#those church ladies who worked so hard to keep me engaged and out of the house had problems. but me

[pascalpanic]

Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Javier Peña x f!Reader)- Chapter Nine

Summary: Javier struggles in the hospital, but some of the symptoms are more somatic than physiological. He’s released, and the two of you have your first official date.

W/C: 4.2k (it just keeps getting longer... chapter 10 is 6k+)

Warnings: language, mentions of injuries, Javier used to be an asshole but he’s baby now, some innuendo/sexual flirting, brief mentions of food and alcohol

A/N: This chapter was actually hard to write! I had clear visions for 8 and 10 but didn’t have one for nine. Nevertheless, I really liked the way this turned out! I’ll post some sappy shit with chapter 10 but please know I love u all for reading and sticking around- it makes my little heart so happy that u guys love these two like I do <3

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Sleep is not easy when you have a massive stab wound in your abdomen. Javier hardly slept to begin with, but this makes it even harder. You tried offering sedatives but he harshly refused. You ordered dark and quiet for his room, but his sleep schedule was so helter-skelter before the accident that it was of no use to even try to fix it now. He can’t adapt when he’s not even in his own bed, he argues with you. Too damn bad, you tell him in return.

The only time Javier could sleep, it seems, is with you in the room. Specifically, in his arms.

It’s not that he thinks he’s unsafe. Hell, a hospital is the safest place he can be. It’s not that he fears passing in his sleep; he knows he won’t bleed out at this point. No, he just can’t sleep unless he has the comfort of a warm body wrapped up next to him. Specifically, the woman he loves.

You stand in the doorway with your hands on your hips. “Javier. I’m working.”

“This is specialized therapy for a patient,” he offers, persuasive as ever.

“I can and will get the opiates,” you threaten. “You can’t stay awake forever, and we both know that.”

“Ángel. I just… need the security.” He looks desperate. His eyes are tired. He’s slept very little in the past few days, leaving him agitated and restless. “The only time I’ve slept well in here was when you were with me.”

You pout a little. It’s adorable, you must admit, and most of all, it’s true. You and other nurses have been catering to him around the clock, since he only sleeps an hour here or there.

Sighing, you look at him. Your eyes are tired too. You’ve slept only when he sleeps, which is barely anything. You’re working on the floor or in his room with him. “Let me go talk with Connie, cariño. I’ll see what I can do.”

You walk into the break room with tired eyes. “Listen, ladies.” Both Connie and Lorena are sitting at a table, eating something. “Javier isn’t sleeping. He asked for me to stay in there with him to get some rest. It’s the only way it’s helped so far. Would you two cover my rotation? Just for tonight?”

Lorena’s large eyes sadden, and she nods. “Por supuesto. Anything you need, love.”

Connie’s not as enthused, but she nods. “You’re lucky this floor is dead empty.” It’s all too easy to imagine this was happening to Steve instead of Javi. That’s what makes her cave.

You sigh in relief. You take a quick shower then return to Javier’s room in a pair of clean scrubs. He smiles a little. “Hey.”

“Hi. You hungry?” You ask, walking to his bedside and taking his hand.

He shakes his head. “Just tired.”

You smile softly. “Well, you’re in luck. Connie and Lorena are angels.”

“No, you’re my angel,” he says with a teasing smile on his face.

“Well they’re mine. You’re the devil on my shoulder,” you laugh quietly and sit on the edge of his bed. He chuckles and pulls you into him, and you snuggle in against him, your eyes slipping shut. He murmurs affirmations of his love for you into your hair as he falls asleep.

And that’s how Javier sleeps for the next few nights. Bits and pieces during the day, but only restfully when you’re in his arms.

The rest of Javier’s stay in the hospital is uneventful. He’s a model patient for you and the other women. He apologizes to Lorena for his outburst under the influence too.

“Ángel,” Javier calls as you try to leave the bed and takes your hand.

“Yeah, cariño?” You ask and sit on the edge of his bed, pushing his dark hair from his forehead. The name makes him feel warm and tingly inside. Pet names from women who mean it are all too rare to him.

“I… should tell you about Lorraine.”

“You don’t have to, Javi,” you shake your head and cup his face softly.

“No, I really should,” he protests, and you nod.

“She was my high school sweetheart. We both went to college and came back and fell in love again.” You nod along to the story, watching his facial expressions. He looks far away, like his mind is back in Laredo. “We were engaged. I proposed and everything, did the whole damn thing.”

“What happened?” You ask softly.

His eyes don’t meet yours. “I got cold feet. I… left her at the altar,” he admits. He’s terrified you’ll run out the door now. It’s not an easy decision, to run away from a life you’re about to lead. It’s even worse when you know what that whole church, full of people, will think. But he did it anyway, and he’s scared you’ll never look at him the same way.

You swallow hard. It’s not what you’re expecting him to say, but you have to admit that it does sound in-character for the man. “And how long ago was that, Javi?”

He looks back up at you. “Jesus. 15 years now maybe.”

You nod, giving him a gentle smile. “Time changes people. You know that. I know that. Your past is the past, love.” You press a brief and sweet kiss to his lips. “I love you, Javier. Don’t you ever forget it.”

You stand and leave his room.

Goddamn, Javier thinks. You really are an angel. You must be, to have that response to what he just told you.

Several days after the injury, Javier is discharged from the hospital.

Despite his rage and arguing, the embassy refused to clear Javier for work. He was to be placed on a brief leave to heal and return when he was up to walking on his own again, without some kind of balance or assistance. Steve agreed to bring Javier some things to work on every night after returning from the office. Javier is already a restless man, and neither you nor the Murphys want to find out what happens when he’s bored all day, his best friend and his girlfriend both too busy to be around. Besides, a deep dive into some cases couldn’t hurt, he argues, and Steve relents. You and Connie take on the responsibility of checking up on him at least once a day- usually her more so than you, due to the fact that she lived directly above him- and of running any errands he may need, for things like food or medication.

As you wheel Javier from his hospital room out to the Murphys’ car, you realize you don’t have his phone number, nor does he have yours. You stop the wheelchair in the hallway and grab a pen from a nearby table. “I know it’s kind of unprofessional to give a patient my phone number,” you chuckle and squat to his seated height, “but I really think you’re cute,” you flirt as you write your phone number on his hand with a permanent marker.

You hand him the pen and Javier grins, his neatly-trimmed mustache (courtesy of Steve’s steady hands) moving with his cheeks. “You’re lucky that I think you’re cute too or I’d be telling your supervisors,” he laughs and steals a kiss before writing his phone number down on the back of your skin.

“It’s kind of weird,” you admit as the thick felt tip brushes against your skin, “that I’ve told you I love you and I don’t even know your phone number.”

Javier chuckles and caps the pen. He holds up your hand and raises an eyebrow. “Now you do.”

-

Three days pass, and Connie gives you updates on his condition whenever she sees you. He’s still in a lot of pain, but he’s lucky he was strong beforehand. You know that for a fact, and it hurts your heart to picture those beautiful abs you caught a glimpse of not too long ago marred by a scar he’ll surely have.

As you get home from a shift, you sigh and plop down on the couch. It’s late, you notice, but you miss Javier. Knowing him, he’s probably awake; you’re sure his sleep schedule is still as terrible as it was before the hospital. You grab the phone from the end table next to your spot, dialing his number and waiting.

Javier picks up on the second ring. Of course he’s awake. “Peña,” a gruff voice answers. It makes you smile. For a second, you want to just continue on without him knowing it’s you, want to observe how he acts when he’s with others. He’s different around you, you know that, and it’s adorable, you have to admit. “Hello?” he asks, annoyed.

“Hi,” you laugh softly through the phone. “It’s me. Sorry, I just got distracted. You sound sexy when your voice is like that,” you tease him.

There’s a smile in his voice when he responds. “Not a problem. How are you, hermosa?” he asks.

“I should be asking you that, Superman,” you laugh softly, leaning back against the couch. His voice instantly puts you at ease.

Javier laughs too. “Superman?”

“Big, strong. My protector.”

“Says the one who literally saved my life.”

“Who’s to say that cold wouldn’t have killed me if you didn’t take me to that diner?”

“Me.”

“I’m the nurse here.”

“And I’m Superman, apparently.” You laugh at that, wanting to reach through the phone line and kiss him then and there. “I’m no Superman, hermosa. I do bad things.”

“We all do, Javi.”

“Not as bad as me.”

“Gotta do bad things to catch bad people. You told me that. Are you trying to be this difficult, or does it just come naturally to you?” You ask sarcastically, smiling into the phone.

“I’m just telling you I’m not actually a good guy,” Javier says, his slight frustration evident.

“I was never under the impression you were. Is this you trying to push me away?” You ask, knowing that’s not the answer but hoping it’ll put some sense into him.

“No, no, cariño, I just-”

“Good, because we’re having our first official date tomorrow night. Okay?”

Javier chuckles a little at that. “I’m homebound. I appreciate the offer, but-”

“Oh no, Superman. I’m coming to you,” you tell him, curling up into a ball and grinning. “I’m getting takeout and wine- or whiskey, if you’d prefer- and we’re having a date night at your place. What do you want for dinner? You’ve got to be craving something.”

This takes Javier aback. This certainly wasn’t something he expected you to say when you picked up. “Uh… no. Nothing comes to mind. And I’m more of a whiskey guy, but wine sounds more romantic, I suppose.”

“Then I’ll pick up something that goes well with wine,” you say with a nod, beaming. “And I’m going to be tired after my shift, so you better be in the mood to cuddle.”

A laugh rings through the phone. “Of course you want to cuddle.”

“Says the one who asked me to snuggle him to sleep.”

“Hey, I almost bled out.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re the one who asked.”

You’re both quiet for a moment. “Javi?”

“Yes, hermosa?”

Your voice is quiet and shy when you finally speak again. “Are you my boyfriend now?”

He grins, even though you can’t see it. “I don’t see why not.”

“Well, I like that, but we haven’t even had our first date.”

You can feel Javier rolls his eyes through the phone, but he’s clearly smiling when he speaks again. “Wouldn’t you consider that morning at the diner our first date?” He asks you, his face lighting up at the memory of it.

“No,” you shake your head. “I think we need to say it’s officially a date before it happens, then it can be a date.”

“I’m not going to be a very interesting date. I do have a large stab wound in my abs right now.”

“Don’t question my taste in men, Peña.”

“Trust me, I’m not. Do you want to dress up nice?” he asks. “A pretend night out?”

You grin at that. “That sounds wonderful,” you nod and rest your head on the pillows behind you, looking dreamily up at the ceiling.

“Better yet, I’ll cook for you.”

“Why do I have a feeling your cooking features microwave cuisine?”

“First of all, that’s not fully true,” he laughs. “And second of all, at least let me pay for dinner.”

“Giving up that easily? Superman may have to have his title revoked.”

“No, you were just right. I’m not a great cook; takeout would be the best bet.”

“I’ll pay and you can pay me back by looking cute for me.”

“Is this how women feel when men are demeaning?” He teases.

“You got it,” you groan.

Javier sighs. “Don’t know how you do it. How was your day?” he asks, leaning back on his own couch, slipping a hand in the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Long. My back hurts,” you admit, hugging the pillow to your chest. “The hospital is much more boring when I don’t get to sneak kisses from a hot patient.”

“I would assume so.”

“Got anything interesting in those case files?”

“I think Steve pulled out a box from ‘79 and handed it over just to appease me. It’s a pain in the ass.”

“You’re supposed to be on leave. Do leave things.”

“Like what? You’re gone all day, so is Steve. There are my two options.”

“Javi,” you coo softly. “You’re so cute.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“No, you are! You don’t even know what to do with your life. When was your last day off that you didn’t spend nursing a hangover?” There’s a beat of silence. “Exactly. Watch some telenovelas, read a book, pick up a hobby.”

“I have hobbies,” he pouts.

“Besides drinking, smoking, and fucking. I know your reputation,” you tease.

He’s silent and shy when his voice returns. “Did you-“

“I’ve known that the whole time, Superman. You think Connie didn’t spill everything the first time I asked her about you?” You chuckle softly. “No, I know about you. I don’t mind at all. It’s kinda hot,” you tease.

“Hey now, don’t start what you can’t finish. I’m not gonna be in shape for anything for a while.”

You bite your lip, deciding between flirting back harder or leaving it alone. You decide to leave it. “I’m not,” you chuckle. “I just think everything about you is attractive.”

“Even my giant stab wound?”

“Especially. If that’s what it took for you to admit you love me,” you laugh softly, and you hear him laughing on the other end.

“You should get some sleep, cariño,” Javi says in a softening voice. “It’s late, and you said your back hurts.”

“I will. I just… couldn’t sleep without knowing how you’re doing. I’m glad it’s good.” You smile softly at the way his voice sounds through the phone. “I’ll be looking forward to tomorrow night all day at work.”

“And I’ll be looking forward to it here.”

“Goodnight Javi,” you tell him. “I love you.”

“Goodnight, hermosa,” he tells you in return. “I love you too.” He hangs up quickly after saying that, before he can change his mind and stay on the phone with you for hours more.

-

As you leave the hospital the next day, your best friend’s voice rings out after you. “Use a condom!” Lorena shouts before falling into a fit of giggles.

“You’re the worst.”

“No, an unplanned pregnancy would be the worst,” she teases and nudges your side. “Be safe!”

“Fuck you,” you mutter to her in English, but there’s a smile on your face as you leave the hospital.

“No, fuck Javi instead!”

“Goddamnit, Lori!”

The walk home is uneventful, as normal, but the sun is just about to start setting over Bogotá. It’s beautiful, you think to yourself, and you admire the skyline as you walk back to your apartment.

Once you get inside, you head to your bathroom and sigh as you look in the mirror. You’re tired, it’s evident, but your eyes hold your excitement. Turning on a cassette player in your living room, you dance and sing along to it in the bathroom as you do your makeup and style your hair. Both are simply done, but make you feel a little more confident, a little more elegant for your night in with Javier.

You dance along to the music and make your way into your bedroom. You change out of your scrubs and into the outfit you chose last night, in a rush of excitement after talking with Javier on the phone. It’s your favorite dress you wear when you’re going out, not that it’s often, one that makes you feel fantastic about yourself. You look in the mirror and have to admit, you look damn good.

After you twirl in the mirror a little, you pick up the phone and dial Javier.

The familiar greeting fills your ears. “Peña.”

“Hey, Javi,” you practically sing. “I’m leaving my place now, I’ll pick up the food and be over. Leave the door unlocked, that way you don’t have to get up and let me in, okay?”

Javier chuckles. “Yes ma’am. I’ll see you then.”

He hangs up and you grab your purse and a jacket, wrapping it tight around yourself as you leave your apartment building and head out to a nearby restaurant.

After the food is ready, you carry it in one hand, smiling to yourself as you walk the rest of the way to Javier’s. It’s closer than you ever knew, and it makes you smile even wider knowing that there’s only ever a short distance between you and him. The sun is now setting, casting everything in a warm glow.

Once you reach his apartment, you get hit by a wave of nerves. Impulsively, you climb the extra stairs and knock on the Murphys’ front door.

No response comes, surprisingly. Rather than continuing to knock, you get your courage up and go back downstairs, knocking on Javier’s door and letting yourself in.

Javier is at his kitchen table already, which is nicely set and even has a candle burning on top of it. He looks up when he hears you and smiles, and you immediately smile back. He’s wearing a long-sleeved, nice shirt and a tie, the shirt cuffed to his elbows. His hair, which has been messy nearly every time you’ve seen him, is neatly styled too. He looks professional, and it makes you giggle a little.

He takes a second to take in the sight of you too, his eyes raking all the way up your body until his eyes meet yours. “You look great, cariño,” he tells you with a little smirk, and you walk closer and set the food down on the table.

“Thank you,” you tell him with a grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You look very formal.”

“This is what I wear to work,” he admits and tilts his head to the side.

“Then I’m going to have to come visit you at the embassy some time,” you tell him and kiss him on the lips, for the first real time since the hospital. There’s silence between the two of you and you can hear a rhythmic knocking noise coming from somewhere-

You break away and your eyes widen, giggling. There’s a loud creaking sound that accompanied the pounding. “Oh shit.”

“What is it?” Javi asks, but then the noise reaches his ears.

You have to cover your mouth to hold back a laugh. “I have to admit, I went upstairs to ask Connie for advice before I came down here… I guess I know why no one answered,” you snort before you hear a uniquely feminine groan, and both you and Javier start laughing uncontrollably, falling into each other.

You bury your face in his shoulder laughing, then quickly remove it, forgetting you were wearing makeup. “Oh god, do you have a radio or something we can turn on to cover that up?” You as him, still giggling.

“Yeah, come on,” he says and leans on you for balance as the two of you walk to his kitchen. There’s a radio on top of his fridge, and he turns it onto the American station in town. You smile at the memory of first meeting him while this was playing. Some slow jam from a few years ago is on, and Javier cranks the dial to adjust the volume until you can no longer hear the Murphys and their activity upstairs.

The sun shines its last rays into the kitchen, casting an orange glow over both you and Javi. He looks down at you and swears he can see exactly what he’s feeling reflected in your eyes. Your eyes hold such kindness and depth and unconditional regard for him, and it makes him want to gather you in his arms and never let you go again, never let either of you ever leave this apartment and this moment. Javier has never been one for words, choosing mainly to express his feelings through the patterns of his hips against a woman’s, but he tries in this moment, just for you. “You… have gorgeous eyes,” he tells you softly, and you giggle and shyly look away. “Really,” he says, catching your chin in his hand and bringing your face back to look at him. “So beautiful. All of you, especially tonight.”

“Thank you,” you say softly, gazing up into those big brown eyes and kissing him quickly. “Care to dance?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Javi chuckles a little and puts his arms around your waist in return. “Why not?” He asks, sneaking another gentle kiss before swaying the two of you around his kitchen. You rest your head in the curve of his neck and he smiles at the feeling, pressing a kiss to your head. He’s not a great singer, he knows that, but he mumble-sings the lyrics to you. You can feel his chest vibrate from his voice, and you sigh, pressing a kiss into his skin before resting your head on his shoulder again.

The song ends a few moments later and there’s a bit of dead air on the radio. No sound comes from upstairs and you lift your head, laughing a little. “Well, now that that’s all done… shall we eat?” You ask, and Javier nods, sneaking one last kiss from your lips.

The night ends with you and Javier cuddled on the couch. It’s late, and you’re watching his VHS tapes of old American movies. You’re snuggled into his side when he nudges your face with his neck. “Aren’t you uncomfortable in your dress?” He asks.

“What, are you trying to get me naked?” You tease quietly.

“No. Just want you comfy,” he murmurs, half asleep. You have to admit you’re tired too. “I have a proposal.”

“Yes I’ll marry you,” you laugh jokingly.

“Not like that,” he rolls his eyes. “Help me to my bed. You can wear some of my clothes. Sleep here tonight.”

You smile a little. “Is this your way of saying you can’t sleep without me anymore?”

“Sleeping alone is shitty once I got a taste of you,” he says with a charming smile.

“Alright Romeo,” you tease and kiss his lips gently. “I like that idea though. Let’s do it.” You stand from his arms, offering him a hand. He takes it and stands with a groan.

You help Javier to his bedroom, holding him up as a crutch and a balance. Javier’s tie was long discarded, after the two of you ate dinner. He strips the dress shirt and pants from his body, leaving him in just his boxers and a plain white shirt. He heads to his dresser and pulls out a large t-shirt for you.

You take it from him and kiss his cheek. He closes his eyes as you unzip your dress. “You’re allowed to look,” you murmur teasingly next to his ear. His eyes fly open and watch you hungrily, the way you’re exposed in just a bra and panties.

“Mi ángel,” he mumbles, his hands on your sides. He looks down at your body before finding your eyes again and smiling softly. He kisses you gently. “I know I have a bad reputation. You know I love you for more than your body, right?”

You nod, your arms around his neck. “Of course I do, Javi. We haven’t even fucked yet.”

He nods. “Just… checking.” This is all so new for him, and you can tell. You kiss him tenderly for a moment before pulling on the big t-shirt and flopping on his bed.

“Now get in here and cuddle me, Superman.”

“Of course, cariño,” he laughs, sliding under the covers and kissing the side of your face.

-

translations:

por supuesto- of course

-

hey taglist, come get y’all juice

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @diogodxlot @wonderlandgabby @yooforia @sara-alonso @dodgerandevans @pedrosmustache @fruit-of-my-hoechloins @tanyaherondale @marydjarin @obsessivelysearching @sleep-tight1 @drinkingwhileblogging

#javier peña x reader #javier peña #javi peña x reader #javi peña #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #blood sweat and tears #pascalpanic

[philliamwrites]

The Dawn Will Come [Chpt.3]

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri x Reader, Claude x Reader, Edelgard x Reader, Yuri x Reader, Edelgard x Byleth, lots of minor pairings

Tags: #gn reader, # platonic love byleth & reader, #reader is a tactical unit, #angst, #slow burn, #subplots, #unreliable narrator, #pining, #remporary amnesia, #reluctant herp, #canon divergence, #lost twin au, #many chapters, #original content

Words: 7.7k

Summary: Waking up in a forest without any knowledge of your past and who you are, you join the house leaders of the Officers Academy to search for a way to return your memories. Unfortunately, the church has different plans for you, and Fate places you in the centre of a cruel game with deadly stakes. It certainly doesn’t help to fall in love with a house leader who is doomed to be your demise.

Notes: Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

Chapter 03: Ties That Bind

Where war, and joy, and terror Have all at times held away; Where both delight and horror Have had their fitful day.

The happiest under heaven A king of powerful mind; A company so proven Would now be hard to find

Gawain put on a good cheer. ‘Why should I hesitate?’ He said. ‘Kind or severe, We must engage our Fate.’

[Sir Gawain and the Green Knight]

    „Breathe,“ Hanneman says for the third time. At every tap of his pen against the table, you flinch as if someone is knocking right against the inside of your skull. “You have to feel the Crest, become one with it. Don’t think of it as an addition; see it as an extension of your very self.”

    You exhale but it’s hard to focus after you’ve been sitting in the same position for nearly two hours and your legs keep falling asleep.

    “Focus on it,” Hanneman continues. He starts to gesture with his free hand, an indicator that he’s just as frustrated with your lack of progress as you are. “Focus on the feeling that took hold of you when you fought the bandits. Imagine what you want. Ask yourself what it is you really want, and take hold of that picture.”

    Well, first of all, you really want a sandwich.

    For the past few weeks, you’ve been waking up before sunrise to attend private lessons with Hanneman to get a hold of your Crest’s power. Now the end of the month approaches, and still your body refuses to get accustomed to work at such an early hour, and more importantly without eating first. An hour ago, your stomach started growling, but Professor Hanneman has proved again and again to be very successful in ignoring factors that disturb his lessons. You continue breathing through what you consider hunger pains instead of the raise of new powers, but with the sound of screaming students outside and the occasional flapping of wings as Pegasus Knights fly by on their patrol, it’s anything but successful.

    “Focus!” Hanneman chides again as if he can read your mind and knows exactly you’re thinking of the pheasant roast with berry sauce on the menu today.

    “I’m trying,” you groan and slump into the chair, defeated. “But I don’t feel anything.”

    “Hmm hmmm,” Hanneman hums and looks at you like you were supposed to understand what he’s conveying with that sound. “Maybe we’re looking at it the wrong way,” he says once you don’t follow up on his inexplicable sound. “Maybe we should stop thinking of it as a common Crest, but approach it like it is something entirely different.” He quickly notes something on his paper, then proceeds to flip through the open books he’s splayed out on his desk. “There is so little we know about the Crest of the Herald. I am much frustrated no one thought of studying it a thousand years ago!”

    “I don’t understand. How can it be different?” Your first lesson solely focused on Crests. How they are thought to be power incarnate, bestowed upon humans by the Goddess countless ages ago. Today those who are descendants of Fódlan’s Ten Elites and Four Saints, who fought during the War of Heroes beside Saint Seiros, wear Crests, a sign of wealth and nobility.

    “Well, one possible explanation could be that for whatever reason, the first Herald was different from his fellow warriors, the Ten Elites,” Hanneman offers, leaning back into his chair and looking a lot more interested in the conversation now. “The Goddess must have found him worthy of her power just as she found Saint Seiros worthy.”

    “Then why wasn’t he a Saint?” you wonder. From your understanding, the Four Saints were special comrades of Saint Seiros, just as guided by the Goddess as their leader. What had made the Herald from back then different? “According to everything you told me, he sounds a lot like this Macuil person. Focusing on strategy and all that.”

    “Saint Macuil,” Hanneman corrects you, but there’s no bite in his voice. “And yes, perhaps he was akin to the Saints, but that clearly wasn’t what determined the final decision to name him Herald.”

    “Well, that’s just my kind of luck,” you mumble, but when Hanneman makes a puzzled sound, you ask instead, “And you’re sure I’m a descendant of him?”

    “Most likely! You bear a Major Crest, which means the Herald’s blood runs strong in your body. After he disappeared, he might have settled down and started a family. Unfortunately, nothing is recorded about him after the War of Heroes concluded.”

    “Then how come there was no one else in a thousand years who bore the same Crest?” You aren’t sure you fully understand how they work. Apparently, Crests grant special powers to those who hold them such as high aptitude for magic or enhanced strength. But you know better than anyone that the Crest of the Herald is special. It doesn’t simply give you a boon, it allows you to command the flow of battle. But is it really a blessing bestowed by the Goddess? You don’t remember a divine revelation or talking to a Goddess. Or did that maybe occur even before you were found by the Officers Academy’s students? Before your memory loss? You certainly don’t feel chosen by a deity.

    “Trying to explain the Goddess’ whims would wield about the same result as asking this question,” Hanneman says. “Sometimes a Crest may skip generations. No one can say with certainty who will be chosen. If it will be the first or third born. That is why we must further study Crests! For example, why, unlike other Crests, has your appeared physically visible?” Hanneman mutters more questions under his breath and notes them quickly on his paper. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic he approaches the topic if it only didn’t make you feel like an experiment lying on a dissection table.

    “I want to know so much more about the first Herald,” you mumble. “What was his name? Where was he from?” Why did he disappear and what were the costs he had paid for such a title. Only one month in and Lady Rhea already granted you an impressive room to reside. People treat you with respect and admiration even though you aren’t doing much besides wave at them on the streets or hold some conversations. If being the Herald only encompasses these tasks, you’ll gladly take on the role and speak to people. But that would be a dream too good to be true.

    “We can only speculate,” Hanneman says. “Some believe the Herald came when Seiros needed him most. Our Goddess’ answer to her cry of help. Others believe he was simply a general who originated form a farmer’s family. Other, smaller sources talk about a prince from a far off land who passed through Fódlan and decided to stay. But in all cases, the Herald was a great asset to win the War of Heroes and save Fódlan from the tyranny of the Fell King.”

    “Yeah, no pressure there,” you mumble, sinking further into your seat. Hopefully no one expects you to save Fódlan from evil monarchs. If yes, it certainly won’t happen on an empty stomach. When Hanneman releases you, there’s only one place for you to be. The Dining Hall is crowded at this time of hour. Students and faculty bustle everywhere, eager to get their favourite meal on a plate. Just like them, you are drawn in by the amazing smell of roasted meet and freshly baked pastries.

    The only thing you can live without is how once you enter the room several heads turn in your direction, and a ripple of “Look, it’s the Herald” goes through the crowd, spreading like a wave. Or a disease, you think with a sour taste in your mouth as you move through the parting sea. They want you to acknowledge them but Goddess forbid you actually engage in conversation with them and they flee like you’re the Herald of Pest.

    “Herald!” Well, not everyone escapes. Some seem to like living dangerous.

    Edelgard looks straight at you from between the other students from the Eagle class sitting at a table, removing any doubt she means anyone else but you. Running from her would be a sign of defeat, so you drag yourself over to the Eagle table and give the round an uncertain smile. “Hello.”

    “Herald, if you have time, please sit with us,” Edelgard offers but the look she pins on you doesn't give you any choice. The silence of her classmates speaks louder than words, and a quick glance to Hubert tells you that he very much would like for you to notsit with them.

    “Sure,” you say lamely and sit opposite from her where Bernadetta quickly shuffles to the side to make room, and then further down the bench until she jumps to her feet and flees from the hall. It’s a miracle she’s out of her chambers in the first place, undoubtedly Byleth’s work.

    “Did you manage any progress with Professor Hanneman?” Edelgard asks, carefully cutting her pheasant roast into small bite-sized pieces. She looks the complete opposite from someone capable of hacking away their enemies but you wouldn’t dare to underestimate her.

    “It’s slow,” you admit, solely focusing on shoving potatoes from one side of your plate to the other so you don’t have to look at anyone. “I’ve only grasped the basics of how Crests work and the Herald’s is so different.”

    “Research might prove more fruitful if you’d be called into action,” she says, and it’s difficult to determine if that statement is a simple observation or underlying critique towards Rhea’s decision to leave you out of the major education system. At least that’s something you’re sure of. Edelgard is difficult.

    “Maybe. But chances are higher I get myself killed somehow on the battlefield.” You’re already dreading the approaching noon hours. Byleth has worked out a special training programme for you and the house leaders. So far there hasn’t been a day without aching muscles and bruises for you. Thinking of Byleth, you can’t help but ask, “So how’s Byleth as a Professor?”

    Edelgard considers her plate with mild interest, but her index fingers start tapping against her cutlery. She has small, delicate hands. Cute hands. You gawk at them for two seconds before noticing Hubert starring daggers at you, and quickly avert your eyes to your cup of ginger tea like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

    “Our professor shows knowledge in the most curious things,” he says, surprising you by joining the conversation. “I think the Adrestian Empire will benefit greatly from that.”

    You aren’t sure how leading the class correlates directly to joining the Empire, but you don’t want to point that out. Hubert is still too much of a puzzle you’re adamant on not piecing together because whatever picture waits for you after the assembly might be one of horror.

    “She really is one to look up to,” Edelgard agrees, but she isn’t looking at anyone, so it seems she’s saying it more to herself. You want to try and read more out of her expression, but distraction comes quickly in form of more students from the Eagle class. Caspar is the first bouncing excitedly towards the table, and still he somehow miraculously manages to keep his food from flying everywhere. “Herald!” he calls and slides right on the seat right next to you. “How’s the head situation going?”

    “Caspar,” Linhardt chides and gives his friend the disappointed look of a parent that can’t bring his child to use a fork to eat. “Would you stop pestering the Herald with the same question every day?”

    Linhardt hits the mark. It was nice in the beginning to have someone show so much interest in your wellbeing, but now you don’t know if the daily reminder how you fail to regain pieces of your past is rude or just Caspar’s naive politeness.

    “Yeah well.” You try to stuff as much potatoes in your mouth as possible just to avoid talking about it. “Nothin’ yeff.”

    “Herald, please try to keep your manners in check, will you?” Ferdinand comments because of course he catches you with your mouth full and sauce dripping from the corners. Unlucky for him, you don’t really care.

    “Well, sorry.” Caspar frowns and scratches the remains from his plate. The two minutes you needed to finish your potatoes, he’s cleared his whole plate. “I just thought it might help.”

    “Help to be reminded what’s missing?” Linhardt doesn’t look convinced. “I think the Herald knows so better than anyone.”

    “Guys, drop the subject,” Edelgard intervenes. “Let us finish our meals now. Classes resume presently and I don’t want to hear any stomachs growling, understood?” The last part goes with a pointed look towards Linhardt, who answers with a lazy shrug while continuing to poke at his food, looking bored out of his mind. It lasts about three seconds before he brightens up and turns towards you while rummaging through his school bag. From that, he pulls out notes and a pen, and unceremoniously shoves them into your hands. “I have a question, Herald. Would you be so kind and look over these strategic proposals I’ve developed from the last lesson? I understand what you taught us were basics as we find them in the library. I simply took the time and applied those to the strengths and abilities of my classmates.”

    You raise your eyebrows. “You did?” Up until now, you didn’t know Linhardt was paying attention whenever you gave the students your sorry excuses of lessons. You feel like you’ve seen him asleep far more than actually looking at the board or writing, so him presenting his notes to you now is more than a surprise. He has a clean handwriting, small letters that curl into themselves and forget to take a break between words. You squint at the sentences, trying to make them out. It sure doesn’t help that half of it is crossed out by what looks like a strategy sketch with little circles and everyone’s names filling out the space.

    “This looks … elaborate,” you comment, unsure if you’ll ever be able to solve this enigma.

    “No worries.” Linhardt gives a little smile. “Please give me your answer report until tomorrow. And feel free to correct me on anything I’ve done wrong.”

    He’s probably done a much better job than you on your lesson notes, but you nod with a lopsided smile. “I will.”

    “Oh, and while we’re at strategy talk,” Caspar jumps right in, “any good ideas how to take on a taller opponent?”

    “A good kick to their shins?” you suggest.

    “A dagger to their liver?” Edelgard says.

    “Poison in their cup?” Hubert offers.

    “You’re all animals,” Ferdinand says.

    Linhardt groans. “I toldyou how to win in a fight like that, Caspar. Why won’t you listen to me?”

    You don’t want to be part of the argument breaking out between them, so you turn away and try to see what the other students are doing in the dining hall. At the opposite end, Claude catches your eyes and waves like he’s been waiting way too long to finally get your attention. He points at Edelgard and flaps his arms like a chicken. He points at you and spreads his hands behind his head, forming antlers with his fingers. When Edelgard follows your eyes, his head whips around and he pretends to agree with whatever Lysithea just said.

    “I hope you forgive Caspar’s enquiries,” she says, steering your focus back to her. She’s gently tapping the corners of her mouth with an embroidered napkin, and oh there they are again, her delicate fingers. You look away before Hubert catches you staring again and decides to put poison in your cup7. “I speak on behalf of everyone in the Black Eagle House when I say we wish for your full recovery to be soon.”

    “If wishing would only get the job done, I might have something to work with by now.”

    Edelgard doesn’t blink, her expression frozen. “Meaning?”

    “I thought I'd come here and one of the Church's healers would just wave their hands to return my memories,” you mumble, scribbling a tiny Claude with little, evil horns on his head in the corner of Linhardt’s notes.

    Edelgard looks at you like you've just insulted her whole noble lineage. “That isn't how magic works.”

    You throw your arms up in frustration to emphasise that yes, that's the point. You don't know how anything works in this place, and you doubt Byleth's four pages of lesson plans are going to help.

    “If no one comes to your aid, maybe it is time you take matters into your own hands.” You flinch at the scornful sound in Edelgard’s voice. Judging the expression on her face, she seems just as surprised about her outburst. She gets up abruptly and bids farewell with a curt nod, followed closely by Hubert as always. Her classmates look after her, each more puzzled than the next.

    “Didn’t she seem … angry to you?” Linhardt thinks aloud, blinking into the empty space.

    Ferdinand harrumphes. “She’s always like this. Please excuse her, Herald.”

    You don’t think she’s done anything wrong, and yet she certainly doesn’t appear as always. Something about her last words strikes you as especially sharp; reproachful. Those weren’t meaningless words, but you don’t have any ways to decipher the message. A little voice tells you she isn’t wrong either. So far nothing has helped returning your memories—Manuela’s medicine, herbs from the Greenhouse, Hanneman’s spells. It seems like your brain has built defencive walls to repel any probing, which begs the answer to the question what is hiding in secret even more. But can you really do it on your own, like Edelgard suggests? It seems impossible.

    With newfound doubt you finish your meal, saying your goodbyes to the now scattering Eagle students as they scurry off to their next lesson. Two hours are left before you’re meeting with Byleth and the house leaders, and since you agreed to look over Linhardt’s notes, the library seems a good next stop. You still want to go over the seven classical manoeuvres of war, especially since the students didn’t really grasp the remaining two last time, and it gives you a good excuse to look over them again as well. At the beginning, you thought there was nothing you could teach those children, not with experienced colleagues at your side who have participated in countless battles themselves. Who could have thought that talking about tactics and strategies came as natural to you as breathing. Well, Rhea did for certain, and even the students drink up your every word like it is a message from the Goddess herself and you her chosen herald. The irony of it.

    But it isn’t only the students accepting your guidance. Something inside you changed in the last couple of weeks as well. When you started going through the books in the library, it was more stumbling and slipping on foreign terrain, but just in a couple of days, you moved through the matter like a fish following smoothly the currents of its native waters. It felt like home. Like building the foundation of a house from thousand variables, the result different each time but still the same: art. You build the art of battle, the last decision that will bring victory or death. You love every second of it. Which opens the possibility that it really isn’t your first time, but also more questions: Who taught you? What battles have you fought? How many of them did you win? Since those aren’t as simple to answer, you focus on fulfilling the first purpose, and hope that it will some day be enough for the students to survive battles.

