#sorry still thinking about them this is Rye's fault | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bebepac · 3 years

Text

A Piece of Heaven on Earth: Part 3

This is part 3 of my tribute piece. There will be one last part to conclude this story. To catch up on what has happened so far please click:

A Piece of Heaven on Earth: Part 1

A Piece of Heaven on Earth: Part 2.

The Book: TRR (no royals) Pairing: Liam x Riley Word Count: 4323 Warnings and Ratings: Profanity, Mention of character perceived or pending death, sexual innuendo; Teen Summary: Liam finds out more about Riley’s life. Song Inspiration: The Nearness of You by Norah Jones Movie Inspiration: Just Like Heaven

Original Post: 03/26/22 at 3:23PM

A/N: This is very special to me. So please be kind. I’m writing this as a tribute story to my Riley FC, the late Cheslie Kryst, in a way to deal with my grief which has almost been consuming my life. I started following her in 2019 when I was watching the Miss USA pageant. I rooted for her immediately. Not only was she from my home state, but she was just this bright twinkling light on stage, she was a minority, like me. So when I came to the fandom in January 2020 and started writing stories for TRR I picked her as my Riley FC because she embodied what I wanted my “Riley” character to be. Even in her untimely passing, I am still finding out more about her life and I have written her pretty accurately, even down to having depression. So I will say it again. If you need help please reach out.

Two Months Ago

NICO

“Hey RB1. Ready for our daily chat session? Well it’s a little one-sided these days. But lucky for the both of us, I’ve always loved the sound of my own voice.”

Nico laughed at his own terrible joke.

“I know you’re rolling your eyes at me. I can feel it. But you have that little amused smirk you do, when you don't want to admit that you think what I said was funny. I miss that smile, Riley. I miss you. I don’t know what went wrong. The surgery was textbook. I did everything right. Yet…. Something apparently was wrong. Maybe I shouldn’t have scrubbed in. What happened to you… is all my fault, and I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen. I only wanted to keep my promise to you. This world is not the same……without you.”

Hana gently touched Nico’s shoulder and smiled at him, putting down her flowers.

"She needed fresh flowers. You’re always here every time I come to visit her. You spend your lunch break here every day don't you?”

Hana looked down at Nico's half eaten sandwich and drink. Nico nodded, his eyes filled with tears.

“I know I messed up my chance with her because of my behavior around the hospital, but If she only knew how much I really cared about her Hana.”

“She does. Nico. I know she does.”

“It’s my fault.”

“You did everything you could. The review board saw it, everyone believes that. No one blames you Nico.”

“Did you see the look on her Father's face?”

Hana laughed.

"Nico, that's just his face. He'd have the same face, if he won a million dollars. He scowls as a default. You have to let this go."

"I don't know how Hana, I just miss her so much."

“I do too, Nico.”

The Present

LIAM

“She’s a doctor?”

“A pretty good one from what I heard of her.”

Liam could not refer to Riley in the past tense. He wasn’t accepting that for her. Not yet.

“Do you know what hospital she works at?”

“Mount Sinai.”

“Thank you so much.”

When the clerk went to hand Liam his change, he told him to keep it.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, you can’t take it with you. You should at least share the blessings while you are here.”

“Thanks man, I appreciate it."

Liam had bought the two drinks with a one hundred dollar bill.

Once he got into the apartment he immediately called out for Riley.

“Rye! Rye! Are you here?”

Riley appeared to him wearing the same outfit but this time without her shoes.

“Hi Liam. I’m here.”

“Where are your shoes?”

“I took them off, I told you my feet hurt.”

“Well, do they feel better now?”

“Yes, they actually do.”

“I have some news. First off, I know your name, and I know where you work, and I think we should go together and see what info we can find out about you. Since we both agree, going to your family is not a good idea. They will think I’m crazy.”

“Thank you again for trying to help me Liam.”

“I made you a promise, and I want to keep it.”

“So, what’s my name?”

“It’s Riley. Riley Brooks.”

“Riley Brooks….Do you think I look like a Riley?”

“I think you’re definitely spunky and you tell it like it is, to the point of almost being obnoxious. So I think the name Riley suits you. Riley sounds like she would be a firecracker, and you are. There hasn't been a dull moment in my life, since you've been around.”

“What did I do to be able to afford this amazing apartment?”

Riley used past tense.. He wasn’t ready for that yet, so he answered with present tense.

“You’re actually a doctor at Mount Sinai.”

“I’m a doctor? That’s pretty awesome. How did you find that out?”

“I walked down to the little Bodega down the street. The owner knows you.”

"He's a sweet man. He would always let me bring Chance in the store with me when I went there."

“I got some Tahitian Treats, but I’m going to put those in the fridge, so we can go to the hospital. We’re going to find more about you Riley, and figure out what happened to you.”

“Fuck that noise!!! We got plenty of time for that, but You HAVE GOT TO TRY ONE NOW! Though the best way to drink one is to put it in the freezer for a bit and let it get a little slushy.”

Riley began to chant. “Do it… do it…. Do it…”

“Okay already, enough with the peer pressure.”

Liam opened the soda, the loud hiss of the carbonated pressure being released, and he took a sip, his eyes widening.

"Well?!? What do you think?"

"It's good….if you like fruit punch flavored battery acid."

Riley gasped. “You take that back!!!!”

“I mean it’s not terrible, it’s just a very strong drink.”

“And bold and obnoxious for a drink… like me?”

Liam cracked a smile.

“But, that doesn't mean I don't like the drink. I do. It's a very unexpected drink that I didn't think I was looking for. Kind of like you Riley Brooks.”

Riley smiled back at him. It almost felt like they were flirting with each other. Were they flirting, and how the hell was this going to work out?

“I’d better go and put my shoes back on.”

“But you said they hurt your feet?”

“Dead or not, walking around the city barefoot just seems weird.”

“Oh that makes sense.”

They drove to Mount Sinai, and when Riley walked into the building her memories flooded back of her work. She loved her job.

