophie was too tired to understand what had happened between her and Anthony, but she vaguely understood that it had to do with patriarchy and toxic masculinity. Hearing Posy’s peaceful snores next to her bed, Sophie closed her eyes as well, finally noticing how exasperated she was from the events of that day.

-6 hours later-

“Kate.”

“Sophie.”

“Remember your oath?”

“Sophs.”

“Kathani..”

“No relationships.”

“Mmm.”

“I did clearly say that.”

“Mmm.” “May I introduce you to the term, situationships…?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benophie #sophie beckett #benedict x sophie #benophie fics #bridgerton fanfiction #modern au

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ravendruid · 4 months

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Be In My Eyes - Chapter 29

You can read the previous chapters here or on AO3. Happy belated Valentine's day <3 (I promise I didn't plan this!) Summary: Time to dress up for Keyleth's date with Vax.

The week rushed by like rapids, especially when, on Miresen morning, every single one of Keyleth’s teachers reminded their classes that the clock announcing finals had officially begun ticking. One month. Keyleth had one month to prepare for what she assumed would be the worst week of her college life. She could only hope her teachers took pity on the first years. By that evening, Keyleth had a meticulously developed study schedule, color-coded by class, to help her organize her time. Would she be able to keep up with it, though? She had to. The last thing she wanted was to fail a class and have to repeat it next year. She decided to try out the schedule that week, rotating between the library and the quiet apartment and inviting her roommates to study with her—which Vax’ildan almost always gladly accepted.

The exception happened in the middle of the week. Although the holiday itself wasn’t widely celebrated in Emon, the Night of Ascension was still a holiday for those who celebrated, so the University had given them the day off classes. That day, Keyleth, Percy and Pike decided to occupy a table at their favorite café, staving off the snow that fell outside with steaming cups of hot cocoa. She had asked the twins to join them, but Vax had explained to Keyleth, alone in his bedroom as he bundled up with the hoodie Keyleth loved so much and a thick woolen scarf that had seen better days, that he and Vex’ahlia had a tradition to pay homage to their mother during the holiday, so they would be going to the nearest temple to make an offering, and then go out for a meal and celebrate their memories of Elaina (Vax had finally shared his mother’s name with her). Keyleth pondered asking to join them and do the same for her mother, but she figured that it was something the twins preferred to stay between just them. Besides, neither she nor her mother were particularly given to deities.

But the week rushed by nonetheless, and on Folsen evening, when Keyleth opened the fridge and saw a container with freshly made soup and a sticky note from Vax (I hope this helps you stay warm), the girl was ready to put on a pair of fuzzy socks, her warmest pajama and curl into a ball on the armchair and read until her eyelids drooped. Alas, her dream was interrupted by footsteps walking down the corridor as Keyleth removed the steaming bowl from the microwave.

“Oh. Hi Kiki,” Vax greeted. He was wearing a new long-sleeve pajama shirt (black, as usual), a pair of black sweatpants, and his hair was braided away from his face—it was about time that he heed not only Vex’s but also Keyleth’s advice about braiding his hair before bed.

“Hi, Vax. Thank you for the soup,” Keyleth nodded in gratitude. She sat at the kitchen table and started to eat. Vax joined her, sitting on the chair in front of hers, elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hand.

“How were classes?”

“Exhausting.”

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Vax asked smugly. Keylth looked at him confused, then remembered they were going out… on a date. “Please don’t tell me you forgot about our date?” Vax asked, outraged, seeing the look of realization on her face.

“No... I—I’m sorry.” Keyleth apologized, embarrassed. Vax merely laughed and shook his head. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Oh. What should I wear?” Keyleth asked, trying to get any possible clue from him.

“Something comfortable and warm.” The answer didn’t reveal anything substantial.

“What time are we leaving?” Keyleth tried another route.

“Do you think eight is too early?” Keyleth shook her head. She was used to waking up early, even during the weekends, so it wouldn’t make a difference in her schedule. “Then, we need to leave the apartment at 8:30.”

“Why so early?” Keyleth asked, finishing her soup.

“It’s a bit far and we need to take transportation. It’s going to be a whole day thing, so you might want to clear your schedule.”

Somewhere so far away that they needed to take an early transportation, that would last the entire day, and that she needed to bring warm, comfortable clothes? Where the hell was Vax taking her? “Should I bring anything special? Food? Entertainment?” Keyleth pushed further.

