#CHAP 12

[pinguwuuuu]

I hope y’all did your homework and read the fic this came from >:(

I’m being so fr right now, I need Shinji DIABOLICALLY. IT ISN’T FUNNY ANYMORE, RELEASE ME PLS.

[bridgeportbritt]

Creeksbrey Ballroom | Umbrage, SimDonia

Here comes the bride all dressed in white! Olivia walks up the aisle unescorted to greet her fiancé. She wears a custom Victoria Becksim column style dress with intricate floral detail along the dress and the lace sleeves. The dress is accessorized by a bowed waist and full length veil that gives her the angelic bridal look. The floral theme continues in her jewelry and hair accessories.

At the alter, Grayson and Olivia exchange vows. Grayson speaks on how their love has persevered and could withstand anything while Olivia gushes about being apart and creating a new family together. Next, the couple exchange rings, and finally go in for the big kiss before walking down the aisle as husband and wife!

Introducing Grayson and Olivia Wu-Ravikumar!

[untaemedqueen]

At Your Service

Escort!Jeongguk x CEO!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 12.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Angst, Fluff, Cold Heartedness, Emotional Trauma, Healing, Smut, Dark Humor

Warnings For This Chapter: Soft Dom!Jeongguk, Spanking, Riding, Praise, Unprotected Sex, Daddy Kink

A/N: My mouse batteries are slowly dying and I don’t have extra so this chapter is a rush job to publish. I’ll do a tag list next time probably.

Now seated at the table, Jeongguk squeezes your hand as if to let you know you don't need to be nervous.

The air since his two best friends arrived has been thick and hazy, emotions of distrust and awkwardness swimming through the atmosphere. It seems like it's a tangible thing, if you're being honest. Like the distrust from these two is going to wrap around your neck and choke you out.

It doesn't help that their eyes are hazed over with discomfort either.

They're protective.

You know this to be true but they're not putting a foot forward and you being who you are, you're immediately recoiling within yourself and trying to stack a huge wall up just in case one of them tries and offends you.

You've become soft with the escort by your side in such a short amount of time that your brain and heart are trying to make up for the damage.

Guk, who's been looking between both parties, is watching you fight the inner turmoil within yourself now. He's worked so hard to break down your walls and he won't forgive his friends if he has to start all over again.

Taehyung looks you over once more, something he's been doing since he stepped foot in this apartment.

"Dinner's almost ready," Guk announces, trying to start some flow of conversation.

Maybe Jimin's been waiting for someone to speak first but now he sits up straighter, bringing his glass of wine away from his lips.

"Has Gukkie cooked for you before, Y/N? Everything he makes is delicious!" Jimin raves, nudging the youngest's shoulder.

"No, I haven't but he did tell me that he learned to cook from his dad who worked in restaurants so I'm excited to try it," you reveal, adoring the way your boyfriend squeezes your knee affectionately.

Taehyung, who seems to be the most suspicious of you, raises his eyebrows in surprise.

"Oh," he drolls, swirling his wine in his glass, "I'm surprised he told you something like that. His ex-girlfriend Chloe didn't even know that. You do know about her, don't you?"

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes, not appreciating the tone his best friend is aiming your way.

"I do," you reply just as equally unamused, "I've even met her. She's… sad."

Jimin snorts into his glass of wine, chuckling at how completely devoid of emotion your voice sounds. "When did that happen?"

"I took Y/N with me to my grandmother's luncheon. She liked her a lot, accepted her faster than Chloe, which is only right because they're so completely different," Guk announces, standing up to check the oven.

Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look that you can only deem as surprise and they seem to be having an unspoken conversation with just looks.

You understand being protective of your boyfriend. Hell, you're protective of him too. So even though the wall is still building back up within you, you accept his two friends' caution.

"How'd you get into the wine business?" Taehyung asks, his voice a tad less judgy then previous statements.

"I don't know if Y/N wants to tell that stor-" you boyfriend begins, opening the oven.

"It's okay," you promise, cutting him off.

He looks over at you with soft eyes, trying to read your body language and expression but he finds no fierceness within you at the moment.

"I too had a significant other that was really terrible and toxic for me. When that went to shit I decided to build up an empire for myself so that my name would always be out there. I made a name for myself so he wouldn't forget. Wine just happened to be the thing I had the most knowledge in," you tell his two friends, pouring yourself another glass of the deep red alcohol.

Jimin hums in agreement, nodding thoughtfully at your words.

To be honest, when these two men met Chloe, they were immediately turned off. She carried herself in such a way that it was embarrassing to watch. She was spoiled and whiny, completely the opposite from their youngest friend.

You're completely the opposite. Even though you have a rough disposition to you, the friends are already warming up to you.

If Jeongguk is serious about you you're not going anywhere anytime soon and they're going to have to get used to this.

"Guk's been getting bottles of wine from your company for months now, maybe it was destiny," Jimin suggests with a smile.

Taehyung beside him only chooses to stare down into his glass of wine. He only looks up when he's decided on what to say. "We're very protective of him. He was hurt badly by Chloe, almost as if he was losing himself every step of the way. We just don't want to see that again."

You nod understandingly, looking over at your boyfriend who's lost himself into the role of being the host for the evening.

"I would never want to see him hurt," you reply, watching how he takes the lid off the pot carefully, "I care about him more than I care about myself."

The escorts two best friends share a look with one another and Taehyung continues to nod thoughtfully until your boyfriend speaks up.

"Okay! Dinner's ready!" he beams, passing you a new bottle of wine.

He kisses the top of your head sweetly, setting down the hot pot on the table.

When Guk looks over at his best friends while you're consumed with opening the bottle, he simply tilts his head as if to ask if they'll accept you.

Jimin gives him a cheerful wink while Taehyung begrudgingly nods.

"Good," Jeongguk hisses happily, hearing the cork pop forcefully from the bottle.

With a groan, the escort crawls into his bed beside you.

"It's a nice room," you breathe, looking around at the multitude of framed small artworks.

When Hawking jumps up onto the bed, forcing Guk closer to you with how massive he is, your boyfriend only rolls his eyes playfully.

"Thanks, buddy," he breathes, looking behind him with a wistful scowl.

"What'd you think today?" the escort inquires, drifting his lips over your shoulder.

Turning to him, you lay your head on your hand. His arm curls around your waist like needy vines and his chocolate irises bore deeply into yours. The moonlight that streaks through his windows is hazy and bright highlighting all of his perfect features for your eyes to feast on.

"I expected them to be cautious of me," you reply, allowing him to get closer.

Guk runs his finger from your waist to your hip, lifting up the short nightgown you have on.

"They warmed up. They know you aren't going anywhere," he promises, letting his fingers dig sweetly into the globes of your backside.

When you hiss softly and move closer, your boyfriend groans wantonly.

"You don't know what you do to me," he whispers, rearing his hand back to spank your backside.

You writhe beneath his touch, mewling when he immediately soothes your stinging skin.

When he goes to climb over you, Hawking won't budge for a second, already comfortable with the place that he's deemed his own for the night.

The escort rolls his eyes, trying once more before huffing out impatiently.

"I swear this dog sometimes…" he mumbles, lifting your leg over his own and showing you his simple strength by tugging you close.

You can feel how hard he is as it rests against your inner thigh. His cock is throbbing for relief and you can only bite your lower lip with anticipation.

"Tell daddy what you want," Guk hisses, pulling your lip from between your teeth with his thumb.

"You, I want you," you gasp, pressing your breasts to his chest.

"Mmm," he hums, entering his thumb into your mouth slowly.

You swirl your tongue around the digit, feeling your liquid arousal gushing out of you at the loud groan he admits from your actions.

"Fuck, look at you," your boyfriend hisses, watching how your cheeks hollow around his thumb.

When he goes to pull his hand away from your mouth, you gently bite down on him playfully.

His bottom lip purchases between his teeth and he whines softly at the sting. "Be a good girl, baby."

You let him go begrudgingly, giving him a gentle smile as he narrows his eyes at you.

"You're really asking for it tonight," he mumbles, entering you with one hard thrust.

You gasp loudly, grabbing onto his muscled arms.

"Fuck," he seethes through his teeth, dipping his head down to kiss at your breasts, "you're so damn tight."

His lips pluck sweetly at your nipple, starting a smooth, relentless pace with his thrusts.

Your mind muddles with each snap of his hips and you can barely think or string a single thought together.

You can only focus on how his smooth, thick cock fucks deeply into you, gently tapping the mushroom head to your soft cervix folds with ever thrust.

"O-Oh my God," you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut.

"That's it, baby," Jeongguk whispers breathlessly, pulling away enough to pinch and roll your nipples between his fingertips, "I love to see you so fucked out for me. I love how dumb you get on my cock."

You can only babble in response, pushing your hips down to meet his.

"You're so fucking wet, my God!" your boyfriend groans loudly, flipping you over to ride him.

Hawking lifts his head and huffs out gruffly before hopping off the bed with a yawn.

The escort spreads your knees wider, pushing the comforter off the both of you to see you in your entirety above him. His hands grip at the soft, fleshy globes of your ass roughly and you begin to ride him with as much fervor as you can muster.

"Oh fuck! Good girl!" Guk praises loudly, letting his head loll back at the pleasure.

You can only whimper, adoring how the head of his cock taps against the spongy patch of nerves within you.

"Goddamn, look at you," your boyfriend hisses, spanking your ass with strong hands.

Your skin smarts, only adding to the immense pleasure and your body shivers at the impending explosion that is readying itself within you.

"C'mere," Guk hisses, sitting up and lifting you up slightly with ease.

"I fuckin' feel it. I want you to cum all over this cock. Give it to me, baby girl," he orders, fucking up into you roughly.

You can only squeal, digging the heels of your feet into his terse thighs.

Wrapping one arm around your back, he holds you close. The warmth you feel, the closeness you feel, it only brings you that much closer to your own release.

His golden skin sings with a sheen of sweat and you can't get over how impossibly handsome he is before you. He looks up at your pleasured face as if you hold the keys to the entire galaxy and the vast beyond.

He has three words on the tip of his tongue that he won't dare say because he's afraid to push you away. He adores you in all honesty, you're the first real, tangible thing he's ever gotten the pleasure to experience.

He's falling fast and he has no hope to come up from breath anytime soon.

"Oh, baby," he moans, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck to pull you in for a kiss.

When your lips touch, it's like wildfire. The pleasure, the passion it soars through you like fireworks and you can only grip onto him in hopes of not losing yourself.

The gentle squeaks and whimpers you give against the pretty pink petals of his lips makes him put in all his effort into his thrusts.

"Daddy!" you cry out, feeling the bubble within you about to burst.