Riley began to call out the names of coworkers, ones she liked and ones she didn’t. Who was sleeping with who, as she recalled et cetera. Liam walked up to the receptionist.

“Her name is Janet.”

“Hi Janet, I was wondering if you could help me.”

“How’d you know my name, you can’t see my ID badge?”

Liam flashed a smile that made Janet’s cheeks flush. “You look like a Janet. Dear sweet Janet, I need your help. I’m trying to track down someone.”

“Who are you looking for?”

“Doctor Riley Brooks.”

Her face changed immediately.

“Dr. Brooks is currently not an active doctor on staff at this time. Can you hold on for a moment please?"

Janet walked away from the desk disappearing down the hall.

“Oh no….She gave you the look?”

“What look?” Liam whispered as he knew he couldn’t talk loud because people would think he was talking to himself.

“That look! She has bad news to tell but she doesn’t want to be the one to tell it.”

Janet came back with almost a relieved look on her face.

"If you go up to the third floor nursing station there will be a person there waiting there to answer all of your questions."

They took the elevator upstairs and when they rounded the corner. Riley screeched excitedly.

"It's my best friend Hana!"

Hana looked at Liam with a very critical eye.

"You were the one inquiring about Dr. Riley Brooks?"

"Yes, I'm Liam Rys."

"I'm Dr. Lee-Amaranth, and what's your relationship to Dr. Brooks?"

Hana crossed her arms over her chest. She had never seen Hana with so many emotional walls built up around herself.

"Tell her we were dating. She won't give you any information about me unless we have a personal relationship."

"I was dating Riley."

"That's not true, Riley wasn't dating anyone. I would have known it if she was."

"Tell her we had just started and are sure I was going to share with her when I felt like I had something worth sharing. Say that part exactly, because that sounds a lot like me."

Liam parroted Riley's words verbatim.

The emotional walls came crashing around her as Hana's eyes welled with tears.

"Then where have you been the last three months Liam?"

"I travel a lot for work. I hadn't heard from her so I got worried. Hana… What happened to Riley?"

"Then you don't know?"

"Know what? Please tell me."

Riley gasped. The memories of the accident and what she thought were her last seconds on Earth came flooding back to her in waves.

"I remember what happened to me! I was in a very bad car accident.”

Riley felt a physical tug on her body.

"Liam what's happening?!?"

"I don't know!!!! Riley don't go!!!!"

"I DON'T WANT TO GO!!! I WANT TO STAY HERE WITH YOU!!!"

Riley panicked as she felt herself being lifted off the floor and pulled down the hallway by some invisible, and powerful force. Then as quick as the fear had descended on her, it was replaced with a feeling of serenity.

Being calm she could finally hear a soft heartbeat. She touched her chest but it wasn't coming from her. It sounded like the sound was coming from all around her and got louder as she floated down the hallway. She knew…. It was her heartbeat.

SHE. WAS. NOT. DEAD.

Riley closed her eyes as she phased through the door and when she felt her body halt. She opened her eyes to discover… herself. She was lying in a hospital bed, on a ventilator, in what looked like a coma.

Nico was sitting beside her bed, gently stroking her hand.

“Riley, please wake up. You’re running out of time. You have to wake up. RB1. Please!! You opened your eyes for me once when I called you that. I need you to do it again!”

It was the weirdest thing she had ever experienced in her life, her watching herself while Nico talked to her. She had never seen that side of him. He really, truly cared for her.

The door burst open and Liam walked in.

“I told him she already had a guest, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Nico jumped up letting Riley’s hand go, looking at Liam.

"Who are you?" He sounded defensive, as if he was trying to protect unconscious Riley from Liam.

Before Liam could even speak, Hana spoke for him.

"He’s Riley's boyfriend, Nico."

"Oh."

He glanced down at comatose Riley.

"That makes sense. I'll leave you alone with her."

"Nico…." Riley called out to him even though he couldn't hear her. His face said it all. For the first time ever, his feelings were hurt and he had truly cared about her.

Nico and Hana exited the room leaving Liam and Riley alone.

When she was alone with Liam, her eyes slowly drifted to his. He looked jealous and a little bit hurt.

"We were just friends, Nico and I." Riley immediately said as if Liam had just caught her cheating.

"It looks like he has meaningful feelings for you."

"That's not the side he really ever showed me. He showed me man hoe living his best life, making his rounds through the staff here and I'm not trying to get mouth herpes or herpes anywhere else."

Liam laughed, shaking his head.

"But look Riley! You were right! You are alive!"

She looked at herself wearily.

"I am but I've been in a coma for three months. That's bad Liam. Something's not right. Nico said I am running out of time. Open my chart so I can read it."

Liam looked at her wearily.

"Liam, I'm a doctor! I can read my own chart."

He walked over to her chart and pawed at the folder

until it fell open.

"What the actual hell Liam?"

"Oops."

She shook her head at him giggling.

Riley read her own chart in silence.

"Well what does it say?!?!

"It says my coma was stable until two weeks ago."

"When we first met…and now?"

"My brain activity is steadily declining. My brain is dying. I'm dying Liam. They're recommending terminating life support to my parents. I'm going to die for real."

"No you're not. It's because you're separated. And now we can fix it. You're here, with you. We can figure this out."

"So maybe I can put myself back together. I still don't know how this is possible."

"Me either Riley."

Riley laid flat against her comatose self and her spirit disappeared.

Liam glanced at her vitals and her heart rate increased.

"Riley, I think it's working! Your heart rate just spiked!!!!”

Spirit Riley sat up. "Really?"

Liam's smile faded.

"Well maybe I'm just not comfortable."

"Like the princess and the pea. Try again."

Riley wiggled her body and settled in again.

"I'm not sticking. It's like I've been apart too long."

She got out of the bed looking at herself.

"What's wrong with me? Why isn’t it working?"

Liam glanced around the room; her family had made the hospital room a home for Riley. She had a homemade blanket on her bed. She was surrounded by pictures of her life with family and friends and flowers. He was drawn to a picture of Riley at the statue of Liberty. Somewhere he had always wanted to go but he’d never been to New York.