“We can make some sandwiches and bring snacks for the day. Water, too. As for entertainment, that’s what I’m there for, right?” Vax winked. Keyleth blushed and giggled, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I’m sure you will,” She teased. Vax slapped the table softly and grabbed her empty bowl. Keyleth got to her feet, wanting to stop him, but he waved his hand at her in dismissal and washed her dishes for her. Keyleth couldn’t stop herself from biting her lip at how caring Vax was to her. He had made her dinner, kept her company while she ate—even though he looked like he had been ready to go to sleep—and washed her dishes afterward. I don’t deserve someone so good like him.

“You should go to sleep,” Vax said to her, wiping his hands on the towel. He approached Keyleth and kissed her forehead before he turned to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. “I’ll see you first thing in the morning, Kiki,” he said and disappeared towards his bedroom. Keyleth stood in the kitchen, watching Vax walk away. Only when his bedroom door shut behind him did Keyleth release the longing sigh she had been holding and grabbed her bag to head to bed. Keyleth thought she was going to have trouble sleeping due to anxiety, so the faster she went to bed, the sooner she would fall asleep. However, Keyleth wasn’t expecting the fluttering of butterflies in her stomach, a sensation that seemed to calm her more than agitate her, so she fell asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow.

—

By the time Keyleth walked into the kitchen the next morning (her personal backpack open in front of her in preparation to get stuffed with snacks), Vax’ildan was already at the stove, stirring eggs and plopping two slices of bread in the toaster. On the island sat an evidently larger backpack—a camping backpack—seemingly full and ready to go. Keyleth stumbled on her feet, coming to an abrupt stop as she gawked at Vax’s bag, then at hers, so small in her hands. She didn’t have time to say anything because Vax was already smiling at her and greeting her.

“What’s that?” Keyleth asked, all manners forgotten.

“Our stuff for today.”

“That looks—”

“Heavy? Don’t worry. It’s mostly light items. I made a few sandwiches, packed snacks, water and a thermos with peppermint tea.” Vax said nonchalantly, dividing the eggs between two plates. “Don’t worry, I added a lot of honey to the tea,” He added, seeing Keyleth’s stunned face.

Vax set the plates with scrambled eggs and toast on the table and returned to grab two mugs of coffee. Keyleth finally set her backpack down—now completely useless—and sat at the table. They ate in silence, Keyleth avoiding looking at Vax too much, and then she left him to do the dishes while she returned to her bedroom to finish getting dressed.

They left the apartment at exactly 8:30—like Vax had planned—after Keyleth replaced her small backpack for her regular knitted crossbody purse with just her personal belongings. Since the sun was shining bright and warm in the clear, blue sky, Keyleth left her thickest jacket behind in exchange for a crochet cardigan with sunflowers covering a beige high-neck shirt and a crochet dark green skirt. She pondered wearing pants for a moment, but then she found a pair of thick winter tights, and her problem of wanting to look cute and fight off the cold was easily solved. Meanwhile, Vax was–well… Vax (still incredibly hot, as usual, nonetheless). He wore his regular black, ripped pants, leather jacket and boots. The only difference was that he had replaced his band and graphic t-shirt for a seemingly brand new plain black high-neck shirt, so tight that Keyleth had held her breath when she first saw him before he put on and buttoned his jacket.

They took a bus not far from campus, mostly filled with old ladies who gave the pair a weird look—which Keyleth knew was due to her overall sunshine personality, Vax’s dark and broody appearance and the camping backpack he carried—and they sat in the empty back, Vax setting the packed bag between his legs. They stayed in silence for a while, watching the city pass by slowly. People walked on the sidewalks, bundled up in their snow coats and scarves, couples held hands and stopped to watch the shop windows, and children threw balls and built snowmen in the park they passed by, much like what Keyleth and her friends had done a few weeks before, and which, eventually, led to her being in that empty bus, sitting so close to her crush—more than that, actually—that she could practically hear his heart beating in his chest.

