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dccomicsimagines · 3 years

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Spontaneous Valentine’s Date - Bruce Wayne x Reader

Requested by Anon - can you do an imagine when Bruce and the reader go on a date to a Burger king etc and Bruce start eating the burger like in the comic and the reader be just like wat? #-#!!!!!

Requested by Anon - can you write one where Bruce Wayne changes up date night on Valentine’s Day?!!

***

“Lois and I are taking it easy this year. We’re ordering in and enjoying quiet time together,” Clark said, walking into the meeting room with Barry. He adjusted his cape. Bruce was already seated at the meeting table. He rolled his eyes before focusing back on his paperwork.

Barry chuckled. “That’s nice. I’m planning on taking Iris on a surprise trip to Paris.” He took his seat, spinning in his chair. “I’ll scoop her up and run her there just in time for brunch in front of the Eiffel Tower.”

“Sounds nice.” Clark sat down next to Bruce. “What about you, Bruce? You and (Y/N) have big plans this year?”

Bruce grunted. “Plans for what?” His eyes stayed on his paperwork, but his mind raced to figure out what he missed. It had to be something everyone was celebrating? Did he forget your birthday again? Wait, not everyone would be celebrating that.

“Valentine’s day, B.” Barry spun in his chair, laughing in delight. “Don’t tell me you forgot.”

“He’s the world’s greatest detective. Of course, he didn’t forget.” Clark shook his head, crossing his arms. “I know what you’re planning, Bruce. You’ll take (Y/N) to that five star restaurant and buy them another piece of jewelry.”

Bruce glared at Clark. “Why does it matter?” He cursed himself for forgetting Valentine’s Day again. Hopefully, Alfred remembered and made the reservations for him.

“You do the same thing every year.” Clark chuckled, sharing a look with Barry. “Anytime you celebrate something, whether it’s a birthday, holiday, or anniversary, you take (Y/N) to the same restaurant and buy them jewelry.”

“What is wrong with that?” Bruce tensed, defensive. “That what (Y/N) likes.”

Barry snorted. “Doubt that.” Bruce turned his glare onto Barry. Barry flinched. “Come on, B. It wouldn’t kill you to change it up once and a while.”

Bruce pursed his lips into a firm line. “Don’t you two have something better to do instead of being in here distracting me?” He looked back at the paperwork with a grunt. Barry and Clark took the hint, leaving the room and taking their conversation with them. Bruce relaxed only slightly. Was he boring you? Did he really always take you to the same restaurant? Throughout the rest of day, it nagged him in the back of his mind.

***

Bruce eyed Dick from the batcomputer chair as Dick flipped around on the uneven bars in the cave. The fourteen year old swung around with the skill of an Olympian. Bruce glanced at the batcomputer before looking back at Dick. Dick somersaulted off the uneven bar to land perfectly on the mat below.

“Tat da!” Dick shouted, smiling brightly when he saw Bruce was watching. “What do you think, Bruce?” He picked up a towel and his water bottle.

“Good, but I don’t see why you need to show off. You don’t need to be that flamboyant in the field.” Bruce turned back to the batcomputer.

Bouncy footsteps echoed throughout the cave as Dick came to Bruce’s side. “Doesn’t mean I can’t have some fun from time to time.” Dick leaned against Bruce’s computer chair. “What’s wrong with you? You realize the computer is off, right?”

Bruce blushed slightly. “Right.” He turned the computer on. “Dick, can I ask you something? Hero to sidekick confidentiality?”

Dick laughed. “Sure. Fire away.” He smirked down at Bruce, clearly enjoying himself.

“Do...” He cleared his throat. “Do you think I’m boring (Y/N)?” Silence followed. Bruce bit his lip, glancing at Dick to find him trying to hold back laughter by pressing his hand over his mouth. “I’m being serious.”

A little snicker escaped Dick. He swallowed it, pulling his hand away from his mouth. “No, I mean you’re just predictable, Bruce, but people like predictability most of the time.”

“Most of the time.” Bruce frowned. “Do you think (Y/N) is one of those people?”

Dick smiled. “(Y/N) loves you, Bruce. I think they’d be happy just spending time with you.” He turned to head upstairs to the manor. “But it wouldn’t hurt to surprise them. Do something unexpected.”

Bruce hummed. He watched Dick go. “Unexpected.” The batcomputer binged with new messages. Bruce frowned, pushing aside his dilemma for work once again.

***

“I’ve made your reservations for tomorrow and Mr. Kato will be coming by your office with a selection of jewelry.” Alfred folded up Bruce’s cape. He wrinkled his nose at the sewer smell that oozed from it. Bruce had just gotten back from patrol. Unfortunately, Bruce had been forced to chase Killer Croc through the sewers all night.

Bruce paused after he peeled off the top of his suit. “Alfred, do you think I’m predictable?”

Alfred clicked his tongue. “Master Bruce, you are as predictable as they come. How do you think I am always able to see to your needs so easily?” He took the top of Bruce’s suit with a sneer of disgust. “Of course, you do surprise me once and a while. This being a prime example.”

“Sorry, Alfred.” Bruce stepped out of his suit pants and went straight into the shower. “Is (Y/N) already in bed?”

“Yes, Mx. (Y/N) retired in order to be well rested for the Wayne Enterprises meeting in the morning. They will be taking your place.” Alfred raised his voice to be heard over the shower. “What makes you ask if you are predictable, sir? You don’t often have such concerns about your character.”

Bruce grunted, washing his hair. “I’ve been told that (Y/N) may not appreciate my predictability.”

“From who? Mx. (Y/N) themselves?” The sink ran. Bruce assumed Alfred started soaking his suit.

“Dick, Clark, Barry.” Bruce blushed, cursing himself for feeling self conscious about their comments. He reasoned it was only because he felt he would never be good enough for you.

Alfred hummed. “Yes, well, Mx. (Y/N) will be happy with whatever you do, Master Bruce. Let me know if you want me to cancel anything.”

Bruce sighed, peeking out of the shower at Alfred who was leaving the room. “Why can’t you just say I should change our plans?” he mumbled. “I know you want me to.” He put his face straight into the spray, deciding he would get one last opinion before he spent time figuring out what to do.

***

He crawled into bed next to you. You mumbled in your sleep. He spooned into you, tucking you against him and burying his nose into the back of your neck.

“How was Gotham?” You turned over to look him in the eye.

“Better now that Killer Croc is back in Arkham.” Bruce sighed, touching his nose to yours. “Sorry, I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I like to know you’re safe and with me.” You smiled and pressed a sweet kiss to his lips. “It’s after midnight, so Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Bruce’s face fell slightly. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He returned your kiss halfheartedly.

“What’s wrong?” You noticed the change, pulling back to look at him.

“Nothing.” Bruce bit his lip. He studied you, drinking in how accepting and perfect you were. How did you fall in love with him? He’d never figure it out, even if he was the world’s greatest detective. “If we did something different for Valentine’s Day this year, would you mind?”

Your eyes lit up. “Different? What did you have in mind?”

Bruce’s heart sank. Your reaction proved he was in fact boring you. He was a failure as a husband clearly. “It’s a surprise.” He forced a smile on his face. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

You slammed your lips against his passionately. “I’ll be happy with anything, sweetheart.” You pulled him on top of you. Bruce groaned, quickly getting distracted. He’ll have to figure out what to do for you later.

***

Bruce slipped on the leather jacket you had gifted him that morning as he stood in the entry hall of the manor. “Are you seriously wearing jeans?” Dick asked, sliding down the railing of the stairs only to flip off and land in front of Bruce.

“We’re going casual.” Bruce crossed his arms.

“What’s the big plan?” Dick copied Bruce by crossing his arms. He smirked, letting his hair fall into his eyes. Bruce was taken back by how Dick had grown. It was like it was yesterday when he was nine years old and swinging off the chandelier.

“I...I’m making it up as we go.” Bruce glanced up the stairs, looking for you. “So you have Wally West coming here and you two are going to...not go on patrol?” He narrowed his eyes when Dick flashed a charming smile.

“Yeah, we’re going to play video games. Alfred will make sure we don’t burn the manor down. Besides, (Y/N) would kill us.” Dick looked up the stairs when you came around the corner.

“That’s right.” You took Bruce’s breath away. Your clothes were causal, jeans with a nice shirt. “I don’t want you and Wally eating all the Valentines candy I let you buy and staying up all night. In bed by midnight.” You put your hands on Dick’s shoulders, kissing his forehead. “Listen to Alfred.”

“Yes, (Y/N).” Dick blushed, pulling away. “Have fun you two. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” He winked and ran off before Bruce could smack him in the back of the head.

“He’s gotten bad.” Bruce grumbled, turning back to you.

You played with the collar of his leather jacket. “Only learns from example.” Chuckling, you smirked up at Bruce. “I have to say I have good taste. This looks amazing on you.”

“You’re stunning as always.” Bruce kissed you passionately, wrapping his arms around your waist. He loved you so much. His heart threatened to burst.

Alfred cleared his throat from the front doorway. “Mr. and Mx. Wayne, I have the Dodge Charger out front and idling.”

“Yes, thank you.” Bruce pulled away from you, nodding to Alfred. “We’ll be back some time tonight, Alfred. Don’t wait up.”

“Of course, Master Bruce.” Alfred left the room with a satisfied smile on his lips.

“So Mr. Wayne, what is this surprise of yours?” You hooked your arm with his. “I have to say, I’m quite excited about it.”

Bruce forced a smile on his face. “Just wait and see.” He led you out to the car, hoping an idea will come to him on the drive to Gotham.

***

“Ooo, so we’re going to the mall, Bruce?” You looked at him curiously. “Have you even been to a mall?”

Bruce cleared his throat. “I’m sure I took you once.” He pulled into a parking space. “Didn’t you drag me here to buy something for Dick?”

“I dragged you?” You laughed, eyes shining. “Bruce, I usually have to drag you everywhere.” You got out once Bruce turned off the car. “But this is a nice change of pace.”

Bruce stayed in the car, silently sighing in relief. Thank goodness he happened to drive past the mall and decided to take a chance. You peeked back into the car at him. He looked at you with wide eyes. “I’m coming.” He quickly got out of the car, banging his head on the way out. You laughed.

“Now you’re acting like you did on our first date.” You leaned against the car, watching him from over the roof. “We were seventeen. Alfred just dropped us off at...”

“The library. I thought I was being original.” A small smile pulled at his lips. He blinked, flashing an image of you at seventeen when you were the loveliness person he ever saw. You still were. More beautiful if anyone asked him.

“Very original.” You came around the car and kissed his cheek. “You were such a mess. Sweating, dropping books, tripping all over the place.”

Bruce laughed. “Only with you. I’ve loved you then, and I love you now.” He took your hand and kissed the back of your hand. “Come on, let’s go.” He pulled you along toward the mall entrance.

***

You sat at one of the mall food court’s grubby tables. Alfred would have a heart attack and honestly you weren’t one hundred percent thrilled by it, but this was fun. Very fun.

Bruce approached with a tray of burgers and fries. He seemed so out of his element. You enjoyed it. “Did you have trouble, dear?” You asked as he frowned at the table before carefully setting the tray down.

“No.” He sank down onto the chair across from you. His eyebrow raised when he saw the smirk on your face. “What is that for?”

“Bruce, did you really plan to bring me here?” You crossed your arms, resting your elbows on the table.

“Yes.” He took a burger and unwrapped it. “I thought it would surprise you.”

You glanced around the mall. “It certainly surprised me, but what brought this on?”

Bruce unfolded a napkin and laid it on the table to make a barrier between his burger and the table. Your eyes widened as he opened a plastic set of silverware and started to cut his burger and eat it with his fork as if it were the finest steak in town. “I just thought we should do something different this year.”

“Seriously?” He looked up at you in surprise. “Come on, Bruce. You don’t have to do that here.”

“What?” He frowned in confusion.

You rolled your eyes. “Sweetheart, I know you think you need to do that to make Bruce Wayne a spoiled rich kid, but that is just ridiculous. You don’t eat a burger that way at home or when you and Dick do your late night fast food stops.” Just to show him, you unwrapped your own burger and took a big bite.

Bruce stared at you. “Fine.” He dropped the silverware and picked up his own burger with his hands. “But if I spill on the leather coat you just gave me, it’s your fault.”

“Worth it,” you said once you swallowed. “So you never answered my question, Mr. Wayne. What brought on this surprise?”

Bruce cleared his throat, setting down his burger to take a drink. “It was made apparent to me that I was...boring you.”

“Boring me?” You blinked at him. A rare blush came to his cheeks. “Bruce, how could you bore me? You’re the most interesting, handsome man I know.”

“I didn’t realize we always went to the same restaurant and I kept giving you jewelry for every single special occasion.” Bruce shook his head, meeting your eye. “I let you down, (Y/N). You’re more special than just a habit.”

You smiled. Your heart skipped a beat. Why did he have to be so wonderful? You stood up, leaning over the table to kiss his lips. “I love you, Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce didn’t respond at first, surprised before he melted into you. Once you felt your skin burn, your body tingling with need, you pulled away. “Maybe we should head home early?” Bruce’s eyes danced eagerly.

“We’ll have plenty of time when we get home. I want to enjoy your spontaneous Valentine’s Day while I can.” You winked at him before taking another bite of your burger and settling into your seat. “What’s your plan after this?”

Bruce eyed his burger. “Well...” He glanced around. “We could walk around, see what catches our interests. I don’t know what’s here.” He looked back at you. You met his eye, falling more in love with him by the second. How could you fall more in love with the person you already loved? You guessed you were finding out.

***

“Are you sure Dick will want that?” Bruce asked, watching as you picked up a t-shirt in Dick’s size.

“Yes, he’s a teen boy, Bruce.” You held up the shirt to show him. It was a Star Wars shirt with Chewbecca on it. “He loves Star Wars and since we’re here, we might as well.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Punk rock music echoed in his ears as he and you stood in the crowded Hot Topic store. He couldn’t believe there could be so much crap in one place. “I would have never wore that as a teenager.”

“No, but you were raised by Alfred.” You kissed his cheek. Bruce tensed when you got a playful smirk on your lips. “You know it is buy two get one free.”

“No.” Bruce held up a hand. “Don’t think about it.”

A pout crept onto your lips. Bruce’s heart melted at the sight. “Come on, Mr. Wayne.” You smiled innocently at him, but the sparkle in your eye told him you knew how to get him to bend. “This would be quite different from all the beautiful jewelry you have given me. I love it all really, but if you did want to be spontaneous and different this year...”

Bruce rolled his eyes. You were worse than Alfred. Passive aggressive all the way. “You got me, but nothing embarrassing for me if you want me to wear it.”

“Of course, dear.” You kissed his cheek and turned back to the wall of t-shirts. Bruce’s mouth twitched, almost into a smile. He wished he would have noticed earlier, realized sooner that you would love to do something like this. A woman with several piercings came up to talk to you and you pointed at shirt on the top rack. Bruce shook his head at the sight, knowing he would love whatever you picked for him

***

“Honey, it’s okay if you can’t do it,” you whispered into Bruce’s ear as he lined up his shot. “I’ll be happy as long as you’re happy.”

“Well, I won’t be happy until I win you that bear.” Bruce narrowed his eyes before rolling the skee-ball down the lane. It bounced up and landed in the bull’s eye effortlessly.

You laughed in delight, spurring Bruce on to roll his next three balls into the bull’s eye. The machine beeped, lights flashing and about thirty tickets popped out of it. “I was worried that you broke it.” You took the tickets, winking over at Bruce.

“It’s quite easy really. Once you calculate the amount of force and the speed the ball must go to reach the correct height, it’s simple.” Bruce unzipped his jacket, warm. He smiled when his eye caught caught the red of the AC/DC logo on his t-shirt. You had forced him to put on the t-shirt you bought right away. He had to admit that he liked it.

You headed over to a racing game. “Race me?” You winked at him. Bruce nodded, eyes dropping to the shirt you brought for yourself. It pictured an old cartoon show you watched as a child. Bruce had no idea what it was, but loved how it looked on you.

He took the seat in the neighboring cabinet. A demo game played on the screen. “The physics in this game is concerning.”

“It’s a video game, Bruce. It’s supposed to be exciting.” You scanned your player card into both machines. It turned on the car selection screen. “Ooo, look at this.” Bruce frowned, glancing over at your screen to see you were selecting the strangest version of the batmobile he had ever seen.

“The car has never looked like that.” He blushed, glancing around. “Are those little batears sticking out the back?”

“Yep.” You selected it as your car. Bruce quickly turned back to his screen to chose a red corvette before the timer ended.

The race started immediately. You laughed as you stepped on the gas. Bruce frowned when he saw the hideous batmobile zoom ahead of him. “No, you don’t.” He cut you off on the next turn.

You gasped. “That’s it, Mr. Wayne. Eat my dust.” You somehow activated thrusters on the horrid batmobile, crashing into Bruce to sent him flying through the air with ridiculous speed and height. His jaw dropped as his screen went black, resetting him on the track with you far ahead of him.

“Stupid.” He shook his head, finding the button for his own thrusters.

It was a dead heat, but you crossed the finish line seconds before him. “Yes!” You jumped up from your seat, hopping around in the circle. Bruce sighed, smirking as he watched you. You went to him, sitting in his lap. “Wasn’t that exciting? Maybe you should take some design ideas from this?” You kissed his lips sweetly.

He snorted. “Maybe. Dick would get a kick out of it, that’s for sure.” He kissed you back before you hopped out of his lap to collect the tickets you earned for coming in first place. A rare laugh escaped from him as you grabbed his hand to drag him over to another game.

***

Bruce held the bear under his arm along with a few shopping bags as he went around to open your car door. “Thank you, Mr. Wayne.” You got out of the car, kissing his cheek. “I had a wonderful time.”

“Good. Maybe we’ll have to do this again sometime?” Bruce teased, acting like you both just went on your first date. You played along.

“Oh yes. Call me.” You pursed your lips with a glint in your eye. “Actually, would you mind carry my bags inside? I can maybe open a bottle of wine and slip into something more...comfortable.” You whispered the last word in his ear. You literally watched the shiver go up his spine.

“Yes, love.” He kissed your lips, leading you inside the manor.

Alfred hurried out of the kitchen to meet the two of you in the entry. “Master Bruce, the signal is up.”

Bruce’s shoulders sank. “Of course.” You smiled to hide your disappointment. “I have to go.”

“I know.” You kissed his cheek. “Just know I’ll be waiting for you when you get home.” You took the bags and the bear from him.

Bruce smiled. “Good. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” He sealed a passionate kiss to your lips, dipping you slightly. You buried your fingers in his hair before he righted you and left the room.

You panted, shaking your head with a smile. Alfred just eyed the bear you held. “Are Dick and Wally still awake?”

“Yes, the boys just finished their fourth pizza an hour ago.” Alfred rolled his eyes. “Mr. West certainly eats quite a bit.”

“Well, he has to keep up with his metabolism.” You sighed and dug into one of your bags. “We got you some of the tea you like. There was a tea store at the mall.” You held out the box to him. Alfred’s eyes widened.

“Master Bruce took you to the mall?” He wrinkled his nose. “That was his plan?”

You laughed, delighted by the shock on Alfred’s face. “No, he was being spontaneous and we happened to drive by.” You adjusted the bags and the bear in your arms. “Are the boys still in the den? I think I’ll hang out with them for a bit, keep them from following Bruce into the city.”

“Of course, Mx. (Y/N).” Alfred smiled at the box of tea before following you into the den where you were met with Dick and Wally’s noisy chatter.

***

Bruce felt sick to his stomach as he climbed the stairs. He held back a yawn. The grandfather clock dinged loudly from the study. Four in the morning. Bruce sighed. You were probably asleep already. He hated that he missed the something comfortable you changed into.

The bedroom door was shut. Bruce paused outside, closing his eyes for a moment. He hoped you wouldn’t be upset with him. What was he supposed to do when Gordon told him about bodies disappearing from funeral homes only to reappear with missing limbs? In fact, he still hadn’t solved the case, but he had set up a trap for the body snatcher and it had to wait until tomorrow night.

Opening the door silently, his stomach dropped when he saw lit candles around the room. You were asleep on the bed in a beautiful, skimpy outfit. Your phone laid on your stomach and the blanket that was usually across the foot of the bed covered your waist.

A groan came from deep in Bruce’s gut as he locked the door behind him. He crawled onto the bed, not bothering to undress. Pulling you against his chest, he worship your neck with kisses.

“Bruce?” Your eyes fluttered as you yawned. A hand came around to rest on Bruce’s cheek. “You’re home.”

“Finally, yes.” He moaned against your collarbone as his kisses moved downward. The taste of your skin drove him wild. “I’m sorry it’s so late.”

“Yeah, it’s no longer Valentine’s Day.” You buried a hand in his hair, opening your eyes enough to watch him shower your body with kisses. “But who’s says we can’t let this be Valentine’s Eve?”

Bruce chuckled against your skin. “That would have been the day before yesterday.”

“Same thing.” You wrapped your legs around him when he crawled on top of you. “I love you, Bruce Wayne.” You looked him straight into the eye. Bruce felt the love and passion in your eyes shoot straight down to his abdomen.

“I love you, (Y/N) Wayne.” He kissed your lips and the two of you finished one of the best Valentine’s Days either of you had ever had.

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #dc comics imagines #dc reader insert #batman x reader #batman #batman imagine

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onlyanidala · 3 years

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onlyanidala fic archive

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Title: hold me in your arms and i’m home Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: M Summary: It's the ten year reunion for students from Coruscant high and more importantly, a long awaited reunion for two former lovers.

Title: home Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: G Summary: In which "Darth Vader" is no more than Anakin's playtime alter ego (happy Skywalker family AU)

Title: hypnotic takin’ over me Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: R Summary: "By the Force… Just how many times had he seen her like this in his dreams? How many times had he run his fingers over her skin? Filled his hands with her perfect backside? Yet, when he was, by some mercy or a cruel joke, granted true sight of her, he was oblivious."

Title: i do take two Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Thirty years after their clandestine wedding on Naboo, Anakin and Padmé decide to finally do the proper wedding ceremony they never got to have, with all their friends and family present.

Title: i know your type Author: shelivesfree Status: complete Rating: M Summary: "Am I dead?" It slips out, accidentally. She turns her head towards me, a confused look on her face and tips her head. "Excuse me?" Flashing her an impish grin, I lean casually against the wall. "I must have died and gone to heaven, because you look like an angel." The look she gives me is far from impressed. "Do you use that with all the girls, or am I just lucky?"

Title: i wish i could rewrite the stars Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: G Summary: Suddenly, forever felt like something that could be real. They could make it real, the two of them together and out of nowhere, tears stung at Anakin's eyes. It just meant so much. Padme loving him too was the stuff of his dreams; something he'd only just dared to believe was possible. But she did.

Title: if blood be the price Author: cadesama Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Anakin promised to free all the slaves and it is a promise he intends to keep. Struck by visions of a slave uprising on Tatooine, he runs away to join the fight. Five years later, it his new alliance of former slave worlds that the Republic fears, rather than a Separatist threat. Enlisted to negotiate a peace treaty, Senator Amidala is dispatched to find Anakin, alongside Obi-Wan Kenobi, who only wishes to bring his former Padawan home.

Title: imperial obligations Author: skywalkersamidala Status: complete Rating: R Summary: Padmé's advisors suggest that she get rid of Vader and make a politically advantageous marriage. The Empress is less than pleased. One-shot.Series: The Empress and Her Sith Lord.

Title: in his very soul Author: catiiasofia & misschrisdaae Status: complete Rating: R Summary: Ten years ago, the effort to liberate Naboo from Trade Federation control failed. Chancellor Palpatine managed to rescue the young Queen Amidala and two of her handmaidens, formally adopting her as his own. The new father and daughter quickly manipulated the Senate into granting him emergency powers and creating the Grand Army of the Republic, letting the Clone Wars begin. Now, assassins are coming for Padmé Palpatine, and her father has entrusted her safety to his mysterious enforcer, Darth Vader. While neither bodyguard nor charge is happy about this arrangement, there is an attraction they cannot ignore.

Title: in search of absolution Author: rogue darth skywalker Status: complete Rating: G Summary: Padme bit her lip as she placed one last post-it that had the name 'Shmi Skywalker' written on it. She didn't speak. She knew he needed a moment to think - to process what she was silently asking him. 'Are you ready to accept her forgiveness'"She'd want to come to her only son's wedding," She said. He shook his head, "I don't think so. After everything…"

Title: in the past Author: silverdaye Status: WIP Rating: T Summary: It's been two months after Bespin, and Luke Skywalker is trying to come to terms with the events that happened there. During a dogfight with Darth Vader, both of their fighters crash. When they recover, they both find themselves on Coruscant at the end of the Clone Wars. Vader still aims to claim his son, but Luke has been taken to the Jedi Temple where he meets Anakin Skywalker.

Title: it’s a dangerous love affair Author: gemma Status: complete Rating: M Summary: Lies, masks, blood and sex. The criminal underworld will swallow you up and spit you out again. One wants revenge and the other wants peace. Can their affair bring the downfall of the two biggest gangs of the underworld?

Title: it’s like deja vu all over again Author: shadowsong26 Status: complete Rating: M Summary: Three days ago, Padme Amidala closed her eyes for the last time in a sterile white room on an asteroid at the edge of nowhere. Three days ago, she opened them again on a sleek, chrome starship, watching Dorme putting on the finishing touches to Corde's headdress, her own weighted braids a comforting blanket on her back. Padme decides to change things, decides she can save Anakin (and the Galaxy) this time. Except, as time passes, she starts to realize things aren't happening exactly the way she remembers...

Title: (it’s not so bad) being dead like me Author: estrangedlestrange Status: complete Rating: T Summary: Recently deceased Anakin Skywalker (killed in an taco truck explosion) finds himself not in the after life but recruited as the newest member of the undead, he’s become a grim reaper. He’s told that it’s his destiny but really he thinks it’s just rotten luck. Rotten except for the fact that one of his fellow reapers is Padmé Amidala, the most beautiful woman Anakin’s has seen, dead or alive. As he struggles to come to grips with his death and his new role in the universe, Anakin finds that taking souls isn’t the easiest job out there, he also finds himself falling in love. One-shot.

#anidala #fic rec #anidala fic recs #onlyanidala fic recs #star wars #sw #fanfic #sw fanfic

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ghostiewriter · 3 years

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I know you're beta-ing my fic (love ya) but couldn't resist. Number 25 or 26 for the drabble challenge please 🙏

Ngl I really like this one!! Also it’s unedited so beware 💀and if you guys haven’t checked out Alex’s stuff, you should!! It’s amazing!😉

Word Count: 1.7K

Prompts: “Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?” // “I’m stuck! Help me!”

Motherhood was never a route Kiara saw herself going down.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a mother, it was just that with all her dreams and ambitions and goals for the future…it just happened to clash with what she knew she definitely wanted. But that’s how these things always go, doesn’t it? Just when you least expecting it, shit hit the fan and you’re left scrambling around as you try and wrap your head around everything. That’s what happened with Kiara and motherhood. She wasn’t expecting it, it wasn’t planned. But she also wasn’t as opposed to the concept like her younger self was.