"Go ahead, baby girl. Cum on my cock," he grunts, accepting the way you bury your face into his neck.

When your thighs quiver and lock, when your cries become short and loud, your boyfriend's eyes flutter shut. Such peace, such pleasure, he's never known it like this before.

When you orgasm around him, sobbing his pet name, he pulls you down with him.

"Shit! You're incredible!" he praises as your cunt rhythmically clutches around his cock begging to milk him for all he's worth.

His thrusts become slower and harder, shivering below you until his hips stutter all together.

Ropes of his warm seed paint your walls and he whispers your name reverently, coasting his large hand over your back.

"Oh baby," he sighs softly, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes.

You don't move off of him, coddling to him like some sort of needy animal.

Pulling the blanket up with a tired arm, he covers both of your bodies.

Your hair is splayed all over his chest and your face is so perfectly nestled into his neck that he can't hope for anything else but this.

You're too tired to move, satiated beyond belief. Maybe it's the stress of the day now turning into sleepiness but your boyfriend is the most comforting body pillow below you at this moment.

Brushing your hair back and behind your shoulder, Guk lifts his head to lay it down on his arm. His fingers draw unimaginably soft random shapes to your skin and it's so peaceful to watch your face become highlighted by the moon's rays.

While you can still be deemed a puzzle, a Rubik's cube, he's slowly figuring out the answer.

When your breathing becomes more shallow, he lets himself utter the words he's been holding while he thinks you're asleep.

"I'm falling in love with you," he whispers, holding you closer to him.

Your eyes open, not daring to look up at him but you can hear the emotion in his voice. You can see the way he swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing with every one.

You know he thinks you're sleeping, you know he's speaking openly with hopes that you can't hear him right now so you let his sentence float away in the stagnant air like water down a calm river.

You're afraid to say it back. You're afraid it might be true. And you're even more afraid that you might be feeling the same way.

<------ Last Chapter       Next Chapter ----->

[fondwand]

Chapters: 12/? Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Regulus Black/James Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Marlene McKinnon/Dorcas Meadowes, Mary Macdonald/Lily Evans Potter Characters: Ensemble, Marauders (Harry Potter), marauders women, James Potter, Regulus Black, Lily Evans Potter Additional Tags: Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), POV Multiple, Literary References & Allusions, Slow Burn, long fic, Lily is my love she is not undervalued, Misunderstandings, Queer Themes, Eventual Happy Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, This author doesn't support JKR, James Potter Has ADHD, Neurodiversity, Cognitive Dissonance, Canon-Typical Violence, Women Being Awesome, Discussions of Colonialism, Desi James Potter, Intersectionality, Past Child Abuse, Jegulus, POV Lily Evans Potter, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, kiss in first chapter, but then they're idiots about it, Secret Relationship, Falling In Love, Remus Lupin & Lily Evans Potter Friendship, Female Friendship, Feminist Themes, secret friends to secret lovers to secret exes to secret....??, you shall see..., First Wizarding War with Voldemort (Harry Potter), The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Regulus Black Lives, realistic depiction of adhd Summary:

Happiness never comes easily, so it's prudent to become skilled at stealing it.

(A stolen kiss changes the course of history.)

1975 TO 1981 Long form Marauders Era Canon Divergence

[honeyhotteoks]

[definitelynotshouting]

For the WIP game, would love to know what’s up with the angst for Calo <3

HELLO KAYA MY BELOVED FRIEND!!!!! i will GLADLY tell u abt the angst i cooked up for Calo >:]

Okay in reality this is a bit more hurt/comfort than just straight up angst, i just think its way funnier to call it that. Anyway, Calo gave me a little preview of this beautiful artwork before it got posted, and it gave me instant brainrot bc secret life perpetually does insane cocomelon shit to my head whenever i think abt it. I think i have 2 fics centered around it already and by gods with this one im gunning for a third.

The basic idea is just playing off of the dialogue already in the art, BUT!!! One of my favorite things in the world is when characters in disguise reveal things about themselves that they never would if they werent wearing some sort of mask. When Calo told me that Scar knew who Grian was but was pretending not to, i saw the world's best opportunity to do a little character prodding❤️🥰

85% of this fic is in script format, since i didnt want to lose the dialogue as it came to me-- but i do plan to write things out properly and post it, once i get the brain blast for it (so if youve been wondering why i havent reblogged it yet..... YEAH THATS WHY SKDNWKDJSK)

I dont wanna give too much away, but heres one of my favorite exchanges ive written in the dialogue:

[Silence as they pick their way over to TRADER SCAR’S] GRIAN: [abruptly] Do you like it here? SCAR: Sor— repeat that? GRIAN: Do you like it here. [Looking steadily at TRADER SCAR’S] You seem… happy. SCAR: … Well, there’s a word for it. [Slowly, testing the waters] I like building. I like the canvas, I suppose. [Carefully] What about you? GRIAN: [startled] Me? SCAR: Yes, you! I mean, surely you’ve got better things to do than hang about here, right? [A playful nudge] Any canvases of your own? GRIAN: … No. Nothing like that. SCAR: [blink blonk] You aren’t a winner? GRIAN: A what? SCAR: Why, a winner, of course! That’s what this place is for, isn’t it? For— [faltering] for winners? GRIAN: You call this a win? SCAR: It’s certainly not a loss.

Theres lots of little implications that arent explicitly on-script rn that i want to write in properly later, but the atmosphere around this conversation makes me WILD whenever i think abt it💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥 pov the guy you love openly admits he does not see what happened in 3rd life as a win despite literally being here with the other winners. Pov the guy you love holds a grief so tight heay as well be pressurizing it into a diamond around his heart. IDK IT JUST DOES CRAZY SHIT TO ME WHEN GRIAN ROUNDABOUT ADMITS TO HIS GUILT AND HOW 3RD LIFE BROKE HIM!!!! GET FOREVER CHANGED BOY!!!! I AM GOING TO PEEL YOU LIKE A FREEKING LEMON!!!!!!!💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

[drxgony]

Blood Meridian Chapters 9-10, at this point it plays like a comedy

[the-kr8tor]

Like Ships that Pass in the Night

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x Fem! Reader

Word count: 10.4k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), CW food mentions, TW violence, TW blood, CW death.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

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CHAPTER 12 >>> CHAPTER 13

You can't believe it, cannot process what just happened mere moments ago or that's what you feel like. In truth, it's been a week, a long agonizing week of scratching at your door, biting the restraints and screaming their names.

A few days ago you were sitting down on a crate with Hobie's gentle hold atop your shoulder. You remember how he gave you a reassuring smile as Miguel sits down in front of you. His large form makes the wood creak when he shifts his weight, eyes boring into you like he's trying to find something amiss with your face. Or just simply trying to recognize it.

After a brief introduction of his ‘I'm your godfather’ schtick, he takes out your necklace, still shiny and gold. It swings in his hand as he hands it to Hobie, he never let you near Miguel as he promised. You just wish Miguel kept his word.

So much for the word of a gentleman.

You still remember how Hobie looks at the pendant, all wide eyes and full of recognition. If you had the time you would've asked him. But it's too late now.

His warm hands help you put on the necklace as Miguel watches like a hawk. Eyes never leaving yours. You can still feel how clammy Hobie's hands were, how it quivered atop your clavicle.

With the soft click of the necklace locking into place, and with it feeling foreign on your skin, Miguel strung together his words– “duchess” “killed at sea” “a navy captain father” “a kind midwife saving and taking you in” And “pirates.” Those words didn't make much sense back then as you stared at him in disbelief.

You feel Hobie's gentle squeeze on your skin, it still lingers right there, where the rope is currently burning while you try to wiggle out of it.

You should've stayed on your island.

The names 'Hazelside' and 'Peregrine' stood out in your foggy thoughts. You've heard them a few times in your life. Through newspapers, pamphlets and books dating centuries back.

You've heard of them but they haven't heard of you.

Crying out his name, you knock your shoulder harshly and desperately on the hard door.

Tears streaming down your face, Miguel takes a piece of paper, showing it to you, a simple white letter in a familiar handwriting you haven't seen in years.

Then the dam breaks.

All you could really remember after the short conversation was when they both lunged at each other. Teeth bared, claws out, knuckles hitting flesh. You can't even recall what made them tick, what made them so angry at each other that they both drew blood.

Not theirs, yours.

Crimson seeps from your leg and nose. You took a bullet for Miguel accidentally when Hobie fired his gun at him. Too angry, too eager to protect you, he didn't notice you trying to mitigate the situation with you squeezing yourself in between them. Too fast, too quick for him to react. Miguel tried to punch Hobie in retaliation, but it was at the exact same time you keeled over in pain. He hits his fist right on your face and you go blind for a second.

The scream you let out broke both men's hearts.

Their contorted faces of anguish and guilt are still plastered in your foggy mind.

As both men rush over to you, Miguel's crew bust the doors open, taking Hobie by the arms, dragging him away from you. He kicks and screams to let you go, grey eyes almost black, nails scratching angry marks on the strangers’ arms. And as you lay bleeding on the floor, the dead fish smell entering your broken nose, you still try to reach after him, hoping it's enough to tell him that you forgave him. You fall unconscious with Miguel's large hands squeezing tightly around your wound, voice barking orders at his men.

And all you can think about is them, the crew and Hobie.

With desperation like a cornered animal, you gnaw at your bonds. The hemp sticks to your teeth, not enough to cut it, the taste making you gag. The tight bandage around your leg aches, throbbing pain making you groan. Your nose has stopped bleeding, now you feel the swelling, like you have a cold.

The ship rocks softly, waves crashing on the sides of the large ship. With tearful and red eyes, you roam them around the small room. You have a brief vision of your cabin back at the revenge, back when you didn't know anything about your family's legacy. All you knew is that you needed to find them, even if they aren't real, even if they didn't want you. And now that you know all the answers to those things, you can't stop crying, not of happiness. There's no relief, only dread. If Miguel, your godfather is willing to tie you up and send your friends to the gallows then you're terrified of what you'll find when you reach the shores of the capital.

A rhythmic knock echoes out into the quiet. You stand up with great effort to greet the so-called gentleman. Miguel stands before you, shoulders slouched, hazel eyes staring at you with remorse. And you stare back with your reddening eyes, eyebrows knitted together in anger. He has kept you here for days, feeding you three meals a day. You ask about them and he just answers two words every time you do– “they're alright,” he says, and you think– “for now.”

“How are they?” You ask, voice hoarse.

“They're alright.” He says, gesturing for you to sit down, with reluctance, you don't obey. Dragging the small chair in front of you, giving you enough space. He sits on it, the eyebags under his eyes and gaunt face makes you think about them, and whether they look as tired as him.

