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heliads · 3 years

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Second Best

Based on this request: “a Zoya Nazyalensky story where she and the reader are friends and one night they get into a fight and Zoya confesses her love?”

masterlist

The task before you is simple. All you have to do is use your abilities as a Grisha Squaller to pick up the metal spear before you and launch it across a clearing into the awaiting target. It’s almost offensively easy, something you’ve been training to do since you arrived at the Little Palace all those years ago. It’s very simple, although the fact that you’re now next in line to complete the task makes it seem strangely harder.

However, the eyes of the rest of the Squallers are upon you, so you can’t exactly back down now. You step forward, lifting your hands in the traditional gestures used by the Etherealki whenever they have it in their minds to do something particularly interesting, and the spear lifts before you. You let it hover there, suspended in the air for a second, and then you fling your hands forward, palms facing the target. The spear flies in unison with your movement, burying itself halfway through its length in the target. It’s almost a perfect shot, maybe off by a hair’s breadth. You breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

You can hear applause from behind you, the usual aura of surprise that comes with the feat you’ve just accomplished. With a casual gesture of your fingers, the spear yanks itself out of the target, with only a few sparse pieces of straw falling to the ground as any sort of damage. Well, that and the gaping hole in the center of the target, although that is quickly mended by the Fabrikator kept on hand. You can’t help but grin to yourself as the spear returns to your hand. Let’s see anyone else match that.

You may have spoken a little too soon- seconds after you’ve returned the spear to its awaiting position near the front of the courtyard, it’s hurled again through the air, shooting with the precision of an arrow to land in the direct center of the target. You thought it might be impossible to improve upon the slight difference in your shot, but this latest Squaller has managed it with ease.

Normally, any other blue-garbed Etherealki would be looking around in horror and dismay, upset as to what would cost them the first place spot in the class and curious as to who could land a perfect shot such as that. You, however, are somewhat used to this now, and just keep walking with a grin. You can hear footsteps approaching behind you, and don’t even have to turn around to acknowledge the girl now matching your strides.

“Nice one, Zoya.” The girl beside you smirks. “I should hope so. If I so much as missed the center by a hair, you wouldn’t let me forget it for a week.” You laugh. “Of course not. How could I let go of the chance to not tease Zoya’Best In Class’ Nazyalensky? It would practically be a crime.” Zoya nods, pretending to be serious. “Absolutely. The Saints might invoke their wrath upon you if you didn’t act upon such an opportunity.” You fling your hand over your heart dramatically. “Here lies Y/N L/N, dead after the Saints wanted to see her make fun of her friend and she let them down.”

Zoya snorts graciously as you pretend to faint on her, shoving your mock limp body aside. “Oh, you consider us friends?” You catch yourself easily, rolling your eyes. “Zoya dear, I know it would bring you no greater pleasure in the world to consider yourself a lone wolf, forever at the front of the pack, but I thought you’d realized by now that you simply can’t get rid of me. We’re friends.”

You can hear Zoya grumbling, but when you glance over at her, there’s an ill-concealed smile dancing behind her eyes. “That’s an interesting way to convince people to like you, annoy them and make sure you don’t ever leave you alone.” You raise an eyebrow at her. “And did it work, yes or no?” Zoya huffs. “It did, but we’re not talking about that.” You grin. “Of course we’re not.”

You pause by the halls of the Little Palace, ready to part ways as usual. Although the Etherealki and Squallers specifically all have their quarters around the same area, Zoya’s rooms are a ways away from your own. This is typically where you split up, where you go your way and Zoya returns to her own devices, where she’ll most likely plot how to take control of the next lesson and prove herself the best of the students yet again.

However, Zoya shakes her head, continuing to walk next to you. “There are too many people waiting by my doors. I’m staying in yours instead, if that’s alright.” You nod, unable to keep a teasing grin from your face. “Of course it’s alright. It must be so hard, having to deal with suitors and fans so often. I imagine it to be simply exhausting.” You’re expecting Zoya’s vexed scowl and smack on the arm, so you’re able to duck out of the range of both.

This is how it is to be close friends with Zoya Nazyalensky, after all. You laugh with her, develop a thick enough skin to stand the constant scathing remarks that must of course be exchanged, and do your best to keep up with the neverending flow of power and possibility that always seems to come her way. That’s how it has always been, and how it will always be.

It’s not that you mind this, of course. You learned early on that no matter how hard you try, she’s always going to come in first in the class competitions and Grisha displays of strength. Being second out of so many Etherealki is pretty damn good for you, and you can tell that there’s a slight sigh of relief in Zoya’s eyes when you never seem to mind her showing off or ruining what might have been a first place finish for you. Hey- you never came to the Little Palace to always be the best, you came to learn and laugh, and you do that with Zoya. You would never trade what you have with her for fierce competition, even if it meant that you’d start besting her in contests.

This isn’t to say that you wouldn’t change slight aspects of your friendship, of course. For some reason, your heart decided to join the scores of other Grisha and even otkazat’sya that were foolish enough to fall in love with Zoya, and you’re just as hopeless as the rest. It’s just the way that she laughs when she wins, the glimmer of competition and spirit in everything she does, the undeniable thrill in your chest whenever you spot the familiar blue-clad silhouette heading briskly your way. No, you don’t think there was ever a way that you wouldn’t fall under her spell, even if you tried your hardest to fight it.

You could have told her you loved her, you think. You could have mentioned it to Zoya at any point, but you don’t. You’ve seen the way she watches potential friends for their weaknesses, having to always second-guess why they’re talking to her. Is this latest Corporalki approaching her because he truly wants to be her friend, or is it because he instead desires the secrets of her skill in Grisha abilities or as another girl in his bed? For anyone else, you think the constant doubts would drive someone mad, but it doesn’t for Zoya. She’s able to tuck it inside herself, bury it until you wouldn’t even know it was there at all.

She told you once, when the night was dark and long and Zoya couldn’t stop herself from having slightly too much kvas after a hard mission, that she sometimes terrifies herself over the fact that she might always be alone. You can still picture her there, curled up in a chair by your fire, the haunted look in her eyes. You know something happened before she came to the Little Palace, something that made her never trust another soul unless they worked to prove it, but it’s hovering in the back of her mind right now.

So, you nodded at her, and gave her another one of your sapphire blankets to help the way that she won’t stop shivering, and you listen. When Zoya looks up at you again, as if expecting to leave like the others or at least shoo her from your rooms, you simply offer for her to stay the night and not have to go back to her empty quarters. You think that was the moment when she finally accepted that you weren’t going away, when she really started to trust you.

This is precisely why you cannot say a word about how you feel- if Zoya finds out, she’ll begin to wonder if your entire friendship was just borne of a lie, the same as any of the other heartstruck Etherealki who think themselves brave enough to tame Zoya. So, you make sure to direct your lingering glances towards the woods and the scenery around you instead of her, and you force a joking smile instead of a soft look. She would know what you meant if you didn’t hide your heart, so you must do your best to deceive her.

You’ve arrived in your rooms by now, tossing your outer coats to the side and warming your hands by the fire in the corner. You talk for a while about the class and the other students and the way Marie won’t stop staring at Sergei, a Corpoalki who she most certainly should not be associated with. Zoya stays until the candles burn low, and then she says goodbye with a smile. You return her smile. You always do.

You have a most interesting conversation over the next week. It’s not with Zoya, as it turns out, but General Kirigan. Truth be told, you weren’t expecting it at all. He’d caught you unawares in the library one night, while you were studying the particulars of the making at the heart of the world for a class lecture the next day. He hadn’t been there one second yet appeared the next, looming over your book with a shadow that seemed too tall and menacing to be real.

You had looked up in surprise, but he held up a hand, quelling any doubts that you’d accidentally done something wrong. He spoke to you about a regiment of Grisha in one of the backwater towns, some part of the Second Army that was asking for far too many supplies in exchange for the lackluster job they were doing to protect the potential Grisha in the city. For some reason, he asked your opinion of what to do about them, and you gave it. He thanked you with a smile, then left.

This happened twice more. All three times, he showed up, talked with you for a little bit, and asked a question on what you thought of a particular issue. Sometimes, it was still with the Second Army, and sometimes it was with the opportunities presented to the Grisha at the Little Palace itself. He seemed intrigued to hear what classes were like, saying how he had heard you were one of the best Squallers there were. You had smiled at that, and his eyes had glinted like a hound about to take down his prey.

That was the third visit, the most recent visit. You’re walking back to your quarters now, unable to keep a slight grin from your face. This is it, isn’t it? This is how you make your way from the classrooms of the Little Palace to the battlefield, to a real chance to do something different. When you open your doors, Zoya is propped up in an armchair inside, although this does not surprise you. You’ve long since given her free reign of all that is yours.

She looks up at you, a question already bubbling up in her inquisitive glance. “What’s got you so excited?” She’s never been able to miss a detail, has she? You can’t seem to tuck your smile away. “I’ve been speaking to General Kirigan, three times now. I think he might be on the verge of offering me a job in the Second Army.” You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting from Zoya- an expression of surprise, maybe some congratulatory words. Whatever you thought might happen, you were certainly not expecting her to stand up, face twisted in something that looked almost like fear and anger.

“You can’t do that. You should avoid him as much as possible.” Your feet stall from where you’d been crossing the room to her. “What are you talking about?” Zoya shakes her head, almost manic. “You should stay away from him. What did he tell you?” This, coming from your closest friend when you’d been so excited, is enough to make your happiness start to leach from you, replaced by a cold bewilderment and betrayal. “What does it matter? Zoya, this could be my future.”

Zoya seems unwilling to hear you out. “Tell me what he said, Y/N. You can’t trust a word he says.” You scoff. “I’m not a fool, Zoya. I know what he said, and none of it was a trick. He spoke to me like a friend, and last time he talked to me about potential openings within the Grisha ranks. I could have a position. Isn’t that excellent?” Zoya shakes her head once more. “It’s a trick. He won’t give you anything. Don’t tell me you’re actually going to believe what he says?”

You draw back from her now, all traces of excitement gone from you. “Why are you saying this? Maybe I don’t know if he truly means it or not, but you don’t know anything about this. Saints, I thought you might actually be happy for me.” Zoya almost winces at that. “I’m not- I would be happy for you if I thought this was something real, Y/N, but it’s not. Nothing is with him.” You can feel yourself rising up in anger. “Oh, and you would know about that, wouldn’t you? From all of the time you spent with him? Are you truly doubtful, Zoya, or do you just not want me to be involved with him because you don’t want me to have anything that you hadn’t had first?”

The words are coming out faster now, one after the other. Truth be told, it’s almost good to hear them aloud after so long keeping them inside. “I never had a problem with you being first in class, first in everything. I never will, but I assumed that you would extend that same courtesy to me. Why is it that we’re friends in everything, but the second I seem to get some sort of headway, you have to prove it wrong? Can’t I have anything that isn’t yours already?”

Zoya draws back as if you’ve slapped her. “That’s not how I feel. I’m just trying to keep you safe.” You want to laugh. “This is how you keep me safe? By taking everything away from me until I’m only in your shadow and nowhere else?” Zoya flings her hands in the air. “If it means he doesn’t get his hooks in you, yes! I would rather have you stay here forever than lose you.” You look at her, unbelieving. “And why is that? Because we’re such good friends that you’d trade my future for my complacency?”

Zoya’s voice is soft now, barely there at all. “Because I cannot stand to lose you. Because I love you, Saints damn it, and I’d rather have you hate me than never have you at all.” You stand there for a second, then another, then another. Your breath is sharp and harsh in your chest, but you cannot seem to say a single word. You try for a few, anyway. “You love me?” She nods once. “Yes.”

You do laugh now, incredulous. “Why didn’t you say so, you idiot? I love you too.” She looks almost surprised. “I thought- I thought you just wanted to be friends.” You shrug. All of your anger is receding away from you now, washing back into the banks after a flood. “I did, because I thought that’s all you wanted. I didn’t want to make it seem like I was only your friend because I had feelings for you.” Zoya stands there for a moment, then something almost like a sigh comes from her and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around you. “You generous, impossible fool. I can’t stand you.” You laugh, returning her embrace. “Of course not. You love me.”

requested by @villnella

grishaverse tag list: someone who would be my squaller bestie @underc0vercryptid, @darlinggbrekker, @cameronsails, @aleksanderwh0r3

#zoya nazyalensky #zoya nazyalensky imagines #zoya nazyalensky x reader #zoya nazyalensky oneshot #grishaverse #shadow and bone #grishaverse imagines #shadow and bone imagines #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone oneshot #sab #sab imagines #sab oneshot #zoya #zoya imagines #zoya x reader #zoya oneshot

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danihow · 3 years

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Flower love

Legolas x human!reader

Lord of the rings

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: While crossing through the forest, our dear Y/N decided to help Legolas to braid his hair back.

Warnings: Fluff, that’s it.

A/N: I actually thought of this after learning the meaning of some flowers. Im so sorry ittook me a month to finish this and I’m not even please with it.

The sun was half an hour away to be hidden by the tall mountains that surrounded the valley when Frodo and Aragorn came to the agreement of staying the night in a forest opening near a stream.

The girl nodded with a little smile just before leaving the bag she helped Sam carry beside an oak near them. She could still feel her back tense after carrying a hobbit for what seemed like hours while crossing some really high grass a couple of days before, when horses were not available to use. Those little men could be short but all the food they could eat a day really weighted on them.

Then, she looked at her surroundings, her gaze danced over the men who she shared her everyday with for the last couple of months, her gaze went from the four hobbits that gathered in a small circle talking over what should Sam cook for supper before going to sleep, Frodo being the center of the debate that Sam was arbitrating. Next to them, sat against the log of probably the eldest oak in the bunch that circled the fellowship was Boromir, his long legs stretched in front of him while his head was abutting the log, a small smile spread on his relaxed face as he overheard the hobbits’ chatter, almost closed eyes staring at nothing but a yellow hyacinth a few feet from him.

Then, she spotted Gimli arguing with Legolas for who may take the second best place near the fireplace Aragorn was building up, the woman could see how Gimli scrunched his nose in disgust when seeing the other option perfectly placed near the fire was over some wet mud, mentally determining himself to win over the elf, who looked with a playful smirk at the dwarf getting angrier, even Frodo knew that the elf was bothering the dwarf for mere fun, he did not need a fire to keep him warm.

Lastly, there was Gandalf, sitting with his pipe in what seemed to be the perfect place, not too close yet no too far, a place where he could watch over each member of the fellowship during what was left of the evening without getting cold.

“Who’s turn it is to check the surroundings?” Frodo asked once their little gathering agreed with Sam to prepare some rabbit soup.

“It is mine.” The lady told she took her bow and quiver from her champagne horse and he nodded, looking up from the fireplace as he finished.

“Be careful young Y/N, this woods are not to be trusted.” Gandalf warned in his wise voice, looking at the young woman with kindness, receiving the same smile back as she waited for Aragorn’s permission to leave.

“Be back before the sun is out, if not, Legolas will go and search for you.” The ranger said without looking at her, knowing well she was more than capable of handling any inconvenience by herself.

“Of course I will be back before darkness arrives, there will be no need to search for me.” She told with a smirk just before leaving the little safe place they have established themselves for the night.

With light steps she jogged through the woods, taking in the smell of wet dirt mixing up with some wild flowers, probably some dragon flowers. Her warm eyes wandered in between trees and looked up the branches, noticing hints of the bronze highlights making their way throughout the branches, giving the woods a special feeling. The thin golden brims of light could be seen shining down to the ground covered in either moss or clovers.

Her cheeks caught the whisper of nature that summer was in its way in the warm breeze that blew around as her ears could catch a distant chirping, oh, how much did she wished to have the hearing of an elf to listen better to the beautiful melodies birds gifted in this season.

Time went by as she enjoyed the peace the woods carried as her eye caught nothing irregular that deserved extraordinary attention. Now, in a slower pace she walked alone to the opening just when the sun finally sat below the horizon and nothing but darkness could be seen, taking her time to arrive as she spotted the warm light of the fire not too far from her.

“Just in time, young Y/N. We were about to search for you.” The old wizard muttered at her returning with the pipe placed in between his lips. Making her notice how the silver-haired elf left his own bow aside and sat back down in the place he was before, it appeared the elf have granted the log to Gimli since the dwarf was proudly sat on it at the contrary side of the fireplace.

“There are no signs of orcs in the near paths, they seem not to like these ways.” As the words fell from her mouth relief seemed to take over the hobbits a bit once she finally took off her quiver and bow and placed it near where her loyal horse, Dagros, rested.

With much grace a human could have, she sat in the free place next to Legolas, reaching for a little notebook she kept in a little bag attached to her cloak

“Miss Y/N.” Pippin called, getting the woman and the elf’s attention. “What is that notebook you write in each night?” The curiosity in his voice make her chuckle as Merry elbowed him in the ribs.

“Pip, you cannot ask people things like that.” He scolded with a frown in his features.

“It is okay Merry.” She smiled warmly at them as Pip smile got back to his face in pride as he did not actual wrong. “Well, Pip, I just like to write what happens each day so when I get old, I can read and remind it in case I ever forgot any of the crazy things we do now. Is like a journal.” She said, opening the notebook to a random page, just to find a sketch of the mountains and a dry blue flower, which she carefully took in between her fingers. “I also keep the flowers we recollect, so I can frame them and treasure them in some years as I do now.” And with that, she had gained the attention of the four hobbits, who stared at the blue poppy and the acacia blossom the elf at her side had collected for her around a week ago.

“That is an amazing idea, Miss Y/N.” Samwise spoke as he stirred the rabbit soup he had in the fire and Frodo nodded by his side, staring directly to the soup with hunger.

Then, everyone returned to their usual chatter, Merry and Pippin chattering their mischievous plans someone should worry about later, Frodo talked with Sam as he cooked, Aragorn seemed to be talking with Gandalf in their own voice level, Boromir was resting with his eyes closed for some minutes as the dwarf sharpened his axe a few feet away with total concentration; the elf, sat at the other side of the fireplace, looked at the orange flames without attention while his ears searched for any strange sound near them and the woman by his side scribbled something in her notebook, knowing that the elf would not betray her trust and look over the pages she transcribed her life in.

Minutes passed by and the elf bit his inner cheek, his hand playing with some flowers he found earlier and kept in his pocket. “Y/N.” He called to get her attention, once her gaze was placed on his and he got a kind smile, he talked. “I found these near the stream before sunset, thought you would like them.”

His hand grabbed the flowers and revealed to her two pink peonies just blooming, one smaller than the other one but still with a far more vivid pink tainting her petals. “Legolas, thank you, they are beautiful.” Her delicate hands grabbed the flowers from his, touching for enough seconds to make his heart twirl in his chest with joy.

A few feet away, the wizard and the ranger looked the scene with a little smile on their own, knowing farewell what the elf was doing and how oblivious they both were to it in their own minds.

“I will keep them as long as I can.” Her words were sweet and warm, making his chest warm at her as she placed the flowers in between the two pages she wrote in a few moments ago. “I have not seen these type of peonies in a long time, back home we only grew tree peonies.” Her smile may not have been wide, but in her smallness all Legolas saw was comfort and happiness, making himself happy.

He smiled at her one more time and guided his gaze to the fire in front of him, losing itself in there. Gears in his head started to spin, taking himself down memory lane for some long minutes. Thinking about everything and nothing, like the trip they had ahead, the woods and its creatures, thinking about the fellowship and more; then, he started to remember, all kind of memories striking their own way back in his mind, the last months, his mother and father, anything his mind could get access into, he remembered.

“Legolas.” A distant voice talked to him, but he was still lost in his mind.

“Legolas?” A voice and a squeeze in his forearm took him out of his own mind, looking up he found Sam with a bowl of soup standing in front of him with a concerned look on his face, the elf, concerned by himself on what was happening look to his side to find Y/N with the same concerned look in her facial features while one of her hands slowly let go of his arm. “Sam is asking if you want a bowl of the soup, its rabbit.” Her words were slow for him to understand why they were calling him.

“Oh, sure, thank you.” With a small nod the bowl was taken out of Sam little hands into Legolas’, careful to not spill any food in the ground. Once Samwise had walked away to serve Aragorn’s and Gandalf’s soup, the pair sat in silence, enjoying quietly their own soup.

“What has you so troubled? If I may ask.” Her voice asked in a mutter some moments later. There was no way in the world she had not noticed how he was lost in his own thought to the point his keened ears were shut from the world, something not so typical in any elf.

“Nothing, lady Y/N, just some memories from the past.” He answers, leaving the empty bowl of soup aside as looking at her, finally noticing the bits of worry in her eyes. “Seriously, there is no need to worry Y/N.”

“I cannot help but to when you wear such a look on your face Legolas. It almost depresses me too.” The young woman joked with a knowing smile on her face. “But is okay you don’t want to tell, just let me know if I can help.” She muttered, making the elf smile at her, how could she be so sweet?

“Thank you, Y/N.” He said with the sincerest smile he could give her.

“And what happened to your hair?” She asked, just now noticing how the braids he wore were more undone than done.

"The orcs in the morning probably messed it up.” He mutters while his hands passed over the thin braids on the side of his head, remembering how in the last village they visited the woman in front of him braided a bunch of young girls’ hair. “Would you like to braid them for me?”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Her voice was pure concern, she knew about the traditions of the elves and the dwarves, she knew what the hair meant to them. “Is not that I don’t want to, I do, is just... I mean- It is your hair what we are talking about and I am... me.” She tried to make him understand her point because of her fear of disrespecting other culture, yet, deep inside she yearned to braid his hair for a long time now.

“I know you are you.” He chuckled, reassuring her. “And that is why I am sure, do not worry about that.” He nodded in her direction and make himself comfortable in the ground in front of the log they were sitting in, right in between her legs so she could have it easier. “You said you would want to help me how you could, believe this would help me a lot. You can braid whatever you want in there.”

“Alright, if you say so.” She whispered, untangling his soft blonde hair with her fingers, it felt even better than silk or velvet. Soon, she started braiding his hair, taking two thin braids from each side of his face to the back of his head, forming a big braid in the middle with both of them and tying it. Then, with her delicate fingers she soothed the hair that was left down, smiling to herself as the soft strands of his hair ran through her fingers with such ease. Through the process, the elf whose hair was being braided was smiling wide as he felt her fingers brush again his hair and in some occasions, against his ears, causing him goosebumps.

Meanwhile, both Aragorn and Gandalf stared at the scene with a small smile in their faces, both of them could see at bare sight the special bond the elf and the human had together now and the eldest could predict how it would evolve in both of them, still, that was not ought to be said now.

“And... I’m done.” She muttered once she fully finished, making the elf to raise his hand and carefully touch the braids.

“Thank you so much, I love them.” He said, getting up from the ground to sit back again in the log.

“Next time an orc messes up your hair, make sure to pick up more flowers so I can braid them in your hair, maybe some more acacia blossoms.” She smiled while a blush covered her cheeks as he turned to face her.

And while the woman played with the pages of her notebook and the new peonies inside, rethinking if the braids and flowers meant what she thought they could mean; the elf smiled back with gratefulness as he may or may not try in a future to mess his hair more if it meant she would be the one braiding it. And then maybe, just maybe he could ask to court her.

Yellow hyacinth: Jealousy. Dragon flowers: Grace, strenght. Blue poppies: Oblivion, imagination. Acacia blossoms: Concealed and chaste love Pink peonies: Romance, love at first sight.

#i dont wike it #legolas #legolas greenleaf #legolas x reader #lotr one shot #lotr #lotr fanfic #lotr imagine #lord of the rings fanfic #legolas fanfiction #elf #elf fanfic #peonies #flowers #lord of the rings #legolas imagine

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sokkascroptop · 4 years

Text

traitor (sokka x f!reader) pt 18

part 1 | part 17 | part 19

A/N: ah, so the long awaited “The Puppetmaster” episode. This has always been one of my favorites ❤️ Take Y/N’s commentary at the beginning how you want. Either Hama got the idea from an old Fire Nation scary story... or she’s been at this a lot longer than we originally though 🤭

Y/N looked up fondly at Sokka as he recounted what he called, “the scariest story he knew”. It was not scary in the slightest and from the other disinterested looks Y/N got from Katara and Aang and the way that Toph lolled her head back in boredom, none of the others thought so either. Every now and then Sokka would glance down at Y/N and she would give him an amused smirk and however he took it spurred him on through the story. When he was finished, he waited with a sly smile like he thought the four of them were about to start screaming.

“I don’t know, I liked the story about ‘the man with the sword for a hand’ better.” Aang shrugged.

Sokka pouted and sat back down next to Y/N. “You thought it was scary, right?”

Y/N raised her eyebrows and nodded. “Terrifying.” She linked an arm through his and they both leaned back on the fallen tree behind them.

Y/N watched Toph wrinkle her nose. “Water tribe slumber parties must suck.”

“I have one. And it’s a true Southern Water Tribe story.” Y/N’s ears perked up at the sound of Katara’s voice. She hadn’t spoken all night and she was the only one who hadn’t recounted a scary story. Her knees were pulled up and she had her arms wrapped around them, and the light from their fire danced across her face.

Sokka seemed unperturbed. “Is this one of those ‘a friend of my cousin knew this one guy’ stories?”

“No.” Katara’s voice was sharp. “It happened to Mom.”

Y/N didn’t know what about Katara’s story scared her the most. Maybe it was her voice, or the way she told the story. Or maybe it was the way Sokka tensed underneath her arm that led Y/N to believe that there was more truth to this story than she originally thought.

