#hider (oc) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

s-4pphics · 4 months ago

Text

the art of chasing. (e.w.) part I.

synopsis: how to: lose a lover.

word count: 9.5K

warnings: bratbaby!ellie who’s a math prodigy :), baby!oc who’s not but craves approval, SARAH IS ALIVE, mentions of: ANGST, time jump, joel is everyone’s dad — adoption, dead parents, narc parenting, internalized homophobia, outward homophobia, enemies to ?, idiots to ?, alcoholism, ellie’s a hopeless romantic, so is oc but she doesn’t know it, rebellious teenagers, FLUFF :)

a/n: heyyy. this idea came to me very randomly in january and i’ve been drafting it since then. it’s a two parter with a possible intermission but idk we’ll see. also, i hit 4k followers? thanks THE FAWK?

BYEEE

Since age ten, you’ve hated Ellie Williams.

You were naive like most children; too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed to manage, running amuck and causing any wreckage you could with your pudgy little hands. You lived to explore, much to your father’s dismay. He’s a stickler with too much sense, exactly like your irritating, speckle-faced classmate. Stubborn with an ego large enough to topple mountains.

The first time you met her, you’d been sobbing at the sight of blood on your skin.

You weren’t the fastest runner on the playground, but your classmates knew to never play hide and seek with you. You’d squeeze into the smallest crevices of your school's hallways and sit until recess was over and you were crowned the winner by your classmates when the bell rang. Your victory streak felt everlasting, three months of invisibility, it seemed until one day, a boy approached you — Jesse, a few inches taller and annoying, made it a challenge to discover your hiding spot. Younger you accepted any competition with grace, even moreso when Jesse’s friends bet that he’d pay you if he failed to complete the challenge… Your dad was very confused when you returned home with twenty bucks and a bag of Warheads that Friday. You don’t gamble, but what’s a little reward for upholding your legacy as the Best Hider? Your tactic was masterful, and while your classmates failed to find you, your piggy bank grew in size.

For the first term of fifth grade, recess was yours. Students of all grade levels were on a manhunt for you after lunch. The excessive searches got so bad that they limited your 10 second head start to 5, then 3, and even then, you were never caught.

Until Ellie.

You decided to switch it up one day: instead of going to your go-to hiding spot — in between the two giant pillars that separated the first and second grade classrooms — you decided to rush back towards the cafeteria and wait by the lunch tables. Call it hiding in plain sight. No one ever returned there after they finished eating; They were too busy pushing each other down the slide or searching for you on the field.

Your fall could’ve been caused by anything: an untied shoelace, your mind moving too fast for your feet, a crack in the blacktop. All you recall was laughing maniacally one second then sobbing harshly with a bloody knee the next. It barely hurt from your adrenaline, but blood had always freaked you out. You searched for anyone — a supervisor, a teacher, another classmate — but your cries weren’t loud enough to draw attention.

No one was a witness except the freakishly smart nerd that sat at the back of the classroom.

Ellie had been alone at the lunch tables, dirty sneakers kicked up with a sticker book in hand while she watched you cry completely stoic.

When you finally noticed her sitting there, you hoped your teary eyes would push her to get you some help, but when she squatted beside you with a taunting glance and pitying hand on your shoulder, you knew she sucked. Sucked really badly.

“That’s what you get for cheating. Everyone knows the lunch area’s off limits during recess.”

And then she hollered over Jesse and all his loser friends, exclaiming that she found you and everyone owed her whatever rewards they planned to give you. From that point on, you hated her. Whenever she spoke in class, won a tetherball match with her man hands, laughed too loud, you returned home with a chip on your shoulder and the urge to swing on her. Not only did Ellie take your money and treats, she dimmed your glory. The crown on your head was placed onto hers in a heartbeat, title going from Best Hider to Best Seeker, and all it took was one accident. Ellie swiftly became your obsession after that. How could such a loser loner be that snarky? Losers are often desperate for any form of human contact, so why wasn’t she? Everyone thought she was the coolest person ever yet she didn’t care. Her routine stayed the same: silently sit in class and obnoxiously be the smartest person in the room then walk exactly 20 feet in front of you when the day is over.

You’ll never forget the disgusted churns in your gut when you discovered she lives right across the street from you, and apparently had since you both were in kindergarten. If anyone at school found out that you religiously watched Ellie ride and fall(once) off her skateboard for a month straight, they’d probably group you too together for being the wackiest bitches in the neighborhood.

It’s been five years since that day by the lunch area, and still, Ellie’s mission of making you feel like gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe rages on. Every test, every presentation, every spelling bee, every race, she shows you up without breaking a sweat while you drag behind her using every bit of willpower you have left, and still, it’s never enough. She surpasses you in ways that almost seem impossible, your brain can barely grasp it.

She’s still mechanically organized, even as a teenager. On honor roll and a dickface. Isn’t high school the time to find yourself and not be a loser? Talk to boys and get a job and start driving—

“You look psycho. She’s not thinking about you. Give it a rest.”

Your best friend’s right as always, but your glare doesn’t get any softer. In fact, it hardens when Riley scoots directly in front of your vision so your eyes are on her and not Ellie.

“If I killed someone, would you help me hide the body?” You say, exasperated.

“No, bitch I wouldn’t,” she rolls her eyes, “You’re risking life in prison because she ruined the curve for our biology test?”

“She gotta 98. I dunno how campus isn’t up in flames right now. All these bitches are weak,” you shove a carrot in your mouth, “my dad’s gonna kill me.”

“I’ll come to the funeral.”

“That’s not funny. You know how he is! He’s gonna blow a fuse when my grade gets posted.”

Riley’s eyes shadow with sympathy. “Maybe you can ask for a retake? Mr. Johnson’s not as fucked up as—“

“Ms. Robinson.” You and Riley both shudder in disgust. Your first bio teacher had it out for you so bad, it seemed. Last semester was stupid rough because of her pop quizzes and accusations of cheating. If she hadn’t fell down the stairs and broken her hip, you’d be on academic probation by now.

“I’m not reliving that, Jesus… Are you comin’ later? Everyone’s asking where you’ve been.”

Every reminder that you're locked in your room while your friends cause ruckus throughout the town is like a knife to the chest. “Tell 'em I'll seem them inna month,” you smile sarcastically, “I can’t go anywhere until I get my D up in math… and English—“

“Bitch how do you have a D in English when we speak it everyday—“

“I know, okay, I hate essays! My brain can’t… I can’t sit there and write for too long. I feel like I’ll start going crazy looking at those little ass words! I needa stress reliever bad.”

Riley pouts and reaches for your hand, “I'll find you one and send it to your place, promise.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t. My dad might set it on fire to taunt me.” You snort, but Riley doesn’t. She never does when you talk about your dad. The sad look she always gives makes you uncomfortable. Your gaze falls onto your tray when she squeezes your hand.

“If you need to stay with me, you can. You know that, right?”

“… Yeah. Thanks.”

Riley’s a wishful thinker. Her family’s the sweetest: always inviting you over for holidays, her birthdays, sometimes your birthday when your dad deems you undeserving of celebration. They embrace you openly, and you’re forever grateful for their warmth, but the peace you experience in her household always ends in tears when your dad picks you. He’ll scream at you until his voice goes hoarse for running away even though you always ask for permission before going anywhere. The grudge he held onto after you snuck out one time in junior high weighs both of you down.