    If only it would end there. Your second duty isn’t as easy or pleasant, and it lies in wait for you everywhere, stalking you like a dark shadow with monstrous fangs.

    “Herald.” A soldier gives a courteous bow, intercepting you in the Great Hall on your way to the library. “Pilgrims ask for you near the Entrance Hall. Please allow me to escort you.”

    Immediately, your nerves tingle with nervous anticipation. This is the scary part. Meeting the people, seeing the hope in their eyes. You’d gladly send them back where they’ve come from, but some have travelled for multiple days, and denying them audience would be cruel.

    “Don’t let me stop you from your duties,” you say, unconsciously tugging your clothes in order to appear presentable. “I will welcome them on my own.”

    The soldier nods and bows again, his expression barely readable under the helmet before he disappears as quickly as he came.

    Planning lessons is easy. You can find whatever you need in the library and work out the flow with the students. But nothing can prepare or teach you how to act like the Herald people wish for. Nowhere is anything written on the old Herald, how he talked to them and what promises he’d whispered when day broke. That is where you are on your own. Not even Rhea could answer that question. She only instructed that you see them, and remind them about their devotion to the Goddess—for she was the one who made it possible in the first place.

    The Entrance Hall is emptier than usual. Most of the students are in class, and a handful of knights and soldiers might be at the advanced training camp Jeralt and Alois hold in honour of the Blade Breaker’s return. So spotting the pilgrims isn’t difficult. Especially with the Gatekeeper waving his arms in wide arcs as if fearing you might overlook him.

    “Greetings, Herald!” His grin is blinding. “The pilgrims are waiting for you just at the at the foot of the stairs.”

    “Yeah,” you say. “I can see them.”

    “Oh, yes, of course! If anyone causes problems, count on me to help!”

    “Thanks.” You answer his thumbs up with one of your own before moving downstairs. What a refreshing young man. Certainly good looking under his helmet. Byleth seems to like talking to him a lot as well.

    Today’s pilgrims aren’t much different from other days. Old people are supported by their family members, who have brought baskets with sweets and flowers, presenting them at your feet.

    “Herald,” they breathe in awe, bowing. No matter how often you’ve seen it by now, it still feels incredibly wrong.

    “Raise your heads,” you tell them, helping an elderly woman up to hrer feet. She gasps at your touch, then clings to your hands. You try to swallow past the lump in your throat. “The Archbishop and I bid you welcome. The Goddess will smile upon your devotion.” Your cringe slightly when echoing Rhea’s words and wonder if any second the goddess might punish you by throwing lightning your way.

    “We are blessed to finally meet you,” a younger woman says, taking the old woman from your hands—mother and daughter maybe? “Please accept our gifts, and may the Goddess guide you on your path to light.”

    “She will answer your prayers and guide me so I can bring you peace,” you reply just so you can say something they might want to hear. Judging their delighted expressions this wasn’t the worst you could have said. Dorothea would probably be proud looking at your acting skills. Or point out your bad posture and how you’re avoiding their eyes. Dorothea would probably tell you how much you have to polish your acting skills.

    “Bring us peace?” someone from the last row spits, pushing to the front. “You know nothing, the Herald will bring chaos and ruin!” A man in his forties looms above you, an ugly, padded scar crossing his face from one temple to his chin. A war veteran? They way he holds himself looks like he’s been beaten up once too much to get up again.

    “You heathen, don’t you dare speak to our Herald like that,” the old woman barks, immediately doubling over in a coughing fit. Her daughter supports her, glaring at the man. “Go in peace, but go if you only came to talk ill about our Herald,” she says, clearly upset. "Doubting them is doubting our Goddess. How dare you."

    “First I want to see the Herald do something! What if … if this one is an impostor.” The man turns towards the others, throwing his arms in the air. “Bring forward proof that you are not here to ruin our lands, but to actually serve in the Goddess’ name!”

    This time his demand meets less resistance. Until now people were fine with seeing you and the Crest, but to want actual prove? You could easily threaten them and ask if they doubt the Goddess’ decision, but you’d rather leave that method to Rhea. You don’t want to sound like her. You don’t want to scare people. Yet admitting that you don’t really have a clue how to really use the Crest would surely support the man’s accusation. Diminishing the people’s trust in the Herald is the last thing you want, especially if it means facing Rhea’s scorn.

    “I—”

    “Herald!” A voice calls from the top of the stairs. When you turn around, Sylvain waves and jogs downstairs, looking like he’s been running for some time. “There you are. The Archbishop wants to see you.”

    Oh no, has she heard of your failure already? Giving the choice of facing a group of doubting people or Rhea, you’d immediately go to the people. You give him a curt nod, unable to speak because you don’t trust your voice.

    “I apologise,” you say to the pilgrims, clearing your throat when it comes out as a croak. “I will have something prepared for another time.”

    “No, you do not need to prove anything to us,” the elderly woman says. “We will always believe in you. Please tell Her Grace we are constantly praying to our Goddess and thank her for sending you to us.”

    “I will.” You squeeze her hand a last time. “Save travels.”

    The man still glares at you, but without a chance to keep you present any longer, he turns away and follows the rest. You can’t wait to leave all that behind, and as you steel your nerves for what’s waiting for you in the Audience Chambers, you look up to Sylvain and ask, “Did Lady Rhea say what it is about?”

    He looks over at you and blinks a couple of times, then seems to remember. “Ah ... yeah, about that. I lied.”

    You stop dead in your tracks. “You lied?”

    “Yup. I don’t know what Lady Rhea’s doing. But you looked like you were about to puke at those poor pilgrim’s shoes. As hilarious as that would have been, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment.” He stops now as well and smiles a boyish crooked grin. Sylvain knows exactly what to do with his face so girls fall over themselves to do him a favour, and boys grow jealous of all the attention he gets. Two weeks in, and you’ve figured out his game, keeping a respectable distance that wouldn’t birth the thought you’re avoiding him. In fact, this could be the very first time you’re actually holding a real conversation.

    “Well, I … thank you? But I had everything under control.”

    He looks like he doesn’t believe you. The gatekeeper you’re just passing looks like he doesn’t believe you. You press your lips into a thin line and dare any of them to disagree.

    “Okay.” Sylvain shrugs. “But now we’re here.”

    “Sylvain, what do you want?”

    “Cutting to the chase, huh?” He crosses his arms behind his head. “Why do you think I want something?” Your raised eyebrows seem to be answer enough. Sylvain laughs a little helplessly and returns his hands back to his front, raised as an offer of peace. “I promise, I want nothing. Just a little talking. A little talking hasn’t hurt anyone.”

    Something inside you wants to argue against it, but without a solid argument in hand, you follow him silently, wondering where his destination and intention lies. He belongs to the many students you can’t really read, nothing about his ambitions or goals. Sometimes he gives you this strange look through half lidded eyes, his gaze focused on your right eye—his interest in your Crest undeniable, and yet he’s been one of the few not to talk about it with you. It’s strange because whenever you come together, he looks like there’s something he’s dying to say. This time is no different.

    He leads you to the wooden pavilion in the gardens, but instead of offering you a seat, Sylvain leans his slim hips against the table, half sitting on it. Seteth would be furious seeing this.

    “How’s the Herald business doing for you?” he asks the one question you wouldn't expect from him. “Other than you having ‘everything under control.’” He has the audacity to air-quote. This isn’t a conversation you want to hold right now, leastwise with him. Sylvain must discern that you’re ready to bold from whatever your body is showing. With a quick step, he’s standing between you and the escape route, lazily leaning one arm against a column to uphold the illusion that you’re only having a pleasant talk when in reality his body stands between you and your freedom.

    “Do you talk to the other faculty members like that as well?” you say through gritted teeth, crossing your arms. Sylvain blinks like he doesn’t understand, but you’ve seen this act before, followed by an eerily precise repetition of a subject to one of his classmates when he thinks none of the teachers pay attention. Sylvain is playing dumb and deliberately hiding a sharp mind.

    “Oh, I didn’t mean to offend,” he quickly says, nothing about this crooked smile appearing apologetic whatsoever. “I’m generously curious. You’re holding up really good.”

    “In comparison to what?” you demand, your heartbeat picking up. Is he trying to call you out on something? That you aren’t heraldy enough? But to your surprise, Sylvain looks genuinely surprised by your reaction.

    “To nothing. In general?” He shrugs. “Back on the ceremony day, you didn’t look so good standing up there, and His Highness told us everything happened really uh … ‘suddenly.’’ More air-quotes, whatever they mean this time.

    “If you mean I wasn’t really asked to become the Herald, then yes.” Your arms drop back to your side. “It was suddenly.”

    Sylvain watches you for a moment, and again, there’s this look in his eyes; the need to say something he can’t. He kneads the back of his nape, avoiding your eyes. “All I’m trying to say is … having that Crest out of nothing is cool. Probably. And maybe terrifying? And just—”

    You grow impatient. “Come on, get the words out, Sylvain.”

    “A Crest isn’t just this nice letter of invitation to a privileged life. Just take care, is all I’m saying.”

    And there’s another page to the book of surprises with Sylvain’s name on it. The immediate lack of response catches him off guard; it’s like he only notices now that the vital part to understand this conversation is missing: The source of his doubt towards Crests.

    Sylvain’s body turns in a split second, his feet facing the direction he’s ready to bold towards, but this time you stand in his way and block him off. “Sylvain, are you okay?”

    He blinks in confusion, then furrows his eyebrows in deep thought like you demanded he recites the Ten Heroes from memory or else fails classes. His face contorts with the effort of looking fine. “Why, yes! Just peachy. Why would you think something is off?”

    “Because I have eyes in my skull.”

    “Very pretty eyes, if I dare say.” His answer comes out like a fire spell, hard and fast, seemingly more instinct than anything else. He clears his throat and scratches his chin, loosing momentum. “Goddess, I am bad at this.”

    “You are.” No need to sugar coat it. “If something happened, just say it.”

    “Nothing really happened, I just—” He exhales audibly and stares into space for a long minute, before side stepping you without difficulty. “Actually, I remembered Professor wanted to see me after class. Something about extra lessons about eh. Horse riding. Yeah. I’ll catch you later, Herald.” He winks and bolds away, darting under your outstretched arm before you can catch him. For someone this tall, he’s surprisingly agile and fast, already disappearing behind a tall hedge towards the main building.

    If that wasn’t the strangest conversation you’ve held with anyone, you don’t know what might excel that. Maybe it’s time you stop avoiding Sylvain.

    The Training Grounds smells of sweat and oil. Many students and knights train, which is surprising at this kind of hour, the short break between afternoon and evening classes. You’d like to know what they’re working on, but Byleth doesn’t tolerate inattention in a classroom or on the battle field, and demands you do push-ups each time your eyes wander somewhere off. You hate her a little for that. For whatever reason, Claude has taken on the role of your partner in crime, and does whatever necessary to make Byleth punish him as well.

    “What can I say, I like a good workout,” he said when you asked. He didn’t even try to hide his lie, looking as miserable as you felt. Probably hating Byleth a little as well.

    It’s the fourth week of private training with her and the house leaders, and so far you can definitely say that you were not meant to fight on the field. You see how your opponent moves, you can somehow predict what they’re going to do next—but your body simply protests to act accordingly. You stumble, you fall, you need a second too long to get up and before you can do anything, a training sword is at your throat. Byleth always looks like she wants to facepalm her fist through her forehead. Or yours.

    “Herald, this is not how you disarm someone,” she says, as always, and demonstrates it in one smooth, swift movement, as always. You blow hair out of your eyes, knowing you’re about to fail again. At least that gave Claude a reason to give you a new nickname, though if it’s better than the last is debatable.

    “You gotta twist your wrist, duckling!” he calls from the other side of the hall, immediately drawing Byleth’s attention to him. He and Dimitri are facing off, both wielding a spear which should give Dimitri the upper hand. So far, he hasn’t landed a single hit on Claude.

    “Keep your elbows in!” Byleth berates Claude. “Stop flapping them like some kind of chicken.”

    Claude lets out a disturbingly convincing cluck.

    You raise an eyebrow. “At least someone’s having fun.”

    Byleth sighs. “He’s going to get himself killed sooner than later.”

    “I don’t know. He’s managed so far, hasn’t he?”

    “I’m not sure if it’s a talent or a fault.” She turns back to you and nods her chin towards the side. “Take a break. I’m going to see how the boys are doing.”

    You nod, tensing all over because that’s where Edelgard is currently standing and picking out a training axe. You haven’t talked to her since lunch, and you can do without it for a couple more hours. She barely glances at you when you walk over, and instead checks out the edge of the wooden blade, turning it left and right.

    “Is she as strict in the classroom as in here?” you ask, unable to go on in awkward silence. Edelgard hums, throwing a quick glance towards Byleth from under her long, white lashes. “She’s systematic and consistent. Capable in both fields. I have no reason to raise any kind of complaint.”

    “That’s impressive.” You sure as heck still wouldn’t want her as a teacher. “Even though she’s been pushed into all this, she handles it like she’s never done anything else.”

    “I think as a mercenary, she is used to changing approaches depending on the employer.” Edelgard is still looking at Byleth. Reading her expression is impossible, and you don’t want to point out that sticking a sword into thieves and bandits is not the same as teaching kids how to fight in a battle. Her head whips to you suddenly, and she considers the training sword in your hand. “Speaking of different approaches,” she continues, “have you considered that your field of combat might be magic?”

    You have, so the answer comes immediately. “Chances are higher I set myself on fire.” You stare at her. “I didn’t mean it to rhyme.”

    Edelgard ignores your last comment. “But you haven’t really tried it out, have you?” Your lack of response is answer enough for her, and she nods like that proves a point.

    It’s complicated. You haven’t really tried it out because … the simple answer is, you’re afraid. It gets tricky once you try to search for the answer to that. There’s just a strange sensation when you try to use magic, like there’s a vast sea of possibilities and one step inside is enough to get you lost. It isn’t as bad with wind spells or white magic. You haven’t touched Fire spells because a crippling fear chills you to the bones every time you manage to nourish a small flame inside your palm—the complete opposite to Dark magic. When you tried a MiasmaΔ for the first time it felt strangely … secure. The rope tying you to a shore, it had felt like—

    There’s a loud crash when the spears collide and Claude knocks Dimitri off his feet. The whole room is silent as everyone watches how Claude taps the blunt end of his practice spear against Dimitri’s chin. “Steady on there, darling,” he says with a smug grin. Dimitri flushes bright red, and pushes with more force than necessary the spear away, quickly climbing to his feet.

    “That wasn’t bad.” Byleth quickly steps in before Dimitri can throttle Claude. “Dimitri, you rely too much on your brute strength. That’s a big disadvantage against someone like Claude. And you, young man,” she turns to Claude who’s been smiling victoriously, “are scheming too much and lose time to take action. In a serious battle, you won’t be as lucky as today.”

    “Noted.” Claude whirls his spear from left to right, almost dropping it when Dimitri drills his elbow into his side. “But in a serious battle, I won’t be upfront. I’ll be hanging back nicely, and skewing my enemies with a myriad of arrows.”

    “You can barely shoot three at the same time,” Dimitri grumbles, his cheeks still splotched with red specks.

    “You wanna bet—”

    “That’s enough, guys, save it for then next round.” Byleth ignores their sulky expressions and turns to you, raising a single eyebrow. The message is clear. What are you waiting for?

    Your feet feel like they’re glued to the ground. Edelgard doesn’t hesitate at all. “Let’s go.”

    She strides in the middle, training axe raised. It’s made out of wood, but you don’t doubt that she’s able to severe a limb from your body if she only tries hard enough—and what you know of Edelgard is that she alwaysexceeds even her own expectations. You grip your sword tighter. It’s a clear disadvantage, but better than anything else you can handle. Maybe it won’t be as bad.

    The fight lasts for about seven seconds. The moment you raise the blade, Edelgard is on you and unleashes fierce strike after strike, the power behind each hit forcing you back. She doesn’t bat an eyelash when she easily disarms you, the wooden sword flying over your heads and the edge of her axe on your throat. Somewhere behind her, you hear Byleth sigh. “Again.”

    The next hour is torture. Edelgard throws you to the ground, again and again. Byleth keeps telling you to get up, again and again. One might think they would cut you some slack, being the Herald and all, but it feels like Edelgard is so much more aggressive today because you’re the Herald. Or maybe it’s personal. Maybe she’s appointed you to be her sworn enemy, and won’t miss out any chance to make it as hard as possible for you.

    This isn’t fun. Being watched by Dimitri and Claude, who whisper conspiratorially to each other isn’t fun. Luckily, Byleth notices them gawking and bellows them to focus on working on their stances. Right now, you’re thankful nothing escapes her eyes and she calls her students out on their bullshit. It doesn’t make your current situation easier though. Every muscle burns, just raising the sword is exhausting and your feet feel like they’re about to give out any second. This must be hell.

    When Byleth finally ends lessons, you ignore everything and crumble to the ground, splaying your limbs out in all directions. Surely they can clean up without you, two hands less will barely make any difference.

    A shadow settles over you. You know who it is, and don’t bother to open your eyes. “Go away, Byleth. I don’t want to hear how bad I am.”

    “Personally, I think you have improved, Herald.” Your eyes snap open. Dimitri looks down at you, his forehead still glistening from perspiration. “But facing Edelgard as an opponent usually wields those results. Don’t let it bother you.”

    You want to point out that he and Claude don’t seem to have as much problems as you, even though yes, none of them have defeated her yet in practice. He goes down to your level and sits beside you, and you hate how this all barely made him breath hard, like it’s just a stroll around the monastery whereas you’re trying to climb the mountains surrounding it.

    “I think she hates me,” you blurt out. Luckily, most students have already left the hall, Edelgard included. Dimitri considers this a moment, and you don’t know what to make of his lack of immediate response.

    “I doubt she hates you,” he finally says.

    “But?”

    “But she has a hard time warming up to people. Give her time. Once the ice is broken, you will see that her personality is one you’d like to have around.”

    “Oh?” You watch him for a moment, but Dimitri doesn’t blush or look away. It was a heartfelt, sincere statement, which flusters you for some reason. No one should be that honest.

    “Talking about breaking ice. Do you know if something happened to Sylvain?”

    “Sylvain?” Dimitri raises both eyebrows. “Please don’t tell me he harassed you in some kind of way.”

    “No, no, he just—” You finally get up from lying on your back, and try to explain it by frantically moving your hands. Dimitri still looks puzzled. “He said some weird things about Crests in general?”

    “Hm.” Dimitri stares at your hands for a moment, then quickly raises his eyes back to your face. “It’s complicated.” Well, that answer is as good as none. “And I won’t go into details without his consent. I can only say that if he talked about Crests, in whichever way, his brother must have upset him again.”

    “He has a brother?” Now you’re wide awake. Many students have siblings. You know of Hilda’s brother and Raphael’s sister. It shouldn’t surprise you Sylvain has one as well even though he’s never mentioned it before.

    “Do you have siblings?” you ask, generously curious. As heir to a kingdom, it’s hard to imagine his parents would have settled with one child. But he hasn’t mentioned any sisters or brothers as well.

    “Hmm, I have a step-sister,” he says, although very hesitant and you can see if someone doesn’t want to talk about a specific topic. He doesn’t return the question, which is kind of him and makes you wonder … maybe you have a sibling as well. Somewhere. Maybe somewhere in Adrestia or Leicester a younger brother or an older sister is currently looking for you, unrelenting in their journey to be reunited at last. The thought alone brings a flicker of hope alive. Maybe they'll come once word of the Herald’s return travels far enough.

    “I guess as long as Sylvain doesn’t disturb classes or acts out of order, I would leave him to his brooding. I can tell out of experience, only Felix is capable of cheering him up.”

    “Felix?” Your eyebrows rise to your hairline. “Are we talking about the same Felix?”

    A smile forms on Dimitri’s mouth. “I understand why imagining that might prove difficult, but I assure you, Felix is one of the view exceeding in handling the mess Sylvain is from time to time.”

    “Felix and Ingrid?” you guess, earning a nod from Dimitri. “Ingrid is a very nice girl,” you continue, picking at a loose thread from your uniform. “But Felix seems detests me. Every time he sees me, he looks like he wants to throw his sword at me.”

    “That is—” Dimitri stops mid-sentence. “That might be not so far off from his true intentions.”

    You groan.

    “But I assure you it is for a different reason than you think. Felix is simply … difficult with people holding a commanding position.”

    “He doesn’t seem to have the same problem with Byleth,” you point out. No, whenever he trains with her, he manages something close to a smile and accepts her guidance. Then again, she isn’t his teacher.

    “I’m sure you’ll be able to make him consider his opinion on you during the Mock Battle. I as well am looking forward to how you will guide us.” Dimitri beams. You stare at him like he’s just lost his head.

    “What?”

    “The Mock Battle three nights from today?” Dimitri’s smile falters a little. “Have the Professor and Lady Rhea not told you yet? You are to participate in the Mock Battle as the commanding unit of the Blue Lions.” Now he’s pulling his eyebrows together in worry. “Herald?”

    “I—” You jump to your feet. “I have to go.” Go far far away. Just yesterday you introduced the students to the tactic called Feigned Withdrawal, which involves staging a retreat in order to induce the enemy to abandon its position and plunge ahead in an attack. Dimitri abandons his position, getting up to go after you, but instead of turning back to surprise him with an ambush, you flee the battle and hope the enemy doesn’t pursue.

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Rosie & the Road Less Traveled

Characters: Declan Harp x Rosie Anderson (OFC)

Summary: Declan Harp 1970s Hippy/Roadtrip AU Rosie has made a bold decision and decided to leave her monotonous life. She sets out to create her own with a group of misfits traveling  across America, post-Vietnam during the 1970s. She breaks out of her shy and insecure, sheltered shelf to have an adventure where she learns the realities of life outside her former cookie-cutter existence. She experiences, a year of sex, drugs, and rock and roll as the group of ex-soldiers and free spirits change her worldview and show her another way. She meets the charming but damaged Declan who takes her under his wing. Will a budding romance for this blossoming Rose prove to be her gift from the universe for making the hard decision to be her own woman? 

Warnings/Tags: Talk of emotional abuse by family. 

Click on my screen name then go to Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please leave a like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed this! It makes me want to write more of what you want if you let me know!

Rosie awoke in the same pink and frill filled bedroom she had every day of her life so far. She could smell the same coffee she wasn’t allowed to have. The scent filled up their Better Homes and Gardens modeled modest family home settled in a suburb full of pastel houses with the same pastel cars in their driveway. It was polished and performative, just like Rosie’s mother who was standing in her doorway looking like a copy of June Cleaver.

“You’ll be late for John to pick you up! Don’t keep a man waiting! A wife must be preemptive and pretty dear.” She exits as quickly as she’d entered. Rosie is left looking to her favorite childhood toy and only friend, Booger Bear, with a sigh before starting her day. Not much had changed in Rose Anderson’s life since she was a child. She was raised by older parents, very strict and traditional. Which would explain why they’d agreed to her engagement so fervently. She was 24 and unmarried and being a spinster was not an option according to them. So she was having yet another huge life decision made for her by someone else. She couldn’t remember the last time she had held her own opinion or made up her own mind. She had fear instilled within her from a young age that she was less than and this was used to keep her under control. Being different as she was with her ghostly white skin and pale blonde hair, her albinism stood out among her peers. She wore glasses and a constantly apologetic look on her face. Her childlike treatment was clear on her face as her features were baby round. A button nose and large light blue eyes with cheeks that always had a flush to them showed her softness unwillingly. She truly did look like a baby animal, naive, and easy prey.

This was a common theme among the treatment she’d had from men so far in her life. She didn’t expect any different. Her mother had cried tears of relief when George had asked for her hand. She would finally be able to tell her bridge club that her daughter had at least something normal going on about her. The cruel and belittling words she’d heard her whole life only made sense to continue hearing from this new person that would now be in charge of her she was told. If nothing had changed in her life up to this point, why would it ever?

The fact that George never showed didn’t surprise her. So when she went into town to run wedding errands on her own she wasn’t surprised. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. He usually disappears at night and not in the morning so that was unusual but she went through her day with the same polite smile she always did. A smile that said sorry for existing. She called her home from the library, offering to see if her mother needed anything for supper. She hadn’t but she had heard from George’s mother, and she hadn’t seen him either. So it was now Rosie’s job to find him, as they’d be married soon.

She sat defeated on a bench to rest as the sun started to set. She’d asked at the stores on the square and no one had seen him. Luckily for her, she’d sat down in front of the Beauty Parlour and it being a small town, everyone knows everyone, one of the ladies there knew who sweet little odd Rosie was and took pity on her.

“I know it’s not my place to say so baby but that man of yours is no count. You know that right?”

“I’m sorry ma'am?”

“You were in town all day today alone, doin' your dress and all that right? For the wedding?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And he’s been across county lines getting drunk as a skunk.” She shakes her head. “Again.”

“Oh.” Rosie sighs and looks to the ground. “Do you know where he is?” She asks reluctantly.

“No where no sweet thing like you needs to be goin'.”

“I need to get him home. His mother’s worried.”

“She should be. Ain't your mama worried about you out here alone?”

“She said I have to do real women’s work and take care of George as best I can. He’s mine now and I better start acting like it and go… find him.”

The kind woman sighs and feels bad for the poor thing. But it wasn’t an uncommon story. “He’s out at the bar past the county line. Neon sign, bikes out front, can’t miss it. It’s on the right.” She says with a groan.

“Up 25E?” She asks already getting to her feet.

“Yes, baby now be careful. I’m only telling you this because someone’s gotta help you out, honey. Maybe it’s time you helped yourself huh?”

“I’m doing what any good wife and daughter would do ma'am.”

“Life’s not about being good for other people. You have to think about what’s good for you. What do you want? Do you want to marry George?”

“Ma'am what a silly question.”

“That’s not the enthusiastic YES I should be hearing from a bride to be is it?”

Rosie doesn’t know how to reply and just looks worried for a moment with her wide eyes.

“Go before it gets darker baby. Be careful. Take care of yourself.” She says as Rosie scurries across the square to the car.

She did love getting to drive around. Something she’d not been allowed to do until recently. So a trip out of town on a lovely evening was something that got her very excited.

She had held onto that moment of happiness as she drove out of town. A perfect evening with a chill after the sun went down. She could hear frogs and crickets as she left the roads full of cookie-cutter homes and drove into a more forested area.

She had a comfortable smile on her face until the trees cleared for a patch and showed a roadhouse. This had to be the place. She pulled in with a mix match of very nice and very beat down cars. Some buses and small caravans lined along the perimeter. She could hear music coming from inside the metal and wood walls. There were men three times her size all around. They were an odd mix of trendy sleazy men with feathered hair and grizzly biker men and they were all chain-smoking. Everyone looked as confused as she did as she entered the building. If she was polite and direct there was no reason these gentlemen had to give her any trouble. She’d heard about these sorts from her mother. Bikers, greasers, all sinners, and a dirty lot to associate with.

But Rosie had always seen glimpses of people in the magazines. The intense men on their bikes with a scantily clad woman who looked both elated and aroused clutched to his back as they rode through the great American Route 66. They looked like they were having fun, she thought. She thought they looked free and those were things she longed to know how they felt. But there was no room for these things in her life. So although she should be afraid to be around these people, she was actually quite excited. She fantasized with already blushed shy cheeks about striking up a conversation with one of them and finding out what they were really like.

“You lost sweetheart?” The man in glasses with his arms crossed at the door asks her.

“I’m here to fetch my husband- my fiancé.” She corrects herself.

“You with a man that comes to a place like this?”

“His name is George. He is a fan of a strong drink and a cigar. And apparently, his frequenting of this place is something everyone in the town knew about but me.” she admits freely as she wasn’t one to have any reason to hide bits of herself. Everyone could be a friend in her eyes. She entered every interaction with a genuine curiosity it was honestly a bit hard to be rude to her.

“Ah.” He nods and understands. “Go on in, sweetheart” he holds open the door for her and watches her stand and take it all in for a moment. He chuckles and then sighs, “Poor little thing.” he mutters.

Through an old western saloon style inner door she enters with a delighted smile. “How charming!” She says to herself. She walked into a rather large room full of gambling tables. A bar on one end and a stage on the other. Panning over to meet the stage last, she’s hit with a thump of bass in her chest by way of her feet. It rumbled into the floor as she tentatively approached. She’d never seen live music before. She supposed choir and church and talent shows didn’t really count. There were electric guitars and men with no shirts and girls without bras and she was enthralled. She had heard a few rock songs by way of sneaking into a poor reception radio station when she was left alone in the car. She loved it. But it was something only classless people were apart of. Or so she was told. But these people looked the same as those in the magazines. A very tall and dark man played the instrument causing her to experience a very pleasant vibration through her body. He was shirtless and sweating and had a large tattoo on his arm. A chain from his worn dark jeans that bounced with every pluck of his long fingers. Next to him a smaller man, pale and singing with delightfully large blonde curly hair. He sang beautifully she thought. He wore a shirt unbuttoned and tucked into pants so tight she could see a bulge that ripped her from her fantasy of being as cool and free as they were. She turns around quickly and moves towards the bar.

She finds George in his work clothes, the navy not being blotched by black oils and spills told her he also hadn’t been to work. She wears her disappointment in her face clearly for a moment before trying to put on that mask her mother taught her to wear. Never show him that you’re upset. Anger is unseemly on a lady. But this did make her angry. Her red face made it obvious she was holding in red hot emotion. Her smile was hollow and her eyes gave her away.

“Hello, George. I believe it’s time we got home.” She says with a hand to his shoulder.

“How’d you find me here?” He asks with a dramatic turn on his bar stool, and he was in true skunk form.

“A person in town suggested it. Your mother is worried about you. Can we please go home?”

“You can. I’m staying here.”

“Please George I have to get you home. Both our parents expect me to take care of you and that’s what I’m doing.”

“What if I don’t want you to take care of me? Huh? What if I don’t want anything to do with you?”

Her throat felt tight. She was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a way since she was bullied when she was young. The eyes she could feel on her from a growing audience he was causing made her feel all tingly and nervous. He looked at her with disgust and the shame she usually felt was quickly turning into anger in this new over-stimulating environment.

“Do you think I want to be here?”

“Huh?”

“Do you think I wanted to run all the errands myself today for my own wedding? And make excuses for your absence all day and have people look at me with pity. Because they knew you were here. Again from the looks of you.”

“Well, I’m only here because of YOU.” He spits back.

“Me?” She squeaks with growing confidence that makes her take a deep breath and steady herself. “I have been nothing but an ideal fiancé from the beginning of this. YOU asked for this. Not me.”

“I didn’t ask for it! You did!”

They both looked at each other confused. “I was told you asked for my hand.”

“Hell no my parents told me I had to say yes to your parents offer or they’d cut me off and send me to the army.”

They both blink at each other for a moment. “This is…” she takes a shaker breath. “I’m in an arranged marriage.” She whispers and feels a betrayal deep in her chest. She’d been lied to. Her parents lied, her fiancé lied, the whole town and only one person has the decency to tell her where George was. It hurt like a knife might she thought as her hands held fast to her stomach.

“Are you like...retarded too? Ugh geez. Of course, it is! Why would I want to be with a freak like you?”

It’s as if he’d culminated every fear she’d ever had into a single sentence. All her thoughts of not fitting in, of something being wrong with her. She’d been right all along. “Well, I don’t want to be with a mean drunk like you!” She says back with a face that showed her first real emotion in years.

“I am not a drunk.”

“Yes you are! The whole town gossips about it behind your back. Your parents threaten to send you off if you don’t start acting like an adult. You try to take advantage of ME when I’ve never been anything but nice to you! You are MEAN and you are a DRUNK!”

He moves fast and grabs hold of her arms tightly. Enough to make her cry out and wince. “You listen here you little freak of nature. If you’re gonna be with me you’re gonna respect me as a good wife would.”

“Is there a problem here?” The same tall man from the stage asks, towering over George.

“Buzz off bud. This is between me and my girl.”

“It’s not when you talk to her like that, loud enough for whole damn bar to hear and then put your hands on her.

“Why don’t you go and fuck your cousin, you dirty ass hippies.”

The man meets eyes with Rosie and he immediately knew he had to help her. She looked defeated, but a shine of hope that someone, anyone would ever help her out. He knew one of their kind when he saw that look. Just like the group of outcasts he’d gathered over the years since returning home.

“You’re a…” he glances to Rosie who beams innocence in such a way a man like him is forced to protect it. “Jerk.” He decides instead of saying words that might make the victim feel embarrassed.

“He’s an… asshole.” She spits out and feels a wave of rush over her as she curses.

George flinches to hit her and that was enough for the tall stranger. “Alright, you’re killing the vibe, man.” He wraps his neck in a headlock and drags him out of the bar with a shocked Rosie froze for a moment.

“‘Ello there, love.” The singer from before came in. With gentle hands to her shoulders. “You alright? Hurt?”

“N-no.” She stutters.

“Ya sure you’ve gone all rosy in the face.” He fans her with his hand.

“I always am.” She excuses quickly. “Sorry..I-“

“No apologies, let’s get you into the fresh air eh? Don’t worry I’m with the big guy what dragged off that unpleasant twat you were dealing with.”

“Okay.” She says breathily and a little dazed. “Thank you.”

——-

“Well, he’s gone.” The tall one says proudly, clapping his hands.

Rosie stands and looks at the spot where her car had sat. Now empty. “Did he take that yellow car?” She points to the space.

“Yeah, he headed right for it, had the keys.”

She nods and sighs. “I’m afraid that was my car he took.” She looks down the ground to figure out her next move from here, now stranded.

“Oh shit. Oh no, I’m sorry.” The tall man says putting his hands to his mouth. “Ah. Well fuck, honey I really screwed you there didn’t I “

She blinks with her large pale blue eyes at him with tears withheld. A cherub round face that struck a deep nerve as she tried to hide her upset. “You didn’t mean it. You were trying to help.” She says with a slow nod and inhales.

“Bad luck innit.” The other rubs her back comfortingly and she didn’t mind it. He seemed like such a nice man. They both were.

“Can you get a ride home? Call your parents or… something? Or did he just... steal your car?” He towers over her but she doesn’t feel afraid. He rubs his head in thought as he bit his lip.

“I’ll have to call my mother. He’ll go home to his mother I presume.” She nods. “I can retrieve my car tomorrow. Unless he crashes it.” She sighs. “He was terribly drunk.” Her shoulders sink in disappointment.

“Look, we’ll get ya home...what’s your name love?”

“Rose.”

“Oh, that’s a beautiful name innit? For a beautiful girl.” He holds no ill will as he says it and the compliment hits her hard in her emotionally unstable state. Tears well up for someone, a man, a nice man to be so kind to her to say such a nice thing. “Oh no, don’t cry. We'll get you a cab home. It’s no trouble love. Don’t worry ya pretty little head about it eh?”

“You’re so nice.” The tears fall fat over her flushed cheeks.

“Now there’s a good girl.” He brings her in for a hug. “Go call her a car, mate.” He nods away the other fellow.

“I’m so sorry. I’m not usually like this. I’ve had such a bad day.”

“Now let’s sit down here and you can tell Danny all about it now little Rosie.” He shoos some men off a nearby bench to sit her down.

“That your name?” She sniffles

“It is. I’m Danny and that big man was Declan. You’ll be safe with us. Don’t worry. We are protectors of the oppressed.” He chuckles as he puts an arm on her shoulder as she hides her face from the eyes watching.

“Oppressed?”

“Yeah. You know, women… people that are... various beautiful shades of brown, black yellow..." he spoke dramatically with an outstretched hand that captivated her " … homosexuals. You know how it goes, the bad ones yeah? The rebels, the outcasts,  lost children who come across our path.”

“You’re making us sound like a cult man. Don’t scare her.” Declan laughs and stands guard at her other side. “Taxi’ll be here within the hour.” He gives her a warm smile that crinkles around his eyes. Half of it coverd in a beard that was pointed and a bit fuzzy. His hair was like a dark lions mane around his face and shoulders.

Rosie contemplated as she looked up at him and wondered if she’d ever seen a man so tall before.

“He only looks scary,” Danny assures her. “Declan this is Rosie.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.” He gives a gentle nod down at her.