But the thing that freaked her out the most and had her jumping from Sokka’s side immediately to Katara’s was Toph’s gasp.

Toph jumped to her feet, her milky eyes widening. “Wait. Guys did you hear that?!”

Sokka bumped into Y/N’s side, pressing her against Katara even more. Y/N wrapped an arm around Katara and grabbed onto Aang shoulder, pulling them all into an impossibly smaller ball.

“I hear people under the mountain! And they’re screaming!”

Chills worked their way down Y/N’s spine and she shivered between the two Water Tribe siblings. She recalled a story she heard at school, something about full moons and missing people… but it was just a story that little kids told to one another. Albeit, one that Toph shouldn’t have known.

“No, no… you’re lying. You don’t hear anything.” Y/N’s voice was shaking.

Sokka scoffed. “Nice try, Toph.” He started peeling himself away from Y/N’s side and moved back to their seat.

But the look on Toph’s face didn’t look like she was joking. “I’m serious! I hear something.”

Y/N tugged on Sokka’s arm and pulled him back, closer to her. “Uh, I really don’t think she’s kidding, Sokka.”

“Wait, you believe this?” Katara asked, her eyes wide with fear.

“Kids at school used to tell these scary stories about a witch or evil spirits who would take people and hide them in a space between the spirit world and our world. They’re everywhere around us but we just can’t see them.” Her voice trailed off as the wind picked up and began howling through the trees, almost as if it was in response to what she said. “But it’s a Fire Nation story, Toph wouldn’t know it,” Y/N said quietly.

Aang looked up to the tops of the trees above them. “Spirits aren’t evil,” he ventured, his voice small.

“Hello, children.” A voice said behind them.

---

Y/N didn’t think that she could scream as loud as she did. Aang, Katara, Y/N and Sokka, who had been huddled together on one side of the fire, holding one another as close as possible, suddenly shoved each other away, each of them trying to get as far away from whoever had just walked up behind them. Y/N in her haste, leapt over the fire nearly knocking Toph over in the process. Her heart was pounding as she stared at the woman. Y/N just kept telling herself, this is not the same as before, this is not the same as before. That, and she wasn’t alone this time. Aang could airbend the woman away or Toph could knock her off her feet before Y/N could even reach her sword. Nobody had to die.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. My name is Hama. You children shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourselves at night. I have an inn nearby, why don’t we go there for some spiced tea and warm beds?” The old woman had white hair and her shoulders were hunched but Y/N could see her bright blue eyes even from how far away she was. She seemed sincere. Y/N couldn’t find a reason not to take her offer. Normally she was suspicious of everyone, but this old woman wasn’t going to do them any harm.

“Yes, please.” Y/N said gratefully.

---

A couple of torches and the almost full moon lit their way back to Hama’s inn. Sokka was holding Y/N’s hand and she appreciated the contact. The trail, the cool night air, the darkness was eerily similar to that night that wasn’t so long ago. Every now and then she felt like she was transported back there; that she and Sokka were running through the woods back to Appa, stumbling over uneven ground, trying to get back to Katara so Y/N didn’t die. Then, a stiff breeze or a snap of a stick under their feet would bring her back to the present.

Sokka leaned over to whisper in her ear. “So we just trust anyone we meet in the woods now?!”

“I know it’s kind of weird, but she doesn’t seem that bad to me. Besides being in these woods is really starting to freak me out,” she admitted. “I think if she turns out to be some criminal mastermind, the five of us can take her.”

Sokka’s face softened. “Sorry. I didn’t even realize…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Y/N squeezed his hand, grateful for the comfort of her friends around. This time was different, that was for sure.

---

Y/N hadn’t slept in a real bed since she was in the Fire Nation palace. Sure, in Ba Sing Se, she and the girls had been given nice beds, but Y/N hadn’t done more than sit up against the headboard and worry all night before she left Azula.

Just as she was pulling back the covers she heard a light knock at the door. Y/N brushed it off as just the old house settling but then she heard it again, this time a little more forcefully.

Sokka was standing on the other side of her door when she opened it, clutching his pillow. She looked at his bare chest and his hair that was down and framing his face.

“Um. Whatcha doin’, buddy?” Y/N greeted, trying to keep her voice light despite her being a little breathless that Sokka was shirtless, in the middle of the night, standing in the doorway to her room.

“I’m freaking out.” Sokka didn’t wait for an invitation, just pushed the door open further and walked inside. Y/N shut the door behind him, only to open it once again to scratching on the wood. Momo ran around Y/N’s legs and jumped onto her bed, making a spot for himself on one of the pillows.

“This house is creepy. Can I sleep in here?” Sokka asked, looking at her hopefully.

“Yeah,” Y/N sighed. “But on the floor. I haven’t slept in a real bed in forever and I’m not about to give half of it up because you’re a scaredy cat-snake.” She tossed one of the spare blankets at the end of the bed at him and crawled under the covers.

Sokka settled on the floor next to the bed and Y/N moved to the edge so she could look down at him. She rolled onto her stomach and dangled one of her hands down next to him. “Night, Sokka.”

He grabbed it and intertwined their fingers. “Night, Y/N,” He yawned and snuggled his head into his pillow.

Y/N waited until she could hear soft snores coming from him before she let her eyes fall heavy and drifted off to sleep.

---

“So, Hama seems suspicious to everyone else, right?” Sokka leaned on the counter in Hama’s kitchen while they unpacked the food she’d bought at the market.

Katara exchanged a glance with Y/N who just smiled and shrugged.

“She reminds me of Gran-Gran,” Katara said.

“Didn’t you hear that comment that she made about us being ‘mysterious children’ before she left us to go run more errands?”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Sokka, she found five kids camping in the woods last night. That’s strange, don’t you think?”

“If we’re so strange and mysterious, why did she let us come back to her house without her?” Sokka pressed.

Y/N looked to Katara for help. “I guess that is kind of weird…”

“Yeah! So let’s go have a look around!”

The four of them followed Sokka as he picked his way upstairs peeking into every unlocked room along the way.

“Sokka! What are you doing?” Katara exclaimed.

“You shouldn’t go snooping around someone’s house!” Y/N echoed. She looked wildly to the front door, expecting Hama to be walking in on them wandering through her house at that moment.

Sokka slid open another door and stepped inside. “It’s fine, you guys.”

“She could be home any minute,” Aang warned. Sokka ignored all of their protests and went deeper into the house. He came across a cabinet built into the wall. He began pulling on the handles but it wasn’t budging. Y/N against all better judgement nudged one of his hands away and began pulling on one of the doors to help him.

Suddenly, the doors gave way and both of them stumbled backwards, Y/N falling to the floor. Katara was able to catch the dolls before they tumbled out. She quickly shoved them back into the cabinet and shut the doors but Y/N got a good look at what was in there. Puppets. And scary ones.

“Okay, that’s pretty creepy,” Aang admitted as he helped Y/N back to her feet.

“She has a hobby, what’s wrong with–Sokka, stop!” Katara jogged after her brother who was now climbing the steps to the attic. Toph, Y/N and Aang followed them and watched as Sokka yanked on the door handle.

“If she’s so ordinary, why does she have a locked door?” Sokka demanded.

“Probably to keep people from snooping in her stuff!!” Katara was getting increasingly louder each time Sokka said something new, so if Hama didn’t know they were skulking around her house yet, she would now.

“Guys, we still have time to go back downstairs and act like we weren’t looking through her stuff.” Y/N was trying to placate the siblings. She really didn’t want to get kicked out of the inn because Sokka’s curiosity got the best of them. That meant more sleeping in the woods. “Let’s just go and finish putting the groceries away–”

“Yes! I got it open!” Y/N watched Sokka sheath his sword that he had just used to pick the lock and she wondered why she even tried to be the voice of reason.

Sokka picked up the box that was sitting in the middle of the empty room. “What do you think is in it?” He asked the group.

“Treasure!”

“Toph, don’t encourage him,” Katara chastised.

“It’s locked,” Sokka said with disappointment. “There’s got to be a key around here.”

“Here.” Toph took the meteorite bracelet off her arm and melded it into a key shape. Sokka handed her the box and she began wiggling the key inside the keyhole.

Aang, who initially followed Sokka into the room, started inching back towards the door. “Guys, I don’t know about this…”

Katara joined him. “This is crazy. I’m leaving.”

Y/N was caught somewhere in the middle of them. Both siblings stared her down, trying to work out who she was going to ultimately side with. On one hand she wanted to see what was in the mysterious locked box that sat in this locked room. Hama was weird and Y/N was naturally curious. Who knows what she would keep hidden away? On the other hand they were invading this woman’s privacy. Even if she was strange she had taken them in in an effort to protect them from the angry spirits kidnapping people, and if they betrayed the trust she’d given them they would be back to sleeping on the ground outside.

Luckily, the choice was made for her. Y/N heard the pins click.

“Got it,” Toph smirked and gave them a thumbs up. All five of them rushed around her, trying to get the first look at what was in the box, when once again, they were startled by a voice from behind.

“I’ll tell you what’s in the box,” Hama stated.

Y/N bit her lip and looked down, not willing to meet the woman’s eyes. Sokka held the box out guiltily in front of him. Hama opened the top and pulled out a comb.

“This is my greatest treasure. The last thing I own from growing up in the Southern Water Tribe.”

---

“I’m excited for you to try Southern Water Tribe food.”

Y/N looked up from where she was setting the table for dinner. Sokka was fiddling with a spoon, messing up what she had just set out.

She giggled. “Excited? Why?” She slid the rest of the silverware towards him to finish and began working on setting out the plates.

Sokka spun a fork in his hand before setting it down. He moved it around until it was more than perfectly straight, ignoring her question. The tips of his ears were turning red. Finally when he spoke, his voice was sheepish. “Maybe you can come visit me. You know, if you like it.” He didn’t meet her eyes.

Y/N smiled. It was sweet that he was thinking of her, but he knew that just liking the food wouldn’t warrant a trip all the way to the South Pole, he wanted to know what was going to happen after the war. Y/N leaned across the table. “Even if I didn’t I’d still come visit you.”

---

Hama being a waterbender wasn’t surprising in the least to Y/N. The part that surprised Y/N–no, it was wrong to say that–the part that scared her the most, was that Hama then told them that the reason Katara had never met another waterbender from their tribe was because the Fire Nation had wiped them all out; stolen the waterbenders from their home.

Hearing the story Hama told about how she was the last waterbender to be captured, how she was led away in chains and taken to an awful prison, here in the Fire Nation, made Y/N want to cry. She wanted to cover her ears and leave the dining room so she didn’t have to know what her people had done to Hama.

And Katara and Sokka. Y/N reminded herself.

It was evil, what they had done. It was vile and Y/N felt sick about it. Oddly enough, as mad as those things made her–as awful as it felt to hear them–she welcomed the uncomfortable feeling it gave her. It reaffirmed that she was different. She had changed and that she was moving in the right direction.

Something that also soothed her was that while Hama was speaking, Sokka noticed the bouncing of her knee under the table.

Y/N always did it when she was nervous and what could make her more nervous than a woman sitting in front of her telling her story to all of Y/N’s friends about the viciousness of Y/N’s people.

Sokka reached under the table and tapped her knee with one finger. She slowed her knee to a stop and looked down at her bowl filled with soup, not able to meet his eyes, or the eyes of anyone at the table. Sokka didn’t care, he grabbed her hand from her lap and rubbed comforting circles on the back of her knuckles. On one hand she was thankful for it, but that little voice in the back of her mind told her that she should be comforting them. They were the ones that had been wronged. She should be begging for their forgiveness. The back and forth of it all was beginning to become exhausting.

---

Y/N caught Katara in the hallway before she retreated to her room. “Hey,” Y/N’s voice was quiet, even though it was just the two of them. It was the first private conversation they’d had since their fight a week ago. Y/N didn’t realize it would be so awkward. Especially, since before their friendship had been so effortless.

“What’s up?”

Y/N was at a loss for words, she had been since dinner. She knew she wanted to say something to Katara, but now in the moment she couldn’t even remember what she had been thinking about. Y/N dug her big toe into the wood floor. “I guess I just wanted to say that I’m happy for you. Finding Hama was a blessing but then, you know, she turns out to be from your tribe and it’s just really amazing–sorry I’m rambling–” Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to get back on track. “I guess what I’m trying to say is you should learn everything she has to offer to you. You told me the other day that you wanted more, more than healing, more than the fighting you knew. This is an opportunity to connect with someone who is special to you in more than one way. I’m excited to hear what you get to learn.” Y/N ended with a small, noncommittal shrug and an embarrassed smile.

Katara, however, was not embarrassed by Y/N’s awkwardness at all. She pulled her in for a hug. “Thank you, Y/N. It means so much to hear you say that.”

“I’ve missed talking to you,” Y/N mumbled into the other girl’s shoulder.

“Me too.”

---

“I think you might be lying to me,” Sokka stated as Y/N walked ahead of him.

She jumped up to pull down a dangling leaf and turned back around to see his skeptical face looking back at her. “I swear! As we were walking to Hama’s the other night, I thought I smelled firelilies! If I can just find the trail we took maybe I could find the patch!” Y/N had been itching to do something all day. Being cooped up in Hama’s inn after weeks of traveling and doing anything they wanted was wearing thin on her patience. Evidently Sokka’s too. All Y/N had to do was ask for him to come with her and he’d jumped at the chance.

“What’s so important about some flowers anyways?” He asked, catching up with her.

“Nothing really I guess. I just haven’t seen any in forever and they only bloom in this really short window so if I miss them I’ll have to wait a whole year before I can see them again.” Of all the problems they’d come across as a group, this was by far the silliest, but firelilies were so pretty. “Ooh, wait! I think I can smell them.” Y/N stuck her nose in the air and inhaled deeply. There was just the hint of a sweet aroma that reminded her of home.

Sokka sniffed next to her. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Come on!” Y/N took off running, every now and then sniffing the air like Momo did when they would cook dinner. And then there it was. And it was much bigger than just a patch, it was a whole field of firelilies. “I told you!” She socked Sokka in the arm and ran off into the field.

---

Sokka found her sitting in the middle, surrounding herself with the flowers. She reached for one and picked it, holding it up for Sokka. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“You’re prettier.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and smiled. She tucked the stem of the one flower she had picked behind her ear and patted the ground next to her. “Come sit.”

“Since I called you pretty, does that mean I get a kiss?” Sokka sat and smiled cheekily.

Y/N hummed in thought. “Can I braid your hair?”

Sokka furrowed his eyebrows. “If I say yes do I get to kiss you then?”

“Maybe!” Y/N said brightly. She moved to kneel behind him and pulled out his wolf tail. She raked her fingers through his hair before starting to braid close to his hairline. “I really appreciate you guys,” She said quietly.

“What do you–” Sokka moved his head to turn and look at Y/N but she grabbed the sides of it and forced it to stay forward.

Her deft hands moved halfway through the braid before she spoke again. “After everything you’ve heard about what we’ve done to you. None of you think of me differently. You look at me the same–well, I guess Toph doesn’t.” Y/N laughed quietly.

“You say ‘we’ like you’re still part of the Fire Nation. Y/N, you don’t still think that you’re like them, do you?”

Her hands lingered on the last bit of Sokka’s hair. “I am Fire Nation. I was just like them, Sokka. For a long time. It’s hard to separate who I was before and who I am now, because they’re almost the same person.” She tied off his wolf tail.

Y/N rested her hands on his shoulders and stared out into the sea of red. “After hearing Hama’s story, hearing what my people did to your people, I’m just surprised you can look at me; let alone come out here and sit in a field of firelilies or let me braid your hair,”– Y/N ran a finger down the center of the braid–”or say you want to kiss me.”

When she finally sat back down she noticed Sokka’s face was crestfallen. “I don’t care that you’re from the Fire Nation,” He stressed. “You didn’t do any of those things.”

Y/N let her head fall back. She closed her eyes and felt the sun warm her face. “I know. I do. I’m just so ashamed of it.”

Soft lips pressing against hers made Y/N crack open her eyes. “One of these days you’re gonna understand how we can’t hate you for things you haven’t done.” Sokka shook his head in disbelief.

What about the things I have done? Y/N wanted to ask. Instead, she stayed silent and licked her lips, the taste of Sokka’s still lingering long after he was gone.

---

“I want everyone to know–” Y/N panted “–that I do not like this plan.”

“We know!” Toph yelled from in front of her. Y/N wished she had seismic senses, Toph ran gracefully over the dark forest floor while the other three of them tripped over roots every other step.

Y/N sword thudded heavily between her shoulder blades, that and the darkness of the night flashed terrifying images behind her eyes. All she could do to keep herself from having a full on breakdown was focus on the ties of Aang’s headband flying in front of her.

She could tell they were getting higher into the mountain; the ground was getting steeper and the trees were thinning out, the moon lighting their way. They ran until they came to the mouth of a cave.

Y/N squinted into it. “I can’t see anything.”

“That’s why you have me.” Toph grabbed Y/N’s hand in her much smaller one. Y/N reached for Sokka’s and then they were running again, except this time she was relying on the girl next to her to tell her when to jump or dodge a rock in her path, because otherwise it was pitch black.

They spent so long running through the dark that when they saw light again, it burned Y/N’s eyes. In front of them was a reinforced metal door. Toph made quick work of it, folding it into a ball as easily as one could a piece of paper. Down a short, rocky corridor was a cavern with high ceilings. Y/N stopped cold when she saw them; inside the cavern were ten, maybe twenty people chained up to the rocks. The worry on their faces was quickly replaced with relief when they saw the four of them enter.

“We’re saved!” One of the men shouted.

“I didn’t know spirits made prisons like this,” Aang muttered to no one in particular.

“It was no spirit who brought us here, it was a witch,” Another man said.

“It’s a old woman!” A woman spoke up. Toph began unlocking her chains with her makeshift key. “She looks harmless but…”

Y/N’s heart stopped. Hama. That’s why she was out in the woods and that why–

“Hama!” Sokka growled next to her. “I knew there was something off about her.”

“You guys, Katara is with her!” Y/N yelped.

A look of fear passed through Aang’s eyes. “We have to stop her!”

---

The guilt was crushing Y/N’s chest as she ran with Sokka and Aang to find Katara in the woods. Toph had stayed behind to free all of the people Hama had captured but she would be on their tails soon. Y/N felt so bad. Sokka had known something was up and she had totally disregarded what he had said, even encouraged Katara to go out with Hama! Y/N should have known. If people were going missing from the woods, why was Hama out there alone two nights ago!

Just off in the distance, Y/N could see Hama and Katara squaring off. Katara knocked the old woman to her knees and she was just rising as the three of them ran up.

“Give up! You’re outnumbered, Hama.” Aang shouted.

“No,” she said sinisterly. “You’ve outnumbered yourselves.”

Y/N’s whole body tensed as her legs went numb. She slowly marched forward even though she was desperately trying to stop. By the looks of Aang and Sokka next to her, whatever was happening to her, was happening to them too.

Y/N gasped as her arm reached back and pulled out her sword. “No! What’s happening?!” She swung at Katara but was pushed away by a blob of water before she could even get close. Y/N’s movements were stiff and she teetered over like a falling tree but whatever was controlling her muscles had her standing back up in an instant.

Over her shoulder, Y/N could hear Katara dealing with Aang, but Y/N was more concerned with what was in front of her. Y/N’s arm straightened, pointing her sword right at Sokka’s undefended chest; his own sword dangling from the tip of his fingers.

His eyes widened just a fraction. “Y/N…”

“I–I can’t stop it!” She sobbed. Y/N fought against her own body so forcefully that she thought she was going to break her arm. It was futile, her arm drew back in what would be a deadly blow, and Y/N had no say whatsoever in it. Y/N was going to kill Sokka. Her nightmares were coming true right in front of her. She did the only thing that she could think of; called out for the only person she knew could come to her aid.

“Katara, help!” Y/N screamed. She squeezed her eyes shut. If this was going to happen she couldn’t watch it. She’d die before watching herself kill someone she loved. Just as her arm swung down, Y/N regained control. Y/N twisted her wrist and stabbed her sword straight into the dirt. She fell onto her hands and knees, her legs no longer able to hold her up.

Y/N looked up in horror to see that Hama’s body was contorting just as hers had been seconds earlier. Hama fought it, but much like Y/N, it was useless. She glared at someone behind Y/N. A shudder rolled through Y/N’s body when she turned to see Katara’s determined face as she used her bending on Hama.

Y/N didn’t move from her spot. She watched from her knees as Hama was led away in chains by her previous captives, sputtering drivel about how Katara had betrayed her culture by saving the little Fire Nation girl. Y/N was enraged. Most of her anger was directed at herself. She’d become complacent, she’d allowed even welcomed Hama into their lives and hurt Katara by doing it, judging by the crying she could hear behind her. Y/N had encouraged Katara to learn from her without even knowing this woman. The way Hama had used Katara, well, Y/N thought this might have been one time she wouldn’t have been afraid to use her sword on someone.

Over and over Y/N had proven to herself that she was the worst judge of character. When would she learn that trust was earned and not given freely to every person who asked for it?

---

A/N: because I always feel like I have to give a reason of why I do what I do, I know Sokka and Y/N hold hands in like every single scene together but I feel like they’re both young enough that 1) they feel like they have to show each other affection in some type of way and 2) it’s also really grounding for them? Sokka’s love language is touch (fight me if you think otherwise) and Y/N likes that he likes it/while also using it as a tool to calm herself in frightening or upsetting moments :)

Taglist: @myexgirlfriendisthemoon @reclusive-chicken-nugget @astroninaaa @aangsupremacy @beifongsss @crownofcryptids @welovediaaxx @littlefluu @lozzybowe @thebluelcdy @ohjustlookalive @sugarmoongey @fanficdepot @teenbiology @13-09-01 @riespage @davnwillcome @naanlianid @creation-magician @lunariasilver @vintagerose1014516 @bcifcng @rockinearthbending-marauders @francesciak @thia-aep @aphrcditeee @milk-n-cheese @solarsuki @sendnuwudes @humbleseame @my--shitty--art @lovingcupcake51002 @loganrwebb @celia-not-cecilia @treestarrrrrrrr @p--e--a--c--h--e--s@velveteencurls @izzieserra @oddment-nitwit-blubber-tweak @salsasadd @nataliahaslosthershit @awkwardnesshabitat @lanie103 @emogril @im-the-galactic-starfish @charlotteisabella @alienmotel @smarshere @crxsshatcht @starxtt @sugamonster22 @natsbelova @mellisophilia @calumsfringe @whatsuphoesandbros @samsmultifandomblogs @ask-kfc-siblings @i-love-superhero @justasukisimp @grouchiest-hufflepuff @zukostan221 @feverish-dove @catchingrhythm @zuko-and-sokkas-simp @euphoricmads @ivetoldamillionlies @fanficsformyperusal @mikxyu @someonekeepstakingmyusernames @earthtokace @bison-whistle @justamessandahalf

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wxldchxld · 3 years

Text

This started out as like, a light piece just to describe what Beck’s workspace looks like and I won’t lie I’m a little obsessed with it. People always ask me like how tf Harper and Beck get along and... this. It’s this. Harper turns into a big sappy baby who lives off of nothing but Loving Her Wife Juice.

I’ll probably go back and edit this a couple of times for typos and other things but I love it so much I just wanna post it rn. And I won’t be putting it under a cut so y’all will have to live with it.

Harper knocked, almost tentatively, on the open door. From outside she could smell the intoxicating aroma of fir trees and herbs, sweetened by dried apples and candied citrus, drawing the attention of any passersby and calling them in. But she lingered there, knocking a second time when she got no response. Somewhere an old record player was crackling as Judy Garland sang about far away places over a rainbow, and a warm voice was humming along with it. Harper gently ran her thumb over one of the embroidered silk foxes among flower petals embedded into the translucent curtain that covered the door. The fabric, a deep ocean blue, shuffled under her attention, and the little creatures looked as if they were dancing.

Even on the threshold of Beck’s workshop, the world felt so slow. Time didn’t abide by schedules and obligations. It flowed like a lazy river on the precipice of winter, slowly but surely crusting over with ice. If she stood still long enough, would it freeze entirely? Or would the warm glow that haloed her lover forever melt away the sharpest crystals and encourage it to move on?

She didn’t need to knock. She didn’t need permission to enter. Not only did she doubt Beck would care, but the building was hers. The city--in its own way--was hers. It was her nature to utterly and completely possess things---to take them into herself to keep. If someone asked, she’d likely have even said Beck was hers.

But she had no claim over this place. It was a feeling that went far deeper than any deed or contract or organization. The magic here was so perfectly interwoven with it that it felt like it belonged to Beck.

Inside the room, there was a little tsk and a rich, quiet laugh. “What are you doing hanging out there like a bat? The door is open.”

The door was always open. Beck still clung to the old superstitions of their people. Ancient rules about hospitality and ways witches ought to behave. Rules made in a time when their people had been valued and listened to, long before Christians had turned them into a target and Google had rendered them obsolete. But Beck claimed it wasn’t about people, it was about magic, and its strange laws that were shrouded in mystery. Magic, she said, liked to know its witches were always open and welcome to it. In return for a witch’s “proper” hospitality, magic would sweep away the bad luck that so often got caught behind closed doors. And--again according to Beck--spirits were much the same, and closing the door on them might cause otherwise benign entities to turn dark with anger.

But Harper had been raised by much less traditional witches. One specifically that would have worn her back end raw with a wooden spoon for letting the heat escape and airing their business out in front of their neighbors.

She pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room, leaving any lingering thoughts of her mother laid on the doorstep with the rest of her worries.