“It’s such a nice day,” Keyleth said, more to herself than to him. Vax hummed. His hand found hers on her lap and he took it, intertwining his fingers with hers. Keyleth still looked out the window, now more to try to hide the blush in her cheeks at the gesture. Vax had been so touchy since last weekend… since he shared so much of his life with her. It was like he couldn’t bear to not touch Keyleth, as if her skin on his calmed him. Keyleth wasn’t complaining. She loved every touch, every chill down her spine, every kernel of warmth and softness that emanated from Vax, and she never wanted it to end.

“Is this the part where you kidnap me?” Keyleth asked twenty minutes later when the city landscape outside had given room to large fields and forests. They had officially been out of the city limits for five minutes, and she still didn’t know where Vax was taking her.

“What if it is?” Vax teased, wiggling his eyebrows and smiling mischievously at her.

“Then I regret to inform you that my father will not yield to any ransom requests. Unless you would like a chicken or two in exchange for giving me back.”

Vax snorted and brought her hands to his lips. He kissed each knuckle softly and then said, “I doubt your father wouldn’t give all the money in the world to have you back, Kiki.”

Keyleth wasn’t sure if the heat in her cheeks was because of his gesture of the implication that Vax knew her father loved her so much he would ruin his finances for her.

“Our exit is coming up,” Vax announced, releasing the grasp in her hand and getting to his feet. Keyleth followed him down the aisle, and when the bus stopped in the middle of nowhere, where the only sign of it being a bust stop was a single pole with a hanging sign, Vax gestured for Keyleth to descend before him, following her as he shouldered the backpack.

“Now I’m really concerned,” Keyleth said, looking around. They were surrounded by tall trees on a single road with practically no traffic. She had no idea where they were in regards to the city proper, but it was clear they were somewhere remote.

“Do you trust me?” Vax asked, extending his hand to her. Keyleth’s answer was weaving her fingers through his and walking by his side in silence.

During their short walk parallel to the road the bus had taken, Keyleth glanced sideways at Vax, who looked relaxed and smiled so brightly he could supply enough energy for a small town. His mood was contagious, and soon Keyleth found herself relaxing and smiling as well, walking hand-in-hand with him down the sidewalk and then up a smaller road.

“No way,” Keyleth exclaimed as they reached an ornate iron gate connected to rock pillars. Above it, high enough where a tall van could cross without touching it, was an iron sign that said Emon Botanical Gardens. Keyleth couldn’t hold her joy at the sight of it, and neither could Vax, apparently, because he was shaking with excitement at her reaction, grinning brightly at her, eyes shining like ambers.

Keyleth squealed in delight as they approached the portico, where a woman waited at the ticket booth. Vax stepped ahead of her and exchanged a few words with the woman that Keyleth couldn’t hear—although, from the look of it, they were familiar with each other—and then signaled her to the barriers that opened on their own accord.

“What?” Keyleth asked, surprised, crossing it behind Vax.

“Students don’t pay entrance,” Vax explained.

“Do you come here often?” Keyleth asked as he walked towards a large wooden board with the map of the park. She stopped abruptly in front of it, gaping with an open mouth at how large the area was.

“Vex and I came here often when we needed a break from the chaos of the city,” Vax explained, picking a pamphlet from the holder. “It’s really peaceful. Here,” He handed Keyleth the pamphlet. She opened it to see a smaller-scale map of the park on one side and short descriptions of what the park contained on the other side.

“This park is huge. We’re not going to be able to see it all today,” Keyleth pointed out, noting all the smaller flower gardens, the several ponds and fountains, the orchard and forests of different kinds of trees. “There’s a waterfall?” She asked, not really expecting an answer. “And a butterfly garden!” Her excitement turned up a notch if it was even possible. Keyleth loved butterflies.

“Where would you like to start?” Vax asked, smiling at her. Keyleth pointed at the greenhouse not far from there, and he nodded. He let her lead the way, even though he probably knew the garden so well that he didn’t need a map anymore.

The greenhouse spawned over a long distance, covering plants from all regions in Exandria, from flowering cacti of the Marquesian deserts to blooming flowers of the Zemni Fields and even a few darker, mysterious flora from the distant lands of Xhorhas. No matter where Keyleth looked, she was welcomed with fragrant scents, a rainbow of colors, and a whole new universe she wanted to explore until the end of her days. She took several minutes to photograph flowers and plants she had never seen before and write notes on the notebook app on her phone, setting up a mental note to return with her camera and a proper notebook. When Keyleth finally uncoiled from where she had been squatting for ten minutes, photographing and copying information from the small description sign next to a bloom of snowdrops, Vax coughed to get her attention. Keyleth’s head snapped in his direction. She had completely forgotten why and who she was there with, so a blush spread on her cheeks as she apologized to Vax bashfully.