Kiara was fourteen when she decided she wanted to travel the world, to see new places and experience new cultures and open her eyes to a world beyond the small island she grew up on. And she did just that, lucky to enough have someone to share the experiences with. With the money they gained from the treasure, JJ and Kie had enough money to go wherever they wanted (after Pope made sure they kept some in the bank so they wouldn’t be idiots and spend it all, well to make sure JJ didn’t). But it was great, it was everything Kiara could’ve wished for her future, for their future.

Except on one of those breaks between adventures, Kiara found herself thrown into the deep-end of adulthood and she was lucky enough to have someone as supportive as JJ by her side.

And that, my friends, is how James Maybank was brought into the world.

Kiara had never seen herself being a mother until the second she held her son in her hands. Tears in her eyes and a wide smile on her face as she looked at the little human she and JJ created was enough for Kiara to realise that having a child didn’t change any of her plans. She and JJ would still travel and have their adventures, they would just have an extra little explorer with them.

James Maybank was the perfect mix of his parents. In terms of looks, he was truly a kid that drew attention to himself. Tousled brown hair that was an exact copy of his mother’s, with little strands of dirty blonde running through his little curls. His skin was tanned and sun-kissed, a warm golden-bronze so fitting for a summer baby. But his eyes—it was his eyes that caught people’s attention. Bright blue just like his father. It was a shock to both parties when they saw those little blue eyes of his. At first, the doctor told them it was common for new-born babies to have blue eyes and their natural eye colour will develop over the next few weeks. Except James’s eyes remained blue—vibrant and captivating and complementing his tanned skin so well and framed so neatly by the little round-rim glasses he wore. Like mentioned before, he was the perfect mix of JJ and Kiara: his eyes and her hair, his nose and her lips, his bone structure but her cheekbones. The perfect product of JJ Maybank and Kiara Carrera.

However, despite the physical similarities she shared with her son, his personality was driven straight from the chaos of his father. Wild and rambunctious and energetic. He always kept the couple on their toes: JJ’s scheming skills and Kie’s intelligence was a dangerous combination that James just so happened to have. A little troublemaker even at the ripe age of three.

It’s usually why Kiara avoids leaving the two of them alone together for long periods of time, because who knows what nonsense they would get up to.

And of course, Kiara’s point was proved once again.

It was a hot summer day when JJ suggested they head over to the mainland for a wee day trip, just have a little family day before the big Pogue family trip next week to California. Most of the summer had been spent with the other pogues—not that she minded—and James being coddled by her parents, so Kie was all up for them to spend some time as just the three of them. It was the ideal day: walking around the mainland boutiques, grabbed some ice cream and walked along the beach as they ate it, all before heading towards the little play area that was on the pier that James had been eyeing all day.

They had put all their stuff down at a small café table where Kie was able to grab a seat outside. There was the perfect view of the play area from here. But before she could head over with James, JJ was pushing her down in a seat, telling her to relax and assuring her that he could watch over James while she had a coffee or something. So like the fool she was, she went ahead with JJ’s plan (as though their teenage shenanigans hadn’t taught her that JJ’s plans were always the worst).

However, things were going fairly smoothly. Kie was able to order a tea for herself and indulge in a book she had just bought that day. She was able to relax in the sunshine and enjoy a few moments of piece without her favourite hectic boys. Well, only for a short amount of time before a distressed James came running up to her.

“Mama! Mama!” He was panting and huffing, exhausted from how far he ran on his little legs. His fists gripped the hem of her shirt, tugging on it to gain her attention. And when Kie placed her drink and book down, she noticed how dishevelled his appearance was.

“What’s up, bub?” She asked as she gently fixed his askew glasses so they rested comfortably on his nose. However, before she could even attempt to fix his hair, James was grabbing her hands and attempting to tug her up.

“C’mon!” He whined and Kiara only laughed a little as she finally stood up. In an instant, he began to drag her towards the play area where she assumed that he had built some sandcastle in the sand pit he wanted to show her or even show her some neat trick he learnt on the jungle gym.

But it’s safe to say that she wasn’t expecting to see the sight in front of her.

She pressed her lips together, trying to stop herself from bursting into laughter. “JJ?”

“Kiara!” JJ’s head snapped up, looking relieved to see her. “I’m stuck! Help me!”

JJ Maybank: surfing legend, notorious troublemaker, a little schemer since he learnt how to walk. JJ Maybank: the boy that became the biggest pain in the ass to the OBX police force since they were probably first formed. JJ Maybank: the boy that shocked everyone and became a better man than anyone with his last name ever could.

And now he was JJ Maybank: the 26 year old moron who was currently stuck in a children’s jungle gym. It looked like one of those tunnels that kids climbed through to get from one side of the climbing frame to the other. Except instead of being able to crawl through completely, JJ had his head sticking out whilst everything below his shoulders was stuck in the tunnel.

“Oh, baby, this has gotta be a new record for stupid things you’ve done.” Kiara commented, hand over her mouth but he could tell by the shaking in her shoulders that she was laughing.

“Is Dada gonna be okay?” James spoke up, tugging on Kie’s hand he hadn’t let go of as he glanced between his parents. In an instant, Kie’s expression softened up.

“He’s gonna be fine, bub,” She assured him with a smile as she kneeled down to his height. “No need to be worried, in fact, you should be laughing!” She told him.

“Kiara!”

“Oh.” James muttered, turning to look at his father with his head tilted before he burst into a fit of giggles.

“Great,” JJ muttered bitterly as he stared at the ground. “Now ever my own son is laughing at me!”

“Oh, c’mon, it’s funny!” Kiara countered, arms wrapped around James with her head resting on his shoulder as they both snickered at JJ’s current predicament.

“Just help me get out!” He whined out. “I really need to pee.”

Eventually, Kiara headed back to the table at the café to grab her phone. After taking enough photos for her own amusement later, she called the local authorities that sent a team out to help break JJ out of the jungle gym. It took a total of two hours, by which the time JJ was finally free from his entrapment, the family had to head back to the island if they wanted to catch the last ferry.

“I can’t believe you.” Kie murmured as she leaned against JJ, the young boy fast asleep on their laps as they headed back to the mainland. They spoke in quiet whispers, letting James get the rest he deserved after such an eventful day.

“It wasn’t my fault!” He hissed quietly, looking down at James and gently pushing some hair out of his face. “It was his idea.” He added with a childish pout.

“Aren’t you supposed to be the adult?” She countered, a small smirk tugging on her lips.

“He’s a troublemaker, I’m telling you. Flashes you some puppy dog eyes and suddenly you’re crawling through some hellhole that is designed for Oompa Loompas.” He muttered, narrowing his eyes at the sleeping child. “He’s like an evil little mastermind.”

“Just like his father then.” Kiara commented, only causing JJ to look at her with a shocked expression. “Oh don’t look at me like that! You know I’m right, Jay. You were probably worse than him!”

JJ’s eyes widened slightly before he nodded. “Yeah, no fair enough.” He murmured with a nod before he grinned down at his son. “Ah, I feel like such a proud father knowing he is going to be such a charmer when he’s older.” Kie let out a scoff as she lightly elbowed him, but they both had massive smiles on their faces.

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t take years to finally make a move like his father.” Kie commented.

“Oh, wow, really? That’s the game you’re playing?” He retorted. “You literally made up a whole rule that stopped me from making a move.”

“Should’ve read between the lines.” She said with an innocent shrug. But then she turned to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But I’m glad you finally did make a move.”

JJ grinned at her before he looked down at James, who was still fast asleep with small snores escaping his lips.

“Yeah, me too.”

#jiara #outer banks #obx #jiara prompts #writing prompts #my writing

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hockeysweetheart · 4 years

Photo

So I asked this question Earlier. Do you think that Katniss was in love with Gale the romantic way.

Easy answer no. I do beileve she loved him as you love her friends. But there were just no sparks there. Okay this will be a super long thing. I’ll add all chapters and pages below

Lets dig into this.

So at the start of the book they meet up in the woods on the day of the reaping This is Katniss Discribing Gale ( This is after they talk about running away Katniss blurts out I am never having kids, Eating bakery bread Gale said he would have kids ect...

Chapter 1 Page 10 The hunger Games

This Conversation feels all wrong Leave? How could I leave Prim, Who is the only person in the world I’m certain I love? And Gale who is Devoted to his Family. We can’t Leave, so why bother talking about it? And if we did... even if we did... where did this stuff about having kids come from? There’s NEVER been anything romantic between Gale and me. When we met, I was a skinny 12 year old and although he was only two years older. He already looked like a man. It took a long time for us to even become friends, to stop haggling over every trade and begin helping each other out.

Besides if he wanted Kids, Gale won’t have any trouble finding a wife. He’s good-looking, he’s strong enough to handle the work in the mines, and he can hunt. You can tell by the way girls whisper about him when he walks by in school that they want him. It makes me jealous but not for the reason people would think. Good hunting partners are hard to find.

Page 38- 40 Chapter 3 The hunger Games

( Now this is when Katniss is saying goodbyes and Gale says goodbye)

Finally Gale is here and maybe there is nothing Romantic between us, but when he opens his arms . I don’t hesitate to go into the. His body is familiar to me- the way it moves, the smell of wood and smoke, even the sound of his heart beating I know from quiet moments on a hunt- but this is the first time I really feel it, lean and hard-muscled against my own.

"Katniss, it's just hunting. You're the best hunter I know," says Gale. "It's not just hunting. They're armed. They think," I say. "So do you. And you've had more practice. Real practice," he says. "You know how to kill." "Not people," I say. "How different can it be, really?" says Gale grimly. The awful thing is that if I can forget they're people, it will be no different at all. The Peacekeepers are back too soon and Gale asks for more time, but they're taking him away and I start to panic. "Don't let them starve!" I cry out, clinging to his hand. "I won't! You know I won't! Katniss, remember I - " he says, and they yank us apart and slam the door and I'll never know what it was he wanted me to remember.

Pages 109 to 112 Chapter 8 The Hunger Games

When they first met. Please note this is Before Peeta confessed his Love for Katniss.

I had been struggling along on my own for about six months when I first ran into Gale in the woods. It was a Sun- day in October, the air cool and pungent with dying things. I’d spent the morning competing with the squirrels for nuts and the slightly warmer afternoon wading in shallow ponds har- vesting katniss. The only meat I’d shot was a squirrel that had practically run over my toes in its quest for acorns, but the an- imals would still be afoot when the snow buried my other food sources. Having strayed farther afield than usual, I was hurrying back home, lugging my burlap sacks when I came across a dead rabbit. It was hanging by its neck in a thin wire a foot above my head. About fifteen yards away was another. I recognized the twitch-up snares because my father had used them. When the prey is caught, it’s yanked into the air out of the reach of other hungry animals. I’d been trying to use snares all summer with no success, so I couldn’t help dropping my sacks to examine this one. My fingers were just on the wire above one of the rabbits when a voice rang out. “That’s dangerous.”

I jumped back several feet as Gale materialized from be- hind a tree. He must have been watching me the whole time. He was only fourteen, but he cleared six feet and was as good as an adult to me. I’d seen him around the Seam and at school. And one other time. He’d lost his father in the same blast that killed mine. In January, I’d stood by while he received his medal of valor in the Justice Building, another oldest child with no father. I remembered his two little brothers clutching his mother, a woman whose swollen belly announced she was just days away from giving birth. “What’s your name?” he said, coming over and disengaging the rabbit from the snare. He had another three hanging from his belt. “Katniss,” I said, barely audible. “Well, Catnip, stealing’s punishable by death, or hadn’t you heard?” he said. “Katniss,” I said louder. “And I wasn’t stealing it. I just wanted to look at your snare. Mine never catch anything.” He scowled at me, not convinced. “So where’d you get the squirrel?” “I shot it.” I pulled my bow off my shoulder. I was still using the small version my father had made me, but I’d been practic- ing with the full-size one when I could. I was hoping that by spring I might be able to bring down some bigger game. Gale’s eyes fastened on the bow. “Can I see that?” I handed it over. “Just remember, stealing’s punishable by death.”

That was the first time I ever saw him smile. It transformed him from someone menacing to someone you wished you knew. But it took several months before I returned that smile. We talked hunting then. I told him I might be able to get him a bow if he had something to trade. Not food. I wanted knowledge. I wanted to set my own snares that caught a belt of fat rabbits in one day. He agreed something might be worked out. As the seasons went by, we grudgingly began to share our knowledge, our weapons, our secret places that were thick with wild plums or turkeys. He taught me snares and fishing. I showed him what plants to eat and eventually gave him one of our precious bows. And then one day, without either of us saying it, we became a team. Dividing the work and the spoils. Making sure that both our families had food. Gale gave me a sense of security I’d lacked since my father’s death. His companionship replaced the long solitary hours in the woods. I became a much better hunter when I didn’t have to look over my shoulder constantly, when someone was watching my back. But he turned into so much more than a hunting partner. He became my confidante, someone with whom I could share thoughts I could never voice inside the fence. In exchange, he trusted me with his. Being out in the woods with Gale . . . sometimes I was actually happy. I call him my friend, but in the last year it’s seemed too ca- sual a word for what Gale is to me. A pang of longing shoots through my chest. If only he was with me now! But, of course, I don’t want that. I don’t want him in the arena where he’d bedead in a few days. I just . . . I just miss him. And I hate being so alone. Does he miss me? He must.

I think of the eleven flashing under my name last night. I know exactly what he’d say to me. “Well, there’s some room for improvement there.” And then he’d give me a smile and I’d return it without hesitating now. I can’t help comparing what I have with Gale to what I’m pretending to have with Peeta. How I never question Gale’s motives while I do nothing but doubt the latter’s. It’s not a fair comparison really. Gale and I were thrown together by a mu- tual need to survive. Peeta and I know the other’s survival means our own death. How do you sidestep that?

Now through out the Games Katniss does Question How Gale would feel about all this like the Kissing, The being in love with Peeta for an act. ( only everyone knows it’s aha not an act.)

Catching Fire.

Catching Fire Chaper 1 Page 9.

Basically saying how painful It was for Gale to see his best friend in love with someone else.

Hazelle nods “ That’d be good. Gale means to, but he’s only got his Sundays. and I think he likes saving those for you” I Can’t stop the redness that floods my cheeks. It’s stupid. of course. Hardly anybody knows me Better then Hazelle. Knows the bond I share with Gale. I’m sure plenty of people assumed that we’d eventually get married even if I never gave it any thought. But that was before the Games. Before my fellow tribute, Peeta Mellark , announced he was madly in love with me, Our romance became a key strategy for Peeta. I’m not sure what it was for me. But I know now it was nothing put painful for Gale. My chest tightens as I think about how. on the Victory Tour. Peeta and I will have to present ourselves as lovers again.

Catching Fire Chapter 2 Pages 23- 28.

Now this is when Snow basically tells Katniss he can kill Gale and that Katniss goes into the kiss ( the surprise one)

"Peeta. How is the love of your life?" he asks. "Good," I say.

"At what point did he realize the exact degree of your indifference?" he asks, dipping his cookie in his tea. "I'm not indifferent," I say.

"But perhaps not as taken with the young man as you would have the country believe," he says. "Who says I'm not?" I say.

"I do," says the president. "And I wouldn't be here if I were the only person who had doubts. How's the handsome cousin?"

"I don't know ... I don't ..." My revulsion at this conversation, at discussing my feelings for two of the people I care most about with President Snow, chokes me off.

"Speak, Miss Everdeen. Him I can easily kill off if we don't come to a happy resolution," he says. "You aren't doing him a favor by disappearing into the woods with him each Sunday."

If he knows this, what else does he know? And how does he know it? Many people could tell him that Gale and I spend our Sundays hunting. Don't we show up at the end of each one loaded down with game? Haven't we for years? The real question is what he thinks goes on in the woods beyond District 12. Surely they haven't been tracking us in there. Or have they? Could we have been followed? That seems impossible. At least by a person. Cameras? That never crossed my mind until this moment. The woods have always been our place of safety, our place beyond the reach of the Capitol, where we're free to say what we feel, be who we are. At least before the Games. If we've been watched since, what have they seen? Two people hunting, saying treasonous things against the Capitol, yes. But not two people in love, which seems to be President Snow's implication. We are safe on that charge. Unless ... unless ...

It only happened once. It was fast and unexpected, but it did happen.

After Peeta and I got home from the Games, it was several weeks before I saw Gale alone. First there were the obligatory celebrations. A banquet for the victors that only the most high-ranking people were invited to. A holiday for the whole district with free food and entertainers brought in from the Capitol. Parcel Day, the first of twelve, in which food packages were delivered to every person in the district. That was my favorite. To see all those hungry kids in the Seam running around, waving cans of applesauce, tins of meat, even candy. Back home, too big to carry, would be bags of grain, cans of oil. To know that once a month for a year they would all receive another parcel. That was one of the few times I actually felt good about winning the Games.

So between the ceremonies and events and the reporters documenting my every move as I presided and thanked and kissed Peeta for the audience, I had no privacy at all. After a few weeks, things finally died down. The camera crews and reporters packed up and went home. Peeta and I assumed the cool relationship we've had ever since. My family settled into our house in the Victor's Village. The everyday life of District 12 - workers to the mines, kids to school - resumed its usual pace. I waited until I thought the coast was really clear, and then one Sunday, without telling anyone, I got up hours before dawn and took off for the woods.

The weather was still warm enough that I didn't need a jacket. I packed along a bag filled with special foods, cold chicken and cheese and bakery bread and oranges. Down at my old house, I put on my hunting boots. As usual, the fence was not charged and it was simple to slip into the woods and retrieve my bow and arrows. I went to our place, Gale's and mine, where we had shared breakfast the morning of the reaping that sent me into the Games.

I waited at least two hours. I'd begun to think that he'd given up on me in the weeks that had passed. Or that he no longer cared about me. Hated me even. And the idea of losing him forever, my best friend, the only person I'd ever trusted with my secrets, was so painful I couldn't stand it. Not on top of everything else that had happened. I could feel my eyes tearing up and my throat starting to close the way it does when I get upset.

Then I looked up and there he was, ten feet away, just watching me. Without even thinking, I jumped up and threw my arms around him, making some weird sound that combined laughing, choking, and crying. He was holding me so tightly that I couldn't see his face, but it was a really long time before he let me go and then he didn't have much choice, because I'd gotten this unbelievably loud case of the hiccups and had to get a drink.

We did what we always did that day. Ate breakfast. Hunted and fished and gathered. Talked about people in town. But not about us, his new life in the mines, my time in the arena. Just about other things. By the time we were at the hole in the fence that's nearest the Hob, I think I really believed that things could be the same. That we could go on as we always had. I'd given all the game to Gale to trade since we had so much food now. I told him I'd skip the Hob, even though I was looking forward to going there, because my mother and sister didn't even know I'd gone hunting and they'd be wondering where I was.

Then suddenly, as I was suggesting I take over the daily snare run, he took my face in his hands and kissed me. I was completely unprepared. You would think that after all the hours I'd spent with Gale - watching him talk and laugh and frown - that I would know all there was to know about his lips. But I hadn't imagined how warm they would feel pressed against my own. Or how those hands, which could set the most intricate of snares, could as easily entrap me. I think I made some sort of noise in the back of my throat, and I vaguely remember my fingers, curled tightly closed, resting on his chest. Then he let go and said, "I had to do that. At least once." And he was gone.

Despite the fact that the sun was setting and my family would be worried, I sat by a tree next to the fence. I tried to decide how I felt about the kiss, if I had liked it or resented it, but all I really remembered was the pressure of Gale's lips and the scent of the oranges that still lingered on his skin. It was pointless comparing it with the many kisses I'd exchanged with Peeta. I still hadn't figured out if any of those counted. Finally I went home.

That week I managed the snares and dropped off the meat with Hazelle. But I didn't see Gale until Sunday.

I had this whole speech worked out, about how I didn't want a boyfriend and never planned on marrying, but I didn't end up using it. Gale acted as if the kiss had never happened.

Maybe he was waiting for me to say something. Or kiss him back. Instead I just pretended it had never happened, either. But it had. Gale had shattered some invisible barrier between us and, with it, any hope I had of resuming our old, uncomplicated friendship. Whatever I pretended, I could never look at his lips in quite the same way.

This all flashes through my head in an instant as President Snow's eyes bore into me on the heels of his threat to kill Gale. How stupid I've been to think the Capitol would just ignore me once I'd returned home! Maybe I didn't know about the potential uprisings. But I knew they were angry with me. Instead of acting with the extreme caution the situation called for, what have I done? From the president's point of view, I've ignored Peeta and flaunted my preference for Gale's company before the whole district. And by doing so made it clear I was, in fact, mocking the Capitol. Now I've endangered Gale and his family and my family and Peeta, too, by my carelessness. “Please don't hurt Gale," I whisper. "He's just my friend. He's been my friend for years. That's all that's between us. Besides, everyone thinks we're cousins now."

Chaper 7 Pages 93-101 Catching fire

Basically talking about running away and then Katniss can’t leave Peeta or Haymitch and Gale is angry about that But Prior Gale is happy to run away with her Says He loves her... but HA. ( we all know how that worked out)

Then I sit on the tiny concrete hearth, thawing out by the fire and waiting for Gale. It's a surprisingly short time before he appears. A bow slung over his shoulder, a dead wild turkey he must have encountered along the way hanging from his belt. He stands in the doorway as if considering whether or not to enter. He holds the unopened leather bag of food, the flask, Cinna's gloves. Gifts he will not accept because of his anger at me. I know exactly how he feels. Didn't I do the same thing to my mother? I look in his eyes. His temper can't quite mask the hurt, the sense of betrayal he feels at my engagement to Peeta. This will be my last chance, this meeting today, to not lose Gale forever. I could take hours trying to explain, and even then have him refuse me. Instead I go straight to the heart of my defense. "President Snow personally threatened to have you killed," I say. Gale raises his eyebrows slightly, but there's no real show of fear or astonishment. "Anyone else?" "Well, he didn't actually give me a copy of the list. But it's a good guess it includes both our families," I say. It's enough to bring him to the fire. He crouches before the hearth and warms himself. "Unless what?" "Unless nothing, now," I say. Obviously this requires more of an explanation, but I have no idea where to start, so I just sit there staring gloomily into the fire. After about a minute of this, Gale breaks the silence. "Well, thanks for the heads-up." I turn to him, ready to snap, but I catch the glint in his eye. I hate myself for smiling. This is not a funny moment, but I guess it's a lot to drop on someone. We're all going to be obliterated no matter what. "I do have a plan, you know." "Yeah, I bet it's a stunner," he says. He tosses the gloves on my lap. "Here. I don't want your fiance's old gloves." "He's not my fiance. That's just part of the act. And these aren't his gloves. They were Cinna's," I say. "Give them back, then," he says. He pulls on the gloves, flexes his fingers, and nods in approval. "At least I'll die in comfort." "That's optimistic. Of course, you don't know what's happened," I say. "Let's have it," he says. I decide to begin with the night Peeta and I were crowned victors of the Hunger Games, and Haymitch warned me of the Capitol's fury. I tell him about the uneasiness that dogged me even once I was back home, President Snow's visit to my house, the murders in District 11, the tension in the crowds, the last-ditch effort of the engagement, the president's indication that it hadn't been enough, my certainty that I'll have to pay. Gale never interrupts. While I talk, he tucks the gloves in his pocket and occupies himself with turning the food in the leather bag into a meal for us. Toasting bread and cheese, coring apples, placing chestnuts in the fire to roast. I watch his hands, his beautiful, capable fingers. Scarred, as mine were before the Capitol erased all marks from my skin, but strong and deft. Hands that have the power to mine coal but the precision to set a delicate snare. Hands I trust. I pause to take a drink of tea from the flask before I tell him about my homecoming. "Well, you really made a mess of things," he says. "I'm not even done," I tell him. "I've heard enough for the moment. Let's skip ahead to this plan of yours," he says. I take a deep breath. "We run away." "What?" he asks. This has actually caught him off guard. "We take to the woods and make a run for it," I say. His face is impossible to read. Will he laugh at me, dismiss this as foolishness? I rise in agitation, preparing for an argument. "You said yourself you thought that we could do it! That morning of the reaping. You said - " He steps in and I feel myself lifted off the ground. The room spins, and I have to lock my arms around Gale's neck to brace myself. He's laughing, happy. "Hey!" I protest, but I'm laughing, too. Gale sets me down but doesn't release his hold on me. "Okay, let's run away," he says. "Really? You don't think I'm mad? You'll go with me?" Some of the crushing weight begins to lift as it transfers to Gale's shoulders. "I do think you're mad and I'll still go with you," he says. He means it. Not only means it but welcomes it. "We can do it. I know we can. Let's get out of here and never come back!" "You're sure?" I say. "Because it's going to be hard, with the kids and all. I don't want to get five miles into the woods and have you - " "I'm sure. I'm completely, entirely, one hundred percent sure." He tilts his forehead down to rest against mine and pulls me closer. His skin, his whole being, radiates heat from being so near the fire, and I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. I breathe in the smell of snow-dampened leather and smoke and apples, the smell of all those wintry days we shared before the Games. I don't try to move away. Why should I, anyway? His voice drops to a whisper. "I love you." That's why. I never see these things coming. They happen too fast. One second you're proposing an escape plan and the next... you're expected to deal with something like this. I come up with what must be the worst possible response. "I know." It sounds terrible. Like I assume he couldn't help loving me but that I don't feel anything in return. Gale starts to draw away, but I grab hold of him. "I know! And you... you know what you are to me." It's not enough. He breaks my grip. "Gale, I can't think about anyone that way now. All I can think about, every day, every waking minute since they drew Prim's name at the reaping, is how afraid I am. And there doesn't seem to be room for anything else. If we could get somewhere safe, maybe I could be different. I don't know." I can see him swallowing his disappointment. "So, we'll go. We'll find out." He turns back to the fire, where the chestnuts are beginning to burn. He flips them out onto the hearth. "My mother's going to take some convincing." I guess he's still going, anyway. But the happiness has fled, leaving an all-too-familiar strain in its place. "Mine, too. I'll just have to make her see reason. Take her for a long walk. Make sure she understands we won't survive the alternative." "She'll understand. I watched a lot of the Games with her and Prim. She won't say no to you," says Gale. "I hope not." The temperature in the house seems to have dropped twenty degrees in a matter of seconds. "Haymitch will be the real challenge." "Haymitch?" Gale abandons the chestnuts. "You're not asking him to come with us?" "I have to, Gale. I can't leave him and Peeta because they'd - " His scowl cuts me off. "What?" "I'm sorry. I didn't realize how large our party was," he snaps at me.

"They'd torture them to death, trying to find out where I was," I say.

"What about Peeta's family? They'll never come. In fact, they probably couldn't wait to inform on us. Which I'm sure he's smart enough to realize. What if he decides to stay?" he asks.

I try to sound indifferent, but my voice cracks. "Then he stays."

"You'd leave him behind?" Gale asks.

"To save Prim and my mother, yes," I answer. "I mean, no! I'll get him to come."

"And me, would you leave me?" Gale's expression is rock hard now. "Just if, for instance, I can't convince my mother to drag three young kids into the wilderness in winter."

"Hazelle won't refuse. She'll see sense," I say.

"Suppose she doesn't, Katniss. What then?" he demands.

"Then you have to force her, Gale. Do you think I'm making this stuff up?" My voice is rising in anger as well.

"No. I don't know. Maybe the president's just manipulating you. I mean, he's throwing your wedding. You saw how the Capitol crowd reacted. I don't think he can afford to kill you. Or Peeta. How's he going to get out of that one?" says Gale.