“Almost exactly what I told her.” Danny beams.

“Hey Rosie, I’m Declan. Nice to meet you.” He spoke softly and gently as if she might startle if he spoke too loudly at her. “We’re in a band. We travel around. Play music and just...living life y’know. Being free with the life we’ve got.” He spoke proudly as he explained. “We’ve heard a lot of stories. So you aren’t going to tell us anything we’ll judge you for.” He laughs.

“We’ve all done far worse than whatever spot you’ve got yourself in angel.” Danny joins in the laugh.

“I’m sorry to cry I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed.” She wipes her cheeks. “As I was telling Danny I’ve had a very bad day.”

“Tells us about it then love. Let the evil out.” He motions with his hands as if he were vomiting and it makes her have a soft little giggle. “There she is.” He pushes her chin up gently. “Go on then…”

Her blubbering story hurt them both as she told of isolation and now betrayal and forced marriage to a terrible man. They’d seen it and heard it before, many in their group had a similar past.

“You deserve so much better Rosie love,” Danny says with a broadly shaking head. “You are clearly such a bright and lovely girl with a pure heart and you deserve the same given back to you.”

“I do!” She whines.

“You can change it all. You’ve got the power. They tell us we don’t. That we can’t. But it’s because they’re afraid of us. Afraid that if we knew what power we had as a collective, as they’ve made us all feel so isolated you see? You can have whatever sort of life you want Rosie. You just have to take it.” Dany speaks intently to her with unwavering eye contact.

“Take it?” she sniffles.

“Make the hard choices. You want things to stay like this forever or you want to take a chance and be your own person?” Declan asks with high brows. He had the tougher approach and Danny handled the whimsy of things, it suited their personalities.

“Like...refuse to marry him?”

“Not just that. You can refuse to stay with your parents.”

Rosie laughs as if he’s joking.

“I’m serious. You could go and live anywhere you wanted. Did you even know that?”

“No. I thought….”

“You can make your own choices Rosie,” Declan says as he sees the cab arrive. “You could see the world. Meet anyone. Do anything. ”

“That… sounds too good to be true.” she looks down at the ground as they walk her towards the car.

“It’s what we did,” Declan turns to face her. “We didn’t like our lives so we just...changed them. I wanted music and freedom and to be around people who understood me.”

“We eventually found each other. And our little family has grown ever since.” Danny holds his home like an adoring mum seeing away their daughter on the bus.

“Family?”

“We’re just a bunch of misfits that are trying to find our place in this crazy world.” Danny shrugs. “Some of us play music and some just follow us in the summertime to escape their lives. Some just like life on the road. We’ve got all sorts. Certainly had a few girls with stories like yours.”

“Really?” she rubs her cheeks.

“We aren’t saying you have to join us. We’re just saying you can make your own choices... have whatever sort of life you want. That’s all. You seemed like you could use the help.”

“I could.” she lets out a heavy, thoughtful sigh. “Thank you. Both. You were very helpful. I can’t really repay you.”

“Start making YOURSELF happy Rosie. That’ll be payment enough. You deserve it, pet.” Danny waves her goodbye.

“Don’t let the man get you down little Rosie.” Declan Nods her way as she gets in the cab to head home.

—————

The cab drive home was the most peace she was going to know for the next 24 hours. It started with the cops being at her house when she got there. George had been arrested after being taken to the hospital for injuries from wrecking her car. He was being held and charged and poor Rosie thought she might pass out.

George’s mother paced and shouted in their house late into the night. Wailing about her “poor” son. What did she do to him to make him behave in such a way? Denial was not just a river she'd read about in the encyclopedias she'd gotten for Christmas.

Her own mother joined in, what did she do? How was she going to fix this? Why didn’t she have the money to bail him out? She raised her better than this.

Rosie sat and took it. But each biting remark only made that funny feeling in her stomach grow as each verbally slapped her over and over.

“Did you ever consider you’re yelling at the wrong person?” She finally says back quietly.

“For god's sake girl don’t mumble and slouch! It’s ugly!”

She had been told she was pretty tonight and told she could be and do whatever she wanted. Things she’d never heard before. There were people out there that wouldn’t treat her like this. This isn’t what she wanted. She wouldn’t survive a life like this, it would hollow her out into a shell of who she really was.

“I said, Did you ever consider you’re yelling at the wrong person?” Her brow was now creased and a rare sight it was. “Did you ever consider your son is a drunk? A hateful loser who has been breastfed too long by his mother?!” She sass’s with balled fists in the meanest and most insulting thing she’d ever said came out of her mouth confidently. “And you! I don’t have any money because you won’t let me work! You won’t let me leave! Or even LIVE!” She throws her arms up in the air. “You’re being bullies when I’m the ONLY one that tried to DO something and HELP him. And this is what I get? No. No more. I don’t have to put up with this...this… BOLOGNA!” She yells and stomps to her room, slamming the door and leaving a room of shocked faces behind. Her father in the kitchen almost choked on the beer he was trying to secretly down to deal with the situation. It was beer and not even liquor what was he becoming?

Rosie falls to her bed and cries and hits the pillows as her door is quickly bombarded with screeches on the other side. Demands of her to come out and apologize and she just kept shouting “NO!” Over and over to their requests. She took all of her suitcases and laid them on the bed, the voices on the other side growing tired and falling quieter and they tried to listen to what she was doing. She threw her life into those cases. All her favorite things, things she might need, she stuffed them full and sat on them to get them to shut. She angrily pens a letter. Telling them she was tired of being oppressed and lied to and she was going to make herself happy and never see them again. She still signed it with a heart.

She gets out of her bedroom window and makes her way to the car with the dented fender and busted windows the cops had returned to them. She throws in her bags and whispers a prayer it will start. Someone was looking out for her. She could see the sources of the yelling running out of the house behind her as she headed out of the subdivision. She’d never felt more alive.

She practically drifted into the gravel parking lot at the roadhouse and held tears of joy from her escape and the fact that the buses and vans were still in sight. The bus was headed out of the parking lot. She leaves the car with the keys in the ignition and straps her bags and suitcases up and runs as fast as her feet will carry her toward the van left in the line.

“WAIT!” She shouts and pants. “PLEASE WAIT!!” She lets out a scream she didn’t know she had in her. Her lungs burned and her blood pumped faster than it ever had as the van door rolled open. “I’m coming with you!”

“Is that?” Declan snorts out an amused sound

“Well fuck me it’s that little girl again.” Danny muses as he looks out the door. “Slow down mate, we got a castaway.”

“Being. Chased. Keep going.”

“Chased?” Danny laughs. “By who?” The thought of someone being in pursuit of this tiny white field mouse amused him to no end.

“I RAN AWAY!” she laughs as she throws her bags to the filled van and is ran full force as the van gets to the highway and she’s yanked inside. The door slams shut behind her and she’s left wheezing and trying to fix her dress and hair.

“Come now little bird, have a seat.” Danny pulls her down on the bean bag he’s sat on.

“I. Ran.” She pants out and Danny and Declan laugh but the other eyes in the van are looking at her confused.

“From the cops?” Someone asks concerned

“No.” She clears her throat and takes a deep breath as she calms down. “From my house.”

“Was it as bad as you thought it was gonna be?” Danny pushes back her hair.

“Worse.” She lets out a nervous laugh. “I can... I can come with you guys right?” She says with puppy eyes.

“Welcome to our merry little crew Rosie bug.” Danny beams.

“I ran away too.” Another girl with long beautiful wavy hair says from her spot in the open-backed van, now crowded full. “Husband? Parents?”

“Both.” Rosie nods and they share a sympathetic nod of understanding.

“I’m glad you came Rosie.” the girl's eyes showed strong empathy and it made Rosie certain she'd made the right decision.

“I am too.” She finally catches her breath. “So…” she primps for a moment to gather herself. “Where are we off to first?”

@vale0413 @littledeadgirlwalking @jaegeeeeer @phillipkopusimagines-and-stuff @mjolnir96 @xmother-mortemx @this-isnt-madness  @thors-hair-extensions @divadinag @s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s​

#Declan Harp #declan harp fanfic #declan harp fic #frontier au #frontier #jason momoa frontier #jason momoa #declan harp au #declan harp x ofc

[the-velveteen-victorian]

Elle can you explain what goth is? Google is really inconsistent and I’m having such a difficult time understanding it. When did you find out you were goth?

Definitely! This is a long response just so you are prepared. =) Goth is a music-based subculture. You are correct… Google is not a good resource for discovering what goth is. Unfortunately, a lot of “goth” guide books aren’t either (I know one of them features a lot of emo bands?). First off, let’s just get out of the way what goth is not. Goth is not emo or metal. Avenged Sevenfold, My Chemical Romance, and Pantera are not goth. Goth is not white supremacy. Yes, those of us with naturally pale skin sometimes strive to keep our skin tones light, but goth is a home to people of all skin/hair/eye colors. Anyone who says you can only be a pale, white person is disgusting. Goth is not associated with any religion, philosophy, political inclination, or specific belief system. There are Christian, Hindu, Atheist, New Age, Shinto, Muslim, Republican, Democrat, Green Party, pineapple on pizza, no pineapple on pizza goths. You get my point. =)

Wearing goth fashion does not make someone goth, no matter how great the outfit may be. I (and most goths, elder and younger) define goth as someone who has an intense interest and passion for goth music. That’s it. Sure, most of us will gravitate toward darker aesthetics and like to wear the fashion when we can, but it is absolutely NOT a requirement. That is what google gets so wrong. One of the goth ladies I know spends 80% of her time in scrubs. She loves her job as a nurse practitioner and she has to have a more conservative look while she is working. She can’t wear the fashion more often than a couple times a month. She listens to goth music every day and is super knowledgeable about it. Is she goth? Yes. Conversely, I know a lot of teenagers who are trying to figure out who they are (which is TOTALLY FINE). They actually do a really great job of diy-ing goth looks, but they do not listen to goth music at all. Most of them listen to metal, emo, or country music. Do I consider them goth? No. But I do not judge them for it. Music is about what speaks to you and goth is in no way superior to any other musical taste.

With the rise of “pastel goth” and fashion trends on tumblr/social media, I think a lot of people get misled. This is why it is so important to have some level of contact with the actual goth community. Covid showed us that it is possible to do this online! We can attend online goth nights, get the set lists and analyze goth club music trends from our homes, and have zoom dance sessions! I really love the flexibility and versatility that the pandemic revealed to the goth community… because a lot of goths don’t live in cities with a big goth scene.

How did I discover I was goth? By beautiful accident. =) I was 15, and I struggled to have any level of autonomy or self-expression at all. I grew up in a conservative family (Christian/religious) cult. That rabbit hole runs deep and is a separate story for another time. The point is that I had very limited contact with the outside world apart from my private school, church, and Christian-group violin lessons. However! I received a nano ipod from an extended family member for Christmas one year. I copied a bunch of CD’s from Christian acquaintances at my church and filled the ipod up with the generic contemporary Christian and overstimulating broadway musicals endemic to the culture around me… it was all I had. Then, one day I discovered a goth band. I had no idea they were a goth band. I was obsessed with their sound. I can’t remember which platform I found them on, but I remember I did not have a video with it… so I’m thinking I was on the itunes store. I had chills and for the first time every something felt “right” in the music world for me.

Goth music begets more goth music… Itunes recommended other bands like the one I had found. I only had the money to buy a few albums over the course of a year, but I would retitle the songs and albums as Christian or Disney compilations so that my parents would never suspect what I was listening to (they regularly went through my ipod to make sure I wasn’t listening to anything worldly). One day, I was listening to some of my goth music with another confirmed atheist at my private Christian school and he was like, “OMG I had no idea you were a goth!” I was super confused and was all like, “No, I’m not. I don’t even know what that is…” This guy was a metalhead, but he had a ton of goth friends and he gave me my first thorough education on everything goth. I was 15 at the time, and it was not until nearly 4 years later that I would escape my family and truly come to integrate in the goth community.

Long story short, I started out with the music with no clue about the fashion. I think I was very fortunate in that because it gave me time to develop my musical preferences and tastes without feeling pressured to fit into a tiny little box. Later, when I was free, I did develop a goth wardrobe and (of course) decorated my house in a dark romantic/Victorian style…. But I never felt like those things were vital to who I was as a goth. I’m really thankful for that.

Please understand, that I do not want to erase the incredible goth fashion magicians out there or diminish the hard work someone may put into their personal look or aesthetic. The goth aesthetic is the heartbeat behind the unparalleled, transcendent feeling I have in a goth club or just in my own bedroom. It definitely adds to the experience. All I am saying is that those things alone do not a goth make. I also grew up obsessed with (gothic) Victorian literature... it took me awhile to put 2 and 2 together for that one too lol.

My controversial opinion here is that I do believe that some level of gatekeeping is necessary to keeping goth alive today. Unfortunately, it is an endangered species as subcultures go… this is not because there are not any goths. It is because the mainstream has appropriated it and defined it as fashion ONLY, which then confuses people who go to the surface level of the internet to get answers… which then creates a whole following that erases what goth truly is.

However, I need to explain that when most people refer to gatekeeping, they are talking about bullying. I am defining gatekeeping as providing a definition for the heart of the goth movement and sticking to it. Bullying is never acceptable. Ever. The example I employ a lot utilizes musical genre as an example. Let’s say you put on a Carnifex t-shirt and wear it a lot. But…. You don’t listen to metal because it just is not your sound. You don’t talk to other people about metal music, seek out the aesthetic, have more than 2 songs on your phone with metal music, or (want) to attend metal events. Are you a metalhead? No, of course not. But are you inferior to metalheads because you choose to listen to classical and hip-hop music? No, of course not. Another example: Let’s say you don’t like coffee. You don’t regularly drink it, read about it, or have an interest in it. Are you a coffee enthusiast? No, of course not. Are you inferior to those who do drink coffee? No, of course not. But it would be ridiculous to feel pressured to fit the mold of a coffee enthusiast, right?

It is never wrong to define what something is and to stick to your guns on it as long as you do not cross over into elitist territory, thinking you are better than everyone else. That is the point I want to get across here. Goth fashion does own my heart, but I also sometimes dress in dark academia, cottagecore, dark mori, and even in 80’s retrofuturistic styles when the mood strikes me. It does not change my involvement in the goth community or erase my love for goth music.

Lastly, a question I get a lot (and I have addressed this in previous posts) is, “I am obsessed with goth music… I have a wide knowledge base that I have spent great amounts of time developing and it is my life… but I also like Lil Peep, Lady Gaga, ‘gothic’ metal, and Lana Del Rey. Am I still goth?” The answer is YES. Of course you are! Loving goth music and being obsessed doesn’t mean you can’t like other things. Anyone in the goth community who tells you have to ONLY listen to goth music is full of crap. Eighty percent of my ipod is goth music… I am lucky to have thousands of songs. (And by the way, if you cannot afford a lot of goth music, you are not less goth than the rest of us. Listening for free is just as valid.) The other twenty percent is classical and synthwave/cybersynth/retrowave/darkly inclined/spacewave/video game sountrack/cyberpunk-inspired stuff. Am I any less of a goth for also being obsessed with the retrowave community or for listening to bands that are darkly inclined but not quite goth? No, of course not. Also, you can be darkly inclined without being goth, and that is just as beautiful. =) My husband is darkly inclined and likes some goth music, but he is more involved in the horror community. He is no less valid and freaking awesome than I am.

I hope this makes sense! This is a subject I feel passionate about. Just to recap, the pillars of fashion, gothic literature, and general aesthetics are valid in the goth scene and contribute greatly to the structural integrity of the whole. However, the soul of goth is in the music. I have hearing loss myself and have a couple of friends who are completely deaf who also agree that the music is the soul of goth. The way they engage is by reading the lyrics and even going to goth clubs when they can to dance and feel the beat. =) I think that is beautiful and so amazing. Hearing disabilities do not disqualify you from the goth scene- anyone who says they do is garbage.  

Here are a couple of videos explaining a bit about what goth music actually is. Let me know if you would like more resources! Angela Benedict did a video where she answered the question, “Can you be goth and not like the music?” Her answer is also no. She is a great youtuber to watch because she was there for the 90’s goth scene! It is so fun to hear her stories and learn about the elder goth generations. <3

Goth music is not just goth rock… there are SOOOOO many subgenres under the massive umbrella that is goth. It is a big universe to explore. =) If you would like a list of some of my favorite goth bands AND goth adjacent bands, then I can do a separate post for that- just ask! Thank you for tolerating my info-dumping. =) <3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKDo_j0O-hA&t=116s – Accumortis on goth music

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGj3CuAeW1w – Angela Benedict on goth music

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zg3HwuFlGeU&t=587s – Angela Benedict on defining goth

#whatisgoth #gothmusic #angelabenedict #accumortis #gothfashion

[charliejrogers]

Yes, God, Yes

Full disclosure: I not only attended a Catholic high school, but I specifically attended a Kairos retreat, the exact retreat which the characters from 2020’s Yes, God, Yes attend. In the film, they call it “Kirkos,” but everything about “Kirkos” is the same as my (and seemingly every) Kairos. So let me clear up a few things for those of you who saw this film and thought, “This shit at this movie retreat can’t be what they do in real life.” Yes, Kairos leaders really do collect your phone and watch upon arrival to the retreat center since you are now on “God’s time ”(kairos comes from the Greek word καιρός which literally means “God’s time”). Yes, you are forced into small groups with your other classmates and feel this weird pressure to have a sad life story to share. Yes, small group leaders start to play music while they tell their own story AND pass out the lyrics as if these song lyrics are real deep poetry. One of my retreat leaders, for example, handed out sheets of the lyrics to Florence + The Machine’s “Shake it Off.” Now, I LIKE Florence + The Machine, but even still the lyrics to that song are nothing special. And, most of all, yes, those who come back from Kairos do tend to act a little cultish. At our school it was referred to as having a “Kai high,” a feeling in time when everyone just wants to be friends yet those people only exclusively hang out with one another.

In defense of Kairos retreats, at their very best, they offer adolescents at a critical time in their development the opportunity to reflect on their lives thus far, evaluate if they are living out the values their parents and community have instilled in them, and give them a safe space to work through conflicts, apologize, and try to be better people. At their worst, it’s a self-congratulatory experience where people act morally superior to others without really doing anything substantial… or even worse it’s a period of time where adolescents might unearth and talk about really hard topics like suicide, depression, etc. for the first time… and yet are given no real guidance on how to handle those emotions outside of this four day experience!

All this said, this is not a review of Kairos retreat. It is, indeed, a film review. I just wanted to make clear my biases etc. before talking about it since the retreat does more than provide the setting for the majority of Yes, God, Yes: the retreat’s four-day thematic structure doubles as the film’s plot structure. Just as in real life, our protagonist does a lot of questioning about her life and her faith during her first day, does some “crying” during the second as people, “accepting/trusting” the third, and then “living out” the lessons she learned on the fourth day and beyond! The difference is that in real life, teens are supposed to do these things in regard to their faith... or protagonist across those four days has a genuine sexual awakening.

In fact it’s exactly the desire to suppress her sexuality that prompts our protagonist to go on the retreat in the first place. Because our protagonist, Alice (played by Stranger Things’ Natalia Dyer), has just discovered something about herself that is hard to put out of her mind: she likes sex! Or, more specifically, likes masturbating. Alice is, from what we can tell in the prologue, a pretty by-the-books Catholic teen. She follows the rules, goes to Church with her Dad every Sunday, and os pretty sexually naïve… sheltered as we used to describe kids. Someone starts a rumor that Alice “tossed” a boy’s “salad” at a party and the rumor spreads like wildfire. Even the teachers know about it, and she loses her status as a gift bearer for the school’s weekly Mass. Of course, Alice doesn’t even know what “tossing salad” means (nor truthfully did I… but the movie seems to anticipate this by providing a definition to the audience at the very beginning of the film.)

All Alice knows is that she likes arm hair… like LIKES arm hair, something she discovers when she’s on an AOL chat room and someone sends her porn. That’s right, this is a film set in the early ‘00s, so if you hold any nostalgia for that time, get ready to have your fill from the era’s cheesy pop ballads to giant brick phones, to the fact that America (while starting to be so) wasn’t so health conscious that’s it not crazy to believe a teenage girl would just come home from school and snack on frosting and a giant bowl of Cheetoh’s Puffs. The nostalgia is not quite as in your face as in Captain Marvel, but it’s certainly more of a focus than it was in Lady Bird.

Yeah, you knew the comparison was coming. Let’s just be clear, this is by no means trying to be the next Lady Bird. This movie knows it’s pretty frivolous to begin with. Still, it’s hard to avoid comparison with the last big movie about a Catholic girl coming of age in the early 2000s. What I learned in watching this movie compared to Lady Bird or even Boyhood is that merely recreating aspects of my former life does not a good movie make. While I loved the fact that part of watching Lady Bird was getting to see someone shine a light on how ridiculous high school theater could be, that was never the point of the movie. Here, meanwhile, a significant purpose of the film is to highlight the fact that, yes, Kairos retreats are weird and the Church sucks. While I found myself nodding my head in agreement with what I was seeing on screen… it wasn’t exactly enjoyment as much as thinking, “yup, this is what a Kairos retreat is.” Furthermore, I feel like there are aspects of Kairos that would be great for skewering and I love the parts they absolutely nail: the cultish nature of the retreat and the pressure to frame your life in a sad way… but they ultimately take a route of criticism that is too easy and frankly is not a focus of most Kairos retreats… the focus on shaming one’s sexuality and the innate hypocrisy that behavior inevitably reveals.

If there’s a villain in this film, it’s probably the retreat leader and school priest Fr. Murphy (Timothy Simons), who gives in to rumors of Alice’s sexual impropriety as much as any schoolyard bully. No one in this whole film, from Fr. Murphy, to the head of Alice’s bunkhouse, to her small group leader, to even her best friend, takes Alice’s spiritual journey seriously, as they all assume Alice is not taking the retreat seriously as she seems to be avoiding talking about her recent, rumorous activity. Of course, there’s a bit of #MeToo hypocrisy here in that the male with whom Alice is said to have been engaged with enjoys none of the backlash that she has been dealing with. And to that degree it’s a satisfying movie in that Alice gets to dish out a little #MeToo revenge.

Still, even with all things conspiring against her, Alice retains her good spirit throughout the film… as well as her determination to further explore her sexuality. On the one hand, it’s a little unrealistic the risks she takes in trying to learn more about her body, but on the other hand teenagers and young adults are friggin’ weird when it comes to figuring out themselves. Ultimately she is emboldened in this take once she finds out that all those people who are out to get her to confess her “sins” are sinners in much the same way.

Probably the best scene comes at the end of Alice’s third day of the retreat when she runs away from the retreat center and walks into a lesbian bar where she hears the story of someone who used to be Catholic and is now not. More important than anything she could learn at the retreat, this Iowa girl learns that some normal people… just don’t have a religion. For some people this world, its pleasures, its pains, is more than enough. Alice doesn’t become a full-blown hedonist after this, but she is opened up to realize there’s more to life than Catholic guilt.

Perhaps to make this good message ring out, the film as a whole, despite some absurdist elements, feels like it’s meant to be a somewhat accurate reflection of reality. I wish the writer/director, Karen Maine had tried for a slightly more absurdist approach or taken out the absurdity altogether. She already makes the Catholic high school authority more caricature than character, and the plot at timesis almost silly. Therefore, the tone of the movie just sorta feels off throughout. Just about the only thing keeping this movie grounded is a great performance by Dyer who portrays a genuine sexual awakening very faithfully, capturing the mix of confusion, guilt, and excitement all at once. Even when Alice does something downright stupid, Dyer’s performance engenders our trust from the start, and we are always on her side. I wish I could have liked this movie more as it really does accurately portray some aspects of a Kairos retreat and is about as close as I think I’ll get to having it portrayed in a major film, but ultimately by not treating the Church authority with the same amount of nuance paid to Dyer’s Alice and her sexual awakening, the film ends up being an enjoyable, if one-noted, experience. Come to make fun of Catholics, stay for Dyer’s performance.

 **7/8 (Two and seven-eighths out of four stars)

#yes god yes #natalia dyer #karen maine #yesgodyes

[ayma-nidiot]

“Don’t Speak Their Names” - Shrimpshipping fic Chapter 34

This chapter can be found here on AO3.

Chapter 34 - The Queen’s Wings 

~27 October 2007, early afternoon~

“Aww, you look cuuuuute!” Téa looked at the wedding outfit she, Serenity, and Mai worked hard to make for Weevil. The bug duelist’s colour scheme matched that of Metamorphosed Insect Queen - a royal blue tuxedo, the red tie and white frilled shirt from his Duelist Kingdom days, and an elegant veil resembling the Queen’s wings and crown. “I just wish I could be the maid of honour so I could hold this veil while you walk down the aisle. Mai, you’re so lucky.”

“For what it’s worth, you can be the maid of honour at my wedding,” Mai spoke while she inspected the veil and Serenity put the finishing touches on Weevil’s hair. “I want my veil to look just as amazing as my Harpie Lady’s wings. I just have to wait for that slowpoke Joey to propose already.”

“Yeowch! I’m sorry you’ve had to wait for my blockhead of a brother. ...There.” Serenity put a butterfly pin on the right side of Weevil’s hair. “You’re ready. Should we go, then?”

Weevil got into the front seat of the limo Mai drove while Camellia, Serenity, Téa, Ptera, Tricera, and the other bridesmaids got in the back seats.

But before Mai drove off, Weevil asked, “Hey, where’s Amber?”

“Daddy!” Amber nearly tripped while running to the limo, scattering a few of the flowers she carried in her basket.

“Whoa there, little lady!” Téa caught Amber before she could fall and picked up the flowers she dropped.

“Thank you, Auntie Téa!” Amber hugged Téa’s neck as she brought her in the limo that finally took off. Amber turned to Espa’s 16-month-old daughter, Artemis, and offered her a yellow rose. “Hey, Arte, you want this?”

“Flower! So pretty!” Arte grabbed the stem of the flower with her tiny toddler fingers.

“Aww…” Weevil smiled as he spoke to his daughter. “I picked the perfect flower girl.”

“And your stepcousin Mokuba picked the perfect flowers,” Camellia remarked. “And the perfect limo. And just about everything else.”

“Actually, Spinos picked the flowers. He paid for a good deal of the wedding too, you know.”

“Did he?” Ptera smiled at the thought of her former lover. “That was thoughtful of him.”

“Psst.” Espa leaned slightly forward to awaken Weevil from an apparent nap. “Weevil, we’re here.”

“Hmm… Wha-” Weevil saw everyone else already exiting the limo and making way for the extravagant displays by the famous Domino City T.V. “Thanks for reminding me! I’m glad you decided to ride with us instead of with Rex. Even though you’re a groomsman.”

“I couldn’t help it.” Espa carried Arte out of the limo and, once he met with his brothers, he handed her to the next oldest one. Mako soon joined them with Caesar, their son. “This cutie patootie wanted to ride with her best friend.”

“You’re such an airhead sometimes, Daddy!” Amber giggled as she walked down the aisle while throwing flowers.

“None of that smart mouth, young lady!” Weevil chided while he proceeded down the aisle, with Camellia by his side and Mai holding his veil. 

“Hehehe… She’s just like you when you were that age.” Camellia chuckled. “I remember it like it was yesterday.”

“You’re literally walking me down the aisle.” Weevil squinted; he could barely see the wedding awning, with lush greenery. “Do you really think this is the best time to reminisce about how I was a troublemaking toddler?”

“Yes, it is.” Camellia cried a little. “I lost eleven years with you… I’m so proud of how far you’ve come since then, my son.”

At the sound of Duke playing the church organs, the ceremony began in earnest, drawing attention from passers-by.

“Hmm?” One of Weevil’s opponents from Duelist Kingdom took notice of the bug duelist. “Oooh, it’s that nasty Weevil Underwood. And he’s… getting married?”

“We might as well stick around to see the unlucky schmuck whom he’s marrying,” replied the kid whom Weevil tricked in Battle City. 

“Mother, I can’t do this! I’ve rehearsed my vows, like, a thousand times and yet I think I’ve forgotten most of them already!” Weevil’s heart raced faster as he could now see his husband-to-be. Rex wore a tuxedo resembling Black Tyranno, and his chestnut locks were tied back with a dinosaur claw hair clip.

“Relax, sweetie,” Camellia reassured as she stepped back, now that her son had reached the T.V. “Remember, you’re the smartest guy in all of Domino City.”

Weevil stammered as he held Rex’s hands, with Mokuba about to start officiating the wedding. “Y-Yo, dude.”

“Pfft…” As best man, Joey stood behind Rex. “‘Smartest guy in all of Domino City,’ huh?”

“Shut up, Joey!” As if Weevil felt nervous enough, Joey’s teasing didn’t make it any better. “Or I just might sneak a caterpillar in your shirt when you get married!”

“Hey.” Rex squeezed Weevil’s hands tighter. “You know how Joey is. Just ignore him.”

“Dear friends, family, and citizens of Domino City,” Mokuba began the ceremony, which by this point had drawn a large crowd. The close friends and family of Rex and Weevil took their seats. The sun looked upon them from directly above, the sunlight glistening off of the awning’s flowers and the variety of insects crawling throughout it. “We are gathered here today to witness the union of Rex Leonidas Raptor and Weevil Henry Underwood in marriage. We welcome and thank each and every one of you for being a part of this wonderful occasion. As with their careers as duelists, their journey as a married couple will test and bring out the best in them. And just like their latest careers as duelists, they will face trials and tribulations, but always come out strong in the end. You are all gathered here because you have helped these two young men and have a bond with them, one way or another. As for me, I couldn’t be more proud that my cousin, Rex, has chosen me to officiate his wedding. The grooms have each prepared vows that they will recite now.”

“M-My turn!” Weevil piped up, much to the surprise of all. “I don’t need to rehearse to let all of Domino City know just how much I love you. I don’t need to rehearse to remember how united we are in our desire for revenge against several duelists. Particularly Yugi, Atem, and ESPECIALLY Joey.”

“ESPECIALLY me, huh?” Joey couldn’t help but laugh again. 

“Spoken like a true duelist,” Yugi spoke to his former other self.

“You said it, partner,” replied Atem.

“Aw, heck, Rex. I’ve prepared a handwritten speech for my salutatorian address. But on this day, I want to speak from the heart. Even now, I am still in awe that a ‘dung beetle’ like me is worthy of your love. While everyone in this city hated me, you were the only one to show me love all those years ago. Even after I went mad and tried to kill you, you still loved me. I am so grateful that we have found each other, and I vow to love you forever.”

“See? What did I tell you?”  Camellia winked.

“I bet I can outdo that. ” Rex smirked.

“Go ahead and try, dino brain.”

“Gladly, bug boy.” Rex took a deep breath before beginning his vows. “I am thankful for all the blessings we have, not the least of which is our adorable daughter Ambrosia. If not for Mai and her expertise, we wouldn’t have such a bundle of joy.”

“Aww, you’re too kind, Rex.” Mai sat next to Amber and Téa.

“Yet I haven’t always been kind; I’ll be the first to admit that I’m still as arrogant as they come. But several people have made me appreciate friendship more - not the least of whom is you, Weeves. You were my first friend, and I couldn’t be happier that we made that same dumb mistake of showing up to regionals prelims a day early.” This tale elicited several giggles from the crowd’s members, even from those who were not explicitly invited. “I had no idea that from there, I would quickly fall in love with that rich boy I met, and that he would be the man I swear my eternal love to on this day. Waiting those three years to confess my love was so worth it.”

“Hehe…” Weevil laughed in his signature way. “I think I win.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Even at the altar, you guys are still rivals. Let’s just say you both win.” Mokuba chuckled. “Now, will the ring bearer present the rings?”

“I think you’ll like who I chose for the ring bearer,” spoke Rex.

Between the husbands-to-be and in front of Mokuba stood a tan-skinned boy with spiky brown hair, red-violet eyes, and traditional ancient Egyptian garb. He can’t be older than two, Weevil reckoned. It can’t be… It’s Heka!

“As we begin the declaration of intent, I would like for each groom to place a ring on his partner’s finger. Rex Leonidas Raptor, do you take Weevil Henry Underwood as your lawfully-wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Rex took the new ring - a rose-gold one with a thin sapphire band in the middle - and put it on Weevil’s left ring finger.

“And do you, Weevil Henry Underwood, take Rex Leonidas Raptor to be your lawfully-wedded husband? To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and not so good times, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself unto him for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” The wedding ring Weevil gave Rex was similar to his engagement ring, but had two thin bands of dinosaur bone inlay.

The dinosaur duelist wore this new ring on his left ring finger, complementing the one he wore on his right ring finger. “You spend too much money on jewelry, bug boy.”

“If there are any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your piece.”

“Who would object to these two cutie pies?” Joey noted.

“Even if I did, I wouldn’t do anything about it,” mumbled the kid who got his Dark Ruler Ha Des stolen all those years ago.

“Then by the power vested in me - Mokuba Kaiba, president and CEO of Kaiba Corporation - I now pronounce you husband and husband. You may now kiss the husband.”

“There’s that pretty face.” Rex lifted Weevil’s veil from his face.

“Come here, you Jurassic jerk!” Weevil seized Rex by the waist, tiptoeing slightly to kiss his new husband.

“I now present to you, Domino City, Mr. and Mr. Rex and Weevil Raptor!”

“So, the runner-up and champion of regionals got hitched, and with each other, no less,” Rex’s opponent at regional semifinals mused while Duke played “Sexyback” on the organ. “Who’d have thunk it?”

“I gotta admit that I kind of started shipping them after Raptor’s regional loss,” spoke the Battle City kid.

“ Which Raptor are you talking about, me or him?” Weevil overheard the boys.

“Um…” The boys were at a loss for words.

“Anyway…” Weevil held up his bouquet, full of peonies and red roses. “I’m wondering who will get lucky today.”

“Me, that’s who.” Mai brushed her hair back. “Then you’ll have to propose to me, Joey.”

“Nah, I’ll get it!” Téa declared as the bouquet flew in the air.

“Ladies, ladies…” Duke stepped forward. “You’re all wrong. I’ll-”

“Actually, you’re the wrong one, Duke.” Mako showed everyone the bouquet he just caught. “Looks like I’ll be getting married soon.”

“Aww…” Duke smiled. “Congrats, dude.”

“And I know just who it is I want to spend the rest of my life with.” Mako looked to Rex and Weevil, as if asking for permission, and the newlywed couple consented.

“M-Mako?” Espa’s eyes widened when Mako knelt in front of him, revealing a ring with a giant blue diamond encircled by several small green ones. “Oh… my gosh…”

“That is, if this cute psychic will say yes to my proposal.”

“Yes! Of course I do, Mako!” Espa continued to cry as his new fiancé put the ring on his finger.

“Yay!” Caesar hugged his mother’s legs. “I love you, Papa!”

“You… You guys…” Espa hugged Mako and their children.

“There’s still a lot of party left, you two.” Rex had to wipe his own tears of joy. “You’re all invited to the reception at the Grand Domino City Hotel. Naturally, there will be lots of dueling rooms there, and suites for the bridesmaids, groomsmen, and our families. So you know what that means.”

“It means I’ll squish the new Mr. Raptor?” Joey challenged.

“No, it means I’ll squish you. ” Weevil cracked his knuckles.

“I thought I was the one you were after?”

“Yes, you too, Atem. See you there.” And with that, Rex and Weevil got in the back seat of the wedding motorcade.

“Ah, there’s the happy couple,” spoke the driver as he started the ignition. “Ready?”

“Yes!” Both young men exclaimed at once.

“Wait…” Weevil squinted to get a better look at the driver. “Bakura?”

“My friends call me Ryou, but whatever floats your boat.”

The bandit king wasn’t kidding when he said he’d attend! Weevil thought, and the trio arrived at the hotel to find that the partying had already begun. But...

Rex noticed the pensive look in his husband’s face, even while they walked to the dining room, to which Tricera and Ptera hauled the wedding cake they made. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Weevil shook off whatever confusing thoughts he was having, and instead diverted his attention to lighthearted conversations with people he once called enemies. After lunch, he took the cake cutting knife from Tricera and grabbed Rex’s hands. “Give me a hand, will ya? And don’t you dare make a ‘short-handed’ joke about my prosthetic arm.”

“You’ve already taken mine, pinworm!” Rex had a small bite of the cake before offering some to Kaiba and Atem, whom he barely even noticed. “Here you go.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Atem offered Heka some cake before eating it himself.