Your father doesn’t trust you, and sometimes when it’s late and you hear delirious mumbling in the hallways, you question whether or not to trust him.

The bell pulls you from your thoughts, and for once, you’re grateful that lunch is over. Riley’s gentle aura has a way of disarming you. You’re always unprepared whenever you trek the stairs to your porch; exposed and vulnerable.

Riley allows you to wallow in silence all the way back to class. Your academic reputation was never stellar, but you always believed you were smart enough to make it into college and find your purpose, but every year that passes, your attention span suffers, and no one understands how draining it is except you. You were naive to think you’d be able to confide in your dad about something like that.

Riley gives your hand one last squeeze before sliding through the door next to yours. Annoyance stabs in your spine when you catch Ellie already sat at the front of the room with her stupid fucking glasses and notebooks and sharpened pencils laid neatly on her desk. It’s like she lives her life to taunt you, force you to remember that you’ll never be as clever as she is. You’re sick just looking at her.

You fall onto your designated seat in the last row, the last bits of students clabbering in just as the second bell rings. Mr. Thomas is already scribbling a bunch of Xs and Ys on the board and attendance hasn’t even been taken. It’s one of those days, one of frantic note taking while you attempt to catch all the information he throws at you while Ellie glides through the lesson like knives through butter.

“Just like we reviewed last week, everyone! A point is a solution to a system of equations—“

You’re betting you won’t have a wrist by the end of class. What use are your notes if they end up looking like chicken scratch? You should know all of this, you’ve read these lessons so many times, so why’re you blanking when the question comes back to you?

“If we plug (3, 6) into our equations, will we have a solution?” Mr. Thomas points directly at you. It’s a simple yes or no question, and in retrospect, the equations aren’t that fucking hard but you can’t do it. Why can’t you solve this?

Y and X and equal signs mock you all across the white board. Just guess! There’s a 50% chance you’ll get it right. A betted yes is still a yes, anyway!

Exactly how a betted no is still a no. You’re fucked.

“Um…”

Say anything! Who gives a fuck if it’s wrong or right or whatever! So what if you can’t do algebra! When you leave here, you'll be so extraordinarily incredible at your job that you won’t need any of it! Most of the things you learn in school all go to waste anyway!

“… No?” You answer meekly, and your teacher’s eyes brighten.

“Correct!—“

Thank God, I thought I was gonna die—

“—Can you explain how?”

Oh, fuck my life

“Um… well… Uh…”

Your face burns from the stares of your classmates and your teacher and God himself. You stumble over your answer, saying a bunch of shit that you can hardly understand, all while the light in Mr. Thomas’ eyes slowly distinguish.

“I’m… not sure, Mr. Thomas.”

You swallow the lump in your throat when he gives you a pitying glance before asking, “That's alright! Does anyone wanna help our friend out?”

And of course, Ellie’s hand flies up just to spite you, and your efforts crash and burn.

“Yes, Ellie?”

“If 6 is Y, then the equation has to equal 6. 2 times 3 is 6 but adding 1 makes it 7. So no…”

“We don’t have a solution.” Her tone is so secure it strains in your ears. You might as well stand at the front of the class and let everyone shoot you with spitballs. That’d be less humiliating.

“Great job, Ellie! So that means—“

Frankly, you don’t give a shit what it means, you just want to leave. Be anywhere but here. Being home would actually feel more safe, despite the small voice in your mind claiming that’s a fallacy.

Class drags on and so does your writing. Whatever burst of energy you had at the start of class has been wrung to hell, finishing with a whopping one and a half pages of notes. Better than yesterday. Small victories.

After what feels like ages, the bell rings, and students disperse to wherever they're supposed to be. You throw your backpack over your shoulder, your feet carrying you even faster towards the door when the Devil speaks.

“—Thanks, Mr. Thomas. See you!”

“Bye, Ellie! See you tomorrow.”

She makes it to the door before you, already vanishing into the crowded hallways before a calm timbre yanks you back. You spin with the brightest smile. “Yes, Mr. Thomas?”

He stares disapprovingly, and you groan, “Can I go, please? I’m gonna be late—“

“I’ll write you a slip. I need to talk to you.”

Your lax demeanor masks the pounding in your chest well enough. Mr. Thomas crosses his arms over his chest before sighing, “what’s going on with you? You’re not usually this…”

“What, stupid?” You tort humorlessly.

“No! Not at all… Distracted, I suppose, but never stupid. Don’t say that again.”

“C’mon, Thomas, everyone knows it, it’s not a big deal. Some people are smart and some are dumb. It’s just how life goes.”

“There’s no such thing as a dumb student. Everyone learns at their own pace. That’s how life goes.” He scolds, “Do you need some extra tutoring—“

“No, actually, I don’t, thanks.”

He sends you a look that’s very father-like and you almost vomit, “I want to see you succeed, that’s why I’m here. There’s so many resources available that could be of use, yet you never take them. Why is that?”

You shrug in agitation, “I don’t know, Mr. Thomas. I’m trying, okay? I can handle whatever distractions I have on my own.”

“You know some of your friends can tutor you, right? It doesn’t have to be some strict meeting with a teacher. Some students in here are tutors. Ellie’s on a roll with—“

“Can we not discuss how much smarter my classmates are than me? I'd really appreciate it.”

He sighs disapprovingly, “That’s not my intention and you know it. There’s no shame in asking for help from people around you.”

“Is this a therapy session?”

“No, but the semester’s almost over. If you don’t pass your midterm and your final, you’ll fail the class, and you’ll be stuck with me for another year.”

You scoff at the insinuation of your demise, “Wow, thanks so much, Mr. Thomas,” His gaze turns sorrowful — pitying. Your feet already carry you towards the door. “Don’t worry about that slip by the way!”

You ignore the calls of your name before getting shoved into the ocean of students. There’s only one more class you have to sit through and you’re fucking free. Ellie’s not the only one you should look out for. Even teachers are becoming biased pests.

Just when you thought the walk home from school would be peaceful, mainly due to the fact that Ellie was nowhere to be found — not twenty feet ahead or behind you. You hoped her dad’s car got stuck in the open trench by the gas station.

But no, she’s already made it home — to your home, squatted beside her stupid blue bike with a flat tire, tirelessly reviving her ride with a pump that looks awfully familiar. She’s practically blocking the entire walkway. Your day cannot get any fucking worse.

You stand in front of her in annoyance, “Can you move?” She doesn’t reply, barely acknowledges you.

“Hellooo, Earth to dickhead, I’m trying to get home.”

“Go around.” She nods towards the street.

“What, so I can get hit by a car?”

“Hopefully.”

“Go away! You live over there!” Your finger jabs to her dungeon. “You could’ve pumped your own goddamn tire away from my domain!”

“I don’t wanna walk all the way back.”

“Back where?”

“To your house. Your dad let me use your guys’ pump.”

Red alarms sound in your head. Your dad allowed the enemy into your dominion? Rage explodes within you when playful green eyes pan over your entire form.

