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blossom-hwa · 3 years

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Light the Pyres |Light| - SUNGYOON

Don’t know how I'm still alive after posting that last chapter but I appreciate the whole not killing me thing guys

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, death, implied suicide of a side character (no suicidal thoughts), semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 5.7k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Strike >> Light >> Next: Rise

Golden Child Masterlist

You wake up to silence.

Blearily, you blink once, trying to clear the inky darkness from your vision. It doesn’t leave – it’s still night.

You blink again, confused. Why are you awake…?

Silence. No second set of breathing, no shuffling in sleep.

Daeyeol?

Your head whips to the side so fast that your neck almost cracks. No one’s in the passenger seat. Where –

Oh.

Right.

You sink back into your seat, pressure beginning to pound behind your eyes again. Right. He’s dead. Even though he was here just hours ago, he’s dead. He’ll never be here again.

Blinking away the tears distracts you from the uneasy silence, but when they’re gone, the quiet settles again. Daeyeol’s absence makes sense. It should explain the lack of sound other than your breath, but…

Oh, fuck.

Fuck.

You whip around. The previous lump of mystery boy that used to be in the backseat is gone.

Oh my God.

Is he stupid?

Digging around your bag produces a flashlight and your gun. There’s only one bullet left – you curse yourself for not reloading earlier – but you grab the bag, shove open the door, and step into the night.

Warm night air curdles against your cheeks. You can already feel sweat beginning to bead on your forehead, sticking your dirty hair to your skin, but you quickly lock the car door and set off down the empty highway.

He can’t have gotten far. Mystery boy’s leg was fractured or something, and even though he was able to walk, you know that the injury means he can’t have gone more than a few miles. It’ll be a pain in the ass, especially since there are at least a few hours before sunrise – more opportunity for zombies to jump out of nowhere when you can’t fucking see, which makes you wonder again just what this mystery boy was thinking when he left – but. Well. You can’t just leave him, can you?

You could, an unhelpful voice in the back of your mind says. You could just ignore him and go on alone.

You stop walking. You could do that, couldn’t you? Wasn’t that what you wanted earlier, anyway? For mystery boy to just be gone?

But Daeyeol would never approve. He’d be upset, angry, disappointed, even, if you didn’t go after him. It’s what he would’ve done.

Even if it came at the cost of his own life.

Fucking Daeyeol. You sigh, stepping forward even as a tiny, tired smile curves your lips and tears burn in your eyes. Still your friend, still someone you look up to, even in the grave.

Besides, this is Daeyeol’s life that mystery boy is living on. The thought twists your stomach, but you keep walking forward. Hell if you’re going to let him waste it with some stupidity like this, even if you hate that the exchange was made in the first place.

Ten minutes pass. You take out a box of (dwindling) ammunition and begin to reload your gun. Twenty. Thirty. The slightest sound makes you flinch, though you don’t dare turn on your flashlight for fear of giving yourself away to predators, zombie or human. Forty. Fifty.

At the hour mark, light glimmers on the horizon, and you’re about to give up. Either mystery boy started out too early or he has some superhuman reservoir of strength that let him outstrip you even on an injured leg.

Or he’s dead.

With that depressing thought, you stop, contemplating turning back. You still have half a country to cross. You’ve walked back at least three miles, which means three miles to make up when you finally get on your way. And if that boy is dead by now –

A darker shadow in the distance catches your eye. It’s upright. Looks like it’s moving forward, away from you.

Maybe not dead, then.

It doesn’t take too long to catch up. Mystery boy hears your footsteps and turns around in evident surprise, eyes widening visibly even against the still-dark sky.

“Idiot,” is the first thing you snap when you finally catch up. He’s stopped walking – thank God – and you motion impatiently for him to sit down. He doesn’t at first, but when you gesture more insistently, he complies with what looks like an expression of almost relief. “What were you thinking, leaving at night?”

He doesn’t answer.

You sigh. “Look, I’m not the smartest person in the world, but even I wouldn’t be caught dead in the middle of an empty highway, walking on a possibly injured leg, essentially acting as a slowly-moving target for any straggling zombie or desperate survivor.”

“You didn’t exactly seem to want me around.”

Not his fault.

Not. His. Fault.

You take a deep breath. “I didn’t,” you say truthfully, praying that a bite doesn’t find its way into your words. “But I’m not heartless.”

A small scoff. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Not.

His.

Fault.

“If I was so heartless, you think I would’ve come after you in the fucking dark?” you snap. “You’re going in the complete opposite direction I was headed in and I still came over here to fucking find you.”

“You didn’t have to,” mystery boy replies, now staring you right in the eyes with a disturbed gaze. You see a lot of emotions swirling around in the dark – confusion, anger, resentment, sadness.

Emotion rises in your own throat and you turn away, teeth gritted. If you look at him any longer, you’re pretty sure you’ll cry, and you really don’t need that. “You’re right.” You shrug, still not meeting his eyes. “But Daeyeol would have hated me if I didn’t.”

It takes a moment to realize you’ve just given him the name of the boy who sacrificed himself for your escape. You curse yourself. How could you have given up his name, Lee Daeyeol, the only thing you have remaining of your best friend besides your memories?

From the slight intake of breath, you gather that mystery boy has made the connection, too. “Was that… was that your friend’s name?”

You swallow hard, pointedly still looking away. No sense in lying. “Yes,” you get out, tears beginning to press behind your eyes. “And you’re living on his life right now, so I’m also not going to let you throw it away so easily.”

“So my life wouldn’t be worth as much if he hadn’t given up his for me?”

“Daeyeol was my friend for over twenty years,” you snarl, turning back to stare him in the eye. “The only person who knows me better than he does – did –” your voice cracks – “was my mom. So you ask me.”

He holds your gaze for half a second before dropping it, the fight draining out of his expression. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, barely loud enough for you to hear. And when his words do finally register, you think you’ve heard him wrong. ‘Fair enough?’ What kind of response is that?

“What?”

Mystery boy doesn’t reply.

After several moments of silence, you break it again. “Okay.” You fix your gaze on mystery boy again, even if he doesn’t look back. “What were you trying to do when you left? Where were you going? As far as I know, the city I found you in had a horde of zombies, and even if Daeyeol cleaned most of them out before – well, you’d have to be pretty much suicidal to go back.”

Silence. Then –

“My sister.” Mystery boy swallows hard. You can’t tell in the darkness even though it’s getting a little lighter, but his eyes look a little shiny. “And her boyfriend.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You turn away, trying to disguise your emotions. This is why you can’t deal with people, for fuck’s sake. This is why Daeyeol handled most of the human interaction over the past couple of months. The second you hear a sob story, the second you hear about the people others have lost…

Too late. Your heart aches, even more so because now you understand. Firsthand.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Are they alive?”

“I don’t know.” He raises his head. “I left to find them.”

Jesus Christ.

Fine. You get it. Half of you wants to go back too, to find Daeyeol and give him a proper burial instead of being left to rot with flies buzzing over his body. But it’s dangerous. Possibly suicide. There were at least several zombies that Daeyeol didn’t manage to pick off before he had to use his last bullet on himself. You have no way of knowing whether or not there are more.

Daeyeol would tell you to keep going, to forget about his body and just focus on staying alive. If you hadn’t walked back several miles already, you might’ve taken that advice. But you did, and he isn’t here to talk sense into you anymore, isn’t here to be selfless.

And you need to do something, anything, for the friend who gave up so much for you.

You stand brusquely, hold out a hand. “Get up.”

Mystery boy’s eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t take it.

You sigh. “You’re trying to find your sister, right? And her boyfriend? Last time you saw them was in the city?”

He nods. “Yeah?”

“I’m coming with you.” Impatient, you reach down and pull him up. “If you collapse on that leg, at least you’ll have someone to carry you elsewhere.”

Mystery boy looks at you with dubious eyes that make your hackles want to rise. “That can’t be the only reason you’re coming.”

“Caught,” you snap, letting go of his hand. “You’re right, I’m not selfless enough for that. I want to bury my friend, even if it means going on a possible suicide mission. Sue me.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, an expression that almost looks like a smile widens his lips. “Doubt there’s a lawyer left in this country to sue you, even if I wanted to.”

He made a joke. He made a joke, and though it wasn’t even that funny, the corners of your lips twitch. “Come on,” you say, starting off so he won’t see it. “Let’s see how much that leg of yours can take before you collapse.”

. . . . .

According to the highway signs, mystery boy makes it another five miles before he needs a break. Though the sun’s gone up and you’re impatient, you give it to him. It’s slightly alarming, really, how far he got with an injured leg, and besides, there are only a couple miles left. In ten minutes, he’s up and you start off again.

Too late and too soon, you arrive at the highway exit that leads to the town where you found mystery boy. The silence between you two grows thicker, heavier with bloody memories as you keep slogging forward, the hot sun beginning to creep up the sky.

“Here,” you finally say, breaking the quiet. You recognize the junction in the streets, the mess of cars and broken glass at the end of this small alleyway between two buildings. “Where did you last see them?”

Mystery boy swallows hard, eyes flicking left and right. “They went into one of the buildings,” he says quietly. “We got attacked and I drew the zombies away so they could…” He trails off.

You really don’t have it in you to imagine what happened. “Which building?”

He points a glass-walled building. Most of the windows seem intact, at least on the first floor. Lettering on the glass spells out CAFETERIA. “I think it was that one.”

Well. At least you might be able to find some food or water. Assuming you don’t get killed.

“Watch my back” is all you say before entering the empty square.

Bodies litter the ground, mostly pale-skinned with tiny pupils and black veins. Dried blood powders the bottom of your shoes as you walk forward, gun at the ready.

You almost step on another gun. A very familiar one. Which means…

Bile rises in your throat as a mop of brown hair enters your periphery. You have to force yourself not to look that way, not to stare at the pool of blood that you know is his, not to follow the red stains until you see the body, the shell of Lee Daeyeol, your best friend basically since birth –

Your head snaps away and you take a deep, shuddering breath. Mystery boy has stopped walking too, staring at the empty bus where he was stranded less than a day ago.

“Come on.” Your whisper is a little harsh, but he jerks his gaze away and nods, following you over blood and glass towards the building.

And immediately you back away as the faint but sickening sound of groans fills your ears.

Behind you, mystery boy looks stricken. You understand. If there are zombies in the building, they could very well have caught his sister and her boyfriend already.

“Your call,” you whisper, back to hiding behind a wall. You can’t see any zombies in the cafeteria area, but the faint sounds indicate they’re deeper in the building. “You still want to find them?”

Dark eyes take in the scene. Mystery boy’s jaw sets. “You don’t have to come.”

He’s right. You don’t have to. You could just drag Daeyeol’s body away and find somewhere to bury it and ignore this boy whose name you still don’t know.

But it’s Daeyeol’s life he’s living on. And what the fuck was the point of Daeyeol dying if mystery boy only lived one more day than he would have?

“I walked ten miles to get here, and you’re living on Daeyeol’s time,” you reply, flicking the safety off your gun. Eighteen bullets. Each one needs to count. “What would be the point if you only managed to live one day extra?”

Something curdles in mystery boy’s gaze, but he nods. “We should see if we can figure out where the zombies are,” he says. “Better if we avoid them. Or are at least ready to face them.”

You can’t argue with that. So you carefully follow him around the building, slowly, quietly. No one pops out, but the groaning grows louder as you approach the left side. “Right,” you mutter, jerking your head in that direction. Wordlessly, mystery boy follows your steps.

A locked door, easily picked, seems to lead underground. The emergency lights are miraculously still on – if there’s a generator and it runs on gas, you might be able to siphon some off and hotwire a car, which you note – but they make an eerie glow against peeling paint as you walk deeper into the building.

Every sound echoes on the walls. You try to muffle your footsteps but the echoes don’t die, only soften slightly and not nearly enough to stop you from wanting to bolt with every sound. Behind you, mystery boy’s breath has grown slightly harsher, more labored. His leg can’t be doing well. If you keep walking down these stairs, it’s only going to get worse.

But this was what he wanted. And from the look in his eyes outside, you’re pretty sure he’d rather die than try to run.

The staircase finally ends, leaving a smooth pathway to walk on. You pause for a moment to see if mystery boy wants a break, but he keeps moving forward, even though he’s almost hugging the walls at this point. You fall behind – you’re in more shape to keep watch than he is, anyway – and then you hear the groans.

Mystery boy stops. You swallow. “Let me in front,” you say, edging forward. “I have the weapon and I’m uninjured. Watch my back.”

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t say you two should just leave like you kind of want him to. So you keep walking through the eerie glow, groans filling your ears as the pathway opens into a large, empty room. Several machines line the walls with various warning signs, cables running over the floor. But that isn’t what catches your attention, what elicits the gasp from mystery boy’s throat.

At the far end of the room, two zombies are tied to a machine, rubber cables around their ankles keeping them from lunging across the floor. One has short white hair, a boy. The other, with long, dark hair, is a girl. They look like they tied themselves standing up, but since then, they’ve fallen to the floor. Snarling mouths and shrunken pupils fixate in your direction.

Mystery boy collapses against the wall. Wide eyes fill with shock, with fear, with loathing and self-hatred and despair as he stares at the groaning girl and boy, gaze unable to leave them.

Sister and boyfriend. You don’t know who turned first, but at least one had enough sense to tie their legs up before they fully transformed. Your chest tightens, bile rising in your throat as they struggle to crawl across the floor, trying to get to flesh, human flesh –

A loud, scraping noise sounds as the machine keeping the boy in place groans, the boy himself trying to scrabble forward on clawing hands. You whip your gun around, training it on his head.

“Don’t shoot.”

It’s barely a whisper, but mystery boy’s voice keeps you from pulling the trigger. You look at him, one eye still focused on the scrabbling zombie. “You want to just leave them?” you ask, unable to keep the incredulity out of your words.

Anger flashes in his eyes as he stands. “You try killing someone close to you,” he snaps. A tear slides down his cheek.

He’s upset. He’s scared. He’s desperate and horrified and probably still can’t process everything right now. That knowledge alone keeps you from screaming about Daeyeol and how he’s dead and how this boy right here killed him with his inability to keep the zombies at bay.

A groaning screech. Both of you jump. The girl’s machine squeals against the wall as she tugs, whitened arms outstretched toward your bodies.

You raise your gun again. “You have one minute to make the call,” you say, words shaking with grief and anger even as you try to steady your voice. “I can leave them here and go. Or I can put them both out of this misery and we can carry their bodies out and we’ll bury them with Daeyeol.” Your finger twitches on the trigger, but you don’t pull. “Unless you have good aim and want to do it yourself, but it’s easier for someone unattached. One minute and I make the decision. You know which one I’ll pick.”

Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven…

Mystery boy doesn’t say a word.

Forty-four, forty-three, forty-two…

You grit your teeth. “Thirty seconds.”

Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen…

“Ten seconds.”

Nine, eight, seven, six…

Cracked, broken words spill from equally broken lips. “Do it.”

You take a breath. Pull the trigger.

Bang. Bang.

The groaning stops, two silent bodies slumped on the floor. You lower the gun, two fewer bullets in the chamber. Blood oozes onto the ground.

You don’t look at mystery boy as you step forward, flicking the safety back on the gun. “Help me carry them out before other zombies find us.”

. . . . .

Blind luck leads you safely out of the building and back into harsh sunshine. Blinking against the bright light, you heave the boyfriend’s deathly white body into the open air. Mystery boy follows behind with his sister.

His sister. You swallow down the bile stinging your throat. If it hurts as much as Daeyeol’s death did…

There’s no tell-tale sound of groaning as you heave the two bodies into the square, careful to keep the mouths turned away from your skin. You look around instinctively, blinking sunspots out of your eyes as you look around for silent zombies, lurkers that might have escaped your ears.

Instead, your gaze lands on Daeyeol, his brown hair, the dried blood pooled around his head. His gun lies next to an outstretched hand. A few bugs buzz around, but he hasn’t been dead quite long enough for them to have fully taken over.

And his eyes are still open.

Oh, hell…

You swallow hard, blinking back tears as your nonexistent breakfast threatens to leave your lips. Don’t lose yourself. Don’t lose your mind.

As if on autopilot, you lay down the boyfriend’s body, enough sense left to use some care. Your feet take you to the dried blood, to the gun on the ground, to Daeyeol’s empty husk of a body, face a bit paler than you remembered, veins darker than you would have liked. Or maybe it’s just in your head – not enough time passed before he shot himself to make even a quarter of the full transition. None of that should be visible.

It’s better. It’s better. It’s better this way, you repeat over and over as you kneel down. At least you died before you turned.

Batting away bugs with one hand, you reach out trembling fingers to rest on his blood-stained hair, carefully avoiding the bullet hole in the side of his head. It’s longer than you remembered. Either he didn’t cut it as short as you originally thought or he’s shrunken in death and it just looks longer.

Death.

Dead.

He’s dead.

He’ll never wake up again.

Your fingers tighten in his hair even as the reminder of death flips your stomach. You card through the brown mop once, twice, trying to mimic the way you used to when he sometimes got sick as a kid and you would keep him company. Your hands move in practiced motions, slowly, smoothly, but it feels unnatural even though your muscles remember how to move. Maybe because Daeyeol’s scalp isn’t warm beneath your fingers, maybe because he doesn’t shift and sigh in relaxation and tell you he feels better already.

Tears burn in your eyes. Too bad you couldn’t have done it in his last moments. Couldn’t have given him the slightest bit of comfort after he had to turn the gun on himself for your stupid safety.

I’m sorry.

One tear escapes and rolls down your face. A lump rises in your throat and you swallow painfully hard, blinking fast to release the tears and calm yourself. Your fingers shake uncontrollably as you drop them from his hair, tracing down Daeyeol’s cold skin to slide his eyelids shut, one after another. You shiver when you let go. The sun lends a bit of warmth to his face, but it can’t fully chase away the chill of death.

You close your eyes. Take a breath. Hair flecked with blood and bits of brain stains the backs of your eyelids.

It’s okay.

You’re okay.

But Daeyeol isn’t.

Shoving away that traitorous thought, you stand unsteadily and turn back to mystery boy, who looks about as good as you feel. He doesn’t stare back, only keeps his eyes fixed on the two bodies laid out in front of him, face ashen and tears running down his skin. At some point during your little grieving session, he also knelt down beside the bodies, brushed their hair out of their faces and closed their staring eyes. You almost say something about getting up and moving on, but his expression and the tears racing down his face silence your voice.

You just shot his sister and her boyfriend, two people he clearly held dear. Even if they were essentially dead anyway, it wouldn’t – still won’t – be easy for him.

And you were kind of callous about it, too. One minute to make a decision, one minute before you made it yourself, one minute to decide whether or not to kill his zombified sister and her boyfriend…

Your eyes lower as shame burns in your chest. You go to turn away but Daeyeol’s body is right there and you have to turn back but then mystery boy is on the other side –

With a shuddering sigh, you sink into a crouch, hands over your eyes. You don’t speak, even though you can now feel mystery boy’s gaze on you, sharp, probing, probably hateful and angry and for good reason. You don’t look back. He’ll turn away soon enough, to go back and grieve for the people you forced him to let you kill.

The least you can do is give him some time for that.

. . . . .

A small, abandoned house in the town provides welcome shelter after burying the bodies in sweltering heat. Not even a few bloodstains on the floor and door deter you. Your hands are still caked with dirt and runny blisters from digging in the only soft ground you could find, an overgrown green park, but you don’t have enough water to justify washing them off. Instead, you find a towel hanging in the bathroom and pat most of the dirt clean. The white cloth comes away streaked brown and red.

In the empty living room, mystery boy lies on the couch, injured leg outstretched over the cushions. His gaze is blank, unseeing until you extend your half-empty bottle of water in his direction. Wordlessly, he grasps it. Takes a few swallows. Hands it back.

Two gulps of water soothe the sandpaper feeling in your throat while half a granola bar stops the grumbling in your stomach. You put the other half on the coffee table next to him and leave the room to look for anything useful. When you return, a box of band-aids in one hand and several towels hung over your arm, it’s gone.

You go back to work on your hands. Silence stretches. When you finish, you turn to him. He doesn’t look back for a good few minutes, but when he realizes you’re looking at him, he meets your gaze with blank eyes.

You motion to his palms, hold up the box of band-aids. Words would explain your purpose more comprehensively, but they stick in your throat. It doesn’t feel right, speaking.

His eyebrows relax and slowly, he reaches out his hands. You clean them probably with more care than you gave your own, even pouring out a tiny capful of water to soothe some of the larger blisters. The Hello Kitty band-aids you found in the bathroom cabinet look comical against his skin and yours, but nothing really makes you feel like laughing. Not now.

Silence stretches into the afternoon and then into evening. Taking advantage of what natural light you have, you walk around the house some more. Several clean sheets makes their way into your bag along with the box of band-aids. A few bottles of water are still in the kitchen, as is a box of stale crackers. You debate whether or not to open those – you need food, but crackers are dehydrating, and you can’t tell if they’ve gone bad – before stuffing them in your bag anyway.

At some point, you hear muffled crying behind the walls. You crouch down, hold your hands over your ears – you can’t leave the kitchen until it stops but it doesn’t stop, just keeps going on and on and on and you want to scream, it hurts, it hurts –

The sobs finally stop. It takes at least five minutes for you to stand up on shaking legs and another five for you to work up the courage to walk back into the living room.

Mystery boy hasn’t moved an inch since you fixed up his hands. He shifts when you come back in, though, bag on your arm. His eyebrow raises over reddened eyes. “You’re not going to be an idiot, are you?”

It takes several seconds to register the insult, you’re so surprised he even spoke. “Sorry?”

“You called me an idiot for walking out in the dark.” He shifts again, pulling himself into more of a sitting position against the armrest. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to do the same.”

Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Uh.” You look at the bag, the weight hanging heavy off your arm. “No. I was… I was just seeing if I could find anything.”

Something relaxes in his expression. It makes you frown. “Are you planning to leave?” you ask. The weight of your bag feels even heavier as you shift from leg to leg, waiting for a reply. “In the morning, I mean.”

Silence. Then –

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

His words are soft. Airy. Sad, desolate, but more like a sudden thought than the dark realization they really are.

You flinch anyway. Even if he doesn’t purposely hide knives or needles in his words, you can feel the unconscious ones nonetheless.

You’re the person who killed his last family. You’re the one who left him alone.

You’re the one who caused this.

“Oh,” you say lamely. Your bag slides down your arm, almost dropping to the floor before you catch it tight in one hand. The strap digs into your skin, stinging the cuts beneath pink Hello Kitty band-aids.

He looks at you. “Where are you planning to go?”

You swallow. It feels like a slap in his face to even say it, to show the thread of hope that you have but that he doesn’t. “Home,” you get out. “My mother.”

Another eyebrow raises to meet the first, though he turns away before you can see the resulting expression on his face. “She’s still alive?”

That makes you flinch again, though this time it’s at the possibility that she isn’t alive, that you’ve gone all this way and lost Daeyeol for nothing. “I don’t know,” you reply, voice barely a whisper. “But… before everything…” You swallow. “I told her to wait. And that I’d come and find her.”

“Must be nice, having a purpose in life.”

You brace yourself, waiting for the words to hit and cut through flesh and stab your chest. But to your surprise, they don’t.

There’s no resentment in his tone. Muted anger, yes, and grief. But his hunched figure speaks of no blame, no bitterness – at least none for you, not yet. You remain silent for a moment, trying to understand.

The words slip out before you realize you were even thinking them in the first place.

“You can come with me.”

Mystery boy freezes in his position. You can see his muscles tighten, feel the tension radiating from his prone figure on the couch.

You panic.

“I – I mean –” you swallow, trying to explain – “if you want to. And you probably don’t, because of what I did. It won’t mean much, but I’m really sorry. I was rude and callous and I should have realized how hard something like… something like that would be…” You trail off. “But, just… if you want to, you can.”

He stays still. Then the cushions shift as he turns to face you, eyes piercing into yours. Even though you’re the one standing and he’s the one sitting with an injured leg, you feel like you’re the one trapped here. Less power. Less control.

“Why?” he asks, voice suddenly sharp. You flinch. “Isn’t it hard enough just being here, knowing your friend died trying to save me?”

Why, indeed. You have no idea. The words just spilled from your tongue without thought – you didn’t even realize you were thinking them before you spoke. They don’t make sense, like he said. You were at his throat just a day ago. Less than that.

But still, you meant it. You didn’t just say your words as an empty invitation. You meant it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whisper. The words sting in your throat but they’re the truth. They’re the truth. “It’s not your fault Daeyeol… not your fault Daeyeol died for you.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

The monster of anger and grief tries to rear its head in your chest, but you’re too tired to give it reign. “It’s true,” you say, staring at the floor. “Even if I still need to convince myself, it’s true.”

Mystery boy opens his mouth again. This time, his words sting less, but they still seem to deepen the cuts on your palms. “Wouldn’t I just be a burden on you with my leg? Especially if you’re trying to get across the country as fast as you can?”

You shift, right leg to left. “It’s what Daeyeol would have offered,” you murmur, voice barely audible. “He would have thought it was the right thing to do.”

It’s true. And as much as you’d like to say otherwise, you think it’s the right thing too. But that isn’t the only reason.

The other reason?

You’re afraid. Afraid of traveling alone. Terrified, even. The mere thought makes you want to hurl on the floor. Setting out with no one to keep quiet company, no one to watch your back, no one to just be there, even silent, no one to keep you from going insane with the thoughts that spin relentlessly in your mind…

Mystery boy’s voice breaks into your spiral. “Is that what you think is the right thing to do?”

Your gaze returns to his, sharp, unyielding. And you nod. “Yes,” you say, because that much is true. You don’t even need to convince yourself of it. “I do.”

Something breaks in his eyes, but not in a shattered glass type of way. It’s more like the snapping of tension, a fear or worry finally dashed away, replaced with relief. He doesn’t smile, not quite, but the room feels a little more comfortable. “Okay.”

You blink. “So… yes?”

He nods.

A little burst of warmth fills your chest, subtle relief pulsing through your body. Like mystery boy, you don’t put on a smile, but if you wanted to, you probably could. “I’m Y/N,” you say quickly, ducking your head. He’ll probably want some peace, but your name is the least you could give him before you start off together to the other side of the country. And if he needs something in the middle of the night, he’ll know what name to call.

You don’t expect him to reply. But as you begin to leave the living room to find another place to sleep, you hear him speak.

“I’m Sungyoon.”

A pause. Then, softer –

“And thank you.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this budding relationship bc god they’re going to need it)

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moonlightchild-otome · 3 years

Text

Ikemen Vampire - Jean d’Arc Route Summary Chapter 10

here is the tenth chapter!

to clarify again, I’m not very good at japanese so if anything is wrong or weirdly translated everything is on me.

of course there is going to be some spoilers so do not read if you don’t wish to know jean’s story yet.

*also little bonus at the end about Jeanne d’Arc real story! of course you don’t have to read it to understand his route in the game but it’s very interesting :)*

The Count tells MC the history of the war between France and England, also known as the Hundred Years’ War...

【 Comte 】 Jean was a soldier who led the French army during the Hundred Years War.

Jean fights for his country, France and defeats the English army. Jean d’Arc, soon after the defeat of the enemy, becomes a true hero for his people.

However, such glory won’t last for Jean :( 'The most tragic end of the world's heroes', as they say.

In the course of the battle, Jean was captured as a prisoner of war by the enemy. The King didn’t want to help him for some reason. 😡

And of course... 🙄

【 Comte 】 Jean was convicted of heresy and it has been decided that he would be sentenced to fire.

After Jean's death, the king ordered a re-examination of his treason and found him to be innocent, and he went down as a hero of France.

The fact that Jean never knew went down as a hero after his death and this won’t change the fact that he died as an innocent. The protagonist is angry because it doesn't make any sense.

From the bottom of my stomach, I feel a mixture of anger and frustration.

Here, the MC asks the Count a question. “Why did he bring him back to life after such a death?”

There's something different about the Count returning the great men of the mansion and Jean.

The MC wonders if Jean really wanted the Count to bring him back to life. Before the Count can answer, Jean appears, interrupts him, takes the MC by the arm and leads her away.

【 Jean 】 One look at this man's face is enough. I don't like it. Let's go, woman.

As soon as they arrived in the library, Jean seems to have calmed down a little lets go of the MC's arm.

The protagonist apologises for trying to find out about his past without his permission, but Jean says that's okay. Jean says it's okay, because his life has been written about in books anyway. However, he says that he doesn't want the Count to tell her about it.

【 Jean 】 ...It's not enough to say I hate it, it's too much.

Jean says that he is not a hero and that he is no different from the children's book he used to read, The Ugly Duckling.

it hurts me so much that this is the way he perceives himself when he deserves all the love in the world </3

Jean's gaze fell on the book 'The Ugly Duckling', which was still on the table.

That’s it for chapter 10!

here is some real background info about the real Jeanne d’Arc! She is such a brave and interesting historical figure. The epitome of a real badass, fearless and powerful woman.

so, the hundred years' war, if we summarize as much as possible is a series of armed conflicts that began in 1337. which opposes the kingdom of france and the kingdom of england.

in 1328 at the death of king charles iv, the question arises as to who will inherit the french crown.

one then has the choice between the cousin of the preceding king philippe de valois and edward iii the king of england who by his mother isabelle is also a descendant of the french throne.

you can imagine putting an english king on the french throne, wasn’t seen very well.

edward not happy, which led to a succession crisis, which lead to the hundred years' war.

obviously this conflict, quickly overcomes a simple succession crisis.

it's a mess.

what you have to remember, is that the english are gradually invading part of the kingdom of france.

in 1415, after the battle of azincourt and the english victory, the english king henry v controls much of the north of the kingdom of france, including paris for that matter.

but it is far from being the only concern.

what you have to keep in mind is that the king of france at the time, charles vi, is reached at rather regular intervals of madness.

this obviously prevents him from administering the kingdom properly.

as a result, in parallel with the conflict with the english, a real civil war breaks out.

to find out who between his son the heir charles and his cousin the duke of burgundy will be able to take back the reins of the kingdom; the duke of burgundy is supported by the burgundians who will end up allying themselves with the english and the son of the king the heir charles is supported by the armagnacs.

but during this time, charles is betrayed by his own father who disinherits his son and after his death, gives the crown to the english.

i warned you that it was really messy.

and it is in this incredible mess that our jeanne arrives.

and where exactly does jeanne come from? from domremy.

she is also often called the virgin of orleans.

she is associated with the city of reims, but jeanne was originally born in domremy.

and where exactly is this place? domremy is this little town to the west of the city of the vosges department, on the banks of the meuse river.

isn't it pretty?

this is jeanne's birth house,

she would have been born around 1412. the building classified as a historical monument since 1840 includes in addition to a cellar, three large rooms originally used to house the whole family, her parents and four siblings.

according to jeanne's trial, it is here that she would have learned to sew or weave which were two occupations of the young girls of the time.

her father was a ploughman, so she often had to look after the animals.

and since she is very pious she spent a lot of time praying.

she went on pilgrimage at least once a week, for example in the notre dame de bermont chapel, about three kilometres (as the crow flies) from her birth house.

and jeanne d’arc, as you may have guessed, wasn't always called jeanne d’arc.

no, in history she has had different names and official nicknames.

there are of course the best known ones: the virgin of orleans, jeanne the virgin or even just the virgin and in the vicinity of domremy she was also called the jeannette de rommée, in connection with her mother's name. she has even signed several letters with the name jehanne.

and it's even more complicated if you're interested in her surname “d'arc”.

which was originally written darc, without the apostrophe. here again there have been many variations, and i'll mention a few of them: tarc, dars, darx and even d'ailly or daly according to the phonetic transcription of her name, with a lorraine accent. from there we move on to duly, then du lys.

when the king ennobled jeanne and her family, it is written on the deed, la dame du lys in reference to the royal coat of arms.

this is the magnificent bois-chenu basilica, which was built between 1880 and 1940 in honour of jeanne.

and for the record, this incredible basilica was sometimes considered to be the place where jeanne would have heard voices.

however if we refer to the trial, it is in her father's garden, near the house, that jeanne would have started hearing voices, celestial calls, coming from saint catherine of st. margaret's and the archangel saint michael.

the divine mission entrusted to her was very “simple”.

she was only commanded to be a cavalier, to cross a kingdom occupied by the english to go and find the future charles vii and convince him that she is the one sent from heaven.

to help him to take his place on the throne by her coronation in reims.

to show him how to liberate the kingdom of france, of the english presence.

it seems to be an easy enough mission for me. 😅 (nope)

so obviously you can imagine that the people didn't take her seriously right away. it took a few years before she managed to convince the world that she wasn't completely crazy.

- jeanne?

- yes?

- this is the voice.

- is someone talking to me?

- you are the chosen one, jeanne, join me.

- yes, i'm coming.

- i hope you like human barbecue. (ok i'll stop :/)

how is the legend of jeanne forged? how does one go from being a peasant girl eager to help, to jeanne of arc, heroine of the kingdom of france?

this is le centre d’interprétation (the interpretation centre), which is just behind jeanne of arc's birth house and retraces her youth and adventures.

her journey is incredible, at 17 years old, jeanne can't stand not doing anything anymore, she has been hearing voices urging her to act for four years now.

so she decides to return to the châtellenie de vaucouleurs, to meet captain robert de baudricourt, one of the king's faithful followers and after several vicissitudes, she manages to convince him. it wasn't easy, i remind you that her main point was that she hears voices. but yeah, he finally agrees to send her with an escort, join the heirn in chinon.

the journey is quite long and above all risky, we are talking about more than 500 kilometres and in this period of turmoil, the dangers were quite present especially if you look at the map, one realizes that the small expedition crosses areas not controlled by the enemy coalition.

fortunately, everything went well for jeanne, who arrives at her destination on march 1429 and gets an audience with the heir two days later. he was quite suspicious of this young woman at first, who claims to hear divine voices but according to the story she made a revelation to him that we don't know which eventually convinced him.

for the entourage of the suitor of the throne, it's not that simple and you can understand them, betting on jeanne is a little bit like a poker game. so they insist that she will be given a few interrogations, she is questioned about her life, about her morals and finally confidence is established, she is equipped with military equipment. she then undergoes mini combat trainings and here we go, her dream is about to come true, she joins a supply convoy in blois and on april 22nd, with more than 4000 men, she is headed for orléans.

the arrival of jeanne of arc changes many things.

her faith, her confidence in victory gives hope to the soldiers and to the inhabitants, who are filled with new energy. they manage to win in less than 10 days, 10 days and the english are obliged to give up their plan, which consisted of taking the city and then attacking the south of the loire.

jeanne who comes out of this battle with this image as a victorious, ultra badass woman and just earned her nickname... la pucelle d'orléans (the virgin of orleans).

thanks to her victory in orleans, jeanne thus becomes a kind of national heroine. she represents by her fame and her qualities, a not insignificant asset for the heir in his fight against the english and the burgundians.

but what makes a real difference is less her qualities as a war strategist and more her ability to charm and to galvanise the troops and the inhabitants along the way.

it's quite simple, before jeanne's arrival, the english had a reputation for never losing their invincibility.

and jeanne achieves the feat of restoring confidence in a possible victory.

it gives the impression to the troops that they are going to receive a kind of divine help and it changes everything in the soldiers' minds, all the more so because before her arrival there was a prophecy, who said that a virgin would help defeat the english so when jeanne arrives, everyone thought "it's ok, we're saved"!

jeanne persuades the future king to start a ride to reims who is in the middle of enemy territory, to be crowned.

jeanne thus succeeded in carrying out one of the following missions which were supposedly entrusted to her by the voices she hears; in other words, since she has succeeded, she is necessarily an envoy of god, and that for the mood of the troops, it makes a huge difference.

unfortunately after the time of victories comes the time of defeats.

after the coronation, the king and jeanne no longer really agree. she is convinced that her mission is to keep the english out of france.

the king, for his part, is longing for a little rest.

for example, he does not feel at all capable of taking back paris, while jeanne, a little bit stubborn, goes there anyway and suffers a failure.

on top of that she is wounded, she gets a crossbow arrow in her thigh, moreover, she breaks her sword which had for all victories...

it's a bad sign.

some people think that the virgin is abandoned by god. some time later jeanne went to compiègne, a city besieged by the burgundians and by some english contingents and once again it goes wrong, she is taken prisoner in may 1430, by the burgundians.

she tried to escape, but all her attempts failed and in november of the same year, she was sold to the english. jeanne is then taken to the castle of rouen, where members of the church judge her for heresy.

the trial was to say that charles vii was crowned thanks to a witch, she is also blamed for everything and anything, for dressing in men's clothing,

for deferring directly to god's judgement without going through the church, for hearing the voices of demons and not of saints.

jeanne really plays her life on each of her answers, in addition, she faces accusers totally committed to the english cause on her own when she was only 19 years old.

moreover, the witnesses are obviously not chosen at random, everyone who could speak up for jeanne is under pressure. everything is being done to ensure that she is condemned. finally, she ends up at the stake, on the market square, and we make sure there's nothing left of her body, to prevent it from being turned into holy relics.

and then after the end of the hundred years' war, i.e. almost 25 years later, the church reverses this first court decision. king charles vii wants to wash away the insult that was done to him through this trial and he pushes jeanne's family to ask for a review. pope calixtus iii agreed and jeanne was rehabilitated in 1456. the investigations carried out are more serious, many of jeanne's contemporaries jostle to plead in her favour and even people who had once spoken badly of her finally return to saying good things about her.

the first judgement is broken and the young woman's memory is rehabilitated.

an unusual little fact in the end - many people have not been able to admit that the story of the virgin ends up on a pyre. for them it was impossible, this story was too beautiful, this too extraordinary woman.

and it went far enough that people found stories of women, who a few years later claimed to be the real jeanne.

just imagine them saying stuff like "oh yeah, yeah it's me i didn't burn at all, my face has changed a little bit but it's me, i assure you, believe me, really".

a certain claude des armoises is said to have pretended to be her, in the metz region. after having acquired a certain renown, having been given gifts by former relatives of jeanne; she even went so far as to meet two of the virgin's brothers, who (hold on because it's completely insane) believed her.

they really believed it was their own sister who had died at the stake.

it's a crazy story!

well, we don't really know if they really believed it, or if one pretends to believe it for financial reasons for example.

in any case, this woman, who was talked about everywhere, is unmasked by the king himself, so that this fraud can be stopped.

in the end, i find this story quite unusual.

here are the friends!

i hope it wasn’t too long to read (it probably was) and that you have learned two, three little things on our dear jeanne d’arc. after all, she is one of the most famous women in history!

#ikemen #ikemen games #ikemen series #ikemen spoilers #Ikemen Vampire #ikemen jean #IkeVamp #ikevamp jean #Jean #Jean D'arc #jean route #ikemen vampire jean #jeanne d'arc #history #france #my translation #jean all chapters

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callieshipman · 3 years

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Virals Valentines

Written for the Virals Valentines Exchange using the stuck in an elevator prompt! This one is for our benevolent organiser herself, @themorrisislandpack! I hope you enjoy it <3

“Okay,” Tory says, after pressing every button on the elevator multiple times. “So. This is bad.”

Ben looks over at her, says nothing. His hands fly over the keyboard of his phone, probably texting Hi and Shelton begging for rescue from an awkward situation.

“You have service?” Tory asks, in lieu of anything better to say because they’ve been silent around each other the last few days.

“Mm.” Ben, chatty as ever.

Tory slides down the wall and sits on the floor opposite him, legs crossed. She can see her own reflection in the mirror, a shock of red hair and sharp, pale limbs. His is visible too, just the curve of his jaw and nose, slightly distorted by the glass.

The next few moments are painfully silent without the hum of the elevator in the background. Tory thinks she shouldn’t even be surprised that they’re stuck in an elevator on Valentine’s Day two days after an explosive fight. They have wolf DNA, this should be a walk in the park. Go figure.

“Just so you know,” she says dryly. “If you keep up the silent treatment, you’re actually second to last on the list of people I would want to share an elevator with.”

“Last is Chance?” Ben asks without looking up.

“Whitney,” she answers. Then, after a moment of thought, “Actually, you’re right. Fuck Chance.”

Ben cracks a smile for the first time in a few days, then snorts and ducks his head in the way she’s always thought is unfairly adorable. It makes her insides melt. Gross.

She can’t help but laugh too despite everything. Ben Blue is a massive dork, even when they’re fighting.

There’s another long pause, but it’s warmer than before. She can feel him enjoying her company.

“No reply from Hi and Shelton?”

“Nope.” Ben taps a few buttons. “God knows where they’ve run off to. For all we know, this is a scheme.”

Tory’s heart sinks, because oh no, they absolutely would do this. Sometimes being friends with Hi and Shelton is like being parents to unnaturally intelligent toddlers who are upset that mommy and daddy are fighting, and okay it’s time to steer away from that thought experiment, because it’s getting a little scary.