The apartment was an explosion of barely organized chaos. Dried herbs and flowers hung from the ceiling or were pressed between the thick, heavy pages of spellbooks laying on the shelves beside jars stuffed with candied fruits and tea leaves. Knitwork and embroidery and tapestries and clothing in all states of completion were laid out on tables or hung up from the wall. Live plants in brightly colored pots lounged in the sunlight that poured in from the huge windows on the far side of the wall. There was a collection of open-faced cabinets filled with canisters of wood and glass and stone that sat in clusters with no apparent system of coordination. Above her the high ceilings had been turned into an aerial playground of wooden bridges, little boxes, and plush cushions either nailed into the wall or floating in midair among the drying plants where her most cantankerous familiar could sit and look down on the apartment like a goddess. A fire roared energetically to her right, and to her left there was a small kitchen where an enormous pot of sliced apples was being attended by an enchanted spoon.

It was nothing like the penthouse they shared when Harper left her work to come home. But oddly enough Beck’s workshop didn’t feel cramped or chaotic. It was warm. It was inviting. Everything melted together on the merit that no two things were remotely related to one another in any sensible way. A way that suggested every single item had been purposefully hand picked or handmade by the master of the domain and placed precisely where they were meant to be.

And there she sat, behind it all, nestled among the plants in front of a wall of windows. Her feet were curled up in the plush, gliding rocker beside her, and she was smiling up at her through a halo of sunlight. In this place she was a queen, and her crown was made of braids entangled with wildflowers and encrusted with knitting needles and crochet hooks that she had stuck away for safekeeping and promptly forgotten about. She was holding a little stuffed creature in one hand, and pulling a needle and thread in the other.

Beck always seemed fondly amused by the slow, reverent way Harper entered her domain. Their eyes met for a few gentle seconds, and then Beck looked to her right, where something shimmering and half formed in the sunlight began to move. Harper tried to focus on the spirit, but it collapsed in on itself and turned into a yellow moth as big as her hand, and lazily fluttered into the shadow of a flower by the window.

“That doesn’t unnerve you?” Harper asked, taking a seat in an armchair across from her girlfriend.

Again the blonde let out a breezy laugh that harmonized with the music in the background.

“You spend half your nights in an enchanted necropolis in some undisclosed abyss with only dead people and a renegade faerie for company, and an air spirit unnerves you.” She said, a playful perk in her brow.

Harper scoffed in feigned offense. “Dead things don’t think. They don’t watch me. I don’t like to be watched.”

“What a shame. You’re quite the sight to look at.”

Now Harper laughed, a rare, genuine chuckle of amusement. She wasn’t modest by any means, but Beck’s flattery could still make her heart race and her stomach fill with butterflies. As if it were the first time, even though compliments fell from Beck like droplets of rain in a spring shower.

“Well it’s a privilege. And it’s only bestowed on people I think highly of.”

Beck snorted soundlessly. “I can’t imagine there are many of those.”

“Only one, currently. And I’d let her do anything she pleased.” Harper replied. There was a small, suggestive grin on her lips, and a devilish twinkle in her eye.

“Oh?” Both of Beck’s brows raised and the hand holding her needle pressed against her heart as if she were shocked. “Then I guess I have someone to be jealous of, because you certainly don’t let me do whatever I want.”

Again she laughed, and Beck joined in with her. Harper rolled her eyes, her quick tongue failing her, and said lightly. “Shut up.”

“See?! There it is right there. Always bossing me around.” The little witch clicked her tongue in fake disapproval.

“Anything you want to me.” Harper corrected, still grinning so wide that it hurt her cheeks. “The fact that I don’t let you wreak havoc all across the tristate area is not the same.”

Beck held up both her hands in surrender. “Hey, you say potato, I say tomato.”

“That’s-” Harper halted her correction when she saw the look on Beck’s face that suggested her point was about to be proven perfectly. “Absolutely right.”

It was Beck’s turn to roll her eyes, and then she returned her attention to the project in her hands. Harper leaned forward just a little to try and catch a subtle glimpse, and without a word from the necromancer, Beck raised up the stuffed animal to show.

“Essi has decided that she’s infatuated with snails.” She said, shaking her head.

Esteri was a frequent visitor in their home. Harper could remember when she was born how Beck had practically lived at Frankie’s house and brought the infant home with her when her friend needed rest. Midori and Jari had done just the same, and the door to her penthouse had practically revolved for months as the gaggle of friends came and went. Essi had just turned three a short while ago, and she’d grown into a wild-eyed, challenging little girl. Consequently, one of Beck’s favorite hobbies consisted of indulging her every whim and encouraging her to be as difficult as possible. If that meant making a snail to feed her newest fancy, Harper knew that “Aunty Beck” was more than happy to provide.

“It’s not surprising, between you and Dori I don’t know who lets her play in the dirt more.”

“We play in the garden.” Beck corrected.

Harper refused to give ground. “Gardens are mostly dirt.”

“It’s important for witches to know how to plant and grow.” Her playful tone had gotten a little more serious. Not angry, but carrying a thread of absolute belief. “You could use a bit more time in the garden. And the sun for that matter.”

“Alas my love,” She sighed dramatically, “I am a creature of the night.”

Something soft bounced off her nose and fell into her lap. It was the snail. It’s stupid, smiling face laughing up at her.

“Are you throwing things at me now?” She teased, “Do you really want to start this with me?”

“You’re the one who said I could do whatever I wanted to you.” Beck wasn’t even bothering to contain her wolfish grin.

“You. Not this creature you’ve created. I can’t take an attack like this sitting down. I have a reputation to uphold.” She stood up, stuffed animal clenched in her hand, and slowly walked toward the fire place.

“Don’t you dare!” Beck squealed. They both knew it was an empty threat, that Harper would never disrespect the woman she loved so brazenly, but Beck threw the blankets off her lap and scrambled to her feet in a flash. Harper held the stuffed creature high above her head as Beck latched onto her.

There was a flush of heat that certainly didn’t come from any fire as their bodies pressed together. Beck was all soft curves over surprisingly strong muscles and blue eyes that glittered in the flames.

“Give me that back!” She demanded, trying to sound stern and reaching hopelessly for the toy. The pair stumbled and fell against a wall. When it shook a cascade of lavender petals and thyme leaves peppered them like confetti.

The necromancer curled one of her legs behind her lover’s and held up the animal higher. “I never knew you had this kind of rage inside of you. You know maybe you should go to therapy.”

“I never knew you were so annoyi-OH” Harper swept them both to the side, and Beck only managed to stay upright because she was being held against her so tightly. The little witch huffed, her cheeks flushing. “Oh I’m going to knock you over the side of the head so hard it smarts for a month!”

“See! There it is again! That rage!” Harper teased, merciless. A little childish, even. “Beck it’s me! Please, remember you loved me once.”

“You’re too rotten for loving. You give me that toy right now!”

Harper was shaking with laughter, her free hand wrapped around Beck’s waist as she strained. Beck was laughing too, intermittently. Every few seconds her angry façade would break just long enough for a smile and a chuckle that made her quiver against her.

“Why are you so godsdamned tall?! Was your mother a giant?” Beck’s hand had a hold on her wrist and her nails were just barely scratching the skin that ignited a dangerous excitement in Harper.

“A troll, actually. It’s a wonder I turned out so pretty.” Harper carefully guided them through the room backing them into the perfect position. When her hand was at just the right height, she felt the toy roughly ripped away from her, and the enormous black feline leaped over the both of them with it in her mouth, and (likely sensing what was about to happen) ran out into the hall.

"They say the devil has a pretty face---and Angrboda you’re giving that back!” The smaller witch tried to twist to look at her familiar, but Harper had pulled her tight against her body. Now with her other hand free she tilted up her lover’s chin and kissed her softly, the both of them still intermittently giggling.

They turned again, fingers tangled in one another’s hair, lips locked, the air between them dissolving until her lungs burned but still neither of them pulled away. Not until Harper had backed the witch up to the armchair. She gave her lover a rough push and watched her fall back into the seat, panting and grinning in delight.

She placed a knee on either side of Beck and trapped her against the cushions, reveling in the way she shivered. Her head stooped to whisper in the little witch’s ear. “And what would you let the devil do to you?”

Beck's hands were tightly gripping her hips, trying to pull her even closer. She smelled like apples and wildflowers and everything Harper loved in the world. She was everything Harper loved in the world. Perhaps even the only thing she loved in the world of the living.

“I’d let her do anything she wants.” Beck said beneath her, and the record came to a scratchy stop, and all Harper could hear was the crackle of the fire and the door slamming shut behind them.

#drabbles #my drabbles #i love them so much tho omgggggg

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kitkatfat15 · 3 years

Text

IronStrange Cinderella Au Fanfic

Hey guys I did a thing. I saw a post about an IronStrange Cinderella Au and I saw some art so I decided to write it. I hope you guys like it, I worked really hard on it. It also has Peter and Harley in it.

“Stephen!” He heard his father yell. “Have you swept the kitchen yet?” Stephen nodded, then realized that his father couldn’t see him. “Yes father! I did.”

His father scoffed. “It looks filthy! Come do it again! No doubt it’s because of your broken hands…” His father had said the last part quietly, but Stephen still heard it loud and clear, still felt it pierce his heart.

Stephen used to be one of the most upcoming healers in all the land. But… That was before his accident. Stephen had been riding a horse through the woods to the village over when something in the woods spooked his horse.

His horse had bucked him off, throwing him into a bramble bush. In his panic, he had struggled to escape the bush, tearing his hands and damaging them. By the time someone found him, his hands would never again be the same.

They were covered in scars and constantly shook, making him incapable of doing healing or anything else worth while, like farming. He was stuck at home being a disappointment to his family while his brother worked the fields and his sister worked at the local tailor’s shop.

Stephen grabbed the broom and went to the kitchen. It looked spotless. Well, except for one place where there was a pile of dirt next to a bucket. His father walked back in the room. “I forgot something.” He tells Stephen, before kicking the pile of dirt, sending it flying.

Stephen winced but didn’t say anything, knowing it wouldn’t do anything. He sighed and started sweeping, his father leaving the room.

It was a few hours later when his brother and sister got home. “Look at this Victor! An invitation to the ball. From the prince!” Victor grabbed the invite from his sister. “It has both our names on it.” Stephen looked up and Victor scoffed. “Not yours. Mine and Donna’s. It’s this weekend.” Donna danced away from the door and towards the dining room. “I can’t wait! Maybe the prince will choose me as his bride!”

Victor scoffed again. “Yeah right. I heard he doesn’t even like girls! He’s going to choose me! Not you!” Donna scowled at her brother and stomped off to her room. Victor turned to his brother. “Even if you were invited, I don’t think anyone would even want you to go.” With that he left, going to his room to change.

***

The weekend had come fast. For the ball, Donna had bought herself an orange dress with a low back. It was modest, but not eye catching. Victor had bought a white suit with a red trim. It made him look like a prince, which Stephen thought the actual prince wouldn’t appreciate.

Stephen watched his siblings and his father leave with an air of sadness. At least his father had given him the weekend off. Stephen thought with a sigh. Stephen was walking back towards his house when he spotted something shimmering in the dirt.

When he got closer, he realized that it was a wand of some sort. He bent down in the dirt and picked it up. There was a shimmering in the air in front of him, and Stephen heard two voices arguing.

“I can’t believe you lost your wand Parker!” A young male voice said. Another boy huffed. “It’s not my fault! I think it’s over here.” The shimmering grew strong and two boys appeared. Both boys were wearing baby blue robes and had wings coming out of their backs. They both had dark brown hair and seemed to be teenagers.

“Who are you guys?” Stephen asked. The two boys turned towards him. “My wand!” The boy Stephen thought was called Parker cried. Stephen held it out for him and the other boy grabbed it.

Parker pouted at him. The other boy turned to him. “I’m Harley. This is Peter. Have you seen a man called Stephen Strange?” He asked. Stephen nodded at them. “I’m Stephen Strange.” Peter broke out into a smile. “Perfect! We’re your fairy godfathers!” Stephen raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Peter cried. “We’re here to get you ready for the ball.” Peter told him. Stephen sighed. “I wasn’t invited to the prince’s ball. Even if I was, my brother was right, no one would want me to go.” Harley huffed. “Do you know how many people we’ve gotten into a ball uninvited?” He asked.

“But Harley, we’ve never done that-” Harley turns and scowls at Peter. Peter just blinks. Harley turned back to Stephen, a dangerous look in his eyes. “I’m not failing our first assignment because you want to stay here and feel sorry for yourself! Now are you going to corporate or am I going to have to force you?” Peter looks scandalized. “Harley!” Stephen shrugged.

“I guess I can go. At least I can help you boys.” Both teens smiled at him. “Let’s get you ready for the ball!” Peter says, grabbing his wand from Harley and dragging Stephen into the house.

Harley grabbed a few things from different rooms as they headed towards the sitting area, which had a large mirror in it. “You can work on his clothes and I’ll work on getting him a ride.” Harley tells Peter before going back outside.

“Let’s try to find you an outfit! Bippity boppity boop!” He says waving his wand at Stephen. Stephen felt his clothes transform into a pastel pink suit with a baby blue trim. Peter shook his head. “This doesn’t match your eyes at all!” He tells Stephen. “Bippity boppity boop!” He says again.

This time Stephen feels his clothes shift again and now he is wearing tacky multi color pants and a flower printed shirt. Both of them grimace. “Nope.” Peter says and waves his wand. “Bippity boppity boop!” Stephen feels his clothes turn into a beautiful flowing blue gown. Peter sighed again.

“I’m sorry. I always seem to get dresses.” He tells the man. Stephen smiles. “Peter, I think this is perfect!” He tells him. Peter perks up. “Really? No one seems to like my dresses.” Someone made an offended noise from behind them. Harley was leaning against the door frame. “I always like your dresses!” He tells Peter. “Well you don’t count.” Peter tells Harley. “Why not?”

“Because I said so!” Peter says loudly. Stephen decides to interject, not wanting an argument to start. “I still need shoes.” He tells them. “Shoes? I can do shoes.” Harley says. “What kind of shoes do you want? Boots, sandals-”

“I want stilettos.” He interjects. Harley looks at him before shrugging. He takes two small stones out of his pocket and puts them on the ground. “Abra kadabra!” He waves his wand. Nothing happens. “Wrong words.” Peter tells him. Harley, being mature, sticks his tongue out.

“Bippity boppity boop!” He waves his wand and the smooth stones turn into baby blue stilettos. Stephen grabs them and puts them on his feet. “Do you know how to walk in those?” Peter asks. Stephen scoffs. “Of course I do. Let’s go see my ride, shall we?” Both boys nod and they all head outside.

In front of the small house there was an elegant carriage with a horse and a horseman. However, looking closer, Stephen could tell that the horse’s fur was more like scales and the horseman’s eyes seemed too large for his head. Stephen turned to Harley. “Is that horse a snake? And is that horseman a frog?” He asked. Harley shrugged. “I worked with what I had.” He tells him.

Peter snaps his fingers. “Before we forget! You have to be back by 12 o’clock. That is when the spells will unravel. Your shoes will turn into stones, your dress will turn back into your normal clothes, and your carriage will turn back into a potato.”

“You made my carriage out of a potato?” He asked incredulously. In response Harley shoulders him into the carriage and nods towards the horseman. “Have a nice night!” Peter calls as Stephen begins his trip to the palace.

***

The journey to the palace was quite long, but very worth it. When Stephen layed eyes on Stark palace, he could not hold back a gasp.

The palace had tall towers and large walls. Banners with the Stark emblem were flying high on flag posts. Stephen could hear the sound of horses through the left side of the wall.

As they drew closer to the palace walls, the carriage slowed to a stop. There was a knock on the door and Stephen stuck his head out of the window.

“Business?” A large guard asked him. “I’m here for the prince’s ball.” Stephen says. The guard nodded and waved to someone to open the gates. “You’re good to go sir.” The guard tells him, and the carriage starts to move again.

As they come to the entrance of the palace, the carriage slows to a stop. Stephen opens the door and carefully steps out. He only stumbles for a second before finding his balance on the high heeled shoes. He picks up the bottom of his dress so it’s not dragging, and walks up to the large doors in the front.

“Are you here for the Prince’s ball?” The one of the guards by the door asked him. Stephen nodded. The guard nodded and opened the door. “If you’re nobility go to the left and someone will announce you, if you're not, just go straight in.” Stephen nods and goes straight towards the open door and into the ballroom.

Stephen looked around in breathless awe. The ball room is huge- big enough to fit multiple medium sized houses and still have room for more.

He scanned the room, looking for familiar faces. He spotted one or two people from his own village, but most were faces he didn’t recognize, probably from other villages in the kingdom. A waiter walked up to him, holding a tray of drinks. “Would you like one, sir?” He asked. Stephen was about to say yes, until he looked down and caught sight of his shaky hands. He shook his head. “No thank you.” He says and the waiter turns and walks away.

Stephen had been wandering the dance floor when he caught sight of his siblings staring enviously at a group of people. He decided to move closer and see what they were talking about.

“I should be the one over there with him.” He hears Donna say. Victor scoffs. “As if. No, I should be the one over there.” Upon closer look Stephen could see a man in a well fitting red suit with gold trim in the middle of the people. Everyone in the group seemed to be focusing on him. It was the prince, Stephen realized.

Now that Stephen had seen the prince, he couldn’t seem to look anywhere else. Even from a distance, Stephen could see that he was extremely handsome. He had honey brown eyes and a smile that could melt even the coldest of hearts. His red suit was perfectly tailored, with gold stitching around the waist and on the ends of the sleeves and coat.

Stephen was wrong when he thought Victor looked like a prince. Victor looked like a beggar next to the star that was Anthony Edward Stark. Their eyes met across the room. Anthony smiled at him from across the room and Stephen felt his heart skip a beat. He blushed and turned away, heading to one of the waiters.

The waiter handed him a glass and Stephen started sipping at it, willing his face to cool down and his hands to not shake. When the glass was empty, Stephen handed it to a waiter and was about to start walking again, when someone came up behind him.

“Hey.” Stephen jumped and spun around, both things a hard feat in high heels. It was Prince Anthony. “H-Hello Prince Anthony.” The prince waved his hand in the air. “Call me Tony, Anthony sounds too stuck up.” Stephen smiled. “I thought Anthony was a noble name.” Prince Tony snorted. “Oh I like you. You’ve got spunk. So, what’s the name, my fine fellow?

Stephen blushed. “My name is Stephen.” The prince smirked. “Well then Stephen,” The prince practically purred his name, making Stephen want to swoon, “Would you care to join me for a dance?” Stephen shrugged, suddenly embarrassed. “I-I don’t really know how to dance.” He tells him. “Why not? Surely everyone is lining up to dance with such a handsome man as you.” Stephen shrugged. “People don’t like my hands.” The prince looked quizzical and Stephen held up his trembling hands.

The prince gently takes one of Stephen’s damaged hands in his calloused work hardened ones. “I think they’re beautiful.” He tells the man, before lifting the hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss to it. Stephen fights the urge to swoon.

The prince looks at him playfully. “And besides, I can teach you how to dance.” He tells the man. Stephen agrees and Prince Tony leads him to the dance floor.

The prince gently guides him through the moves and steps. They were now almost effortlessly going through the steps when the prince brings up a topic Stephen was perfectly happy to ignore. “You know, I’m sort of looking for someone to get married to.” Stephen snorts. “You don’t want to marry me.” He tells the prince. “And why not? You seem like the perfect suitor.” Stephen moves away from the prince. “I’m really not.” He tells him. “I think I should be able to decide for myself who I want to marry.” Tony says. Stephen sighs.

“And I agree with you, but still, you deserve someone better than me. Someone that’s still functional.” Prince Tony looks like he’s about to start arguing, when Stephen catches sight of the clock. Five till twelve. Stephen pales. “I have to go.” He tells the prince, before hurting to the door. “Wait!” He calls, but Stephen isn’t listening. He makes it to the door and runs outside, losing one of his shoes.

Stephen barely notices the lost shoe as he runs towards his carriage, the Prince still cashing him. Stephen trips over his long dress before throwing the door open and telling the horseman to drive. The carriage starts moving and the prince chases after it until it becomes too fast. He watches it go with a heart broken look on his face. Stephen wants to go back and tell him that it isn’t his fault, but he can’t bring himself to do it. The prince deserved better than him.

A few minutes later the carriage slowed to a stop and started to shrink. Stephen quickly pushed open the door and threw himself out. When he turned to look back at the carriage, he saw it had turned into a potato with pins sticking out where the wheels were. He felt the clothes he was wearing shimmer and shift until; he was left wearing his dirty work clothes. He sighed. Good things never last for him.

He picked up the pin filled potato and the stone sticking to his foot and put them in his pocket, along with the frog he had seen hopping around. He looked around for the snake and found it was still a horse. He looked around and sighed. He was still too far from town to walk home, and he couldn't leave the snake here.

He steeled his nerves and approached the horse. He quickly hopped on and started off on a slow trot. When he got home he was tired from the ride and his nerves were fried from jumping at everything that seemed to move in the forest. He carefully slid off the horse and it immediately became a snake that slithered out into the garden. Stephen sighed and let the frog go, before going inside the empty house.

His family had opted to stay in an inn near the palace, so he was going to be alone tonight and tomorrow. He trudged up the hall to his room and didn’t bother putting on clean clothes, simply opting to fall down on the bed and go to sleep.

***

Tony sat down at the table, head in his hands. It was all going so well. What did he do wrong? He felt his butler, Jarvis, put a hand on his back. “Sir, maybe you should try to find him. Even if he doesn’t want to get married, you can still get to know him better.”

Tony sighed again. “But how can I find him again Jarvis? The shoe was fairy magic and turned back into a stone.” Jarvis seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Isn’t Thor’s brother Loki a fairy godfather?”

Tony nodded and sat up. “So what?” He asked Jarvis. “Why don’t you ask Loki if he can replicate the spell for a time so we can see if it fits anyone.” Tony looked at Jarvis incredulously. “Why would I do that? Plenty of people have the same sized foot in this kingdom.” Jarvis nodded. “I suppose you’re right. Was there anything that made him stand out?” Tony pondered this for a moment.

“His hands were injured and he seemed to like the healing arts.” Jarvis seemed to ponder for a moment. “Why don’t we check the records for someone who is- or used to be- a healer near his age.” Tony nods. It was the best bet at finding him. “His name was Stephen.” He tells Jarvis.

Jarvis nods. “I’ll make sure to tell them that.” He says, and leaves the room. Tony sighed. He really hoped they were able to find the handsome man who had taken a place in his heart.

Tony jumped as a heavy stack of paper landed on his desk. He looked up at Rhodey, who had dropped the paper. “What is this, Honeybear?”

“It’s a list of men who match your description, all nobility.” Tony furrowed his brow. “I don’t think he’s nobility, Rhodey.” The prince says. Rhodey sighs. “Just look through the paper. One of them might be him. And Pepper worked hard on getting those.” Tony sighs and nods. “I’ll look through them.” He promises.

Rhodey leaves and Tony looks at the large stack. He sighs. This is going to take forever.

Tony was still going through the papers when he spotted a familiar name on one of the records. The record was for a woman named Christine Palmer. Tony didn’t know how it got in there, as he was looking for men, but he was glad it did. “Christine Palmer, age 23 blah blah blah trained under Healer Helen Cho alongside Stephen Strange.” Tony smiled. He had a name. “Jarvis!”

***

“I can’t believe the prince didn’t choose me! He spent the entire ball looking at some jerk in a dress.” Stephen smiles a little as he hears Donna rant. Even if he’s never going to see the prince again, it doesn’t take away the satisfaction of hearing Donna and Victor complain about being ignored for him. Not that they knew it was him, mind you, but still.

Stephen heard a knock at the door, and saw Donna get up to answer it. He heard a gasp when it opened and Donna started stuttering. “H-Hi! W-What are you doing here? My name’s Donna. What's yours? Wait, that's silly, I already know your name.” Donna trails off and a familiar voice starts to talk.

“I’m uh… I’m looking for Stephen Strange.” Stephen can practically feel Donna’s scowl. “STEPHEN! GET OVER HERE!” Stephen sets down the rag he was using to clean the counter and walks over to the door where the prince was standing. Tony grinned at him. “Hey.” Stephen smiled slightly in response. “Hi.”

“So, I know we might not know each other very well, but I just- I just have this feeling. Stephen Strange, will you marry me?” Stephen smiled softly and walked towards the prince. “Yes.”

Tony smiles and leans forward, before hesitating. Stephen, however, doesn't hesitate and grabs the lapels of his jacket, pulling him into a kiss.

It wasn’t an automatic happily ever after, as they still had to get to know each other better, and there was the matter of Stephen’s family, but it was close, and they were happy.

#ironstrange #ao3 author #au #crossposted on ao3 #prince tony stark #tony stark #Stephen Strange #happy ending #Stephen is afraid of horses #Stephen kinda hates his hands #fairytale #Fairytale Au

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destiniesfic · 3 years

Photo

A little dark!Alina for Tumblr user @darkalinas. Merry Christmas, Maven! I was your Secret “Sankta” for @darklinadaily’s Darklina Secret Santa. 👼 I had a blast writing this and I hope you like it. ♥

Fandom: Grishaverse (post-Ruin and Rising and King of Scars) Pairings: Darklina & Malina Word Count: 5,000 Rating: T+ Summary: Three years after the end of the Ravkan Civil War, the woman once known as Alina Starkov begins to dream.