“That bothers you?”

“You bother me. I hate your guts and I always will. You know what you did to me.” You stomp around her worksite. Before you can kick your front door in, she hollers at you.

“I don’t actually, but alright. Make sure to let Thomas know.”

Your head whips in her direction, gaze searing trails of fire onto the sidewalk.

“What does Thomas have to do with anything?”

Ellie shrugs nonchalantly, “He emailed me earlier. Asked me to tutor you. Said you could use some extra guidance.”

She uses your shock to her advantage, pins you where you stand before rising to her full height. Her dirty fucking shoes pan through the dead grass of your yard.

“If you wanna flunk, keep doing what you’re doing. Stay up all night and read until your eyes bleed only to forget everything the second you get to class because you’re scared of being wrong,” her teeth shine underneath the afternoon sun, “nobody’s rooting for you, not even yourself. I’m your last shot at making a comeback. I’ll get you that C if you want it. All you have to do is say please.”

Flames of humiliation engulf you from head to toe. Never in your life have you had a stranger degrade you this strongly. Insults from family are always painful but after a certain point, you grow used to hearing what they don’t like about you. Ellie doesn’t know anything about you yet she’s reading you like that stupid scientology novel she always has in her backpack.

You don’t even have the wind to tell her to go fuck herself before yanking the front door open and flinging yourself inside. It slams when you fall back against it and you swear you hear scoffing from outside.

“Hey.”

Does he not notice your distress or is he simply uncaring? “… Hi, dad.”

“How was school?”

“Fun.”

“Sounds like it. I made pizza.” Little does he know, food is the last bit of your worries.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm.”

“Dad?”

“Yeah, hun.”

Am I a disappoint? Do you regret having me? Do you like me… I know you love me, but do you like me?

“… Did you buy some more hot honey?”

“Course, baby. On the counter.”

“Thanks.”

He nods at you before refocusing on the match. That’s as much conversation you’ll get from him until tomorrow. You reheat your pizza silently, mind focused on the fucking aggravating genius right outside your doorstep. You don’t want to be in range when she gives the bike pump back. The both of them might team up to demean you together.

Days like today remind Ellie why she misses her skateboard. Twelve-year-old her must’ve been in denial or incredibly lost when she begged Joel for a bicycle.

She hardly ever rides it anymore, it just sits in the corner of the garage collecting dust and cobwebs, but nostalgia hit her harder than usual today. Could be due to the change in weather, the cold always takes her back to those family getaways in the mountains. Not a day goes past where she doesn’t think about that deer she found laying in the snow when she was eight.

There aren’t many moments where Ellie gets to decompress: she’s always busy, drowned to the knee with novels and notebooks and annotation assignments or helping a classmate proofread their final papers. She doesn’t remember the last time she got home and simply wasted away doing nothing. There are parts of her that envy students who have that privilege, but every time her schedule slows for any reason, she grows antsy and her fingers twitch with eagerness to solve something.

That’s why she pulled this stupid bike out of the garage. She assumed taking a lap or two around the block would pass time, but she hardly made it down the driveway before her front tire started stuttering.

Why the hell did she think asking your dad for that pump was a good idea? Not that Ellie cares if you do or not, but it definitely wasn’t her smartest moment. She’ll get you one of these days. Catch you when you least expect it and press about your fucking issue with her because, frankly, she’s been confused for half a decade.

Not that you’d ever care, but you’re not Ellie’s cup of tea either. You’ve been the same since you were five: loud and reckless with unpredictable mood swings. You just… do shit, and Ellie despises nothing more than people that just do shit; Your brain runs on impulse. You never see the world past your little bubble, and there’s a reason why people are so prone to pop it for you. Every move you make feels spiteful, especially if Ellie catches you in the act. You’re always there, staring at her, watching her with conviction. She’s provoked every time.

It's gotten easy to ignore your bombarding personality. You’re ignorable, but you got her out of character today. She hates stooping down to your level but you took her there once again, and she’ll resent you for that like always.

She feels hollow knocking on your front door. Her brain won’t stop replaying what you said and what she said and this is why she loathes interacting with you.

The door opens and she realizes she was holding her breath.

“Hey, Ellie! Your bike alright?”

“Yeah, I uhh… yeah, sorry,” she extends the pump and your dad accepts it graciously, “Thanks.”

“Anytime… Hey, you have class with my daughter, right?”

A few every year. It sucks. She nods.

“How’s she doin’? She looked real down today.”

Yeah. Because she sucks. “I’m not sure. I don’t really pay that much attention to be honest.”

“Of course, ‘cause you actually do what you’re supposed to in class! I wish she was more like you!” He’s laughing but Ellie’s not, hiding her discomfort with a stiff smile.

“Thanks again,” she points towards the bike pump before shifting away from the door, “have a good night.”

“You, too!” He grins, “if you see anything outta the ordinary, don’t hesitate to let me know!” Ellie nods with a stiff wave. Her feet couldn’t carry her off your porch fast enough.

The door shuts, and Ellie releases the second breath she’s held since speaking to you. There’s an icky feeling in her stomach, distaste in her mouth, but she can’t pin where from. Her bike wheels whine the entire walk back to her house. 40 feet suddenly feels like 10 miles.

She uncaringly drops her bike beside her dad’s truck before entering the house.

“Is the alien invasion upon us?”

Ellie’s replies dryly, “Could be.”

“I’ll be damned! Come in here for a second, Ellie. I need your help with somethin’.”

She sighs before reluctantly entering the kitchen where Joel leans, practically bent over the counter with a rubber-gloved hand shoved down the drain.

“Compromising position.”

“Shut up, c’mere… I may or may not’ve dropped a fork in here ‘n I can’t reach it…”

“Dude, again?” Ellie grabs the lone rubber glove that rests on the counter.

“Don’t give me that! I’ve had enough shit-talkin’ from Sarah.”

Ellie’s eyes go sparkly, “She here?”

“Not yet, kiddo. She just called earlier, she misses you.”

“She didn’t call me.” Ellie pouts. It’s weird, to go from living across the hall from somebody for so many years then only seeing them twice a year if that. When Sarah left for college, Ellie was devastated, excited, anxious, sad all over again. She’s everything Ellie desires to be: intelligent, talented, tall, pretty. In some ways, Sarah’s filled the vacancy that was reserved for Ellie’s mother. Joel’s a great parent and she loves him to death, but he’s not a girl, and there will always be something that he simply doesn’t understand no matter how hard he tries. Sarah will always be Ellie’s greatest blessing. Home is home — home is comfort, but without Sarah… there’s an emptiness in these four walls that fit the shape of her perfectly. Joel feels her absence, too. Ellie notices his longing whenever she catches him searching Sarah’s old room when they’re folding laundry.

“Compromising position.” Joel mocks when Ellie’s smaller hand shoves inside the garbage disposal in search for the missing fork. She throws him a middle finger and he laughs, deep and hearty.

“You’re quiet today.” He says suddenly, and Ellie stiffens a bit, eyes glued onto clean stainless steel.

“Always quiet, old man.”

“Well, yeah… something’s bothering you. What happened?”