Ben, luckily, has not read her thoughts this time. It’s recently established Virals Policy that they all keep out of each other’s brains without express permission (or in an emergency, she has added, fully prepared to distort the definition of an emergency beyond recognition) before they completely ruin their relationships.

She thinks she and Ben might be on their way to that anyway. They’ve been avoiding each other for days over something stupid as all hell, and she’s not sure how much longer she can grit her teeth through it.

But he still laughs at her jokes, and that has to count for something.

“They’re probably sending someone to rescue us now,” she says. Then, after thinking it through for approximately three seconds, “You’re still my best friend.”

Ben’s head flies up to look at her, and his expression softens into the one she likes best. He looks so fond again, and just a little bit amused, like he’s been waiting for her to cave. Maybe he has. She knows she’s stubborn as a mule when she wants to be, and they can read each other like a book even without the added bonus of literal mind reading.

“You’re mine too,” he says eventually. “And Hi and Shelton.”

Tory knows he’s only saying that to blunt the edges of the emotion, but he means it, and her heart melts.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she admits. “I really, really don’t.”

“Did you think we were going to break up?” Ben’s brow furrows. “Tory, I didn’t mean for it to turn into a thing.”

“No, you just mooned around sadly for three days until Shelton had to call me and ask what was up your ass!”

“That’s true,” Ben concedes, only sulking a little. “Poor Shelton. Hi just thought it was funny.”

“It was a little bit funny.”

“A little bit.” Ben is trying to hide a smile now, but she can feel it in her own head, a burst of warmth that spreads through her like a hot bath. “Okay, looking at if from your perspective-”

“I was totally right and you were being a clown?”

She’s just teasing him now, and he knows that. It’s part of the unspoken game they play with each other every time they fight and make up, poking fun at old wounds until they warm up to each other again and everything is just like it was before. It’s a ritual Tory sincerely enjoys once they’re done with the stupid fighting part.

“Alright, alright.” Ben rolls his eyes and stretches his legs out so that the tips of his scuffed shoes touch hers. “If we’re done with the fighting like petty teenagers, I hate to be the one to point it out, but we are still stuck in an elevator.”

Tory kicks the wall, and Ben laughs at her as it clangs and she swears.

“This is exactly like when we got stuck in those caves,” she says, fake morosely. “Enclosed space, no one around, smells bad.”

“At least there’s no rising water?”

“We’ll always have that,” she says dryly. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” Ben says gently. “I love you too. Stop talking like we’re going to die in a mall elevator though. Please.”

Tory doesn’t even have to consider this plea before the lights in the elevator suddenly flick back on, and then they’re moving downwards with a groaning sound that’s only marginally alarming after everything they’ve been through.

“Hey, look at that,” she says, turning to grin at him. “We live to see another day.”

Ben says nothing, but gives her a quick kiss on the cheek. Just so they know where they stand.

When the doors creak open, they’re greeted by a small crowd of maintenance guys looking mildly bored, and Hi and Shelton looking like they’ve just won the lottery.

“Heyyyyy guys!” Hi drawls as soon as the doors have fully opened. Then, to the maintenance men: “Thank you guys so much. They owe you their lives.”

“Shut it, dumbass,” Ben tells him, and he darts behind Shelton, still grinning.

After they’ve thanked the crew themselves, not at all trusting whatever Hi and Shelton have said to them, they converge on them, both grinning.

“You look cheery,” Shelton says. “When you went in there, we thought you might kill each other and the doors would just open on your bodies.”

“Imagine our concern when they didn’t open at all!” Hi takes a very loud sip through the straw of his smoothie cup. “I said we should call in Ella’s FBI contacts.”

“When did you get a smoothie?” Ben frowns. “Did you not get all my texts asking for help?”

“Of course we did,” Shelton says smoothly. “Actually, Hi can tell the next part, I don’t want to be the messenger for that.”

“Throw me under the bus like that.” Hi shakes his head. “Together five years and he throws it all away. Check this guy out.”

“I’m fine with being a widower,” Shelton says.

“You’re the worst. Ben and Tory, Bory if you will-”

“I will not,” Ben says.

“Whatever, I like it. We may have given it a few minutes before going to find help. We kind of, sort of, maybe thought if you were left in there a little longer you would stop fighting and killing our vibe?”

“Hiram.” Tory folds her arms.

“Goodbye, Shelton,” Hi says. “Don’t inform my mother of this until they’ve left the country.”

“It worked,” she admits, and then punches him in the arm for good measure.

“Thank god,” Shelton says, looking openly thrilled with himself. “That was excruciating. And on Valentine’s Day of all days!”

“We hate Valentine’s Day,” she says, at the same time as Ben rolls his eyes. “Couldn’t care less.”

“Don’t care, you fixed it, we can talk about something else whilst we’re watching Friends now.”

Ben lunges after Hi, who ducks away, shrieking about security cameras, and behind both of their backs, Tory mouths a thank you to Shelton.

#viralsvalentines #virals series

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guigz1-coldwar · 3 years

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'Running on the roofs' : New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out !

"Running on the roofs"

Chapter Summary : Yirina is still struggling with her bad thoughts as her & Garrett are awaiting for the mission to happen....

To read it on AO3, click here !

Words : +3300

-----------------------------------------

After I called Park with Garrett's satellite phone, I stayed a bit in my room, trying to think that my presence in Cuba wasn't going to be very long and it's sure that tomorrow in the morning, we will be back at West-Berlin in the safehouse maybe next to Park in our common bed. Garrett has planned almost everything in here and since we know where is exactly Vargas, our little trip here is just going to be for today. I was still feeling mixed between sadness and happiness....first to be here....second to have talked to Park, it was the best thing I did in here.

Once I was able to calm myself down in the bed, I decided that it was time to leave my room to join Garrett in the small living room of the apartment, giving him back his phone and to finally get myself to work. Instead of staying all day in here to wait until we had to meet Garret's contact at that bar, we decided to make some scouting about where Vargas was living : an big apartment with at least enough place to have an lot of men at his charge. Since we didn't bring any big firepower in here, it will be Garrett's contact that will do the trick....must be someone well-placed to do that.....

There were an thing that astonished me during our walks in the city and I just saw it only at these moments : this place was like really back in time opposed to the West. All the cars, the clothes....it was like this place never left the 50's. It can mainly be explained by the US embargo on Cuba due to be the only communist regime in the whole America and frankly, it was very strange to discover some sort of a new world in here : I had a feeling to discover the 50s as an fully-growed adult.

However, there were no time to look at these details anymore as the night were starting to fall on the city, meaning that we had to go to the meeting point : the 'Montserrate Bar'. We arrived at the place at 9 PM and we installed ourselves in a discreet part of the bar, wanting us to keep an low profile as perfect looking westerners in a communist country.

"So, when will your contact arrive ?" I asked Garrett as I put my arms on the high table we installed ourselses, looking behind him in case my question could be quick answered.

"Maybe in 10 minutes, said he got something to take care of." He replied as he started to light up an cigarette before he proposed one to me. "Want one ?" I shook my head.

"Not for the moment." I gestured to him, raising slowly my hand to put the cigarette away. "I don't want to stress too much."

"Smoke is stressing you ?" He raised an eyebrow, confused.

"No, I didn't say that but it's just the place that is stressing me." I confessed, looking at the bar around me. "I only want to deal with Vargas quickly and then, get away from here." I added in a low voice before looking back at him....my bad thoughts was just coming back in my head.

"You're still thinking of what happened to you here ?" I nodded to him.

"There's things I can't forget, Garrett." I affirmed, clear in my voice "What happened here is still in my mind, I can't forget." I continued

"Listen, we're gonna be quick here and those bad thoughts in you will fly away like that when we will be gone." He snapped his fingers, blowing smoke. He was trying to recomfort me but it couldn't work like that.

"No, it's not going to work like this." I exclaimed, holding my forehead with my left hand, arms on the table. "It's not just little bad thoughts."

"Shit, the tone of the voice means that it's damn serious." He told me, surprised.

"Of course it has to be !" I raised my voice against him but I quickly get it down, wanting to stay silent as people almost looked at me. "Someone I considered like an brother died in this country because of me." I whispered, sniffing and holding back my tears.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." He was apologizing and I could understand, he wasn't aware of it before I had an thought in my head

"You...you want to know what happened that day ?" I asked him and frankly, I wasn't so sure of myself and my own words.

"Hm....Yirina, I'm not sure if it's a good idea." He bit his lips, looking at me with wide eyes, not okay with my idea.

"No, you might need to know why I'm like this." I said to him and I could see on his face that he realize that he had to know.

"Uhm....okay but...if you don't want to do this...."

"No, I will !" I cut him straight in his words, looking at him seriously. "Okay !" I breathed before I redressed myself standing up, ready to concentrate myself and then, I closed my eyes "It was 3 years ago....."

"RPG !" It was Lazar's voice yelling to me & Park as I was just getting hooked up to the ballon that was going to extract us from the complex Perseus used to hide an Greenlight asset. To be honest, his voice....I could feel the fear in it and the urge to run away from the place before we got blow up....They didn't have time to hook themselves to the ballon that the soldier who had the RPG fired and the rocket flied at our position.

I was sent away by the rocket's blast and the last thing I saw before I blacked out for an few instants was Park & Lazar flying above me in each one direction.....you understand ?....It was the last time I saw Lazar not hurt and not harmed. When I slowly opened my eyes, I could taste the blood in my own mouth, looking at the ground in pain as I was regaining consciousness of the fucking situation we were now.

When I looked up, I could see Park & Lazar on the ground wounded and they couldn't move at all, each one of them were hurt. Park....she couldn't feel her own legs and Lazar....a piece of metal was in his left leg, unable to move it at all...he was like paralyzed in place, handing his both hand to me & Park.

"Jess...I....can't....I can't feel my legs !" Park was sounding too hurt, she was looking at me with her face with cuts and open wounds on it. I breathed heavily as I was looking at her before I looked at Lazar.

"Help Park, Bell, quick !" He ordered me as he tried to remove the piece of metal in his leg. "Do it !" He asked me again as I slowly started to move to get to Park, him focused in removing that piece of metal.

"I'm....I'm here !" I whispered to Park as I arrived next to her, she was looking petrified at me, seeing me in that state and me too, looking at her. "It's okay..." I start to hook her with me, strapping her around my waist before she put her both arms around my neck.

"Lazar...." Park's voice was sounding too low as she was looking to him before I did the same....He succeeded to remove the thing from his leg but he was still unable to move.

"Lazar, take my hand !" I handed over my hand to him and he was doing the same.....before we could hear the sound of an plane coming in.....the plane that was going to take us away....just nearly going to hit the ballon....and Lazar wasn't hooked to the ballon. "Lazar !" I shouted to him.

"Bell !" He started to breath loudly before he closed his eyes and then reopened it again....surely knowing that he wasn't going to make it out alive. "Promise me....take care of Park !" He exclaimed loudly to me.....before I could feel myself & Park getting off the ground, shouting Lazar's name as I saw him getting shot by Tropas....that was the last moment I saw him alive !

Take care of Park.....it was....his last words to me !

"Take care of Park..." I whispered to myself as I reopened my eyes in the bar, facing Garrett who was shocked to hear me talking about that event, he couldn't know how to feel right now as me....I was still hearing Lazar's voice asking me to fullfill his promise in my head....I didn't know how to feel right now....guilty ?

"Shit..." Garrett looked away from me, holding his cigarette in hand, he was certainly bewildered now, trying to keep his cool. "Yirina, I'm....I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault that he died, Garrett." I told him, taking back an normal voice, looking at him seriously. "I wasn't faster to save him." I sniffed. "I'm the one to blame in here....and to be honest, don't try to tell me that it wasn't my fault." I passed my hand through my hand & face, sort of ashamed of myself.

"Yirina, it's....." He stopped himself, looking troubled. "I know that you said it but it wasn't your fault." He affirmed to me but I wasn't listening like if I closed my ears....I'm the one to blame here...."Maybe I'm not the only one who told you this but it's true....it isn't your fault." I crossed my arms on the table, looking at it.

"Listen....let's...let's change the subject." I breathed, not looking at Garrett. "It's better, right ?" He nodded to me as I put my eyes on him again, just trying to remove the bad thoughts I just got back after reliving that.

"Yeah, it's better..." He replied before I looked behind him, seeing an hooded man enter the bar, having his eyes in all his directions before he put his eyes on Garrett himself.

"Think that your contact is here." I spoke to Garrett who turn his head around to look discreetly to verifly my claim.

"Yes, it's him." He told me, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray on the table between us as the hooded man arrived next to us with an friendly face. "Garcia !"

"Donovan, mi amigo !" The man exclaimed as the two shook hands in front of me. "The MI6 didn't send you here for vacations as you told me." He added, making me curious about how this 'concerned citizen' knew of Garrett MI6 status.

"Not about Vargas himself." Garrett finished to shook hands before he looked at me. "Oh, Garcia, she's Yirina Grigoriev, working also with the MI6." I handed over my hand with Garcia who agreed and we shook hands as well. "He's Mendo Garcia....working with the DGI."

"DGI ?" I asked, confused to Garrett, knowing that the DGI is the cuban organization for counter-espionage and to be sure, an rival to the West organizations.

"Even if we are maybe enemies, we can work well together !" Garcia exclaimed, making Garrett smile about it and me, doing the same thing but more a little one. "Besides, we all have an common enemy !"

"Anything new for Vargas ?" Garrett asked him.

"I was able to get the police close their eyes and ears for about 20 minutes, will be an large window for you to act." Garcia responded, tapping Garrett left shoulder. "As I promised you an favor an long time, I will help you with that." He added, surprised to hear Garcia saying that he will help us. "Follow me, it's time for us to go to work." He then start to walk away to get out of as we followed him.

It was time for us to get into action, to get this done very quick and then, be in our very way out of Cuba. We followed Garcia outside the bar with Garrett reassuring of Garcia's good motives before we arrived at, what I supposed to be Garcia's car, hidden from the public sight right next to Vargas hideout, he opened the trunk of it, revealing bulletproofs vest and also 3 guns with at least 4 four mags for each : a AK-74u, a MP5 and an Milano 821. I took the MP5 with me as Garrett took the Milano and Garcia the AK-74u

"Courtesy from the DGI !" Garcia scoffed as we put the bulletproof vest on top of our jacket.

"Can say that it's nice from you, Garcia." I told him as he smiled at me.

"The friends of my friends are my friend, mi amiga." He affirmed as he closed the trunk of the car with us fully prepared and armed in hidden sight from the civilians. "Come on, time for you to get Vargas." He loaded his gun before walking away in the direction of Vargas apartment with us behind him.

We arrived behind the apartment that was more looking like an house and by luck, there were an garden where we could infiltrate ourselves in. We jumped in it to discover Vargas, talking to some of his mens around an table, apparently drinking and laughing....an perfect occasion to strike and once we were ready, we opened fire to the inside, aiming mainly Vargas mens and not him directly. Unfortunately, as soon as we start to shoot that he was already running upstairs. We killed at least 8 guys with just mag each.

"Shit, he's running away !" Garrett yelled as he just saw starting to run from his cover.

"So, we're doing the same." I exclaimed as I entered the apartment very fast from the broken window we shot through, spanning over the dead bodies on my way before I started to get up the stairs, still aiming on top to not be surprised by someone. Garcia & Garrett was just behind me from up close.

We arrived on the first floor, realizing that Vargas was actually trying to flee away by taking the roofs of the building around us meaning that we had no choice to do the same as him. I was the first to step on the roof and I was greeted by an man who tried to knock me out with his own gun but I countered him, striking him first before taking his own knife to plant right under his chin and then, I got myself into cover as at least 2 guys were shooting us from behind some chimneys.

"They're blocking our way to get to Vargas." Garrett peaked his head from his cover as we were seeing Vargas fleeing away as his men were covering him. "We got to find a way."

"I know the place, amigo." Garcia said, reloading his gun "There's an way to get around them." He showed to us an open door just next to him and it was some sort of large corridor and when I tried to find the end of it, it was just leading just behind the covers Vargas mens

"Let me do it." I said, seeing the opportunity presenting itself. "Stay here, they still need to believe that we all here." I added before I moved quickly to get to Garcia's cover and then I entered rapidly inside the corridor, aiming forwards and advancing faster.

I arrived at the end until I was surprised by an third guy that was probably awaiting for me. I reacted quickly to avoid his punch before I headbutt the guy open and I took his pistol that was strapped at his jacket before realizing he had an grenade on it. So, I shot the guy in the chest before I removed the pin of the grenade and throwing the guy right behind the covers the other were using to shoot us. They didn't have one second to react that the grenade exploxed, making a lot of noises around as I put myself into cover from the explosion.

"Quick, he's getting away !" I shouted to Garcia and Garrett, gesturing them to follow me as I was starting to get up the roof before I realized that Vargas had arrived in an dead end with the next roof leading to nowhere except the void.

"Let's do this !" Garrett reloaded his gun with the last mag he had before he start to run with us.

We had to slide on the roof as the last men Vargas had was shooting at us during our little slide before we jumped off the roof, shooting to them....I was feeling like our moves was in slow motion as we were blasting with our guns in the skies, literally jumping over an street before we landed on the roof perfectly without a scratch, having neutralized every of Vargas men during our jump, dead or badly wounded as Garrett walked towards Vargas.

"Wait, we can...." Vargas tried to plead before Garrett punched him right into his face, making him fall on the ground.

"Yirina, he's yours." Garrett told me as he move away from him, getting next to an wounded guy, Garcia staying back from the scene as I moved to grab Vargas by the collar.

"Wait, you have rules....MI6 has rules !" Vargas spoke with Garrett, having recognized him or maybe because of our accent. I looked up to see Garrett, holding the wounded guy.

"Rules has changed, Vargas !" Garrett exclaimed before he literally throw the guy off the roof, making him land into an car.....as Garrett told me, Vargas's men deserved that fate and to be honest, we're showing them that sometimes, we don't stick to the rules. "You killed british citizens." He added before he nod at me

"So, you better start talking because there's plenty of cars." I moved Vargas next to the edge of the roof, pointing at the multiple cars on the ground level.

"Ok, what do you want to know ?" He asked me, fear in his voice.....I thought that he was very thought but not here with us. "I'll tell everything."

"Russians guns, who's supplying them to Perseus ?" I questioned him, holding him by the collar.

"I don't know." He replied, scared and by that, I threw an punch at him.

"You told us that you would talk, so talk !" I affirmed, moving his head right above the edge.

"Ok....okay." He started, looking down. "It's a KGB officer based in Moscow who's doing this."

"Have an name ?" I asked him clearly as he start to breath loudly from having me on top of him. "Speak !" I prepared my hand, clenching it in case he didn't want to talk more

"Wait, I know...." He said loudly. "She's named Yirina Portnova !" Hearing that name and I could feel myself froze in place, my eyes going wide.....Portnova is still in Moscow ?....Does that mean that....I wasn't able to save her from Perseus ? I was still holding Vargas as these new thoughts came in me.

"You're kidding ?" I told him, almost angry.

"No, I swear it....she's named Yirina Portnova....been working with us since 1981 !" He affirmed before I decided to remove myself from him, having enough of him.

"I'm done with him." I said to Garrett as I helped Vargas to get up on his feets before I threw him into Garrett's direction who literally punched him again, making Vargas knocked out. "What now ?" I asked to Garrett

"We're going to get that guy out of the country to the MI6." He responded as he took his satellite phone he kept during all the fight. "You're okay ?" He saw me getting pale from hearing Portnova's name.

"Yeah, I'm good." I replied in a very low voice.

"Nice." He grinned at me before he looked at Garcia who was taking Vargas body on his shoulders.

"Come here, gringo." Garcia taunted the unconscious Vargas as he was taking him on his shoulders. "My british friends want to talk to you." He added as he was fully ready to get out of here with us as Garrett dialed an number on his phone and me....I was thinkful about Portnova, wondering of what could have happened to her after I maybe helped Zasha escape......

What happened to you, Portnova ?

#cod bocw #cod cold war #cod black ops cold war #cod cw #call of duty cold war #call of duty #cod bell #black ops cold war #cod #helen park #fem!bell #yirina grigoriev

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warmau · 4 years

Text

Prince!AU Yunho

“*this post was commissioned | commission info | other ateez aus

comes off stoic, large, and strong

he has an intensity in his eyes that kind of scares people at first - especially if they have to address him directly

and he’s sort of looking down at them because he’s usually taller, with his hands behind his back

and it’s just like - you thought you felt small before? well.........

to the point where he really doesn’t even need a bodyguard - of course he still has them

but from the way his shoulders look - and the size of his hand - no one is stupid enough to even try it

excels in swordsmanship, loves fencing and represented the country in a national championship

has a fondness for collecting swords as well, but keeps the family heirloom - a beautiful longsword with jade ornaments on the guard - by his side at all times

always seen walking with perfect posture, his large shoulders adorned in white and gold

quiet, accompanying his parents to any official meetings but never uttering a word

those dark, overcast eyes scanning the crowd and leaving even high profile politicians feeling a chill in their bone

when he does speak - he goes rather slow, emotionless word come out one by one is extremely proper grammar

he’s never been seen to get angry - but rumor has it that his voice can sound rather terrifying if he does

has a large pet doberman who has followed him around since he was young

he always looks even more intimidating when he sits on the throne beside his parents with the dog at his feet

they look like something out of a gothic novel

a portrait drawn of this exact scene hangs in the halls of the main ballroom

and it’s always whispered about after people pay visits to the palace

he has impeccable manners - for someone so large you’d think it’s hard to be graceful

but everything he does - it’s done with the most immense calculation

from the way he holds his knives

to the way he plays the piano at the request of his mother

to the way he can be sometimes seen making his way through the busy village streets

a brigade of security behind him - nearly failing to keep up with his brisk steps

people parting tens of feet in front of him because when prince yunho walks by

you don’t need to see him or hear him - his energy is enough to grab your attention

he used to be known as an extremely playful and bright child

he even once was found roaming the streets of the village when he was only ten

having escaped the care of his nannies in the palace

the people had adored him - he was just so cute with his large lovely eyes and loud laughter

but as he got older something seemed to change

and it wasn’t simple maturity - it was coldness - or at least it came off that way

people just assume it’s because he’s being ready to become king

his parents aren’t very well-liked by the villagers - they impose high taxes and ignore the requests of the people

so it’s just assumed yunho will follow in their footsteps

become a royal with no empathy at all, just like his parents

but you - you know better than to believe the mask yunho has so carefully been putting on

you’re mostly ignored by the royal family, even though you work directly in the palace as the family and staff’s personal tailor

you run around fixing uniforms, patching up tears, and working on new custom pieces that the queen requests (nearly every other week much to your horror)

you were hired only a little less than a year ago - but when you’d arrived something about you had nearly knocked the wind out of yunho

no one had ever noticed - but it was apparent from the get-go that you were probably invisible to his parents

to the important staff such as account keepers, foreign translators, and more

but to him - when you were in a room - there was no one else

it was you, heaving giant rolls of silk and lace up to the workshop out in the guest house of the palace

it was you, standing beside the mirror as his father studied your handy work on his lapel

it was you, leaning in close with a polite and almost shaking apology to take his measurements for a new coat

the fragrance of lilies on your hair, the bandages on your fingers from needle pricks

it was true - yunho was on the road to becoming just like his parents, who when he was of age to understand the most basic concepts of ruling

were teaching him that the people they ought to protect meant nothing

they meant profits

and to make sure they didn’t step out of line, yunho would need to learn to come off just like father

apathetic, strategic - not swayed by the crying tears of starving mothers or jobless merchants who couldn’t afford to pay the palace’s high taxes

his parents had taken away everything he enjoyed

forbid him from seeing his best friend, stable hand’s son song mingi

forbid him from fencing for the pleasure of it - instead forcing him into taking lessons with the head of the military, who was cruel and unforgiving of failures

the light which seemed to shine in his eyes had slowly, but surely faded into obscurity

leaving him almost zombified - choosing to remain silent and blind rather than try and rebel for his own happiness

and that of his people

but kindness was still alive in him - no matter how dormant his parents tried to make it - he wasn’t born to be evil

so the pain and suffering he saw in his country only dimmed his hopes further

and then - and then there was you

really, it might have been more like wonder for him when you first passed him in the halls

you were new and were not yet soulless like it seemed everyone else was and perhaps that is what intrigued him the most

walking through halls of grey, you stood out - sunflower like smile, eyes reflecting the gaze of his own

you’d scrambled to put your basket down and bow to him

“my prince”

your voice even felt more alive

he’d been trained not to pay attention, so he pretended not to and continued down the hall without as much as a glance over his shoulder

although - the tug to do so was very much there

but this was wonder, this was the equivalent of dangling water in front of a parched man

what really made the center of yunho’s chest swell was when he’d stumbled upon you in the village

you lived in the guest houses workshop - you had to be on call for any of the queens bidding when it came to her gowns and slips

but this off chance, you’d been given permission to visit your family

they lived cramped above the tailoring shop that had been passed down through the generations

and although it was meager, almost dilapidated - it managed to stay open with the help of your pay from the royal family

which still didn’t offer much - much to your dismay

yunho had been on official business, accompanied by the tax keeper of the country

he rounded the corner, ignoring the insolent and halfhearted attempts of the tax keeper trying to befriend him

when he caught sight of you

you were standing infront of the open doors of the tailors shop

your mother was holding your hands in hers, eyes ringed red with freshly cried tears

yunho had stopped- the tax keeper almost slamming face-first into the prince’s broad back

“don’t be upset”

you say softly, looking at your mother with the best smile you can manage

“look at your hands, look at my baby’s hand - calloused, bruised - what is that godforsaken witch of a queen making you do?!”

you shake your head

“mother, don’t be so loud. words like that could get you killed”

“she took you away from me, she took you away from us and now she’s destroying you - and she isn’t even paying you for it.”

yunho hurts every time he sees these kinds of scenes, no matter how hard the expression on his face may seem

but when he witnesses your mother cradling your hands, the shadows of maybe your siblings or other family members inside the window of the pathetic looking tailor's shop

for the first time in a long time

his tight-lipped frown breaks

“ah isn’t that the palace’s um,,,,,,,,who are they,,,,,, kitchen staff?”

the tax keeper adjusts the thin wire-framed glasses on his nose as he talks about you with uninterest

yunho doesn’t answer, but he turns back, avoiding the path that would leave him to cross in front of you

the tax keeper asks why he’s going the opposite direction but yunho doesn’t hear him

he thinks he should put on a tough voice, just to make sure he can keep up appearances like he was taught

but his mind is fogged

the next time you are called up to his chambers to fix a tear in his fencing suit - yunho, who usually ignores you as you work, stands up from his seat on the expansive bed

and rounds the corner to stop and loom over you

you feel your blood still a bit, you always feel that when a member of the royal family is around

but then he asks, softly

“may i please see your hands?”

he even says your name - in a tone that you have never heard from anyone before

and you are so shocked that your brain mechanically reacts for you

placing your hand, open-palmed, onto the prince’s

yunho’s larger fingers trace over some of your older work wounds

you try not to flinch, but he notices and retracts his hand immediately

“is it extremely painful?”

he inquires, but you shake your head

“no! not at all! jus - just a pinch really,,,,,,,”

yunho sees something flash in your eyes

“and i can work fine. i really can.”

“im not questioning your skill.”

you blink and he thinks - they’re afraid im going to get them in trouble.

“your family owns a tailor’s shop in the village?”

“yes”

“are they looking to sell it?”

your eyes go wide with terror and yunho feels his heart wrench

“no - wh-why are you asking? i mean, i apologize my prince but wh-”

he lets go of your hand, upset with himself for scaring you like this and before you can get an answer he chooses to turn and flee out of the chambers and down the winding staircase

he flies past a group of confused butlers and you are left in awe, worry and panic icing up in your veins

yunho hates this - he hates that everyone is so afraid of him because they’re afraid of his mother and father

he intends on somehow making it right - especially after seeing how desperately you had tried not to look weak in his eyes

simply for the sake of this pitiful job his mother had employed you in

he thinks maybe instead of asking he should just show - gathering his large frame and making his way to find the same tax keeper from before

you are in utter disbelief when you hear your name being summoned from the guest house on an urgent matter

not by the queen for another ball gown, not the king for his muddy boots

but by prince yunho who requests your presence in the village

you expect the worst as you appear in front of your home - seeing your family lined up beside the prince and the nervous look tax keeper

oh no - did he buy my family’s only possession? this tailor shop has been in my bloodline for years-

“i’ve bought the building,”

he explains and you think you might as well just faint on the spot

“which means, it is my property and can’t be taxed by the royal family.”

the crippling shock stills and you look up into the prince’s eyes

his mouth is not smiling, but his eyes - are they?

“it belongs wholly to your family. you can keep your business here, but they will not be paying taxes ever again.”

the tax keeper is dabbing at his sweaty forehead, but you - but you are confused

your mother's eyes spark in joy and your father breathes out a sigh of relief that must have been clogging up his chest forever

the tax keeper is excused by the prince as you stare agape like a fish

“b-but why?”

you ask, more to no one than to the prince

but yunho hears you, and he explains

“you can go back to your family and run your business. you don’t have to be my mothers workhorse anymore.”

your mother rushes and takes her hand in hers

“it’s a miracle, i thought the royal family was nothing but scum but he -”

she tosses a look over her shoulder and bows to yunho

who for the first time since he was a child gets red in the ears at the sign of respect

you don’t know what to say or what to process

this isn’t a revelation you thought would ever happen - but then you look over your mother's shoulder at yunho

and he ,,,,, does not look like the miserable prince he was once before

yunho fully expects that you will not return to your position at the palace, but instead, that’s exactly what you do

and you’re not one to be ever the brave, but you think that something has shifted in the stiff air of this palace

and so when you round the corner outside the library and spot the prince you jump

“my prince wait!”

you call out and yunho stops in his tracks, he’s never been fond of being yelled at

it usually makes him wince, revert back to the traumatizing first days of his initiation into his parents “perfect prince” role

“kindness is worthless, you should listen to greed - it will bring more than moeny. it will bring power”

his fathers booming voice rings in his ears, but your own soothes it out and he waits as you catch up to him

“i apologize greatly if i am overstepping my boundaries, you are my prince - but i must question your decision to help my family for i don’t know what would drive you to perform such a kind act?”

you look up through your eyelashes and yunho thinks if he looks too long at your own gaze he might drown in it

so he clears his throat and averts his eyes to the side

“it is simply because i wanted to help you.”

his eyes flick to your hands

“you only get hurt working here.”

you still aren’t sure you’re quite catching on, but what you do retain is that the prince who everyone is so sure lives under the heel of his evil parents

has just confessed to wanting to help - of his own volition

a smile breaks out on your face

“i knew it.”

the prince straightens his back - “knew what?”

“you are nothing like them, are you?”

if he’d been anyone else but the son of the most powerful people in the country - you think you’d reach up and caress his cheek

because it feels like he hasn’t had that kind of tenderness in a long time

but you don’t want to jump your fences - so instead you give a small bow of your head

“i know you intended for me to stop working here, but i want to continue. if only because the shop still doesn’t make ends meet, but also maybe they’ll be other reasons too.”

your words seem cryptic but pure - an anomaly, but this whole situation is twisting in unexpected ways

you turn to be back on your way and yunho watches until you disappear down the hall

did you put a spell on him? or is this what vulnerability feels like?

his act of kindness toward you isn’t where yunho stops, slowly he begins to reflect on his demeanor

he was taught not to thank those that worked in the royal home for it was their “duty” to serve those higher above

but yunho had always felt dreadful about the lack of respect his parents and their closest consorts held for the staff

the first time he says “thank you” to the maid that brings him up the evening tea - she almost drops the hot pot out of shock

small steps, small steps are what he takes at first

nods of approval, polite please before asking someone to do something, and then -

he shows up at the stable one day and approaches mingi with a box

at first his old friend is cautious, but when the prince opens it and reveals an assortment of the finest sweets, mingi’s eyes grow wide and he looks up with his mouth open

“is it true? is the yunho i know coming back?”

none of this goes unnoticed - you see his efforts and you cheer him on quietly

whenever the two of your cross paths you even suspect he smiles to himself

you spend a long evening working on patching up the queen’s favorite skirt when you glance out of the window of the workshop and spot the prince with the goofy, but kindhearted stable boy

the bright vibrant red hair sticking out from under his worn cap - mingi laughs as yunho strolls beside him through the fields outside

he hasn’t relaxed completely, but even from far out here you think you can feel that there is warmth flowing back through him

they stroll closer and closer until they’re practically under the window and mingi waves out to you

yunho’s eyes meet yours and he goes breathless

you hang out of the window, hair in your face, arm out to wave in response and he remembers tails he read in books

rapunzel, cinderella, little mermaid - but all the princes in those tales were good

they weren’t crude and unfriendly, money-hungry or manipulative

that’s why they were loved. and that’s why you are not

he tears his eyes away and mingi shouts that you come visit him in the stables for lunch tomorrow

you promise that you will, and the cast one last look at the prince

the next day, just as you expected, you’re enjoying lunch on the hay bales with mingi when the prince happens to come by

he tells mingi that his father wants to have some horses prepared for an afternoon hunt and mingi shoves the remaining of his sandwich in his mouth with a thumbs up

you laugh at his silliness and yunho thinks he can listen to that sound for the rest of his existence

“have you eaten my prince?”

you ask and yunho knows you’re saying it because you have to - you can’t call him by his name

but the way it makes him feel is some effect he’s never had with anyone else before

“yes, please enjoy your lunch as well.”

he puts a hand out as to signal for you to continue, but before he goes some sort of force and maybe a bit of wishful thinking makes you take his hand in yours

yunho’s breathing hitches

“can you join me now that mingi is gone?”

he agrees - but you’re not about to make a prince sit on hay so you invite him over to the workshop

yunho realizes as he makes his way inside that he hasn’t been in here since he was incredibly young

back when his family had a very elderly seamstress, come to think of it - she was the one that had told him all those stories of kindhearted and noble princes

he smiles at the memory, but then comes the stinging aftermath

how your parents had gotten rid of her in the blink of an eye - cast her out and yunho feels something in his chest clench

did she die on the streets? did she even have a family to go back to? why did my parents treat her like she was less than a person?

your voice asking if the prince wants you to make tea breaks his concentration - he politely refuses

and surveys the sad-looking room

there’s a bed, a desk with candles and what he presumes is your diary

most of the space is taken up by the sewing machine and the array of clothing racks

none of which are your own - yunho realizes a lot of them are his mothers or his fathers and even his own

it’s like your living in a closet, a doll stuffed back past all the other more important things

and yet here you are in front of him - shining like the aurora lights

he swallows - suddenly wanting to apologize

“my prince, if i may”

you begin

“i’ve been thinking about how you helped my family-”

“please, don’t think much of it.”

he interrupts and you shake your head

“no - i must think much of it. the son of such -”

you stop, realizing your leading yourself into what could be a very bad decision, but the prince just lets out a sad chuckle

“of such tyrants? i know, believe me i know best how cruel they can be...”

you put your hands to the front and yunho can’t stand the sight - he had never wanted to see another bandage on your fingers

but here you were, wearing them again - all because his mother couldn’t stand to be seen in the same thing twice

“yes, they are. but you are not. mingi told me about the boy you once were -”

yunho bites back on his tongue

“you asked him about me?”

“he told me how sweet and caring you were, how you cried when one the horses were whipped. you aren’t evil - you aren’t like them. it is not my place to judge anyone, especially not you - but i think you are destined for good.”

his large shoulders shake a bit and you worry that maybe you’ve gone too far

but the reality is, yunho has wanted to hear something like this for so long

it’s true - he wasn’t built to be emotionless, to care about money, to watch suffering with a blank expression

suddenly, as if the waves in all the oceans across the world have turned, you watch as the tall - intimidating - cold prince of your country crumbles to his knees on the old floor of your workshop

you rush to him, worried that he’s fallen ill

but then you touch him - hand on his cheek like you and him both had wanted to do back in front of the library

and yunho feels like he’s looking up at a saint

“i don’t want to be a bad person.”

“you are not. you never were.”

yunho leans forward into your touch, you are overwhelmed by his weight and nearly topple over yourself

when was the last time someone was gentle with him?

you wonder as his eyes flutter closed and you see how handsome he is up close

perfect skin resting against the warm skin of your palm

“my prince?”

“i know you cannot sanctify me, i know nothing can take back what my mother and father have done and caused but i want-”

“do you want to change that?”

your other hand comes up and you are cradling the prince - his gaze opens up again and he nods

“i want to make this country a place of kindness again.”

you nod, bringing your forehead down to press against his

the touch makes yunho gasp, affectionate touch foreign to his otherwise untouched body

“you can do it. i believe in you.”

yunho spends that night wide awake in his bed - staring up at the marble ceiling

he feels hot, pressing his fingers to his forehead again - to the spot where you had made contact

even his own mother hadn’t touched him with such care in years

he finds himself wishing he could get up and run out to the guest house where he’s sure you are up - working on other one of his mothers many pointless projects

that tiny room must be lonely, but was it as lonely as being here in this huge palace your whole life?

suddenly a thought that has never crossed his mind pops up

they have a loving family, but do they have someone else? someone special?

yunho sits up - hair disheveled, expensive sheets sliding down at the sudden jolt

“yunho - what are you thinking about right now? have you gone insane?.”

but the thought haunts him, and when he asks mingi in the morning for advice

the look on his friends face only makes him dread

“so you want me to explain what you’re feeling?”

“yes, why do i care so much about who this person is close to.”

mingi crosses his arms over his chest

“because you probably hope the person they’re closest to is you - right? because,,,,,,,,,well i think prince yunho,,,,,,,,,,you probably like this person.”

yunho doesn’t wrap his head around that thought - like you? no, there’s no way

sure, he admits that you have seized him like no other - made him want to change for the better, but that doesn’t necessarily mean -

he loses track of thought when he hears the door to his practice room open

you bow and apologize as you come inside, you’ve never been here before - and prince yunho looks even more handsome in his fencing attire than the usual royal regalia

“am i interrupting, i can come again later my pr-”

he shakes his hand and walks over to place the sword and his helmet down

“is there anything i can do for you?”

he asks, the nature of his voice is giving and soft - you are so happy to hear the shift

“not for me, but i think there is something you can do for your people.”

“my people?”