"There is a solution I know there is. I have an idea. Turn around."

"What?"

"Just turn around."

Riley turned so she wasn't facing herself or Liam.

After a few seconds, she gasped. She could feel the warmth of Liam holding her hand, gently squeezing it. She looked down at her hand and abruptly turned around.

"I can feel that. I didn’t feel anything when Nico was touching my hand."

“That means, we have a special connection Riley.”

Riley closed her eyes, focusing all her will on her hand that Liam was holding in his.

Liam felt Riley gently squeeze his hand back.

“I felt that too.” When Liam glanced back at her, there were tears in his eyes. “See, you’re still connected. So there’s still hope. We just have to figure out how to put you back together again.”

Hana knocked first before she walked in.

“I’m sorry Liam, we need to take Riley for another brain scan.”

“Can I have a few more minutes with her?”

“Sure, but we really have to take her back soon.”

Hana took one last glance as Liam sat next to Riley tightly holding her hand.

“So we should go back to your place, or maybe go to the library and see if there are any documented cases of this.”

“Where? In the science fiction section? The supernatural section? Touched by an Angel section? There is going to be nothing reliable in a library about this.”

“Then we’ll go to a church. They believe in angels and everything. Or a psychic. An out of body experience can’t be a far stretch for them.”

“I think I should stay here with my body.”

“Oh.” Liam felt immediately hurt, he didn’t want to leave her behind.

“Maybe I can find out more information about myself and my coma and scans and stuff being here and listening to what people around me are saying.”

“That makes sense.”

“Liam, we really have to take her to get her scan done.”

“I understand.”

He softly kissed Riley’s hand, laying it to rest back on the bed, and gently stroked and planted a soft kiss on her cheek.

“Goodbye Riley.”

“Goodbye Liam.”

As he walked by Riley she was holding her cheek, a soft smile on her face.

Once out of the room, Liam pulled the picture frame out from under his jacket. When Riley’s back was turned he had grabbed the picture of her at the statue of liberty.

He was worried he would never see her again, and wanted something to remember her by.

Liam walked around town for hours. His body finally started feeling tired so he decided to rest on a bench. He had never felt that lonely in a long time without Riley with him.

Riley was loud, and funny, and her laugh was a smile wrapped in a hug.

Finally Liam made it back to his vehicle and headed to the apartment. After dinner, he fell into a lonely restless sleep.

The next morning Liam woke up to his phone ringing; it was Rashad.

“Good news! The family wants to offer you a lease effective immediately. Everything in the apartment included, and at a great price.”

“Why?”

“Because my parents are terminating life support. I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want to be alone.”

Riley stood before him, tears rolling down her cheeks in rivers.

“I’ve got to go Rashad.” He quickly hung up the phone so he could talk to Riley.

“Riley, what happened?”

“My latest scans were the worst ones yet. It’s time. My family has been through so much. Yesterday was the first time I’ve seen my father cry in my entire life. My Daddy cried because of this. Because of me. They can’t do this anymore, and I don’t blame them.”

“But you’re still here. Me talking to you is proof. We can fix this.”

“How Liam? How are we going to fix this?”

“I’ll go talk to them. We need more time.”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know, but I'll try. We should try.”

“I don’t want to scare them or upset them Liam. They’ve been through so much.”

“All they want is you back and that’s what we’re trying to figure out how to make that happen. They will be so happy when we figure this out and you’re not Casper the Cranky Ghost anymore.”

Riley laughed.

“You know, I thought that was hilarious when you said it, but I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of laughing. It was very witty.”

“I have a special brand of humor. I’m glad you’re a fan Riley. Let me finish getting ready and we can go to your parents' house.”

Before Liam rang the doorbell to her parents' house, Riley asked, “Do you know what you’re going to say?”

“Nope not a damn clue.”

The door opened to reveal Taylor.

Liam was shocked, staring at the Riley look alike, but there was one difference.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“That’s why I couldn’t remember what she looks like, I thought I was staring at myself, but it was her.”

“I’m a friend of Riley’s.”

“My baby sister is pregnant.” Riley said in awe.

“Would you like to come in?”

“Yes please.”

Liam walked inside.

"So you're Taylor?"

"I'm Riley's identical twin sister, well not so identical these days.” She patted her stomach.

Liam smiled. "Is Mr. and Mrs. Brooks home?"

"My dad isn't but my mom is. I'll get her."

While Liam was alone he looked around at the pictures of Riley, Taylor, and Jaiden as kids, pictures of birthday parties and holidays filled their walls.

“If you’re wondering, we’re adopted. My mom and dad wanted more children, but after having a rough pregnancy with Jaiden, they decided it was best that they not try again for any more children naturally. So they adopted my sister and I when we were four days old.”

Riley’s mother was walking down the stairs and Chance was at her side.

“Chance!” Riley screamed.

Chance perked up heading directly towards her.

“Liam, he can see me too.”

Chance barked happily as he stood in front of Riley.

“Chance quiet!!! I’m sorry I don’t know what’s gotten into him. I’m Ren. Riley’s mother. How do you know her?”

“I was one of her patients. I was in a bad situation, and she never gave up on me.”

“That sounds like our Riley. She’s the backbone of this family.”

Chance began to bark happily at Riley. To everyone, but Liam, it looked like Chance was barking to the empty seat next to him where Riley sat.

“Chance zip it!” Riley said with a stern voice and authority.

Chance immediately stopped mid bark.

“Chance you know that’s not how we act at home.”

A sad whimper emanated from Chance.

“You know better boy. You’re the bestest boy. Now Sit!”

Chance immediately sat down on his haunches.

“Good boy.” Riley smiled at him, and Chance started to wag his tail a bit.

Liam glanced up noticing Taylor was watching Chance’s abrupt changes in behavior.

Taylor sat down next to her mother. “You said you were a friend of Riley’s?”