“Um… I’m good for now,” Kaiba insisted as he rubbed his belly. “I haven’t felt hungry all day, but I’m sure I will later.”

“Hopefully there will be a later.” Rex watched Amber, Arte, and Heka chase each other in the dining hall. Atem tried to prevent Heka from using his newfound magic on anyone. Mako and Espa weren’t as successful at containing their own children; Arte could already bend spoons with her mind, and Caesar could be seen swimming butterfly in the nearby gym pool. 

“Ugh.” Espa whined. Caesar beat a high schooler in a short race, baring purple shark fangs in victory. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into a water birth, Mako. Both of our kids have shown their shapeshifter abilities already.”

“Caesar looks so much like my dad…” Mako beamed while he watched his son. “I’ll be darned if he grows up to be a better swimmer and fisherman than me.”

It took the intervention of all of Espa’s brothers to get the prodigious twins to stop. “I’ll give you one thing, our kids are already proving to be smarter than I was at that age.”

“Psst, hun.” Weevil whispered to Rex while Kaiba was distracted playing with Heka.

“What?” Rex spoke with a mouthful of cake.

“Why are Kaiba and Atem here at 22 years old, when just a couple of years ago, they were here at 37 years old? Do they even remember who we are?”

“Is that what you were confused about this afternoon? Please.” Rex took his and Weevil’s dishes to the dishwasher. “Haven’t I told you it’s better to not think so much?”

“You’re right.” Holding Rex by the hand, Weevil approached Kaiba and Atem. “Dueling speaks louder than words.”

_______

~16:00~

“Kaiba?” Rex looked past his Ultimate Conductor Tyranno and at his cousin. It was Kaiba’s turn, and Rex and Weevil were clearly winning the tag duel. “You don’t look so good. If you had told me, I-”

“How dare you underestimate Seto Kaiba? I reveal my trap Raigeki Break to destroy your Ultimate Conductor Tyranno!”

“Naw, that trap won’t be doing nothing. Not if my Jurassic Heart can help it. ...Anything else?”

“I… end my turn…” Kaiba clearly wanted to leave, but had too much pride to simply throw the match. “By the way, it’s ‘won’t be doing anything. ’ Learn proper grammar, rabbit stew.”

“Then I’ll end it quickly,” Weevil proclaimed. “I activate my Armored Bee’s special ability to cut your Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon’s attack points in half, then I’ll go in for the kill with my Battlewasp - Halberd the Charge!”

“So you’ve finally gotten your revenge on me, Weevil.” Atem clapped after he and Kaiba had lost. “Well done. What did you think of them- Huh? Kaiba, where are you going?”

Kaiba said nothing as he ran for the nearest loo. Right as he did, Joey walked up to Weevil, clearly wanting a duel from him. “Say, what happened to rich boy?”

Before Atem could follow after the Egyptian queen, Rex offered, “I’ll go check on him for you, Atem. You can cheer on your buddy Joey. He’ll need it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I will.” Joey climbed onto one of the dueling platforms. “But I would certainly love for Atem to see me squash this mosquito personally.”

“Bring it on!” were Weevil’s last words that Rex heard before making way for the loo Kaiba entered.

“Hey, Kaiba?” It didn’t take Rex long to find Kaiba and the loo he very loudly threw up into. “I was going to ask if you’re okay, but you’re clearly not.”

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.” With nothing left to throw up, Kaiba sat on the loo and pouted. “Anything else?”

Rex fished around in his pants pockets. “I was going to save this for myself, but I think you need it more.”

“What’s this?” Kaiba looked at the small box with the KaibaCorp logo Rex gave him; it had two pregnancy tests in it. “So KaibaCorp makes these now? And how bold of you to assume that just because I’m sick, that it means I’m pregnant. And you just so happened to be carrying these around? I don’t know whether I should laugh or cry.”

“Just take them, man. Please.”

“Hmph.” Kaiba slammed the stall door shut. “Fine. But just so you know, this is a waste of time, because I know I’m not pregnant.” About three minutes later, Kaiba opened the stall without looking up at Rex.

“So? How’d it go?” Rex asked. Kaiba only showed him the pregnancy tests in response; they both showed the word “pregnant” next to the number 16. “Well, well, well. I suppose some congratulations are in order.”

“...I guess I better go tell a few certain individuals the good news, huh?” Kaiba let Rex help him walk a short distance before he could walk on his own. “And Rex?”

“Yeah?”

Kaiba wrapped an arm around his cousin. “Thank you. You’re probably the only one other than Mokuba, the pharaoh, and Heka that I can tolerate.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Rex gave Kaiba a few noogies before parting ways with him. “If you see my husband, tell him he can find me in our hotel suite.”

_________

~17:00~

“Phew…” Weevil hardly broke a sweat winning two duels in a row. But now he wanted nothing more than to take a break from the festivities before dinner, and made way for the hotel suite he rented with Rex. 

Weevil didn’t even have to get his card key before his husband opened the door and, still dressed in his wedding garb, spoke in a sultry voice, “Hey, baby. That was quite a long duel.”

“I wish you could have seen me turn that Joey into bug juice.” Weevil took off his veil and gently put it in the closet before wrapping his arms around Rex. “Amber is in the care of your father right now, so we have all the time to ourselves.” Weevil’s spider “ears” appeared. “And you know damn well what I want you to do to me.”

“Which is precisely why I did… this. ” Rex invited Weevil to come deeper inside the room to see the elaborate honeymoon setup. The first things Weevil noticed were the rose-scented candles planted throughout the room. Red roses floated in the sweet-smelling whirlpool bathtub. The towels next to it were folded in the shape of butterflies and dinosaurs, and had more roses around them. The bed had a spider silk canopy and a comforter with kissing swans on it. “Well, I can’t do art for shit, so the hotel maids folded the towels. But everything else was made by yours truly.”

“So you grew the flowers, too?”

“Aww, come on, bug breath. You know what I mean.”

“You hopeless romantic.” Weevil pinched Rex’s cheek before kissing it. “I could have done better.”

“Please, Weeves…” Rex undid Weevil’s bowtie. “Just this once, can we put aside the competition?”

“That’s rich, coming from you. ” Weevil removed Rex’s hair clip, running his fingers through the chestnut and lavender hair. “By the way, I’m kidding. You did great.”

“Aww, I’m glad!” Rex playfully kissed his husband’s cheeks, but when they got to the bed, his tone turned serious. He hummed into Weevil’s now-bare neckline, “Just so you know, I’m going to make love to you until all our friends downstairs complain about the noise we’re making.”

“Then… Hah…” Weevil completely half-shifted when Rex stripped him of all his clothes. “Then do it…. Or else I will take over.”

“If you rather would be the one on top, then you’re more than welcome to stop me from adoring you.” 

In response, Weevil eagerly tore off Rex’s tuxedo and shirt, while being mindful not to damage the expensive clothes. As soon as he did, Rex half-shifted as well. “Don’t you dare stop, Rex…” Weevil pulled Rex so close to him that their nipples rubbed together. The friction of Rex’s nipples and sweaty, warm body alone nearly brought Weevil to a full erection. “Don’t you dare stop.”

“Fuuuuuck…” While leaving hickies all over Weevil’s neck, Rex continued the nipple rubbing. He still occasionally breastfed Amber, so his nipples were especially sensitive. “I’m sorry, Weeves, but this… This just feels too damned good.”

“It does for me too, hun,” Weevil spoke between very deep kisses, getting a good taste of the takoyaki Rex ate a few hours prior. He snuck a hand down, feeling around for Rex’s cock before actually taking a hold of it and pumping it with his own. “And I hope this does also.”

“But you know…” Rex barely arose enough to be able to reach for a bottle of lube on the nightstand. “ This will make it even better. It’s a special lube that will arouse us more and make our orgasms more intense.”

“Oh, yeah?” Weevil let Rex spread the lube over his nipples and cock. 

“Well, what do you think?” Rex smirked as he continued to pump his and Weevil’s cocks together.

It didn’t take long for Weevil to feel the intensifying effects of the lube. “Oh… yes…”

“It’ll feel even better inside here. ” Rex’s fingers trailed from Weevil’s cock to his opening, which he massaged until Weevil shrieked loudly. “Looks like I’ve found your sweet spot, Weeves.”

“So fucking do something about it!” Weevil could hardly take this pent-up energy anymore.

“What did you think I was going to do?” Rex gave his husband’s ass a good slap before he mounted him. To his astonishment, Weevil grabbed Rex’s cock, guiding it into his opening while he took hold of his shoulders. “Ha- ha! You’re… really that hungry for me, aren’t you?”

“And… it’s not just the lube, either.” Weevil pulled Rex close enough, until Rex could feel his heartbeat running wild. “I… really do want to consummate this marriage.”

“So… do I...” Rex could hardly speak in between breaths as he pulled out, only to slam in again - and again, many times. Already, he knew that both he and his husband were about to come, but loved this sensation too much to let it end so soon. He held the base of Weevil’s cock firmly, caressing the head with his thumb. “So do I, Weeves…”

“L-Let go…” Weevil squeaked out after ten minutes of various sexual positions.

“What was that?” Rex hummed into Weevil’s ear.

“Goddammit, Rex, let me come already!”

Rex said not another word as the second he let go of Weevil’s cock, the both of them came long and hard, while Weevil held one of Rex’s hands to his pounding heart. “Can… Can you tell that I… hah… loved this?”

Rex let their orgasms ride out to completion before he pulled out, holding Weevil’s left hand to his heart, just like he did all those years ago. “Can you tell I loved it too?”

“Damn right I can…” Weevil pulled the comforter over him and curled into Rex, taking in his husband’s natural scent. “I wish I didn’t have biological needs to attend to. I just want to stay here all day, cuddling in bed with the man I just married.”

“For what it’s worth, Mom said she’d have dinner ready for us all in a few hours. And I made sure to specify to everyone that they don’t have to wear formal wear.” Rex looked Weevil in the eyes while stroking his mint green hair and planted a kiss on his forehead. “There will be so many more years of this, so don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

And so began the rest of Rex and Weevil Raptor’s married life together, naturally filled with takoyaki, bee larvae, and a hell of a lot of dueling.

#yugioh #ygo #shrimpshipping #mpreg #fanfiction #weddings #same-sex wedding

[kitaychan]

White Flame

Chapter 9

Rating: M

Warnings: Blood, Psychological Horror

General Summary:  Royal/ Magical AU.  As their two Kingdoms get closer to a war, the past keeps on hovering around their choices. Prince Ivan has a hard time controlling his magical powers while being tormented by a mysterious ghost and Prince Alfred embarcs in seeking a revenge that might cost more than it’s worth it.

Preview:  Alfred’s curiosity was enlarged and fed while Arthur observed from afar. He had turned the stubborn child into a man of science and Alfred’s deeds filled him with happiness, who wouldn’t take pride in such development?

Ironically, it was a bittersweet achievement, how could he, who had been raised by magic holders, raise this kid to be so eskeptic and reject any form of magic with scientific hypothesis?

 Entitlement

Tolys walked down the hallway, the air was filled with a delicious, sweet smell.

The kitchen was a neglected place in the palace, after the queen’s death, only the servants would frequent it.

He wasn’t enthusiastic either, the place was beautiful and neat, the utensils shined, lined up in perfect order but the walls weren’t designed for a kitchen, the heat would enclose itself, overwhelming whoever entered the place.

A tall man stood by the counter, facing away from him, concentrated in the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, his broad figure seemed foreign, more suitable for a battlefield or a plantation, but the last feast had showed Tolys how much work it meant to be a chef in the palace, those large animals meant for feeding the royalty wouldn’t cook themselves. He felt relieved knowing that he’s duties were easier.

He stood awkwardly by the door, clearing his throat. “I need your help, you know almost everyone here, and there is this girl I need to find.”

The chopping stopped, the man turned to acknowledge his presence, arching an eyebrow. “I’m busy, I’ve lost the help I had in here, you’ll have to ask the maids or something.”

Tolys watched the man, his quick movements as to resume his task. “Perhaps you know her-”

The man frowned, annoyance coating his words. “Look, I have work to do, I can’t help you with your romances.”

“Sadik, you don’t have to stop your task-”

“well, tell me her name-”

Embarrassment overwhelmed Tolys, he had no clue as how to find her. “I… I do not know her,” He cursed Ivan mentally, how could he sent him without information, it was a waste of time, he hoped the outburst from the garden was enough to describe her,  “She’s uh, she has brown hair, she was scolded yesterday, by the prince...”

“For the love of-” Sadik’s face changed, he left the knife in the counter, “Look, throwing her out of here was enough, what’s with the royals and their persecutions?”

“He wants to apologize, nothing more if you could tell me-”

“Since when does a prince care about what a servant thinks of him?”

Tolys faltered, he had the same question but taking care of this request as soon as he could would assure him the rest of the day with Feliks “I’m just trying to do my job, I don’t question his intentions.”

Sadik turned his back on him, his tone harsh “You should.”

Tolys glanced around, the oven was lit, a smoky smell coming out of it. “I believe his words, she could be back and you’d have less work”

The man cursed, hurrying to the oven and taking out a tray, sweet overtaking the smoky smell. Not meeting his gaze, Sadik answered. “I will tell her that you are looking for her, it’ll be up to her if she comes or not. Tell your prince that his cake is ruined, though, he wouldn’t care, they are leaving today. Shouldn’t you be there?”

Tolys gasped, leaving the kitchen hurriedly, he had a couple of days for this but he was caught up clearing his time to remember that they’d be leaving today for the ball, his nervousness increased but he slowed his pace, would they care if he didn’t bid them goodbye? Probably not.

He reached the entrance, a carriage was prepared, he saw Natalya crushing her fiancé in a hug, Tolys chuckled at the display in front of him, as Ivan patted her back awkwardly, prying her off.

Tolys didn’t understand why Ivan was so weary of her, but he served as distraction when he could, he lowered his head not bearing Natalya’s gaze.

The prince shook his shoulder lightly and asked, “Did you find her?”

He could see Natalya glaring at him. He shook his head.

Ivan sighed, handing Tolys an envelope, “Deliver this” before he could answer, the prince turned away, Natalya following him.

Feliks was standing near them, not hiding his amusement, he waved in his direction. They engaged in small talk while everything was arranged.

When the carriage left, Tolys couldn’t help but feel uneasy, Natalya was digging knives in his back, and he wondered why was she acting like that, after all she used to ignore his presence all along.

She approached, frowning deeply, her blue eyes were cold, and Tolys was reminded of the king.  “Give me the letter.” she fumed.

The brunette blinked, looking down at the envelope, “But-”

“Give me the letter” She demanded again.

Feliks chuckled, taking the envelope from him and presenting it to Natalya, she snatched it from his hand and walked away.

Tolys eyes widened and he fidgeted with his hands. “Feliks!”

The blonde shrugged, smiling mischievously. “Let her take it, in the worst case, Ivan has written a love letter and she’ll read it, perhaps we can get rid of her. Now, we leave before she notices.”

Tolys followed him, each step that took him further away from the palace gave him a sense of entitlement.

A feeling that had vanished since his parents died, since he served that first tea for Yekaterina, shaking uncontrollably and spilling it, although she had been understanding and assured him he’d be safe, Tolys couldn’t shake off the uneasiness he felt in his heart.

All this time he had been following their commands, lowering his head and nodding at their words.

Walking hurriedly while taking Feliks hand was refreshing, he was doing something he wanted, he wasn’t another servant in the palace, he wasn’t another of their properties, he was just Tolys, he was fooling around not working.

A smile grew on his lips, as they reached the city, he deserved this small moment of happiness.

---

Alfred couldn’t believe they had arrived.

He glanced around, the surroundings hitting him with a wave of unfamiliarity and dullness, this was nothing as he had imagined Gilbert’s hometown to be.

He expected a grandiose city with tall churches and monuments, a palace taken out of a fairytale pages. Instead, they had entered a vast territory of rural areas that seemed concerningly empty, and reached a central city overflowing with people, small houses and numerous factories.

Stone paths ran like a gray river throughout the city, forming a maze that not even Arthur was able to explain, the sky was covered with gray clouds, although Alfred could have sworn it was smoke.

The people walked hurriedly in the streets, they weren’t greeting each other warmly, these people seemed apathetic towards their own neighbours and the newcomers, paying a small disinterested look at their carriage before turning away.

The palace was made of stone, its presence overwhelmed with the antique vibe it gave, Alfred smiled to himself, the architects of his kingdom were better, this palace looked more like an old fortress, stone and steel coating every inch of the place, he hoped the interior to be more welcoming.

Alfred opened the carriage door with ease, stepping out, his legs were numb. He dreaded these long trips.

A familiar voice called out.  “The little knight has grown!”  Gilbert greeted him at the entrance, reaching out his hand for Alfred to shake.

Before Alfred could respond, Arthur scolded. “At least help your sister out, where are your manners Alfred?”

Gilbert smiled, reaching out his hand for Madelaine. “Arthur, I see you kept your bitter attitude. How is he treating you, young lady?”

Alfred stared at them, Madelaine laughed at his remark while Arthur scoffed.

A prickle of jealousy ran over Alfred, his sister managed to maintain a close relationship with Arthur, the latter taking time from his duties to give her lessons while he just dumped a bunch of books in Alfred’s desk each day.

A conversation about the gardens started, rolling his eyes at their formal behaviour, he kept quiet.

Half of their day was spent in casual chatting, Gilbert showed them around.

When they got out for a stroll, Alfred managed to stay back with Gilbert, he was telling him about Roderich and making fun of him for quitting his job and returning,

“I knew he couldn’t do it. He is too refined for being a tutor, apparently, the kid got on his nerves but the last straw was when this kid decided he had enough of Roddy’s lectures.” Gilbert chuckled, slowing his pace to mimic Alfred’s. “This kid, I think he is older than you by a year or so, he’s got a bad temper just like his father,”

Gilbert glanced around, his smile grew, Alfred recognized his mocking tone.“I do not blame him, would you like to be bossed around by some foreigner while you are supposed to become the king?”

Alfred frowned at his words, shaking his head, Gilbert knew why he was staying behind, he was reminding Alfred of his goal, wasn’t he? of course he was, he had gotten his letters, he knew his plan.

Alfred met his eyes, feeling confident. “Where is Ludwig?”

Gilbert eyes scanned him, he shook his head. “You are eager to meet my brother, aren’t you? It’s a shame, he’s too busy right now, we have to do a lot of changes, this ball adds more pressure into him than I first thought.”

Disappointment coated Alfred’s thoughts, all this had been for nothing? He sighed. “Changes?”

“Yes, you saw the city, we have to tend to the people’s needs, we don’t want a shortage of food, this war has taken a toll on everybody, we have to reactive trades, why do you think we offered to host your little party?”

Alfred nodded, lowering his eyes.“So, you’d be opposed to start another war?”

“That is a stupid question, Alfred. Nobody wants to start a war, not even a battle. You do not start a war, it just happens. What you do is prepare in case of one, and if you have arguments to hold your statements, if you give us reasons to be concerned, then, you’ll have our help. If I were you, I’d take care of my own problems before sticking my nose in another Kingdom.”

“But you could get more resources, if we win their land, their people would be ours, that means natural resources and manpower.”

Gilbert halted, looking at him curiously before smirking.“You’ve been paying attention, that’s good,”  His red eyes seemed to ponder for a moment, glancing forward, Arthur was watching them. “Enough plotting for today” he whispered, “let’s get some food! There is someone who wants to see you”

Arthur had been watching closely, he sensed something was wrong, it annoyed him not knowing what.

Alfred had been eager to arrive, behaving better each day and preparing himself, for a while, Arthur held the small hope that it wasn’t an act, that Alfred was willing to listen to him. After the outburst in that meeting, Arthur tried to console the boy.

“I am not your father, Alfred, but you are not alone either.” That’s what he had told him. He remembered how the boy had cried, his reluctance to believe his words but that day, Alfred had stopped locking himself away, he left the library open, he asked Arthur for advise.

He wanted to help him, to protect them. Alfred wanted knowledge and Arthur tried to provide him the tools, perseverance is a noble trait, one that Alfred needed to learn.

When the boy complained about being bored, Arthur didn’t know what to do, he had been raised to be independent, but Alfred was always nagging him with questions, with requests, getting mad when he wasn’t given the answer.

In a coward act of neglection, Arthur had told him to “find teachers and friends that provided him with discussions and new discoveries.” when in reality he did so because Alfred’s questions were new to him, he didn’t know how to solve his problems, but somehow that advise had helped.

For Alfred, it was easier to engage in conversation with others than to stare at an old book for hours, the topics were engraved in Alfred’s mind more easily if he attended and participated in the scientific fairs and see the experiments himself.

Alfred’s curiosity was enlarged and fed while Arthur observed from afar. He had turned the stubborn child into a man of science and Alfred’s deeds filled him with happiness, who wouldn’t take pride in such development?

Ironically, it was a bittersweet achievement, how could he, who had been raised by magic holders, raise this kid to be so eskeptic and reject any form of magic with scientific hypothesis?

Alfred showed little respect for him and his beliefs, anytime he approached the topic Alfred would enter a state of fierce denial. But now, that they were heading back to the palace, he was acting different, he had glued himself to Gilbert, and the latter was very much rubbing it in Arthur’s face but the boy seemed disappointed. Could it be that this trip had discouraged him from his scientific dreams?

Arthur barely noticed they had been led into the dinning room, only an annoyingly familiar voice took him out of his thoughts.

“My dear Madelaine, you look beautiful!”

Arthur glared at the speaker, why was Francis here.

The man was giving the twins a crushing hug, smiling brightly. “And Alfred, you’ve grown so much”

When he met Arthur’s gaze his smile faded. “You took too long in that stroll, I was waiting for hours!”

Arthur ignored him, taking a seat in the table. Francis kept a conversation with the twins, Alfred seemed way too happy to see that man, and Arthur fought not to acknowledge the growing jealousy in him.

The meals were served and Prince Ludwig accompanied them, the boy was overly formal, he seemed older than he actually was and behaved better than his older brother.

Alfred seemed to regain his cheerful attitude, questioning about the city, finding common ground with Ludwig as they shared their enthusiasm for science.

Around the afternoon, they had been sitting in the main hall, listening to Roderich play the piano as Madeline observed him closely.

Some servants entered to announce that a carriage had arrived.

Gilbert cursed. “They weren’t supposed to be here so early.”

A single glance to the window was enough for Arthur to know who it belonged to, the blue tones and the engravings gave off their identity.

Alfred offered to go with Gilbert and Ludwig to greet the guests, and Arthur’s heartbeat grew faster, he approached Francis and urged him to keep an eye on Alfred.

As he watched them leave, Arthur stood by the window, looking intently at the carriage, the doors were opened and he saw the figure of a man stepping out, Arthur was sure this was the prince, he held out his hand an a blonde woman stepped out, their resemblance was unmistakable.

To Arthur’s surprise, nobody else went out of the carriage. Could it be that their father refused the invitation?

The boy was older than Alfred but the way the woman treated him, gave off the idea of who was the oldest sibling.

While she had a gentle expression in her face, he had an unnerving aura, a chill run down his spine when he saw Alfred shaking his hand.

Arthur felt a gush of cold wind behind his neck. Emerald eyes found themselves locking their gaze with a pair of violet eyes.

#hetalia #aph russia #aph belarus #aph america #aph england #aph france #aph prussia #aph turkey #aph lithuania #aph poland #hetalia fanfiction #aph fanfiction

[crackimagines]

To the End of a Dream (evil!Byleth AU)

AU Masterlist Here!

Withering Flower - FINALE (Part 1)

With the Knights of Nemesis retreating from Gronder and about to activate the Javelin of Liberation, Dimitri, Edelgard, and Claude leave the Church forces behind to pursue Byleth.

Their final clash will be at Garreg Mach.

-----

The Elites of the Fell Star Journal - “Second battle of Garreg Mach”

Having everything end where our plans began.

There was no need for anyone to point out the irony of the situation. 

Not only was the Empire attacking us, but the Kingdom and Alliance and even the damned Church raised arms against us, and only us.

One way or another that day, we all thought the same thing.

“This will finally end when hundreds of us lay dead at either side.”

-----

Byleth was in the classroom organizing his papers when he heard the doors open.

(Byleth) “Hm? Oh, class.”

The Black Eagles class walked up to him, looking very excited.

(Byleth) “What’s with the smile on everyone’s faces?”

(Dorothea) “Well, professor! The ball is tomorrow!”

(Edelgard) “Hah, I have no worthwhile memories of such an event, yet I am still looking forward to it.”

(Hubert) “As am I, in the sense that I look forward to destroying all the unworthy suitors that would swarm Lady Edelgard.”

(Ferdinand) “I admit, Edelgard is adorable, however I think I am far superior on the dance floor!”

(Dorothea) “You’re not a bad dancer Ferdie but you have some moves that are...hard to watch.”

(Linhardt) “I also know how to dance...in theory. Maybe I should participate as well.”

(Bernadetta) “N-NOT ME! You wouldn’t catch me dancing no sooner than you’d see a fish swimming through the sky!”

(Caspar) “You do tend to flop around like a fish on land after all! Though, speaking of it, do we get to choose who we dance with and stuff? I wonder who I’ll ask...”

(Petra) “I will fight with all I have!”

(Byleth) “Er...I don’t think fighting is what you’ll be doing, Petra-”

(Dorothea) “So, professor, got anyone in mind?~”

Byleth raised his eyebrow at her.

(Byleth) “I...don’t think I’m going to dance, I’m a mercenary not a-”

(Ferdinand) “No, you’re not a mercenary either, professor! You’re our teacher!”

(Bernadetta) “I-I won’t be dancing but, I’m sure watching you would be interesting!”

(Edelgard) “Our professor ball dancing?” Snrrk!

(Byleth) “I-I can dance! At least...I think I can?”

(Caspar) “You mean those ‘dances’ you do with the other mercenaries? That’s drunk dancing!”

(Hubert) “Seeing our professor ‘drunk dance’ at a ball as fancy as this would be very entertaining? May I humbly request you do this?”

(Byleth) “Absolutely not.”

Everyone began chatting about the dance, Byleth’s dancing skills and who they were going to ask to dance.

Edelgard watched the class engage in such a lively manner, it brought a smile to her face.

(Edelgard) “Excuse me, sorry to change the subject but I have a proposition. Five years from tomorrow, let’s all agree to meet up again!”

(Caspar) “Like a class reunion? That’s a great idea!”

(Petra) “Yes, you will get to see how much growing I have done! This is a good idea!”

(Byleth) “Five years time? Hah, I wonder how all you kids will be five years from now.”

(Linhardt) “And you won’t be enjoying a cozy retirement by then, professor?”

(Byleth) “Hah, not likely being honest. Though, no matter what I’ll be, I’ll be right back here in time.”

(Edelgard) “It’s a promise, professor. Don’t you forget it!”

-----

(Edelgard) “Five years...”

(Dimitri) “El?”

(Edelgard) “O-Oh, Dimitri. Sorry I...”

He stood next to Edelgard, looking up at the monastery.

(Dimitri) “We cannot turn the hands of time back to what it once was.”

(Edelgard) “I know but...maybe if I had done something different...Byleth wouldn’t be what he is now. If I had never started the war then...Maybe we could have all lived in peace together-”

(Claude) “What’s done is done, Edelgard.”

He walked up beside her, looking up with the two.

(Claude) “Much as I would have loved to live a life of friendship, reality doesn’t work that way. All we can do now is try to right our wrongs.”

(Dimitri) “No matter what, we’ll stay alive long enough to fix this world, together.”

(Edelgard) “...Together.”

(Claude) “I like the sound of that. But, right now we gotta hurry. We’ll be within Garreg Mach in an hour...”

(Edelgard) “Byleth...”

(Everyone) “...”

(Edelgard) “Alright. Let us put an end to it, once and for all.”

...

Byleth stood near the gates watching the three armies converge on their location.

(Soldier) “Sir, the Javelin of Liberation will be activating soon. All of the main forces who haven’t rebelled are out here in the gates.”

He nodded.

Ever since the massive casualties at Gronder, their morale was shaken and started to question their loyalty.

The fact that Shamir, Alois, and Leonie had defected did not help easing their fears.

There was an uprising within the barracks that had to be contained. No one had time to properly kill them.

(Soldier) “If I may sir?”

(Byleth) “Go ahead.”

(Soldier) “I don’t think there’s much chances of us surviving this fight, so you need to get to a safespot and ensure that the Javelin activates.”

Byleth turned to the soldier.

(Byleth) “You are right but...Not being with my men in this battle would surely break mora-”

(Soldier) “We’re all dying for this cause, one way or another. For us loyalists, I’d be more comfortable knowing our deaths ensured victory.”

Byleth looked at the armies who were getting closer, seeing Edelgard leading everyone alongside Dimitri and Claude.

(Byleth) “...Understood. Sothis watch over you all.”

The soldier nodded, and started directing commands to the others, preparing for battle.

Byleth went to the roof to watch the Javelin’s progress on activation.

The main core was in the Tombs where he found the Sword of the Creator, near the chapel.

(Byleth) “All of this blood I have shed...All the lives lost. All will soon be forgiven for everyone...”

...

(Dimitri) “Even though he is our old friend, we must not go easy today...”

(Claude) “As long as we pull off the victory, doesn’t matter how.”

(Edelgard) “Our victory must be absolute, no matter what it may take...”

Kingdom, Alliance, and Empire soldiers drew their swords, the House Leaders retainers coming up to them.

(Dedue) “We all are ready to lay down our lives to stop this madness.”

(Hilda) “Speak for yourself! I don’t plan on dying. I plan on kicking their butts, and living to tell the tale!”

(Hubert) “An inelegant way of putting it, but something I agree with nevertheless.”

...

The Blue Lions slowly drew out their weapons.

(Sylvain) “Can’t say that this is where I imagined the war taking us but...I’m glad we’re all together today.”

(Ingrid) “I will protect my homeland, and my people!”

(Felix) “Tch...If I die here, then the Old Man would never let me hear the end of it...”

(Annette) “My father is gone, but I will not be losing anyone else today!”

(Mercedes) “I’ll protect everyone, even if it means losing my own life!”

(Death Knight) “You will not be losing it when I am around, because I will make sure you die by my hands...”

(Ashe) “Lonato, Christophe, everyone...Today, we’ll make things right for everyone!”

...

The Golden Deers all stood behind Hilda.

(Marianne) “After seeing so much death firsthand, I now realize how precious life is. I won’t let everyone be robbed of such a wonderful thing!”

(Raphael) “I got my little sister, and she sure as heck isn’t going to get killed by this weird Javelin thing if I have anything to say about it!”

(Ignatz) “I’ll protect my family, and all of ours!”

(Lorenz) “What kind of noble would I be if I let a tragedy such as this slide? It is my honor to-”

(Lysithea) “Put a sock in it, would you?...Hmph, I’m not sure I have long to live but, I won’t be letting it end early!”

...

The Black Eagles Strike Force looked down sadly.

(Linhardt) “To think this is where 5 years would put us...”

(Bernadetta) “This one time, I won’t run away. If I die today, well...At least I know it was for all of you.”

(Caspar) “Randolph...even though I didn’t know you that well, I’ll make the professor pay for what he’s done to you, and your sister!”

(Dorothea) “Professor...”

(Ferdinand) “I am conflicted as well but, I will be protecting all of our homes.”

(Petra) “Whether it be Brigid or Fodlan, protect them I shall!”

...

(Edelgard) “Hubert. From the schematics and plans Leonie told us, you and the other retainers will lead the students to the core.”

(Hubert) “And you’ll be going for the control room where Byleth is, correct?”

She nodded.

(Hilda) “We’ll get it done, don’t you worry Miss Edelgard!”

(Dedue) “Leave it to us.”

Everyone looked back to the gates and took a deep breath.

Everything they did here would decide the fate of everyone.

[Apex of the World (Rain) - Fire Emblem Three Houses] 

(Edelgard) “FORWARD, NOW!”

(Dimitri) “FOR HONOR!”

Claude motioned forward, and charged with everyone else.

Demonic Beasts came barreling out of the gate, running at a full tilt sprint at them.

Dimitri jumped into the air slammed the lance straight into its head, making it stop and trip over, the corpse now acting as a mini shield for everyone.

The second beast tried going for Claude, only to miss as his Wyvern flew into the air, letting Claude land a shot in the eye.

Hilda, Lorenz, and Ignatz attacked from the sides, sticking their weapons into its head as it tried to break free from the barrage.

Marianne and Lysithea finished it off with a combination of holy and dark magic, burning parts of the body off or completely disintegrating it.

The third beast swung its claws at Edelgard, which was blocked by a magical barrier that reflected it back.

She stood still readying her axe as the rest of the class charged in front of her.

Caspar grabbed onto its head while it was recoiling, and started punching it in the eye, with Hubert, Dorothea, and Linhardt keeping it down with magic.

Ferdinand, Petra, and Bernadetta began taking down the soldiers that were accompanying the beasts and were eventually joined in by the others.

The Blue Lions rushed into the town with Dimitri, seeing the soldiers in formation, walking towards them.

(Ingrid) “RIGHT AND LEFT FLANKS!”

Soldiers emerged from the houses, catching several Kingdom soldiers off guard and killed them.

The Death Knight was almost caught off guard by two soldiers, but his horse leaped back, and cut both their heads off with his scythe.

(Dimitri) “KEEP AN EYE ON THE HOUSES, SOME ARE IN HIDING!”

Dimitri swiped his lance upwards, cutting off the limbs of one knight as he helped one of his own up.

The rest of the classes joined in, with troopers on all sides pouring from the other entrances.

(Nemesis Knight 1) “THEY’RE IN, SHUT THE GATES!”

The Gates closed behind Edelgard, seeing that a good portion of her soldiers were still out there, alongside Claude’s and Dimitri’s.

Claude’s Wyvern landed on a porch right in front of the gate and motioned to everyone.

(Claude) “PREVENT ANY REINFORCEMENTS FROM COMING IN OUTSIDE, AND FIND A WAY TO BLAST THESE GATES OPEN!”

(Alliance Captain) “Yes, Milord!”

Claude nodded and flew back into the fight that was ensuing in the town.

Felix and Sylvain struck down a soldier trying to charge Annette and Mercedes who were trying to cast a spell.

As another squad tried to come at them from behind, Ingrid swooped in, knocking them all back with her Pegasus and skewered one of the soldiers on her lance, making her drop it and pulling out a sword.

Annette and Mercedes shot a line of ice spikes that shot out of the ground, sending a battalion flying into the buildings around them.

Ashe took out the enemy snipers trying to shoot Ingrid, and Dedue protected him from any attackers coming from behind. 

A soldier turned the corner and ran straight into Dedue’s shield, making him kick the soldier down, tumbling onto other soldiers falling at the bottom.

Once the Town Square was clear, they all moved to the gates.

However, more and more soldiers began to surround them.

(Dimitri) “Damn, there’s no end to them!”

Dimitri cut down several soldiers, twirling his lance and impaling a soldier behind him without turning to look at him.

Edelgard crushed a soldier completely into the concrete, breaking it and making blood splatter everywhere as Hubert shot a fireball into the building, making everything inside explode.

A soldier opened the door from the building, completely on fire as he fell to the ground dead.

(Edelgard) “We will not be able to make it to Monastery at this rate!”

(Hilda) “Claude, take Dimitri and Edelgard to the monastery, there’s no time to wait up on us!”

They all looked back to their retainers, realizing if they had any chance, they had to be left behind.

(Dedue) “Your highness, go!”

(Hubert) “We have no intention of dying just yet!”

(Hilda) “GO YOU IDIOT!”

Claude nodded, and had Dimitri and Edelgard hop on.

(Claude) “This ride’s gonna be really bumpy, so hang on!”

His Wyvern shot off towards the Monastery, leaving everyone behind.

(Dedue) “Now, it’s up to us!”

The soldiers who accompanied the classes were finally wiped out by the overwhelming numbers of Knights of Nemesis, who slowly began to surround them.

(Hilda) “Looks like they still haven’t found a way to enter in yet! We need reinforcements!”

(Hubert) “EVERYONE, HOLD YOUR GROUND!”

All the classes stood back to back, drawing out their weapons as they moved closer in.

(Ingrid) “So many of them...!”

(Lorenz) “I admit, I’m more than a little worried!”

(Hilda) “I never thought I’d be dying back at the schoolgrounds!”

(Dedue) “How about side by side with your classmates?”

(Hilda) “...No!”