“It’s okay. It’s adorable.” He brushed it off, holding out his hand for her to take. Keyleth grabbed it, looking at Vax inquisitively. “Let’s go. I have a surprise,” Vax said, pulling Keyleth with him.

They exited the greenhouse through a side door onto a gravel path. Keyleth’s excitement built up quickly once she saw the first signs pointing in the direction they were going, saying Butterfly House. She found it weird that the butterfly house would be open in the winter since she hadn’t read anything about it in the pamphlet, but maybe it was climate-controlled so they could have viewings year-round. However, Keyleth’s excitement and hope died a little when their path was closed by a barrier, where a note hung from the middle: “We regret to inform the butterfly house is closed until further notice.”

“Vax, what are you doing?” Keyleth asked as Vax transposed the barrier and held out his hand for her. “It’s closed.”

“I know. Trust me,” Vax said. Keyleth followed him down the last of the gravel path and then onto a smaller side path that led to the back of the building. She had no idea where Vax was taking her, but Keyleth trusted him with her life, so she followed as he squeezed her hand tighter in his grip.

“Hello there,” A man greeted the pair when they turned a corner. Keyleth came to an abrupt stop behind Vax, bumping against his back. Shit, we’re screwed, Keyleth thought, knowing they were trespassing.

“Hey!” Vax greeted the man back. He let go of Keyleth’s hand and dropped his backpack on the floor next to the door she realized the man was holding open. Vax then walked towards the man and hugged him tightly. Keyleth finally took a good look at him. He was smiling kindly at them, crow’s feet around his eyes. He seemed to be in his early forties, perhaps, with sun-dappled skin, wild and crazy-looking dark hair, and a black beard streaked with gray, neatly kept in two braids.

“Is this the lady I’ve been hearing so much about?” The man asked Vax, looking around his shoulder to Keyleth with an even fonder smile. Vax laughed and nodded. He extended his hand to call Keyleth over, wiggling his fingers.

“This is Keyleth,” Vax introduced when she laced her fingers with his. Up close, Keyleth could see the man’s glowing blue eyes and all the signs of someone who had a happy life, even if labored. “Keyleth,” Vax continued, pointing at the man, “This is Kerrek.”

“Kerr is fine,” The man said, extending his hand. Keyleth took it. The handshake was strong but soft at the same time as if Kerrek was holding back on her. His hands were calloused, and there was some dirt under his fingernails, confirming the hard labor Keyleth assumed he did.

“Nice to meet you, Kerr,” Keyleth said politely. Vax had never mentioned him, yet the man seemed to have heard about her. She tucked the information in a mental file to ask Vax later.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Vax asked, nodding at the building. The man nodded and replied with a wink, “Go ahead lovebirds.”

Keyleth blushed, but Vax chuckled. He looked at her nervously and pulled her inside the building with him, the door closing behind them. The temperature changed immediately, and Keyleth was forced to discard her cardigan with Vax’s leather jacket, leaving them on a bench by the door, and pulled the long sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows. She then followed Vax down a dimly lit hallway to a second door.

“Ready?” Vax asked her. Keyleth swallowed hard and nodded.

Keyleth wasn’t sure what she expected, but walking into a brightly lit, hot and humid jungle was not it. The roof was a domed glass that let the bright winter light in without any of the cold, and everywhere Keyleth looked was covered with trees and plants, vines and moss. Once again, she allowed Vax to guide her down the tiled path until they came to a rounded room fully enclosed in class. In the center, a stone bench acted as a barrier to flowers and greenery, and around them—

“Oh. My. Gods.” Keyleth whispered, still not believing what she was seeing.

Butterflies—dozens and dozens of butterflies—flew everywhere, from branch to branch, between flowers and vines, up on the glass ceiling and around the walls. Vax led Keyleth into the middle of the room with a soft hand on the small of her back, stopping by the stone bench. Keyleth spun slowly in place, noting every color, wing shape, and different type of butterfly.

“You might want to close your mouth before a butterfly flies in,” Vax teased. Keyleth snapped her mouth shut but didn’t look at him, still mesmerized by the display.

