#attempting to give myself congratulations for doing this on my own without any prompting from angry adults

[winterrrnight]

HI BAE!!!!!!! CONGRATS ON 600!!! 🙌🏼💓💓

go on without me - 16 + 21 with rafe🤭🤭🤭🤭

ahh thank you so much sweet abi!! I'm so sorry it took me so long, I just wasn't feeling satisfied with what I was writing :( I hope you like reading this! but please feel free to not read this if you aren't comfortable w the warnings given :)

protective

PAIRING: toxic!dark!rafe cameron x gn! musician!reader

SUMMARY: rafe doesn’t like another man touching you, not even as much as talking to you or looking at you.

WARNINGS: dark content! minimal swearing, established relationship, slight use of nicknames like babe, jealousy, over protective & possessive rafe, canon!rafe, toxic!rafe, threats to kill, allusions to anxiety and being scared, and kinda shitty writing (??) (please please let me know if something should be added!!!!)

EDITH SPEAKS: this is very, very new for me. this is my third attempt at this fic, the first two just didn’t turn out how I wanted, and the best approach just felt like dark!rafe. this is me basically exploring my writing and trying out new things and testing myself, so if it’s not as good as the rest of stuff you may have read, I’m really sorry, I’m a beginner 😭😭

please please heed the warnings, and it may not be as dark as some other stuff on here, it felt pretty dark while writing, and if at any moment you feel this isn’t for you please feel free to click off.

moreover, if I am being honest here, you might have read a lot of rafe fics based on this idea/prompt. so please don't think I copied someone off for this, this is completely my own creation.

and if you liked this, please please share your feedback with me, and reblog it to support my content <3

PROMPTS REQUESTED: “Actually, we’re leaving. We have something to get to.” “No we don’t – oh, okay fine I’ll call you guys later.” & “You can’t just lose your temper like this each time you get a little upset!”

600 followers celebration (now closed!) || navigation

Everyone around you cheers out loud, glasses of champagne raised in the air as huge grins form on everyone’s faces. Your new single – after a break of over three years came out today, and you have already received an overwhelming amount of support. You’re in your studio, celebrating with your team and your amazing boyfriend.

“Congratulations babe,” Rafe smiles as he hugs you tight, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You grin at him, hugging him back even tighter as you mumble a ‘thank you’.

You all celebrate for some more time, drinking fancy champagne, eating food, and taking pictures to savor the moment.

You, Rafe, and Jim, your producer, are just talking at the side when you hear your name being called. You turn to see it’s Saylor, who is one of the interns at the record label you are signed with. Your single was the first project he worked on.

“Yeah?” You ask, smiling as you approach him.

“Congratulations on the release,” he smiles, and gives you a small hug. You gladly hug him back, a grin on your face.

“Thank you Saylor,” you smile. “You were absolutely great for your first project,” you say. “I was actually asking Jim if you’d like to continue working for the upcoming singles too,”

Saylor’s lips are pulled in a huge grin as his eyes light up. “You’re serious right now?”

You chuckle as you nod your head. “Yes, of course! I would love for you to be able to gain as much experience as you can,”

Saylor absolutely can’t contain his excitement as he pulls you in for another hug. You are caught off guard but gladly hug back, chuckling a little as you do so.

“Thank you so much,” he smiles. “Seriously, it means a lot to me,” he says, a certain spark in his eyes.

“Of course, a talent like yours shouldn’t go to waste,” you say.

His smile doesn’t falter as he speaks again. “Can I get a picture with you, if that’s not an issue?”

“Oh of course not!” You say, turning to look at Rafe. “Rafe?” You call out.

He breaks from the conversation he was having with Jim and walks up to you. “Yeah babe?” Saylor passes him his phone and asks him to take a picture of you two.

Saylor stands next to you as his arm wraps around your waist, maybe a little too tighter than it should be but you don’t really say anything. However, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Rafe, and he takes a sharp inhale when he sees Saylor’s side pressing more against you, as your arm rests around his shoulder.

Rafe tends to be… possessive, and you’ve always known that. Even when you both weren’t together, he wasn’t the biggest fan of how others would usually hit on you at parties, and would feel enraged when they wouldn’t let you go after you would politely ask to leave you alone.

But that possessiveness only increased when you both got together, when you officially became his girl. There’s nothing you can do about it, because that’s how Rafe is.

You can see the expression on Rafe’s face; the subtle ticking of his jaw, the acute twitching of his eye – you’ve known him long enough to identify his facial expressions just the second they appear. You are quick to remove your arm from Saylor’s shoulder, your arm now resting on your side, but Saylor doesn’t seem to catch on that; instead his grip on your waist tightens a bit, because he most probably wants you to wrap your arm around his shoulders again.

Nevertheless, Rafe takes the picture, and hands Saylor’s phone back. Saylor takes a few seconds before he lets go of you, which only happened because you gently removed yourself from his grip. You quickly appear at Rafe’s side and intertwine your hands, squeezing his hand tightly.

“Thank you for the picture,” Saylor smiles as he looks at the phone screen. All you say is ‘welcome’ with a small smile, and Rafe pulls you to a different part of the studio.

As the small party carries on, Saylor makes subtle moves – or moves which he thinks are subtle, but aren’t missed by Rafe at all. It’s Rafe’s last straw when Saylor gently grips your waist to move past you, saying a ‘sorry’ as he walks by. At that very moment, you decide it’s best if you talk to Saylor about it yourself, tell him that you know what he’s doing, and you clearly have a boyfriend. But before you can do that, Rafe’s arm wraps quickly around your waist, and his grip is tight.

Jim says something about going to a nice nearby restaurant for dinner, but Rafe cuts him off. “Actually, we’re leaving. We have something to get to.” He says firmly. You look at him with a slightly confused expression, thinking if you both do have any other appointments today or not, but your mind is blank.

“No we don’t –,” you say, but Rafe snaps his head at you, his jaw muscles tense, and your eyes slightly widen at the sight as you catch up in the fraction of a second. “Oh, okay fine I’ll call you guys later.”

Rafe leads you out of the studio, and you barely save your half full glass of champagne from falling off the table you’re trying to keep it at as he ushers you out. He opens the door of his truck for you and as you sit down, he slams it a little too harshly than usual. He walks around the truck and sits down next to you, his grip tight on the steering wheel as he starts to drive.

You take a deep breath as you lean back in the chair. This is not the first time this is happening, and you know it’s certainly not the last. You aren’t scared because you already know how this entire situation plays out. He will raise his voice at you, say stuff like how you’re his and only his, how he absolutely hates other guys looking at you a certain way because he just can’t bear the sight, and how he gives you the best treatment you can get.

You’re just silently listening to the soft music from the radio as you look out the window. You steal a glance at Rafe and see his jaw is still tightened, his grip tight on the wheel.

“Relax your jaw Rafe,” you say plainly, turning to look back out the window. You hear him take a sharp breath.

“I did not like how he was looking at you and holding you,” he utters.

You just roll your eyes at him, as if you knew that’s exactly what he was going to say. “It was just a picture Rafe, you don’t have to be so protective about that,” you say.

Rafe snaps his head towards you, but quickly turns back to look at the road. “Just a picture?” He echoes. “So you’re telling me you loved the way he was holding your waist hm?”

“Oh god when did I say that!” You retort. “And besides, did you not see? I literally removed my hand off his shoulders the instant you saw it, and moved away from him the moment you took the picture. There’s no need for you to get so worked up!”

You can see Rafe’s chest heaving as he takes rapid breaths, his jaw ticking as you can literally see a thunderstorm brewing up in him.

“You can’t just lose your temper like this each time you get a little upset!” You say exasperatedly. “You shouldn’t have been upset in the first place because there’s literally nothing to be upset about!”

Just the second those words leave your mouth, he bellows your name causing you to shut up right that moment. “Shut up!” He yells, smacking his palm against the steering wheel once. You feel the truck speed up, his foot pressing harder against the accelerator. You glance at the speedometer and see the needle pointing to larger numbers more and more with each passing second.

“Rafe-” you mumble out but you are cut off the very next instant.

“You just refuse to see it huh?” He hissed. “You refuse to see how I am the best for you. How I can, how I do treat you better than anyone else,” he goes on, and he uses his free hand to gesture around in the air.

“Get this in your head okay?” He speaks, his voice now eerily low as he gestures to his head, tapping his fingertips at his temple. “I never, ever want you as much as looking at someone else, you got that?”

You can feel the truck speeding up more. Your hands are clutching the sides of your seat, as your nails dig into the leather. Your lips are parted as you let out shaky breaths, your eyes wide and shiny with the layer of tears that have formed over them.

You thought you had seen the worst. Which was him arguing with you and telling you he’s the best for you. But right now, when his foot only seems to be pressing more and more against the gas pedal, your back pushed back against the seat due to the fast speed of the truck, you realize there’s a hidden side to Rafe you’ve never seen before.

“Rafe I-”

“Say it!” He yells, cutting you off swiftly. “Say it, that you won’t even look at anyone else!”

“Rafe please-” you mumble out, squeezing your eyes shut as hot tears flow down your face, leaving a sticky trail as they go down.

“Say it before I crash this truck in a fucking tree!”

His breathing is heavy, his eyes are wide, and you can’t recognise him anymore. His eyes are an icy blue instead of the usual dark blue you get lost in so easily, and that’s the moment you realize Rafe will never ever let you exercise any control over him. Ever.

“I-” you hiccup, “I won’t look at anyone else, okay?” You gasp, gulping down the lump in your throat as the tears keep on streaming down.

When you don’t feel Rafe slow down the truck, the seatbelt starting to dig into your neck harshly and your grip on the seat gets harder, your breathing gets more erratic as you try to gather more air to speak up again.

“Rafe, baby, please please slow down I…” you whisper, looking at him desperately.

You expect him to lash out, but he doesn’t, and the truck starts to slow down, coming at a normal pace. You move a shaky hand to your face, running your fingers across your skin to wipe off your tears, but your breath keeps on coming out in short gasps, and you feel yourself tremble a little; your heart loud in your chest.

The truck slows down more and more, and you see Rafe has parked it at the side of the road. The truck comes to a full stop, and you turn to look at Rafe through your still slightly blurry vision, your eyes now red, and panic being the only feeling clouding your mind.

Rafe rests his forehead against the steering wheel, taking in a deep breath. His grip on the wheel loosens a bit, the knuckles not so white anymore as their color flushes back. He lifts his head from the wheel and turns to look back at you, his eyes now not so icy, but still not the comforting warm blue you’ve always loved and adored.

A smile tugs on his lips, and it’s not the kind which always warms you up the moment you look at it, but it’s… sinister. It’s a smile you’ve never seen before. It’s the kind of smile that shows that he is enjoying seeing you this way. Seeing you so weak under his control.

He moves his hands to your face, brushing any loose strands off your slightly sticky face and gently running his fingers across your cheeks.

“Now baby,” he says softly, but the softness doesn’t comfort you – no. It scares you even more. “You made that a little too hard didn’t you, hm? Next time when I ask you to do something, just do it, okay? Don’t have time to wait, or- or to see how you react m’kay? Just… agree to what I say. It’s not as hard as you may think,”

He leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead, but at that moment, all you want to do is to scrunch up into a ball and be far, far away from him and his cold, unknown touch.

Your breathing fastens up, but all you can do is stare at him with wide eyes, wondering where did that sweet, loving boyfriend of yours go and got replaced by this?

When he sees you aren’t arguing back, his menacing grin only widens, and he takes his hands off you, turning to start up the truck again and continue to drive – as if absolutely nothing happened.

A hand rests on your thigh, softly rubbing the skin through the material of your pants, but you’re too afraid to even slightly move under the touch. It’s cold, it sends shivers down your spine, and you don’t know who’s hand it is.

If only someone could stop and tell you that you had lost your ‘loving’ boyfriend forever.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @saccharinesammie @maybankslover @totalswag @madelynie @chenslucy @ietss @elle-mp3 @viawritesstuff @wallsdreams @lunalitva @sadfury @newsies-pape-girl @jamesbuckybarneswify @xxxlaura @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @callsignwidow @starkowswife @drewstarkeyswifehoe @jjchaer @f4ll-for-you @wearemadeofstardust0 @drewsmusee @rafegirly @addriaenne @leighbronk @rafesdrew @bejeweledreverie @raf3sgff @aerangi @drewstarkey1bae @moneymaybank @spideysimpossiblegirl @the-tortured-poets-depxrtment

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe #dark fic #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron oneshot #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x musician!reader #edith's 600 followers celebration! 🪄 #written by edith! 🪄

[5-falsehoods-phonated]

Soulmate September

Series Summary- a collection of one shots exploring different ships and au concepts. The list I created and am following can be found here.

Day Three: A Storm of Stars

 Summary: Soul tattoos don’t fill in until the other person knows without a doubt that their partner is the one, when everything they are become so ingrained in each other’s lives that their souls become entwined. For Virgil and Logan, this doesn’t happen until well after they’ve been married. When the moments do arrive however, they both know they could never be happier.

Warnings: none, If there are any please let me know!

Ships: Analogical (Virgil x Logan)

Prompt: Tattoo that becomes colorful once you meet soulmate

WC: 2645

AO3

Logan’s eyes snapped open as a loud crack of thunder shook the house, rain pelting against the roof and making the tiles creak. His popping joints added to the symphony as he stretched his way into a sitting position. Reaching over to the bedside drawer he fumbled a bit before finding the small remote and clicking on the web of fairy lights strung in the far corner, immediately bathing the room in a pleasant blue glow. He flipped his pillow over to the cool side and took a second to fluff the other pillow a bit, moving it over to be closer to his and smoothing the bedsheets. 

The motions were automatic after so many years of practice, going back to he and Virgil’s first sleepover when they were still guaranteed a juicebox and cookies after school. It had stormed then too, Logan waking up to find his bed crowded with a shaking Virgil and his trusty stuffed tiger, who though was quite courageous had realized she was no match for a storm and had convinced her charge to seek shelter with Logan instead. Smiling softly at the memory Logan settled down to wait. He knew as his husband had grown older he wasn’t afraid of storms anymore so much as his anxiety ran with endless possibilities of what they could do to them or the house- which Logan was often inclined to agree with but played his role of devil’s advocate for the sake of Virgil’s well-being.

Right as he was beginning to wonder if he should leave to go and collect Virgil, the floorboards in front of his door squeaked in protest. A moment later a figure bulky with sweatpants and a hoodie slouched into the room, quickly shutting the door behind him and practically diving into the bed and under the blankets. The bed springs creaked along with the roof tiles as they both fidgeted and fussed trying to get comfortable, Logan biting back a small laugh as Virgil nosed his way underneath his chin. His soft hair tickled Logan’s lips as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head and wrapped his arms around him. Finally they were still, Virgil’s breathing slowly matching his own as he made sure to take deep calming breaths.

The rain was already quieting, the storm moving on and leaving the two night owls to their bubble of peaceful warmth. Logan readjusted slightly as Virgil snuggled in further, hoodie sleeves riding up as he snaked his arms around his waist in an attempt to pull them closer. Logan did laugh at this, planting another kiss firmly on the other’s forehead.

“I think if you squeezed any tighter we’d fuse, stormcloud. How are we supposed to compose an email when our absence excuse would be cuddling too hard?”

“No such thing,’” Virgil mumbled. “I’ll cuddle you as hard as I want and they’re just gonna haftadealwibit.”

The last half of the sentence trailed off into near indecipherable gibberish but Logan understood well enough. “You are exceptionally adorable when you’re tired. As much as I hate that storms cause you anxiety, I'm glad that nothing else has changed.”

He grinned as the side of his neck where Virgil’s face was pressed against warmed and quietly congratulated himself through the disappointment that he couldn’t currently see Virgil’s crimson face. ‘Still got it’ he thought to himself as he wiggled a bit to try and find a comfortable spot where Virgil’s rather bony arms weren’t poking into his ribs, failing miserably until he managed a sigh. “I’m sorry stormcloud, I’m getting a bit of a cramp. Why don’t you lay on top of me instead; that’s comfortable for you as well isn’t it?”

Humming in confirmation, Virgil leaned back and let Logan flip onto his back. A moment later he let out a small groan of surprise as Virgil flopped solidly onto him, burrowing into his chest and holding Logan tight by his sides. Smiling, he brought the blankets up over them both and carefully tucked them in, bringing his arms out and resting them on Virgil’s shoulders to make sure it didn’t slide off. 

“Thank you for always doing this.” Logan scrunched his brow at the frustrated tone in Virgil’s voice. “And don’t you dare say ‘why wouldn’t I’ because you always ask and I always say it’s because I’m too old to be afraid of storms and then you logic your way around me because I’m too tired to argue. This is just something I always thought I’d grow out of.”

“Sometimes we grow out of fears, sometimes not. The ones that linger aren’t something you can help or should blame yourself for.” Getting no response other than a frustrated huff, Logan continued, beginning to hum and rub soothing circles on his back. “Whether the fear is rational or not- and whether or not the threat is real- I will always be here to protect and support you however you need. Seeing as I’m not exactly in the best shape for fighting crime or fending off rabid dogs, comforting you through a storm is something that I love that I’m able to do. And I will continue to love doing it because I love you and would rather you be here with me seeking comfort than by yourself too stubborn to ask for help.”

“Logan?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“You’re making it really hard to be edgy and self-deprecating right now.”

“Heaven forbid.”

Virgil snorted, knocking the top of his head gently into Logan’s chin until Logan sighed in mock exasperation, craning his neck to kiss him softly on the forehead so he’d settle back down. As he laid his head back down onto his chest a warm, tingling sensation spread from underneath Virgil’s cheek and covered his collar bone and part of his shoulder. Gasping he nudged the other up, poking more insistantly when the stubborn emo refused to disentangle himself. Ignoring Virgil’s confused look as he made to pull off his shirt he practically whipped it across the room and placed a hand to his soul mark, eyes shining as he took in the sight. 

His mark had always looked so odd to him, big blobs of shapes over his right shoulder and collar bone with jagged black scars streaking from them and down his chest. He could never even begin to picture what it could be, though a friend suggested once that it might be a warped forest of some sort, doubtful as his tone had been. Instead, his warm fingers traced over jagged streaks of lightning, such a bright purple they nearly glowed in the dark. The blobs above them had filled in with every shade of gray he had ever seen, broken occasionally by shadows of purple and blue where the lightning was. It was unexpectedly beautiful, his vision blurring with tears as he realized what this meant.

“I always knew.” He looked up as Virgil spoke in a hushed whisper. “I always- but you just felt so safe and you never...you always make me feel better about it and so safe and I guess-”

Logan opened his arms and Virgil gratefully dove back into them, catching his cheek with a kiss on the way down. They resettled quickly, the rain nothing more than a gentle patter against the roof letting them rest easy. Cracking an eye open, Logan strained to look down as Virgil laughed and held him tighter.

“Of all the things that keep me up at night, I’m so glad I was right about this.”

Logan smiled and hugged him closer in turn. “I agree.”

----- -----

Virgil sat up slowly, blanket falling from his shoulders and pooling around his waist as he struggled to cross his legs in the tangle. After a minute of failing miserably he huffed and flopped back, kicking both legs up as far as they would go while catching the blanket on the bottom of his feet and then kicking forward violently to dislodge them. Unfortunately the trick failed, landing more fabric between his legs and scrunching his pants uncomfortably in the process. Scissoring his legs just twisted everything around more and by the time he was halfway through attempting bicycles the situation was hopeless enough he considered just going back to sleep and dealing with it when he woke up. He had closed his eyes to do just that when he heard a muffled snort from the doorway, picking his head up to peer at Logan through squinted eyelids.

“Would you like some assistance?” Logan asked while making a half-hearted attempt to school his features.

Huffing, Virgil flopped his head back onto the pillows. “Clearly I have everything under control.”

“Falsehood. Your wiggling was very impressive but the blankets quite obviously won in the end. Was falling back to sleep after a ten hour nap and a failed battle the plan from the start?”

“No one likes a smartass Lo.”

“And yet your love for me persists.” Smiling lightly, Logan made his way to the side of the bed and climbed on, swinging his legs up and over Virgil’s stomach and plopped down gently with his hands splayed over his chest. Grunting out pseudo complaints Virgil reached up and took both of the hands in his own, giving each a kiss in turn before settling them back just below his collarbones. The sight of Logan blushing- bright enough to be visible even in the dim room- was one he would never grow tired of.

“Illogical as it may be.” He agreed. “Is that why you love your darling husband? I’m your most difficult logic puzzle that’s guaranteed to last a lifetime?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “No, that’s absurd. I love my husband because a pain in the ass though he may be- he’s a constant I find myself unable to live without.”

Feeling his own face heating up Virgil longed for his hoodie to hide in, especially once Logan’s expression turned smug from rendering him speechless. “Logan, it’s much too early for you to be this smooth.”

“Virgil, my love, it’s seven in the evening.”

Virgil blinked. “Wow. you weren’t kidding when you said ten hour nap.”

“I never kid. It’s important to be one hundo percent, one hundo percent of the time.”

“Who gave you that one?”

“Patton.”

“Yeah, maybe don’t trust the dad-friend for flashcards, starlight.’

Flushing slightly, Logan disentangled their fingers and rolled off the bed. “Duly noted. Now please get up, we have plans.”

“We do- ah!” Virgil found himself face down in his pillow, having flipped around with Logan’s rather aggressive flourish of snapping the blankets out from around his legs. Remembering that they had, in fact, had plans for the night, Virgil rolled out of bed as quickly as he could with apologies already hot on his tongue. “Logan I’m so sorry I thought that was tomorrow and I had stayed up late for stupid reasons and I hope we aren’t running late do I have time to change-”

“Virgil, breathe.” Logan cupped a hand to his cheek and gently ran a thumb under his eye. “I assure you we have plenty of time and I’m very glad you got the sleep you did. I would have liked you up earlier only to see your lovely face and to make sure your sleep schedule wasn’t ruined. But if you slept that long you must have needed it, and I certainly am not going to fault you for that.”

Closing his eyes, Virgil took a breath and held it for a second before breathing out slowly. Logan’s hand left his cheek and he caught himself leaning forward to chase the warmth, his resulting blush filling that void for the time being. 

“Do what you need and then come in the kitchen; I made fried noodles.”

More awake now than ever Virgil hurried to the bathroom. Logan’s cooking was the best he had ever had and he’d be damned if he was late for noodles.

-----

A cool breeze rustled through the thick grass and flipped over the corner of the blanket Logan and Virgil had set up an hour before. Sputtering, Virgil flipped it back from his face, spitting bits of dandelion fluff out of his mouth in the process while pointedly ignoring Logan’s snicker. He pushed his hoodie closer to the corner to prevent further mishap and snuggled closer to his husband for warmth, head resting comfortably on one arm with his other wrapped around Logan’s shoulders. 

Logan lay on his side with his head on his shoulder, the bottom of his cheek pressed into the still black soulmark that traced a shapeless blob from the top of his elbow to the nape of his neck. Soulmarks filled in based on the other soulmates feelings- when they truly felt like they had found the one. Of course that was a romantic conspiracy for the most part and to Virgil it seemed to go against the entire idea of fate. If you could choose your own, then what was the point of the marks? 

Choosing not to think about it for the time being, he continued staring up at the sky. The night was clear and this far out not much light pollution tainted their view of everything the night had to offer. Stars glittered for miles with barely there colorful space dust in between if you squinted. Logan had told him what it actually was once- something about it being high temperature nebula gas absorbing starlight- Logan had explained it much better in the past.

Logan always explained everything better.

“You’re quiet tonight.” Logan remarked.

“I’m sorry- just thinking.” 

“Mm, don’t be sorry.”

They laid in silence for a few more minutes before Virgil decided to speak up. “They always make me feel really small- stars I mean- and I know I am small compared to everything but all that just leads to...existential dread I guess. Seeing everything laid out, it’s beautiful, but it’s also a bit daunting.”

“Virgil, if you’re uncomfortable-”

“Lemme finish first before you do the sweet thing you do where you overanalyze everything for the sake of everyone else’s comfort.” Seeing Logan smile and roll his eyes he continued. “I always feel small looking at them, but it never matters because you make me feel big. Like I could take on the entire world even when the anxiety’s being a bitch.”

He felt Logan smile against his arm...and then it started to tingle. Tiny pinpricks raced up and down his arms from his shoulder to his neck and he quickly disentangled himself and started blindly slapping at his mark to get whatever bugs off that had decided to ruin the moment. Noticing Logan had his mouth covered with his eyes wide in shock staring at his arm he quickly looked down and gasped with his own.

His unsightly black blob of a soulmark, which he had long ago stopped trying to guess at the shape of, was now a glittering galaxy. Striking blue and dark purple swirled in intricate patterns behind stars that shined so brightly on his skin he would swear they had been plucked from the night sky and flicked onto him. The tingling finally stopped, the whole field seeming to hold its breath along with the both of them before Logan finally broke the silence with a hoarse whisper.

“In an entire universe I found you.” Snapping his head up, Virgil saw tears gathering in his husband’s eyes. “I was sure I already knew but- I’m so happy I found you.”

Laughing wetly Virgil dove forward, knocking them both over and half in the grass but neither could bring themselves to care. Under the stars, with Virgil himself wrapped in a galaxy, he had never been so happy to have an impossibly small space in Logan’s arms to call his own.

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#false writes #sander sides #soulmate september #ts soulmate september #virgil sanders #logan sanders #analogical #my witing

[bonni]

hiatus notice, and a word on white passivity

I'll be offline on most social media sites for at least the next month, and if I come back after that my presence will be significantly sparser. I'm taking time to find a job, spend some quality time with my girlfriend, and also extensively educate myself on worldwide antiblackness.

I have been in an interracial relationship for five years; my girlfriend is Black, native, and latina, and I am white. And although we love each other very much, I have frequently been a selfish and insensitive partner. I have made excuses for my antiblack family and friends alike, completely ignorant to the discomfort of my girlfriend due to my unwillingness to examine my own position of privilege. And when this was pointed out to me by her, I made excuses and attempted to victimize myself.

I'd like to address the other white leftists who follow and know me: as people who consider ourselves to be educated on complex sociopolitical issues like antiblackness and colonialism, it's easy to otherize ourselves from "those" white people: the ones who are violent, stubborn, and willfully ignorant. But there's a more insidious form of racism that you may be not only perpetrating on a daily basis, but exposing the POC in your life to, and that is the enabling of racism (specifically antiblackness) in your peers. Maybe your friend makes an antiblack comment in front of your Black friend and instead of calling them out, you pretend not to hear and pray your friend won't remember (trust me, they will). Maybe you refuse to stand up to your racist family members because you think it's a waste of time, and besides, you know they're good people at heart, right? Or maybe you show a Black person you know a funny sitcom scene that just happens to contain offensive racial caricatures without prompting, because you didn't really think it was that big of a deal. These are all ways that you can alienate your friends, and yes, your partners as well.

You are not special for reading The New Jim Crow or for putting BLM in your bio. These are bare-bones, rudimentary steps that anyone can take. If you want to be a real ally, you must work every single day to unravel the racist perceptions you've been conditioned to have since your childhood. Read theory and watch videos, but also closely analyze your own actions. Ask yourself right now why you're still keeping that racist friend in your life, why you're still watching that YouTuber, and why you refuse to stand up for your Black peers in the face of prejudice.

Ultimately, you need to actively decide if you're willing to put in the effort to support the Black people in your life. That will mean making sacrifices. It will mean giving up the comfortable ignorance that you've coasted on for your whole life. It will mean losing friends and dropping interests. It will mean feeling guilty quite often, and having to suppress the urge to wallow in that guilt, pull yourself up, and do something that's actually productive to offer what little reparations you can to the people who's suffering you've undoubtedly contributed to throughout your lifetime. Most importantly, it will mean accepting that you don't deserve praise for any of these actions, and that any "hardship" you face in the process of unlearning your racist tendencies is nothing compared to the experience of being a Black person in this world. My girlfriend wakes up every day afraid for the safety of her family while people like me congratulate themselves for doing the bare fucking minimum to combat racism in their communities.

White leftists, if you've read this far, I'm sure you're rolling your eyes, thinking that you're clearly already a better person than I am and that you already put in the effort required to be a good ally. And in some sense, you might be right, maybe you are better than me. But I used to think the exact same thing when I read about antiblackness. I was smart, I was different, I wasn't like "those" white people. And I was wrong. I guarantee you that you can be doing better, and I hope that reading this has given you the motivation to try. Because change takes time and effort, and you won't be young forever.

#chatter

[theycallmebecca]

Drabble: The Clause in the Will

I never planned to write a Ransom story. And then @eurynome827 posted her 2K Celebration and the opening to Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice was one of the prompts. I’m a whore for anything Pride and Prejudice... and my brain automatically connected the quote with Ransom. And would not let go.

To make an already complicated drabble even harder... I decided to write it with each section being exactly 100 words. It was both a blessing (this story could have SNOWBALLED quickly) and a curse (if you’ve written a 100 word drabble, you get it).

But it’s finished and I love how it turned out! And I was quite proud of myself for the very-Eury way I ended it.

So to @eurynome827​ congrats again on 2,000 followers!

Title: The Clause in the Will

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: some language, some minor violence/threats, suggestive

Note: This is AU and it uses the characters from Knives Out but doesn’t follow the story.

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

"It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife." Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

“Bull. Fucking. Shit.” Ransom Drysdale muttered as he wadded up another of his late grandfather's marriage-related quote notecards. They were hidden everywhere.

It had been nearly a year since his grandfather, the famed author Harlan Thrombey, had passed away, leaving Ransom as the head of Blood Like Wine Publishing. A role that he had spent the last twenty years being groomed for.

Ransom had worked his way through the ranks of the company following college and had been prepared when the time had come.

Well, prepared for everything except his grandfather's cluttered office.

At least the houses weren't his problem.

-- -- -- --

You’d started at BLW Publishing as an marketing intern after college and you’d climbed your way to the vice president of that department in the twelve years that had followed.