(Hubert) “Both of you be quiet, we need a plan!”

(Bernadetta) “You know what...?!”

Everyone turned to Bernadetta who grasped her bow firmly.

(Bernadetta) “TO HELL WITH ALL OF YOU, NONE OF YOU ARE GONNA KILL ANY OF US TODAY!”

She took the chance to fire her arrow straight through someone’s head, making the soldiers flinch.

(Death Knight) “Well said, little one! General Vestra, you have your plan!”

Before they could react, the Death Knight jumped into the crowd, swinging his sycthe left and right and decapitating and chopping people into pieces.

Now, the rest of the class began attacking, charging and making their enemies back up in fear.

Ashe and Petra pulled out a sword and started trading blows with anyone who got too close to their circle, followed by Felix and Sylvain.

Annette and Mercedes went back into the circle as everyone was keeping the close combat soldiers at bay, alongside Marianne, Lysithea, Dorothea, Linhardt and Hubert.

Spells ranging from healing to offensive were being cast, keeping everyone in fighting shape as they slowly turned the odds back into their favor.

Ingrid grabbed Ignatz by the hand and onto her Pegasus, leading them towards archers who were about to fire into the crowd.

Ignatz dropped down and sliced most of their bows in half, with one archer being able to shoot into the crowd.

Dedue grabbed his shield and deflected an arrow that was about to hit HIlda.

(Dedue) “Ineffective!”

(Hilda) “Thanks!”

She said cheerfully as she swung her axe down, cutting someone in half, and kicking the legs toward a crowd.

Caspar and Raphael used their gauntlets to pulverize the enemies, charging straight in together, crushing heads and stabbing through stomachs.

A group tried to gang up on Raphael, who grabbed one of the soldiers by the legs and swung his body like a weapon, sending troopers flying back from the sheer force.

Ferdinand and Lorenz had to get off their horses to fight in such close quarters, elegantly dodging with their lances and striking back, almost as if they were fencing instead.

The more that everyone cut down, the more soldiers that took their place coming in.

(Ashe) “S-So many!”

(Dedue) “WHERE ARE THE REINFORCEMENTS?!”

As if on cue, one of the gates close by completely exploded, shooting debris all over the floor.

Everyone stopped fighting and looked towards the noise, unsure of whose side it was.

(Nemesis Knight) “That came from the barracks we had in town!”

More Knights of Nemesis emerged from the smoke, raising their weapons.

The students clenched their teeth, raising their weapons as the Knights of Nemesis started to cheer.

Their cheering stopped when they saw Thunder Catherine step out in front of them.

(Catherine) “Sorry to keep you all waiting!”

An arrow flew out of the smoke, hitting a soldier dead in the eye, letting the Knights with Catherine charge out into the fray.

They were joined by Knights of Seiros, adding more to the chaos and confusion.

(Nemesis Knight) “DAMN IT, THE DEFECTORS GOT OU-AUGH!”

A soldier had an axe thrown into his chest, and another was taken out by a woman on horseback.

(Shamir) “Looks like we made it in time.”

(Alois) “Had to make a quick detour!”

(Leonie) “Come on, the Monastery guards will be too busy to deal with us!”

The classes looked off into the distance and saw smoke coming from Garreg Mach.

Even the demonic beasts were having a hard time dealing with the Defectors.

(Shamir) “The beasts we made were ordered not to attack our own forces in the event someone possessed them or Those Who Slither were still around. Obviously, that came to bite them in the ass.”

(Hilda) “Then what are we waiting for, let’s get a move on!”

Everyone nodded, and left the fighting to the soldiers, running towards Garreg Mach.

Catherine was leading the charge, cutting down anyone foolish enough to get in her way, with the classes coming in right behind her.

(Alois) “We’re heading towards the chapel’s Tomb! That’s where the core is!”

Everyone nodded and made a mad dash for the chapel.

Able to run through most of the mayhem with the Loyalists and Defectos fighting each other, they ran down the stairs and saw the core.

It was a massive glowing crystal that was so bright, it almost illuminated the entire tomb.

(Leonie) “There it is, let’s go!”

(Dedue) “A moment, Leonie.”

(Leonie) “Huh?”

(Hilda) “Where are the guards at?”

Everyone remained silent until they saw a shadowy figure form in front of the crystal.

(Hubert) “That sword shape!”

Catherine turned her attention to the weapon the figure was holding.

(Catherine) “The Sword of the Creator! Damn it, it’s Byleth!”

(Linhardt) “N-No it isn’t! Look at the shape of that person!”

(Death Knight) “It is someone worse...”

The core pulsated, and now lit the entire room up to where everyone could see the figure clear as day.

...

“Who...WHO ARE YOU ALL?!”

(Mage) “Sir, the ressurection is working, and he’s under our control.”

(Byleth) “Amazing, Thales. Simply amazing. Trying to resurrect this man against Seiros. How symbolic.”

“That sword...that is mine...! And that crest...!”

(Byleth) “It was never yours to begin with. Sothis belongs to no one.”

“Your hair...your eyes..that means...YOU’RE ONE OF THEM-”

(Byleth) “Kneel.”

“HRRGH! I...CANNOT...MOVE...”

(Byleth) “This is your duty, and you will obey. You are to protect this room from invaders, and you will forfeit your life in order to protect it.”

“I AM A KING! YOU CANNOT CHAIN ME DOWN LIKE-”

(Byleth) “I can, and will. I’ve read the reports on what you are. You’re nothing more than a pathetic old man, but a useful one I suppose. Put him into stasis and have him reemerge once someone has infiltrated.”

(Mage) “Yes sir.”

“YOU WHELPS, DO YOU NOT KNOW WHO I AM?!”

...

[God-Shattering Star - Fire Emblem Three Houses]

(Hubert) “Nemesis...!”

“You...YOU ALL WILL DI-”

(Hilda) “GO BACK TO HELL YOU CRUSTY OLD BASTARD!”

(Leonie) “Goddess, that’s what Byleth was doing all this time down here?!”

(Dedue) “Tch, doesn’t matter! We must get to the core, from the way it’s glowing its about to activate!”

(Catherine) “THEN LET’S DO THIS! EVERYONE, CHARGE!”

(Everyone) “HYAAAAAAAAA-”

(Nemesis) “NO ONE WILL GET IN MY WAY TO DESTROY SEIROS AND HER CRONIES!”

Nemesis charged into the students, and clashed swords with Catherine.

The swings were met blow for blow, both of them too fast to actually make any decisive hits.

Alois and Leonie came in from the sides, attempting to flank him.

Kicking Catherine away, he cut the head off Leonie’s horse, making her fly off and the horse making Alois roll out the way.

Bernadetta, Ignatz, and Ashe fired several arrows at him while he was in place, making him back off.

Activating the whip, he deflected the arrows and swung it the archers.

Ignatz managed to dodge in time, but Ashe and Bernadetta were hit by it, making them hit the floor.

Leonie and Alois charged again, Alois slamming the axe onto the floor with Nemesis rolling out the way, blocking Leonie’s hit in time.

Pulling back his sword, he swung at Alois, cutting his axe in half and striking him down, a visible scar on his armor as he fell down.

Leonie sustained a similar injury, though without the blessing of armor, having blood spill out.

(Hilda) “LEONIE!”

(Hubert) “FOCUS!”

Nemesis jumped into the air, slamming his bastardized version of the Sword of the Creator into the ground, creating a mini shockwave.

Dedue, Hilda, and Hubert, and Catherine were sent flying and hit the pillars behind them, falling onto the ground.

Annette and Mercedes fired a multitude of spells at him, Nemesis using the whip to absorb the spells with his sword.

Quickly deactivating the whip, he countered both the Death Knight and Felix’s attacks, who came from his sides.

Nemesis grabbed Felix and threw him onto the Death Knight, making him fall off his horse.

The horse went ballistic, and started charging at Nemesis out of pure fear, which he cut in half with a single slice.

He turned to his right and saw Ferdinand, Lorenz, and Sylvain charging with their lances in three separate directions. 

Flicking his wrist, the whip reactivated and he swung it upwards, decapitating all the horses and inflicting cuts that went through all three of their armors.

He noticed that his shadow was growing larger, and looked upwards seeing Ingrid trying to divebomb him with the Pegasus.

Rolling to the side and taking several swings, both unable to land a solid hit on each other.

Nemesis grabbed Ingrid by the arm, and pulled her towards him and off her mount.

He punched her in the stomach, denting the armor and making her cough up blood.

The force which he grabbed her dislocated Ingrid’s arm, and he threw her into the closest wall, making the wall crack using Ingrid as a projectile.

When she fell onto the floor, it was then he noticed that Lysithea, Annette, and Dorothea were charging up a spell.

It was starting to become brighter than the core in the room.

(Lysithea) “FIRE!”

Unleashing a beam of dark magic, it completely incinerated the pillars next to Nemesis, with him barely dodging in time.

He was about to run before he noticed that parts of his arms were singed off, making it hard to hold the Sword of the Creator.

Flicking his wrist, he was about to strike at the three mages until it got caught onto something.

Looking back, he saw the Death Knight’s scythe was holding the whip.

Caspar and Raphael leaped out from cover, and drove their gauntlets into his head, making an audible cracking noise.

Instead of falling over, Nemesis mustered all his strength to throw the Death Knight around like a ragdoll, finally releasing his grip.

Having nothing to restrain him, he headbutted Caspar so hard that blood came out from both their heads, and kicked Raphael into the ground.

Nemesis aimed his sword at Raphael’s heart, but his hand was shot by a precision shot, making the sword fly off from his hands.

Turning back, he saw Shamir and Petra, loading up arrows.

He ran up to them, leaving his sword behind and using rage as his weapons, raised his fists.

Petra and Shamir dodged his punch, as he punched the wall and created two massive holes.

They took out their daggers and went for the his knees, slicing the major arteries and hopping away quickly before he could retaliate.

From this position, Nemesis could see the room clearly.

All the mages in the room immediately went to healing the injured, Mercedes, Marianne and Linhardt healing the gravely injured first.

However it was at this point he realized he didn’t see Hubert, Catherine, Hilda or Dedue from where he knocked them out.

He saw Lysithea in the distance, firing at a spell behind a rock.

Then, the bright light appeared right above him.

Catherine was warped right on top of him, slamming Thunderbrand into his arms, which he tried to use as a shield.

Feeling his bones start to split apart, he then realized where the other three were.

Right beside Catherine.

Hilda slammed her axe into his legs, severing it, which made him lose balance, leading to his arm getting cut off by Thunderbrand.

Dedue slammed his shield with all his strength on top of Nemesis’s head, crushing it and splattering his head all over the floor.

Everyone hopped out the way as Hubert casted his most powerful dark spell, completely overwhelming Nemesis’s body and vaporizing it into dust.

Once his body was gone, the mock Sword of the Creator dissipated into the air.

(Shamir) “Leonie, Alois!”

Marianne grabbed Leonie while Mercedes helped Alois up, trying to heal their injuries.

(Leonie) “D-Don’t worry about us, the core...!”

They all looked to the core which was pulsating faster and faster.

(Shamir) “Shit, it’s about to activate!”

(Alois) “Y-you-agh! N-Need to overload it with magic! HURRY!”

Dorothea, Linhardt, Lysithea, and Annette all started to cast their strongest spells and aimed it at the core.

(Shamir) “NOW!”

At the same time, all of them shot from their hands, ranging from ice, holy, dark, meteoric spells onto the core, hitting it all at once.

The core exploded into fragments, the energy overtaking the room in a bright light.

[SONG END]

Catherine held her eyes shut, expecting to lose all feeling from the blast, until she opened an eye.

The room was just lit dimly with the orange torches that were in the room, no longer outshined by the core.

She looked around her, seeing all the students were having a similar reaction.

(Leonie) “We...did it...hah...!”

Marianne felt Leonie go limp, which prompted her to start shaking her.

(Hilda) “L-LEONIE!”

(Marianne) “I-It’s the shock from her blood loss, I can still save her!”

(Catherine) “And the others?!”

(Sylvain) “A-Agh...right here...!”

Sylvain was helped up by Felix, but they nearly tripped over themselves once they saw how Ingrid was.

Ferdinand and Lorenz helped each other up, which Linhardt began to heal the both of them, alongside Dorothea.

(Hubert) “That was far closer than I’d like...”

(Hilda) “N-No kidding...!”

(Dedue) “Wait a second, our lords!”

Everyone’s eyes widened when Dedue said that.

They may have taken out the core.

But what about Byleth?

-------

#evil!byleth #withering flower #fire emblem three houses imagines #fire emblem three houses headcanons #dedue molinaro #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #ashe ubert #ingrid brandl galatea #annette fantine dominique #mercedes von martlitz #hilda valentin goneril #ignatz victor #raphael kirsten #marianne von edmund #lysithea von ordelia #lorenz hellman gloucester #hubert von vestra #bernadetta von varley #caspar von bergliez #linhardt von hevring #dorothea arnault #ferdinand von aegir #petra macneary #catherine fe #shamir nevrant #leonie pinelli #alois rangeld

[loyalflutist]

Cake (F!Byleth x Edelgard)

Challenge: Edeleth Twitter Week (09/29/2019 - 10/05/2019)  Day 4: Cake

A/N: Singing praises to Lysithea for she kick-started this entire event for Byleth and Edeleth. 

---

Edelgard has always liked sweets. Though her past was riddled with plenty of misfortunes and tragedy, the one thing that never eroded away was her love for these tasty treats.

Oh, how much her eyes lit up at the sight of cakes! Teatime was a frequent activity between her and Lysithea. Every week, the two would spare an hour or so to indulge in the sugary content. Their palates were delighted by the fluffy texture. Their appetite sated by the burst of flavors. Their sight appeased by colorful decorations. Cake was and still is mankind’s best creation.

“…”

Byleth crossed her arms. She stared intensely at the oven in isolation within the open kitchen. Adorned over her usual mercenary attire is a white apron; splotches of pink and yellow tainted the pristine fabrics. As students were settling in for the night, so did the staff from the cafeteria. The eatery was empty, save it for the few soldiers and guards during their night shifts. That meant it was free for usage so long as one cleans up after themselves. This professor took advantage of the scarce opportunity.

“…”

Her navy hues never once left the heated equipment.

“Let’s hope you didn’t add salt in this time.”

Sothis floated nearby. She plopped her arms on Byleth’s head as if she were a table, then rested her chin on the disheveled hair. The teal-haired resisted the urge to swat her away. She opted to remain silent, the only response being a sigh.

…she didn’t add salt, right?

Her index finger that began to tap on her exposed arm hastened. Byleth moistened her lower lip, and she gulped in hopes of eliminating the sudden dryness of her throat. She shifted her gaze elsewhere as beads of sweat flew out of her head. The confidence that once possessed the professor began to melt into a sticky pile of uncertainty. (Thanks, Sothis!)

“Hm? What’s with that worried expression?” The green-haired remarked once again, this time peering down at her host. Not even two seconds ticked by until it clicked in her head. A faint smirk formed on her lips as Sothis returned to her resting posture. She closed her eyelids and stifled a yawn. “I’m certain you did not make the same mistake. I checked the content this time around.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I had to. Otherwise, you would’ve panicked.”

“I would not.”

“Your body doesn’t agree.”

“…”

“Dear child… I’m sure your Edelgard would be disappointed if you gifted her with an atrocious-tasting cake.” Sothis exhaled loudly and, while floating, nestled onto Byleth as if she were a pillow. “I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. If anything, Byleth had no choice but to succeed. Failure is not an option.

One might also wonder why this stoic professor would spend her quiet night making a cake. The funding provided by the Church was plenty enough to purchase one at the bakery. Time and energy would be saved in the process, and a delicious cake still waits for their owners at the end of the day. Edelgard had always bought her sweets. What difference will that make?

Well… she overhead Lysithea and Ferdinand about Edelgard’s strong liking towards sweets. Their private teatime parties would always consist of these delicacies; the young noble’s likes also extended towards cakes. Normally, Byleth would leave the two to be. Lest to say an exchange perked her ears one fateful night during her patrol.

“Lady Edelgard, has anyone ever baked you something?”

“Not yet.”

“What a shame… Perhaps you should ask Dorothea to make you some.”

“I prefer not to bother her with these requests.”

“I see. How about the Professor? I think she’s capable of it.”

“By— Teacher? O-Oh, I’m not too sure about that…”

“Why not?”

“She might be too busy to bake something for us.”

“The future is unpredictable. It might be too early to make that conclusion.”

“I can only hope so…”

The way Lysithea guided their conversation almost made it seem as if she purposely hinted at the professor— Actually, she was. Lysithea was always perceptive to her surroundings. Edelgard may have not noticed Byleth’s presence as her back was facing the doorway, but the other white-haired sensed her beyond the partially opened door. A faint smile scrawled her features as she tipped the teacup to her lips.

“You should place more faith in your girlfriend, Lady Edelgard.”

“G-Girlfriend!?”

“Why are you acting like I just blew your cover?”

“Well— I… Um… That’s… it’s just… embarrass… ing…”

“Hoh~ What a rarity to see you flustered.”

“Lysithea, I will take away your sweets if you say any more.”

“Okay, okay, I won’t tease.”

“Good—”

“Though you should seriously place more faith in the Professor. Don’t forget to invite me too!”

With newfound knowledge of her girlfriend’s interest, the instructor decided to make her next weekly gift for the student a bit different: making the cake from scratch on her own.

However… a couple of problems reared its head into this ambitious project.

There was the issue of her inept bakery skills. She could cook heartful meals, and she could improvise on the spot when it came to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. But dessert? Byleth never ate many sweets as being a mercenary provided very little chance to do so, but she expected it to taste like heaven based on Edelgard’s and Lysithea’s fixation to the treat.

Ingredients were purchased from the market, and some ingredients forced the professor to scour villages and towns outside of the monastery’s wall on her own. She engaged in haggles and arguments over rare items required for the baking process. The equipment was provided upon request by the staff, but no one had time to teach Byleth how to bake. Those who were free to mentor were not exactly the sort of person one would go to for advice.

Jeralt was the worst one of them all.

“I don’t know, kiddo. I know nobles love chocolate, so why not throw them into the batter? I’m not sure if you need to melt them or not… but give it a try.”

“…”

That didn’t work at all. Rather, that advice, accompanied by her amateur skillsets, nearly burnt down the cafeteria! Sothis combination of scolding and laughter echoed in Byleth’s skull as she and the Gatekeeper furiously dumped water onto the smoking oven. Had it not been for the kind soul who had worked that day’s night shift, the fire would have spread towards the other appliances. Rhea and Seteth— especially Seteth— would not be happy if they were to catch news of her wild nightly adventures at the monastery’s kitchen!

“Professor, please be more careful!” he shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt!”

The two eventually chuckled it off. It was a little too comical not to find it amusing. Though it was a little difficult to hide the incident from Edelgard. Byleth would always beat around the bush and scamper away once this particular topic arises. Lysithea, Claude, and Mercedes did their best to distract Edelgard from wringing the truth from Byleth. They dragged her around the monastery with useless tasks. Some offered teatime parties. There was also the training ground and seminars hosted by other knights and teachers. They did everything in their power to keep her away from the professor and the kitchen at night. At least until the cake has been properly made.

“…”

The present time ex-mercenary knelt. While Sothis took a small nap overhead, Byleth cracked open the oven’s lid. A puff of steam blew onto her face as a result. She shook off the heat and, with oven mittens, pulled out the baked good.

“!”

The cake…

Its fluffiness…

Its texture…

Its color…

It was a success! Compared to the first few times earlier this week… this one upheld its shape and retained the flavoring she had instilled into the product. Imaginary musical notes bounced off from her head as she placed the finished product onto the counter. Now it was time for the creams and toppings. Byleth shifted her attention over to the sliced strawberries and white cream. The mittens came off, her hands were washed, and the decorations commenced.

Time dashed forward as the professor was kept busy in the kitchen. By the time she was finished, the sun had already risen from the distant. One well-known rooster cried out on the cafeteria’s rooftop to signal the early morning. Guards and soldiers that were on night shift huddled back to their quarters without hesitation; their replacements immediately arrived in conjunction with their leave. The new day was a weekend, but for Byleth, it had dawned upon her that she literally stayed up 24 hours to make this cake happen.

“Don’t you want to get some sleep?”

“No.”

This is worrisome. Dark shadows were prominent under her eyes, yet she refused to crawl into her mattress

“Oh dear…” Sothis immediately reached out to ruffle with Byleth’s hair. “You did a good job, though. I’m proud of you, Byleth.”

Hearing praise from the usually critical Sothis… she flashed a weary grin at the floating girl. That gave an extra dose of energy to mechanically operate for the morning. Byleth placed both hands on her hips, her sparkling hues observing the piece of fine work she had created. A couple of kitchen staff and chefs coming in for their morning shift too observed the cake. One of them whistled.

“You made this? Good job, Professor.”

The end product was a strawberry cake. It stood proudly on the counter with ease. All that hard work was worth it. Byleth yawned loudly as she wobbled on her feet. Though it did not come without a price. The effort she placed on this dessert was exchanged with her rest. She blinked a few times.

How was she going to bring this to Edelgard? Should she call for her? If she was going to deliver it, would it be possible to deliver it? What if she drops it? Or worst, what if the heat from outside turns this beautiful art into a pile of gooey flavors?

She shuddered at the thought. That would be a nightmare. Imagine the fright Edelgard would have upon seeing the discombobulated cake! She might as well deliver it during the time of Halloween!

“My, you’re up early.”

Fortunately for the professor, that horror was never going to be a reality. Edelgard had arrived at the cafeteria bright and early for breakfast. On weekdays, weekends, she was always on time for her meals. What she did not expect was to bump into her professor this early in the day. (Byleth tends to sleep in during weekends.) The white-haired adjusted her uniform’s collar as her eyes darted between the older woman and the recently made cake. She narrowed her eyes. Then, those lilac hues widened.

“Byleth… did you stay up all night to make a cake…?”

“Yes.”

Despite the fatigue that plagued the older woman, she motioned towards the sweet treat; a twinkle shining from the corner of her eye.

“It’s for you.”

“You… did you really do this for me?”

“Yes.”

“Lysithea was right…” Edelgard covered her mouth, her cheeks becoming rosy. “It was right of me to place my faith in you.”

“Did you say something?”

She shook her head. Then, she grabbed ahold of Byleth’s hands and crashed her lips into the older woman’s. Byleth nearly melted into a pile of goo herself once Edelgard pulled away. Excitement lit up like fireworks behind her lilac hues.

“Thank you, Byleth, thank you!”

Suffice to say, Edelgard chomped on the dessert with delight for the morning. Gorging on it was something of a sight to see for the lucky early risers. (It appears the concept of moderation does not exist for Edelgard when it comes to sweets…) Ferdinand and Hubert did complain about the abrupt change of dieting for today, and Lysithea threw a small tantrum with the lack of invitation from Byleth. Not that it mattered to the two. Byleth reveled in her results and Edelgard basked in the results.

Shortly afterward…

“Byleth.”

“Yes?”

“I think you should have some dessert too.”

“I’m not much of a sweets person— El… What are you doing?”

“I didn’t say your dessert had to be another cake.”

“…”

She certainly received a dessert of her own; it was a “cake” that she could still taste to this day.

#edeleth #loyalflutist #edelgard #edelgard von hresvelg #byleth #f!byleth #f!byleth x edelgard #fan fic #fanfic #fan fiction #fanfiction #one shot #os #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #edeleth week (twitter) #day 4: cake #sothis #lysithea #really big thanks to lysithea lmaooo

[aaltena26]

Unmasked ~ Eleven

Written by: ~ M ~

Prompt #88

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

My thanks to the moderators of @everlarkficexchange for always running an entertaining event, and for playing along with a little fun and mystery. Also my thanks to @aaltena26 and everyone else who has offered up their inbox for submissions. Please enjoy the eleventh chapter of this adventure. Previous installments can be found here. Regards,

~ M ~

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

~~ Chapter 11 ~~

I sleep wretchedly. In fact, I am certain that I slept better in the days leading up to our wedding than I do on the wedding night, despite being left utterly alone and untouched. There are a few moments of tension in the morning, with Peeta and I moving around one another in an attempt to prepare for the day.

“I swear this room was enormous just two days ago,” I mutter as we nearly collide for the fourth time. Peeta laughs then and reaches behind him to grasp my morning dress from where it lays. I hold my dressing gown closed tight, hoping he will not be able to see how my chest heaves with my rapid breathing as he hands the garment to me.

“I suppose this will require some further adjustment on both our parts. I will try not to be so much underfoot, madame,” he say, offering the gown to me.

“It is your room as well,” I mutter through clenched teeth, accepting my dress and turning away from him, giving him some semblance of privacy to dress as I wash my face.

In the mirror, I catch a brief glimpse of him and avert my gaze. Heat creeps up my neck like grasping vines of ivy climbing walls. The sensation will not cease and urges my eyes up and up against my will until I become a spy, stealing a glimpse of my husband with no shirt and barely any pants on his body.

The day we met, I considered that what appeared to be broad shoulders beneath his coat might be a trick of the tailor, but no. There is no trick at all. Peeta is solidly built. As he moves, I feel as though some sort of string has been tied between his arms with their evident strength, and my gut. Surely that is the reason for my reaction to him, for the hollow feeling when his shirt is in place and he asks me a mundane question about the arrangements for church today.

I answer him and finish scrubbing. By the time Mary arrives to help me dress, Peeta is fully garbed and leaves me in the clutches of my maid. I am in a daze until I reach breakfast and eagerly grasp at the food as a distraction from the feelings churning inside me. It does little good with the source of my distraction seated across the table, engaged in easy conversation with his brother and sister-in-law, Maysilee perched in her now usual spot on his knee and Emma beside her, explaining how she combines flavors of jams to create new ones and what does Maysilee think of strawberry-apricot?

“Katniss are you feeling well?” Madge whispers to me and I startle, nearly spilling my tea.

“What? Fine!” I hiss under my breath so that no one might hear. She glances between Peeta and I, and I can see the concern in her eyes. It is then that I notice the faint rings beneath Peeta’s eyes that speak of poor sleep. At least he suffers as I do. Serves him right. “I will tell you later.”

Church presents its own form of torture, being forced to sit still and exude pious serenity with so much turmoil in my brain, especially given how centered on the bedroom and copulation my thoughts are this morning. Father Crane prattles on about devotion, the need to fulfill one’s promises even in the face of extreme adversity. I fume silently, twitching with the heat in the stifling building and hoping the sermon is burning my husband’s ears. Devotion indeed.

Father Crane continues, berating those who might attempt to influence the Hand of God, to alter their fate or question the Almighty’s plan, to escape their duties. I am certain that I have heard this exact sermon before and tune him out. His nasal voice disturbs my thought processes and I must be focused if I am to sort out the mess that is my marriage.

Peeta sits across the church from me, apparently serene and focused on the words, head bowed slightly. The sun even dares to shine on his hair in such a way that he seems almost divine. Beside him, Haymitch snores, although no one bothers to wake him. To do so would cause more disturbance to the sermon than the snores themselves, Although Father Crane sends him several withering glares throughout. On Peeta’s other side, his brother Henry stares out the windows, as though longing for an escape.

He is playing some game by not touching me, my husband. I am certain of it. Perhaps he means to force a divorce or an annulment by claiming that I have neglected my duty as a wife. Yes! That is it. If we do not consummate our marriage, he can use the lack of children to discard me. Or perhaps he means to weaken me somehow in refusing to act as a husband, lulling me into a sense of security before claiming what he truly wants. Whatever game it is he plays, I cannot allow this. I have worked too hard to secure a husband and a fortune to support my family to allow it to all fall apart now. I will simply have to seduce him tonight.

With a plan and resolution, I am better able to sit still through the sermon. It is once we are at home after that things begin to fall apart.

“Katniss,” Madge grabs my arm and keeps me back from the remainder of our party. “Are you alright?”

“Quite fine, now that I have a plan.”

“A plan?” Madge asks, her hand flying to her throat. “Oh no. Was it that awful last night?”

“Awful? Yes, it was wretched.” I bite out the words, unable to hide how embarrassed I feel. Why I am embarrassed is beyond me. I am not the one in the wrong here. It is Peeta who is shirking his duty in our bedroom, not I.

The more that I think about it, the more I am convinced that he either is repulsed by my scars and is therefore the worst sort of hypocrite, or he is using this to somehow manipulate me. I will not allow that. I will instead outmaneuver him.

Before Madge can question me further, I tear myself away from her and focus on our guests. Most of them will depart tomorrow, leaving us in peace to establish our new lives. I will have time to talk with Madge then, after I have seduced my husband.

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

In the evening, there are games and conversation. Music and laughter. Primrose plays on the piano to great appreciation and the atmosphere is cheerful, lively. Haymitch and Peeta engage in a game of chess. Aunt Effie and Angelica Mellark somehow find common topics to discuss. Henry reads and on occasion joins in with the ladies’ conversation. Madge embroiders and I sit content with my book.  A strange sort of domestic tranquility settles over the group. Frivolity continues into the evening and yet my book fails to win my interest.

In fact, the warmth of the scene lulls me into a relaxed, almost dreamy state. I blame the exhaustion of the past few days as I am jostled partially awake, lifted into arms and held against a solid chest.

“If you could assist her in preparing for bed, Mary--”

“Of course, Mr. Mellark,” I hear Mary answer as I am moved through the hall. “Poor dear has had an exciting few days.”

“Haven’t we all?” he says and I hear my maid chuckle.

“Where is Mrs. Everdeen?”

“Upstairs with the Mister.”

It is a haze of movement and whispers. I drift in and out, only aware of vague instructions that I follow until I am tucked in and content, fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, I wake, startled by thoughts that finally coalesce. I sit up and stare at the back of my husband’s head as he sleeps in the chair, seemingly at peace.

“Curse him!” I mutter. He evaded me, the bastard.

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

Our wedding guests depart, and I discover just how inept I am at seduction. I am thwarted at every turn. Peeta fabricates all manner of excuses to remain out of our room until late at night, past the time I fall asleep alone in our bed. Other nights, if I attempt to stay awake with him, I inevitably fall asleep in a chair or sofa only to have him carry me to bed and leave me alone there, still a maid.

Madge frets over me, concern apparent in her eyes each morning at the breakfast table as I struggle to hide my growing fatigue. I do not know how to tell her that my lost sleep is due not to a situation similar to hers, but to an entirely different dilemma. She might tell me how fortunate I am to not have to suffer my husband’s amorous attentions, and that would only aggravate me even further. My only consolation is that my husband appears to be suffering the same affliction as I. The circles beneath his eyes gradually darken and his limp grows more pronounced. My indignation grows with them.

“Mr. Marvel comes to call this week to discuss terms of sale,” I tell anyone who will listen one morning.

“Is that usual?” Peeta asks and Madge’s eyes dart between us. I can see her increasing desire to ask private and prying questions. I hope she does not. I am not sure how to answer them.

“Yes, they are fond of establishing terms of sale in person.”

“Perhaps you should have Peeta with you for that meeting,” my mother suggests and I scowl at her.

“Mr. Marvel knows me. Father always had me present at our negotiations in the past.”

“Yes but your father will not be there this time.”

“Are you suggesting I cannot handle the bargaining and sales on my own? That I need a man to accomplish it for me?”

“Of course not, Katniss,” my mother answers with clear exasperation. “I am simply considering the implications of you conducting business alone with two men.”

“I am married now. That affords me some freedom and protection from scandal, does it not?”

“I think perhaps,” Peeta says softly, leaning towards me as though we are conspiring. I turn my head to better hear him as he continues, “that your mother means to protect Mr. Marvel from your strong will and any hard bargains you might drive, madame. And perhaps from that ferocious scowl of yours.”

This, of course, only serves to make me scowl at him and he grins in response. After a beat of silence, Prim’s laughter rings out. My mother smiles and I lift one shoulder in indifference. “It is not my fault if a man cannot hold his ground in negotiations with me. Very well then husband, if you must attend, by all means, do so to protect Mr. Marvel from being intimidated.”

I can feel Madge’s eyes on us through the entire exchange and my cheeks heat in shame and embarrassment. I feel as though I am somehow lying to her, yet I do not know how to soothe her concerns for me.

Two days later, Mr. Marvel arrives with his son to conduct business.

“Ah, Miss Everdeen. A pleasure to see you again. Where is your father?”

“My father is indisposed, Mr. Marvel, I wonder that you had not heard.”

“I did hear of his accident in spring but had hoped he would recover by now.”

“Unfortunately not.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Surely then the rumors of a recent wedding are false then? I cannot fathom Miss Primrose marrying without your father’s blessing.”

“My sister is not married,” I say, spine stiffening at his words, at the assumption that it must be Prim who married. Am I so undesirable that everyone believes it impossible for me to find a husband? “Now are there any changes you wish to make to--”

“I am glad to be reassured of Miss Primrose’s prudence,” he says, turning to share a strange look with his son and it occurs to me that perhaps Mr. Marvel means to see his snivelling son wed to my sister. Not likely. “Surely it is unseemly to negotiate with your father indisposed? Miss Everdeen, a young, inexperienced, and unmarried woman--”

“Mrs. Mellark,” I say. It is the first I have demanded someone refer to me by my married name and causes a strange tingling in my skull.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is Mrs. Mellark, not Miss Everdeen. The rumors of a wedding were quite true, Mr. Marvel, only not in regards to my sister. How rude of me to neglect introductions. Mr. Marvel, this is my husband, Mr. Peeta Mellark,” I turn then to find him standing right beside me, if slightly behind, in a position of support and solidarity. He inclines his head to Mr. Marvel and his son as the introductions continue.

“My dear girl how did this happen?” Mr. Marvel asks, near to sputtering.

“It took a great deal of convincing on my part, I am afraid,” Peeta says, giving me what can only be termed as a very convincing look of complete devotion. “But I fell madly in love with her and simply could not allow her to escape.”

“Yes,” I say with as much charm as I can muster at his complete lie. “I could not imagine my life without you, husband.”

There’s a brief flicker of something in his eyes, but he deflects whatever his thoughts were, lifting my hand to his mouth in a gesture of affection. It gives me the chance to gather my wits and refocus on Mr. Marvel. “My father would be more apt to encourage the continuation of life as normal, Mr. Marvel, than to have his family wallow in sorrow and allow the farm to deteriorate. So if there are no further objections, shall we adjourn to the study and order refreshments?”

“Very well then, if you insist.”

As we turn to enter the study behind the Misters Marvel, Peeta offers me his arm. My hand shakes slightly as I take it. He covers my hand with his, and presses down, leaning over to whisper in my ear. “They are already shaking in their boots, atremble with fear. You’ve no idea the effect you can have.”

I am uncertain what that means, or even if it is meant as compliment or insult, but I’ve no time to discern which as Mr. Marvel launches immediately into negotiations

“Mrs. Mellark, I have issue with this price for the sage.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes it is much too high. It will fetch no profit at six pounds a bushel.”

“That is the same price you paid last year, and as I recall, you were quite pleased with your profits.”

“Indeed but demand for such herbs has lowered.”

“What price then do you suggest?” I barely notice Peeta accepting tea from Mary and pouring for us as the younger Mr. Marvel stares at my husband. Is it so shocking that a man might pour tea?

“Four pounds.”

“A one third reduction? Mr. Marvel, that is ridiculous.”

“Yes of course. This is why ladies should be left to the tea service and the gentlemen to the bargaining. Were it left to them, we would pay our entire income for a trifle,” Mr. Marvel states as he accepts the tea from Peeta. “Don’t you agree, Mr. Mellark?”

“Not at all. Mrs. Mellark is an expert on the functions of her farm and the values of her product. If you are disinterested in a fair price and exceptional product, no matter. We have other buyers more than willing to meet our price.” I glance at Peeta, uncertain where he is taking this as he hands me my tea. It is true that we have other buyers, but the Marvels have long been one of our larger sales. “Here you are, my dear.” I thank him for the tea. “Isn’t that right, Mrs. Mellark?”

“Indeed it is,” I say automatically, too bewildered to question or contradict him. Such a thing might make the situation worse than I have already done.

“In fact one such buyer plans to expand our market beyond the borders of Panem. Oh dear I cannot seem to remember the name. Harmon? Blackthorne?”

“Hawthorne,” I say the name most present in my mind that fits and Peeta snaps his fingers with a bright smile.

“That’s the one! Mr. Gale Hawthorne. He is traveling abroad at the moment but should pay us a visit...within the fortnight, isn’t it dear?”