“Will you untie me now?”

“You won't kick me again?” You get the flashback of kicking him hard on his chest the first time you woke up in the cabin.

“No.” You lie.

“Then no.” He closed his eyes tightly, like there's a migraine just behind his eyes. “I'm trying really hard here, Y/N— just…why don't you believe me?”

“Because you imprisoned my friends, because you tied me up and locked me in—”

“You were attacking people—”

“Because you attacked my friends!” You hope your scream can be heard below deck so they know that you're still fighting.

“He attacked me first—”

“Bullshit.”

“You had a concussion, you wouldn't have remembered it.”

“Oh I wonder why?” There's vile venom in your words.

Miguel swallows thickly. “If I untie you now, will you listen to me?”

“Perhaps.” Your scowl deepens.

“Christ, you're so much like your father.” Your jaw clenches at his words. “I'm gonna untie you, promise me you won't kick back?”

“No promises.”

“I'm gonna regret this.” He says under his breath, getting up, he swiftly and carefully unties you. The heavy rope falls on the ground and you clench your fists.

Miguel backs away, hands up in surrender. “There, can you please sit down?”

“No.”

“Alright, I'll sit down then.” With a groan and creak, he talks once again. Your nerves bubble up. “I've sent words to Jessica, she's coming to the capital to greet you and tell you the truth.”

“What makes you think I'll believe her?”

“Because she's your mother. And she sent you a letter.” There's a pang in your heart when you see her familiar handwriting on the paper once again. He hands it to you, snatching it away, you don't even read the letter. “Please, I'm telling the truth—”

“If I come with you without a fight will you let them go?” Your sudden words surprises him.

“They're wanted criminals, Y/N.” You give him the staredown of the century. He sighs. “The most I can do is keep them out of the gallows. After that they'll go to prison.”

“Where they will rot? No, you have to promise me you'll let them go, completely. Or I'll kick and scream and bite until you bleed.” You shake from sheer anger. “If you loved my so-called family then the least you could do is honour their daughter’s wishes.”

The tension hangs in the air. And you wish you had your dagger to cut it, and him.

“I don't beg, Miguel. I will do that and more just to get back to them, that I can promise you.” You say through your bared teeth.

He nods, “I'll see what I can do–”

“No, you'll do it or you won't have a little duchess to bring home.” You inhale sharply. “Then you've failed them.”

With a nod, he agrees, turning his back to you. Before you could lunge at him, he swivels back. “Do you want to talk to them?” For a moment you thought he's talking about your parents. “Prove to you that I mean well. That I'm telling the truth.”

You look at him with confusion. Giving in means giving up, but you can't resist the temptation of seeing them well. “Yes.”

—

You walk further down the steps. Shadows dance along the wooden walls, the ship rocks and creaks, the only sound you can hear. Miguel guides you, an oil lamp in his hand while his right hand woman, Lyla, walks behind you.

Your wrists aren't bound but you feel like it is when your hand grips the letter tightly. Not restricting you is his way of proving himself, which you hope he'll soon regret.

As the three of you arrive at the doors, two men guard it, rifles strapped to their back, knives on their waists. They nod to Miguel, sparing you a curious glance on your way inside.

In the large room there sits a large cell, steel enclosing around the people you most care about.

Miguel steps back, “Five minutes.” The crew scrambles towards you once their eyes land towards your stiff form, their hands gripping the metal, voices softly calling your name.

Hobie doesn't do the same, he stays in the corner, watching you, skimming his eyes over to your injury.

“Ten,” you say, eyes never leaving their forms, fingers inching closer towards the set of keys on his waist. You face him and Lyla, making their attention turn to you. “Ten or I won't cooperate.”

“Feisty.” Lyla says, hands on her hips, your reflection bouncing off her glasses.

Miguel just stares at you, observing your face. You take the opportunity to stand toe to toe with him, neck craning up to glare at said man.

“Ten.” You stubbornly utter.

He sighs, relenting. “Fine, ten, no more, no less.” as he turns away, you hide your hand behind you.

When the door shuts behind the two, you run towards them, limping and still aching, but you still sprint.

Finally reaching them, you kneel, relief washes over them as they hold your hands through the bars.

“Fuck! Thank fuck!” Yuri grips your arm, exhaustion on her face.

Gwen holds your shoulder, balling her fist on your shirt. “You alright?” she asks while Pav and Miles take turns in hugging you even with the metal bars preventing them.

“I'm alright,” you wait for Hobie to move towards you but he just watches. Looking at him, he senses your eyes, you repeat your words to reassure him. “I'm alright.”

When you lock eyes with him you get reminded of the same man who told you about his pain. You feel tears brimming in your eyes again.

“I thought they were torturing you up there.” Gwen's voice is as hoarse as yours.

“We heard the screams, Y/N,” Miles stares at your bandaged leg. “Did they hurt you?”

“I'm fine, just aching is all.” You answer, trying to act brave.

“When we get out of this cage I'm gonna kick O'Hara’s ass.” James kicks the nearest metal bar.

“He's been at it for days, trying to break it.” Pav leans his head on the cold steel. “I'm glad you're fine, Y/N. I don't think we can handle another one.” Another death.

“We've been kicked in the balls, set on fire and dumped in the sea to put it bluntly.” Yuri sighs. “We can't catch a bloody break eh, wifey? So much for our honeymoon.” she jokes, earning the first smile you've made since setting foot on the ship.

Gwen gives everyone a look, they move away from the bars, giving you two some privacy. She scooches closer to you.

“Can you talk to him? Hobie's been fighting the guards since we got here, he'd yell at them relentlessly. He's worse whenever you scream, his knuckles are raw from punching the bars. We're all worried about him. This is the first time he's been this quiet since—.” There's fatigue under her blue eyes, you feel guilty. “And you know Hobie, his silence is so much scarier than when he yells.”

You nod, eyes avoiding said man in the corner. “Just promise me you'll sleep.”

“Do I look that bad?” Gwen jokes, “I think I've never looked this great in years. Even Miles thinks so.”

“Miles always thinks you're gorgeous. Even if you wear a jester costume I think he'd fall all over you.”

“Duly noted.” She cracks a small smile.

“I’m really sorry about this.” Your voice trembles. “For bringing you all into this. I'm stupid for even thinking the plan would work.”

“Hey,” she holds your hands that's wrapped around the iron bars. “We all agreed to it, we knew what would happen if it failed and yet we chose to do this. Honestly, this is probably the best case scenario, we all lived so there's that.” Patting your bicep, she whispers. “Give me the key you nicked and we'll call it even.”

You almost laughed. “You're good,” Looking behind you to check if there's no wandering eyes, you slyly hand it to her through the cell. Gwen takes it swiftly before anyone notices. “Get out of here before we dock. There's a chance during dinner where there's no one on the deck. I don't hear any footsteps up there so I can guarantee that you have a five minute window after the dinner bell rings and before they change shifts.”

Gwen nods proudly. “And there's a dinghy that's improperly tied to the ship. Perfect, you're a proper pirate now, Y/N.” squeezing your hand, Gwen looks like she has something to say but she stops herself. “Thank you.”

“Get everyone out, please. And tell them I'm sorry.”

“I will.” And with her parting words she walks away, sitting next to Miles, whispering plans.

After a second and a deep breath, you stand up shakily, using the steel as leverage. Hobie thinks you'd begin to leave the room, but you sit down as close as you can to his side of the cell.

“Hobie.” You call his name like you haven't been screaming it for the past week. Like you don't long for him. “Can you please come here?” He doesn't look your way even though it physically pains him to do so. “Or I'll spill all your secrets you told me back at the island.” You wouldn't but you had to try.

He stands up, face unreadable, trudging the floors to cross the small distance. Crouching down, you can see the split skin on his knuckles. Angry circular blisters, gashes that still drip blood from not granting himself time to heal. So you gingerly take his hands, wishing that with your mere touch alone could heal him.

His eyes are tightly closed, hands limp in your hold. “I shot you.” You can barely recognize his voice at how broken and rough it is.

“Accidentally, I barely feel it anymore.”

“You're limping because of me.” His tone broken, shoulders slumped.

“It'll heal. I will heal.” You swallow thickly. “Please open your eyes and look at me. I forgive you, you didn't mean it.” He could kill you and you'll still forgive him.

With trepidation, he opens his eyes, lifting his head to look at you. “Did he break your nose?”

“Yes, the surgeon set it back though. I kicked Miguel after, just so you know. Like a fucking horse.”

He chuckles, “That's my girl.” His comment sends your heart alight.

“Are they feeding you all?” You change the subject or you'll burst from what he said. “Giving you water?”

“Treated like royalty, love. Even got our own blankets. I have to give it to O’Hara, he knows how to treat prisoners right.”

“I got him to let you go but I still don't trust him.”

Hobie's eyes go wide. “He wouldn't agree to that, what did you do to make him?” He scooches closer to you despite the metal separation.

You give him an apologetic look, “Nothing, I just convinced him.”

“Don't bullshit me, Y/N. What did you promise him?” He doesn't raise his voice, but you can see the whirlpool in his grey eyes.

“That he can take me home without fussing. That's all.”

“It's not just ‘that’s all,’ love. It's him taking you where we can't follow. I promised you back on that bloody boat and I intend to fuckin' keep it.”

“The letter's real, Hobie. I'm fucking nobility for some fucked up reason.”

“What if it's forged? Or he made your mother write it?”

“I know her hand, and nobody can force her to do anything. I may not know Miguel but I know Jess. He's telling the truth.”

“You haven't even read the letter. How would you know?” You forgot that he knows you more than you know yourself.

“Christ, sometimes I forget that you're quite perceptive.” You feel his stern yet familiar eyes on you as you look at your still intertwined hands. “Can you do me a favour and read it for me?” Lifting up your gaze, Hobie looks at you like he did on that fishing boat– all grief and love. But you suppose they're the same.

“Why?” Why do you trust me enough to read it for you? He thinks.

“Because I trust you.” Because I want you to see it and tell me it's all fake so we can make our escape together. Because I love you and that's all I can do to show how much I do.

You thought all of it but you don't say it outloud lest he won't be able to let you go in the long run. And he has to, because it's better to separate than to cling to each other amidst all the things preventing you to do so. Because if he just asks you to stay just like when he did in the governor's gates, you'd say yes in a heartbeat.

“I almost lost it when I saw my name written in her hand, I don't think I can survive seeing the rest.” Slipping the paper between the bars, he looks at you for permission. With a nod, he opens the wax seal with trepidation.