You loved every single part of your job.

Or at least you had until Mr. “Call Me Ransom” Drysdale had taken over the running of the company.

He had spent his years at the company floating between departments, to learn everything he could. Which meant the two of you had worked together multiple times.

But he seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons. And knew exactly what buttons to push when.

-- -- -- --

"You told me months ago that the marriage clause wasn't legally binding," Ransom fumed. "And now you're telling me it is?!"

His lawyers avoided his gaze.

"Get out!" Ransom shouted and they scurried out.

He had seven days to find a wife and marry her.

If he didn't, he lost the company.

It was just like his grandfather to pull a stunt like this. Even from the grave.

He should just let his prick of an uncle have the company. Just to prove a point.

But he knew he couldn't.

His uncle would ruin everything.

Ransom wouldn't let that happen.

-- -- -- --

"You're not the pizza guy," you said, opening your front door to find Ransom standing on the other side with a bouquet of roses and your pizza.

"Met him in the elevator. Can I come in?"

Stepping aside, you let him in. Only noticing as he passed that his normal confident aura was missing.

"What's wrong?"

He explained everything while the two of you ate pizza.

"Walt would destroy everything," you commiserated.

"Exactly."

Then he pulled out a ring box.

"Will you marry me and help me save the company we both love from ruin?"

How could you say no?

-- -- -- --

"I got married."

Ransom had chosen a public setting to share his news in hopes that his uncle wouldn't make a scene.

The fact that it was day six of his seven day window was pure coincidence.

Glancing at his wife, he found her staring across the table at his uncle, who, Ransom soon saw, was nearly purple with rage.

"This can't be legal!" his uncle shouted over the congratulations from the others. "It should have been mine! All of it!"

Then Walt pushed his chair back and stormed out of the private dining room, his wife and son following.

-- -- -- --

Logically, you knew marrying Ransom would mean moving into his house, but you'd thought you'd have more time.

But with his uncle looking for any reason to question the legitimacy of the marriage, you and Ransom agreed it had to happen now.

The two of you packed up your apartment and then had everything you were keeping moved to his house.

To his credit, Ransom made as much room for your stuff in the common areas of the house as possible, wanting you to feel at home.

But the only place that truly felt that way was your private bedroom.

-- -- -- --

Ransom sat in the hall with Walt as their lawyers met with a judge behind closed doors following another of Walter's attempts to fight the will.

"I’ve heard rumors," Walt said, his tone was nonchalant, but it was laced with venom. "About how your wife became v-"

Ransom had his hand around his uncle's throat before Walt could make another sound.

"That is my wife," he growled. "You will not say one more fucking thing about her or I will sue you for libel. Do you understand me?"

Walt let out a squeak of acknowledgement and Ransom let him go.

-- -- -- --

You'd known Ransom for years.

But after living with him for a few weeks, you realized you hadn't really known him at all.

Work Ransom demanded the respect and attention owed to the boss.

Home Ransom was softer and wore faded blue jeans instead of three piece suits.

He liked spending Saturday mornings at the market and he loved to cook.

And boy could he cook!

The one on one time with him at home had given you a whole new appreciation for your husband.

He opened up to you about things you were sure he'd never told anyone else.

-- -- -- --

Ball buster.

That's how he'd described her the first time he had worked with her on a project.

It was the reason he had recommended her for the vice president role when it had opened up.

Kind. Funny. Caring. Passionate. 

Those were the words that came to mind now when he thought of her.

She was the type of woman who could tell a dirty joke one minute and then have a serious conversation about his upbringing.

He'd been hesitant to include her at first, but their Saturday morning shopping trips were quickly becoming his favorite activity of the week.

-- -- -- --

You loved Ransom.

It hit you like a ton of bricks as you sat in the middle of a meeting at work, a month later.

You were supposed to be paying attention, but your eyes kept going across the table to where Ransom sat.

You couldn't explain how you knew, you just did.

When had it happened? You didn't know that either.

All you knew was that he was handsome and he was all yours.

At least on paper.

The joy faded from you as you remembered the two of you were roommates. Nothing more.

You wished that could change.

-- -- -- --

Ransom didn't know when it happened, but he realized one Saturday morning, a few months in, that he was in love with his wife.

He hadn't planned to fall in love with her. He'd envisioned them being married for a few years, to solidify his role at the publishing company, and then divorcing as quietly as they had married.

Being in love complicated things.

It made him think about her happiness above his own.

Was she happy with him?

If she wasn't, was he prepared to walk away from her and the company to ensure her happiness?

Yes, he decided.

-- -- -- --

"We need to talk," he said, setting a manilla envelope on the kitchen counter.

"What's that?"

"Annulment papers."

"What?!" you asked in complete disbelief.

"I love you," he confessed. "If you're not happy, I'm -"

"I love you, too," you cut him off, joy filling your heart.

Moving around the island, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him in for a long, slow kiss.

"An annulment would have cost you everything," you said.

"Your happiness means more to me," he said. "Even if it meant giving everything to Walt."

"The company is yours," you told him. "Forever."

"Ours."

-- -- -- --

"Are you coming in?"

She stood in the doorway to what had been his bedroom.

After their declaration of love, he'd properly courted her.

Taking her out on dates. Sending her flowers just because.

They'd kissed a lot and had made it to all the bases, as they say, except home.

That was the plan tonight, she'd told him.

They'd gone out for dinner and then she'd asked him to take her home.

Home to their home.

To their bedroom.

Her eyes met his as she reached behind her back and unzipped her dress. Letting it fall to the floor.

#theycallmebecca #theycallmebeccawrites #Becca writes drabbles #ransom drysdale #ransom drydale x you #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fan fiction #ransom drysdale fanfic #Eury2kchallenge

[cheesyficwriter]

okay but prompt 29 in wich ron is realising he has feelings for hermione, and he's all "she's so annoying when she does that cute nose crunch when she's mad at me!" or something like that it's up to you hahaha

Hiya, anon! Happy Fluffy Friday! I really enjoyed writing this little drabble from Ron's POV 😊 while writing, a song came on from my playlist called "This Is How You Fall In Love", by Jeremy Zucker & Chelsea Cutler, which screamed Romione vibes and gave me inspiration for the title. Enjoy 💜

This Is How You Fall In Love

Hermione Granger. The bane of my existence. 

Perhaps that's a bit dramatic. But lately, that girl has a knack for driving me absolutely barmy. 

I mean, I really shouldn't be too surprised. I thought she was downright mental when we first met. How did I not-so-eloquently put it again? Oh yeah, I believe I called her a nightmare. Not my finest hour, mind you, but I like to think it was because of my initial lack of tact that we actually ended up friends in the first place. 

I used to call her a know-it-all to her face out of irritation, but now I find it amusing to say and enjoy watching her squirm. It's an affectionate saying now, a term of endearment, if you will. 

Like right now, we're lounging in the common room, both with our backs pressed up against the legs of opposite sofas, sitting crisscross on the floor and facing each other. She is rambling on about some potion, Merlin knows what, and I'm busy observing the way her curls fall in front of her nose when she tilts her head down to zero her gaze on the book open on her lap. 

"Ron...are you even listening to me?" 

It still baffles me that she hasn't figured out by now the obvious answer to that question. 

I've spent the entire evening so far listening to her fret over essays that aren't even due for weeks and complain about my lack of motivation to work on an assignment that I fully intend to hand in tomorrow, whether it's completed or not. 

Ron, you need to take your classes more seriously.

OWLS are coming up soon.

Ron, I'm not going to revise your essays last minute anymore. 

She's quite bossy, that one. Always feels like she can tell me what I can or can't do. However, even I have to admit at this point that she is my moral compass. 

Yes, her attention to detail can be aggravating at times, but she's saved my arse on multiple occasions (as well as Harry's) so I don't have much of an argument there. 

"Ron, honestly, sometimes I think you couldn't care less about your studies,” she huffs at me. She’s clearly searching for a row and I’m always a willing participant.  

"For a know-it-all, it sure took you a hot minute to figure that one out, dinnit?" I keep my voice playful and grin cheekily at her, but the joke doesn't seem to be well-received. She is glaring daggers through my eyes, obviously not amused in the slightest. 

Now I've done it. 

I can be a bit snarky towards her at times, I know that. Sometimes, she deserves it. Other times, it’s just fun to get a reaction out of her. I don't always know why I find it so pleasurable. 

She often scrunches up her nose in a particular way when she's mad at me, much like she is doing right now, and I go back and forth on finding it cute or annoying. I s'pose it depends on her overall mood level. If I rile her up too much, I end up regretting it for the rest of the evening because she just won't bloody shut up.

We’re so used to being at odds with one another, it feels only natural at this point to seek out ways to start a bickering match. She is the only person in the world that I can go weeks without speaking to and still feel like we’re going to come out on the other side alright. Oftentimes it’s my fault, sure, but if I just give her some time and space, eventually we manage to sort ourselves out.

I just have to tread carefully. 

She's forcefully turning the pages in her book, making a show to clue me in on how vexed she is. I make my move to alleviate the tension in the room. After scribbling a few notes on a piece of parchment, I work to get her attention,

“Psst!”

Hermione jerks her head up at the sound and eyes me suspiciously. Before she has the chance to look away, I quickly turn my page so that she can attempt to read the large, block letters written in my untidy scrawl across the slightly ink-smudged parchment. 

I WROTE THIS FOR YOU.

“See? I’m working!” I lightly chuckle, waiting eagerly for any positive sign. 

Finally, she curves her lips upward into a small smile.

Victory.

My stomach twists into knots, and I do my best to quell the nervous energy that bubbles inside of me. Why am I so damn nervous around her all the time?

She is my best friend...right?

I watch her closely as she untangles her legs from their current position, and opts to stretch them out on the floor, her feet now facing me. Without thinking, almost as if my own legs are being magnetically pulled, I move to mirror hers. Mine are so long that our toes brush together, only separated by a thin layer of socks, as they meet in the middle. 

Is that a...blush?

She is so fucking adorable. 

We don't...touch very often. In fact, now that I think about it, she very rarely even hugs me. Not in the way she runs straight into Harry's arms to greet him at the start of term or to congratulate him after winning a Quidditch match. All I seem to get are awkward handshakes and half-ridden smiles. 

But...her reaction has left me curious. So, I decide to experiment. 

I point my big toe forward, slowly nudging my way in between two of her littlest toes. I think I hear an audible squeak coming from her side of the room. The response satisfies me and I flex my toe back for a moment before repeating the action. 

This time, I feel her toes gently nudge mine back. 

Are we...playing footsie? 

She is trying desperately not to look at me, I realize that now, although I can still see the tint of pink on her cheeks despite her bowed head and feeble concentration on the book in front of her. 

I almost chuckle out loud, but I restrain myself, not wanting to give the game away.

And then, she does something that makes me freeze in my spot. 

She fucking bites her lip. Bloody hell. 

My eyes bulge out and my palms start to sweat. My heart is now racing so fast in my chest that I'm afraid she'll be able to hear the rapid hammering. 

"Ron, are you okay?" She's looking at me now with worry in her eyes, her forehead creasing over in confusion. 

I clear my throat and let out a strangled, "Y-yeah." 

She tilts her head to the side, clearly not believing my weak lie. She opens her mouth to say something, and I'm prepared for the lecture, but for the first time, it doesn't come. In fact, she simply closes the gap between her lips and resumes her reading as if nothing happened. 

What was she going to say? 

She stands abruptly and announces that she needs to go to the loo. Her hand lingers on my shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze as she passes by me. 

I seem to be back at square one, feeling a sense of loneliness as I gaze at the spot that she had just occupied. You’d think I’d know my best friend pretty well, but Hermione is one puzzle I’m not sure I’ll ever solve. 

Yet, I love the thrill I get from trying to figure her out. I love that she challenges me and that I can challenge her right back. I love that I never get bored with her. As much as I love to poke fun at her incessant nagging, I love that she cares enough to push me to do better. I love...her. 

#romione #romione fanfic #romione drabble #writing prompt #ask response #ron x hermione #harry potter fanfiction #cheesyficwriter #fluff

[breathinginthevapor]

Villain

Summary: Bucky lets her go. 

A/N: I have decided to try and post every monday the next (hopefully) many weeks. I know I haven’t posted in such a long time, but I really hope you guys will welcome me back and support my little attempt at uploading regularly. This is my first finished Bucky piece, but there’s many more to come! It’s my contribution to @ugh-supersoldiers​ 5k challenge, and the prompt is in bold (sometimes bold doesn’t really show on my page, though, so sorry if that’s the case) Congratulations Gracey!

Did I make myself cry while writing this? Yes. Did it hurt writing? Yes. Did I still enjoy it? Yes because apparently I’m a sadist that likes pain to a certain degree but damn this was close to being too much. 

Word count: 1400+

T/W: uhm, i don’t really know. Let me know if you experience any!

He can’t bring himself to look at her when she packs her bags. Throws soft sweaters and pretty dresses and favourite books down a sports bag Nat got him for Christmas a couple years ago. Pink with tiny little flowers and butterflies. Everyone laughed for hours when he opened up that present, and maybe that’s one of the reasons he’s always liked it. It has reminded him of good times and friends and happiness, but he doubts he’ll ever use it again, even if she does return it. 

From now on, it will be haunted by this terrible memory. 

He can’t bring himself to look at her, so he looks at the rain drumming on the window. Droplets slide down the glass before they disappear to make room for others, and it’s just an endless circle of replacement. 

There’s always someone to take your place. 

Always someone else to keep her cold feet warm at night. 

Always someone else that will learn to love her, just like he did. 

He can hear her sniffing, and at one point she drops something heavy. The noise alarms him at first, old instincts kicking in, but he calms himself down by counting seconds. His therapist told him it would help, and as one of the few things, it does. 

It has been 349 seconds when she speaks. 

“Why won’t you look at me?”

Her voice is brittle, and she sounds like a little girl that has experienced the unfairness of the world for the first time. Bucky knows she has known loss and pain as much as anybody else, but there’s always been that innocence in her, too. The general belief that the world will bring you good things if you are a good person. It is one of the things he fell in love with. And one of the things that makes him push her away now. 

That little girl inside her should be protected, but he can’t protect anybody, and least of all her. 

“Please, Bucky,” she begs him, and he does as she wants, but hides his face partly behind long locks of dark hair. He uses it like a shield, and it sometimes feels like he can put just a little space between the world and himself when he looks through it, and he needs that. But it is the first time he has been hiding from her.. 

She walks closer to him, slowly and careful like you would approach a hurt animal. Still, he backs up against the window, cold, hard, unforgiving glass against his back. 

She must sense it because she immediately stops and stands still in the middle of the floor, looking terribly desolate and abandoned. 

“Please don’t be scared of me, Bucky,” she says, and she sounds so broken, and all Bucky wants to is pick up the pieces and mend her. But he can’t.

“I’m not,” he assures her, voice thick with emotion.

I’m only scared of what you make me feel.

Biting her lip, she nods unsurely as if she doesn’t entirely believe him. And really, it’s ironic that he’s the one who’s scared. He’s the soldier, he’s supposed to be the brave one. But the brave one has always been her. 

“I would never hurt you, Bucky,” she promises him, and Bucky believes her. He is aware that sometimes, it isn’t a choice to hurt someone, but he also knows that she would never do so on purpose. That she would hate herself if she did. Just like Bucky hates himself for hurting her. 

Bucky watches her crumble. It happens fast, legs giving out and quiet tears rolling down her cheeks as she suddenly sits on the carpet. She puts her face in her hands, and he doesn’t even think about it, just strides over to her and pulls her to his chest. Tears soak his shirt as she sobs against him, big, loud cries that makes his heart clench. 

He holds her tight and runs his hands up and down her back. She has her palm against his collarbone, and she crumbles the top of his shirt in his hand, and he figures she’s feeling the same desperation that is rushing through him. 

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, and goosebumps rise as her warm lips move upon his skin.

“Don’t be,” he says, and he doesn’t notice the tear on his face before it hits her hair. “Don’t be,” he repeats.

She looks up at him with big eyes, red and glossy from crying but beautiful all the same. The kind of eyes that pierces right into your soul and sees all of your faults, but doesn’t judge them. 

Her lip quivers when she speaks, “I really wanted us to work, you know? I really believed in this.”

His throat constricts and it feels like the moment lasts forever, before he admits, “Me too, doll.”

That makes her smile, a slow movement of the corners of her mouth that seems so far from the usual grin that takes up half of her face. 

“I’ve always loved that nickname,” she admits, hand reaching to his jaw with a feather-light touch. Her hand is shaking, and she doesn’t try to hide the big, fat tears that rolls down her cheeks and past her lips or the shining adoration in her eyes. She lets him see it all, her vulnerability and her ugly parts and her scars and her faults, and Bucky loves her for it. 

“Dunno, guess I feel special when you call me that. Like I’m the one for you, the same way you are for me.”

“You are, doll. The only one.”

He knows it’s a small act, but he makes sure to use the nickname. If he can show her how special she is, he will. 

 “Of course you are, doll,” he sobs, and presses her face into his chest once more, because he isn’t courageous like her. 

He rocks them both from side to side, like cradling a baby, and they cry into each other, two lovers being torn apart. 

He doesn’t know how long it goes on, but eventually, she pulls her face away and presses a sweet, chaste kiss again his lips. He can taste the crying on her lips and tries to savour the soft feeling in his heart for harder times. 

“You make my world turn, Bucky Barnes.”

He doesn’t know how she does it. Says things so perfectly with the words of a poet without ever sounding pretentious.  Maybe she’ll write a book one day. He hopes she will, imagines buying it in a cozy bookstore and feeling close to her as he reads her penned down thoughts. Sees himself absorbed in it while sitting in a soft chair, a gentle glow from a bedside lamp. Perhaps it will be dedicated to her husband, to the love of her life. Or perhaps to him. To the one who so unwillingly broke her heart. 

“I should go,” she says, every soft-spoken word laced with pain. 

He doesn’t want to let her leave. But he has to. For both of them. So he loosens his grip and stands up alongside her, watching her pick up the bag. 

He hates goodbyes. 

She stops in front of his door and turns around, face crumbed and biting her lip. 

“I just- I really hope one day you realize that you’re not the villain in your own story.”

He looks at her, and he knows he loves her and that it doesn’t change anything. 

“I really hope you’ll be happy, Bucky.” 

He feels his eyes drop wet at that. 

“You deserve it.”

He disagrees, but he doesn’t say it. What would it matter? They’ve never seen eye to eye about that.

“You too,” he tells her, honestly, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. She has such a way with words, piercing right through him while he stumbles like a child and never says the right things. But he has try for her. 

“Thank you,” he stops her as he begins to ramble, “For understanding. Always understanding. And for being here when I needed you. And for loving me.  And for letting me love you.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “And- and thank you, for letting me let you leave.”

She nods and smiles through her tears, and Bucky doesn’t think he would be able to forget that image, ever. Not even if he tried. It carves its way into his mind, a sharp pain in the back of his head. 

“‘Course, Buck. Anything for you,” she tells him, and Bucky is once again reminded by the unconditional love he doesn’t deserve. 

And then she leaves him.

//

Please reblog/leave feedback if you liked it!

#graceys 5k challenge #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes writing #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes angst #marvel #marvel writing #marvel fic #marvel one shot #marvel angst #avengers #avengers writing #avengers fic #avengers one shot #avengers angst #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan writing #sebastian stan fic #sebastian one shot #sebastian stan angst

[eunsoyi]

helloo. would it be possible for you to write a #1 fantasy prompt for kuroo please? ♡ congratulations by the way ^^

aaa finally a fantasy one !! thank you luvie <3

the brightest witch of her time

( hogwarts!au because harry potter is a fantasy novel you can’t say otherwise )

brightest witch of her time. kuroo tetsurou let out a scoff as he watched ravenclaw’s most famous and well-respected student scurry back and forth inside the library carrying a mountain of books. it’s not like him to actually hate a fellow student, especially someone in his year. but oh boy, do you get in his nerves.

to be fair, he did feel a little guilty for hating you without your knowledge. however, the thought of him being guilty with you as the reason made him weirdly angrier. he concluded that it was probably his superiority complex acting up. as a gryffindor, he did need to protect his pride as much as possible, and his competitiveness is obviously drilled down deep in his nature.

“you’re gonna poke a hole on her body. stop glaring.” kozume kenma, his best friend and also one of the students from gryffindor, reprimanded him in a hushed tone. tetsurou rolled his eyes. “oh i wish a hole would grow on her body.”

kenma sighed, closed the book he was reading and faced his friend with a scowl. “what did y/n even do to you?”

tetsurou pursed his lips and finally looked away from you. “i have no idea. she’s just annoying.” kenma then turned to get a glimpse of your busy little figure and gave a soft chuckle. “i don’t get it.”

“yeah, you never will.” tetsurou whined and forced himself to focus on his textbook about healing potions and whatnot. the thought of severus snape whacking his head for turning in a half-assed essay was enough to snap him back to reality and continue studying.

you and tetsurou used to have a civil relationship. with ravenclaw and gryffindor having an enormous amount of classes together during their first few years at hogwarts, it was only natural for the two houses to form unlikely friendships with each other. it was no doubt that ravenclaw students are exceptionally intelligent, they are known for that trait after all. that nature had caused an inevitable yet somewhat healthy competition between the two houses that used essays, homeworks, and exams as criteria to determine which house is actually better in academics. the punishment was the losing house gets to give their points to the other house.

surprisingly, the results varied a lot. gryffindor would take the lead for one subject, and then suddenly during the next one, ravenclaw would overtake them. the system was like that, and everyone loved some competition and it motivated them to work harder, especially tetsurou who was named as the smartest gryffindor of his year.

take note, smartest gryffindor. not smartest hogwarts student. not smartest wizard. just the most intelligent person in his house and more specifically, in his year.

you, despite the varying results of the ravenclaw versus gryffindor academic competition, were the only consistent thing in the said system. you always, always got the highest marks for essays, exams, and homework no matter what the subject. and it annoyed tetsurou. because no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many all-nighters he pulled, he was always nowhere near to beating you.

the annoyance bubbled into hatred once he started hearing your nickname: the brightest witch of your time. he was very much jealous of the fact that each and every educator in hogwarts acknowledged your skills. hell, even snape, head of the slytherin house, infamous for his unreasonable actions towards his students that are not from his house, had favored you because you were just that good. tetsurou then spent the following years just trying to compete with you (he even joined the quidditch team and got in as a seeker, but his interest quickly dissipated when he realized you weren’t even interested in playing quidditch).

despite being just one spot below you in academics, he still remained number one in terms of popularity, and oh boy did he take pride in that.

“hey, tetsu.” a chirpy girl from slytherin suddenly greeted him while he was chilling in front of the fireplace in the gryffindor common room.

“how did you get in here?” he smirked and reached out to plant a kiss on the girl, to which she giggled flirtatiously in response. tetsurou felt kenma roll his eyes beside him, but paid no attention to the pudding-haired boy and continued making out with the girl (whose name he doesn’t even remember).

“i have my ways.” she replied in a muffled and out-of-breath tone, showing a hint of exhaustion from tetsurou’s intense kiss.

“you’re naughty, ain’t ya?”

the two of them continued flirting until kenma suddenly spoke.

“oh? y/n.”

tetsurou’s head snapped towards kenma’s direction. “what about her?”

“why are you so worked up?” kenma narrowed his eyes as he gave the slytherin girl a disgusted expression. “she’s walking towards the forbidden forest.” he explained and pointed outside the window. and lo and behold, you were there, walking in the dark without any care in the world with a small light emitting from your wand.

“what?!” tetsurou was now standing up, dropping the girl sitting on his lap. she clicked her tongue and attempted to return to their original position, but failed because tetsurou suddenly dashed outside the common room.

“ugh, that bitch.” she mumbled under her breath, gritting her teeth.

“you know kuroo doesn’t even know you, right?” kenma told her, not even giving her a glance as he flipped through his book. the girl grunted in response and left, fuming.

tetsurou’s sweat was covering his field of vision, but he found himself running as fast as he can, not even thinking about what kind of punishment lies beyond him and you once the teachers find out you were out during the night.

he then found you on the entrance of the forest, your wand still emitting the same small light. he panted, putting his hands on his knees.

“oi, y/n! what the hell are you doing out here?” he yelled. you immediately turned around to face him, and he noticed you turned pale once you realized someone was there with you.

“none of your business, kuroo.” you snapped.

tetsurou felt his frustration bubble up because of your reply. “wow, rude much?”

“just leave me alone.”

“jeez, suit yourself.” tetsurou snapped back and turned to walk away. he walked for about five steps and when he turned around, you were suddenly gone. it’s as if you were air or something. “what the fuck..” he muttered. there was no sign of you anywhere. he composed himself and went to follow you inside the forbidden forest.

he took out his wand and muttered “lumos.” as he walked in a straight line, trying to find any sign of your presence. his wand lit up, but his hands were still shaking in nervousness. going into the forbidden forest was not allowed because the forest can literally kill you, and the all of the hogwarts students are aware of this fact, so why the hell is tetsurou risking his life looking for you?

he walked for about another ten minutes when he heard galloping. what the fuck, centaurs?! he frantically tried to remember any kind of offensive and defensive spells he learned in class and hid behind a tree, his heart rate increasing as the galloping sound became nearer and clearer.

“hey, hey, it’s okay. calm down.” he heard a sweet female voice say. he angled his position to get a glimpse of the person who owned the voice and let out a sigh of relief when he noticed that the voice came from you. his eyes widened as you reached your hand to touch the most beautiful, most peaceful, most elegant creature tetsurou has ever seen. its skin was pure gold, and its hair was very, very soft like clouds. the creature emitted an angelic yet somehow intense aura which spiked his curiousity even further.

he walked towards you and the creature quietly, despite trying his hardest not to make his presence known. you snapped, still not moving your hand away from the creature and turned around with your wand pointing out towards tetsurou. you cursed under your breath and let out a sigh of relief when the light of your wand flashed into his familiar face. you did not acknowledge his presence any further and continued petting the horse-like animal, but tetsurou didn’t care. he reached out his hand as well and much to his happiness, the creature did not move away.

“what are you?” he found himself asking the creature, of course, it did not respond. it was worth a try, he thought, chuckling to himself. he heard you giggle slightly when you heard his question. “it’s a unicorn.” you answered. “this one’s a baby, though. i wonder where his parents are.”

“where’s the horn?” he asked once more, this time looking at you.

“like i said, it’s a baby.”

he wondered how you knew about that information, but shrugged it off after realizing you are the most intelligent student in hogwarts. “you could get in trouble for this.” he stated in a matter-of-fact tone. you scowled, still not meeting his eyes. “no shit, sherlock. it’s called the forbidden forest for a reason.”

he clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “i’m just saying. jeez, why are you here anyway?” he asked in a rhetoric manner. the two of you stood in silence for a few seconds, admiring the golden unicorn, before you spoke again.

“i go here because i want to see them for myself.” you said with a serious expression. tetsurou was surprised because you actually answered his question, but remained silent as a cue for you to continue. “it’s fun learning about a few of them in class and all, but i want to see the real ones. the dangerous ones. the creatures we’re not allowed to see. i want to learn.”

tetsurou was astonished. for the first time since he met you, he understood why people were calling you the brightest witch of your time. it wasn’t just about your memorization skills or your talents in uttering spells and making potions, it was also your hunger for new information. your need to learn about the unknown, about the things hogwarts had purposely left out in its curriculum. he looked down, a pang of guilt striking through his chest as he remembered what malicious things he had said, thought, and felt about you. tetsurou was so goddamn wrong about you, and he hated that. a part of him wished you were just the annoying ravenclaw he always knew, but it was refreshing to know that in some way, you were more than that.

he sighed, and as he did, he finally caught your attention and you looked up at him. “what?” you narrowed your eyes.

“just..” he paused. “the next time you come here, tell me, okay?”

you gave him a suspicious look. “why? you’re not going to tell on me? you know telling someone would cost ravenclaw a lot of points, right? and gryffindor would finally win house cup?” you asked, not trusting him one bit.

“i wanna learn more.” he simply said. “and being a snitch is petty. i’d rather beat you fair and square.”

you didn’t answer but instead just laughed in response. the two of stayed there for a good five minutes until finally returning back to the dorms. before the two of you parted ways, you stopped in your tracks and faced him once more.

“meet me there thirty minutes after dinner everyday.” you just said and ran off to your own common room. he just stood there, shocked at what you just did. when he came back to his senses, he smiled to himself. with finally having something to look forward to for the first time in years, he walked back to his room with a spring in his step.

“you look chipper.” kenma said as tetsurou finally reached his dorm room.

“do you know that a baby unicorn’s skin is gold?” he asked, grinning.

“i did not know that.” kenma replied rather nonchalantly.

“yeah, me neither.”

this took a long time to finish bc i can’t remember jack shit about harry potter but i wanted to push the gryffindor!kuroo agenda so much. hope you liked this! requests for 100-follower special is still open. see this for more info!

#kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo headcanons #kuroo scenarios #kuroo imagines #kuroo hcs #kuroo oneshot #haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu au #harry potter au

[freudensteins-monster]

Harry Potter logyn

I’m so sorry Anon, I have zero idea how many years ago this prompt was sent, because it has almost definitely been years, but I just skimmed past this ask today and honestly can’t remember seeing it before… But let’s not dwell on that - I wrote 1400 words in one (5hr) sitting. Go me.

And yes, I know we may not be loving a certain author right now, but I may have also made Sigyn trans, for certain reasons.

I also made Loki genderqueer using they/them pronouns. I usually write Loki as he/him and kept reverting back to that as I wrote, so if I missed any in editing I apologise.

Transfiguration 

Loki had hated almost every minute of their last five yearsat Hogwart’s, and considering they’d gotten detention their first week back, theirsixth year wasn’t shaping up to be any better.