Or: he can go anywhere he wants (just not home).

Read on AO3 or read below:

It would have been easy to think the mistress of Keramzin, who saw that the orphans straggling through her door were fed and cared for, little more than a girl herself. Boys of twelve seemed tall beside her, and the more daring among them would ask her to stand back to back with them so they could measure the difference in height and come away whooping at how they’d grown. She wore her hair unbraided and walked the halls with bare feet. Sometimes she would lose herself in a daydream and move to tackle a different section of her latest mural with her brush still wet in her hand, trailing little drips of paint like a line of kisses on the floorboards.

But appearances deceived, for the girl was a woman now, and married. She and her husband took their meals sitting among the teachers and staff, not their charges, although either of them could be tugged away from the table with the slightest excuse. Some of the youngest children, confused by her snow white hair, called her Baba like she was a grandmother. Though she was still a young woman, she sometimes moved stiffly, after she had sat too long or hunched her shoulders up to her ears while she painted, like whatever she had done before coming here siphoned some of her youth away.

When the woman slept at night, it was stretched out beside her husband under a warm duvet, safe. Neither of them dreamed often, and when they did they dreamt mainly of sunlight dancing over skin, of the woods’ silent call. But the other times, the few bad times, he was there when the nightmares reached for her with greedy fingers.

“It’s all right,” he would whisper, gathering her into his arms. “You don’t have to carry it all alone. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Although they were the right words, the things a person should say, her mouth always went dry before she could tell him that she knew.

When one night she arose from their bed in the very early hours, nothing seemed wrong. She had not woken from a nightmare, just suddenly, with no preamble and no cause. Her husband slept on beside her, his brown hair rumpled, one shoulder, sun-kissed from work outdoors, turned toward the ceiling. She thought about kissing it, but she didn’t want to wake him. She left her bed and went to the window, sitting on the bench in front of it and looking out at the pond.

The moon was strong tonight, a silver dish suspended in the sky. Everything she touched—the grass, the sliver of creek—seemed to glow. Her light spilled in through the window, washing the floor and the foot of the bed in desaturated hues, somehow making them both more and less. Where the light did not reach, shadows pooled on the floor like tar.

Most people thought that darkness was the absence of light, its opposite. She knew a different truth. Without light, there could be no shadow. Where one ventured, the other kept close.

And then, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw one of the shadows move.

She spun around, but her room was as she always knew it: sleeping husband, solid oakwood furniture, dead fire in the grate. Across the room, a ghost stared back at her, hollow-cheeked and bright-eyed. She startled, but it was only her reflection in the full-length mirror. Then, in her periphery, motion: darkness like smoke, sliding under the closed door and into the hall.

She followed.

The rebuilt Keramzin was completely dark this time of night, orphans and staff alike asleep, lost to their own dreams of tomorrow. Patches of moonlight glimmered at her feet, but the shadows between them seemed to grow darker, deeper, until she thought she might fall into them if she took a step forward. Yawning chasms, or hungry mouths.

This was like no dream she could remember. As far as she could see there was no one beside her, no one behind her. Yet she could feel a presence, she would swear to it. Something winding around her, working its way up her body. Something with a voice.

Alina, it murmured. A name only her husband called her now, when the fire was dying and they were alone, the children tucked safely in their beds.

“Alina is dead,” she said. “No one here has that name.”

A lie—Ravkans began naming their daughters for the Sun Summoner as soon as they learned of her. There were two little Alinas, both under four, in the nursery where the youngest children slept. But she didn’t think this phantom cared for technicalities.

The voice chuckled. Are you really so eager to forget yourself? She felt the brush of lips against her ear, but when she turned her head there was nothing. She was alone in the darkened hall, and she thought he had left, but then a whisper slithered into her other ear. Are you so eager to forget who you are?

“I am the mistress of Keramzin,” she told the voice. “I am the painter of these walls. I am the guardian of these children. I have made my home here, and if you won’t leave it, I will drive you out myself.”

There was silence. Then:

With what power?

“Darling?”

She turned. Her husband stood in the doorway of their room, his hair sticking up endearingly at odd angles, pajamas slung low on his hips. The shadows reverted to their normal shade, strangely innocent, keeping their secrets.

“What is it?” he asked. “I heard you talking.”

She blinked back to herself and reached for a plausible explanation. “I don’t know. Must have been sleepwalking.”

He nodded, distantly, then walked over and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “Back to bed,” he said, a yawn stretching the last word wide.

“Back to bed,” she agreed, but not without a last glance over her shoulder.

---

“Have you heard from our friend in Os Alta?” the woman asked her husband over breakfast that morning.

That’s what they called the king, that or sometimes their friend in the palace. They had a handful of friends in Os Alta, of course, the lingering remnants of another life entirely. But those friends—the Grisha Triumvirate, the king’s bodyguards, and others—could be mentioned by name occasionally. Davids and Nadias were common enough. Nikolais were, too, but it was better to be cautious with him. Better to leave nothing to chance.

Her husband frowned. “No,” he said. “Were you expecting something?”

She shrugged. They had briefly housed the king’s escort a few weeks back, sans king; the orphans had crowded the windows to gawk at the gilded carriage. When the riders went on their way to the palace, she sent a letter with them. Nothing serious, for there was nothing serious to report from Keramzin, just well-wishes and a request for news from the court. The king was a lively correspondent and usually quick to reply, happy to unburden himself of gossip or fears which he could not, or would not, share with courtiers.

“I wrote to him,” she said, spooning sugar into her tea. “But I haven’t heard back. He’s probably busy.”

“Busy choosing a wife,” her husband replied, with a hint of a snort and a solemn undercurrent that said he did not envy the king one bit.

The woman looked into the glassy surface of her tea. “I forgot,” she murmured, though that news had reached them even in Keramzin and the staff had been buzzing about it for weeks. A royal betrothal was a rare event, and an important one.

Her husband bumped her knee with his, and teased, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Hardly,” she scoffed, and smiled at him. That ship had sailed long ago.

Still, it bothered her that she hadn’t heard from her friend. She knew that court obligations must be keeping him occupied, especially with eligible young women swarming the capital, but she wished she had a letter back so she could reply in kind. He was the only person who understood the way darkness had lodged itself between her ribs like a long thorn, reaching to pierce her heart. If she could just slip in a question about his demons, if she could just have reassurance that all was well with him, then maybe she would cease to worry about the impossible.

She took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent of her tea. It seemed silly to have those fears here. The air was bright with the chatter of children being herded into their first lessons of the day, with cooking smells, with autumn sun. Half the walls were covered in paintings of fantastical scenes, her own doing, and she wondered if she had been trying to create a ward to keep the darkness out.

“I heard there were earthquakes last night,” her husband said, changing the subject. “Maybe that’s what woke you.”

She frowned. “Earthquakes? Here?”

“All over Ravka. As far south as Dva Stolba.”

Dva Stolba. A shiver ran down her spine. “Why do they think it happened?”

“An act of nature,” said her husband, unbothered. “These things happen, beloved.”

The woman nodded and looked back into her tea. Strange things had been happening all year, it seemed—bridges of bone, statues sprouting flowers, forests falling in the night. It might mean nothing.

And yet when she tried to paint that day, her blues kept running into her blacks, and shadows marred her paintings like bruises. She retired to her room early, dreading her dreams.

---

She did not dream that night, nor the next, nor the one after that, and she breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that her husband was right, that things do happen. That sometimes earthquakes were only earthquakes, and dreams only dreams.

The next time she woke unexpectedly it was to the sound of a bright, sustained note, like ringing in her ears. Someone was playing the piano downstairs. One of the kids must have gotten up and decided to wander around in the night.

Her husband slept on next to her, bracketing her back, and she knew it would fall to her to handle this before the playing woke up the rest of the orphanage. She sighed, pushed her hair back from her face, and slipped out of bed, quietly pulling the door to behind her.

The child fooling around with the piano kept playing and holding the same note, as if not sure where to go from the single key they’d discovered. It was in one of the upper octaves, and although she’d begun to learn how to play the piano alongside some of her more gifted charges, she did not have the knack for knowing which note it was.

But when her feet found the cold tile of the foyer and she hurried to the drawing room where the piano stood, she saw the person sitting at the keys was not a child at all.

The phantom had shape now. He wore a long cloak of all black, with the hood pulled up to cast his face in shadow. She knew what he would look like if he drew it down, and it was that terrible knowledge which rooted her to the spot. He sat on the piano bench like there was real weight to him.

“You’re not here,” she said, as if the words alone were a revocation, a shield.

The phantom pressed the piano key again, and the note held, high and wavering, suspended in the air between them. She looked around, thinking it might wake the staff, or maybe some of the children would stumble bleary-eyed from their rooms, but in her heart she knew no one would come.

“You’re not real,” she insisted.

“Come and sit,” he said. His voice was cool like a poisoned spring at the height of summer, the last drink of the desperate.

She refused to slip into the well of him and stayed where she was, folding her arms over her chest. “You’re in my home.”

“Yes, and such work you’ve done, rebuilding it.” He didn’t need to remind her that he had once burnt Keramzin to the ground, slaughtered all those that had a hand in raising her. She could hear the smile in his voice, picture the way his lips curved under that hood. “Sit with me. I’ll be on my way soon enough.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Would you believe a dead man’s word?”

She shook her head. She wouldn’t have believed him when he was alive. “All you’ve ever done is lie, dead or not.”

“I bent the truth to my will, Alina. I omitted.” There it was again, the name that was hers and wasn’t. She hated the tenderness with which he said it, the same her husband’s voice held when he called her beloved, or my heart.

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” she said.

He made a small, skeptical sound, and then began to play in earnest, coaxing sad, strange music from a piano more accustomed to the clumsy fumblings of students. She had never heard a song like this, composed of discordant notes that didn’t quite fit together and made the hair on her arms stand on end. She found herself moving closer to the piano, watching his bone-white fingers move over the ivory keys, trying to figure out how he was doing it.

He softened his playing, gentled his touch, so that he could speak to her with his head still bowed. “How long has it been since you’ve seen my face at night?”

“Years,” she whispered. Another lie. She couldn’t keep him from entering her thoughts, the man she’d almost loved, the man she killed. She would go weeks at a time without thinking of him, and then he’d glide into her last thoughts before sleep, or she’d feel her husband’s callused hands on her skin and think of the one breathless night he’d gripped her thigh and nearly had her, all of the other evenings that weren’t.

“Would you like to see it again?”

“No.”

He chuckled and stopped playing, then reached up to draw back his hood.

At first she saw only what she expected: his familiar, beautiful face, with its high cheekbones, his thick, dark hair, his cruel mouth curving up at the corner. There were the faint scars that marked his survival of the time she stranded him on the Fold. But that was what she wanted to see. The other half of his face was a rotten mess. Mottled grey skin flaked away from bone, a dark hollow gaped where his eye should be. There were no lips to hide his straight white teeth, and no nose at all. How he would have rotted, if he hadn’t burned.

He smiled.

She screamed.

The cook, emerging from her room to set out breakfast, found her asleep at the keys, her forearm slung in front of the music rack, pillowing her forehead.

---

The woman was led to her bed, skin hot, buried in blankets as soft and heavy as the first snow of winter. A doctor from the nearby town was summoned to diagnose her with influenza, told her husband to see to it that she rested and drank her tea. She had always been prone to sickness when the weather changed–except for the one glorious, blazing year that her ill health could not touch her, when the light she wielded kept it at bay.

She gave that up. She was supposed to have her happily-ever-after.

“I saw him, Mal,” she said, clutching at her husband’s sleeve as he pressed a cool compress to her forehead. “I saw him.”

“Your temperature’s still high,” he replied, cupping her cheek in his work-roughened hand. She closed her eyes. “Fever dreams. He’s gone, love. You saw to that.”

Later, she saw her husband standing in the door, speaking in a low voice to the doctor, asking about paranoia, about delusions, about what it meant that his wife saw ghosts. The doctor shook his head, told him she needed to sweat it out, that after a few days she would be right as rain.

She told no one there was a weight on her chest that had nothing to do with her flu.

But her body won its fight eventually. After a few days her skin cooled, and instead of sipping clear broth from a bowl held carefully by one of the orphanage nurses, she was able to join the rest of Keramzin at dinner, seated at her husband’s side. The staff all greeted her warmly and told her how much better she looked, even though she knew they whispered about the circles under her eyes even when she was well.

Sitting there in the dining room, she was struck suddenly by a sense of profound dissatisfaction with her life. Why should she endure gossip and speculation? Why should she have her counsel so easily disregarded by the physician, by her husband, her words of warning dismissed as flights of fancy? She, who had been a saint. She, who was nearly queen. Why—

But then one of the little girls threw her arms around the woman’s legs and said, “Baba, I’m glad you’re better,” and the world righted itself. She let her hand rest on the back of the girl’s silken head, and breathed.

---

“Keep me awake tonight,” she told her husband later, as they turned down the gas lamps and climbed into bed. “I don’t want to dream.”

“You need your rest,” he replied, smoothing a lock of white hair back from her face.

She twined her arms around his shoulders. “I’m not glass,” she murmured. “I won’t break. Keep me up.”

He tried his best, and so did she, but sleep, ever the creditor, claimed its debts in the end. Although at first she did not realize she was asleep, having sild into it sideways; one moment she watched her husband’s chest rise and fall, and the next she blinked, and the waning moon had moved outside the window. The back of her neck prickled with the creeping certainty that she was being watched. There was someone else in the room with them.

She reached for her sleeping husband to wake him, to tell him, to show him, but her hand passed over his shoulder like rain running down a windowpane. She jerked it back, as if she had burned it. Her husband didn’t stir.

“He won’t wake,” said the soft, cool voice from behind her. “You’re in my domain now.”

The woman closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, steadying herself before speaking. “I thought it was ours,” she said after a moment. “Not yours. I could call to you, too.”

“But you haven’t, have you, Alina?”

“There’s no point calling on a dead man.”

“Am I so dead?”

The more fool her, expecting a nightmare to know he was deceased. The more fool her, for thinking him just a nightmare. She turned over, holding her blankets close to her chest, and found a figure standing at her bedside, nearly human, not a shadow, not half corpse.

She blinked up at him. “You’re whole now.”

“I only wanted to remind you of the damage you did,” he said.

How could she forget? She killed both him and her husband that day, so much heart’s blood gouting warm over her hands. If one had returned to her, it didn’t seem so unlikely that the other would as well, even though she’d watched him burn.

But she wondered if that was it, or if he simply had the strength now to appear as he liked. He had been formless at first, just a whisper in her ear. Now he stood at her bedside, lifelike. His hood was pushed back from his face, and the moonlight glimmered on his sharp, elegant cheekbones, haloed his dark hair. His scars, which had appeared after she stranded him on the Fold, were gone. He looked down at her with his pale grey eyes, and she very much wished she were clothed.

“What do you want?” she asked, smoothing her hand over the blankets.

“A word. A walk.”

“And what if I don’t want to give you those things?”

His mouth curved into a smile, but she read sadness in his eyes. “Then I will come again, Alina. The tracker may think he has you in the day, but your nights are mine.”

She closed her eyes again and imagined him eroding her dreams over and over, until he became the only thought left in her head. She imagined sitting up for days, trying to avoid him. It chilled her blood. If they had thought her paranoid before…

“No tricks,” she told him. “Look away. I need to dress.”

He scoffed, “You act as though we’re strangers.”

“Some things belong to me,” she reminded him. “Look away.”

He pursed his lips, but turned his head away from her. She slipped out of bed, careful not to touch him, and gathered up her discarded nightgown, her underwear, dressing as quickly as she could. She stepped into her slippers, determined to make him wait as long as possible, before asking, “Where are we walking?”

“Around your orphanage, to start.”

“Fine.” She crossed her arms and tucked her hands under her armpits so he couldn’t take them.

The door to their room had a squeaky hinge, one her husband had been meaning to grease for a couple of weeks now. When the phantom opened it, it made no sound. She listened, hard, for his footfalls on the floor.

“Tell me, does this life suit you?” he asked, as they walked side by side through the darkened hall, the only two awake in a house, or perhaps a world, of sleepers. “Do you enjoy being painter and patroness?”

“I do,” she said. It did not taste like a lie.

He hummed. “Do you enjoy being a mere wife, when you might have been a queen?”

“Men wanted to make me their queen,” she reminded him. “That was never something I chose for myself.”

“All the more reason you would have been a good one,” he said. “Power is wasted by those who crave it. It’s twisted, perverted, misused. You would have made an excellent queen.”

“That’s a rare moment of self-awareness from you.”

An amused glint lit his eyes, a candle flame in a darkened window. “I never wanted power for power’s sake, Alina. I loved my country.”

“Did you?” She paused for a moment to consider a painted vine snaking around a bannister, which was already beginning to flake off. She scratched at a leaf with her index finger; green came away under her nail. “Then why couldn’t you stop destroying it?”

��Ah,” he said.

“Well?”

“So young, so wise, so married,” he mused, “and yet you know nothing of love.”

He took the stairs without waiting for her to follow. She did, of course, determined to chase him down and to explain all the ways that he was wrong, then realizing, partway down, that he would only take her arguments as defensiveness. So she reminded herself of what she knew. She loved her life. She loved the children in her care. She loved her husband. Her love would not destroy them. It would not destroy her.

But she had loved power, too, once. And now her power was dead.

He waited for her by the two grand double doors that stood at Keramzin’s main entrance. She tried to follow the lines of his cloak with her eyes, but it bled into the shadows at his feet. He watched her steadily.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Now we walk.” And he held out his hand.

She stared at him.

“You won’t get to where we’re going if you don’t take it.” He spread his fingers out a little, beckoning her. “Alina.”

She held his gaze as she slipped her hand into his. She half-expected to feel the surge of power, familiar and wild, that used to always manifest when she touched him. She didn’t feel that, but she didn’t feel nothing. Some dark thing fluttered just to the side of her heart, a fledgling raven not quite ready to leave the nest.

“Aleksander,” she said.

He pushed open the door.

They stepped together, and for a moment it was as if the shadows had swallowed them whole. She felt like she had stepped back into the nothingness of the Fold, an all-consuming, weightless darkness. But then it resolved itself, and she saw that she was in a grey, windowless room. She blinked and pressed her hand to one of the walls, feeling cool stone under her palm. With a surge of panic, she looked over her shoulder and saw the only door was metal and sealed tight.

“This is a cell,” she said, her heart sinking. Had she stepped into a trap without knowing? Would she be able to leave? “Why would you bring me here?”

“A glimpse of the future,” he said, ever inscrutable.

And then his mouth was hot and hard on hers, and her back collided with the wall. She was so surprised that for a moment she didn’t react, for a moment her lips parted and she let herself be kissed, and then she grabbed his shoulders and pushed him away.

“What are you doing?” she cried, as if someone might hear, someone outside. Someone who could intervene.

“What you want.”

That dark thing fluttered behind her ribcage again. “I have a husband.”

“Your husband,” he said, voice heavy with derision. “The tracker. Have you forgotten? You murdered your husband the day you murdered me.”

“Clearly it didn’t take.” She kept her hands firm on his shoulders. He certainly felt real, firm and strong, all lean muscle.

His laugh was low and dangerous. “Are you so deserving of good things? Are you so deserving of kindness? You put a dagger in both of us, Alina. Tell me why I shouldn’t repay you in kind.”

She felt one of his hands slip up her nightdress, settling on her thigh, a strange echo of the position they’d been in years ago, that very different night. Her blood pulsed hot in her ears, and she knew it was not a dagger he was planning to stick her with. “You’re dead,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. She refused to let him rattle her. “I think that would make it difficult. No blood to spare.”

He gave her a narrow, rueful grin. “If I’m truly dead, does it matter what we do?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

His other hand traced a half-circle over her collarbones, where Morozova’s antlers once sat, before gently tilting her chin up. She could not look away from him. In life, there was always such intensity in his gaze, and the gaze of this nightmare, this dream, was no different. “I’m going to kiss you again,” he said. “Tell me to stop, if that’s what you want.”

She didn’t tell him to stop. He was gentler this time, his lips ghosting over her cheek before finding hers, molding to her instead of forcing his way in. She shut her eyes tight, but her grip on his shoulders turned into something else, a near embrace, another battle in their war. She could even smell him, cool and crisp like the approach of winter. His hand was warm on her thigh.

“You have something of mine,” he murmured against her mouth. “Do you know how to use it?”

“What?” she asked breathily.

She felt him smile. “I’m not so far away, Alina,” he said. “Come and find me.”

---

When she opened her eyes, she found herself standing in the middle of Keramzin’s drive in her nightdress and slippers. Although it was late autumn and a breeze brushed her white hair back from her face like a lover’s fingers, she didn’t feel the cold.

Dawn was just beginning to break in the east, a pink tinge illuminating the dark branches of naked trees. She stood there, watching the morning sun rise, and held her hands up to it, hoping to catch the rays in her palms and hold them for a while. But they glided over her skin, indifferent to what she wanted. She tried not to let her disappointment swallow her. She had felt a tug when he touched her. She had hoped...

But maybe that wasn’t the answer.

“There you are,” said a voice from behind her. She turned and found her husband standing in the door, his feet bare. He had dressed in haste, and his shirt didn’t quite sit right on his shoulders. She saw the nurse peeking out behind him.

“Sleepwalking,” she called from the drive. “Don’t worry.”

“You should come in,” he said. “You’ll make yourself sick again.” She could hear his concern warring with his impulse not to frighten her off. If they could only pretend everything was fine, then everything would be.

“In a minute.” She looked toward the trees bordering the drive, their little patch of forest. “There’s something I want to try.”

“Ali—” he began, then stopped, remembered himself. “Just come in.”

She smiled at him like she couldn’t still feel the ghost of another man’s kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Before he could say another word, she walked off into the trees, where the shadows grew thick like underbrush, even at midday. But it was dawn, with the sun’s light slanting at an angle, and the thick trunks of trees sprouted long, dark shadows that blanketed the leaf-covered ground. She walked until she was sure she could no longer be seen. Eventually, someone would come to bring her in. Better to be quick. Better to be sure.

Alina held out her hands.

The shadows greeted her like an old friend.

#darklina #alarkling #darklinadaily #darklina secret santa #grishaverse #alina starkov #aleksander morozova #the grisha trilogy #shadow and bone #mine: fic #darklinasecretsanta

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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

Text

Hope Lies In Tomorrow

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Katniss is caught crossing the fence by peacekeepers. Serves time. Conditions of parole: employment nearby (busy bakery?) and reporting weekly to the parole officer (Haymitch?) Will she find anything to be thankful for this thanksgiving [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rating: M (Because, well, it will get to that status. There will be violence and mentions of abuse, and some characters are off canon.)

Author’s Notes: This story took me for a loop. I couldn’t resist it. I tried to make it light and fun, but it just wanted to be a freight train to the gut. The words “serves time.” I kept on getting back to that, and my imagination just took flight so much that the first two chapters are about 9.5K words. I promise chapter 3 will be a painful doozy. Special thanks to @norbertsmom.

Chapter One

The spotlight made Katniss wince as she distinctly heard Darius say, “Pluck a duck,” into the cold dark night.

“We caught a Poacher!” The young Peacekeeper said out loud. He jumped and clapped his hands like a preschool girl with pigtails who just won a prized sticker. He was one of the new cadets brought in for training.

Daruis was the new Head Peacekeeper. He earned the promotion when Cray retired. Darius also inherited the group of new Peacekeepers. They were eager rule-following Cadets.

“Everdeen!” Darius groused.

Katniss sighed. She kept her hands in the air. It was the perfect ending to the worst day. It started with the evil spawn of Buttercup peeing inside her drawer. Things got worse when Gale announced he wasn’t going to be able to join her tonight, and he wouldn’t tell her why either. Then this afternoon she discovered her baby sister, well technically, Prim was seventeen and taller than Katniss, but that’s neither here nor there, she was rolling in the hay with Vick Hawthorne.

Prim wasn’t supposed to be…. well…sex crazed. Katniss saw red, took a bucket of ice-cold water, and dumped it on top of the two idiots. Vick was fifteen and, like Gale, looked older than Prim’s baby-faced self. Needless to say, Prim was livid. Vick went home with blue balls. And the arguing match that ensued gave Katniss a massive headache.

However, finding her sister doing the equivalent of two goats breeding in Lady’s pen was nothing compared to their mothers’ reactions to Prim’s escapade. Euadora Everdeen backed Prim and said, “Prim was doing what came natural.” It was what came next that flabbergasted Katniss. “At least I have one normal daughter.”

It was the last straw, until this moment.

This day was supposed to go so differently. She’d woken up with so much hope then things fell apart. But she’d kept thinking, tomorrow, tomorrow would be a brighter day. Just get through today and tomorrow would be a better day.

“Katniss,” Darius growled.

Katniss shrugged. There was nothing Darius could do. If he had been alone, he would have looked the other way.

“I’m sorry, but I have to take you in.”

She held out her hands; she knew the drill. This wasn’t going to be her first time in the District Twelve lock up. In fact, as Darius pulled her toward the transport, and she quietly climbed into the back, this was all familiar. The last time was at that darned Harvest Fair five years ago.

“This would have been easier had you gone to the Fair,” Darius said.

Her scowl was instantaneous.

“What,” Darius said, jumping inside of the wagon while the young Peacekeeper closed the door.

“I’m sorry, Darius.

“I know, Katniss,” Darius was sympathetic. His communicator crackled with a voice that communicated a code. “Roger that.”

In the semi-darkness Katniss could see Darius teeth as he grinned.