“Vax, this is—” She stopped herself. A small swarm of five butterflies dove to her and landed on her hair and outstretched arm. Keyleth swallowed a squeal of delight as she turned to face Vax and brought a beautiful blue-winged butterfly between them.

“That’s a morpho peleides,” Vax offered. Keyleth nodded, still awestruck.

“Their wings aren’t actually blue, but—”

“Iridescent, yes. It’s caused by a diffraction of the light from the—”

“Tiny scales on its wings.” Keyleth finished. She looked up at him, surprised that he knew about it.

“I’ve been coming here for a few years. I’ve learned a lot about them,” He explained coyly. Keyleth swallowed, feeling a wave of warmth flow down her body. The butterfly beat its wings and took off to a high branch. Keyleth followed it with her gaze.

“It’s beautiful,” She whispered, still looking at the emperor on the other side of the room.

“You’re beautiful, Keyleth,” Vax whispered back. She whipped her head back to him, only to realize he was so close to her that their breaths mingled with each other. Vax brought a hand up to cup her cheek and leaned in, making Keyleth’s stomach jump.

Oh gods, is this happening?

“Can I kiss you?” He asked. Yes. Yes! A million times, yes!

“Please—” She practically begged.

Time stopped, or maybe it was Keyleth’s heart that stopped. Something stopped, for sure. Keyleth’s eyes drifted closed, and she surrendered herself to the warmth of Vax’s hand on her face and the firm hold on her waist as his lips touched hers. The kiss started soft and tentative. As if Vax was scared. Keyleth’s hands slid up Vax’s chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, full of longing and something else Keyleth’s brain could not decipher in that moment. Some time passed, although Keyleth couldn’t tell if it had been seconds, minutes, or days. But eventually, Vax broke the kiss, his piercing gaze on hers, assessing her. Keyleth smiled against his lips, willing her heart to stop beating so fast. Vax opened his mouth to say something, but Keyleth shushed him before he could utter a word by kissing him again.

Keyleth poured all the intensity of her need for Vax into the kiss. Although she had no idea what she was doing, she had read quite a few romance books, so she pulled all that knowledge off the pages and kissed Vax passionately. When her tongue brushed against his lip, Vax opened to allow her in, the hand on her face lowering to join the other on the small of her back, pulling her harder against him. Keyleth could feel every inch of Vax’s body, her tongue thoroughly exploring his mouth until it met his tongue and started a dance she didn’t know the steps for. Keyleth stopped leading, then, and started following Vax’s experienced instructions. The heat on her body was overpowering, but it was Keyleth’s happiness that screamed the loudest in her ears, together with the thrumming beating of her heart.

When they finally pulled apart—when Vax pulled apart—they were both panting, eyes wide as saucers fixed on each other, and smiling. Keyleth willed her lungs to work faster and reminded her heart to slow down, lest she pass out from sheer emotion. Her legs were trembling like reeds on a storm, and if it weren’t for Vax’s firm hold on her, Keyleth would surely fall to her knees in front of him.

“That was—” Vax tried, but his breath was still ragged. Keyleth chuckled and nodded, rubbing her nose against his. Their breaths were warm and sweet like a summer night, Vax’s kiss-swollen lips so, so inviting. Tempting. “Gods, Kiki. You’re—” Vax didn’t finish. He leaned his brow against Keyleth with closed eyes and breathed slowly. Keyleth did the same, following his lead once again. He smelled so good and felt so warm and cozy, just like home. “You’re going to be the death of me, Keyleth.”

“I’m sorry,” Keyleth giggled. Vax kissed the tip of her nose. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” She confessed.

“Me too.” Vax tugged at the fabric of her shirt on the small of her back, twisting and turning the hem between his fingers. Keyleth gave him a questioning look that made him swallow nervously. Finally, after taking a long breath that puffed against Keyleth’s lips, Vax said, “Kiki, you know I’m in love with you, right?”

Oh. Keyleth’s heart almost leaped out of her chest. It was one thing to feel the love Vax didn’t hide from her, and a completely different thing to hear him say it (like actually say it). Keyleth let her hands slide down from his shoulders and splay on his chest. The jack-rabbit beating of Vax’s heart on Keyleth’s palm made her smile softly as she spoke, “I know. And I–I think I feel the same way.”