“you said you wanted to be a kind leader - a good person, i think you can do it - but i think you need to convince others you can too.”

yunho doesn’t know if you convince him

or if maybe he’s always wanted to do something like this

the kitchen staff are perplexed when he orders a gigantic feast

and even more so when he explains that it will be carried down and into the village

the people's eyes and mouths water at the delicacies that have for far too long been too expensive to even dream of

and when the prince makes his way through the streets - he stops and bows

“please enjoy yourselves”

he invites and the lights of what seems like an early christmas spark in the eyes of the village people

you stand beside yunho, shocked that he went this far this fast

you thought he’d start of small with acts of kindness that weren’t this grand

but then you see how happy he is to see other people happy

and when you turn away, he catches the side of your profile and another thought he never imagined he would ever have crossed his mind

don’t they look rather perfect by my side?

feasts, gigantic donations to public schools and orphanages, the prince giving his own fencing classes for free in the streets, inviting villagers to come and tell him their problems

to see him up close, no bodyguards

no meddlesome parents screaming at him to look past the sorrow and think of only the money

yunho wakes you up one morning and the gleam in his eyes excites you

“let’s donate all these dresses my mother keeps stuffed in here to the people?”

you jump out of bed, throwing your arms around his neck and exclaiming that you love that idea

and yunho is so startled

your body pressed against the front of his uniform that he has to gentle place you back on the ground

you flush and apologize profusely - he’s still the prince

even if he feels more like a friend now

and that was uncalled for and rude

yunho wishes he could express that that isn’t the reason why he let you go so fast

it’s just touch has been gone from most of his life that even interactions like these can spark something he isn’t sure he can control

instead, yunho starts helping you collect the racks and racks of expensive gowns and trousers and skirts and jackets

bringing them down to waiting carriages

mingi saluting the two of you from where he sits up beside the horse

and yunho thinks he hears symphonies as you two ride through the streets and throws these gowns out to the people

women and children’s eyes lighting up

feathers, pearls, glitter, lace all fly through the streets of the city

and then yunho notices you clutch something in your hands

it’s a pretty shawl, one that you’d throw over your shoulders during winter

“is this one special?”

he asks and you bring it up to your chest

“my mother helped me make it - the queen wore it at the last new years ball. it took so long to make,,,,,,,,,,”

yunho takes a moment to understand that all these clothes are the efforts of you - of you and your hardworking hands and soul

“we don’t have to thro-”

but you shake your head, you lean out of the carriage and see a young girl with outstretched arms - you drop the shawl and she squeals with excitement

yunho looks at the happiness that overfloods your expression

“all i want to do in my life is give -”

you turn to him

“i think that’s the noblest way to live, right?”

you look absolutely beautiful - yunho wants to say - but he just nods and holds the handle of his saber to calm himself down

when you two return, he holds his hand out to help you down

and mingi whistles from the front seat - leaving you both in an embarrassing mess

as his laughter fills the air

of course, no matter how much you and yunho do to give back to the villagers

no matter how many times he’s seen you look so comfortable, so destined beside him as you two did kind acts together

no matter how close each day felt to him coming to terms with the reality of what the swelling in his heart really meant for you

it was, without a doubt, going to come to this day

where you were hurrying through the palace and stopped dead in your tracks at the sound of a harsh, resounding slap

“you are the prince of the country, what are you doing spending your time with lower than scum peasants?”

the queens voice hisses

“no son of mine is going to rendezvous with a tailor’s daughter. your hands are dirty with their poorness, you disgust me!”

the kings low tone growls

you feel your heartbeats bang like a drum against your rib cage as you peek your head around the doors to the throne room

yunho is standing at the edge of the large marble stairs

his mother and father,

adorned head to toe in your hard work and in jewels they’ve bought with the blood-stained money of their villagers

loom over him like two angry shdaows

they shout cruel words at him

about how he shouldn’t spend his time with you, how he shouldn’t interact with the people, about how stupid he is to make himself out to be this “weak” of a prince

“you’ll never bear the weight of this crown - you know nothing about being a leader!”

his father lashes out and then his mother raises her hand once more

she brings it down, hard against the skin of his cheek

so hard you nearly feel it on your own body

the sound you make echos into the room and all heads turn toward you

you don’t even make an attempt to run or hide, you let the guards drag you up beside yunho

his princes’ crown abandoned at his feet

the saber he always keeps by his side strewn onto the other side of the room

he looks defeated and you just want to tell him that nothing they said is true

“my prince look at me, please - they can spew all the words in the world but i know your kindness will prevail so don’t listen-”

you start, but the queen orders one of the guards to cover up your mouth

you muffle through their hand and yunho can’t even bear to look at you right now

“it’s their fault, isn’t it. if you’d never come into this house my son would have never become the pitiful, pathetic idiot that he’s showcased himself to be.”

the queen’s heels send static through your spine as she makes her way over

“give me yunho’s saber”

she instructs and one of the other court guards scrambles to hand it to her

the king puts his hands behind his back, satisfied with letting his wife do the dirty work as she unsheathes the sword

the jade embellishments are so beautiful - you’d always admired them when they hung at yunho’s side

“no one will miss you dear, you already forced my son to give your disgusting family a free pass by buying up that ugly shack of a tailors shop. well i suppose someone has to pay for his stupidity - and since i can’t kill my own son.”

she flicks her eyes at yunho and scoffs

“i can kill what made him so damn useless”

the guard lets you go - and you full to the floor to collect your breath

it leaves you open to the attack, and you want to take one last look at yunho

ask him to please not give up on becoming a better ruler for the people

when suddenly you see him move forward, grabbing onto the blade before his mother can thrust it forward

all you feel is the tiny drops of blood as the sharp edge digs into his skin and he yanks it from her hold

stepping in front of you he puts the sword out

“GUARDS!”

his mother shouts, but just as they move toward him - yunho finally speaks

it’s that voice you’ve heard about, the voice that sounds like thunder

“WHAT? ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME? THE PRINCE?”

he heaves, bloody hands wrapped around the grip of his sword

“YOU’RE GOING TO KILL ME AND KEEP LIVING UNDER THEIR COMMAND? IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?”

the guards all hesitate - and the staff which have crowded around the commotion all have their eyes locked on yunho and you

you look up, yunho is visibility shaking - the pain must be immense as the gashes on his palms are huge

“my prince-”

you start, but it’s weak and meager and drowned out by the queens insolent laughing, accompanied by the king in unison

“OF COURSE THEY ARE, SON! THEY’RE IDIOTS BORN TO SERVE - NOTHING MORE NOTHING LESS!”

yunho looks around and asks again

“ARE THESE THE PEOPLE YOU WANT TO LIVE FOR?”

the queen and king don’t look scared, they just order for the guards to seize yunho and kill you once more

but no one moves

no one dares to even breath

slowly you start to get up, you reach out - yunho watches you as you settle your hands over his

you hold the grip too, your old scarring wounds over his freshly new ones

“i don’t want to be ruled by them anymore.”

you start

“i want to be ruled by a kind, loving, thoughtful person. i want to be ruled by prince yunho.”

he staff burst into bubbling talks, the guards still don’t move

and yunho looks at you - holding his bloody hands and bloody sword

and he still sees the imprint of the guards hand on your neck and lips and it tears him apart

but it makes him stronger too

and he also feels his head almost spin because this is the first time you’ve ever said his name

suddenly, there’s a flash and the entire room turns - assuming a guard has finally made their move

but instead, the flash is red

and it runs up behind the king and then appears beside you and yunho

it’s mingi, and in his hands is the crown that was just on the kings head

“i believe this is yours!”

he grins - plopping it ontop of yunho’s head and stepping back to join the staff that has now crowded itself into the room

the king hollers for the guards to get him

but yunho beats him to it

“GUARDS, AS THE NEW KING -”

his eyes lock with yours

“I ORDER YOU TO SEIZE MY MOTHER AND FATHER!”

without a moment's hesitation, you hear them rally around to take the old queen and king by the hands

they both yell and shout that this is insane - preposterous - that their son better stop acting up and order them to be released now

but yunho shakes his head

“too long you two have asked me to be silent, to be cruel, and to be heartless. but i chose kindness. i chose to give because.”

you smile at him - and say it in the same

“that is the noblest way to live.”

the staff break into a cheer all around, the doors of the palace burst open and the parade you and yunho out into the streets

although you’re both sweating, covered in blood and you’re riping at your sleeves to bandage yunho up

the villagers welcome him like the king he is

crooked crown - but pure heart

and mingi appears beside you

you holding yunho’s sword still in your hands

“i think we’ll need to organize a coronation for the king!”

“yes!”

you laugh and watch as the people embrace yunho and he shines in the middle, happy to finally be free of the hold of his parents

mingi leans down closer

“and a wedding am i right?”

you jump, hitting him playfully as he shrugs

even in the crowd -

the prince finds you

eyes locked on yours

everyone turns and watches as you come closer and closer

offering up the sword to him, but he simply nudges it to the side

taking your face in his hands,

just like you did to him all that time before

the makeshift bandages rough on your cheeks

but his lips soft as they brush yours

mingi grins

“i was definitely right. there will totally be a wedding soon,,,,,,,,i hope there will be cake!”

#yunho scenarios #yunho imagines #yunho au #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez au #prince au #blood/#minor violence/#yunho #ateez #member: ateez #writing commissions

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leechonspeeddial · 3 years

Text

500 Milestone Celebration

A couple of days ago I promised I'd post the only surving fanfic I wrote from back in elementary school.

So without further ado, here we have the whole thing including author's notes. Truly, it's such a throwback.

Here's the link if you prefer reading it from the source.

So I edited this story because I found that editing helps you find mistakes and find how weird something may or may not sound like :/. So please review, I want to know what you think, even if you hate it, even flame me if you want. All I want is feedback so I know how to improve my writing.

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

xXx

Of in the distance he could hear the church's bells strike midnight, even if it was at least a mile away. The cold winds of the night blew harshly and got inside the barn he was in; it didn't bother him, it barely even affect him, the strong winds of winter felt like ghost hands on his skin, and they didn't feel cold at all, he was never cold; not since that day, and he didn't care.

The only thing on his mind at the moment was the girl on his arms. She was so pretty, her blonde hair was long, it reached her waits and it felt like silk. Her skin was her skin was pale, but not overly so, unlike his, his was a dead white. And her eyes, oh her eyes, they were blue, so beautiful almost violet, but they were close at the moment. Over all she was fragile and weak, so easy to break, like a little china doll. However, the most enchanting thing about her was her smell, it was desirable and captivating. He couldn't wait to taste it.

He sank his teeth into her neck slowly; the taste of her blood was intoxicating, it was the sweetest blood he had yet tasted. It was somewhat exotic. Blood drops made a trail down her neck and down his fingers. He could feel her live leave her body, he could feel the heat leaving and being replaced by coldness. She would not feel it as she was knock out cold. He detested when they struggled and creamed, it was very unattractive and more often than not made the whole thing not pleasurable at all.

The only thing he needed to do was getting close enough to charm them; the most beautiful, gullible and... With weaker abilities of observation were the ones he wanted. He only needed to show his God-like face, and then everything else fell nicely on its place. First, planting the seed; giving them enough doubt for them to pursue them. Second, make them want him yet making it seem impossible for them to be together; this only increased their curiosity and intrigued them into falling deeper. Third, show some unbelievable powers; again, to get them to grow an interest for him. Fourth and final step was admitting what he was to them. Those steps got him so many beautiful preys at his finger tips, and their taste was simply exquisite.

Now he held her corpse; Rosalie Hale was her name, she was 19 years old and the daughter of a very influential businessman. However, he would never find out she died this gruesome dead, he had left a note telling him they had decided to elope, that she would never forgive him for refusing to give them his blessing and that she would never speak to him again.

As much as he loved to see Rosalie's dead face, a face full of pain and discomfort, he needed to get rid of it. It wasn't hard, the dogs always did an excellent job, and he couldn't help the smile that broke on his gorgeous face. He stayed as the dogs fought with each other over the girl's dead body, as they ripped her skin, viciously bit her bones and body, and like animals they were, sloppily dismembered her body.

Suddenly someone banged on the doors of the barn, there was screaming outside and it sounded like a crowd was trying to make his way in. He snarled, he most have tuned out the outside noises; he did enjoy watching them too much. He left the dogs and made his escape, by dawn he would miles away from here.

After that day, he became less careful...

xXx

The police entered the warehouse; the smell filled the air around them, the smell of dead, of rotten. Somebody had called; they had heard some screaming and barking and thought somebody was breaking and entering on the abandoned warehouse. The sight that greeted them was horrifying, some of the officers had to throw up, Leah Clearwater's body laid there, not that they knew who she was as her dismembered body was too mauled and too ripped to find her identity, her blood spilled on the floor and splattered on the walls. She lay on a pool of blood, but not only her own, flies flew and ate the remainder of her body, they also found the corpses of dead dogs, and they seemed starved and beaten. They knew this scene too well this is what greeted the police all across the country, no one could ever catch the killer, and it has been going on for over a century, no one knows how it's possible. But they know they will do everything possible to catch it. There was always hope, wasn't there?

xXx

Forks was a very rainy city. He enjoyed it thought, it made him think of England; he had always wanted to go there but wasn't able to live the country he grew up on. He sat on the small cafe pretending to drink coffee, he had moved 2 years ago and the area held a great amount of beauties and delicious blood. He never moved away immediately after killing that was too suspicious, instead he stayed for a while before deciding where to go next.

As he sat reading the local newspaper, which had a one page article on the murder of Leah Clearwater, a young brunette walked by, she had medium colour brown hair and pale skin; she was pretty, but not on the same page as his past victims. He knew who she was; she was Isabella Swan the daughter of the police chief. He had seen her before, and had the pleasure to witness her extreme clumsiness. What happened was she had tripped over her own feet and bumped onto his back, he settled her so she didn't fall and then her scent hit him like a brick wall; it was something he had never smelled before, no words could describe it. Since that day he swore he was going to drink it no matter what.

Isabella, 'Bella' he mused, spotted him and smiled and waved at him; he did the same. Little he knew what was crossing her mind at the moment. That the clumsy beauty smiling and waving in front of him was going to end his cruel ways once and for all, little did he know she knew all the lives he had ended and the pain he had caused, little did he know she was worse than him and was hiding a greater secret than he could ever imagine...

xXx

PS: If you didn't know who it was, it was our charming Edward Cullen.

PPS: REVIEW!

#500 followers #twilight fanfiction #twilight #bad fanfiction #its mine so i can say that :)#twilight renaissance

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themeed · 3 years

Text

damn allowed myself to want things for a day and all i want is a van to live in, knowledge, freedom, weight loss, and a bass guitar.

im. happy with that i think. im proud of me, no jokes. im proud of being able to want things and care about them and vibrate towards them with longing. im... pleased with that. its fulfilling in a way Not Wanting For Anything isnt, because thats... kinda hollow. empty. in a vacant, lonely, yearning and grieving and SAD way. maybe because i Couldnt Want then. i Couldnt Desire or it would be used against me or taken away. that sucks. that sucked.

and now. im free to want again. and comparatively???? i think im very much never going to aim for buddhism or that weird Not Desiring Not Attached Nirvana mindset. like good for u but been there out of trauma and its not fun theres no reason to truly Live. u just float endlessly and experience and it aches so badly!!!! it hurts to want to want and not be able to. and i guess that is different from not wanting at all but... its not different enough for me to justify ever going back to that. or going forward to that. i just got this back and screw enlightenment if it means i have to give up on my passions i dont think life is worth living without it.

and anybody who looks down on that from a spiritual tower has yet to examine their own pride and how empty they feel without it.

anybody who looks down and smiles and wishes me luck on my journey? good for them. im glad theyre living their best life, on their journey as they see fit.

and i feel the need to protect myself because ive been hurt by the pride- the arrogance of others before. a lot of my hurts and traumas stem from my mother being too prideful to recognize that she can be wrong and someone under her power could be correct over her. and it was an uncomfortable truth. so she denied it was one at all and hurt me. i know the reason could be elaborated on. she didnt want to confront her own internal logic. or trauma. or even doublethink. that doesnt excuse her hurting a child for the sake of her sense of pride, of comfort, of self-worth. a child under her power, that she claimed to be parent of. teacher of.

not owing anyone anything is not the same as not hurting anyone. i havent reconciled that yet. oppressors should be held accountable for their mistakes, and give reparations if the harm is physical at LEAST. and i think that applies to politics, yes. privately though? if i beat up a nazi, i dont want to pay for his hospital bills. my personal philosophy struggles between equating people and ideas as a worth measurement, and realizing that that line of thinking is... similar to oppressors. but. its based on something people can change. the question is, do i think "if given the opportunity" is a good enough reason to stop and question a racist that runs their mouth? and do i think pre-emptive violence is okay? if say, a nazi walks into a bar and doesnt say anything but is wearing all the red flags and bells and whistles. i dont think that justifies a beatdown. being asked to leave, sure, but the beatdown doesnt start til the first remark flies.

once the intent is given OR the action is taken, the line is drawn. doesnt matter if they Havent Had The Chance. if theyre starting shit outside of debate spaces like that, and not, say, asking questions, theyre not looking for new perspectives, and it is NOT my job to educate people. its not my job to Show People The Light. a quick fucking google search could tell them why theyre wrong. if they havent put even the most basic energy into questioning their beliefs, thats on them.

it sounds like im trying to absolve myself of blame here. largely because. i think i should go out and help educate people because theyre inherently complacent if theyre, yknow, in a position of power. aka white folk and men and rich folk and cis folk and on and on and on. these people dont live my reality. they dont live the reality of a gay black man in the south, or a genderqueer lesbian in the west, or an indigenous woman whose nation is being targeted, or a muslim woman who cannot wear her headcoverings in the face of danger of death, or an asian immigrant who cant get a job because of COVD age discrimination resurging. we will never live each others realities, but we can become aware of them.

they wont come into awareness without someone asking or telling, and then doing something to change them.

we shouldnt need to go running to people in power for them to be aware of problems in the populace, govt is supposed to help and solve issues like this. like. actively. thats the whole point, make life better for the countrys citizens. and individuals in a position of social power...

are individuals who didnt take on a responsibility to protect and serve or otherwise care for the populace of a nation. i personally think they SHOULD care, but they are not obligated to. i cant make them care about others.

and honestly, on some of them, it would be a waste of time. there are people who want to change or question things and yknow what? they seek out answers. in people or places or online usually. stats and stories.

so like. i dont think someones Potential as a person matters when theres a throwdown about to happen. it really isnt my responsibility to save people from themselves or try to change their sides against their will. if they want to chat about it they can ask questions first.

not throw insults or punches or hatred.

what people have been taught is worth analyzing and trying to correct IN SOCIETY but i cant fix every broken white boy that comes to me. PSAs, fliers, outreach, online videos, debate spaces. those are things i already have access to and can be a part of if i really want to go around changing minds. or yknow. get involved in legislation and be myself around others to change their perceptions of whats socially acceptable or normal. maybe protest, maybe call congressfolk, etc.

but not every comment has to be analyzed or a learning opportunity. im allowed to shut it down, and people can respect that or stop talking to me. this isnt my parents house where i had to justify everything that i said or did when scrutinized, and doubly justify any criticism i had of mother, or any joke i frowned at instead of smiling.

these people dont have that power over me. they arent my mother. they arent my boss, and if they are i can fuck off and get a new job if necessary. they dont have financial control over my living space and food and schooling and physical control of where i can go and with who and for how long. I CONTROL THAT. I do.

Huh. maybe thats why i want a van so bad. i mean... when this lease ends if nobody is gonna end up living with me...

i could just... live in my car and shower at truck stops. get a storage unit for my stuff. save by driving jobs. like 40 to 60 a day. tear out my cars back, insulate it, and install my mattress pad there. water on the floor, cooler next to it, wooden cutting coard, knife, single camping plateware set, and another little shelf for spices. maybe a hot plate i can hook up to the car battery? get a long enough usb and it might be doable. i could go camping and open the trunk to just... vibe.

because yeah, honestly? i dont plan on having a solid apartment for a bit. like a long bit. and i still have like 70000 miles on my car before itll want to go. and by that point, even at like 100 miles a day, thats like 2 years, less if i go cross country in that vehicle. i could save up SO MUCH for a better vehicle, or like. college. live on campus, get some credit, continue working after i figure out want i want to do.

i think thats a solid plan, even if i dont get another apartment and put everything in storage. work as i need to instead of all the time for rent, really only paying for gas, car repairs, car ins, food, and phone data/hotspot internet... that would bring my monthly expenses down to like 500 a month max instead of like 1400. id only need to make some 1000 a month doing contract stuff to save for taxes and stuff. anything extra would be just that: extra for savings and things. holy shit.

depending on how this next month goes for my friends, holy s h i t.

i. i might do this. legitimately.

i. dont think i can yet. i need proof of address to get my license im pretty sure? but hey, thatll be my 21st this year, so. once i have that i wont need a new address for a While. i dont know if ill want one, really.

i could always just ask a friend or family member if i could use theirs for mail that cant go to a PO box.

anyway. yeah. wow.

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qqueenofhades · 4 years

Note

“I’ll take care of you.” “It’s rotten work.” “Not to me. Not if it’s you.” Pretty please for All Souls Gabriel and Garcia?

Nantes, BrittanyOctober 25, 1440

The scaffold stands nearby, looming in the darkness, the hangman’s noose clutching a gasp of empty air where tomorrow morning at nine o’clock, it will clutch Gilles de Rais’ wretched neck. Dry kindling has been stacked, awaiting the burning, and most townsfolk have kept well away from it, only to spit and cross themselves if they must pass. Nobody wants this to be a spectacle, grievous and awful as the accused’s crimes are. He was a war hero ten years ago, the close companion of Joan of Orléans, marching against the English invaders, heroically beating them back, and now this. Ordinarily he should have been sent to Paris for trial, but the courts do not want the English getting wind of the fact of Gilles de Rais’ crimes. Some details are so heinous they have been stricken from the court record. The sorcery and sodomy and murder, the unnatural usage of children before they were killed, the torture and the occult experimentations, the dabbling in black magic. It would be too convenient.

Gabriel de Clermont stands in the shadows of the far side, regarding the courtyard, the pacing guards, the knowledge that this square will be flooded with the folk of Nantes and the surrounding countryside by sunup tomorrow, all eager to see Rais burn. He stole their children, he was the monster that they welcomed into their homes and hung with laurels, he was the one they believed in, and it began almost the moment he returned home from Joan’s campaigns, after they burned her in Rouen. Gabriel knew the Maid of Orléans only briefly. He customarily finds religious zealots unpalatable and inflexible, but he had something of a soft spot for her, this tiny nut-brown peasant girl whose rural French sounded half like Occitan, spitting furious and full of righteousness, who was questioned for days and never broke, who put on armor and did what this entire godforsaken country has failed to do itself in beating the English. Gabriel is, after all, and has been for many centuries, French himself. And yet –

We should have done more, he thinks. We could have done more. They had to step back and let Joan burn, and then for eight years, even when appeals were sent to the Knights of Lazarus as knowledge of Gilles de Rais’ crimes began to seep out across the countryside like poison, his lord father has refused to take a hand. We do not fight the humans’ wars. We are not their judge and jury. Gabriel could recite the speech in his sleep. He knows, he knows, that it’s not that Asher de Clermont does nothing. Asher has protected the mortal world from threats they have never even imagined, has fought monsters beyond all comparison, has trained his sons to do the same, and the world itself made it through the last few hundred years, beset with its human problems even as it was, because the Knights of Lazarus were there. And yet, to stand here and look at this scaffold, soaked in eight years’ worth of children’s blood, because Asher did not deem it noble enough to interfere in humans’ business –

Gabriel breaks off and starts to walk, angry, burning, restless. He knows the arguments. We are too strong for them. We cannot appoint themselves their gods, their judge and jury. We cannot let them rely on us to do what they must do for themselves. No wonder the de Clermonts’ rivals jeer that Asher is too soft and too principled and too honorable to ever make a proper leader for their kind, even if they would not dare say that to the Grandmaster’s face. The humans are weak, they have been for years. Plague, famine, war, unrest, economic and religious and political upheaval. They tear themselves apart easily, they die like flies, in their hundreds and their thousands. The creatures, witches and vampires and daemons alike, could emerge from the shadows and strike, kill all the humans easily, make this their world, and it is only Asher’s restraint and power that stops them. Gabriel loves his father, adores him and admires him beyond all words, knows that they must make sacrifices, but at the same time –

You could have let us stop Gilles de Rais, he thinks. Just this once. Just as if you could have let us save Richard, and you did not.

Gabriel comes to a halt, leans against the wall of a wattle-and-daub inn, and then almost jumps out of his skin, fangs flashing out and eyes going black as he hisses, as someone’s hand touches his shoulder from behind. It takes only an instant after that for him to land rather sheepishly. “Ah,” he says breezily, feigning his usual devil-may-care demeanor. “Hello, darling.”

Garcia eyes him, unconvinced by this bravura performance. (He is the only one, Gabriel thinks poignantly, who would even know that it is one.) “What are you doing skulking out here?” his brother asks. “It’s getting late, and – ”

“They only intend to burn one monster tomorrow, so far as I am aware.” Nonetheless, Gabriel grudgingly consents to turn away from the square and the waiting scaffold. They walk down the lane, pass a tiny church, and Garcia absently crosses himself. He is Catholic in a way Gabriel is not, born to it just as the first missionaries were reaching the pagan Slavs of Ragusa, whereas Gabriel was born before the Romans nailed that Jewish carpenter to a tree and has duly converted with the rest of the family. As they emerge on the far side, Gabriel bursts out, “We could have stopped this, you know.”

Garcia pauses, a look of pain on his face. He takes a moment to answer. Finally he says, “You know that Papa – ”

“Yes,” Gabriel snaps, “yes, I know what Papa. Eight years. Eight years of – you’ve heard what that bastard Gilles has been doing, and if it was my child – if someone had laid a hand on Christian like that, torn him to pieces and used him vilely, and there was someone who could have stopped it happening to any other son, and did nothing because of principle – ”

Too late he wonders if he should be lashing out about their father to Garcia, as Garcia fears too much that Asher might not count him his own son enough to openly criticize him, but Garcia reaches out, grips Gabriel’s arms, and holds on hard. “Shh,” he says, a little roughly. “Shh, moje srce, we’ll make it right.”

“How?” Gabriel demands, the word raw on his tongue. This whole spectacle is doing nothing for his cherished reputation of never giving a fuck about anything, but it’s too late. “Turn back time? Bring those dead boys back to life? Apologize to the mothers and fathers for being able to do something, but deciding that our father just would not stand for it, so very sorry? If they marched on Sept-Tours with pitchforks and decided to avenge it, they would be entirely – ”

“Shh,” Garcia says again, more forcefully, and this time, Gabriel is forced reluctantly to listen. “We will watch Gilles de Rais burn tomorrow. We will do what we came to do, and we will see justice done. It’s not your ill. It’s not your sin. There are other battles to fight, where we can make more of a difference, stop much greater evils. All right?”

Gabriel doesn’t answer, chewing over it, not wanting to argue, still not entirely agreeing. Finally when he still doesn’t speak, Garcia says awkwardly, “Do you – do you want to find a brothel?”

“What?” That startles a disbelieving whoop of laughter out of Gabriel, despite his dark mood. “Did you just – you hate brothels!”

“Yes, well.” Garcia shrugs defensively. Vampires can’t flush, but he’s trying anyway. “I thought it would cheer you up.”

Gabriel isn’t sure how to respond to that. He looks at Garcia, still trying so hard to pretend that this is actually how he wants to spend his evening in any remote measure, sitting stiffly while the whores flirt with him and Gabriel goes upstairs with an armful and must be turfed out the next morning. “No, darling,” Gabriel says at last, with genuine regret that he loves Garcia too much to make him endure that – at least tonight, as both of them know full well there will be many others. “Come on, let’s find supper. Though if you propose to keep my company, be warned it’s much less scintillating than usual.”

Garcia shakes his head. “Not to me,” he says. “Not if it’s you.”

So they start to run, breaking into supernatural speed away from the village, bounding across the dark countryside in pursuit of stags to catch and drain, and sit together beneath the stars, and on that night, terrible as the weight of the injustice may be, Gabriel de Clermont does not mind his own sins so much.

(september prompt list)

#timeless ff #gabriel x garcia #all souls au #prompt fills #extasiswings #ask

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c-kern · 4 years

Text

Suburbia

You and your Significant Other had an argument about half an hour ago. You know the type. It isn’t dissimilar from the hundreds of arguments that the two of you have had in the past. It started with something small; You don’t even remember what it was, but that isn’t important, anyway. What is important, at least to You, even if not them, is that You are tired of the arguing. You know that the argument itself wasn’t a big deal, but these things are cumulative, aren’t they? Yes. Yes, they are.

So, now You find Yourself at the entrance to one of the many state parks in The State in which You live. You love it here. You have ever since You arrived. What’s funny about that is that it wasn’t even your choice to live here, was it?

“No.” You hear Yourself say, “It wasn’t. It was theirs.” And it was. It was your Significant Other’s, yet here You are.

When You first moved here, You and your Significant Other lived in The City, but then You had The Kid. The City was no place for a kid; you both knew that. So You made the decision to leave the bustling city, and your overpriced apartment, for Suburbia. That was a long time ago.

You had all these great and optimistic ideas about Suburbia.

“What great opportunities, here!” You told Yourself back then, and You found Yourself agreeing.

When You found the perfect house, one of the “great” things about it was that it was next to a state park. The very state park in front of which You now find Yourself.

“I can’t believe it’s taken this long to come here.” You say.

You find Yourself nodding, “I know.” You can’t help but look at Yourself. Although it’s near dusk, and getting darker, You see the age lines.

“Time flies.” You hear Yourself say.

Someone had once told You that there is a trail in this park that leads to a beautiful little waterfall. You aren’t sure which trail it is, or how far it is, but You do know that You have always wanted to see it, and, although You and your Significant Other are hosting the monthly dinner party that You have had going for several years with The Neighbors, You decide that You need some time to think. To relax. So, You decide that it’s time to take Yourself to see that damned waterfall. You pick up the backpack that You brought and stride into the park.

As You cross the parking lot, You spot the park ranger, “Park’s about to close.” They say.

“Only be a minute,” You say, knowing that that isn’t true.

“You little liar” You hear Yourself whisper with a sneer.

“They won’t be able to find anyone who’s on the trails,” You reply, “Besides, there won’t be any vehicles in the parking lot, so they will probably forget all about this.”

“Probably right.”

You continue on. You pass a restroom and patio and make your way to the entrance of the trails. You see several people making their way out, and You slip past them without a word. There’s a sign that points in two directions: East and West. The westward-pointing portion of the sign reads, “Laguna Waterfall Trail,” and the eastward-pointing portion reads, “Lowlands Trail.”

“Seems easy to discern the right path.” You say to Yourself.

“Agreed.” You hear Yourself reply, “Let’s go.”

And You do.

Once on the trail, You see No One. This makes you happy. You need some time. Just You, Yourself, and No one. You begin to think back over your relationship with your Significant Other.

“Was it always like this?” You wonder. No, definitely not. Your relationship has been cyclical, emotionally speaking. In the beginning, the two of you were very young. You didn’t know how to deal with relationships. How could You at that age? You were a kid, or, at least, close enough to one that No One would have known the difference. Back then, You fought a lot. Those fights were the worst. There were times when outsiders would think that You and your Significant Other hated one another. At times, maybe they were right.

“No,” You say loudly, almost too loudly, “No we didn’t. We were just young and passionate.”

“Who are you trying to convince?” You hear Yourself ask.

“No One.” You reply.

“Good, because No One believes you.”

“We were immature.”

And You were. That’s all. But You grew out of that.

After a while, the trail begins a descent into a dark, thick forest. As it does, it narrows, and as it narrows, the shadows, most cast by the trees, but some not, begin to widen. Or, maybe they lengthen. You aren’t sure. To You, the exact location of the tops of the shadows as opposed to the sides of the shadows are a matter of great uncertainty, but You are at peace with that. Such things are, after all, inconsequential in the grand scheme of things, when you take into consideration the size of the Universe. Very few people do that. Some would argue that No One does. Those people may be right.

As You enter The Forest, You notice that the remaining light from the sun is blocked off very well. This is, after all, a very, very thick forest. You look around and notice that You can see very little. What You do see, that You can make out, does not surprise You. There are trees. There is underbrush. There is the trail that You are following to the waterfall. There is also something else. Something that You cannot see. You continue on your way.

As You continue your walk, deep in reflection, You check to see that No One is still around. You decide that that is indeed the case.

You remember back to the time when You and your Significant Other truly had reached adulthood, both in age and maturity. This, at least in your mind, was the next chapter in your relationship’s emotional cycle. This was an easy one. Sure, there may have been issues from time to time, but there were very few fights. You were still young, yes, but You were also confident and optimistic. Nothing in this world could bring You down. You started that career that You had been working toward, and it was, as far as You could tell then, everything You had hoped for. There was, however, a small downside to that career: it was in another part of The Country. In order for You to pursue it, your Significant Other had to agree to move. Of course, they did. Why wouldn’t they?

“We were inseparable and in love.” You say. And You are right.

Both of you had grown up in a large city. That made for a drastic change when you moved for your career. The job offer that You received was in the middle of Nowhere. The two of you lived basically in isolation for three whole years. As You walk, now, You try hard, using your not-as-sharp-as-it-used-to-be memory, to remember any person that you met while in the middle of Nowhere. You think of No One.

“It was nice, though, wasn’t it?” You once again hear Yourself say.

“It wasn’t terrible.” You reply, “At least we were happy.”

Things got complicated after that, though didn’t they?

“You can say that, again.”

“Say what?” You ask Yourself.

No One replies.

“Right.” You say, mostly to Yourself.

Toward the end of that time, in the middle of Nowhere, your Significant Other started to show signs of unhappiness. It started with nothing but a somber mood, and, truth be told, You didn’t notice it right away. Looking back, You should have, but You didn’t. Over several months, it progressed, under your not-so-watchful eye.

Then, the conversation came.

“I want us to move.” You remember them saying.

“Why?” You asked, completely taken by surprise, “Things are going really well for us here.”

“No, they aren’t,” They say, “They are going well for you. I am miserable. I need to be closer to a city; I need to be closer to my family.”

“We loved each other, so I did what was asked of me.” You say to No One in particular. No One listens.

A few months later, You found Yourself in The City. The very city that You lived in all the way up to the birth of The Kid.

During your time in The City, You really got to know Yourself. You spent hours a week just learning about Yourself. You began to like Yourself. You began to feel comfortable just being with Yourself. Your Significant Other didn’t understand that. Why would you spend so little time with them?

“I just preferred it that that way.” You say. And You did.

You wait for someone to ask You to elaborate. No One does.

“It was a complicated time.”

Then, The Kid

You come to a bend in your path that overlooks a river. You walk up to the edge, take off your backpack, and find, in a small pocket, what You were looking for. You pull out a pack of cigarettes. You light one and lean against a tree.

You had told your Significant Other that You had stopped smoking years ago, but that isn’t exactly true, obviously.

“I have cut back a lot, though.” You say, and that is exactly true. You used to literally burn through a pack a day. Now, You smoke one cigarette, once in a while, when You know that You won’t be caught. You keep them hidden in your sock drawer. Honestly, You are surprised that your Significant Other has never found them. At first, You thought they would, but they never did, so now, that drawer has become the place of many, many secrets. The pack of cigarettes was the first of two of those secrets that You brought with You, but You will get to the other one when the time is right.

You are looking up and down the river, as far as You can see. It’s quiet and dark.

“Couldn’t even tell the sun had gone down in all that tree cover.” You hear Yourself say.

“Nope,” You respond, “Probably better keep moving.”

You toss the remainder of your cigarette onto the ground and turn to begin back on your path. As You do, you hear a sudden cracking of sticks and twigs near You. It frightens You. You spin around frantically. You think You see something. Is it Someone? You wouldn’t expect Someone to be out here at this time of night, but You never know, do You?

“No, I guess I don’t.” You whisper.

You see an oddly shaped shadow across the path from You, near a tree. It looks like Someone.

“Hello?” You call out, cautiously.

There is no answer.

You slowly approach the shadow, nervous of what might come next.

As You get closer, You realize. It isn’t Someone. In fact, it isn’t a person, or creature, at all, at least, not a live one. It’s a sign cut into the shape of a monster. Specifically, the rumored “Laguna Waterfall Monster”.

The sign is cut and painted to look like the “monster”. Also on the sign, is a brief history of “sightings” of the monster along the trail that You are walking. You pull out your cellphone, turn the camera light on, and read the sign, in its entirety. At the bottom of the sign is a picture of the monster’s supposed egg that it lays. The egg in the picture is shaped the normal way an egg is typically shaped, but its color is mostly a deep, midnight blue, with swirls of black, purple, pink, and red. The sign says that these eggs are often spotted along the trail and are free to keep, if You find them.

“How ridiculous.” You say.

No One agrees.

Again, You hear the crackling of twigs somewhere near You. You spin around to see what it is, when suddenly, your favorite song starts blaring out of nowhere!

Well, not really out of nowhere, is it?

You feel a slight vibration in your hand, and You look down. Your phone is ringing. On the screen, is a picture of your Significant Other, holding The Kid. You begin to feel very emotional and quickly decline the call.

You take a deep breath, looking around for Someone. You see No One.

“Calm down.”

You take another deep breath, but just then, You feel the vibration of your phone, again.

It’s a text message from your Significant Other: Just wanted to make sure everything is okay. Where did you go?

In response, You throw your phone into the brush.

“Now, they’ll worry,” You hear Yourself say quietly.

“Good,” You say.

You begin walking down the path, again, more determined than ever to see that waterfall. As You do, You begin to think of The Kid. That time in your life was particularly cyclical, emotionally, with your Significant Other. When The Kid was first born, times were tough. You had to learn a whole new way to live. There were late nights and early mornings. There were fights over which parent was in charge of which duty at which times. There was also great happiness. That was when your Significant Other made a second location ask of You. They felt that Suburbia would be much better for The Kid.

“I agreed with that, too.” You say.

“The City is no place for a child,” You hear Yourself say, “It was the best for everyone.”

And it was. You know that. And You aren’t that far from The City. At first, You loved it; don’t try and say You didn’t. You got a house, your house, which is much bigger than anything You could’ve afforded in The City, and it was near two parks. This park, which You always wanted to visit but somehow never did, and also another park. That park has playground equipment, an open field, and a basketball court. You have been to that park, haven’t you? Yes, of course.

You think back to all the afternoons You spent at that park with your Significant Other and The Kid. Those were some of your most fond memories. You remember the first time The Kid went down the slide. Although, your Significant Other was not there that day. And a good thing, too, because The Kid went down it by accident. They were walking along the jungle gym and just slipped. You tried to catch them, but You weren’t fast enough, and down they went.

You thought that The Kid would cry, but they didn’t. Later, You would tell your friends that You knew The Kid wouldn’t cry.

“Tough as nails, just like us.” You said with a laugh. Later, once The Kid reached adulthood, You found out how true that was.

Quickly, You think of another memory. You think of all the sports games that The Kid played there. They loved sports, all of them. That was good, though, because the fact was that The Kid was pretty good at all of them. They could’ve gotten a sports scholarship to any school, if they had wanted to, but not every person is made for college, and The Kid was one of those who were not. The shock of that realization was pretty big to You, at the time.

“After all of the trouble we had had through the horrible teen years,” You begin, “I just thought the decision not to go to college was another form of rebellion.” But, it wasn’t. It just wasn’t the right path for them. You know that, now.

You’ve walked a ways, now, since You read that sign, and hadn’t really been paying much attention, but now, another sign catches your eye. This sign isn’t big, like the last one. In fact, it is really quite small. You approach it, trying to read it. You reach for your phone before realizing that You no longer have it.

“What the hell does that say?” You ask, squinting in the dark.

You get really close to the sign, now, squatting down to get a better look. You read the sign.

The sign tells You that you are entering the zone in which the Laguna Waterfall Monster eggs are typically found. You laugh out loud.

“Does anyone believe this crap?” You ask.

No One answers.

“Maybe the park rangers planted some around here.” You hear Yourself say.

It probably wouldn’t hurt to look.

So, You start wandering around, meandering back and forth across the path, to its edges. t’s hard to see, but You don’t think You see anything.

As You search for monster eggs, You think about The Kid’s senior year in high school. That year seemed to be a cleansing one. The Kid seemed to let go of the typically-teen behavior and attitude issues and replaced them with a great excitement of the unknown. The Kid had lived in the same house, in the same neighborhood, and went to the same school their whole life. There was so much to do and see as adulthood, and true independence, approached. How could anyone resist that? You felt the same way, at that age, after all.

“I really enjoyed that time,” You say, “We got swept up in the excitement, too.”

Most of the good family photos in your home are from that year. You spent so much time with The Kid, because You knew once that year was over, they would be gone. Eventually, that was proven true. Senior year ended. The Kid decided to go off and try to live their life, and soon, they were gone, and You knew that they were never coming back. It wasn’t your fault, You know that. It wasn’t because of all the fights that you had, or that they hated You. Sometimes life just does that. Now, You and your Significant Other are left there, alone.

Soon, you approach another sign. This sign is facing away from You. You walk around to read it. It is the same sign that You saw a few minutes before. You must be out of the egg zone.

“I knew this was stupid.” You hear Yourself say.

“Maybe tourists already picked them all up,” You reply, “Or maybe, they only put them out in the summer. It’s too cold for any sane person to be out here this time of year.

No One disagrees.

You continue your walk, and before long, You come to a fork in the path. A handy sign tells You to go to the right. You oblige.

“Have to be getting close now.”

The forest becomes less quiet than it was. You hear leaves scattering, sticks breaking, and other noises that You can’t figure out. It sounds like there is an army chasing You.

“It’s just the wind.” You say to Yourself, and You believe that, although, You don’t feel any more wind, and You don’t feel any colder. But, of course, it’s the wind.

“Of course.” You hear Yourself say, nervously. You begin to walk quickly.

There was an old joke your parents used to always make when you were getting ready to embark out on your own. The joke always came up in a conversation with other parents. The conversation usually followed the same pattern.

“Well, now that you and your spouse will have the house to yourselves, what are you going to do?” a friend’s parent would ask.

“I guess,” one of your parents would reply, “After this many years with kids to occupy our time, the first thing we should do is find out if we even like each other.”

And all the parents would laugh. And You would laugh, too, because You thought it was the funniest joke in the world. What You didn’t know, and what You would only realize much later, was that there was a real truth to those words. You suppose that the joke was told just to cover up the nervousness that your parents, and maybe all parents, felt during that life changing event. You certainly felt that way.

“What’s the answer?”

“Hmm?” You ask.

“The answer. Do the two of you still like each other?”

“Sometimes,” You reply, “Well, most times.”

You pause, then sigh.

“Not usually.” You continue, “I guess that’s why I’m out here, tonight.”

Suddenly, there’s a loud crashing sound. You spin around to see where it came from. There’s a fallen tree forty yards behind You.

“What the hell?” You ask Yourself.

“That was weird.” You hear Yourself say.

You listen very intently. You wait to see what You hear. After a moment, You realize that You do hear something.

“What is that?”