"Well, with an uprising in District Eight, I doubt he's spending much time choosing my wedding cake!" I shout.

The instant the words are out of my mouth I want to reclaim them. Their effect on Gale is immediate - the flush on his cheeks, the brightness of his gray eyes. "There's an uprising in Eight?" he says in a hushed voice.

I try to backpedal. To defuse him, as I tried to defuse the districts. "I don't know if it's really an uprising. There's unrest. People in the streets - " I say.

Gale grabs my shoulders. "What did you see?"

"Nothing! In person. I just heard something." As usual, it's too little, too late. I give up and tell him. "I saw something on the mayor's television. I wasn't supposed to. There was a crowd, and fires, and the Peacekeepers were gunning people down but they were fighting back. ..." I bite my lip and struggle to continue describing the scene. Instead I say aloud the words that have been eating me up inside. "And it's my fault, Gale. Because of what I did in the arena. If I had just killed myself with those berries, none of this would've happened. Peeta could have come home and lived, and everyone else would have been safe, too."

"Safe to do what?" he says in a gentler tone. "Starve? Work like slaves? Send their kids to the reaping? You haven't hurt people - you've given them an opportunity. They just have to be brave enough to take it. There's already been talk in the mines. People who want to fight. Don't you see? It's happening! It's finally happening! If there's an uprising in District Eight, why not here? Why not everywhere? This could be it, the thing we've been - "

"Stop it! You don't know what you're saying. The Peacekeepers outside of Twelve, they're not like Darius, or even Cray! The lives of district people - they mean less than nothing to them!" I say.

"That's why we have to join the fight!" he answers harshly.

"No! We have to leave here before they kill us and a lot of other people, too!" I'm yelling again, but I can't understand why he's doing this. Why doesn't he see what's so undeniable?

Gale pushes me roughly away from him. "You leave, then. I'd never go in a million years."

"You were happy enough to go before. I don't see how an uprising in District Eight does anything but make it more important that we leave. You're just mad about - " No, I can't throw Peeta in his face. "What about your family?" "What about the other families, Katniss? The ones who can't run away? Don't you see? It can't be about just saving us anymore. Not if the rebellion's begun!" Gale shakes his head, not hiding his disgust with me. "You could do so much." He throws Cinna's gloves at my feet. "I changed my mind. I don't want anything they made in the Capitol." And he's gone. I look down at the gloves. Anything they made in the Capitol? Was that directed at me? Does he think I am now just another product of the Capitol and therefore something untouchable? The unfairness of it all fills me with rage. But it's mixed up with fear over what kind of crazy thing he might do next. I sink down next to the fire, desperate for comfort, to work out my next move. I calm myself by thinking that rebellions don't happen in a day. Gale can't talk to the miners until tomorrow. If I can get to Hazelle before then, she might straighten him out. But I can't go now. If he's there, he'll lock me out. Maybe tonight, after everyone else is asleep ... Hazelle often works late into the night finishing up laundry. I could go then, tap at the window, tell her the situation so she'll keep Gale from doing anything foolish

Catching Fire Chapter 8. Pages 115-116

I don't know exactly what my mother means by things starting again, but I'm too angry and hurting to ask. It's registered, though, the idea of worse times returning, because when the doorbell rings, I shoot straight out of bed. Who could it be at this hour of the night? There's only one answer. Peacekeepers. "They can't have him," I say. "Might be you they're after," Haymitch reminds me. "Or you," I say. "Not my house," Haymitch points out. "But I'll get the door." "No, I'll get it," says my mother quietly. We all go, though, following her down the hallway to the insistent ring of the bell. When she opens it, there's not a squad of Peacekeepers but a single, snow-caked figure. Madge. She holds out a small, damp cardboard box to me. "Use these for your friend," she says. I take off the lid of the box, revealing half a dozen vials of clear liquid. "They're my mother's. She said I could take them. Use them, please." She runs back into the storm before we can stop her. "Crazy girl," Haymitch mutters as we follow, my mother into the kitchen. Whatever my mother had given Gale, I was right, it isn't enough. His teeth are gritted and his flesh shines with sweat. My mother fills a syringe with the clear liquid from one of the vials and shoots it into his arm. Almost immediately, his face begins to relax. "What is that stuff?" asks Peeta. "It's from the Capitol. It's called morphling," my mother answers. "I didn't even know Madge knew Gale," says Peeta. "We used to sell her strawberries," I say almost angrily. What am I angry about, though? Not that she has brought the medicine, surely. "She must have quite a taste for them," says Haymitch. That's what nettles me. It's the implication that there's something going on between Gale and Madge. And I don't like it. "She's my friend" is all I say.

Catching Fire Chaper 8 Pages 116-119

This is after Gales whipping and Did we just whitness Katniss having a mid life crisist at age 17. Because she is like “ Gale is mine I am his bull shit”

Alone in the kitchen with Gale, I sit on Hazelle's stool, holding his hand. After a while, my fingers find his face. I touch parts of him I have never had cause to touch before. His heavy, dark eyebrows, the curve of his cheek, the line of his nose, the hollow at the base of his neck. I trace the outline of stubble on his jaw and finally work my way to his lips. Soft and full, slightly chapped. His breath warms my chilled skin. Does everyone look younger asleep? Because right now he could be the boy I ran into in the woods years ago, the one who accused me of stealing from his traps. What a pair we were - fatherless, frightened, but fiercely committed, too, to keeping our families alive. Desperate, yet no longer alone after that day, because we'd found each other. I think of a hundred moments in the woods, lazy afternoons fishing, the day I taught him to swim, that time I twisted my knee and he carried me home. Mutually counting on each other, watching each other's backs, forcing each other to be brave. For the first time, I reverse our positions in my head. I imagine watching Gale volunteering to save Rory in the reaping, having him torn from my life, becoming some strange girl's lover to stay alive, and then coming home with her. Living next to her. Promising to marry her. The hatred I feel for him, for the phantom girl, for everything, is so real and immediate that it chokes me. Gale is mine. I am his. Anything else is unthinkable. Why did it take him being whipped within an inch of his life to see it? Because I'm selfish. I'm a coward. I'm the kind of girl who, when she might actually be of use, would run to stay alive and leave those who couldn't follow to suffer and die. This is the girl Gale met in the woods today. No wonder I won the Games. No decent person ever does. You saved Peeta, I think weakly. But now I question even that. I knew good and well that my life back in District 12 would be unlivable if I let that boy die. I rest my head forward on the edge of the table, overcome with loathing for myself. Wishing I had died in the arena. Wishing Seneca Crane had blown me to bits the way President Snow said he should have when I held out the berries. The berries. I realize the answer to who I am lies in that handful of poisonous fruit. If I held them out to save Peeta because I knew I would be shunned if I came back without him, then I am despicable. If I held them out because I loved him, I am still self-centered, although forgivable. But if I held them out to defy the Capitol, I am someone of worth. The trouble is, I don't know exactly what was going on inside me at that moment. Could it be the people in the districts are right? That it was an act of rebellion, even if it was an unconscious one? Because, deep down, I must know it isn't enough to keep myself, or my family, or my friends alive by running away. Even if I could. It wouldn't fix anything. It wouldn't stop people from being hurt the way Gale was today. Life in District 12 isn't really so different from life in the arena. At some point, you have to stop running and turn around and face whoever wants you dead. The hard thing is finding the courage to do it. Well, it's not hard for Gale. He was born a rebel. I'm the one making an escape plan. "I'm so sorry," I whisper. I lean forward and kiss him. His eyelashes flutter and he looks at me through a haze of opiates. "Hey, Catnip." "Hey, Gale," I say. "Thought you'd be gone by now," he says. My choices are simple. I can die like quarry in the woods or I can die here beside Gale. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay right here and cause all kinds of trouble." "Me, too," Gale says. He just manages a smile before the drugs pull him back under.

Catching fire Chapter 9 Page 120

Someone gives my shoulder a shake and I sit up. I've fallen asleep with my face on the table. The white cloth has left creases on my good cheek. The other, the one that took the lash from Thread, throbs painfully. Gale's dead to the world, but his fingers are locked around mine. I smell fresh bread and turn my stiff neck to find Peeta looking down at me with such a sad expression. I get the sense that he's been watching us awhile. "Go on up to bed, Katniss. I'll look after him now," he says. "Peeta. About what I said yesterday, about running - " I begin. "I know," he says. "There's nothing to explain." I see the loaves of bread on the counter in the pale, snowy morning light. The blue shadows under his eyes. I wonder if he slept at all. Couldn't have been long. I think of his agreeing to go with me yesterday, his stepping up beside me to protect Gale, his willingness to throw his lot in with mine entirely when I give him so little in return. No matter what I do, I'm hurting someone. "Peeta - " "Just go to bed, okay?" he says.

Catching fire Chapter 12 pages 169-170

I'm hoping she's wrong. I haven't had time to prepare Gale for any of this. Since the whipping, I only see him when he comes to the house for my mother to check how he's healing. He's often scheduled seven days a week in the mine. In the few minutes of privacy we've had, with me walking him back to town, I gather that the rumblings of an uprising in 12 have been subdued by Thread's crackdown. He knows I'm not going to run. But he must also know that if we don't revolt in 12, I'm destined to be Peeta's bride. Seeing me lounging around in gorgeous gowns on his television ... what can he do with that?

Catching fire Chapter 13 Pages 178-179

Thanks," I say. I should go see Peeta now, but I don't want to. My head's spinning from the drink, and I'm so wiped out, who knows what he could get me to agree to? No, now I have to go home to face my mother and Prim. As I stagger up the steps to my house, the front door opens and Gale pulls me into his arms. "I was wrong. We should have gone when you said," he whispers. "No," I say. I'm having trouble focusing, and liquor keeps sloshing out of my bottle and down the back of Gale's jacket, but he doesn't seem to care. "It's not too late," he says. Over his shoulder, I see my mother and Prim clutching each other in the doorway. We run. They die. And now I've got Peeta to protect. End of discussion. "Yeah, it is." My knees give way and he's holding me up. As the alcohol overcomes my mind, I hear the glass bottle shatter on the floor. This seems appropriate since I have obviously lost my grip on everything.

Catching Fire Chaper 13 ( Later on) Pages 185-186

Even Gale steps into the picture on Sundays, although he's got no love for Peeta or Haymitch, and teaches us all he knows about snares. It's weird for me, being in conversations with both Peeta and Gale, but they seem to have set aside whatever issues they have about me. One night, as I'm walking Gale back into town, he even admits, "It'd be better if he were easier to hate." "Tell me about it," I say. "If I could've just hated him in the arena, we all wouldn't be in this mess now. He'd be dead, and I'd be a happy little victor all by myself." "And where would we be, Katniss?" asks Gale. I pause, not knowing what to say. Where would I be with my pretend cousin who wouldn't be my cousin if it weren't for Peeta? Would he have still kissed me and would I have kissed him back had I been free to do so? Would I have let myself open up to him, lulled by the security of money and food and the illusion of safety being a victor could bring under different circumstances? But there would still always be the reaping looming over us, over our children. No matter what I wanted ... "Hunting. Like every Sunday," I say. I know he didn't mean the question literally, but this is as much as I can honestly give. Gale knows I chose him over Peeta when I didn't make a run for it. To me, there's no point in talking about things that might have been. Even if I had killed Peeta in the arena, I still wouldn't have wanted to marry anyone. I only got engaged to save people's lives, and that completely backfired. I'm afraid, anyway, that any kind of emotional scene with Gale might cause him to do something drastic. Like start that uprising in the mines. And as Haymitch says, District 12 isn't ready for that. If anything, they're less ready than before the Quarter Quell announcement, because the following morning another hundred Peacekeepers arrived on the train. Since I don't plan on making it back alive a second time, the sooner Gale lets me go, the better. I do plan on saying one or two things to him after the reaping, when we're allowed an hour for good-byes. To let Gale know how essential he's been to me all these years. How much better my life has been for knowing him. For loving him, even if it's only in the limited way that I can manage. But I never get the chance.

Now the only time she Mentions Gale in the arena is when Peeta pretty much is reminding her value alive. That her Family and Gale needs her. and Other then that She did say her personal goodbyes since she has no intent on coming back alive and the Jabber jay attack. But that’s it. She didn’t think of him when Peeta nearly died. or when Peeta said that Katniss was pregnat and Already Married. Nope her thoughts were okay well oh shit now what. Okay play it cool loll.

Mockingjay Chapter 2 Pages 27- 31

After a while, the door opens and someone slips in. Gale slides down beside me, his nose trickling blood. "What happened?" I ask. "I got in Boggs's way," he answers with a shrug. I use my sleeve to wipe his nose. "Watch it!" I try to be gentler. Patting, not wiping. "Which one is he?" "Oh, you know. Coin's right-hand lackey. The one who tried to stop you." He pushes my hand away. "Quit! You'll bleed me to death."

The trickle has turned to a steady stream. I give up on the first-aid attempts. "You fought with Boggs?" "No, just blocked the doorway when he tried to follow you. His elbow caught me in the nose," says Gale. "They'll probably punish you," I say. "Already have." He holds up his wrist. I stare at it uncomprehendingly. "Coin took back my communicuff." I bite my lip, trying to remain serious. But it seems so ridiculous. "I'm sorry, Soldier Gale Hawthorne." "Don't be, Soldier Katniss Everdeen." He grins. "I felt like a jerk walking around with it anyway." We both start laughing. "I think it was quite a demotion." This is one of the few good things about 13. Getting Gale back. With the pressure of the Capitol's arranged marriage between Peeta and me gone, we've managed to regain our friendship. He doesn't push it any further - try to kiss me or talk about love. Either I've been too sick, or he's willing to give me space, or he knows it's just too cruel with Peeta in the hands of the Capitol. Whatever the case, I've got someone to tell my secrets to again. "Who are these people?" I say. "They're us. If we'd had nukes instead of a few lumps of coal," he answers. "I like to think Twelve wouldn't have abandoned the rest of the rebels back in the Dark Days," I say. "We might have. If it was that, surrender, or start a nuclear war," says Gale. "In a way, it's remarkable they survived at all." Maybe it's because I still have the ashes of my own district on my shoes, but for the first time, I give the people of 13 something I have withheld from them: credit. For staying alive against all odds. Their early years must have been terrible, huddled in the chambers beneath the ground after their city was bombed to dust. Population decimated, no possible ally to turn to for aid. Over the past seventy-five years, they've learned to be self-sufficient, turned their citizens into an army, and built a new society with no help from anyone. They would be even more powerful if that pox epidemic hadn't flattened their birthrate and made them so desperate for a new gene pool and breeders. Maybe they are militaristic, overly programmed, and somewhat lacking in a sense of humor. They're here. And willing to take on the Capitol. "Still, it took them long enough to show up," I say. "It wasn't simple. They had to build up a rebel base in the Capitol, get some sort of underground organized in the districts," he says. "Then they needed someone to set the whole thing in motion. They needed you." "They needed Peeta, too, but they seem to have forgotten that," I say.

Gale's expression darkens. "Peeta might have done a lot of damage tonight. Most of the rebels will dismiss what he said immediately, of course. But there are districts where the resistance is shakier. The cease-fire's clearly President Snow's idea. But it seems so reasonable coming out of Peeta's mouth."

I'm afraid of Gale's answer, but I ask anyway. "Why do you think he said it?" "He might have been tortured. Or persuaded. My guess is he made some kind of deal to protect you. He'd put forth the idea of the cease-fire if Snow let him present you as a confused pregnant girl who had no idea what was going on when she was taken prisoner by the rebels. This way, if the districts lose, there's still a chance of leniency for you. If you play it right." I must still look perplexed because Gale delivers the next line very slowly. "Katniss...he's still trying to keep you alive." To keep me alive?And then I understand. The Games are still on. We have left the arena, but since Peeta and I weren't killed, his last wish to preserve my life still stands. His idea is to have me lie low, remain safe and imprisoned, while the war plays out. Then neither side will really have cause to kill me. And Peeta? If the rebels win, it will be disastrous for him. If the Capitol wins, who knows? Maybe we'll both be allowed to live - if I play it right - to watch the Games go on.... Images flash through my mind: the spear piercing Rue's body in the arena, Gale hanging senseless from the whipping post, the corpse-littered wasteland of my home. And for what? For what? As my blood turns hot, I remember other things. My first glimpse of an uprising in District 8. The victors locked hand in hand the night before the Quarter Quell. And how it was no accident, my shooting that arrow into the force field in the arena. How badly I wanted it to lodge deep in the heart of my enemy. I spring up, upsetting a box of a hundred pencils, sending them scattering around the floor. "What is it?" Gale asks. "There can't be a cease-fire." I lean down, fumbling as I shove the sticks of dark gray graphite back into the box. "We can't go back." "I know." Gale sweeps up a handful of pencils and taps them on the floor into perfect alignment. "Whatever reason Peeta had for saying those things, he's wrong." The stupid sticks won't go in the box and I snap several in my frustration. "I know. Give it here. You're breaking them to bits." He pulls the box from my hands and refills it with swift, concise motions. "He doesn't know what they did to Twelve. If he could've seen what was on the ground" - I start. "Katniss, I'm not arguing. If I could hit a button and kill every living soul working for the Capitol, I would do it. Without hesitation." He slides the last pencil into the box and flips the lid closed. "The question is, what are you going to do?" It turns out the question that's been eating away at me has only ever had one possible answer. But it took Peeta's ploy for me to recognize it. What am I going to do? I take a deep breath. My arms rise slightly - as if recalling the black-and-white wings Cinna gave me - then come to rest at my sides. "I'm going to be the Mockingjay."

Mockingjay Chapter 3 Pages 39-41

I skim my list. "Gale. I'll need him with me to do this." "With you how? Off camera? By your side at all times? Do you want him presented as your new lover?" Coin asks. She hasn't said this with any particular malice - quite the contrary, her words are very matter-of-fact. But my mouth still drops open in shock. "What?" "I think we should continue the current romance. A quick defection from Peeta could cause the audience to lose sympathy for her," says Plutarch. "Especially since they think she's pregnant with his child." "Agreed. So, on-screen, Gale can simply be portrayed as a fellow rebel. Is that all right?" says Coin. I just stare at her. She repeats herself impatiently. "For Gale. Will that be sufficient?" "We can always work him in as your cousin," says Fulvia.

"We're not cousins," Gale and I say together.

"Right, but we should probably keep that up for appearances' sake on camera," says Plutarch. "Off camera, he's all yours. Anything else?"

I'm rattled by the turn in the conversation. The implications that I could so readily dispose of Peeta, that I'm in love with Gale, that the whole thing has been an act. My cheeks begin to burn. The very notion that I'm devoting any thought to who I want presented as my lover, given our current circumstances, is demeaning. I let my anger propel me into my greatest demand. "When the war is over, if we've won, Peeta will be pardoned."

Dead silence. I feel Gale's body tense. I guess I should have told him before, but I wasn't sure how he'd respond. Not when it involved Peeta.

"No form of punishment will be inflicted," I continue. A new thought occurs to me. "The same goes for the other captured tributes, Johanna and Enobaria." Frankly, I don't care about Enobaria, the vicious District 2 tribute. In fact, I dislike her, but it seems wrong to leave her out.

"No," says Coin flatly.

"Yes," I shoot back. "It's not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. Who knows what the Capitol's doing to them?"

"They'll be tried with other war criminals and treated as the tribunal sees fit," she says.

"They'll be granted immunity!" I feel myself rising from my chair, my voice full and resonant. "You will personally pledge this in front of the entire population of District Thirteen and the remainder of Twelve. Soon. Today. It will be recorded for future generations. You will hold yourself and your government responsible for their safety, or you'll find yourself another Mockingjay!"

Mockingjay Chapter 4 Pages 53-55.

We hunt, like in the old days. Silent, needing no words to communicate, because here in the woods we move as two parts of one being. Anticipating each other's movements, watching each other's backs. How long has it been? Eight months? Nine? Since we had this freedom? It's not exactly the same, given all that's happened and the trackers on our ankles and the fact that I have to rest so often. But it's about as close to happiness as I think I can currently get. The animals here are not nearly suspicious enough. That extra moment it takes to place our unfamiliar scent means their death. In an hour and a half, we've got a mixed dozen - rabbits, squirrels, and turkeys - and decide to knock off to spend the remaining time by a pond that must be fed by an underground spring, since the water's cool and sweet. When Gale offers to clean the game, I don't object. I stick a few mint leaves on my tongue, close my eyes, and lean back against a rock, soaking in the sounds, letting the scorching afternoon sun burn my skin, almost at peace until Gale's voice interrupts me. "Katniss, why do you care so much about your prep team?" I open my eyes to see if he's joking, but he's frowning down at the rabbit he's skinning. "Why shouldn't I?" "Hm. Let's see. Because they've spent the last year prettying you up for slaughter?" he suggests. "It's more complicated than that. I know them. They're not evil or cruel. They're not even smart. Hurting them, it's like hurting children. They don't see...I mean, they don't know..." I get knotted up in my words. "They don't know what, Katniss?" he says. "That tributes - who are the actual children involved here, not your trio of freaks - are forced to fight to the death? That you were going into that arena for people's amusement? Was that a big secret in the Capitol?" "No. But they don't view it the way we do," I say. "They're raised on it and - " "Are you actually defending them?" He slips the skin from the rabbit in one quick move. That stings, because, in fact, I am, and it's ridiculous. I struggle to find a logical position. "I guess I'm defending anyone who's treated like that for taking a slice of bread. Maybe it reminds me too much of what happened to you over a turkey!" Still, he's right. It does seem strange, my level of concern over the prep team. I should hate them and want to see them strung up. But they're so clueless, and they belonged to Cinna, and he was on my side, right? "I'm not looking for a fight," Gale says. "But I don't think Coin was sending you some big message by punishing them for breaking the rules here. She probably thought you'd see it as a favor." He stuffs the rabbit in the sack and rises. "We better get going if we want to make it back on time." I ignore his offer of a hand up and get to my feet unsteadily. "Fine." Neither of us talks on the way back, but once we're inside the gate, I think of something else. "During the Quarter Quell, Octavia and Flavius had to quit because they couldn't stop crying over me going back in. And Venia could barely say good-bye." "I'll try and keep that in mind as they...remake you," says Gale. "Do," I say.

Chapter 5 Mockingjay pages 63-64

Gale, who's not usually much of a talker during meals, makes an effort to keep the conversation going, asking about the makeover. I know it's his attempt at smoothing things over. We argued last night after he suggested I'd left Coin no choice but to counter my demand for the victors' safety with one of her own. "Katniss, she's running this district. She can't do it if it seems like she's caving in to your will." "You mean she can't stand any dissent, even if it's fair," I'd countered. "I mean you put her in a bad position. Making her give Peeta and the others immunity when we don't even know what sort of damage they might cause," Gale had said. "So I should've just gone with the program and let the other tributes take their chances? Not that it matters, because that's what we're all doing anyway!" That was when I'd slammed the door in his face. I hadn't sat with him at breakfast, and when Plutarch had sent him down to training this morning, I'd let him go without a word. I know he only spoke out of concern for me, but I really need him to be on my side, not Coin's. How can he not know that? After lunch, Gale and I are scheduled to go down to Special Defense to meet Beetee. As we ride the elevator, Gale finally says, "You're still angry." "And you're still not sorry," I reply. "I still stand by what I said. Do you want me to lie about it?" he asks. "No, I want you to rethink it and come up with the right opinion," I tell him. But this just makes him laugh. I have to let it go. There's no point in trying to dictate what Gale thinks. Which, if I'm honest, is one reason I trust him.

Mockingjay Chapter 6 Pages 81-82

Fulvia Cardew hustles over and makes a sound of frustration when she sees my clean face. "All that work, down the drain. I'm not blaming you, Katniss. It's just that very few people are born with camera-ready faces. Like him." She snags Gale, who's in a conversation with Plutarch, and spins him toward us. "Isn't he handsome?" Gale does look striking in the uniform, I guess. But the question just embarrasses us both, given our history. I'm trying to think of a witty comeback, when Boggs says brusquely, "Well, don't expect us to be too impressed. We just saw Finnick Odair in his underwear." I decide to go ahead and like Boggs.

Chapter 9 Mockingjay Pages 116 -118

Come morning, I stick my forearm in the wall and stare groggily at the day's schedule. Immediately after breakfast, I am slated for Production. In the dining hall, as I down my hot grain and milk and mushy beets, I spot a communicuff on Gale's wrist. "When did you get that back, Soldier Hawthorne?" I ask. "Yesterday. They thought if I'm going to be in the field with you, it could be a backup system of communication," says Gale. No one has ever offered me a communicuff. I wonder, if I asked for one, would I get it? "Well, I guess one of us has to be accessible," I say with an edge to my voice. "What's that mean?" he says. "Nothing. Just repeating what you said," I tell him. "And I totally agree that the accessible one should be you. I just hope I still have access to you as well." Our eyes lock, and I realize how furious I am with Gale. That I don't believe for a second that he didn't see Peeta's propo. That I feel completely betrayed that he didn't tell me about it. We know each other too well for him not to read my mood and guess what has caused it. "Katniss - " he begins. Already the admission of guilt is in his tone. I grab my tray, cross to the deposit area, and slam the dishes onto the rack. By the time I'm in the hallway, he's caught up with me. "Why didn't you say something?" he asks, taking my arm. "Why didn'tI ?" I jerk my arm free. "Why didn'tyou , Gale? And I did, by the way, when I asked you last night about what had been going on!" "I'm sorry. All right? I didn't know what to do. I wanted to tell you, but everyone was afraid that seeing Peeta's propo would make you sick," he says. "They were right. It did. But not quite as sick as you lying to me for Coin." At that moment, his communicuff starts beeping. "There she is. Better run. You have things to tell her." For a moment, real hurt registers on his face. Then cold anger replaces it. He turns on his heel and goes. Maybe I have been too spiteful, not given him enough time to explain. Maybe everyone is just trying to protect me by lying to me. I don't care. I'm sick of people lying to me for my own good. Because really it's mostly for their own good. Lie to Katniss about the rebellion so she doesn't do anything crazy. Send her into the arena without a clue so we can fish her out. Don't tell her about Peeta's propo because it might make her sick, and it's hard enough to get a decent performance out of her as it is. I do feel sick. Heartsick. And too tired for a day of production. But I'm already at Remake, so I go in.