“You think?” Vax asked. His tone wasn’t mocking but uncertain.

“I’m scared,” Keyleth admitted, at last, the feeling she had been trying to repress for a while. “I’ve never felt this way for anyone before and it’s so scary.”

“I know,” Vax replied. His thumbs rubbed tight, reassuring circles on Keyleth’s back.

“My dad was so devastated when my mom died. I—I‘ve never wanted to feel that, or worse… make someone feel like that. I–” Keyleth hesitated.

“Yes?”

“I never thought I would have what they had. I never thought someone was going to fall for me, or that I would fall for anyone. I promised myself when I was young that I would never fall in love and yet…”

Vax smiled. He rubbed the tip of his nose on Keyleth’s and said, “I understand completely. You know about my father. I don’t have the best examples of what a loving relationship is. I never thought I would ever find happiness in my life, much less something so pure as love. We don’t have to be in a relationship, Kiki, but if you’ll have me, I’m yours.”

“I don’t think I’m ready to be with someone… yet.”

“That’s okay. I’ll wait as long as it takes,” Vax brushed a strand of hair and tucked it behind her ear. Keyleth smiled fondly at him, basking in the feel of his touch, but her smile faltered as she asked him a question she had been dreading.

“And what if I’m never ready?” Knowing that Vax’s answer could mend or break their future was enough to send her spiraling, so Keyleth closed her fists on his shirt, keeping her aloft, keeping her mind steady and grounded.

“Then I’ll always be here as your friend. I’ll only take what you want to give, Kiki. Never more than that.”

“You would stay?” She asked, her voice wavering.

“Of course. I’m not going anywhere, Keeks.” Vax replied, kissing her forehead. Keyleth slumped into his embrace, sliding her arms under his armpits and holding tightly. She waited for the first signs of the imminent panic attack to retreat down to her stomach and vanish. Only then did she uncoil to her feet, releasing Vax completely, and smiled.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“You’re very important to me.” Vax pulled away, but instead of completely letting go of Keyleth, he twinned his fingers with hers and asked, “Are you ready to head back into the cold with me?”

Keyleth nodded and allowed him to pull her with him, retracing their steps to the back door, where they put their jackets back on and Vax slung his bag back on his shoulders. Kerr was still waiting outside, moving crates and boxes when they exited. He turned to Vax and Keyleth with a fond smile, dropped a box on the ground and walked to pat Vax’s back.

“Make sure you and your sister come over for dinner soon, will you? You’re welcome too, Keyleth.” Kerr added, turning to Keyleth.

“Oh. Thank you for the invitation.”

“I’ll talk to Stubby and let her know,” Vax replied.

“It was nice meeting you, Keyleth.” Kerr extended his hand. Keyleth took it again, shaking it softly with a smile.

“It was nice meeting you too.”

Vax and Keyleth spent the rest of the morning wandering through the multiple flower gardens, fountains and ponds, albeit sad-looking in the middle of the Winter. When the sun reached its apex in the sky, Vax took Keyleth by the hand down a secluded gravel path and into a small clearing of pine trees (the few trees that still had their canopies). Vax removed a thick blanket from the bag, spread it on the floor, and sat down, patting the ground between his legs for Keyleth.

“I should have known you were bringing picnic stuff,” Keyleth said. She sat between Vax’s legs facing him, her legs crossed between them. Vax took another blanket from the bag and set it on her lap, covering both of them.

“You think I would pass up the opportunity to have an outdoor meal with you?” He scoffed. Keyleth didn’t reply. She grabbed the thermos of tea he passed her and took a sip. It was sweet, just the way she loved it, and it warmed her from the inside out. Vax then grabbed two sandwiches and a bag of chips, and they ate while observing the nature and enjoying the quiet. They didn’t run into many people during their walks in the garden, which Keyleth could only assume was due to the cold weather and the fact that most of the plants were dead.

“We should come back in the spring,” She said after a while.

“I already planned on bringing you back.”

“So, what’s the story with Kerr? How do you know him?” Keyleth asked, passing Vax the thermos.

Vax took a sip of the tea, closed the bottle and set it by his side. He then lifted the blanket from his and Keyleth’s legs and gestured for her to turn around. Keyleth did, scooting and resting her back against his chest. Vax covered them again and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting his hands rest on her stomach, where he started rubbing circles with his thumbs. Keyleth basked in his warmth. She could never get enough of the feel of Vax’s arms draped safely around her.