“I am now. And I know things have been hard for you all since the accident. But she can pull through this. Don’t give up on her yet. Please. Give her a little more time.”

“We signed the paperwork yesterday. We’re terminating life support tomorrow. She’s not getting better, it’s time for us to let her go.”

“Don’t please! You can’t do that. Just give me more time. Please!!!!”

“Liam don’t…”

“I can see her spirit! She’s here with me right now. She wants me to convince you to wait.”

Ren was eerily calm. “You can see Riley’s spirit?”

“Yes, somehow it’s separated from her body, but she’s still here. We’re trying to get her back together.”

“Will you excuse us for one moment. You said your name is Liam right?”

“Yes, Ma’am. It is.”

Ren got up and she grabbed Taylor’s arm gently.

“Excuse us.”

“Liam…. I really don’t like this. I think we should leave. My mom is too freakishly calm. It’s legit making all the hair stand up on my arms.”

She burst back into the living room with a shotgun screaming.

Liam jumped up holding his hands high in the air.

“I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU REALLY ARE, OR WHAT YOU THINK YOU CAN GET FROM US. ARE YOU A CRAZY PSYCHIC AFTER OUR MONEY OR A CON ARTIST????? HOW DARE YOU TRY TO CAPITALIZE ON OUR PAIN!!!!!!

“I’m not, I promise!!!”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!”

Liam and Riley fled from her childhood home. Liam could finally breathe again once they were a little distance away from the home. He didn’t know they were being followed.

“I told you not to, Liam. You scared her.”

“I had to try Riley. I had to. You’re going to die tomorrow if I don’t try everything to save you. I can’t lose you.”

“It’s okay Liam. Whatever is meant to happen tomorrow, is meant to happen. I know you’re doing everything you could for me.”

Riley grumbled looking at her feet. “On an unrelated note, the next time my damn sister picks me an outfit that i’m doomed to spend the afterlife in, she better pick some damn comfortable shoes.”

Despite the situation, Liam laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

Both whirled around to find Taylor staring at them, holding Chance in her arms.

“You look like you’re talking to yourself.”

She put down Chance. He immediately walked up to Riley.

“Are you a psychic or something?”

“No, I’m just a regular guy.”

“And you can see her and talk to her?”

“Yes, but I don't know how or why it’s happening. She wants to know how far along you are, Taylor.”

“Fourteen weeks, three days.”

“So you got pregnant on your birthday.”

“You could find out her birthday, our birthday, from social media. I don’t believe you.”

“Chance can see her. He can. She says she’s the only one he listens to, and she trained him how to do tricks.”

“Then Riley if you are really here and you can hear me, make Chance do ‘the trick’ you know the one.”

Riley smiled.

“Let’s Dance Chance!!!”

Riley cupped her hands like they were paws and did a little shimmy.

Chance jumped on his hind legs barking happily parading around like he was dancing.

“How is this even possible? She’s really here!!! What do we do?!?!?”

“We need more time, Taylor, to figure this out. Tomorrow can’t happen, you have to convince your parents not to go through with it.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help. But Liam, why are you doing this for her?”

Liam’s cheeks turned pink.

“Do you have a crush on my sister?”

“Ummmmmm….”

“I need to have some girl talk to my sister alone. Go over there Liam.” Taylor insisted. Liam walked out of earshot of Riley and Taylor’s conversation.

“We can use Chance to communicate. So first off, Liam’s cute. I totally approve.” Taylor whispered.

Riley made Chance do his dance.

“He likes you Riley, do you like him too?”

Riley made Chance bark twice.

“Okay so that’s two barks for yes, one for no?”

Chance barked twice again.

Her sister’s eyes filled with tears. “On a serious note, are you in any pain?”

Chance barked once.

“Liam you can come back now.”

Liam’s face was bright red when he walked back over to Riley and Taylor.

“You know what Liam? I keep looking at you and I swear you look familiar. Have we met?”

“Riley asked me the same thing. I would have remembered if I met either of you.”

“Do you have siblings?”

“Yes, I have an older brother. We resemble each other. Maybe you have seen him around. His name is Leo.”

“That name is not ringing any bells. Give me your number Liam, I’ll talk to my parents when they are together, and see what we can do.”

They exchanged numbers.

“Thank you for trying to help my sister. She tries to be so independent, but she really does need people she can trust to lean on. I’m glad she found you.”

“I’m glad she found me too. It still baffles me though.”

“Have you experienced the loss of a loved one Liam?”

Liam nodded. His eyes filled with tears. “And I can’t lose anybody else. So we have to fix this.”

Once behind the wheel of his vehicle again, Liam hesitated starting it.

“Who did you lose Liam?”

“My wife Olivia.”

“Would you tell me about her?”

“She was strong willed, confident, intelligent, and beautiful. She could be incredibly sarcastic and pigheaded. But she would fight for you, when you needed her. She was always there for me. And that last day with her, started like every other one before it. We had coffee and breakfast on the veranda. But when she got up from the table, she grabbed her forehead and collapsed and she never woke up.

“Brain aneurysm?”

He nodded. “I thought she was playing at first when she collapsed. She had a dark sense of humor. And I pushed her hair out of her face, she had the most beautiful fiery red hair, I knew something was wrong.”

“How long ago was this? Three years ago?”

“How did you know that?”

“You brought her to Mount Sinai?”

“Yes.. they brought her by ambulance. Why do you ask?”

“I think I saw her.”

CLICK HERE FOR PART 4 OF THIS TRIBUTE PIECE

#bebepac writes #a piece of heaven on earth #liam x riley forever #tribute piece #choices fanfiction #trr liam x riley #choices trr #you will always be my riley

88 notes · View notes

everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Under the Rain

Written by: @nightlock-1989

Prompt 9: Canon-Divergent/ In Panem D12 “I waited for you” he said but she didn’t reply. He pressed for an answer he knew he deserved, “under the rain, Katniss. I waited for you, under the rain… why would you do that?” / “I can’t do this anymore, Peeta” / “Bullshit, you can but you just don’t want. I thought you were brave!” he yelled at her looking for any reaction that will give some hope. His tears threatening to run down his face. / She didn’t move, and she didn’t correct her, so he ran away and slammed the door behind him. / “I love you” Katniss said to an empty room. [submitted by @alwayseverlark]

@alwayseverlark, I hope you enjoy what I’ve come up with for your prompt. This is part one that sets the foundation for what will happen in your prompt. This will be three parts.