You watch as his eyes read the page, and you wait with clenched fists.

“She says she's sorry.” Hobie can't lie to your face. “And that Miguel's tellin' the truth. That he's been looking for you ever since you went missin’ even after everyone told him that you were already dead.” A tear slips down your cheek. “He was close to your parents, a duchess and a navy captain.” He paused to wipe the tears flowing. “She wrote ‘This is my way of giving you a better life, a better chance. So please stop running, my little tomato.’”

You chuckle at the childhood nickname, it quickly changes into a sob. Hobie wraps his arms around your torso as best as he can. Large hand splayed atop your head, lips softly pressing on your temple.

“It's real, innit?”

“It's real.”

“Little tomato?” He asks, rubbing soft circles on your shoulder blades.

“My favourite were cherry tomatoes.” You sniff, hands enclosed on his sides, gripping his shirt.

“I'll keep that in mind.” Hobie whispers, “I know a recipe with it.”

The thought sounds so far away for you, a dream where everything is better, where nothing bad happens.

“Cook it for me?��� You lean away to his dismay.

“I bet you have servants for that.”

“I don't want them, just you.” He nods, an arrow piercing his heart the moment you said those words. “We'll meet again, in this life or the next.”

He shakes his head as the door creaks open. “No, Y/N—”

Taking his hands quickly, you kiss his broken skin, hoping it's enough for a goodbye. “Don't follow me, please.” He could only stare at you with a horrified expression.

“Time to go, Y/N.” Miguel's voice cuts through the space.

Grinning at Hobie, you let him memorize the sight. “Be safe, all of you.” Miguel helps you stand up. Etching their faces into your mind, locking it away, you leave the letter to Hobie and the key to their freedom.

—

Walking up to the deck, the cloudy sky greets you, puffs of smoke belching out of houses makes your broken nose sting. The horses running along cobbled stones and intense yelling from sailors rings in your ears. But you're relieved knowing they're not locked in a cell anymore.

After hearing the alarm bells last night, the splash of the dinghy falling into the waters and Miguel cursing Hobie's name, you know they got out. You're glad that they didn't turn heel and tried to bring you with them, grateful that Gwen convinced him to let you go. Yet, why is there a pang in your chest whenever you think about it?

You hear Miguel call your name, hand reaching out to help you walk down the stairs of the ship. A carriage waits for you at the end. Two thoroughbred horses strapped to it, footmen opening the door, side eyeing your disheveled form. You forgot that you're still wearing the same clothes you wore on your last day on the people's revenge. You must smell heavenly, you thought.

Miguel's men have their weapons at the ready, everyone at the docks scratches their heads at why someone like you is heavily protected.

On wobbly feet, you make your way down without taking Miguel's help.

And as you lift one foot up on the carriage, you see in your peripheral a familiar man peeking out from an alley. You can recognize those eyes anywhere.

With a subtle shake of your head, you slyly mouth a ‘don’t’. Hobie hides under the shadows, and you wish you could just run after him.

With downcast eyes, you get on the carriage.

Miguel follows suit then Lyla who yawns in her seat. You jump at the door closing. As the horses start their pace, you roam your eyes at the plush interior. All smooth velvet and embroidered walls.

“Can I close the windows?” Miguel asks, fingers already curled around the curtains. You nod tiredly. The thick curtains whoosh close, and you can't help but worry about them. “We're gonna take a detour before we meet your uncle and aunt.”

Your head perks up at the words. “What?”

“She had a concussion, Miguel, she forgot.” Lyla states a fact next to you, voice flat and disinterested. “Punched her too hard, you big man.” She whispers.

“They're your distant relatives. The ones who inherited the estate after—after everything. They'll be the one taking you in.”

“Are they the ones who asked for me to be found?”

“No, it was just me.” He says forlornly.

“Do they know I'm alive?”

“I've sent word to them. They'd be there to greet you.”

“Are they kind?” There's crescent shapes on your palms again.

“I'm sure they'd be glad to have you.” He tries to smile but fails to make you feel better.

“That's not what I asked, Miguel.” You say with a glare.

“They're a bit…. eccentric but nothing bad, I'm sure.” He rolls his tensed shoulders. “I've only met them once during the will reading.”

“What did they leave you?” You ask, the carriage hits a bump on the road, rattling the three of you inside.

“Nothing too important.”

“Come on, at least tell me something about them.” You insist while Lyla actual listens in.

“Kind, they were kind.” You feel your heart in your throat. “We've known eachother since we were children. Your father and I came from a smaller noble house near your mother's land. ” Miguel shifts his weight, like talking about them is heavy on his chest. “We used to play together on this one spot of land where none of our families owned. We joked that it was ours, just for the three of us where we were all equals.” He chuckles softly. “I guess that's where your mother fell for your father. She was the only child, only heir.”

You smile, imagining the three of them playing even though you have no idea what your parents looked like. “I don't have anyone directly related to her?”

“No, sorry. Your uncle is her cousin thrice removed. His father inherited the estate first before him but it was brief, he was only the duke for a year and a half.” Miguel rubs his weary eyes. “Your father didn't have any direct relatives either. His land belongs to the crown now.”

“My father, he was in the navy?”

“A captain, we were promoted at the same time.”

“About the pirates that killed them—”

“You remember that?”

“I guess so. My mind's all cloudy but I remember bits and pieces.” You take a peek behind the closed curtains. It seems you're outside of the main city, fewer houses are sprawled on the green grass, hundreds of trees covering behind the buildings.

“I'm sorry for punching you.” Miguel leans on his knees, elbows propped up, voice gentle as he addresses you. “I truly didn't mean for any of this to happen. It wasn't in the plan.”

“What was your plan then?” You scoff. “How did you keep finding me?”

“I have enough money to bribe people, and unsurprisingly, they're all willing to talk about a girl who might've stolen from them.” His eyes are full of endearment. And you look at him with a smirk. “My only plan was to find you and get you home safe. I owe your parents that.”

“You loved them that much? To spend years trying to find a girl you've never even met?”

“Yes, because they'd do the same. Because they've done the same for me.” The carriage stops, the horses outside huff, hooves kicking on the dirt. “I have known you before I've even met you. I was the first person they ever told and they trusted me enough to make me your godfather even though you were barely the size of a peach. So yes, I would spend the rest of my life trying to find you just to bring you home, just to bring you to her home where you belong.”

“Well, do I, Miguel? Do you think I belong there?”

“In time yes. Because they did too.”

“But it doesn't mean I should too. What if I don't?” What if this isn't your place? What if you sacrificed everything with Hobie just to end up not belonging? What if this isn't what you truly wished for?

“I'd personally take you wherever you want. Whenever you want, and all you need to do is ask me and I shall obey. Just please give it some time.” He sniffs. “I'll be damned if I never tried to bring you home, they'd fucking haunt me if I didn't try.”

“I need your word, O’Hara.”

“You have my word, Y/N.”

You nod solemnly. He then knocks at the carriage door, the footman opens it in a second, laying down the steps for you.

“She's out by the willow tree.” Miguel takes his jacket off, handing it to you swiftly. “We'll be here waiting for you.” When you don't take it, he puts it back on his lap.

You leave the warm carriage, wounded leg heavy under your weight. The cool breeze whips at your cheeks, making you shiver in your bare bones clothes. But you're too stubborn to turn back and ask for Miguel's jacket.

Your eyes scan the ancient graveyard. A gothic chapel sits in the middle, all stone and jagged metal, stained glass of saints watch from their window sills. A gargoyle looks down at you, mouth agape, tongue lolling to the side, ears pointed and alert at the new visitor.

How appropriate, you think as you cross the metal gates.

Soft grass and graveyard soil crunch underneath your footsteps. You can feel the frost under your threadbare sole. Crows caw on top of graves, the names barely legible, years etched out by the elements.

Walking the pathway to the foot of the small hill, you see her waiting for her. Your eyes water, jaw tightly clenched. You suddenly feel dizzy.

“You gonna keep me waiting?” She yells above the wind. The branches of the large tree sways in the breeze.

“I have a weak leg. Always so impatient.” You reminisce of the old days where she would wait for you outside the cabin after you went out to play.

“What are you? Fifty? Why do you have a weak leg?”

You trudge up the small hill, hands on your thighs, heaving slightly. The moment you reach her, you have the urge to run.

“You better not run this time.” Jess jokes, “can you look at me, tomato?”

Slowly raising your head, a deep frown on your lips, hands clenching the sides of your trousers. You meet with her eyes, eyes that you grew up with, and a face that barely changed.

“You look how I remember.” Whispering, you choke on your words.

“And you grew up, not so little anymore huh?” Her brown eyes are soft, hand reaching towards you before changing her mind. “I'd like to say you look great but you look absolutely terrible. Like you've been grinded down to a pulp and fed to a bear.”

“And you look fantastic.”

She raises a neat brow, her hair is just like how you remembered it, down to every curl and twist. “Are you trying to guilt me?”

“I might be.” You can't help the tear that's falling down your cheek. “I missed you. I should've let you explain first before running—”

Jessica pulls you in abruptly, hand atop your head, cradling you like she used to. She shushes you like a mother to her babe. Rocking you softly in her arms that you're oh so familiar with.

“Missed you too, god, I thought you were gone forever.” She inhales your unfamiliar scent, you feel her tears drip to the crown of your head. “I should've ran after you quicker,” kissing your temple, you finally embrace her back. “I've always told you that you were too fast for your own good.”

You laugh in between tears. “Can you please explain everything to me? Please, mum.”

She holds your face in both hands, you don't miss the gold band around her ring finger. “Mom? Oh I missed you saying that.” Pecking your wet cheeks, you close your eyes, savoring the rare moment. “Come sit with me? If you could permit me, your grace?”

You laugh hard for the first time since you got shot. “Call me that again and I'll run.”

“I'm so sorry, your grace,” you giggle as she wipes your tears. “How disrespectful of me.”

“Stop!”

“Oh my love.” She takes a good long look at you. “I'm glad you're here, you did incredibly well for yourself.”

“I was taught well.” She beams at you, warm hands still holding you close.

“Are you hungry? I made your favourites.” Jess gestures towards the blanket behind her. A basket lays on top of it, the leaves from the willow tree fall slowly like snowflakes.

You nod, feeling like a child once again.

—

“It's crudely done.” Jessica says while peeking under your bandages. “Please don't tell me you did this or I might've failed as a teacher.”

You shake your head, mouth full of bread. “No, a surgeon did.”

“Don't talk with your mouth full.” You chew quietly. “Miguel should get his money back because a dolphin would've done it better.”

“A dolphin? They don't have thumbs.”