Mockingjay Chapter 9 Pages 127-130

As we trudge back through the woods, we reach a boulder, and both Gale and I turn our heads in the same direction, like a pair of dogs catching a scent on the wind. Cressida notices and asks what lies that way. We admit, without acknowledging each other, it's our old hunting rendezvous place. She wants to see it, even after we tell her it's nothing really. Nothing but a place where I was happy, I think. Our rock ledge overlooking the valley. Perhaps a little less green than usual, but the blackberry bushes hang heavy with fruit. Here began countless days of hunting and snaring, fishing and gathering, roaming together through the woods, unloading our thoughts while we filled our game bags. This was the doorway to both sustenance and sanity. And we were each other's key. There's no District 12 to escape from now, no Peacekeepers to trick, no hungry mouths to feed. The Capitol took away all of that, and I'm on the verge of losing Gale as well. The glue of mutual need that bonded us so tightly together for all those years is melting away. Dark patches, not light, show in the spaces between us. How can it be that today, in the face of 12's horrible demise, we are too angry to even speak to each other? Gale as good as lied to me. That was unacceptable, even if he was concerned about my well-being. His apology seemed genuine, though. And I threw it back in his face with an insult to make sure it stung. What is happening to us? Why are we always at odds now? It's all a muddle, but I somehow feel that if I went back to the root of our troubles, my actions would be at the heart of it. Do I really want to drive him away? My fingers encircle a blackberry and pluck it from its stem. I roll it gently between my thumb and forefinger. Suddenly, I turn to him and toss it in his direction. "And may the odds - " I say. I throw it high so he has plenty of time to decide whether to knock it aside or accept it. Gale's eyes train on me, not the berry, but at the last moment, he opens his mouth and catches it. He chews, swallows, and there's a long pause before he says " - beever in your favor." But he does say it. Cressida has us sit in the nook in the rocks, where it's impossible not to be touching, and coaxes us into talking about hunting. What drove us out into the woods, how we met, favorite moments. We thaw, begin to laugh a little, as we relate mishaps with bees and wild dogs and skunks. When the conversation turns to how it felt to translate our skill with weapons to the bombing in 8, I stop talking. Gale just says, "Long overdue." By the time we reach the town square, afternoon's sinking into evening. I take Cressida to the rubble of the bakery and ask her to film something. The only emotion I can muster is exhaustion. "Peeta, this is your home. None of your family has been heard of since the bombing. Twelve is gone. And you're calling for a cease-fire?" I look across the emptiness. "There's no one left to hear you." As we stand before the lump of metal that was the gallows, Cressida asks if either of us has ever been tortured. In answer, Gale pulls off his shirt and turns his back to the camera. I stare at the lash marks, and again hear the whistling of the whip, see his bloody figure hanging unconscious by his wrists. "I'm done," I announce. "I'll meet you at the Victor's Village. Something for...my mother." I guess I walked here, but the next thing I'm conscious of is sitting on the floor in front of the kitchen cabinets of our house in the Victor's Village. Meticulously lining ceramic jars and glass bottles into a box. Placing clean cotton bandages between them to prevent breaking. Wrapping bunches of dried flowers. Suddenly, I remember the rose on my dresser. Was it real? If so, is it still up there? I have to resist the temptation to check. If it's there, it will only frighten me all over again. I hurry with my packing. When the cabinets are empty, I rise to find that Gale has materialized in my kitchen. It's disturbing how soundlessly he can appear. He's leaning on the table, his fingers spread wide against the wood grain. I set the box between us. "Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me." So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say. "Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes. To keep them from spilling over, I reach forward and press my lips against his. We taste of heat, ashes, and misery. It's a surprising flavor for such a gentle kiss. He pulls away first and gives me a wry smile. "I knew you'd kiss me." "How?" I say. Because I didn't know myself. "Because I'm in pain," he says. "That's the only way I get your attention." He picks up the box. "Don't worry, Katniss. It'll pass." He leaves before I can answer.

Mockingjay Chapter 11 Page 158

"Can we have a coffee?" asks Finnick. Steaming cups are handed out. I stare distastefully at the shiny black liquid, never having been much of a fan of the stuff, but thinking it might help me stay on my feet. Finnick sloshes some cream in my cup and reaches into the sugar bowl. "Want a sugar cube?" he asks in his old seductive voice. That's how we met, with Finnick offering me sugar. Surrounded by horses and chariots, costumed and painted for the crowds, before we were allies. Before I had any idea what made him tick. The memory actually coaxes a smile out of me. "Here, it improves the taste," he says in his real voice, plunking three cubes in my cup. As I turn to go suit up as the Mockingjay, I catch Gale watching me and Finnick unhappily. What now? Does he actually think something's going on between us? Maybe he saw me go to Finnick's last night. I would've passed the Hawthornes' space to get there. I guess that probably rubbed him the wrong way. Me seeking out Finnick's company instead of his. Well, fine. I've got rope burn on my fingers, I can barely hold my eyes open, and a camera crew's waiting for me to do something brilliant. And Snow's got Peeta. Gale can think whatever he wants.

Mockingjay Chapter 13 Page 185-186

Gale must have been released from the hospital this morning as well, because I find him in one of the research rooms with Beetee. They're immersed, heads bent over a drawing, taking a measurement. Versions of the picture litter the table and floor. Tacked on the corkboard walls and occupying several computer screens are other designs of some sort. In the rough lines of one, I recognize Gale's twitch-up snare. "What are these?" I ask hoarsely, pulling their attention from the sheet. "Ah, Katniss, you've found us out," says Beetee cheerfully. "What? Is this a secret?" I know Gale's been down here working with Beetee a lot, but I assumed they were messing around with bows and guns. "Not really. But I've felt a little guilty about it. Stealing Gale away from you so much," Beetee admits. Since I've spent most of my time in 13 disoriented, worried, angry, being remade, or hospitalized, I can't say Gale's absences have inconvenienced me. Things haven't been exactly harmonious between us, either. But I let Beetee think he owes me. "I hope you've been putting his time to good use." "Come and see," he says, waving me over to a computer screen. This is what they've been doing. Taking the fundamental ideas behind Gale's traps and adapting them into weapons against humans. Bombs mostly. It's less about the mechanics of the traps than the psychology behind them. Booby-trapping an area that provides something essential to survival. A water or food supply. Frightening prey so that a large number flee into a greater destruction. Endangering off-spring in order to draw in the actual desired target, the parent. Luring the victim into what appears to be a safe haven - where death awaits it. At some point, Gale and Beetee left the wilderness behind and focused on more human impulses. Like compassion. A bomb explodes. Time is allowed for people to rush to the aid of the wounded. Then a second, more powerful bomb kills them as well. "That seems to be crossing some kind of line," I say. "So anything goes?" They both stare at me - Beetee with doubt, Gale with hostility. "I guess there isn't a rule book for what might be unacceptable to do to another human being." "Sure there is. Beetee and I have been following the same rule book President Snow used when he hijacked Peeta," says Gale. Cruel, but to the point. I leave without further comment. I feel if I don't get outside immediately, I'll just go ballistic,

Mockingjay Chapter 14 Pages 196-200

Gale finds me when they arrive late one afternoon. I'm sitting on a log at the edge of my current village, plucking a goose. A dozen or so of the birds are piled at my feet. Great flocks of them have been migrating through here since I've arrived, and the pickings are easy. Without a word, Gale settles beside me and begins to relieve a bird of its feathers. We're through about half when he says, "Any chance we'll get to eat these?" "Yeah. Most go to the camp kitchen, but they expect me to give a couple to whoever I'm staying with tonight," I say. "For keeping me." "Isn't the honor of the thing enough?" he says. "You'd think," I reply. "But word's gotten out that mockingjays are hazardous to your health." We pluck in silence for a while longer. Then he says, "I saw Peeta yesterday. Through the glass." "What'd you think?" I ask. "Something selfish," says Gale. "That you don't have to be jealous of him anymore?" My fingers give a yank, and a cloud of feathers floats down around us. "No. Just the opposite." Gale pulls a feather out of my hair. "I thought...I'll never compete with that. No matter how much pain I'm in." He spins the feather between his thumb and forefinger. "I don't stand a chance if he doesn't get better. You'll never be able to let him go. You'll always feel wrong about being with me." "The way I always felt wrong kissing him because of you," I say. Gale holds my gaze. "If I thought that was true, I could almost live with the rest of it." "It is true," I admit. "But so is what you said about Peeta."

Gale makes a sound of exasperation. Nonetheless, after we've dropped off the birds and volunteered to go back to the woods to gather kindling for the evening fire, I find myself wrapped in his arms. His lips brushing the faded bruises on my neck, working their way to my mouth. Despite what I feel for Peeta, this is when I accept deep down that he'll never come back to me. Or I'll never go back to him. I'll stay in 2 until it falls, go to the Capitol and kill Snow, and then die for my trouble. And he'll die insane and hating me. So in the fading light I shut my eyes and kiss Gale to make up for all the kisses I've withheld, and because it doesn't matter anymore, and because I'm so desperately lonely I can't stand it. Gale's touch and taste and heat remind me that at least my body's still alive, and for the moment it's a welcome feeling. I empty my mind and let the sensations run through my flesh, happy to lose myself. When Gale pulls away slightly, I move forward to close the gap, but I feel his hand under my chin. "Katniss," he says. The instant I open my eyes, the world seems disjointed. This is not our woods or our mountains or our way. My hand automatically goes to the scar on my left temple, which I associate with confusion. "Now kiss me." Bewildered, unblinking, I stand there while he leans in and presses his lips to mine briefly. He examines my face closely. "What's going on in your head?"

"I don't know," I whisper back.

"Then it's like kissing someone who's drunk. It doesn't count," he says with a weak attempt at a laugh. He scoops up a pile of kindling and drops it in my empty arms, returning me to myself.

"How do you know?" I say, mostly to cover my embarrassment. "Have you kissed someone who's drunk?" I guess Gale could've been kissing girls right and left back in 12. He certainly had enough takers. I never thought about it much before.

He just shakes his head. "No. But it's not hard to imagine."

"So, you never kissed any other girls?" I ask.

"I didn't say that. You know, you were only twelve when we met. And a real pain besides. I did have a life outside of hunting with you," he says, loading up with firewood.

Suddenly, I'm genuinely curious. "Who did you kiss? And where?"

"Too many to remember. Behind the school, on the slag heap, you name it," he says.

I roll my eyes. "So when did I become so special? When they carted me off to the Capitol?"

"No. About six months before that. Right after New Year's. We were in the Hob, eating some slop of Greasy Sae's. And Darius was teasing you about trading a rabbit for one of his kisses. And I realized...I minded," he tells me.

I remember that day. Bitter cold and dark by four in the afternoon. We'd been hunting, but a heavy snow had driven us back into town. The Hob was crowded with people looking for refuge from the weather. Greasy Sae's soup, made with stock from the bones of a wild dog we'd shot a week earlier, was below her usual standards. Still, it was hot, and I was starving as I scooped it up, sitting cross-legged on her counter. Darius was leaning on the post of the stall, tickling my cheek with the end of my braid, while I smacked his hand away. He was explaining why one of his kisses merited a rabbit, or possibly two, since everyone knows redheaded men are the most virile. And Greasy Sae and I were laughing because he was so ridiculous and persistent and kept pointing out women around the Hob who he said had paid far more than a rabbit to enjoy his lips. "See? The one in the green muffler? Go ahead and ask her.If you need a reference."

A million miles from here, a billion days ago, this happened. "Darius was just joking around," I say.

"Probably. Although you'd be the last to figure out if he wasn't," Gale tells me. "Take Peeta. Take me. Or even Finnick. I was starting to worry he had his eye on you, but he seems back on track now."

"You don't know Finnick if you think he'd love me," I say.

Gale shrugs. "I know he was desperate. That makes people do all kinds of crazy things."

I can't help thinking that's directed at me.

Mockingjay Chapters 14 and 15 Pages 200- 206

Gale, who is too restless to sit at the table for more than a few hours, has been alternating between pacing and sharing my windowsill. Early on, he seemed to accept Lyme's assertion that the entrances couldn't be taken, and dropped out of the conversation entirely. For the last hour or so, he's sat quietly, his brow knitted in concentration, staring at the Nut through the window glass. In the silence that follows Lyme's ultimatum, he speaks up. "Is it really so necessary that we take the Nut? Or would it be enough to disable it?" "That would be a step in the right direction," says Beetee. "What do you have in mind?" "Think of it as a wild dog den," Gale continues. "You're not going to fight your way in. So you have two choices. Trap the dogs inside or flush them out." "We've tried bombing the entrances," says Lyme. "They're set too far inside the stone for any real damage to be done." "I wasn't thinking of that," says Gale. "I was thinking of using the mountain." Beetee rises and joins Gale at the window, peering through his ill-fitting glasses. "See? Running down the sides?" "Avalanche paths," says Beetee under his breath. "It'd be tricky. We'd have to design the detonation sequence with great care, and once it's in motion, we couldn't hope to control it." "We don't need to control it if we give up the idea that we have to possess the Nut," says Gale. "Only shut it down." "So you're suggesting we start avalanches and block the entrances?" asks Lyme. "That's it," says Gale. "Trap the enemy inside, cut off from supplies. Make it impossible for them to send out their hovercraft." While everyone considers the plan, Boggs flips through a stack of blueprints of the Nut and frowns. "You risk killing everyone inside. Look at the ventilation system. It's rudimentary at best. Nothing like what we have in Thirteen. It depends entirely on pumping in air from the mountainsides. Block those vents and you'll suffocate whoever is trapped." "They could still escape through the train tunnel to the square," says Beetee. "Not if we blow it up," says Gale brusquely. His intent, his full intent, becomes clear. Gale has no interest in preserving the lives of those in the Nut. No interest in caging the prey for later use. This is one of his death traps.

The implications of what Gale is suggesting settle quietly around the room. You can see the reaction playing out on people's faces. The expressions range from pleasure to distress, from sorrow to satisfaction. "The majority of the workers are citizens from Two," says Beetee neutrally. "So what?" says Gale. "We'll never be able to trust them again." "They should at least have a chance to surrender," says Lyme. "Well, that's a luxury we weren't given when they fire-bombed Twelve, but you're all so much cozier with the Capitol here," says Gale. By the look on Lyme's face, I think she might shoot him, or at least take a swing. She'd probably have the upper hand, too, with all her training. But her anger only seems to infuriate him and he yells, "We watched children burn to death and there was nothing we could do!" I have to close my eyes a minute, as the image rips through me. It has the desired effect. I want everyone in that mountain dead. Am about to say so. But then...I'm also a girl from District 12. Not President Snow. I can't help it. I can't condemn someone to the death he's suggesting. "Gale," I say, taking his arm and trying to speak in a reasonable tone. "The Nut's an old mine. It'd be like causing a massive coal mining accident." Surely the words are enough to make anyone from 12 think twice about the plan. "But not so quick as the one that killed our fathers," he retorts. "Is that everyone's problem? That our enemies might have a few hours to reflect on the fact that they're dying, instead of just being blown to bits?" Back in the old days, when we were nothing more than a couple of kids hunting outside of 12, Gale said things like this and worse. But then they were just words. Here, put into practice, they become deeds that can never be reversed. "You don't know how those District Two people ended up in the Nut," I say. "They may have been coerced. They may be held against their will. Some are our own spies. Will you kill them, too?" "I would sacrifice a few, yes, to take out the rest of them," he replies. "And if I were a spy in there, I'd say, 'Bring on the avalanches!'" I know he's telling the truth. That Gale would sacrifice his life in this way for the cause - no one doubts it. Perhaps we'd all do the same if we were the spies and given the choice. I guess I would. But it's a coldhearted decision to make for other people and those who love them. "You said we had two choices," Boggs tells him. "To trap them or to flush them out. I say we try to avalanche the mountain but leave the train tunnel alone. People can escape into the square, where we'll be waiting for them." "Heavily armed, I hope," says Gale. "You can be sure they'll be." "Heavily armed. We'll take them prisoner," agrees Boggs. "Let's bring Thirteen into the loop now," Beetee suggests. "Let President Coin weigh in." "She'll want to block the tunnel," says Gale with conviction. "Yes, most likely. But you know, Peeta did have a point in his propos. About the dangers of killing ourselves off. I've been playing with some numbers. Factoring in the casualties and the wounded and...I think it's at least worth a conversation," says Beetee.

Mockingjay Chapter 15 Page 207

Gale's plan exceeds anyone's expectations. Beetee was right about being unable to control the avalanches once they'd been set in motion. The mountainsides are naturally unstable, but weakened by the explosions, they seem almost fluid. Whole sections of the Nut collapse before our eyes, obliterating any sign that human beings have ever set foot on the place. We stand speechless, tiny and insignificant, as waves of stone thunder down the mountain. Burying the entrances under tons of rock. Raising a cloud of dirt and debris that blackens the sky. Turning the Nut into a tomb. I imagine the hell inside the mountain. Sirens wailing. Lights flickering into darkness. Stone dust choking the air. The shrieks of panicked, trapped beings stumbling madly for a way out, only to find the entrances, the launchpad, the ventilation shafts themselves clogged with earth and rock trying to force its way in. Live wires flung free, fires breaking out, rubble making a familiar path a maze. People slamming, shoving, scrambling like ants as the hill presses in, threatening to crush their fragile shells.

Mockingay Chapter 17 Page 244

"I told you he hated me," I say. "It's the way he hates you. It's so...familiar. I used to feel like that," he admits. "When I'd watch you kissing him on the screen. Only I knew I wasn't being entirely fair. He can't see that." We reach my door. "Maybe he just sees me as I really am. I have to get some sleep." Gale catches my arm before I can disappear. "So that's what you're thinking now?" I shrug. "Katniss, as your oldest friend, believe me when I say he's not seeing you as you really are." He kisses my cheek and goes.

Mockingjay Chapter 19 Pages 267-268

The dinner whistle sounds, and Gale and I line up at the canteen. "Do you want me to kill him?" he asks bluntly. "That'll get us both sent back for sure," I say. But even though I'm furious, the brutality of the offer rattles me. "I can deal with him." "You mean until you take off? You and your paper map and possibly a Holo if you can get your hands on it?" So Gale has not missed my preparations. I hope they haven't been so obvious to the others. None of them know my mind like he does, though. "You're not planning on leaving me behind, are you?" he asks. Up until this point, I was. But having my hunting partner to watch my back doesn't sound like a bad idea. "As your fellow soldier, I have to strongly recommend you stay with your squad. But I can't stop you from coming, can I?" He grins. "No. Not unless you want me to alert the rest of the army."

Mockingjay Chapter 19 Page 274

I move to Gale, press my forehead into the body armor where his chest should be, feel his arm tighten around me. We finally know the name of the girl who we watched the Capitol abduct from the woods of 12, the fate of the Peacekeeper friend who tried to keep Gale alive. This is no time to call up happy moments of remembrance. They lost their lives because of me. I add them to my personal list of kills that began in the arena and now includes thousands. When I look up, I see it has taken Gale differently. His expression says that there are not enough mountains to crush, enough cities to destroy. It promises death.

Mockingjay Chapter 23. Pages 328-329

We change bandages, handcuff Peeta back to his support, and settle down to sleep. A few hours later, I slip back into consciousness and become aware of a quiet conversation. Peeta and Gale. I can't stop myself from eavesdropping. "Thanks for the water," Peeta says. "No problem," Gale replies. "I wake up ten times a night anyway." "To make sure Katniss is still here?" asks Peeta. "Something like that," Gale admits. There's a long pause before Peeta speaks again. "That was funny, what Tigris said. About no one knowing what to do with her." "Well,we never have," Gale says. They both laugh. It's so strange to hear them talking like this. Almost like friends. Which they're not. Never have been. Although they're not exactly enemies. "She loves you, you know," says Peeta. "She as good as told me after they whipped you." "Don't believe it," Gale answers. "The way she kissed you in the Quarter Quell...well, she never kissed me like that." "It was just part of the show," Peeta tells him, although there's an edge of doubt in his voice. "No, you won her over. Gave up everything for her. Maybe that's the only way to convince her you love her." There's a long pause. "I should have volunteered to take your place in the first Games. Protected her then." "You couldn't," says Peeta. "She'd never have forgiven you. You had to take care of her family. They matter more to her than her life." "Well, it won't be an issue much longer. I think it's unlikely all three of us will be alive at the end of the war. And if we are, I guess it's Katniss's problem. Who to choose." Gale yawns. "We should get some sleep." "Yeah." I hear Peeta's handcuffs slide down the support as he settles in. "I wonder how she'll make up her mind." "Oh, that I do know." I can just catch Gale's last words through the layer of fur. "Katniss will pick whoever she thinks she can't survive without."

Mockingjay Chapter 24 Page 275

A chill runs through me. Am I really that cold and calculating? Gale didn't say, "Katniss will pick whoever it will break her heart to give up," or even "whoever she can't live without." Those would have implied I was motivated by a kind of passion. But my best friend predicts I will choose the person who I think I "can't survive without." There's not the least indication that love, or desire, or even compatibility will sway me. I'll just conduct an unfeeling assessment of what my potential mates can offer me. As if in the end, it will be the question of whether a baker or a hunter will extend my longevity the most. It's a horrible thing for Gale to say, for Peeta not to refute. Especially when every emotion I have has been taken and exploited by the Capitol or the rebels. At the moment, the choice would be simple. I can survive just fine without either of them.

Mockingjay Chapter 26 Pages 366- 367

There's a tap at the door and Gale steps in. "Can I have a minute?" he asks. In the mirror, I watch my prep team. Unsure of where to go, they bump into one another a few times and then closet themselves in the bathroom. Gale comes up behind me and we examine each other's reflection. I'm searching for something to hang on to, some sign of the girl and boy who met by chance in the woods five years ago and became inseparable. I'm wondering what would have happened to them if the Hunger Games had not reaped the girl. If she would have fallen in love with the boy, married him even. And sometime in the future, when the brothers and sisters had been raised up, escaped with him into the woods and left 12 behind forever. Would they have been happy, out in the wild, or would the dark, twisted sadness between them have grown up even without the Capitol's help? "I brought you this." Gale holds up a sheath. When I take it, I notice it holds a single, ordinary arrow. "It's supposed to be symbolic. You firing the last shot of the war." "What if I miss?" I say. "Does Coin retrieve it and bring it back to me? Or just shoot Snow through the head herself?" "You won't miss." Gale adjusts the sheath on my shoulder. We stand there, face-to-face, not meeting each other's eyes. "You didn't come see me in the hospital." He doesn't answer, so finally I just say it. "Was it your bomb?" "I don't know. Neither does Beetee," he says. "Does it matter? You'll always be thinking about it." He waits for me to deny it; I want to deny it, but it's true. Even now I can see the flash that ignites her, feel the heat of the flames. And I will never be able to separate that moment from Gale. My silence is my answer.

"That was the one thing I had going for me. Taking care of your family," he says. "Shoot straight, okay?" He touches my cheek and leaves. I want to call him back and tell him that I was wrong. That I'll figure out a way to make peace with this. To remember the circumstances under which he created the bomb. Take into account my own inexcusable crimes. Dig up the truth about who dropped the parachutes. Prove it wasn't the rebels. Forgive him. But since I can't, I'll just have to deal with the pain.

Chapter 27 Pages 384 385

Over the eggs, I ask her, "Where did Gale go?" "District Two. Got some fancy job there. I see him now and again on the television," she says. I dig around inside myself, trying to register anger, hatred, longing. I find only relief. "I'm going hunting today," I say. "Well, I wouldn't mind some fresh game at that," she answers. I arm myself with a bow and arrows and head out, intending to exit 12 through the Meadow. Near the square are teams of masked and gloved people with horse-drawn carts. Sifting through what lay under the snow this winter. Gathering remains. A cart's parked in front of the mayor's house. I recognize Thom, Gale's old crewmate, pausing a moment to wipe the sweat from his face with a rag. I remember seeing him in 13, but he must have come back. His greeting gives me the courage to ask, "Did they find anyone in there?" "Whole family. And the two people who worked for them," Thom tells me. Madge. Quiet and kind and brave. The girl who gave me the pin that gave me a name. I swallow hard. Wonder if she'll be joining the cast of my nightmares tonight. Shoveling the ashes into my mouth. "I thought maybe, since he was the mayor..." "I don't think being the mayor of Twelve put the odds in his favor," says Thom. I nod and keep moving, careful not to look in the back of the cart. All through the town and the Seam, it's the same. The reaping of the dead. As I near the ruins of my old house, the road becomes thick with carts. The Meadow's gone, or at least dramatically altered. A deep pit has been dug, and they're lining it with bones, a mass grave for my people. I skirt around the hole and enter the woods at my usual place. It doesn't matter, though. The fence isn't charged anymore and has been propped up with long branches to keep out the predators. But old habits die hard. I think about going to the lake, but I'm so weak that I barely make it to my meeting place with Gale. I sit on the rock where Cressida filmed us, but it's too wide without his body beside me. Several times I close my eyes and count to ten, thinking that when I open them, he will have materialized without a sound as he so often did. I have to remind myself that Gale's in 2 with a fancy job, probably kissing another pair of lips.

#thg #hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #mockingjay part 1 #mockingjay part 2 #The Hunger Games #TheHungerGames #CatchingFire #hunger games catching fire #cf #gale hawthorne #gale #Katniss #katniss everdeen #Peeta Mellark #Peeta

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x1-imaginesreturns · 4 years

Text

The Flower Exchange

Masterlist

Pairing: Seungwoo x Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5,373

Notes: Here’s the fixed version!! Yes, this is technically the soulmate au, but I don’t think there needs to be a a set system of how to get your soulmate for people to be soulmates! Also this is an idea my best friend and I came up with one day (the class itself, not the imagine) and I applied to my idea of how I would confess to someone ngL, but I hope you guys enjoy!

Song Recommendation: Flower Shower - HyunA

Requested: Yes (I apologize that this took so long anon!!!)

Last year, when you were signing up for classes, you would’ve never expected to see your crush, Han Seungwoo, in a class like Plant Care 101.

But there he was, smiling at you as you walked through the door of Room 93. “Hey y/n, right?,” he says kindly, “Nice to see you! How was your summer?”

Needless, to say, you almost bolted backwards out of that classroom. It was your fifth period class, right after lunch, and you hadn’t had any other class with Seungwoo yet.

You stood there like an idiot for almost a minute, your brain scrambling for any combination of words that you could answer him with. And as your face got to the peak of redness, you barely squeaked out, “It was gooood??? How was yours?”

He giggles slightly before saying, “You’re adorable y/n. My summer was good, but.. um, you’re blocking the doorway.” And of course, you shot forward, the complete opposite way of where your brain was screaming at you to do.

The few people behind you clambered into the classroom as you awkwardly slid into the seat you had calculated to be the farthest away from what you assumed to be Seungwoo’s seat.

But your mind immediately flashed away from Seungwoo and that embarrassing moment as you watched your two best friends, Dongpyo and Eunjeong walk into the classroom.

The three of you had agreed to take the class together, as you were too afraid to take it by yourself, Eunjeong liked to join you in random things, and Dongpyo couldn’t decide on an elective class anyways.

“Hey y/n!,” Eunjeong says excitedly, “We should walk together from lunch for now on.” You nod at her statement, and wave at Dongpyo as he sits down in the seat in front of you, right next to a somewhat close friend of yours, Eunsang.

“Yeah,” you answer, “Everything’s just a little off cause it’s the first day of a new year, that’s all.” She nods back at you, and she easily slides into the seat next to you.

As soon as she strikes up a conversation with Dongpyo and Eunsang, your eyes stray back to Seungwoo. He’s already deep in conversation with his deskmate, Seungyoun, and you start to zone out, your heart fluttering at the sight of him.

After what feels like five seconds, the final bell rings, shaking you out of your trance. And when you look back over, Eunjeong’s eyebrows are raised and her eyes are giving you a look that’s saying, ‘You better tell me about this later.’

However, she immediately looks away as your teacher finally speaks up. She’s clearly very young, and her desk is covered in different assortments of potted plants, especially flowers.

“Hello everyone!,” she calls out, “My name is Ms. Kim, and I shall be your Plants Care 101 teacher this year. I hope everyone in here is serious about this class because this class requires lots of attention to detail.”