Under the Rain- Part One- Rated T

16 years old

Not Prim, not Prim, not Prim, not Prim.

“Ela Fairsmith” Effie Trinket announces.

I breathe a sigh of relief and do everything I can to fight a smile. While Prim and I are spared, Ela, a girl two years older than me from the Seam was just reaped and is walking to her death.

Madge subtly reaches for my hand and gives it a light squeeze. She looks to me with a tight-lipped smile.

“Now for the male tribute,” the escort says with excitement.

Not Gale, not Gale, not Gale, not Gale.

“Pe-“ she begins.

I tighten the hold on Madge’s hand enough to the point she lets out a small hiss.

“-ter Edmund.”

I finally release the breath I was holding. It’s another boy from the Seam, slightly younger than me.

“Sorry,” I mumble. She removes her hand and sets it on my shoulder.

“You should go find your sister,” she recommends.

I move to walk away when Madge grabs me by the wrist.

“Are you going tonight?” she asks.

“To what?” I answer.

“The celebration by the meadow.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Gale’s last year; right?”

“I don’t think—”

“Just think about it,” she shrugs. “I’ll be there at 8:00.”

Her behavior puzzles me. Every year, the teenagers of District 12, gather in the meadow and have a bonfire, both Seam and Merchant, to celebrate the fact that they weren’t reaped. This is particularly popular among those who have aged out of the Reaping or have a loved one who aged out.

I’ve never been but I’ve heard the older kids whisper about it. People save any extra money to obtain some white liquor from Ripper, causing Haymitch Abernathy, her best customer to lose his mind one year. It’s not uncommon for girls to come to my mother for an herb concoction, finding themselves pregnant after the night at the Slag Heap.

For both classes, it’s their last true night of freedom, their final chance to be irresponsible. Tomorrow will be their final day of rest and later in the night, the only thing they will be doing is going to bed early to begin their life in the mines or in town.

It is Gale’s final reaping and while one would think he could breathe easier, it doesn’t. While Gale has aged out, Rory will be eligible next year, and eventually Vick and Posy. I’m lucky with just Prim. I don’t see why Gale would want to go to something so stupid.

I open my mouth to disagree while backing up, when I suddenly hit something solid and nearly trip. Hands grab my hips to hold me steady, but I shy away at the touch and immediately turn around to see who touched me. I look into the wide blue eyes of Peeta Mellark. I imagine mine are filled with fury.

“Uh, sorry. I, uh-um, I thought,” he rambles.

“I have to find Prim,” I spit out before storming off.

I see her smiling with her group of friends when I approach. She throws her arms around me and my heart warms.

“Ready to go home, Little Duck?” She nods and we go to meet my mother.

Later while enjoying an indulgent meal (for us anyway) of rabbit stew with the Hawthorne family, we are interrupted by a pounding on the door.

Hazelle goes to answer, and a frantic voice is asking for Violet, my mother. I hear a muted conversation and my mom informs us that a mother is expecting twins. Prim, a little healer in the making, offers to go. 8:00 comes around when Posy begins yawning, signaling time for bed.

Gale offers to walk me home, but I decline, and we make plans to meet early tomorrow morning.

I don’t live too far from the Hawthorne’s but it’s a nice night and I decide to take a walk. I become aware of someone around. I look and see Cray, the head Peacekeeper.

“Katniss Everdeen,” he says with a smug grin.

“Officer Cray,” I greet ducking my head down.

“Looks like the odds were in your favor.” Cray begins stepping towards me.

I continue walking but look up. “I suppose so.”

“What are you doing out here alone?” he asks curiously.

“I’m not…er, I won’t be for long.”

He slowly continues walking my way and I decide to turn right instead of continuing forward.

“Heading to the meadow?”

“Yes,” I spit out.

He’s still following me, and the meadow is now in sight. I quicken my pace.

“Big plans, Miss Everdeen?”

“Yep.” I look in the crowd, but I don’t see Madge. I do see Peeta Mellark, and he’s spotted me. I’ve caught him staring at me a few times over the years, but he always looks away. Tonight, he doesn’t. Does he recognize the tense body language? Can he detect the fear in my eyes from this far away?

I don’t hesitate before I raise my hand and wave quickly. He breaks away from his group and starts walking towards me. I notice the moment that he sees Cray lurking in the shadows.

“Hi Peeta,” I say in what I hope is my most cheery voice. I don’t want Cray to register the terror in my voice.

“There you are, Katniss,” he says with a huge smile, as if nothing is wrong. He sets a hand on my shoulder and I slightly flinch. His blue eyes pierce mine, silently telling me to go with it. “Madge almost had us send out a search party. You told us you would be here at 8:00,” the sound of his voice increasing slightly.

“My mom needed me to drop off some supplies. Mrs. Oatbrook’s having twins.”

“Well, let’s go find Madge so she calms down.” He guides me forward with his hand on my back.

“Breathe in,” he leans in closer and whispers. When we reach the other teens, I finally allow myself to exhale.

“Are you okay?” he asks, bending down to look me over.

“Fine,” I say shortly.

“Are you sure?” he bends his head down to look in my eyes.

I’m momentarily stunned. Have his eyes always been that shade of blue. I feel as if I could get lost forever in them before I shake the thoughts away. Why am I thinking about Peeta Mellark? I need to get a handle on this situation. “Damn it, Peeta. I’m fine. You don’t need to rescue me all the time,” I say storming off after I spot Madge engaged in a conversation with Delly Cartwright. She’s just nodding her head.