“Old man Haymitch is going to throw the book at you.” Haymitch and she had a long-standing history. She stayed out of trouble and he wouldn’t bring trouble to her.

Haymitch Abernathy was the former Victor of the 50th Hunger Games and town drunk. The transition from a government run by one man, President Snow, to one run by a council with a true elected leader were the scariest months in Panem. No one knew what would happen. Fears of retaliation from the former government ran high. The word came down from the Capitol for each district to send a District Liaison.

Haymitch volunteered.

Turns out the drunken Victor was smart, wilier than anyone could perceive. Haymitch helped form the transition team to create the new charter between the Capitol and the Districts. When he came back, Haymitch could have been elected to become the mayor. He could have taken over the position of Head Peacekeeper, since Cray was from the old regime. Instead, Haymitch made up a position, the town Magistrate. Every district would have a way to fairly dispense justice, with the Peacekeepers relegated to do just what their name described keeping the peace. From town drunk to judge, this was the world of the new Panem.

Though Katniss would rather face Haymitch than her mother.

“Has your mother calmed down?”

Katniss grimaced. It all started with the initiative. Ever since the President went crazy and abolished the Games, calling it the Lucy Grey Baird initiative, and then promptly dying before anyone could change the law, her mother’s focus changed from reliving the past to finding Katniss a husband.

Her mother began railing against her plan to stay single. Mind you Katniss was only sixteen at the time and she could only focus on the fact that her baby sister would never again experience a Reaping.

Nope, not her mother, Eudora Everdeen, somewhere between her melancholy that ensued after pa’s death and the cancellation of the 74th Hunger Games, decided to become a holy nightmare, worse than any horror Katniss’s imagination could conjure up. Her mother tried to fix her up with various men throughout the district. Her mother’s sting about her single status was the last straw tonight.

“She’s stopped,” Katniss flinched; it wasn’t the entire truth.

Eudora hadn’t really stopped, there were introductions all of the time. There was Waylon, Adam, Zachary, Jackson, Hank, Lee, Hunter, Davis, Ashley, Samuel, Vernon, Beau, Elijah, not to mention Humperdinck, who was also known as the Goat Man. It was always the same pattern. A subtle introduction, followed by an invitation to tea or supper or both, a run in in the Seam or the Hob, before the guy in question lost interest and her mother went back to the drawing board. Eudora didn’t push, but she didn’t relent either. However, recently, her mother had been quiet. Katniss hoped after 5 years, her mother finally gave up.

“But?” Darius asked.

The transport shook as it began to move.

“Nothing.”

“You know, you’re a bad liar.”

“She doesn’t like me being alone.”

“That’s preposterous. I know plenty of women Peacekeepers.”

“You know we are talking about Eudora Everdeen?”

Darius grinned. “You mother did tell one of my new recruits she should leave her hair down because it would make her look pretty. She even asked me when my time was up and if I was interested in courting you.”

“Yup,” Katniss breathed, “that’s my mother.”

“So is it true she tried to pair you with Gale and even Gale got scared.”

“How do you know?” Katniss’ mother first picked Gale, who conversely, after seeing her mother try to manipulate them as a couple, was shocked. One good thing came off Eudora’s meddling. Gale laid off the entire, we-make-sense offer to toast angle, and suddenly became a perfect angel around her and the rogue doubled his efforts around other women to prove that he wasn’t interested in Katniss.

“You forget how small District Twelve is,“ Darius said looking tired as he rubbed his face.

He’s right. Twelve is the smallest of all the Districts. And nothing stayed buried, just like a piece of coal, it would be eventually unearthed.

"Gale said my mother was loonier than the Goat man when he got drunk on Ripper’s special liquor.” Ripper called her special liquor, the ‘shine.’ There were rumors the shine caused people to do strange things. Katniss wasn’t interested in drinking anything that wasn’t life sustaining. Her only thought was to keep food on the table and maintain the roof over her family’s heads. Just last summer she had to fix the roof all by herself. Drinking or marriage were out of the picture.

When Gale politely said he wasn’t interested in Katniss, her mother was upset, but said she understood that Gale only saw Katniss as a sister. Five years ago, Katniss hoped with her mother’s attempts thwarted, Eudora would give up getting her hitched. Little did she know it wasn’t over by a long shot.

Darius snorted. “Your name comes up every year."

"Ugh. I avoid that damned dance every year.” There were three main social events in District Twelve, where parents shoved their young for possible partnerships and couples did coupley things, The Spring Formal, The Harvest Fair, and the Winter Festival. The last of these major social events had been the Harvest Fair.

“Waylon still asks about you every time.”

Katniss groaned hearing that name again. He was Leevy’s brother, who was in Gale’s class. Waylon was the next on her mother’s list. Waylon’s obsession began slowly. He failed his last year of school and became a quasi-associate. He would show up at her locker and want to walk with her to class. At first it was nice. He was Gale’s friend and as long as he didn’t talk, she didn’t mind. When they graduated, he went to work in the mines. Katniss set up a booth in the Hob selling her jerky.

And for a time, everything was calm. Then he started coming to supper. He tried to become friends with Prim. Her sister thought him weird. Then one day, Waylon tried to kiss her. When she pushed him away, he chased her straight into the forest. Thankfully, he didn’t dare go into the woods.

The woods became her refuge. As soon as she knew Waylon was let loose of his shift at the mines, he would head straight to the Hob. Katniss would pack up her booth and run off into the woods. She began hunting at night to get away from him. Also, she sort of used Gale as an unofficial bodyguard to keep Waylon at a distance. Waylon was a sore spot in her relatively short life span.

“He does?” The words slipped out before they could be stopped.

“He’s got a thing for you Katniss,” Darius’ voice sounded full of mirth, “He’s one of many in the district.”

“If I weren’t in handcuffs, I’d deck you.”

Darius grinned. “He still shoots Peeta the evil eye.”

At the mention of Peeta’s name, her brain misfires.

Peeta.

Sigh, strong, capable, dependable, sweet, kind, lovely, delicious…always lurking in her dreams, Peeta.

That night at the Harvest Fair, every time she saw Waylon come her way she hid. Thankfully Peeta came to her rescue. He asked her to dance and afterwards he escorted her the entire time.

Oh, Peeta tried to keep her out of trouble. He was so nice, and she had no way to pay him for his kindness in rescuing her that night. Even four years later she could still recall every detail. He did admirably despite her lack of social graces, and inability to dance.

Katniss groaned in the transport, her head leaning up against the metal wall. Dancing with Peeta was heavenly, being with Peeta was indescribable, but Katniss shoved that feeling deep, deep, way deep inside of her, locked it up and only took out that memory in the dead of night. When she was alone in her bed, her fingers drifted to her lady parts and she sought relief from the thoughts of what it would be like to kiss him over and over.

She had a secret bond with Peeta, a bond she couldn’t shake. “Peeta,” her heart whispered with longing. Katnis hoped Darius couldn’t see how deeply she was affected by her baker. Peeta was the one soul in the district who knew her better than anyone else.

“So, it’s Peeta you have a thing for. Waylon’s not wrong in giving him the evil eye.”

Katniss scowled at Darius, causing him to laugh.

“I’d have to be drunk on the shine,” Katniss grumbled. She hoped to redirect Darius, he was so near the truth.

“Katniss,” Darius rubs his face. “Please don’t tell me you’ve drunk the shine.”

“No. Gale swears he has. He said it’s so strong it has the power to peel paint off the walls. Is it true…about you and the shine?” Katniss asked.

Darius became serious.

"So, it isn’t true. I knew Gale was lying."

Darius cleared his throat. "It made me hallucinate. There are things, Everdeen, you shouldn’t ever try.”

"Duly noted.”

The transport rolled, and another command came through the radio. Darius “What?”

“Star 451,” the voice answered back.

“Pluck a duck,” Darius whispered angrily. “Are you sure?”

His angry voice sounded out of control as if he wanted to hit something or someone. The atmosphere changed suddenly. It crackled with foreboding darkness. Katniss tried to ignore it, she knew she was in trouble.

For the rest of the journey Katniss wondered what was going on, what did that Star 451 mean? Katniss noted Darius became quiet, and sullen; all the traces of humor left his face. Darius stopped looking at her as if he couldn’t face her. Finally, the transport came to a halt.

“We’re here.”

Katniss winced, thinking of Haymitch Abernathy, and the uncertainty that faced her outside of the transport.

“Wait for me to get down before you get up,” Darius bit out as the door opened and the cold wind caused Katniss to shiver.

Katniss wrinkled her nose. Haymitch was going to be a pain in the neck. The last time she’d been before him things were not pleasant. When she got down, her eyes widened. They weren’t at the Justice building. They were at the Victors Village.

It was one thing to stand in the Justice building, a cold sterile edifice made of white stone. It was another to stand inside of a home. “Darius?”

The transport moved on and there was another waiting, one that did not have any insignia on the side. It was black and it reminded Katniss of the one they used to transport the corpses of the deceased.

“Come on,” Darius said gently, once more avoiding looking at her.

Katniss nodded. She wasn’t someone who let things affect her. She didn’t scare easily, this however, put pure fear in her heart.

Darius escorted her inside of the massive house and guided her into a room by the side. There was a roaring fire in the fireplace. The warmth stung her cold skin. There was a dark wooden desk, two comfortable chairs, and another pair facing the fireplace. “Sit.”

Katniss sat in one of the chairs facing the desk.

“Give me your hands, Katniss,” Darius said.

Katniss lifted her trembling hands.

“What did I tell you ‘bout keeping your nose out of trouble, Sweetheart?” Haymitch grumbled from the door.

Katniss masked her fear.

Four years ago Gale was sick and couldn’t attend that darned Harvest Fair. Katniss needed a way out, thankfully Peeta rescued her.

Everything was splendid and at one point while staring into his gorgeous blue eyes Katniss was breathless. It was toward the end of the night when his mother, the witch, pulled him away and that’s where all hell broke loose. Accidentally, in her haste to get away from Waylon, a small fire started when one of the glass lamps fell, and broke. Several bales of hay caught fire. It somehow escalated and concluded with a goat stampede down the center of town.

Her mother blamed Katniss for embarrassing Waylon and his family, and basically setting the fair on fire. Haymitch told her mother that her unfettered meddling would one day cause the destruction of all she held dear. Eudora Everdeen was not amused, nor was she happy with the outcome. Haymitch let Katniss go with a slap on the wrist because her only criminal act was trying to flee the unwanted attention of a man. Plus, thanks to Peeta’s quick thinking, it was only the stage that burned. He and his brothers managed to get the fire out and they built another stage, how they did it in one day, Katniss didn’t know.

She kept away for the rest of the Harvest Fair, thinking it was better not to remind the community of her stupidity. She’d been lulled under Peeta’s spell. She’d done more than dance and start a fire at that fair. Heat rose from the pit of her belly and flowed to her core and spilled on to her cheeks.

The sound of a chair being scraped on the wood floor caused her bubble to break. Katniss shook her head. Her eyes came back into focus to the present.

“Darius, you can wait outside. Katniss isn’t going to do anything stupid,” Haymitch turned his grey eyes toward her, “are you?”

Katniss shook her head no.

Darius nodded and walked outside, closing the door.

Katniss didn’t even bother rubbing her wrists. She balled her hands and rested them at her side.

“You’re probably wondering why you got caught?”

She hadn’t really. Katniss thought it was just a routine inspection. There were bears in the woods and just one week ago the electric fence had been damaged.

“Your mother.”

“What?” Katniss growled. Her lips thinned her anger skyrocketing. Then she thought for a second it couldn’t be. “She wouldn’t…”

“She did, and there wasn’t anything Darius or I could do. We had to arrest you?”

A combination of bitterness and sadness swept into her soul like the bitter winds that brought the frigid winter air. It was one thing to try to get her to marry; it showed that her mother cared. However, handing her over to the authority showed Katniss that her mother had fallen out of love for her. Can a mother un-love a child? It could happen, she supposed, thinking of Peeta’s mother, the witch. That woman only cared for one person, herself.

“Sorry Sweetheart, Darius tried to dissuade her. She said it was time for you to learn what the real world was all about. But instead of leaving it with me and Darius, she went to the Justice building and filed a complaint with Panem’s Bureau of Justice. She got Seneca Crane’s underwear in a twist. He’s demanding you pay for your crimes.”

Katniss gasped. Seneca Crane was from the old regime. He was the Head Gamemaker of the 74th Hunger Games. His arena was never used. The man was so twisted and evil that he was merciless with those who came under his thumb, and she was one of them. Katniss wondered how someone like him still had power in this new Panem.

There was no doubt in her mind she was going to serve time. Those who served time were often sent away to another District. She could be sentenced to District Eleven to work in the fields, District Two to work in the mines, or work in District Four in the fish processing plants doing the lowest of menial jobs. “How much time will I be sentenced?

“A year Sweetheart, you can get out early for good behavior, come back here and work the rest of your sentence as a parole.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d never been away from home, never was tempted to escape into the wilds of the forest. Now she was going to be carted out in the middle of the night. She was a blemish to society, unwanted, a problem for her mother. A solitary tear rolled down her face.

Katniss didn’t need handcuffs any more; she was about to be branded as undesirable.

Darius quietly walked in with the machine. They slid her hand in the machine and she cried as the skin of her wrist was seared with an imprint. Cradling her hand she read *451. Now she understood.

“I’m sorry Katniss,” Darius whispered.

Two heavy set men dressed in black came in and pushed her inside of the waiting black transport.

Chapter Two

Peeta whistled.

“You’re in a good mood,” Norma Jean, his brother Graham’s wife said.

Norma Jean was his favorite sister in law. Graham had fallen head-over-heels for her. It was funny because before Norma Jean, Graham’s type were tall statuesque thin blondes. Norma Jean was short, and as she put it, rounder than an apple. She was also sweeter than the candy she and Graham sold at the confectioners’ shop.

“I am.” He couldn’t help himself.

Today was Saturday, his favorite day of the week, one because the bakery closed early, and two because Katniss always came by on Saturday to trade with him. No one else. Peeta knew for certain Katniss didn’t trade with anyone else but him.

“Well it’s my favorite day.”

Norma Jean grinned. “Is it because of a certain huntress?”

“Maybe,” he said.

“Hmmm,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her belly, she was heavily pregnant. She was sniffing the air. When pregnant, Norma Jean had the ability to identify different herbs by smell. Her nose was that good.

Peeta kept quiet and wondered how long it would be before she sniffed the cheese buns he had hidden in the back.

“Have you heard from Rye?”

Peeta grinned. “He’s back in District Two.”

Rye was the reason Peeta had inherited the family bakery. With Graham married to Norma Jean, their mother thought Rye would take over the bakery, leaving Peeta out of the inheritance. Then, one-and-a-half years ago Rye announced he wanted to be a Peacekeeper. Nothing their mother said or threatened dissuaded Rye from becoming a Peacekeeper.

“He’s great actually, talked to him last night.”

“Graham’s still upset with him. He didn’t want Rye to sign up to a twenty year commitment to be celibate to serve home and country.”

Peeta recalled. “You know how Rye gets when he wants something.”

“Yeah.” Norma Jean nodded.

“His training is over, and he’s waiting for his assignment. When we were talking at least ten guys came by to say hello.” Peeta had gotten to know the guys in Rye’s squad. They were from all over Panem.

“Good, I am glad.”

“Won’t Graham miss you?”

“Nope, my sister Virginia is helping him set up; the boys were fast asleep.”

“You do realize today is Saturday and they’re up early on Saturday.” Peeta said.

“Exactly, no one bothers the sweet shop at six in the morning, nine maybe, but six…only those who are craving stuff like me…now, hot buns, give me one of those treat’s you’re saving for your huntress,” Norma Jean demanded.

Peeta shook his head. “I would never deny you anything.”

He walked into the back whistling and grabbed two of the cheese buns he’d saved for himself to share with Katniss.

“For you,” Peeta said, bowing slightly.

“I haven’t seen you like this since that Harvest Fair?” Norma Jean raised an eyebrow.

“Oh,” Peeta said.

“You can’t lie to me, Peeta,” Norma Jean said, narrowing her eyes, one fist curled around the cheese bun.

“You’re right,” Peeta said.

“So, it is Katniss,” Norma Jean said.

Peeta could feel the heat raising up to his cheeks. He looked at his reflection in the smooth surface of the metal case; he looked ruddy.

After they graduated, Katniss set up her shop in the Hob. Her jerky was a favorite amongst the residents. Katniss had enough coins to buy everything she needed. She could buy bread, but she didn’t. Their friendship began slowly. At first it was a slight nod, with her cheeks so rosy she couldn’t look him in the eyes.

The Harvest Fair changed everything. They’d been a little tipsy as a result of the hard apple cider Greasy Sae offered them. She’d pulled him into Mr. Plover’s blacksmith and horse barn and kissed him. The kiss got out of hand and one thing led to another. Soon they were in one of the empty horse stalls and tearing their clothing off. Katniss had given him her virginity and he had given her his. When they walked out hand in hand Peeta couldn’t help the goofy grin on his face. He would never forget how soft her eyes looked.

Then his mother came looking for him, and everything became a nightmare. Peeta advocated for Katniss, got his brothers and his friends to clean up and rebuild the stage. Katniss was arrested, and the community shunned her. They took Waylon’s side, no thanks to Mrs. Everdeen. Katniss had never attended another social event after that.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Norma said excitedly.

“Well.” His eyes went to the store front. Mrs. Bernelle came into the store. With Thanksgiving tomorrow Peeta expected a brisk business today.

“Hello Mrs. Bernelle,” Peeta greeted.

“Hello Peeta, Norma Jean.”

“Hello,” Norma Jean said, rubbing her stomach.

“You’re due any day now?” Mrs. Burnelle said warmly to Norma Jean.

“ Just about.” Norma Jean smiled warmly.

“How can I help you, Mrs. Burnelle,” Peeta said, wanting Mrs. Burnelle out of the store so that he could speak to Norma Jean.

“May I have a dozen of your dinner rolls, but only the freshest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peeta said, grabbing a brown paper bag. He quickly dispensed the rolls.”

Mrs. Burnelle smelled the bread, “These smell delicious,” she leaned over and with a mischievous lilt in her voice. “Don’t tell you father, but you are the better baker.”

“I won’t,” Peeta laughed. “Is that all for today?”

“Yes.” She had the exact amount. She put it on the counter. “Thank you Peeta and Happy Thanksgiving.”

Thanksgiving became a national Holiday after the treaty between the Capitol and the Districts was ratified as law. A day for both sides to come together and celebrate everlasting peace and tranquility and celebrated with a big meal. Normally the Capitol sent all of the Districts a parcel with some sort of treat. Each year a District was selected to make a parcel to send to the Capitol. District Twelve had yet to be selected.

“Thank you, you too,” Peeta said. He waited until the door was closed before he turned his attention back to Norma Jean.

“Whatever you have to tell me has got to be really good for you to be acting like you did four years ago?”

Peeta sighed happily.

“Did something happen between you two?”

Norma Jean knew all. Peeta confided in her. When Katniss didn’t show up that Saturday after the Fair, she encouraged him to seek out Katniss. Peeta gathered his courage and found her at the Hob. She looked like hell and she wouldn’t even look at him in the eyes. Peeta found out from Greasy Sae, no one was buying her jerky.

Peeta brazenly bought her jerky and told her he’d run out of squirrels. Then he sent Norma Jean, and Norma sent Rye, and Rye sent Delly to buy her jerky. Delly sent someone else and so forth. There was no way he was going to allow the people of District Twelve to turn their backs on Katniss.

The following Saturday he found a package at his doorstep. Norma Jean packed up some bread and told him to pay her for her game meat. He’d gone down to the Hob and put the bread on her table and told her she’d forgotten her payment before he walked away.

This went on for weeks until she came by and shyly waited to make the exchange. Every Saturday he’d do his best to tamp down his own yearnings because Katniss needed a friend. He made it his mission to befriend her. Like a flower blossoming she opened up to him.

Peeta remained tight lipped.

Mrs. Evangeline walked into the shop.

“Good Morning Mrs. Evangeline,” Peeta greeted, but he could see Norma Jean wanted to shove the nosy woman out of the bakery.

“Hello Peeta,” Mrs. Evangeline said with her list in hand. She nodded at Norma Jean. This morning Mrs. Evangeline was in battle mode. “I am in a rush this morning. I have to get to the butchers before the best cut of meat is taken,” she muttered.

“What can I help you with today?”

“My daughter is coming home with her new husband and I need her favorite bread, a baguette.”

“Oh yes, I remember Rosalee loves the sourdough with Mrs. Caries strawberry preserves.”

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Evangeline said. “May I also have a loaf of the sourdough?”

“Absolutely,” Peeta said.

“Thank you Peeta, you always remember everything,” Mrs. Evangeline gushed.

“It’s no problem,” Peeta smiled but he saw Norma Jean’s impatience.

“So, when you are due?” Mrs. Evangeline asked Norma Jean.

“Any day now,” Norma Jean answered.

Peeta bagged the baguettes and the loaf of Sourdough. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Mrs. Evangeline. “How much?”

“Ten credits,” Peeta said.

Mrs. Evangeline took out her credits and paid Peeta. “Thank you and happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.”

“Thank you, you too.” Peeta waved as Mrs. Evangeline left.

“Finally,” Norma Jean exclaimed.

Peeta shrugged not wanting to give anything away.

“I thought she’d never leave,” Norma Jean huffed.

He feigned innocence.

“Okay hot stuff, what happened? And don’t spare any details. I know Katniss has been coming here every Saturday for the past three years.”

Norma Jean wasn’t wrong. Katniss had been coming to the bakery every Saturday. She’d knock on his door precisely at nine in the morning. They would talk and sometimes she’d linger to drink tea. Recently he began showing her some new recipe he’d been working on.

Peeta grabbed a cleanser and a squeegee and wiped down the counter.

“Uh-uh…none of those diversionary tactics!”

Peeta put his hands in the air.

“Go on, what happened?” Norma Jean fixed with him the mommy glare.

“We kissed,” Peeta whispered.

“What,” she screeched. “When?”

“Last week.”

“Okay, more!”

“Katniss came to the door, we traded, we drank tea. I introduced her to my newest creation. These cheese buns. And I saw that same sparkle in her eyes, as the night of the Fair. I do not exactly know how it happened. But we kissed.” How precisely their lips met Peeta was still fuzzy on that, but he did recall the desire and longing that shot through him like the fireworks that lit the sky at Thanksgiving. Her lips were soft and warm, and he marveled once more at the taste of wild berries, sweet and tart, crisp and delicious.

“Good for you,” Norma Jean said. “Are you guys going to talk today, going to, you know, talk about getting together?”

“I hope so. I’ve waited so long for her to see me, and not just as a friend.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Norma Jean said. Her eyes looked past him above him at the clock, and she groaned, picking up her packages. “I’m late, I have to drop this off at your mother’s house.”

“Good luck,” Peeta grinned.

“Nothing to it,” she rubbed her expanded belly. “Your mother is always rainbows and hearts when I’m pregnant. She keeps on expecting a girl. Sadly, I keep on producing strong Mellark men, much to your father’s delight. He loves his grandchildren. But not as much as your brother loves to keep me fat and round.”

“Norma Jean, you’re not fat,” Peeta replied.

“And that’s why my wife prefers you over me.” Graham came into the shop with his twin boys, one in each arm. Their other child was wrapped around his ankle.

Norma Jean patted Peeta’s hand. “Graham is the grouchy one and Rye is the wild one and you, Peeta are the good Mellark. You’re the hot goods every girl in District Twelve wants to get her grubby hands on, but only one can have.”

“Please don’t call my baby brother hot in front of me,” Graham whined.

Norma Jean grinned wickedly. “Sorry Graham we both know that even Rye with all of his wild ways isn’t as hot as Peeta.”

“Evil woman,” Graham said, handing one of his boys to Peeta.

“Hey buddy!” Peeta grabbed Malcom and tossed him in the air.

“Uncle Peeta,” his twin brother Marvin shouted. “Me, I’m next.”

Martin who was wrapped around Graham’s ankle popped up, “Me too, me too.”

Peeta loved his nephews.

“Boys,” Norma Jean said with that firm mommy voice they listened to.

“Yes mama?” All boys said with rapt attention.

“Your uncle is working. He will wrestle with you tomorrow,” Norma Jean said.

All three boys nodded their pale blue eyes wide with excitement.

“Here’s a cookie for each of you,” Peeta said, taking three plain cookies out. Norma and Graham were careful about the sugar the kids ate. “Why don’t you guys sit at the table and eat the cookies?”

All three of them scampered to the table and sat, eating.

“So if uncle Peeta comes over then maybe mommy and me can…”

“Nope,” Norma Jean said. “Peeta and mommy have serious girl stuff going on.”

“Seriously,” Graham settled his eyes on Peeta. “What the heck? What kind of pull do you have over the ladies?”

“I told you Peeta’s the hot one,” Norma Jean winked. But then placed a playful kiss on Graham’s lips.

Graham stared lovingly into Norma Jean’s eyes then turned to Peeta and playfully growled, “She’s mine, all mine.”

“I know,” Peeta shrugged. “Besides, she’s not my type.”

“I’m not,” Norma Jean said. Then she stood on tiptoe to place a small kiss on Graham’s chin. “If we leave the kids today at grampa’s, maybe we can have a private chat about my candy shop, after we close at noon?”

“Oh,” Graham said, his voice brightening.

Peeta was grossed out by the innuendo.

“Okay, Mellark Clan, march out,” Graham said. “We’re going to grandpa’s.”