“If you are not serious about this class and just took it to get an easy grade, I would suggest that you get of this class now. My class will not be like that. It will extremely hard for those of you who are not dedicated.”

“Those of you who are ready to learn, this class will not be too difficult,” she finishes, clasping her hands together, “Now let me take roll, and I shall go over everything we will be learning this school year!”

Your first day of school somehow went well. But of course, Plant Care stood out the most to you. Ms. Kim seemed like a great teacher... and of course, that was your only class with Seungwoo.

Why do you even like Seungwoo anyways?

Well, maybe if your parents hadn’t decided to move into the house directly across from his, you wouldn’t have been blinded by his smile when him and his parents came over to introduce themselves.

And maybe if he hadn’t spent so much time at your house during the first half of high school when his parents left on all of their business trips, you wouldn’t have found out that his personality was one of a kind too.

But now, Seungwoo had moved on from you and no longer asked you if you wanted to eat lunch with him and his friends or popped up at your front door randomly, asking if he could stay the night on your couch.

‘But it’s whatever right?,’ you think to yourself as you started to drift to sleep, ‘It’s all in the past... Everyone changes eventually...’

The first semester of this school year passed by quickly, and you were rapidly thrown into the second one after a seemingly long winter break. You and Seungwoo had started interacting more, and he even showed up on your doorstep from time, desperate for your help on how to care for the various plants assigned for him to care of.

It certainly didn’t let your feelings fade.

But Ms. Kim had been hinting for a while, ever since second semester had started that there would be a big and fun project that was going to start right before Valentine’s Day.

And sure enough, the day before February started, Ms. Kim had already placed down papers upon all your desks, titled “The Flower Exchange”.

As soon as the bell had rung, Ms. Kim had started up with her usual greeting, “Hello class! I’m sure you can all see and read what’s coming your way!”

“The flower exchange! A fourteen day long project that will have you confessing your deepest feelings to one of your fellow classmates. This is all in the spirit of Valentine’s Day, of course!”

“Valentine’s Day is mostly about romance, of course, but we can also use this time of year to display our inner gratitude to our closest friends and family. Now, I’m sure all of you are curious to how the pairings will work.”

“Everyone will come up here, and pick the person they want to anonymously send messages to. Everyone can only be picked once, so there will not be two people assigned to one person. Whoever is chosen to pick last, they will unfortunately just have to pick the person who was not chosen.”

Excited whispers rushed around the room as people started planning on who they were going to pick, some people calling “dibs” on the person they wanted the most.

Of course, your mind strayed to Seungwoo immediately. ‘I could use this chance to secretly confess to him,’ you thought excitedly, but as soon as you thought that, Ms. Kim spoke up again.

“And on Valentine’s Day,” she starts, “With your final bouquet arrangement and letter, you will reveal yourself to the person you’ve been sending flowers to.”

‘Guess I’m not picking Seungwoo then,’ you thought hurriedly, ‘I can’t go on and on about my undying love for him and then have to tell him who I am. I’m not ready for that.’

“Alright, I just randomized everyone’s name so, Seungwoo, you’ll be picking first!,” Ms. Kim calls out, and Seungwoo walks up to the front of the class. He hesitates for a few seconds when Ms. Kim presents him with the list of names, before he points at name on the sheet.

He sits down with a soft smile on his face, clearly happy about the choice he just made. His cheeks are also dusted with a light blush, and you can’t help but look away and blush too.

‘If only he had picked me,’ you thought to yourself, ‘I wish Seungwoo would think of me like that.’

You immediately shook yourself from those thoughts as you heard your friend’s name be called. And since she was second, you knew exactly who she would pick. Ever since Eunsang had started participating in your guy’s conversations, she had started developing a crush on him.

And of course, she looked super giddy as she slid back into her seat, and you sent her a not-so-subtle wink. She blushed darkly, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it, as Ms. Kim called out another name.

Name after name was called, but yours was never called. Until Ms. Kim said, “Last but not least, y/n.” You slid out of your seat, and sighed to yourself before walking to the front of the classroom.

As you looked on the role sheet, you silently exhaled a breath of relief, as Dongpyo was the only person left. You felt bad knowing that he would figure it out eventually, but you were also happy that it was someone you knew.

Ms. Kim started up again as soon as you were back in your seat, “So, here’s how this is going to work. Every day in class, you will be given a computer and a packet of different flowers with their meanings next to a picture of the flower.”

“You can use the computer to look up if the flower has different colors and different styles of arrangements that can possibly change the message of your bouquet altogether,” she continues, “And at the end of the class period, you will hand me a piece of paper that has all of the flowers you want in the bouquet on it, how many of each flower or accent plant you would like, and the style of arrangement you would like your flowers to be in.”

“If you would also like to give your person a letter to go along with the bouquet, just turn it in at the end of class, before school, or at lunch. Just a fair warning though, I will be reading them.”

“This is just meant to be a fun project for Valentine’s day but you’re welcome to take it seriously if you so desire to,” she finishes, “Go grab a computer and get started! After all, tomorrow is the first day of February!”

Everyone immediately darted up to grab a computer and Ms. Kim started placing the packets upon everyone’s desk as we did so. And as we all rushed back to our seats, Ms. Kim darted out of the way as we almost trampled her in our excited rush, and giggled to herself as she sat back down herself.

The rest of the period was practically dead silent as everyone focused intently on finishing their first bouquet. And everyone jumped five feet out of their seats when the bell rang. The entire classroom was a mess again as you all rushed to give Ms. Kim your papers and put all of the computers away as well.

You were just curious as to who was making a bouquet for you.

The next day, your stomach was filled with butterflies all throughout. You were quite nervous for Plant Care, for obvious reasons, and you were so curious as to what this person wanted to say to you.

And of course, when you walked into Room 93, each desk had a bright, colorful, and well-thought out bouquet upon them. Only a few had actual letters next to them, and as you approached your back row seat, you noticed the camellias that highlighted the bouquet, along with the neat, hand-written letter next to it.

You slid into your seat rapidly, too nervous to even wait a second later to read it. But, of course, you had to wait until the bell had rung to start. Ms. Kim’s rules, not yours.

Once the bell rung, the classroom went into clamor. Everyone was trying to figure out what the bouquet they got meant, but you immediately picked up the letter and glued your eyes to the paper.

Dear y/n,

I’m so glad that I got to pick you... the person I’ve been waiting to confess to since I first met you.

Your eyes immediately widened and you were gaping like you never had before. ‘Someone likes me?,’ you thought rushedly, ‘Who? How? Why? When? Where?’

I still remember the wide-eyed look you gave me when you first saw me, and the dazzling smile and blush that adorned your face right after. This bouquet is meant to be representative of that.

‘Whoever this is put a lot of thought into this,’ you immediately thought, ‘Like who in their right mind would go out of their way to put this much thought into something like this... for me?’

First off, there are two white camellias in the bouquet. White camellias specifically mean “you’re adorable” which is exactly what I thought when I saw that dazzling smile of yours. Secondly, there is a pair of pink camellias. Pink camellias mean “longing for you”, which I’m sure speaks for itself. Finally, without counting the accent flower, there is one red camellia. Red camellias mean “you’re a flame in my heart” which describes exactly what you do to me.

Your face was so red at this point, you swear you were going to explode. “Y/n, are you okay?,” Eunjeong asks, “Your face has been getting redder and redder the more you read that letter you’ve got there.”

“Yeah, I’m g-good!,” you answer nervously, fanning your face with your hands as your friends giggle at you. They go back to examining their bouquets, and you immediately go back to reading the letter.

And of course, the accent flower I chose is the lovely chamomile flower. They’re quite beautiful, I think, and they add a great touch to this bouquet. Chamomile flowers mean “patience”, so I think altogether this bouquet means “I find you adorable, and although my heart longs for you, I shall be patient and wait for you to reciprocate my feelings.”

I’m quite nervous writing this, as I’ll never be quite sure of what exactly you think of all this. But I’m also happy because I get the chance to display my truest feelings to you, in a way I never thought I would.

I really do like you, y/n. I hope you like every bouquet that is to come.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Your eyes frantically darted up and down the page again, not truly believing what the letter was actually saying. But the letters never changed.

And now, with your heart beating wildly out of control, you knew you were developing feelings for this mysterious confessor already.

But didn’t you like Seungwoo?

By the time the next school day had arrived, your mind was a train wreck. Your feelings were bouncing every which way, and it didn’t help that Seungwoo came over last night, asking to borrow a couple of your nice art markers.

His smile illuminated by the pale moonlight is something that could easily destroy anyone’s heart, you swear.

But of course, 5th period rolled around again, and you were once again greeted with tabletops full of flowers as you walked into Room 93. And once again, a letter sat next to the bright yellow bouquet of daffodils that had been put on your desk.

And as the bell rung, you immediately grabbed the letter and started reading it slowly, still believing what you read yesterday was a lie.

Dear y/n,

I hope you enjoyed yesterday’s bouquet! Today’s arrangement is a little bit more simple, but it’s still just as meaningful to me. As you can see, it is just a simple bunch of daffodils, but there is a hidden meaning within that. Presenting someone with a single daffodil means “misfortune” but giving someone and entire bunch means “joy or happiness”. Even besides that, daffodils can mean “new beginnings”, “unrequited love”, or even “eternal love”. The message of this bouquet is “even if you never return my feelings, I hope you will always stay happy”.

I can already tell that it’s going to become really hard to choose flowers at some point, because there are so many things I want to tell you, y/n. Have a good rest of your day!

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Your face stayed red from the moment you finished reading the letter all the way until Seungwoo appeared at your window once again, this time to return the markers he took from you last night.

“Thanks,” you scoffed out, not sure what had come over you. Seungwoo immediately tilted his head at you and said, “Is something wrong y/n? You’re clearly bothered by something.”

“I-,” you start, not sure if you should tell him. He is part of your inner dilemma after all, “You see, well, there’s this guy I like and have liked for a while... but whoever had been sending me the bouquets and letters in Plant Care is really starting to grow on me, ya know?”

Seungwoo nods at all of this, a strange expression plastered on his face. “But see, the thing is,” you say, piping right up, “They could be the same person... and I won’t know until Valentine’s Day and it’s already killing me!”

You sigh, and Seungwoo subtly leans closer to your face. “Well, just go with what your heart ends up telling you y/n. Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

As you look back up at him to say thanks, he leans down quickly and presses a chaste kiss to your cheek before jumping up from his position at your window and darting back over to his house.

Every muscle and bone inside of you is completely frozen as you watch Seungwoo’s light turn on again. And as you crookedly slide yourself into bed that night, you can’t help but think...

“What if Seungwoo’s the one sending the flowers?”

Once again, the next day, there was a neatly arranged bouquet on your desk. Not like that was going to change. And next to it, again, was a hand-written letter.

Dear y/n,

The day where I get to reveal myself seems so far away, but yet, so closer at the same time. Anyways, today we have forget-me-nots, irises, and maidenhair ferns making up your bouquet! Forget-me-nots mean “true love memories”, which to me, is any time I get to see or spend time in your presence. Irises mean “a message”, which of course, this project is all about. Finally, maidenhair ferns represent “secret bonds of love”, which I believe is what we’re doing right now. I’m sharing my truest, and most secret declarations of love to you, which has strengthen this secret bond we have going on. Which means this bouquet means “I love creating sacred memories with you and I want to bond over them as we spend more time together”.

I hope you’re at least enjoying the thought put into these bouquets, as I know you’re doing the same for whoever you’re writing to.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Soon enough, the number of handwritten letters that sat in the drawer in which you kept things that meant a lot to you was up to thirteen. You somehow brought yourself to read each and every one of them before you went to bed at night, and it filled your dreams with happiness.

Which is what you were currently doing now, you had just started on the fourth...

Dear y/n,

Today’s bouquet is a little more sporadic, but it still gets my message across all the same. First up, we have Jonquils, which are a part of the daffodil family, but are often mistaken for daffodils themselves. Anyways, they mean “love me” or “a desire for returned affection”. Secondly, we have purple lilacs, which mean “first love”. Finally, there are blue salvias, which mean “I think of you”. And if you tie it all together, this bouquet means “I think of you as my first true love, and I do truly wish you returned my affections.

Also, if you haven’t noticed, I’m going to try and keep these more brief, since you already know the gist of these letters already. I hope you’re enjoying the messages though!

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

Not too much longer until I reveal myself. I’m seriously worried that you’ll be disappointed, but I know you’re too kind to do anything harsh to me. First in today’s bouquet, we have stock. This flower means “bonds of affection” or “you’ll always be beautiful to me”. Second, there’s some viscaria flowers sprinkled in there, which mean “will you dance with me?”. And finally, there’s a single red carnation which represents my “love” for you. All in all, this bouquet means “I think you’re the most beautiful person in the world, do you mind sparing a dance with me?”.

A little crazy and jumbled of a message, I know haha

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

Time just seems to be ticking by. I know I just said not too longer, but it feels like time is running at it's slowest ever. Today we start off with the lovely purple violets, which symbolize that my thought were occupied with love while making this arrangement. Next is a beautiful lavender rose, which means “love at first sight”. And finally, for the accent, I added acacia blossoms which represent “concealed love”. Altogether, this bouquet means, “I fell in love with you at first sight, but I have hidden it away from you for so long”.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

Let’s just get right into it, you know the drill by now. Firstly, we have just the right amount of aster flowers, which mean “elegance” or “love of a variety”. Secondly, there are some beautiful crocus flowers, which are at their best this time of year, they mean “cheerfulness”. Thirdly, we have some dill stalks which mean “protection against evil”. Finally, there are some gladiolus’s which represent “faithfulness”. This bouquet means “I will be faithful to you, beautiful you, in everything we do and I will protect you from all evil to keep your cheerful demeanor alive”.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

I wonder if you have a list of people in mind who you think could possibly be the one sending you these letters. Maybe I’m one of the people you’re keeping in mind... anyways, today we start with the gloxinia flower. They mean “love at first sight”. Next, there is a bunch of lavender heather flowers which represent “admiration”. And finally there are honeysuckle flowers which mean “bonds of love”. Altogether, this bouquet means “I fell in love with you at first sight and I admire you through the bond we’ve created.

I know some of these flowers mean the same thing, but I’m trying my best to come up with an original meaning for each and every one.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

I sometimes also wonder if you keep my letters or just simply throw them away... I’m sure I will figure out all of the answers to my questions when I finally receive your response bouquet. Up first today are the white jasmine flowers in your bouquet, which mean “sweet love”. Secondly, there are more purple lilacs, which as you already know mean “first love”. And finally, there are some gorgeous morning glory flowers, which represent “affection”. All in all, this arrangement means “you are my sweet, first love, and I wish for your affection”.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

Only four more days until I finally am forced to reveal myself. I hope you’re at least curious to who has been sending you these. First off, we have a pair of narcissus flowers, which can also be easily mistaken for daffodils, but they mean “stay as sweet as you are”. Next, there are a few red poppies in the bouquet, which represent “pleasure”. Lastly, the arrangement is accented with a few vines of smilax, which symbolize “loveliness”. When put together, the message of this bouquet is “Stay as lovely and sweet as you are, for it is always a pleasure to be with you”.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

Three more days! I am also quite curious to who you’ve been sending bouquets, too, and what kind of message you’ve been secretly conveying to them. Anyways, we start off with the quite bold sunflowers, which represent “adoration” or “dedicated love”. Second, there are quite a lot of sweet pea flowers that add quite a pop of color to the arrangement, wouldn’t you say? They mean “bliss”. Finally, the bouquet is dotted with plenty of yarrow flowers, which symbolize “everlasting love”. This arrangement means “my love is dedicated and everlasting only for you”.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

I’m getting quite nervous, as we both know there are only two more days in which I can hide myself behind the veil of the unknown. But firstly, we have yellow tulips decorating the bouquet, which mean “sunshine in your smile”. Next, there are many different colors of wallflowers, which represent “faithfulness in adversity”. And lastly, there are a couple leaf roses to complete the arrangement, symbolizing “hope”. So, this bouquet means “I see sunshine and hope when you smile, and in those moments, I know that nothing will go wrong”.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

Dear y/n,

Today is the last day where I am still completely hidden behind the mask of “your flower prince”. I am eager, yet fearful of your inevitable response. Anyways, we first start off with a rose of sharon, which definitely could confuse someone, as they look eerily similar to hibiscus flowers, but they mean “consumed by love”. Secondly, there are some amaryllis within the bouquet, which represent “splendid beauty” or “worth beyond beauty”. Finally, the arrangement is accented with the little apple blossoms which symbolize “preference”. Altogether, this bouquet means “I prefer your beauty to anyone else’s, and my heart is consumed by my love for you”.

I hope you won’t be disappointed by who I am.

Sincerely,

Your Flower Prince

You threw yourself on your bed, landing face first in your pillow, before letting out a scream. This person... was really making you feel things for them. They clearly had spent so much time on making what was supposed to be a simple project, special and specific to their admirations for you.

And now more than ever, your mind had completely strayed from Seungwoo, only thinking of this mysterious entity now.

‘Well tomorrow I’ll get my answers, won’t I?,’ you thought to yourself as you turned back over on your bed, ‘But then again... what if it is actually Seungwoo?’

Instead of time moving slow like you wanted it to today, each one of your class flew by rapidly, and soon enough, of course, you were trudging into Room 93. You swear, every where you looked today, there were couples. Holding hands, hugging, you name it.

You couldn’t even lie to yourself. You were jealous of all of them. Even though you were going to find out the identity of “your flower prince”, you were still worried that it wouldn’t work out how you wanted it too.

But as you walked into the classroom, you couldn’t help but notice that most of the bouquets on everyone’s desk were quite simple, all adorned with delicate, handwritten letters next to them.

Except... the bouquet on your desk was quite large, and an abundant array of colors was sprouting from the neat wrapping on it. And next to it lay another letter, except this one was considerably longer than the rest, and it was carefully printed in cursive.

You nervously slid into your seat, and examined each and every flower with the time you had before the bell rang. Every single one of the flowers at least looked familiar, and you felt as though you couldn’t wait another second to uncover the message of this arrangement.

But just as the bell rang, you slid your hand to the letter and started to pick it up, but Ms. Kim called out, “I know all of you are excited to figure out who your person is, but let me announce something first.”

Everyone’s eyes immediately darted up from their letters, and Ms. Kim continued, “Due to a change in the district’s scheduling, you’ll have to respond to your person on your own time. We can’t spare another day, but I’ll still give you the rest of the period to figure out how you want to do that.”

“Good luck everyone, I hope you’ve all enjoyed this project! Since everyone was on top of it, and everyone gave me an arrangement list every day, everyone gets an A!,” Ms. Kim finishes, giving all of us a friendly smile before sitting back down at her desk.

Your eyes fly right back onto the letter, and you start right from the top, already seeing the familiar beginning of their letters...

Dear y/n,

Today is the day! I present you with the final bouquet. I really poured my heart into this project, as I knew I finally had an opportunity to truly confess to you. It was easy to see the flowers and meanings I could use to convey my truest, and deepest feelings for you, and plus I got to hide who I truly am for a whole two weeks. You mean a lot to me y/n, and I’ve been captivated by you since the day you moved across from me.

Your mind immediately started going insane. There was no other possibility to who this could be now.

And by that statement, I’m sure you’ve already figured out exactly who I am. But before we get into that, I’ll explain today’s bouquet. I know most of my messages have been somewhat complicated, but for the final one, I decided to go a little bit simpler. Simply put, this arrangement contains one of each of the flowers I have previously sent to you during this project. And altogether, this bouquet means...

“I like you.”

Creative, I know, but I have to get the real confession out of the way. But as you’re reading this letter, I’m sure I’m anxiously sitting at the front of the class, wondering what exactly you will say back to me.

Out of habit, you look up at him. He doesn’t appear to be nervous at all, and is striking up a friendly conversation with Wooseok. You instantly turn your eyes back down to the paper.

Well, at least internally. And at this point, I can’t predict anything anymore. I know you told me the other night that the person you liked could be the same person who was sending you the bouquets in class. And well, I couldn’t help but hope and imagine that the person you were thinking of was me. Anyways... I’m sure you’re just waiting for me to actually write my name out on the paper, so you can confirm your suspicions.

Sincerely,

Han Seungwoo

That night as you sat in your bed, you knew Seungwoo was nervously anticipating your response. And you couldn’t help but think of all the times Seungwoo has come hopping over to your window, asking for a small favor.

And now, you were silently sliding out of your front door, a handwritten letter and a piece of tape in hand. You got across the street easily, sliding right up to Seungwoo’s bedroom window.

You stuck the piece of tape to the top of the paper and nervously exhaled before loudly slamming the letter onto his window. You then launched into a sprint and quietly got back inside of your house, peering out of your window just as Seungwoo reached out and grabbed the letter.

Your letter read...

Dear Seungwoo,

This really isn’t how I thought you’d go about confessing to me, you dork. But... to be honest, I fell for you the first time I saw you when your family came over to say hello. Your smile is wayyy more dazzling than mine, I hope you know that. And now that I know you were the one sending me the letters... my heart is going absolutely crazy for you. I’m not very good at this whole writing letters thing... so I’ll just state exactly what I think you want to hear.

I like you too.

Sincerely,

y/n

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mondixu · 3 years

Text

butterflies | d. kaminari

you're my new best friend if you get the reference </3

genre: fluff

gender: neutral

warning: none

[ ✾ ]

You were fourteen when you first met him. It was a rainy day when you were walking to school that morning, and instead of doing the smart thing - bringing an umbrella - you decided you could just run the whole way there. And yet, despite training to be a hero, you couldn't run for ten minutes with your arms over your head as if that would somehow shield you from the rain like you imagined. So there you were, walking in your uniform and worrying about your reputation and how much it would be damaged, when all of a sudden, you didn't feel the cold drops of water splattering on your soggy clothes anymore. Instead, there was a slight feeling of warmth beside you. Glancing over, you looked into the golden eyes of a tall male, whose yellow hair wasn't the least bit wet. Ah, yes, he brought an umbrella. Like a smart person would do. He grinned like a dork and you ignored your stupid heart that fluttered when he smiled his adorably cute smile. "Hey." That simple word changed your fucking life. "Who the hell are you?" "Can you . . . see me?!" "Yeah . . . " "You can see me! I'm gonna have a new best- FRIENNND-" "Okay I think that's enough now," you said, pushing him away and snatching the umbrella out of his hand. "Wait wha?" You stared at the cute boy in front of you and decided you didn't like him, no matter how many times he smiled his stupidly cute smile at you, no matter how many times he would save you from the freezing rain, you would never like him. Never in your life. And so, you traipsed away from the boy with his lightning-patterned umbrella clutched tightly in your hand down the path to your school. You never looked back.

[ ✾ ]

Out of all the places you expected to see the blonde boy next, you never would've guessed the famous hero school of U.A. You didn't want to be reminded of him, of his cute face, his golden eyes, his honey-blonde hair, and his adorable grin, it wasn't particularly fair that someone could look that good. Just looking at him made you want to puke from nerves. And of course, he wiggled his way into your friend group. The two of you never talked about what had happened, but he always flashed his bright grin whenever he saw you, activating the ever-present flutters in your heart once again. You ignored the stupid butterflies. Quickly making friends at U.A., you thought that everything was looking up for you, the future was looking bright! That is, until villains suddenly bombarded USJ. And of course, as "fate" would have it, you got thrown into a group with your least favorite blonde. And yes, there were females from the class with you -- you hadn't bothered to learn their names -- but that didn't stop the stupid butterflies from deciding to come to life once again. They were worse when he made physical contact with you, such as when he saved you from tumbling off of a pile of rocks, or when he shoved you out of the way as a knife went flying by where your head had once been. Stupid butterflies.

[ ✾ ]

Note to self: never tell the Bakusquad you're going to study. They'll beg to come along. It wasn't that you didn't love your friends -- far from it -- but they could be a little . . . hectic, to say the least. When it comes to sitting still, go to the Dekusquad for studying help. Bakugou was fine, the only reason he came along was because Kirishima wouldn't "get off of his fucking back", at least he knew how to study quietly. Sero was okay; he was sorta mellow, occasionally finding the passion to study with no sound emitting from him, while other times, he was spilling Tic Tacs all over his books and having a mini food fight with Kaminari and Mina. Kirishima tried. He really did. He just had no concentration in him whatsoever. The red-haired male was constantly asking you or Bakugou for help, and while you were more than happy to help him, you came here to study, not to tutor. Bakugou, obviously, did nothing to help until Kirishima pulled out the puppy eyes. Kiri's got him hooked on a fucking leash. Kaminari = never ever ever ever ever ever ask him to study. The child probably had dyslexia, as he was c o n s t a n t l y asking how to pronounce the simplest of words, then going off and googling it as soon as you told him, thinking that you were the one who pronounced it wrong, not him. He peered over your shoulder, whispering in your ear for the correct math answer on the homework, fueling your already prominent blush on your face already. To say the least, you didn't get much studying done when you sat beside him, and instead, spent the entire time glaring at your book as you thought about the stupid butterflies that existed in your stomach. When it came to Mina, she honestly didn't really try. While she wanted to pass school and become a hero, it was hard for her energetic body to sit still and stare at books all day. When you suggested she grab some snacks for the group after seeing her restlessness, she jumped at the chance, but then didn't come back for a whole hour. When she did finally come back, she had no snacks in her arms, and instead, held a dog. Yes. Ashido fucking Mina bought a dog instead of getting a simple box of pocky for her friends. Everyone but you and Bakugou found it hilarious, asking to see the dog, pet it, and become the fucking parent. Then, they got kicked out of the library. Kaminari tried to engage you in a conversation as the group walked back home, but you were too pissed to concentrate on anything he rambled about. Mina bought a dog. A fucking dog. "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BUY A DOG, MINA?!" you cried, interrupting the blonde's tangent about a hacker who beat him in Roblox. "Because it was cute," she said simply. You facepalmed. Kaminari slung his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close and saying, "aw, c'mon [Name]! You gotta admit, it was pretty cute!" You shoved him in a mud puddle. Stupid butterflies.

[ ✾ ]

"Look Denki, I get that you want to have lightning bolt streamers everywhere, but this is Aizawa's party we're talking about here, not yours." You were in your second year of U.A., all of your class having graduated the first year of hero training with flying colors. You were on better terms with Denki now, having saved him from impending doom when the League kidnapped Bakugou. You worked all your differences out and were now good friends, some even going as far as to call the two of you besties. That didn't mean the butterflies had disappeared. In fact, they were worse than ever the more time you spent around him. It was like every time he put his arm around your shoulders or abruptly snatched your hand, the bugs were on a reproducing spree, manifesting more and more butterflies every time he came into physical contact with you. "C'mon! It's lightning! How could you not love it?!" "You weren't the one who came up with the idea for this party! I was!" Ah, yes. Your fiery temper was still there. "Fine, fine, we can use the black streamers," he said, rolling his eyes and heading to the kitchen. You grinned deviously, a plan already forming in mind that would surely get you a handful of swears from your teacher. Fuck it all, you were doing it anyway.