It started when they’d been sorted into Ravenclaw, which wasboth a blessing and a curse. It rankled them that they hadn’t been sorted intoGryffindor like their adopted brother, Odin’s golden child, Thor.And they were somewhat ashamed to know they weren’t worthy enough (pure bloodedenough) to have been sorted into Slytherin like their half-brothers Helblindiand Býleistr, who had thankfully graduated by the time Loki had entered their thirdyear.

All them of them were assholes who ignored Loki at best or knockedthem off their broom during a quidditch match, breaking their arm in threeplaces, at worst (Odin had sent a raven congratulating Thor on his victory).

But being sorted into Ravenclaw, as much as it made Lokifeel lesser than their brothers, at least allowed them some time away from them.Things might have been better if Loki had managed to make some close friends,rather than just the occasional study buddy/academic rival. And it might haveall been tolerable if only Frigga was still alive to remind them of theirworth.

The arrival of the perpetually grim Professor Snape pulled Lokifrom their depressing musings. It also brought the presence of another student to Loki’s attention as she filed in behind Snape andquickly took a seat.

“You were almost late, Ms Anderson.”

“Sorry Professor. I got lost,” the Hufflepuff girl admitted bashfully with light eastern European accent. “The stairs at Durmstrang don’t move.”

“You’re not in Durmstrang anymore, so I suggest you get usedto it. Quickly.”

Loki bristled at Snape’s tone but kept their mouth shut. Onedetention their first week back was more than enough.

“Now, for the rest of the evening, for however long ittakes, the two of you will be returning these old textbooks and reference booksto the library and reshelving them for Madam Pince – without the aid of magic,”he intoned, gesturing at a small bookshelf crammed full of books.

Loki didn’t give him the satisfaction of groaning.

“What is it Ms Anderson?”

“I’m sorry, professor, but… where’s the library?”

Snape sighed. “I’m sure Mr Borson can show you. I want thisbookshelf empty before my first class in the morning.”

Loki glared at Snape’s retreating back before turning it onthe pile of books. When the sound of Snape’s footsteps finally faded, only thendid Loki get out of their seat. They put together a stack of books, as tall as theydared carry, and almost lost them all when they turned right into Ms Anderson.

“Watch it,” they hissed, stabilising their books.

“Sorry,” the girl muttered as she ducked behind Loki to graba stack of books almost as tall as theirs.

“Come on,” they groused, leading the girl away from the dank Potions classroom.

Halfway to the library Loki broke and attempted to makeconversation with the new girl.

“What was your name?” they asked, loathed as they were tocontinue using the same name Snape called her.

“Sigyn,” she puffed as she tried to keep pace with Loki. “Yours?”

“Loki. I don’t think I’ve heard of a student transferring infrom another school before. It’s quite unusual.”

“There were unusual circumstances,” she replied vaguely.Loki was intrigued didn’t think she’d be more forthcoming if they pushed.

Silence fell between until they reached the library. Loki, ignoringMadam Pince’s stern gaze, led them over to the Potions section. They stared atthe two stacks of books now sitting in front of them and thought about thebooks still waiting to be collected.

“What do you think about us splitting up? I’ll got getanother batch of books while you shelve, then we can trade on and off until weshelve the last of the books together? Might be faster.”

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Can you figure it out?” they asked, gesturing towards theshelves.

Sigyn rolled her eyes. “Yes. They have libraries atDurmstrang, you know.”

“Did they now,” Loki teased before racing off back to the Potionsclassroom.

Within forty minutes they had ferried all of the books overand only had a dozen or so left to shelve. It was then, as they stood in closequarters, that Sigyn made her own attempts at conversation.

“So… what are you in detention for?”

“The usual; talking back to Snape. I kept telling him to usemy preferred pronouns – or “your majesty” if “they” was too hard for him - andhe kept insisting on being an ass.”

“Pronouns?” Sigyn asked with no hint of revulsion, onlycuriosity.

“Mm… They/Them. I consider myself genderqueer. And thisstupid school won’t let me wear makeup, or a skirt under my robes, you’d thinkthe least they could do is respect my pronouns. Most professors and students doit without making a fuss, but some people,” they growled, shoving a book ratherforcibly onto the shelf, “just like to be assholes.”

Sigyn was quiet for a moment, her eyes flicking between Lokiand the book in her hand.

“I’m trans,” she admitted. “Durmstrang and my mother wouldonly accept me as a boy, so my father moved us to Ireland and arranged for meto transfer to Hogwarts. So now I get to be Sigyn,” she added with a softsmile.

“Is that why you’re in detention? Did Snape give you shitfor being trans?”

“What? Oh, no,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’tthink he knows – only Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey had to beinformed, as far as my father told me.”

“Huh… one point for Hogwarts,” Loki muttered. “Then what didyou do to get detention?”

“I punched someone,” Sigyn blushed. “There was this 7thyear boy and his friends casting some sort of wind spell to blow girls’ skirtsup as they walked passed. All the girls were mortified and the boys thought itwas great fun. When he tried to do it to me, I walked right over to him andpunched him in the nose.”

Loki had a feeling they knew who would do something sorepugnant and looked downright gleeful at the thought of him getting some comeuppance.

“Who did you punch?”

“Um… I think his name was… Thot?”

Loki laughed so loud it drew the ire of Madam Pince.

“Sorry,” they called back, not remorseful in the least. “Thor,”they corrected.

“You know him?”

“Regrettably. He is my brother. Adopted.”

“You needn’t get defensive,” Sigyn smiled as she slotted thelast book into place. “So far I think you have little in common with such abrute.”

Loki smiled back. “So… all finished. Do you think you canfind your way back to your dormitory from here?”

Sigyn winced. Loki chuckled.

“Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” she pouted as she followed him outof the library. “Durmstrang was not as large as this place, and the layout mademuch more sense.”

“You’ll figure it out eventually,” he smirked. “What yearare you in?”

“Sixth.”

“Really? Me too. I don’t think I’ve seen you around though.”

It turned out that they were both taking Charms, Herbology,and Defence Against the Dark Arts, but Sigyn’s Herbology class and Loki’sPotion’s class caused a scheduling conflict so they would rarely be in the sameclasses on the same days. But they would be both be taking the sameTransfiguration class, they happily discovered, first up the very next morning.

“I’ll see you then,” Loki said as they brought her to thestairwell that would lead down to the Hufflepuff dormitories. “Presuming youdon’t get lost.”

“I’ll try not to,” she smiled bashfully before wishing Lokigoodnight with a kiss on the cheek.

Loki waited until Sigyn was out of sight before making theirway back to Ravenclaw Tower. They couldn’t stop smiling. In less than an hourthey’d found a new study buddy, quite possibly made a new friend, and maybe, ifthe way Sigyn blushed when she kissed them meant anything, they might just finishthe term with a girlfriend who liked them just as they are.

#transfiguration #logyn #loki x sigyn #loki #sigyn #genderqueer loki #trans sigyn #mcu #hp #freudensteins-fics

[everlarkficexchange]

Unmasked ~ Finale

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

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

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

Please enjoy the thirty-first, and final, full chapter of this adventure. In the name of tying up storylines, it ran a little long. Please forgive me for that. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 31 ~~

With those words, any hope I had been holding onto that Madge felt she could trust me with her heart’s secrets dies. I had been waiting for a confession and instead she announces her engagement.

“Marry…Mr. Hawthorne?” I choke out and Madge’s smile slips from her face.

“I… I thought you had warmed to him some.”

“A little, but…marriage?” I shout and Madge sighs.

“Yes, marriage. Can you not be happy for me, as I was for you?”

“But… why?” I ask and attempt to order my thoughts. “You hardly know him. He is an ass!”

“No worse than many a man of this world and certainly not near as bad as the Earl.”

“That is not exactly a glowing recommendation.”

“Katniss, please. He is a gentleman of fine family and good fortune. Perhaps a bit rough in manner but nothing that cannot be polished. I thought you two had developed a sort of intellectual banter that might lead to friendship. And… and I cannot continue to be a burden to you.”

“But you are no burden!” I protest.

“Not yet, perhaps, but it is inevitable. The longer I stay here, the more likely it becomes that I will cause you problems.”

“You do not love him!” I sputter and she gives me a wry look.

“And you did not love Peeta when you married him. Look at how well that turned out. It all depends on what the parties expect going into the marriage, and there are many advantages to our union. There’s no reason why I can’t be happily married to Gale.”

“Gale? Now he’s Gale?” My heart clenches in my breast and I know I squeeze her hands too rough as she tries to remove them from my grasp.

“Well I am to marry him.”

“What about Johanna? You would discard her so easily?” I ask, and Madge jumps back from me.

“What has Johanna to do with this?” She hisses the words, her eyes narrowing. “Why would a stable hand have any bearing on my marriage prospects?”

“Because you love that stable hand!”

“Even if I did, it would be impossible to do anything about it.”

“We can find a way—“ Madge’s bitter laugh stops me and she finally manages to free her hands from my grasp.

“Oh Katniss, you have no idea what you’re talking about. Stick to farming and not judging my choices again. Some of us haven’t the luxury of a picturesque happy ever after, so forgive me for grasping at the closest I can get!”

She spins about and leaves me gaping in confusion and heartache.

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

“He is a canting knave! A scoundrel of the worst sort!” I rant as I pace the floor and Peeta makes futile attempts at calming me enough to sit. Now that I have unleashed a few of my grievances, they all come tumbling out. “How dare he! Presuming to know anything about me or my home or my family, instructing me on how things should be as though I were a wayward school girl and not a woman grown. Acting as though he already owns Everdeen. I have poured my blood, my sweat, my tears, my very soul into this earth! And here this jackanape strolls in, telling me that all my problems might be solved if I had married him, all while he is maneuvering my dearest friend into a marriage she does not want! How can she? And now… now he’ll have both Willow Park and Everdeen, the bastard!”

“And who are you to give him that name when it belongs to me?” Peeta asks and I scowl at him. 

“You are my husband, my love. I am endeavoring to not insult you anymore by not calling you that name.”

“Mmmm, but on your lips, that word has become almost an endearment to me.” He manages to grasp hold of me then, and wraps me in his arms, entangles me so that I’ve no choice but to sink onto his lap. No choice and yet I do not want one. There is nowhere else I would rather be, as a sense of calm and clarity washes over me as we settle together in the intimate posture. 

“Are you jealous, husband? At my calling Mr. Hawthorne that term?”

“Not yet,” he whispers and rubs the tips of our noses together. “Should you still be thinking of him, even if it is to curse him, later this evening when my mouth is between your thighs…then I might be jealous. Until then…”

He trails off and kisses me, and I am powerless and without motivation to stop it. I nearly laugh at the thought of how much I love kissing my husband. Should it be so? This happiness and harmony of mind and body and heart with another being? I am lost in it before I can so much as take a breath.

Until I remember that Madge will once again find herself in a marriage without such joy as this.

“You are distracting me from my worries,” I manage to say when he shifts to kiss along my cheeks.

“Is it effective?”

“Not yet,” I tease. “Perhaps you should skip straight to your mouth between my thighs.”

His smile is beautiful as he stops and brushes back my hair. I sigh and shift beneath his scrutiny, unable yet to allow myself to be completely distracted from my quarrel with Madge. 

“You did not see her face. She looked as though she might be sick. She cannot be happy with this.”

“It cannot all be a disaster. I cannot imagine Madge entering a union without good reason. She’s not desperate. Perhaps it was your anger she feared, more than her nuptials. She knows how much reason you have to dislike him, to distrust him. She knows he is to inherit Everdeen, and how would it look, her marrying him so quickly and gaining her closest friend’s home in the bargain.”

“She would not. I cannot believe Madge capable of such greed. She already has Willow Park.”

“Neither can I believe it of her, but Katniss, there must be a reason for this. You know it. I think Madge may be more aware of what she is doing than you are giving her credit.”

“How?”

“I do not know. It is only an intuition right now. I’ve no proof. We will simply need to be patient.”

He is right. I can feel that he is. I’ve only let my fears and my anger run away with me, but Peeta, as always, provides the steadiness I need to aim my thoughts and feelings in the right direction. There is, in my memory, the tickling of a conversation. Madge’s desire to see Willow Park restored, as a home of her own perhaps. This I can understand, and Mr. Hawthorne is wealthy enough to see the deed done. Is it possible, then, that Madge simply conducted her own fortune hunting expedition? If so, she was much more expedient about it than I was. And how can I judge her for doing the same as me, for attempting to secure a future and a home for her and Maysilee? I cannot. I rest my head on Peeta’s shoulder, heavy with my own thoughts.

“You think I was too harsh with Madge.” I state it because I think I was too harsh with her, and so Peeta should think it as well.

“I think you should ask her what her reasons are. Without shouting at her.”

“I did not…” I start to protest and then stop, guilt threatening to choke the words right from my throat. “Alright, perhaps I did shout a little.”

He hums in agreement, his lips distracting me as he kisses my neck. 

“I will speak with her again. Calmly this time.” There is still hope to sway her. She and Mr. Hawthorne did not announce their engagement today. Until it is officially announced, I am not certain I can believe she will go through with it. There is nothing that I can do about it tonight. “Oh very well…distract me if you must.”

Peeta laughs then helps me stand and together, we hurry to our bed.

After, as I lay across his naked form, wrapped in his arms with the heat of his chest warming my back, his hands caressing idly over my form, a divine sort of content making my limbs heavy and sleepy, he kisses my temple and speaks once more.

“He is right about one thing, you know.”

“Who?” I ask, watching Peeta’s fingers follow the swell of our growing child. 

“Gale Hawthorne.” I stiffen in his embrace and yet Peeta continues. “Had you married him instead, Everdeen would be yours without question.”

“Would you rather I had? Married him instead of you?”

“Are you fishing for compliments, wife?” he asks and I turn to scowl at him.

“No, I think that you are.”

His smile is still bright but something wavers in his eyes before he swallows and whispers to me. “You know I would not wish that for the world. Katniss, my love. I never dreamt I could be so happy with anyone as I am with you.”

I feel myself melt towards him and he lifts one hand to turn my chin towards him.

“I love you. Beyond life and reason.” A kiss and a soft sigh. “But he is right.”

“No. He is wrong. Everdeen would be mine, but…It is as you said the other night. It is pleasant to think you and I would have found our way here anyways, no matter the circumstances, but the odds of that happening differently… Such a thing is not a certainty. No, I do not wish I had met him before you, nor certainly not that I married him. For then, I would have missed out on something far more precious to me than even Everdeen.”

Peeta’s eyes widen at that and I turn to kiss him more fully, that he might taste the certainty in my lips as well as hear it in my words.

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

Madge remains resolute. Even as I make attempts to speak with her, she withdraws from me. An announcement is made and congratulations are offered. Plans are made.

The clergyman’s cottage remains mostly intact on Willow Park. A few repairs should bring the dwelling up to a standard suitable for a couple to live in comfortably while the repairs are being conducted on the manor itself. Mr. Hawthorne does not intend to stay in the area between now and their nuptials.

“I have pressing business to attend in other parts of Panem. It would be unseemly to travel with my fiancée unchaperoned.”

Mother extends the invitation to Madge to stay with us, but she declines. Within days of the announcement, Madge has hired a housekeeper and a groundsman, a married couple, to live on the premises with her and Maysilee. Shortly after Mr. Hawthorne and his party departs, Madge and Maysilee move out of Everdeen.

Perhaps one good thing to come out of their engagement is that with the family resuming residence at Willow Park, Madge will be able to hire a new cleric, offering a second option and saving the village from the necessity of attending Father Crane’s sermons. Hopefully Madge can find someone with a more open mind and less slimy arrogance.

Peeta departs for Capitol, although he is reluctant to do so. I insist that he go as planned, to sit his exams. When he leaves, he once again urges me to speak with Madge, to visit her in her new home. I know that I should. I should not let such a vital and long friendship die soundlessly. And yet I cannot bring myself to order the cart. Madge has made it clear that for whatever reason, I am not welcome. I cannot fathom how it is that I managed to fail her so abominably.

With him and Madge both gone, I bury myself in work. A field destroyed by what appears to have been a herd of rabbits provides a timely distraction. Miranda’s education often takes a decent amount of my time and we read voraciously through one book after another. She begins to read to me, in a slow halting voice that follows my finger beneath the words on the page. I walk long hours across the hills of Everdeen. I prepare for the arrival of our child. The plants continue to grow. The rains continue to fall and the sun shines in its turn. I often find myself contemplating the moon and wondering if Madge and Peeta are doing the same.

Johanna is no more talkative on the matter than me. The one time I attempt to speak with her about it, she insists she has no desire to stick her nose into the business of the Quality. I have a hard time believing that, but she will not be moved to speak.

One morning, I lift my hand to knock on Miranda’s door, to ask her if she would like to help me in the gardens. The sounds of quiet cries startle me. I gently push the door open and peer through the crack. There are books spread across the floor and a rag doll with cornsilk hair sitting in a chair at the table, a cup of tea and a biscuit in front of it. Miranda is splayed across the bed, crying into Odysseus’ fur.

I shut the door and finally allow a few tears of my own to fall. Then I order the cart prepared.

“Miranda…would you like to go and see Maysilee for tea?” I ask through the door when I return, the cart waiting for us. My words are met with a great crashing of noise. She flings open the door, her eyes puffy and red and hopeful.

“Today?”

“Right this instant,” I tell her.

I feel more wretched with every step the horses take towards Willow Park. With every excited, breathless word that leaves Miranda’s mouth, I find myself drowning in a veritable flood of verbiage, after so many months of her silence. It is more damning than Madge’s distance and more painful than Peeta’s gentle encouragement. The proof that I have neglected my daughter, the way my mother once did to me, as my father lay ill and unresponsive. Oh the things that silence and neglect drove me to do last year.

Work is progressing on the rebuilding of the manor, the area has been cleared, cellars dug and the foundations begin to take shape. Miranda points out the changes as I drive us to the cottage.

“Miranda! Aunt Katniss!” Maysilee shouts as she runs full tilt from the gardens surrounding the cottage. Dirt stains her pinafore and she clings to Mud the cat. When did she begin referring to me as an aunt? I’ve no idea and it splits my broken heart further open.

Our daughters embrace at the gate as I carefully climb down from the cart. It is a trick with no mounting stone and no one to assist me. I stumble and manage to grasp hold of something solid to keep from planting my face in the dirt. Madge exits the cottage just in time to witness my near disgrace.

“Katniss,” she says, holding a hand over her eyes to shield her face from the sun as she wears no bonnet.

“I hope we are not intruding. Miranda has been missing Maysilee.”

“Oh,” Madge says with a nod. “Will you…stay for tea then?”

The invitation is issued and tea is served in a sunny front room where we can watch our girls play through the window. The woman Madge hired bustles about, setting out the tray and then leaves us in silence. Only the ticking of the clock and the sounds of girls at play break the strain. I do not even know how to begin, for I do not even know how I failed her.

“Peeta is in Capitol as I understand? For his exams?”

“Yes,” I say, unable to hide the confusion on my face.

“Primrose writes to me, and visits on occasion.”

“Oh.” More guilt. My sister has been a better friend to Madge than I have.

“I think she is hoping for bits of news of Rory and hope from me that she cannot glean from his letters,” Madge says simply and I smile, the feeling forced. “How is it going then…for Peeta?”

“Very well,” I say. The words feel like ash on my tongue and I cannot reconcile the sudden sorrow I feel with the happiness of the news I impart.

No, I know the reason. We speak now as two strangers, rather than the best of friends. What happened to us? Gale Hawthorne happened to us. Anger and resentment unfurls in my breast at how deeply he impacts my life, even when not present.

“I am glad to hear it. Hopefully he will return to you soon. I know how you must miss him.”

“Madge,” I say and she turns her head to look out the window.

“And your parents? How do they fare?”

“Well enough. Madge… are we to avoid speaking of it?”

“I do not know what more I can say on the matter. I am marrying Gale Hawthorne in less than a month. I hope my dear friend will be there to congratulate me.”

“How am I to congratulate you when I am not convinced of your happiness?”

She snaps her eyes shut and breathes out through her teeth. “Katniss…there is more to happiness than love. We cannot all afford to have your romantic sentimentalities.”

“But–”

“Please trust me on this. I cannot…I cannot be open yet. There is more than my secrets at stake here.”

I stare at her, and while her answer tells me nothing, I do feel something. Some measure of relief in knowing that Peeta somehow understood it before I did. That Madge does indeed have some reason for her hasty engagement to Mr. Hawthorne, for marrying him at all.

She sighs and reaches for me, withdrawing her hand before she touches me and instead fiddling with her hair.

“You took me in after years of silence, with no questions asked, and you’ve no idea how much that means to me. I am asking you now to let me go with no questions and trusting that I know what I am doing.”

Her request hurts, but how could I possibly refuse. I manage only a nod of agreement.

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

Peeta returns home, tired but successful. The professors of the medical college are pleased with his progress and excited to continue his training. They claim that his inclusion in such an early class of students will be a boon to the science of medicine as he brings a unique perspective.

“I am proud of you,” I murmur that night as we lay in our bed, my cumbersome form a nuisance and a barrier keeping me from kissing him the way that I want to, keeping Peeta from loving me the way that I want him to.

Although I can tell he is aroused, he rebuffs my advances. “We do not want to risk sending you into early labor,” he insists as he restrains my wandering hands.

“The sooner this child is born, the better,” I complain and he laughs, kisses each of my cheeks and then my nose.

“There’s a recovery period after, my love. Somewhere between one and two months, depending on the difficulty of the birth.”

“Two months!” I shout and he laughs. “You will love me for a week straight after the two months, husband.”

“I wouldn’t dare, wife,” he says and kisses me soundly on the mouth before extinguishing the light. “You would exhaust me.”

“You would enjoy it,” I quip and he chuckles softly against my neck.

But despite the levity that I sometimes feel, there is a constant shadow. My friend. My sister in my heart. Day by day, despite the fact that we seem to have reached some sort of truce where we visit and bring our daughters together as often as possible, I feel her growing away from me. We do not speak of her wedding at all. Our conversations barely qualify as more than chatter.

The manor at Willow Park slowly rises out of the ashes. The construction brings new work to the district and wandering souls begin to make their way here seeking employment in such a fertile region. Johanna announces one day that the stables at Willow Park have been built and that she has been hired on as their stablemaster.

“Is that wise?” I ask Peeta as we stand in the doors of Everdeen and watch Johanna ride away on her nag, only a small sack of belongings to her name. She is under no contract with us and so is free to leave, but that is not my concern. I fear the potential for strife in a house where her lady love is married to another.

“I think I begin to understand,” Peeta says and then does not have time to elaborate with Miranda careening across the yard, chasing a flock of clucking chickens. 

“I was thinking…” I begin and wait for his touch on my back, an encouraging rub in a space that has ached for over a day now. “I was thinking of giving Diablo to Madge. As a wedding gift. Father is in agreement. What do you think?”

“I think it perfect,” Peeta says. He watches Miranda for a moment then kisses me and leaves me to attend to his patients for the day.

“You’ll never catch them like that!” I shout after Miranda and then follow to show her. I cannot move as quickly as usual, my steps laborious and my wide frame only an advantage in blocking the occasional escape.

One squawks loudly and flutters her wings. Miranda jumps back in fear, colliding with me, and we both fall to the ground.

“Oh!” I cry out as a sharp pain screams up my spine.

“Mrs. Mellark!” Sae shouts and hurries out to help me up.

“I am fine, only my pride bruised. Bested by a hen,” I mutter.

“All the same, your mother or Mr. Mellark should have a look at you.”

Mother declares me to be fine, but at dinner that evening, a sharp pain lances across my belly. I am able to hide it, although when it happens again as I sit in the drawing room after, I think perhaps I should mention it to Peeta. I decide that if it happens again, I will tell him. We are now only a few days out from my expected time. The babe could arrive any day now. 

Tomorrow is Madge’s wedding. The invitation sits on the table in the hall, the answer already sent. I wonder now if we should have declined, but I couldn’t bear to do it, not after I was unable to attend her first wedding, and not with our friendship still on such unsteady grounds. She asked me to trust her and so I shall have to find it in me to do so.

When no more pains plague me that evening, I relax and tell no one. It must not be time yet.

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

“Oh!” I gasp out as I awaken from a disturbing dream. A dreadful fog blotting out the moon and the stars until all was black. There was more. Something about Madge, but I lose it in the pain. I drift between dreams and pain, writhing in the bed until I wake Peeta.

“What is it, Katniss? A nightmare?”

“No!” I gasp and grit my teeth, grasping tight to his arm. “The baby.”

He is moving in an instant, up and checking on me, assuring me that nothing is wrong, only that I have gone into childbirth. In the space between several pains, he dresses, pausing only to see me through each pain as dawn creeps over the horizon. He sends for Mary, and for Mother. The house awakens and Peeta helps me walk across our room then back as Mother and Prim prepare supplies.

The room grows stifling and I beg for fresh air. The window is thrown open for me. I refuse food, unable to fathom eating through this pain.

“You will need sustenance,” Peeta urges, but all I take is tea.

The sun marches across the sky as Peeta murmurs to me. Prim leaves then returns at one point, dressed in a lovely blue dress with a green bonnet on her head. The wedding.

“Give my love to Madge,” I beg her. “Tell her I would have been there, and take my gift for her.”

“I will,” Prim says and kisses me on the cheek before she and Father depart. There is no need for them to stay when this could take all day. Someone from Everdeen should be present at the wedding, and so it falls to them.

Time plods forward. The sun begins to sink, and still no sign of the babe. The pain dulls to the background and then roars back to life, so harsh that I cannot even speak. I can barely catch my breath.

“It is time, Katniss,” my mother reassures me as she and Peeta position me on the bed, my legs spread wide. “You must bear down with each pain.”

I nod and scream with the first one. As soon as it passes, I meet Peeta’s worried eyes, down between my bent upwards knees. Were I in less pain, perhaps I would care that he now sees me like this, but I have more pressing worries.

“Don’t,” I say and he shakes his head. “Don’t do that, husband. I am not so fragile as that.”

We agreed that when my time came, Doctor Aurelius would be notified but only called if the situation grew dire. I may feel as though I am dying, but there is still life pulsing vibrant through my veins. I do not feel myself fading at all. Peeta must see it too. Were he more detached from this particular birth, were this merely a professional call, he might be able to see it more objectively.

Peeta takes a deep breath and nods, his hand skimming reassuringly over my leg.

A commotion of horse hooves and shouting reaches me through the open window and another pain strikes. I do not even attempt to hold in the scream as I feel as though I am being torn asunder.

As the scream dies, the door to our room flies open and a storm of white silk swirls into the room, flinging aside a lace veil and perching on the bed beside me. The scent of summer roses fills my nose.

“Madge.”

“Katniss,” she says, tears in her eyes.

“I am sorry I missed your wedding.” She lets out a soft sob and then wipes a damp cloth across my brow. “You should be dancing with your groom. He will be so cross with me for this.”

“He will hardly notice my absence. More importantly, I promised I would be here,” she says instead and takes my hand in hers as I am once more consumed with pain. “With you.”

Three voices now murmur encouragement and lend me strength. Madge and my mother somehow hold my hands and legs so I cannot escape. I fixate on Peeta’s eyes. His face as the room goes dark and Mary lights candles. I collapse as the pain ebbs, and breathe like a fish out of water.

“Almost, my love,” Peeta whispers, his touch gentle on my knee. I laugh, the sound crazed as I lift my head to scowl at him.

“Soon you will have your child to hold,” Madge murmurs.

“Why would anyone do this twice?” I ask.

“You will soon see,” my mother says.

“You make it sound so simple. Would you care to take my place?” I ask Peeta.

“Would that I could,” he answers, and I can see in his eyes that he means it. He would take this pain away and into himself if he could. “As a wise woman once told me, it is far easier to cause death than to bring forth life.”

“Those were not my exact words, husband,” I remind him and he smiles.

“Close enough, wife.”

And then I am no longer able to speak, the pain is too great. And yet… a strange thing happens then, as I stare into his blue, tired eyes. The pain grips me and it is terrible terrible terrible…and then it is not. The voices fade and the pain is not so unbearable. There is almost… a relief in it.

“There you are!” My mother soothes. “We have the head. Now for the shoulders, Katniss. You are almost done.”

A few more minutes and Madge is kissing my temple, her tears mingling with my sweat, her words unintelligible but the tone of love clear. I am fading fast into exhaustion, and Peeta is focused on something I cannot see between my legs.

“Peeta,” I whine and he looks up at me as the squall of a baby fills the room. His smile is impossibly happy and I nearly burst with it.

“A daughter, Katniss. We have a daughter.”

Peeta slides one hand around my still exposed thigh, his palm warm and soothing on my skin. And then his lips against the tender skin of my inner thigh. A look of awe and love in his eyes. Soft tears seep from the corners and onto my skin. It is unbearably intimate and undoubtedly shocking, unseemly.

I do not care. His kisses like that as he cradles our child in his arm mean everything to me.

There are tears and washing. Soothing. Peeta and Mother take our daughter to be cleaned and tended, swaddled in warm blankets. I am carried to a tub brought up especially for this and scrubbed with gentle hands, redressed in a fresh gown. Food is brought. Joyous announcements shouted through the halls and then she is finally placed in my arms. I lean back into Peeta’s chest as I hold our daughter while she feeds and he holds us both. He cannot seem to stop touching her brow and her cheeks. I inhale her sweet baby scent and then his warm, manly scent.

Madge still sits on the bed with us, her wedding gown spread across the edge of the fresh counterpane, I think a few spots on her dress are stained. The hem looks almost ripped. Her posy of roses sits on the bedside table, already beginning to wilt.

“Madge,” I begin and she shakes her head.

“There is no need.” But there is a need. I know that now. I’ve a need to listen and she’s a need to be heard. She should have been able to tell me, and my own stubbornness and focus on Everdeen made it impossible. The words may wait, but I will say them.

“May I?” she asks when my daughter has finished suckling, and holds her arms out to me. I gently place my daughter in her arms and she rises from the bed, cooing softly.