The store emptied of his brother’s family, but then the customers came in filling the store for two solid hours. As the time neared 9 o’clock, Peeta started whistling.

Nothing could get him down.

He had the tea prepared, he had cream, and plenty of sugar. Peeta grimaced. How Katniss could drink her tea that way, he didn’t know, but Katniss loved her tea with loads of cream and sugar. He whistled as he wiped down the display cases.

He looked at the clock, 9 o’clock. His gut twisted, anticipating her soft knock. But it didn’t come. He put his cloth away and walked to the back door.

He opened the door looking to see if he could spot her trademark bag or braided hair. He worried something was wrong. Katniss wouldn’t have stayed away. He knew kissing her could have been a mistake and maybe she was regretting the kiss. Peeta shook his head. This was different. Something felt off and he didn’t know what it was. He couldn’t put his finger on it either.

Peeta looked at the clock, she was fifteen minutes late. Katniss was never late; she was alway punctual. He was truly worried, maybe she’d gotten into another argument with her mother over her single status. Mrs. Everdeen was dogged in her search for a husband for Katniss. All of the men Mrs. Everdeen picked for Katniss were strong minded individuals. Men who liked to be in charge. Peeta chuckled, Katniss didn’t need a domineering guy. Anyone with her same fire would cause them both to combust.

These four years Peeta had gotten to know Katniss, and from what he gleaned she needed someone who treated her as equal or someone to balance her fire. Someone who understood the value of partnership. Peeta hoped he was that man for her.

He once more looked at the clock and another five minutes went by. Foreboding crept inside of his being, causing the hairs of his neck to stand on end. The last time he felt that was right before the fire. Something was wrong.

“Where are you, Kat?” Peeta asked. He had half a mind to close the shop and walk to her home in the Seam.

The bell to the front door rang. He sighed then went to the front. Though his mind was made up, he was going to close up shop and head to the Seam as soon as he finished with the patron waiting for him.

“Dad?”

“Son,” his father glanced at him and there was concern in his eyes.

His father hardly came to the bakery now that he had retired. His parents moved to a house just outside the central market. His father enjoyed gardening and canning. He enjoyed his little group of other gardeners. His mother didn’t like the sedate life but she didn’t really have much of a say.

“What’s going on dad?”

“I came to check on you,” his father searched his eyes.

“Dad, you’re acting weird,” Peeta said, frowning.

His father was uneasy, his feet shifted, his hands were buried deep in his pocket, and there was something about the way that his dad looked at him reminded Peeta of the day that his dad sat him down and talked about what it meant to be the third son of a baker. It was one of the hardest conversations they’d ever had. Peeta loved the bakery, loved the smell of yeast, and yes even though he didn’t like the heat, he loved the smell of the hot ovens. There was something immensely enjoyable about seeing the awe and wonder in a customer’s face when he delivered a cake for a special occasion.

He hoped one day to see that same awe and wonder in Katniss’ face, if he could only find her talk to her.

His father cleared his throat.

“What is it dad?” Peeta said, walking to the shop door and flipping the sign from open to close. He closed the door. Peeta squared his shoulders waiting for whatever news his father had for him.

“Son,” his father drifted off. He closed his eyes then said, “…it’s about Katniss…”

“What about Katniss,” Peeta couldn’t believe how calm his voice was. He should have been freaking out. His father knew how important Katniss was to him, though he didn’t know the extent of their friendship.

“She’s been arrested.”

That feeling in his gut that told him Katniss wasn’t okay, caused Peeta’s senses to sharpen. He needed to help her get out of trouble. He stalked to the cash register as if it was his mortal enemy, opening the drawer he took out all of the credits and emptied it into a bag. “I’m going to Darius; what’s her bail?”

“She was caught last night in the middle of the night, with squirrels, poaching.”

Peeta’s heart stopped beating. She’d been hunting for him. At least now he knew Katniss wasn’t running from him. His mind quickly formulated a plan. He walked to the back and put his coat on. As he walked, he talked, “Fine I can talk to Haymitch, tell him why.”

“Son,” his father’s grave voice let Peeta know there was more. His father put his hands on his shoulder. Peeta was still. He didn’t want to know more but he knew he needed to listen. “Her mother.”

“What has she done now?” Peeta didn’t wait; he shook his head. “No, I need to see Haymitch.” Peeta ran out of the back door and speedily ran to the Justice Building. He tore up the stairs taking them two at a time. She’d spent the night in jail.

He didn’t even bother talking to Haymitch’s assistant Anna.

“Mr. Mellark, you can’t go in there,” Anna stood.

Peeta had never been uncourteous to anyone. He was always kind, always aware of other’s feelings. It’s why his mother thought him soft, but he wasn’t really. Not when it came to Katniss. He loved her, and for Katniss he would give up his life.

“Anna,” Peeta growled, and her eyes opened wide as if she’d encountered a feral beast in the meadow.

She stepped to the side.

Peeta barged right through into Haymitch’s office. The last time he’d been here he was eighteen. Desperate to help Katniss. He wasn’t a kid anymore; he was a man, a man who was willing to move heaven and earth for the woman he loved.

Haymitch had a drink on his desk, and an opened bottle. Another was tossed into the waste paper basket. His office smelled of malt whisky and white liquor. Peeta hadn’t seen Haymitch drunk in years. Not since he was fifteen. His eyes swept the room and he noted Haymitch was not alone.

Mrs. Everdeen and her sister Primrose stood in a corner. Mrs. Everdeen looked surprised to see him. Her pale blue eyes were like stones in a river, hard and cold. Her sister Primrose stood away from her mother. Her arms clamped around her middle. Her eyes were red rimmed and her nose was bright red. The rest of her, her face, hands, and legs looked pale, ashen really.

“I was wondering how long it would take you to get here,” Haymitch rasped gruffly.

“Where’s Katniss?” he demanded.

“Boy, sit, have a drink,” Haymitch said, pointing to the two chairs in front of his desk.

“No, where’s Katniss and how much to bail her out?”

Haymitch rubbed his face. “When I took this job on I did it because I knew that the people didn’t trust Cray or any Head Peacekeepers to make the laws just. I set up this position for each district so that they could have one of their own to make decisions on their cases. I specifically set it up with loopholes so that no party could have the ultimate power over the other.”

Haymitch gave Mrs. Everdeen a scathing look.

Mrs. Everdeen lifted her nose. “I only did what was right. She was poaching.” Her voice was filled with indignation, as if she couldn’t understand why she was being reprimanded.

“Eudora, what you did was send an innocent girl into hell because of your stupid pride. You’re no better than the folks that tossed you out into the street when you chose to marry Jack,” Haymitch barked.

Peeta noted how Eudora blinked and her eyes flickered with momentary pain before they went back to that cool indifference. Katniss had a similar look, but unlike Mrs. Everdeen’s which held no personality depth, Katniss’ look always showed a small bit of vulnerability, compassion, fiery resistance and some trace of emotion. Peeta could spend a lifetime examining Katniss’ smallest gestures.

“What happened, Haymitch, where’s Katniss?”

“I don’t see why he should be here,” Eudora said coolly.

“He has every right to be here,” Haymitch said, standing up. “That boy is the one fella your daughter loves.”

Eudora’s eyes widened with shock and she looked at Peeta, really looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. She shook her head, “No, not him, she doesn’t love him. She doesn’t even know him.”

“She does, mama,” Primrose said.

“Katniss was caught poaching for me,” Peeta said quietly. “Every Saturday she comes to my shop and we trade, and talk…” Peeta looked at Haymitch, “Where is she? I need to see her?”

Her mother suddenly looked pale.

“Eudora tipped Darius about Katniss poaching on Fridays late in the evening. I guess she thought Darius wasn’t going to do anything and filed a complaint to Panem’s Bureau of Justice. It got to Crane; that bastard ordered me to hand her over for justice.”

“No,” Peeta roared. He stood up, his eyes landing on Mrs. Everdeen. Prim stood at his side.

“No,” Prim said quietly.

His hands were stretched out resting on Mrs. Everdeen’s neck.

“Boy,” Haymitch ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes were wider than saucers. Her body trembled underneath his fingers. There were horror stories about landing in the clutches of Seneca Crane. “Do you realize Katniss can be killed because she was bringing me squirrels.” His voice cracked. Tears stung his eyes. He let go of Mrs. Everdeen and sat in the chair.

“Momma, you’d done wrong.”

“Primrose, I wasn’t going to let her stop you from marrying. I wasn’t going to let her…”

“MOMMA!” Primrose squeaked.

Mrs. Everdeen became quiet.

“If you bothered to get to know Katniss, you would know that she would never stop me from getting married if that’s what I wanted. You would know that all Katniss wants is for me to be happy. Yes, I got mad at her for walking in on me and Vick.” Prim stopped, wiping the tears from her face. “But I know she did it because she loves me and she did not want me to foolishly get pregnant.” Prim squared her shoulders.

Peeta raised an eyebrow; he’d never seen this side to Katniss’ sister. Prim was a sweet girl, innocent, loving and caring. The girl before him had grit and integrity, something she learned from Katniss. Prim leveled a look at her mother before turning to look at Peeta.

“Yesterday she said she knew what it was like to get carried away in the arms of a man that loved you so much it hurt. She knew what it was like to give into pleasure so deep without thought of the future. She told me she didn’t want me to go through the worry of a pregnancy scare.”

Peeta’s hands gripped the arm of the chair he sat in. Katniss thought she was pregnant. He could just imagine her terror. He thought she’d been avoiding him because of the fire; he didn’t know it was because she didn’t know if they’d made a baby together. Katniss was right to be scared. They weren’t ready back then. He had no future and she still had her sister to rear. He looked up to Prim and nodded acknowledging her words.

“You and Katniss,” her mother sounded brittle.

“No Momma, don’t redirect; look at me,” Prim ordered.

Mrs. Everdeen looked at her youngest daughter.

“If you would have taken the time to get to know your eldest daughter, you’d know she sacrificed herself for me. I made her promise me that after I graduated that she would follow her dreams. Katniss promised me,” Prim looked at Peeta. “She’d promised me she’d talk to you, Peeta.”

“I,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“Katniss helped me, after I graduate, I was going to go to District 3. Dr. Jensen helped me get into an accelerated course in medicine. Everything is set up.” Prim’s voice sounded watery, she had tears running down her face. “Now I can’t go knowing my sister is in the hands of that butcher.”

Mrs. Everdeen flinched.

Peeta stood and gently held Prim in his arms as she cried. “I don’t understand how you could do this to Katniss. I don’t understand how you could betray her when all she’s ever done is to put food on your table and keep a roof over your head. She is the most selfless person. The most loyal. All Katniss has ever done is tried to protect her family, yet you betrayed her.”

“I did it for her own good. I didn’t betray her.” Mrs. Everdeen stood straighter. “This new regime, it may not last forever. There are men like Seneca Crane out there who are vying for power. What if one of them becomes president and then we end up worse? Katniss is a foolish child. I had to do what I thought was best for Katniss, and taking away her ability to hunt was the only way I could think of to get her to think…to see how dangerous this world was.”

“What you did was feed her to the wolves,” Peeta spat. “They called my mother the witch, but you lady, you are a cold hearted bitch.”

Mrs. Everdeen’s eyes became colder. “Primrose we are leaving.”

“No momma,” Prim said, shaking her head. “I’m not going back to that house. I’m gonna to do everything in my power for my sister.”

“How long?” Peeta asked Haymich.

“A year,” Haymitch sighed. He looked tired and drained as he spoke, “Maybe less for good behavior.”

“Where?” Peeta asked.

“District Two.”

Hope bloomed in Peeta’s chest. “My brother is in District 2, maybe he can watch out for Katniss, keep an eye on her, and make sure nothing happens to her.”

“You think Rye would do that?”

“Yeah, he would,” Peeta said. Then he turned to Haymitch and asked, “What happens when… if she gets out for good behavior?”

“If Crane’s people let her go for good behavior, and I doubt it’ll happen, Katniss will be paroled and required to work the rest of her sentence.”

“I want her assigned to me. She can work off the rest of her parole in my bakery. She can live under my roof and I can take care of her.”

“Okay I can do that.” Haymitch sat down at his desk. He pushed the bottle and the glass into the waste paper basket. He took out a form.

“Wait, what’s going on,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“There’s no way I’m going to give up on Katniss. When she gets out of there she’s going to need a home, a place where she can be safe, and know that she’s wanted and loved.”

“What will your mother say?”

“My mother has no decision in the bakery or how it’s run. The bakery became mine last year when my father and Rye signed it over to me. Believe me, I’m going to make a Katniss campaign and when she comes back everyone in town will welcome her with open arms.”

“Haymitch,” Prim said, stepping out of Peeta’s arms. She sat in the chair facing his desk. “You said Seneca might not let her be released for good behavior. Does that mean he will make sure that she serves out her full sentence?’

“Yes, that rat bastard makes all of his victims pay.” Haymitch set the paperwork aside. His eyes though, were churning as if he was working on a puzzle.

“Then how can we make sure, or what can we do to make certain Crane has to shorten my sister’s sentence?” Prim asked on the edge of her chair.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asked, sitting down in the empty chair.

Haymitch opened his drawer and pulled out a slim electronic device. Because District 12 was the outlying district, and it was the poorest one, it dealt mostly with papers. However, there were things that needed to be done with the fancy electronics that the Capitol favored.

Peeta had a computer at the bakery, it was one of the first things he splurged on. It helped him maintain his accounting and supplies. It also was a way for him to get incontact with his brother in District Two.

“This is a computer, and it contains all of the bylaws of Panem. When we set up the justice system, I wanted to make sure there was a catch. Our newly appointed President Paylor helped come up with this. I had forgotten about it until this moment, Prim.”

“What is it?” Prim asked, voicing what Peeta was asking himself.

“Ha!” Haymitch said triumphantly. “There is a clause in the law that stipulates that family members can step in and volunteer for family in case they unjustly fall into the hands of Panem’s Bureau of Justice. Your sister was caught with two squirrels at the time she was caught poaching. Now poaching is a serious offense. But squirrel hunting is completely legal. In fact it just happens to be hunting season for the little critters.”

“So in reality all Katniss did was get caught crossing the fence,” Peeta said.

“And that is a lesser offence than poaching.” Haymitch turned to Primrose. “Which means that her conviction is unjust and a family member can volunteer to work some of her time off here in the district. If someone volunteers, Katniss’ hard labor sentence will be cut in half, but she’ll still have to be paroled.”

“Six months of labor?” Prim whispered, before looking to Haymitch and asking. “Will I be able to finish school?”

“I don’t see why not, we just need someone to take you in for six months for you to work for them for free.”

“No,” Mrs. Everdeen said.

“I’m seventeen Momma, well past the age of consent in Panem,” Prim said.

“I forbade you,” Mrs. Everdeen said, stomping her foot.

“Haymitch, I volunteer for my sister. I volunteer to work off of her debt.”

“YOU CAN’T!”

Prim turned to her mother. “This is all your doing Momma, if you’d let Katniss alone, she’d be with Peeta now talking about the future. Talking to the man she loved about a toasting, children, everything she denied herself for a long time. But you wanted to punish her. You wanted to punish her for looking like Papa, for being his daughter. For always doing the right thing even if it meant going against your archaic wishes. Now you will take the punishment the way I am sure Katniss took hers, with dignity.” Turning to Haymitch Prim said, “Where do I sign?”

Mrs. Everdeen cried, and ran out of the room.

Peeta turned to Prim. “Will she be alright?”

“No,” Prim said. “But Katniss was right; our mother is selfish. I didn’t see it until now. She thinks what she did is justified, that she did the right thing. But she didn’t and now it’s up to us to save Katniss.”

“You’re a lot like her,” Peeta said.

“Thank you, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me,” Prim said.

“I think we need to get my sister-in-law,” Peeta said to Haymitch.

“Norma Jean,” Haymitch said.

My sister-in-law is pregnant with her fourth child. She said she is ready to give birth any time. Anyways, her sister Virginia’s getting married in a month to Jason Swanson, the railroad engineer’s son. Once she gets married, she’s going to work full time there, which means my brother will be alone in the store. They’re going to need help, and I know Norma Jean would never treat you poorly. She’s the only one I trust to help out. My brother Graham will pretty much do anything Norma Jean says.”

“Anne,” Haymitch barked.

Anne walked in, “Yes, Mr. Abernathy?”

“Go have one of Darius’ do-gooders get Peeta’s brother and sister-in-law here,” Haymitch grabbed another piece of paper. “We’re going to save Sweetheart’s butt.”

Peeta sat back, but he knew the battle was far from over. That night he called his brother. His brother was like him, but his features weren’t as soft. His face was angular, and his blonde hair was darker and it was curlier, though you couldn’t tell since he was sporting a buzz cut.

“Hey Peeta,”

“Rye I need…”

“Don’t I know. I heard about Katniss. It’s all everyone is talking about. The girl whose mother betrayed her for you. I’m kind of a celebrity now.”

“You saw her?”

“No, she’s been put deep in the tunnels. The star squad is so deep they don’t surface for months at a time. Communication down there is only done when necessary.”

“Will you keep me apprised if you do see her, take care of her for me?” Peeta asked.

Rye nodded then he said, “Did Graham really say yes to Primrose staying with him?”

“Yeah,” Peeta smiled ruefully. He was tired and he wished he could have done more.

“Huh, was it Norma Jean?”

“No, he volunteered when he heard what happened to Katniss, before I could even ask.”

“Really, I guess he’s not like mom.”

“Nope, if he were like mom he would have married Esme Smith.”

Rye laughed. “I forgot about Esme; man you know she popped my cherry.”

“Rye, really, I don’t need to know your escapades,” Peeta joked but it didn’t reach his eyes. Rye was trying to make him feel better, but it wasn’t working.

“Look Peeta, I know Katniss is your girl, and I promise, in fact all of the guys in my squad, in all of the squads know how special she is, they told me if they’ll take care of her.”

“Except for the guys working under Crane,” Peeta muttered. He closed his eyes. He wanted to punch the wall, wanted to scream.

“Just hang in there, Katniss is strong, she’s tough. For any girl of twelve to brave the forest and hunt animals with the threat of predatory beasts to put food on the table, that takes bigger balls than I have.”

“Thanks Rye,” Peeta whispered.

“I’ve got to go, but maybe the next time tell Graham that what he did for Prim was great.”

“I will.”

The communication went off. Peeta sighed and leaned back. He looked up at the darkened sky just beyond his bedroom window. “Hang in there Katniss. Please hang in there,” he whispered brokenly.

A lot of things could happen in six months. Katniss could be beaten mercilessly. She could be raped by one of the prisoners or even by a sadistic guard. She could catch a disease and die. The fear he’d been fighting threaded through him and for the first time in all of his life he was unsure of the future. Sleep was not an option for him tonight and he couldn’t celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow. Not with the love of his life in some hellhole beneath the earth.

Getting up, he began to clean and sometime around midnight he decided to make bread for the children tomorrow; that would keep his mind occupied. The next six months were going to be the hardest of his life.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #autumn #autumn 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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keichanz · 3 years

Text

More Than

so i was listening to the song More Than My Hometown by Morgan Wallen which is now my new obsession and i shit you not, the ending to this little drab popped into my brain so fast i knew i had to write it down. thus, this angsty little blurb was born.

now as i was writing, i realized that it was giving off sooo many One Last Ride vibes, written by the ever so talented @lemonlushff, that i decided to tweak this so it could tuck somewhere into the story itself as a sort of unofficially official glimpse of their breakup. i’m happy to report that it has Lemon’s official seal of approval and she loved it!

so now i’m gonna share it with all you fine folks and i hope you enjoy it too! :) and since it is in the OLR universe, there will be angst hahahaa.

so this is for you Lemon, my sweet and sour friend~ ❤️

one last thing--i highly recommend either having the song above playing while you read this, or at least listen to it beforehand. yes, it’s a country song, but it really is so good and the lyrics - which i’ve italicized and bolded - seem to reflect Inuyasha’s thoughts perfectly, which is why i thought it fit so well with OLR’s theme.

....shit okay one last last thing: i swear to fuck that the ending jumped out of a scene from a goddamn western harlequin romance novel with its level of cliche and drama and yes i am entirely proud of that fact ;ljadfilajflkahjsfue

She stood beside the bed, feeling empty, cold, hollow as she stared down at the pillows and blankets. It was still unmade, the sheets twisted, messy from her hasty retreat just that morning. Tears burned her eyes as she remembered why; the argument, the begging, the screaming. The heartbreak.

Her heart twinged and Kagome gasped, closing her eyes as she brought up a hand to cover her mouth. Was this…was this really it? Were they really going to leave things like this, unresolved and painful between them? God, she didn’t want to. She wanted to run outside, run through the night to his house, throw open the front door and beg him to—

Her bedroom door crashed open and Kagome gasped, whirling around with wide, liquid eyes, heart in her throat. Golden eyes, furious, hard, bore into her own and suddenly a heat suffused her body, chasing away the previous chill, and her stomach swooped as he shut the door and stalked toward her.

Her breath left her in a stuttered exhale, body trembling, coming alive from the heat in his gaze.

“Inuy—”

“Shut up,” he growled, grabbing her waist, hauling her in tight against him. His lips fell over hers, swallowing her gaps, the crush of his mouth hard, unforgiving, punishing.

Hands – frantic, desperate – removed clothing, touching, grabbing, caressing. They fell on the bed in tangle of limbs, skin against skin, heart against heart, flushed, needy, desperate. Growls, moans, whispered pleas echoed throughout the darkness of the room as they rocked together, moving in a dance as old as time. Fingers grasping sweat slicked skin, hearts thundering wildly and then perfectly syncing in a moment of euphoric completion. A stuttered breath, a gasp of a name; then silence.

Tears trekked down her flushed face as she was gathered against a hard chest, as familiar arms wrapped around her stated body and held her as she cried.

Girl, our mamas are best friends and so are we The whole town's rooting for us like the home team Most likely to settle down Plant a few roots real deep and let 'em grow

Kagome stood in front of the full-length mirror and ran a brush through her still damp hair, the yellow and blue sundress she wore complimenting the blue of her eyes. Blue eyes that were dull as they stared at her reflection, but didn’t really see it.

Which was just as well. She didn’t know why she picked this dress to wear, but had felt compelled to wear it anyway, even if looking at it made the vice on her heart tighten even more.

A gentle knock on her door startled her out of her thoughts and she blinked. Kagome turned her head in time to watch her mother crack open the door and poke her head inside, her smile kind, but her eyes sad. The older woman took in her daughter and her smile faded, but she didn’t comment as she stepped inside.

“Souta brought the car around,” she said softly. “And the keys are in it. Do you need help with your bags?”

“No,” Kagome answered and looked at her reflection again. “I packed most of them in the car last night. I just have my carry-on left.”

Mama nodded but said nothing as gazed at her daughter. Her heart ached at the pain she saw reflected in those dear features, in the eyes were that identical to her late husband’s—Kagome’s father.

“Kagome…” she started, but then sighed as those sad, sad eyes turned toward her once again. Mama shook her head. “Are you going to say goodbye?”

Kagome’s breath hitched. She didn’t need to ask who she was talking about. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and tried to ignore the butterflies that took flight in her belly.

“I…I’m going to try,” she whispered and god help her, but she couldn’t stop the tears from welling in her eyes. “But Mama, I don’t…he probably doesn’t want to see…”

Her throat tightened and she pressed her lips tightly together to stifle the sob that welled up. Immediately arms, warm and familiar, surrounded her. Kagome buried her face in her mother’s shoulder as the tears spilled from her eyes.

“I’ll talk to Izayoi,” Mama murmured and kissed her daughter’s head, her heart aching for her little girl as she felt her own eyes getting hot with the threat of tears. “If anyone can talk some sense into that boy, it’s his mother.”

Kagome sniffled and nodded, grateful that her mother would help her in this endeavor. It was unlikely he’d want to see her, but she had to at least try…

Closing her eyes as her mother rubbed her back and smoothed her hair, Kagome clung to her mother and let herself remember, the memories flashing before her mind’s eye and then fading away just as quickly, only to be replaced by another one, fresher, more precious, more painful than the one before.

But we can't stop this real world from spinnin' us Your bright lights called, I don't blame you for pickin' up Your big dream bags are all packed up and ready to go But I just need you to know

“Shhh! Quit laughing or they’ll hear us!”

Another badly stifled giggle echoed in the night as he drew her into the darkness of the trees, toward their secret spot they’d found years ago. One hand held a six pack while the other held tight to her hand, fingers laced, and he couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face before an exhilarated chuckle of his own burst from his lips.

Darkness gave way to the orange glow of a fire, the soft crackling of wood breaking the stillness of the night.

“Why is this so good?”

“Because we’re seventeen.”

“If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“Shut up and maybe we won’t be.”

“Hey, this was your idea—”

The rest of the words were stolen in a kiss, a hand coming up to cradle her jaw as a ragged sigh whispered against her lips. He tasted like beer and spearmint gum. She smiled. A strange combination, but it was him, and she loved it.

“You should have seen it, Inuyasha,” Kagome gushed a year later, sitting on her bed as she excitedly gushed about her time in LA to her best friend. “The sunset was absolutely gorgeous, like nothing you’ve ever seen before! God, I wish you were there with me. I just know you’d love it.”

Inuyasha smiled and reached forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I doubt I can love anything more than you.”

Blue eyes widened as a flush spread across her cheeks; her breath hitched, lips forming his name and eyes drifting closed as he leaned forward and took her mouth in a warm, lazy kiss.