[ ✾ ]

"[Last Name], what the hell are you doing?" Aizawa inquired, rubbing his tired eyes vigorously. "Oh, don't worry Aizawa-sensei," you replied deviously, smirking at the black-clothed teacher. "Everything is a-okay!" "That automatically makes me assume that nothing is okay." "I SAID DON'T WORRY, AIZAWA-SENSEI!" "And I said that automatically makes me assume I have to worry." "BUT YOU DON'T!" "Mhm." You could hear the skepticism lacing his fatigued voice, giving a boost of excitement to your tired legs as you dragged the sleepy man to the common room, smacking your hands over his eyes. "Ow." "Okay, okay, okay, open your eyes," you said, ignoring his cry of pain. "I can't because your filthy hands are over them." "NOW OPEN THEM." His dark eyes opened, holding a small glint of surprise as he saw the black, silver, gray, and white streamers dangling from the ceiling that Shouji put up, the luscious dark chocolate cake Sato had prepared, the birthday balloons Yaomomo and Denki had dotted around, and the whole class sprinkled around the common room (plus Shinso and Eri), wearing party hats and smiling at their shocked teacher. Aizawa's throat caught slightly at the end, but he still managed to get out the words, "who's idea was this?" Denki stepped up, raising his arm but pointing his finger at you. "[Name] did, they just dragged us into it." You grinned sheepishly, rubbing the nape of your neck and quickly trying to atone for your sins. "I understand if you don't like it, I could take it all down if you want, I just thought that maybe-" Kaminari rushed over to your side and slapped his hand over your mouth, steadily looking you in the eye and shaking his head. "No, [Last Name], it's great." You were surprised to hear the tired voice of your favorite teacher, and even more surprised to see him crack a small grin at you, saying, "where'd you get the party hats?" "Yaomomo made them," Denki cut in. "He didn't ask you," you said, licking his hand as he jerked it away. "Let's party!"

[ ✾ ]

So far, so good, you thought, twisting your fingers together as you watched your favorite blonde attempt to playfully flirt with Uraraka. You can do this, you can do this, you can do this, you can do this. "Hey." You shrieked at the voice that suddenly appeared in your ear, jumping a little and whipping around, only to come face-to-face with an electric boy. "Denki! You scared me!" "And you made me bite my tongue! Even?" "How did I make you bite your tongue?" "When you jumped, my chin was on my way to your shoulder," Denki exclaimed, "but then it moved so my teeth clanked together and my tongue got in the way." You smiled, lightly punching him in the arm. "Clanked," you teased with a grin. "It's a word!" "Okay." You rolled your eyes. "Hey, what happened to Uraraka?" "Oh, as soon as I started talking, she said she had to make sure Midoriya had his hero notebook or something, then ran away." "WOW," you said, bending over and clutching your stomach, trying to breathe through your laughter. "That's a mood." "It is indeed," Kaminari replied, a grin on his face. Stupid butterflies. "Hey, Denki --" You were abruptly stopped by the strange feeling of another pair of lips on yours, kissing you passionately. Your shocked brain had no idea what was happening until the sudden warmth moved away, revealing the familiar golden eyes of a honey-blonde. "I'm so sorry, I just thought you looked really cute in that shirt and then I thought 'well why don't I kiss you' and then you didn't kiss back and --" You pressed your lips against his this time, a small smile gracing your lips as your crush kissed back with fervor. Finally, after what seemed like it would never be enough, you pulled away from the awkward-yet-electrifying kiss to inhale the life-saving air around you. "Did you get butterflies too?" you asked, panting. "Yeah, yeah I did." Those golden eyes. You couldn't look away from the millions of emotions swirling in his orbs, anxiety, euphoria, fear, nervousness, joy, shock, and trillions more. The same feelings were probably circling round and around in your eyes. "So what does this make us?" Another kiss was your answer.

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nari-writes · 4 years

Note

Why not a Marco/Ace, pre-MAS in the One Piece World, where Ace and Marco are a thing. They met Sabo who's still amnesiac. Follow up the reunion (at your discretion) and Marco realizing, that the brothers appeared to be a package deal and he can't find in himself to be against that.

Ace has been camped out by Sabo’s bedside for two days before Marco can gather up enough courage to go see him. Them.

The events at Dressrosa had been…off-putting. Had involved a lot of arguing, and Marco was still getting over being turned into a plush toy and forgotten. It wasn’t Ace’s fault that Marco needed time, nor that there was a niggle of fear in the back of his head that when he stepped through the door, Ace would turn from Sabo, look at him with blank eyes, and say “who?“

Instead, Ace says, “I’m not leaving him,” and crosses his arms. With his glare aimed at Sabo, Marco could almost pretend Ace was mad at his best friend instead of his boyfriend. Instead of his crew, the people who’ve spent days worrying about him, but who’ve also spent the time trying to convince him to leave Sabo’s side.

Marco shuts the door. “I don’t expect you to,” he says softly, and sets a tray down by Ace’s side. Ace’s sharp posture relaxes incrementally, but he doesn’t look over at Marco’s offering. On the bedside table is the tray from breakfast, still half-full and carefully sectioned to one side of the plate. The side closest to Sabo’s unconscious form. Marco shifts the plate away, carefully, and places the tray in Ace’s lap. “Eat,” he says. “All of it.”

“I’m not hungry-”

“Eat,” Marco says, stern this time, and when Ace looks like he’s going to protest, Marco takes his chin and makes Ace look at him. “Thatch has about a hundred meals on standby for when he wakes up. I’m here for his injuries. Pops is already excited to say hello. Trust us.”

Ace pauses, a second, two seconds too long. His fingers tighten in his shorts. “I do.”

“Then let us take care of you. Of him.”

“I’m not-” Ace says, soft, and his eyes slide away, guilty and sad. “I’m not…used to that.”

Marco forces a grin, tugging gently on Ace’s hair to make Ace swat at his hand and to try and coax a smile onto Ace’s face. “With how this crew spoils you, you’d think you’d be used to being taken care of.”

Ace doesn’t smile at the tease. His mouth curls even further down. “No. No, not- not you guys taking care of me.” His face slips from between Marco’s fingers, turning his head to look at Sabo like he can’t bear to take his eyes off Sabo’s body. “At…anybody else taking care of him. It was always just…us.”

He reaches out, hand shaking as he lets his fingertips run down the side of Sabo’s scar, passing over his cheekbone, and then-

Stops, just at the corner of Sabo’s lips, like he’s too afraid to touch there. Too afraid to go further. Sabo frowns and makes a pained noise, tilting against Ace’s touch, and Ace yanks his hand away, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Ace whispers, and Marco doesn’t know if Ace is saying it to Sabo, or to him. For a moment, his heart squeezes.

In the back of his head, Marco had always been…jealous, of Sabo. Unfortunately so, considering that Sabo was dead, and being jealous of a dead man generally made people worried, but the thing was - when Ace had first told Marco about his brothers, he hadn’t mentioned anything about Sabo being dead.

And with the way Ace slipped Sabo into stories - I figure Sabo would’ve said this, or Luffy pretended Sabo was his imaginary friend for a whole month when he was fourteen - Marco had always assumed Sabo was out there, somewhere, and that Ace was just settling. Settling for kind enough, strong enough, kept a secret well enough, and that, perhaps, Ace didn’t realise he loved Sabo because they’d been so close, and Ace had nothing to compare it to.

That when he did have something to compare, when Marco had given Ace everything he had, that Ace would realise actually, he was in love with his childhood best friend, and thanks for the help in realising it, Marco, but if it’s all alright, Ace would just be going back along to the first person who’d made him feel like he was worth something.

Finding out Sabo was dead (supposed to be dead) had….eased that, somewhat. Of course Marco was second-best to a ghost; ghosts weren’t anything like the living. You could make them into whatever you wanted, whatever you needed, and Ace needed someone to love him unconditionally. Someone who had his back, who knew every trick, who cornered sheep to fleece them out of their money and knowledge and whatever else the two of them wanted. If Marco was second-best to that, he didn’t mind losing the competition.

And then two nights ago he hadn’t even been part of the competition. He’d been taken from everyone’s memories, forgotten by everyone he’d ever cared about, and watched Ace risk his life for a facsimile of the mera mera. Watched him meet Sabo, trade jokes and barbs like they were rehearsed, and wear a frown that got deeper with every word - right up until the explosion at the SMILE factory caught Sabo like a wrecking ball and realisation hit Ace at the same time.

A realisation that Marco didn’t share. He was not supposed to be the one caught flat-foot when it came to information about Ace, and yet-

Ace ignored Marco entirely to drag Sabo’s body close, burying his tear-streaked face into Sabo’s coat and bawling like he’d just lost something important. (Found something important was probably more accurate-) Especially after Ace said, Luffy and I were so worried about you, and then, like a confessional, I wanted to die, before he braced himself and gathered Sabo into his arms, carrying him back to the ship.

Ten minutes into knowing Sabo, and two days into Ace hovering by Sabo’s side, Marco could already tell; they were Ace-and-Sabo, Sabo-and-Ace, linked names like knots in a bracelet, like animal codependency. One without the other was asking for desert dwellers to drown, or mermaids to fly.

But being forgotten still hurt, being ignored had left his chest aching, and logistics didn’t make him feel better about Ace spending two days by Sabo’s bedside.

Ace leans back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest and letting out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around. I’m sorry I’ve just been- here, with him. I’ve just been-” Ace trailed off.

“Worried,” Marco supplied, and Ace nodded.

“What if he’s- different? He didn’t seem like he had memories of us.”

Marco looked away when Ace began to blink rapidly, but stepped closer just in case. Ace hated to be seen crying, no matter how many times the crew said it didn’t make him weak, but Marco couldn’t leave him.

There was a gentle thunk as Ace plonked his head against Marco’s hip, taking the comfort offered by refusing to unwind from his stiff position. “If he doesn’t remember-” Ace stopped, grip tightening on his biceps before he managed to let go. “If he didn’t remember us, would that have been-” Ace reaches out again, hand hovering over Sabo’s skin. “Would that have been better?” Ace’s voice dropped, hollow and blank. “He wouldn’t know me.”

“And what did you think, as soon as you’d gotten back memories of me?” Marco asked, carefully pushing down the part of him that wanted a proper answer, wanted more from Ace than to use this trauma as ammunition, but-

Ace looks at him, finally, so pained that Marco’s heart tightens. He holds out his hand, searching, and wraps fingers around Marco’s palm, pulling him in close. “It hurt,” he said. “It hurt to realise I’d forgotten you. That I’d been hurting you because I wasn’t- I don’t want to hurt him. If I leave-”

“How do you think you’d feel, if you found out I’d left you?”

“He knows more about me than you do,” Ace says, and Marco ignores the sting in his heart. Jealous of a dead man, but the dead man’s still breathing, picking Ace away from him bit by bit, like peeling fingers off a cliff face.

“If he knows more,” Marco says, trying to sound like he knows what he’s talking about, “then to have lost it would hurt more.”

Ace gives a short, sharp laugh. “And what if-”

“Stop,” Marco snaps. “Stop with the what-ifs and apologies and the idea that the man you care so much about, who cares so much about you, will be so irredeemably different. We won’t know until he wakes up. Also, if you say anything about him not waking up, I’m taking that as a slight on my skills as one of the best doctors in the world, and I will not be pleased about it.”

Finally, a smile comes to Ace’s lips. “Bit arrogant, aren’t you?”

Marco sniffs haughtily, relief spreading over him like a blanket. “I have every right to be,” he says, trying not to let contentment sneak into his tone as well. “And, look, Ace- I can’t say he won’t be different. He did look like he’d had pretty severe head trauma as a child, and you don’t know what he’s been doing for the past twelve years. But I can say for certain that he loves you. Probably as much as I do.”

The tiniest flush crept onto Ace’s cheeks, and Marco smiled to see it, a small painful thing.

“And, all of this-” Marco says, and watches guilt flash across Ace’s face, heavy in the downturn of his mouth, and Marco sighs. “It was hard,” he says, picking the words as carefully as one might sew stitches. “Being…forgotten. Watching you go through that and knowing I couldn’t help. My powers were…they’re meant to be useful, and I couldn’t do anything. I know you want to take care of him yourself. I know that’s what you’re used to, but I- “

Marco paused, then carefully reached out to touch Ace’s cheek; curve down the bone, his jaw, stopped at the corner of his lips. “You have me, now. And if that’s not what you want any more, that’s fine.” Ace jolts, eyes wide, and Marco presses his fingertip against Ace’s lips so he can finish speaking without interruption. “But I’d help, if that was what you needed. Wanted.”

“Marco,” Ace breathes, and then he’s up and out of the chair, warm hands on Marco’s cheeks, their foreheads pressed together. “I’m not used to it. Not used to not being alone.”

“You’re a package deal. I’m not complaining.” A wicked smirk curves up Marco’s face. “I can think of quite a few crew members who are going to be real pissed at me for being close to both of you.”

Ace’s blush deepens further. Marco’s grin gets wider.

“Why Ace,” he says, and he knows Ace has caught his tone when Ace starts yelling, shut up shut up shut up! “What are you thinking about?”

As Ace yells at him for the innuendo, spluttering as he tries to defend himself and his feelings, Marco lets his smirk fade into something fond. Sabo hadn’t seemed soft, before he’d fainted, and he’d made Ace cry (more than once, Marco’s colder side whispered,) but to get to know the man who’d saved Ace’s life, who’d kept Ace safe, and even being able to see the crew’s faces when Marco first cracked a two-for-one joke and got to show off how happy Ace was-

Well.

It wouldn’t make up for being forgotten, but Ace isn’t setting him aside - and he’s looking forward to the new memories they'll make together.

#opfanfic #nari is writing #marcoace #maracebo #marcoacesabo #marcosaboace #aussie's anons #ask aussie #UGH see I love the trope of 'marco realising ace+sabo are a package deal but hey no worries he likes Both' but also c a n o n ??#op you're killing me #I'm known in many circles as au queen for a r e a s o n

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jarienn972 · 4 years

Text

A Simple Spell - Chapter Fourteen

A Captain Swan Supernatural Summer Tale

For weeks, I was feeling as though this story would never come together. Amidst all of the chaos, I finally found the words again and with a few tweaks from my original plan, my @cssns 2019 story is at last complete! I really want to thank everyone for all of the encouragement and wonderful comments along the way. I have to extend many thanks to @lassluna for her beta assistance. Sorry this ended up taking so much longer than planned, but man, the real world can certainly be stranger than fiction! Thank you @cocohook38 for the incredible banner you created for this story. I plan to print it out and hang it on my wall now that this is all completed! And thank you @kmomof4 for being such a great cheerleader as I muddled my way through my first AU. I’m definitely looking forward to working with you on this year’s story!

When we left off, Emma had kissed Killian awake (although she doesn't know it yet) before being whisked off to a rooftop to battle Walsh. Now, having defeated him, she's still left with a ton of questions - and some of the answers just might be more than she imagined.

To get caught up from the beginning, you can find the entire story on AO3 or FF.net. Here are the previous chapters on Tumblr: One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen

She should have registered some reaction as the ominous clouds drifted apart, but assuming that the trickster had been controlling the darkened skies, Emma barely noticed the evening wasn't as foreboding as earlier. Her brain was still struggling to process the sequence of events that had just taken place on the rooftop and the shocking role she'd just played. She sank to her knees in disbelief as her gaze locked on the stuffed toy that rested in the very position Walsh had stood moments ago.

Magic - magic more powerful than she'd ever experienced - had escaped from her fingertips like an electric shock, yet she hadn't really been surprised by the sensation. This new magic had felt so comfortable, so natural. Had she always had those abilities?

The only real surprise had been in her unexpected ally. There'd been something familiar in that creepy cackle but at this particular moment, she was too shaken to place the voice that had whispered in her ear. Whoever (or whatever) it had been, the shadowy figure's presence had angered Walsh. It also hadn't been fazed by Walsh's powers yet Emma was astounded to think that this person had shown a degree of faith in her powers that she wouldn't have thought she was worthy of.

It seemed to have been an eternity since she'd been whisked atop this building but how much time had actually passed? Emma finally found the strength to push herself back to her feet and took a tentative step towards the plush monkey, approaching the toy with a degree of caution as though it might spring to life. Had she really just turned Walsh Gibbons into a stuffed animal?

She slid the garnet-capped signet ring onto her index finger, finding herself twisting it mindlessly as thoughts of her actions crossed her mind. She pushed them away as she lowered her hand to scoop up the little monkey. It didn't appear quite so sinister upon closer inspection, but she wasn't taking any chances and certainly wasn't about to leave it here. After a brief examination and determination that there was no lingering paranormal effect, she tucked the toy beneath her arm. It was time to get the hell off of this roof and get back to Killian…

Killian! Her mind was suddenly in overdrive, flooded with anxiety about what may have happened to him. She patted her pockets in search of her phone before remembering that she'd set it down on the nightstand before she'd kissed Killian. Ugh… how was she supposed to find out what had happened to Killian if she couldn't call anyone? For that matter, how was anyone supposed to call to see if she was alright?

Too bad the mysterious stranger couldn't have let her know if she had the ability to poof herself back over to the hospital before vanishing…

Emma managed to locate the doorway that led to the building's stairwell and hurried down the three stories to reach the ground level, using a tiny bit of magic to unlock the door of the ice cream shop she found herself in. She took a moment to secure the lock once she was outside but she made a mental note to return tomorrow to apologize to the proprietor anyway. She'd reimburse them for the lock in the event her magic caused any permanent damage.

She darted across an empty Main Street, still clutching the stuffed monkey, and made a left on 3rd, running as fast as her feet would allow before nearly colliding with a vehicle approaching from Oak Street. Hyper-focused on finding her way back to Storybrooke Hospital and the man she was now certain was her True Love, it barely registered that the vehicle now screeching to a halt was the black and white Sheriff's cruiser and the figure leaping out of the driver's seat was her brother, David.

"Emma!" David shouted to garner her attention, but she didn't seem to have noticed him. "Emma! Stop!" Her head snapped around as she heard her name called along with the order to Stop. Now she recognized David, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of her sibling. "Where the hell have you been?" he demanded. "Regina called me and said you vanished from the hospital and we've been searching all over town for you…"

"I'm fine, David," she insisted, not wanting to waste time explaining things to her brother right now. "It's all over and I promise, I'll tell you everything, but right now, I need to get to Killian. I need to know that he's okay…"

"Your pirate, uh…, I mean Captain is fine. He's awake and confused, just as we all are."

"Then give me a ride over there."

"Yeah…, sure," he replied as he calmed down enough to notice the toy tucked in the crook of her arm. "But can you tell me what's with the monkey?"

"That is a very long story," Emma stated as she tossed the plush toy into the back seat of the cruiser before climbing in to the passenger seat. "I'll try to explain later… if I can figure it out myself first…"

"I'm going to regret asking, aren't I?" David asked as he slid back into the driver's seat and pulled the door closed while Emma fastened her seat belt. She answered him with simply a shrug of her shoulders. She'd just defeated a powerful demigod, albeit a weakened one, who had masqueraded as someone she'd once loved. She'd put an end to the town's history of supernatural challenges designed to strip witches of their magic. She'd thought to ask questions, to do the research that her mother hadn't done and now, it was time to reunite with the man she'd known for only a week. The man she now knew was her true love.

She certainly had some interesting conversations ahead of her.

**********

David slightly abused his authority as Sheriff as he sped his sister to the front entrance of Storybrooke Hospital, lights flashing and siren blaring the whole way. Using David's phone, Emma messaged Regina to ask her to lower the protective spell, promising she'd explain everything (at least as well as she could) when she arrived. She didn't have the faintest idea what she was going to say but something would come to her. At least she hoped something would come to mind since she really wasn't sure herself.

Regina's face wasn't exactly the one Emma wanted to see as the elevator doors parted so she tried her best to disguise the disappointment on her face when her cousin started asking questions before she could even step into the corridor.

"Emma, what the hell happened? Where did you go?" Regina impatiently rattled off her inquisition but before Emma could even open her mouth to reply, David held up his hand with the best I've got this expression on his face.

"Give her a minute or two, Regina," David stated, ushering the mayor aside while Emma slipped past. "She's had a rough day and just uncovered her true love. Don't you think they deserve a moment alone?"

Emma grinned at her brother's words. It had to be killing him to say that, she thought as she overheard Regina sputtering through a dejected reply. Madame Mayor wasn't used to being usurped by her underlings, even if they were her relatives.

Her heart was pounding and her skin was flushed as she passed through the open doorway into Killian's room, finding him seated atop the bed wearing the same dusty black jeans he'd had on when she'd found him in Walsh's root cellar. He'd clearly been rushing to dress himself, his midnight blue tee-shirt still clutched in his hand when she entered. His back was to her but he turned immediately to face her at the sound of her footsteps on the tile. Her breath hitched in her throat for a split-second at the sight of his bare, well-toned chest, eyes drifting to the patches of dark, thick hair trailing across his pectorals and down the center of his abdomen.

"Killian, hi…," she stammered, lifting her gaze to meet his eyes before he caught her checking him out. The sly smile that crossed his lips indicated she was probably too late.

"Emma...I'm so glad to see you, Love," he said, dropping the tee-shirt onto the bed as he stood to face her. Both felt equally awkward and anxious, having learned in very different ways that they were true loves. They still had so much to learn about the other. There were so many more words to be said and time to be spent together but in this instant, all of those seemed insignificant as she rushed toward his open arms. Without hesitation, he drew her to him and captured her parted lips with his. Emma sighed into his kiss as their bodies pressed together, relaxing as she relished his embrace, the fear of losing him diminishing as she gently caressed his wounded shoulder.

Without breaking their connection, Emma wiggled her fingers in the direction of the door, willing it to close as the sudden need for a little privacy struck her. As she heard it slam shut at her command, the corners of her mouth upturned into a deeper smile that Killian reciprocated when he noticed the glass wall of the hospital room frosting over with an opaque white film as if by magic.

Pure true love magic.

The Next Day

An overnight in a hospital bed was certainly not the evening Killian Jones would have preferred to spend with his newfound true love. Dr. Whale had insisted his patient stay the night for observation since he hadn't been able to determine the unknown substances present in Killian's blood. Emma knew it was the sleeping potion, but Dr. Whale didn't know that. The doctor saw a man who'd been inexplicably unconscious for hours with a stab wound in his shoulder and despite Killian's arguments that he kept his hook spotless, Whale had insisted on intravenous antibiotics to stave off infection. The stubborn captain was finally forced to concede defeat when Emma reminded him that his abductor might have subjected Killian's hook to some less-than-sanitary treatment before shoving it into his shoulder - not that Killian wasn't going to grumble about his additional night of forced captivity.

Having slept for a full day already, Killian was wide awake so, despite her own exhaustion, Emma stayed up to talk with him as long as she physically could, eventually drifting off to sleep curled into his uninjured side on the narrow bed. He wrapped his arm around her, careful not to entangle her in the tubes and wires attached to him while he thought of ways to inform his crew that they'd be remaining moored in this port for a little while longer.

When released shortly after 9 o'clock, David met them at the curb, dropping off Emma's car while Graham waited in the cruiser across the street to drive his boss back to the station. They'd both agreed that Emma deserved a couple of days off so they offered to cover her shifts until Wednesday to give her some time to decompress. She, of course, planned to spend as much of that time as possible with Killian Jones.

Emma drove Killian to the harbor, leaving him to reclaim his position as Captain while she made a brief trip back to the loft for a much needed hot shower and a change of clothes. She assured him that she'd return in an hour or two and whether or not it made her the talk of the town, she had no intention of leaving his side tonight.

She managed to dodge most of Mary Margaret's questions as she cleaned up and pulled on a pair of faded blue jeans that she paired with a casual charcoal grey sweater. She hurried downstairs clutching her favorite ankle boots, flopping onto one of the kitchen chairs to tug them on while her sister-in-law brought her a brown paper bound parcel.

"I almost forgot," Mary Margaret spoke up as she extended the package towards Emma. "This came for you this morning."

"It did?" Emma asked quizzically as she took the parcel into her own hand. She didn't see any postmarks or return address on it and she hadn't been expecting anything. What was this that had mysteriously arrived today?

"I found it on the doorstep after David left to pick you up."

"Oh, okay… Thanks." Emma peeled off the paper wrapping and was stunned to find that beneath that outer layer was her mother's journal. "You didn't happen to see who left this, did you?" she asked as her sister in law turned on the faucet to start washing the breakfast dishes.

"Uh, no, sorry."

"That's okay. I think I may know…" Maybe she'd been wrong about something here but she knew she'd need to make a pit stop on the way back to the harbor. "I've got to get going. Thanks for this."

"Enjoy the time with your Captain," Mary Margaret dismissed her with a knowing grin as the sink filled with hot water.

**********

But the Jolly Roger wouldn't be her immediate destination. Emma drove to Main Street and eased her Bug to the curb, setting her jaw firmly as she parked the car and clambered out, clutching the toy monkey that had materialized the previous night in her left hand. She stomped fervently to the entrance to the pawn shop and unceremoniously shoved the door open, thankfully finding no patrons in the shop as the little warning bell attached to the handle sounded. Without waiting for the shop's proprietor to emerge from the back room, she flipped the Open sign over to read Closed instead.

She'd rather this be a private conversation.

A slightly perturbed Mr. Gold emerged from beyond his bead curtain as Emma flopped the stuffed toy atop his glass countertop.

"Deputy Swan… To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit this morning?" He stabbed a bony finger at the toy littering his counter. "And what's with the toys? If you're planning to pawn that, it's hardly worth anything…"

"I think you know why I'm here," she replied. "I think you know a lot more than the little bits and pieces you've been feeding me."

"Am I supposed to know what that means?"

"Yeah, I think you do. After all, you showed up to help me last night - albeit in a very different form. Just who the hell are you? Forget that… what the hell are you?"

Gold sighed dejectedly then raised his hand and locked the door with a flick of his wrist. "Seems as though we should keep this between us."

"Fine with me, as long as you start telling me the truth!"

"Truth can be subjective, Miss Swan. You of all people should understand that."

"Understand what? How everyone has lied to me since the moment I arrived into this town? I used to think I could tell when people lied to me, but then I came here and suddenly, I have no idea who I can trust…"

"I'm afraid that's because the spell your mother gifted you with doesn't work within the boundaries of Storybrooke. She intended it to protect you from those outside our town lines, not within."

"So people from Storybrooke can lie to me all they want and I'd never know it? How do I know you're not lying to me right now?"

"Because right now, your desire for the truth has brought you here, exactly as I knew it would."

"You knew. I knew it!" she exclaimed although there was still a heavy degree of skepticism in her voice. "What the hell is going on here? Last night, I got transported across town, had a battle with a damned trickster who once pretended to care for me, had some creepy, shadowy figure show up and give me this…," she unfurled her right hand to reveal the garnet ring that had repelled Walsh's magic. "And then a magical shield suddenly deflected his magic and he disappeared, leaving only this little plush monkey where he'd been standing. But I'm pretty sure you already knew all of that since you were the shadowy figure up on that rooftop with me. Isn't that right, Dearie?"

Gold chuckled, picking up the toy to examine it. "You're every bit the witch I knew you would be, Emma. From the moment your powers emerged, I knew you'd be the one to save this town."

"And I thought you barely knew my family? What else do you know about us? About my mother?"

"As much as any grandfather should - except how to protect her…"

"Grandfather?" Emma wasn't sure if what he was saying was real, but she found herself suddenly speechless.

"You wanted to know who I was. When I founded this town, my name was Francois Albert Blanchard. Of course, that's just one of many names I've used over the centuries and I projected a far different appearance. I was a little taller and a little burlier back then… Something more like this…" The old man snapped his fingers and in the blink of an eye, an entirely different person stood before her. This person stood six inches taller in stature and had a far stockier build than that of the often frail looking Mr. Gold. And there was no doubt that he was the spitting image of the Blanchard family patriarch.