It’s the sound of rushing water. You begin to relax. Your journey is almost over. You start to sprint toward the sound. You run a ways and start to feel tired, and just as You start to think that You can’t run any more, You spot the clearing at the end of the path that leads You to the waterfall.

As You enter the clearing, You are awestruck. It is the most beautiful sight that You have ever seen.

“This is perfect.” You say.

No One agrees.

You slowly walk forward. The noise of the waterfall and the sounds of the forest are extremely loud, but You don’t hear any of that.

You get to the end of the path, which leads to the river that is the continuation of the bottom of the waterfall. You kneel down, open your backpack, and reveal the second secret from your sock drawer.

“This is the perfect spot,” You hear Yourself say.

“I knew it would be.”

The second secret, unlike the cigarettes, is something that your Significant Other never knew You had. You got it a few months ago while they were out of town for the week. It feels heavier than You remember. You look around to see if there is Someone watching. No One is.

“It’s time.”

And it is.

You look down at the revolver in your hand. All noise in the forest has stopped. Your life flashes before your eyes, and You feel at peace. This is going to be beautiful. You half expect Someone to rush through the forest. For them to tell You that You are making a bad decision, but they aren’t coming.

You stand up, tears of happiness and relief in your eyes. You look at the waterfall, wanting it to be the last thing that You ever see, and put the barrel of the gun in your mouth.

“This is the end.” You hear Yourself say, “It’s been a ride.”

You squeeze the trigger.

And all You hear is a click.

You look down at the gun, not surprised. You open the cylinder and see a single bullet.

“Maybe next time.” You say, sadly.

No One consoles You.

You turn away from the waterfall to make your way back down the path, back home. And as You do so, You trip over something and fall forward, onto your face. You look back to see what it was that tripped You, and You see what looks, in the night, like a large rock.

You move closer to it and realize that it isn’t just a rock, but rather a large, egg-shaped object, midnight blue, with swirls of other colors. You pick it up and begin to chuckle.

“Apparently, the park rangers left one of these, after all.” You say to Yourself.

“Lucky day,” You hear Yourself say.

You stuff the egg in your backpack, along with the revolver, and start your journey home, alone.

***

When You arrive home, your Significant Other is in the dining room, preparing for the Neighbors. You quietly remove your keys from your pocket, not wanting to be heard, and place them in the dish on the small table in your foyer. On that table are only three items: that dish, a picture of The Kid in dress blues, and a folded flag with a medal.

You make your way upstairs and into your bedroom, where You plan to undress and take a shower. First, though, You make your way to your dresser and open your sock drawer. After removing several pairs of socks from it, You find your secrets. You place the pack of cigarettes and revolver among them, replace all but one of those pairs of socks, and close the drawer.

You pause for a moment, and then decide to remove The Egg from your backpack and place it atop the dresser. You think it looks good as a decoration.

You then go and take your shower.

You arrive downstairs just the Neighbors are arriving. You and your Significant Other greet them warmly, wrapping an arm around each other.

You think about that for a moment, as the group begins their idle small talk. Both the most infuriating, and the most depressing part of tonight is the fact that all of your closest friends are with You, and not one of them will notice the fact that You and your Significant Other are fighting. They won’t notice the subtle digs that the two of you make at each other, or the sarcastic smiles and false niceties. They won’t notice any of that, because the worst part of Suburbia is that nobody really cares about anyone but themselves. Everyone is too self-involved and worried about their own problems to notice the obvious around them.

So you play along, and smile.

But let’s just be clear with each other.

You. Hate. Them. All.

Upstairs, on your dresser, lays The Egg you put there for decoration.

The Egg wiggles, slightly, and cracks.

No One sees it.

#short story #amwriting #horror #experimental fiction #speculative fiction

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lovelylogans · 5 years

Text

where you lead, i will follow

previous chapter / chapter four / next chapter

start from the beginning!

ao3 | read my other fics | coffee?

warnings: food mentions, complicated parental relationships, mentions of transphobia and homophobia, verbal fighting, top surgery mention, classism, off-screen physical altercation (someone gets punched)

pairings: moxiety, logince

words: 4,557

notes: i’m back in the country now and hoo boy jet lag does NOT mess around

logan's reviewing study materials on the bus monday morning. it's fine. the weekend has been fine. he's fine. he should focus on getting into an ivy. that's the priority. he doesn't care about roman getting kissed, roman getting asked out on a date, roman spending the night with—

logan forcibly relaxes his hand before he snaps a highlighter in half.

anyway. he's fine. he has to focus on school. he has to focus on the consultation with the faculty supervisor of the franklin that all journalistically-inclined sophomores are having today. he has to focus on his midterms.

he's focusing on that plan until he walks into the franklin meeting, sits down, and they're in the midst of talking about some journalism Hot Topics when dee starts loudly proclaiming about how lack of attribution isn't a bad thing.

(your friendly neighborhood journalism student here! as according to the lawyer for the publication i worked for: lack of attribution can often be the sticking point for a libel suit or not. plus, it's just generally good rule of thumb to show readers where i got that information—like how i told you just now i heard it from the lawyer for a publication. that's attribution, though of course in a published article i would include that lawyer's name/title/why they have the professionalism to say that. it's often answering the well why should i believe THAT?! question before it can ever get asked, or at least showing where i got the information, like citing a source in a paper.)

logan, as you know, hasn't had the best week. a nice, bloodless debate about journalism is exactly what he needs.

(when he says bloodless—)

cut to logan sitting in the nurse's office, pinching the bridge of his nose, as dee's getting chewed out in charleston's office. technically, louise punched him, but everyone saw dee goading her into it, so. louise has already been sent packing for suspension, which is apparently a rarity at chilton, and brings him right back into the frame of gossip. just when he'd shaken the matthew nickname.

"well," the advisor for the franklin ("god, please, it's mel or doc or kram, don't say dr. kramschissel, you're wasting time you could be using to tell me about a new story idea") comments. "can't say that i've ever seen someone get hit for saying lack of attribution was comparable to plagiarism before."

"i hope this doesn't sour your opinion of me," logan says, but with all the blood it sounds more like bi hob dis doesn' dour your obinion o be.

"honestly," mel admits, "i've had my eye on you since charleston brought up that you wrote your first byline at seven, sanders."

"oh," logan says, then, "good."

"i don't think this will be a blip on the radar when it comes to admitting you," she says. "honestly, it's points in your favor."

"good," logan repeats, and removes the handful of tissues he's been holding to his nose for the past five minutes, sniffing experimentally.

"shame about grant," she tuts. "journalists are facing a rough enough time without in-fighting going into it."

logan nods, and she continues.

"your opinion didn't endear you to grant, i'll have you know, but keep it quiet. she got in trouble for plagiarism last year and it's a near thing that she wasn't expelled."

"ah," logan says.

"not going to ask how i know that?"

"you're a teacher, and a journalism one, at that," logan says. "i'd think you'd want to stay informed."

she smiles. "good guesses are the basis of interesting journalism," she says.

"basis, not journalism in full," logan says.

"of course, research and interviews and so on, but a good guess can set you down the path," she says, and logan nods.

"so," she says, "you want to be an investigative journalist?"

"yes," logan says simply. he hopes she won't come back with the why? question most adults tend to ask. how does he explain the adrenaline high of a hard deadline, the way he floats after a good interview, the inherent justice of it all, the way that when journalism, done well, changes lives? how does he explain the deeply understood ethics, the sharply defended principles, the roles each journalist is preached to hold—of watchdog, to call on things gone wrong, of marketplace, for people to discuss ideas, of mirror, to reflect society back at itself? how does he explain how do no harm is something he follows not only in journalism but in life? how does he explain the way he felt the first time he published a story that mattered? how can he explain the admiration he feels when he reads the work of others? how can he explain the duty of keeping everyone informed, of reporting on the stories that would otherwise go unheard? how can explain that responsibility? how can he explain that?

but mel smiles at him, and oh, logan realizes. she knows. she has a doctorate in journalism and a pulitzer nomination under her belt and three books to boot. of course she knows.

his phone buzzes. logan glances at it, and then at mel, who says, "oh, go on," and logan picks up.

"logan!" his dad gasps, and logan tucks the phone up under his ear. "the headmaster just called—"

"i'm fine, dad," logan says. "it's just a bloody nose."

"just," his father huffs. "there is no just about my son getting punched in the face! i have half a mind to send your grandmother in there, see if i don't."

"maybe you should," logan says.

"what?"

"i mean, she's closer," logan says. "plus, i mean. what's the use of grandma being grandma if we can't use it once in a while?"

"fair," patton says. "but i'm coming right up, i'm on my way now. should you call her or should i?"

"oh, dad," logan says. "obviously headmaster charleston should call her."

"i have no idea where you got this evil gene from," patton says admiringly, as if logan has not seen patton play innocent to get the upper hand a million times at the diner alone. "all right, i'll call back. how huffy should i get?"

"maximum levels of huffy. your son did get assaulted, after all."

"i can't believe you've been confronted by more delinquents there than you have at sideshire, i'm totally bragging about that at brunch slash our next dinner slash for the rest of time," patton says. "all right. i'll be there soon. i love you so much."

"you too," logan says, and then realizes that mel was listening, and god, that was hardly the language of a proper upstanding journalist—

she laughs like she's heard his thoughts, and she says, "we're journalists, not robots. honestly, seeing you act a bit like a normal teenager doesn't discredit your work."

logan offers a tentative smile, and then, "i thought your pulitzer article was riveting."

"aw, shucks."

"can i ask about—?"

"go for it."

"how did you get the correctional officer to talk to you? korinth, i mean," logan asks, fascinated, leaning forward.

"well," she begins, and begins weaving a tale about how she'd unveiled a story about suspicious prison deaths across the county, and then across the nation, and logan listens and does not bother resisting the urge to take notes in his notepad, juggling another handful of tissues for his still-bleeding nose with a pen (which she nods at approvingly.)

he doesn't notice the aggravated clacking of heels down the marble hallway getting increasingly noisy until the voice comes with it.

"—incredibly displeased that my grandson got punched by some hooligan, hanlin!"

logan scowls—mel was just getting to the part where she'd finally gotten into the office of a prison superintendent.

"is that someone of yours?"

"my grandmother, yes."

mel nods, and stands, wiping her hands off on her slacks, and the door flies open.

"logan," emily frets, and logan blinks accusingly at charleston.

"hi, grandma," he says, possibly overemphasizing the way the bloody nose transfigured his speech.

"is it broken?" she asks, and snaps at the nurse when she doesn't answer in 0.05 seconds, "well?!"

"it's not broken," the nurse says. "it might hurt for a couple days, but it's not broken."

"small mercies," emily huffs. "what even happened?"

"sanders and a couple other students got into a spirited discussion about attribution in journalism," mel says. "slange was urging grant on—"

"not dee slange?"

"—but grant got rather heated when sanders said that a lack of attribution was close to plagiarism—a view i share, i might add—and her temper rather got the better of her," mel finishes. "and yes, the same."

"emily, i assure you, the student in question has been suspended," charleston says.

"oh i should hope so!" she hisses. "someone hit my grandson, i will ensure those consequences are enforced!"

logan, internally, is kicking back to watch the show, seeing how charleston shrinks and shrinks in front of his grandmother that reminds him a little of his dad, but in a much less blood-boiling way because charleston actually deserves it. externally, he is sure to look as mournful and as much like a kicked puppy as he possibly can.

"here, here, here!" a much more familiar voice pants, and patton stumbles into the nurse's office, wheezing, clutching a stitch in his side.

"dad," logan starts.

"logan," patton says, "my son," and he sounds upset, immediately crossing over to frame logan's face in his hands.

"how is it still bleeding?! it's not broken, is it?!" he asks the nurse frantically.

"no, it's not broken," the nurse says.

patton swivels to stare at charleston, and he's genuinely teary-eyed. "you said you'd take care of my son."

"well, now—"

"you did," emily confirms. "you said you'd do your best to take care of my grandson."

"how on earth is this taking care of him?!" patton demands.

"emily—mr. sanders—"

"how could this possibly be the best school in the state if he gets punched during a scholarly debate?!" patton nearly shrieks.

"mr. sanders, if you would calm—"

"no, i will not calm down!" he shouts. "how can i possibly trust this school to take care of him if he gets beaten up within its walls?!"

"emily, surely you can—"

"my son's making a valid point," emily says coolly. "i sent one child here, and did you see what happened to him? you said that children would be children. you said you were trying your best to control the bullying. i found my son crying in his bed and hiding any possible sign and refusing to talk to me because it had gotten so bad. my son. when i brought up concerns about my grandson, you said that it had gotten better, and he's been attending for barely two months when i get a call that he's been assaulted?"

oh shit, logan thinks, they're pissed. they're pissed and they're teaming up.

"we should sue," emily says, and patton jabs a finger at her in agreement. "i should have sued when patton was here!"

"well, now, a lawsuit is—" charleston says, sweating very nervously indeed.

"my son's nose is still bleeding," patton says, "and you're telling me that a lawsuit would be overreacting?!"

"dad, grandma," logan says, finally cutting in, because patton might start angry-crying at any second. "maybe not a lawsuit, though i am going to have to protest to dee slange just getting a stern talking-to and nothing else."

"he's not even getting detention?!" patton snarls. "i got detention for politely telling people to respect my name and pronouns, and someone who prodded someone into hitting my son is getting nothing but a talking to?!"

"i agree with sanders," mel says. "the role of instigator is not a small one, and from where i was standing, grant may not have been so incensed without slange's commentary. mr. sanders—patton, isn't it?—i'll personally ensure that slange gets some form of detention, which i'm sure headmaster charleston will agree with, won't you?"

"i do!" charleston says hastily. "or, he will get detention. yes."

"oh, he'd better," emily says. "hanlin, why don't we continue this in your office, and you can outline exactly what your plans for discipline are moving forward. i won't be making the same mistake twice."

"yes," he says hastily. "yes, of course, and an excused absence for mr. sanders, if you'd like to take him home—"

"i will," patton says hotly.

"emily, if you'd—?"

and they make their retreat.

mel lets out a low whistle. "god, sanders, i hope you can grill a source like that."

"i have good examples," logan admits.

"sorry," mel adds hastily. "dr. melissa kramschissel, but i insist on mel or kram. i'm the faculty advisor for the franklin."

"oh!" patton says, and tries for his best meeting-new-people smile, shaking her hand. "of course, logan's told me all about you. he's very excited to work on the franklin."

"oh, we'll have a place for him, but if you'll excuse me, i think the bell's about to ring," mel says, and nods to him. "sanders."

"mel," he says with a nod, trying not to outwardly celebrate too much at we'll have a place for him.

"okay, give me your face," patton demands, digging wet wipes out of his pocket. "does it still hurt?"

"a little," logan admits. "i'll probably ice it later."

"i'll be gentle," patton promises, and begins swiping the dried blood off his face.

"so," logan says, "you and grandma might have terrified charleston into giving me preferential treatment until i graduate."

patton snorts, but his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he attempts to scrub off a stubborn bit of blood without pressing down too hard. "yeah, well. one of us should have it."

"i didn't realize grandma wanted to sue. when you were here."

"that makes two of us," patton says. "dinner this week is gonna be interesting."

"i suppose it will," logan agrees, and patton sets aside the wet wipe. he frowns, tilting logan's face side to side.

"you're going to bruise up something terrible."

"i'll ice it," logan repeats. "louise grant apparently has a hell of a right hook."

"that she does," a voice drawls, and logan instinctively stiffens as both sanders look toward the door.

"she's a black belt, you know," dee continues.

"i didn't, but you certainly did," logan grits out.

"hm, innocent until proven guilty," dee says, with a little bow. "good job on getting your grandmother to solve your problems, logan."

"are you upset i marred your otherwise perfect record, or something?" logan sneers.

"or something," dee says lightly. "now if you'll excuse me, i have an appointment with charleston to attend. and this," he says, face breaking out into a grin, "why, this has only just ended."

he sweeps off.

"jesus, i've never seen a high schooler so clearly destined to become a marvel supervillain," patton says with a shudder. "that's him?"

"that's him," logan confirms dryly.

patton pats him on the shoulder, and says, "well, on that slightly unnerving note, you wanna come home?"

logan hops to his feet, and follows patton out of chilton, to the car. they're on the highway by the time patton talks again.

"this has been a rough week, huh?"

"i can't say i've ever been punched at school, no," logan says, sidestepping the other part of his week.

patton scowls, briefly, before he says, "not just that."

logan jerks up a shoulder in a shrug, looking out of a window. "i should be focusing on school anyway. getting into an ivy. they start really focusing on how i'm doing now, so—"

"it's okay to feel sad."

"i'm not sad."

"it would be okay if you were, though," patton says.

"right," logan says. "anyway. we really need to get a new soap dish for the upstairs bathroom, it's been broken for months."

"and i'm here to listen if you wanna talk about it, okay?"

"...we're going to need to call the heating company, too, you remember how it got so odd last year. we might need to replace the unit."

"okay, okay," patton says, and they talk about the house and nothing but the house until they get to sideshire. the length of the drive makes it so that—logan checks—both chilton and sideshire high will have just gotten out of classes.

"you wanna jam tart, or something?" patton offers. "my treat."

"i was," logan says, and licks his lips. "i was actually thinking of going to lucy's and dropping by the studio."

"oh!" patton says, startled. "oh, i mean, of course, but i thought you might be—"

"why should i have opinions on the situation?" logan says. "he's just my friend. it's not like it's my place to say anything about it."

"logan," patton begins, but sighs and puts up his hands. "okay, okay, fine. let me at least drive you to lucy's, i want a double-chocolate shake."

logan gets their regulars, withstands some fussing from patton and lucy, and walks down the street to the studio.

ms. prince has taken over that class, but roman's sitting in the furthest corner from the door, head bent, working on homework. he looks up when the bell rings.

logan holds up the milkshakes in answer, and roman beams at him, waving him eagerly down the hall.

as soon as logan gets close, though, the smile slides right off, immediately replaced by a look of concern.

"oh, my god, what happened to your face?!" roman hisses.

"journalism gets heated at chilton," logan says, and hands over the chocolate-covered cherry shake.

"someone hit you?!" roman demands, setting aside the shake immediately and taking hold of logan's face (logan's growth spurt means that he's a little bit taller than roman, now. no telling if it'll stay that way, but for now, logan has to get used to the new angle.)

"grandma and dad both came to yell at the headmaster," logan tells him. "now grandma knows that dee slange is... well, the way he is."

"he hit you?!"

"louise grant did, actually, but everyone knows dee goaded her into it."

roman shakes his head in disbelief, cracks open the top of logan's milkshake to steal his maraschino cherry. "you go to school without me for, what, two months? and you got punched. in the face."

"the nose, more precisely," logan says, starting to spoon through the whipped cream. "apparently, she's a black belt."

"your dad yelled?"

"a little, yeah," logan says. "i mean, he looked pretty close to angry-crying, but my grandma definitely yelled. apparently she nearly sued chilton for the way he got treated when he was there. hearing i got punched in the face has kickstarted that desire right back up again."

roman lets out a low whistle, and takes a long slurp of his shake, smiling at it. "um. thanks, by the way."

"i owed you for last time. and technically my dad bought—"

"no! um, not the shakes, but thanks for those too, i guess," roman says. "i just—i didn't know if things would be weird now. with jess and everything."

logan blinks at him. "why would it be weird?" he says, in a carefully normal tone. "we're friends. why should i care if you went on a date?"

roman freezes, lets out an absolutely false laugh, and looks down at his lap. "right," he says, quietly. "right, why should you care."

"how was it, anyway?" logan says, as if an odd and painful thing wasn't clenching in his chest.

"oh," roman says. "it was—nice."

"nice," logan repeats.

"yes. nice."

"roman. i once heard you describe yourself as talented, brilliant, incredible, amazing, show-stopping, spectacular, never the same, totally unique, completely not ever been done before, and when it comes to your first date, you just say that it's nice?"

"okay, first of all, i can't believe you cannot recognize that i was referencing lady gaga," roman says, "second of all, i was just starting to describe it, calm down."

logan rolls his eyes, and keeps his face frozen in polite interest as he hears roman start to gush about jess, and thinks this hurts worse than his bloody nose.

meanwhile, patton walks into virgil's, shake in hand.

"no outside beverages," virgil says.

"you know what would go great with this one, though?" patton says. "a hot cocoa/coffee."

"you had three cups at breakfast."

"no, virgil, you don't understand, i need another one," patton says. "i actually was in agreement with my mom today—"

virgil opens his mouth.

"but patton, it's monday, you're about to say? well, i got called up to school because logan got passionate about journalism, like he always does, and some—some girl punched him in the nose!"

"wh—is he okay?!"

"he's fine," patton says, "he seemed to think that i was making too big a deal out of everything, he went to get shakes for him and roman. i'm hoping that's a good sign, but i'm just—he got hit, virgil!"

"he's okay, though?"

"bloody nose, nothing broken," patton says. "please can i get a hot cocoa/coffee?"

"i'm sending you home with a dozen jam tarts," virgil decides, and fishes out a mug. "oh, wait, you said your mom—?"

"my mom might have actually killed a man today, i don't know, she made him take her back to his office," patton says. "she was yelling for a solid fifteen minutes before i got there, i think."

"well, if your mom has to be who she is..."

"logan said the same thing," patton says. "he actually said that i should make charleston call, which." his lip twitches. "makes up a little for the time i got a month's worth of detention because i kept correcting teachers on my name and pronouns and ignoring them if they called out my deadname."

virgil high-fives him, face hardened.

"also it turns out my mom wanted to sue when i was there," patton adds, distracted. "like she started yelling at him about me. i didn't know she was so..."

"loud?"

"upset," patton says softly. "i didn't know she was that upset about it."

"oh."

"i just—i dunno. i always felt so alone back then, and i can't help but wonder..." patton shakes himself, murmurs a thanks when virgil sets the mug in front of him. "it is what is now, i guess. can't change the past."

"i mean, if i could change the past," virgil says, an attempt at a joke, "i'd change the way we met."

patton smiles. "you weren't that bad."

virgil gives him a Look.

"okay, you were a little bad," patton amends, "but to be fair, i was on the verge of a breakdown for days and you fed me basically immediately after, that made up for it."

"well, i'd change it," virgil insists.

"i wouldn't," patton says, smiling. "i wouldn't change a thing in the world about us."

except for one thing, they both think, except for one thing—

but they don't want to risk it, changing this silent, maybe-unrequited love into something said aloud. not yet.

⁂

logan keeps going to the studio after school. he did that a lot, really, did his homework in the pews, or read the courant, or compiled research for an article, but he'd stopped doing it as often after he transferred to chilton.

it makes sense that his date (boyfriend?) would come to visit him one day.

it's the wednesday after he brought roman a shake, and logan's busy perfecting his outline for his english essay that's due in two weeks when the door to the dance studio opens. logan blinks, looking up, and—oh.

the boy—jess, logan thinks snidely—hovers near the door.

"hell of a shiner," jess says, and he sounds impressed. "what happened?"

"journalism."

jess blinks at him in utter confusion, and roman bounces around the corner, beaming. the dancers (mostly around the age of ten) filter toward their bags. one of them is giving logan a pitying look. logan refuses the urge to bury his face back into his book.

"jess, what are you doing here?! my mom might kill you!"

"i brought you something," he says, bringing a bag out from behind his back, and logan barely suppresses his smirk.

roman hates al's pancake world.

"oh, hey," roman says, rallying from the briefly disappointed look that flashes almost too quick to catch across his face. "thanks, jess, that's really sweet. oh, i didn't even—jess, this is logan. he's my best friend, he goes to chilton now."

"chilton?" jess echoes.

"it's thirty minutes away," logan says, and jess' eyes drop to the uniform.

"private school kid, then."

"fairly recent, but yes," logan says, trying not to get riled up. "i just transferred in this year."

"logan's going to be a journalist," roman says brightly, "and he—"

"yeah, he mentioned," jess says, cutting roman off. logan tries not to inflate too obviously, because sure, he might cut roman off, but roman always gives him that Look, the 'i'll-get-you-for-that-later' Look, not the way he's scuffing his ballet shoes over the carpeted floor of the hallway right now. but roman rallies, because roman always does.

"he's going to get a pulitzer one day," roman says.

logan smiles at roman. just a little. "well, i'm not just focusing on journalism for that."

"yeah, but you're so good at it you're gonna get one," roman says. "maybe two. who's the record-holder for pulitzers?"

"carol guzy and david barstow are tied at four."

"amateurs!" roman declares, and logan laughs.

"as interesting as all that is," jess drawls. "should i...?"

"roman has class until six, then an hour's break, and classes again," logan says. "schedule varies depending on his mother, of course, but considering..."

"you could skip," jess offers, and roman actually laughs, before he blinks.

"oh. you're serious?"

"yeah, why not?"

because roman loves teaching the kids. you would have been better off asking if he could skip the sunrise yoga for the over-55s.

"because my mom might actually bludgeon you to death with a pointe shoe," roman says.

that too.

"what else can she do?" jess says, with an eyeroll.

"oh, you're definitely new to town," logan murmurs, unable to help himself.

"what?" he scowls, swiveling to face logan.

"you're definitely new to town, for two reasons," logan says, neatly shutting his book as roman slips back into the studio and a shadow looms behind an unsuspecting jess. "one, because ms. prince is rightfully the most feared person in town. and two, you haven't yet learned that she can be lurking around any corner."

jess rolls his eyes. "what, like she's the boogeyman? i think i'll take my chances."

"boo," ms. prince says coldly, and logan doesn't even try not to smile when jess jumps about a foot in the air.

"ms. prince," logan says, slipping his book into his bag and nodding at her respectfully.

"logan," she says, without taking her eyes off her latest prey. "you have some nerve showing up here without so much as an apology."

logan steps out of the doorway, even as he's loathe to miss a ms. prince lecture directed at someone who's not him or roman, and quashes the urge to do something foolish, like skip his way to virgil's.

#my fic #wyliwf #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic #moxiety #logince #text #my post

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ice-cream-nekogirl · 4 years

Text

Amy Martinez (Character Sheet TV Tropes Style) A-E

Amy Martinez is my BNHA/AHS OC!!

She is a young girl from New Orleans and a witch from Miss. Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies who transfers into UA and earned a spot in the Hero Course. She currently resides in a very lavish mansion that belonged to the former Supreme Fiona Goode, and as it turns out, Amy originally lived in Japan but her parents were murdered by witch hunters who infiltrated Japan in search of her mother. The pro-heroes, unable (and unwilling) to take care of a young witch, had her transferred and placed under the care of Fiona and the New Orleans coven, where she was later taken in by the current Supreme and her godmother Cordelia Goode. Despite her appearance, Amy is very hyperactive, eccentric and mischievous by nature, isn’t above doing immoral and wicked things and has an offbeat sense of humor that tends to be off-putting to her new classmates. However, that doesn’t mean Amy is all bad, and in fact does have a compassionate and empathetic side that comes out when she’s with friends, especially her childhood friend Shinsou Hitoshi, ally Midoriya Izuku and later, her new best friend Ashlen Kyanse.

Speaking of which! Ashlen Kyanse is NOT mine, she’s my best friend @ashleigh-luvs-14cats‘s OC! :D :3

TV Tropes About Amy:

A Girl and Her Dog: She adopts a Northern Inuit Puppy that she and Ashlen name Dakota and he becomes her loyal animal companion and emotional support dog.

A God Am I: Not really, but her words to Midoriya during her rampage resembled something of a god complex (at the time at least).

Amy: You can’t beat me Izuku... One For All couldn’t defeat Fiona Goode, the reigning supreme at the time, you can’t beat me now, even with One For All, you can’t beat me either! None of you heroes can! I’m a goddamn witch!

Accidental Murder: She accidentally kills Aizawa by giving him an apple she didn’t know was poisoned and charmed to look perfectly normal by Madison. Which resulted in Madison having to bring him back to life with Vitalum Vitalis.

Action Girl: Amy is always ready for a fight, and knows HOW to fight as well as she’s proven to be a very valuable and proficient student in the Hero Course.

Adoring The Pests: A tanuki once got into the dorm building, because Amy let it in since she found it ‘adorable’ and even named him ‘Shadow’. And although Iida told her to stop feeding the tanuki’s, Amy continues to do so because she thinks they’re too cute to not feed.

Amy also states that she would feed the possums in America because she thought they were adorable.

Adorkable: Despite her many eccentricities Amy’s a dork at heart a shown through her love of singing, dancing and making silly puns, and then there’s her girlish excitement when she’s around animals and toys as well as her oddly endearing fangirl reactions to Brendon Urie, Melanie Martinez and Stevie Nicks. Further displayed whenever she dances and sings with Shinsou and Ashlen.

Affectionate Nickname: “Ames” by Kaminari, Shinsou, Ashlen and a majority of her classmates. As well as “Witch Bitch” by Bakugo, it was initially used as an insult but became his term of endearment for her.

Her ex-boyfriend Damien called her “Amzy”, albeit as a means to manipulate her.

Ashlen also fondly calls her “Witchy”.

Fiona tends to call her “Sweet Amy”

Marie Laveau also affectionately refers to her as “Baby Witch”.

All of the Other Reindeer: Much like Midoriya, Amy was picked on and teased by other kids because she and they believed that she was quirkless and mocked her for it to the point of calling her ‘Powerless/Quirkless Amy’. It backfires tremendously when Amy supposedly gains a quirk, but has to pretend it’s only a Telekinesis quirk. The kids didn’t stop picking on her, but she really didn’t bother making any other friends other than Shinsou because of the bullying.

And this even extends to other witches, while Amy found a new family in her sisters Zoe and Queenie (after Misty, Nan and Madison died) Robichaux opened up to hundreds of other witches around the country. Amy was initially ecstatic and eager to make new friends just like her, only to realize that being a witch didn’t stop other witches from bullying her and thinking she’s weird even for their standards, which just added to Amy’s evergrowing sense of loneliness.

Ambiguous Disorder: Has a crippling fear of being abandoned, extreme overreactions and outbursts (taking All-Might and Aizawa’s criticisms of her powers very strongly, screams at Midoriya over a disagreement), indulges in risky behaviors (drugs, shop-lifting, partying at college parties despise being underage), is highly impulsive (Iida has to stop her when she performs in combat too recklessly), prone to emotional meltdowns, shows can occasional lack of empathy and has unstable relationships (Bakugo, Midoriya, Aizawa, etc.). All of which are signs of Borderline Personality disorder or Bipolar Disorder, two of these Iida speculates she may have. However, some of her these behaviorisms also resemble Complex Post-traumatic Stress Disorder due to her inability to control her emotions, feelings of emptiness and worthlessness, and moments of hostility towards her peers to the point of avoiding her friends and relationships. And then Shachath also mentions that she tends to have regular ‘songs’ of suicide which act as a further indication that Amy might have CPTSD.

Anguished Declaration of Love: During a fit of pure rage, she fights with Midoriya but when he pins her down, her psychotic exterior breaks a little bit as she breaks down crying and tells him that she loves him. However, because of Midoriya’s insecurities and familiarity with Amy’s mischievous nature, he doesn’t believe her and yells at her to stop playing around. Needless to say, it goes all downhill for him from there...

Animal Motifs: It’s subtle but she has a fox motif as her handle online is ‘KitsuneGirl’ and she has black tips on her blonde hair, a mischievous and sneaky personality, her tendency to act as a trickster both during and out of combat, and her witchcraft and magic also alludes to the kitsune and their various magical abilities in Japanese culture.

Anti-Hero: She’s self-centered, obnoxious, aggressive and occasionally breaks every rule she wants as she believes she can make her own rules due to her powers, but this is her being a troublemaker at best as she tends to take a radical approach as a means of standing up for what she believes in: Love.

Anti-Villain: At her worst she outright sides against her class and does immoral things whether it’s stealing, murder or even attacking allies, although she has no plans to become a villain and merely indulges in her worst impulses when she’s in a bad mood and isn’t above being cruel to her own classmates should they cross her.

Arc Villain: In a way, and relatively minor. As the Culture Festival arc comes to an end, Amy’s overwhelmed by the realization of how the pro-heroes could have taken care of her but didn’t, along with being kidnapped by the villains and her and Midoriya’s dissipating relationship. It becomes too much for her to bear that she flies into an ultra-tantrum and attacks Aizawa, the other teachers and puts her classmates into a slumber (to spare them her wrath) and destroys some of UA’s property and Midoriya has to stop her. But in the end he doesn’t win, instead, Shinsou has to talk her down.

Arch Enemy: Amy has made several enemies, but of all the foes she feels a tremendous hatred towards and desire to destroy once and for all is Scathach, the wicked witch of the Roanoke forest who she aspires to kill and free all the souls she trapped in the forest.

Attention Deficit Oooh Shiny!: Amy is very, very easily distracted by things, especially if there’s a cute animal involved, music she likes is playing or if there’s food. She CAN learn to focus but it’s… a challenge.

Attention Whore: Almost always desperate for attention regardless of whether it’s positive or negative and always performs outlandish things or says bizarre things if it means having other people’s attention on HER.

She even goes so far as to sometimes wear Madison’s inappropriate undergarments in hopes that someone will flip her skirt all for the sake of attention.

The Atoner: After her brush with the apocalypse which allowed her and Mallory to go back in time to stop it, Amy realizes how cruel she was to her classmates and resolves to apologize and become a better classmate and friend to everyone. And she felt horrible when she needed to repeat history (including acting like a jerk) in the new timeline as a means to keep time flowing the way it needed to be but still lived up to promising to be better to her friends. It only gets better when Ashlen comes into her life and inspires Amy to keep living up to this promise.

Ax-Crazy: Shows a disturbingly homicidal excitement when annihilating her opponents in battle, gleefully murders when given the chance and is a little too happy when talking about horror stories that include serial killers such as the Axe Man or Twisty The Clown.

And then she goes off the deep-end once the Culture Festival ends by attacking her teacher, classmate (Midoriya), beating her other teachers with little effort and causing destruction around UA, until she’s eventually subdued by her own merit and Shinsou’s influence.

The Baby of The Bunch: She’s the youngest witch of the original coven of Miss Robichaux’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies consisting of Cordelia, Zoe, Queenie, Madison, Nan and Misty, with Cordelia being in her late 20′s at the time while the other girls were at least 17-24 while Amy was only 11. Even as she’s gotten older, her witch sisters still look after her as the ‘little sister’ of the coven.

Back From The Dead: Amy is momentarily killed and impaled by witch hunters in her first year at UA, but is revived by Misty and returns to her distraught and relieved classmates.

She dies again in her second year but by her ex-boyfriend Damien who made a deal with Papa Legba by trading her life for his own life and drowned her in a bathtub. Only to be revived by Madison.

The Bad Guy Wins: Sort of. She takes on a more villainous role after the Culture festival ends and all the stress, realizations and Midoriya’s growing impatience with her makes her go berserk. And so, Amy attacks her teacher, other teachers, causes mayhem and destruction around UA (although she does spare all of the students), knocks out her classmates so she doesn’t hurt them and then partakes in a big fight with Midoriya. However, while he manages to pin her down, Amy gets the upper hand and beats him to a bloody pulp when he ignites more fuel to her raging Sentio Compassios and although her rampage was put to an end, it’s only because she stopped herself and Shinsou (and later All-Might and Cordelia) managed to talk her down. Ultimately, Amy still defeated Midoriya and UA faced some damage from her rage, and in the end, she faced no real consequences as Cordelia urged the school to pardon her while giving them a The Reason You Suck Speech. While Amy was pardoned of the damage she caused, she ended up withdrawing with UA for several months.

Badass Adorable: Cute in appearance, generally endearing and funny with her classmates but also hella strong in combat with amazing powers that she knows how to use very well and make her opponents fear her. This is showcased during her fight with Todoroki in which she gets him to realize just how strong she is.

Badass Boast: Can’t help but go on about how awesome and powerful she is at times in battle, but at times it can also be scary when she’s angry.

Amy: You think you can control me? Is that what this is? That’s how Hero Society works doesn’t it? (bursts into laughter) You... really think you can control me? Wow... you know... this is why witch hunters emerged... they were afraid of witches and their power... you might not be a witch hunter... but the fact that you think you can control me? Is priceless... (suddenly screaming) NO ONE CAN CONTROL ME! NO ONE CAN DEFEAT ME! NO ONE CAN KILL ME, NO ONE!!!

Bad Powers, Good People: It varies on her fluctuating morality but Amy is usually a good person who has the ability to control people not unlike Shinsou’s Brainwashing, except she can actually harm them by frying their brains should they attempt to resist her.

Balloon Belly: Always has one after eating too much, which is every day. Especially when she went to Pizza Hut with Shinsou and Ashlen, much to Shinsou’s disgust and Ashlen’s amusement.

Because You Were Nice To Me: She and Shinsou became friends for this very simple but pure reason in daycare. She was just coloring and when he wanted crayons she happily gave them to him, and when he called her coloring ‘pretty’, she started following him around and vice-versa.

Similarly, her reasoning for becoming best friends with Ashlen is also simple but pure as they met online during the period where Amy stopped attending UA and isolated herself in her mansion. Amy is just as opinionated online as she is in real life, although she also loads up her feed with silly things that she likes along with stories and drawings, but Ashlen genuinely liked her content and complimented her and started talking to her. Which drew Amy closer to her until they meet up in real life and Amy is overly friendly to her, but it’s all because Ashlen was kind to her and listened to her whenever she vented.

Belligerent Sexual Tension: She and Bakugo have been bickering and fighting with each other since they first met as children and never stopped when they met again in high school, but they’re very passionately in love with each other as Amy says that he’s the one she’s truly in love with and Bakugo can’t easily let her go even if she gets on his nerves, he’s clearly in love with her.

Berserk Button: She has quite a few…

Any sexist remark is bound to set her off into a tirade but if it’s directed towards her or God forbid her female friends, she WILL hurt you.

Taking her hat (if she’s wearing it) off is a quick way to piss her off.

Taking her food, whether accidentally or intentionally, WILL provoke her into violence, if you’re a child she’ll hurt you emotionally, but if you’re her age or an adult, it’s fair game as Izuku learned the hard way.

Tampering with her possessions is a VERY fast way to piss her off into a tranquil rage as she maimed a group of college boys (that she didn’t invite) when they trashed the bottom floor of her mansion at a party.

Don’t say anything bad about Brendon Urie. She shares this with Shinsou, who both call it ‘blasphemy’.

Don’t tell her to “Shut Up”.

And don’t yell at her for that matter, although she gets more emotional and upset when yelled at rather than angry.

Frozen. Let it Go. That is all.

Not being appreciated, remembered or neglected is probably her biggest one with her least comical reaction as she’ll grow from irritated to enraged in seconds should she feel that someone is unappreciative of her, has forgotten her or neglecting her for someone else.

Don’t call her ‘stupid’, but never, ever call her ‘selfish’ or ‘crazy’, mostly because she’s self-aware plenty and hates being reminded of it.

Hurting ANY of her friends is the fastest way to get on her bad side as she will BURN you alive if you hurt her friends. If you’re lucky though, she’ll just hit you with an empty Dr. Pepper liter.

Beta Bitch: When she and Madison are together, Amy essentially becomes her right hand bitch.

Beware The Nice Ones: She’s not always sweet but is occasionally kind-hearted... until you piss her off that is... and then you’ll wish you didn’t.

Beware The Silly Ones: Very comical and extremely silly and fun-loving, but her classmates don’t underestimate her abilities or her temper as Amy becomes a force to be reckoned with in combat or when properly provoked.

Big Bad Duumvirate: She and Madison aren’t evil per se, but considered two of the nastier girls who use their magic for pranks and are even dubbed ‘The Sin Sisters’ by 1-A.

Big Sister Mentor: Despite her being older than her, Amy (17) is quite sisterly with her witch friend Coco (25), as she teaches her how to do laundry and other household chores with the help of Iida.

Big Brother Worship: In a way, Shinsou’s only eight days older than her, but Amy still regards him as like her brother and she adores him very much and believes in him the most in his quest to become a pro-hero. And was heartbroken when she had to leave him for his and her own protection to Robichaux.

She absolutely adores her adoptive witch sisters Zoe, Misty and Mallory. Zoe especially because she was the first that she instantly became closest too when they met at Robichaux, and then she became very fast friends with Misty and wanted her to come to Robichaux, so she was overjoyed when she started to live with them. Finally, she and Mallory hit it off quickly due to being close enough in age but Amy still acknowledges Mallory as her senior and looks up to her like a big sister.

Downplayed with Madison. As Amy notes that Madison was a bitch to her as well as a horrible example in New Orleans and still is, but it doesn’t stop Amy from following her bad example from time to time, as well as still showing respect to Madison because of her undeniable power and occasional acts of kindness towards her and her friends at UA.

Big Damn Heroes: During the Stain Arc, she shows up just in time to hold off Stain off to keep him from seriously harming Todoroki, Midoriya and Iida and even distracts him for a brief moment.