“I believe so, husband,” I say, catching on to his game.

Mr. Marvel blusters still, yet his son engages with him in furious conference. Peeta’s eyes meet mine as he sips his tea, almost tranquil. If I were not looking directly at him, I would miss the subtle wink he sends me.

“We are loyal customers, Mrs. Mellark. You cannot in good conscious sell our wares to someone else.”

“On the contrary, I can. Until you sign, the wares are not guaranteed for you. Mr. Hawthorne has offered a most generous price.”

“How much?” Mr. Marvel squeaks.

“Five percent increase from last year,” Peeta says. My stomach drops and I attempt to signal that this is too much.

“Ridiculous! I shall offer you a two percent increase.”

“Three,” I counter. “A bargain for an old friend. A sign of my father’s respect for your business acumen, Mr. Marvel.”

“Done,” he says and smiles as though he truly did just achieve a bargain. “Shall we discuss terms for this goat cheese your father mentioned in his last letter to me in the spring? I am most intrigued by the possibility.”

“Of course. Shall we ring for a few samples?”

The meeting proceeds quite smoothly from there, and as Peeta and I stand on the front steps, waving farewell to our visitors, I watch Peeta in my periphery. Today has given me a new appreciation for him, and when he turns to face me again, I am struck with my good fortune in finding, however unknowingly, such an apt partner and ally, despite our remaining differences.

“Have I anything I need apologize for?” Peeta asks me, true concern in his eyes. I consider my feelings on what he did today, but I do not feel that he did anything to demean or countermand me. True that he showed how smoothly he is capable of lying and yet I feel...empowered. I set out to find a business partner, not a romance, and that is precisely what I seem to have gotten. A partner I can rely on. He suggested that his presence would protect Mr. Marvel from my biting tongue and stubbornness, yet it turns out that what Mr. Marvel truly needed protection from was Peeta and I working together.

“No. Nothing today, husband,” I tell him and he smiles, tilting his head as if in regret.

“I shall try harder tomorrow then, wife.”

“Well, it shall be a new day with fresh opportunities.”

“If it is to be spent with you, then I look forward to it.”

Once more, he lifts my hand to his lips, no audience, no buyers to convince, and the effect of it is overwhelming. A brush of heat up my arms that gives rise to the thought that perhaps I am failing so completely at seducing my husband because he is attempting to seduce me, in a different way.

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

The days begins to shape a pattern. In public, Peeta and I are the picture of domestic tranquility. It is strange how easily we work together. How simple he makes the labor and how smoothly he defers to my judgement, even when people first seek his approval as the man. Our encounter with Mr. Marvel and his son is only one example in what becomes a pattern of us working together, and I quickly learn just how dependable my husband truly is. He is as at home laboring beside the common folk -- as evidenced by the day he spends digging and shoring up drainage systems after a rainstorm nearly washes away half of a field -- as he is negotiating terms of business in the parlor.

In the privacy of our rooms, it is another matter entirely.

Why does he not wish to touch me, anyways? He has proved himself most persuasive and does not hesitate to compliment me and yet he has not used that power tempt me into bed with him. It confuses me. I cling to the idea that he must be repulsed by my scars, although that does not hold up under even a cursory examination.

He is not afraid to touch me in smaller ways and has never once flinched from contact with me. With a grasp of my hand in assistance into or out of a carriage, he causes flutterings of sensation up my arm. A simple touch of his palm on my back, a deference of the lead to me as we move from one room to another, is like a shovel digging those unpleasant worms right back up to turn my innards into a squirming mess. I will not even speak of what happens when he assists me down from Sagittaria after our daily rides.

Each day passes much the same as the last. The hours while the sun hangs high in the sky are spent dealing with the business of the estate, preparations for the harvest and for selling our wares. Contracts are drawn up and signed. The goat cheeses we now offer in all their varieties of flavor  begin to take off with great popularity. There are moments of quiet when I will catch Peeta working diligently over a book he seems to carry with him at all times. I wonder at the contents but do not muster the courage to ask just yet.

In the evenings, after retiring to our chamber, Peeta and I will sit before the fire and share a drink. We restrict our talk to that of the business of the estate and family. Everdeen -- all of his concerns seem to revolve around Everdeen. It is unemotional and forthright. It is maddening.

When it is time to sleep, he remains in the chair. Most nights he removes his trousers and I think his false leg as well. I cannot be certain as I am too occupied hiding beneath the sheets, battling an insane desire to demand that he consummate our marriage. Why? I ask myself. He has given me what amounts to a stay of execution and here I am considering pulling the lever on the guillotine myself.

Most nights, I lay awake and analyse each brush of fingers at the dining table, and most especially each reassuring squeeze of my hand or comforting caress of my shoulders when father’s health looks to be taking a turn for the worse. Caresses on my scarred shoulder, nonetheless.

What remains of my hold on my quest to seduce him disintegrates when my mother asks Peeta about his time in the infantry at dinner one evening. He speaks of several of the foreign lands he has been to, strange cultures that sound lovely and exotic -- and so exciting. He enchants the entire table and I am left feeling small, inconsequential.

My husband has seen the world, experienced so much of life. Despite what Haymitch said of the absence of any lovers in Peeta’s past, I cannot believe it. A soldier traveling in foreign lands would have a much simpler time disguising his dalliance with a mistress or lover. No one would think twice about it nor consider it amiss for him to have such worldly experiences. What do I know of seduction compared to the exotic women he has likely lain with? Absolutely nothing. Of course he is not tempted by me, why should he be? The last time I attempted any sort of flirtation or seduction before this, it turned out horribly. I drove away every other potential suitor and then my intended eloped with another woman!

I sit vigil over my father that night rather than going to bed and facing the chasm between Peeta and I. It must be near midnight when my mother wakes me.

“Katniss, darling you should be in bed, not here,” she whispers, soothing back my hair and kissing my brow.

“I was worried about Father,” I argue and she nods.

“As am I. We shall ask Doctor Aurelius to make another visit as soon as he is able. In the meantime, your husband surely worries after you.”

I do not argue with her, although I am certain he could not care less. Gathering the frayed ends of my resolve, I return to my bedchamber only to find it empty. Peeta’s coat is draped over the chair as usual. The fire, left unattended, has burned down to mere embers.

I disrobe and change to my nightdress and dressing robe before examining the area where he sleeps for clues to his whereabouts. His book which he usually carries with him is set on the small table, open to a page. I should not pry so, but my eyes are drawn to it despite my intentions.

An exquisite sketch of Maysilee smiles up at me from the parchment, her youthful glee over the flower in her hand sparkling with such light, even rendered so in charcoal pencil. I gasp and snatch up the book, forgetting Peeta’s privacy as I turn the pages, reversed from here to the front of the book, and marvel at the drawings he has made. Dozens of pages filled with renderings of Everdeen and her people, her teeming wild life and cultivated life as well. Beauty leaps from every page, leaving me breathless and misty eyed.

There are a few scattered pages that have been torn from the book, as though their presence angered or offended the artist. Then I find one of a beautiful woman with softness and love glowing in her expression. It stops me cold. I do not recognize this face at all, but the way Peeta has so lovingly depicted her, I know that she is exceptionally important to him.

Now the coldness lives in my veins as something that has never before occured to me strikes deep in my heart. There are pictures of everyone at Everdeen -- Maysilee, my mother and Prim, any number of the servants and laborers, even Madge and Haymitch and Aunt Effie -- yet there are none of me. Only this strange woman with her soft smile. Perhaps in marrying me, Peeta lost someone he loves, someone he wished to marry.

I dare to flip another page to find more of my mother and Prim, more of Everdeen, one of Cicero and Joe. Near the front, there are several more pages torn from the book and then the drawings shift to people and places I do not recognize -- with the exception of his brothers and their families. The strange woman makes several appearances throughout. She is the one constant. The drawings grow somehow darker and more disturbing the closer I get to the start of the book, until finally, I reach the beginning. Staring aghast at the first ten pages, I discover distant battlefields, bodies in agony, hazy nightmares, the haggard face of a tired man.

I move to return the book and then decide against it. No, I wish to know more. I wish to know more of the nightmares that plague him. I wish to know who this woman who crosses my husband’s mind so often is. What place in his heart she holds.

Clutching the book tight to my chest, I venture forth into the midnight darkness of my home to seek out Peeta and confront him with my questions. My bare feet grow cold and I chastise myself for not pausing to don slippers. Noises from the kitchen alert me to human presence and I turn in that direction. The sight that greets me halts my tirade on my lips.

In the light of the fire, Peeta stands dressed in a simple shirt and trousers, his sleeves rolled up and flour kissing his forearms. His hands are sunk into a mass of dough as he kneads it with fluid motions. A stray lock of hair falls across his forehead, his blue eyes intent on his task. My mouth falls open at the domestic scene before me.

I must make some sort of noise that draws his attentions to me. Pausing in his motions, Peeta lifts his head and smiles at me, the expression slow, soft and welcoming, yet also shy in such a way that I momentarily forget about the strange woman in his drawings.

“You have discovered me, madame. I hope you do not mind.”

“I am not precisely sure what to think….since I do not know precisely what you are doing.”

“Kneading bread dough,” he offers and I can’t stop the short note of laughter.

“That much is clear. What is not clear is the why.”

“It helps me to relax.”

“That is a strange hobby for a soldier and field medic, the son of a marquis, to assume,” I say and he shakes his head.

“But not so strange for someone raised as the child of a baker.” I do not know what to say in response to that and remain silent. He sees my confusion and uses one hand to beckon me into the kitchen.

“Are you hungry? I confess to baking one of the loaves meant for tomorrow to sate my own hunger. This is meant to replace what I plan to eat.” He motions to the dough on the table before returning to his task.

Intrigued, I slide the sketch book into my robe and enter the room, taking a seat opposite to where he works.

“Is this where you vanish to in the night? When you are trying to avoid me?”

“Ah, I see I have not been as subtle as I would have wished,” he says and glances at me, holding my gaze for a moment before he continues. “Please understand, it is not meant as an insult. I simply needed something to help me sleep. This helps.”

“You say you were raised by a baker?” I ask rather than dwell on the hurt I feel, despite his reassurances.

“I did not always live with the name Mellark,” he whispers and sudden warmth fills my cheeks. Haymitch urged me to ask of Peeta’s past, and yet I did not, perhaps to protect myself. More likely to protect my animosity towards him. If I remained angry with him, righteous over the way I was forced into marriage, it was easier to forget that Peeta was forced into this marriage as well. That seems silly now, although there is still the strange woman in the sketch book to contend with. Perhaps I can learn her identity as well if I learn of his past.

“Where did you live before? Before you went to live as a Mellark, then?”

“With my mother,” he says simply and gives me another smile, this one sad. “My real mother.”

“What was she like?” I ask, drawn in to the story before he even begins, seduced perhaps by the crackling fire and the comforting smell of spices and herbs and yeast that lingers in the kitchen.

“She is...she was...beautiful.” I fold my feet beneath me and arrange my robe for warmth and comfort.

“Tell me more?”

“You really wish to know?” I nod eagerly, curiosity eating away at my patience.

“I would not ask if I did not.”

“Very well. She was not glamorous or wealthy, Katniss. She was a maid. Specifically a lady’s maid to the three daughters of a very prominent and wealthy family. The ladies my mother served… their names at the time she began her employment were Tabitha, Fanny, and Chastity Hilston. When Tabitha was married, my mother remained with Fanny and Chastity at their parents’ estate.”

I blink and search my memories for a connection. The name sounds vaguely familiar. Peeta seems to recognize my quandary and, slapping more flour on the table, flips the dough and resumes kneading.

“You would know her as Lady Tabitha Mellark, Marchioness de Vale.” I stare at him in shock and shake my head, denying the truth of where I sense this story is headed. “You still wish the sordid tale, madame?”

“I--” I swallow and search for courage. I find it in the challenge in his blue eyes as he levels a stare at me. Sitting straight, I nod to him. “Yes. I wish to know your origins, husband. Your past and all your family’s secrets shrouded in darkness. You have become privy to mine, after all.”

His lips twitch and he watches his own hands as he works and speaks.

“It is quite simple, really. Moving through society as someone no one wishes to see and is therefore generally ignored, I have since seen it more frequently than I would care to acknowledge. A man of wealth, power, and privilege can claim most anything he desires with little consequence, even in the home of another wealthy man.

“The Marquis, even after they were wed and had children, would often take his Marchioness home to visit her sisters and parents at their country estate -- how thoughtful of him allowing this family connection to continue rather than cleaving her from her beloved mother. They would bring their children and stay for some time. While there, Lady Tabitha would enjoy the service of her old maid who now served only her sisters now that she herself had a much fancier lady's maid befitting her title. And the Marquis...well he demands a different sort of service of the maid.”

“He raped her?” I ask, appalled and Peeta shakes his head.

“I believe so. I speak based only on the conversations I overheard between my mother and my father as a child. I do not think my mother fought the Marquis or denied him in so many words, but I believe that is because she felt that she could not. But not fighting, a sort of frightened acceptance of the thing, is still not equal to a desire to participate in the act,” he says. I mull over that for a moment. “When I was a child and Lady Tabitha would visit with her husband and sons, my mother would inevitably fall ill. She would sequester herself, despite Lady Tabitha’s pleas for her former maid to dress her and fix her hair.

“I did not understand the connection, nor why my father would insist that I stay in the kitchens and work with him during those visits. I was scarcely allowed outside the servant’s quarters while the Mellark family was present.”

“Your father?” I ask, confused momentarily with his choice of words.

“The man who raised me. The man I knew as my father until I was ten years old.” He pauses then to set the dough aside to rise, covering it with a cloth and checking the bread in the oven.

“The baker then? You knew the baker as your father.”

“Yes,” he says, using the paddle to remove the bread from the fire and setting it on the table before me. He sighs as he takes a seat, the steaming and fragrant loaf between us. “That will need to cool before we slice it.”

“Then you have time to tell me more,” I say and he folds his hands together, tilting his head to examine me.

“You are not scandalised yet?”

“I am not so fragile as that,” I whisper and he smiles. It courses through me, warm and comforting as the bread cooling between us.

“No you’re not, are you? As you wish, madame. The man I knew as my father was named William Thackeray, and he was a baker at the Hilston country seat. He and my mother, Nancy, had fallen in love as children living and working there. They had plans to marry when the Marquis...took liberties he should not be allowed. When my mother discovered she was with child as a result, she attempted to break her engagement with William. He refused, insisting that he loved her and that they could still marry and raise the child as theirs. Which is precisely what they did for ten years.”

“You had a happy childhood then?” I ask, touching the loaf of bread, my fingers dancing lightly over the crisp, golden surface to avoid burns.

His eyes dip to the motions then back up before he continues.

“I did have a happy childhood. Loving parents, a cousin who was the child of another serving couple and a dear friend--”

“Delly?”

“Delly,” he confirms with a smile. “As I have told you before, she was like a sister to me.”

“So then what happened?”

“My father -- William, the baker -- died when I was ten. For years, my parents had kept me separate from the Mellarks when they came to visit, fearing the truth coming to light. Until then, no one looked closely enough at the servant’s child to notice. There was no reason to. That year, without my father around to keep me occupied and protected, and with my mother fighting her usual response to the presence of the Marquis, worse this time without her husband around...well let’s just say that Lady Mellark was furious to find her youngest son playing with a servant boy who looked to be his brother.”

“No.”

“Yes. You can imagine what happened. My mother was let go, dismissed without references and thrown from the house with her son and little else. She struggled for close to a year to support us, I helped any way that I could, but no family nearby would take her in and the city offered only questionable sorts of employment for a widowed mother. One day, when we were both nearly dead from hunger, she stole a bar of soap and told me to wash.  It was pouring rain that day and bitterly cold. We took to the streets, she claimed so that she might find work, but instead she knocked on the door of the Mellark household.”

“Oh Peeta,” I gasp, holding my nightdress collar closed against the imagined feel of the rain, against the heartache Nancy Thackeray must have felt in giving up her son.

“She demanded that the Marquis see to the needs of his illegitimate son, if nothing else, demanded that at least her child be cared for since he had cost her everything. I will never forget the things Lady Tabitha called my mother that day, but the Marquis...he accepted. He promised my mother he would give me his name, educate me, give me a future and a home, raise me as his son. On the condition that she would leave and never see me or any of them again.”

We sit in silence, the fire the only sound as the pop and crack of the wood does little to dispel the chill in my bones at his story.

“Some days, I am convinced he only did it to anger Lady Tabitha, to remind her of the power he holds over the lives of everyone around him.”

I blink the unwanted tears from my eyes and bring forth the sketch book from my robe. I stare at the cover and then glance up to catch his furrowed expression. “I am sorry. You left it on the table...open and…” I cannot finish and find one of the many drawings of the strange woman. How desperate and sad she must have been that day. How terrified Peeta must have felt, abandoned and lonely in a strange home with strange people, many of whom likely resented his presence if not outright loathed him for it. How sad and confused he must have been for months, perhaps years of not understanding why his mother had left him so. “This is your mother...is it not?”

“Yes,” he says softly.

“What happened to her?”

“I do not know,” he says, and I hear the resounding crack of pain and regret in his voice. “I never saw her again after that day in the rain, although I have looked for her.”

He takes the book from me, running one finger down the side of the page before shutting it and setting it aside. I watch his fingers splay over the cover as something else strikes me.

“That day in the rain -- with me -- when you brought me home,” I prompt and he confirms with a nod.

“I had news of someone who might be her. That is where I was headed in such a hurry.”

“Oh no. Peeta, I am so sorry,” I whisper as guilt floods through me. His warm fingers brush over mine and pry my hand free of my dressing robe.

“I was days late, Katniss. Practically a week late, in fact. Not hours. By the time I arrived, whoever she was had moved on long before. Stopping to help you did not cause me to lose her trail again. It was already cold.” I stare down at our hands as he winds our fingers together. It is comforting, this small touch, almost a promise in itself as I realise just how much of his heart he has revealed to me, entrusted to me, tonight. When I lift my eyes, he’s watching me with a steady sort of trust or understanding.

“And to think I was angry with you so long for not dismounting. Such a silly thing and--” Peeta’s laughter halts my words.

“I imagine that had I dismounted to assist you, we would have both wound up in the mud.” He leans over and I cannot help but chuckle at the strange sound his fist makes on his false leg. “But enough of that, we should not let this bread go to waste,” he says and stands abruptly, releasing my hand to pick up a knife and slice the bread.

I reach out to halt his motions, my hand on his wrist. He stares first at my hand then into my eyes. I take a deep breath and rise up to kiss him.

A brief touch of warm lips and a flutter of pulse is all I am allowed before he lifts his head away from me and places his hand on my shoulder, shaking his head as I wonder what objections he could possibly have now.

“Pity is no better a reason than duty, Katniss.��

“It is not pity I feel right now.”

“Then what is it?” He asks the question, still close enough that were I to pitch forward the slightest bit, we would be kissing instead of speaking. I search my heart and attempt to put a name to the thing blossoming inside me and yet I cannot.

“I do not yet know.”

“At least you are honest. I would rather have the truth between us, wife. The last kiss we shared with false ideas in our heads did not result in much good.” He gently pushes me back and I sit heavily as he continues slicing bread. “When you determine what it is, and still wish to kiss me, then perhaps I shall kiss you back.”

I grip my braid as he sets aside his knife and looks around the kitchen.

“Do you happen to have any goat cheese? Perhaps some apples,” he says and I stand, glad for the task. I find what he needs, and with a few more swipes of the knife, Peeta hands me a slice of bread, spread with goat cheese and topped with apple slices. “And now, wife...it is your turn to tell me a story.”

“What sort of story?” I ask and he thinks for a moment.

“A happy story, I should think.”

I hum and bite into the treat Peeta has made us, closing my eyes to savor the tastes as they caress my tongue. Finally, I settle on a story, telling him of the time Father took me into town to purchase a birthday present for Prim. I had the most elegant blue ribbons selected for her, but on our way home, we stopped to speak with the Goat Man. As my father conversed, I gazed into a pen where several goats were busy feasting on their lunch.

“I was not paying nearly close enough attention and one of the goats snatched Prim’s ribbons right out of my hand and ate them! I started shouting and kicking up a fuss, so loud that my father thought the goat had bitten me. When he finally discerned what had happened, I demanded the slaughter of the goat so that we might retrieve the ribbons.”

Peeta laughs at this, preparing a second slice for each of us. “You were quite bloodthirsty. So then what did he do?”

“He bought the goat with the condition that the goat man provided an undigested blue ribbon. I tied the ribbon around the goat’s neck, after lecturing her that she was not to eat any more ribbons, and that was Prim’s birthday gift instead.”

“That is a very happy story,” he says, our fingertips brushing as he hands me the slice of bread.

“Indeed. That goat produced excellent milk. You are in fact eating cheese made from the milk of one of her many granddaughters.”

“The beginnings of your goat cheese empire then,” he says. “All born of your love for sister.”

“The goat owed me after eating those ribbons,” I say, lifting my nose in a haughty gesture.

“And she wouldn’t dare disappoint you.”

The night hours dwindle as we talk and eat, sharing pleasant stories of childhood and friends. When we are both full and content, we clean up our mess, bank the fire, and walk upstairs. Peeta is limping again and so, despite my freezing feet and the beckoning of my bed, I slow my pace to one that seems more comfortable to him.

When we reach our room, a strained silence fills the air. I twist my braid round my fingers, round and round as I consider my next course. Do I kiss him again, and risk another rejection? I was telling the truth, it is not pity that I feel for him, but something more akin to...understanding. He opens our door and then pauses, stepping aside to let me pass first, ever the gentleman. I move to do so.

“Wait, Katniss,” he says, stepping forward and filling half the opening. I might still pass by him if I wanted, but I find myself standing perfectly still, gazing up at him as he caresses over my cheek, back to my ear. He takes a breath and leans towards me, halting with a pained look on his face, close enough that I can see the freckles that grace the bridge of his nose, each individual lash. They are so long that I wonder how they do not tangle when he blinks.

“I told you that I would spend months courting you, would you grant them to me.” An almost foolish happiness forms in my chest and I strain to keep it contained.

“Are you asking to court me, then, husband?”

“As best I can, given the circumstances.” His fingers trail down my neck, over my scarred shoulder with layers of fabric still between us.

A smile curls my mouth upwards at the idea. It is so sweet and endearing and utterly maddening. “I will...allow it.”

His smile mirrors mine then and he once more laces our fingers together, as they were downstairs. “Then allow me to escort you home, madame.”

I nod and turn into our room, trailing Peeta behind me and then beside me as we approach the bed. It rises in the darkness, draped in welcoming fabrics like the arms of a lover, inviting whispers and secrets. I turn and lift on my toes, kissing his jaw, not out of pity or duty, but because I wish to do so.

He assists me onto the mattress and essentially tucks me safely beneath the covers before turning towards the fire and his chair, a soft smile on his face. For one moment, I consider inviting him into the bed with me, but as I lay down and finger my smiling lips that still tingle with the scrape of his stubble beneath their caress, I think that such a kiss is a very good start indeed.

To be continued...look for the next chapter on the blog of @sunflowerslyf

#Unmasked #thehungergames #submission

[punkscowardschampions]

Tommy & Meena

Tommy: All my tutus better be accounted for, like Meena: 😅 Meena: Not to engage in the bitchy showbiz stereotype Meena: but your size is not the size of the 3-7s Meena: and I don't need to rock one from the sidelines, sadly Meena: I did ask Tommy: Calling me fat & not inviting me out for juice? Oh it be like that, yeah? Meena: Never! Meena: The totally casual impromptu photoshoot would have you believe I had longer than 5 minutes to neck it down, I know Tommy: Not even in there with the 3-7s & already a savage Tommy: good luck to 'em Tommy: None to you Tommy: Who hasn't sacrificed their final mins to look fabulous? Standard, full supported fare Meena: They are hilarious Meena: some of them are SO serious though, reminds me of you Tommy: I could fire the same call out back at you Tommy: not least 'cause you're teaching in the holibobs Meena: How could it possibly be a call out? Meena: you'd have to be to get into the school you did Meena: I'm only teaching for the same reasons I 🩰 in the first place, for fun Meena: that's 🤓 at best Tommy: We started claws out Tommy: but I'll play nice & tell you to break a leg Tommy: just don't let the kids have too much fun, be a health & safety nightmare 🦺🤓 Meena: 😱 Meena: remind me never to be in the play-that-shall-not-be-named with you (as if), 'cos you'll be dropping the M 💣 like it's no thing Meena: as long as they look cute for their ma's and none of them cry, I think I get a 🥇 Meena: just a favour for Anne honestly, who has overstretched herself (not an awful pun, I 🤞) as per Tommy: Tights are a given for 🤩👏🌹 but my mastery of a Scots accent less so Tommy: I'll drop the M word like it's a 🔪🩸 to distract from my flaws, no problem Tommy: my sister witches & I love a curse Tommy: Oh dear Anne 😔 Meena: Are you more of a 🌈 or a 🐀 man? 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I can't tell tbh Tommy: it isn't the heat of the Irish summer that's for damn sure Meena: you're strictly lead roles only now? Meena: oh, how you've changed Tommy: I'll never turn down a 👻 my ma & weird sisters would kill me Meena: so method Meena: I'll take tree #2 at this point Tommy: You'd be an amazing tree #2 Meena: *graceful bow of my branches* Tommy: you always were the best at keeping your révérence in character while the rest of us were over the 🌜 to be done Tommy: I expect nothing less Meena: even if that's a case or rose-tinted 🕶 Meena: *of Meena: I'm about everything being a little more pink Tommy: I can't decide if it's less hurtful being called a blind 🐁 or fat 🐀 Tommy: I'll get back to you Meena: At the risk of calling you sensitive...it's either that or I've got really rude in my old age 😅 Tommy: Both would be the rosiest Meena: 😊 Tommy: 🧠 Meena: Squidgy Tommy: if you want something to sink your 🦷🦷 into Tommy: 👛 Tommy: still pink Meena: Yours too? Tommy: Yeah Tommy: you don't own the 🩰👑 aesthetic Meena: This town ain't big enough for the both of us Meena: 🤠🔫 Tommy: Lend me those joggers and I'll lay down my weapons Meena: Sharing clothes should not still be an option Tommy: if you wanna keep body shaming Tommy: but there's no other real reason why not Meena: I'm talking my neverending growth spurts, not yours Tommy: measurements please Meena: am I not a lady? Tommy: are you? not for me to say Meena: I'm 5'10 1/2 Meena: too tall to pair in all the ways Tommy: not with me, honey Meena: You're old, too Meena: 🕞 for a lot of boys in my year to hit puberty 🙄 Tommy: I ain't thrown my back out yet, cheers very much Tommy: love the confidence Meena: wise old 🦉 eating all the blind 🐁 and fat 🐀 Tommy: the innuendos 🖋 themselves Tommy: love an old predatory 🌈 stereotype too Meena: okay, you're not THAT old Tommy: my 🦴 & 🦷 tell a story Meena: and what a 📚🖋 it shall be Tommy: don't get me started on my 👀 sight Tommy: look like an 👴 & I'll sound like one yelling at a ☁ Meena: thank god for contacts Meena: or being your partner would have been much scarier Tommy: I could do those old routines with my eyes closed Meena: Me too Meena: and backwards #humblebrag Tommy: 😏 Meena: stealing Ginger's words there, sadly Tommy: there's no such thing as an original idea, yeah? Tommy: what I go with when it's time to do choreo Meena: preach it and I won't feel as much of a fraud Tommy: You'll have been to church more recently than I have Tommy: it's her thing, right? 🙏 Meena: Being Catholic is not exclusively HER thing Meena: but she is remarkably good at it, yes Meena: 🎨 Tommy: not in this town or with that attitude Tommy: are you even 🍀 if you don't out devout each other tbh? Meena: she isn't even Meena: Brazilian and better than you 😘 Tommy: Again, not with that attitude Tommy: she's lived here years, like Meena: So has your Ma Meena: she's about as 🍀 Tommy: She's basically 💍 to one & doesn't possess the 🌈 urge to merge Tommy: it's stubbornness Meena: 🙏 to the choir Tommy: 🍻 Meena: didn't steal any of your beers, thank you Meena: just had a juice Tommy: We'd be having this out face to face if you had Meena: father's son Meena: I get it Tommy: ❌🥊 ✔🩰 Meena: that's definitely not original Meena: 😿 Meena: life story = stolen Tommy: Anne's no Julie Walters Tommy: but I've played him as a kid in the 🎶 Meena: Rude Meena: she 🚬 as much Tommy: Still? Tommy: ☠ Meena: Of course Meena: she doesn't try to have it out the window during classes anymore though, so that's progress Tommy: Talk about rose tinted Tommy: such good memories those Meena: They're the only ones I've got so Meena: I think so Tommy: When she has you back next, tell her that in this house we swear by 🚭 patches Tommy: might save a life Tommy: & give you a chance to make some more decent memories Meena: Noted Meena: I make memories just fine now Meena: but you only get one childhood Tommy: Peter Pan just made me 😢 anyway Tommy: What the fuck is that ending? Meena: The one we all get Meena: they told you in the first line Meena: All children, except one, grow up ✨ Tommy: No need to keep it in the family like that though Tommy: Fly though another window, Peter you heartbreaker Meena: The reason he showed up in the first place was to hear Wendy's stories about him Meena: she knew what she was doing telling her daughter about him Tommy: You go ahead & pass yours down but I'm just saying, I won't be encouraging my kids to run off with my first love Meena: No, silly Meena: she wanted him to come for HER, she thought she could still fly, still go with him Meena: she grew up without noticing, by accident, she didn't mean to Meena: that's why it's 😢 Tommy: Like I said Tommy: didn't need it girlsplained Meena: Do when you don't get it Tommy: Everyone knows she wanted Peter to come back for her Tommy: the thirst was real Meena: You're just being childish on purpose now Tommy: I'm saying probably don't let your kid go off with him when you know the same thing's gonna happen Tommy: that's bad parenting, like Meena: She doesn't regret it happening Meena: just because all children have to become adults doesn't mean deny them of the wonders of childhood, idiot Meena: get Jane on accounting instead of having adventures in Neverland, okay Meena: SUCH a Mr Darling, you, I had NO idea Tommy: Or get her a lad she can grow up along side & not have to 😢 at the window for Tommy: it don't have to be Neverland or bust Meena: Yes it does, he IS childhood, you don't get to take it or him with you Meena: Wendy took all the lost boys back with her, that didn't make her miss Peter any less Tommy: Our dog was a shit nanny I did alright out of it still Meena: Well, my brother was worse so I win Tommy: 'Cause I was your hot boy at the window Meena: Something like that Tommy: feels like flying to me Meena: When you remember. When you can. When it works. It's that easy. Tommy: I mean, it's less catchy than just do it ✔ but I don't hate it Meena: Take it up with Neil and Nike Tommy: crusades are for term time Meena: no cardboard sword or shield for you then Tommy: If I can't stab anyone with it, I don't want it Meena: okay, psycho Meena: no need to go that far to prove you've changed from the boy in the window Tommy: 😂 Tommy: if I have to be on stage, gimme a decent prop Tommy: not much to ask Meena: ... Meena: #diva Tommy: #reluctantboardtreader Tommy: Ro's a better actress & Ali's a better singer Tommy: I need something to mess about with to keep me standing still Meena: it must be rough, having talented sisters Meena: one thing I can't accuse Drew of Tommy: Nah, like you said, only get the one childhood Tommy: it made mine loads better Meena: Cute 😊 Tommy: Don't need to tell you Tommy: you know 'em as well as I do Meena: Yeah Meena: well enough that there's no need to disagree Tommy: feel free to hit me with a cardboard sword if you're gutted Meena: My insecurities in my own abilities don't make me lash out 👅 or 👊 Meena: could make a thinly-veiled reference to you in a story though so, consider yourself warned Tommy: other people are safe from mine, so there's no warning needed for you Tommy: not gonna challenge you to a dance off Meena: not in your holidays Meena: gotta rest Tommy: There'd be fuck all point doing it in term time Tommy: in a virtual one you could easily blame the lag Meena: You calling me a cheat? Tommy: pointing out how effortlessly you could Meena: You're meant to say I wouldn't need to Tommy: I don't need to say that Meena: Rude Tommy: It's a compliment Tommy: we both know you wouldn't need to cheat & even if you did, you wouldn't anyway Meena: Yes, but it was rude you weren't gonna say it Meena: but now you have so ha 😊 Tommy: Says you who wants me to rest up all hols like an 👴 Meena: You said it first, actually Tommy: Where? Meena: you called me out for working in the holidays Meena: which implies you ain't Tommy: what so if I ain't teaching I have to be resting? Tommy: oh please Meena: what are you doing? Meena: didn't 👀 you Tommy: [a selfie from wherever he's taken Rocky cos that's what I like to think he's doing since he wasn't there] Meena: figures Meena: almost definitely would've 👂 him Tommy: Yeah Tommy: my 🎧 only do so much Meena: He's so cute though Tommy: it's the 🦇👂 Meena: and the freckles Meena: and the gappy teeth rn Tommy: 🙄 good save with the 🦷🦷 comment Meena: ? Tommy: Come on, who else in my family has a face full of frecks? Tommy: they're both taken though Meena: oh please Tommy: 🥱 Meena: You don't need to tell me about people fancying your siblings Meena: story of my life Tommy: he's 💪 but what else is there to say? Meena: Are you expecting me to answer that? Meena: don't be weird Tommy: I'm saying it's not much of a story, long hair & a six pack Tommy: so I won't be telling you I fancy him Meena: I likewise fancy none of yours, freckled or otherwise Tommy: Lovely to clear that up Meena: 🤷 Meena: Okay then Tommy: 👌 then Meena: Really? Tommy: Yeah really Tommy: what else? Meena: Alright Meena: nothing Tommy: there's something Meena: Beyond not getting why you're being so snappy about it, there really isn't Tommy: I can handle an attitude check Meena: Are you alright? Meena: Bored...school-sick? Meena: doesn't sound right but you know Tommy: Bored is closest Tommy: but that doesn't sound right at the beginning of summer Tommy: at least we can blame Rocko, congrats to him Meena: The pressure to have the best summer ever!!! gets to us all Tommy: & for that we can blame the insta feed Tommy: love none of being my fault Meena: Sure we can think of something if you wanna feel that classic guilt to make you feel at home Tommy: 💭 gotcha Meena: not promising full 🧠 power to it Meena: am on costume duty so Tommy: I can't decently sew but I've never missed with a hot glue gun so Tommy: ✨ Meena: Yeah? Meena: That would actually be a big help Meena: talk to Ali, she had a million ideas, as per Tommy: 'Course Meena: Of course I just see the limitations of the vague 'Summer' theme I'm meant to follow, but she sees nothing but endless possibilities Tommy: sounds legit Tommy: I'm on my way back, no doubt she'll jump on me soon as I get through the door for all hands on deck Meena: Sorry and thank you in advance Meena: it was all I could do to convince her I had to get back to cook dinner so she is certainly in full project manager mode Tommy: it'll cure how schoolsick I am, we're always adding 🎀 or ✨ to something so it'll pass for something else more fabulous Meena: that's the spirit Tommy: if you can't turn a 👻 into a 👸 or vice versa you might as well fuck off home Tommy: does Anne want them full JonBenét Ramsey 💄👑👶 or is ALL on the costumes? Meena: Oh God Meena: thankfully she's not gone that crazy in her own old age Meena: JUST costume Meena: though some of the mothers see fit to attack them with lipgloss, hairspray etc but that's their own M.O. and we don't need to go there for 'em Tommy: Small mercy, like Tommy: does she have any lads this time? Meena: not in the 3-7s Meena: pretty sure there's a lad in the 7-12s though Tommy: Oh Anne Meena: not every lifetime a Billy Elliot comes about, clearly Tommy: way to not capitalise on my success Meena: um, okay bighead Meena: did you think you'd start a revolution in 🍀 with your talent, like Meena: calm down 😅 Tommy: The point is, literal poster boy material right here & she hasn't made a single one Tommy: 🚬 is an expensive habit Meena: ugh Meena: 🤫 Tommy: 😂 Meena: going to make a very unflattering poster of you when I get home Tommy: I can't wait to be tagged in the 📷 Meena: I'll just put 'em up 'round town Tommy: Ooh like a scavenger hunt Tommy: I knew I wouldn't be bored for long Meena: was vibing public smear but yes Meena: it can be that too, you're very welcome Tommy: trying to shame me again, I 👀 Meena: if the 🩰 fits Meena: ask yourself why Tommy: You're a Meenie, there's why Meena: 😏 Meena: been a long time since I 👂 that Tommy: I'll pull your hair next time I see you if you're feeling nostalgic Tommy: what are mates for, like Meena: Got all summer Meena: see if I get to that level, like Tommy: if the 🩰 fits Tommy: I know Meena: mine barely did Tommy: if you're gonna keep teaching, you'll need a new pair Meena: I know Meena: they're so expensive though Meena: and who knows Tommy: Anne'll have you back in a heartbeat Tommy: & there'll be a pair here that'll fit, my ma don't throw anything of ours away Meena: I don't know how she manages to live off what she makes Meena: never mind the idea of this being anything more than a favour Meena: the shoes will be a help though, I'm gonna pay for how small those ones were tomorrow Tommy: Sugar daddy Tommy: there's a definite twinkle in her eye Tommy: I'll get in the loft or wherever the fuck else when I get back Tommy: you're a [correct guess of the size of her foot because obviously] yeah? Meena: OMG Meena: to be her daddy he'd have to be at least 90 😂 Meena: ✔ Meena: Thanks, like, IOU Tommy: Don't worry about it Tommy: get me Anne's 💘 goss & we're even Meena: not taking up 🚬 to get in on those breaks but aside from that Meena: do my best Tommy: yeah, don't Tommy: I've heard somewhere it's  ☠ Meena: 😏 Meena: not that dedicated to the ballerina lifestyle Tommy: I won't tell, that HARSH truth would break dear old Anne Meena: Somehow I don't think so Meena: no poster girl, like Tommy: she 📞 you, I'm still waiting by mine Meena: 💔 Meena: she knows you're far too busy being a 🌟 to recruit Tommy: Yeah yeah Meena: You know she'd be beyond over the 🌙 to see you Tommy: I'm not twirling in to take your job Tommy: how out of order Meena: sounds like you have trouble controlling 1 kid Meena: never mind a class of Meena: not scared Tommy: he's my brother, he's feral Tommy: & you're rude Meena: he's feral because he's YOUR brother orrrrrr Meena: and I am not! Tommy: if the 👂s fit Tommy: have you forgotten what I was like OR? 'cause if you're trying to be polite, you've misjudged the timing Tommy: & yeah you are Meena: I'm not sure feral is the word I would use for you now or then Meena: you can interpret that as politely or im as you wanna Tommy: He's obviously not following in my exact footsteps then, 'cause who could Tommy: only you Meena: we were good partners Meena: 🤠 Tommy: 🏆🥇🥈🏆 Tommy: I'll dust 'em off when I 🩰 hunt Meena: you'll need several feather dusters Meena: 👴👵 Tommy: or a well flamboyant sleeve Tommy: 😏 Meena: very romantic of you Tommy: when you're having your goss sesh with Anne, the tea is that I didn't wear 💄 in public until I was nearly 12 Tommy: it'll help her control those 👶🤡 urges Meena: there's nothing summer about sweating off stage makeup Meena: poor babies Tommy: 🥀 Tommy: not the vibe Meena: definitely not Meena: not a fun sponge, they can have as much glitter as they like Meena: but full glam on a toddler ain't it Tommy: Thank Christ for the shared sanity Tommy: some of 'em at school would put full glam on a 🐶🐱🐰🐹 Meena: 🙄 Meena: it makes sense for the West End Meena: but the stage in the community hall is not that far from the what, room for 50-100 sitting? Meena: 🤡 features not necessary to see the facial expressions Tommy: Mmmhmmm Meena: when will I see you on stage then? Tommy: West End or community hall? Meena: 😅 Meena: former, obviously Tommy: Like I said, reluctant boardtreader Tommy: I only do the acting school makes me do Meena: yeah, but lots of shows must have some dance roles, right? Tommy: They do & I do 'em as & when Tommy: Billy Elliot already having been mentioned, like Tommy: I've got loads of auditions ✎ in this summer for all kinds of things Meena: well, let me know next time, will you Tommy: 'Course Meena: trying to keep your 🌟 secret or your fam from the audience, like? Tommy: Don't reckon having my ma in the front row would let me really shine, do you? Meena: I see where you're coming from Tommy: I can do without Fraze taking the piss about every role I don't get, like he understands the odds, as well Tommy: but if you wanna come, you can come Meena: like it's not one of the most competitive markets 🙄 Meena: so many people never get a role, like Tommy: he likes being a shit to be one Tommy: the role he was born to play Meena: yeah Meena: sounds familiar Tommy: gimme 2 more sisters over either brother Tommy: even if they were better 💃💃 Meena: wouldn't know Meena: source material varies on how fun that would be Tommy: 'Course it does Tommy: can't get the backup when I need it Meena: I'm 🤔 Meena: unless you're part of a twin duo of sisters, it's usually presented as more 🥊 than 💖 Tommy: Jo & Amy, not Jo & Beth Tommy: I've got Bea & Ro as well as Ali, I get it Meena: That about sums it up Tommy: I'd still take 'em over my brothers, know you can relate Tommy: Hell, I'd take the mystery sister we don't talk about & I've never met, over Fraze Tommy: there's a 📚💡 for you Meena: definitely 🖋 worthy Tommy: 👍 Tommy: [pictures of like all the trophies and other stuff he is finding as baby dancer mems cos he's back home] Tommy: more inspo Meena: Obviously, if this were any story, she'd be a teacher at your school Meena: 💃genes Tommy: she could be Tommy: I wouldn't know Meena: I bet most of your teachers are Anne types though Meena: so, too old, and not a hint of resemblance Tommy: Loads of 'em are young & 💪 so I love the added incentive not to 😍 a teacher Meena: you wouldn't anyway Meena: not a guy, a sister Tommy: I'll let you know if I run into her in 🌈 passage Meena: might be a coincidence too far Tommy: AHa! 🩰 Tommy: when do you need these? Meena: 🙏🙌 Thursday, but Ali and Ro said they'd come to do measurements then so you can throw 'em at 'em Tommy: Am I not invited? Meena: Are you coming to steal my spotlight? Tommy: I'll go hang with Carly if you can't handle our ⭐️🌟✨ Meena: her plans sounded like they involved 😴 Meena: 10am class was not her preference, I don't think Tommy: 🧸😪💤 Tommy: I can work with that, rest, yeah? Meena: I don't think you were invited there either Meena: you should probably come Tommy: she's not as savage as you Tommy: who is, like Tommy: but alright, Meenie Tommy: check your attitude by thurs & I'll come Meena: oof! 😤 Tommy: I'll teach you this counting trick Fraze used to have to do when he was lil Meena: I know how to count Meena: key 💃 skill Tommy: the whole way to 10?! WOW Tommy: I thought you just 👀 me Meena: 😒 Meena: you're very rude Tommy: 😂 Tommy: you're adorable Meena: you sound like my brother now Meena: not a cute look Tommy: what am I if not the big brother you should've had? Tommy: fairy godbrother is going a bit far, like Meena: We've established I'm alright for 'em Meena: you're not getting a free sister here Tommy: 🥺 Meena: 😠 very mean very serious Tommy: I realise I'm gonna have to drag you away from Anne, she's hardened you Tommy: you used to be like 🍦 Meena: melts in the ☀ Meena: so ideal Tommy: melting wins 🏆🥇🥈🏆 remember Meena: all my 🏆🥇🥈🏆 live in your loft, or wherever your mum keeps the precious memories Tommy: you don't have any of 'em? Meena: a few 🥇🥈s Meena: my room's not a shrine to past victories or anything as tragic Tommy: I'll bring you one of the smaller 🏆 you can put a 🌱🌿 it'll be very chic Meena: That's student decor 101, is it? Meena: 👍 cheers, though Tommy: at my school it's full shrine, past, present & future Tommy: so I left mine at 🏠 Meena: just another competition Tommy: Yeah Tommy: I don't need to be surrounded by 🏆🥇🥈🏆 to know I need to go for gold Tommy: it's a scholarship requirement Meena: no need to get in a pissing contest with the kid who's been Simba for 3 runs, like Tommy: I'd be a FANTASTIC 🦁👑 Tommy: but if they have to 👀 at my decor to know it, I'm fucking up somewhere Meena: is this a bad time to tell you you aren't black Meena: can't say it's unfair on that specific casting Tommy: I learned the hard way when I performed that rap, cheers for letting me by the way Tommy: best friend goals that day Meena: it was Meena: very creative Meena: who am I, was I, to stomp out that spark 😏 Tommy: 🔪💖 Meena: 😂 Meena: oh god, hope your mum kept evidence of that Tommy: she did Tommy: my 🧢👟 styling was unforgettable before I even opened my mouth Meena: if you wanna beef with Anne, start with the hip-hop dance classes Tommy: Jesus Tommy: what a time Meena: So innocently problematic Tommy: You should write about Anne Tommy: she's lived a life Meena: I have Tommy: so if I trade you the rap footage, can I read it? Meena: Hmm Meena: tempting but Tommy: come on, what's more embarrassing than 👶 Vanilla Ice? Meena: my writing being nothing more than scribblings, potentially Meena: I don't really share it Tommy: I'm not asking you to insta it & tag Anne Tommy: Please Tommy: I'll be a perfect 😇 about it Meena: Okay Meena: but it's as serious as your rap career so no serious criticism please Tommy: you're the best, Meeps Tommy: & I'll be on my best behaviour Meena: Believe it when I see it, slim shady Tommy: maybe you'll 👀 it when you believe, Wendy Tommy: living for that compliment though tbh Meena: couldn't risk biggie Meena: as you're feeling so #fatshamed today Tommy: 😂 Tommy: & you don't wanna go for 🍦 Meena: Where did I say that Tommy: When you gave me a weather forecast Tommy: #notideal Meena: that was about melting myself, thank you Meena: no offer was made Tommy: let's go for 🍦 then!! Meena: !! SO AGGRESSIVE Tommy: !! I'M STARVING Tommy: & unlike Rocko I've got all my 🦷🦷🦷 & they're all sweet 🍬🍭🍦 lovers Meena: I know Meena: not as cute but more #relatable Meena: I have to finish dinner but then I can go Tommy: making it or eating it? Meena: I'll just make it Meena: don't want to spoil my 🍦 Tommy: 🙂 am I cute yet? Tommy: 😁😁😁 Tommy: 🦷✨ Meena: do you have all your stickers from the dentist still too? Meena: massive show-off Tommy: if she could've peeled 'em off & saved 'em, they'd be here Meena: so cute Meena: if I'm ever feeling suicidal I must bring it up Tommy: one word for it Tommy: & one exit strategy Tommy: suicide by bad cop Meena: suitably theatre of me? Tommy: I support it Meena: your support means SO much, obvs Tommy: 💐👏 Meena: throw 💎💰 please Tommy: I'll raid the dressing up & monopoly boxes Tommy: bear with Meena: ooh bagsie thimble Tommy: I remember Tommy: actually am best friend goals here Meena: obviously you want the dog, but you have to fight your dad for it Tommy: I'll end up with the 🎩 Tommy: can't escape the 🤩 Meena: it suits Meena: who ends up with the boat though? Tommy: Ali if she can customise it to look more like a pirate ship Meena: so Ro gets the wheelbarrow Meena: makes sense Tommy: She loves The Secret Garden Tommy: then & now Meena: I support that Tommy: 🤞 you'll support how it influences her 💡s for your summer theme Meena: it's definitely more spring to go full 🌷 🌹 🥀 🌺 🌸 🌼 🌻 Meena: unfortunately Meena: 🐙 🦑 🦐 🦀 🐡 🐠 🐟 🐬 🐳 🐋 🦈 is a bit 😬 Meena: seashells and mermaids is most likely what we'll go with and what the girls and the ma's will like best Tommy: I know we're all 💔 over the cliches Meena: it's basic but workable Meena: you will have to reign them both in or it'll be 😬 or worse Tommy: I can do bad cop Tommy: uniform optional Meena: 😂 Meena: not swoon worthy Tommy: are any of 'em? Tommy: not to personally shut down uniformdating.com Tommy: but like Meena: nurses not do it for you? Meena: or firefighters Meena: army men Tommy: okay I'll give you 🔥 men Meena: See Meena: something for everyone Tommy: 👌 hothoses.com or whatever can stay up Meena: ewwwwww Meena: shh Tommy: 😂 Meena: you're still sweet and innocent Meena: leave my memories as they are Tommy: 👶😇 Meena: more like it Meena: 👀 you Tommy: you're gonna see me covered in melted 🍦 that'll be more like it Tommy: not knocking any 🦷🦷 out though Tommy: line has been drawn in the sand Meena: that's fair Meena: I said 🚭 Meena: we're even Tommy: 🤝