“Hi, Katniss. I didn’t know you were coming. I didn’t think this was your kind of thing,” Delly drones on and on while I try to calm down. I begin looking around for a Seam kid I recognize when I spot one of Gale’s friends, Thom. Okay, good. I’ll leave when he leaves. My house is along his route.

“Thirsty?” Madge asks.

I’m not even thinking straight or registering the odd, burning taste until it’s already down my throat, having been desperate to ease my dry throat. I must have drunk half her bottle but all I can do now is cough.

Why did that taste like peaches?

“Because it’s mixed with peach juice,” Madge laughs.

“Wait, what?” Did I say that out loud?

Delly begins laughing. “Have you ever drunk before, Katniss?”

“No,” I shake my head.

“May I?” Delly asks. Madge hands her the glass and she takes a drink and ponders. “What is that?”

“Something called vodka. I swiped it from my mom’s dresser.”

“Rye,” Delly calls. Rye Mellark is one year from aging out. The resemblance he has to his brothers is remarkable. When he approaches, I look him in the eye. His eyes are blue but not the same as Peeta’s. Ugh, I’m thinking of Peeta again.

“Delly, Madge,” he says with a brief hug. “And Miss Everdeen, this is a rare gift,” he says with a curious tone. His smile is also nice, but he doesn’t have Peeta’s dimple.

“Can I have your glass?” Delly asks Rye. Delly takes another sip of the peach concoction and a sip of whatever Rye has.

“Well, I don’t see how this could be stronger than Rippers.”

“What stuff?” he asks.

Madge hands him the cup and he takes a small sip.

“Yeah, it’s not,” he answers quickly.

“I think you’ll be okay, Katniss,” Delly assures me. What does she mean I’ll be okay? I didn’t ingest poison or anything.

I’m getting very warm. I begin to remove my sweater and drape it over my arm. They’re talking but I’m not even caring. Everything feels…. lighter? But at the same time, my body feels heavier.

“I feel better already,” I say with a grin.

“Not as strong but Everdeen’s little as it is. She’ll be feeling it in the morning.”

“But the night is so young,” I say with a puzzled look. “It’s warm and the fire’s hot.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I’ll see you pretty babes later.”

Delly and Madge giggle like a bunch of schoolgirls…. wait, so am I.

“He’s so cute,” Delly whispers.

“Eh, if he’s your type,” Madge says.

“I just love his eyes.”

“I thought Prim had the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen,” I offer.

“Katniss, we’re talking about boys,” Delly adds.

“The floor is moving,” I say and grab for Delly’s hand.

“You mean the ground?” Madge asks.

“Sure,” I let go and begin heading towards the large rock that I sometimes sit on after I finish hunting.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Madge grabs my elbow. “This is my fault. You’re sticking by me.”

I scoff. “Why is everyone trying to take care of me? I can take care of myself. First Mellark, now you.” I wrangle free from her grasp.

“Wait, Rye was trying to take care of you?” Delly asks.

“No, Mellark,” I emphasize. “MY boy with the bread. If we have to-to-to- aren’t you warm?” Madge shakes her head with a smirk.

Her and Delly glance to the side and wave someone over.

“What were you saying about Mellark?” Delly laughs putting a finger to her lip.

“Yeah, the boy with the bread?” Madge encourages.

“My,” I gesture with a hand to my chest. “MY boy with the bread.” The girls are laughing loudly. “And if we are going to talk about boys, then Peeta’s eyes are the most prettiest blue. And his brother doesn’t even have a dimple.”

“I think that might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever been given,” a familiar voice says.

“Ugh,” I turn around and glare at Madge. “No more strawberries for you. Screw this, I can walk my own ass home. I don’t need you,” I point to Peeta, “or you,” I point to Madge, “or you,” I point across the fire at Thom. They all dodge out of the way as if there are tracker jackers around. Maybe I’m just flailing instead of pointing.

“What did you give her?” Peeta asks.

“We already EEE-STAB-LISHED this,” I emphasize taking a step forward, tripping in the process. A pair of strong hands catch me.

“Maybe you should sit down,” Peeta suggests.

“I was trying to go to my rock by the tree, but Madge wouldn’t let me.”

“I wasn’t going to let her go alone,” Madge explains to Peeta.

“Smart idea.” Peeta looks around and leans into Madge and whispers, “Cray was eyeing her.”

“I’m not sleeping with him,” I add.

“I know you’re not, Katniss,” Madge says with a frown.

“He can’t have me,” I proclaim.

“We know, Katniss. We just want to make sure you’re safe,” Peeta says.

“You and your savior complex,” I groan before marching towards my rock and plopping down.

After about a minute, I hear a loud gait approaching. “May I sit down?” Peeta asks.

“What if I say no?”

“Then I’ll walk over there,” he points to a tree not too far from my rock. “And keep an eye on you there.”

“I don’t need a babysitter. I’ve done just fine on my own,” I scold.

“I know you have…. Everyone knows that you have.”

“Fine,” I huff, crossing my arms. I relent and move my sweater so that he may sit next to me. I tilt myself towards him, one leg tucked under my knee. “Wouldn’t you rather enjoy the party?”

“And miss out on the chance to speak to the elusive and mysterious Katniss Everdeen?” he grins. “Never.”

“I’m not mysterious,” I say.

“Yeah, you are. No one knows much about you.”

“So?”

“So…. If we are going to be friends, that means we tell each other the deep stuff.”

“Deep stuff?”

“Like what your favorite color is.”

“You’ve crossed a line now, Mellark,” I reply staring at him causing him to furrow his brow before I burst out laughing. He joins me. It’s a nice sound.

“Mine’s orange,” he says.

“Like the fruit?” I cringe.

“Softer, more muted…. Like a sunset.”

“The sunset over the lake is beautiful,” I say wistfully before covering my mouth and looking around.

“No one heard,” he assures me. “Well, except me…. Do you see many of those sunsets?”

“Only once since my dad died,” I mumble. “Green, like the woods.”