Big Fancy House: Amy lives in a rather large mansion, while it’s not as big as Yaoyorozu’s it’s still pretty large, spacious and glamourous. It actually belonged to Fiona, but when she died Cordelia gave it all to Amy so she could have a house upon returning to Japan.

The Big Girl: Of 2-A, despite being one of the shortest girls, she’s certainly the strongest one due to her array of powerful abilities.

Big Eater: Amy loves to eat and can clear a whole table due to her voracious appetite as she ate all the desserts in the dorm-rooms the first night, can eat a whole pizza as well as she cleared out the entire table during her’s, Shinsou’s and Ashlen’s first outing as friends and then ate dessert afterwards.

Big Sister Instinct: She took this attitude towards Kota. She wanted to bash Muscular’s head in once Midoriya knocked him out but the latter stopped her and Amy only reconsidered when she realized that Kota shouldn’t have to witness death a second time.

She’s also somewhat protective of Midoriya despite everything as she once dumped Bakugo for 2 months when she found out that he told the former to commit suicide in middle school.

She also displays this attitude towards some of her female friends especially Yaoyorozu, Ashido, Hagakure and Asui. And extends this towards classmates such as Kouda, Aoyama and Kaminari.

Likewise, she’s extremely protective of Shinsou, who she regards as like a brother to her, and Ashlen, her best friend who she also regards as like a sister to her.

Big Stupid Doodoo-head: Since Amy isn’t very mature, her insults can easily delve from vulgar to very childish such as ‘stupid-head’, ‘dum-dum’ ‘fartface’ and ‘butt-head’. Her arguments with Shinsou tend to delve into this very quickly.

Amy: I would have had him if you actually covered me stupid!

Shinsou: It’s not my fault dum-dum, you should have paid more attention. Instead of waving your magic around all over the damn place.

Amy: Yes it is! You know what? Instead of brainwashing you should wash your dumb face and your stupid mouth because stupid words keep coming out!

Shinsou: Your face is dumb and your insults are even dumber you jabbering bat.

Amy: No YOUR face is dumb and your hair looks like a rat’s butt!

Bi The Way: Amy shamelessly expresses her attraction to the same sex, is very much enamored with Yaoyorozu and goes on about how ‘beautiful’ and ‘smart’ she is. Likewise, she’s very attracted to some of her fellow witches in her coven such as Mallory and even Madison as she calls Mallory a ‘fairy goddess’ and Madison a ‘sexy bitch’. And as she received a love letter from Monoma, she believed it was from a girl and seemed pretty excited by the thought of it.

Birds Of A Feather: She and Shinsou became fast friends in their childhood due to similar senses of humor and then when Amy discovers her witch powers and she found out she could control people just like Shinsou. Even as they grew up and reunited they still share things in common such as witty, sly and clever personalities and tastes in music.

She and Bakugo of all people discover that they have a lot more in common than they thought once they started bonding and it shows through their fierce tempers, desire to prove themselves, unwillingness to show weaknesses and somewhat abrasive tendencies for that matter. This is despite Amy and Bakugo trying to claim that they’re ‘night and day’, nobody buys it.

This is also how and why she became fast friends with Ashlen via internet, while they didn’t meet each other face-to-face yet, they bonded over similar tastes in music, movies and penchant for puns. Although their personalities are drastically different when they DO meet face-to-face their friendship doesn’t deteriorate as they still get along and still share those things in common and indulge in their pillow talk just like any best friends.

Blackmail: Not at first, but when she gets angry at Aizawa she starts making constant threats to tell Cordelia on him for menial things as a means to get him to buckle due to his fear of the Supreme.

Blessed With Suck: Sort of. Amy loves having all of her powers, but Sentio Compassios, her unique power, tends to leave her emotionally exhausted whenever she uses it too much, and she can feel everyone’s pain and feelings if they are strong enough and Amy becomes instantly affected by them, which she says is not always pleasant since it’s something she can’t quite turn off.

Blood Knight: Amy is VERY eager to fight and spar with her friends because it gives her free reign to use her magic and overall just enjoys the thrill of it all.

Blue and Orange Morality: In a way, due to being a witch and coming from a more neutral side rather than the Heroes or Villains side as Amy would rather be supportive of others’ impulses and desires than operate on a normal morality the heroes follow. For example, she’s fine with Madison wanting to kill Aizawa, but is offended by Mineta’s perverted antics, and she was also perfectly okay with Shinsou talking smack about Tokoyami (their own classmate and her friend) but crossed the line at Bakugo dissing Brendon Urie.

Book Dumb: She’s not the best student, but managed to score relatively high in exams as she ranked 11th out of the 21 students at the time. However, Amy is obviously not stupid despite showing some naivete and is in fact quite crafty, just not motivated in school or homework as she frequently needs her friends such as Shinsou, Midoriya, Ashlen and Bakugo to help her.

Boomerang Bigot: Despite occasionally boasting about how witches are superior to normal humans with quirks, at the same time even she’s exasperated by other witches as she often says “other witches are bitches”, although is partially due to the fact that she’s had the misfortune of meeting other witches her age who are just as exclusive and snobbish as the kids she grew up with who picked on her for her lack of a quirk. And then it increases when she meets two other witches (Blair and Laura) in Japan who are somehow WORSE than her as they mock her friends and Amy quickly fights them off.

Bratty Teenage Daughter: Certainly, acts the part at times whether she’s putting up a whining fuss or showing an apathy towards things, especially towards Aizawa and Iida, the former who acts somewhat fatherly towards her and the latter who acts like an older brother towards her. It helps that she’s Cordelia’s goddaughter and she treats her with respect but has little towards the former two.

Amy: Oh Ms. Cordelia I love you! Mr. Aizawa I hate you! Hitoshi I need you! Katsuki, hey fuck you!

Brilliant But Lazy: She’s a powerful witch, knows many spells, potions and is very talented with magic and knows how to creatively use it in combat but has zero motivation in working and academics and would rather rely on her magic to do all the work for her or simply use it to cheat off of her more academically inclined classmates.

Broken Bird: Watching her mother being burnt to the stake, her father being lynched and finding her puppy killed by the witch hunters shattered her innocence. And then her experience in New Orleans added to the tragedies as she still felt hunted and hated by the same witch hunters as she was forced her to watch even more people get killed, including new friends and family such as Nan, Misty, Madison, Zoe and Myrtle. Although some of them got better, Amy was still traumatized by watching her new family all get killed, and then Fiona’s intention to kill her and every other one of her new sisters and her new godmother completely broke her. While the coven was able to restore itself and Amy emerged as a strong young witch, the events still broke her and she follows her sister’s example to avoid looking like she’s broken and instead forces herself to maintain an excitable and cheerful façade as a means to convince herself that the events didn’t break her and instead made her stronger.

Brooding Boy Gentle Girl: She’s the Gentle Girl to Todoroki’s Brooding Boy despite not being together, but they are good friends as Amy’s oddly sweet nature can encourage Todoroki to be a little more outgoing.

Likewise with her and Bakugo as she’s often gentler than he is when it comes to expressing affection and sympathy while Bakugo just angrily broods. However, they can reverse the roles at times where Amy is bitterly sulking and Bakugo shows his softer side by attempting to comfort her.

Brutal Honesty: Amy is outspoken by nature and won’t hesitate to tell someone how it is or how she’s feeling, however she’s fully aware of how it can hurt people’s feelings, she just doesn’t care if it does. However, she CAN and WILL hold her tongue depending on who it is she’s talking to and depending on the situation she does know when to be more sensitive and delicate.

Bully Hunter: While not the nicest girl in the world, Amy really doesn’t care for bullies as she defended Shinsou from bullies when they were growing up and even first met Bakugo by pantsing and pushing him to the ground when he was bullying Midoriya, and also tells off bitchier witches whenever they taunt Coco for her naivete.

In fact, she hates bullies so much that she dumped Bakugo for several months when Madison told her that he told Midoriya to jump off the school roof in middle school and said that she couldn’t be with a bully.

Amy also attacks some nastier girls at the mall when they look at Ashlen funny.

Bunny-Ears Lawyer: She’s an oddball, by and far, but she’s a very skilled witch in and out of combat, shows a cunning side and is very knowledgeable in politics, sociology and human relationships.

Shinsou even imagined her as his lawyer during a nightmare he had.

Burn The Witch!: Nearly suffers this fate as a child right after watching her mother get burnt until All-Might and the pro-heroes save her just before they can light her up.

Calling The Old Man Out: Despite not being her father, she calls out Aizawa for being an unfair teacher to his past students and for not taking her in when he could have after her parents died since nothing stopped him and the other UA staff teachers from adopting Eri, but allowed Amy to be shipped off to America with people who ended up indirectly exposing her to even more bloodshed that further traumatized her. She also chides him by saying that he’s not good at even looking after his other students and calls him ‘the wrong person’ to look over anyone.

Cannot Keep a Secret: While she CAN keep an important secret, she deliberately at times tells some secrets as she freely blabs whatever secret she’s supposed to be keeping or should keep a secret for the sake of not embarrassing her friends.

Amy: Sorry I woulda arrived earlier but Hitoshi had some really bad jock itch so I made sure he was feeling okay after.

Can’t Take Criticism: Amy CAN take some criticism, but at the same time she can’t take certain criticism, particularly about her character and actions.Any criticism or disapproval she gets, often irritates her because she takes it all very harshly.

The Caretaker: Shinsou and Ashlen are normally the ones looking after her, but Amy can easily return the favor when they’re upset. As whenever Shinsou is depressed and feeling low, Amy opts to take care and look after him by giving him space, a “Happiness” kit of junk food and caffeine, and a playlist for sadness and anxiety. Likewise, Amy is more than happy to take care of Ashlen whenever she is distraught as she stays with her the entire day, gives her tender, love and care and also gives her ice-cream to add to the comfort while also showing her some of her favorite movies or shows like Friends, The Office and Brooklyn 99.

Catchphrase: Has a habit of cheerfully saying “Oh Mylanta~!” and asking “So what’s the T Christine?”

And her favorite way of describing something unappealing is calling it “a bag of dicks”.

Character Development: During her first year at UA she had no true intention of becoming the hero Japan’s society would have wanted her to be and had no real desire to be a team-player with her classmates and only wanted to return to Shinsou, however, she grew to really like her new friends and changed her attitude and became a lot friendlier to the point of opening up and sharing her wealth with everyone and going out of her way to provide them laughter and entertainment. She did relapse into insanity for a while and had to quit UA for a short time, but still managed to slowly overcome this because of her friend’s influence. And by the beginning of her second year, she’s on better terms with her classmates and becomes increasingly kinder when her new best friend Ashlen enters the picture and inspires Amy to be more compassionate, sympathetic and helpful towards her class.

Child Hater: Downplayed, while she’s annoyed by anything centered around children and when people talk about children, she’s actually more jealous of the attention children get and doesn’t genuinely hate children themselves as she was actually pretty fond of Kota and bonded with him over the loss of their parents.

Played straight though in her case with Eri, who she disliked, but later warmed up to her.

However, ultimately her aversion to children stems more from the fear that she won’t know how to properly care for them but she claims that she DOES hate only children who are “nasty little shits”.

Chevalier vs. Rogue: She’s the Rogue to Ashlen’s Chevalier as Amy uses her magic to fight dirty and play tricks on her opponents while Ashlen relies primarily on her stealth and combat skills while maintaining a noble, honorable approach in battle.

Chivalrous Pervert: Amy is an unabashed pervert (but nowhere near Mineta’s level) as she likes to stare at her male classmates’ butts and tends to be a flirt, but she’s a good person at heart and never does anything without consent.

Clingy Jealous Girl: Amy is a VERY jealous person by nature, but especially towards the people she’s in love with, as she grew to dislike Uraraka when she realized the latter also had a crush on Midoriya, dismissing her as a basic, boring girl with nothing going on. And then she displays this same jealousy towards Camie after hearing that she had to take a remedial course with Bakugo, Todoroki and Yoarashi as Amy referred to her as a “skintight slut”.

Cloudcuckoolander: She’s clearly off her rocker, has an odd way of thinking, randomly breaks out into song and dance and seems to be pretty much be in her own world.

Combat Pragmatist: A dirty fighter by nature, Amy uses whatever she can get her hands on if it means success, often through the use of telekinesis to make people lose their footing.

She used a stone to bash Midoriya’s face while using her telekinesis for speed, knowing her own physical strength won’t do much damage, and used a piece of heavy debris as a blunt weapon during a battle to stun him and swat him away from her and then into the ground.

Once again, she uses her telekinesis beforehand to steal sweat from Bakugo to use his own explosions against him in a battle.

When in a bad mood and ready to lash out, she surprises Aizawa by blinding him with a potion to give her the chance to attack him, as well as attacking him from behind and using his capture weapon to cover his eyes and entrap him.

Likewise, she always uses Shinsou’s capture weapon against him to trap him or cover his mouth so she can get the upperhand.

Comedic Sociopathy: Downplayed but it’s clear she finds it hilarious to see other people get hurt whether physically or if a joke’s made at their expense. Even though deep down she doesn’t truly like to see them actually hurt.

Comic Trio: With her witch sisters she’s this with Mallory and Coco, with her UA classmates she’s this with Shinsou and Kaminari.

However it’s downplayed with her, Shinsou and Ashlen. Amy is always taking the lead by getting her friends to do something wild and fun, and although Shinsou is far from stupid, he does nothing to stop her and simply follows her lead, while Ashlen is always trying to reign Amy in when she’s going out of control.

Companion Cube: She’s rather fond of her broomstick ‘Brooke’ to the point of talking to it like it was an actual person, and Shinsou even jokes that it might as well be her lover.

Amy: Ahhh I love you so much baby... I’m going to take you to my room and stroke your bristles...

Conditioned to Accept Horror: Due to seeing her parents die before her eyes AND every other horror she witnessed in New Orleans with the witches, voodoo witches and witch hunters, she’s able to go through every horrific thing that occurs at UA without being fazed much. She even tells Bakugo that when enough horrible things happen to you, you’re bound to get used to it.

Cool Big Sis: Takes up this role wherever Kota is concerned as she frequently takes him out for ice-cream, lets him ride with her on her broomstick and took him to an amusement park.

And when she got over her initial dislike of Eri (but retains her jealousy sometimes), she somewhat became this to her, stating that Eri “needs a woman in her life” and becomes that “woman” in an odd, albeit irresponsible way as she lets her play with her dog Dakota, also gives her her favorite Disney movies to watch, taught her how to sing and let her bake cookies with her, but she also let her have her first soda, gave her candy and chocolate and let her buy any clothes and toys that she wanted while also encouraging her to be sassy.

Corrupt The Cutie: Already broken from seeing her parents die, when 11 year old Am is taken to America and attends Robichaux, guardians like Fiona, Madison and Zoe (to a lesser extent) slowly corrupt her into a morally ambiguous young witch who’s not above murdering and deception if it means achieving a goal.

Creepy Child: Her experiences at New Orleans with her witch sisters turned her into one as she began making much more morbid jokes about death, ghosts and demons, and then smiling at inappropriate times and generally making adults feel uncomfortable. She was only 10 at the time.

Creepy Shadowed Undereyes: Not visible but that’s because she hides them with make-up. They’re not nearly as bad as Shinsou’s, but when she’s angry, going crazy or depressed they’re much more prominent.

Crouching Moron, Hidden Badass: She’s very much a comedic girl, but also very much a dangerous girl with a LOT of powers that she’s very skilled with in combat and WILL use them to rip someone a new one.

Cry Cute: When Amy drops her guard and sheds tears, she’s surprisingly more sympathetic and endearing even though she claims to be an “ugly crier”.

Cuddle Bug: Amy is a very affectionate girl who craves the affection in return and loves to hug her friends, especially Shinsou, Ashlen, Midoriya, Mallory and Todoroki.

Curbstomp Battle: Played Straight in her fights at some of the thugs at the USJ and her two fights with Kaminari and Iida at the Sports Festival. As Kaminari attempts to flirt with her, Amy is flattered but quickly pushes him out of the ring with her telekinesis within a matter of 10 seconds. Similarly, she taunts Iida with her teleportation and pretends to give him an opening to get her out of the ring, only to teleport right at the last second and then push HIM out of the ring again with her telekinesis.

Downplayed in her fight with Midoriya. She picks a fight with him after the Culture Festival when he provokes her, and while he doesn’t want to fight her he still gains the upperhand and pins her down. However, it’s Played Straight when he tries to get her to calm down and instead pushes her buttons with a poor choice of words, which reinvigorates Amy’s rage and awakens the full extent of her Sentio Compassios as she gets big and utterly dominates him.

Also played straight during her fight with Aizawa, although she cheated by blinding him with a potion, she still beat the hell out of him with her telekinesis and Sentio Compassios and only stopped when Cordelia intervened.

Curtains Match The Windows: Sort of. She has blonde hair and amber eyes.

Cute and Psycho: Amy’s endearing and sweet but also straight-up insane and cheerfully talks about murder and death while expressing an excitement when the opportunity to kill shows up.

Cute Witch: Eccentric as she may be, Amy is fairly cute for a powerful witch.

Cuteness Proximity: Amy ALWAYS gushes whenever she’s with adorable animals, especially if it’s puppies, kittens, foxes and ferrets. It’s one of the few times we see her acting like a normal teenage girl.

Daddy’s Girl: She was one to her father Hiroshi, and despite the way she occasionally abuses and disrespects him, it’s clear she has a strong attachment to Aizawa as he is the only fatherly figure she knows after her real father died.

Dark Is Not Evil: While she has a mean streak and a wicked side, Amy is truly not a bad person at heart as she decides to remain on the hero’s side so she can protect the people she loves and had no true intention of going to the villain’s side.

Deadpan Snarker: She might be flighty, but she’s very quick-witted and knows how to make clever insults and puns towards others, but especially at Shinsou, Madison, Bakugo, Iida and Aizawa.

Then again, two of her closest friends are Shinsou and Madison, and then FIONA was the one looking after her so she picked up some snark.

Death Glare: Since she’s often seen smiling, she can give one hell of an effective death glare. It’s so intimidating that the minute Shinsou sees it, he encourages whoever is in the vicinity (whether his classmates OR teacher) to leave as fast as possible or apologize if they angered her.

Death Seeker: Shachath occasionally comes to her as she says that Amy tends to ‘sing’ to her which implies that she’s contemplating suicide often.

Defrosting Ice Queen: Towards her classmates as she goes from insulting and pranking them, to more buddy-buddy with them, particularly with Iida and Bakugo. Also, while she freezes Midoriya out for a while, his kindness and patience with her allows her to defrost back to him.

Later, because of her friend Ashlen’s encouragement, she defrosts towards Eri as well.

Determinator: Sure Amy’s a slacker, but when she’s determined to do something, she gets down to it and won’t stop until she gets what she wants. To the point of even sacrificing dignity and being her most stubborn self if it means achieving a goal.

Dissonant Laughter: When Aizawa is scolding the class for knowing of the plan to rescue her and Bakugo, she bursts into sudden, uncontrollable and mad laughter, BEFORE Bakugo even made Kaminari use his quirk to get a laugh out of everyone...

Disproportionate Retribution: Midoriya drinks her lemonade and eats her fruit sandwich, not knowing it was her’s, and she flies into a rage and even goes so far as to get a plastic plate and start beating him with it and chasing him out of the room.

And then again, she nearly crushes Midoriya in her Giant Sentio Compassios form because he called selfish and cruel.

Iida tells Aizawa that Shinsou (during a depression) drew a line into the wall with a sharpie which got him in trouble, and Amy ralles a group of students to protest against him to the point where he broke down and cried according to Midoriya.

Aizawa gives her a bad grade on an essay and tells Cordelia about how she’s misbehaved in class, and Amy quickly retaliates by threatening to burn his sleeping bag. She didn’t actually do it, but she nearly did.

Distracted By The Sexy: She utilizes this tactic against some of her opponents and wears Madison’s crotchless panties and ‘accidentally’ flashes them to Shishikura during the Provisional Hero License arc to get him to back off. It works..

Double Standard: Very fond of finding these and pointing them especially when it comes to gender and topics involving humans and witches.

Drama Queen: Whenever Amy gets excited she tends to break out into song and dance, and when she’s upset she tends to go into a ‘woe is me’ mode and exaggerate her misery.

The Dreaded: Shinsou knows better than to provoke and/or push Amy’s buttons and is quick to warn people when he can tell she’s in a bad mood and even goes so far as to alert others from doing or saying certain things that WILL anger her or simply tell them to quickly apologize should they provoke her by accident. And it becomes more apparent to the rest of her class the more they learn of her unpredictable temper, mood swings and array of powers and begin to go to great lengths to avoid provoking her.

Even after their fight and even after Amy starts to become a better, saner person, Midoriya is still terrified of her.

Dreadful Musician: Loves to sing but tends to go off-key at times, and is an absolutely horrible violin player to the point were even Present Mic and Bakugo can’t stand it.

Drowning My Sorrows: Non-alcoholic example as she drowns in soda (Dr. Pepper or Big Red) whenever she’s really sad or lamenting after a failed test.

Drunk On The Dark Side: Spending time with the witches of New Orleans has encouraged her to embrace her darker impulses and be willing to do anything to get what you want and need. And by the time she goes to UA, Amy’s very self-indulgent and not above doing immoral things. However, she does start to stray away from this for the sake of her new friends.

Dude Magnet: Despite her quirky nature, she’s got Bakugo, Todoroki and Monoma all holding some kind of torch for her.

Dumb Blonde: Subverted. Amy seems and acts like a flake and can lack common sense, but she’s actually very sly, crafty and manipulative several times and has shown to be able to really think ahead before she springs into an action plan.

Easily Forgiven: Shinsou will ALWAYS forgive her for anything she does no matter how amoral or messed up it may be, and that includes murder, manipulation and deception or even going on a rampage throughout his school. And he tends to quickly comes to her defense and excuse her actions by saying that she’s been through enough and that she shouldn’t be judged for what she does.

Midoriya also forgives her pretty quickly even after she attempted to crush him with her Sentio Compassios form and destroyed his apology gift (but fixed it later). Aizawa also forgave her fast despite the fact that she blinded him and attacked him.

Shinsou: (to Aizawa, after Amy’s rage) Okay... look... I now you’re not happy with her now, but here’s the truth sensei, Amy is not bad at all, she just grew up in an environment that showed her a lot of bad things. She never wanted that life, she was forced into it, it’s not her fault...

Emotionless Girl: Amy becomes withdrawn, surly and apathetic after she leaves UA, and it’s much more prominent when she interns with Endeavor alongside Midoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki, all of whom are unnerved by her new demeanor.

The Empath: Her father had a quirk called “Feelings” that allowed him to feel what others felt, which Amy is revealed to have inherited from him when his quirk manifested in her unique power “Sentio Compassios”, an extremely powerful form of divination that allows Amy to feel and see what others are feeling, as well as their auras. As such Amy can empathize with the people around her and it makes her feel the need to help them out with anything they may need any help with.

Enfant Terrible: Upon going to New Orleans and entering Robichaux, being exposed to all the bloodshed and betrayal with her fellow witches turns her into this as she easily gets corrupted by the new lifestyle and doesn’t hesitate to help her sisters kill their enemies brutally as she happily joined them in stabbing the Axe Man to death. She just turned 11 at the time.

Even Bad Women Love Their Mamas: She’s a trouble-maker at best and a sadistic bitch at worst, but no matter what, she never loses her love for deceased parents and loves her godmother Cordelia dearly. In fact, Cordelia is currently the only adult she hasn’t insulted or disrespected.

Even Evil Can Be Loved: Amy’s not truly evil by nature, but even when she’s at her most psychotic, her friends still love her regardless of the madness. Shinsou in particular still holds a lot of platonic love for her even when she’s lost her mind, and her new best friend Ashlen has embraced even Amy’s less than savory qualities because she still loves her deeply and regards her as her best friend. And then her coven still loves her deeply, especially Cordelia, Madison and Zoe.

Even Evil Has Standards: Amy’s an anarchist who loves the wicked side of things and has no issues killing people, manipulating them for her own gain and stealing, but even she’s appalled by things or other villains have done.

She was quite unnerved in the presence of All For One and claimed that she’s never been that afraid since Fiona.

She also turned down the offer from the League of Villains because she didn’t want to abandon her friends at UA as she realized that the students there are good people that she doesn’t want to harm.

She sympathized with the League of Villains stating that she understood them and stated that Society is messed up because she would never ostracize someone for being different.

Despite her (occasionally) rocky friendship with Midoriya, she dumped Bakugo for 2 whole months when Madison tells him that he told Midoriya to kill himself in middle school and Amy was absolutely disgusted by such cruelty.

Amy will not hurt anyone innocent, even when she becomes homicidal she only attacks people who are attacking her, and even if it’s her classmates (such as Iida, Tokoyami, Jirou who attempted to stop her) she merely knocks them out via telling them to ‘sleep’ and does nothing to hurt them or the rest of 1-A.

She respected Fiona but disapproved of how she treated Cordelia, and likewise, despises Endeavor for what he did to Todoroki and the rest of his family.

Amy’s all for dirty tricks and humiliating others for fun, but will stop when she sees someone getting legitimately hurt.

Even The Girls Want Her: Her witch friend Darcy has an obsessive, mad crush on her.

Everyone Has Standards: Amy’s something of an airhead and not all there but even there are things that bewilder her or ‘ick’ her out.

She’s a pervert but even she was appalled by Mineta’s lack of shame in his perversion.

Even when she hated Eri at the time, she still tossed Mineta into the stratosphere via telekinesis for making an inappropriate comment to her.

For all that she and Iida despise each other’s contrasting quirks, Amy sees from his point of view when frat brothers trash her mansion and act very uncouth even for her liking.

She finds it amusing to point out things she knows about people while they freak out and wonder how she knew that, but crosses the line at stalking and obsession because that ‘icks’ her out.

Despite her childish nature, even Amy is baffled by her older witch sister Coco’s inability to take care of herself and perform simple tasks such as laundry and cleaning.

Evil Laugh: Gives off one hell of an effective one akin to the Wicked Witch of The West, it’s so wicked sounding it genuinely disturbs her classmates and even Aizawa.

#tv tropes #amy martinez #bnha ocs #mha ocs #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha original character #mha original character #american horror story #american horror story coven #ahs coven #AHS #ahs crossover #bnha crossover

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foreversillythings · 5 years

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roses are red, roses are white interlude 2

roses are red, roses are white interlude the lions of burgundy

May 1471 Tewkesbury

“It’s over.”

Two words and Madge feels as if she’s leapt from a tower wall. She is falling and the ground is coming too fast, but she cannot stop it. Once he tells them who won, there will be no going back.

(and deep down, she fears she already knows the answer)

(it is always the same isn’t it?)

“And?” Clove demands, her voice shrill and Madge knows it is with fear. The messenger swallows, his head bobs and Clove leans towards him with manic eyes. She knows what defeat means as well, they all do. The messenger does not answer for a moment and Enobaria could be a statue, so still and rigid is she.

Madge holds her breath even as she knows what comes next.

November 1470 Burgundy

The pale gray of the afternoon sky darkens as evening creeps closer and Katniss takes a steadying breath of cool air. She focuses on the target in the distance and pulls her arm back, her bow steady and arrow ready. The breeze tickles her skin but she doesn’t notice, for in this moment there is no world, nor politics or war or rebellion or exile. There is nothing but her and her bow, nothing but the target and the arrow she will soon loose. The tension rooted in her bones for so many years simply fades and Katniss feels a brief, beautiful calm.

Archery is, as it always has been, her only refuge.

She releases and the arrow flies, her aim as true as ever. Her arrow sinks into the target, joining so many others and then the world intrudes again, anxiety starting to wriggle like worms beneath her skin. Katniss sighs and scoops up her empty quiver. She heads towards the target to gather her arrows and when was the last time she truly felt calm and at ease? Not in brief snatches as she does with archery, but completely? It has been years, certainly, and she’s not sure she even remembers what that must have been like.

Only fools would wish for a crown

(of course, her father had wanted it, hadn’t he?)

(she never knows how to feel about that)

There is a crowd of arrows stuck in the center of the target and she tugs at the first. They’ve been trapped in Burgundy for a month now and Katniss has never felt so helpless. Coriolanus is loose in England, Prim is stuck there with him and Katniss can do nothing but hope her in-laws decide to help. If they don’t...She takes hold of the second arrow and pulls it free. It isn’t that she doubts Peeta, she is sure he will one day convince his parents to lend them aid, but it is that one day that kills her. How long must they wait here? How long will Coriolanus be left to run amuck in England? She wraps her hand around the shaft of the third and I swore I wouldn’t let Coriolanus mutilate England again and yet I am, aren’t I? I’ve failed my country again. No matter what I do, it is always wrong.

Damn it

The arrow snaps in her hand.

Rory tips his chair back and stares at the ceiling.

The sun sinks low in the sky and he should probably light a candle soon, or he’ll be left sitting in the dark. He sighs and he is bored, he is always bored. He is too young to join in the negotiations but too old to be provided with entertainment, so he sits alone and stews. Every day’s the same, miserable, lonely and he misses home and his family so much he almost wants to cry (not that he’d ever admit it). He has nothing to do but think about all he’s left behind and about what will happen if they don’t manage to raise an army and all those thoughts leave him cold. He wants to shout at someone, do something, anything but there is nothing for him to do.

It’s infuriating.

It is lucky he is always alone for he feels his temper grow short, feels his nerves rubbing raw beneath his skin. Gale visits on occasion but he is always tired and sullen, his mood only dragging Rory’s down even farther. Burgundy, exile, is Hell. Rory doesn’t think he’ll survive it much longer. He slams his chair back down and stands.

He needs to get out; he can’t stay here boiling over any longer.

I need to get out

The sun has almost set when a weary looking Peeta steps into their bedchamber.

A line of orange light spills through the window and across Katniss as she sits on the floor, the plumpest of their pillows beneath her. Her right hand soaks in a now tepid bowl of water and Peeta blinks down at her in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

Katniss sighs. “Splinters,” she explains and Peeta winces in sympathy.

“I’ve brought supper,” he says and closes the door behind him. Katniss sits up a little straighter and peeks up at the tray balanced on his left hand. She can see bread and meat, pork maybe, and by the smell of it covered in cinnamon sauce. Things here always seem to be covered in cinnamon sauce. Still, Katniss is not one to turn down food (though she’d kill for a cheese bun) and she follows the tray with her eyes as Peeta crosses to the bed. He takes the second plumpest pillow and settles on it facing her as her stomach rumbles. He smiles faintly and sets the tray down between them, the pork and bread joined by a few hunks of aged cheese and a tart that might be filled with egg. Katniss barely bottles up her sigh. In England she could have as many cheese buns as she wanted, here it is always egg tarts and cinnamon sauce.

(maybe being queen did have some perks)

She reaches for a knife with her left hand and awkwardly tries to spear some of the pork. It isn’t easy and more than one piece determinedly slips from her knife, but finally she stabs one deep enough to hold it there. Unfortunately, the piece she’s finally managed to get a hold of is too large to fit in her mouth all at once, the sauce drips onto the hose she’d stolen from Gale to do her archery (Peeta’s were too short while Gale’s too long hose could at least be rolled at the waist) and Katniss cannot help her embarrassment that Peeta is watching her sad attempt to eat. She opens her mouth to try to excuse herself, after all she can only use one hand and her non-dominant at that, but he doesn’t seem to really see her. His eyes are far away and when he sighs, Katniss can feel it all the way to her bones. She puts down her pork laden knife and gropes for something to say to lighten the weight she can see pulling him down. She has never been very good with words, but just like with Prim, Peeta makes her wish she was.

“Here,” he says and takes her wet hand from the bowl. He turns it palm up and for a moment they both stare at the slivers of wood wedged beneath her skin. He runs a light finger over each one and she scoots a little closer without really noticing.

“I’m sorry, I still haven’t made any progress with my parents,” he admits and gently begins to work out the first of her splinters. “I do think my father’s sympathetic to you, but he’ll never go against Mother and she certainly isn’t.”

Katniss frowns. “But what about you? Isn’t he sympathetic to you too?”

Peeta stops his ministrations for a moment and stares at her. He drops his head and removes the first splinter.

“My parents have made it clear they blame me for all that’s gone wrong.”

“What? How do they reckon that?” Katniss demands and Peeta squeezes her hand somewhat convulsively.

“Well, supposedly I have failed at…everything. I have failed to give you an heir, I have failed to be a great leader, soldier and knight and I have failed to be a masterful husband. I am not man enough to keep you and England in line apparently.” He is both bitter and embarrassed as he says it and Katniss feels a wave of loathing for Duchess Jeanne and Duke Charles.

“How enlightened,” she says sourly and Peeta winces.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes as he pulls out the next splinter. “They’re wrong to suggest I should try to rule you or your country. I’ve no right to do either. They’re wrong too to blame you; none of this is your fault.”

“Yes it is,” she corrects as he removes the third splinter.

“No, it isn’t,” he counters immediately without looking up from the final sliver of wood in her hand. Katniss sighs. This is an argument they’ve had time and time again while trapped here in Burgundy and it is one neither of them ever wins.

“I alienated my nobles, the French and Haymitch; if anyone bears the blame for this, it’s me,” she says as she always does and his shoulders tense.

“It is marriage to me that drove the French and your people against you.” His tone is stubborn like it always is and Katniss grits her teeth.

“I chose this marriage, so it’s my fault,” she retorts and he tugs out the last splinter.

“I agreed to it. And Gale was your willing partner in this endeavor as well. You cannot put all this on yourself. England had not healed from the war; it was inevitable that it would break apart again.”

Katniss inhales but does not pull her hand away from him. Peeta continues to hold it even as he glares at her and she bites her tongue in aggravation.

“If I was a better queen, I could have healed England’s divisions,” she insists and he drops her hand in frustration. She instantly misses the warmth of his touch and he shakes his head.

“Why are you so determined to bear all the guilt? We all have a share in this mess,” he says and she meets his eyes defiantly.

“Mine is the largest share,” she says and cuts him off as he opens his mouth to say more. “Don’t argue, there is nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

Peeta pinches the bridge of his nose and hisses out a breath. “Fine,” he says tightly and for a moment they sit in tense silence. Katniss fidgets uncomfortably and wishes she knew the words to makes things right again. She always hates when they argue, but she never knows how to put them back on the right foot. Katniss gnaws on her lip and Peeta blows out a breath.

“I have managed to win my brothers to our side; they might be of some help in winning my parents.”

Katniss slumps in relief at his peace offering. “I’m sure they will,” she says and offers up a smile, one she hopes conveys that she is not angry. Peeta gives her a small one in return and without really thinking, she blurts out “I have faith that you’ll succeed.”

Peeta’s eyes widen and pink dusts his cheeks. He ducks his head. “I fear that faith may be misplaced,” he says in a shy voice and Katniss shakes her head.

“I don’t think so. I’m not very good at negotiation or politics, but I do know you are. If anyone can win us the help we need, I know it’s you.”

Peeta turns pinker still and looks up at her with very wide eyes. She feels herself grow steadily warmer under his gaze until he finally breaks the contact and coughs loudly.

“Well, um, thank you. I won’t rest until I have.”

Katniss reaches out and tentatively pats his hand. She means to pull away but doesn’t, letting her fingers rest on top of his.

“I know you will,” she says and wants to say something else, but doesn’t know what. He looks down at their hands and starts to speak in a low voice.

“My mother has started asking some rather probing questions about our marriage, I think she hopes to seek an annulment.”

Katniss feels instantly cold. “An annulment?”

Peeta nods and slowly turns his hand over so they are palm to palm. “I won’t say anything that will give her an opening, not unless you want me to.”

Feeling somehow colder still, Katniss can barely speak her mouth is so dry. “Why would I want you to?” she croaks and Peeta shrugs.

“You might find a husband who can be of greater help and maybe one that…” He trails off and Katniss feels inexplicable nerves in her stomach. Her fingers tighten around Peeta’s in a grip that is surely painful.

“One that…?” she questions and Peeta bites his lip.

“Well, we could have an annulment as we haven’t…seeing as we’ve never…” He pauses for a moment and swallows. “We’ve never…consummated our marriage. Perhaps you could find someone you might wish to…to consummate a marriage with.” He does not look at her as he says it and Katniss feels her lips part and her eyes stretch wide. Peeta does not look up, his fingers soft and warm around hers and Katniss can feel heat stretching out over her like a blanket. She needs to say something but can find no words, and thankfully she is saved by a knock at the door.

“Katniss?” Gale calls from the other side and Katniss leaps up as if she’d sat on a fire. She can feel Peeta’s eyes on her as she wrenches open the door, but she cannot turn and face him. Gale peers over her shoulder with a frown.

“Were you eating on the floor?”

Katniss doesn’t answer and pushes him out into the hall. “Come on, we have so much to talk about,” she says and shuts the door quickly behind her. Gale narrows his eyes.

“Is everything alright?”

Katniss nods jerkily. “Yes, of course. Let’s go.” She grabs him by the arm and marches him down the hall, her stomach tying itself in knots. Peeta’s words continue to echo in her ears as they walk, her skin heating and heating until she feels as if she may melt. Worse though than the flustering thought of consummation is the stone weighing in her stomach at the thought of an annulment. Was that Peeta’s way of telling me he wants to end things?

Gale glances at her and frowns. “Something is definitely wrong. What is it?”

Katniss chews on her lip and wants to ask his opinion even as she wants to die from embarrassment at the thought of discussing something like this with anyone. Gale stops walking.

“That’s it. Out with it,” he says and Katniss pushes down her reluctance. This doesn’t just concern her, it concerns England.

“Peeta’s mother has been…asking questions,” she whispers and Gale’s eyebrows go up.

“Oh, well, that clears everything up, thank you. What sort of questions?”

Katniss looks both ways down the hallway just in case and leans in close. Gale leans back in confusion. “Questions that Peeta believes are aimed at discovering if there are any grounds for us to get an annulment.”

Gale’s eyes widen in alarm. “Shit. Well, at least now we know why it’s been such an uphill battle to get any help from them. They obviously think we have no chance.” Katniss nods and tries not to let her in-laws lack of faith affect her, but it’s hard. Does her cause truly seem so hopeless?

“Well, no matter how little they want us, they’re stuck with us. There aren’t any grounds for an annulment,” Gale continues and Katniss cannot meet his eyes.

“Mmm,” she manages and he nods.

“You’re not within the prohibited degrees of consanguinity, neither one of you was married or betrothed at the time, neither one of you was forced against your will, you haven’t lied about your identity or being baptized, and the marriage has been consummated,” he rattles off and Katniss doesn’t mean to do something to tip him off, but clearly, she does. She still won’t look at him and there is a pause.

“Katniss?” he asks.

“Hmm?”

“The marriage has been consummated, hasn’t it?” His voice is painfully controlled and Katniss bites her lip.

“Katniss?” he demands, voice rising. Still she cannot look at him.

“Maybe we should discuss this someplace more private than the hallway,” she says and looks about for an empty room. Gale inhales sharply.

“Katniss,” he says in a shaking voice and she heads towards a door that’s been left ajar. She peeks into the room, sees it is empty and waves to Gale.

“Here,” she says and slips inside. Gale joins her and slams the door so hard it rattles in its frame.

“Katniss!” he explodes, “It’s been over a year! How have you not consummated it yet?!” She winces but still can’t look him in the face.

“Do you have to be so loud?”

“Yes!” he shouts and she grimaces.

“It’s not…it’s not like I planned it this way. I meant to…I really did but you remember my wedding day. It was hot, so terribly hot and I was so tired from such a long day and nervous too, so…”

“So?!”

“So I asked if maybe we could wait. Peeta was tired and sweaty too, so he agreed.”

Gale does not look even slightly mollified. “And what about the hundreds of days since?”

She looks down at her feet. “Well…it’s not easy, bringing it up. You expect you have to do it on your wedding night, but any other night you have to…talk about it. I could never.”

This, apparently, is not good enough for Gale. He throws his hands up into the air with a growl. “He’s your husband! If there’s anyone you can talk to about this, it’s him!”

Katniss shakes her head and wishes she was having any conversation but this one. She hasn’t even kissed Peeta since their wedding and now she’s really supposed to ask him to come to bed with her? No, she’d die on the spot. “No,” she says and she couldn’t, not ever. She could never never say anything of the sort, it would be too mortifying. Gale does not agree.

“His family is the only support we have right now. If they find out, we’re fucked. His mother wants an annulment and you’ve given her a way to get one! If she finds out, your marriage will be dissolved and we’ll have nowhere to go. You think France will have us? Scotland? No! They’re all Lancastrian in their sympathies if you remember!”

“I do,” she mumbles and Gale starts pacing to go with his shouting.

“Unless you’ve had a proposal I don’t know about from the King of Aragon or the fucking Holy Roman Emperor, we can’t afford to lose this alliance!”