"What are you…?" Emma demanded, backing a step away from the counter as the image of her great grandfather vanished and the familiar face of the pawn shop owner reappeared. "Walsh said something about me being descended from something more evil than him… I didn't believe it but I don't know what to believe right now…"

"Walsh wasn't wrong - there is a degree of evil to me. As the living embodiment of dark magic, there always will be evil that comes with that. I've been called many things throughout the years but essentially The Dark One has been the name that stuck."

"The Dark One? Seriously? Are you another immortal like Walsh? Another trickster?"

"You're not entirely wrong, Dearie. While my powers are not exactly akin to my more volatile brother, there's some degree of similarity between the two of us."

"Brother? Walsh was your brother? Please tell me you're kidding me…"

"Well, adopted brother. My mother had a habit of bringing home strays back then. His given name was actually Malcolm. Believe it or not, he was once the epitome of light magic - well, at least he was when we left the old world. He quickly discovered what so many magic practitioners learn the hard way - power corrupts. Unfortunately, he became addicted to it. By the time we'd founded this town to create a refuge for those like us, Malcolm was growing crazed for power. So, I created a talisman that would temper his magic. It kept him tied here to Storybrooke."

"Walsh… Malcolm… he said you'd kept him tethered here… That ring? That was the talisman, wasn't it? But if you had his powers under control, why couldn't you stop him?"

Gold sighed, leaning back against the doorframe as he tried to determine the best way to answer. "After our falling out, Malcolm vanished off into the woods and no one saw him for years. I'd honestly lost track of him, and interest in finding him, until the attack on Ursula. By then, I'd been here far too long as a Blanchard so I had to leave for a while. When I returned, my children were long grown and I bore the appearance of someone my grandchildren's age. No one had heard of or from Malcolm in a generation, yet somehow, the tale of the town's founding had evolved into the one you heard - one about a warlock seeking to trick witches out of their magic through unknown challenges rather than a rogue trickster who'd been stripped of most of his powers playing absurd, dangerous games."

"You came back and joined the coven with your own granddaughters? Interesting… and only a little disturbing…" She'd barely processed half of what he'd divulged and none of it was getting easier to digest.

"I joined the coven to protect my family. I just couldn't let them know who I was. I did everything I could to help teach them to respect magic, but I didn't know about that ridiculous love spell Malcolm planted until it was too late. He was calling himself Ozmund by then and I know he targeted your mother on purpose. He knew Ava was a Blanchard so he knew her powers would help restore his own, but he had to defeat her to steal them. I hated seeing what he did to her…"

"Let me get this straight - your power-crazed brother pretended to romance his own great-niece to steal her powers? Adopted or not, do you have any idea how depraved that is? And then - damn… He did the same thing to me?" Emma was suddenly sick to her stomach at the thought of her time spent with Walsh in Boston, now ever so thankful that their relationship had never advanced to the bedroom. "I think I'm going to be sick…"

"Try to save the retching until you're out of my store. You've no blood relation, but I agree, it was rather disturbing. I didn't know him anymore. He'd become every bit as evil and dark as I was, perhaps more so, and I had hoped that after he stole your mother's powers that he'd just leave Storybrooke and never return. He'd regained enough to cross the town line. He had no reason to come back here…"

"Until he ran into me," Emma realized. Walsh or Malcolm or whatever his name was might not have come back if he hadn't stumbled into her in Boston. "He said that running into me in Boston was completely by chance. He recognized me because I look so much like my mother. Did I bring him back here?"

"You're not to blame. No one ever set the story straight that there was no actual warlock and your mother never completely recovered from her ordeal. When you started showing signs of birthright magic - magic that comes from within, not learned from a spell book, she got scared. She took you and ran from Storybrooke, leaving your heartbroken family behind. She didn't understand she would have been safer staying here."

Emma paced a circle through the center of the shop, her mind spinning with information overload. What a week this had been…

"Walsh said he'd been back here though… Even you confirmed that you'd seen him, did work for him… He came back before I did so why didn't you stop him then? According to you, my mother's box was here the whole time so why didn't you use the talisman against him again?"

"I couldn't," Gold confesses with a loud sigh. "When he returned, Malcolm was stronger than I'd expected and as I'd done to him, he created a talisman to control my powers. In a game of chess, we'd have both been in check. I couldn't deny his requests whether it be creating potions, gathering exotic elixirs and supplies from abroad… or sending a letter…"

A letter? Emma's pupils broadened as it instantly clicked. "About a year ago, a letter showed up addressed to my mother. It had a return address here in Storybrooke. That's what sparked my interest because she'd never mentioned Storybrooke before. My curiosity got the best of me and it brought me here - right into his trap…"

"That was precisely what he wanted. He saw you in Boston and thought you'd be the weakest link of the Blanchard heirs, but he completely underestimated your tenacity - and your natural ability to question everything. That proved his downfall."

Emma was overwhelmed. She hadn't walked in here expecting any of this, but there as more she needed to know. "You created the sleeping potion that he used on Killian, didn't you?"

"You mean the young man who proved to be your true love? Unfortunately, yes, I did. I'm glad your heart was strong enough to let you see through it."

"Was kissing him really the only way to wake him?" The old man nodded, confirming that it had indeed been their true love that awakened Killian. "Alright…, I've heard about as much as my head can handle for one day but I've got two last questions. First - does Belle know who and what you are?"

"She does not. As of this moment, you are the only one who knows who I am. I change my appearance gradually each year to mimic aging and eventually, I will have to leave her and our son. In a few years, I'll return with a new identity."

"Sounds like a pretty lonely existence…"

"After five centuries, you've no idea…," he mused, voice deep with melancholy. "What was your other question?"

"Was Walsh really waiting for some package to arrive or was that all an act?"

"Oh, he was definitely anxiously awaiting an elixir he'd procured from some distant realm. Supposedly, it would have granted him the ability to use his powers beyond the bounds of Storybrooke."

"He could have used his magic in the outside world?"

"Was that a third question, Miss Swan? I'm afraid I don't know the answer to that one, but I do have work to get back to. Don't you have your Captain to return to as well?"

"Yeah, I do. Thank you for your honesty. Your secret is safe with me, but when I've finished digesting all of this overload, I'll be back with more questions."

"I'm certain you will," he replied, squeezing the body of the toy monkey as he carried it back into his private sanctuary beyond the beads. She hadn't expected he'd want to keep it, but he'd not asked for the garnet ring back. Perhaps it's job was done or perhaps it was just time to bequeath it to the new generation. Either way, she slipped it into her jacket pocket as she unlocked the door and reversed the sign to again read Open with the slightest wiggle of her index finger.

Gold listened for the bell on the door to chime, for the echo of footsteps to dissipate before returning to the shop, the plush monkey still clutched in his left hand. He watched Emma make an illegal u-turn in the middle of Main Street as she departed for the harbor front. Satisfied that the only person in Storybrooke who knew his secret was out of sight, Gold propped the toy on the counter and let out a hearty chuckle.

"You've never looked better, Malcolm," he said snidely as his palm closed over the toy's head. Gripping the body with his other hand, he twisted the head and yanked it from the body, spilling foam and polyester stuffing onto the glass countertop. "I warned you to leave my family alone," he continued, pulling stuffing from the toy by the fistful until a gold ring nearly identical to the one Emma had left with toppled out from amongst the fluff except the the capping stone was a deep smoky topaz instead of a garnet. "I knew you'd have it on you," Gold beamed with a wide, toothy grin as he slipped the ring onto his left middle finger, relishing the warm glow it gave off. "The Dark One has returned."

There were no ears to hear his announcement. No one to share his elation over the sensation of lost magic once again coursing through his veins. He didn't need it to be broadcast though. The extent of his power would remain a secret and both that secret and his legacy would be secure with his great-granddaughter.

**********

The jovial face of William Smee was the first to greet her as Emma bounded up the gangplank and stepped onto the deck with a canvas backpack slung over her left shoulder. After last night's supernatural darkness, today's brilliant sunshine was welcoming. The bay was so calm she barely noticed the ship bobbing with the gentle waves.

"Deputy Swan! It's so wonderful to see you," Mr. Smee smiled as he offered an arm to steady her land legs while maneuvering around and over obstacles including buckets, mops and ropes. "Sorry it's such a mess. Last night's storm did a number on the deck…"

"I'm sure it did. Is Killian… uh, Captain Jones in his quarters?"

"He is indeed," Smee replied. "He's been expecting you, but he has been resting as the doctor ordered. Is it true that we'll be spending another two weeks here while he recuperates?"

Emma had to stifle a giggle at Smee's question, wondering what else Killian had told them to explain why they weren't sailing out this week as planned. "Uh, yeah… the doctor didn't want him heading out into the open ocean until his shoulder is healed. Not taking any chances, you know?" She hoped her story was close enough to whatever tale Killian had spewed to be believable. Of course, she doubted it would take long for the crew to figure out the real reason.

"No matter. We're all just glad you were able to find the captain and bring him back to his ship. He instructed me to have Cookie send down some luncheon items for you once you arrived. I'll make sure to do that."

"Thank you, Mr. Smee," she replied as she raised the hatch to Killian's quarters. Smee helped her hold it open as she descended into the cabin at the ship's stern, finding Killian seated at his writing desk when she reached the bottom.

"Hello, Love," he smiled, standing to meet her in the center of the cozy cabin as the hatch fell closed above them.

"Hello to you, too," she responded, tossing her backpack onto the chair he'd just vacated. "Aren't you supposed to be resting?"

"This is resting," was his reply as he slipped his arms around her waist. "I'm resting my eyes on the most beautiful woman in all the realms."

"Really? I don't think this would meet those doctor's orders…," she teased him, brushing her lips against his cheek as she eased him backwards toward his bunk. His untrimmed stubble prickled her skin as he turned his head to try to capture her lips with his own but before he could, she pushed him down onto the mattress. "You're supposed to be resting…"

"And I do indeed plan to rest, but right now, I desperately want to kiss you…" She almost wanted to burst out laughing at the ridiculous pout on his face but she held her composure as she flopped down next to him on the narrow bed, tossing a couple of jewel toned silk pillows to the wall as she reached over and began to unbutton his shirt. "Now Emma…, I thought you intended for me to rest?" he said in mock protest as she undid the rest of the buttons and gently slid the fabric over his bandaged shoulder first before he shrugged it off his other arm.

"Oh, I fully intend to help you rest," she assured him as she planted a tender kiss on his crinkled forehead. "You're way too overdressed…"

"I do enjoy the way you think," he smirked as she shook her head.

"Don't think too much into it - at least not today," she stated, noting the immediate disappointment in his gaze. "You really do need to rest. You look exhausted, even if that potion did make you sleep an entire day. I promise you, I'm not going anywhere though. According to the laws of magic, you're my true love and honestly, I really don't want to screw this up. I want to take this time to fill in some blanks. To get to know you. Hell, I want to get to know me… A whole lot has changed for me this week and I hope you understand…"

"Emma, Love… I would wait an eternity for you. If fate means for us to be together, you won't find argument from me. I've been smitten with you from the very moment I laid eyes upon you and all this week, I've dreamed that you would feel the same."

"Well, how's this for an answer…?" She leaned closer to him, at last pressing her lips into his, gently at first but becoming increasingly fervent, driven by a passion she'd never experienced before.

So this was what true love felt like? Maybe she still had a lot to learn… And she was more than willing to commit a lifetime to it.

#cssns #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ff #cs au ff #witch emma #a simple spell #sorry it took so long to finish this #the past few weeks have been pure insanity #I'm actually amazed the muse returned

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robinskey · 5 years

Text

Apple Pie (Billy x Reader)

Request: Could I request a BillyxReader, reader is the girl next door and Billy finds himself looking for glimpses everyday after seeing her when he first moved in doing laundry, humming and just smiling which makes Billy not mind being at home because he knows there’s just this ray of sunshine. She brings a pie she baked to welcome his family & Billy is starved for baking cos his mum used to bake for him & he hasn’t had any in years. It makes him feel really happy? I’m ready for some fluffy goodness ❤️

A/N: This prompt is freaking adorable and I’m SO glad you requested it, @sweetboibilly.

Warnings: Slightly angsty and some foul language. Also, Neil Hargrove being a jerk/implications of abuse. Story under the cut.

Billy never expected to fall for the literal girl next door.

His first glimpse of you occurred on his first night in Hawkins. In the early hours of Thursday morning, Billy’s father had dragged him out of his warm bed. He was forced to load his entire life onto a moving truck, then follow it (and his father’s erratic driving) for thousands of miles in his Camaro. Susan, Billy’s stepmother, trailed behind him in his father’s pickup truck. In the rearview mirror, Billy could see her gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, terrified of wrecking it. Susan didn’t own a car; her driver’s license had expired years ago. She relied on her husband for transportation. Putting Susan behind the wheel had been a terrible idea. However, Neil had insisted that they didn’t have a choice. There were four people to transport in three cars, and he wasn’t about to let Susan’s fourteen-year-old daughter drive his prized possession across the country.

Late Friday evening, the caravan finally arrived at their new address. Billy found the run-down one-story house underwhelming, to say the least. Faded paint covered the chipped paneling, and overgrown vines crept up the sides of the house. The thud of Billy’s car door slamming shut caused a small critter to scurry off the porch.

After thirty-some hours of virtually-non-stop driving, everyone was exhausted and wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep. But as the head of the household aptly reminded them, their new home was empty. They couldn’t collapse into a bed that wasn’t set up yet or press their heads into pillows that hadn’t been unpacked.

Billy glanced around, taking in his new surroundings. Flickering streetlights gleamed down on the fractured sidewalk. Small houses similar to his lined the street, all of them identically dead.

Except for one.

In the house next to his, a light clicked on in a tiny room. The silhouette of a girl carrying a basket on her hip appeared. He watched as you placed the basket on top of a counter and started removing articles of clothing from it, then dropping them into what Billy assumed was a washing machine. Despite the chilly October air, someone had left the window open. You hummed a soft melody, which carried on the breeze to Billy’s ears. Your graceful, fluid movements mirrored those of a ballerina, the song to which you danced light and dreamlike. It was the sort of sound a person could get lost in, and Billy did-until the bark of his father bit into his trance.

“Billy! Get your ass over here, and unload these damn boxes!”

Regretfully, Billy stopped watching the pixie of a girl to help his father. He spent the next hour dragging heavy furniture into the house while his dad “supervised.” After sliding the last box into the living room, Billy collapsed on the front step, his face drenched in sweat and muscles aching. When he looked toward your house, darkness had consumed it once more, and you were long gone.

***

Billy, Susan, and Max spent Saturday unpacking boxes and reassembling furniture. (Neil had helped for about thirty minutes, but as soon as his easy chair was set up, he became useless.) Throughout the day, Billy peeked out the window whenever he could, hoping to steal a glimpse of you. Once, he spotted you walking your dog down the sidewalk. Another time, you were sweeping the porch. It wasn’t until that evening, however, when Billy was taping posters up on the walls of his new bedroom, that he was able to see you for more than a few seconds at a time.

The room across from Billy’s had been dead all day. Billy didn’t think much of it; he figured your family probably used it for storage or something. But then, a switch flipped, suddenly illuminating the space with color. To be more, accurate, actually, it illuminated the space with yellow. Everything-the pale walls, the sunflower-printed quilt over the bed, the painted dresser-everything in the room was coated in different shades of yellow. It might have made him want to vomit if you hadn’t appeared in the doorway, shifting his focus from the horrid color scheme of your bedroom to the princess who inhabited it.

He watched for several minutes while you paced around your room, ponytail swinging behind you. You brought one nail up to your lips to chew on it; clearly, something was bothering you. Eventually, you flopped onto your bed and reached for an object on the bedside table-a dandelion-hued telephone. To Billy’s surprise, he was able to make out the words you spoke into the phone-probably because of your bad habit of leaving windows open.

“Hey, Darcy. It’s Y/N,” you said.

Y/N. What a nice name.

“Yeah, so I’m calling for advice...Apparently, we have new neighbors, and-I don’t know if they’ve got a son, Darce! My mom just mentioned at dinner that someone by the name of Neil Hargrove bought Mrs. Chesterfield’s old house...Wait, you recognize that name?”

You listened for a moment, then shot up quickly.

“No way,” you said, almost too quietly for Billy to hear. “Wait, hang on, Darce. It’s really cold in here-I must have forgotten the close the window this morning.”

Billy dove towards the floor as you rose from your bed. Gentle footsteps padded across carpet. Then, there was a faint click of glass and the jerk of curtains being pulled. When Billy peeked out his window again, he could only make out a shadowy figure holding a rectangle up to her ear.

“You know, Billy, you’re a lot of things, but I never took you for a Peeping Tom.”

A wiry redhead stood in the doorway to his room, a smug smirk on her lips.

“Buzz off, Max,” Billy said, slamming the door in the know-it-all’s face.

***

Sunday morning.

After stirring out of bed, Billy headed towards his window. He squinted at the room opposite his in the bright sunlight, but there was not much to see. The house was still motionless, lifeless-the curtains still drawn over the window. He had no idea what time it actually was. His alarm clock read 9:32, but that couldn’t have been right. Neil never would have let Billy sleep past 7:00 for fear of him wasting the day away like a lazy bum. Finally, Billy remembered: Today, the elder Hargrove started at his new job.

Billy pulled on a t-shirt and a pair of jeans before stumbling into the kitchen, still half-drunken with sleep. Aside from the television droning on in the corner of the room, the place was just as dead as the neighbors’. He knew Susan planned to spend the day applying to various jobs in town, but Max wouldn’t have wanted to tag along. Thankfully, a short note left on the counter explained her whereabouts: Skateboarding. Be back never.

God. They drag him to this stupid town and then ditch him within a day.

Itching for a glass of orange juice, Billy whipped open the refrigerator door. It, of course, was empty, and it would probably stay that way for a few days, unless Billy made a trip to the grocery store himself. Not wanting to deal with the stares of overly-nosy fellow shoppers trying to place the new face, Billy settled for tap water.

He leaned against the sink as he tipped the glass to his lips. He downed the entire cup in one go, then gazed out the window. Across his overgrown lawn, Billy spotted a tiny flurry of motion. A small girl was making a beeline towards his house.

“Shit,” Billy mumbled. He panicked, knowing he had about a minute to make himself presentable. Billy wasted about thirty seconds making a mental list of hygenic priorities before realizing that if he kept thinking, he wouldn’t be able to accomplish any of them. He managed to gargle a bit of mouthwash and run a comb through his curls before a gentle fist knocked at the front door.

“Coming!” Billy called from his bedroom. He jogged through the hallway and flung open the door before actually halting to a complete stop.

You stood on the front step, slightly rocking on your heels. Billy first noticed that you were even prettier up close. Then, a sweet, fruity smell drifted to his nostrils, and he glanced down at the glass dish in your arms, covered by a dishrag.

You cleared your throat. Billy wondered if the strain in his voice had anything to do with the fact that he hadn’t showered yet today. But then you flashed him a shy smile, and it was enough to melt away his fears.

“Hi,” you piped up. “I’m Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N? My parents and I live next door. I, um-I just wanted to welcome your family to the neighborhood.”

Billy chuckled despite himself.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but it’s just me here,” he said.

“Consider me thoroughly disappointed,” you said with a wink. “In all honesty, though, it’s lovely to meet you, uh…”

“Billy,” he said, finally mirroring your grin. “Nice to meet you, too, Y/N.” He gestured to the covered dish in your hands. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” you cried in realization.

You tugged at the cloth, revealing a pastry with a beautiful lattice design sprinkled with sugar on top. Billy started salivating almost immediately. He hadn’t been this close in proximity to a homemade baked good like that in years. Not since, well…

“I didn’t know what kind of pie you guys would like. Heck, I didn’t even know if you guys liked sweets, but I wanted to do something nice for my new neighbors. I figured most people will at least tolerate apple pie, so...” You started bouncing on your heels again, and it was so cute that Billy almost forgot to respond.

“This looks...amazing,” he said honestly, then stepped back a little to allow you room to pass. “Do you want to come in for a bit? We could sample this masterpiece together.”

You bit your lip, gaze darting toward your house anxiously.

“I-I probably shouldn’t. My dad would lose it if he knew I was alone in a house with a guy.”

It was Billy’s turn to wink at you.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

The corners of your mouth tugged upwards. You glanced toward your home once more before darting into Billy’s, claiming that “one piece of pie won’t hurt.”

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lucytara · 5 years

Text

bumbleby fic: pretending i was made for you

[prompt: an au where your eyes turn the same color as your soulmate's aura when you first meet/make eye contact with them. Blake and Yang don't realize they're soulmates because that's already their natural eye color. also inspired by @wishcircuit]

Yang’s fourteen the first time she meets her soulmate. It’s young, by most standards; the average time frame is somewhere between eighteen and thirty-five, though outliers aren’t exactly rare. It’s supposed to be simple, instantaneous: you lock eyes with the love of your life and your irises flush with the color of home, of serenity, of belonging. It’s the story of every fairytale, the subject of every rom-com. All anyone wants is to exchange gazes with a pretty stranger and discover the rest of their life.

Eyes are the window to the soul, Summer had always said playfully when she was still a child. Your eyes change color when you’ve found your soulmate, because windows don’t just allow us to look out - they reflect what’s looking in.

I don’t get it, Yang would always complain back. I like my eyes. They’re purple. They’re pretty.

Summer would laugh. They are, she’d agree. But you might like them more when they’re the color of what you love.

Yang never really understands her. She always loves the lilac of her eyes, loves them like darkening sunsets, like flourishing gardens, like the gemstones she sees bound into jewelry. She never grows out of it, never hits a year where she finds a color she thinks of loving more.

There’s a reason for that.

Yang’s fourteen the first time she meets her soulmate. It’s not that rare. What is rare about it is the fact that neither of them know until much, much later.

It’s their first day at Signal Academy. She’s wearing the same uniform as everybody else, blazer on, collar buttoned, tie fitted and proper. Weiss keeps chattering nervously under her breath - there’s so many new people, she keeps saying, how will I even know, what if my eyes change and I don’t notice for another two classes - and Blake only shrugs, humoring the rant.

“You’re supposed to feel it, too, aren’t you?” she says. “Like, it’s not just that your eyes change. I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Like I’m just supposed to know?” Weiss says dramatically, as if it’s a test she hadn’t studied for, a novel she’d left unfinished.

Blake’s about to open her mouth, snarky reply already sitting on her tongue - isn’t that the point of a soulmate, that you look at them and feel - when a girl bumps lightly into her side as they’re piling into the auditorium, immediately turning to apologize. Her repentant smile’s already in place, blonde hair long and spiraling down her spine, but the minute she meets Blake’s eyes, every word dies on her lips.

The world ends, actually. There’s no ground left for Blake to walk on, no path forward. There’s no school, no students, no sky, no sun - those last two are suddenly standing in front of her, bottled up in the form of a tall, somewhat lanky girl with her backpack slung over one shoulder, collar unbuttoned, tie loose around her neck. She’s staring, staring the same way Blake is, her irises the color of thunderstorms reflecting over water - the lilac of them the same heaviness of clouds - she reminds Blake of a place she’s lived before, of a solitude, of a home--

“Blake?” Weiss calling her cuts abruptly through her reverie. “What are you doing?”

“Blake?” the girl repeats softly, a voice she swears she remembers, something ancient and vivid, something beyond the breadth of time.

“Yes,” Blake says breathlessly. “And - you’re…?”

“Yang,” she says, and her name sounds like the only right note Blake’s ever heard.

“Yang,” she echoes, lips curling shyly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Yang says back, also nervous but too pretty to look like it. Sure, she’s a little lanky, still growing into herself, but she’s - fuck, she’s the most beautiful person Blake’s ever seen; there’s no way she isn’t - there’s no way this--

“What color are my eyes?” Blake blurts out, needing confirmation. Her heart pounds against her chest like something trapped and flightless.

“Gold,” Yang says, but no, that’s wrong, that’s all wrong. “Mine?”

“Lavender,” Blake says, and sees Yang’s expression dip into a similar subtle confusion.

“That--” Yang starts, stops, falters with her bottom lip pulled into her mouth. “That can’t be right.”

Blake’s nails are digging into her palms. “I know.”

“Blake,” Weiss says again, having pushed her way backwards through the crowd. “What’s wrong with you?” She stops, hand curling around Blake’s upper arm, taking in the source of her arrest. “Who’re you?”

“Yang,” Blake answers for her, dry and cracking. “This is Yang.”

“Okay,” Weiss says slowly, clearly noticing something amiss but having no physical proof of it. “Well, Yang, I’m Weiss. If you’d like to join us for the welcome assembly, feel free.”

“Sure,” Yang says, gaze dropping low. Her bottom lip is red from the way she’d gnawed on it, struck by what Blake hopes is the same intensity. “That’d be nice.”

They don’t speak again until they’re seated on a bench the third row from the top, listening idly to the chatter of the other students; Weiss wraps up a boy with blue hair into a conversation, recognizing Blake’s apparently lost her bite. Even if she pries later, Blake won’t know what to tell her. Everything’s changed, somehow; everything’s changed except the one thing that matters.

“It’s funny,” Yang finally says, blonde hair swinging over her shoulder and not quite managing to hide the sadness of her smile. “The way everyone talks about soulmates - I swear it should’ve been you.”

It doesn’t stop them. It doesn’t even come close.

They wind their way into each other’s lives, tighter than rope, thicker than thread. There used to be all this empty space, all these closed doors and alleyways, and now it’s Blake who lives there, takes it over with a crooked smile and sharp jab. Yang can’t get enough of her, can’t even remember what she did before Blake bumped into her life.

Weiss picks up on it easily, allows Yang into their friendship without a complaint, like dusting off a chair that always had her name on it and saying sit. Blake doesn’t trade her in, and that’s what counts, even if every other free moment she has is spent wrapped up in Yang’s arms. That’s the part they don’t talk about.

It’s too hard to be around Blake without touching her, magnetized, polarized. Yang links their fingers, watches the blood rise to the surface of Blake’s cheeks, wants to believe that belongs to her while simultaneously knowing it doesn’t. It’s an uphill battle, the burden of fate and recognizing it exists - if Blake is meant for someone else, how can Yang reconcile feeling anything at all?

Blake’s on the phone with her dad out back, begging him for permission to spend the night; Weiss’s parents never seem to care what she’s out doing and permission is assumed. Tai’s taking Ruby to tour some fancy school up north and they have the house to themselves. Sometimes Yang likes to be alone; or she used to. Now her version of alone always ends in company.

Weiss is scrolling through her phone distractedly when Yang finally breaks; it’s been five months and a lifetime. She can’t believe she’s still so young.

“Do you think you can love someone even if you’re not supposed to?” she asks, staring blankly up at the ceiling. It doesn’t come out exactly the way she wants it to, but nothing ever does.

Weiss pauses, doesn’t lift her eyes from her phone, though her finger stops flicking. She’s silent for a long time, long enough that Yang doesn’t think she’s going to answer at all, focusing on Blake’s pleading voice in the yard with her eyes shut. She’s almost dozed off to it, drifting like a tide she’s on, when--

“I don’t know,” Weiss says quietly, uncertainly. Yang snaps her eyelids open, tilts her head up; Weiss has dropped her phone entirely, fingers toying with a loose thread on the blanket draped across the couch. “I...I used to think a lot of things until I met you, until I saw you with Blake. And now - now I don’t know.”