“Just school stuff, nothing crazy.” She definitely won’t, and she partially blames herself for her own damning. You seemed so upset before you slammed the door in her face. It didn’t matter if you were on your last legs, ever since middle school, you’ve always gotten the last word, and Ellie’s always caught scrabbling for a rebuttal.

Joel hums. Ellie nearly chokes on air when he inquiries,

“What, you gotta girlfriend?”

“What the hell, no, of course not, are you serious—“

“Damn… I was kiddin’ but I think you actually might, you’re all cherry-faced! What’s her name! Is she coming over for Christmas!—“

Ellie pulls the butchered fork free from the disposal with all her strength before tossing it and the glove on the counter. Joel’s hysteria weighs his shoulders down, wiping the joyful tears from his eyes.

“I’m going to bed.” Ellie states stoically.

“AWW, C’MON! IT’S NOT EVEN 6 YET!” She rolls her eyes when his wheezing starts back up.

Ellie leaves trails of fire all the way up the stairs, Joel’s giggly apologies and begs for her to come back silencing when her door shuts. Her palms find the caves of her eyes. Her body betrays her, brain pleading to climb underneath her mattress and sleep away the stress of today while her fingers itch to craft or sketch or repair anything.

… She should’ve been nicer to you. Fuck.

Her thoughts leap from point A to B: go apologize, help you pass math, go your separate ways for the rest of forever. But you could’ve been nicer to her, also. Why won’t you just be nice?

Ellie goes against her better judgement and nearly sprints to her window. When she yanks her blinds down just enough to peep through, she locates the glass that guards your room.

She swears she’s not some fucking weird pervert. She’s just checking to see if you’re alive and ripping up your favorite posters like you always do when you’re mad about something. But there’s no movement from your end and it’s dark where you stay. Are you sleeping? Are you on your phone? Are you…

Did she make you sad?

Anger is different — that comes about as naturally as being happy for you, but she hasn’t seen you cry since elementary school. Why does her heart start thrashing when she envisions your red eyes and tear-soaked pillow? Ellie doesn’t like you but she doesn’t want that. Maybe she desired to see you crack when you were little but that was because…

Ellie doesn’t fucking know what she felt at the time. Agitated that everyone liked you so much, annoyed at how loud you laughed in class. Envious of your light. You were so bright — annoyingly so, shining your blasphemous rays everywhere, blinding everyone in your vicinity. There’s no way you’d give anyone the power to dim your shine.

That aggravating feeling blooms in her chest when she thinks about the amount of times she’s tried to do just that, and something tickles in her throat. It’s too thick to swallow down and she takes that as a sign. Enough sight-seeing for today.

She plummets face first into her mattress, groaning in annoyance when her cheeks catch flame. You drive her insane. You and your adorable fucking nose.

Just when she thinks she’s calmed down, knocks echo from outside her door.

“Kid… Can I come in?”

Ellie’s tempted to say not right now, but she forces herself up to open the door for him. Sorrow flashes in Joel’s vision. “M’sorry, kiddo, ‘bout earlier. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t, today just sucked.”

“Talk t’me.” He implores gently. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I just…” Ellie shrugs lamely. Why is it so easy to talk to him about everything but you? “I don’t wanna talk about it right now. I will, but not now.”

He sighs, and she knows he’s concerned, but he doesn’t pry. “Okay, baby—”

“Can I have a hug?” Ellie coughs to mask the crack in her timbre, and Joel embraces her without hesitation. His hold is strong and it brings her solace. For the time being her mind silences, and shoulders aren’t as tense.

Hold onto this until tomorrow.

Until she sees you again.

School has always been predictable.

You come in, you sit for hours and run for one, and you leave with nothing, everything, and the little specks in between. You knew math would be a little awkward after your conversation with Mr. Thomas — you expected him to call on you more often to answer questions or say your name obnoxiously loud during attendance, but the patronizing never came. You took it as him sparing you until the following day until you received an email from him during your last period asking to speak with you. Much to your mistake, you accepted.

Never during your entire high school career did you think that you’d be stuck getting scolded by your favorite teacher with Ellie Williams sitting right next to you. What a turn of fucking events.

“You’re not spending another year with me. You’re going to do better,” Mr. Thomas’ tone is gentle with a sharp edge, but it’s not degrading, “my friend here is willing to help you get to where you want to be. I feel this will be beneficial for both of you.”

Your teacher gestures to Ellie who’s annoyingly fidgety: messing with the loose strings from the slits in her jeans. You’re doing a stellar job at keeping your distaste in check. No need for another scolding.

“Tell you what. If you pass the midterm, I’ll throw a pizza party.”

“I hate tomatoes.”

“… Then we’ll have a to-be-determined party.”

“Hooray.” You grab your stuff and stand, slinging your bag over your shoulder, “anything else, Thomas?”

“Yes. Be nice to each other. We’re all friends here.” For once, his statement is for both of you. It’s a little comforting. At least you’re not the only one being corrected for adjustment.

“Let’s go.” You say to Ellie who follows in your lead. You’re already out the door before she can finish saying her goodbyes.

You only slow when rushing feet pitter from behind. When Ellie catches up, neither of you speak. You guess you don’t have to. She’s only scheduled to study with you for an hour anyway, there’s no need to waste it on pointless conversation.

You only set one boundary.

“Can we study at your place?”

Ellie pauses before nodding. The silence upholds the entire walk to Ellie’s house. She takes a deep breath before unlocking her front door. “My dad’s working, so… yeah. It’ll actually be quiet when we’re studying.”

You say nothing. You set your backpack on the kitchen table to grab your math book and pencils. Ellie takes a seat beside you with her own notebook, opening it to the lesson from today.

“Midterms are usually easier than finals, there's not as much to remember, so… um, what area are you struggling in?”

An insecure itch squiggles in your nose and you scratch it. You shrug and play with your eraser.

“We can do,” she flips through her pages, “x,y solutions if you wanna, just to start. They were from Thomas’ review the other day.”

Your cheeks heat at the memory. Suddenly there’s thirty pairs of eyes on you all over again. “Sure, Ellie.”

“Okay.” She turns to a fresh page before scribbling and her handwriting is perfect. The equation is familiar and easy. You were half expecting her to give you some crazy shit to kick off. She slides her notebook beside you and you don’t hesitate to input the values. You allow her to examine your work with a dry mouth.

“That’s right.”

Goosebumps rise on your skin and your cheeks go warm and you don't know why.

“Uh, good job, I’ll give you something harder.”

She adds another equation onto the page for you to complete but you’re not paying attention. Ellie’s hands are very large. She’s always had freakish man hands but the definition in her veins is much more prominent than in sixth grade. What the fuck? Her pencil looks like a needle in between her fingers. They look so out of place on her dainty wrist, not that you care.

“Uhh… hello.”

“What.”

“You can do it now. Solve it.”

“… Okay.”

The question in front of you is the same format as the first one, but the numbers are bigger and there’s even more letters and addition signs and your chest plummets onto the hardwood. Your eyes anxiously find Ellie’s who stares back in confusion.

“What’s the matter? Need help?”