“It was the first animal that popped up in my mind.” She chuckles, popping a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“So, are you happy with him?” You pick at your nails.

She picks up on what you meant immediately. Smiling to herself, face falling on her shoulder as she looks at you. “Very, he's a good man.”

“That's fantastic.” You're genuinely happy for her. But there's a cinch in your heart. “Where is he now?”

“Hiding in our inn, I think he's afraid of you after hearing you joined a pirate crew.”

“I guess he's not that good then.” You joke.

“Are you happy with yours?”

“The pie? Yeah it's good.”

“Not the fucking pie, sweetheart. Your pirate captain.” You almost choke.

“How in the fuck—?”

“Language.” She laughs. “Miguel keeps me updated on your exploits, sometimes. And I know you, you've got that lovelorn look on you.” You scrunch up your face. “Of all the pirate captains in the world you chose the red spider. I heard he's one of the good ones. How in the world did that happen?”

“You know Hobie?”

“Ohh” she whistles, “first name basis huh?”

You suddenly miss him. “Well we're friends, of course I call him by his name.”

“Sure, sure. No, I don't know him personally.” She rolls her eyes at you. “Can you tell me who shot my girl?”

You inhale deeply, “ah that, uh, he did.” You try to save his reputation when she scowls. “Accidentally! It was an accident.”

“He's not looking too good in my books right now.”

You laugh softly. Cleaning your hands on your trousers, you clear your throat as it starts to close up from your upcoming question.

“How did you really find me?” You don't avoid her eyes, bravely staring at her.

“It's a long story, my love.”

“We have plenty of time. Tell me then, tell me the story.” You tilt your head down to meet her eyes. “Did you know them?”

“She couldn't even name you.” She whispers sadly. Your breath staggers at the thought. “I didn't know them. I was just out on a job, it was supposed to be just another job. They told us pirates boarded the ship, to make us do what we were told.” her face is serious, eyes meeting yours. Shock hits you before you quickly hide it. “Your mother just gave birth to you when I entered her room. She was left unguarded, her ladies fled and left her on her birthing bed.” You feel your lips wobble. “She just looked…terrified, and you looked so tiny—I couldn't— I couldn't do it.”

“Do what?” The story of her finding you alone in the woods breaks apart.

“Do what our captain asked us to do.”

There's an unpleasant recurring name that pops in your mind. “Who was your captain? Was it Mathias Bradshaw?”

With her bewildered nod, anger bubbles in your ribcage.

The word liar etches in your mind, not for the woman in front of you, no, you know when she lies, you know her tells. It's for the man waiting down below the hill.

Jess continues. “Your mother sensed my terror, so she took me by the collar while my gun was raised to her head, gripping me tightly until I promised to protect you.”

Miguel told you it was pirates that killed them. Liar, liar, liar.

But you remember how he recalled his side of the story— he woke up to the news of the shipwreck. The messenger told him it was because of pirates. No one survived, not even the ship. The cogs in your head turn, you wonder if he's also been lied to. You trust Jess more than him, you need answers.

“You said you were a midwife. Not navy.” Jessica sees the fire in your eyes.

“I was before I joined, then I became their medic. What did O’hara tell you?”

You shake your head, “the same thing.” You lied. “Then what happened?”

“I faked your death by throwing a blanket off the ship. But in truth I already hid you inside a crate. You were quiet, like you knew what was happening.” She reaches for your hand. “When no one was looking I took you back to our ship. Then I fled when no one was looking. I was…young, Y/N, and powerless to do anything. I was just a medic who wanted to do something right because I knew what we were doing wasn't.”

Squeezing her hand three times, you look for any lies in her eyes. Just like you thought, you find none.

Jess lays her head on your shoulder, half hugging you, unaware of the flames burning inside you.

“Who commanded Mathias to kill them?” You whisper.

“I don't know, I was just a grunt.” She says truthfully. “Another gun for his troop.”

“You were more than that to me.” You softly say against her hair. “You're my mother, and I'm lucky enough that you have a heart to uproot your life, to raise a child you didn't know.”

After a moment, she leans away, staring at the side of your face. “He told you something different didn't he?”

“He did.” You say with bared teeth, watching the afternoon sun on the horizon, clouds hiding its light, bathing the city below with muddled orange.

She scoffs, “O’hara still can't believe it. I've told him the story, even showed him my navy badge. He still can't fathom it.”

“He knows?” You move your head quickly to look at her.

“He does, but I highly doubt he's the one who organized it all. He was still just a captain then, recently promoted, still green around the edges. He couldn't have commanded Mathias to do it when he's his senior.”

“Who do you think it was?”

“Someone much more powerful than Mathias.” She looks below the hill where Miguel waits inside the carriage. “I think he investigated it when he was a proper admiral, when he had enough power to rifle through confidential papers. And that got him kicked out. Honourable discharge, my ass.”

“Do you think I should ask him directly?”

“Don't, my only advice to you is to not do anything.”

“What?” You can't believe the words she said.

“Listen, Miguel's life mission was to find you, and mine is to give you the life you deserve. We both want what's best for you.” She plucks a fallen leaf off your shoulder. “He's been at it since they died. I didn't even know someone was looking for you until he showed up at my doorstep. When he explained everything to me I just knew you had to come with him.”

“That was when I ran.”

“Yes. I told him the story and the conspiracy against your family but he couldn't believe it until you showed up. He recognized you and the necklace.” She flicks her brown eyes at the golden chain around your neck. “It was your mother's.”

“You told me when you found me on the forest floor I was clutching it.”

“I did, in truth, she gave it to you before she said her goodbyes. Before Mathias came into the room.” Jess has tears in her eyes. “They loved you so much, Y/N. For their sake, don't do anything brave.” She grabs your shoulders. “Revenge isn't the answer.”

“I know, but it helps.” You seethe at the new information. “I need to bring the people down that plucked me out of their grasp. Or I'll be doing them a disservice.”

You sound like him. Now you fully understand why he stays near the flames.

You ask her the most important question, it has your heart wrenching at your throat. “D-didn't you love me? Why, after thirteen years of taking care of me, why did you want to get rid of me?”

Tears flow out Jessica's eyes, hands sliding up to cradle your face. “Of course I loved you. That's why I wanted to give you the life you deserved.”

“I was happy enough in our cabin. It was enough for me, mum.” You hold her wrist, the gold on her finger marks a life you never knew she had without you. “It was enough.”

“My love—”

“I should go back, they've been waiting for a long time.” You stand up, legs shaking. “And I think it's best for you to go back too.”

“You're staying with them?”

“Yes, isn't this the life you wanted me to have?”

With an exhale, she lets you go. “Be careful.” She looks up at you with soft eyes, worry etched in her face.

Your skin is bathed in the dark orange of the sky, eyes reflecting grief and fury. The chapel looms over you, all stone and metal, all death and life. She barely recognizes you in this light.

“No promises. I love you, mum. I hope you know that.” Jessica's reply got stuck in her throat.

As you head down the hill, you count the crows watching you. Three perched on graves, black eyes blinking at your form. Five flies overhead, feathered shadows casting above you.

There's crunching behind the building, the sound of familiar footfalls hiding behind it. You gather it's your exhaustion playing tricks on you.

You reach the gates, a man on a horse gallops away the moment Miguel gets his letter.

“Who was that?” You ask like you didn't leave your heart behind.

“A messenger.” Miguel skims through the letter. “Your uncle wants to meet you in the palace.” He clicks his tongue. “Asshole.” He says under his breath.

“Let's meet him then. I've always wanted to go to the palace.” Maybe you'll get some answers there.

Miguel looks at you with surprise, as fast as it came, it fades back into his usual frown.

Lyla peeks from the carriage, eyes still half asleep. “Not looking like that you're not.”

—

The ride to the fancy Inn was long and silent, the road less bumpy once you enter the heart of the city. The palace can be seen in your bedroom window. All white and gilded gold, glinting in the sunset, imposingly beautiful.

The room they gave you is all velvet and wood, cherubs painted on the ceiling, thick carpet under your bare feet, a bed that you've never thought was able to be made as big as the one you're standing over.

You're freshly cleaned, you've scrubbed yourself free of any dirt and blood. Nothing left of the past months but the scars on your skin. In the dark robe, you drip water everywhere, drenching your undergarments and the carpet that must've been worth hundreds. You don't care as you stare at your well worn shoes in front of you. Its leather is tattered and beaten, covered in dirt and iron. Compared to the nicer shoes sitting right next to it, it's worth nothing, but to you it was yours and that's worth more than anything.

“Knock knock.” Lyla barges in, dressed in cashmere and taffeta. “You're not dressed yet? Don't like the colour? I told Miguel purple won't cut it.” She heads over to the wardrobe, taking the purple dress in her arms. “Do you need help? It's a bit tricky.”

“Who are you to Miguel?”

“Ah! I heard you were a curious one.” She claps her hands. “An assistant, I guess. See, I'm the reason why he found you so fast after the whole Cambridge fiasco.”

“That was two years ago.” You recall the last time he found you before you accidentally boarded the revenge.

“Mm-hmm, I'm a tracker you see.” She helps you dress with your approval. “He almost gave up until I stumbled upon him. Hired on the spot I was.”

“Stumbled?” You say, drowning in fabric. “Or followed a desperate man and hounded him?”

She giggles, “I keep forgetting you also know how to hustle. Don't tell Miguel and I won't tell him what you did to his key?” Smoothing out the skirt, she turns you towards the floor length mirror.

“Is this blackmail?” You don't recognize yourself.

“Nope,” Lyla pops the letter ‘p’ “just telling you. Also I liked the red spider. He's quite famous to us common folk, y'know.” She guides you towards the vanity, sitting you down on the plush seat. “May I do your hair?”

“Fine, just don't make it look weird.”

“Thank you, your grace.” You roll your eyes at her teasing tone. “Don't worry, I'm very good with hair, I won't make a fool out of you.” She looks at you through the mirror in front, hands atop your shoulders. “I think he's quite loved in these parts. The crown, on the other hand, hates his guts.”

She expertly handles your hair. “I can see why though. He's been a thorn on their pompous asses for years. I bet if he walked on the common side of the city he'd be left alone by the people. But the moment he walks on the richer side, AKA where we are right now, he'd be arrested the moment he set foot.”

“So the people would be at his side then?” You take note.

“Yep, after all the gold they got from him I think it's only appropriate that they love the guy and his crew.” She puts rouge on your lips, and silver thread in your hair. “There! I'm done, damn, I'm good aren't I?”

The bodice is in rich velvet and dark purple, swirling silver daisies patterned on the fabric, ribbons tying it all together. The skirt falls around your legs like waterfalls, deep violets dotting along the hem. It's beautiful and finely crafted from every stitch to its lace sleeves. The way she did your hair ties it all together.