“Do you remember what I told you about what happened with Vex?” He asked her. Keyleth nodded. She knew it was a difficult subject for him. “Well, after all that, Vex and I decided to leave Emon for a while. We found this garden. We lied and told them we were high school students, and they believed us. Mostly because we looked like high schoolers. We found this spot right here, secluded enough that no one could stroll into us, and we made it our place. We had a small tent big enough for us and Trinket.”

“One day, Kerr caught me after the park closed, but instead of calling the cops on us, he extended a helping hand. At first, he invited us to have dinner with him and his wife. Hot homemade meals were hard to come by at the time, and Vex was getting thinner every day, so I said yes. They heard our story, and just like you, they grew angry at our father. But most of all, they felt bad for us and wanted to help us.”

“That’s really nice of them,” Keyleth said. Vax nodded. He buried his cold nose in her neck, making her squeal.

“They asked us to stay with them until we came of age, but Vex and I… we had been living on our own for a while, and we—we might have been too proud to take such a huge offer. But we did accept a job offer to work here, and we enrolled back at the highschool, using Kerr’s home address as our location. We often went to Kerr’s for warm meals and never refused their invitation to stay on cold and rainy nights.”

“Kerr and his wife treated us like we were their own children. We finally caved in and moved in for our final year of highschool. They even motivated us to go to college and helped us apply for scholarships and everything. Their house is a home to us.”

“I’m glad you found them. I’m glad Kerr didn’t call the cops on you.” Keyleth said, turning her head to see Vax. She nuzzled her nose against his jaw, making Vax smile.

“I’m glad too. I don’t know if we would still be alive if it weren’t for Kerr.”

“I’m glad you are. It brought you here… to me.” Keyleth whispered and gave Vax a soft peck on the lips.

“Have I mentioned how beautiful you look today?” Vax nuzzled against Keyleth’s neck. She giggled and nodded in response. “Did you make your skirt?”

“I did. But my grandma made my cardigan.”

“They’re so pretty. You’re both very talented.”

“I’ll make you something one day,” Keyleth promised.

“Are you cold?” Vax asked, tightening his embrace.

“No. I’m never cold when I’m with you. You’re always so warm and cozy.”

“Hmm. Same. You’re like a ray of sunshine. You’re so happy and cheerful. It’s contagious sometimes.”

Keyleth thought about his words. People often said she was a ray of sunshine, that she lit up any room when she walked in, but Keyleth didn’t feel that way. She was happy. Keyleth did feel joy in life and enjoyed being around her friends and family. It was the moment she was left alone that Keyleth dreaded the most. When she was by herself with her thoughts, her fears and grief. She had witnessed a few episodes where Vax had preferred to be alone, where his mood was extra broody and grumpy. She understood that better than Vax probably thought.

“Kiki?” Vax called her. Keyleth turned sideways, buried her head in Vax’s chest and grabbed the jacket on his stomach. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No,” Keyleth mumbled against his chest. Vax’s hands cradled the back of her head and he pressed a kiss to her hair. He stayed like that and waited until she finally spoke again. “I’m not as much of a ray of sunshine as people think I am. I also have bad moments—bad days, even.”

“I know. I’ve noticed your moods.”

“You have?” Keyleth asked, looking up. Vax nodded and caressed her hair down her back. “You must probably think I’m a fraud then.”

“You’re not a fraud, Kiki. Not everyone can be happy all day, every day. I know you try hard to hide the bad side, but you can trust us… you can certainly trust me. I want you to be yourself when you’re with me, even if that means you’re picking at the skin of your nails or chewing on your lip and the inside of your cheek. I won’t be bothered by your jumpy knee or your shuffling around on your seat.”

Oh shit. Vax knew all her fidgets. Was she really that obvious, or was he just very observant? Keyleth always tried to hide her anxiety in front of everyone, and she was almost sure that she did a good job at it, but she had always been more relaxed with Vax. She had always felt safe with him. Of all people, Vax would be the one to understand Keyleth’s faults the best.

As if he read her mind, Vax added, “You and I aren’t that different, Kiki. Depression and anxiety often go hand in hand.”