You swallow and almost choke from the dryness. You just did this problem. The structure is the same, the process of solving is the same, but you're too focused on how Ellie’s going to react to you messing up. She’ll probably brag about how it’s not that hard and berate you about how you’re not that stupid. Perfectionists like her — like your dad are ruthless. Their superiority complex makes them yell and scream insults at you because you’ll never be where they are. You'll never be a match for their genius and in turn, they choose to resent you.

So you wait for the low blows, the hollering, the threats of punishment. You wait and wait but she doesn’t say anything until she does.

“Hey… you okay?”

“What do you think, Ellie?”

Tension pulls at her brows, “what do you mean?”

In hindsight, she’s done nothing wrong up until this point, she's staring a little too hard for your liking. She’s the only one here, you have no choice but to give her the spotlight she loves so badly. Anything to get it off you.

“This is probably fun for you, watching me fuck up in real time. Is that why you agreed to do this for me? For an ego boost?”

Why does she say your name like you’re hurting her? She’s never sounded so wounded; always prepared to strike back whenever you give her unfiltered attitude, retaliating until she’s blue in the face and you’re storming off in the opposing direction.

“I don’t care if you mess up. I’m here to help you, why don’t you get that?”

“Because when have you ever given a shit if I do well or not? I’ve been a delinquent since we met, why are you so interested now?”

She scoffs and tosses her pencil in annoyance. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Apparently I’m the only one that missed the memo of hating your guts. News fucking flash, I don’t and I never did. Whatever shit you made up about me in your head isn’t my problem to fix,” she closes her notebook with more force than necessary, “if you don’t want my help then tell Thomas so he can get off my back about it. Find somebody else to teach you or don’t or whatever, I don’t care anymore.”

...

… Oh.

It could be the way she’s staring at you: eyes stern, self-assured and her voice heavy, a bit deeper than expected when she’s aggravated, and the spots on her face compliment the red hot that burns in her cheeks, but you have very little — actually nothing to say, and it’s not for the reason you expected. You’re stunned into silence, and that confuses her: she half-expected you to take that pencil you hold and stab her through the neck, but you don’t. You don’t storm off, you don’t talk shit, you just sit and examine her face with a faraway look she’s never seen from you before.

“What?” She implores when you stare too long for comfort, and there’s a lengthy, tender tug in your chest.

You’re positive the end of the world is coming in the next ten seconds. None of the Earthly shit you’ve experienced will matter in the afterlife and the world you know will cease to exist and you’re thankful for that. You don’t think you’d be able to live any longer with the knowledge that you viewed Ellie in an incredibly different manner during her winded, angered dialogue. There’s a weird fluttering sensation in your stomach and your heart sits at the base of your throat. It waves over your body with an unfamiliar intensity and all you can do is gawk at the girl who took your breath.

“I— I’m…”

“You’re what? What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m… I think I should go.” You’re already shoveling your things into your backpack, and Ellie’s insanely puzzled.

“Wh—“

“Sorry. I just got lightheaded all of a sudden,” you sling your back over your shoulder before neatly pushing the dining chair in. You’ve never pushed in a chair in your life.

“Are you… are you good? Do you need me to walk you back?”

Her concern makes your tummy burst into flutters, “I'll be fine. Same time tomorrow?” You force down the dreaminess in your voice as Ellie follows close behind.

“Um… okay? I guess, I thought you—“

“I think we should start over.”

It’s almost comedic how far Ellie’s eyes bulge from her skull. Why do you feel so featherlight all of a sudden? “Let’s forget today ever happened and start fresh tomorrow? Is that cool?” Never once in your life have you cared if Ellie was cool with any of your plans. Who are you right now?

“I — well, yeah… cool, I guess. Are you sure you’re okay? You’re acting really fucking weird right no—“

You squeeze the lone book closer to your chest. “I’m fine, trust me. Goodnight.”

When you open the door, Ellie’s dad is on the other side struggling to find his keys in his work bag. He smiles down at you in surprise.

“Hey, kid! It’s been a while, how’ve you been! How’s dad?” Only Ellie notices the wavering looks he shares between you and her. You smile, “been good, dad’s fine. I was just heading out. Thanks again, Ellie.” You say one last time before politely brushing past Mr. Miller, leaving Ellie to simmer and question what the fuck you took before you got here.

When you're finally out of sight, Joel gives Ellie a knowing look, and she almost throws up from giddy nerves. Or full fleshed anxiety. Whichever ones worse.

Is it possible to lose your mind before its fully developed?

You knew something was off when you set an alarm for five-thirty in the morning to get ready for school despite getting two hours of sleep in, yet still, you felt rejuvenated. You freshened up with your favorite body wash, plucked your brows, did a facemask, wore something that wasn’t the prior evening's pajamas. For the first time in your life since elementary school, you were excited to start the day and be productive. You don’t know why.

Purposefully ignoring your change in attitude due to your neighbor is your favorite pass-time.

You’re not sure what the hell happened to you at Ellie’s house, but it definitely solidified that you’re clinically insane. Delusional enough that whenever she meets your eyes in class your breathing pattern goes wonky. She nodded at you in greeting during English class and you nearly fainted. What the fuck has happened to you?

Ellie was everything you detested less than 48 hours ago and now she’s leaving you with unrest that isn’t entirely displeasent. It makes you warm and tingly like a cup of warm tea on a cold morning. That’s not what you expected forgiveness to feel like, but it’s nice. Comforting.

You didn’t see Ellie during lunch, and much to Riley’s confusion, you were disappointed. You and Ellie are nowhere near friends, but you’re trying, and she seems to be receptive to your efforts. In her own little geeky, awkward way. Might as well show your appreciation. She’s helping you out after all.

After years of depending on Riley for emotional stability, you could use someone new.

So you wait perched up against the front of the school for your tutor. The anticipation makes you jittery, pacing across the small grass plain, kicking lone rocks, telling yourself to calm the fuck down because you’ve walked home with her since you were nine only this time around you’re not seperate but together—

“Sup.”

You whip around at the call of your name, “hi.” You’re cheesing, can’t help it. Forgiveness is a great feeling. Ellie barely smiles back but it’s a start.

“Um, we’re still at your house, right?”

“Mhm, why, wanna go to yours?”

“No!”

Ellie flinches, and you scramble to recover. “I mean… I’d rather not, sorry. I’d just… rather not.”

She eyes you skeptically before relenting. “… Okay.”

“Shall we?” You gesture to the path to your neighborhood, but before you can lead the way, a hand clamps around your bicep, firm and stilling with something softer. You can’t move, and you don’t want to, the only proof of life being the constant palpitations in your ribcage.

“Are you listening?”

Nope. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked if we’re, like… I don't know, good? Are we okay? I don’t know what’s happening, you’ve been so…” Her sentence trails, unsure of how to describe the arc you’re on. The arc of forgiveness.

“Ellie… I forgive you for what happened in fifth grade. And everything after.”

She squints. “What?”

“I forgive you… I’m just hoping you forgive me, too?”

“Uh… yeah… I forgive you, sure.” And she wears it so well. Her dirty shoes don’t bother you as much anymore. Joy thrums from the deep workings of your heart. “Friends?”

“… Sure?”

“C’mon then, friend. We got some math to do.” You squeal and throw your arms around her. She tenses but doesn’t push you off.