You can admit, you do look good. Smiling, you thank her.

“Hmm,” She pats the sleeve of your dress, shaking her head. “I think red would suit you better.” The words struck you like a lightning bolt. “Maybe next time, for now, put on your shoes because we'll be meeting royalty.”

Taking something from behind, the familiar steel shines in the candle light. For a moment you thought she would stab you with it but she hands it to you, handle first. “For you, just in case.”

You stare dumbfounded at the sea snake curling around the handle, the turtle’s eyes staring back.

As she leaves you, shutting the heavy door, you let out a sob.

—

You try your best to act like you belong in the golden palace, but you couldn't possibly do it when your heels clack against italian made marble floors. Whenever you look down you can see your reflection blinking back at you. You might look the part, except for the way your eyes dart around the expansive room, you're not fooling anyone. The saints that are finely painted on the ceiling seem to judge you, perfect faces unblinkingly watch above, puffs of white clouds drawn around them like blankets of cotton.

Large columns loom all around you, golden laurels dotted across the walls, paintings of old watches your nervous form as you make your way towards the throne room.

All splendor, no thought under all the gold and glitter.

There's cracks in the façade, as much as they try to hide it with plaster, you can see it, hear it, even if it's just below a whisper. The men scattered around the long hallway are turning their heads away, murmuring hushed words. Painted eyes watch you, red lips smirking at your form before drinking from their overflowing cups.

You cling to Miguel in all his fancy clothing. He cleaned himself up nicely, a picture of a proper gentleman. With his arm the only solid thing near you, you hold tighter. He senses your swirling emotions, leaning down to whisper close to you so the footmen guiding you won't hear.

“Breathe.” He says, “it'll be over soon.”

“Why do we have to meet the king and queen? I thought we were here to meet my uncle.” You impatiently utter when you feel like you've been walking forever towards the throne room. The shoes don't help.

“It's customary, I'm sorry. If it was up to me we'd be on our way to your estate.”

Lyla walks behind the both of you, eyes watching you like a hawk, as if you can run in your state.

“Why isn't it up to you then?” Your voice raises a bit, it echoes around the enormous room.

“At the end of the day, they're your relatives. I'm your godfather all by name only but without a piece of paper to prove it. It's only a promise from your parents before you were born.”

“So you don't have proof? People must think you're a weirdo running after some girl who might be already dead.”

Miguel laughs deeply and genuinely. “I bet they do.”

You smile, “hate to break it to you, O’Hara, they definitely think you're bonkers.”

“Definitely.” Finally, you three come to a stop.

Two large doors stand before you, carved lions and a familiar sea monster decorate the wood. The two footmen open the doors and you swear you've never hated just standing.

A crowd waits for you, they stand on the side, all silk and gold adorning their expensive bodies. Fake smiles and whispers thrown at you the second they laid eyes on you.

“Fuck.” You quietly whisper. Miguel gives your hand a gentle reassuring squeeze.

“One foot forward after the other.” He whispers back. “Don't let them see you mess up.”

“I already hate all of them.” You smile politely, small and fake.

Two figures sit on two large thrones, golden crowns perched on top of their heads, well practiced smiles, and stiff backs against the uncomfortable stone chairs. They're dripping in gold, from the threads woven in their clothes and cloaks to their shoes. There's no single mark on their faces, no scars or pores, just perfection. Fake perfection, you thought as the queen's smile falters when you get closer to their pedestal.

“My, how pretty you are.” The king says in disbelief. His voice is commanding, accent unfamiliar, too fancy, you thought.

A man born with a golden spoon in his mouth. You want to shove it down further in his throat when you think about the starving people you've come across during your travels, and he's dressed in something that could feed a whole town.

You realize Miguel and Lyla are bowing and you're not. Standing upright, you don't even consider bowing to people such as them. They don't deserve it.

They don't seem to notice your insubordination when their green eyes roam around your form. Trying to find your imperfections.

“Don't you think she's pretty, my love?” He asks his queen who fakes a manicured smile. “She looks so much like her mother doesn't she?”

“That is true, dear husband.” Her golden earrings sway whenever she turns her head. The white wig perfectly placed on her royal head makes you want to hurl at the similarities between Mathias' own powdered wig.

“You're a sight for sore eyes O’Hara!” The king adds to Miguel's annoyance. “Welcome back to the capital. I haven't seen you in a decade, old friend.”

Miguel straightens out his posture, chest out, eyes boring into the man's skull. If looks could kill, he'd be at the gallows by now.

“Thank you for the warm welcome, your highness.” He spits out the last word like it's poisoned. And you wonder why it is.

“Say, my friend, why does she walk with a limp?”

Miguel opens his mouth but you interrupt. “She—”

“I was shot,” a hush falls around the room. You correct yourself, not wanting to look like the bad guy in all of this. “Your highness.”

“Shot? By a gun?” The queen covers her open mouth, face shocked at the information. “Who would want to kill such a pretty thing?”

“Surprisingly a lot—” Miguel stops you, warning you with a look.

“She was caught in a crossfire, but she's strong and she's healing well.” He saves you.

“That's good—”

The door abruptly opens, two people emerge from the large doors. The man has his arms open, grinning widely, quickly making his way towards the thrones. The woman walks all prim and proper behind him, not wasting her time to look at the crowd, or you.

A footman rushes in, briskly announcing their presence with his blaring voice. “The duke and duchess of Hazelside!” You blink in surprise at the mention of your house name.

“Eddie, my boy!” Your ‘uncle’ exclaims boisterously. “Ready for our night out?!” he says while shaking his hips in a crude manner.

Your aunt bows, face flat and unreadable.

“Welcome back, you old sack of shit!” The king exclaims to your surprise. Not the kind of behaviour you thought a king would have.

“Fucking hell.” You say under your breath, Miguel tightly shuts his mouth to avoid a laugh. “These motherfuckers are related to me?” You ask the man next to you, tone as quiet as a dormouse.

The crew were quite rambunctious too, but at least they were actually funny and respectful to an extent. And not covered in fine jewels that could fix every problem an entire town has.

You miss them already, you feel your chest clench at the mere thought of them.

He deeply sighs, “yes.”

“Please tell me my parents weren't like this.”

“I'm happy to tell you that they were not.” He leans away when your uncle notices the two of you.

“Oh!” Your uncle finally notices you and Miguel. “Miguel is that you? And– woah! Is that my…” he smells of ale and strong perfume. “My niece? I honestly don't bloody know what I should call you because we are really far away from each other on the ol’ family tree.” he gestures towards his wife. “Ain't that right, my dear?”

She doesn't acknowledge him. “My name's Victoria and this is my husband, Frederick. Welcome back to the land of the living, dear niece.”

“Glad to be back— oof” Frederick suddenly drunkenly hooks you and his wife in his arms.

“Look at you two!” His breath stinks. “Already best friends huh?”

Miguel subtly takes you away from your uncle while his wife shoves him away. You thank Miguel with a nod.

“Oh you're so pretty!” He yells now that he had a proper look at you without the haze from the liquor. “I would say you look like your mother or your father but I've never met them! And you know about those portraits, I highly doubt they weren't doctored.” He laughs like a donkey starved. “Listen, I'm surprised my wife isn't stabbing you with her numerous hair pins right now—”

“Frederick!” She yells. The royals seem to like the scene in front of them as they genuinely smile and hide their laughs behind opulent hands. “We shall talk about the ownership of the estate and the title after she reacquaints herself to society.” she says like you've been living like a savage until Miguel found you.

You scrunch up your face, fighting the urge to backtalk your so-called aunt.

“Isn't that right, your highnesses?” She turns towards the couple draped in gold.

“That's right, for now, we shall discuss what we didn't finish the last time you two visited.” The queen answers for her husband.

“Yes! During a game of poker perhaps?” Your uncle says. Miguel looks like he's losing his patience.

“Absolutely!” The king stands up, laughing while they both walk away from the room.

Both women follow suit, not uttering a single word between them.

“Is that it?” You ask the two people next to you. “Can we go now?”

Miguel kneads at his forehead. “I'm afraid we have to stay here until they finish. I still have things to discuss with them.” you narrow your eyes.

“What?!” Lyla speaks, unable to hold it in anymore.”

“I could…” He wavers but he takes one look at you and he continues. “...join them and make sure they don't play well into the night.”

“Wait, no, that means I have to join you too!” Lyla stomps her foot.

“No, go watch over Y/N. Just in case.”

“I can take care of myself.” You sound offended.

“I know, it's the people here I don't trust.”

With his parting words, you and Lyla find things to do in the vast palace.

—

It wasn't like the fairytales Jessica once told you about. Princes saving damsels in distress locked in a tower, jesters dancing around the smooth floors, kind kings finding their one true love. Instead you get whatever the hell you just witnessed.

You and Lyla found a portrait room, trying to occupy yourself until Miguel fetches you both. The walls are covered in paintings of nobility. Their eyes seem to follow you everywhere you go as you skim through the art on the walls.

Lyla snores softly on the plush settee in the middle of the room. Turns out you're the one who has to watch over her.

It's been a couple of hours since the disastrous first meeting. When you imagined meeting your family you thought it would be full of tears and hugs, instead you were greeted by a drunken duke and a stiff duchess.

Your mind goes back to the people you left. Janet and Thena would get a kick out of you being a noble. Gwen, Miles and Pavitr would tease the living hell out of you, poking your velvet clad side and making remarks at how you've sold your soul. Yuri on the other hand would actually try to marry you. While James—well James is there.

And Hobie, Hobie would hate you.

The pearl in your pocket is cold as you roll it in between fingers. The dagger hidden inside your skirt presses down your thigh. Eyes forlorn, mouth frowning, you distract yourself by staring at dead people on the gold inlay walls.

“Oh hello.” A familiar voice echoes throughout the expansive room. “Have you had supper?” The queen asks, eyebrows knitting at Lyla’s sleeping form. Her heels clack on the expensive floors, hands clasped in front of her, standing like how you thought aristocrats would stand.

“I ate beforehand.” You say, confused as to why she's even talking to you.

“That's too bad, the chef's making her special.” She smiles at you, a touch of authenticity in it. “May I show you something?”

“Sure.” It's not like you have a choice in the matter.

“I haven't properly introduced myself, my name's Caroline. It's a pleasure to meet you.” She says in her practiced tone.

“Y/N, your majesty.” You think it's hard to keep her appearance even though it's only you and a wall of paintings.

“Y/N, how lovely. Your mother chose well.”