“I know that!” she finally shouts back and Gale exhales angrily. They glare at each other and he drags a hand over his face.

“I know how serious this is,” she starts only for Gale to interrupt.

“Do you? Not only do we need Burgundy, but we need an heir. All this time I’ve thought it was bad luck you hadn’t conceived, but you’ve been doing it on purpose. I know you don’t want children, but-”

“You don’t,” she cuts in and he stops short. He blinks.

“What?”

Katniss bites her lip and digs her nails into her palms. “You have no idea why I don’t want children. Being queen, I never wanted this. My life…it isn’t even mine anymore. Everything I do or say is watched and judged and can affect the whole country. The pressure, the restrictions and the sacrifices, I don’t want to have children if they have to live like this, if they’re just going to be pieces in this game like I am. From the day they’re born until the day they die, they’ll have the weight of England on their shoulders. They won’t have a childhood, not like we did, they won’t get to choose any part of their future and everything they do will be about duty, their duty to England. Its bad enough I have to live like this, I can’t bring children into it. Their lives won’t belong to them and I can’t…I can’t.” Katniss stares at the floor and traces the lines between the stones but she can feel Gale’s heavy gaze upon her.

“Katniss,” he says sounding ragged.

“I know I have to,” she says and hugs herself. “I just…I just hate it.”

“I’m sorry,” Gale says and this surprises her enough that she looks up at him. He takes a slow step closer and places his hands on her shoulders. He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t really have to. She knows she has to do this, she knows what’s at stake and she knows that when she took the crown, this was the price she agreed to pay. She hates it; she’ll always hate it, but her only other option is to forsake England and that she could never live with. She takes a shaky breath and nods to let Gale know she’ll do it. He squeezes her shoulders but his eyes are so sad she looks away.

“You’re right though, I have put it off far too long. England needs me. Only I...I don’t…I don’t know what to do,” she admits in a small voice.

“You mean…sex? Or telling Peeta it’s time?” he asks and her face heats up.

“Telling him,” she mumbles. “My mother told me what to do before the wedding.”

“Right,” Gale says in relief. “Well, I suppose you’ve got two options. You can just march up and tell him to do his husbandly duty or you can try to seduce him.” Katniss frowns deeply. Neither choice is exactly within her comfort zone. Gale notices her expression and sighs. “Or I can tell him.”

Katniss feels so horrified at the thought she’s surprised she doesn’t die right there. The mere idea of Gale arranging this for her is so absolutely mortifying she can’t even put it into words. She shakes her head.

“No, I’ll do it,” she whispers. “I’ll do it tonight.”

Dusk falls over Burgundy as Rory walks into the tavern.

He has never been in a tavern before and if Gale or his mother knew he was here, they’d have his head but tonight he doesn’t care. It has been a long month of banishment and he is restless (and reckless). He knows he isn’t supposed to be here and so tries his hardest to look as if he belongs. He stands as tall as he can, straightens his shoulders and puffs up his chest with a deep breath.

And promptly breaks into a coughing fit at the pungent smell of smoke, spilled ale and sweaty men.

He deflates in embarrassment but no one even glances in his direction. He wilts a little bit more. Rubbing at his stinging eyes, Rory takes in the sight of his very first tavern. It is crowded with people and a great many tables with a large bar at the far end of the room. It is warm, almost too warm, from a crackling fire in the hearth and he can barely hear himself think over all the noise. Voices overlap in so many different languages, tankards clunk on wood surfaces, laughter rumbles and a tipsy minstrel plays in the corner, his notes not quite right. There are dice games and card games being played at various tables, money changes hands and pretty girls in tight dresses sway through the room with welcoming smiles and eager hands. Alcohol, gambling and lust, this is like everything they warn you about in church in one room.

Mum can never know I was here

There is an angry grunt behind him and suddenly he is shoved sideways. He stumbles over his feet and nearly hits the chair of a bearlike man to his left as someone pushes past him into the tavern. Said bearlike man barks at him in a foreign tongue and Rory flushes at how stupid he must have looked gaping in the doorway. This is going well. I bet Gale never looks this daft. Rory shuffles over to the window, the glass panes foggy. He leans against it and feels condensation soak into his sleeve.

Alright, I’ve taken the plunge, now what?

He doesn’t know where he should sit or what he should order and wait, had he even brought any money? No, he hadn’t. He was an idiot. Perfect, bloody perfect. Now what am-

His eyes catch on a pretty young woman with long auburn hair and then he burns as she perches on some man’s lap. The man grins and soon they are kissing, long, open-mouthed and right out in the open. Rory’s eyes widen as he blushes. No one behaves like this at court. Maybe I shouldn’t be here, I have no ide-

“Rory? Rory! Over here!” comes a familiar cheery voice. Rory turns in bafflement and it’s Thom, sitting alone at a table on the opposite end of the room. This is terrible, but also a terrible relief. Thom grins when he notices Rory’s gaze on him and waves. With a purpose finally, Rory walks to Thom and does his best to look entirely comfortable. He does not gawk at card games he is not allowed to play, he does not grow hot at the sight of exposed skin and he is definitely not concerned that someone might decide he is too young and throw him out. Thom is practically beaming over the rim of his ale and Rory flops in the chair across the table from him.

“Funny running into you here,” Rory says in a very steady, totally blasé and manfully deep voice. Thom’s grin somehow grows.

“Even funnier running into you here.”

Rory scowls. “I’m here all the time.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Thom says and chortles into his ale. Rory offers him a sneer. Thom continues to smirk infuriatingly over his pewter tankard and Rory makes a point of ignoring him. Hoping he looks impressively disinterested, Rory peers around the room. There is a man in rolled up shirt sleeves wiping the bar while a group of men swing and sway off to the left and a woman with half lidded eyes and a plump smile leans against the counter. Thom snickers.

“Fancy yourself a bawd?” he teases and Rory’s ears burn. He opens his mouth but stops short when he fully processes what Thom’s said.

“She’s a prostitute?” he whispers and Thom laughs.

“Of course, all the women here are.”

Rory’s eyes open wider and he looks around in surprise. “Really?” he asks and leans towards Thom. Thom rolls his eyes.

“Yes. And you don’t need to be so furtive, it’s not a secret.”

Rory settles back in his seat and hopes the dim lighting disguises his blush. Drinking, gambling and prostitution, Mum and Gale are really gunna kill me if they find out.

“I can see you come here often,” Thom says obnoxiously and Rory, always short tempered when mocked, glares and clamps his teeth shut to keep from saying something dumb.

“So why are you here?” Thom asks in a slightly less annoying voice. Rory separates his teeth and allows words to come out.

“I was bored.”

Thom nods, takes another gulp of ale and then grins. “Does Gale know you’re here?”

“He doesn’t need to,” Rory snaps. “If I’m old enough to be considered a traitor to the crown and exiled, I am old enough to go to a tavern.” He expects Thom to argue, to say something like ‘no, you’re still a kid’, just like Gale probably would, but he merely raises his tankard in a sort of salute.

“Ah, teenaged rebellion,” he sighs almost wistfully and Rory makes a face.

“Oh shut up, you’re nineteen.”

“Exactly, I’ve outgrown my adolescent woes.”

That is so ridiculous Rory doesn’t even bother to answer. He slumps in his seat and Thom’s eyes go wide. “Bugger,” he mumbles, looking somewhere over Rory’s shoulder. Rory turns with a frown.

Only to get a face full of bosom.

He makes a sound, an embarrassing, undignified sound and throws himself backwards so fast he nearly topples from his chair. Thom laughs but tries to cover it with a cough and the woman Rory’d gotten a face full of smiles and perches on the edge of the table. Another woman sways over to Thom but Rory barely notices as the woman before him leans forward and strokes his face. An awful heat boils beneath his skin and the woman coos to him in a language he can’t understand.

(though, to be fair, with the way his brain’s come to a full stop, she could be speaking English for all he knows)

Thom says something discouraging in what might be Flemish but the women merely giggle. The woman before Rory leans towards him as she continues to say things in a language that might also be Flemish, her tone teasing, and Rory tries to say something, anything but his tongue seems to have fallen from his head. She laughs and drags the hand from his face over his jaw, dances it across his neck and then presses her palm against his chest. Thom says something again, his tone firm, but neither woman seems to notice. Rory’s runs a thumb over his lower lip and says something in a low voice and though he cannot understand the words, the tone tells him exactly what she’s offering.

There are several reasonable responses Rory could make, in either acceptance or rejection, but sadly, he makes none of them.

“I’M MARRIED!” he bellows in a hideously loud voice and at a pitch he would not have thought himself capable of reaching. In the horrifying silence that follows, Rory blushes worse than ever, genuinely contemplates crawling into the fire and the woman blinks at him before pulling back. She asks something Rory can’t answer and Thom clears his throat. He talks to both women in their own language and Rory very much wants to launch himself out the nearest window. A simple ‘no’ would’ve done it; you didn’t need to shout like a lunatic!

Both women leave and Rory stares studiously down at the table top. I’m never going out in public again.

“That was very well done,” Thom says with a barely held in snicker and Rory very much wants the ground to swallow him up forever. Why did he have to shout like that? What is wrong with him?

“Oh don’t feel too bad, it was very romantic. How lucky for your wife to have such a loyal husband.” Rory cannot see Thom’s smirk, but he can feel it. Worse, he can feel his embarrassment triple at the thought that this debacle has anything to do with Philippa. It doesn’t, of course it doesn’t. He is not romantic.

God, if Philippa ever found out he’d acted like such a madman....

“I’m-I’m married. Married people shouldn’t...they’re not supposed to-”

“No,” Thom agrees when Rory can’t get out any further words, “they’re not supposed to. But I think we both know they do.” Rory doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing. He kicks the table leg even though he really wants to kick himself.

“So, have you kissed the fair maid yet?”

For moment, Rory has no idea what Thom is talking about. He frowns, his eyebrows draw together and what fair maid? Realization slams into him and he jerks his head up in horror.

“No! N-no, of course not! Why would I-No, no. Kiss Philippa? No.”

Thom laughs and Rory’s skin is molten hot and probably melting off his face. He definitely should have thrown himself from the window, or perhaps the roof. He closes his eyes, dreads Thom’s next question and then a hand clamps down on his shoulder.

If Rory had been burning before, he is ice cold now.

“I’m sorry; you can’t possibly be my brother Rory, can you? I mean, he’d know better than to be in a tavern, wouldn’t he?” Gale asks and Rory grimaces. Thom grins.

“There you are. I was wondering if you’d forgotten me.”

“Sorry, my meeting with Katniss went longer than I thought it would. Now,” Gale says and leans down to Rory’s level, “what are you doing here?” Rory cringes. I am so dead.

“Nothing,” he mumbles and Gale gives him an unimpressed look.

“Really? You know what Mum would say if she was here.”

“Well, she’s not,” Rory says and means it to come out defiant but it sounds rather pathetic instead. Gale pauses and squeezes his shoulder.

“That doesn’t mean her rules don’t apply. You know you’re not supposed to be here.”

Rory doesn’t answer and can’t look at Gale, so he glares across the room instead. Gale sighs.

“Alright, time to go.”

Rory exhales angrily, embarrassed at having been caught and annoyed at being bossed around like a baby. He’s fourteen, not four.

“Don’t be too hard on him, he didn’t actually do anything,” Thom says helpfully which makes Rory instantly suspicious. “He didn’t have a drop of alcohol, he didn’t partake in any gambling and he scared away the only prostitutes that came by.”

Gale, who Rory knows isn’t a virgin and who has definitely given into lustful urges (though not recently, being as disgustingly in love as he is), looks so appalled at the mention of prostitutes you’d think he was an old lady nun. He stares at Thom in a moment of horrified silence, his fingers digging painfully into Rory’s shoulder.

“You let him talk to prostitutes?” he hisses and Thom rolls his eyes. Rory scowls. It’s like he’s not even here.

“They came to us, what was I supposed to do? Pitch him out the window? I told them to leave but I think they thought I was playing hard to get. They only took me seriously when Rory starting shouting.”

Rory feels his face heat up at the reminder of his mortifying reaction and Gale takes a moment to compose himself. “Okay, well, now we’re definitely getting out of here.”

“And leave me to drink alone?” Thom asks. Gale rolls his eyes.

“I won’t be long. And next round’s on me, how about?’”

“Hmm,” Thom says and strokes his chin. “Make it two and I may contemplate forgiving you.”

Gale snorts and pulls Rory up. “Come on, let’s go,” he says and steers Rory towards the door. Rory can feel eyes following him out and burns with shame. This is humiliating. They step outside and the sky is velvety dark, the air brisk, especially after the warmth of the tavern, and Gale keeps a hand on Rory’s shoulder. That’s even more humiliating.

“So I’m not even allowed in, but you can spend all night getting sloshed with Thom?” he demands and Gale nods.

“Yes. I’ve had a very long, terrible day and I’m an adult, which means I get to do what I want. You don’t. You do what Mum says and even though she’s not here, we both know what she’d say.”

Rory kicks the road. “That’s not fair,” he says and hates how dumb and childish he sounds. Gale shrugs.

“That’s the way of the world unfortunately for you.” He suddenly gives Rory a shove. “And maybe next time you want to do something you know Mum’ll kill you for, you might want to think of me. Because Mum’d kill me too if she ever found out. I’m supposed to be keeping an eye on you.” Gale’s voice is teasing, his hand drops from Rory’s shoulder and Rory knows this means he isn’t going to be in real trouble. He should make a witty retort or crack a joke, but he can’t. He is angry, angry under his skin in a way he doesn’t understand. Yes, it was embarrassing to be dragged out like that, but he’d gone there knowing he wasn’t allowed. He should let it go but that restlessness (recklessness) is pounding in his bones and he is so angry. This exile is driving him mad.

“Adult or not, Mum’d be pretty angry if she knew you were spending all night in a den of gambling, drinking and lust.”

“Maybe, but to be fair, I wasn’t going to be gambling or lusting,” Gale says, still joking around, and Rory wishes deep down he could join him. He doesn’t.

“No, you save the lust for your dreams,” he mutters and kicks a rock down the street. Gale looks at him sharply.

“What?”

Rory snorts. “We all know about your dirty dreams, you’re not exactly quiet.”

“Shut up,” Gale says and shoves him again.

“I wonder how Madge would feel about her starring role,” Rory says and feels awful for the pained look on Gale’s face. He should stop now, but he can’t. “I wonder how her betrothed would feel about it.”

Even in the dark Rory can make out Gale’s wretched expression and feels his stomach twist. Why am I doing this? He wants to apologize immediately but can’t manage to force out the words. He is an arse and he has never been good with feelings, but he knows that was out of line. He should say something, anything but there is something tight and writhing in his chest, something that swallows the apology he knows he should make. The silence between them is tense and uncomfortable and Rory knows it’s his fault.

“I don’t give a shit what he thinks,” Gale finally says, somewhat more forcefully than probably intended, and Rory wants to be sick. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“And Rory? I know you’re pissed at me for dragging you out of there, I know you’re bored and frustrated and you miss home. I get it, trust me. I am beyond furious that we’re stuck here, that the Burgundians won’t help us and that we’ve left everyone behind. There is nothing I want more than to go home. But you can’t go wandering off at night in a strange city all on your own. It’s not safe and I need you safe, okay?”

Rory feels worse than ever and nods. “Okay.”

It is silent again as they continue to walk and Rory wants to kick himself. Why did he say that? And why isn’t Gale mad at him? He should be. Rory wants him to be. It would be better than wounded and understanding. Thunder grumbles above them and Rory stares down at his feet. I hate this; I want to go ho-

“So, why were you shouting at prostitutes?”

Rory’s eyes widen and his cheeks burn. “I wasn’t,” he says even though they both know that’s a lie. Gale smirks in that evil way he’s perfected and Rory has to consciously fight the urge to run away.

“Really? Cause that’s not what I heard.”

“Shut up.”

“I don’t think so; this is definitely a story I want to hear.”

“I hate you.”

“Uh huh. So why, and also what, were you shouting?”

The rain comes then, pouring down in sheets over their heads and Rory takes the opportunity to flee. Gale runs after him with a laugh. They fly down the streets as lightning crackles overhead and Gale has clearly forgiven him his awful slip of the tongue.

Rory’s glad.

(except maybe he isn’t)

Katniss hesitates before their bedroom door.

The hall is thankfully empty and Katniss stands there, her palms growing sweaty. She knows what she has to do, she knows how important it is and yet still she hovers, not quite able to open the door and walk inside. This is ridiculous. You have fought and won wars, this cannot be what beats you. Even with those strong words, Katniss continues to hesitate. She does not feel like a queen or a knight, she feels silly and shy and so nervous she may vomit.

If you don’t do this, Gale will. Is that what you want?

That horrifying thought gives her strength if not courage and she grabs hold of the door handle. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and opens the door. The knots in her stomach seem to dance as she steps into their room, her skin growing uncomfortably hot as her gaze finds Peeta. He is sitting at the little desk by the window and writing diligently as candlelight bathes him in gold. She shuts the door without looking away and his head pops up, his blue eyes meeting her gray. For a moment, she forgets how to speak. Peeta drops her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, “if I made you uncomfortable.”

She lurches forward. “No! You didn’t. I’m...I’m sorry I ran away.”

He meets her eyes again, his expression cautious, and she swallows. Her hands itch to fidget and she grits her teeth and forces them to remain still. Stay strong, you can do this.

“I do not want an annulment,” she announces as firmly as she’s able and surprise washes over Peeta’s face. He stares at her and something furious begins in her chest. Katniss does her best to ignore it.

“Oh,” he says softly and nods slowly. He bites his lip. “I do not want an annulment either.” Katniss feels that thing in her chest grow more frantic. She takes an unsteady step closer to him.

“Good. I’m...I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she says and Peeta nods again. He licks his bottom lip and Katniss watches, though she’s not sure why. She inches closer. Peeta clears his throat.

“I’ve been writing letters to prominent lords and merchants here; anyone with money or influence who might help us,” he says and looks down at his papers. Katniss continues to creep nearer.

“That’s...that’s clever,” she says in a frustratingly wobbly voice.

“It’s all I can think to do if my parents are going to remain obstinate. You do the war, I do the negotiating, that was the deal. I need to uphold my end.”

“You will,” she says and this is it. You’ve won wars; you can ask your husband to do his husbandly duty. “But there is something else we both need to do.”

The words come in such a breathless rush they are nearly slurred and she puts a shaking hand on his shoulder. He jumps at her touch and Katniss starts to pull back in embarrassment, but before she can, Peeta covers her hand with his. His is warm, or at least, he always makes her feel warm. He lets out a shuddery breath. “And what...what is that?”

Katniss wishes she had a glass of water. “We must...” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “We must provide England with an heir.” There. I said it. Peeta’s fingers tighten around hers.

“Are you sure?” he asks but does not look at her. Katniss nods.

“Yes. It is our duty.”

“Our duty. Yes...yes, our duty,” he mumbles as his hand falls from hers. Katniss blinks in confusion and he stands. He walks to the bed and her hand slides from his shoulder, her stomach turning over.

“I’m...I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” Peeta says and fiddles with the edge of the bedspread. Katniss frowns.

“Why not? England needs an heir, as do I.”

“I know,” he says, still without looking at her. “I just don’t think now is the best time. If I do manage to gain enough support for an invasion, you must lead it. You are our most talented warrior and our figure head; we cannot do it without you. But if you are with child, especially England’s heir, you cannot fight.”

Katniss feels his logic settle over her and he’s right. She cannot lead her men while swollen with child. Relief washes over her, but under that is something else, something she can’t quite name. She’d say disappointment, but it can’t be that. She shakes her head and focuses on the relief.

“Oh, oh yes you’re right. I hadn’t, I didn’t think of that.”

Peeta peeks up at her through fine lashes and she feels oddly tingly. And then Gale’s angry voice intrudes in her mind. You need to consummate this marriage! We need an heir! Katniss chews on her lip.

“Alright, I guess um...as soon as England’s ours again, we...” She cannot finish and Peeta nods.

“Yes, as soon as.”

There is nothing more to say and Katniss almost wishes there was. She leans back against his empty chair while Peeta continues to play with the bed covers and someone needs to break this heavy, unbearable silence. She feels hot, unpleasantly so and the longer this quiet drags on, the more embarrassed she feels. She cannot think of anything to say, but thankfully Peeta does. He always knows just what to say.

“Well, it’s getting late. We should probably turn in.”

Katniss nods gratefully. She is more than happy to move, to do something and to put this conversation behind them. He is standing by her side of the bed and her elbow grazes his stomach as she brushes by him on the way to fetch her nightgown. The contact causes words to suddenly come pouring out of him.

“I can sleep somewhere else, if you’d rather,” he blurts and she looks at him in surprise. He is staring at the floor, his cheeks a pretty pink and she means to say something reasonable, but instead

“No!” she nearly shouts and burns from her hair to her toes. Peeta looks up at her and she burns worse at his wide eyed shock. This time it is her turn to stare at the floor and she focuses on her boots as she clears her throat.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” she mumbles and by staring at her feet she notices his shuffling.

“I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” he says and sounds as flustered as she feels.

“I wouldn’t. I...I sleep better when you’re here,” she confesses and is fairly certain she’s about to die of mortification. She closes her eyes and knots her fingers so tightly it hurts.

“Oh,” Peeta breathes, his voice soft with wonder, and Katniss chances a look at him. His lips are parted, his cheeks a dark, dusty pink and his eyes wide and so very, very blue. A sudden horrible thought occurs to her.

“Unless you’d rather sleep somewhere else, in which case you definitely should,” she hurries out, her words almost tripping over each other. She cringes and can’t look at him.

“I don’t,” he says very softly. “I...I sleep better with you too.” She is winded by the blow of those words and for a moment her tongue is incapable of forming a single word. Finally, she manages a very strained “Okay.”

She cannot come up with anything else and again, silence fills their room. She does not know why his words have landed so heavily, after all, had she not admitted the same thing? And yet she feels warm all over, her chest feels very unsettled and the world itself seems to have tipped just slightly sideways. Everything is exactly the same except not and she can’t even explain why. Peeta takes a deep breath and moves away from her, walking over to his side of the bed. He gathers up his bedclothes and she does the same, her fingers curling in the cool material of her nightgown. They stand in opposite corners and almost as one, they turn to stare at their respective walls. She fumbles with her laces, her fingers unusually clumsy, and she is more aware than ever of him undressing just across the bed from her. Her skin seems to heat further and something truly unwelcome begins in her stomach, but she pushes it down.

She crawls beneath the covers and Peeta slides in a moment later, the tension between them thick like a castle wall. She bites her lip. Nervous energy makes her left leg shake and Peeta fidgets his fingers beneath the covers, plucking and pulling at his nightgown. They cannot stay like this and because she has always been better with actions, she scoots a small bit closer to him. Peeta has the same idea and they knock shoulders, the two of them freezing. Her eyes slide to the right and his to the left and their gazes meet. An almost grin touches his mouth and she can feel it touching hers as well. He laughs and she shakes her head. He opens his arms, his grin wider still, and Katniss moves into them without hesitation. Her body melts into his even as sparks sizzle in her brain and she closes her eyes as she feels him relax.

Alright, you did it. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but you did it. It’s-

Oh no

I have to tell Gale

Rory glowers at his ceiling.

He cannot sleep, even though it is a cloudy, rainy night with little light and even though the sound of rainfall has always lulled him to sleep before. He is tense with folded arms as he lies in bed, the night’s events pressing down on him. He does not understand why he is so moody, why he is dealing so much worse with this than everyone else. He keeps seeing the look on Gale’s face and hates himself. Why did I say that? Why did I have to push so hard?

I’m an arse, a total, total arse.

Strangely, it bothers him nearly as much that Gale forgave him so easily. A normal person would be angry, wouldn’t they? Rory knows he would be and it just makes him feel like an even bigger arse that Gale is so...so saintly. Why can’t he be normal instead of towering over Rory like he’s an ant? He feels resentment in his gut but he doesn’t want to resent his brother, so he forcefully pushes all thought of Gale from his mind. Unfortunately, that leaves him free to think of Philippa. Specifically, Thom’s stupid words about Philippa.

Have you kissed the fair maid yet?

Rory does not want to think of Philippa and certainly not about kissing her, but the poisonous thought lingers. Now that Thom has brought it up, Rory cannot curb his imagination. He remembers men holding women in the tavern but sees now himself holding Philippa, her glossy dark hair flowing down her back. Ice blue eyes look at him in the same sultry way as the women in the tavern had, but this time he feels no alarm. Philippa touches his face with soft fingertips and he looks at her pink lips-

NO.

Rory rolls over and presses his face into his pillow in frustration. Why is this happening? She’s Philippa! Terrible, annoying, obnoxious Philippa! He hates her! Alright, perhaps not hate. But certainly strongly dislikes! Yes, she may be the only one who understands how he feels about Haymitch and yes it is nice that he never has to guard his tongue around her, but that isn’t because he likes her! It’s because he doesn’t. He doesn’t care what she thinks of him, which is why he can be himself without worry. Yes, that’s exactly it. And even if he can admit that she has the occasional admirable trait (courage, incredible horsemanship, wit, loyalty), they most certainly do not cancel out her many negative traits (stubbornness, a violently sharp tongue, being a generally magnificent pain in the arse). She might not be hideous, but then most people aren’t. He does not want to kiss her, he does not enjoy how soft and warm her fingers are when they touch him and it’s a good thing too, for she’d mock him mercilessly if he did. No, he doesn’t like her, he isn’t attracted to her and everything is Thom’s fault. He’d brought this awfulness up, he’d put the horrid thought in Rory’s head and it is entirely his fault that Rory is thinking and feelings things about Philippa.

You are too good a person to waste your sorrow on a man like Haymitch

The memory comes uninvited and Rory cannot help recalling how warm he’d felt in that moment, how strangely close he’d felt to Philippa. He can feel too the pressure of her hand squeezing his arm in solidarity, in comfort and damn it, Thom! Rory pushes his face deeper into his pillow and because no one is there to hear him, he lets loose a string of whispered curses his mother would surely box his ears for. It helps a little. He sighs and tries to settle into sleep. Everything is fine, he tells himself, just forget about Thom’s stupid wrongness and clear your mind.

Philippa moves her hands to his face, her fingers soft on his cheeks.

“Then burn Rory. And know I shall burn with you.”

“Damn it, Thom!”

The next morning Gale takes one look at her and knows.

“Damn it Katniss,” he swears and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. Katniss scowls at him. “You know how important this is!”

“Yes, I do,” she snaps and crosses her arms over her chest. He glares at her.

“And yet?”

“We talked about it,” she says and hates the odd pitch of her voice, “and we decided it’d be wiser to wait.” Gale flaps his arms.

“How could it be wiser to wait?!” he demands in much too loud a voice. Katniss winces and gestures at him to quiet down.

“Shhhh,” she hisses. “Do you want everyone to know?”

Gale inhales sharply and exhales with a rumbly roar in his chest. His cheeks are stained with his aggravation but when he speaks again, his voice is somewhat more reasonable. “So? How did you two come to this terrible conclusion?”

“Our end goal is to retake England. I can’t lead an army if I’m several months pregnant, can I?”

Gale’s left eye twitches but she can tell by the clenching and unclenching of his jaw that he knows she’s right. She tries not to look too smug.

“Fine,” he bites out, “but as soon as we’ve won-”

“I know,” she interrupts. “As soon as.”

He glowers for a few moments more and then shakes his head. “This is fucking ridiculous,” he curses under his breath and Katniss grimaces.

“At least it isn’t your sex life everything is riding on,” she mutters and Gale sends her the stink eye.

“If it was, we wouldn’t be having this problem.”

She sticks out her tongue. “Oh, sorry I’m not as loose as you are.”

“Sorry I’m not as much a prude as you are,” he retorts and they glare at each other. Katniss feels her mouth twitch; Gale rolls his eyes and grins.

“Come on, you can beat me at archery. I know you want to,” he says and she laughs.

“I do, and I will.”

Gale shoves her and she laughs again, shoving him back.

May 1471 Beaulieu Abbey

Lady Margaret is feeling somewhat better today, well enough that she is sitting up in bed at least, and Annie sits at her bedside and reads to her. It is a fine spring day and the sunlight spilling through the window gives Lady Margaret’s cheeks the illusion of colour. She is buried under blankets but still looks cold and Annie wonders if the monks might let her start a fire. And for supper, perhaps, she’ll ask for hot soup. Anything to make Lady Margaret feel better.

“You have a lovely voice for reading,” Lady Margaret says in a thin, reedy voice and Annie blushes. She looks down in embarrassment.

“Oh...oh, thank y-”

She is cut off by the clatter of hooves outside and several voices shouting. Her eyes widen and she is up in a moment. Annie races to the window, grabs the edge and sticks her head out.

Her heart stops.

December 1470 Burgundy

Katniss stares at a stone across the room with a strange stain on it, her eyes starting to glaze over. She can’t be sure from so far away what that stain is and she doesn’t really care, she just needs something to hold her attention. Her father-in-law Duke Charles is giving a particularly long winded speech (as is his habit) and Katniss has to keep from slumping in her seat. It is a struggle. The Duke’s words flow over her in a steady but very dull hum and the puzzling stain is her only hope. Sadly, it’s not a great one. Peeta sits beside her, his face frozen in polite interest. She can only guess what he’s thinking of, but she knows it isn’t whatever Duke Charles is saying. Peeta’s brother Philip peers up at the ceiling and periodically releases a sigh, which earns a hostile glare from his mother. Katniss can sympathize but she is already on thin ice with Duchess Jeanne; she cannot afford to let her own boredom show. But really, how long can this go on?

Her thoughts start to wander which is dangerous if she wants to appear alert, so she drags her focus to Peeta’s eldest brother. Another Charles, he is sixteen years older than Peeta and sits sloppily in his seat with his head hanging. He lets out a snuffly sound and Katniss blinks. He is sleeping, actually sleeping, and Katniss is so envious she might be turning green. Duchess Jeanne is red faced as she glowers at him, but as he is asleep, he is blissfully unaware. His thirteen year old daughter Mary sits stiffly beside him, her shoulders tense and her lips pursed. Her eyes bounce between her father, who seems on the verge of snoring, and her grandmother, who seems moments away from committing murder. Katniss can feel Mary’s embarrassment even from across the room.

Katniss continues to stare and quite against her will, she feels melancholy assault her. As surrounded by family as she is, she cannot help but miss her own. How are you Prim? Has Coriolanus done something to you? I’m sorry, I’m sorry, forgive me. I should not have left you; I should not have made so many costly mistakes.

Katniss misses her sister so terribly and fears for her even worse. Coriolanus is a cruel, vindictive man; there is no telling what he might do to Prim. If he cannot get at Katniss, he might vent his anger on her sister. Or maybe he will try to use her to lure Katniss back to England. He might lock her up, hurt her, maybe even threaten to have her killed just to force Katniss to return.

(it would work)

Oh Prim, oh Prim. I was so determined not to send you away, but maybe I should have. At least then you wouldn’t have to pay for my mistakes.

Katniss is still steeped in melancholy when they reach their room and she moves to the window. Somewhere in that distance is Prim and home. Someday she will return, she has to.

“Well that was painful, wasn’t it?” Peeta asks from behind her. Katniss bites her lip and turns towards him.

“Not at all,” she says because it is the polite thing to do. Peeta snorts and sits on the edge of the bed.

“It was endless and unnecessarily so. Do you remember anything he said?”

Katniss tries to, she really does, but there is nothing but the dull hum of Duke Charles’ voice in her memory. She grimaces but Peeta grins. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I remember it all and he definitely didn’t need to go on as long as he did.”

Katniss starts to smile but stops herself. Even as Peeta grins, it feels wrong to laugh at his father. She knots her fingers. “I’m sure he thought it was all very important,” she offers and Peeta nods with a fond grin.

“Oh I know he did. He’s always been very...deliberate in his word choice. Did you notice my brother Charles actually sleeping through it?” Katniss nods and cannot stop herself from grinning this time. Peeta shakes his head with a laugh.

“I think my mother was trying to burn him alive with her mind. When they call him ‘Charles the Bold’, I think that’s why,” he says and Katniss snorts. Peeta’s grin widens. He just looks at her for a moment and she’s sure she’s starting to blush. She clears her throat.

“So is there anything I need to know about what he said?” she asks and Peeta pretends to think about it.

“I don’t know, are you planning on becoming a fisherman?”

Katniss taps her chin in thought. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, well, no then. I think you’re good.”

“Was he really talking about fishermen for all that time?” she asks and can’t quite believe it. He’d gone on for hours. Peeta nods. “Somehow, yes. I’m actually kind of impressed.”

Katniss laughs fully this time and soon Peeta joins her. The comical scene of Duke Charles droning on and on about fish while his son snores and his wife breathes fire fills her up and she laughs and laughs, they both do.

She cannot remember the last time she’d really laughed, everything has been so dark.

It feels good.

(and it is only later that she realizes she’d forgotten all about her melancholy, all her troubled thoughts briefly tucked away)

(only Prim and Gale have ever managed to banish her misery like that)

(now it appears Peeta can too)

Rory is bored.

To be fair, he is bored most days in Burgundy. He is lying on his floor with his feet up on his bed and tossing a ball he’d made from scraps of leather. Up in the air and then catch, up in the air, catch. It isn’t exactly thrilling. Oh sure, he could be doing something else, but he’s already done those and he just can’t anymore. He must be the best archer in Europe with all the practice he’s got in, he’s ridden around the castle more times than he could ever want to count and his swordsmanship has improved by leaps and bounds. He’s spent too many hours flipping through boring manuscripts in the library and he’s explored every nook and cranny of the grounds. He’s even snuck into town and spent what limited funds he has on silly trinkets to bring home for his family. There isn’t anything else to do and no one to do it with even if there was. And that’s the real problem. He wouldn’t mind doing all the same things again if he could do them with someone else, but there is no one. Katniss and Gale are always busy, he has no friends here and he’s not even sure how he’d make friends if he ever found someone, because he’s never needed to. Until Katniss became queen, he’d only ever seen family and even after she’d become queen, he’d still only really seen family. And he is used to a full house too, to siblings and cousins and in-laws and even a wife. There is always someone around, even when you wish there wasn’t, and he cannot stand his new loneliness.

It is December, he has been here for two months and he is surely going mad.

“What are you doing?” Gale asks and Rory sits up. Gale is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded and eyebrow up and Rory tosses his ball at him. Gale catches it easily.

“Nothing,” Rory says truthfully and feels himself sag. What he wouldn’t give to go home…

“Well, you big slug, how about a ride?’

“With you?”

“No, with the Count of Charolais,” Gale says and Rory rolls his eyes. “I need a break from listening to Duke Charles ramble on about nothing. I was so bored it’s a miracle I didn’t fall asleep. And it’s not as if they need me anyway, all I do is try very hard to keep myself from glaring holes in Duchess Jeanne’s head.”

“And how’s that going?” Rory asks with a grin and pushes himself up to his feet.

“Ehhhhh…”

Rory laughs and dodges his ball as Gale launches it at his head. He shoves his brother out into the hall and already, he feels as if he is flying.

He is not meant to be alone.

The sky is a gray smear overhead as Rory pounds through the woods, his horse surging through the trees. He laughs to the wind and tugs the reins as he reaches a large oak tree in the center of the path.

“Victory!” he declares and twists around to look at Gale, who feigns a look of surprise.

“I wasn’t aware we were racing,” he says and Rory rolls his eyes.

“You’re only saying that now cause you lost.”

Gale opens his mouth but he is interrupted before he can get out a word. “Sir Gale!”

He and Rory both turn to see a group of well dressed men cantering over, their every item of clothing glittery with gems. Rory frowns and does not recognize any of them, but by the way Gale’s shoulders stiffen, he obviously does. They are all dressed in sable cloaks and velvet caps, and whoever these men are, they must be very wealthy. Gale inclines his head.

“Lord Robert, how nice to see you,” he says and Rory tries not to make a face at how insincere he sounds. Lord Robert appears not to notice.

“A lovely day for a ride is it not?” he asks and Gale nods.

“Indeed,” he says and Rory wonders if he’s aware of how much he sounds like a plank of wood. “And this is my brother Sir Rory, Marquess of Dorset.” Rory inclines his own head and smiles in greeting and though he’s behind Gale and can’t see his expression, he is sure his own is far more natural than whatever Gale’s managed. Lord Robert and his compatriots exchange confused looks.

“A marquess? Is that not a step above an earl?”

“Technically, yes,” Gale begins and then Lord Robert is talking again.

“So how is your younger brother a marquess while you are only an earl?”

Gale leans back in his saddle and doesn’t answer, though Rory doesn’t blame him. What exactly is he meant to say? If he mentions how Earl of Salisbury was an inherited title while Marquess of Dorset was gifted to Rory by Katniss, they will want to know why Rory was given higher honour than Gale. Isn’t Gale Katniss’ right hand? Isn’t Gale the renowned knight and champion of Yorkists hopes? Is that a lie? Or is Katniss an ungrateful and rather foolish ally to have? He won’t want to insult Rory either, by suggesting that it is a meaningless title or that Rory only earned it by being of the Queen’s blood. There is one other explanation, that Gale was going to marry Madge Undersee and become Duke of Bedford and one day Duke of Clarence, but he doubts Gale will use it. Madge is not a topic to be discussed with acquaintances. Rory decides he will have to come to the rescue.

“It’s because I’m much better than him at everything,” he says loftily and the group of Burgundians guffaw. They are laughing at him, rather than with him and it stings, but he cannot let it show. He continues to grin as the mocking laughter continues.

“Is that so?” another man asks, the long feather from his hat wilting down to his chin. Rory nods.

“Of course. Shall I demonstrate?”

“Rory-”

Rory ignores Gale’s warning tone and snaps his reins, his horse already charging into the trees. Gale is a shining star, one who burns so bright Rory has always been eclipsed. Is it really so hard to believe he might best Gale in something? Anything? He is a good horseman, he always has been, and he handles Chanceuse with confident hands. The horse twists along the narrowing path with ease and Rory feels his heart pound, his blood hum and he is not just a less impressive version of Gale. He is Ror-

There is a snake in the path, Chanceuse slams to a stop and Rory has a second to think oh shit.

And then he is flying.

He lands side first in a thorny bush and crunches through branches until he thuds to the ground. He lies there for a moment, his clothes caught and his right leg tangled up at an awkward angle, and takes a moment to breathe. His heart beats so hard in his chest it feels as if it may rupture.

“Rory!” Gale shouts in panic and Rory forces himself to sit up. There is a great snapping of branches as he moves and he throbs in most places, but he doesn’t think anything’s broken. Except his pride of course. Gale charges over with wild eyes and the rich men come riding slowly after. Gale leaps off his horse before it’s even stopped moving and hurries to Rory’s side.

“Jesus Rory! Are you alright?” Rory winces and wishes he could dissolve into the earth and disappear.

“I’m fine,” he mutters and almost wishes he’d been knocked out so as to avoid facing this humiliation. Lord Robert stops his horse and leans forward with a condescending smile.

“Quite the impressive display,” he says and all the men laugh. Rory is set aflame with shame. Another man, one Rory never wants to know the name of, calls out between chortles “I suppose titles in England are not given out on merit!” More laughter follows, more ridicule and Gale glares.

“He is an excellent rider,” he defends hotly, “something must have spooked the horse.”

“Such a loyal brother,” someone says in genuine admiration and Rory is so humiliated he wants to die. He had tried to show off, tried to snatch a bit of glory for himself, just once, and instead he had made a complete fool of himself. They’d known from the moment they’d seen him that he would not, could not, measure up to Gale and they were right. He is not Gale, he will never be Gale.

“Forgive us, Sir Gale. We meant no offence,” Lord Robert says and Gale tightens his jaw. These men, they must be potential supporters, so Gale cannot afford to offend them. He nods curtly and pulls Rory to his feet.

“Does the young lad need a physician?” someone asks and Rory cannot look any of them in the eye.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles and wonders if Gale is ashamed of him. His brother is good at everything and everyone sings his praises; Rory knows he is nothing in comparison to that. He is not the hero Vick and Posy look up to, he is not the husband Philippa dreamed of and he is no champion that will rescue England.

He is nothing but the shadow trailing in Gale’s wake.

Rory lies in bed and stares into the darkness.

He feel sick thinking of today and he knows he shouldn’t be surprised at what happened. Gale has always been his hero, his inspiration and even if he’d dreamed of the day he might stand taller than his brother, deep down he’s always known he wouldn’t. Gale is the hero; Gale is the pride of the Hawthornes. Rory isn’t. He will never be as handsome, as brave, as cunning, as talented. He will never be good enough.

It is time he accepted that.

May 1471 London

Prim looks out her window at London as it goes about its day and how strange that everything here looks so normal when she knows somewhere in the distance a battle is raging that will determine the fate of England.