You hold her the entire walk, and some time during, she relaxed into you.

Ellie never thought she’d fall victim to an alien abduction and end up trapped in another dimension with a nice you, but she’s here, and surprisingly, she’s enjoying it. The one secret she’ll never tell.

She’s not sure where this switch up came from, and honestly, she’s scared to find out, but she can’t help but be drawn to the shyer, timid side of you. Whenever she encourages or applauds your efforts on paper, your eyes go wide and glossy, and her heart squeezes in delight.

There are times when she’s speaking, like now— light introductions about graphing parabolas, where she catches you mindlessly glancing over her features. She didn’t mind it initially — merely assumed that staring was your studying tic, but the longer she teaches, the deeper your gaze becomes, and the more uncomfortable she grows, even more than her disappointment whenever you look away.

“Does that make sense?” She finally croaks when she finishes her graph, and you nod like you have no idea what she just said but simply can’t be bothered. She can’t help the upturn of her lips.

“Can I test you?” She asks, and her heart thumps when your lashes flutter. She doesn’t wait for your response before creating a function table on the spot — albeit more complicated, but she needs to see if you’re progressing.

When you take the pencil out of her hand and start scribbling, she can’t help but stare now. She watches you work silently, eyes cascading over your focused vision, each twitch of your nose, how you bite your bottom lip in thought. You erase and correct whatever mistake you’ve written and Ellie can’t the tiny smile that rises in her cheeks. Recognizing that something could be wrong is a telling sign of improvement. The kitchen is suddenly awfully warm.

You exhale before setting the pencil flat on the table and sliding Ellie the graphing paper.

“Don’t be nervous.” She comments when you start fidgeting with your eraser.

You scoff, “can’t help it.”

Ellie rolls her eyes before scanning your work. When she notices the messy erasing on your graph lines, she snickers — she’s not grading you on how perfect the lines are but that didn’t stop you from fixing them at least seven times.

“What, I failed?”

“Nhm… it’s correct actually. Impressive.”

“Impressive. What are you, 50?” You mock playfully.

“Shut up, people see graphs and start pissing themselves, you did good.”

“I was one of those people.”

“And now you’re not, just needed a little elbow grease.”

“Elbow grease! You are 50, good God almighty.”

Ellie scoffs. “Elbow grease isn’t an old saying! It’s used in every hard-working context.”

“Oh, brotherr—“

“Shut up!” You and Ellie’s laughter blend together. The rest of your lesson resumes with such and Ellie couldn’t be more grateful.

Time passes with delight, and before either of you know it, Joel is unlocking the front door while Ellie helps you organize your books. Neither of you notice his observing, and he’s thankful; Ellie would probably throw a fit if she caught him lurking, but he can’t help the glee he feels whenever Ellie laughs, and she's in hysterics with every joke you crack. Out of all the students that have visited the house, you’re the only one that’s garnered such a reaction out of his daughter. She's usually serious in a school-related setting, but you encourage her benevolence.

“Hey Mr. Miller!” You wave and Ellie sighs.

“Hey, kid… how’s the lesson going?”

“Fine. We just finished.” Ellie says with the hopes that he’ll relocate so she can walk you out without hassle.

“I think I’m getting smarter, Miller!”

“You were already smart.” He charms, and you blow a playful raspberry. Your bag strap rests on your shoulder and Ellie leads you to her front door.

“We should do something fun, Ellie.” Her and Joel’s ear perk at the same time at your invitation. The two of you cautiously eye the older man who scurries into the living room.

“… Like what?” She’s suddenly nervous, eyes flitting wherever yours aren’t.

“I don’t know, but I’ve been grounded and I’m bored. If I show my dad some of the work we’ve been doing he’ll probably let me off! Do you like arcades?”

A noise reminiscent of a heart monitor flatlining blares in Ellie’s head at your inquiry. You’re asking her to spend time with you outside of school? She fucking loves arcades but she can’t say that because her jaw’s on the floor.

“… Ellie?” You say, and she nods stupidly, but that doesn’t soothe the small flash of dejection in your eyes. “You don’t have to go. I was just asking.”

“NO!”

You flinch away from her and Joel hollers for Ellie from the living room to check in.

“I’M FINE!” She screams before looking at you, “Not no, I mean yes… I mean I’d love to! I’d love to go to an arcade,” her lips snap shut before she allows a with you to escape, “They, uh… there’s one not too far from school. We can just walk there after.”

When you smile, her heart throbs. Every time you smile at her, the organ cracks open in her chest to leave a spot just for you. She’s already plotting her own academic bribery so your dad can release you from confinement.

“Cool. I’ll ask Riley if she wants to come.”

Ellie’s mind whirs at the mention of a third. Riley’s nice; you all share English together, and though she and Riley don’t speak often, she never fails to give Ellie kutos on her writing skills whenever they peer edit. Riley is nice. She shouldn’t feel so disappointed that you’re bringing a friend on your…

She’s too ahead of herself. She was stupid enough to think that you’d wanna go on a date with her after a decade of bickering bullshit. That’s a result of swallowing down your crush for years out of fear of being rejected. She doesn’t even know if you like girls. She doesn’t know if you like anyone. If you do, you never disclose it.

“… You good?”

Ellie blinks rapidly, “Yeah, m’good, sorry. That sounds fun.”

With your phone already in hand, you say, “gimme your number.” You don’t comment on the shakiness in Ellie’s voice when she recites her digits. When her phone dings on the table, you mumble, “Text me, okay?”

“Yeah… promise.”

Is this flirting? Ellie doesn’t know — granted, she couldn’t tell the difference between right and left with a compass at the moment, but the fuzziness in her head is enough to convince her that your smile is more than friendly. Or she’s fucking delusional, could be one or the other. Both or neither. Regardless, she really doesn’t want you to go—

Wait, what.

“Night,” you say so softly she almost misses it, and she replies just the same. When the door clicks shut, Ellie’s forced to sit with the irreversible concave you’ve left in her chest. Her head rests against the door to gather herself, long enough to garner the attention of her dad.

“Somethin’ you wanna tell me?”

“I don’t think want is the right word.”

Who wants to come clean about their repressed infatuation with their sorta friend? Certainly no one sane, but Ellie hasn’t felt normal since the beginning of the month.

When she finally picks herself up, she finds Joel propped against the wall with his arms folded, an inquisitive look in his eye. You’ve piqued his interest. Fuck.

“We’ve never really talked about those lessons.”

“Nothing to talk about.”

“… Alright.” He sighs in mock defeat, “you know I won’t push you, but Christmas is ‘round the corner and I think it’d be best to plan somethin’ for your new frie—“

“I think I like her.”

It’s said with such anguish; a fear of unrequited affection that slammed into her out of the blue, but it’s unrepairable now. Her next breath wobbles and Joel’s by her in an instant, large hands cradling her scorching cheeks. Her eyes water in embarrassment so she keeps them glued downward.

“C’mon now, darling, look here.” Joel encourages softly, and Ellie reluctantly matches his gaze, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. He doesn’t hesitate to catch it with his thumb.

“Whatever you’re feeling is a hundred percent normal. I’ve never seen you like this about somebody, it’s meant to be.”