“Would you ever wanna go?”

“Go where?” Fingers racked through dark hair and her sigh was blissful, a soft melody in his ears.

“California.”

“…You mean like…visit?”

“Well, maybe longer than a visit…like an extended trip, or something…lots of opportunities out that way…”

A brief pause before the fingers continued. “No. …Do you?”

“Mmm…dunno. Maybe after graduation? I had so much fun last time, but…”

“But what?”

A pause. Then, “Nothing. Kiss me.”

A husky chuckle before a pair of lips covered her own and any thoughts about the Golden State far, far from her mind as she returned his kiss.

That I love you more than a California sunset More than a beer when you ain't twenty-one yet More than a Sunday morning Lord Turnin' some poor lost souls 'round, Hallelujah bound

“Ewww, get that away from me!”

“C’mon Kagome, it’s just a worm! It ain’t gonna bite ya!”

“Eeee! Inuyasha, don’t you dare—!”

Laughter as he chased her around with a baited hook, the sound of water splashing as bare feet waded into the lake.

“Wait, I think I got something!”

The crank of a fishing rod as he reeled it in, the water splashing as whatever was caught struggled against the pull. Grunting, muttered curses, and soft giggling before with a splash the bass burst from the water, dangling from the hook.

“You got it!”

“Damn, ain’t nothing more satisfying than that feeling when the bass hits the hook!”

“I can think of one thing…”

Soft lips, warm and smiling, pressed against his own and Inuyasha abruptly decided that yeah, this was definitely better.

“California?”

“Yeah! Can’t you just imagine it, Inuyasha? The lights, the nightlife, the ocean, and no more snow! You always complain about the snow.”

“Yeah, but…Kagome, I don’t know…”

“Just think about it, okay? I’m not asking for you to decide right now. But this is something I’ve thought about for a while now, Inuyasha, and I just…I want to experience it with you. Please?”

A pause, and then heavy sigh. “Fine. I’ll think about it.”

A brilliant smile, soft lips pressing to his cheek in a warm kiss. “You know I love you, right?”

“…I know, Kagome. Me, too.”

“I can’t believe you’re reading that crap.”

“It’s not crap, it’s romantic. You could probably learn something or two from these books, you uncultured dog.”

“Uncultured? Really?”

“Besides, I like it when the guy gets the girl at the end. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.”

“I can make you feel all warm and fuzzy, too.”

Her gasp was cut off as lips pressed against her neck and hands slipped beneath her shirt to roam across soft skin. The book fell from her fingers to dive into silver hair, eyes closing as her head fell back with a breathy sigh.

“Yes.”

The blood was rushing so loudly in his ears he barely heard her and the thundering of his heart against his chest was so forceful, it was a wonder it didn’t leap out into her waiting hands.

“Y-yes?” he echoed, voice naught but a disbelieving rasp as he stared at her with wide, shocked - and cautiously hopeful - golden eyes.

A half-sob, half-laugh burst from her lips and her eyes were bright from more than just the unshed tears brimming the beautiful depths. Lips trembled as she smiled, hand trembling even more as she held it out before her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, Inuyasha, I’ll marry you. I—”

What she felt next wasn’t the cool metal of his grandmother’s ring as it found a new home on her finger, but instead the warmth of her beloved’s hand as it wrapped around hers and yanked her forward into his arms. They tumbled to the ground, laughing, crying, exchanging endless kisses and promises of forever as the ring, forgotten on the ground but still nestled within the velvet box, glittered merrily in the warm glow of the fire.

Yeah, I love you more than the feeling when the bass hits a hook When the guy gets the girl at the end of the book But, baby, this might be the last time I get to lay you down 'Cause I can't love you more than my hometown

“Come with me.”

Silence; thick, stony. Cold.

Desperation made her voice high, the words falling from her lips fast. “Inuyasha, please, come back with me—we’d have such an amazing time together, learning, living and—you can enroll in my school, Inuyasha! It’s not too late, there are so many programs to choose from, and I just think you can do so much more with your life than—”

“Than what, Kagome?” The words were snapped, harsh, biting as he whirled around to peg her with a hard stare. “Than taking on the valued responsibility of the ranch that’s been in my family for fucking generations? Than building our fucking house? You know, the one we'll live in after we’re married? I can’t do that, Kagome. I won’t.”

“But that’s just it, Inuyasha, you have no room to grow here! You’re stifled by the responsibility you feel to take over the ranch when leaving could relieve you of that burden! The world is so big, Yash, and there’s so much more beyond this little town, so if you would just trust me—”

“You’re asking me to drop and leave everything I know behind, Kagome!” His voice was loud, thunderous in his anger, his frustration, his pain. “This my home, our home, and you just want me to leave like it don’t even matter! Like the fucking life I’m trying to build for us don’t even matter!”

“That’s why I’m asking you to come with me!” Tears, hot, salty ran unchecked down her face, blue eyes big and pleading and flashing with undisguised panic. “I want to be with you, Inuyasha, I do, but I need you to understand—!”

“Then be with me here, dammit!” A note of desperation, amber eyes pleading, frantic, angry.

A choked sob, a muffled whimper. “I can’t…”

An anguished sound, a shattered cry, and then a door slamming shut, loud, devastating, final.

The words slammed into him harder than any blow he’d ever received, the shock greater than hitting the unforgiving ground after falling off a horse, and the pain far, far worse than he ever could have imagined.

Fuck, it would have hurt less if she’d just outright slapped him in the face.

She wouldn’t look at him, her gaze focused on the ground, dark hair hiding her expression. He swallowed once, twice; his mouth felt like a desert, his tongue heavy, thick, useless. His throat worked but no sound came out. Ice replaced the blood in his veins, freezing his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“Wh…what did you s…” He shook his head, swayed on his feet as he blinked hard. He couldn't have heard her right. She couldn't have just told him—

“…I cheated on you. Inuyasha, I—”

He didn’t hear the rest of what she said. His legs abruptly gave out and he stumbled back, sitting down hard onto the fallen log behind him. The log he’d proposed to her on. The log they’d kissed on—

He shook his head again, a frown pulling his brows down low over his eyes as he tried to register the words spilling from her mouth a mile a minute. Two days…two days ago. That—that didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t—he couldn’t smell anything, couldn’t detect any sort of incriminating evidence that suggested she’d been unfaithful.

Amber eyes lifted, flashing with tentative hope. She’d been drunk—she didn’t remember, so maybe if he told her—

The sight of his grandmother’s ring, nestled in the middle of her palm, might as well have been his heart because it sure as sure shit felt like she’d just ripped it out of his chest. His stomach clenched, the breath seized in his lungs, and a curious numbness spread throughout his entire body. The realization hit him even harder than the pain had, and that in and of itself would have brought him to his knees had he not already been sitting.

Honeyed eyes, agonized, pleading, lifted to her face. Again she would not meet his gaze, eyes closed against the tears that spilled down her cheeks. He suddenly tasted salt and with a start he realized he was crying too, the tears warm as they streaked down his pale face but he gave them no mind.

“K…Kagome…” It was the only thing he could get through a throat tight from anguish. A plea, a prayer, a question all in one as he stared at her, heedless of the tears that continued to fall.

Her eyes squeezed shut and she shook her head; a clenched sob broke from her lips as she reached forward, grabbed his hand, closed his fingers around the ring, giving it back, giving back his heart that she no longer wanted. Pain, sharp and intense, pierced through him and he gasped, unable to do a damned thing as she backed away from him, arms folded around herself.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, shaking her head, over and over, backing away. “I just…I can’t…”

A sob, borne of a sorrow so deep, of regret and fear and pain so sharp it felt it in the very marrow of his bones, broke free of her lips right before she whirled around and dashed away, through the night, through the trees, away from the fire, away from him.

Inuyasha could do nothing but sit there, his rejected grandmother’s ring clutched in his fist and his vision blurry from hot tears as he watched her run. Curious, that instead of the crushing pain he expected to feel in his chest, there was a hollow ache that resonated, like an echo of a mournful howl for the one who had just run away with his heart.

What hurt more than the pain of watching her go, however, and more than the diamond cutting into his palm, was the jarring realization that the woman he loved more than his own life would rather fabricate a lie of infidelity than be with him.

And because he loved her more than his own happiness…he’d let her.

I ain't the runaway kind, I can't change that My heart's stuck in these streets like the train tracks City sky ain't the same black Ain't that a map dot shame, man, to think that

Sitting on his bed, freshly showered and donned in simple jeans and a t-shirt, Inuyasha’s head was bowed between his shoulders and his arms were propped on his knees. His hands, clenched into tight fists, gradually relaxed and a breath he hadn’t’ even realized he’d been holding rushed from his lungs, escaping his mouth in a harsh exhale that did absolutely nothing to absolve the torment wreaking his mind.

As the last vestiges of the memory faded away, far more painful than all the ones before, he opened his eyes and stared down at the hardwood floor, scuffed and scratched and worn. He frowned, his chest feeling tight, his stomach in knots, his muscles tensing and relaxing with a restless energy that was hard to ignore. He wanted to punch something, to run, to fight, fight for her to stay, fight for them.

But he remained where he was, hands flexing, jaw clenched, eyes shut tight against the pain that was determined to bring him to his knees. God, why, why did she have to—

Gentle rapping on the door before it was cracked open. He didn’t look up but he didn’t need to; he knew why she was here. The ache in his chest intensified, sharped, traveled up to knot in his throat and make it harder to breathe.

She didn’t say anything at first, simply stared. Then, “…She wants to see you.”

Inuyasha turned his head, looked out the window.

A pause. Then a sigh, resigned, sad. “Asako called. Before she showed up at the door, I mean. Asked me to talk to you. Said I would, but didn’t make any promises.” Pause. “You already know how I feel about her doing this, but…you should at least say goodbye. You’ll regret it if you don’t. You know you will.”

A tightening of his jaw and a deep furrowing of his brow was her response.

“…I’m sorry, my love.”

The door closed with a soft click.

A minute passed. Two. Three.

Inuyasha exploded to his feet, grabbed the lamp on the nightstand, and hurled it against the wall with a roar that was equal parts rage, frustration, and deep, intense anguish that reverberated throughout the entire house; echoing, thunderous, shattering.

Deafening silence followed his outburst; he sank to his knees and wept.

I love you more than a California sunset More than a beer when you ain't twenty-one yet More than a Sunday morning Lord Turnin' some poor lost souls around, Hallelujah bound Yeah, I love you more than the feeling when the bass hits a hook When the guy gets the girl at the end of the book But, baby, this might be the last time I get to lay you down Cause I can't love you more than my hometown

It was impossible not to hear it. As the color drained from Kagome’s face and her heart clenched in her chest, Izayoi stared at her with eyes hardened from the ache she was feeling for her son, the sorrow she felt at his heartbreak twisted into bitter, resentful anger at the woman standing before her.

Kagome closed her eyes, bit her lip to stifle the sob that welled in her throat, sucked in a shaky breath meant to harden her resolve. It didn’t and she fought not to fall apart on the front porch, locking knees that threatened to give out on her.

“Go,” Izayoi muttered in a voice like flint and ignored the younger woman’s flinch. “You’ve done enough damage here. And I’m not talking about whatever he just destroyed.”

Hot tears pricked the back of her eyes. Her throat tightened, preventing any words, protests, to spill from her mouth. She stared at the older woman with wide eyes, someone who she, for the longest time, had looked upon as a second mother, someone to confide in, to trust.

She found none of the warmth that she was used to seeing. No fondness, no compassion, no understanding. Coldness spread through Kagome’s veins, turning her blood to ice, knotting in her stomach, heavy, uncomfortable.

Izayoi stared back, cold, unforgiving, unregretful.

“I’m sorry,” Kagome whispered.

The older woman pressed her lips into a thin line and looked away, arms tight across her chest.

Rejected, heartbroken, Kagome turned, her feet feeling heavy as they carried her back to her car. The tears ran unchecked down her face now, streaming down pale cheeks. She tasted salt and she got in the vehicle, closed the door. Her body felt like it was on autopilot as she revved the engine and started down the long dirt driveway.

It wasn’t until she had gone halfway that she broke down, great, gasping sobs erupting from her throat. Her vision was blurry from the unending tears and her knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Without even realizing it her foot had slipped from the accelerator and she was merely coasting now, too distraught, too tormented to think about anything else but the pain ravaging her heart. Unbidden one last memory, the most recent, flashed before her mind’s eye, twisting the knife keeper, crushing her, killing her…

“Don’t do this.”

He froze at the softly uttered words, spoken in a tone so raw with pain that it trembled. He swallowed hard and turned his head just the slightest bit, but said nothing.

Silence. Thick, tense, deafening.

Then he tightened his jaw, hardened his eyes, and continued putting his boots on.

A choked sob, the rustle of cloth. “Inuyasha, please—”

“I’m sorry.”

He stood up from the side of the bed and refused to look at her as he collected his jacket, still sitting in a heap on the floor from where it was hastily thrown the night before.

A stuttered breath, followed by the salty scent of tears. His lips drew into a tight line and his hands fisted tightly at his sides as he forced himself to head toward the door. But, goddamn him, he paused right in front of it, hand on the knob, jaw clenched so hard it ached.

“Please,” she begged and the word was a raspy plea, vision blurry from tears. “If you would just—we can talk about this—”

“I love you, Kagome,” Inuyasha said and he heard her sharp intake of breath, but he didn’t turn around. He swallowed once, twice, and closed his eyes as he opened his mouth and forced the words past a throat tight with emotion.

“Inu—”

“But I can’t…love you more than this. I just…I can’t.”

Another sob, a hitched breath, and his chest ached. He bowed his head.

“See you around, Kagome,” he whispered and left, his footsteps fading down the hallway and down the stairs until the slam of the front door echoed in the dark house.

Kagome dropped her face into her hands and wept.

The front door burst open and Inuyasha was desperation personified as he rushed past his alarmed mother, sprinting as fast as he could toward the barn that held the horses. Not even a full minute later a white blur sped from the barn and bolted through the open gate of the pasture, following the car that was leaving with his love, his soul, his very heart.

Standing on the porch, Izayoi pressed a hand to her heart while the other covered her mouth, muffling the sob that burst from her lips as teary eyes watched her son chase after the woman who broke his heart.

'Cause I love you more than a California sunset I love you more in a twenty-dollar sundress Hate that loaded down car you got your keys in Girl, but I hate even more that you're leavin'

Urging his mount to go faster, harder, the thundering of her hooves against the ground rivaled that of the thundering of his heart in his chest. Hands gripping the coarse hair of her mane, Inuyasha grit his teeth against the harsh wind, his eyes wild, desperate and bright with unshed tears as he kicked the mare’s flanks to go faster, dammit, faster!

The distance between them was closing, the rumble of the engine, of gravel crunching beneath tires becoming louder until he was riding alongside her, along the fence that enclosed the front pasture. His hands fisted his mount’s mane in a while-knuckled grip as he leaned over her neck, legs tight to her sides.

He turned his head and wild, despairing golden eyes collided with wide, tear-filled blue.

Kagome’s heart lurched in her chest, making her gasp as goosebumps erupted on her skin. She sobbed, shaking her head, mouthing his name and forcing her eyes to look straight ahead. What—what was he doing?! Why?! God, he was making this even harder than it already was, taking her heart and stomping on it, cruel, cold, conniving.

But it made sense, didn’t it.

She had broken his heart, and now he was doing the same to her.

'Cause I love you more than the feeling when the bass hits a hook When the guy gets the girl at the end of the book But that ain't you and me so I guess I'll see you around 'Cause I can't love you more than my hometown

Inuyasha didn’t let up, not even when she looked away, gritting his teeth, kicking his mount to keep up when she accelerated. She was crying, and although he couldn’t hear her, he could see the way she shook, shoulders jerking, chest heaving, face wet from her tears and fuck she was wearing the sundress—

The end of the drive was in sight. Kagome slowed down, so did he, but she didn’t stop as she once again turned her head and caught his gaze. Inuyasha was already staring at her, heart in his eyes, a silent plea falling from his lips, willing her to hear….

“Don’t go.”

A sob, raw, choked, anguished.

“I’m sorry.”

Without even realizing, he let up on his mount, the mare slowing to a trot, a walk, and then stood still, recovering from the hard gallop. Golden eyes, awash with ears, watched the car reach the end of the drive and turn, driving away, going, going, getting smaller, fading.

Gone.

Something inside Inuyasha shattered and he didn’t think it could ever, ever be repaired.

Love you more than my hometown Love you more than my hometown Love you more, baby, love you more

#more than #inukag #inuyasha #inukag fanfiction #inuyasha fanfiction #One Last Ride #keizfanfiction #oneshot

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virgil-is-a-cutie · 4 years

Text

All The Good Girls Go To Hell

This is based on the ask I got of Snow being the bad guy and which turned to Snow White Going Evil AU. Also the title is from Billie Ellish's song. Also thanks to @thegayestasexual for helping me with the title. Also genna base Mira's looks on the comics but add the parts from the show as well. As well as change a few things.

Warnings: none so far really just slight mention of alcohol use

Diana was excited for her story to start right away. Her class had graduated a few months ago and she was eagerly waiting for her fairytale to start.

Mira hadn't even enacted anything on her which was strange really.

She must be planning something spectacular!

She was pacing the walls of Good Castle when she curiously looked out a window and furrows her eyebrows.

A black horse, which oddly had a skull crown decorating it, with knights guarding it, which was somewhat odd since the only person in the land of Ever After who had a black horse with skulls delicately placed on it was...

Oh.

Mira Queen.

Diana frowns, 'why would Mira be here?' she thought before she lit up at the realization.

Every past telling of the Snow White story had the Evil Queen of the story marry into the White family. However, that really couldn't be the explanation

She rushed her way downstairs and skidded as she heard the giggles of Mira Queen who was smiling at something Snow's father, Good King (Edward King), had said.

The giggling caught her off guard, but she shook it off.

"Hey dad," Diana said with a bright smile before furrowing her brows as her father looked at her nervously before smiling big again.

"Diana dear! The person I was looking for," he said with a kind smile.

"What for?" she asked curiously as she glanced at Mira who was wearing a lovely dress that had more bright color in it really.

"I have some news to tell you my dear," he said softly as he glanced at Mira before looking at his daughter, "Mira and I are courting," he says.

Diana blinked and took a step back at the news. Sure her mother died when she was just a few days old and sure it had to do with her birth combined with how her Evil Queen made the poisoned apple a bit too strong.

Or so they say.

That and because they had to start the tale early because Diana's mother had gotten pregnant at 15 years old with her Good King and didn't want word of what Alice White had done.

Of her being pregnant, so Grimm had told her parents and the Evil Queen of their tale to start the tale early. So as to not have a scandal.

No one suspected anything really.

Mira's mother, Miranna Queen (who was in a way Diana's step grandmother), had been 21 years old because Mira's grandmother had Miraralla first while Alice's mother had Alice 6 years after the birth of Miranna Queen.

So all this time her father spent his time raising her with her maternal grandmother, who was resurrected for the specific purpose to raise Diana, by his side. Never getting in a relationship with anyone, since he was raising the next Snow White.

So to hear that her father, who is 34 years old, is dating Mira is a shock.

Especially since Mira is the same age as Diana.

Even though past tellings had Queens marry that age as well.

Or a bit older.

She smiles weakly, which went unnoticed by Mira and Good King who were holding hands.

She was weary now.

She... didn't think this would happen at all really.

___

"They make such a lovely couple," Diana jumps as she turned to look at Red Ridding Hood, Crimson Hood, and The Big Bad Wolf, Remus Badwolf.

Mira's bffas of course, whom came to the party dinner Good King had hosted.

How odd she had friends who were supposed to be enemies.

Diana smiled weakly and glanced at Diana who was with Edward, the couple were happily talking with Fiona Thorn, better known as Maleficent, and Valarie Goodfairy.

Mira wore purple fish tail skirt that had black stitching that helped make it seem as if animal bones were decorating the skirt, a black queen Anne top with black platform heels. Her hair was done in a fishtail braid, her small crown with the bone of a raven sitting on top delicately on her head.

The sight of beauty.

Diana pushed down the burst of jealousy she had for Mira.

It was ok, she was Snow White, the most fairest, of course Mira would be the fairest 1st. That's how the story goes.

She looked away after a minute to look back at Crimson and Remus and smiled wearily, "indeed."

Crimson bit back a smile, she and Remus knew from Mira that she felt as if Diana was uncomfortable with the relationship of her enemy with her daddy dearest. However, to Crimson and Remus it was clear Mira truly did love Good King. The man had wooed her well and he didn't care at all about her being his daughter's enemy.

The two have been dating for over 5 months, well 7 if you count the 2 months when they kept their relationship a secret, and they looked to be going strong.

"Nothing wrong with it," Diana said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes as she looked back to see Good King place a kiss on Mira's cheek.

Diana wished Willow was there, but her tale was already in progress and well... she wasn't really allowed to dinner parties or anything really.

She did see the ugly stepsisters and their evil mother. So there was that. However, they left after a while once it was 9 PM, she just hoped Willow was ok.

The poor girl never had a chance to leave the home she was now trapped in.

Emerald Lockes was here though, but the woman was so annoying with how she silently criticized the palace each time she came for a visit.

Diana bit back a groan before putting on a dazzling smile and walked up to Emerald.

At least she could talk with her.

Albeit probably not that of interesting things.

___

A year in a half (or almost 2 years and a month really) to Mira and Good King's relationship and Diana was getting impatient.

When the heck will their tale begin?!

She was thinking this during a ball that her father had thrown for Mira's 21st birthday and everyone was invited.

Diana wore a sweetheart gown

With her hair in a curls, but she felt a bite of anger seeing what Mira was wearing.

(Mira wore this)

With her mint blonde hair in waves with a small braided part in it.

It was a simple but elegant look that she had somehow been able to pull off with the many animal bone jewelry she wore.

She smiled sweetly to guests and danced with random Charming princes before pausing in confusion as the music stopped.

A spotlight flashed onto her father, who was smiling at Mira who had her hands on the pockets of her dress, whom held a microphone.

The next few things her father said caused her to stand there frozen as the whole room cheered and clapped.

Her father proposed to Mira.

Mira was marrying her father, the Good King, Diana's daddy dearest.

She felt her stomach clench before breathing deeply.

A few hours after the ball ended she paced her room and took deep breaths.

"It's no problem! Plenty of Queens have married a Good King to progress or create a story before poisoning their Snow White," she whispers to herself as she chugged on the bottle of wine that she had sneaked out of the wine cellar.

Her lips were a light blue, the bottle half empty, it was full when she entered the room.

"Yeah...no need to worry! Plenty of them even divorced their Good King," she giggles nervously.

Not remembering that it was a rare few of Queen who did end up divorcing their Good King, but that was years and years after their tale was done.

"Our tale is meant to start," Diana hisses before taking another drink as she remembered how her father called Mira beautiful.

"He's speaking out of love of course," she mumbled to herself.

____

Diana stat there frozen as Mira walked down the isle.

A week had passed after Mira's 21st birthday and the wedding was happening.

Everyone who was important was invited, even the common folk.

Much to the surprise of no one, Mira opted to wear a black wedding gown.

Her blonde mint hair now dyed black was in curls and she held the black roses close to her as she reached Edward. Remus having walked her down the isle.

It very much suited her.

The rest of the wedding was a blur, all Diana remembered was feeling ice in the pit of her stomach.

'Just part of the story,' Diana chanted in her head throughout the whole day.

3 months later Dia- no! Snow White was now in the woods with the seven dwarfs.

In the glass coffin they made her.

3 months after she had been awoken by her prince, Prince Draiden Charming, and married him she was now living the best life.

She had her own kingdom, well... the kingdom that all past Snow Whites were able to rule over once their story finished.

Her grandmother had given it to her after she got back from her honeymoon.

She fixes her hair when she pauses a little.

"I haven't seen father for almost 4 months," she whispers shocked before finally deciding to go over to Good Castle to visit her father. Surely Evil Queen and him have already divorced.

The story already ended, no need for them to be married!

Snow made her way to Good Castle, she hopped off the carriage and in excitement threw open the doors. She looked around furrowing her eyebrows.

There were many dark knights guarding the place.

....that could only mean one thing.

Evil Queen was still here.

"Ah! Snow! What a lovely visit!" Mira called out from the top of the stairs, her mint blonde hair in a messy braid as she wore a black and violet fish tail skirt with a long sleeved button up black shirt with slingback heels.

"Hello Evil Queen," Snow said with a weak smile which wasn't noticed by Mira who smiled as her husband hugged her.

"There's my beautiful wife! The fairest in my heart," Edward said playfully.

Snow freezes at that. Evil Queen? The fairest?

But.... she was the fairest! Her! Snow White! She, Diana White,THE Snow White was the fairest!

She felt as if she was splashed with cold water.

But she felt as if a damn had been broken.

Mira couldn't still be married to Snow's father unless.... unless their story hasn't actually finished.

If it did then Mira and Good King have to have divorced by now....

"Snow?" Snow blinked and fought off the urge to sneer at her enemy as shr looked up st Mira.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to stay for lunch? Me and Edward have a few things to do later on so really lunch time is the perfect time to catch up," Mira said with a bright smile.

"Sure!" Snow said ignoring the hisses in her mind as Good King cooed at Mira and called her beautiful.

'Draiden never calls me beautiful,' Diana thought bitterly.

'Surely our tale isn't done,' Diana thought darkly as she was handed her plate.

The anger inside of her continued to grow the whole week as she kept visiting and watched how wonderful her father and her enemy's marriage was. Her marriage wasn't like that at all.