“Will you be her godmother?” I ask and the tightening of Peeta’s arms about me tells me that he supports my request.

“Of course I will.” Madge smiles at me and nods. My heart lightens with the expression on her face as I know, all hope is not lost. Madge is still my true friend and while I still yearn for answers, I find that I can be patient. She then peers down at the wrinkled pink face of my baby girl.

“As soon as Prim told me, I had Diablo saddled and rode over here. Thank you for him.”

“He was already yours,” I say and she bites her lip as though holding back tears.

“I did not have a chance to dance at my wedding. Since you and Peeta did not dance at your wedding, I am taking it as a good omen. But I cannot resist such a lovely cherub.”

She sweeps into a delicate step, humming a tune as she dances with my daughter in her arms. And then I am crying uncontrollably.

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

Peeta insists that I sleep. I manage it, somehow, after demanding that he kiss me properly, despite the many people still lingering in the room. There is a rotation of loved ones to assist me in ways I’d never thought to need them. To hold my girl when my arms grow weak. Standing on my own is a trial. I’ve no desire to wear anything other than my shift and the bedsheets yet. Bathing and changing is a difficulty, as is relieving myself.

Our daughter is still new when family descends to meet her. My father is ridiculously soft with her, my mother showers her face with kisses once the duties of midwife are complete. Prim is delighted and already making plans for spoiling both of her nieces. 

“I expect a nephew next,” she tells me with a sly smile. “I doubt that you will make me wait overlong.”

“Come and meet your sister,” I whisper to Miranda, and watch her melt out of the shadows and clamber up onto the bed. Her fingers shake as she peels back the blanket and stares down at her face.

“Hello…sister,” she whispers and I lean over to kiss her fiery curls.

“Will you tell her stories?” Peeta asks, placing a hand on Miranda’s back and smiling down at us three.

“May I?” Miranda asks and I nod.

“I think she would like that.”

“So would I,” Miranda breathes. “But…what is her name?”

My eyes meet Peeta’s over Miranda’s head and he smiles. “We were hoping you might help us with that.”

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

There are days when I think motherhood to be the worst sort of bargain. When I am tired and sore or when the entire world frightens me. Disease, injury, deception, heartbreak, and so much more. How am I to protect my daughters, my Beatrice and my Miranda from all of this. There are days when the joy of holding her in my arms drowns out all else, when watching her and Miranda together or separately convinces me that I was never happy before I had them. My children.

The weather warms and the vivid flowers of spring and early summer fade to make room for the pale blue skies, the fading greens, and the heat that sings with insects only found in the midst of summer. I am eager for my recovery to be done with and count the days. Then… then I cherish the night. Nights with the windows wide open and Peeta hushing my sultry moans. We are unable to love in the physical sense as often as we did before. The presence of our babe sleeping in our room, the demands of raising two children, often curtail passion. Yet every time we come together, there is a joy in it that brings tears to my eyes.

I tease him that I long for another child, and yet he insists that we wait. He has some medical notion that repeated childbirth is too harsh on a body, and in the name of protecting me from such an ordeal, he prescribes the teas of my mother to suppress fertility. He uses the French methods of preventing pregnancy as well, despite my complaints that I despise having a barrier between his skin and mine. At times…when I am the most desperate for him, Peeta refuses to join fully with me at all and employs other methods of giving me pleasure. I cannot complain too much, as those are most effective at satisfying me and delightfully intimate as well.

Miranda, my dove. Her speech becomes a constant hum in our house. A thousand and one questions every day, a thousand and one stories. We discover that she has a knack for fancy sewing and while this means her drawing begins to wane, her stitchery blooms. She weaves them both, stories and embroidered scenes from colorful bits of thread into something strange and fantastical and wonderful. Mother sees her work framed and hung about the house. Father begins to request scenes or specific stories. He listens to her for hours and it brightens my heart to see her so loved and welcomed by my family.

As for our neighbors… Madge and Maysilee visit often until I am recovered and am able to return the visits. The work on Willow Park continues. Half a dozen brood mares arrive and Johanna is in her element with so much equine flesh to tend to. Gale strikes a bargain with Peeta to use Cicero as one of his studs. It turns out that Cicero is something of a rake, and I tease Peeta mercilessly about the number of bastards his mount sires within a matter of months. He usually shuts me up by kissing me mercilessly.

I have few complaints about this arrangement.

Indeed, the only one I have is that Mr. Hawthorne appears to be a somewhat neglectful husband. He is rarely in the district, despite the realisation of his dream of owning a horse farm. His other ventures often take him about Panem or even abroad with Mr. Fremont, leaving Madge and Johanna to deal with the day to day operations of Willow Park. Although, Madge assures me that she and Mr. Hawthorne are always in touch via letters.

I keep waiting to see some sign of melancholy in my friend, some sort of distraught unhappiness, and yet it never arrives. In fact, if anything, her marriage appears to have only enhanced her beauty and happiness. I have the strangest sensation that her removal to Willow Park along with Johanna, and Mr. Hawthorne’s frequent absence is the source of such happiness. What mischief does she get up to when her husband is away, and what sort of husband seems so indifferent to his wife’s many charms?

“Why did you not tell me?” I finally ask her over tea one afternoon. When both her hired help are out running messages and errands in town. “Did you think I would…react badly?”

“I could not be certain,” Madge admits. “You’ve no idea how lonely it can be, feeling this way. When we were girls, I never quite understood my own feelings nor the reason why I felt so at odds with them. Then I left and married the earl and…”

She trails off and something occurs to me. “Your affaire, after his death…it was with a woman,” I whisper the words, even though we are alone save for Beatrice on my knee and Madge laughs, but she is crying. I set aside my tea and shift to hold her as well.

“You will think me horrid but I am so tired of carrying this. Yes! It was with Katharine, my… oh she was married to the earl’s son and we are the same age. She was my friend and the only one who was ever truly kind to me in that wretched house. But her husband came home early from his club and found us together one night and…”

Her tears keep her from continuing, but I can make a good guess at the rest.

“Cry no more tears over him, my dear. He was cruel, but he was likely also jealous that you were a far better lover to his wife than he.” Madge laughs hysterically at this and lifts her head to smile at me.

“And you are not at all disgusted with me?”

“Mmm, no. Still a little curious about some things, but not disgusted. What happened to Katharine?” 

“I am afraid to even find out,” Madge admits. 

I take her hands in mine then and wait for her sniffles to abate. “I love you, my friend, and I only ever want your complete happiness.”

“I am as close to it as I think I will be able to come, Katniss.” I nod at this. Then, I shall have to make my own peace with it, and I set about doing so.

Mr. Fremont is perhaps the most surprising addition to our lives. He writes to the Mellark family at Everdeen quite often, sharing riddles with Miranda that she delights in solving, presents for Beatrice, bits of news for Peeta and I. I am at a loss for how his is the hand that seeks friendship and yet it is so. He, of course, sends similar letters and gifts to Maysilee.

So little of it makes sense to me yet that perhaps it is my curiosity which leads me to a most unexpected place late in the summer… hunting in the woods of Everdeen with Mr. Hawthorne. Madge suggested it, as we apparently share a common interest in the sport. I suppose she is hoping we will somehow bond over it. Thankfully for me, Madge is unaware that hunting is best done in silence.

While this means that I’ve no opportunity to further my acquaintance with her husband, it also means that I am granted opportunity to observe him while not subjected to his tirades.

It is pleasant enough at first. Peeta was quite adamant I go when I attempted to cajole a refusal out of him instead. He insisted that the fresh air and exercise would do me good, to say nothing of the return to something that I have always felt comfort in doing. I pause a moment and tilt my head back to absorb the rays of the sun. He was right, my husband. Despite the questionable nature of the company, I needed this. Even if I catch nothing, I needed this journey into the woods, this breath of who I am and perhaps will always be.

“Fascinating,” Mr. Hawthorne murmurs and I sigh. The silence was of course too good to continue. I am simply grateful at this point that Mr. Hawthorne eschews the aristocratic hunting methods and does not favor hunting with hounds. I glance over at where he examines a snare. Not one of mine. I’ve never had much luck with snares. Perhaps one of my tenants, seeking a rabbit or squirrel for a meal.

“A snare,” I explain and he nods.

“Yes I know. A rather ingenious one. I wonder if…” he retrieves a stick and makes to spring the trap.

“Mr. Hawthorne,” I say and he glances back at me. “You would deprive a man of meat to fulfill your curiosity? Or do you know how to reset it?”

He thinks for a moment and stands. “You are quite right, Mrs. Mellark. I don’t suppose you happen to know the creator of this snare?”

“I’ve a few guesses. Some discreet inquiries might bring me the answer, although I warn you, they may not be willing to speak with an aristocratic stranger.”

“I have no title. I am not–”

“Not wealthy?” I ask and he glances down at his waistcoat.

“Perhaps I should adopt your habits of dress.” I snort at this but tug on my rough coat that I wear today. It is longer than one I would normally wear with breeches, as something about traipsing through the woods with a man who is not my husband whilst wearing breeches set off alarming thoughts in my head.

“You are not what you seem…are you, Mrs. Mellark?”

“I am exactly what I seem, if you are paying attention. You, however, are something of a puzzle. And our speaking will scare away the game,” I say as a scent reaches me. I attempt to place it, some long ago warning from my father taunting me just beyond the reaches of my memories.

Mr. Hawthorne huffs and then flings aside his stick.

“Don’t!” I shout as it crashes through the underbrush, arousing a terrible squealing noise. A boar thrashes the bushes and crashes out towards us. Mr. Hawthorne turns and shoves me against a tree. I cry out with pain at the impact as the wild pig careens past, snuffling and huffing, snorting in indignation as he turns again and prepares to charge.

I grab the nearest branch and haul myself into the tree. “Climb!” 

Mr. Hawthorne makes to follow me, but the pig is too fast. I settle on a branch and swing my gun about and take aim. The blast surprises even me, but the pig falls. The hairy body slides across the foliage and thumps against the tree. Right below Mr. Hawthorne’s dangling boots. With a final snort, the beast dies.

I release a great puff of air and Mr. Hawthorne drops to the ground next to it, stares at it then up at me in my perch.

“You’ve wild boar in these woods.”

“Do you always state the obvious?” I ask and he shakes his head, almost laughing as he tilts his head to examine my kill.

“An impressive shot, Mrs. Mellark. Right in the eye.”

“Luck,” I say and place a hand over my heart, attempting to quell the thundering of it in my chest. I’ve no reason to fear. I was perfectly safe.

“You saved my life.” He crouches to further examine the dead beast, to trace the gnarled tusks.

“Please, there is no need for dramatics.”

“I believe there is. You could have easily let the beast kill me and claimed it as an accident. No one would have doubted you.”

“Those who know my skill would have.”

“Please, Mrs. Mellark. You are barely recovered from childbirth. None would have blamed you for diminished skill in the face of a charging wild boar.” I snort and he grins up at me. “The fact is…you saved my life.”

“My friend is not even a full year out of mourning. I would not wish to constrain her again in such a state so soon.” He did also protect me from the initial charge, although that fact rather irritates me so I refrain from mentioning it.

“Not even if it meant she would be wealthy beyond reason and you would gain Everdeen for your children all the sooner?” he murmurs and my eyes snap to his in shock. “Ah. I see my wife has not seen fit to tell you all the details of our arrangement. Perhaps she wished me to tell you myself. Trust me when I say that we are in complete agreement on many things, and she is as satisfied with all aspects of our marriage as I am. Half of it was her idea.”

“You make no sense.”

“And you are in a tree. Come down and claim your kill. Your house and your tenants will feast well this week.” He stands, extending a hand up to me. And there is that smile, the one that transforms his face to one that is kind and almost flirtatious. Loyal to those he cares about yet with a fierceness still in his eyes. The sort of face ladies would swoon over and friends such as Darius rush to protect…

My mouth drops open as I stare at him, his hand hanging in the air between us as a suspicion begins to form in my head. And I decide that perhaps trusting Mr. Gale Hawthorne would not be so bad.

I snap my mouth shut and carefully place my hand in his. His grip as he helps me from the tree is solid and firm, yet I feel no thrill the way that I do when Peeta touches me so. I tilt my head now to examine him, the way Mr. Hawthorne did to examine the snare, then the dead pig.

“Shall we?” he asks, motioning to the dead animal with a smile. I nod and we set to work. Preparing the carcass to move and then creating a litter of sorts to carry it.

When we return to Everdeen, there is much fanfare and clapping. My father praises us for our catch. It is a joyous scene. Crowded and too busy for me to have a chance to ask Mr. Hawthorne what he meant in the woods, about gaining Everdeen for myself. Or about my growing suspicions.

“Should I be jealous now?” Peeta whispers to me after dinner. He has caught me staring at Mr. Hawthorne again.

“No,” I answer and smile at him. I begin to wonder if perhaps Peeta has no reason at all to be jealous in regards to Mr. Hawthorne, but I do instead. “I was merely attempting to sort through a puzzle.

“It will come to you,” he whispers and kisses my hand. I am still sorting through the threads of conversations as we sit in the drawing room after dinner that night. Darius is flushed and perhaps a little drunk, having toasted to Gale and Mrs. Mellark, the founders of the feast, a few times more than is necessary. It was indeed a delicious meal, but his cheer seems to evaporate when Gale demands a rematch at chess. He and Peeta move towards the table. Mr. Fremont collapses in a chair beside me, swaying a bit and seeming to almost brood.

“You’ve still had no time to learn?” I ask him and he nods, rather morose for being left out of a game. I set my book on my lap, uninterested in reading if I might learn something from him or confirm my growing suspicions. Besides, I selected my book at random, more as a screen to provide me with privacy in a crowded room, or to observe unnoticed those around me.

Then something strange happens. Perhaps I would not even notice, it happens so quickly, except that my senses and mind have been so focused on my quarry all day that it stands out in sharp relief.

A piece knocked from the board, Peeta’s king, as they reset the pieces from a game left unfinished by other players. Peeta bends to retrieve it. My eyes follow the motion, half admiring his shape, and yet somehow I catch it from the corner of my eye… Mr. Hawthorne leaning to the side, eyes closely following Peeta’s motions. At first, I excuse it as Mr. Hawthorne ensuring that Peeta does not somehow cheat, but how could he with such a move? It is chess, not cards.

As my husband takes his seat, glances are exchanged. The heat of a blush and the grinding of teeth beside me. An embarrassed look away. Madge happily running her hands over the piano keys and chatting with Prim, unaware of her husband’s wandering eyes, of the almost jealous and contrite exchange happening between her husband and the man beside me…

Or perhaps, she is completely aware of them. Something falls into place in my head as Mr. Hawthorne clears his throat in a rather undignified manner.  Then he focuses on the game. Sensing a new sort of hunt, I turn to Mr. Fremont with a smile.

“I must confess that I’ve made attempts to learn chess, but I’ve still no patience for it. The swift hunt is much better for me.”

“You were quite swift today, or so Gale tells me.”

“Fortunate,” I say, waving it off. “With instincts honed by a desire to protect that which matters to me. As I think many of us in this room are.”

Darius makes a strange noise as Mr. Hawthorne laughs across the room and I lift my book to hide my own blush. How extraordinary. Well…if he wishes my husband’s attentions, he will have to come armed with more than a handsome face and a ready laugh. I smile slyly at Mr. Fremont and he lifts one eyebrow at me.

“You wish to protect Gale? I was not under the impression his life would be important to you.”

“Not at the moment. How could I possibly wish to protect someone with designs on all that is…mine.” He barely responds to the pause, but it is there. Not that I can blame Mr. Hawthorne, if I am correct about his preferences. I feel the thrill of the pending kill, a much less violent and far more satisfying one than what happened in the woods today. “Although, I feel as though we’ve built a sort of tentative trust today. No, it is Madge whose welfare I am concerned with.”

“She has everything that she could want in her life, and in her marriage.”

“Does she?” I ask and lean closer. Almost too close as I whisper. “Do you, Mr. Fremont?”

He swallows and searches my face. A-ha! I think. Peeta would be quite proud of me, managing to glean such information and reassurances without shouting or dramatics. I lean back in my seat and lift my book to read and no intentions of doing so.

“Sometimes patience is indeed the key to the hunt, and other times, one must act. Swiftly, without mercy. The trick, I think, is to know which is the more appropriate action, and to have the right sort of allies,” I say.

“Mrs. Mellark…” Mr. Fremont says as he leans towards me, the flush on his cheeks shifting from an angry red to an almost boyish pink. 

“Katniss,” I correct. “If we are to be friends and neighbours and allies with common interests, then you must call me Katniss.”

“Common interests?” he ponders and I let my eyes slide over to the chess board.

“Harmless flirtations are one thing, so long as one returns to their home untarnished at night, but… I would do anything to protect two of the people who mean the most in the world to me. My husband, and my dearest friend. There is no patience where keeping them safe is concerned. I sense that you are a kindred spirit in this regard, Mr. Fremont.”

“Darius,” he says and I let my book lower slightly. He smiles at me, but his eyes are still on Mr. Hawthorne. “A name for a name, Katniss. I believe it to be a fair trade. And a good foundation for an alliance.”

I cannot help but smile as I nod in agreement. His grin is quite infectious. There are things that Mr. Hawthorne and I may never agree on, and some that we do. As long as he continues to care for Madge, and not harm anyone else that I love, then I believe I might be able to forgive his arrogance, tho perhaps not his shameless ogling of my husband. 

“Now tell me…are you interested in The Ancient Craft of the Sarcophagus out of a morbid sort of curiosity, or should I be concerned for any members of our party?” Darius’ eyes drop to the cover of my book and I glance at the title printed at the top of each page, nearly laughing at the humor of it.

“A true lady, as my Aunt Effie would say, can keep the darkest of secrets into her grave and on into the afterlife, Darius.”

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

It is strange, sometimes, how the truth can mean a lightening of hearts. Life continues in a happy manner as the harvest approaches. There is always work to keep us busy, amusements to keep us fulfilled. Peeta and I resume our daily rides, and I laugh with joy as Sagittaria carries me away on swift feet. I am unable to resist temptation the day of that first ride, and when we stop for a picnic in a wide meadow, I find myself arched beneath my husband, his hands buried in my hair and the blanket beneath me, the sun on his back, my hands scraping down his spine. The smaller flowers of late autumn and the tall grasses sway about us, concealing us from the world, and the clouds above us provide a tableau of beauty to reflect the beauty in my heart.

My daughters continue to grow and to thrive. My friendship with Madge is repaired and a source of comfort and happiness now. I miss her presence at Everdeen. Her and Maysilee brought a sort of brightness to the halls, but Miranda and Beatrice bring their own sort of brightness, and we never go too long without seeing one another.

Unfortunately, the happy circumstances of Willow Park and Jo’s employment with the new horse farm has left Everdeen stables in a quandary. Giles needs to retire and Charles is learning quickly but still too young to assume such responsibilities.

“Before Jo left us, I thought to hire her to the post,” my father explained when he put out word that Everdeen was seeking a stablemaster. “But now that she is gone, I will have to hire someone else.”

“Father…” I stated warily and he’d shaken his head. “How long have you known?”

“Not long. I’ve no anger over the matter, Katniss. I wish you had trusted me, and I am embarrassed to admit that I did not figure it out on my own. Your mother had to tell me. The only thing that matters to me now is that we find someone young and skilled enough to replace both her and Giles.”

Which leads me to the events of today. I fuss over Beatrice as she crawls about the nursery, until I’ve no choice but to go downstairs and meet my father. We are to interview a potential candidate for stablemaster today.

An odd sort of humming exists in my skull, and I find I am rather disappointed at the prospect of a new stablemaster. It was around this time last year when Peeta and I first consummated our marriage, when I discovered the boundless joys and pleasures to be found in his arms, and also when I discovered the depth of my love for him. The presence of a new stable master will curtail a repeat of our tryst in the hay and I am rather upset about that, so that I am near to scowling as the man stands from his seat in the kitchens to greet me and my father.

“Mr. Henderson, I presume?” my father asks and the man gives a slight bow of respect.

“Aye, Mr. Everdeen.” His voice is somehow soft and lilting. Soothing. His accent is unfamiliar to me, but he has the sort of calming voice that horses respond to.

“Shall we walk and talk?” The man nods and glances at me. “This is my daughter. She and her husband will one day run the farm in trust for their children, and she oversees much of the operations already. You will address her as Mrs. Mellark.”

The man drops his hat. My scowl deepens at this as he bends to retrieve it. “Of course, sir.”

Other than that slight at the beginning, the interview goes well. He seems kind enough, and the horses take to him immediately. Even Sagittaria preens for him.

“And this is Peeta’s horse…my husband’s,” I say as we come to the final stall. I quickly explain Cicero’s deafness and that Peeta will have to teach him the hand communications. Mr. Henderson nods and mentions that he’s heard of such techniques, but never seen them in action.

After that, it seems fairly straightforward. Mr. Handerson comes to us from an estate in Northwest Panem, bringing excellent references.

“If you do not mind my asking, why did you leave your prior employment?”

“Nothing to do with the job or the family, you see. My wife passed away last year.” He glances at me and I manage to look sympathetic, I believe. Either way, he continues to look into my eyes as he speaks. “She had a wasting disease, took her too young, but not ‘afore she had a second chance at life. Still…it were hard staying there without her. She were my second chance too. My second wife and well, it didn’t seem right to push my luck for a third chance with the same family, although they were good to us. Memories just got the better of me.”

“My condolences for your loss,” my father says and at this, some sort of spell seems to be broken. They manage an awkward transition to discussing the terms of employment and we make our way behind the stable to show him his new living quarters. He seems pleased enough, and once the deal is done, he sets to work.

Miranda races into the stables as Mr. Henderson sees Sagittaria saddled for our daily ride. Charles tends to Cicero and laughs as Miranda careens to a halt, grasping onto my skirts.

“Mother! I am going with you today!”

“Then it will be all the more fun.” I smile down at her then up at Peeta as he enters the stable. He’s favoring his leg again and I make an exasperated motion towards his laboured movements.

“I will rest when we return, my love, but I will not miss this time with my family,” he says and kisses me softly on the forehead before turning to Cicero.

I feel eyes on us the entire time, and as I watch Miranda handed up to sit with Peeta, I discover the culprit. Mr. Henderson seems to have a deep interest in my love or my daughter, or both… I take Sagittaria’s reins and make a note to investigate further after our ride.

It is a lovely day, and we picnic by the lake, visit with a few tenants, and then return home. I dismount quickly, take Miranda into my arms to allow Peeta to dismount. I feel the need to see to Beatrice, but a cough behind me as Miranda scampers off catches my attentions.

I turn to find Mr. Henderson twisting his hat in his hands, a nervous look about his brown eyes. “Your pardon, Mr. and Mrs. Mellark. If you’ve a moment, I am afraid I’ve a confession to make.”

“We are no clerics, Mr. Henderson,” I manage to say politely, although I am beginning to think hiring him was a mistake.

“What I’ve to say is not for the Lord, Mrs. Mellark, but for him,” Mr. Henderson motions towards Peeta and I can see the surprise in my husband’s face.

“Should we perhaps talk elsewhere?”

“No, no,” Mr. Handerson says. “If you find what I’ve to tell you distasteful and it costs me this post, I’d rather be done with it now.” I am about to suggest we fetch my father first if his confession has bearing on his employment, but Mr. Henderson dives into his explanation.

“I wasn’t sure at first, see. I answered the listing by a Mr. Kent Everdeen. I’d no idea you would be here, too. Then I still weren’t sure when Mr. Everdeen introduced Mrs. Mellark. Mrs. Mellark…well with four acknowledged sons there had to be at least a few Mrs. Mellarks about, maybe it wasn’t you…but no. Then she calls her husband Peeta, your pardon for my familiarity sir, and then I knew.”

“Knew what?” Peeta asks, and there is a strain in his voice that frightens me.

“Who you are. Yer mother. Gertrude. Well, she went by Gertrude when we were married, but I suppose you wouldn’t know that. You’d know her as Nancy Thackeray, right?” The man only grows more nervous and agitated as his confession spills out. Peeta’s body only grows more rigid beside me. “She was sick, see? Found her on the back doorstep in Capitol nigh on eight years ago, naught but skin and bones, knocking on death’s door, hair dyed black and the dye fading already. I weren’t there. It was my sister who found her. She was the cook and another sister the housekeeper. Well they couldn’t bear to leave her dying so they took her in, nursed her back. The Odairs…well they’re kindly folk you know? Would never turn away a body in need if they could help it. Do you know the Odairs?”

“Not personally,” Peeta says. “Only by reputation. They’re a seafaring family.”

“They are. They were in Capitol at the time, beastly cold winter, but they went to see family and then had to stay when their son took ill. Well with the doctor already calling to see to young Sebastian, he didn’t mind seeing to Gertrude as well. Eventually she got well enough to work and…she worked. Ladie’s maid to Mistress Annie’s sister, Miss Patricia, who lived with the family at the time. Then when Miss Patricia were married, Gertrude worked as companion to Captain Odair’s grandmother. And I were stable master. When the family came home to their estate in Northwest Panem after that winter…well it were a second chance for us both, you see?”

“You were married,” I offer the encouragement, because I am not certain Peeta has not fallen into shock right now.

“Aye. And we were happy. I… I loved her dearly, I did. We were a comfort to one another. I’d lost my first wife and a son. Eventually, she told me all about you, and her first husband William. How she always wanted to see how you were doing but was scared.”

“Scared? Of what?” Peeta asks, perhaps more harshly than necessary, but to hear all of this now… He turns away from me and I place a hand on his back.

“Please understand, Mr. Henderson. We’ve been looking for Nancy for a year, Peeta has been looking even longer. Any news you have is welcome, but also a shock.” The man nods and swallows, looking directly at Peeta’s back as he speaks again, softly this time.

“She was afraid you would not recognise her. Or worse, that you would hate her for what she done. But she did it so you wouldn’t starve. She always told me you were brave and strong enough to be the best of men, even with the worst of fathers. And you were always in her heart. She drew your face most of all.” At this, Peeta turns slowly and Mr. Henderson produces a small book from his jacket. “Been carrying this since she died. Didn’t know what to do with it. Think now maybe providence wanted me to keep it for you. She said you used to draw with her.”

“Yes,” Peeta chokes out the word and takes the book. He does not open it but lifts watery eyes to Mr. Hendrson. “And Miranda? Was Miranda in her heart?”

“Miranda?” Mr. Henderson asks in true confusion and then understanding dawns. “You mean the babe? The one she left at the orphanage? That were right before my sisters found her. She never gave the babe a name. Had no…connection with the child. By then she were so lost and desperate…I cannot blame her for it. How do you know of the child?”

“We adopted her,” I explain. “We found her while we were looking for Nancy…for Gertrude. Now she is our daughter.”

“So you brought her home to be yours to love,” Mr. Henderson says and a bright smile spreads across his face. He shakes his head but there are tears in her eyes. “I’ll be. She were right then.” He tilts his head back to look heavenward and I bow my head, to allow him this moment.

I feel terrible, but a strange joy fills me at this. Every last doubt flutters off on the crisp autumn breeze. Miranda is well and truly our daughter. No disputes over the matter.

 “She woulda been proud of you. A doctor, a husband, and a father beside.”

“She would have hated my face,” Peeta says and then rakes a hand through his hair. Mr. Henderson seems confused by this. “Never mind. Thank you, Mr. Henderson, for having the courage to tell me. Where is she now?” Peeta whispers, and I take his hand in mine, already knowing the answer and understanding now the import Mr. Henderson was trying to give me in his interview.

“She passed last autumn, about this time of year. I saw her buried in the church yard, next to my first wife and a child we lost. Made sure she had a nice marker, if you want to visit her some day.”

“Thank you,” Peeta murmurs one last time and then threads my arm through his. Before he can lead me away, I say one more thing to Mr. Henderson.

“See Mrs. Chilton if you’ve questions about meal times. Sae can answer any concerns about other household matters,” I tell him. His eyes widen and he nods.

“Then I’m not…”

“We are in need of a capable stable master,” I tell him and Peeta squeezes my fingers. “Welcome to Everdeen, Mr. Henderson.”

We move to leave and he steps after us, halting our retreat.

“She wouldn’t hate your face, Mr. Mellark. Mayhap your name, but…what’s in a name? She had about a dozen in her life, but that don’t change her heart, nor who she was.”

For some reason, Peeta smiles now, and manages one soft nod before we walk out of the stable and into the fading autumn light. 

When we reach the house, there is a minor uproar. Several of Prim’s gowns have arrived from town, only enough to start her for the season. The rest will be waiting for her at Uncle Haymitch and Aunt Effie’s. Peeta and I will stay here to see to Everdeen while my parents take a much needed break, if overseeing the launching of a girl into society can be seen as a break.

Prim whispers to me that she not only has weeks worth of engagements already lined up, but she’s already received her first invite to a ball. The curiosity about the younger Miss Everdeen, as the eldest had such an exciting albeit brief season in town, has already made Primrose something of a novelty. Aunt Effie will be in her element, no doubt.

I usher Peeta into the library and order him off his feet, and even to remove his leg for some rest. When the chaos of the evening finally settles, I find him in our room, sitting before a cheering fire and dressed in his robe, his cane near at hand and his head bent as he peruses a small book.

“He said it was painless. In her sleep. She’d been sick for some time and it was slowly killing her anyways.” I sit beside him and twist my fingers through his curls, glance down at the sketches he now stares at. I recognise some of the faces, having seen portraits of Peeta and his brothers as a boy, having seen Peeta’s own sketches of William Thackeray. Mr. Henderson’s face is now familiar. There are several others who are strangers to me as well, some with names at the bottom.

“Curious,” I say. “Isn’t the name of this town the one Rory mentioned when he was speaking of the mines Gale has settled on him as a future wedding gift?”

“I believe so,” Peeta says. He turns to me then, his face void of emotion. “I have written to Haymitch and both our solicitors with the new information, asked them to confirm Mr. Hendrson’s story.”