“… What if she doesn’t like me?”

“I don’t think that's the problem, baby. She goes all doe-eyed when you’re explaining… quantum theory or whatever the hell—“

Ellie can’t hold her laugh, and her shine cracks Joel’s smile even wider.

“Wanna call Sarah?” He suggests gently, and Ellie nods.

“C’mon, we got some story to tell.”

Two weeks until your incoming doom. Or midterms if simplified. Fuck.

The closer the day gets, the more anxiety-riddled your lessons with Ellie become. Your new friend is incredibly reassuring, especially after you nearly toppled her to the ground in celebration of your D turning into a D+ after your last 3 assignment postings. Not only did you complete your math homework by yourself, but your answers were correct without cheating.

Your dad told you ‘good job’ during breakfast this morning and you cried on the way to school. Happy tears. Accomplished tears. He finally thinks your efforts are worth something.

… Maybe even worth a trip to the arcade?

You don’t discuss your tutoring sessions with him that often, but he’s aware that Ellie’s aiding you to success. You know he respects her — sometimes you think more than you, but whatever — so maybe, just maybe, he won’t be against pausing your punishment for one night.

You use your text threads with Ellie as an emotion stabilizer on the walk home. Fried memes and screen recordings of her Roblox fights are doing wonders for your thrashing heart. You can see your home and your dad’s truck in the driveway.

Each step up the porch stairs is torture.

You’re not shocked to find your dad on the couch eating popcorn. It’s routine at this point, and somehow, that makes your nerves worse.

“Hey, hon. Hungry? I made mac and cheese.”

Your stomach growls as if commanded.

“Um… can we eat together?”

His eyes unglued from the television and fell onto you, widened with shock at your proposal. Neither of you remember the last time you ate at the same table.

He pauses before mumbling.

“Of course we can.”

Something kick starts within your dad; he’s up and setting the table with a nice cloth and decorative plates, the fancy golden forks and spoons that are reserved for guests that never show, thick napkins, all with the dish of crusted mac and cheese set in the middle.

You both have washed up and changed, in fresh pjs and clean hands. Your dad eagerly fixes your plate first.

“How was school, honey?”

A pang hits deeps in your chest at the empty memory. It’d been your mother’s birthday and you and your dad had planned a celebratory dinner for her. The same exact meal; mac and cheese, broccoli, and chicken, then pie for dessert because she hated cake. Served the exact same way every year until it was no longer necessary.

“Great.” Because for once, school is great. School is cordial.

“I checked your grades.”

Your chest plummets but you reach for your fork to mask it. You’re aware of where your grades lie due to your obsessive reviewing.

“My grades aren’t accurate, not yet at least,” you begin rambling in efforts to appease, “there’s still assignments that haven’t been graded yet—“

“You’re making a comeback. Good job.”

… Shit.

Two praises in one day? The only time you’ve felt this accomplished was when you’d ridden your scooter for the first time without eating dirt. He bought you ice cream after.

You were seven. It couldn’t have been that long without some form of encouragement.

Could it?

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that.”

“M’kay.”

“You know Ellie’s been tutoring me, and uh, she’s really good at it. Obviously...”

He’s nodding but his eyes are piercing.

“I… I thought I’d thank her. I’m on a really good track because of what she’s been doing and… yeah.”

“How are you going to thank her?”

You swallow down any hesitance.

“The arcade after school. Her… her ‘n me. And Riley.”

“And Riley.” He repeats detachedly.

The fire in your cheeks is enough warning that this was a mistake.

“When were you planning on going?”

“Um… Friday night.”

“What time.”

“After school.”

“And when would you be back?”

“Um… it closes at 8… so 8:30?”

His gaze drops down to his untouched plate, then yours. He relishes in the silence while you decay right in front of him.

“Seven.”

“Huh?”

“Be home by seven.”

Your chest flurries with excitement and appreciation and everything you haven’t felt for your father in so long.

“Thank yo—“

“I need you to understand something.” His sternness crushes your smile.

“This isn’t some pass for you to go behind my back and do bullshit. The second you get home, the routine is back. You go and study with her and come back here. No funny shit, do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

Your meekness doesn’t satisfy him. “Do you understand me?”

“I understand, dad.”

He nods once before grabbing his fork.

“Eat your food.”

#ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ellie williams fluff #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪#ellie williams tlou

399 notes · View notes

yoursweetheartsrevenge · 2 months ago

Text

Far & Away

Summary: On the morning of her marriage to Cregan Stark, Jacaerys’ twin sister, Jacaera runs off into the melting spring snow of the North. He knows his twin well enough to find her, but convincing her to return to her unwanted ceremony could be beyond his reach.

Warnings: unrequited love, unwanted betrothal, twincest love

Pairing: Jacaerys Velaryon x twin oc, Jacaera Velaryon, Cregan Stark x oc, Jacaera Velaryon

Word Count: 2K+

Author’s Note: For @hotd-bigbang spring prompt challenge, prompt three. Dare I dive into twincest, lightly?

Read on Ao3

Jace knew he could call her name all day and still receive no answer.

It was not only for her need not to be found, but her wickedly clever ease in hiding. Even in the unfamiliar terrain of cold spring snow, his twin, the lovely and mousey Jacaera was a formidable hider. She blended with the world so seamlessly, oftentimes she would be forgotten about.

Jacaerys never forgot his sister.

Their bond was strong as twins tended to be. It was why this morning he felt a sudden uncertainty at first light. He was meant to be the witness to the marriage ceremony between the darling princess and the Northern ruler. His mother was off to scold his step-father at Harrenhal whilst his other siblings were in hiding. His cousins had their duties as well. He would have liked Baela to accompany him. A woman’s touch and understanding would have eased his sister more. He would have liked even more if Luke was able to be here. Sadly that would never be the case.

He tracked through the thin snow pulling his cloak to him. Despite Cregan Stark’s insistence that the weather was quite warm for this time of year, Jace still felt as if his arse was frozen. Jacaera had complained of the cold the moment they landed in Winterfell. He may have seen tears upon her face as she dismounted her dragon, Silverwing.

He could guess that was what she had been looking for this morning. Sensing his sister’s unease he had hidden away their dragons in a less noticeable area of Winterfell. He had hoped his sister would honor her duty in marrying Cregan Stark.

Jacaerys’ hopes had been dashed the moment he had revealed her bed chambers this morning.

Empty.

Gods be good if he did not find her . . .

“Jacaera!” It was a moment of desperation in the cool air. His breath rolled out in white wisps.

He looked about at the trees coated in traces of snow. Lord Stark had been right. The snow was melting in the spring season. The cold was stuttering if only slightly. The sun had barely risen, darkness still had a hold in the sky. It would be more difficult to find her.

He moved across the snowy field outside the castle walls a bit longer. Jace called her name out a few times feeling his heart race. He could not let his mind dwell on thoughts of her frozen and alone. All for what? Because she did not want to marry the Stark man? It was not a betrothal to be expected as Luke and his betrothal had been etched out since childhood.

It was a hasty peace offering decided by the Black Council. He had even agreed upon it. Cregan was a friend. He knew he would be a good and honorable husband to his sweet sister. He would treat her with kindness and respect.