“That’s very appropriate for the strongest-willed girl in District 12.”

I scoff, “There you go again.”

“Go again with what?” he smiles.

“The compliments,” I say before the silence begins. I chance another glance and look in his eyes. We’re further away from the fire so it’s not as pronounced but I still can’t help getting lost in them. “Your eyes, they are like…. I don’t know. You can’t describe it.”

“They’re just blue,” he chuckles.

“No, they’re not. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“How much did you drink?” he teases while I give him a light shove.

“I don’t know.”

“Moonlight,” Peeta says softly.

I look up at the crescent moon puzzled. “What about it?”

“Your eyes… the only way I could describe it is it’s like moonlight,” Peeta answers before taking a drink and cringing. “How the hell does Haymitch drink this all the time?”

“Let me have some,” I reach for the cup and Peeta holds it out of my reach. I lean forward, invading his space and reach for the cup. I put one hand on his thigh which causes him to still his movements. He lowers the glass and looks back at me. I flex my hand and remove it.

“One small sip,” he instructs.

“What makes you so sure I’ll listen to you?”

“Nothing, but I hope you trust me enough to heed my warning.”

“I trust you…. I think,” I whisper taking the glass from his hand and sipping before I spit it out.

Peeta laughs and takes another sip. I stand up, wobbling slightly, Peeta gently grasping my arm as he stands up.

“I’ve got you,” he says quietly.

The buzz is starting to fade. Maybe getting drunk was exactly what I needed because I would never be brave enough to say this sober.

“You always have,” I whisper. “Thank you for the bread.”

“Wait, from when we were kids,” he asks. I nod.

“Katniss, that was nothing. And I should have gone out- “

“Your mother beat you for it,” I interrupt.

“Katniss, it was fine. You were- “

“Peeta- “I try to stop him from saying more.

“No Katniss…” His voice fades as he continues to ramble about who knows what.

“Peeta,” I say but he just keeps going. I do the only thing I can think of to do as I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him on the lips. It does indeed shut him up. When I pull back his eyes are wide open and he’s staring at me as if I’ve grown two heads. Of course, he would be horrified that a Seam girl just kissed him.

“I’m, uh- “I freeze.

“Well, shit,” he says and then licks his lips before smirking.

“I—I have to go find Madge,” I mumble before storming off. I find Delly and Rye and I’m horrified. I can’t face anyone who looks like Peeta right now. I look into the crowd and I don’t see her face, but I do see her outfit…. and the back of Gale’s head. They are walking towards the Slag Heap. My jaw drops. I hear Peeta approaching.

“You okay?” he asks.

“My best friends are headed towards the slag heap? How could they?”

“I’m so sorry, Katniss. I, I know you’re with Gale—”

“What?” I interrupt.

“You and Gale, you favor each other.”

“No,” I say and shake my head.

“Oh…. Well, I thought—”

“You thought I was dating Gale even though I kissed you?”

“Well, drinking makes people do stupid things,” he offers.

“No, shit,” I say with a roll of my eyes. I begin to scan the crowd, looking for Thom.

“So, you’re okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. I just don’t know why they didn’t tell me. I don’t know how it even happened. He’s always whining about her and her townie ass.” I don’t see Thom anywhere. He’s probably at the slag heap too. I groan.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks.

“I’m looking for Thom so I can walk home with him.”

“I can walk you home,” Peeta offers.

“Then I’ll just owe you more,” I point out exasperated.

“Can we stop with the whole owing thing, Katniss? We’re friends, we don’t worry about owing friends.”

“Friends? I’m not so good at friends.”

“Yeah, but I know your favorite color. That means we are on our way to best friends.”

This causes me to snort. “Don’t you want to stay at the party?”

“Party or walking a pretty girl home?” he says with a tilt to his head. “Definitely going with the pretty girl.”

“I’m not pretty,” I mutter.

“You have no idea the effect you can have, do you?”

There is a loose tendril of hair that has come out of my braid. Peeta reaches towards it before stopping. He’s asking me with is eyes for permission. He takes whatever it is that my face is saying as a yes before tucking it behind my ear.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, offering me his arm which I surprisingly find myself taking. We walk at a leisurely pace back to the Seam. We walk along in silence before I stop.

“Peeta?” I ask gazing at his face.

“Yes?”

I open my mouth not sure what to say so I just go with what comes to mind. “What’s your favorite thing to do on a Sunday?” Sundays are usually when the town businesses shut down early in the afternoon.

He grins, “You’re going for the really deep stuff now. You know there is no turning back now. We are definitely friends after this.” He waits for an answer and I nod.

We continue walking while he tells me about how he likes to draw on any spare sheet of paper he can get his hands on. He tells me about how he sketches the things around him. A loaf of bread, the apple tree, the pigs, the town square. His favorite though is a dandelion. We walk in silence, the weight of his words in the balance.

We reach my doorstep and stare at each other. The silence is becoming painful, and I have to know.

“Why a dandelion?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“You know why, Katniss.”

I nod. “I thought I’d lost all hope. That bread sustained me and my family until I realized I already knew a way to take care of my family…. That dandelion was hope…. And you lead me to it.” He doesn’t say anything. “Jeez, it must be open my mouth and embarrass myself day. Never mind, I’m drunk, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Are you really? Or has it worn off and you’re now lying about it?”

He searches my eyes, willing me to tell the truth. “I’m a little drunk, but I know exactly what I’m saying.” His gaze is making me vulnerable, and I hold my breath. Peeta steps closer. He’s in my space and my senses are overwhelmed. There are butterflies and heat in my stomach.

Peeta lifts my chin and leans down, his lips barely touching mine. “Will you allow it?” he whispers.

“Yes,” I say, the word barely getting out before his lips are pressing against my mouth. I don’t know what I’m doing but Peeta does. He cradles my jaw before he gently moves his lips against mine. I grab his shoulders so that he will stay rooted to me. We kiss for a couple of minutes, our lips dancing together. He doesn’t try for more. He is the first to pull back.