Oh Katniss, please win, please please win

Her beautiful baby, only a week old, snuffles in her arms and Prim smiles down at him. Her son is the sweetest, loveliest baby in the world and Prim feels tears burn her eyes as she kisses his smooth little forehead.

“We’ll be okay, I promise. We’ll be safe; somehow I’ll keep you safe.”

January 1471 Burgundy

It is a brand new year and as much as Katniss wants to deny it, she knows they are no closer to returning home. It is so frustrating she could scream, but she is not the only one. Gale, so like her in so many ways, is just as angry. They spend more time than they probably should stewing in that anger.

“I just don’t understand,” he growls after yet another talk with Peeta’s parents that was as useful as slamming her head against a stone wall. “Do they not remember the terms of your marriage treaty?”

Katniss cannot answer, for she is just as confused. Her marriage to Peeta was supposed to guarantee aid in the event of a Lancastrian restoration and yet her in-laws continue to waffle. It is infuriating. She throws herself down onto a bench and crosses her arms. Gale continues to pace and pace and pace. Katniss watches him and there is a solution niggling at the back of her mind, one that turns her stomach for reasons she can’t explain. She isn’t sure she wants to say it, but her duty is to England. It must always be to England.

“Peeta...Peeta offered me an annulment,” she whispers and Gale stops his pacing so abruptly he nearly trips over his own feet. He turns to her with wide eyes. She keeps talking even as she feels sicker with every word. “He thinks I should marry someone else, someone who can be of more help.”

Gale gapes at her and she squirms. “Damn,” he breathes and shakes his head. Katniss frowns.

“Do you...do you think I should?” she asks and is so frightened of his answer she wants to suck the question back down her throat. But why? Why does she care so much?

“No,” Gale finally says after a painfully long moment of contemplation. “I can’t think of anyone better off the top of my head and Peeta’s more than just an alliance with Burgundy. You need a husband who won’t try to usurp your power and won’t protest you leading us in battle. And we need someone good with negotiations. As much as I want to wallop his parents, he’s exactly what we need.”

Katniss nods, reassured. Not, admittedly, that she knows exactly why.

“And, I mean, he’s also stupid in love with you. How many queens can say that about their husbands?”

Katniss stares at him. “What?”

Gale blinks at her. “What?”

“What did you just say?” she asks and hears her voice shake. Gale frowns.

“That Peeta loves you and that’s lucky because most queens can’t say the same?”

Katniss burns. “That isn’t...he doesn’t,” she struggles to get out and Gale’s eyes widen.

“You can’t be serious. Are you really telling me you haven’t noticed? He isn’t exactly subtle.”

She feels as if she’s leapt directly into a fire. She shakes her head and stands, every part of her quivering. “You’re wrong, he...he doesn’t. I...I have to go.”

“Katniss,” Gale calls but she is already running away. Her heart is pounding, her skin is so hot she could be a furnace and Gale can’t be right. Peeta doesn’t...he doesn’t.

Does he?

Small white snowflakes swirl past his window and Rory barely feels the chill as he stares out into the night. His room is dark and his breath fogs up the glass as he breathes, but he cannot be bothered to light a candle or to pull a blanket around himself. He feels heavy, tired and his mind sinks deep into memories of happier winters spent before the world came crashing down around them.

The whole family used to gather around the fire on nights like tonight and his mother would regale them with fantastical stories of snow fairies and winter pixies. Rory and his siblings would listen in awe as they gorged on warm pie and snuggled together under mountains of furs and blankets, believing every word that came from their mother’s lips. Rory manages a faint smile now, his chest aching with a familiar throb.

Will I ever see you again? Mum, Posy, Vick?

In the daylight hours they’d roll in the snow, squeal as they slid down the sliding hills their father would build and construct massive forts from which they’d wage war. Vick and Rory always against Posy and Gale with their father as judge; they’d spend endless hours laughing and besieging each other’s walls. Posy and Gale always won (because they always cheated) and Rory would throw a tantrum every time, because he was nothing if not a sore loser. I wish I could go back there, it doesn’t matter if I always lose. At least we were all together; at least there wasn’t this bloody war.

Katniss, Prim and their parents would sometimes come to visit and everyone would argue about teams, but not when Marvel came to visit. No one wanted to be bossed around by him. Thom would always be on Gale’s team if he was there and Haymitch would offer them pointers from the sidelines. When the sun started to wane his mum and Haymitch’s wife Helen would come to coax them inside with hot drinks and promises of sweets, and they’d tumble in covered in snow and shivering from head to toe. Rory can remember his father’s warm laughter, his mother’s easy smile and Haymitch’s bright eyes and feels suddenly sick.

He has tainted all my memories.

I wish I’d never met him

“Can I come in?” comes Gale’s soft voice from somewhere behind him and Rory nods absently. He wants painfully to be young again, happy and with his father alive and no wretched betrayals tearing him to pieces.

You’ve ruined everything Haymitch

I hate you

Gale sits beside him and Rory hates that he can feel tears stinging his eyes. He hopes Gale doesn’t notice.

“What are you doing sitting here in the dark?”

Rory sighs. “Thinking,” he says and wants to throw himself in Gale’s arms at the same time he wants to shove his brother out into the hall.

“Thinking about what?” Gale asks and Rory blows out a breath. Sorrow rises in him like a wave and he shrugs.

“Just…winter. Winter back home before…before Dad…” He cannot finish his sentence and hates the way his throat seems to close around the words. Those stupid tears threaten him again and he clenches his hands in his lap. I hate this, I hate feeling like this. Gale’s arm curls over Rory’s shoulders and they stare at the snow fluttering outside, words forcing their way up Rory’s throat and out of his mouth without him being able to stop them.

“We’d sit by the fire and eat warm pie while Mum told all those stories about snow pixies and winter fairies,” he says and sees the scene again so clearly it could be happening right in front of him. “Dad would build us sliding hills outside and we’d have snow forts and wars, always me and Vick versus you and Posy.”

He can almost feel his father’s hand ruffling his hair, hears his voice as he says “Come now Rory, a great knight doesn’t stomp his feet in defeat! Where’s my gallant boy?”

“And we always won,” Gale says softly and Rory blinks the moisture from his eyes. Gale bumps his shoulder and Rory is a little boy again, whinging to his mum about what a meanie Gale is.

“Is he really so bad, darling?”

“He’s a cheater Mummy, a big, mean cheater!”

“Only because you cheated. You and Posy were the worst,” he says and feels the ghost of a smile touch his lips. God, he used to get so angry back then but all he wants to do now is travel back to those days. Gale shoves him.

“I never cheat!” he says with a laugh and Rory snorts.

“Hah! You always cheat,” he corrects and feels the smile drop from his mouth. “We’ll never do that again, will we? Even if we do go home, we’ll never have those winters again. I know it’s been years since Dad, but still, being here, it really hit me,” he says and hates how empty he feels. I just want to go home.

“We will,” Gale says firmly and wraps an arm around Rory. Rory looks at his brother with a frown and Gale’s jaw is set, his eyes resolute.

“What?”

“Next winter, we’ll be home again and we’ll sit by the fire and eat pie and listen to all of Mum’s stories. I’ll build the sliding hills and we’ll still have our wars, though we’ll have to let Philippa and Petronella join in, they are Hawthornes now after all.” Gale is trying very hard to sound confident but sounds desperate instead, the same aching desperation Rory can feel throbbing in his chest. He stares at his brother and feels the most delicate strength start to build in his bones. Gale is just as homesick and miserable as I am. He wants to be strong for me, but he’s terrified. Maybe, this time, he needs me to be the hero.

“Alright,” Rory finds himself saying, “but we get Philippa.” He says it without really thinking and Gale smirks, his eyebrows shooting straight up.

“You want her on your team? Well, well-”

“Shut up,” Rory interrupts and hates that he’s blushing. Hopefully Gale doesn’t notice. “It’s only because Nella’s too nice to be much use in a fight. If I’m going to war, Philippa’s definitely the better choice.”

It’s true too; Philippa could probably take on the whole world if she wanted. Gale thinks about it for a moment and nods.

“Yeah, alright, point.”

Rory keeps talking, determined now to drag Gale from his melancholy. It’s my turn to save you. “Since I’m such a good sport, I’ll take Henry,” he says and Gale frowns.

“But then the teams won’t be even.”

Rory bites his lip. “No, I mean, Madge’ll be part of the family by then, right?” he asks and peeks up at his brother. Gale blinks in surprise before smiling more genuinely than he has in months. He gives Rory a squeeze.

“Right.”

“And she’ll be way more useful then Henry, he’s way too easily distracted,” Rory continues, feeling his spirits rise as he pulls up Gale’s. “Even though you’re a notorious cheater, I am committed to fair play. Since I get Philippa, you can have Madge.”

Gale gasps in offense but ruins it by smiling anyway. “Oh, I see. That’s how it is, is it?” he asks and drags Rory over so he can mess up his hair. Rory laughs and tries to swat him away.

“That is how it is! If Vick were here he’d say the same thing, you and Posy always cheat!” he says and wiggles out of Gale’s grip. Sudden inspiration hits him and he hurries over to the bed. He grabs the nearest pillow and he can tell by the grin on Gale’s face that his brother knows what’s coming. Gale leaps to his feet and points an accusing finger over at Rory.

“Scoundrel!” he declares and Rory hurls his pillow across the room. Gale catches it of course, but Rory isn’t deterred and snatches up another from the bed.

“I’m not afraid of you, cheater!” he says grandly and winds up to give Gale a good whack. He aims low while Gale aims high and both of them strike true. Gale wheezes as Rory gets him in the stomach and Rory reels back from a hit to the face. He cackles at his winded brother and Gale grins, the shadow he’s so used to feeling receding, at least for now.

Maybe...maybe I’m not so useless after all

Peeta munches on cheese while Katniss stares at him. He acts as if he hasn’t noticed, but she is sure he has. She has been unable to stop staring ever since Gale had said those words; Peeta loves you. She’s not really sure what she’s looking for, but she cannot look away. Does he love her? Is that even possible?

“Do you know, my brother Philip gets terribly ill when he eats too much cheese,” Peeta says and Katniss knows she should say something in return.

“Awful,” she bleats and wants to slap herself. Gale’s words have made her an idiot.

“It really is,” Peeta agrees with a nod. “I’m quite fond of cheese.”

“Me...me too,” she manages and Peeta sets down his cheese and looks at her.

“Is there something on my face?”

She shakes her head quickly and drops her gaze. “No! No...I...”

“It’s alright. I’d rather find out now than go wandering about with it stuck there,” he says and Katniss wants to crawl into the floor and disappear.

“No, no,” she mumbles. “I was just lost in thought. You’re...fine.”

“Oh...alright,” he says and she can hear the question in his voice. Are you alright? Is there anything I can do? She wishes he weren’t so kind, so caring. She wants to answer but she can’t. She is afraid and she cannot figure out why.

Peeta loves you

She should just ask him but she won’t. She closes her eyes and allows the silence to stretch between them. Prim had always said Katniss was the bravest person she knew, but that is obviously not true.

Courage has abandoned her.

The sun is bright overhead as Rory stands at the archery field, his hands quivering with anticipation. He runs his fingers over his new bow from Katniss, the wood smooth against his skin. It is mild for January and Rory taps his foot in impatience.

Come on Gale, what’s taking so long?

Rory looks over his shoulder in the direction of the castle, but Gale is still nowhere to be seen. It had been Gale’s idea to come out here to shoot and Rory can’t help being excited. He’s missed spending time with Gale and he is sorry for being so moody lately.

He looks over his shoulder again. Where are you?

Gale is twenty minutes late.

Waiting, alone, at the archery field drains Rory of his excitement and when his brother finally does appear, it takes more effort than it should to push off the ground and stand. Rory is ready to say something biting but the words die on his tongue. Gale is not alone. Katniss is with him and Thom, and a whole pack of men in fancy cloaks and hats Rory doesn’t recognize. He sinks like a stone.

“Rory!” Gale says and lurches over. He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I’m late. We were in a meeting and we got-”

“I cannot wait to see you shoot your Majesty. I hear you’re quite skilled,” one man in black velvet fawns and Katniss offers a curt nod. Another man in a furred cloak reaches over and clamps a hand on Gale’s shoulder.

“I hear the Lord Gale is also quite good,” he says and Gale manages a tight smile. He and Katniss are both the same, neither one is very skilled at politicking. If Rory had been sinking before, he feels like he’s fallen through the earth now. His fingers tighten painfully around his bow.

“Look, I know this isn’t what we wanted, but Peeta thinks showing off Katniss’ skills will help us gain support,” Gale explains in a whisper. Rory doesn’t answer and Gale squeezes his arm.

“And hey, you love showing off, right?” Gale tries to joke. Rory doesn’t answer again and Gale wilts a bit. Rory doesn’t want that, but then, a part of him does.

“And who’s this then?” a man in a feathered hat demands and the gaggle of rich men finally takes notice of Rory. Gale turns to face them, his hand still firmly on Rory’s arm.

“The Marquess of Dorset,” comes a familiar mocking voice and Rory’s stomach curdles. Sir Robert detaches himself from the group and continues his introduction. “Sir Rory Hawthorne, Lord Salisbury’s younger brother.”

“A knight! And so young!” a man in a bejewelled cape exclaims, but it is not in admiration. His tone is patronizing and Rory feels his teeth grind together. Feathered cap notices Rory’s bow and smiles.

“I wonder Sir Rory, are you as talented as your brother?” Feathered hat guffaws a bit and the others join in, their twinkling eyes making it clear they know the answer is no. Lord Robert laughs the loudest and Rory had felt unpleasant before, but this, this feels like he’s been stomped on. He shakes his arm from Gale’s grip.

“I’m going to my room,” he says and Gale frowns.

“But we were going to shoot.”

“I don’t want to anymore,” Rory says and hates the look of confusion on Gale’s face.

“Look, I’m sorry I was late and I’m sorry about...all this, but-”

“I don’t care about that. I’m just not in the mood anymore,” Rory snaps and despises the childishly sullen tone of his own voice. Gale frowns deeper, concern evident in every inch of him. Rory cannot stomach the sight of it. He turns and, even though he doesn’t mean to, starts to stomp off. Gale grabs his shoulder.

“Rory-” he says and for a moment Rory feels as if he might explode.

“I said I don’t want to anymore!” he shouts and throws his bow to the ground. He stomps on it in frustration and Gale’s fingers tighten on his shoulder. Rory shoves away his hand. He is so angry he cannot stand it and he runs.

“Rory, wait!” Gale calls and rage burns in Rory like dragon fire.

“Leave me alone!” he bellows and feels furious, sad and humiliated. He runs and does not stop.

Rory collapses face first into his bed and screams into the mattress.

Why must everyone remind him of how inadequate he is? Why must he always be compared to Gale? Why does Gale have to be so fucking perfect?

“Rory?”

It is Gale’s voice from the other side of the door, wounded and worried and Rory wants to pull out his hair. Rory was an arse, why can’t Gale be angry with him? That would be better than this, the forgiving, hurt, concerned older brother. It is like everything Gale does and says is designed to make Rory feel even smaller and worse than he already does.

“Rory?” Gale calls again and Rory is furious, embarrassed and sorry all mixed together.

“Go away,” he says loudly even though he doubts Gale ever would.

“Whatever’s wrong, you know you can tell me,” Gale says softly and of course Rory knows that. He knows how good and caring Gale is, knows how much he loves all his siblings and the lengths he would got to for them.

Rory loves his brother, but he’s starting to think he might hate him too.

This time he doesn’t answer and merely buries his head beneath his pillow. He thinks Gale sits out there all night, but Rory doesn’t care.

(except of course he does)

There is a nightmarish hail storm outside so Katniss aimlessly wanders the palace halls. She spends her days showing off for potential backers but with such poor weather, she has nothing to do. And neither does Gale.

She stumbles upon him as she passes an empty room, his body hunched and his head in his hands. She pauses in the doorway and there is a part of her that wants to flee, because she has never been very good with emotions (well, unless it has to do with Prim). But this is Gale, the best friend she’s ever had, she will not abandon him. She squares her shoulders and knocks softly on the doorframe.

“Gale?”

He looks up at her and God, he looks awful, when was the last time he slept? His hair is messy as if he’s been running hands through it, there are bags under his eyes and even as he attempts to smile at her, she knows he’ll never manage. His eyes are dark and she closes the door behind her.

“Are you okay?” she asks and he opens his mouth only to close it. He sighs angrily.

“I’m useless,” he says and she frowns.

“No, you’re not,” she responds automatically. He glares at her.

“Aren’t I? My family languishes in England and I can do nothing to help them, England itself suffers under Coriolanus while I sit here doing nothing, Peeta negotiates while you attract backers, but what have I done for our cause? My brother hates me and is clearly miserable, but I only seem to make things worse and Madge is married to Cato,” he reels off and Katniss winces. She bites her lip.

“Am I useless?” she asks and he frowns.

“What?”

“Am I? I’m not much help with the negotiations; my family too is trapped in England. The country I swore by God to protect is in enemy hands and that is because I abandoned it to come here. If you wish to lay blame on someone, lay it on me.”

Gale glares at her for a long moment and then curses under his breath. “You’re not useless,” he grumbles and she settles down beside him.

“Then neither are you. Peeta is the negotiator, so of course he is most useful now. But once he succeeds, it will be our turn. We will go to battle and we will retake England and save our families.”

“I just...I just hate sitting here while they need me.”

“I know. Me too.”

“And Rory...it’s my job to take care of him and I’m doing an absolutely shit job. Everything I say or do just makes him angrier or more sullen. He needs me to be better but I’m not, and I don’t know how to be.”

Katniss understands how he feels; does she not feel just the same about Prim? She pats his hand and wishes she knew the perfect words to make him feel better.

“And I’m sick for Madge. I keep promising myself and her that I’ll rescue her, but every day I don’t is another day she suffers with Cato as a husband. I just wish...I just wish I knew how to help everyone,” he says softly and Katniss feels her chest ache.

“Me too,” she says again and they lapse into silence. Katniss stares at the tight lines of his face and knows she should do something, but what?

“So how are the negotiations faring?” Gale asks and she is glad for the change of subject. Neither one of them enjoys talk of feelings and she is grateful Gale has found them a way out.

“The same as always,” she says with a sigh. “The Duke does not say he will never help us but he does not say he will help us either. It is a whole lot of nothing.”

Gale snorts. “Haymitch was able to broker an alliance with his mortal enemies in less time than Peeta has been able to wring help from his parents.”

“He is doing all he can,” she snaps and Gale blinks at her in surprise.

“I know he is. I didn’t mean that as a slight against Peeta, but rather against his parents.” Katniss nods and feels her cheeks burn. She looks down at the floor. Gale is quiet for a moment and then

“Are you in love with him?”

Katniss hears sudden thunder in her ears and nearly chokes on air. She turns with wide eyes to Gale and he is staring at her intently, his expression serious. She opens her mouth but can find no words and she merely sits there with her jaw hanging. His gaze doesn’t waver and she burns so hot she must be spurting flames. She grist her teeth and drags up her voice, but the words she says are not the ones she’d meant to.

“What does it feel like?” she asks in a strange, small voice. Gale narrows his eyes.

“To be in love?” he asks and she nods. He looks up at the ceiling and sighs.

“It aches,” he says and she cringes at her own thoughtlessness. How could she ask such a thing of Gale?

“I’m sorry,” she begins but he shakes away her apology.

“But when it doesn’t it feels...it feels like...like looking at a night sky full of stars.” His voice is soft, his whole face is soft and Katniss is afraid to speak. “You know when you go out late late at night and you look up and all you can see for miles and miles and miles are stars?” She nods and he smiles faintly.

“It steals the breath right out of your lungs and you can’t look away, you don’t want to look away. It’s beautiful and humbling and it leaves you wonderstruck. You feel like you could stand there for the rest of your life and never get tired. And no matter what’s happening in your life, looking at that sky full of stars you feel...happy. It softens every edge and makes you feel lighter, braver. Anything’s possible. It makes the whole world seem better. I suppose...I suppose that’s what it feels like,” he says and Katniss is surprised to feel tears on her cheeks. Gale does not meet her eyes and she leans into him, wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace. She doesn’t know what to say, so she holds him instead and hopes he can find some comfort in that.

(he does)

As usual, Rory finds himself struggling to fall asleep.

He is tired, his eyes sting but no matter what he does or how hard he tries, all he ends up doing is tossing and turning. He punches his pillow into a new shape and drops his head onto it, but he has little hope. Most nights in Burgundy he barely sleeps. Perhaps that is one of the reasons he always feels so foul.

He knows he has been snappish and rude, especially with Gale, he is sorry for the way he’s been acting and he knows he should apologize, but at the same time, he is tired of being crushed under all of Gale’s achievements. Is it really so wrong to want to be measured on his own merits?

Is it really so wrong to want to be seen as Rory before being seen as Gale’s brother?

Katniss lies in bed and stares at the ceiling. Peeta sleeps soundly beside her, his gentle snoring usually a calming lullaby. But tonight she cannot sleep, Gale’s words echoing in her mind. Love is like a sky full of stars, Madge is Gale’s sky full of stars.

Is Peeta hers?

She rolls over to look at him and feels an itch in her fingers to touch his face. He looks younger in sleep and she stares at him, as if the answer to her question will appear on his skin. Moonlight turns his golden hair silver and she runs a finger along the curve of his jaw. She does not think to do it, but her fingers move of their own accord.

Do I love you?

Do you love me?

She isn’t sure how she is supposed to know. Gale seems to think they love each other and being in love as he is, his opinion may have its merits but...

Katniss rolls away from Peeta, her chest feeling uncomfortably tight. Does she even want to be in love? Gale had said it himself, it ached. She has enough grief already, does she really want more? And Peeta surely doesn’t love her, why would he? She is not beautiful, she is no proper lady, she is not a talented dancer or a stunning conversationalist. Those are the things her mother has always said are what a man searches for in a wife, and she has none. No, he cannot possibly love her and she...she has never thought of the night sky when she thinks of him.

That settles it then, she is not in love, he is not in love, no one is in love. And that’s a good thing; she does not need to fear heartbreak now.

Madge may be Gale’s sky full of stars but Peeta isn’t hers.

Rory sits on a low wall by the water's edge and tosses a stone into the iron gray waves. The wind is not fierce, just annoying enough to blow the ends of his hair into his eyes, and his stone skips once, twice, thrice through the water. He watches it sink and gropes around for another, his fingers catching on sharp edges. He winces as one manages to break the skin and swears. He sighs as he examines the damage, bright red blood welling from a thin slash between the joints of his middle finger. He scowls.

"Well, aren't you looking foul," Thom says and leans against Rory's wall. Rory shoots him an unimpressed look.

"What do you want?" he asks dully and stares back out at the sea. Thom shakes his head.

"Gale's worried about you," he says and Rory forcefully resists the urge to turn and look at Thom.

"Is he? Funny then, that he sent you." He is being rude, petulant even but at least Thom is mature enough to ignore it.

"He's gotten the recent impression that you don't want to talk to him." Thom's tone is less than pleased and Rory tries not to cringe. He kicks his feet against the bottom of the wall and tries to figure out what to say. Thom sighs again.

"I understand, you know," he says and Rory narrows his eyes.

"Understand what?"

"I understand that your problem is Gale which is exactly why you don't want to talk to him."

Rory flinches and turns wide eyed to Thom. "That's not-"

"You love him, you admire him and you want to be just like him. At the same time, you want to be more than just Gale Hawthorne's brother. You hate always being in his shadow, always being compared to him and feeling like you'll never measure up. Sometimes, you wish you could be just Rory without being Gale's brother Rory," Thom says softly and there's an odd, faraway look on his face. He is staring off into the distance without really seeing it, his almost-blue eyes distant. Rory feels his stomach drop out and doesn't know what to say. Shame crawls over him and he kicks his heels into the wall harder than before, the pain spiking through his feet.

"It's alright you know," Thom says and turns with an understanding smile. "People like Gale have a tendency to inspire feelings like that. Curse of the stupidly gifted." He rests an easy hand on Rory's shoulder, but Rory shakes his head. He swallows and tries to push words out of his dry throat.

"Don't joke," he says, "I know I'm wretched." It pains him to say it and he drops his eyes to his lap. Thom squeezes his shoulder.

"It's not a joke. I understand how you feel, because I used to feel just the same way."

Rory looks up in surprise and Thom grins at him. "Come on then, tell me when you look at me your first thought isn't 'Gale's best friend'."

Rory opens his mouth and hesitates, his face heating with embarrassment. Thom snorts with laughter. "See? That's all anyone thinks, no matter what I do, that's all I ever am."

Rory feels cold but Thom just continues to smile. Rory shakes his head in disbelief at his good cheer. "How...how do you..."

"Bear it?" Thom asks and Rory nods. Thom grins a little wider. "It wasn't easy. Do you know, when we first met, I was the impressive one? I was married and already a baron, while Gale was just an earl's son without a wife in sight. I seemed very grown up and he used to follow me around with the rest of the boys, all of them, even some of the older ones, doing exactly as I said."

"Really?" Rory asks and can't quite picture it. Thom has always seemed like Gale's shadow, following his lead and supporting his every decision. He has never seemed the leader.

"Really," Thom says with a laugh. "We met at Haymitch's when we were nine. I may have been a baron but I was still a fatherless little boy. My wardship was given to Haymitch by Coriolanus and he was supposed to teach me how to be a knight, a lord and a man. Jury's still out on how well he did." Thom laughs but Rory can't join in. Haymitch is still a wound too raw.

"Back then, everyone sent their sons away to learn in the house of some greater lord, so there was a pack of us at Haymitch's. Officially Gale was meant to live with us too, but he didn't. I think your parents were too fond of him to send him away permanently. He'd come for a few months, leave for a few more and then come back. Still, he outshone us all very quickly. He was the best on a horse, the best with a sword and better than most at everything else. I stopped being the impressive one after that." Rory expects to hear bitterness but there is none. Thom just smiles and carries on.

"Even after we stopped needing Haymitch's lessons, Gale managed to eclipse me at everything. He was better at tournaments, better at rousing speeches and there wasn't a girl in the world that would look at me until after she'd had her fill of looking at Gale. I know I'm not ugly, but it's never flattering to be everyone's second pick."

Rory stares at him. "How...how are you still friends?"

"Best friends," Thom corrects with a grin. "Well, it wasn't easy. I used to be so...frustrated. No matter what I did, it was never enough. I was always too many steps behind him, always hidden in his shadow. He was the hero and I was just his...his sidekick. It made me angry, but it also made me feel terrible. He was my best mate and he was a good one, the best one. I felt like such a bad friend for resenting him, because I knew he wasn't doing it on purpose and he'd never want to outshine me, he just did. He's a good person, which makes it difficult to hate him, even when you kind of do. Not that he's perfect, of course, oh boy do I have stories, but he's a good man. It only made everything worse."

Rory nods and clenches his hands together, his nails digging into his skin. He loves his brother, he does, he just...sometimes he feels like he's smothering under the weight of all Gale's achievements. But Thom's right, Gale, irritatingly noble Gale, would feel awful if he knew, which almost makes Rory resent him more. He's terrible.

“And then the war came. We’d spent so many days in the tiltyard or on the tournament field believing we were brave and glorious knights who could triumph over anything, but we weren’t. We were kids and suddenly we were fighting the bloodiest war our country’s ever seen, against people we knew, people we’d grown up with. We were so idealistic when it started, because that’s what all the stories say isn’t it? That the good are always victorious and evil never prospers. And we believed, so totally, that we were the good and so we’d win. Then your father died and your uncle, the very man who’d led us into this fight in the first place, and idealism died with them. This wasn’t a fairy story about brave heroes, it was a nightmare.”

Gale never speaks of the war, even when Vick and Rory beg and beg for tales of valour and glory. Hearing Thom speak of it now, Rory feels impossibly young and foolish.

“There was no time to measure myself against Gale, to wonder how I looked beside him. We were fighting for our lives and for England, taking up a cause, a war, started by our parents. Everything else was far too important to waste time worrying about who was the greater knight between us. It didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping the dream of Coriolanus’ downfall alive, was following Katniss into battle and being there for Gale as he tried to deal with your father’s loss. And when it was over, Gale told me again and again how he couldn’t have done it without me, Katniss knighted me in recognition of my services and I finally realized that what the world thought didn’t matter. The moment I stopped caring about their opinion and started improving myself because I wanted to be better, not because I wanted to surpass Gale, was the moment I really soared. I’m not saying I’m glad I went to war, I’m not. I wish it had never happened. I get nightmares still about all the horror and the death and I pray every day we never go back to something like that, and yet it keeps happening. What I’m saying, is I learned a very important lesson in that Hell.”

“What lesson?” Rory whispers and Thom grins.

“Forget about being better than Gale and focus on being the very best you. Become the best damn knight you can, not because you want to surpass Gale, but because being the best version of yourself matters to you. Dress your best not because you want girls to think you're handsomer than him, but because you want to be able to look in your mirror and think 'gorgeous'. Do the right thing not because you want to be lauded and praised, but because you believe in those causes. Make yourself proud and you know what? That's how you make the world proud. When you stop worrying about how you measure up to him and you stop getting frustrated if you fall short, you not only feel better about yourself, you do better. And maybe you will surpass him and maybe you won't, but who cares? You know your worth and so do the people that matter the most. I'm proud about what I've done in Katniss' service and I'm proud of how much better I've gotten with a lance, I used to be dreadful. I'm proud of myself, for how I've grown and the part I've played in the Yorkist cause. Maybe I'll only ever be remembered as Gale Hawthorne's best mate but that's fine. I'm proud to be his friend and I know he's proud to be mine. That’s what matters most."

Thom's voice is easy and confident, his shoulders straight and proud and Rory gazes up at him in awe. Is it really as simple as all that?

"And sure, it'll take a while before you stop comparing yourself to him, but you will get there. And you'll get to keep him too. I know you don't want to push your brother away, but you will if you keep competing. Resentment festers and it breads distance. One day, that distance will be too great to breach. So fuck everyone else's opinions, the only person you need to impress is yourself. And I promise, if you can make yourself proud, the people who love you will be proud too," Thom says and Rory finds himself returning Thom’s smile with a small one of his own. It isn’t the quick, easy fix he’d wanted, but its hope. He hasn’t had that in a while.

Rory hops neatly off the wall and stands beside Thom, the two of them staring out in the direction of England. There's still a heavy cloud over his head, but it does feel lighter. He will be the best knight he can be. He's going to make himself proud. He matters.

"Not that that means you can't take pleasure if you do surpass him in something. I mean, I think we can all agree that I'm much funnier," Thom says and elbows him in the side. Rory snorts. The wind picks up and kisses them with sea spray and Rory bites his lip.

"Thank you, Thom," he says and means it. Thom squeezes his shoulder.

"Of course. I know what it's like to get lost in Gale's shadow and I've known you since you were a baby. I'm always here if you need me."

Rory tries to hide just how touched he is and frowns. "I don't know, one older brother's obnoxious enough..."

Thom cackles."You think Gale's annoying? You don't know annoying!"

Running away from Thom so he doesn't toss him in the sea, Rory feels the cloud over his head lighten a shade more. Thom's annoying and so is Gale, but he is lucky to have them.

And, remembering how Gale had laughed that night in Rory's room, maybe they feel lucky to have him too.

Katniss fidgets in her tightly laced gown and stares a hole in the door before her. Waiting has never been her strong suit. Peeta stands beside her and takes her hand, maybe to calm her, or maybe to calm himself. He does not look annoyed or impatient, as she is sure she does, but the way his fingers curl around hers tells her all she needs to know about how tense he is.

“The Duke and Duchess will see you now,” an old man in Burgundian livery announces, his dark eyes and droopy face reminding her unpleasantly of Coriolanus. Peeta bows his head.

“Thank you,” he says, ever gracious, and Katniss wishes she had better manners. She nods but doubts she looks as polite as Peeta; she is still unsettled by thoughts of Coriolanus and the devastation he’s probably already wrought in England. They’ve been away too long, he could have done any manner of awful things. He is a tyrant, a monster-

“My apologies for making you wait,” her father-in-law says and Katniss stops short in alarm. She hadn’t even realized they’d entered the Duke’s audience chamber and she quickly shakes away her scowl. Peeta bows beside her and she dips her head in acknowledgement.

(that is one benefit to being queen, she does not need to curtsy to anyone)

“We have been thinking deeply on your plight,” Duke Charles begins and Katniss perks up. They need Burgundy’s help, they can do nothing without it and she feels Peeta tense beside her even as his face remains the same. And that is when she notices Duchess Jeanne. Her mother-in-law sits beside her husband and smiles. It is not a nice or friendly smile, but it is a happy one. Katniss’ stomach drops down to the floor. She suddenly knows what the Duke has called them here for.

“You are our son and we love you, but we do not think it will ever be prudent to support an invasion of England. We must think of our own people first and it will not be in their best interest to provoke a war with England and France.”

He keeps talking but she doesn’t hear a word nor does she hear any of Peeta’s response. There is a roaring in her ears, a furious lion’s roar mixing with her pounding blood. Coriolanus is going to be left free to ravage England as he pleases, Prim is to be trapped with him and even though the very purpose of this marriage was an alliance to protect them from Coriolanus and France, Burgundy is refusing to hold up their end of the deal. Katniss is so angry she turns on her heel and leaves. She does not offer any goodbye, she does not mask her fury or thank them or smile or pretend that she is anything other than seething.

Months they have been begging for help and Burgundy has spat in their faces. She’d only left England because she’d believed in Burgundy’s promise of friendship and military aid. She’d sworn to come back with an army but now she has nothing.

Burgundy has failed her and she has failed England.

Again.

Katniss shoves open their door and storms into their bedroom. Peeta follows slowly and she barely resists the urge to kick over the furniture. Instead, she tugs furiously at her hairpins, her frustration only rising as strands of hair get caught. She winces but doesn’t stop and Peeta closes the door. She slams each pin down on the table by the bed and finishes with fingers full of hair. Her rage only mounts.

“I’m sorry,” Peeta says quietly from where he’s still standing by the door. Katniss knows she should say something, but she can’t. Her hands shake.

“I’ve failed you,” he continues and she should interrupt, but she is so angry at his parents she cannot form words. She grinds her teeth together and is surprised to find curse words she’s never said before bubbling in her throat.

“I think...I think it is time you consider an annulment. We can get one easily and then you can find a husband who can actually be of some use to you.”

“No,” she says and the word comes out much harsher than she’d intended.

“Why not?” Peeta asks in a desperate voice and is she imagining the sadness there? She does not know how to answer him, because she doesn’t know why not. She isn’t in love with him, she can’t be. He is not the sky full of stars Gale described, so that means she can’t be in love with him. And yet the thought of being without him is awful, painful even. She doesn’t know what that means.

“Because…because there is no else,” she says and then, without being able to stop herself, “I do not want anyone else.” She’s not sure what she’s saying and Peeta doesn’t answer. Katniss wants to turn around and look at him, but she is too afraid to see his expression. What am I doing?

“Katniss,” he says in a soft voice, one deep with emotion she is too terrified to touch.

(but there is a hunger in her belly too, one burning to know just what emotion that is)

(is he in love with her?)

“Katniss, I-” He does not finish and even though she can’t explain why, she feels her stomach sink. He clears his throat.

“I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried everything, but it wasn’t enough. You need someone who can help you, get you money and troops. My parents don’t believe you can win a war, and I can’t convince them. I don’t know how...” He trails off and Katniss frowns. She waits for him to start again and when he doesn’t, she finally turns to face him. He is staring off into the ceiling, his eyes wide, his mouth open and his hands so slack his hat slips from his grip to the floor.

“Peeta, what-”

“Of course!” he shouts with glee and suddenly he is the sun. His eyes glow, he beams and his whole face changes, golden radiance shining from every inch. She feels momentarily breathless. He laughs, bright, joyous, and when he looks at her, she is warmed from toes to hair.

“I’m such a fool!” he declares, all while still smiling widely. Katniss pinches herself.

“I don’t understand,” she admits and he laughs again.

“My parents don’t believe you have the skills or the support to lead an army to victory. They are convinced Haymitch was the only reason for your triumphs. We need to show them they’re wrong.”

“How?” she asks, even as she can feel excitement growing within her. He is so thrilled she cannot help feeling it too. Peeta grabs her hands, his fingers sliding perfectly through hers.

“The solution’s been staring me in the face the whole time. I’ve been having you show off your skills for knights, merchants and lords, all so they’d be impressed enough to lend us money, arms and men. We need only do the same for my parents, though on a grander scale! It is too cold for a tournament, so we shall have a contest in the great hall instead. A competition of skill in archery and one in swordplay. We will open it to every man at arms, whether English or Burgundian and I will invite all the men who’ve already pledged you their support. I will encourage betting and when you win, my parents will not only be forced to see how talented you are, but also just how many people are willing to bet on you.”

He does not say if you win, but when you win and that faith touches her deeper than anything else. She cannot help but smile.

“That’s brilliant,” she says and squeezes his hands. He ducks his head in sudden bashfulness.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.”

She shakes her head. “I knew you’d figure something out. I’ve always had faith in that.”

He looks back up at her then and the soft, sincere look in his eyes does something odd to her insides. “And I have faith in you Katniss, that you will lead us to victory and that you will lead England justly and well. I have always believed in that.”

No one except Gale and Prim has ever offered her such unconditional support, but theirs has never made her feel so unsteady. There is something building within her, something she does not understand and she gropes around for something, anything, to say.

“Well,” she manages and wishes her voice didn’t tremble, “I suppose we should get to work. You must get planning and I should train. Gale as well, I can’t have my second in command making a fool of himself.”

Peeta nods and when his fingers slip from hers, she already misses the feel of them. That doesn’t make any sense of course, but her hands instantly feel empty. Peeta moves off to his desk to start writing things up and Katniss lingers where she is, unsure what to do. She should find Gale, she should start training but there is something here, in this room between them, that she wishes she could explain.

She does not love him; he is not her sky full of stars. And yet...

She wishes Prim were here.

Peeta’s contest is to be a full day affair.

Most of the day will be taken up with sword fighting, but after a break for supper will come archery. This works out well for Katniss, for archery is certainly her greatest strength and now it will be the last thing anyone sees. If she can win the contest, it will be the freshest thing in everyone’s mind. Of course, there can be no if. She needs to win the archery contest, just as she needs to excel in the sword fights. She expects Gale will come away the victor in that contest (in fact, she’s told him he must), but she has be close behind. They must prove to Duke Charles and Duchess Jeanne that they do not need Haymitch, that they are more than capable of winning a war on their own.

This is their last chance, they cannot falter here.

Rory knows he needs to sleep if he wants any chance of doing well in tomorrow’s contests, but there are snakes in his gut and they do not want to quiet.

He has always dreamed of competing in and winning tournaments, but now that his chance has finally come, he feels sick. He has been practicing everyday and he has been trying as hard as he can not to think of how he’ll stack up next to Gale. It isn’t easy, but he is determined. He must do this for himself, not to best his brother, but to better himself. He needs to be well rested, he needs to be focused and sharp tomorrow, but no matter how much he tosses and turns, he cannot find a comfortable position.

Come on, think how impressed everyone will be if I do well. I’ll be the youngest competitor, if I can finish near the top Mum, Vick, Posy, Gale, even Philippa will be proud.

I must show them what I can do.

If I don’t just pass out when it gets to be my turn....

No, no I can’t do that. Philippa would find out and I’d never, ever hear the end of it.

The morning of the contest dawns bright and cold.

Katniss is awake with the sun and she spends the few moments before Peeta rises breathing deeply and reminding herself exactly what’s at stake. England, the Hawthornes, her mother, Prim and her soon to be born baby. I have to win this battle, for it is a battle. Not just against the other competitors but against the Duke and Duchess of Burgundy. This is the first battle in our war for England.

Peeta shifts beside her and she turns to see him sitting up with a yawn. “You’re awake,” he whispers in the gloom and she nods, all her nerves tightening. I cannot fail today, I cannot.

“I have to go make sure everything’s ready,” he continues and she nods again. He stands from bed and begins to change and Katniss rolls over with hot skin. She stares at the wall and tries not to listen to the rustling of cloth. All this talk of Gale’s, look at me! I am a ninny. She jumps at Peeta’s hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says as she twists around to look at him. “Can you lace me up? I don’t want to wait for someone else.” She nods with a dry throat and sits up. He comes around to her side of the bed and she cannot understand why her fingers are shaking so badly. She is merely lacing him into his doublet, why does she feel so...so...

“Thanks,” he says when she finishes and she nods quickly. She stares down at her hands knotted together on the ugly bird patterned bedcovers and why am I so...so...

“Katniss, I know you will carry the day. I have never doubted that.”