It was what Jacaera Velyaron deserved.

A husband who treated her right.

Northerners were often seen as brutes, but he had spent time with Cregan.

He was nothing like those tales.

Jace heard a slight shift, a distant whimper.

His steps quickened. Between two trees he saw the lithe body in a white lace dress and the spray of dark brown hair against the pure white snow. His boots crushed the snow beneath him. Jace threw off his cloak quickly wrapping it around her.

“No, leave me be!” She struggled in his embrace.

“Never.” He held her shaking body. “You are an idiot, you know that? No cloak, your wedding garment? Are you mad, woman?” Her teeth chattered. She snuggled into his warmth all the same. “Was your plan to die here?”

“Secondary. I meant to fly home.” To Dragonstone he suspected.

“Jacera.”

“Jacerys.” She said his name even sterner then he had spoken hers.

He looked into her eyes. They were the same as his. Every aspect of her was nearly a mirror of his own face. Her hair was longer and more well kept. Her face was thinner as was her body. She was not lean with muscles, but instead held curves at her hips and peaks of tender small breasts that squeezed tightly to him now.

“Let us get you -”

“No, please. I can’t. I can’t marry him.” She buried herself further into his chest. He held her not able to hold back his sigh at her trepidation.

“What is it? Lord Stark will make a -”

“No, please don’t make me do it.” He felt her tremble under the cloak.

He heard her little sobs that were tremendously real. He soothed her by stroking down her spine. Her skin was so cold. Jace needed to get her inside. He shifted to stand with her but she held him tighter putting her whole body weight to keep him from standing.

“I don’t want him!” He could hear her declare it loudly despite her face buried in his chest. “I don’t want him. Please. Don’t make me do it.”

“I know. I know.” His lips tickled her forehead. Gods she was so cold. “Please let me get you inside by the fire. How long were you out here?”

She shook her head.

“I can’t go back. You can’t make me.” He could. Jacaerys could mimic the tales of wild Northmen and sling her on his back taking her back to the warm bed she had abandoned.

He wasn’t that sort of brother though.

“Sister,” He whispered softly. He pulled her back seeing her tear stained face. His thumbs wiped at the wetness. “Tell me. Tell me why you ran away this morning.”

“I don’t love him.” She said it as if it were that simple.

“You don’t know him.” It was so very true. He held her chin.

“It’s not fair. You and Luke were betrothed to our cousins. You grew up with them. You loved them. Why do I get stuck with a stranger?” Her soft whine made his heart understand her a bit more.

“Would you rather a match between our uncles?” His brow raised through his teeth clenched. The thought of his poor sister arranged to be married to Aegon, Aemond, or even Daeron was enough to make his blood boil.

“No.” Her small voice held a sniffle at the end. “I can’t, Jace. I don’t want to be cold and far away from you, from mother, from our brothers.” They were all spread out and would be spread out even further as war waged.

“We would have been far either way, my darling sister. It is the nature of growing up.” They were words repeated by his mother when he had whined over their parting. It was a fate that awaited all of them once they were of marrying age. “I’m sorry this happened sooner then expected but -”

“I’m a peace offering meant to ensure men for battle.” Her pout made him realize how this hurt her. “I’m a pawn.”

“You are not.”

“I am! Don’t lie to me! If another lord had more men I’d be shipped off there, but you picked the coldest, most hostile place for me.” He watched her teeth clench. “Mother must HATE me.”

“Jacaera,” The sternness settled in Jace’s voice. “Mother does not hate you. She loves you. You are her only daughter. She did not make this decision lightly.” He should have shared with her that he had say in at his decision as well. “I have spent much time with Lord Stark. He is a good man. He is my friend. He will treat you well.”

“That’s not what I want.” Jacaera whispered.

“You rather be treated poorly?” Jace nearly laughed. It let a smile slip from her saddened lips.

“No, I . . .I meant . . .” Her eyes then looked to him, large and darker then his own. He thought in that moment how much she looked like Harwin Strong, the father they could never acknowledge. “Jace,” Her hand snaked to his heart. Her tongue licked her upper lip slightly. “I want you. I always have. Not a northerner or anyone else in this world. I only want you.”

He blinked.

He watched her.

The prince let his breath out slowly feeling her body grow hot at the confession.

He could tell her he was betrothed to Baela. Jace could explain it could not be due to alliances that needed to be forged. He could say a hundred reasons why love between Velaryon twins was doomed from the start.

Instead he started with the truth.

“My sweet sister,” Words to soften the blow. “I am sorry, but my feelings are only the love of a brother to a sister. Nothing more.” He held her cheek. He watched Jacaera’s tears roll down her cheeks at the rejection.

“But I love you. In the way of old Valyria. I love you. Avy jorrāelan.” Her body was no longer shaking from the cold. She was trying to catch her breath as the tears could not stop. Her face pressed into his chest. He held her still.

“I am so sorry. I am so very sorry. I did not know you felt this way.” He should have seen the signs. He should have let her down sooner. Not the morning of her wedding where she was to marry his dear friend. “It is alright. It is alright. Please don’t cry.”

“It will never be alright. You should have left me here to die.”

“Never. I may not love you that way you seek, but I still love you. I still love you so very much, hāedar.” He petted her head softly letting his fingers comb through her dark brown hair. “I will protect you always. Even when I am not here I will protect you.” He decided now he could explain himself. “I helped in the decision of who you were to be betrothed to.” He felt Jacaera still in his cloak before she looked up.

“You did?”

“Yes,” He held her face in both his hands. “I did not make this decision lightly. I wanted you with someone I knew would be able to give you everything you ever wanted. Someone who would worship you. I have seen how Cregan treats his people and his kin. He is an honorable man which I do not say lightly. It is the truth. He will give you his loyalty. He will lay down his very life for you, for your happiness. No other man the council suggested would make you happier than this Northern lord would.” He brushed her hair aside noting how wild it appeared. It brought a smile to the young prince’s face. “Yes, you will have to suffer the cold, but I promise to be a raven away. “ He leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

“You promise?”

He lied.

Jace nodded his head.

He swore that oath to her.

War made him not long for this world. He knew this, but he could sense she did as well.

“And if he ever mistreats you I will kill him myself.” That notion made her laugh.

“I’m scared, Jace.” She told him as they stood among the snow. “I am scared of what is to come. I am scared of facing it alone.” He took her hand in his.

He remembered all those moments together as children doing the same.

In the Dragonpit before she claimed her dragon.

Swimming in the seas with one another.

Play fighting a bit too rough where he defended her from his uncle and Luke who always went a bit too far.

He’d miss those days. He’d miss her hand in his.

“I am as well.” He held her at her well defined hip, pulling her close. It was then that he realized how much she had grown into a beautiful woman. “But for this day we will face our futures together, hand in hand.”

Jace could hold her hand this last time, this day.

Her smile, bright in the morning sun, laid etched in his memory.

His beautiful grown sister who he loved so very deeply would never be far from his thoughts.

#jacaerys velaryon #Jacaerys Velaryon & OC #Cregan Stark x OC #jacaerys velaryon twin #hotdpicprompt

11 notes · View notes