“I suppose I might have some of yours, too,” Keyleth admitted. It wasn’t for nothing that her father had made her see a professional when she hit puberty.

“And I have some of yours. It’s perfectly valid to have them both, and if someone ever gives you grief about it, tell me, and I’ll punch them.”

Keyleth snorted at the offer. Some of the weight on her chest lifted, but there was something heavy keeping her from being blissfully happy: finals. History proved that academic high-stress situations were not good for Keyleth. “I don’t think you can punch our professors or finals.”

“Ah. Is that what’s eating at you? Here I was, thinking you were freaking out because I’m extremely handsome, and I make your heart almost leap out of your chest.” Keyleth looked at Vax to see him smirking at her. Her face reddened in response. “You’re going to do great, Keeks. You’re smart, talented, and a great student. All our professors love you. If anything, you’re going to do so good that they will need to expand the grading system just to accommodate your knowledge.”

“You’re exaggerating, Vax. I’m not as smart as you or Pike. And I’m falling behind in Anatomy. You’ve seen my midterm grade.”

“Fine, the human body doesn’t agree with you. Does it matter? Are you in Biology for it or for plants, Keyleth? Didn’t you say you were going to drop Anatomy next year anyway?”

“Yes, but I still want to have a good grade,” Keyleth all but pouted at Vax. Couldn’t he understand the high expectations other people had on her? She had always been a top-of-the-class student in high school, and people expected her to maintain that or do better in college, never to go below their standards.

“Keyleth, love. You had a 16 in the midterm,” Vax grabbed her shoulders and looked at her earnestly. “All your assignments have been above 18–and yes, it counts even if I helped you. Even if you have another 16 in your final, you will still get at least a 17 at the end of the semester. I know it’s not as good as an 18 or a 19, but you are still in the top five students in Anatomy, and I know for a fact that you, miss I-will-not-rest-until-I-have-straight-20s, are the best student in your degree.”

When Vax put it like that, Keyleth had to concede to his logic. She knew that she would need a really bad grade on her final to drastically lower her final grade in Anatomy and the general average, as a consequence, but even though it was a low possibility, it wasn’t impossible.

“Fine.” Keyleth pushed Vax away and got up, straightening her skirt. “I guess you’re right.” She said and walked away from him. Keyleth didn’t need to turn her head to see the look of confusion on his face, but she still peeked and threw over her shoulder, “Let’s go see the waterfall… unless you’re done with our date?”

She laughed as Vax scrambled to his feet and packed everything inside the backpack. He was by Keyleth’s side in a matter of seconds, holding her hand and dragging her down the path. Keyleth giggled at his reinvigorated spirits, feeling slightly better herself, too. Vax was right, she knew that, and while she still had a hard time letting go of that particular anxiety, Keyleth knew she had in him a safe harbor.

“Vax?”

“Yes.” Vax looked at her expectantly, grinning from ear to ear.

“I might barge into your room this month to ask for reassurance. Is that okay?” Keyleth bit at her lip. Vax let go of her hand, only to wrap his arm around her shoulder and pull her to a stop. He leaned in and brushed his lips against hers, giving Keyleth a soft, ghostly peck on the lips that made her want more, and said, “I can’t promise I’ll be decent, but my door will always be unlocked for you, Kiki.”

“Good,” Keyleth whispered against his lips. “I might come to collect some hugs then… even if you’re not–decent.”

The kiss was sensual and unhurried, filled with promises of more kisses to come, hugs to be given, and reassuring words to be whispered in the dark. By the time they arrived back at the apartment, lips red and kiss-swollen, the subject of finals was completely gone from Keyleth’s mind, instead filled with the scent of pine trees and snow and the wonderful time she spent with Vax in nature all day. A much needed-rest before the chaos.

#critical role #cr fic #vox machina #vaxleth #modern au #college au #be in my eyes #three notes about this chapter:#1. I don't know shit about plants and butterflies. So if something is wrong don't yell at me #but feel free to correct me (gently. I'm sensitive)#2. the grading scale I used is from 0-20 where 20 is the highest grade possible.#this is the grading scale I'm most familiar with #3. The butterfly area was inspired by animal crossing new horizon's butterfly section in the museum.#particularly the round room with the fountain.#Also by the time y'all read this I will probably have some news to share :P

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