Yang’s too afraid to ask her what she means and so she doesn’t. Blake transitions into relief and appreciativeness, glancing at Yang through the glass with her heart sitting on her lips, smile spread wide.

“Yeah,” Yang echoes, her own mouth stretching in response, crinkling the corners of her eyes. It isn’t the first time Yang thinks about forever, but it’s the loudest. “I don’t know, either.”

They make it another two years. Later on, Yang’ll laugh and call it a miracle they even made it that long without snapping, without the string between them looping itself around and tying them together. Yang lives in her bed, in her room, in her eyes - she rides her bike over on weekends with a backpack and doesn’t leave until Sunday nights, learns how to crack an egg one-handed from Ghira, lets Kali teach her about soil and what grows best when. They spend a memorable afternoon planting flowers in the nooks of the garden; it’s an illusion, Kali explains. I want it to feel like so much is blooming it’s pouring out of the frame. Like a painting that extends past its canvas.

Yang presses her playfully against the back of the bathroom door, streak of dirt still on her cheek, skin somewhat sweaty. “That’s you,” she says, and Blake’s heart is somewhere buried in that garden. Her smile sits lopsided, honest. “Like there’s so much of you in me I can’t contain it.”

“Yang,” Blake says helplessly, her irises a softer color than any single one of those budding petals. “You can’t - you can’t say shit like this.”

“Why not?” Yang asks, and Blake thumbs the dirt on her cheek, spreads her palm against her face, and gives up entirely.

When she kisses Yang, well, that’s when she knows the universe is out of tricks - there’s nothing that can possibly prepare her for the devastating perfection of it, the rush of watching a falling sky, the flash of a collapsing sun, the taste of the ocean sitting on her lip. Blake kisses her and Yang swallows her heart whole, cups it carefully in her own chest. Her soul shoves everything out of the way, declutters. It’s you, she thinks. It should’ve been you. Blake kisses her and wonders how much of love belongs to her.

Yang hears her thoughts like she writes them down, speaks them aloud; she catches her mouth again, tangles her fingers through Blake’s hair. “All of it,” she murmurs. “All of it’s yours, and all of mine’s yours, too.”

“Don’t,” Blake whispers, her lifeline pressed against Yang’s heart, her own heart, where the both of them are beating as one.

“Too late,” Yang says, drawing so close she blurs to nothing.

They’re too far gone to stop. Yang turns out the lights when it’s time for bed and they’re wide awake in the night, overcome by all its potential for secrets and possibilities, denial and destruction. Yang kisses her again, sucks hotly on her bottom lip, and Blake’s spine arches. Yang wedges a knee between her thighs, crouches over her. She looks like something dark and mystical, blonde hair wild and muscles defined, moonlight catching in her curves. “Fuck fate,” Yang breathes against her mouth, fingers tugging at the hem of her shirt. “If I’m not meant for you, then I’m not meant for anyone.”

Blake swallows against the tears until Yang’s steady enough to distract her from them, teeth nipping at her pulse point, followed by a flattened tongue. Blake tilts her head back, gasps, finds the stars in her veins, finds her skin like a compass, wants to pull herself apart and say here, here, here; I swear you’ve been here.

“Yang,” she breathes out, fingers knotting in Yang’s hair, and prepares to pour forever. It’s Yang. There’s always going to be something left. “I love you,” she chokes out, hit with wave after wave after wave. “I love you. I love you.”

“I know,” Yang whispers, smoothes her bangs away from her forehead, lips red and wet in the dim light. Blake drags her down, tastes herself on Yang’s mouth. “I love you, too.”

“If we aren’t soulmates,” Blake says, “we must be so much more than that.”

“Show me,” Yang says, touches their temples together, and Blake swallows, her fingers slipping over skin.

They know Weiss knows, but she never says anything about it. She’s the one who finds them in their quiet moments alone, orbiting each other and redefining gravity. Yang steps up behind her in the kitchen and stretches for a mug, the space between them collapsing itself as if it refuses to be the reason they can’t touch. Blake reaches for her hand between classes and it reeks of more intimacy than sex, their fingers intertwining and tugging closer. Weiss’s blush sits delicately in her cheeks and she turns away.

They’re studying in Blake’s bedroom one evening. Blake’s resting with her head in Yang’s lap, book between her hands, and Yang’s stroking her fingers through her hair. Occasionally she dips to Blake’s cheekbone, her jawline; Blake only tilts her head to the side, allowing it. When Weiss leaves tonight, she knows Yang won’t. The bed sits behind them, hastily made, pillows askew. Weiss tries not to picture them and fails, thinks of them melting together and smearing like paint, thinks of the stubbornness of their eyes and how much it must hurt to see them as they’ve always been.

She’s never met soulmates like them. She’s never met anything like them. It’s so effortless, so right for something so wrong; she holds the world in her hand and rips a piece of it up like paper, unravels it one layer at a time. There’s a truth somewhere. There’s a love that can exist for them, a destiny that allows it. There must be.

Yang glances up, catches her staring. “What?” she asks softly; Blake’s dozed off on her, book resting against her ribs.

“If I don’t end up with what you and Blake have,” Weiss whispers, troubled, “then I don’t think I want it.”

They follow each other to Beacon, of course; it’s the next logical step from Signal. The entrance exams aren’t as tough as they’re made to believe they’ll be, but there are all kinds of bizarre in-betweens - at one point their fingers are pricked for their blood types, and another has an eye-scan to mark their bonds and the strength of them, though Yang has no idea how any of that works - and then they’re sent home to wait for a week while results are processed.

All three of them are accepted; Blake and Yang are miraculously placed in the same dorm, share all the same classes - who’d you fucking bribe for that, Weiss snarks exhaustedly as she looks up her own roommate on social media, and even Ruby snickers from where she’s sitting on the couch. Yang only grins, Blake tucked against her side.

Fate, she says ominously, and Blake laughs until it doesn’t hurt anymore.

It’s their sparring class where the extraordinary happens. It’s not a place they expect to find answers and so they aren’t searching for them. Yang’s resting her chin in her hand, dutifully taking notes, her hair up in a careless bun with loose strands curling around her face. Blake’s half-listening, half-staring; Yang’s only grown more beautiful over the years, and sometimes it just hits her, pummels her like an ocean. Like drowning from too much oxygen.

“I need a soulmate pair for this demonstration,” Glynda calls, running a finger through her notes. “There’s a few in this class, I see - Miss Xiao Long and Miss Belladonna, why don’t we start with you?”

There’s a pause. “What?” Yang asks, taken aback, chin slipping off her hand.

“You and Miss Belladonna will be a perfect pair for this exercise,” Glynda says, adjusting her glasses and looking over her notes. “Your bond is already incredibly strong - unusually strong, I’d say. When did the two of you meet?”

“Fourteen,” Blake answers on autopilot since Yang looks suddenly incapable of speaking, staring at their instructor in complete confusion. “But we - um - we aren’t. Soulmates, I mean.” The words sting as much as they always do.

Glynda’s gaze slips up to them, eyebrows high. “What do you mean?” she asks, sounding as bewildered as the two of them must look. “Of course you are. It’s in your files.”

Blake blinks. “In our--”

“Our eyes didn’t change,” Yang interrupts, a note wavering under her voice that doesn’t match the steadiness of her tone. The class is watching them raptly. “When we met. So we - I mean, we can’t be.”

Glynda observes them both carefully, expression flickering. There’s a truth creeping in the shadows of the room Blake’s not sure they’re ready for. Glynda says, “You’ve had the same eye color your entire lives?” And it sounds like the second before the explosion of a bomb.

“Yeah,” Yang says, shifting uncomfortably. Kids keep glancing back and forth, whispering to each other. Blake would be burning under the pressure of the attention if the universe weren’t about to crack wide open.

She seems to be weighing her options; tell them now and get it over with, or wait and make them suffer. She’s apparently not so cruel. “Well, girls,” she says, her mouth still a straight line, “Although this is highly unusual, I’m pleased to inform you that you are most certainly soulmates.” She doesn’t wait for them to ask, noting their shock and disbelief and aptly marking them as unable to respond. “Has anyone ever heard of true soulmates?”

Even if someone did know, the tension in the room’s too great for any of them to break alone. She continues on, unperturbed. Everything’s a teaching moment. “True soulmates are people who are born with the color of the other’s soul intrinsically linked to them - already reflected in their eyes. It’s their soul’s way of memory, if we’re being poetic about it. Most of us have lived many lives before, had many different soulmates - it’s why our eyes change. Because we do, and so do the people we love.”

The absolute silence that has consumed the room is almost unsettling, eerie - or it would be if Blake could feel anything but the pressure of Yang’s fingers wrapped tightly around her knee. Her eyes are wide, lips still parted in awe. Blake feels herself trembling, but it isn’t her, somehow, like she’s hearing this information from a great distance.

Glynda says, “True soulmates, however, do not change. They are drawn together over and over and over again without interruption, without respite. They’re destined to find each other, and the first time they meet in each life is often a powerful reckoning.” She directs a question to them again. “Does that correctly describe your experience?”

Nothing even breathes. Somewhere beyond these walls, the planet stops spinning and waits. Finally, Blake whispers, “It was like - like the world ended.” She can’t meet Glynda’s stare as she talks, caught up in four years ago, and it’s still as vibrant as it’s always been. Yang at fourteen, awkward and lanky with the essence of time pooling in her hands. “You - I looked at you and I - you were everything. Everything.” She whispers it to Yang only, keeps her gaze low.

Yang finds her fingers under the table, stands abruptly up, tugs Blake until she follows. She leads her out the doors, whispering rising behind them - let them go, she vaguely hears Glynda say, continuing the lesson - through the halls, out to the courtyard, under the sun--

Yang spins, cups Blake’s face in her hands, and kisses her.

There’s a desperation to it similar to their first kiss because that’s what it is: they’d been right all those years ago, murmuring in the darkness about being, being something, being more; now they have context on their side, they have truth, they have fate. Yang’s cheeks are wet with tears and she tastes like the ocean. The two of them don’t change. It’s been four years and a lifetime, and they’re still so young.

“I always loved lavender,” Yang whispers against her mouth, and it’s closer than home. “It’s because of you. It’s you.”

“I love you,” Blake says back, kisses her lips again. The world ends, builds itself brand-new. “I always knew I was meant to.”

Yang pulls away and meets her eyes, and Blake finds the color of her soul.

#bumbleby #rwby fic #OK GOODNIGHT!!! LMAO

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mell-bell · 5 years

Text

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do- Part 2

Yon-Rogg x Reader

Words: 3483

Series Summary: You and Yon-Rogg were friends. You trained together. You fought together. But what happens when you realize you’re on the wrong side of the war? When everything you thought you knew was a lie. When the day you had been dreading finally arrives….when Yon-Rogg has to choose, you or the war?

Author’s notes: (posted March 17, 2019) So I just want to start off saying thank you for all the love everyone has been sending I’m really glad you guys are enjoying this! Your messages and comments make my day <3 And sorry I wanted to get this up earlier today but LIFE. But I hope you enjoy this next part!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The alarm echoed loudly through the room, the abrupt sound ripping you from your dream.

You groaned, rolling over, and burying your face into your pillow. It was still dark outside, why was your alarm blaring already? It was rare for you to ever be up before mid-day. If for some reason you had to be up early, someone usually had to physically drag you out of bed, that person usually ended up on the other end of your fist.

“What time is it? Stupid ass alarm.” You mumbled to yourself, as you stretched out over the edge of the bed, trying to grab your rudely beeping comm off the nightstand.

“It’s five in the morning.” A deep voice rumbled from behind you.

You yelped, shoving away from the unknown body, inadvertently falling off the bed in the process.

Struggling to free yourself from the tangle of blankets, you squinted through the dark room trying to piece together who was sleeping in your bed. As you rubbed your throbbing elbow, a head popped over the side of the bed, looking down at you.

“What are you doing in my bed?”

Yon-Rogg’s brows shot up, “You’re in my bed, actually.”

“I....” You looked around. This wasn’t your room. That wasn’t your alarm. And that most definitely wasn’t your bed. You stood slowly, wrapping the blankets you had torn off the bed around your cold body. Swiping his comm off the nightstand, you chucked it at him. He flicked it off, the offending noise finally stopping, silence reigning through the room.

You stood motionless for a second, you and Yon-Rogg just staring at each other. The man himself looked exhausted, his usually bright eyes dull with sleep, his hair disheveled, his chest bare. You glanced down at your own wardrobe, socked feet and a long man’s t-shirt.

Shrugging you walked back towards the bed. Hip-checking Yon-Rogg, you shoved him until he scooted back to the other side of the bed and slid down back beside him.

Yon-Rogg cleared his throat and you flipped around looking at him with a questioning glance.

“You’re staying? Don’t you want to know how you even got here?”

You nodded, and without thinking about it too much, you burrowed into his side, his arm wrapping around you automatically.

There was a time, years ago, when you used to shy away from touches. But something had changed with Yon-Rogg. One day, it had started with a touch on your back. An arm around your shoulder. And then a hug. A gentle hand brushing your hair back.

And it was in this moment, lying next to him, that you realized the safest place in the world was in his arms.

You had known him for so many years at this point, you had forgotten what it was like to live without him and truthfully you weren’t sure you would be able to.

“Tell me in the morning.” You murmured as you tangled your cold legs around his, your body all but wrapped around him.

You felt his chest rumble as he laughed, “It is morning.”

“Shhhh,” You grumbled.

Yon-Rogg quieted down and you quickly fell asleep against him, missing the soft kiss he pressed to the top of your head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Three years later, 14 months after your exile:

The whip came down hard, slicing into your back. Biting down hard on your lip, you tried not to cry out, but as the whip hit you again and again, a scream ripped from your throat.

The deep rumble of the man’s voice behind you echoed through the room as he counted; the unknown language flying through your ears as if it were gibberish. You had tried counting as each strike passed, but as the pain spread, you had lost count. Hearing silence above you, you assumed it was finally over, but when you heard the unmistakable sound of his clothes rustle, you braced yourself as the whip hit you one last time.

You were on your knees, bent over on the filthy ground, bits of metal biting into your knees through the thin fabric of your clothes. Your head was hanging low, hair hiding your face. Somehow this wasn’t the worst pain you had been subjected to. But at that moment you felt like a part of you died.

When two boots stopped in front of you, your mind flashed back to the last time you were in this position, when you had looked up and met Yon-Rogg’s eyes. But when you looked up this time, the man before you was a stranger. He motioned for you to stand.

Gritting your teeth, you braced your bound hands on the ground and forced yourself to your feet, another soft whine escaping your mouth unconsciously. You swayed on your feet, feeling the blood dripping down your back. But you looked straight forward, your face blank; you knew what to expect next. You had been through this before.

The woman who had been standing silently in the corner stepped out in front of you. Her high heels and pristine white dress stood out in comparison to the old blacksmith’s lair and the company she was keeping.

She took a step forward, her heels clicking like daggers against the dirt floor. Reaching out grabbing your chin, her sharp nails cut into your face as she forced you to meet her eyes. You had never understood what people meant when they said someone had dead eyes. But this woman - sometimes you believed she wasn’t human. No emotion. No love. Just blank.

“This is what happens when you disobey. Do you understand?”

You stayed quiet, knowing if you opened your mouth you would attack her. But when her eyes narrowed and her grip on you tightened, you growled, “Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent.”

She released you with a jerk, your head snapping sharply to the side. She motioned toward the man behind you, “Pay him and let’s leave. You have work that needs to be done.”

Fury built in your stomach, as you reached into your pocket, pulling out the tiny amount of money you had left. You turned to the man, who had just whipped you and held it out with shaking hands. The man looked between the two of you before quickly taking the money and racing out the door.

Expecting you to follow, your master turned on her heel and took off down the cobblestone street. You shuffled along behind her, the people on the streets moving quickly out of your way. Your master was somewhat of a legend on this planet. However, she wasn’t known for her kindness or generosity, rather the pain and destruction she brought to the citizens who didn’t give her favor.

To this day, you blamed the Supreme Intelligence for the situation you were in. When you had been cast out fourteen months ago, you had woken on an unknown planet, in the middle of a worldwide auction. Caged. Handcuffed. Donning what could best be described as rags. The auctioneer yelled, SOLD. And you lost your freedom.

Your new “master”, as they called it, paid for you, you were carted off stage. And all you had seen of your new master was a flash of white.

After first few days under her “employment” passed, you expected to be out of her clutches within a week or so. But when you tried to leave, she claimed she had “saved” you and you would have to pay her back all the money she spent on you. And two years later you were still fighting to get away.

When you weren’t thieving and extorting people for her personal gain, she took in pleasure from using and abusing you. In breaking you. In stopping you from feeling. The first time she had ordered you to kill you had resisted. But when she had beat you to oblivion and threatened another one of her slaves, you gave in.

But you never stopped fighting back. And it took everything within you not to lose your humanity. You were just worried for the day when she grew bored of you resisting and finally put you down.

It was times like this that you wondered where Yon-Rogg was. If he was alright. If he was fighting back like you were. All you could hope was that he wasn’t. You hoped the Supreme Intelligence had kept its promise, that he was still alive. But what you couldn’t stop your mind from replaying was the Intelligence’s voice telling you how they planned to break him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Yon-Rogg hit the heavy bag over and over again. He wasn’t sure how long he had been going. Right. Left. Right. Duck.

A hand grabbed onto his shoulder and he turned, immediately swinging at the offender.

Lora ducked out of the way, grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back.

“You’re getting sloppy.”

Yon-Rogg pulled away with a grunt and turned back to the heavy bag, preparing to begin again when Lora grabbed his arm once more, “You’re bleeding.”

“And?” He said yanking his arm away, his bright eyes narrowing at her look of concern.

It had been over a year since he had lost you.

After you had collapsed, they had come after him. Beat him within an inch of his life. He had tried to fight back. But he just hadn’t been strong enough. And just when he thought he was going to die. They stopped.

When he woke up three days later, they told him you were dead. And he wished he was as well.

“You’ll have to forgive me eventually.”

Yon-Rogg blinked, his face blank.

“You have already been forgiven. Y/N is dead to me. I am a Kree soldier. There’s nothing more dangerous for a warrior than emotion.” He droned on in monotone as if he had become so used to saying it, that it had just become second nature.

Lora looked at him, not believing a word from his mouth, but nodding nevertheless.

She would never forget the day he woke up after being beaten half to death, only to learn that you were dead. She had never seen someone so broken. Someone so full of anger. In his pain, he had struck out, attacking anyone that got in his way.

He had raced through the halls, bowling over people, breaking objects left and right, until he finally reached where he needed to be. The last room he had seen you in. And when he found nothing but an immaculately clean room, he had fallen to his knees in disbelief.

In the months following, he tried to play the perfect soldier. Tried to pretend that your death meant nothing to him. But he became resistant. Lashed out. Took risks. He couldn’t get your words out of his head. That they were on the wrong side of the war. So he began to reach out, use his contacts, find out if what you said was true. He believed if he could find out the truth and do the right thing, then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t have died for nothing. He would finish what you started.

He hadn’t thought anyone was paying attention until Lora warned him.

“They’re watching you. Y/N is dead and is never coming back. You need to move on. Show the Supreme Intelligence you’re a perfect soldier again.”

But he hadn’t been convincing enough.

A few months after the incident, he had been escorted to the Supreme Intelligence. He thought he would be prepared. But seeing the Intelligence wearing your face was jarring. But what was even worse were the words coming from your mouth.

There is nothing more dangerous for a warrior than emotion.

Human connection is a distraction.

Anger only serves the enemy.

The enemy is the Skrulls.

Y/N was your enemy.

Prove that you are worthy of your title.

Lora cleared her throat and Yon-Rogg’s bright eyes flashed, the chip on his neck shocking him slightly. His eye’s dulled back down as they drifted over to the Kree guards, who were closely monitoring their altercation. Without another word, he pushed her back and turned away, raising his fists before he started hitting the bag again.

The chip had been implemented during the second session with the Supreme Intelligence. It was put in place to ingrain those phrases into his head until they were all he knew. Until he became compliant, the perfect Kree soldier.

And during the day he was. But not at night. His favorite part of the day was when he drifted off into unconsciousness, for his mind always went straight to you.

They could make him forget you, make him hate you, but his dreams would be full of memories of love and friendship. And they couldn’t take that away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ It had been fourteen months since you had landed on this godforsaken planet. And you had finally found a way to get off it.

Even under your new master’s rule, you tried everything to get back to Hala. Not to join the Kree forces again. But to bring the fight to them. Whether that be as a soldier or as a spy.

The one benefit of being exiled from Hala was that you could finally join the right side of the war. Finding Skrull supporters open to former Kree soldier’s wasn’t easy. Truthfully on this border planet, there weren’t many people who even knew of the Kree and Skrull war. And those that did, didn’t trust you. And you couldn’t blame them.

Over the months, you had managed to gather bits of information by trading information for services. You didn’t have anything to bargain with except your mind and your skills. The Skrull supporters didn’t mind, because most everyone was poor on this planet and skill set was looked upon favorably.

After a while, you eventually joined a resistance force of Skrull supporters, fighting alongside men and women, who had become quick friends.

“Y/N!”

You had been leaning against the wall in the back alley for the past two hours. You knew when you made it back to your master’s house you were in for another beating, but your contact had said that this information as too important to pass up.

As your contact, Micu jogged into view you sighed in relief. She had become your partner in crime and the only one who truly knew everything about you.

“Please, tell me you’ve found a way off this shit hole.”

The woman before you smiled wide before nodding.

Loud bangs echoed from above and the buildings around you began to shake. You ducked down as pieces of bricks began to rain down on your, “What the hell?”

Micu crouched down next to you, peering out and pointing toward something in the sky, “That’s what I was trying to beat. That’s our ride. The Kree. They’re here.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched the ships begin to descend, bombs being shot down onto the city below.

“No.”

Micu’s brows furrowed, “What’s wrong?”

“That’s not just the Kree. That’s Ronan’s ship.”

Debris fell around you as you dodged left and right, running in and out of innocent civilians trying to get out of range of the ships landing.

A blaster shot flew past you and you dodged right, slamming hard into a crumbling building, your shoulder screaming at the pain. A fist flew toward your face and you ducked, swiping out your leg, taking down the Kree agent. She slammed to the ground with a thud and as you tried to step over her, she grabbed onto your leg. You tripped, twisting around as she climbed onto you, slamming her fist into your face. Bucking your hips you threw her off, picking up a stray brick, you hit her hard over the head.

She went down with a thud. You took a deep breath as chaos rained down around you. The buildings were on the brink of collapse, the citizen’s screaming as the Kree warrior’s attacked. You reached down, stealing her blaster before racing down the street.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Stop!” You screamed, your voice carrying over the screaming and chaos from the explosions around you. The Kree soldier’s back was to you. His whole body tensed as he froze. Your brows furrowed in confusion as the man didn’t lift his blaster and shoot you into oblivion, let alone move an inch. Your hand was steady as you held your own blaster at his back, ready for any sudden movement.

“Turn around slowly. Hands up. Put your blaster down.”

You began to creep cautiously around the debris on the ground, circling wide around the Kree soldier, trying hard to keep your attention solely on him, instead of all the innocent’s running by trying to flee from the fighting.

The soldier hadn’t moved but you knew that he was trained to kill. He wouldn’t hesitate to put you down. And you wouldn’t hesitate to repay the favor. But you needed him alive. As you moved around toward the front of him, your heart was pounding. This could be somebody you knew.

And when you caught sight of his face, your heart skipped a beat.

It couldn’t be.

“Yon?” Your voice cracked.

It was if your voice had brought him to life, because he shot forward, pushing you back against a wall. His hand wrapped around your throat, his blaster resting against your temple. His eyes were blank. You had never seen him like this. And truthfully you weren’t sure you even knew him anymore. You had no idea what he had been through this past year. Neither of you were the same people you had once been.

“Yon, it’s Y/N.” You pleaded.

“Y/N is dead. She was a traitor. You are a Skrull. My enemy.” His flat voice struck hard as if he had stabbed you straight through the stomach.

“You may have trouble killing me, I was once known as the second best Kree warrior.” You managed to gasp out.

And it was if a switch had been flipped.

“Shut up!” He screamed, his gaze focused at your chin as if he was unable to meet your eyes, but eyes had a rage in them that you were unfamiliar with, “How dare you use this face. How dare you.”

You could feel him shaking against you, and you reached up grabbing onto his arm wishing he wasn’t wearing that god-horrid Kree suit, “Yon. It’s me.”

For a second, the man before you faltered but then he just shook his head, “No. Y/N is dead. And you’re going to be next.”

Yon-Rogg took a step back, his blaster raising, aiming straight at your head. You watched as his hand shook, his finger hesitating around the trigger.

You lifted your hands in surrender.

“Show me your true face.” He spat out.

But you just shrugged, “I can’t.”

“Do it!” He screamed, taking a step forward, the blaster inching closer to your face.

You cleared your throat, “Remember that day I woke up in your bed for the first time?”

“Stop.”

“I freaked out so badly, I fell off the bed. Still remember those bruises, by the way. But I climbed back into bed with you and something changed that day. But neither of us acted on it because we wanted to be the “perfect soldiers”, everything was so much easier back then.” You let out a tiny laugh, nervously running a hand through your hair.

“You just took her memories. Stop it.”

“Do you remember when we first met-“

He cocked his blaster and you swallowed hard.

“-it had to be.... god, about six years ago now. I was freshly recruited off my home planet. And I walked into the gym only to see dozens of men and women fawning over you.”

“Enough.” His voice shook.

“About ten minutes into the work-out, I walked right up to you and told you the first joke that popped into my head, which looking back at it now was completely horrible but-“

His arm dropped, his blaster falling to the dusty ground. The sudden movement startled you and you flinched back. But when your body wasn’t met with a blaster shot, you raised your gaze, finally meeting his eyes.

You had only seen Yon-Rogg cry once in your life. But as a tear rolled down his cheek, you shot forward and wrapped yourself around him, his arms hesitating only a second before they wrapped around your back, fingers digging into your wounds that still hurt from the whipping just a few weeks ago, the pain reminding you of all you had been through.

You pulled back slightly and Yon-Rogg reached out brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering against your cheek. And as you closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, something hard hit you over your head and you collapsed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Author’s notes: Alright, I think I tagged everyone that asked, if not I’m sorry and just shoot me a message, also if you want to be tagged just let me know! Anyways, I’m well underway writing the third part! I’m gonna say I’ll probably have it up next weekend (I do work 8-5 every day so weekdays are AHH sometimes) - (next part should be posted March 24, 2019)

Tag list: @blind-daydream @overlydramatichuman @damnittjim @thebookandmoviefangirl @unitednerdyness @topsyturvy-dream

PART 3 IS NOW UP AS OF MARCH 24 2019 :D

#yon rogg #yon-rogg #yon rogg x reader #also if you notice formatting changes sorry the app sucks so I'm trying to make it easier to read #yon-rogg x reader #yon rogg fanfiction #captain marvel #carol danvers #my fanfic #jude law #yon-rogg x oc #yon-rogg fanfic #yon-rogg imagine

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