Katniss looks up at Peeta and feels her nerves settle at his steady smile. He believes in her. Prim believes in her. And so does Gale and all the men who’ve come to Burgundy with her. And there are those in England who still hold true to the House of York. She does not want this for herself, she never has, but for all those who have placed their faith in her, she will be triumphant today.

She smiles back.

After breaking her fast and dressing, Katniss makes her way down to the Great Hall. The other competitors, Burgundian and English both, stand gathered outside the double doors and Katniss feels their excited chatter wash over her. She squares her shoulders and wades into them, steeling her resolve. She is no use in negotiations, but this she can do.

And she will.

Pushing through the clump of bodies, she seeks out Gale and finds him quickly, his height helping him to stick out from the crowd. She heads over but makes sure to take the measure of every man she passes. She knows her Englishmen well, but the Burgundians are another story. She recognizes some from her betrothal tournament, but the rest are an unknown quantity. As she squeezes between and around them, she takes note of their height, build, reach and attitude. Any foreknowledge helps.

“Our fearless leader!” Thom crows as Katniss reaches them and Gale grins.

“You ready?” he asks and she nods.

“Always.” Gale’s grin widens. Thom releases a loud sigh.

“You know, this whole thing isn’t very fair. You’re going to win the archery contest and you’re going to win the sword fighting. What does that leave the rest of us with?”

“Second?” Gale offers with a smirk and Thom punches him in the shoulder.

“You’re insufferable. You’re lucky I’m such a wonderful person or I’d knock that smug look off your dumb face.”

Gale laughs and Katniss rolls her eyes even as she cannot help being buoyed by their good cheer. The double doors swing open and a thin man in Burgundian livery steps out, his tiny mouth pursed.

“Attention, please! Your attention please! It’s time. Please follow me.”

A thrilled whisper rushes over the group and they squeeze themselves into a shape that can pass through the doors. Katniss is jostled on every side but she barely feels it. Anticipation tightens within her and she knows she must keep a level head. A roar of excitement greets them as they step into the hall and Katniss looks around in wonder. Banners hang all along the walls, displaying the arms of England, Burgundy, Duke Charles and Katniss herself. Saint George’s Cross and England’s lions are interspersed between these coats of arms and there are white roses everywhere, more than she has ever seen in one room. They adorn the windows, hang in garlands from the roof beams and wind around the multi-tiered stands erected along three of the room’s four walls. Those stands are full to bursting with cheering spectators, lords and ladies dressed in fine silk, costly velvet and shimmering jewels. Directly across from the doors is a raised dais upon which the ducal family sit, all except Peeta’s brother Philip, who is of course competing. Katniss finds Peeta immediately and warmth pools in her stomach. She hopes he can tell how impressed she is with what he’s already accomplished.

Their guide leads them into an antechamber at the back corner of the hall and shuts the door after they’ve all entered.

“You will remain here until you hear your name called. When it is called you will enter the hall and compete in the sword contests. If you lose, you are to leave the hall and not return. Victors shall come back here. The first few rounds of the contest will be team fights and the latter rounds one on one battles. If you attack one of your teammates, you will be automatically dismissed. Though the early rounds are team based, only those still standing at the end of the fight will progress to the next round. If your team wins but you were defeated, you still lose. Lethal force is forbidden and causing injuries to other competitors is strongly discouraged. If you are found to have used excessive force without suitable justification, you will be eliminated. Good luck to you all.” He leaves and Gale turns to Katniss with a grin.

“Alright, time to get this started. Let’s show these moneybags what England’s finest can do.” She nods and everyone starts talking at once, the buzz of their voices blending into one excited hum. Katniss looks around the room and studies her adversaries as the cheering in the hall rises to a roar. Many of the men, especially the Burgundians, have ladies’ favours to wear into battle and Katniss sucks in her bottom lip. Should she have asked Peeta for a token?

A trumpeter’s fanfare interrupts her thoughts and Katniss counts seven Burgundians and three Englishmen called for the first match. The teams must be five on five. They cannot see what is happening in the hall and her mind drifts back to tokens. Gale is wearing one, an embroidered handkerchief knotted in his gauntlet. Katniss stares at it and feels oddly underdressed without one. She has never worn a favour into battle before, but maybe she’d like to. Maybe she’d like to wear Peeta’s favour.

Thom whistles. “Seven out in just one match, that’s rough.” Katniss startles from her thoughts and looks in surprise at the two Burgundians and one Englishman who’ve come back into the hall. That is rough, though not entirely unwelcome. The more out now, the less they will have to face later.

The trumpet sounds again and soon the herald is calling the men for match two. It will be four Burgundians and one Englishman on the first team versus three Burgundians, one Englishman and “Sir Rory Hawthorne, Marquess of Dorset!” Katniss’ eyes widen, Thom makes an odd noise and Gale stares at his brother with a face that looks as if it’s just been slapped.

“I didn’t even know he was competing,” she says as Rory walks after his team mates, looking much taller than she remembers. Thom cups his hands around his mouth.

“Clobber ‘em Rory!” he bellows and Gale shakes his head.

“Is he really old enough for this?”

Thom laughs. “You sound like a fussy grandmother.” Gale doesn’t answer, his eyes riveted on the door Rory’s disappeared through. Katniss sees the worry in his face and wants to reassure him, but accidents happen in every contest of arms. She squeezes his arm but he doesn’t take his gaze from the door, his teeth sinking so deep in his bottom lip she is surprised he doesn’t draw blood. Rory is a few months shy of fifteen and many would consider that man enough for most things, but she knows Gale can’t. Just as she cannot quite believe Prim is old enough to have a baby on the way and be facing the perils of childbirth. Perhaps Rory will even want to fight when they retake England. She has no real reason to refuse him, but would Gale allow it?

“Yes! Yes! Way to go, Rory!” Thom cheers when the door opens and Rory and only one of his teammates step through. The other men in the room murmur in surprise, for Rory is easily the youngest competitor present, but Katniss feels a surge of pride. She lets go of Gale and follows Thom to Rory’s side. Thom reaches him first and grabs his shoulders, shaking him in that odd way boys do when they’re excited.

“Way to represent England, Sir Rory!” he laughs and Rory beams even as he flushes.

“Congratulations,” Katniss tells him and Rory’s face darkens with pleasure.

“Thanks! One of those Burgundians was huge; I thought he’d take my head off! I can’t believe I made it.”

“Of course you made it!” Thom says and then Gale is there. For a moment Katniss is worried he may try to lecture Rory, but instead he grins and slings an arm over his brother’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry, since when did you get so good with a sword?”

Rory shrugs. “I always have been, you’re just too full of yourself to notice.” Thom snorts, a grin threatens Rory’s face and Katniss feels both her eyebrows shoot up.

“Hah!” Gale says and pounces on his brother. He pulls him into a headlock. “That so, is it? I think we know who’s too full of themselves, huh?”

Thom laughs, Katniss rolls her eyes, boys honestly, and the men in the rest of the room shoot them amused looks. Rory and Gale spin around together and their commotion is so much she almost misses the herald calling “Sir Gale Hawthorne, Earl of Salisbury!” She stomps on his foot to get his attention and he looks away from Rory with a glare.

“Ow, what?” he asks just as Rory takes advantage of his distraction and elbows him in the gut. “Oof,” he says just as the herald calls out his final teammate, “Queen Katniss of England!” Her eyes widen and Thom shakes his head.

“That’s just not fair.”

Gale rubs at his stomach and Rory grins smugly. “I think I won,” he says and Gale opens his mouth to argue. Katniss doesn’t give him the chance and pulls him away by the arm. He frowns.

“What are you doing?”

“It’s our turn, you fopdoodle.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“We’re on the same team?”

“Yes.”

Gale smirks. “Well, the other team’s in trouble then, aren’t they?” Katniss doesn’t answer but as they step out into the hall, she feels confidence flood her veins. She and Gale have always been an unbeatable team.

They are against three Burgundians and two of her own Englishmen and joined on their team by two Burgundians and an English knight. The crowd cheers loudly, clapping and stomping and screaming, but Katniss isn’t surprised. England’s queen and greatest swordsman in one match, this is sure to be an exciting one to watch. She takes a calming breath and blocks out the spectators, focusing on nothing but her opponents. Her strength has always been in archery, but that does not mean she is incompetent with a sword. She is not Gale, but she can more than hold her own. She would rather avoid knocking out her own countrymen, so she turns her attention to the three Burgundians she will be facing. Two are stocky and clearly strong while one is tall and lithe. The tall one stands lightly on his feet and she can guess his greatest asset is his speed. He has a long reach too, she must be careful of that. Sturdy as the other two look, the one in the middle favours his left leg, though he is trying to hide it. Katniss will have to attack his right.

The herald blows out a short note on his horn and they are off. She and Gale do not need words or even a look, they merely press back to back in an instant. The man with the weak leg swings his sword at her and she ducks, making sure to keep her back pressed to Gale as she does. He feels her moving down and spins at the perfect moment, his sword catching the other man’s. Katniss surges forward from her crouch and slams into his weak leg. He falls with a string of filthy curses and Gale turns again, easily blocking the attack from the other Burgundians who’d hoped to take advantage of his distraction. Katniss is up on her feet without a moment’s hesitation and points her sword at the throat of her downed opponent. The crowd hollers in appreciation and that’s one down, four to go. Her eyes bounce over her teammates and she sees Gale holding steady against the two Burgundians. Her other three teammates stand against the opposing Englishmen and she winces as the English knight on her own team goes down. Four on four.

Gale she trusts to handle himself, so she heads to the other knot of competitors. She is quick with light steps and she is upon them before they notice her approach. The nearest enemy manages to evade her opening thrust but loses his balance and falls, allowing her ally to pounce and knock him from the competition. She does not slow but spins away from the other opponent’s sword, and then drops low to target his legs. Her Burgundian ally slashes at the enemy’s head while Katniss swings at his legs. The man cannot defend both and he grunts as Katniss’ sword slams into his knee. He buckles but does not crumple and parries her teammates blow. Katniss is not yet done. He shoves off her ally and then swings down at her, but she rolls away and is back up in a moment. This is much quicker than he’d expected and he is slow to turn and face her. She is faster and her sword rests at the crook of his neck before he is fully turned around and that’s him eliminated.

All that remains is Gale and his two opponents, but in that field, she has nothing to worry about. Gale has already dispatched one and when she turns, she sees him finish off the second. Victory hums within her. Gale is on her in an instant, lifting her up as he cheers their triumph and she laughs.

One round down.

Let us continue to victory.

The swordfights continue in teams until there are only twelve competitors left. Katniss is pleased to note that seven are English while only five are Burgundian. She, Gale, Thom and even Rory are among those seven, while Peeta’s brother Philip numbers among the remaining Burgundians. England is looking strong indeed as they head into the one on one matches.

“Lord Philip of Burgundy!” the herald calls and out Philip goes, smiling and waving at his adoring fans. Everyone holds their breath and then “Sir Rory Hawthorne, Marquess of Dorset!”

Katniss winces, Rory blanches and Gale squeezes his shoulder. “You can do this, Philip is good but he’s not invincible.”

Rory nods and squares his shoulders. He follows Philip out into the hall and Katniss, Thom and Gale stare anxiously at the door. She’d love nothing more than to see Rory re-enter the room in triumph, but she has little hope. Philip is the best knight in Burgundy and though Gale has bested him, she does not truly believe Rory can do the same. The wait seems very long though probably isn’t and finally the door opens. Raucous cheering floods the room and Lord Philip swaggers in, draped in ladies’ favours and victory. Thom scowls and Gale deflates beside her. Katniss isn’t surprised, but still she feels the sting of disappointment.

The next match sees one of her Englishmen triumph over a Burgundian and then it is Thom’s turn. He is to be matched against a burly Burgundian with arms thick as trees and he grimaces as he watches his opponent walk into the hall. He turns to her and Gale.

“Well, wish me luck. Hopefully he’ll be polite enough not to squash me like a bug.” Gale pats him on the shoulder and Katniss tries to nod in encouragement. Thom sighs and heads out. He does not return.

“Damn,” Gale swears and she feels her stomach tighten. Only three more matches left of this round and she and Gale must win theirs. She’d very much hoped Thom would pass through, but she cannot let his loss distract her. It is Gale next against another Burgundian and she has faith in him of course, but that is not enough to settle her nerves. She waits the short time it takes him to win with her hands clasped painfully at her waist. When he steps through the door covered in ribbons and scraps of lace, she feels herself wilt with relief. The next match is not hers and she waits for Gale to join her with a smile on her lips. He reaches her and peels off the various favours he’s been showered with.

“Top six,” she tells him, pleased, and he nods.

“Of course.” She rolls her eyes but then frowns as he piles up every glove, handkerchief and hair ribbon except one. It is the same handkerchief she’d noticed before, knotted securely in his armour and she knows who it’s from even as she wishes she didn’t. It would be nice to think it was from some local lady that had turned Gale’s head, but Katniss is not so foolish as to think that. Gale is loyal and true, she knows that better than anyone. Once he gives someone his love, it is nearly impossible to lose. This tragic handkerchief is from Madge.

Normally such devotion would be admirable, but all it does now is hurt. Here he is, almost a year after seeing her last and a month after her marriage to someone else, still wearing Madge’s favour into battle. Katniss likes Madge, she truly does, but she wishes desperately that Gale would forget her. He deserves happiness, but Madge has only brought him heartbreak. Loving her aches, Gale himself had said so. But then, he had also said loving Madge was as breathtaking, inspiring, and wonderful as looking at a night sky bursting over with glittering stars. That was the stuff of poetry, of ballads and that in itself was unlike Gale. No, he will not take his heart back from Madge, Katniss knows that. He does not even want to.

Katniss does not want to, but she almost hates Madge for this. Madge is the enemy now, married to Cato and one day to be his queen, but that hardly matters. Loving her is sorrow for Gale and it seems now it always will be.

That is what Katniss cannot forgive.

Gale wins the sword fighting contest, to the surprise of no one.

Katniss finishes second, with Philip coming in a close third. This is better than she’d dared hope and she still has her strongest event to come.

We can do this.

After their supper break, it is time for the archery contest.

Katniss picks up her bow and falls into line with the other competitors. In the first few rounds, everyone will shoot at one of the five targets lined up at the end of the hall by the doors; with the bottom ten eliminated each round. When there are only ten archers left, they will get two shots added together and only the person who scores the lowest will be out of the competition. The final round, consisting of the top five, will be three shots added together and there will be no elimination, just a ranking from first to fifth, with the top three given prizes.

Katniss is in line for the middle target and she turns back briefly to see how long the line is behind her. Inevitably, her eyes drift to Peeta smiling at her from the crowd. It is a steady smile, one sure and full of faith and it washes over her like sunlight. The line moves and she shuffles forward, but she cannot help thinking of Gale’s words. Love is like a sky full of stars, but how could anyone look at Peeta and think of the night sky? He is warm and golden through to his soul, bright, cheerful and always rising after every setback like the sun after a dark night. His smile can make anyone bloom and being with him is like that glorious moment at dawn when the sun crests the horizon. Beautiful colours brought back to the world, light chasing away every shadow and the comfort only the day can afford.

He is no sky full of stars, he is the sunrise.

Katniss’ heart thumps oddly in her chest and a dangerous thought begins to bubble in her mind. She is not Gale and Peeta is not Madge, why should love be the same for them all? Perhaps Peeta is not her sky full of stars, but maybe he doesn’t need to be. Is that possible? Could she...could she love Peeta? Could she be in love with him? Someone shoots well, or so she guesses by the loud cheering but Katniss cannot pull her eyes from Peeta. Is this why the thought of annulment leaves her so cold and bereft? Is this why she craves his touch like she does no other? Why he can lift her spirits like no one but Prim ever has? Why she so wants to comfort him, to be good with words and feelings even though only Gale and Prim have inspired such feelings before?

The answer is painfully obvious even as it is entirely terrifying. Of course she is in love with him, how could she ever have thought otherwise? She loves her family, Gale, her country, but it is only Peeta she wants to hold at night, only Peeta who sets her skin burning with a single touch, only Peeta she can look at and never want to look away from. She feels a comfort with Peeta she has only felt thrice before, but she does not ever have the urge to stroke her sister’s face, she does not yearn for Gale’s touch and she does not feel her heart stumble in her chest at the thought of archery.

She loves him.

Oh God, she loves him.

She loves his sweetness, his kindness, his silver tongue and his easy laugh. She loves his compassion, his bashfulness, the way he turns such a delightful pink in his cheeks. She loves his loyalty, his goodness, loves him even though he is hopeless with a sword and will never ride to battle beside her. She loves his patience and his cleverness, loves him even though he is sometimes too eager to please, even though he thinks so little of himself. She loves his humour and the way he refuses to kill a spider, or let her kill one. She loves that he is silly and hates the rain and suffers from a rampant sweet tooth. She loves him even when he annoys her or they disagree or he frustrates her by never standing up to parents that treat him like he is nothing.

She loves him. She is in love with him.

Katniss is dizzy as the line moves forward and fear runs rampant through her body. Love aches, that’s what Gale said and does she really want such suffering? Except, Peeta is her husband, they are not separated as Gale and Madge are. They are a team and there is no reason it should ache to love him. But what if he does not love her back? Just because Gale says he does, just because she sometimes thinks the way he says her name or lets his eyes linger on her speaks of more than platonic feelings, that doesn’t mean it’s true. What if he doesn’t? What if she has fallen alone?

“Dazzle them,” Gale whispers and Katniss blinks. It is her turn to shoot and though she feels liable to fall over at any moment, nothing has ever steadied her like archery. She closes her eyes, feels the bow in her hand and everything else falls away. She can worry about the nebula of emotion within her later, now it is her and the target and the arrow. Now she shoots for England. It is easy to forget the world, easy to aim and fire true into the center of the target.

Bullseye.

She has certainly passed to the next round, but she barely feels the hands patting her enthusiastically on the back. She is staring at Peeta, grinning, clapping Peeta. Her heart clenches.

Do you love me? Could you possibly want me?

The archery portion of the evening moves steadily on until there are only five people left in the running. Katniss is the frontrunner among them and Gale is with her as well, along with two Burgundians and to everyone’s surprise, Rory. She knows he’s spent a good deal of their time in Burgundy practising, but she hadn’t expected him to manage a top five place at any contest, not yet at least. Of course, whatever pride she feels in her cousin’s accomplishments, it is thoroughly eclipsed by Gale’s. He is baffled that Rory is suddenly so good, but also positively delighted. He hasn’t stopped boasting like a proud parent since Rory’s fist shot and it is becoming quite annoying. She does not want to tell him to shut up, but she might have to.

“Did you see his form on the last one? That was perfect, honestly textbook perfect.”

Katniss nods and wonders if her expression gives away her frustration. If it does, Gale ignores it. A Burgundian named Sir Guillaume is up first and thankfully Gale stops talking long enough to watch. Sir Guillaume hits eight points with his first shot, eight again with his second and an unfortunate three with his last. Katniss cringes in sympathy at the misfire and Sir Guillaume moves off to the side with nineteen points. That will not be very difficult to beat.

“Sir Gale Hawthorne, Earl of Salisbury!” announces the herald and Gale winks at her before taking position. He aims with steady hands and his first shot is a nine. The crowd cheers and Katniss nods as Gale readies himself for the second. He just misses the nine ring and scores an eight and then it is time for his final shot. He breathes deeply, squeezes the wrist bearing Madge’s handkerchief and then notches his arrow. Katniss holds her breath as his arrow flies and then the room screams with excitement as it sinks into the center for a perfect ten. Gale grins and bows to the crowd, various ladies swooning as they always seem to do around him. Katniss rolls her eyes as she claps along, her confidence holding steady. He has shot very well and twenty-seven leaves him well placed to take second.

Gale moves to stand before Sir Guillaume to indicate that he has overtaken first place and the other Burgundian, Sir Herri, stands before the target. He is Burgundy’s last hope and every spectator seems to lean forward in anticipation as he fires his first arrow. It is a ten and Katniss feels worry bloom in her stomach. His second is another ten and she feels her insides tighten. There is absolute silence as he shoots his third and final shot, and it is a nine, but only just. Katniss feels her breath leave her in a rush. Twenty nine, she will have to be perfect. Sir Herri waves at his adoring fans, overjoyed that a local champion has taken the lead, and then takes his place in front of Gale. Gale is smiling pleasantly and shakes Sir Herri’s hand, but Katniss can see his disappointment in his eyes. If she succeeds, which she must, Gale will only finish in third. Perfectly respectable of course, but not to one as competitive as Gale.

“Sir Rory Hawthorne, Marquess of Dorset!”

Katniss turns to watch Rory shoot and nods in appreciation as he scores a nine. Her eyes widen as he hits another nine and it appears he may not finish in fifth as she had imagined. Rory narrows his eyes, stands with excellent form and Katniss actually feels her mouth pop open as he sinks his arrow into the center of the target for a perfect ten. Rory grins in triumph and the crowd goes wild. Twenty eight, twenty eight that means...

Katniss continues to gape as Rory takes his spot in second place, squeezing in between Sir Herri and Gale. Gale’s expression is a match for hers but when his brother reaches him it explodes in proud excitement. He pounds Rory on the back and says something lost in the crowd’s cheering but it makes Rory flush with pleasure. Katniss shakes her head. He is not even fifteen and he will finish in the top three. Perhaps she has underestimated him.

“Queen Katniss of England!”

Right. She pushes Rory from her thoughts and lines herself up with the target. This is it, it all rides on this. She breathes steadily, notches her arrow and thinks of nothing but her target. Her arrow flies and buries itself in the center for a ten. She does not acknowledge the crowd yet and notches her second arrow. It lands beside the second, giving her yet another ten. If she shoots a ten with her third she will win, a nine and she will tie Sir Herri, anything less and she will lose first prize. She must have that ten. This is for England and she must be the very best to win her parents-in-law. Another calming breath, another notched arrow and then she shoots.

It joins its brothers in the center of the target. A perfect thirty for thirty.

Gale is the first to reach her, hollering and lifting her up, and soon her other Englishmen have joined her. They shout and scream for her, the crowd following suit and the sound is deafening but she does not mind. She has done it. First in archery, second in sword fighting, they will not be able to ignore her now. Her eyes find Duchess Jeanne and she is not looking at Katniss but out over the crowd. Her eyes are wide with surprise as she takes in the lords and ladies screaming Katniss’ name and showering her in coins, lace and flowers.

I’ve done it!

Finally, I haven’t failed you England

The prizes are handed out and Katniss cannot help but beam. She had hoped she and her fellow English would put up a good showing, but they have blown her expectations away. Both victories belong to England and when it comes to overall standings, she and Gale stand top of the pile. She has victory and a second place finish, while he has victory and a fourth place finish; no one else comes close to that. And with Rory’s third place finish in archery, the top three of both events have been two thirds English. The Duke and Duchess cannot deny it now. She did not coast on Haymitch’s success to claim her crown; she won it by her own hand. And she can win it again.

She will win it again.

Peeta and Gale cheer the loudest when she is rewarded for her victory and Katniss feels her temperature rise as she catches Peeta’s gaze. She looks down and thrumming within her is an anxious need to speak with him, but also an equally desperate need to avoid him. It is the coward that wins. She pushes her way into the crowd gathering around her, all eager to offer congratulations and pledges of support. As usual, she feels the immediate urge to flee, but she forces herself to stay steady. Hadn’t Haymitch always told her she needed to charm and woo potential supporters? What better time to start than now? She smiles as best she can and nods over and over, her hand passed around for every set of lips.

(and even though she is purposefully avoiding him, she wishes Peeta was beside her)

A lord she instantly forgets the name of is the next to kiss her hand and her eyes fall on Rory. After receiving his prize, Gale and Thom had carried him around the hall on their shoulders while lords bowed and ladies swooned. Even now that both Gale and Thom have been dragged off by important guests, Rory still looks absolutely chuffed, his eyes shining and his chest puffed out to display his fancy new third place brooch. Katniss, so very uncomfortable in this swarm of admirers, seizes the chance to escape.

(so much for wooing then)

She makes an excuse to leave her latest companion behind and heads to her cousin’s side.

“You were excellent out there,” she says and he blushes even as his smile widens. “Are you planning to join us on campaign?”

Rory’s eyes widen until they are entirely round and he fumbles with his words. “Uh, I...are you...you really want me to?” he finally manages and she nods.

“Of course. I could use every able bodied man willing to fight for our cause, and you have proven yourself exceptionally talented.”

Rory looks about ready to kiss her and nods rapidly. “Yes, yes! I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.”

Gale may not be so pleased, but that is a storm she will weather when she gets to it. She smiles at Rory only for Peeta’s hand to touch her arm. She jumps about two feet in the air and is sure her expression is manic. He smiles widely.

“You were magnificent,” he says and she feels warm all the way to her toes. She almost blurts out her recent realization right there but fear turns her tongue to lead. She nods, unable even to say thank you and then Gale is there and Thom, sparing her the need to speak.

“So? What do you think? Have we managed to win the Duke and Duchess?” Gale asks. Peeta grins.

“They’ve yet to say anything on the matter, but I think so yes.”

Oh England, England, we’re coming

Two days after the tournament, Rory finally gathers his courage.

He is not good with feelings, is embarrassed just thinking about them, but he owes Gale this. He owes them both this. Still, even knowing that, he spends an incredibly long time standing in front of Gale’s door. Thankfully there is no one else in the hall to see him. Come on, come on, stop being such a lily-liver. With several deep breathes, Rory knocks on the door.

“Yes?” Gale asks from the other side and does not sound overly interested in company. Rory almost retreats but forces his feet to stay planted. No running away.

“Can I come in?” he asks and Gale’s voice is a little warmer when he says yes. Rory pushes open the door and there’s no turning back now. Gale is sitting by the window with his elbow propped on the sill. He has a handkerchief in the other hand and a morose expression that briefly ignites the urge to flee in Rory. He ignores it and settles down on the edge of the bed facing Gale. His bravery flags a little under his brother’s gaze, but he cannot give up now.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Gale’s surprise. “I’m sorry for the way I’ve been acting since we got here.”

“Rory-”

“No, Gale. Look, there’s plenty of reasons why I’ve felt so terrible since we’ve come here, but none of that’s your fault. So I’m sorry.” He feels a little lighter having said it and Gale purses his lips. He wants to argue of course and Rory rolls his eyes. “And don’t ruin this by arguing, alright?”

“Alright,” Gale forces out and Rory appreciates the effort that probably took even as he thinks his brother is ridiculous.

“Thank you,” he says, only for his eyes to catch on the handkerchief Gale is clutching. His stomach sinks.

“That’s from Madge, isn’t it?” Gale’s fingers tighten in the silk and he won’t meet Rory’s eyes. He nods jerkily. Rory sinks even further.

“I’m sorry about...about Madge,” he says and cannot believe this is the first time he’s said it. Gale snorts out a breath.

“Yes, everyone’s sorry.” Rory is surprised by the bitterness in Gale’s voice and bites his lip. Gale sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Sorry,” he says and Rory wishes he knew what to say, but the situation seems worse than hopeless. Madge is married, legally and properly, and to Cato of all people. This is all your fault Haymitch. I’ll never forgive you. Desperate, Rory says something very stupid.

“I’ll kill Cato,” he blurts and Gale looks up at him in shock. “When we go to battle, I’ll strike him down.” It is a stupid thing to say and he knows it. The chances he will meet Cato in battle are beyond slim and even if they do come face to face, Cato is older, larger and renowned for his bloodlust. The odds are certainly not in Rory’s favour. Still, he needs to do something to banish Gale’s sorrow; he cannot bear to see it. Cato is the enemy and he is the monster standing between Gale and Madge, so Rory will strike him down. Somehow.

After all, if Saint George could slay a dragon, Cato is certainly within reason. Not that Rory thinks he is the equal of a saint, but Saint George is England’s patron saint, he will lend his aid. Hopefully.

Gale smiles and it softens the harsh edges of his sadness. “I appreciate the thought, but honestly? I’d rather run the bastard through myself.” He laughs a little and shakes his head. “God, if Mum could hear me now.”

Rory clears his throat. “Gale Hawthorne!” he shouts in an absolutely perfect impression of their mum. “What an awful, terrible, un-Christian thing to say! You should never, ever wish harm on anyone, no matter what they’ve done to you! Now off to confession! Go!”

For a moment Gale is stunned speechless, but then he starts to laugh. He shakes his head. “That was terrible. Terrible!”

Rory brings an offended hand to his chest. “That was perfect and you know it.” Gale waves away Rory’s words but cannot speak for laughter and soon Rory is laughing too. He shoves his brother but instead of shoving him back, Gale pulls him into a tight embrace. Rory tenses in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“Telling you I love you, because I do Rory. I love you.”

Rory’s breath catches and he presses his face into his brother’s shoulder. The words try to get stuck in his throat but he squeezes them out. “I love you too.”

Katniss slides a finger along the edge of her arrowhead and ignores the biting wind on her exposed skin. It is getting late and she should probably go inside, but inside she’ll have nothing to do but think about Peeta’s parents and whether or not they’ve changed their minds. At least out here she can lose herself in her archery. If she goes in she’ll be tense, worried and likely to snap at everyone (as she had yesterday to somewhat embarrassing results). Katniss shakes her arms out and gets back into position. She takes a deep breath of cold air and feels it instantly clear her head. All that matters is her arrow and the target. She pulls the bowstring back, aims just right and –

“Wuhh!” she says in surprise and sends her arrow into the dirt. Arms have wrapped around her middle and she knows without seeing him that they’re Peeta’s. He laughs in her ear and suddenly she is lifted off her feet. Her eyes widen in alarm and he spins her around, laughing happily all the while.

“You did it Katniss! You did it!” he says as he sets her down, his voice bubbling over with excitement. Even though she is back on solid ground, she feels unsteady. She turns to face him and he is grinning so wide it seems to stretch across his whole face. She is momentarily blinded.

“You did it Katniss,” he says again, his warm hands squeezing her waist. “You’ve convinced them. They are willing to fund our invasion.” Katniss stares at him for a moment until his words truly soak in. We did it, we really did it! She is so overwhelmed she cannot help but throw her arms around him and he spins her again.

“We did it,” she corrects when he sets her down. She says it into the soft skin of his neck and she feels a calm standing here with him she’s only ever experienced during archery.

“Oh no, it was you, it was all you,” he mumbles into her shoulder and she tightens her hold on him.

“Winning the contest was all me, but I could only do that because you gave me the opportunity to. We’re a team, aren’t we?” There is a quiver in her voice as she says it and in the seconds it takes him to answer, she feels fear flutter to life inside her. I’m an idiot, Peeta doesn’t-

“Yes,” he says and she shivers. They stay like that for a moment more and she should say it now. Three small words but she cannot get them out. They get trapped in her teeth and in the end she merely soaks up the feel of him.

She has fought armies, strange then, that this is where her courage fails her.

May 1471 Middleham Castle

“D’you think Gale will be home soon?” Posy asks as they play dolls outside and Vick frowns. He wants to say yes, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to promise Posy something that won’t come true. If he were younger he’d say yes immediately, anything to make Posy smile and because his faith in Gale, in good triumphing over evil, was absolute. At not quite thirteen, Vick knows better.

Sometimes the bad guys do win and sometimes the hero, even a brave, talented hero like Gale, does not emerge victorious. It is as sobering as it is terrifying.

“Ooo look! A pony!” Posy says gleefully and Vick looks over at the horse galloping into the courtyard. Who is that? he thinks and stands without knowing why.

“It’s...it’s a messenger,” he says and his throat feels dry. He grabs Posy’s shoulders.

“D’you think Gale wrote me a letter?” she asks and Vick can’t answer.

Please be bringing good tidings.

Please please please

February 1471 Burgundy

As the snow and frost of January become the sleet and wind of February, Katniss plans for war.

She wants the invasion to happen as soon as possible and so she throws herself head first into strategy, tactics and logistics. Ships are procured, arms gathered and men enlisted. She pours over maps with Gale, writes letters to supporters with Peeta and inspects weapons and supplies. Things are happening, finally, and Katniss will not waste any more time. She is determined to sail for England before the month is out, no matter how insane such a prospect may seem.

I am coming Prim, England. I will be there soon

There is so much to do and so little time to do it, but Katniss will see it done.

England has waited long enough.

The days bleed into each other and soon, February has dwindled until only a few days remain. And tomorrow, tomorrow they sail for England.

Rory’s things are packed, his clothes for tomorrow laid out and his new sword sharpened to perfection, but he wishes they weren’t. He is restless, anxious and he needs something to do. His fingers twitch and his foot bounces but there is no outlet for his energy. He should sleep but he knows he won’t. He can’t. There is a soft knock on his door and Rory feels his mouth quirk up in the corner. Apparently, he isn’t the only one who can’t sleep.

“Come in,” he calls and the door opens. He doesn’t have to turn to know its Gale.

“Let’s hope it’s a clear day tomorrow,” Gale says as he comes to stand beside Rory at the window. Rory nods and it is too dark to see the Channel now, but he can imagine it, black and foreboding. Gale places a hand on his shoulder.

“There is no shame in being scared,” Gale says and Rory can hear the fear in his voice. Of course, Rory knows Gale is not afraid for himself.

“I know. But I want to do this. England is my home and Katniss my queen. I want to fight for them both.”

Gale nods and Rory knows how hard this must be for him. Still, he does not protest and Rory loves him fiercely for that. Gale pulls him into a tight embrace and Rory goes willingly.

“Be safe Rory, be smart.”

Rory clings back.

“You too Gale, you too.”

This coming fight will be his first battle. He prays to God it will not be his last.

Even though the battle is still far off, Katniss can feel her blood humming as she surveys her packed luggage. Tomorrow they sail for England and war. It is a thought as terrifying as it is reassuring. Battle is something she understands, something she can do, even if it is unpredictable and dangerous. All this waiting, all this relying on others while she sat around doing nothing; she is ready for it to be over. She hates having to fight, but she is ready to do her part. It is time to end things once and for all.

No more civil wars Coriolanus

This time it is winner takes all, for good

I am coming for your head

“Everything’s ready for tomorrow. We should be able to get an early start just like you wanted,” Peeta says as he steps into their room and Katniss turns to look at him. He stands in the doorway and pushes a hand through his hair, a tired huff slipping past his lips. He has worked so hard to help her win back her kingdom these long, agonizing months and she knows that if she wins, it will be because of both of them. Neither of them could have done this on their own and she feels a tightness in her chest. We really do complement each other, don’t we?

He smiles as he notices her eyes on him, a friendly, tired smile and she bites her lip. We’re so much stronger together than we ever could’ve been apart. How lucky we found each other. He shuts the door and one eyebrow goes up in question as she continues to stare at him. She can’t look away.

“Thank you,” she says suddenly and his eyes widen slightly. “Thank you for all the work you’ve done, all the help you’ve given us.”

“Oh no, no you don’t have to thank me,” he says, his cheeks darkening to her favourite dusty pink. “I was just holding up my end of the deal. You go to war on the battlefield and I go to war in the palaces, right?” She nods and steps closer to him, her heart starting to beat loudly in her ears. There is something growing in her stomach, something hot and needy.

“Yes. We’re a good team,” she whispers and isn’t sure why. Peeta nods and his eyes seem bluer than usual as they watch her draw nearer. She stops just before she reaches him, whatever courage had been moving her legs withering away. She is not afraid to fight, she is not afraid of enemy knights or swords or blood, but this, this frightens her. Peeta wets his bottom lip with his tongue and for a moment neither one of them speaks. She knows what she should say, but the words do not come and Peeta takes a steadying breath.

“I suppose we should turn in. It will be an early start tomorrow,” he says and he’s right. She knows it and yet she doesn’t move, that something in her stomach growing louder.

“Peeta, I...” she tries but still she cannot say it. He looks at her in question, head tilted slightly and blue eyes curious and he is beautiful, really, truly the loveliest boy she’s ever seen. “Peeta,” she says and beneath the curiosity she can see something else in his eyes, something shy and hopeful.

Peeta loves you

She has never been clever with words, but finally, she finds the bravery to do something else. She touches his cheek and he leans into her hand, even as his eyes widen in surprise. He looks at her and it is hunger in her belly, a hunger for him. Clutching her courage close, she leans in and presses her lips to his. He freezes for a moment but before she can pull away, he is kissing her back. Her eyes close, her blood sings in her veins and this is not like their wedding, a soft, fast press of lips, but slow and deep enough to taste the cinnamon on his tongue. Her hunger roars within her, wanting more more more. Peeta gasps into her mouth.

“I thought...I thought you wanted to wait,” he says against her lips and she finds her fingers sliding through the soft gold of his hair.

“I...I don’t, not anymore,” she says and his trembling hands come to rest on her hips. A frisson spreads from his warm fingers straight between her legs and she knows what’s about to happen next. Her heartbeat quickens.

“Are you sure?” he breathes and she nods.

“Yes,” she says and then remembers the last time they’d spoken of this. He had seemed so hollow when they’d talked of duty and she knows what she needs to say. She swallows and the words are hard and unwieldy in her mouth. She forces them out, even as she can barely hear her own voice over the sound of her pounding heart.

“I...I want this and not...not because it is our duty. I...I want-I want you. Unless you don’t want me,” she whispers, her voice shrinking as she admits that maybe Gale was wrong.

“I do,” Peeta murmurs and brushes her nose with his. “I do want you, I always have.”

Her legs are weak and she holds onto him to keep steady. His eyes are closed and his eyelashes glitter gold in the candlelight and again she is struck by how lovely he is. Both her hands cup his face and she pulls him back to her, this kiss somehow deeper still. He kisses her back and her hunger grows even wider, every inch of her hungry to feel him, kiss him, love him. But wait.

“Peeta,” she says and pulls back. He looks at her, hazy eyed and wonderstruck, and she hugs him tightly, fiercely. She will not be afraid of him, of them, she will be brave. She’s faced down armies and wicked kings, she will not crumble beneath three words.

“I...I love you,” she manages, finally, and he needs to know it, this steady, sweet, wonderful boy. He stiffens in her arms.

“Katniss...?” he breathes, voice wobbly, and she squeezes him.

“I love you,” she repeats and ignores the panic beating in her chest. He hugs her back and she has never felt warmer. A comforting heat muffles her worry and Peeta nuzzles her neck.

“I love you too,” he says and her heart rolls over with pleasure. She smiles without thinking about it and rests her cheek against his hair. His lips press against her neck and fire touches her skin, her hunger roaring back to life. He kisses his way up to her jaw and then her mouth, the two of them leaning into each other.

This time, neither of them pulls away.

* ��

The wind is cold but gentle as it blows over the harbor and waves lap softly against the hull of the great ship Bourgogne Royale. Katniss stands at the edge of what will be her flagship for the re-conquest of England and tightens her hands on the railing, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The pale gray sky seems to melt into the water separating them from England, its clouds stretching foggy fingers down to the sea.

This will not be an easy crossing.

Still, England is waiting, Prim is waiting. I promised I wouldn’t let Coriolanus mutilate England again, but the longer we stay here, the more cruelties he can inflict. We must go now.

Peeta steps up beside her and rests his hand over hers on the rail. “Are you ready?”

Katniss looks into the distance towards home and imagines Coriolanus’ bloody smile as he sits on his throne of bones. She nods.

“Yes. It’s time to end this once and for all.”

May 1471 Wingfield Castle

John has rejoined the Yorkists, her father too, and Philippa sits in the garden with her chin on her knees. They have gone off to fight and might be fighting right now, or maybe they’re dead. It is a terrible thought, one that leaves her cold, but she knows it is a possibility. Rory too might be dead; for she is sure he is fighting too. Isn’t that what he wanted? To be all grown up?

She might be a widow at only fifteen.

John and her father have been gone for over a month, Rory even longer and she wonders if she will ever see them again. Waiting is terrible, awful, the worst. She needs to know what’s happening. Who’s survived, who’s won.

“Philippa! Philippa! Philippa, come here!”

It is her mother’s voice, but is that despair or jubilation in her voice?

Philippa is afraid to find out.

March 1471 Ravenspurn

Rory falls to his hands and knees in the wet sand of Ravenspurn.

We finally made it. I’m home.

The men around him laugh, cheer and whoop with joy, the brisk English wind slapping colour into their cheeks. It has been too many days scattered by storms, but they’ve finally come home. Rory breathes in as deeply as he can, until his lungs burn with the icy taste of England. I’m really home.

Gale drops a hand to his shoulder. “We made it. And now it’s time to take our country back,” he says and Rory nods.

I’m coming Mum, Vick, Posy, Nella, Prim, Philippa. I’m coming.

May 1471 Tewkesbury

“The Yorkists...the Yorkists have triumphed.”

“Liar!” Clove screeches and Madge should feel something, shouldn’t she? Sorrow or rage or terror, but there is nothing except a hollowing resignation. We lost

We always lose

I wonder Gale, if I’d chosen you, would you have lost?

#gadge #wars of the roses au #fanfiction #everlark #gale hawthorne #madge undersee #Hunger Games

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