[lovemesomerafael]

Destroying the Planet to Save It    Chapter 2:  Another Damn Emergency

                                Chapter 1         Read it on AO3

“A what now?”  Bucky cried.

Everyone in the back of the panel truck, including three Avengers, four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, seven Secret Service agents, two Presidents of the United States and a First Lady, started shouting.  Tornadoes were rare enough in Washington D.C., and if Clint Barton’s eyes were to be believed, this one was a monster.  As a result, Steve found himself amid a large group of people simultaneously and collectively losing their shit in an enclosed space.  The cacophony went on for several minutes before the assault on his supersoldier hearing finally overcame his innate politeness and respect for authority.  Bigtime.

“SHUT UP!”  

Steve’s enhanced strength and lung capacity ensured that the ears of everyone else in the truck now hurt as much as his did.  It didn’t even occur to him to be sorry.  In the stunned silence that followed, each person heard whatever Natasha whispered in Russian over the comms.  

“What is it, Natasha?”  Steve asked in a surprisingly calm voice.

“Uh, I see it, Rogers.  The tornado. It’s…  Huh.  Not sure I want to be here right now.”

Former President Lattimore whimpered.  

Current President Everett Burke scoffed at him, his voice quiet but clearly heard by all.  “Oh, for the love of…  Pull yourself together, Adam.  At least pretend you got a sack on you.”

Lattimore, an ostentatiously church-going Christian, gasped.  Everyone else in the truck tried to look somewhere else.

“Natasha,” Steve said.  “The tornado, is it between us and the jet?”

“No, and it’s not heading that way.  No reason to deviate from the plan.”

“Then don’t.”

“Listen,” President Burke said to Steve, “There’s going to be a lot of damage. I need to get somewhere where I can do my job.”

“Sir, right now the best thing you can do is make sure you remain able to do your job.  And that means letting me get you to safety.”  Bucky hid a smile at the heavy dose of Captain America Steve pumped into his voice. “You can do anything you need to from where we’re going.”

“Which is where?”

“I’ll tell you once we’re in the air.”

Tony spoke up.  “Sir, I can assure you, you’ll have everything you need.”

“I am the President of the United States!  I can’t just haul ass when the Capital’s in trouble!”

“With all due respect, Sir, that’s exactly what the President should do in this situation.”  This was Craig Thomas, the senior Secret Service agent in charge of security at the event they’d just fled.  “I have to agree with Captain Rogers.  Only difference between what we’re doing now and what we’d be doing otherwise is, the decoys will be on Air Force One.”

“And us?  Where will we be?”

“I admit yours is bigger, Sir,” Tony smirked, “But I do know how to kit out a plane.”

President Burke grinned, giving in to the wisdom of the plan.  “I’ll just bet you do, Stark.  What kind of scotch you got on board?”

“You won’t be disappointed.  I promise.”

*****

Sam looked around at what he could only describe as a bunker.  The limousine they’d arrived in had pulled into what appeared to be an industrial park, but as soon as they passed the roll-up door from the outside, all resemblance to a normal building ended.  The driver crossed the garage-like first room to enter a steeply-angled tunnel that took them what Sam estimated was at least two stories underground.  He wondered how far away from the actual entrance the tunnel took them.  It was impossible to know, but he guessed they had to have driven at least two blocks from the building they’d entered.  

“The fuck?”  He whispered to himself.  

There were a number of vehicles in the cavernous space that opened up at the end of the tunnel.  Sam saw another limo, two mid-range sports cars, at least five utility trucks of various types, and probably a dozen ordinary sedans.  

“What, exactly, is this place?”  Sam asked.

Jarman Arias swished a hand dismissively through the air. “Washington is a dangerous city. I like to have a place of safety. Just in case.”

Sam and Agent Herrera were all eyes as they were guided from the limousine to a door nearby, and Sam had time to wonder how wise it was to follow when he saw that the door was made of metal and wouldn’t have been out of place on a bank vault except for its industrial ugliness.  The door was set into the thick concrete of the walls.  Sam noticed other doors and a few concrete hallways leading off of the massive garage space.  He had no idea what to think, and Herrera didn’t appear any less confounded. He swallowed his misgivings and stepped through the door into what, surprisingly, appeared to be a fairly ordinary conference room.  Luxurious, but not quite so evil-villian’s-lair as the space they’d just left.

Once the group had shuffled in and Arias had taken a place at the large, mahogany table that dominated the room, he offered Sam a cigar.  Sam wanted to refuse.  He meant to.  Had he chosen to, he could have rattled off half a dozen reasons why he should, without even having to engage his brain.  But Sam knew a little about cigars, and when he saw what was in the small humidor Arias was holding, he found himself absolutely incapable of declining.  Fuck it.  The dude was either a crazed megalomaniac who could manufacture a tornado, or he wasn’t.  Whether Sam accepted a once-in-a-lifetime cigar wasn’t going to change that.  He saw Anita Herrera’s raised eyebrow and shrugged.  “I’m sure he’ll give you one, if you want.”

She smiled at him again, and Sam thought he might be a little in love already.

The room had five doors, including the one through which they’d entered.  A couple were open, and another was ajar.  Again, they were all metal, and all fitted into the concrete walls in a way that let Sam know how thick those walls were.  He was interested in the fact that this place was underground, just where you were supposed to go in a tornado.  Had Arias known there would be one?  From what Barton had said, the tornado was massive. Sam wondered how well the huge hotel they’d left would have withstood something like that.  He scowled, deep in thought, as one of Arias’s lackeys lit Sam’s cigar for him.  Shit, he thought as he inhaled a mouthful of delicious smoke.  Arias may have been a complete choad, but damn, that was a nice stogie.  He looked around and indicated the room with a sweep of his arm.

“So you’re seriously tellin’ me this fucking doomsday silo is just you tryna keep from gettin’ mugged?  I don’t think so.”

“Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe I have to answer to you,” Arias said smoothly, putting his cigar back in his mouth.

“I ain’t say you do.  I’m just… interested.”

Arias smirked around his cigar, but said nothing.  

“You got cable or somethin’ down here?”  Sam asked, seeing he wasn’t to get anywhere with straight-up questions. “I’d like to see what’s going on outside.”

The worst of the destruction was north of the city, around Bethesda and Chevy Chase, although as tornadoes do, this one had skipped across the landscape, done some heavy damage in Rock Creek Park and even touched down as far south as Adams Morgan.  So far, there were only three deaths reported, but it was early.  The tornado itself had been accompanied by serious winds which had damaged a lot of buildings, including the National Cathedral and a number of historical sites.

*****

Stark’s Gulfstream G450 was at capacity, even though Pepper Potts and three of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had stayed behind in Washington to deal with the threat.  They’d put out the word that there had been a bomb scare, because that was the most plausible and the least surprising story.  Tell people what they expect to hear, and they won’t ask questions.  But Steve, Tony, and Bucky knew that nobody had any idea what had happened in D.C.  Not really.  Bruce Banner was still hard at work trying to make sense of the data.  He would meet them in New York with Clint and Natasha as soon as they could get there.  

In the meantime, President Burke was already talking on several phone lines at once, even as he sipped Tony Stark’s fine scotch.  He was aboard with only eight Secret Service agents and the First Lady, which meant a fucking horde of functionaries were pissing their pants right now.  The President simply did not get to leave Washington without months of planning and a 747 full of people with him.

“It’s the damn twenty-first century, Clive,” the President was saying.  “You don’t need to see my face for us to get work done.  But if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll text you a fucking selfie when we get off the phone here.  Spine up, would you?”

Tony, sitting across from him at the small galley table, smiled and nodded, amused.

At the front of the cabin, Former President Lattimore and Agent Emerson sat in seats facing one another, with two of Lattimore’s usual Secret Service detail in seats across a little aisle from them.  A healthy slug of very expensive gin had helped Lattimore calm himself, although the real reason he wasn’t as put out as he had been initially was the realization that he had been whisked away with the current President.  Although Joss Emerson seriously doubted that was anything more than circumstance, she’d been the one to point that out, and encourage Lattimore to think that was due to his own continued importance, because it kept him pacified.  She’d learned very well how to keep President Lattimore happy over the four long years of his administration.  She’d voted for Burke more to make her work life better than for any political reason, and she had to stifle a groan at finding herself here, again, babysitting Lattimore.  Thank God Mrs. Lattimore was basically a cipher.  Her husband was enough work.

Joss’s mind was whirling.  Of course, she’d known that S.H.I.E.L.D. was worried about something, and that whatever it was, it was serious enough, and strange enough, to warrant the unheard-of move to actually use the Avengers for security at tonight’s event.  She had been well-briefed on the bizarre plan to evacuate if that threat emerged, and clearly instructed not to ask questions. Joss had been Air Force; she knew how to keep her head down and her mouth shut.  But they couldn’t keep her from seeing, or thinking.

So Joss knew some things.  She knew that this was no bomb threat.  You didn’t need the Avengers to deal with something like that.  She also knew that, like President Lattimore, she was only here on this plane through coincidence.  Joss knew enough about the Avengers to know that, ever since they’d been back from Wakanda, Steve Rogers never went far without Bucky Barnes.  If Captain America was tasked with protecting the President, he wasn’t going to do it without his Sergeant.  Which meant that, when the threat they feared had emerged, Barnes had instructions to just bundle Lattimore and his entourage up and bring them along so he’d be on hand to help Rogers with the real mission.

She shivered a little.  Although she would die rather than let him know it, Joss had always kind of had a thing for Bucky Barnes, ever since Captain America had defied the whole world to rescue his lifelong friend from Hydra.  Sure, Steve Rogers was a gorgeous hunk of heroic muscle, the personification of bravery and patriotism and all that crap.  She wouldn’t kick him out of bed.  But Bucky Barnes?  That man was an absolute filthy-hot badass.  Joss’s kryptonite.  She’d spent more time on YouTube than was perhaps entirely normal, watching video of him making impossible shots and fighting with that stupid-sexy metal arm of his, pulling knives out of God knows where and flipping them around too fast for her to follow with her eyes, let alone try to emulate.  Joss found the whole package so ridiculously erotic that she was, at this moment, squirming in her seat.  And it wasn’t only because of the damn wildly uncomfortable thong she’d worn because she’d known she was going to meet him tonight and fuck if she was going to do it wearing granny panties.  

She didn’t fool herself that The Avengers would let her help save the world, whatever the threat was this time.  But she was here with them in an enclosed space, and this was her one chance to be close to them, so she decided to find out what, if anything, they’d tell her. And maybe, just maybe, get a chance to see if Bucky Barnes really smelled as good as she’d always imagined he would.

Making her way back through the jet, Joss saw him standing with Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter in the little galley at the rear of the jet’s cabin.  Both Steve and Bucky had shed their tuxedo jackets and their bow ties hung down their chests from unbuttoned collars.  As she approached, she saw Bucky look up and notice her, and felt a dirty roll low in her body, accompanied by a shocking jolt of nerves as he grinned at her.  

 As soon as Bucky moved a little forward to talk quietly with the Secret Service agent he’d been partnered with, Steve moved a little closer to Sharon.  

“You all right?”  He asked quietly.

“Of course,” she smiled.  “Plan worked flawlessly.  The President’s safe, and we even got a bonus President.  What’s not to like?”

Steve frowned a little.  “A lot. It’s getting a little hard to imagine that the energy signature we’re seeing, whatever it is, isn’t causing these phenomena.”

“You’re saying you’re afraid somebody’s figured out how to cause natural disasters.”

“I’m trying not to say that.  But after this...”

“Well, if it’s true, then Captain America will stop them.  Like always.”  Sharon smiled up at Steve, and he felt the thrill he always did when she looked at him.  He was getting very fond of the seemingly unshakable confidence she always showed in him. At the same time, Steve wished he shared that confidence.  Or that the responsibility to stop somebody with the power to cause earthquakes and tornadoes rested on somebody else’s shoulders.  That kind of power was terrifying.  Steve sometimes wished he could afford to be terrified.

“What’s that look for?”  She asked.

“Ask me again when we get to New York.  Or maybe when this is over.”

Sharon’s eyes clouded a little.  “I will. You can talk to me, you know.”

“I know.  Just… not now.”

“OK. Can I kiss you, though?  You look like a man who needs a kiss.”

“I am most definitely a man in need of a kiss.”  His half-shy smile gave Sharon delicious chills down her spine.

She stepped into Steve’s arms, noticing as always how warm he was with that supersoldier metabolism, and reveling in the feeling of his rock-hard body against hers.  Sharon was sometimes overwhelmed by how absolutely, spectacularly beautiful he was. But it was so much more than that.

Sharon knew what the look on Steve’s face had been about.  It was about the crushing weight of responsibility Steve carried with him every moment of every day.  Steve did everything he could to keep anyone from seeing how exhausting that was.  But Sharon could see it.  It was why she had come back to S.H.I.E.L.D.  Sure, she’d responded to Director Coulson’s request, and understood his need for Agents around him he could trust implicitly.  But she hadn’t come back for Director Coulson.  She’d come back because she was in love with Steve Rogers, and S.H.I.E.L.D. was where she could be of the most help to him. She’d come back because, with the seemingly unhealable rift between the Avengers, Steve had needed all the friends he could get, and Sharon Carter was damn well going to be there for him.

She made no secret of her attraction to him.  Hell, she was kissing him at this very moment.  But Steve kept a wall around him that might as well have been made of vibranium.  Theirs was the most casual possible dating relationship.  Sharon had become Steve’s go-to when he needed a plus one for some event or other, but that was basically it.  They had never even been on a real date.  They’d certainly never slept together.  They had meals together when they were both working in the same place. They talked, sometimes even about actual feelings and experiences and shit.  But it was all so superficial.  

She hated it, and not only because it was damn cold in the fucking friend zone. Sharon ached for how lonely and encumbered with his sense of obligation Steve Rogers was, knowing that he thought no one could see.  That maybe he would be angry that she could see.  She craved the chance to just hold him, run her hands through his hair and tell him it was OK to lay it all down for a while.  To kiss him and caress him and make him forget, at least for a little while.

Sure, Steve had Bucky, and they were closer than brothers.  But right now, Bucky was just beginning to integrate into the team, and even though his mind was clean again, his wounds weren’t something that were going to heal anytime soon.  Steve would never burden Bucky with his own pain at a time like that. No, Steve would be there for him, lending him his own strength and doing whatever he could to help Bucky recover and build a life for himself, without any regard to what Steve needed.  

Sharon wasn’t sure whether he would ever let her in, but she knew that whatever he needed from her, she would give.  Steve was an icon of strength and bravery to the world, but to Sharon, he was a bruised, overtaxed man, trapped and tormented in a prison of his own making, feeling responsible for the safety of the whole world, and everyone in it.  It frightened her, how much she loved him.  She would give anything to be able to ease his pain, if only a little.

As she held back all the feelings she was so afraid to share with him, settling for a tender caress of his lower lip with hers, Sharon tried to will some of her confidence into Steve.  She tried to pour some of her strength into him through the hands she splayed on his back under his jacket, sliding them across his bunched muscles with a little thrill.  OK, maybe a larger-than-average thrill.  Not that Steve needed strength, exactly.  What he needed was the will to keep taking the fate of the world onto himself, crisis after crisis, day after day.  Like today. Another damn emergency, Sharon thought.  When he was already exhausted.  When would he get a break?

 “You get him settled?”  Bucky asked Agent Emerson as he slid lazily onto the credenza just outside the galley where Steve and Sharon were having a moment.  Joss sat next to him, willing herself not to lean in and press her nose to his neck.  Because damn it, he did smell as good as she’d always imagined.  Shit.

“He’s fine.  Got a drink into him, started him telling Agent Thomas stories of his glory days.”

Bucky grinned.  “You’re good with him, Agent Emerson.”

“Joss.  Please.”

“Joss.”  Ok, now she was wet.  Bucky Barnes had said her name, just said her name, and that was all it took before her idiotic, miserable thong was soaked and she was ready to lay him out on the floor in front of the President of the United States.  Two, in fact.

“So. What can you tell me?”  She asked, taking a breath she hoped would stop the hormones flooding into her system.

“Not much.  We don’t know much.  Just enough to be concerned about the President at that event.  What we were afraid of happened, so here we are.”

“And what was that?  What were you afraid of?”

Bucky hesitated over his next words.  “I’m sorry.  I can’t say.” He watched Joss Emerson absorb that. She didn’t look any happier about it than he’d be in her place.  

“Right.”  She nodded stiffly.  “Just… I know whatever the threat is, it’s not a bomb.  And I know that I’m no Avenger.  I’m not even S.H.I.E.L.D.  But I am Secret Service, which means I’m trained and I know how to keep my mouth shut.  It also means I’m sworn to protect him.”  She indicated the President over her shoulder.  “Just don’t forget I’m here.  We, I mean.  We’re here.”  She blushed and indicated the other Secret Service agents on the plane with an embarrassed flick of her hand.  

“Don’t worry.  You’ll get him back to yourselves quick enough.”  Bucky grinned.  He could relate to her wanting to get these interlopers out of the way of her job. He’d have felt the same way.  

“It’s more than that.  I’m offering to help.  With… whatever this is.”

“Well, I hope we won’t need it.  But if we do, I know where to find you.  And your two guns and five knives.”  

“Three and seven, actually,” she said with a smirk that Bucky could feel in his chest.  “I picked up a few on the way out of the ballroom.”

“Huh. I saw the MP5.  What else?”

She looked at him for a second, then apparently decided he was serious and poked two fingers down into the thick French twist at the back of her head.  And pulled a Gerber 06 from inside it.

Bucky broke into an intrigued smile as she handed it to him but, rather than look down at the folding knife, he watched her smooth out her dark hair again. He realized he really liked it.  The way she was wearing it right now was all business, but he could tell there was a lot of it and he kind of wanted to pull out whatever was holding it and let it fall around her shoulders.  In fact, now that he really looked at her, Bucky was suddenly struck by the fact that Agent Joss Emerson was actually a bombshell.  And the way her brown eyes sparkled as she pulled a tac knife from her hair – a Gerber 06 switchblade, no less – suggested that she had a wild streak.   Interesting.

But it was when she pulled a Benchmade Infidel from one of the cutouts at her waist that Bucky started to think this was a girl he’d like to get to know. He whistled low and took it from her, flicking the long, thin blade out the front.  “Sweet,” he breathed.

“Yeah.  It’s my favorite, actually.”

“The President know you have one of these?  They’re illegal in some states.”

“You kidding?  I’m sitting like this so he won’t see it.  If he does, he’s gonna want to play with it some more.”

“I guess he was a SEAL.  Probably isn’t afraid of a little steel.”

“Just the opposite.  The press gives him a hard time about his guns, calls him ammosexual.  Uh-uh.  Man’s all about knives.”

“Speaking of SEALs, I just got this,” Bucky said, pulling his new SOG Seal Strike from a sheath at the small of his back.

Joss’s eyes went wide.  “Oh, that is nice…”  She took it from him and he watched her test the weight and balance.  Just the way she handled it showed Bucky that this was a woman who knew knives.

“Wanna see the best one?”

“Yeah,” she gushed.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Joss could feel a point pressing against her ribs. She looked down to see that Bucky was holding an evil-looking, matte black push dagger against her.  She wasn’t sure whether it was the fact that she hadn’t even seen him move, or the wicked grin on his face that made her heart stutter.  Either way, she was pretty sure somewhere a cardiologist was feeling a disturbance in the Force.  

“You think my switch is illegal?  I’m pretty sure I’m not even supposed to be looking at that.”

Bucky liked her reaction.  A lot. For the next ten minutes, they admired the small knife, meant to be held in a fist and punched into the body. Bucky had designed this one, and had a lot to say about it.  

Aft of them, in the galley, Sharon bumped a hip against Steve and pointed at the weapons show and tell happening a few feet away.  Turning, Steve took in the scene and raised an eyebrow, then laughed quietly.  He was shaking his head when he turned back to Sharon, but his fond grin and the warm note in his voice belied his attempt to appear to disapprove.  “Believe it or not, that’s flirtation for Bucky.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, well,” Steve chuckled.  “Buck’s got a very particular type.”

The way Bucky’s grey-blue eyes looked at her over his wide, easy smile made Joss wonder whether they’d lost cabin pressure.  She actually thought she might lose consciousness, the way her head was spinning.  She realized suddenly that this might have been a mistake.  Maybe she shouldn’t be sitting here, her leg actually touching Bucky Barnes’s knee, their hands touching repeatedly as they examined the custom push dagger.  It was one thing to do a little bit of – OK, a not unobsessive amount of – fangirling over a good-looking famous dude.  But this was The Job.  She started to question the wisdom of offering her services in this situation, because she couldn’t be sure she would be able to concentrate the way she needed to with Bucky Barnes around.  

When he saw her face change, Bucky figured the reason was fairly obvious.

“Listen,” he said, sliding the knife back into wherever he’d pulled it from. “I understand you wantin’ to be in the loop.  Believe me. Nobody’s tryin’ to cut you out of anything; we got nothing but respect for you guys.  It’s just…  shit tends to get weird around us.  Well, that’s not exactly right.  We go where shit’s already weird.  Anyway, the point is, you don’t want any of this.”

Joss nodded.  “I don’t want anybody to fuck with my President, either, but if they do, I’ll be there.  That’s all I’m saying.  I’m here.”

“With an O6 in your hair,” he grinned.  “Got it.  If there’s a role for you, I won’t hesitate.  Promise.”  Huh, Bucky thought, realizing he actually meant that.  

*****

Sam Wilson could be a charming guy.  An entertaining guy.  A guy who could catch the attention of a roomful of thugs and keep it, if the need arose.

The need arose.

He could see Agent Herrera looking around whatever this place was, and it was obvious from the way her eyes took in everything that she knew what she was doing. Twice now, one of Arias’s goons had noticed her basically casing the joint and rudely barked at her to sit back down at the table.  

She never did.  She’d stand there for a while, but Sam watched her in his peripheral vision and recognized her gradual, inevitable drift away again, always toward one of the doors.  He decided to help her, launching into a long, somewhat fact-based series of stories about his early days testing the EXO-7 for the Air Force.  The more Sam crashed, the more they laughed.  Even Arias was diverted for a while.  It wasn’t until he saw Herrera glide silently back into the room from one of the open doors that Sam finally stopped spinning tales.  Her timing was good; he was running out of lies.  But the look Herrera gave him told Sam that she’d found what she’d been looking for.

Two hours after arriving at Arias’s bunker, or whatever it was, Sam and Agent Herrera were chauffeured back to the hotel where the Presidential event was to have taken place.  They sat next to one another on the back seat, saying little, and nothing important. Sam had no doubt that whatever they said would be recorded, or at least reported back to Arias.  He also had no doubt that Herrera had seen something. She was almost bursting out of her skin, vibrating with excitement even as she schooled her expression to seem bland.

The hotel was unscathed by the night’s events, other than the unholy mess left behind by the herd of overgroomed assholes trying to push their way out when the evacuation began.  Sam led Agent Herrera past the doors to the ballroom and down an out-of-the-way hall to a small conference room where a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent they both knew stood guard.  They all nodded to each other, and the guard stepped aside to allow Sam to guide Agent Herrera in with a hand on the small of her back.

Sam didn’t even wait long enough to acknowledge anyone in the room.  The second the door closed, he had a hand around Herrera’s upper arm and pulled her around to face him.

“What?”  He asked, standing too close to her in his eagerness to hear what she had to say. She didn’t seem to notice, because she was just as eager to tell him what she’d seen.  She was actually panting a little, her deep brown eyes shining with excitement.  Sam’s body noticed.  He was a professional, sure, but he was still a man, and…  Holy shit.