“You do not trust him?”

“No, I do, only…I suppose I am holding out foolish hope, although for what I do not know.”

“Perhaps you only seek definitive closure.”

“Perhaps,” he says quietly. “Or perhaps it is fear. He said she passed this time last year and we…you and I…”

“Beatrice was conceived this time last year,” I say and he nods.

“Difficult to not wonder if there is some sort of connection. She never even knew you, or her grandchildren–” I silence his words with a kiss and when I lift my head, he does not speak again.

“She knew you, and if love can be felt in the afterlife, then she knows all the rest,” I say. Then I smile and press his body back to lay on the sofa. “Now husband…will you at last give me what I want?”

“Don’t I always?” I yelp as he flips us over and we tumble to the floor, tangled together and lips melded together. I sigh as his lips leave mine and he smiles at me. “But in the name of continued marital bliss and certainty, tell me exactly what you want, my pearl.”

“You, Peeta. I want you,” I say and he grins before kissing along my neck. I gasp out the rest before taking advantage and rolling us so that I straddle him. “And I want another child. Are you going to be stubborn again or are you going to let me have my way?”

“Please, my love. By all means, have your wicked way with me.”

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

~Fin~

All that remains now is an epilogue, a taste of the future, and the final reveal. 

You’ve found the words (perhaps) and now have a jumbled mess. My name is one letter, or is it? Take the first of each and unwind their path to find out who M is.

Thank you dear readers, and one final thanks to @everlarkficexchange​ for allowing me to write from behind a mask. Unmasked in its entirety, to include the epilogue, will post to Archive of Our Own within twenty-four hours and then there will be no hiding behind a mask for me. I wish you all happy writing and reading for this next exchange. Regards, ~M~

#submission #M #prompt 88 #springtime edition 2019

[beautifulletdownfics]

‘someday, someday’ :: tumblr edition, #28

London was beautiful at 3am.

Rodger sat in the passenger seat flicking through the emails he missed during the day. BBC Radio 3 played softly as I navigated through the streets back to his house.

"Who'd have thought you'd be a Radio 3 fan," Rodger said distractedly.

"It's calming," I defended.

Rodger was quick to come back, "It's Nina is what it is."

"You're supposed to say how adorable it is that she's got me listening to Mozart in the car."

"Oh," He locked his phone and put a hand on my shoulder as I drove, "It's extremely fucking adorable. Didn't I say she'd be good for you? Look how cultured you seem now."

I laughed but shrugged off his hand, “Shut up, I’ve always been cultured.”

“This is Bach,” He deadpanned, “Not Mozart.”

“Oh, piss off.”

As I turned into their street, Rodger dug through his backpack for his keys and started rattling off scores from a football game while I found a park. By the time we were talking up the front steps to their house, I was well and genuinely freezing my arse off and ready to be with Nina.

I wasn't planning on spending the night here, but it was a few days since I had seen her and I knew Nina's rehearsals were taking a toll, but I wasn't able to get more detail than that. I had two days off, and once the idea to be in her bed tonight formed in my head, it took hold.

Rodger let us in and turned on the hall light, "Cuppa?" He asked.

"No," I shook my head, "Thanks, I'm just gonna go up."

"Righto, see you in the morning."

I ducked into the bathroom on my way up to Nina's room, using some of the toiletries I knew were hers to wash my face. I stripped down to my pants, so there was less chance of waking her up with undressing and then stumbled out and up to her door.

It creaked open loudly, but I held the handle so I could slip it in quietly as I closed the door again. I put my clothes in a pile on the floor at the bottom of the bed and smiled as I then tried to figure out where on earth I was meant to fit in the bed when Nina was comfortably asleep right in the middle.

"Harry?"

I paused and winced where I had barely pulled back the duvet to slip my leg in, “I’m pleased I was your first guess,” I chuckled lowly.

She rolled over onto her side and shuffled back, making room for me. I settled next to her and pushed her hair off her sleepy face.

"I wasn't expecting you," Nina said, quietly letting out a weary sigh, "How was your day?"

"It's 3am," I pressed a kiss to her forehead and shuffled closer to her, "Go back to sleep."

"I wasn't sleeping, not really."

I pulled back to look at her in the dark, only her eyes shone from the light outside, "How're rehearsals going?" "Fine," She yawned, sounding more awake. My eyes momentarily flicked to the necklace she was wearing, it was the one I gave her for Christmas. I pressed my index finger to it briefly.

"Still drama?" I asked, trying not to give her a pass to evade the answer. Nina had a tendency to underplay her own work at the moment, and the idea bothered me.

"Yeah."

"Tell me about it," I prompted.

Nina rolled over onto her back beside me, "You want to hear?"

"Yes," I told her earnestly.

She had been quite evasive about it over the phone for the last two days, but I could hear something was wearing her down. Since recording the song together last week, I felt like Nina had shied away somewhat. Rodger told me after the fact about a pep talk, he needed to give her before working on the song together. I had been scolding myself ever since for being insensitive to what walking into that recording studio would have been like. I just didn't think.

"Orchestras are like ..." While she collected her thoughts, I wound my arm across her tummy, "Where else would you have eighty to a hundred and twenty people all working together with the precision of a tenth of a second? It's high stress and high stakes, and everyone has skin in the game."

"Yesterday you said something about egos ..."

"Egos like you wouldn't believe," She confirmed, speaking quietly to the ceiling, "It's all about your chair. Your chair is your status in the orchestra and beyond. Some people sit in their chairs for decades, and it's always a pissing contest."

“Right.”

“A chair in the strings has come up this week, and somebody in the orchestra stepped into the position. Which seems simple enough, but now they’re trying to dictate who gets their old chair. It’s also final program week where section leads are figuring out if the soloists are right. It feels like everyone’s breathing down each other’s necks and I already know I’m a featured soloist again.”

I interrupt her, “You’re featured again? Isn’t that incredible news? Nina! Congratulations.”

“It’s not public knowledge yet,” she doesn’t accept my praise, “Ryan says I’ve got nothing to worry about, but I don’t want to step on any toes.”

“I’m sure nobody’s—

—I’m new, young and female,” Nina says over me, “Someone will have an issue, even if they only say it under their breath. Orchestras are superstitious as all hell. I don’t want any bad voodoo pointed my way.”

I wound my arm entirely around her and pulled her closer, “Hey,” I pressed a kiss to the side of her mouth, “You’re a treasure, hear me? You can’t change what people think of you, much less alter anything by worrying yourself sick about it. I don’t know anything about orchestras, but I know how corporations run … The people whose job it is to do so will make their decisions, you just worry about how you treat the people around you. None of them has a legitimate reason to dislike you, Nina. The whole orchestra benefits from the best talent being displayed.”

“I know.”

I squeezed my arms tighter around her, “And you know what you’ve got this time you didn’t a few months ago?”

“What.”

“You ... ” I kissed her again, “... Have a boyfriend who adores you who you should definitely offload on more frequently. Tell me this stuff, Neens. I can’t help, but I can listen and distract and encourage.”

She pressed her forehead against my bare chest and took in a deep breath, "Can't we run away back to New York?"

"Any time you want."

She sighed, we both knew that wasn't entirely realistic. Still, I liked that Nina wanted to run away with me, "I just want—hang on," She interrupted herself, "It's the beginning of birthday week!"

"Hmm," I hummed, thinking about the date and how many days were left until my birthday, "I suppose it is."

"Harry!" Nina was out from my arms and pushing me onto my back in a heartbeat, her palms pressing to my shoulders to hold me down, she slipped her leg over my hips and hoisted herself over to straddle me, "Happy birthday week!" She peppered my face with kisses, "Happy happy birthday."

I laughed under her, holding her waist and starting to squirm away from her grabby hands, "Ouch. Careful. Oh," she planted a long kiss on my lips and then held her head up to watch me, "Thank you. That was ... Joyful."

"I"m thrilled you exist," she whispered. "This week is gonna be fun.”

“It is,” I agreed quickly, trailing my fingers up her sides and hooking my thumbs around the straps of her sleep singlet, “May I?”

Nina took my mouth in a languid kiss, her hair fanning out around my face, “Please,” she breathed.

+++

Standing in their kitchen later that morning, Nina was frowning deeply at the saucepan on the hob.

"What did it say to you?" I sided up to her and laced my arm around her middle.

Nina bit her lip, not catching my teasing tone, "They're not staying together properly."

"Spin the water before you drop the egg in," I instructed gently, looking at the mess of egg white from her most recent poaching attempt. "Did you add vinegar?"

Nina pulled back with a sceptical look on her face, "Sorry, you're an egg expert?"

"Eggspert," I corrected, "Yes."

Her eyes narrowed by I caught the twitch of a smile, "Your sister warned me about this."

That surprised me, "My sister?"

Nina raised her eyebrows at me and nudged my thigh with her hip, "Yep. We text now."

"Hang on," I took the wooden spoon off her when she held it out to me and watched her move over to the fridge, "What are you and my sister texting about?"

"She's got me onto Love Island," Nina said, pulling a few items out onto the bench and then starting making us both a coffee, "And she's been helping with some birthday things. You're hard to buy for, we're bonding over it."

"Birthday things, you say ..." I leant down and kissed Nina's cheek as she took back the egg poaching station and gave me a delicious mug of coffee.

"She told me a really delightful story about you as a six-year-old stuffing an Action Man limb up your nose."

"That's a lie!" I spluttered out too quickly.

"You can defend yourself at dinner tonight," Nina smiled brightly as she blew on the surface of her hot drink.

"God, Gem will be loving this," I all but rolled my eyes.

We were playing, but I was looking forward to bringing Nina along for Gemma and I's usual Monday night dinner. I also didn't mind at all that they were texting, I'd never had that happen before. My sister was always deliberately separate from the women I dated. Nina and my sister were fast becoming two peas in a pod, and I couldn't say I minded a bit.

"Do you want to eat here or on the sofa?"

Nina had two plates of eggs on toast served up waiting for my response, "Sofa," I said, picking them both up and following her through to the living room.

Once we were settled, we chatted through eating breakfast, establishing our plans for the rest of the day off we shared. I didn’t care what we did, I was just craving being with her. Which is why well over an hour later, without empty plates still sitting on the coffee table in front of us, I didn’t care that I was watching the telly while Nina scrolled on her phone. Both Rodger and Max had come and gone, and the house was quiet around us.

“I like this house,” I said aloud. “Almost as much as I like my own,” I watched Nina look around their living room blankly, clearly not seeing anything praiseworthy. I dug my toes in under her thigh from my spot at the opposite end of the sofa, “Not the house itself … I just like being here is all I mean.”

“Was gonna suggest you get your eyes tested,” Her hand rested on my calf comfortably, “It’s certainly not as pretty as your place.”

“There’s a lot of love and safety in this house,” I explained, my eyes are drawn to Nina’s phone when it pinged with multiple notifications at once, “What on earth is going on?”

Nina frowned at the screen and started rapidly typing back to a message, “The girls are all on. And I’m talking to Gemma too.”

I crawled over to her and rested my head on her shoulder, “What are you all gas bagging about?” Nina flipped the screen out of my view quickly, but I reached for her hand and brought it back because I recognised the website she was on, “Gucci?”

“Don’t,” She tried to reach the lock button, but my fingers were stopping hers from being able to.

“What are you buying from … Nina.”

“You like Gucci,” Nina spoke quietly, avoiding meeting my eyes, “Don’t ruin it.”

I locked the screen myself and sat up next to her, keeping a hold of her hand, “Nina, don’t spend that kind of money on me, particularly on a brand I work with. I don’t pay for any of their stuff, babe.”

“I want to get you something you’ll love.”

I love you, I wanted to say, alarmed at how easily the thought drifted into my head.

“I don’t need anything,” I took her chin in my hands and made her look at me, noticing the small white line of Nina's scar from her childhood bike accident, “But I’d love it if you got me some classical vinyls … Like of some symphonies you like. Please don’t spend anything ridiculous though.”

“I have a job, Harry. I want to buy you something nice. New York was—

—Okay,” I breathed out, hating the conversation that was coming. Usually, I avoided it. No, usually things didn’t get serious enough to need to have the money conversation. But Nina was sitting in front of me planning to spend more than she could probably afford on my birthday because she felt like she needed to repay me for my more extravagant Christmas gift. “Neens, you can’t think that way. You really can’t. I don’t have normal circumstances when it comes to money … When it comes to almost everything, actually. The point is,” I continued slowly, “I love that up until this point things have been pretty even, you pay for a lot, and it means so much to know that you’re not just sitting back relying on me. But Neens, for big stuff like holidays and extras I’ve got it covered.”

“That’s not fair, Harry.”

I shook my head, “Money isn’t about fair, Nina. Relationships suffer for it every day, and that’s usually about not having enough. It fills me with shame to think the people in my life would worry because I have an excess. I’ve worked hard for it and sacrificed a lot. And you’ll sacrifice a lot being with me … Money can’t be what ruins this. I won’t let it. I don’t want to be scared to spend money on you or on us because when I’m away for months at a time or when our dating becomes public things will be stressful and money is one thing we won’t need to worry about.”

Nina sat for a moment, looking uncomfortable and a little glum. I leaned in a kissed her, she gave me a weak smile after, “You really want vinyls?”

“Yes,” I promised her, understanding that maybe she needed time to sit with everything else I said, “I really do. I’m extremely behind in my classical collection. Actually, that reminds me, I’ve got something for you to listen to.”

She gave me a curious look, “What?”

“Where does Rodger keep his good headphones?”

“I think there’s a pair of his studio ones on the kitchen table …”

“I’ll be right back,” I jumped up off the sofa and rounded the living room, scooting back in a moment later figuring out how to pair them with my phone. “Okay,” I leaned over the back of the couch and slid the cups over Nina’s ears.

“What on earth …”

I slumped back next to her, hooking my arm through Nina’s and pulling up the file Rodger sent me the day before, “I’ve got our song for you to listen to.”

She frowned, “It’s not our song, Harry, it’s yours—

—It’s ours,” I corrected her, “And I love it. Ready to hear it? Rodger finished it yesterday afternoon.”

“Okay,” Nina’s voice shook as she adjusted the earphones on her ears, “You really like it?”

I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, “Yes.”

I hit play before she could protest again, turning my head to the side so I could watch her as it played.

I could tell she was listening carefully throughout, her eyes focusing on different points in the room as I kept up with where int he track she was up to. Only the tiniest amount of residual noise leaked from the headphones, but I got exactly the reaction I was after about halfway through.

The intro to the bridge happened, and Nina’s eyes met mine, welling beautifully as she heard the incredible work Rodger had done since the rough cut she heard on the day. He’d added a choir of voices and the slightest echo effect onto the piano. The strings part Nina wrote we had recorded with a string quartet, and Rodger left in the sound of the piano keys falling back into place, just as Nina had suggested we do.

The song was incredible, and I was already obsessing over how to perform it live; over how to make that point in the setlist a real moment where we all shone up on stage.

“It’s so good, Harry,” Nina sniffed, dabbing under her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper.

“You’re happy with it?”

“Yes!” She cried out, “You idiot, it’s gorgeous! It’s sad but hopeful, and your voice is vulnerable, but the lyrics are sure and steadying … I adore it. The strings are great. Play it again for me.”

+++

Nina and Gemma were laughing so hard I was concerned cider was going to come out of someone's nose.

Ned looked across at me as though I might have an explanation for what was going on. I shrugged at him and took another bite of my sister's take on our grandmother's apple pie. There was no need to let dessert go cold.

"And then they—

—I know!" Gemma cried, nodding her head and wiping at tears in her eyes. "I know, oh my god. It's hilarious."

Nina beamed at my sister, her eyes shining with tears of her own, “I never actually would, but I’d go on the show just to be in those conversations after.”

“Me too!”

“Hold up,” I waved my hand across the table between them, “Are you still talking about Love Island? Because I can promise you, neither of you is ever going on that show.”

“Yes,” Nina squeezed my bicep, “But notice I started with ‘I never actually would’?”

My shoulders sunk, and I took another bite of pie, “Oh. Good.”

“So, what do you still need for Saturday, Harry?” Ned turned the conversation to my birthday party on the weekend, “I’ve got Friday off so I can come over and help set anything up … Or run out and pick things up. Whatever you need.”

“My girlfriends will also be around to help,” Nina added.

“I’ve got meetings,” Gemma said, “And I’m picking up Mum from the train after, but we can come over too.”

I look at them all, grateful to have everyone offering to help. I hadn’t been in the UK for a birthday in several years, and I was looking forward to it. It was going to be low key, I only sent out an invite email to a few dozen people a few days ago. I was planning on just having it at home, which kept things simple and meant I didn’t have to worry about the added element of paparazzi or other people being around.

“How about we go out for dinner on Friday night then?” I suggested, “I’ve hired caterers for Saturday so there’s really not a lot to do that can’t happen on Saturday during the day. Just have to clean the outdoor furniture a bit, although it’ll be cold. I’ll book somewhere for Friday, that’ll be a good start to the weekend.”

“You can’t take us out for dinner on your birthday weekend!” Gemma scoffed.

“Watch me,” I stared her down.

+++

Fresh orange and pink light beamed all around us as Nina, and I made our way hand in hand back along the streets from Hampstead Heath.

It was only just nearing seven am, but I was alive with the sense I’d been awake and could continue being awake, for days. It was a high I only really experience within the throngs of touring life, but starting the day watching the sunrise with Nina, standing with her back pressed tightly to my chest, gave the same sense of life. And I felt drunk on the feeling.

“Look at that picture, that’s a good one,” Nina held my phone up in front of us, tilting the screen when I squinted to see which one she was talking about. Walking lazily, side by side, was a strange kind of perfect.

“My forehead looks funny,” I commented, pulling her out of the path of a puddle when she started flipping through the rest of the photographs we’d just taken together.

“When did you take this?” Nina asked, eyes together as she assessed my personal favourite; Nina standing with her hands in her pockets, eyes closed with her face to the sky, sunrise lighting up the expanse behind and above her. As soon as I had taken it, I knew it would be one I’d keep. I had already made it my phone lock screen, and I planned on changing Nina’s contact picture to it as well.

It was Nina I always wanted to see; beautiful beyond belief, simple in that way that had me catching my breath.

“You were having a moment,” I explained, “I captured it perfectly.”

“I look ...” She trailed off.

“... Completely gorgeous,” I finished with certainty, snatching the phone away from her and shoving it in my pocket. “Now, pay attention to where you're walking please.”

We chatted about what it might be like to live like hermits for the rest of ours lives, and by the end of it Nina decided the life we’d described—early rises, countless books, snuggly nights, no television—sounded a lot like retirement. I smiled at the thought.

When we got back to the house, kicking off muddied boots and jackets damp with the moisture from the air, I flopped myself down on my favourite sofa as Nina said she’d be back after a quick trip to the bathroom.

“Harry,” She sat right next to my waist when she returned. “Are you ... Okay, you’re going back to sleep,” She answered herself, I opened one eye to look up at her. Nina was looking around the room like she was trying to figure out what she was going to do next. I mumbled a laugh and let the eyelid close slowly.

I stuck my arm out to incase her, keeping my eyes shut, “You fit too, c’mon.”

I managed to get her lying next to me for a moment. Still, just as I was adjusting myself against the back of the sofa and pulling her legs closer to mine with an expertly hooked foot, Nina surprised me by wriggling free and instead straddling my hips to sit up and look down at me.

"Why, hello," I opened my eyes and smiled up at her, wanting more than anything to be able to convey how fucking beautiful she looked.

"Hi," She grinned.

“Are you trying to say you don't want me to have a nap right now?”

“I mean, a nap can be on the list,” Nina said, pressing her lips to my neck and digging her hands underneath my shirt, “But maybe you’d like to do something else first.”

“Like what,” I insisted, letting her pull my shirt over my head but pulling her down for a heated kiss.  

Nina sat back on my hips and surprised me by pulling her own shirt straight over her head without any hesitation, “I think you’re clever enough to figure it out.”

+++

“Do you no think if I start doing a bunch of media people will get suspicious? I think I’d prefer not to,” I told the conference call, my concentration momentarily pulled to Nina and her girlfriends assembling a string of garden lights outside. “I really want this EP to drop without a whisper of it beforehand, I don’t want to lose the fun of that.”

“I agree with Harry,” I recognised my manager’s voice.

“Okay,” The rep from marketing relented, “No media until afterwards then.”

“I’ll do interviews until my mouth bleeds once it’s out, promise,” I told them cheekily, hearing a screech from outside and then a choir of laughter. “Is that everything?”

It was, and the call ended soon after. I plugged my phone in to charge on the kitchen bench and peeked out the window again. Nina hadn’t stopped smiling since her friends arrived earlier in the morning. They had been out with Gemma buying lights and decorations for the party tonight. I couldn’t say I gave them free rein, they simply took it.

Gemma was off collecting our mum, so when I walked through to the dining area, I started on sorting through a whole bunch of crap on the table to be put away before the party. The doors to the back garden were open, so I tuned into the conversation going on out there momentarily, with Sam’s reply catching my attention. I was only just out of their view but stayed quiet to see if I could catch the moment.

“Oh shut up, this is the best stage of the relationship, Nina. Just tell us how it is!”

“Quiet,” Nina insisted. “This is his house!”

Sam didn’t listen to her, “You of all people deserve to be having all the sex in the world right now. Are you?”

“I hate you so much right now.”

“Leave her alone,” Isabel said. “She’s bright red. That’s confirmation in itself. Harry adores her, there’s no way that man isn’t good in bed.”

“I’m leaving,” Nina announced, appearing in the doorway a second later.

I spun around and met her eyes, she was bright red and looking flustered. Her mouth fell open when she saw me, and I bit my lip but smiled at her, knowing I had been caught. The girls called out for her and just when I opened my mouth she pointed right at me.

“Not a word from you,” She tried to look menacing, “Not a word.”

I held up both hands and laughed, “I wouldn’t dare … But for the record, I’d appreciate it if you defended my reputation instead of leaving room for doubt by being silent.”

“Harry,” She hissed, looking behind her to make sure her friends weren’t nearby.

“I mean, ‘all the sex in the world’ is a little hard to quantify, but we’re doing okay,” I grinned, watching her blush deepen almost as much as it had in the shower that morning.

Nina narrowed her eyes at me, “I’m going to put the kettle on for tea.”

“I’ll come help.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” She threw over her shoulder as she left the room.

I laughed loudly but followed after her regardless. She was embarrassed, and it was sweet. As I walked passed her in the kitchen, I gave her bum a light tap and told her she was beautiful. She told me to go away, but her voice was soft and affectionate—her heart not in it. When I returned to her side with a bunch of mugs and the tin of tea under my arm, I put everything down and looped my arm around her middle, depositing my hand in the back pocket of her jeans.

I gave her bottom a squeeze and pressed a kiss to the shell of her ear, guessing the question her girlfriends had asked her, “Tell me how the sex is, Nina.”

She smiled and was about to reply when we both jumped and turned around at the voices behind us.

“Urgh! See? They’re having so much sex,” Georgie cried out with Sam and Isobel close behind.

“Oh my god,” Sam wheezed, pointing at Nina, “Your face. Both of your faces. Gold.”

“You’re all uninvited to tomorrow night,” Nina shouted through a smile, “Tell them,” She nudged my side.

All four women were looking at me, and I was truly at a loss as to what to say, but I found myself laughing along with Nina’s friends, “Thank you very much for having this conversation while my sister isn’t here.”

They all laughed again, but Nina covered her face with her hands and turned back to the kettle. While Nina made the tea, the rest of us moved on to discussing where else they should decorate.

A plan was hatched to add some lights out in the front courtyard.

+++

“They’re never going to stop talking, are they?”

I felt Nina laugh against my chest and the sheets across my chest moved when she snuggled even closer, “No.” “You absolutely wish you were in with them, aren’t you?” I said into the darkness of my bedroom, “You have FOMO, just admit it.”

The sound of her friends chatting down the hall, despite the fact it was the middle of the night, was the only sound going through my house. We went out for dinner once my sister and mum arrived and now, a few bottles of wine at home later, Nina’s friends were very much enjoying themselves instead of sleeping.

“I thought we were all tired,” Nina mumbled through a yawn.

“They’re full of beans.”

She spoke sleepily, and it made me smile, “I love them.”

“Me too.”

I love you as well, I thought.

“Are you excited for your party tomorrow?” Nina asked quietly. My mind lingered on my previous thought.

“I am,” Her hair was damp against my shoulder, and one smooth leg of hers was spotted between mine, “Are you?”

“I’m a little nervous,” Nina admitted. “But it will be good.”

I kissed her cheek and wondered what the best method of reassuring her was, “Should we do sunrise again?”

Her head started nodding against my skin before she spoke, “Mhmm, let’s. You set the alarm, my eyes are already closed.”

“How you do know mine aren’t closed as well,” I chuckled.

“I can hear you blinking.”

“There’s absolutely no way that is true.”

“It is.” “It’s not.”

“You have lovely eyelashes, and I’m a prodigy, I can hear it when you blink.”

“Oh, now you’re a prodigy.”

“When it suits me, yes.”

#1dff #one direction #one direction fanfiction #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #fic:someday someday #hina

[mageicalwishes]

Read on AO3: here

Read the previous chapter (On Tumblr): here

Summary: “I’m egging your house for a dare, but you’re parent is a cop and now they’re yelling at me, so I told them you were my ex and you wronged me, and now you’re coming outside, so please just go along with this, I really don’t want to go to jail” AU When Simon Snow agreed to egg some posho’s house, he never thought he’d find himself here - The only thing standing between himself and a criminal charge, the word of a handsome stranger.

Chapter: 4/?

Words: 3,831

Baz

SS (20:14): What are you up to anyways?

ME (20:15): Well, I was reading a book. But now I’m talking to you ... Obviously.

SS (20:15): Oh shit, sorry. I can text you l8r if you prefer. I didn’t mean to bother you.

ME (20:16): No. Don’t worry, you're not bothering me. I wanted to talk to you … You’re far more entertaining than Austen, anyway.

SS (20:16): Okay cool :D

SS (20:16): Austen? Like ... Jane Austen? Is that for school?

ME (20:17): No. Just for fun.

SS (20:18): WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU?

SS (20:18): I had to read Pride and Prejudice for the GCSEs. It nearly killed me!

SS (20:19): I’ve never really been the best at reading, but that just took the piss! I swear to God, I didn’t understand like half of the words!

ME (20:20): That's understandable, to be honest. I will admit that the language can be a little 'flowery' at times. If you’re not really into reading, Austen isn’t exactly the most accessible literature. The stories are good though.

ME (20:21): Did you watch the film?

SS (20:23): Yeah, no kidding. I despised that fucking book!

SS (20:23):  And, kind of. We watched, like, half of it in class, but we never finished it - Ran out of time.

ME (20:24): That’s unfortunate, it's pretty good, as far as adaptations go. I have the DVD somewhere. If I can find it, we could watch it together when you come over, if you’d like?

SS (20:24): Aw yeah defo :) That sounds good.

SS (20:24): Are you free tomorrow?

SS (20:25): Not for me to come over dw - I know you want to wait till your dad is away.

SS (20:25): If not dw. I know it’s a bit short notice. Soz.

ME (20:26): Don’t worry. I’m free, as far as I know. Why? What did you have in mind?

SS (20:26): I was wondering if you wanted to come play footie with me?

SS (20:27): Josh and Nathan are out.

SS (20:27): So it would just be us 2.

SS (20:28): If that’s okay with you? I know footie with just 2 is a bit difficult.

Pathetically, my chest surges at the sight of it … Just us two. It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.

BP (20:30): That’s okay, I’m sure it would still be fun - I’d like to come. What time were you thinking?

SS (20:30): 1:30ish. I can do later/earlier if it’s better for you tho.

BP (20:31): No, that won’t be necessary. 1:30 sounds fine.

SS (20:32): Okay good :) The pitch is a few mins away from the home. I could come and pick you up if you like? We could walk down together?

BP (20:32): Is my house on the way?

SS (20:33): Nah. Not exactly. I don’t mind tho it’ll only take, like, 15 mins more.

BP (20:34): I can just drive down to your house. There’s no need for you to go out of your way.

SS (20:34): Oh okay, sure. Sounds good :)

SS (20:34): Lazybones ;)

SS (20:34): Do you need my address?

BP (20:35): Yes, Snow. As talented as I may be, I’m not a psychic.

SS (20:35): Aha lol. Bigheaded much?

SS (20:36): I live on Pallot Road. Number 61.

SS (20:36): Do you know where it is?

SS (20:36): Idk the postcode off the top of my head. Soz.

BP (20:37): Yes, I know it. I’ll be there at 1:30.

SS (20:38): Cool. Can’t wait :)

I falter, unsure of how much of myself I’m willing to give away. I’ve never been good with openness - Hiding behind sharp words, and a false air of indifference. In that respect, I’m Snow’s antithesis. He’s a boy without walls - Open and forthright, to a fault. Defenseless, yet not afraid. I don’t believe that he’s ever tried to conceal any part of himself, around me - Even when we were literal strangers (Which, despite how it may feel, was barely a week ago). And, we’re certainly more than that, now (Well, I hope so, anyway). So why should I keep pretending? Why not just be real? Why not be a little more Simon Snow? I mean, he could hardly fault me for it - That would just be immensely hypocritical.

I type out my response in a rush, staring down the screen critically. Realistically, all I’m doing is parroting him. And while I know that, it feels like something much more. It feels like a partial admission of another truth. Another, much more frightening truth … That Simon Snow appears to have found himself in my affections, in a way that nobody else has before. That being with him makes my heart pulse, and my soul sing … That I’m a helpless, lovelorn fool.

Nevertheless, I scrunch my eyes closed, and hit send quickly (Before my courage, inevitably, dries up).

BP (20:43): Neither can I. It’ll be great to see you again.

————————————————————————————

He’s already standing outside when I pull up to his house. His bronze curls whipping around in the wind, messily, and a hand tracing the hem of his hoodie absentmindedly.