“She didn't get a chance to name me.” You say sourly. “My guardian named me,” you once again correct yourself. “Your majesty.”

“Come, I must show it to you before you go.” She gestures for you to follow, her bracelets clash against the other when she beckons you over.

Caroline stops in front of a portrait of a woman in a similar colour of gown like yours. A single long stemmed rose in her hand, smile soft and alive. Then you look at her face, really look at her. And you feel like the ground is trying to eat you whole.

“It's her.” You softly say, still in disbelief. Eyes sliding down to see the identical necklace on her neck.

“Indeed. You might look like her but I think you have your father's eyes.”

You whip your head towards her, “does he have a portrait here too?”

“Unfortunately no,” you visibly deflate.

“Did you know them? Personally?”

“Your mother and I used to have the same governess growing up. She was a close friend.” Her green eyes seem to search something in you. “Your father on the other hand, I barely knew. But I knew they would end up together the second he danced with her at a ball. She looked at him like he's the sky himself, while he looked at her like she's the finest jewel.”

You imagine the scene where it was possible that you were also there.

“When I heard they eloped outside the country, I knew I was right. The moment I heard of their untimely deaths at the hands of vicious pirates, I was devastated.” She takes your hands without asking. Her hands are soft, no calluses or bumps. “You see, I feel a sense of kinship with her, she was supposed to marry my husband back then. I got bumped up when your parents married in secret, so I have her to thank for everything I have right now.”

“She was supposed to marry the king?”

“My Edward was the crown prince back then, but yes, she was supposed to be wed to him.” She rubs her thumbs above your palms. “If you need any help, any at all, don't be afraid to ask for me. I'll do everything in my power to help my old friend's only daughter.”

“That's good to know, your majesty.”

“Of course, anything at all, little bird.”

The doors burst open suddenly, and out comes your heavily drunk uncle stumbling in. Frederick spots you, he gasps, laughing and pointing at you while he has a bottle in his hand.

“We shall have a ball to welcome my niece!” He wobbles over to you, slurring his words.

His wife comes running in after him, grabbing her husband by the collar before he reaches your side and the queen's. “Caroline, your majesty. Niece.” She apologizes quickly with a bow before dragging him out.

Miguel walks in with his shirt rumpled and jacket in his hand. He bows when he sees the queen before waking Lyla up with a measured slap on her bicep. She wakes up with a start, heart racing at the sudden wake up call.

“I bid you farewell. Do remember what we discussed.” The queen turns to you, letting your hands go.

You give her a polite smile. “Of course, thank you.”

She leaves with a nod towards Miguel. With the click of the doors, he can finally breathe properly.

“Ready to come home?”

No.

“Yes.” Your eyes play tricks as you see Hobie in the corner of your eyes. When you glance at the wall, he's gone like a candle light.

[bayfuzzball7050]

⚠️VOLUME WARNING⚠️

This is about WWM/TA

I’ve been like 3 hours animating exactly 6 seconds

I LOVE YOUR FIC @cassyapper PLEASE IT MAKES ME SO HAPPYA ND SAD AND AAARRRGHHHH

[hayffiebird]

Taste of Strawberries, chap. 55 (part one)

Hayffie Post-Mockingjay (Canon divergence) Multi-chapter, Rated M

Four years have passed since the end of the war when Effie becomes a fixture in Haymitch’s life once again. An old friendship is rekindled. Will it lead to something more?

Meanwhile, Panem has entered a new era. The rebellion’s over, the borders are open but in the shadows, anger and mistrust are smoldering. Something which will affect Haymitch and Effie’s life in a way they never saw coming. READ MORE

Author's note: This is the first chapter post-SOTR and it's FULL OF SUNRISE ON THE REAPING SPOILERS!!!!! so read at your own risk.

As you probably know, Taste of Strawberries is an OLD fic and I wrote my own take on Haymitch's backstory as early as chapter 9, A rain of tears, when we still only had the trilogy.

So obviously, I couldn't know about the Covey, Lucy Gray, mentor Snow, the names of Haymitch's family etc because TBOSAS and SOTR didn't exist back then.

But I've ponder quite a lot over the possibility of including more canon from TBOSAS and SOTR into ToS somehow without rewriting the whole thing. The result is this chapter, focusing on Haymitch before his Games but years of his life that we didn't really touch in chapter 9.

That being said, I still have to deviate from canon in some regards to stay true to my story and the things I set up prior to TBOSAS and SOTR. The biggest one of all, probably, is the fact that Effie is younger than Haymitch in my fic. (I don't think ANY of us saw that canon coming! Her being the older of the two.)

But I've tried my very best, using all the tools in my writer's box to work around my own story a little and add bits and pieces from canon that I hope you'll like.

This chapter also has quite a lot of easter eggs from SOTR to help blend canon and fanon together. I even took liberty of borrowing a few passages (cough*stole*cough) from places like the Burdock Everdeen scenes, Haymitch and the cistern, the Covey's house etc.

As always, thank you for being such sweet dears when you respond to this story, through comments etc. I REALLY appreciate it and it's such a joy to see the fandom so alive post-SOTR with heaps of new content and engagement!

Chapter 55, The dove and the butterfly (part one)

The sun was on the rise, casting long shadows. Burning away the veils of morning mist.

Haymitch half-jogged across the meadow, rucksack thrown over one shoulder, leaving the gray, worn houses of his home behind.

The Seam, at this hour, was alive only with the occasional bird twitter and the miners heading for work. Heavy boots against cinder streets. Quiet murmurs. Tin lunch boxes bumping with every step.

A chill lingered in the air but it would warm up soon enough, that’s for sure. Dewy blades of grass licked Haymitch’s bare ankles. He shivered but it couldn’t be helped.

As he went from fifteen to sixteen, his patched trousers only inched further and further up. Didn’t matter how much he tugged and pulled at the hem. His futile attempts never failed to make Tara laugh - but only in that sweet way of hers.

Ma, who wasted nothing, was in the middle of sewing him a pair of shorts made from a government-issued flour sack. Better suited for the sweltering summer months approaching. But until she’d stitched the final thread, he had to make do with these.

Tara called the meadow the friend of the condemned because it could hide you from the peacekeepers, and the ugly fence surrounding the district lay not far beyond.

His father’s old shoes were too big for him but he’d stuffed his winter socks at the front so he should be alright, even on a long trek like today.

He crawled under the fence, brushed flakes of rust from his hair and headed into the green embrace of the wilderness.

He didn’t stop until he reached their usual randezvous spot. His girl’s favorite rock. Overgrown with moss. Surrounded by a crown of buttercups.

“Tara?”

His gaze turned skyward, out of habit. She’d taken to scaling those trees so often lately, it was like she lived there.

No one could argue with the fact that they were both candid climbers, but he’d be damned if Tara wasn’t a monkey in a past life.

“T?”

A pebble echoed as it hit a nearby trunk. The sound spread a smile on Haymitch’s lips. He dropped the rucksack and shielded his eyes. Scanned those leafy branches for movements, opposite him.

“Hoo!” The owl sound, coming from on high, craned his neck in the other direction. The yapping of a dog followed. Gus.

Haymitch chuckled to himself.

”Olly olly oxen free!”

A pinecone dropped smack on his head.

“Ow!”

Giggles. He rubbed his head vigorously, play-acting for effect but of course he couldn’t keep from laughing.

“Come on, T! Can’t kiss you when I’m down here, can I?”

Then she materialized. Between the branches of a hardwood tree, high up there, holding Gus on her arm.

Haymitch drank in the sight of her. Her raven hair. Her lovely, faded green dress, which made her all but one with the leaves.

The little dog wiggled like crazy, at the sight of Haymitch on the forest floor.

Holding him tight, Tara inched her way down, scooted from branch to branch until they were almost at eye level.

“There you go.” Palms against Gus’s soft underbelly, she held out the dog to Haymitch, like he’d been a loaf of bread.

“Thanks.” He grinned as he accepted the little tail-wagger. Tara had tied an ivory ribbon in his collar. “Hey, Gus.”

The dog’s tiny paws skittered, body twisting with boundless joy as he panted dog breath in Haymitch’s face.

Tara swung swiftly to the ground, her hair flying about her.

“You got past your ma today”, she said, a gleeful glint on her gray eyes.

“Barely.” He settled Gus on the ground where the dog instantly spun in a circle, chasing his tail. “I promised to get her blueberries on the way home”, he said and nudged the rucksack with his boot. “Some elderflowers too. Then she let me go.”

Tara chuckled and pulled him in for a kiss. Then another. And another. His knees all but buckled from the scent of honeysuckle in her hair.

”Let’s hope we can find a patch where Burdie hasn’t beat you to it then. After the lake.” She smiled and tugged at his hand. “Come on.”

Burdock Everdeen had been a friend of Tara’s for many years. Given that she was quite the solitary child, a rough-and-tumble kid, the boy had sort of taken her under his wings. Or maybe it was the other way around?

At any rate, while Haymitch still played around Twelve with the Donner twins, Tara ran in and out Burdie’s house as she pleased. One of the family. The big sister he never had. An Everdeen in all but name.

Haymitch knew Burdock from school of course. Had seen him plenty of times at the Hob too or hanging around the apothecary.

Everyone knew he was absolutely nuts about Tessa March. The boy even added wildcrafting to his game business, just so he could spend more time with her.

But the three of them – Burdock, Tara and Haymitch – didn’t really start hanging out together until after Madam’s passing.

Back then, Haymitch hardly ever ventured into the woods. Not far anyway. Deterred by both the law and the threat of wild predators. But Burdock waved his concerns away. Said he snuck under the fence all the time and there was nothing to it.

And once he began roaming the wild with the two of them, there was no turning back. He was hooked, no question about it.

Course, he’d be lying if he said the touch of Tara’s hand against his, her smiles, her stories, her sweet laughter wasn’t what fueled him the most.

As their bond blossomed from friendship to love, as natural as a bud unfolding, Burdock noticed of course. Would be impossible not to.

And as evidence to what a great person he was, he quietly gave his two friends the gift of freedom, allowing them to explore it, and the woods, on their own.

“That thing scares off prey like it’s a full-time job”, he teased and nodded toward the clueless dog who sat there kicking up pine needles with every wag of his tail. “Better get a move on or else no supper.” He gave his friends a wink and a smile. “See you guys later.”

And he headed off, leaving Haymitch and Tara to their own devices.

They shared their first kiss in the sanctuary of those woods. Their first but not their last.

Oh, how often he’d looked at those lips and wondered what it would be like. It was the first time he ever kissed a girl and what surprised him the most was how natural it felt. Not awkward at all.