“That place,” Herrera began.  “Arias’s lair, or whatever you want to call it.  It’s got an insane amount of power running to it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you notice all the pipes and tubes running along the ceiling in that underground garage?  Some of them were for water, steam, whatever, but a lot of them – most of them, were conduits for electrical wires.  There were way too many of them, and some of them had to have high-voltage electrical wiring in them.  And those doors from that… conference room or whatever.  Two of them led to corridors, just basically concrete hallways with more pipes and conduits running along them.  It’s underground, and it’s concrete, right?  So there’s no way to hide them, and why would you in a place like that?  So I got a good look at them, and I’m telling you, that place has more power running into it than most skyscrapers.  There’s something big and power-hungry down there to need that much electricity feeding it.”

As she was speaking, Natasha and Bruce had come over to listen.  They both had questions that began general and very quickly got technical enough that they left Sam in their dust.  He looked over at Clint, who was squatting on a table watching something on a monitor.  Strolling closer, Sam saw that it was video of the tornado.  He gasped.

“Mother of-  Is that the one here?”

“Yeah, but don’t get too excited.  As tornadoes go, it’s kind of a piece of shit.  Only an EF-2, and it wasn’t on the ground for more than ten minutes.”

“Well, you sure sounded excited when you saw it,” Sam noted.

“I know, and it’s kinda buggin’ me.  It looked big.  I mean, it was dark and all, but with the city lights illuminating the clouds, I could still see it pretty good, and it seemed…  I don’t know. Something’s off about it. Something about the whole storm just doesn’t look right.  Bruce has some fancy-ass meteorologist working on it.  She’s meeting us in New York.”

Sam watched the video, thinking that if this tornado didn’t impress Clint, he definitely wouldn’t want to see one that did.  It looked wicked.  

“Hey,” Clint said quietly, nudging Sam with his elbow and sliding his eyes over toward the group who were excitedly discussing the power lines Agent Herrera had seen in the underground facility Arias had called “Site B.”

“What’s she like?”  Clint asked in an amused undertone, indicating Agent Herrera.

“She’s a professional woman doin’ a job, is what she’s like, you sexist shithead.”

“Uh-huh,” Clint grinned.  “You got nowhere with her.”

“I wasn’t tryna…  Man, shut the hell up,” Sam screeched, trying to stay quiet.  He gave Clint the dirtiest look he could manage, then stalked back over to the group to rejoin the discussion of what Herrera had seen.

Clint just laughed.  

*****

The flight from Washington D.C. to New York was just over an hour long, but the general atmosphere among those who piled into the obscenely luxurious vehicle for the drive from the private airfield to Stark Tower was one of exhaustion. Joss wasn’t sure what to call this thing; the closest thing she could come up with was “Limo Bus”.   Everyone from the plane sat on the plush, curvy seats that lined both sides of the vehicle, while Tony Stark offered them a variety of drinks from the semicircular bar – an actual damn bar - that curved out between two of the long seats on one side.  Everything that wasn’t black was red and gold, including the neon light that poured out from under the seats and across the ceiling.

Joss must have shaken her head, or made a face, because Tony stopped his manic bartending and pointed at her accusingly.  

“You don’t like my bus,” he snapped, keeping his finger in the air, directed at her, as he scowled.

“I’m expecting strippers any moment,” she blurted before she could think better of it.

President Lattimore, on her left, sucked in his breath in disapproval. “Joss, for heaven’s sake.  The man is our host.”

Joss, appalled and mortified, began to sputter.  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark.  I didn’t mean to…  I just…  It’s… a lot.”

“I’m a lot, Miss Secret Service.  And just for that, no cocktail for you.”  

With that, he turned his head and began taking drink orders from those on the other side of the bar, dismissing her entirely.

Joss suddenly liked the red neon light very much, because it hid the deep blush she knew was the reason her entire face was burning.  It didn’t help that she could hear Bucky Barnes snickering on the other side of President Lattimore.

The former President held his drink out to her, leaning in too close.  “I’d be happy to share mine with you.”

“Thank you, Sir, but I’m on duty anyway.”  

Joss didn’t say another word for the rest of the way to Stark Tower.

#The Avengers #Captain America #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson #Natasha Romanoff #Bruce Banner #Sharon Carter #Tony Stark #Clint Barton #Agent Phil Coulson

[three-houses-text-files]

byleth/leonie

c-s support + paired endings + night of the ball

c

Leonie: Phew… Oh, Professor! Are you training too? L: I was just about to finish up, but if you want to join in, I can stick around a while longer.

>You don't have to stay just for me.

>I might be here a while.

L: Oh, no. It's fine! Just do your thing. Don't mind me. L: Come on. Don't be shy. L: Phew! I'm beat...but we're finally done. L: You didn't have to stay for my whole routine. L: I was...already training when you got here, and I... finished right alongside you... L: Guess I...outlasted you, huh?

>It's not a competition.

L: Speak for yourself! I'm always looking to improve. L: By the way, Professor. Something I wanted to ask.

>Let's hear it, then.

>Ask me whatever you want.

L: Are you really Captain Jeralt's kid?

>I don't know.

>That's what I'm told.

L: That's a pretty detached tone to take about your own family. L: What's your opinion of him, then? You must look up to him, at least?

>I respect him, of course.

L: Hm. It doesn't sound like you really appreciate him. L: You didn't even know until you came here that he used to lead the Knights of Seiros, did you? L: If it weren't for him, you wouldn't be half the person you are now. L: You've probably never even thought about how lucky you are. L: Ugh! OK, this really bothers me! L: Listen up. I don't care if you're the teacher and I'm the student. I'm going to outshine you. L: I know you were some famous mercenary before you came here, but let me tell you something... L: I'm going to be better than you ever were! L: In fact, I'll surpass you in no time at all, so don't blink. You might miss it.

>...

——————————————————————————————

b

L: Hey, Professor. Got a minute? L: Look, I'm sorry I snapped at you. I didn't mean to lose my temper. L: I was rude to you. I should have known better.

>It's all right.

>I wasn't offended.

L: Hah. I thought you might say that.

L: In that way, you're just like Captain Jeralt. You accept other people. You don't let petty details get under your skin.

>How do you know my father?

L: Well, when I was a kid, I kind of latched on to him. I've been calling myself his apprentice ever since. L: He spent some time in the village I grew up in. Actually, you weren't with him back then. Why not?

>I don't remember.

L: Huh. Maybe he left you with a relative or something. L: Anyway, back then, Jeralt's job was to deal with poachers—well, they were bandits—but we called them poachers. L: Nobody in the village could stand up to them. But your dad? He took them on like it was nothing. L: I was so impressed! All I could think was how amazing mercenaries were. L: I'd lived in that tiny village my whole life, so to me, Captain Jeralt was nothing short of a legend. L: So I went right up to him, and I told him I was going to be his apprentice. L: He didn't stick around long after that, but he did teach me a lot while he was with us. L: Tactics, strategy, training routines—it was all so new and exciting! L: So after he left, I kept at it. Kept training. Just like he taught me.

>I'm glad you got to see him again.

L: Me too. I always planned to meet him again, once I became a top-tier mercenary. L: But I'm just glad I got to see him. To thank him properly and all. L: I've spent my whole life working to become a great mercenary like your father. L: There were so many times when I wanted to ask his advice, but I couldn't. I just had to make do. L: That's how I've made it this far. Just hard work, all on my own. But then you come along... L: And it's like you don't appreciate Captain Jeralt at all, or how lucky you were to have him around your whole life! L: Ugh! It still really bothers me! L: You might be his kid, but I'm still his best apprentice! Got it?!

>…

*i’ve heard that leonie’s supports are time-locked, but i’m not sure up to when. if anyone can confirm this, i’d be very grateful!

——————————————————————————————

a

L: Hey, Professor. Can we talk? L: I feel terrible about the last time we spoke. L: I was trying to apologize, and just ended up losing my temper again. I'm really sorry.

>It's all right.

>I don't mind.

L: I figured you'd say that, but I still feel like an idiot. L: Somehow, I just have a hard time keeping my feelings in check around you. L: And I think if I don't just tell you what I'm thinking, we'll never be able to have a normal conversation. L: So, let me clear the air. L: I want us to, uh...engage...

>Engage in what? A duel?

L: Yeah! Exactly.

>You want to get engaged?!

L: Yeah, I—wait, what?! No! I mean in a duel!

L: I know it's a sudden thing to ask, but I'm not going to feel settled until I know where I stand. L: Would you do that for me?

>All right.

L: Good. Don't hold back, OK? I want to see you at your absolute best! L: Phew! You got me. I'm completely outmatched...

>Sorry.

L: No, don't apologize! This is what I needed.

>You held your own.

L: Maybe, but you were definitely stronger. Honestly, that's what I needed to see.

L: You're a true successor to Captain Jeralt's style of swordplay. I almost felt like you were him. L: I thought I was competing with you...but that's as pointless as competing against him would've been. L: So instead of that, I'm going to focus on keeping the promise I made to him.

>What promise?

L: Captain Jeralt said that, if anything should happen to him, I'd have to support you in his place. L: He didn't sound serious at the time, but it was right before he...you know. Before we lost him. L: So, I've decided. I'd like to do just what he said. L: I know I'm not as strong as I need to be. But I swear to you...I'll train until I am. L: What do you say? Can I call you my employer?

>I know I can count on you.

L: Yes! It's official! I'll protect you, no matter what!

——————————————————————————————

s

L: Professor? What are you doing here?

>I could ask you the same.

L: I was talking to Jeralt. L: The sky feels so close...like you can almost touch the stars. I thought my voice might reach him.

>What were you saying?

L: That the war's finally over. L: And that his kid and his greatest apprentice did an amazing job out there! L: Haha, maybe I'm overselling the part I played.

>You were amazing.

L: Thanks, but I was nothing compared to you. I feel like an idiot for ever thinking I could surpass you. L: I have managed to keep my promise though. L: So, how would you feel about hiring me again? L: Can't exactly go and break my word now, can I?

>Your promise is already fulfilled.

L: The war's over, but the enemy might still be lurking! What if they're waiting until I'm gone to attack you?!

>I'll be fine.

L: But— Oh, I get it. You're probably pretty tired of me always trailing after you, huh?

>Not at all. In fact... I love you, Leonie.

L: Love?! As in... As in the way a commander loves his soldiers, right? Of course that's what you mean... L: Oh, that's...that kind of love! Can this really be happening? You want to marry me?

>...

L: I... Of course I will! You are being serious, right? That would be an awful joke... L: I'm sorry. I should have been more honest. L: All that stuff about my promise a minute ago, it was mostly just an excuse for wanting to be near you. L: But I'm not really the romantic type, so I had a hard time coming out and saying it. L: Are you sure this is what you want though? I know I'm not exactly conventional. L: Guess I'm really wearing this ring, then, aren't I? L: But I do still have a promise to keep with Captain Jeralt too. L: You've got a big job ahead of you, building a whole new Fódlan. L: I'm going to support you through all of that. Make sure it never gets to be too much. L: Then that's that! I promise to protect you until death parts us! And...I'll be happy for you to do the same for me.

——————————————————————————————

paired endings

Byleth announced his marriage to Leonie shortly after becoming leader of the United Kingdom of Fódlan. Though she accepted the status of queen, Leonie disliked the pageantry of the position and refused to part with her weapons. She avoided court and instead founded the Jeralt Company, an elite group of soldiers hand-picked from the royal guard. They mostly busied themselves by hunting down bandits and monsters, but they also stopped the remnants of the Imperial army from organizing a revolt. It is rumored that one knight of rare skill who fought alongside Leonie in the Jeralt Company was none other than the king himself. (golden deer + church route)

Byleth announced his marriage to Leonie shortly after being named archbishop of the Church of Seiros. Though she accepted the status of the archbishop's wife, Leonie disliked the formality of the position and refused to part with her weapons. Avoiding involvement with the church, she founded the Jeralt Company, an elite group of soldiers hand-picked from the Knights of Seiros. They served as guards to the archbishop in peacetime, and were first to respond to reports of bandits or monsters. It is rumored that one knight of rare skill who fought alongside Leonie in the Jeralt Company was none other than the archbishop himself. (blue lions route)

Almost immediately after Byleth and Leonie had finished their lively wedding ceremony, the struggle against those who slither in the dark began in earnest. Leaving the Black Eagle Strike Force behind, the pair formed a new group called the Jeralt Company and invited all their friends and allies to join them. The group fought all across Fódlan, cementing the Empire's victory by cleaning up its enemies. With Fódlan secure, all but two members of the Jeralt Company returned to their homes. The couple continued their careers as mercenaries, taking on all kinds of tasks, from monster hunting to tavern security. Their strength and humility were well loved. (black eagles route)

——————————————————————————————

night of the ball

L: Hey, Professor. You all alone here? L: I mean, you're not waiting for anyone or anything, are you?

>Actually, I'm meeting the archbishop.

L: Liar. I saw Lady Rhea just moments ago. She was in the reception hall.

>Manuela should be here any moment.

L: Yeah, right! I just passed her flirting with some guy on my way up.

L: Anyway, I saw you heading to the tower, so I thought I'd drop by. I figured you might be lonely.

>You figured that, did you?

L: Hey, don't make it weird! By the way... Have you heard the legend about this place? L: They say if a guy and a girl make a promise here together, the goddess will make sure it's kept.

>I've heard.

L: It's a pretty well-known legend.

>I had not heard that.

L: Really? It's a pretty well-known legend.

L: Thing is, the way the story goes, it doesn't work all the time. It has to be the night of the ball. Tonight. L: So, since it's just you and me here, what do you say we give it a go? L: I mean, I don't know if the goddess will really take the time for a pair like us, but it's worth a try.

>What are you suggesting?

L: Well—you know! Let's make some kind of promise! We've got the chance, it'd be a shame to waste it. L: I mean, not something romantic or anything. That'd be weird. L: We could promise I'll become a top-tier mercenary! Though I guess that's more of a wish... L: Let's see... OK, I've got it. L: I solemnly swear to meet you once more, on this very ground, as a mercenary beyond compare! L: Oh, but that was all about me. No fair. You probably have something you want to promise too.

>No, I think that covers it.

L: Hah. You really do take after Captain Jeralt—always putting others first. L: All right, then, Goddess. You heard the promise. It's a done deal. L: Say, Professor...why did you come out here, anyway?

>I just wanted some time alone.

L: Ah. Well, it is pretty crowded down there. L: I guess I shouldn't have interrupted. I'll leave you to it. L: But don't stay out here too long, all right? You'll catch a cold!

#fire emblem three houses spoilers #fe16 spoilers #fe3h spoilers #byleth x leonie #leonie x byleth

[7deadlycinderellas]

The Starks at War, ch2

AO3 link

Catelyn had been a girl still, at the outbreak of the Great War. In her youthful naivete, she had believed the propaganda; that the war would be brief and the boys she knew would come home in glory.

Her vision had been shattered.

Her engagement to Brandon Stark had been a terribly childish decision in retrospect, the last act of tradition, the union of two great families before the walls came down.

When he had died, she had felt that her world would end. Ned had held her when he could, and when the war ended they had fallen in love amidst their shared grief. Lyanna’s death had dealt another blow to Ned, unexpectedly. Lyanna had somehow managed to thrive during the war instead of being crushed by it, and in the end, her work managed to crush her anyway.

Yet here Catelyn is, hanging blackout curtains and watching as her children leave Winterfell one by one.

Sansa had been the first, seemingly both terrified and impatient to leave. Ned and Cat had half considered pulling her out of school, but everything was already prepared, her fees paid, and her school was in Kent, far from London.

Robb was eighteen in June. He joins up immediately, taking a spot in the RAF before he could be conscripted.

When Ned raises an eyebrow at his choice of service, Robb grins softly and says,

“I get seasick.”

Jon joins him soon after. Theon has joined the regular British army, haunted by his father’s words about choice of military service.

Catelyn had looked at Ned when all three of them left, with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

“They wouldn’t...not again?”

“No,” Ned insists firmly, “Everyone remembers exactly what happened then”.

When the Great War had started, all the men who could had enlisted. The army had often posted men who were from the same villages and towns together, in hopes that their already created camaraderie would make the transition easier.

It had resulted in some villages losing every single one of their young men. The idea of losing even one of her sons, even Theon, who had already left, even Jon, who she was sometimes embarrassed of, made Cat want to weep. She was so grateful for Bran’s condition, and Rickon’s age, even if thinking so made her feel a traitor.

Ned had left almost immediately afterwards to return to London. He says the government will likely want him to turn production towards the war effort, and he wants to get on top of it, especially once most of his work force disappears. He doesn’t tell anyone that watching Robb and Jon and Theon all walk down the road together broke his heart.

Bran and Arya stare after them with jealousy. They’re both supposed to be doing their schoolwork, but it’s hard to focus on maths and history when history feels like it’s happening around them.

Arya has her own responsibilities though. At the end of the month, petrol is rationed. She rides her bike to the shops every few days, to buy and carry home whatever they need. They have to cook and keep up the house mostly themselves now. The cook and the older maid have both left to return north to their families, and Beth looks like she wants to leave every day. Old Nan moves back in with her sister down the road by the church, though she still comes by to help out with Rickon

At the end of September, Arya gets another unwanted surprise.

“You’re joining up too?” She demands.

“I’m eighteen next month,” Gendry tells her, “And if I don’t join now, I’ll get drafted and might not get a choice where I end up. The Navy says they need mechanics. All the planes and tanks and everything now.”

Arya bites her lip.

“I know, it’s just. It feels like everyone’s leaving. Father’s in London again now, and Robb and Jon and now you too. It feels like everyone’s leaving and I’ll be stuck at home cleaning and knitting socks and listening to the wireless and trying not to pace and panic.”

Gendry sighs a bit.

“You’re fourteen now right?”

Arya nods.

“Keep your eyes open. With all the men enlisting, they’ll need women to do everything we would be, they did during the last war. They’ll be opening up the services to women more soon I’d bet too. But let’s hope it doesn’t go on long enough for you to be able to enlist.”

Suddenly, he starts to look a bit shy.

“Could you…”

Arya furrows her eyebrows. Shy isn’t a look she’s ever seen on Gendry, and she’s fighting the urge to make fun of him.

“Well, soldiers are supposed to have people to write to and write to them.”

That’s what this is all about?

“Soldiers are supposed to have sweethearts write to them.”

“I don’t have one of those,” he takes a long pause, “Or parents or siblings. Or that many friends really. I know you already have your brothers to keep in touch with, but could you write to me?”

Arya feels her face flush. Her stomach is twisting with a feeling she doesn’t understand.

“Sure, sure I will.”

She turns away back home and tries to forget how lonely he looked.

Beth can handle most of the cooking now, as long as it’s nothing fancy. That leads to Arya having to help with most of the cleaning. There’s less of it now, now that there’s two fewer people in the house, but Catelyn insists that they don’t close anything up.

“We may need it soon,” she says cryptically.

Because Catelyn is a lady with a capital L, and if there’s one thing a lady is good at, it’s saving face and keeping together with other ladies.

And the ladies of the country are organizing.

Children flood the countryside, from London mostly but also Cambridge and Bristol and a few even from Leeds and Manchester. Everyone’s terrified of air strikes, but no one seems sure of where will be hit. The children are large and small, dirty and clean. Siblings together grasp hands, and lone ones wrap their overcoats on tightly. They all have cardboard signs hung around their necks.

They stick them wherever they can fit. Nearly everyone in the village takes at least one. The Reeds take in a rather fat young man who had worked in a bakery in London and had screamed when he first saw a frog. Jyana Reed had said that the house was already beginning to feel empty, with her husband having rejoined up with the service, despite his age. Winterfell even hosts three; a small girl not yet speaking much, whom Arya calls Weasel, and a young woman from the East End with a newborn baby.

“I’m calling him little Sam,” the mum says, “After a man I knew.” Her name is Gilly, and she looks to Cat like she’s never had a proper meal before.

The news is almost strangely quiet. Hitler keeps trying to do things, and occasionally a ship sinks, but for a country at war, it feels rather calm.

And every once in a while the air raid sirens blare.

The pamphlets sent out with the black out directions also give safety instructions during an air raid. Everyone keeps their gas masks handy. They’ve all been drills and false alarms so far, but the raids take a special toll on Bran.

“It’s bad enough having to be carried down into the cellar every time, but what if one happens when I’m alone? I can probably drag myself down the steps- slowly- but I’ll be stuck having to hope that someone comes by and finds me. If I get down into the cellar before the bombs hit anyway.”

“At least your cellar has a proper staircase. Ours is just a ladder.” Meera tells him. She’s got a suitcase with her and has come to return something to Arya. She’s just turned eighteen, and is joining the women’s Navy. They’re so close to Portsmouth, but she’s being sent all the way to Liverpool to train.

She’s come by to say goodbye.

“I wanted to dodge Arya. I’ll write to her, but I don’t want to give her another face leaving to stick in her mind.”

“If you’d worn your uniform, you might have scared her off. I’m not sure militarism would suit her. “

“I haven’t been issued my uniform yet. Everything is being requisitioned. All the clothing factories are making service uniforms now.”

“Aren’t you...scared?” Bran had asked her when she had first told them.

“All the posters and things keep saying Wrens are “Never at Sea”, but I’m not sure I buy it. They’re throwing everything at the Germans. I’m not sure how long it will even be.”

She tries to smile, but can’t quite, and tries to lighten the mood.

“Besides, I can swim. Swim and row, so basic training might be easier on me.”

Her face goes serious again. Meera not being able to smile feels like something deeply troubling to Bran.

“Can you take care of Jojen for me? With Dad gone too...Mum will have enough to worry about without having to worry so much about him too. Make sure he takes his medicine. Make sure he remembers what’s going on when it doesn’t work and he seizes anyway. “

“I can try, “ Bran says honestly.

Jojen’s been bringing over his charts and books, and the two of them are trying to teach themselves morse code.

“I wanted to get licensed to do amateur radio broadcasting before this all started,” Jojen admits, “But the government shut down all the bands. It’s too bad, it could be dead useful.”

No one remaining at Winterfell gets much from the outside world, except through letters.

Ned writes that London has transformed. So many businesses have closed up, and houses lie empty, abandoned. He says he will return to Winterfell as soon as he can.

Sansa says that nearly half of her classmates didn’t return to school.

 It means classes are all super small now, which is sort of nice. I finished up senior-level French last year, so I’m doing more in independent study. The teacher says she doesn’t know why, I’m already top of the class. English is much the same as it’s always been. Only one of the history teachers returned, so we’re all stuffed in one class.

    Headmistress says that because of the war, they’re offering several extracurricular courses for girls who wish to support the war. I’m taking typing and first aid. I do miss my dancing lessons- the dancing master has joined up- but some of us girls still practice in the common rooms in the evenings.

Margaery got into some trouble when she decided to start a German club. She’s nearly as fluent in it as she is in French- it sounds so much lovelier coming from her than from me!- and she insists that it could prove useful for all of us if the war continues.

 All the blackout rules are terrifying though. The dormitories are such a big building, and seeing it in total darkness is like a whole different world. And the sirens. I fear I will hear them in my dreams.

She doesn’t tell them about the girl who was outside past curfew when the sirens went off. She’d returned to campus hours after, her head bloodied, having been struck in the dark by a carriage before pulling herself to the side of the road and cowering in a ditch until the all-clear blew. Headmistress had sent her home with nary a word to the others. Sansa still didn’t know how badly she’d been hurt.

Catelyn sighs again at Sansa’s letter. Typing and first aid. Sansa should have been spending her days imagining her debut into society, of meeting someone she could marry, of being a true lady as she was born for. She’d so hoped her starry eyed dreamer of a daughter could be spared the horrors that this conflict was going to bring. She could just see Sansa going into nursing with her huge heart and no idea the sorts of things she would see.

First Aid though. That sparks Catelyn’s mind, for her more wayward daughter. She reaches out to Mya, who was the daughter of a groom who had once worked for the Starks, but knew her daughter in an entire different role.

And a week into November, Arya does something she hasn’t done in over a year. She puts on her Girl Guides uniform, and goes into the village for a meeting. Her former patrol that had dwindled last she had been there, now was swollen to bursting with evacuees from the cities.

 I’m old enough to be a Ranger now she says when she writes to Gendry, Though my uniform isn’t right for it. It’s no matter now, no one’s getting any new ones. I used to go a lot, I loved the camping trips and cook outs. I even learned to use a knife there. But Mother always fretted about me spending all my time around the village girls, told me I was destined for a different life, and when I got older all the girls started wanting to do needlework badges and stuff about babies and so I bailed.

     This week we went around painting the sidewalk curbs white, so people can see them better in the blackouts. Next week we’re helping dig public shelters and starting our first aid training. I still think the songs are stupid though.

Most of Gendry’s letters have been him whingeing about basic training. Arya’s not sure to what end- he’s not going to get much in the way of sympathy from her, and she’s more than capable of whingeing right back. Besides, she thought, he should be used to terrible food and spartan living conditions, having basically had to care for himself since his mother’s passing when he was twelve. Perhaps he shares her opposition to being told what to do, she thinks, and wants someone to agree with him.

Robb and Jon also send letters, more once they both finish basic. They’ve both passed qualifications and are assigned to become fighters. This horrifies Catelyn and excites Arya and Bran.

Robb’s letters are more of what’s expected. Complaints about the food, the lack of privacy. Arya snickers at that, it can’t be as bad as boarding school can it? How much he misses everyone. That hurts.

Jon repeats all of Robb’s sentiments, but also speaks of his pilot’s training.

 Story is they picked Robb and I because we went to a “good school”. Apparently having ridden horses or handled yachts is a good base for learning to fly. I didn’t really do much of any of that, but the instructor’s say I’m a natural. The steering, handling the g-forces, it comes easily to me. I feel like this is what I should be doing.

He doesn’t give too many elaborate loving descriptions of the planes they practice on, for fear of making Bran too jealous. He does send drawings though, as amateurish as they are. Bran tries to improve upon the crude sketches on his own, planning to send them back to Jon as a Christmas gift.

Because 1939 is coming to an end, and Christmas is coming with it, no matter what else is happening.

Ned returns home in December, once the snow is falling heavily and the countryside is as cold as it gets. He brings with him several boxes, that he claims they can’t open until the 25th. He returns to hugs and great cheer, at last, a Stark returning to Winterfell in time for Christmas.

Especially since he’s the only one.

“Last letter,” Arya says, morose when the envelope in Sansa’s pretty script arrived accompanying a large parcel.

It had been awful enough learning that Robb and Jon weren’t going to be coming home. No one was getting leave this year, no matter how little seemed to be going on.

 No one can get train tickets to go home, the government has cracked down on it so much. Some of the other girls come from as far away as Scotland. A few of us as staying with Margaery’s family for Christmas, they have so much room and are just over the hill. I miss everyone, I hope you all like your presents.

She resists the urge to gush about Highgarden, the most grand estate she had ever seen. The Tyrell’s were hosting several girls from the Land Army, and there were so many people and so much cheer that Sansa felt like an ingrate how much fun she was having.

Arya was still a bit sour when Christmas Eve comes. They couldn’t put lights on the Christmas tree even, because of the blackout rules. None of the shops in the village had window displays either. The church still held their Christmas Eve service, but they didn’t ring the bells.

The person who gives Arya back her spirit ends up being of all people, Gilly.

“I’ve never really had a proper Christmas!” She admits when they’re stuffing the Christmas goose to put it in the oven overnight. Jyana has come by for Christmas Eve with Jojen and the boy they've taken in, who it turns out has lots of Opinions about food. They will have a proper feast, if not as grand as in previous years, where they were usually entertaining guests, but there’s a goose and potatoes and lots of baked biscuits, even if they came after very long lines.

“What do you mean by that?” Arya asks her.

“We were terribly poor, never had a tree or nothing. The rain and snow would leak in through the roof bad in winter. And most Christmases Papa would just extra drunk and we girls would hurt for it.”

Catelyn comes over and cuts her off.

“You shouldn’t ask things like that Arya,” she whispers to her, “That girl’s had a hard enough life, without you drudging up memories of it.”

Arya can do that. She’s old enough to realize that she shouldn’t ask where little Sam’s father is.

And when Christmas morning comes Gilly claps her hands at the Christmas tree and the red and gold decorations on the tables and staircases, and even little Sam looks delighted no matter his size. Even Weasel, usually so stoic, looked dazzled.

There are gifts. Sansa knitted and sewed things in class to send to everyone. The pullover she’s made Arya is terribly soft and goes along perfectly with the enormous wooly hat Gilly had made her. Ned and Catelyn give all the younger Stark’s books, even Weasel and Gilly. Bran and Arya had collaborated with the Reed’s boy who had come to be nicknamed “Hot Pie” to make everyone fudge. And the boxes Ned had brought from London turned out to be new clothes, sizes that would fit everyone for some time.

“I remember the last war,” Catelyn comments later in the day when the others are full of Christmas dinner, enjoying their gifts and listening to the BBC’s Christmas programme.

“Buttons, ribbon, wool. Everything was in short supply,” Ned says completing her words. “And if Bran and Arya sprout up like Robb and Sansa did at their age, we would be in trouble.”

Cat stares out the snowy window.

“Tell me this won’t last as long as the last one Ned, “ she begs quietly, “Tell me this might not be our last Christmas together.”

Ned takes her in his arms and stares out the window into the world outside Winterfell and tries not to fear what the next year might bring.

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gendrya #breera #sansaery #fic #i can cite sources

[queenofmyshuno]

Amersham

This is the story of Frederick Amersham: dutiful servant, attentive beau, regular churchgoer, responsible citizen, and generally pleasant chap. At least, these are all the things he said to me when I asked him to describe himself. Come, I’ll tell you all about him, and you can see for yourself.

Amersham’s days start early. Before the sun even hints at rising, Amersham is impeccably dressed and noiselessly descending the cold wooden boards of the staircase. He carefully shifts around familiar creaky spots, so as not to wake the family, and lights the fireplaces in the elegant three-story townhome.

He spent almost three months as a chef’s apprentice, and his cooking skills are a point of pride. He prepares breakfast, expertly wielding the knives that he sharpens and polishes nightly; he likes the clunck-clunck sound they make as the blade hits the cutting board. Long ago, Mr. Prescott, nortorious for his tight pursestrings, allowed Amersham to purchase fine quality cutlery for the kitchen, so Amersham makes sure to take good care of it.

Once the table is set and breakfast served, he stands in the kitchen and grabs a quick bite.

(Note: I’m making this out to be like it’s part of his busy schedule, but really, I forgot to leave a space in the kitchen for a table and chair, LOLs.)

Next, he scrubs the dishes and churns the butter. Normally, a home this size would have two or even three servants, but Amersham does it all. In this house, he’s the chef, scullery maid, chamber maid, launderer, footman, house boy, chauffer, and butler.

Mrs. Prescott recognizes how hard he works and will occasionally ask if he’d like her to talk to Mr. Prescott about hiring more help. He always politely refuses. The truth is, Amersham prefers it this way. He has a certain way he likes to do things, and other staff would only interfere with his thorough procedures.

Mr. Prescott also likes it this way as it saves him money. He’s very proud of how committed and competent Amersham is and regularly refers to him as “my man, Amersham,” as in, “Don’t worry about those bags; my man Amersham will see to them” or “Why don’t you come by the house for dinner this Tuesday; my man Amersham makes a mean pigeon pie.”

Back when Amersham was but a young man, he came to town looking for a fresh start, having learned from the mistakes of his past. Sumner Prescott, also in his prime, was just at the point where he needed his own manservant. Amersham was hired on and has been with him ever since. The two men have a longstanding bond and mutual respect for one another.

Indeed, the entire family counts themselves lucky to have such good help. Other people will complain about this or that thing their servants said or did, but Amersham never gives them any cause. In fact, they rarely even see him. They only see the cozy fire he started before they came into the room or the hot coffee placed in the parlor for them when they arrive home after being out on a rainy day. He’s a master at being present but undetected—in other words, the perfect servant.

His skills at getting around unnoticed are also sometimes useful when he’s not working. On Sunday evenings, after the family has had their supper and the dishes have all been washed and put away, he has a few hours off…

…to pursue his own interests. I hope I have not shocked you and that you will not repeat what you have learned here, for all that I have shared with you has been told to you in confidence. Amersham has desires, and in this respect, he’s no different than any other man. So, let us not dwell on this small aspect of Amersham’s life, but instead talk of something more acceptable.

Amersham has a sweetheart. Have you ever noticed how men who are in a relationship seem less threatening? For instance, women need not be apprehensive about romantic advances from a man who is taken. Additionally, both sexes tend to think of someone in a relationship as more stable, and therefore more reliable. People might not consciously think this, but there’s an underlying societal perception that makes others more comfortable if one is paired up. Have you noticed this? Amersham has.

Amersham’s girl is named Nadine Dudley, and they meet Wednesdays at the market when they’re shopping for their respective households. She adores him. He enjoys this. Sometimes he gets jealous if another man talks to her for too long, but he and Nadine get along exceptionally well, really just swimmingly well.

Except for sometimes. Nadine is keen to get engaged and feels that Amersham is putting her off. At times, she gets unreasonably cranky and is prone to whinge, that is, complain persistently (and in such a high-pitched voice that one who is far less kind than Amersham might describe it as “screechy”). Even the most patient person would be hard-pressed not to find this irritating.

Amersham, though, keeps his cool. He reasons with her (as much as one can reason with a woman) that they’re both servants living in other people’s homes. Extremely nice homes. If they were to get married, where would they live? With their finances, probably in a tenement. Where would they work if they were no longer live-in servants? They have no other job skills. No. They must wait and save their money. “I want you to have a beautiful home and the wedding you always dreamed about. I only want to wait because I care so much about you.”

You wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, but Amersham is very good with words. His words, his gestures, the soothing tone of his voice—he has a way of making even the most determined opponent come around to his way of thinking. Nadine gives in and apologizes for being silly. Because they’re not engaged, they haven’t yet kissed (except on the cheek). So, he simply holds her close, runs his fingers through her cherry-red hair, and says, “That’s okay. I forgive you.”

Amersham isn’t telling Nadine everything, though (as you well know). But let’s be honest, does anyone ever really tell anyone everything? What about you? Are you holding something back from someone in your life right now? Not everyone needs to know everything; some things are best kept unspoken. Amersham has many unspoken things that he puts in a corner of his mind and tucks away beneath a blanket of silence.

Reva. Amersham never speaks her name for fear his desire will betray him in an unexpected tremble or rasp in his voice. Reva, the beautiful eldest daughter of the Prescott family. Reva whose dark eyes seem to always have a perpetual touch of sadness in them. Reva whose one rebel curl always falls out from her neatly placed bun. Reva whose face Amersham sees every time he closes his eyes. Reva, beautiful Reva.

Reva has had countless suitors paraded in front of her but has shown no interest in any of them. Why is that? If Amersham had been born to a higher station, he would have swept her off her feet by now and they’d be living happily in their own beautiful house with roses in the garden, a porch so long it spanned the length of the house, and a little boy with his father’s face but his mother’s eyes. Does Reva ever dream about him, too? Is this why she’s still not married? Amersham holds out hope that somehow, someday he and Reva will end up together. And that’s why he perpetually courts but never marries Nadine.

Lately, Reva has been volunteering at the Vicar’s cottage which means that Amersham has to drive her there, which is no short ride. He wonders if this is all a ploy of hers so that she and Amersham can spend more time together.

Amersham himself does not have the time (nor, to be honest, the inclination) to volunteer with the church except when required to do so by the family, but he does go to church (religiously, as it were) every Sunday morning.

When the service ends, the family usually stays if there’s a church function that day, or goes to a friend’s house to visit, while Amersham returns home to attend to his duties. With the family safely away, he makes himself comfortable on Reva’s bed (the bed for which he washed the linens, fluffed the pillows, and tucked the corners in ever so lovingly) and checks her journal to see if there is any mention of him or their long drives to the Vicar’s cottage. There is not. Perhaps some things are too private to write down.

Before you think his actions inappropriate, know that he checks the younger daughter’s journal regularly, as well. As he has no interest in the younger daughter, this is proof that his actions are first and foremost to make himself as useful to his employers as possible.

If he has done something to displease them that the ladies are too refined to mention to him directly, is it not in their best interest that he finds that thing that is causing them displeasure and takes measures to correct it?

Indeed, you could even consider this as a gentlemanly favor to them, to know their wants and attend to them dutifully without ever being told.

To quietly check on a person‘s wellbeing and know their needs, whether it be through reading what they’ve written down or through watching attentively and then silently backing out of a room without disturbing them, these are all acts of great caring and great skill.

Why do you think the family loves him so? It’s because he loves them back, more than they’ll ever realize. Quietly and patiently, always just on the other side of the door, Amersham’s love and service know no boundaries.

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