Shyly, I slide out of the car, and pace over to him.

“Good morning, Snow.”

“Hey, Baz!” he chirps, smiling over at me.

“You’re actually ready on time, this time. Congratulations!” I toy.

“Hey! Piss off!” He gruffs, sweeping his hair back, out of his face. “I was three minutes late. That doesn’t even count!”

“Au contraire - It most certainly does count. I was deeply inconvenienced by your casual approach to promptness. I had to sit on the stairs for a whole five minutes ... I looked like a complete prat.”

“Not my problem,” he shrugs. “You didn’t have to wait right by the door, you moron. That is completely on you.”

“Whatever,” I scoff, my face flooding with heat.

He lets out a laugh - Deep and rumbling. “You know for a smart guy, you really are awfully dumb sometimes, Baz”

I roll my eyes dramatically, unable to think up a comeback. Stumped, I decide to move the conversation forwards ...

“Have you got everything you need?” I ask, nodding my head towards the backpack in his hands - Not even bothering to question why he’s chosen to hold it that way.

“Yep. I brought a ball, and everything!”

“Perfect,” I mumble, nudging my hand against his, and pulling the bag from between his fingers. “I’ll just put this in the boot, and then we can go ... Hop on in, Golden boy.”

————————————————————————————

Simon

Baz is ruthless on the pitch (Just like I’d imagined he’d be) - Pelting across the grass at a breakneck speed, and booting goal after goal into the back of the net. Truly, He’s a sight to behold - All straining muscles, and wicked grins. I’d be basking in it … If I wasn’t so bloody annoyed.

He’s absolutely thrashing me (Of course) - 5 to Nil. It’s an absolute disaster on my end, having, apparently, lost any sort of scoring capability. And, to make matters worse, he’s not exactly coy about it - Assaulting me with a constant stream of ' Are you even trying, Snow 's and over-exaggerated, false yawns. Utter prat.

In my desperation, I stick my leg out in a particularly botched attempt at a tackle, accidentally clipping the back of his ankle, and sending him tumbling to the ground. Shit.

“Oh my god,” I breathe, squatting down onto the floor besides him, and flipping him over with a tug to his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry. I was trying to get the ball, I swear I didn’t mean to do that.”

He glares up at me, his full lips twisted into an acrid scowl. My stomach sinks at the sight of it. Shit. I’ve really fucked this up.

But then, he’s chortling heartily (Apparently incapable of maintaining his cruel act, any longer). His face scrunching up delightfully, as his eyes well up with joyful tears.

“What the fuck even was that, you complete barbarian,” he laughs, clutching at his stomach, stupidly. “Couldn’t stand losing, so you thought you’d just try knocking me out instead ... That is definitely a foul, Snow”

“I know, I know. It was an accident though, I swear,” I whine. “Just ... Shut up, and let me help you, you dick.”

I stick a hand out, pulling him up into a sitting position. He’s a mess - Small clumps of mud and grass clinging to his face, and a nasty, bloodied scraze disfiguring his knee. Yet somehow, even with all the marks of my stupidity, he still manages to look infuriatingly good.  

I take his face in my hands gently, tilting it towards mine. The laughter dies out, suddenly - His face falling marginally, as he goes eerily quiet. Unperturbed, I continue my ministrations, brushing my fingers across his face, sweeping away the debris as I go.

“I really am sorry,” I whisper. “I didn’t mean for you to get hurt.”

“It’s alright, Snow. I was only teasing. I know it was an accident. It’s fine, really, it’s just a little scrape - Nothing a wash and a plaster won’t fix.”

“Okay,” I huff, relieved. “I didn’t bring any with me, though ... But, there’s a first aid kit back at home. We could go and patch you up there?”

“No. If it’s alright, I’d rather do it back at my own house. It’ll be much less awkward that way”

“Oh,” I drone, my voice weak with disappointment. “Sure.”

How the fuck did I manage to mess things up so quickly? We were supposed to spend the rest of the day together (I mean, neither of us ever actually said that, but it was definitely assumed), and now, within one poxy hour, I’ve managed to kill all chances of that. I'm such a bloody idiot.  

“Cheer up, misery-guts,” he giggles, “There’s no need to strop - You can come too. You might just have to sneak in through the window, or something.”

“Okay, sure,” I beam, stupidly elated. “I can handle that.”

————————————————————————————

Baz

As it turns out, he really can't handle it.

“Christ, Snow,” I hiss. “You’re being way too loud. Shut up.”

“It ain't my fault! I don’t know why the fuck you thought I would be able to climb up this thing properly. It’s made for flowers Baz, not people!”

He has a point, to be honest. I knew that getting him up the trellis would be a challenge, but we didn’t exactly have many other options.

I thrust my hand out of the window, gripping onto his forearm tightly, and shifting my weight to support him properly.

With that, his body starts shaking violently, a poorly concealed chuckle escaping his lips.

“I told you to shut it, moron,” I scold (Although, there is no real malice in it - The smile is clearly audible in my voice).

“I’m trying, really. It’s just - It’s just this is like some shitty version of Romeo and Juliet, Baz. You can’t blame me!” He laughs. “It’s funny!”

“Yes well … Romeo was much more graceful about it than you!”

“Shhhh. I’m doing my best. I’m almost up! You should’ve gotten me a rope or something, it isn’t my fault!”

“Oh yes, Snow,” I deadpan. “Sorry. Let me go and grab the ten foot rope I keep under my bed at all times”

“Hey! I don’t know what kind of kinky shit you’re into! You could've had a rope lying around somewhere!”

I don’t even try and justify that with a response, choosing, instead, to focus on helping him up.

Eventually, we manage to pull him into the room - Snow plopping down onto the floor, with an unceremonious thud.

Laughing hysterically, he props himself up against the wall besides me, and rests his head against the side of my shoulder.

“Thanks for helping me up. I was so scared I was gonna fall back into that stupid rose bush.”

“It’s no problem. I didn’t really fancy having to explain to Father why you, of all people, were sneaking into my bedroom.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, his throat vibrating distractingly, against my shoulder. “You need me to help you with your leg?”

“No. I can handle it … I was going to have a quick shower, actually, if that’s alright with you? Get it properly cleaned up and everything, you know."

“Oh yeah, that’s fine,” He murmurs, lifting his head up, and shifting his body sideways (Away from mine). “What - I mean what am I supposed to do, though? Do you want me to hide somewhere?”

I puff out a breath, amused by his sincerity. “No, Snow,” I drawl. “You don’t have to hide yourself away in the wardrobe. You can just wait around here. Nobody is going to come in - Don’t worry.”

“Oh, right” He mumbles, glancing his eyes down towards the floor. “Cool.”

“Yeah. There’s plenty here to keep you entertained, though. You could play on the PS, or watch some TV … Or, you could read something, I suppose. Although, I know you’re not big on that.”

He smiles over at me, his freckled cheeks puffing out wide. It’s frustratingly adorable.

“Yeah, maybe not that. I’ll probably just watch TV, if that’s okay?”

“Of course it’s okay. I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” I say, jumping up, and treading over to the en-suite door. “I won't be long, though, honest - I’ll be back in half an hour, latest.”

————————————————————————————

It definitely took me longer than half an hour. Although, that was Snow’s fault entirely - His lovely tackle, had left awful clumps of mud matted into my hair, so I had to give it a proper wash.

When I step back into the room (My hair still annoyingly damp), Snow has got himself starfished out across my bed, his chin propped up in his hands. He looks completely at ease, laid out in my bed like that - Even with the, admittedly, rather intimidating decor of my room.

Stepping besides the bed, I scoop his legs up in my arms, and swing them over to one side of the bed - Making room for myself besides him.

“What are you watching then, Snow?” I ask, laying myself down onto the duvet.

“Dunno. Some crap cop show. I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“No?” I ask, gasping with faux incredulity. “Would you like to play some FIFA instead? That way I can thrash you again, without sustaining any serious injuries.”

“Don’t be a wanker, Baz,” he scolds. “You know I didn’t mean to do that!”

“I know, I know,” I coo. “I’m only messing with you. Don’t stress.”

He glares at me, pouting his lips out, slightly. “Okay then,” he agrees, a sly smirk spreading across his face. “I actually play a lot of FIFA, you know. So, I reckon I’m going to enjoy beating you … Would serve you right for being such a cocky bastard!”

I raise my eyebrows in challenge, punching out a quick, mirthless laugh. “I’d like to see you try, Snow. Do your worst … We’ll see who comes out on top!”

————————————————————————————

For all my arrogance, I will admit that Snow was actually a very worthy opponent (Although, I’d never tell him that).

Considering that I’d been playing everyday for the last two months, I had assumed it would be an easy victory - But, as it turns out, I was wrong. He put up a more than admirable fight - Actually leading for the majority of the match. But, of course, I still managed to beat him - Hammering in a goal on the ninety-third minute (Much to Snow’s dismay).

“For fuck sakes!” He fumes, throwing the controller down onto the bed, childishly. “I almost bloody had it, as well!”

“There, there, Snow,” I tease, pressing a hand to his shoulder in a mocking comfort. “There’s always next time.”

“Piss off, Baz!” He whines, flopping back against my pillows with a dramatic sigh. “I’ve had enough of this shitty game!”

“Alright,” I breathe, slowly laying myself down besides him, as I desperately try to suppress the laughter bubbling up inside me. “Do you want to play a different game, then?”

“No.”

“Okay,” I drawl, my voice rising with uncertainty. “So … You want-”

“Just wanna stay here for a bit,” he gruffs.

“Okay. We can stay here, then.” I agree, my voice hushed.

As silence settles over us, I steal a glance over at him.

He’s got an arm stretched out over his face (The synthetic material of his football shirt, straining against his broad shoulders, perfectly), and beneath it, I can see the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Unobserved, I take my opportunity to scan my eyes over him, appreciatively. Sprawled out against my bed, he looks positively obscene. His hair mussed intoxicatingly, where it rests against my pillow, and every revealed inch of skin decorated with constellations of moles. For a moment, I envision pressing my lips against them, lavishing each and every mark with the attention they deserve, but I quickly restrain myself. Allowing my mind to wander now, when he’s so close to me, would be an irreparably idiotic move.

In an attempt to cool myself down, I flutter my eyes shut, and shift my focus onto the steady puff of his breathing - Slow and constant. In and Out. In and Out. In and Out …

————————————————————————————

Embarrassingly, I’m halfway to sleep when he speaks next.

“Baz?” he whispers, poking my arm lightly. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, my voice deep and lazy with tiredness.

“Okay. Cool,” he sighs. “Can - I mean, can I ask you something?”

“Hmmm. Of course” I hum.

“It's just that, I’ve been thinking … Did - Did you mean what you said the other day?”

I scoff, quietly. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific, if you want me to answer that, Snow.”

“Right yeah. Obviously,” he huffs, clearly frustrated.

Opening my eyes, I tilt my head over to look at him - Our eyes meeting immediately. His deep blue boring into my grey. This close, it’s far too intense.

Caught off guard, and humiliatingly wonderstruck, I avert my eyes, focusing my gaze on the canopy of my bed, instead. I feel my face flush with heat, once again, and pray to God that he doesn’t notice. That would be the last thing I need, right now.

“I just - I mean what you said to your dad,” he continues, stammering slightly.

“What bit?”

“When you were all like - 'Oh don’t worry Father, he's one of mine',” he explains, making an absolutely atrocious attempt at mimicking my accent. “I just mean like - Do you really have lots of, like - I don’t know ... Guys?”

“No,” I drone. “There’s no one else ... Never has been. I just said that to get him off of your case. He doesn’t really like talking about that stuff, so I figured it would be effective.”

“Oh,” He breathes. “Okay.”

I pause, unsure of what else to say. The silence stretches between us painfully - Tangible tension flooding the air. And then, I feel it. It’s barely a brush at first - Easy to play off as a simple accident, given our close proximity. But then, he continues. Pressing our hands together more fervently - His skin impossibly warm against mine. It’s searing - The contact lighting me up from within, as hopeful sparks ignite within me.

I gulp, audibly. “Why?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

“Just - I’m just like … Curious, I suppose,” he murmurs, his finger tip tracing it’s way along the side of my thumb. It’s feather-light, but it weighs like lead in my heart. And I think that, maybe (just maybe), he might be trying to tell me exactly what I want to hear.  

He presses on, nervously, his voice wavering slightly. “It’s just that -”

Suddenly, there’s a banging at the door - Loud and insistent.

Panicked, I shove him off of the bed, sending him flopping onto the floor with a girlish yelp. Biting back a laugh, I rush over to the door, and pull it open ever so slightly.

“Basilton. Dinner is ready. I don’t know what on earth you’re doing in here, making all that racket, but you need to come downstairs now,” Father chastises.

“Of course. I’ll be down in just a minute.”

“Alright. Hurry down though. Please don’t keep us all waiting. We don’t want to start without you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Father,” I taunt, my tone laced with sarcasm. He’ll definitely lecture me about that later (He’s never impressed with my 'petulant attitude'), but, right now, I don’t particularly care.  

Closing the door behind him, I scurry over back to where Snow is sat.

“You have to leave,” I whisper, rushing out the words with a frightful urgency. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. You just - You really have to leave. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone ... So, you can't really stay.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he hushes. “It’s fine. Don’t stress. Do you want me to go right now?”

“No,” I cry. “Just - Wait until I’ve been down at dinner for a few minutes - Then you can leave … That way, you can be certain nobody will be creeping around outside.”

“Okay, sure.” he says, smiling over at me.

Looking at him - I hesitate. “But - Are you sure you’ll be okay climbing? If you’d rather wait, I’m sure that I can find some other way to sneak you out, a little bit later. I could say I'm going out to the bin, or something. If you were quiet, we might be able to get away with it.” “Baz,” he sing-songs, teasingly. “I’m sure I can climb down without your help. It’s only one floor.”

“Yes well,” I deadpan. “Forgive me for thinking it may be best to find an alternative route. You didn’t exactly dazzle me with your speed or grace in getting up here.”

He snickers, squinting his eyes at me daringly.

“Yeah, but it’ll be easier going down. So chill. I can handle it - Trust,” he reassures. “You’ve seriously gotta go and get your dinner now, though. If your dad comes stomping up here to yell at you, it’s game over for me! And then fussing over this would've been entirely pointless”

“Okay,” I huff, standing and pacing over to the door, reluctantly.

Flashing him a quick smile, I call out a quiet “Message you later, Snow,”, and then, I leave him.

————————————————————————————

I’m just tucking into my dinner, when an almighty crash tears through the hush of the dining room. Of course, I know what it is immediately - Simon bloody Snow falling off of that god-forsaken trellis.

Fucking hell. I knew I should’ve tried to sneak him out another way.

I mean, what if he’s hurt himself? It’s not exactly a steep fall, but it’s certainly enough to do some damage. And the only reason he is even here, is because of my stupid, desperate plot to get to spend more time with him - And now, he's probably laying out there with a broken leg, or something. God. I'm such a selfish dolt.

Anxiously, I slide my phone out of my pocket, beneath the table, and hurry out a quick text.

ME (19:27): Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Do you need help?

I wait, holding my breath as my leg bounces under the table, impatiently.

SS (19:28): Nah. Don’t worry. I’m good.

SS (19:28): I might’ve killed your flowers tho :/

SS (19:28): Sorry!

I smile to myself privately - Doing my best to hide my grin behind my hand.

That bloody disaster is going to be my undoing, I swear.

#carry on #wayward son #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #simon snow #tyrannus basilton grimm pitch

[kpopshitposter]

Hey can you do prompt 57 for kyungsoo please :)

Writing Prompt Meme

“Stop it.”

Your depression has taken turn for the worst and Kyungsoo has lost the ability to be able to help you.

Trigger warnings: Depression & other mental illnesses, self-harm mention

My masterlist

If you’ve never been in love, the idea might sound nice to you. If you’ve never known the weight of the responsibility, maybe you’ll only think about the weight of their body on yours. If you’ve never known the pain of loss, maybe you’ll only think of the benefits of gain. 

There are invisible souls which circle the earth looking for love again. Ghosts are secured to the ground, pushed by gravity, but those with broken hearts are weightless. Emptiness allows you to defy gravity.

Emptiness was a concept you had become very well acquainted with… but you only had yourself to blame.

Kyungsoo had meant everything to you, he had been a steady rock, a beacon of light, a teacher, a student, a friend, a lover. He had been all that anyone could possibly want...  apart from… around. 

He was on tour so much, awake when you were asleep, asleep when you were awake. You were aware that it wasn’t his fault, but that changed nothing. His absence was a screeching, creeping, crawling demon of nightmares. You were being left alone with your thoughts, and that in itself was dangerous.

In his own unlucky way, Kyungsoo had become your therapist. 

He’d sing for you and read to you to help you sleep, he’d move his lips and hands over you sweetly to calm you down, he’d feed you when you didn’t want to feed yourself. If there’s just one angel on earth, his name is Kyungsoo.

Or so you chose to believe.

The truth is this…

He was human. Of course he was human. He was not an angel, he was not perfect. You had spent so much time having your soul murdered by depression that you forgot a world existed outside of it.

Outside of “I don’t want to get up today. I can’t.” was Kyungsoo cancelling his plans.

Outside of “I don’t want to eat. Don’t make me.” was Kyungsoo putting his own hunger aside to keep you healthy.

Outside of “I’m a burden. Nobody loves me. I might as well die.” was Kyungsoo’s heart breaking.

“I love you.” he had stressed.

“I don’t know why,” you had said with tears streaming down your face, “what’s the point? What’s there to love. I’m not… even a person anymore. I’m not a human. I’m just this mess in my head. I’m this fire in my veins.”

“That’s not what I see. You’re cute and fun-”

“Not anymore. That’s who I was but I lost myself. Close your eyes when you’re around me and you’ll realise I’m not someone you’d recognise.”

Kyungsoo had taken a deep breath.

He closed his eyes.

He stepped closer to you, hands out. He placed his palms on your sides and you squirmed at the fear of him feeling the shape of your body. He held you firmly.

It was common for Kyungsoo to silently show you his affection. You had learned the very rhythm of his heartbeat and the energy from his thoughts so well. You knew what he was thinking and you start to sob at the sheer panic of him touching you. You push him away.

His eyes open and you can’t register the pain in them because the tears are clouding your vision. What should be comforting, feels like an insult.

“So, what? You think it’s fine that my head is like this? You think it’s normal and just me?”

“No-”

“Just LEAVE Kyungsoo. It’s impossible for anyone to be happy around me, it’s impossible for anyone to feel any love from me. There’s no love in my heart. It’s a cold, black, empty space. I have nothing to offer you. Just leave.” 

Who allowed depression to be so eloquent? Why did you say it not just once, or twice, but over and over again?

Before you know it, he’s leaving.

How could you leave me? You want to say. How could you prove that all my thoughts about myself are true? How could you leave me in this abyss alone?

But you stay silent, because you know it’s your own fault.

“Do you understand why I’m doing this?” he asks as you watch him fold his clothes.

“Because you don’t love me anymore.”

“No. It’s because you’ll never get real help as long as I’m here.”

“There’s no such thing as real help.”

He rubs his eyes. “You need a doctor.”

“So I’m crazy?”

Kyungsoo says your name with so much softness it feels like you were laid on a bed of nails.

“Please.” he begs. “Speak to someone. I’ll be next to you every step.”

You want to retort, you feel like dismissing him and yelling and screaming and crying - yes. Crying. You break down in tears, heart-wrenching tears. Your lover has to look away because of how much it hurts. 

“What if it doesn’t work?” you ask. “What if I’m like this forever?” you cry. “What if this is just who I am now?” you sob. “What if I can’t be helped? What if it doesn’t work?”

“What if it does work?”

It was such a simple thing to say, and yet… it contained so much hope. What if it did work? What if you could be helped?

“Try. I’ll be with you.” his hand reaches out for you but you’re afraid of giving him yours - what if he doesn’t like it? What if it feels rough? What if he touches your fingers and recoils in disgust?

“Okay.” you breathe helplessly.

That night, alone, you do not sleep.

Your home is so loud, but you survive. You feel like you’ve been turned inside-out, but you’re alive. That must count for something.

Days, weeks go by. Kyungsoo is constantly visiting you, always checking on you, and always asking if you’ve made an appointment yet. You keep saying you will, you will, you will. 

You never do.

You’re too afraid.

Logic slips by you - no attempt means you’re certain to fail. How do you know it won’t work? How do you know anything?

Have faith in yourself, Kyungsoo pleaded, just as he does with you.

It wasn’t as difficult as you had expected, in fact you would almost say you were proud of yourself. You weren’t exactly putting any effort into eating healthy meals, but you were still eating. You weren’t exactly the most hygienic person in the world, but you still managed to shower once a week. With nobody but yourself to congratulate you and let you know they’re proud.

Given your time apart, you even felt more of a need to allow Kyungsoo to touch you when he did visit - you wanted the attention you felt starved of and took it from his arms and his lap willingly. Even Kyungsoo had noticed the change and he adored it. He got his chances to kiss your jaw, hold your close, taste your mouth.

Small accomplishments were big wins, and some might have even called it progress.

But it was temporary. 

The night prior to him leaving for a tour was the first time in months he had slept in the same bed as you. Out of fear. Why does so much in your life happen because of fear? He held you close, kissed anywhere you’d let him and went as far as you could manage.

“See someone while I’m gone. Please.” he whispered against your neck. Your bed was so warm with him in it. Your heart felt so full. You were almost happy. Almost - because it doesn’t come that easily.

“Why? I’ve been better…”

“It will reassure me.”

That was a good enough reason.

You promise him.

“Do you promise to love me still while you’re away? And when you get back?” you’re looking up at him with hopeful eyes.

He smiles sweetly at you and sweeps up your pinky finger in his own and kisses your hand. “I promise.” 

That was how he left you, with a fragile flower starting to bud in your heart, one created from hope. He had made his promise, and you had made yours… but sometimes it takes a tragedy to trigger an action.

You time it to be three hours after his plane should have landed - to give him a chance to sort himself out before texting saying ‘I hope you had a nice flight!’ 

Morning comes and you haven’t received a response.

The day of the first concert comes and you send him ‘Good luck tonight!��

The concert comes and goes without any acknowledgment.

Days went by so slowly. He had moved out of the house, but he had still been around for calling, texting, seeing… now, he won’t even read your messages.

What if he’s glad to be away?

What if he’s found someone else? Why wouldn’t he find someone better; he’s travelling the world, he’s bound to be around beautiful backing dancers, beautiful fans, beautiful interviewers who are all so much more perfect than you. 

You can’t challenge these ugly thoughts which infiltrate your ugly heart and leave you with ugly tears.

Kyungsoo, with his lovely soul, adored by so many… why would he bother with you?

You torture yourself with fancams, watching how he sends hearts out to crowd and dances for them with a smile on his face. Somewhere along the way you realise you’re jealous of him. His happiness. You’re jealous that he can enjoy his time away from you while you’ve been staring blankly at a wall for so many uneventful months.

You clung to the hope of his return making everything as it was. After all, he had made a promise. You wait for his love, your desperation keeping you alive (since the rare meal you were eating wasn’t doing too much of a good job). 

Kyungsoo’s love had turned to water in your hands and slipped out of your grasp with so much ease. You tried to not blame him, but that did not make it a cyanide pill you could comfortably swallow.

No…

But maybe some bleach would go down nicely.

You’re exhausted. You’re so tired of this fight. You’re so tired of how draining it is to be alive. There isn’t really any reason for you to breathe still, only Kyungsoo had been watching over you, and now he didn’t care.

The thought is not a fleeting one.

More days go by, more solitude, more vibrant aching.

You use all the energy you have to stand up and move to the bathroom. You open the cupboard and stare at the contents. You wonder if you should write a letter first, just to say goodbye. 

You then realise that there’s nobody to say goodbye to.

With bleach in hand you start to take off the lid, it’s so heavy and you focus on the weight as it grounds you to - the sound of the door opening makes you jump. With a gasp the bleach is spilled down your top.

You hear your name.

It’s Kyungsoo.

No, no, no!

You go to rush and put it back but you slip and let out a cry. You can hear his quick footsteps follow the sound until he’s in the doorway. He repeats your name in a panicked fashion and kneels down beside you, helping you to sit up as you groan.

He touches your ankles, asks if you’re okay.

You just nod, your thigh is red and you’ve probably gotten a few bruises but you’ll survive.

“What were you doing…?” he looks over you and cringes at the smell.

“I was… cleaning.” you lie.

He blinks at you, obviously not fooled.

“Help me up?” you ask, but instead of getting you to your feet he loops his arms around you and lifts you up from the floor. You wonder if he can feel how much weight you’ve lost. You wonder if he’ll find you more attractive now, or if he feels proud of you.

He carries you to the couch and places you down. “Ice?”

“No, I’m f-fine.” you sniffle and shudder. “Don’t bother, Kyungsoo.” you lean into the couch. “Just forget it.”

Uh oh. He knows this too well. Kyungsoo takes a seat at your feet and brings them up onto his lap. He watches you silently, patiently, waiting for you to tell him what’s wrong.

“Can you stop staring at me?” you bitterly hiss, causing him to look away. “Why are you here?”

You don’t have to be making eye contact to see his pain. “Don’t you want me here?”

“No.” Liar.

You’re both silent for a while.

“Don’t you have anything to say? About the fact that you disappeared, maybe?! You stop replying to any of my texts and-” he lets you rant and ramble on at him angrily, listening to you with patience and understanding.

“You didn’t see a doctor, did you?”

“That’s not the point!”

“You promised me…”

“You promised me too!”

“I kept my promise. It’s always the same when I’m on tour, you know that. We’ve been together long enough for you to know that. I didn’t ignore you on purpose, this time my phone didn’t work in other countries for some reason, and I took it to get fixed when I got back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You fold your arms. “You couldn’t even tell me you got back.”

“So… what happened?” His hands which smooth over your legs and his eyes which take you in tenderly reduce you to tears.

“You left me alone.” 

“That’s why I told you to see someone, so you wouldn’t be alone.”

“You could’ve used someone else’s phone to talk to me. I spent months waiting for you. I could barely eat because I didn’t even know if something had happened to you. I wondered if you found someone else. I couldn’t even sleep.”

“I’m sorry… but, please, you have to see someone now.”

You’re trembling from the cold, from the hunger, from the sorrow, “Why are you even with me still? Why did you come here? Why do you even bother with this? You could have anyone you wanted and I’m nothing. I’m nothing. I’m stupid and annoying and ugly and-” you feel Kyungsoo catch your hands which had been scratching at your thighs, pulling you away from the static in your mind.

“Stop it. Stop lying and stop hurting yourself.” said so simply… “Tomorrow we’re going to see a doctor together.” He can tell by the look on your face… “It will be okay. First…”

First, he cooked for you. He made you something filling and delicious (purely because he made it). Then, he helped you bathe. He washed your hair and kissed your cheek and even let you keep the light off so that you could hide. He dressed you and did your laundry and changed your bedsheets.

You felt so guilty. You felt like you wanted to disappear… but that’s not what Kyungsoo wanted. He was putting all of this effort in to keep you with him. He was putting all of this effort in to stop you from fading away. Sometimes words aren’t his forte, but he really knows how to show you love with his actions. It makes you want to return the favor. It makes you want to hold his hand tightly as you’re sat in the doctor’s waiting room with your head on his shoulder. It makes you want to try to get better. It makes you want to fight. If not for yourself, you’ll fight for Kyungsoo.

The thought of being someone strong and worthwhile for Kyungsoo to love makes you smile for the first time in a long time.

#kyungsoo scenarios #exo scenarios #kyungsoo x reader #kyungsoo imagines #exo imagines #exo x reader #open kpop scenario requests #Anonymous

[royalcordelia]

Hey babe it’s me, your wife. I’d love it if you wrote a drabble based on any of the shots from the trailer that really sparked your imagination. Maybe expand on the Diana and jerry cuteness? Or the satanic ritual? Or the dance lessons? Whatever your sweet heart desires! Sorry this isn’t very straightforward 🤪

@neveragainsanta​‘s prompt was my idea for yours, Alex, so I’m merging the two! Hope you both don’t mind! 

things that fall (i, for you)

“Certainly more catastrophic things have happened before,” reasoned a panicked Anne. “Like the burning of the library of Alexandria, the crucifixion of Christ, the falling of Rome…” She stared at her reflection,cursed her own eternal stupidity. She wished she could turn her imaginative brain off so she’d stop seeing her cheeks as two ripe strawberries with a million freckles for seeds.  

“All you did was kiss a boy,” Anne tried to reason evenly, but failed miserably. All at once, the realization crashed over her as devastating as if it had just happened. In a low, scared voice, Anne stared back at her own terrified reflection, “I kissed Gilbert Blythe. I kissed Gilbert Blythe.” 

Tearing away from her mirror, Anne collapsed onto her bed, hands covering her eyes as a universes’ worth of shame settled on her like a thick blanket.

“How am I going to tell Diana? Oh god, how am I going to face him at school?” 

Perhaps in the back of her mind, she was ignoring a somewhat important fact. Sure, she had kissed Gilbert Blythe, but he had kissed her back. Quite enthusiastically too, for a boy who’d never kissed anyone before. 

It certainly wasn’t the logical outcome for how the interaction began. Squeezing her eyes shut, Anne tried with all her might to keep the memory from replaying in front of her eyes, but it was there over, and over, and over- 

She’d been watering the flowers along the side of the house when she heard his footsteps striking the ground at an astonishing pace. Half expecting a horse to be galloping up the lane, she jumped when she realized Gilbert Blythe was running up to see her. When he was close enough them to meet gazes, his face burst into a wide grin.

“Anne, you won’t believe it!” he called out. Some of the chickens pecking around the barn rustled at the sudden call into the farm’s peaceful quiet. Anne hurried to the gate, but he skidded to a stop right in front of her before she could open it. 

“Gilbert Blythe, what on earth has gotten into you?” 