It was like she was a part of him. As though his lips were meant to kiss hers, for as long as he lived.

He couldn’t believe how lucky he was, to have found a girl like Tara. Someone he could be himself with. Share everything with. Someone who loved him as much as he loved her.

Together, they watched the seasons change. Always by each other’s side. And even when some odd job in town kept them apart, she was never far from his mind.

Amadeus tagged along sometimes, but the woods frightened him. He preferred the quietude of their house, now and always, but was overjoyed every time he got to shoulder the role of dogsitter.

Yes, the woods became their refuge. A safe haven. If one could even exist in a place like Twelve. Or Panem for that matter.

Here they could roam as they pleased. Free as birds. Away from people’s judgement. Away from the peacekeepers, who – for all their big talk and tasers and guns – feared the “ghastly wilderness”, even more so than Amadeus.

It was easy to get lost there. No real paths to guide you.

But Haymitch wasn’t scared. Especially not when he had Tara by his side. She was his compass. In more than one way.

It’d been some year for his rare and radiant girl. Without a doubt. Chaotic and challenging both. He did his best to give her the support she needed.

It all started one day on the meadow. Friend of the condemned or not, a trio of peacekeepers found their way there that morning. Liquored up. Rifles at their hips.

It wouldn’t be the first time peacekeepers chased her off the Meadow for no reason. Or gunned for her dog, making a game of it.

What made it different were the things they hollered her way. Words which rattled his girl. Rattled her to the core. Worse than a box to the ear ever could.

Haymitch tracked her down later that day. A drizzle whispered in the leaves, and he found her by the old hut. A childish thing they built with Burdock years ago, using twigs and branches and resting them against a tree trunk.

She just sat there, shielded from the rain, with her arms wrapped around her knees. Gus poked a nose out from under her skirts.

Haymitch climbed in with her, but she was reluctant to speak about what happened. About the things those men shouted after her.

And then there came a Sunday. A pivotal one which would set a whole chain of events into motion.

“I need you to fill the cistern today”, ma told him first thing. Before he’d even rolled out of bed.

Ugh. What a way to start your day. Especially a day without school.

But there was no escaping it. Not when Helena Abernathy gave you a direct order.

Amadeus slipped his little hand into his. Gave it an encouraging squeeze.

“Come on”, he said. “We’ll do it together.”

Heading for the well, Haymitch consoled himself with the fact that Tara would come find him anyway, when he didn’t show up by her rock.

What with pumping and hauling, filling the cistern was a two-hour job. By then, his girl would be perched up on the rim of the well, dangling her stockinged feet over the edge and maybe telling them one of her maddening stories.

Only she didn’t.

As they emptied the final bucket, wrinkles marred Haymitch’s forehead.

Tara could look out for herself. He knew that better than anyone. But still …

Ma didn’t show it, but he knew she was pleased over having him home for a change. She liked Tara well enough, but chores were never in short supply if you lived in the Seam, making the girl a distraction.

Amadeus kept close. He tried to brighten his brother’s mood by coming up with an endless supply of quirky limericks and other playful rhymes.

It’d been one of his favorite pastimes, ever since Mr. Henderson taught him how to do it, one day at the bookshop.

By lunch Haymitch was so antsy, even ma took pity on him.

“Oh, alright, you go”, she said, across the kitchen table. “But remember curfew!”

Tara and her ma’s place lay only a few houses down in the Seam.

Gwen must have heard his running, for the door flew open, before he even got a chance to knock.

But her face fell at the sight of him.

“Oh … hello Haymitch.”

If Tessa Asterid March was the town beauty, Gwen was “the beauty who never was”. At least from the mouths of those with nothing better to do.

She was born with a large strawberry-colored birthmark, which bloomed over most of her face. Some called it a “port-wine stain”. Others “firemark” or “stork bite”.

Because of people’s ignorance, a lot of men, women and children – especially towners – kept a wide berth, thinking she was contagious. This, despite Tessa and Sae’s joined efforts to try and educate people otherwise.

But it wasn’t Gwen’s birthmark that Haymitch stared at, standing there before her.

It was her eyes. Puffy and red. Swollen from crying.

”What’s wrong?” he asked, in alarm. “Where’s Tara? Did the peacekeepers …”

“No”, Gwen reassured him, voice thick from recent tears. “No. Nothing like that.”

“What happened?”

Gwen swallowed back. Wiped her wet cheeks with the hem of her apron.

“We had a fight. She ran off.”

“Where?”

“The Covey’s house.”

The Covey’s house! A whirl of questions buzzed through his mind at those words, but he had no chance to focus on either of them, for Gwen continued, fresh tears falling,

“I went there. Asked her to come home, but she won’t speak to me. Oh, Haymitch, do check on her. Please. Maybe she’ll listen to you.”

xXx

The yard surrounding the Covey’s funny, crooked house had a wonderous hodgepodge of flowering plants, dug up from the woods over the years and bedded down in front of their house with no apparent rhyme or reason.

From late March to November, you could count on at least one flower or bush being in bloom.

Like Madam’s place, it kept on a safe distance from its neighbors. Exuded an air of respect. Of differentness. The two gentlemen who lived there most certainly did. They kept to themselves – when they weren’t off doing a job somewhere.

Word had it, they’d been friends with Madam though, back in the day. A comforting thought. At least then he knew what he might be in for.

Course, they never called her that. “Madam”. It was always Constance or Ms. Meeney. Same way they never called Louella’s ma “Greasy” Sae.

Names were precious to the Covey and neither Clerk Carmine nor Tam Amber cared much for nicknames, not even the ones said affectionately.

Haymitch raised his hand and gave a polite knock. Hoping against hope that Tara would be the one getting the door.

No such luck.

Clerk Carmine Clade stared down at him, one hand against the door handle. The other one shoved in his patched overalls.

“Er, hello”, Haymitch said. “I’m …”

“I know who you are”, the man cut him off. He didn’t holler but he had one of those voices that carried without needing to.

“Right. Well …” Haymitch peered behind him, into the house, hoping that he might spot his girl. “Is Tara here?”

The crease between the man’s eyebrows only deepened.

Now Tam Amber also appeared at the door. Slightly less hostile, but not much.

“Look, I just want to see she’s alright”, Haymitch said. “She’s my, um …”

Clerk Carmine drew a deep sigh but Tam Amber said,

“Wait here …”

He vanished. Soft murmurs rose from inside the house. Haymitch recognized Tara’s voice but he couldn’t make out any words. After a few minutes Tam Amber returned.

“Come on in”, he said. “She wants to see you.”

“And wipe those shoes off”, Clerk Carmine added, unimpressed.

The two men led the way through the house, into the kitchen, and there she was. Seated at the worn plank table. Pale but unharmed. Hands around a mug of tea. Chamomile, by the smell of it.

She looked up, unsmiling.

“Hey …” He approached the table, but without crowding her. “I got worried so I came to find you. You OK, T?”

A stupid question of course. He could see she wasn’t.

In the background, he heard Tam Amber’s voice.

”Would you care for a spot of tea?”

And Clerk Carmine’s:

“No need. Boy’s not staying.”

“Um, yeah”, Haymitch said, looking between the two. Then back at Tara. “Tea sounds great.”

While Tam Amber poured from a pot, Haymitch pulled out a chair.

“I saw your ma. She said you … fought?”

Tara snorted.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Her gray eyes, darkened by grief, stared into the distance. Haymitch reached a hand out. Ran a fingertip ever so gently against her slender wrist.

“Whatever it is, you can tell me about it”, he said softly. “You know you can count on me. Always.”

And so she did.

While she spoke, the two men withdrew to the inner domains of the house, giving them some privacy. Although, Haymitch doubted a lot of his girl’s words were missed. Not in a place with this many open doorways.

“She lied to me”, Tara said, voice trembling with barely contained rage. “My whole life. I don’t care if she’s sorry now that I’ve caught up to her. She stole from me, that’s what she did! She stole the person I could’ve been!”

“Tara …”

“But I’m not!” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “I wasn’t supposed to be!”

“What do you mean?”

She drew a trembling breath. Refused to let her tears fall.

“My name isn’t really Tara Chance”, she said. “It’s Tara Dove Baird.”

To be continued …

Author's note: Can you see where I'm going with this? Tell me in the comments!

Also, I cannot for the life of me remember if I named Katniss's dad before SOTR! I was sure I did, but I can't find it anywhere in my documents. Keeping my fingers crossed that I dodged that bullet, so that Burdock can be Burdock in ToS from the get-go.

I can't take full credit for Tara's "stole from me" sentances. That's from Mike Flanagan's tv series "Midnight mass".

[erinwantstowrite]

I just got here after seeing your tiktok, and I have one thing to say...

I'll be sending you the cost of my therapy session after chapter 11, I cried, and it's all your fault. If it's not paid, I'll sue for emotional trauma.

I also take compensation in any fluff we will be getting in the future, chapter 12.

You have been warned.

/j

everyone must forgive me because chapter 12 is literally ALL fluff for Peter and Dick's side of the chapter. they're living their best life getting to know each other better and terrorizing other people with how adorable they are

meanwhile, Steph, Cass, and Babs tail after their mission from chap 11

[bridgeportbritt]

Victory Gym | Sage, SimDonia

Announcer: And sims are in the water!

Announcer: Prince Oliver and Prince Natan are leading as they both show off their swimming skills. Both have clearly been training for this as you look at their form and speed.

Announcer: Meanwhile, Crown Prince Cedric... well, we're just happy he's having a great time.

Cedric hums as he gently swims through the water

Announcer: Alright, in this final lap, Oliver seems to be picking up speed and pulling ahead! Natan is falling behind, but not giving up. Cedric stays in third.

Announcer: We're in the home stretch and it's anyone's race. Well, let's be honest. Probably not, Cedric, but he has caught up some. Oliver and Natan stay neck and neck. Who's going to reach the end first?

Announcer: It's Prince Oliver!

Applause and cheers

Reporter: Prince Oliver climbs out of the pool victorious! He is congratulated by Prince Gerhard and his fiance, Madame Hortense. Great work, Oliver, and to each competitor! One game down, three to go!

@whitmoreroyals @officalroyalsofpierreland @crownsofesha

[baeshijima]

so...

i think i just found my new manhwa obsession :D (theyre both the same mc, ryu min, btw but one is the real world (blue eyes) and one is his customised appearance in the game world (red eyes))

on the floor for him like actually

also his lil brother ryu won is so cute :((

the title is [The Max-Level Player's 100th Regression] btw ^^

[fishareglorious]

top ten Journey to Mor Pankh quotes

[takeariskao3]

i’ve got sav blanc and a free evening let’s fucking do this