How unfair.

Mira couldn't be the fairest. Snow White was!

But Good King kept calling her beautiful! He HAS to call Snow that.

She is his daughter. It's fair.

But he never did it.

How unfair.

Jealousy continued to grow.

She was the fairest.

All of Ever After knew that.

But it looked like they needed a reminder.

Tag: @2sunchild2 @thegayestasexual @unmaskedagain @captainrose35 @falling-electricxangel @calliopeia @mlbchaosqueen @animalgirl05 @alicesangelofmusic @thyladyanput

#jenny writes #ever after high #ever after high au #snow white turns evil au #i changed a few things since i can and will

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fanfoolishness · 3 years

Text

to stay a little while (The Mandalorian)

(Cara Dune stays on Sorgan for longer than she means to; she isn’t sure why. Cara POV set before and during Sanctuary, also featuring Din Djarin, Grogu, Omera, Winta, Caben and Stoke. A little contemplative story infused with hope. 2800 words.)

***

Cara’s always felt it, energy humming beneath her skin, the crackle of power etched in bone and muscle. A little girl standing on an Alderaanian beach with her toes in the sand, exploding into cartwheels amidst the surf. A twelve-year-old watching holos of fights in her room, practicing throwing punches against sun-shadows painted on the wall. A young woman pacing, muscles tense and coiled, wondering how to tell her family she was leaving a world of peace for the battlefront.

She’s all of them and none, now, skin marked with memories of the lives she’s lived and shed in favor of the future. She’s always moving, still pacing, only now her journeys span star systems instead of the distance between her room to her parents’. She pays her way in muscle and odd jobs, and the stars stream out behind her, another life forgotten.

But Sorgan? Sorgan’s all right.

***

She’s not sure why she stays.

It’s not like she’d intended it, though it makes some sense. Sorgan is quiet and sleepy, a place where the Rebellion -- the Republic -- old habits die hard -- probably won’t think to visit for another decade. The remnants of the Empire are even less likely to come to call, given the place’s major exports are whole krill and spotchka. Not exactly useful stuff when it comes to firepower.

It’s… nice, here. She keeps a room at the shabby inn, living off stew and wild-caught meat, finishing out the nights in a fuzzy spotchka haze. She sleeps harder and deeper than she has in a year on a wooden cot that creaks and leaves her back sore. She keeps her blaster by the bedside when she rests, but there’s dust on the handle when she finally draws it against the Mandalorian.

She’s only seen one or two in her time. She’s heard the rumors, Mandalore’s fate nearly as grim as Alderaan’s (never as bad as that, nothing could be as bad as that, her stomach twists at the thought). But she’s never heard of the Mandalorian survivors traveling with tiny weird children in tow, and she wonders what the hell the two of them are really doing here.

***

Seems like she and the Mandalorian have something in common. Home’s something for other people, softer people; but just because it’s not for her, doesn’t mean it isn’t worth defending. She looks at the villagers, men and women and children in simple clothes with krill stains on their boots and hands. Their little homes are small and humble, raised by hand, near enough to the ponds that Cara can hear the krill bubble beneath the surface if she listens hard. They live so near to nature that they can touch it at any time.

Alderaan was like this, too.

One of the villagers, Caben, she thinks, helps get her situated in a small hut on the edge of the settlement. He’s nervous and excited both, and the hope in his face unsettles her. His eyes are wide at the amount of weaponry she stows next to her bed.

“You know we can’t guarantee anything, right?” she asks. “Not until we know what you’re up against.”

Caben shakes out a heavy blanket. Sunlight catches dust motes in the breeze from the blanket, and they hang like gold in the air between them.

“We understand,” he says hastily. “It’s just… if you can help us… you don’t know what it would mean to us, to protect our home.”

She smiles a little despite herself. “I know what you mean.”

***

Though of course, it’s not that simple.

Simple would have been a band of drunken raiders on foot. She could have left the Mandalorian napping with his strange little kid and taken them all out before they got up for breakfast, if that was all they had to deal with. But instead there’s an AT-ST on this backwater little planet, and she realizes the damn Empire got here after all.

She stands in the footprint of a scout walker, beneath broken branches high overhead. The cold she feels has nothing to do with the spring breeze through the trees.

She’s done, now. She wants to leave and so does the Mandalorian; she feels an echo of her own energy ringing off him. The urge to run is a familiar one.

It’s not their problem. Not really.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” she growls, their boots crushing twigs and moss in the thick loam as they walk back to the village.

“I don’t know what these people are thinking,” he says. “There isn’t enough firepower on this planet for that.”

“You’re telling me.” She shakes her head, retracing their path through the ferns and trees. “What will you and the kid do?”

“We’ll have to move on; it’s not as if we have a choice. Guild hunters will be after him if we can’t find somewhere quiet,” says Mando. His voice is as inscrutable as his helmet. She’s not sure if he’s angry about the situation, or just resigned. “And you?”

“I’ll hitch a ride back to the town, I guess,” she says. But the idea doesn’t sit well with her.

The little village comes into view, and she spots the villagers in blue catching their krill and moving about their day-to-day. Mando’s strange green kid plays at the edge of the woods with the widow’s daughter and some of the other children. Their giggles are a sound that doesn’t belong with what her memory gives her, the creak and groan of metal feet swinging through the battlefield, the sharp whine of blaster fire, the flash of explosions.

They’ll never be safe with that thing out there.

***

Mando turns out to be even blunter than she is. No wonder they get along so well. “You can’t live here anymore,” he announces to the village.

She chokes in surprise. “Nice bedside manner,” she mutters. Maybe the guy’s heart is beskar, too.

“You think you can do better?” he asks, and she thinks maybe he’s a little miffed under the helmet. She’d laugh if the villagers weren’t staring at them like their world has ended. She flinches a little. She knows the feeling.

“Can’t do much worse,” she says under her breath. The villagers stare up at them, their eyes wide. She lets her voice ring out over the clearing. “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

An uproar. They shout and yell, and she winces. Denial’s always hard to watch. She explains about the AT-ST; they tell her about family, about tradition, about home.

She tries to make them see it. Tries to make her voice carry what it needs to, tries to translate soldiers gasping their last breaths in the dark to something they can understand. But she’s never had words for things like this, she’s only had fists and fire, and she doesn’t know how to pull that forward into something that can be shared. She isn’t sure she she wants to know how.

The words she does come up with, finally, are too spare. “I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes,” she says heavily, and she knows it doesn’t come close to making them hear what they need to hear.

The widow looks sharply at her, eyes blazing. “We’re not leaving.”

“You cannot fight that thing,” says Cara, but the other woman stands tall and square, and something in the set of her shoulders makes Cara doubt. Maybe --

Mando feels it, too, the steel coming alive in these people. She’s relieved when he turns back to the villagers and says to her, “Unless we show them how.”

She cracks a grin. Okay. Okay. Maybe things will go down different, this time.

She nods to the widow. “Hey,” she says. “What’s your name?”

“Omera,” she replies. Her daughter hugs her, hard, around the middle. Omera’s hand is gentle on her daughter’s shoulders, but her face is set with determination.

Good. They’ll need it.

***

It takes them near a week to get the villagers ready, and the routine almost starts to feel familiar by the end. Up in the morning early for training. Villagers split up into teams to dig trenches, fell trees, raise stakes. There’s melee practice with her; Mando handles the shooting. There’s a rhythm here that reminds her of the best of the Rebellion days, and she finds herself enjoying it, grinning when Stoke manages to knock Caben on his ass with his staff, crowing when their practice run goes well. She’s missed this.

Evenings are guard duty, hoping the Klatooinians don’t come back before they can spring their trap, but there’s still time for a glass of spotchka around the fire. She enjoys the quiet that springs up as the birds sing their goodnight songs and the people speak theirs. She’s missed this, too.

Some nights she sits with Omera and her daughter, Winta, complimenting the woman on her shooting skills. Some nights she trades drinks with Caben and Stoke, making them laugh until they snort their spotchka up the nose. Some nights she and Mando sit and talk strategy; sometimes they sit and trade war stories, the kind filled with casual horrors you can only tell a stranger.

Mando’s funny little kid sits on the ground between their legs, playing games with sticks and pebbles in the dirt. Sometimes the kid turns to Cara, waving a stick with delight; she leans over and sagely tells him it’s a good one, nice and… branchy. Sometimes he falls asleep against Mando’s leg, and Mando reaches down, rubbing his little back as the fire crackles.

It all starts feeling pretty good.

***

Her skin’s on fire in the best way, blood pumping real and fierce and frenzied through her veins. The villagers dance around the ruins of the AT-ST as the moon wanes. No one’s getting any sleep tonight, and why should they? The victory’s real and glorious, the Empire’s war machine brought down by wooden sticks and krill ponds and Mando’s pulse rifle, guts and instinct and sheer grit, and it’s a heady, raucous thing. Villagers shout snatches of songs, children run and play way past their bedtime, and the spotchka flows. Dank farrik, she hasn’t felt this good in years.

She raises her glass high and bumps into the Mandalorian. He’s holding his sleeping kid, though how the kid can sleep through all the celebration she has no idea.

“Mando! Come on, have a drink. I think we earned it,” Cara laughs. She nudges him with an elbow, the bone ringing against his beskar. She shakes the sensation loose from her arm. That stuff’s tough as hell.

He stands for a moment at the fire’s edge, and she watches the flames dancing in the reflections of his armor. He rests one hand on the sleeping kid’s chest. “I’m glad they’re happy.”

“Aren’t you, man?”

He considers. She takes a drink of her spotchka. Hell, what does it take for this guy to loosen up?

“Yeah. We did a good thing for this village,” he says. “The children will be safe now.” His hand tightens on the kid’s robe.

“It’s a rare thing, these days,” she points out. “Safety. All the more reason to celebrate, don’t you think?”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and she raises her brow. He knows how to laugh?

“I think the kid’s done enough celebrating for both of us,” he says, voice a little lighter than normal. Maybe he’s smiling, under there. “Do you know how many frogs that walker killed when it exploded? I caught him stuffing barbecued frogs into his mouth by the handful.”

“No wonder he’s out cold,” Cara laughs. “All right, all right, go put your kid to bed. But there’s plenty of spotchka out here if you change your mind.”

“He’s not my --” He sighs, nods. “Goodnight.” He heads back to his hut, kid cradled in his arms. Cara watches him go, puzzled. She’s not a joiner herself, so she gets it; that need to go off and be alone sometimes. But this is a celebration, a community kicking ass and protecting itself, and he’s had no small part in it. So why turn away now?

She finishes her glass, frowning, and steps back toward the fire.

“Cara Dune!” Stoke bellows in delight, and the villagers cheer. She grins and pumps her fist, and the party keeps on rolling.

***

She should move on, her work done, village saved, credits paid. But she stays, and so do Mando and his kid, and they don’t talk about it. Which suits her just fine.

Cara thinks she knows why Mando stays. The kid toddles up to him to show him leaves and bugs, and he examines them patiently in the palm of his hand. The little one makes friends with Winta and the other kids, and they play tag or chase or whatever they call it here, with breaks to learn their lessons out in the bright sun. Mando makes his rounds through the village, speaking now and then with Omera or nodding to the other farmers, and she watches the native vigilance in him soften, just a little. And when he takes the kid to bed at night, she sees him stroke the little guy’s ears when he thinks she isn’t looking.

Yeah. Makes sense he’d want to stay.

She’s a little less sure about herself. It’s not that she doesn’t like the villagers; they’re good solid people, plainspoken, and they look up to her like anything. But she wonders sometimes if it’s something else keeping her here.

She stands in the forest one gleaming morning, exercising. Her body’s as much a weapon as her blasters or vibroblade, and despite the village quickly returning to its sleepy ways, she has no intention of letting this weapon dull. She works her way through warmups and into heavier exercise, alternating cardiac work with body weight strength exercises.

The sound of her own breath mingles with the sounds of the forest. Drummer birds peck ratatat against the pines. Gold siskins chip cheerily high in the branches; plump ground birds sing ahlolo, ahlolo as they trundle their way through the ferns and shrubs. They’ve become as familiar to her as the villagers, and she remembers lessons on Alderaan, her teachers sharing the names of their planet’s plants and wildlife with joy in their faces. She liked the lessons, but where the other kids walked patiently, she jumped and climbed and somersaulted, getting in serious trouble.

Still, though, she remembers the names they taught her, and she remembers the names of the Sorgan creatures when the villagers let them slip.

Cara smiles a little, eyes stinging. Huh.

Maybe there’s something to that.

She finishes her push-up and rocks back on her heels, surveying the woods from a crouched position. The pine needles beneath her boots are shades of rust and gold. They smell clean and piercing. She extends one hand, brushes her fingertips against them. They prick her fingers, and she closes her eyes at the sensation, feeling the sweat bead on her cheeks and forehead.

A rustle behind her sends her into a fighting stance, blaster half-drawn before she realizes it’s just Winta. The girl squeaks, startled, and Cara quickly holsters her blaster, standing up straight.

“Morning, Winta,” she says, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “What are you doing out here?”

The girl gives her a gap-toothed grin, her eyes bright. “I -- I was following you, Miss Dune.”

Cara’s eyes widen. “Oh please, just call me Cara, kid.”

Winta giggles. “Okay, Cara.” She tries the name out hesitantly, sounding excited to say it. “Is it okay if I watch you train?”

Cara’s taken aback. A strange request, one she’s never had from a kid before, but then again, she doesn’t really do the whole kid thing. “Sure, I guess. Why do you want to?”

Winta twists her hands together, looking away. “I just -- I think it’s really neat, how you’re so strong. Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course,” says Cara, very seriously. She crosses her arms and waits as if the kid’s about to drop major enemy intel.

“I think you’re even stronger than the Mandalorian!” Winta whispers, then dissolves into another storm of giggles.

“Damn right I am!” Cara laughs.

Winta gazes up at her. “I want to be strong too someday. Like you!”

“Why not start now?” Cara asks, her face flushing with unexpected warmth. She looks down at Winta’s bright eyes, and sees a different kid told to settle down, to stay still, to stop fighting. She breathes in the scents of Sorgan, so crisp and clean, so familiar, somehow.

“Come on,” says Cara. “Now first, you’ll want to set yourself up in a solid stance…” She digs her boots into the loam and Winta does the same, her small hands tightening into fists. “Good! If you’re anchored right, nothing can knock you down.”

The kid nods, looking just as determined as her mother. Cara grins to see it. “Like this, Cara?”

“Yeah,” says Cara proudly. She swallows. “Just like that.”

#the mandalorian fanfiction #cara dune #cara dune fanfic #sorgan #the mandalorian #noromo mando #din djarin #omera #winta #my mando fic

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stitchandani · 3 years

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Lilo's College Days That Defining Moment The story of the moment Lilo and Mertle stopped being enemies and started, super slowly, being friends as teenagers. Written by Doverstar. Read below

16-year-old Mertle Edmonds didn’t go barefoot anywhere unless she was in her room. Especially not when every single pair of her sandals was a designer brand. Unfortunately, tonight she had to make an exception. It was a performance celebrating the 50th anniversary of her hula school. Being only two years from graduation, Moses, their Kumu, had decided to allow his oldest students to star in a special dance they’d all worked together to create. It was always easy working with Yuki, Teresa, and Elena. It was even easy working with Victoria. Mostly. But Lilo…Lilo Pelekai always had the worst ideas—the weirdest ideas. She was always trying to stink up the show, steal the spotlight. Luckily Moses didn’t approve half of her plans during the brainstorming, and the dance had come out okay. In fact, Mertle had shone out more than she usually did tonight. She did her part perfectly—the swing of her hips, the smoothness in her steps, the waft of both arms. Not a single slip-up, and not a curly hair came out of her ponytail. And of course, doing hula required she go barefoot. That made total sense. What was really not like her was running through the muddy trail down to the beach without shoes on. She didn’t intend to. She just had to get out of that building. Her mother had been there to congratulate her after the performance, as always. Moms gushed a lot, but at least Mertle could always say—with confidence—that her mom wasn’t doing it just because she was her mom. It was because, obviously, Mertle deserved every bit of the praise she received. When Mertle had gone to change into her green tank top and blue cutoff jeans, after the audience had all but left, she took her sweet time. It was even better that she got to the only bathroom right before Lilo had, so she got to see the sweet flash of irritation in those too-close-together brown eyes. Even that blue thing, Stitch, looked vexed. (Mertle had been telling herself for years that she didn’t know exactly what Stitch was, even if certain events during her childhood proved otherwise. Events and a talking dog who was probably asleep in her bedroom right now.) If Victoria hadn’t gone home so quickly after the show, she probably would’ve been annoyed for her creep friend too. Some nights just went too perfectly. Upon emerging from the bathroom, the redhead found that everyone was staring at her. As well they should—she looked great. But it was a different kind of staring. There was something really concerning in the way Teresa was practically biting her lip off and the way Moses seemed to be struggling to say something. “What?” Mertle tossed her ponytail, hands on her hips. “What did I miss?” Her mother, eyes strangely puffy, pushed past Moses to put her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. Mrs. Edmonds’ glasses looked foggy. “Mertle…sweetheart…” Was she getting all choked up? Why? Mertle’s eyes cut to Elena and Yuki and back to her mom. How embarrassing. Whatever it was, couldn’t it wait till they got out of the hālau first? Nobody liked a blubberer. Totally unprofessional. Her mom had always been just a little overemotional with, well, basically everything, and it got old fast. “Mom, everybody’s looking! What—” “It’s—Carl. It’s your daddy, Mertle.” Words blurred after that. Something about a phone call, something about missing the show tonight, something about “driving under the influence”. Mertle heard it. She just didn’t register what exactly had happened in the last twenty minutes. Her daddy couldn’t be gone. There was no way. He was rich; he owned a store, a resort, three convertibles. He was too important to be dead. As Mertle looked around, past her hysterical mother and at the remaining faces in the room, all she could hear was her own heartbeat. Everyone was still watching her, why were they watching her? She didn’t want to be watched. She didn’t want all the attention now. Not now. Couldn’t they take a hint? Wasn’t this one of those times where everybody was supposed to go away? Or just not be here? She hated the way they were gawking at her. Her daddy was

gone. What did that mean? Mertle felt it slowly sinking in further and further. Carl was dead. He died just moments ago. He was here then and now he wasn’t. Her face tingled. She knew she was about to cry, and she totally hated people seeing her cry. Didn’t cry often. She wanted her mom to give her one of those too-tight, really unnecessary, unwanted hugs, but everyone seemed frozen. Even Mrs. Edmonds. In that split second, Mertle looked at Teresa. Teresa looked away. Then Elena. She fiddled with her hair and glanced at the wall. Yuki met her gaze, just for a moment, and then she started fidgeting in her hula skirt, eyes downcast. The only person who stared right back at her was Lilo. Lilo was unashamedly waiting for Mertle to look at her, and the sympathy there, sympathy that was so clearly genuine, was almost enough to make teenage Edmonds gag. Without another word, she pushed past her mom, Moses, her classmates, and bolted out the open door into the warm night air. So there she was, barefoot, running through the slightly-damp path through the tropical woods to…she didn’t know where. Maybe the beach? Not home, no thank you. Mertle wanted to be alone, where those morons in the halau couldn’t find her and stand around being useless again. She didn’t know what she’d wanted them to do. Something, hello! Funny; she always knew what she wanted. Well, she knew what she did not want. What she didn’t want was...basically everything they’d just done. A whole lot of nothing. Nothing. That was what they were, after all, right? All of them. They were nothing. Not as important as she was. Not as talented, not as pretty. What had she expected? A posse wasn’t supposed to be a hug or a kind word. They’d never mattered that much in her world before. Except when she needed someone to yell at or to agree with her. So why did their actions back there matter now? She was out of breath already. Really needed more exercise. Wasn’t a dazzling hula career enough? Okay, maybe not a dazzling career, not yet. But someday. And practicing for it was clearly wearing her poor, hard-working body thin. She paused, hands on her knees, gasping for breath. She must be tired from the incredible show she’d just put on. That was it. Not out of shape at all. No way, not her. Someday she would have a dazzling hula career; she’d be a sensation, and then… Dad won’t make it to any more of my shows. The thought crashed down on her like the waves she heard beating the surf off to her right, somewhere past the trees and the palmettos. The weight of what she had learned just moments ago was finally starting to make her ache, and Mertle slumped against the trunk of a palm tree. Tears ran down her nose, and she felt herself sliding down the trunk, hugging her knees as she crouched in the sand. Moonlight trickled through the branches and stars twinkled in the clear sky. Mertle didn’t spend a bunch of time outside, unless it was a weekend. She might have enjoyed the night wind playing with her ponytail. If her daddy wasn’t dead. He used to visit. When she was little. When she was 5, 8, even once when she was 10. He’d bring her expensive gifts from his store in Honolulu. She wore a bangle he’d given her now, right above the old charm bracelet on her wrist. It said Daddy’s Little Princess in letters that used to be hot pink. She had been young enough then that being a Princess seemed an achievable goal. Here in the present, it was for luck. Or maybe to remind herself he existed. Because until today, she hadn’t heard from him in three long, disappointing years. Hadn’t seen him in five. Why was he gone? She needed him! Without Carl in the world, she felt…it was like she wasn’t special anymore. Like she wasn’t important, like she wasn’t a star. Her daddy, when he had bothered to show up or call or write or send her presents, had managed every time to make her feel like she was somebody. She believed it, too, to this very night, because he told her so often when they were together. He told her how amazing she was, and how lucky, because she had him for a father,

and he could give her anything. Not to mention a mother whose job gave them whatever they didn’t already have. Now there was nobody to remind her how incredible she was. How incredible she just had to be. She would start to think it was all a lie, and she was just as ordinary and witless as any of those girls in that stupid school. Because the one person in the world who believed it as much as Mertle had was on the side of a road somewhere, never to open his eyes again. “It’s not fair,” Mertle sobbed. “It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.” She jumped when she heard someone behind her. “Mertle?” Mertle thumbed the moisture out from underneath her glasses. “Go away.” “I know how—” “I said go away, Weirdlo!” Lilo was quiet as she slipped her yellow duffel bag off her shoulder, letting it drop in the sand, kneeling beside the redhead. She was in khaki shorts and a red top. Must’ve changed while Mertle had been running. It looked hideous on her. “I know how you feel,” Lilo said almost neutrally, going on as if Mertle hadn’t snapped at her. Mertle refused to turn and look at her. She so did not need this, not right now, not from…it. “You? Puh-leeze. Don’t make me laugh.” “I do,” Lilo insisted. “You’re probaby really confused.” She crossed her legs to get more comfortable. “And scared.” Her voice got lower and she looked at the hands in her lap. “And lost.” Mertle rolled her eyes, but that made hot tears spill faster down her cheeks and she rubbed them off angrily, worried her makeup would smear. “What do you know?” “I know you’re really gonna miss him. You talk about him a lot.” “Yeah, right.” Mertle scoffed, almost laughing for real then. “He wasn’t even a good dad! He was never here. Why should I care?” “But he was still your Ohana, right? I mean...he was still your dad.” Mertle was quiet for a second, contemplating that. Yeah, he was still her dad. But even so, what kind of dad up and leaves for the big city when you’re 2? Or stays away for years at a time, just so he can expand some dumb store? But he’d still come by every once in a while. He’d take her out to get some of Luki’s shave ice. He’d watch her surf. He’d even taken her to get her ears pierced. And when she picked out her first pair of earrings and held them up to him, two little diamonds, he told her they were dull compared to… Mertle felt her chest heave again and she turned her body further away from Lilo, to shield the mess she was obviously becoming. Worthless. She was worthless now, because she did have him to tell her otherwise. Stupid man. Why had he done this to her? What was he thinking? Had he been thinking of her as he died? Had he been scared? He’d been all alone. Lilo put her hand on Mertle’s shoulder, and the bespectacled puddle finally craned her head around to glance at her. “Why are you doing this?” Mertle demanded, sniffling, voice harder than she thought it would be. Lilo didn’t retract her hand. “I lost my dad, too,” she reminded the girl. “I know what it’s like right after….” She didn’t finish that part. Closing her eyes as if going back in time for a moment, Lilo sighed very softly, and Mertle thought she’d never heard someone sound so tired. Then Lilo opened her eyes and caught Mertle’s gaze again. “Anyway. I didn’t want you to be by yourself.” She managed a smile. “Nobody gets left behind.” Mertle gawked at her. She’d gawked at Lilo Pelekai plenty of times, dozens, hundreds. All the time they’d known each other, Mertle looked down her nose at Lilo. She’d sneered and called her names for over ten years. When they were children, the Edmonds child’s sole purpose in life had been to make her rival miserable, because if someone else could be miserable, Mertle wouldn’t have to be. This too-creative, too-nice, too-weird native teen was a freak. An oddball, a dork, a loser, a total irritant. The fly at Mertle’s lifelong picnic. Lilo was gross, loud, pathetic, had terrible taste in fashion… And she was the only one who’d stayed. Yuki, Teresa, Elena, they’d all looked away. But Lilo...Lilo had stared back, because

something of merit was happening to Mertle, something that mattered. She’d run after the girl who had tried to drag her down with every breath she’d taken since they were five years old. She acted like Mertle was important. Like Mertle wasn't worthless. Like she cared. Like they were friends. And slowly, through her tears, Mertle smiled back.

#doverstar posts #fanfic #story #lilo's college days #mertle edmonds #lilo pelekai #that defining moment #lilo and stitch #teen lilo #teenage lilo

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