Catching his breath, Gilbert hunched over his knees and let out a wispy laugh. 

“Guess why I’ve come,” he said excitedly. 

“I…I couldn’t even begin to fathom!” she replied, her own laughter at his askew appearance making his smile even wider. The warm weather had turned his cheeks a pale red, and the afternoon sun glimmered the iridescent highlights in his hair, like the milky way against its dark galaxy. Anne could deny it when asked, but was hopeless at denying to herself that Gilbert had grown abundantly handsome in the last year. Yet, his heart changed so little. When he pressed his lips firmly together, Anne resisted the urge to reach over and shake him. “Aren’t you going to tell me?” 

“Give me one good guess, and then I will reveal what I know,” he said with pretend officiality. Anne placed a finger on her chin as mimicked a person deep in contemplation. 

“You’ve decided to join the traveling circus and become their trapeze walker,” Anne supposed. His hearty guffaw hit her ears like beautiful music that was so pleasant, Anne nearly repeated her joke in hopes that she might hear it again. 

“That was indeed a good guess. It’s even better!”

“Better? Now I’m almost anxious!” 

A confident glint took life in his eyes as he pulled a folded up newspaper snippet from his pocket. The sight of the wheat-colored paper made Anne’s nerves spark with electricity for reasons that she didn’t understand. With a tentative look in her eye, she took the slip when he offered it and peered down at it’s contents. 

Queen’s College Pupil Acceptance (In order of test scores)

1. Gilbert Blythe (Avonlea) - Score 200

Anne’s heart filled with bitterness. Of course he only came to gloat about his own success. They’d been studying together, joking about who would come in first at Queen’s together, tackling their textbooks together. He’d told her how much she improved, and for the first time in her life, Anne wondered that she might finally be first in something - fair and square. 

“You must be so pleased, Gil,” Anne found the strength to mutter, folding the paper back up. If she turned her gaze from the ground, she might see the utter incredulity with which he gawked. 

“Anne. Anne, look again. With both eyes this time!” 

Against her better judgement, she did. 

1. Gilbert Blythe (Avonlea) - Score 200

1. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert (Avonlea) - Score 200

“We tied,” Gilbert said.

Anne felt like she’d gained ten years of her life back. Her head shot up to Gilbert and met his confident joy with her frantic excitement. All the time they’d spent studying together into the sunset hours had paid off. All the times he’d teased her over geometry, all the times she’d poked him over a misspelled word in his essay, every fumbling compliment to keep the other motivated had all led to this. They’d done it! 

She hopped onto the fence, took Gilbert by the face and kissed him. 

Don’t ask her why she did it. In retrospect, she supposed she wanted to in the moment. (And tragically, now that she’d done it once, she wanted to do it again, and again, and again, and) 

Neither of them knew what to do. Not just because of their inexperience but also because they were kissing. They were friends, kindred spirits, orphans who understood each other, and they were kissing.

The books she read never gave much detail about kissing, and the few moments of affection Anne had witnessed in couples were so brief, she could hardly take notes. How long were you supposed to kiss? Was this too long?  

Just as Anne began to pull back, Gilbert chased her so that the connection didn’t break. His hands came up to hold hers on his face, the tenderness of his touch so jolting that she broke back abruptly and stumbled off of the fence. Chancing a look at his face, Anne fortified herself for the worst. 

But Gilbert didn’t look repulsed or upset like she expected, or even afraid like she was. He was never afraid.

“Why’d you do that?” he asked finally, with such a strong hint of hope that Anne had to catch herself from stumbling back another step. 

“I don’t know,” Anne said quickly, quietly. “Can we…um..” 

Do it again?

“Never mention that it happened?” he supplied, tone unreadable.

“Oh, uh, yes. That’s what I meant.”

Clearing his throat, Gilbert ran a hand through his hair with an audibly unsteady sigh, then began back up the lane. 

“Have a nice evening,” he called over his shoulder, but it sounded like words merely leaving his mouth without intention, without meaning.

Laying on her bed, Anne gave a whimpering groan at the memory of it. She’d been wrong when she assumed that she could kiss a boy if she felt like it. If that were true, she’d be at his home, at his fence, retrying what they’d stumbled through for a few short seconds. 

Fate was prepared to make the next day of school actual, physical torture as Anne faced the impossible task of avoiding Gilbert. She clung to Diana’s side, attempting to maintain the routine of normalcy of their dull school day, but the news had already spread about the Queen’s results. 

“Anne! Congrats on tying with Gilbert! Did you have any idea before the results came out?” and “Wish the exam was out of 201 so you could’ve beat her, bud!” and “The only reason you tied with him anyways was because he taught you. You could’ve at least repaid him by missing one point.” 

Anne and Gilbert danced around each other, even if Billy and Josie were much worse company. So in the mess of the noise and all the questions, when Charlie asked, “Is Gilbert walking you home today?” Anne’s mouth answered for her. 

“No, he’s not.” 

“Then could I?” 

Anne’s head snapped up, and she looked at Charlie Sloane as if he were an extraterrestrial. 

“No, you cannot.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’m…walking myself! I’m perfectly capable, thank you!” 

Then she dashed away into the coat room. She made quick work of snatching up her hat and pulling on her coat, a sharp pain beginning to form behind her temple. Spinning around, Anne meant to aim right for the door - 

And nearly bumped into Gilbert Blythe who seemed to be attempting the same quick escape. His hands lowered from his hat slowly, as if she was a doe he was afraid of spooking. Anne’s lips parted as she searched her mind for something to say, but for once, she was on her own. 

Gilbert had something to say, she could tell. It was right behind his lips but he bit down harshly on the words to keep them from tumbling out. At last, straightened his hat and gave her a nervous smile. 

“Anne, I heard you tied with me on the Queen’s exam. Congratulations.” 

She blinked. 

“Thank you, Gil. We both worked hard,” she replied slowly. Then, after a beat. “Does this mean you don’t despise me?” 

Gilbert’s eyes squinted, the way he did when he smelled something unpleasant. 

“Why would you think that?” 

From the other side of the coat room, Jane and Tilly threw them a questioning expression. 

“No reason,” Anne answered. “Are you still walking me home today? If not, I don’t mind.” 

The ice between them thawed into nothingness as Gilbert smiled the grin that turned Anne’s knees to liquid. He grabbed her books from her hands and headed out the door with another word. 

Anne felt strawberries on her cheeks again, but this time she didn’t mind. She swept out the door, and fell at Gilbert’s side, admiring the galaxy in his hair and the sweetness in his eyes. For a moment, she wondered if he was looking at her that way too.

#anne with an e #anne of green gables #shirbert #shirbert ff #tessa writes #asks and answered #drabbles #hecksinki

[eurusholmmes]

Love Me Anyway | L.F.

Ignore the fact that this is a FitzSimmons gif, I love how soft he is in this episode. I’m so sad this show is ending. Also, for the purposes of this fic, Natasha is alive! yay!

Prompt: I’m not sure if this is where you request but I was wondering if you could write a Leo Fitz x reader where they go to Scotland to meet his mother and maybe she asks about children but the reader can’t have any due to growing up in the Red Room? If not, that’s okay!

feedback is the reason i keep writing 

Never once in your life had you thought someone would fall in love with you. Or that you would fall in love with that some. You: Trained by the Red Room, a cold blooded murderer with the deaths of innocents all over your hands. They had drilled that into your memory from the earliest that you could remember. Love is a weakness. Attachments are weaknesses, and they will be your doom. 

If your doom was to come in the form of a man named Leopold Fitz, you would welcome death with open arms. 

He was wary of you at first, as he should’ve been. Simmons had died under his care and it had taken him years to learn how to trust people after the AOS had disbanded, but you’d caught his eye almost as soon as he’d gotten back to London on his layover back to Scotland. Back home. 

Dressed in a floral print jumper with white sandals to match, you tightly gripped the handle of your suitcase and took off without a hitch towards your departure gate. You were supposed to be on a mission. A mission with a target and someone to eliminate - 

And all traces of a coherent thought went out the window when you crashed into him and landed, rather hard, on your side. Under different circumstances you would’ve considered yourself embarrassed for being so oblivious to your surroundings, and then you met his apologetic gaze and everything came back into focus. 

  “My apologies, sir. I really must watch where I’m going.” 

  “Not a problem at all, Miss.’’ He extended his hand as a means of assisting you in standing up, and you would’ve been a fool not to take it. He was so warm. Warm and alive and standing close enough that you could feel the slight tremor that plagued the fingers laced through your own. “It’s a nice view from where I stand.” 

He’d said his name was Leopold Fitz, and he’d disappeared for another three years without a word. Your S.O. was enraged that you’d let your guard down enough to let a former SHIELD operative escape, but that didn’t deter you from your new mission: Escaping the Red Room and the past you were desperate to leave behind. 

Natasha Romanoff was a blessing in disguise. She housed you and constructed a new identity. She gave you another chance at life, and you couldn’t thank her enough. Nat simply smiled and told you to pursue whatever you felt made you happiest. 

That was how you found yourself chasing the footprints of one Leopold Fitz, ex-SHIELD agent, and ghost. He was hard to find. 

Your paths eventually crossed in a tiny cafe during a storm in London. You caught sight of him first - soaking wet and panting - as he ducked into the cafe you’d been occupying to finish your conversation with Natasha about your excursion to find him. 

  “Y/N?” 

You smiled softly and tapped the table. “Leopold Fitz,” You greeted. He stepped through the crowd and shook the water from his coat before taking a seat across from you. Three years had done wonders to his physique, and his eyes.. They lacked the same light you’d seen in that airport. “You’re a hard man to find.” 

  “It’s a good thing I’ve been found then, isn’t it?” 

Science didn’t interest you. Nothing of the sort did. But somehow you found yourself totally enamored just by the sound of his voice, and that was how you managed to stand two and a half hours worth of conversation with a Scottish man that involved mostly science jargon you didn’t understand. It wasn’t until he began whispering about his past with SHIELD and the love he’d lost that you really began listening. 

  “She was my world, and I lost her. That’s when I left SHIELD. We pretty much disbanded after that.” 

You casually sipped at your coffee as you took in the impact of his story. Whatever had happened to him during his time as a SHIELD agent had clearly impacted him in a much deeper way then he let on. 

  “I’m glad I found you.” You replied. Fitz froze as your fingertips just barely grazed over his own - the ghost of a touch - before you both lifted your gaze to meet the others. “I think you’ll find my story equally as interesting as yours.” 

You fell for him, and you fell for him hard. Hard enough to find yourself constantly worrying about what life would be like without him. Without his little quirks and the things he did that drove you absolutely wild, but you wouldn’t have traded him for anything. 

He had simply grabbed your hand and whispered, “Run.” You didn’t know better. Didn’t know the effects of falling in love, only what had been told to you in the Red Room. 

So you recklessly followed him without a second thought. 

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this. Will she like me? Will she like the fact that I’m with you?” 

Let me remark before we go any further. It’s been a year since you met Leopold in that cafe. Fitz had somehow managed to coax you into traveling with him for his trip back to Scotland to meet his mother, and you’d succumbed without a second thought. 

  “I don’t see why not. She met-” He stops in the midst of nearly saying her name, and your heart aches because it’s been years but you know he’ll always save a part of his heart for Jemma Simmons. “And loved her. If she sees how I feel about you, she’ll come to love you as I do.” 

Love. You never thought you’d hear him say it aloud, much less know he felt that for you. That someone out there in this great big world loved a killer like you. 

  “Thank you.” You took his hand in your own and kissed the bridge of his knuckles. “Thank you for seeing past the Red Room and the missions and the murders-” Part of you thought he’d stop you from continuing right there, but Fitz made no move to silence you. Your eyes flickered out the plane window as you kept talking. “Past all the bad and right to the good. That’s why I love you too. Your humanity, your compassion, it’s the best part of you.” 

He wiggled his eyebrows in reply. “And?” 

  “The curls and bright eyes are equally the best parts of you too, Stud.” 

The hills of Scotland are vast and sloped, and it’s hard not to appreciate the splendor of the country as Fitz never stops talking while leading you through it. Sunlight bears down on the both of you as your car rolls to a stop in front of his family home, and he looks so ethereal bathed in the rays of the sun that you have to stop and take a minute to stare. 

  “You’re staring.” 

  “You’re so stupidly gorgeous it makes my eyes hurt.” 

The smile you’re rewarded with is worth it. 

His mother is all hugs and laughter as she led the two of you deeper into Fitz’s childhood home. There are photos plastered on the walls and the air smells of dinner - some Scottish cuisine you couldn’t pronounce - and the sight of it made something stir deep in your chest because it wasn’t a feeling you’d experienced before. 

The three of you had only just sat down to dinner for ten minutes when she asked the question. It was innocent enough given the length of your relationship, but you’d had no intentions of speaking about kids at this dinner. You simply wanted Mrs. Fitz to like you for who you were. 

  “So are there any grandchildren for myself in the future? It does get rather lonely here without anyone, and I do so miss the company-” 

Fitz didn’t have enough time to stop you before your instincts kicked in and went for the nearest weapon. Your wrist flicked outward and sent the fork in your hand flying through the air only to impale itself into the photo on the wall. Your heart pounded heavily in your ears as the pair of them watched you warily - almost with a touch of pity - before you took off through the front door. 

You’d unloaded your gun before entering the house, but the feel of the weapon in your hands eased your nerves as you stood in the clearing and repeated the motion of unloading and reloading the chamber. Fighting was in your blood. War was built into your DNA. That was why they’d taken the time to sterilize you in the Red Room as a way of congratulating you for passing the rigorous mental and physical exams you’d endured. 

  “Hey-” You couldn’t hear him through the tears that blurred your eyes or the click of your gun, but you felt the weight of his arms looped around your waist and the gentle push that brought your back to his front. “Y/N-” 

The urge to tremble violently sank deep into your bones, and Fitz caught you in his embrace before your knees could give out beneath you. You wound your fingers through the fabric of his shirt and wept so heavily that you felt the hollow ache in your chest. 

  “I-I can’t-” You attempted to speak despite the flood of emotion pouring through you and lifted your eyes to meet his. “Failure- Can’t give you what you want-” 

  “You think I need kids to be happy with you? I know what they did to you in the Red Room. I told you that SHIELD had databases about what happened there and had several incursions with operatives that hadn’t left the organization when it shut down in the 90′s.” Fitz cupped your face in his hand and smiled when you leaned into the warmth that radiated from his palm. “You are the reason why I keep getting up in the morning.” 

  “Fitz-” 

  “You are the reason why I learned how to smile again, to laugh again when everything has been taken from me. I don’t need kids to be happy. I don’t need kids to learn what living is,” He gripped your face just a little bit tighter in his hands. “Because I feel the most alive right here with you. I wouldn’t trade our chance for anything else.” 

For one shining moment, there was no one else in the world. There was no lost love and no past of regrets and wars and blood. It was just a girl and a boy. A girl and a boy who fell in love under difficult circumstances and came together when everything should’ve driven them apart. 

Despite your past, I’ll love you anyway. 

Despite your demons and the fears that keep you up at night, I’ll love you anyway.

 Despite your inner darkness, I’ll love you anyway. 

You smiled and tapped the edge of his nose despite the ache in your chest. Time had healed him. Maybe it would heal you too. 

  “Well then, we better get started.” 

Mrs. Fitz gazed at her son as he chased the love of his life throughout the meadow in front of their family home. She’d only ever wished happiness for her only son, and even though she’d thought he’d obtained it with Jemma Simmons, she could see it clear as day through the smile that overtook his expression. 

The camera shuddered as she clicked the button and produced the polaroid photo in a matter of moments. 

They talk about it decades later from where it hangs on the wall. Mr and Mrs. Fitz are a sight to behold. 

#Leopold Fitz #Leo Fitz #Leopold Fitz x Reader #Leo Fitz x Reader #Agents of SHIELD #Agents of SHIELD imagines #Agents of SHIELD oneshots #Marvel #Marvel imagines #Marvel oneshots #Marvel fanfic #Marvel fanfiction #Agents of SHIELD fanfiction #Agents of SHIELD fanfic

[thewasp1995]

Year 1 Part 2: Meeting Merula

David awoke the next morning to the sound of Rowan’s chattering about classes for the day. It was a good thing too. He had a gift for sleeping that surpassed even the hardiest giants.

“Come on, Dave. You don’t want to be late for your first class, do you?”

“Debatable,” he muffled through his pillow.

A cushion whacked him on the head, and he conceded.

“Alright just give me a minute.”

Robes lined with red had been laid out for them over the course of the night, each one exactly their size. The magic of Hogwarts never ceased to end.

Putting on his robes, straightening his tie, and combing his hair, David didn’t feel nervous as he gazed in the dormitory mirror, but the same sense of opportunity entered his mind as it had the previous day. Jacob was here once, the imprints of his presence still within the walls of this school. If there was the chance he could find him, even the slightest hint…

David grabbed his bag and books as Rowan issued another call for him to get moving. No, it wouldn’t do to disobey mom and dad. To say their marriage was strained since Jacob went missing was an understatement. Adding to it by going on the same wild goose chase would not become of him.

You’re not looking for the cursed vaults, a voice told him. You’re looking for your brother. There’s a difference.

“Something on your mind today, Dave?” Rowan asked him as they headed downstairs.

“Nah,” he dismissed. “Unless you count lunch.”

Dismiss and joke, the same old routine. How long it would continue to last was anyone’s guess.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After receiving their schedules from Professor McGonagall (who as it turned out was also his head of house) the young Gryffindors scampered off to Charms. Angelica had warned them about the staircases, but thanks to Rowan’s previous knowledge of them, they safely navigated through the maze and arrived on time.

Settling in their seats, a tiny man with brown hair and handlebar mustache greeted them in a squeaky, excited tone.

“Good morning, students! I am Professor Flitwick your charms instructor. This subject can be one of great importance and knowledge to any young witch or wizard but I do stress that you listen very carefully and pay close attention to instructions. Many spells you learn in this class will be tricky and not easily learned.”

David wondered quietly how any man could be that small, he was clearly no more than three feet tall, but Rowan, ever ready with facts banished any idea of underestimating him.

“Flitwick was the dueling champion during his time at Hogwarts,” he whispered. “They say no one could beat him. Not even the older students.”

The lesson continued as Flitwick asked them to take out their wants.

“The spell we will be learning today is known as the ‘wand lighting charm’. Very simple and very useful. You can use it to light your way out of danger or even finding a bit of parchment you lost underneath a bed. I do hope you find it illuminating.”

The students laughed good naturedly at the pun. It was quite clear that Flitwick was not someone to fear or be wary of.

“The movement is a very simple flick of the wand, preceded by the phrase lumos. Well then, give it a try.”

And so the first year Gryffindors attempted their first spell of their Hogwarts career. Not a particularly difficult charm, it nevertheless took some more than a few tries to get the right amount of light.

David noticed some were putting more effort into than others. One girl, vaguely recognized as Olivia Miller from the sorting, was waving her wand so erratically that he feared she might poke someone in the eye. Jae, on the other hand, was only giving lazy flicks, his eyes indicating his mind was elsewhere.

Rowan studied his book with vigor for the best method of producing the right amount of brightness. For his part, David merely envisioned a silvery orb on the end of his wand and gave it a few tries with varying degrees of success.

Finally, as the hour wound down, Flitwick approached each of them one by one to check their progress. He was very methodical yet empathetic in his approach, counseling all of them on what they had to do to improve.

When Rowan’s turn came, he produced a medium sized ball of light which Flitwick nodded as acceptable.

“Very good, Mr. Khanna. A bit more power behind it next time. Don’t hesitate to use the full weight of your magic for this spell.”

When it came to be his turn, David flicked his wand, hoping he could produce something at least as good as that.

“Lumos.”

A light so intense illuminated the room, causing shadows to those closest to it and even a few to squint.

“Well done!” Professor Flitwick squeaked with joy. “Oh, well done, indeed. That is the most impressive wand lighting charm I’ve seen from a first year in quite some time. Ten points to Gryffindor!”

The points managed to placate any sore feelings the others may have had, as a few began clapping at the display.

“Well that is all for today,” Flitwick informed them. “As a first day treat, there will be no homework assigned tonight.”

That elicited an additional cheer from the Gryffindors, who packed their things and exited the charms classroom with an extra spring in their step.

“That was amazing, Dave!” Rowan congratulated. “How’d you do it?”

“I took Flitwick’s pun literally,” he chuckled, which was followed by another behind him. The charms Professor was beaming at him.

“Indeed,” he said with a happy nod. “Mr. Khanna, I was wondering I might have a quick word with Mr. Grant here.”

Rowan grinned.

“Not at all. See ya at Potions, Dave!”

The eleven year old Gryffindor turned and peered down at Flitwick, which was a tad awkward given the height difference. But the charms professor gave no indication of the same, on the contrary his beaming smile continued.

“Very impressive today, Mr. Grant. I hadn’t had a chance to introduce myself properly to you yet, but I wanted you to know I had your brother. He was one of my favorite students.”

“A teacher liked, Jacob? That’s something I never thought I’d hear.”

Flitwick laughed.

“Believe it or not, your brother was very highly regarded by the staff. He was a pleasure to have in class. Unfortunately, as you know he also had quite the rebellious streak.”

That prompted a more serious response.

“He was…complicated sometimes.”

David, in truth didn’t know what to say, but the fact that someone remembered Jacob fondly gave new life to his memory.

“We are all complicated in our own way,” Flitwick spoke sagely. “Hogwarts has tolerated a number of prominent rule breakers over the years, but there is a line not to be crossed. I regret to say Jacob straddled it too often. I sincerely hope your time here will not be marred by such controversy.”

The tiny charms professor was not angry, nor did he appear stern. From the lines of care in his face, it seemed as though he was merely looking out for the sibling of one he had cared about greatly about. David could not have known it, but the loss of his brother had affected more than just his family. He could appreciate the gesture even if he didn’t want to discuss it further.

“I’m not here to start trouble, Professor,” he said, repeating the promise his mother forced him to utter. “I just want to enjoy my time here at Hogwarts.”

Flitwick nodded his approval.

“Something tells me you will, Mr. Grant. Now you had best get to your next class. It never pays to keep Professor Snape waiting.”

Giving his thanks, David headed out the door wondering just how long he could go without a reference to his brother crossing his path.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As it turned out, not very long.

Making his way down to the dungeons, the next sight that greeted Dave was not a pleasant one. The relative darkness of the hallway made it a tad difficult to see but it appeared Rowan was in an argument.

Bloody, hell, Rowan. Did you get into a row already?

But the picture didn’t tell the whole story.

“Admit it!”

“I can’t!”

“I won’t say it again, Khanna. Say I’m the most powerful witch at Hogwarts!”

“B-but that’s impossible. Practically speaking, Dumbledore and the professors are more powerful than all of us. Not to mention pretty much every student who’s not a first year. We’re the same essentially.”

“The same? I’d laugh if it weren’t so ridiculous. No one can measure up to me, especially not a pathetic little bookworm such as yourself.”

Rolling his eyes, David figured it was time to intervene. Upon closer inspection, Rowan’s aggressor was a scruffy looking first year Slytherin girl. She wore her standard Hogwarts uniform, except instead of the standard Mary Janes that most of the females wore, hers were something akin to combat boots. A hole adorned the left side of her tights, but that was not the most distinctive feature of this girl. No, it was the inexplicable orange tuft among her messy, bob length, brown hair, along with unique, violet eyes. Those eyes, however, were full of contempt and anger and the first year Gryffindor already knew this girl was going to be trouble.

“As hilarious as your little hissy fit is, I think it’s just about run its course.”

As expected, the Slytherin girl gave a look of aggression. Evidently, this was someone unused to people standing up to her.

“And just who do you think you are?” she shot at him.

“Well actually, I’m Merlin reincarnated. Can’t you see the resemblance?”

Rowan began laughing as the girl grew crosser.

“Good, one Dave!”

Realization dawned on the nasty Slytherin as she began rolling her eyes in a dramatic fashion.

“Oh, I know you. You’re the brother of Jacob Grant, that nutter who got expelled, made Gryffindor a laughingstock and then disappeared into thin air.”

“That’s the one,” David replied mock bowing. “And whom do I have the distinct pleasure of speaking with?”

“Merula Snyde, the best witch at Hogwarts.”

“You said the most powerful, not the best. Which is it? Now you got me all confused.”

David didn’t think it was possible for this girl to get any angrier than she already was but she somehow managed to do so. Still, it was highly entertaining to see her get so riled up.

“Don’t you dare mock me! I heard everyone at the feast talking about you. You think you’re so great? I promise you; I’m going to make you regret coming to Hogwarts.”

“That’s nice. Now are you done talking or can I get to class without falling asleep from listening to you carry on?”

Fire burned in those violet eyes as she moved towards her wand.

“You’ll regret that!”

But before either of them had a chance to do anything more, a dark, towering figure intervened.

“Another year, another Gryffindor starting trouble,” said an oozing, contemptuous voice. “But then again, what do I expect from the brother of Jacob Grant?”

David looked up to see a pale, sneering face with jet black shoulder length hair, dressed in plain robes. This had to be Snape, the head of Slytherin and Potions Master. He was after Jacob’s time, but he had heard rumors and none of them were pleasant. Apparently, he also hated Gryffindors.

“Professor, she was bullying Rowan-”

“I don’t want to hear your insignificant excuses, Grant,” Snape managed to sneer with more contempt. “Get inside the classroom now before I give you detention. Consider this your only warning.”

Indeed, they all heeded it. Only two sentences from the man and it easy to discern this was not the kind of teacher you wanted to be on the wrong side of.

Rushing to claim seats, David, Rowan, and Merula took the only three left available and awaited further instruction.

“Thanks for standing up for me, Dave.”

He nodded but indicated for him to be quiet lest Snape find an excuse to give them actual detention. Indeed, he was just about start the lecture.

“Let me be quite blunt. This class is not for those so foolish to think they can wave their wands and utter incorrect incantations to their hearts’ content,” the potions master drawled. “Potions is a subtle art, a science worthy of only a few. Indeed, I doubt I will see many of you past OWL level. My expectations are quite simple- follow my instruction and keep your mouths shut. Anything less will result in severe consequences.”

No one said anything, even David wasn’t stupid enough to attempt one of his usual off-color remarks. He saw Ben Copper visibly gulp and he could hardly blame him. This situation could not have been more different than Charms.

“Today you will be learning a rather simple brew known as the common cure for boils. Gather the necessary ingredients and begin. I will not tolerate any laziness or idle talk.”

Quiet shuffling signaled the beginning of class and not a soul wasted any time in starting their respective potion.

As they collected ingredients, David could feel Merula press next to him whispering.

“You’re going to fail today, Grant. You just don’t know it yet.”

Before he could respond, it was Rowan’s turn to offer counsel.

“Don’t pay her mind, Dave. We gotta get this potion right if we want to avoid making Snape even angrier.”

Quickly, they returned to their seats and began brewing their concoction, though he was still weary of Merula. He did not care for that gleam in her eye.

Once they started, however, they lost all thought of the Slytherin girl. Snape had been right about one thing, for Potions this wasn’t terribly complicated as long as you had someone who knew the technical aspect of it. Rowan, being the bookworm that he was excelled at this. Pointing out things like needing to heat it at two hundred and fifty degrees or taking the cauldron off the fire before adding the porcupine pills (doing so would cause the cauldron to melt according to his friend). After an hour or so of careful timing and precision, a highly passable cure for boils was ready for sampling.

“I think it’s just about ready,” Rowan said, looking it over. “I just need to double check everything and…”

Suddenly, an ominous bubbling began issuing from their cauldron and steadily began to increase.

“Don’t think that’s supposed to happen,” Dave muttered.

“Wait a minute, that’s not right,” Rowan said, quickly flipping through the pages of his textbook. “I know we did everything correctly. The only thing that would cause bubbling like that is-”

What caused it, they never found out for the contents of the cauldron were sent straight into the air.

KABLOOSH!

Thankfully, David and Rowan had ducked in time to avoid the majority of the blast. The Slytherin next to Merula, however, was not so lucky and was hit on the right side of his face with the botched potion. Angry red splotches began to appear, causing him to moan with pain.

“Looks like you’ve managed to create boils instead of cure them,” Merula mocked them.

“Hospital wing, Rowle,” Snape said coming over. “Lee, you will take him there.”

A tall, burly boy nodded his head absent mindedly and did he was told. Snape’s appearance then took on the fury of the gods as he turned his gaze towards the Gryffindors he deemed responsible for the mess.

“Grant, I don’t know what possessed you to put bulbadox powder into your potion but if this is your idea of a joke I can assure you I am not laughing.”

“But-”

“Even by Gryffindor standards you are reckless beyond even the thickest of trolls. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t use bulbadox powder, I swear,” he protested.

“It makes no difference,” Snape remarked coldly. “You will stay after class and clean this mess until I deem it acceptable. Ten points from Gryffindor. Class dismissed.”

Those clad in red groaned, the triumph of charms now completely erased by the error

Rowan looked apologetic mouthing, ‘I’ll wait for you outside.’ Merula on the other hand was silently chuckling to herself as she gave David a malicious glare.

“Told you, Grant.”

She took off out the door with the rest of the class before he could get in a word in edgewise. Handed a bucket and a rag by Snape, an amused sneer appeared on the Potion Master’s bat like features.

“You will be doing this without magic. Get to work.”

David began scrubbing, cursing Merula, knowing full well what she had done.

In just the span of a couple hours, the young Gryffindor had received a taste of just how unpredictable life at Hogwarts could be.

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“I’m telling you the reaction was consistent with the properties of bulbadox powder,” Rowan stated for the third time as they made their way back to the common room later that day.

“Yes, I’m well aware,” David said with exasperation. “But unless I’m quite mistaken neither of us had the damn thing. Merula must have slipped it in when we weren’t looking. And of course, the arsehole blames me.”

“It definitely makes sense,” Rowan mused. “She was definitely out to sabotage us from the moment we met her.”

“Dirty Slytherins,” David muttered. “Bunch of slimy gits the lot of them.”

“I’ve never seen you this serious before, Dave. I guess you really don’t like them eh?”

“I don’t need a book to tell me that every Death Eater and dark wizard that ever lived came from that blasted place. You know that as well as I do.”

“I do,” Rowan confirmed darkly. “But you heard Dumbledore, that time is over. You Know Who is dead. At least that’s something.”

“Huzzah.”

Suddenly realizing he was being far too negative over one mix-up, Dave turned and face Rowan before they gave the password to the fat lady.

“Listen, that potion wouldn’t have been half as good without you. Thanks for being a good friend.”

Rowan smiled warmly.

“No problem, Dave. And don’t worry about what happened, I’m sure it’ll blow over soon enough.”

That too, turned out to be incorrect unfortunately. Any notions of relaxing in the common room before dinner were dashed as Angelica Cole stood with her arms crossed, waiting for them.

“Grant,” she spoke sternly. “Am I to understand you already lost Gryffindor ten house points?”

“That’s true, but I also gained ten points so it evens out in the end,” he said with a half shrug, unable to prevent himself from attempting to make a joke.

“Your attempt at humor is not appreciated. What on earth happened that you could gain and lose ten points in a single day?”

David’s own frustration spilled over.

“Slytherin happened that’s what. I got bulbadox powder thrown into my potion by some crazy first year Slytherin and Snape pinned it on me.”

“It’s true, I saw the whole thing,” Rowan backed him. “Every technical detail of that potion was correct.”

Sighing, Angelica’s sternness took on a twinge of sympathy.

“You’re not the first Gryffindor to lose points to Snape. But do try to be more careful in the future. There’s a huge rivalry between the two houses and each side does whatever it takes to one up the other. And believe me the potions master will do whatever it takes to see Slytherin get the edge.”

Thinking back to Merula and her deviousness, David nodded. He was caught off guard once, but he would not allow the same thing to happen again in the future.

“It’s only your first day,” Angelica continued her tone softening. “Just do whatever you can do to earn the points back. And for Merlin’s sake, Grant, please promise me you won’t take after your brother. He’s caused us enough trouble already.”

The conversation ended but the wheels of David’s mind certainly didn’t. How many more times were people going to associate him with his brother? Better yet, could he escape the various reputations everyone seemed to have for him?

“Dave, if you want to talk about this, I’m perfectly willing to-”

For the second time that day, he denied having any issue with that matter.

“Nah, I’m fine Rowan, don’t worry. I’m just going sort my chocolate frog cards before dinner. Merlin is my past life after all, right?”

Laughing slowly, his friend didn’t look hurt, but he also didn’t seem convinced.

Let them talk. Cursed vaults, hidden treasure…it doesn’t matter to me.

David sincerely wished he could convince himself of that as well.  

#hogwarts mystery #david grant #merula snyde #hphm #severus snape #filius flitwick #mc

[huntertales]

Part Three: Knight In Shining Armor. (LARP and the Real Girl S08E11)

Episode Summary: Sam, Dean and the reader investigate the mysterious deaths of two LARPers who were engaged in a game involving an actual fairy. While digging deeper into the game, the boys discover the queen of Moondoor is a familiar face they met just a few short years ago, an I.T. woman named Charlie Bradbury. Word Count: 6,381. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

You were the type of person who didn’t like to talk about themselves too much or spill your guts to a complete stranger. You enjoyed your privacy and even kept a few secrets from the boys. It was just the nature of being a hunter. But there was something about Charlie and her personality that had you feel comfortable around her, like you’ve known her for your entire life. She felt like one of those people you could instantly bond with. It also helped with the fact that she wasn’t someone with the last name Winchester or a hunter. She was just a normal person who happened to know about the supernatural. And of the same gender as you, which was a bonus. You didn't know how long it'd been since you got to hang out with someone that wasn't a man. Charlie reminded you a lot of Josh, your best friend from back home. You and her started talking the second Dean turned his back and started to make his way out of the tent. You were getting out of your fed clothes while you talked to Charlie about how excited she was to meet you, prompting you to start chuckling. To you, meeting the very woman who had been the reason why the boys managed to help take down Dick Roman, the monster you were fortunate enough to have never met, was a chance for you to say thank you. You swore you could hear Charlie blushing when you did so. She didn’t linger too much on her glory, she wanted to know more about you and how you tricked the boys into thinking you were dead. The story required a bit of backstory; you told her about the gory details she willingly asked for that landed you in the hospital, beaten to a near inch of your life with one less finger. You could have made a full recovery and got almost full mobility of your finger, but you didn’t want that. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin and be someone else for a change. When you said it out loud, you felt a little weird telling it to an outsider who didn't live like you. Who grew up with a parent who controlled every aspect of your life, whose life was planned out for them before they were even born. There was so much to the story, but you just met Charlie and you didn't want to scare her with the bitter details of your life. The redhead seemed to understand the feeling. She ran off and was trying to live as someone else, after all.

"Let me recap so I can wrap my head around this. Sam and Dean thought your body double, which was just a shapeshifter possessed by a demon, that you killed—with a broken arm and missing finger. Even more of a reason why you're my idol." Charlie tried to summarize the story you had been telling her over the past few minutes. You smiled to yourself at her remark as you stepped out to finish getting ready. "Anyway, they thought this double was really you this entire time? But a friend of yours put some kind of spell on you that made you temporarily someone else? Like some kind of supernatural witness protection program?"

"Sort of. After Dean took down Dick Roman, it got messier than anyone thought. He was sent to purgatory for a year. It’s an afterlife for all the creepy and crawly. Sam was left...well, alone. All of his family was gone." You said. You felt yourself momentary overcome with the guilt that always kept creeping out of nowhere when you started to think about the decisions you made. And if things might have been different if you stuck around. "Well, not completely. He found a woman he fell in love with and settled down for that year with her in Texas. Everything seemed to be going well for him...until Dean came back.”

You told Charlie about how the boys were tracking down a lead from a past situation that happened while you were still presumed dead. While the boys were in Michigan trying to track down Kevin on his girlfriend's college campus, Dean found himself accidentally bumping into a woman who wasn't looking where they were going. The woman happened to be you. A dead neighbor and a possessed husband you were pretending to pose as for those two years ended up making you remember who you were. But that wasn't the end of the story. It was just the beginning, and you had still so much to tell her.

You continued on by telling her about how Dean found a friend in Purgatory named Benny Lafitte, a vampire who helped him get out of the place. And how this friendship put a real damper in the brothers relationship. You were stuck in the middle of what the right thing to was. The boys spent weeks going back and forth about the situation. While you stood in front of the mirror and adjusting your outfit to make sure it look decent, you went on about how a hunter and Sam was ready to kill Benny. And then the part where Dean hit below the belt, and you willingly went along with it.

"You let Dean send Sam a phantom text from his ex?” Charlie repeated the infamous move that you were regretting to this very day. Your expression faltered slightly as you stare at yourself with a frown in the mirror. “Dick move, ma'am."

“Yeah. Not my finest hour of being his best friend. I'm still kicking myself for doing that. To be fair, Sam was really getting under my skin that day.” You made a half attempt at defending yourself while you started to smooth out the burgundy top that was similar to hers after you complained the first one was too tight. As your hand slid down your stomach, that’s when you nonchalantly spoke of a secret you’ve been guarding from anyone. “And my hormones have been all of the place lately because of the baby."

You went on for a few seconds without realizing the exact words slipped out of your mouth until you caught Charlie’s expression in the mirror. An eerie silence fell between the both of you, giving you red flags that was making you start to panic. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“Do you have any shoes to go with this? Heels aren’t probably the most logical option.” You cut off the woman before she could try and linger on a topic that accidentally slipped out from your mouth. You turned your attention over to Charlie with a blank expression as you waited for her to offer you up something. But she just sat there with a sort of smile on her face. You swallowed slightly, knowing damn well you weren’t going to get out of this one. “Yes. I did say baby. As in...you know. Pregnancy.”

"Oh. Wow. You are. Really? Well, then a congratulations is an order. That's amazing! You...don't look so happy. Oh, no. Not good?" Charlie found her excitement slowly starting to change when she saw your not so much of one. Suddenly she wondered if this was one of those situations she'd luckily never have to worry about. "I'm guessing this isn't good. Which is okay. Not everyone wants to be a mom. Totally understandable. Screw what society tells us women what to do—”  

"What? No. No, I am excited. I'm over the moon about this. It's just..." You found yourself trailing off when you realize that maybe you were oversharing just a tad bit too much information about your personal life. You gave the redhead a small smile. "Here I am going on about my problems like I've known you forever. Even though we just met today. You probably think I’m a weirdo. And I would have no problem if you did. Obviously."

"I think a lot of things about you. But weirdo? Far from it. I mean, yeah, we just met...but this is gonna sound totally strange, I know. But you ever meet those people where you just feel super comfortable around them? You're one of those people." Charlie admitted her own feelings to her, causing her to feel the same embarrassment you had just once before. You felt your smile grow a little bit wider, giving her reassurance the feeling was very much mutual to her. "I mean, I understand if you don't want to tell me anything else. I'm sure you and the boys want to keep this a secret—"

“Dean doesn’t know yet.” You suddenly felt yourself blurting out even more information about the secret you really should have done a better job at keeping it, instead you were telling everyone you came across. Except the baby's father. Charlie's eyes grew wider. "Sam does. I told him after he was trying to figure out what to do. It was the reason why I couldn't support him being with Amelia. And I'm kinda afraid that's the reason why he stayed. To make sure I'm okay. And the baby. I haven't told Dean yet because he's not good with...this kind of thing."

"What kind of thing?" Charlie asked. "Babies?"

"No. I guess...normalcy. Family. It's sort of the reason why he didn't want Sam to be with Amelia. I'm sure he would say, 'In this life, you can't afford attachments. You just got to let go.' Which is complete crap. I mean, him and I have had our fair share of downs. But we're still together." You said. You looked down at the ground for a second before back at Charlie. "I think Dean always thought it was just gonna be the three of us. Now...there's one more. And I'm not sure why the hell I'm so scared at breaking the news to him. But I can't tell him. Not yet."

Everything normal and good that Dean Winchester ever got crashed and burned in his face miserably. His happy life was ruined at the age of four by his father when John decided to uproot the boys and forced them into this lifestyle. Dean was mentally brainwashed into taking the bare minimum of what he deserved for the sake of looking out for Sam and saving people by the monsters he was taught to hunt. Much as this lifestyle turned him into the perfect little hunter his father would be proud of, there was still a human being, a little boy who was forced to grow up too fast that still needed to be loved. To be cared for. And you tried your hardest to give everything he ever missed out on. Even on the things you couldn’t when he wanted it.

Part of the reason why you were afraid to tell Dean he was about to become a father was because of more than just his harsh upbringing. It was also because he tried to be a father figure just a few short years ago. He was great at being a figure to Ben Braden to look up to, but it proved complicated when the lifestyle of hunting came back to drag the poor kid and his mother in danger. The exact thing Dean tried his hardest to make sure it didn't happen. While Ben was unharmed, it was Lisa who suffered the consequences and nearly lost her life.

Even during your time hunting together while Dean was playing house and you were back from the cage, there was a fraction of time where you thought you were going to be a mother to a shapeshifter baby. While it was short, you didn’t know it was going to end in misery, you thought about the future and the baby you would be raising today. Not to mention Emma, the daughter that came out of a mindless hookup, who turned out to be a monster that died from a bullet to the chest.

Dean's track record with kids wasn't exactly the best. His own insecurities would probably eat him from the inside out from all the things that might go wrong. What kind of terrible fate his child would suffer years down the line because of him. He might even fear about the idea of raising a child on his own if something happened to you. What if he ended up being like his own father and forced your child into being the way he was? You had to remind yourself that these thoughts were just fictional, theories that your brain come up with from its own anxiety. For all you knew Dean would be over the moon, exacted as you were at the idea of having a family. But the possibility to see how his reaction might be would just have to wait for another day.

After you spilled your guts and the truth she had been anticipating over, you finished getting ready and putting on the final details of your outfit. You had to admit going into this you were a little bit skeptical, but looking at yourself in the mirror, you were sort of digging it now. Sometimes hunts and cases required you to dress in costumes that were painful and stupid, but this was something you could get apart of. You didn't think you ever had this much fun on a hunt before. And Charlie seemed like a friend in the making who was a good listener. The both of you filled the silence with random conversation to pass the time before you heard footsteps approaching the curtains to the tent, along with a familiar voice coming from behind the fabric.

“Permission to enter, your majesty?"

You found yourself growing a smile as you shook your head at how Dean was really committing himself to this whole going undercover for the hunt. You knew he intrigued by all of this from the very beginning, but you weren't going to make fun of him. He needed a bit of fun. Charlie played along and granted him access. A few seconds later the curtain was pushed aside and stepped in Dean, who was out of his fed clothes and into some that were more suitable for the time period. If there was one thing you took away from his outfit, it was how good he looked. No matter what he wore, Dean always managed to pull it off.

“Oh look.” You said with a playful tone of voice as you dropped your hands back to your side after you finally stopped fidgeting with your outfit after it felt more comfortable on you. “It’s my knight in shining armor.”

Dean fussed around with his own clothes the accessories that paired with it to get it more used to them. When he found himself looking forward in your direction to see what you had gotten into, he momentarily froze in his actions, seeming taken back at your own transformation. “Wow. Y/N,” He muttered underneath his breath as he approached you. You rolled your eyes as his began to move up and down your body. “I gotta say. You look...” “If you say ridiculous I’m gonna punch you in the face.” You warmed the man when you thought his silence was his attempt at trying not to laugh. “This was all Charlie’s idea. Don’t make fun of me because I can’t pull off this look. I was gonna wear something else, but it didn’t fit me.” “That's not exactly what I was gonna open with. I was gonna say you look extremely hot.” Dean said, freely making a compliment they would have felt awkward of Charlie was still lingering around. However it seemed the redhead has already made her way out of the tent to speak to her people. Dean approached you as he gave you a smile that could always make it feel like it was going to leap out of your chest. He grabbed your hand into his own and lifted it up, and ever so gently, placed a kiss on the back of the skin. "I could never disrespect a woman so beautiful and sophisticated as yourself. After all, it’s not very noble to treat the queen whose heart I'm after."

“Is that so, my dear knight?” You raised your brow as you played along with the little game that was going on between the both of you. "Well, in order to even consider the possibility of courting me, you'll have to prove yourself of how brave and strong you are. And even then I'll have to consider spending my time with someone beneath me in status. Think of the scandal it’d cause. Daughters of royalty weren't married off to knights.”

“I didn’t think rules applied to you. It’s one of the reasons why I’ve loved you from afar for so long.” Dean said. “But I swear my loyalty to you and only you.”

“You, my love, are a huge dork. And I can’t picture anyone else I want to spend the rest of my days with.” You mumbled to the older a man as you felt your lips stretch into a smile. "Let's get out of here before the real queen has our heads."

The both of you headed out of the tent and back to the grounds to see if you could find the redhead among the crowd of people passing by. Dean lingered behind you so he could switch out the sword covered in memory foam for a real feeling one, wanting to get more into character. And you had a feeling he couldn't pass up the opportunity to walk around with a sword to pretend it was the real thing. You declined one for yourself when he offered, causing him to mutter underneath his breath that it was your loss. You furrowed your brow slightly, wondering how much he was going to deny being into this role playing game until he gave up. Much as you wanted to tease him, you were having a bit of fun yourself.

While you waited for him to slip the wooden sword into his belt for safekeeping, you found your gaze lingering off the man and to a stranger when you heard a voice coming from in front of you. There was a man, who had to be your age, or even a little older, greeted you with a friendly smile. It was hard to make out some of his features due to the hood drawn up. You returned the gesture out of politeness. However you could feel it growing when you noticed his outfit looked like he spent his time stealing from the rich to give to the poor. He took it as something far different from the way he approached the conversation.

“Good day, my lady. I don't believe I've seen you around these parts in Moondoor before." He said. You knew damn well what he was trying to do, and while it would have been easier to turn him down, you were too amused to stop him from making a complete fool of himself. "And I would remember a face fresh and sweet like a picked red rose."

"Hey, Robin Hood. She's with me." Dean jumped into the short lived conversation before you could politely excuse yourself. He stepped forward so he was next to you, placing a hand on your lower back and rested the other one on his waist, close to the wooden sword. As if it was a subtle threat that might have been used in this century. "Why don't you do us a favor and use that Shakespeare line on someone else?"

The man ignored Dean's rude behavior as he kept his focus on you. "Is this fopdoodle bothering you, madame?"

"On the contrary, this gentleman is courting me. I’m afraid my heart belongs to only him." You declared. You saw the look on the man's face slowly beginning to fall when he realized that you were in fact in a relationship with the person who he just called stupid in more modern terms. He wished you a good day as he walked off, not wanting to cause any trouble before he could end up with a black eye. You rolled your eyes as you turned your attention over to Dean, who looked nothing short of pissed off as he watched the man disappear into the crowds. "Please don't tell me you're jealous, my surly knight."

"That douche just called me...whatever the hell it was." Dean grumbled. You reached out and wrapped your arms wrapped your arms around his before leaning yourself against him as the both of you started walking again. You saw another man dressed in similar colors as yourself flash you a familiar smile, you returned the gesture before focusing your attention forward.

"These losers mistake friendliness as flirting. Out in the real world they would never have the guts to talk to someone of the opposite gender. But here, they're different." You said, trying to cut some slack for the folks who didn't leave very exciting lives. Their anxiety and lack of social skills confined them to this fantasy world where they could be free and someone else. "They're confident. They can fight battles and save the damsel."

"Yeah, well, I'm warning you now." Dean muttered underneath his breath. "If one of them tries anything besides a pick up line, I'll knock them out."

You let out a quiet laugh at his aggressive behavior and squeezed his arm, reassuring him there was nothing to worry about. You were very much capable of protecting yourself against a couple of nerds in their costumes. The both of you finally caught up to Charlie, who had been momentarily speaking to someone before they walked off. You waved your arm in the air to catch her attention, Charlie smile as she returned the gesture. However the redhead found herself going back to her royal duties when a subject passed by and gave her respectful greeting and bow to the queen before going on her way.

"Sorry for falling behind. Someone was busy trying to find Excalibur and then nearly ready to flog someone to death." You said. Your excuse made Charlie give you a slightly confused look at what happened while she was gone. You shook your head, not really wanting to get into details as the three of you started making your way across the grounds. "So, I've been meaning to ask, have you always been into LARPing?"

“Nah. For role-play, I prefer a tabletop. D&D, Gamma World, Car Wars. That’s why Cthulhu invented multi-sided dice, right? But a buddy of mine was into LARPing. Went for him, stayed for the chucks." Charlie said. You laughed quietly as she followed behind for a moment. The smile that crossed her fast last long as it appeared before it slowly faded. "It's not just that, though. It's an escape. I mean, here, I'm a queen, a hero. Out there in the real world, I'm just hacking out code and chugging coffee all day long."

"Now, wait a second." You said. You stopped in your tracks as you reached out an arm to grab a hold of Charlie, making her do the same. "If it wasn't for you, the boys would have never been able to take down Dick Roman. Out there in the real world, you are hero."

Charlie couldn't help herself but start to grow the slightest smile at your compliment, feeling as if it was an honor to hear such a thing from you. You returned the gesture before your attention was drawn away from her when a female spoke up, addressing the woman by her royal title. Along with yet another flirty smile with the proper bow. Charlie found herself momentarily distracted by the pretty face before she returned her attention back to you. You raised your brow slightly and gave her a curious look at how much attention she was getting from her fellow followers.

“I’m noticing a lot of these maidens are checking you out.” Dean muttered. He gave the young woman a slightly suggestive look at the options she might be able to choose from, and what her secret was to attract so much attention without even trying.

“How come you get the cute girls making flirty eyes with you and all I get is dudes in tights and this one being my guard dog?” You asked her, pointing over your shoulder to the man standing behind you from his behavior just a little earlier.

“What? I can’t shut this down.” Charlie said, smirking to herself. You narrowed your eyes slightly as you felt yourself smiling at her excuse. “It’s good to be queen.”

You couldn't help yourself but let out a chuckle at her proud attitude as she headed off. Charlie was beginning to become quite the fun person to hang out with while the three of you went around talking to people dressed as all sorts of fantasy beings. You didn’t have very much luck with people figuring out what the symbol was you found on both of the victims arms. But when you approached an elf to see if she might know anything, unfortunately she didn’t. All though someone wouldn't have call it a complete loss. Charlie worked her magic when she grabbed the photograph from the elf and started to subtly flirt with the woman.

“Well, if you think of anything, come see me in my tent. Anytime.” Charlie said to the elf with a smile that you've seen so many times before. The elf gave the queen a flirtatious wink before heading off back into her travels. When she was gone, you shook your head at Charlie's fun she was having. "Scratch the elves off the list."

All of you continued on your quest to talking to the different groups around here to see if you might be able to know anything. So far nobody had a clue what it was, but there wasn't hope to be lost. You still had one more group of species to talk to, but they were the queen's enemy. And a needle in a haystack to track down in this place. They might have been your only chance at figuring out what was going on here if Sam wasn't going anywhere with the leads, but you weren't going to lose hope just yet.

"Shadow orcs." Charlie mumbled. "Last group on the list, impossible to find."

“Wait, I know where we can find one.” Dean said, remembering the one he spotted in the stocks. "Y/N and I met him on the way in."

“Perfect. Maybe he can tell us what the fack this thing is.” She said, gesturing a hand to the picture of the symbol that was causing all of you a hell of a lot of trouble more than it was worth.

It wasn't too hard to find the shadow orc, he was still in the stocks where you last saw him after you arrived. While you had seen nothing but admiration and affection for Charlie, but it seemed not everyone would bow down to the queen. Because something in this little game wanted to have the throne. But you could still feel your emotions being tested at the not so nice things the orc was shouting out when he saw Charlie approaching.

"Death to the queen! Death to the usurper! Death to her manservant!" The orc went on with his threats that were meaningless as he was dangerous in the real world. In the game he was an opponent who wanted to take down the queen for her throne. Dean responded to the not so kind words by taking out his wooden sword and smacking the orc right against the head to make him grow quiet, the orc ever so quietly growled before your dirty look caused him to grow silent.

"What?" Dean found himself being scrutinized by Charlie from his actions that weren't exactly nice. "Well, there's no laptops in Moondoor. There's no geneva convention, either."

"Hey." You said, grabbing the man’s attention. You reached out and pulled the photograph from the pouch that was looped around Dean's belt to show the orc.  "Have you seen this?"

"Yeah, of course." The orc answered. Your response of a look of surprise at how easy you got him to crack caused him to realize that he had accidentally spilled important information that you and the queen might find useful. "No. No, I haven't seen it." He tried to backtrack, but there was no use. Dean placed the dull wooden blade up to the orc's throat, pretending to threaten him if he didn't spill the rest of his answer. "Okay, it's the shadow king's family crest. You'll never find him in the Black Hills."

"Black Hills?" You repeated the fictional location as you looked over at Charlie to specifically find out where it was.

“The forest behind the playground.” She said. “Come on.”

You and Dean wasted no time in following behind Charlie to see if you might be able to find the group who might have been the source to everything of what was going on. While the three of you traveled farther away from the park and started walking on a path that lead you deeper into the woods, you found a familiar face approaching you. You could feel a sigh building up in your throat at the dweeb who wasn’t much help to you and the boys when you arrived. You hoped the costume change to fit better into the setting would make him think you were playing along with the rules. He didn't seem to pay much attention to you, his focus was solely on the redhead, the queen he was fictionally sworn to protect and respect.

"My queen. There you are. I've been searching everywhere for you. Has this...oaf attempted to harm you with his blasphemous metalworks?" The knight’s attention was drawn to Dean and his outfit that seemed like a perfect target to make fun of, considering his own was much better. You forced yourself to give him a smile when he looked in your direction, all you were fighting the urge to roll your eyes. "And my lady, I see you've found a more suitable attire."

"Boltar, they're with me. This is Dame Y/N. My most faithful and well trusted knight from many lands over. She's come to join the honor guard. And this is my new..." Charlie felt it was easy to come up with a lie for you that was perfect enough to fool her fellow knight, but she struggling to come up with a decent one for the older Winchester standing next to her. "handmaiden."

"Pleasure to be acquainted with you once more, sir." You greeted the knight, returning the slight bow when he did the same to you after learning of your title. You pretended to play the part to fool him into thinking you were here to have a little fun. "I must apologize for earlier. My travels have made me and the queen's...handmaiden weary. I came here fast as I could after hearing of the terrible tragedies that have been plaguing the kingdom. Like yourself, good sir, we're here to serve and honor the queen during these troubling times.”

"We seek an audience with the shadow king." Charlie said, stating the reason why all of you were here

"Uh, these hills are not safe. I beseech you, my queen,” Boltar spoke up in a cautious and slow voice, knowing he was overstepping his power as a knight to dare so tell what the queen to do. But it was her best interest for her safety. “You should return to camp."

"I believe he's right, your majesty. May the handmaiden and I have a moment with you before you take your leaving, madame?" You asked the redhead. She nodded her head and followed your lead when you turned around so your back was to Boltar, giving you a bit of a private conversation. "Handmaiden and knight? Huh. Talk about role reversal."

"He was suspicious." Charlie whispered. "I panicked."

"All right, look. You take my phone. Find Sam. Y/N and I'll find the shadow dorks." Dean said, handing the woman his electronic device that would have been forbidden. You looked over your shoulder while the exchange was happening to give Boltar a friendly smile, hoping he wouldn't notice. Charlie thought she could be more of use, but you would rather have her back at camp and out of trouble. "Yeah, you are helping by finding Sam. Go.”

Charlie wasn't exactly pleased with the plan, but you didn't give her much of a choice when you lightly shoved her forward to start walking back. When you started to see her making her way down the trail once more, you and Dean turned back to get this plan in motion. "Lead the way to the orcs, Bolty."

"Speak when spoken to, handmaiden." Boltar said, reminding the older Winchester of his very insignificant role. "This matter is for those who are qualified to handle such dangerous matters."

Dean could feel the grip around the handle of the wooden sword tighten until his knuckles turned white. You couldn’t help but snicker to yourself when Boltar turned around to start walking in front to lead you and Dean into the hideout of these orcs. The older man felt out of his element here with a title that wasn’t powerful as he hoped for. Nevertheless, the three of you worked together in the queen's absence to track down someone in the woods and ask them about the photograph. Twenty minutes of walking through dead leaves and broken branches turned out to be a waste of time. It seemed the only souls around were just the three of you.

“Well, that was a bust.” Dean said. “You sure the shadow orcs are even out there?”

"For a handmaiden, you certainly ask many questions." Boltar said. It seemed he wasn't used to such chatter from someone that was supposed to look after the queen's personal needs. "Yes, I am positive. They're just very good at hiding."

"What if we're going about this all wrong? I mean, why are we wasting our precious time trying to track down the shadow king? Why don't we have him come to us?" You asked. “What if we take the shadow orc being held in stock and offer him as a prisoner exchange?”

“Draw him out and beat him down.” Dean said. You nodded your head when he guessed your plan, making him grow a smile at how quick you were engaging yourself in this, and how you were coming up with a plan that even he would have never thought of. "I like your style.”

"Boltar, retrieve the prisoner. Handmaiden, tend to the queen's laundry and chamber pots. Meet me back here when your tasks are completed.” You instructed both of the men. Boltar nodded his head as he walked off to begin the task while Dean gave you a look, causing you to shrug your shoulders. You took a moment to scan the campgrounds in hope you might find the redhead, however you spotted Sam, who was approaching you and his brother with a smirk of amusement. "Ah, it's Sir Samuel.”

Sam wished he had a camera right now to take a picture of you and Dean from how ridiculous you looked so he could remember this longer. "Nice outfits."

"Laugh all you want, Sasquatch. But this has been kinda fun." You said. "I know you're jealous."

"Right. Well, while you and the Handmaid's Tale were playing dress-up,” Sam said, pulling open his jacket to fetch out a piece of paper from the inside pocket. “I found out that the mark—”

“Belongs to the shadow orcs.” Dean cut off his brother.

“Yeah.” Sam said. “And they’re using fairy magic.”

You grabbed the unfolded piece of paper from Sam to see that it was a printed article with the familiar tree on the very top middle of the page along with information about it. You skimmed the paragraph to get a gist of what you were dealing with. "The tree of pain. Awesome."

"Whoever gets marked gets ganked." Sam explained. You folded the piece of paper back up and asked him how you stopped this thing before someone else fell victim. "Find whoever cast the spell, and take them out. No more whammy, no more marks. No more marks, no more dead bodies."

"Okay, well, perfect. Our pal Boltar the chatty is getting the shadow orc prisoner. We're gonna do a little prisoner exchange, try to draw the king out of hiding. It was all Y/N’s idea.” Dean said. He felt himself growing the type of smile that you saw when he thought something was impressive or funny, but it seemed Sam wasn't. You rolled your eyes as Dean peered over his brother's frame, wondering why he couldn't find the familiar redhead behind him like he thought. "Where's Charlie?"

“She’s with you.” Sam said.

"No, we sent her to you." You corrected the younger man. You ignored the younger man's look of disbelief at your idea of letting the woman out of your sights. You didn't let yourself panic just yet as you started to call out Charlie's name as you headed to her tent, pushing back the curtains and peered inside. But there was nobody there. "These damn pants don’t have any pockets. I knew I should've brought my phone. She has Dean's. Try it, Sammy.”

Sam pulled out his own phone and dialed his brother's number and waited for Charlie to answer. But he didn't get a single ring, only an automated voice telling him that the number he was trying to reach was out of service. Which wasn't a good sign. Not a good sign at all. You knew you shouldn't have let Charlie out of your sight and walked her back to the campgrounds. If you did, maybe none of this would be happening, and you didn't put the queen you swore to watch over in danger.

[Next Part]

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