“Good night, Katniss,” he whispers grabbing my hand to press a kiss to it. He turns around and walks towards town. I head inside and lean against the door. What the hell just happened?

When I wake the next morning, I have a major headache and am slightly nauseous, even more so when I think about that kiss. What the hell was I thinking?

I try to clear my head in the woods, I really do but I’m missing every single shot. This has never happened before. Damn you, Peeta Mellark. I decide to get more strawberries for Madge before heading into town. When I reach the meadow outside of the fence, I notice the dandelions and I begrudgingly pull them out.

Before I know it, I’m at the bakery and I glance in the window. I see Peeta, and no one else. This is stupid but my body is clearly not listening to my head since I’m setting the dandelions on the doorstep and knocking. At least my body works enough to run off behind the apple tree where I hope Peeta can’t see me.

He opens the door and looks around before he looks down. He bends to pick up the dandelions and a wide grin appears on his face. Shit…. I’m in trouble.

#nightlock-1989 #alwayseverlark #prompt 9 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

74 notes · View notes

couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name · 5 years

Note

Hi, I would like to hear more about a mystery inc. buzzfeed unsolved au

you really want me to do headcanons for scooby mcfucking doo now??? fine

okay so it’s entirely Shaggy’s fault

but not on PURPOSE. He didn’t think anyone would take him seriously. He’s still not down for all this ghost hunting shit

the Gang(tm) was in the middle of their weekly routine (watching Ghost Adventurers and eating pot brownies in Daphne’s basement) and Shaggy, who was like, Far Out Man by this point, made some off hand comment that they’d be way better at ghost hunting than Zak fucking Baggins (whom he hates for legitimately no clear reason, likely stemming from a hallucination during a bad trip, but his friends find the unexplained grudge from the normally chill Shaggy hilarious and that’s why they always watch the show lmao)

anyway. he was JOKING

but when he wakes up the next morning, Fred has already created a youtube channel, contacted three different local haunted locations, and is using Daphne’s credit card to buy a shit load of equipment. alrighty.

Daphne is All Fucking In for this idea, because she secretly never grew out of her middle school witchy girl phase, and she wants some damn validation. She’s already running a marketing campaign online and starting up a merch store. Daph. Daph it’s 8:30 in the morning. Daphne Babe I made the joke like two hours ago,

but she won’t be stopped

Scooby Doo himself abso-fucking-lutely has a legendary shitpost twitter and nobody but the gang knows an Actual Dog is running it but anyway Daphne figures out his password and starts promoting their ghost hunting show there ‘first episode dropping in a week!!!’ and it gets millions of retweets lmao

Shaggy dedicates all morning to trying to talk the two of them out of this

and when Velma finally wakes up she’s like are you guys,,,,, insane,

“Please don’t make me be the type of person who agrees with Shaggy”

at one point she was like ‘Well maybe you two can go be stupid together, this doesn’t really need to be a group thing’ but Fred and Daphne just went 🥺🥺 and her and Shaggy were like ‘Goddammit’

So they agree,

and by like the next damn day they’re in a decrepit building. It’s really gross. Shaggy’s desperately calling the vet to make sure Scoob is up to date on his shots gross. There’s an ominous thunderstorm. Very mood appropriate right

they’d spent the afternoon filming the bits where they learned the history of the location, because Daphne is a fast working journalist thanks, and the boys are all sufficiently spooked but Velma’s just like ‘why do I put up with all of you’ lmao

so they’re doing their walkthrough, they’ve got a mix of nice cameras and shitty shaky phone cameras, there’s a go-pro on Scobby’s head, and every single noise Velma refutes. Every single shadow she debunks. Every cold wind she hand waves away

there’s one point where Daphne is like ‘Velma honey you just need to open your mind’ and Velma is like ‘if ghosts are actually real than may God smite me where I stand’ and almost immediately the window next to her gets hit by a lightning strike and she just calmly looks up and deadpans ‘You missed’

during their solo walks Shaggy and Scoob come face to face with a full bodied apparition that chases them out of the house and when they’re reviewing the footage later Velma’s insisting it’s Fred in a cheap costume being a dick and Shaggy’s insisting that Fred has never successfully done anything in his life, why would he start now? And Fred is standing behind them looking offended and Daphne’s cackling off screen and anyway the first episode is a FUCKING HIT

even taking Scooby’s twitter audience into account they weren’t expecting this kind of a response

but everyone’s obsessed with their group dynamic and how well the video managed to shift from comedy to horror so everyone’s hooked

they rush out a second episode that’s just as wild as the first

Fred, scared from seeing the footage of a legit ghost chasing Shaggy and Scoob, turns up with nun-chucks ‘‘dipped in holy water’‘ and whacks himself in the face with them while trying to show off. Daphne thinks the reported ghost looks cute in the pictures she dug up and starts getting flirty during the evp session. Fred has a great idea that they can bait the ghosts using costumes and Shaggy’s like ‘that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said’ and then we hardcut to Shaggy and Scooby looking like this:

Scooby: “Rye rook rike rah dick”

Velma’s still shredding everything like she Won’t believe they even get an evp that says ‘can the chick in the glasses shut up’ ksjddfskjh

look I know traditionally mystery inc unmasks the ghosts and everything but I feel like they wouldn’t be able to post that online with their following??? I feel like that might mess up some criminal trials??? so we’re just going with the early 2000′s ghosts are real angle here, deal with it

one time Velma says something particularly mean about the ghost’s previous life and they almost immediately pick up crying on the spirit box and Fred’s like ‘You hurt her feelings :/, tell the ghost you’re sorry Velma’ and she’s like no????? that’s clearly just a cat?? and then a rock almost hits her head but she insists it was because Scooby must’ve bumped into a shelf

some running gags for their fans include:

Obsessing over how Scooby can talk. Almost every Q&A video they get a question that’s just like ‘how the FUCK is the dog doing that please’ and the gang is always just like ‘What do you mean?’ and then Scooby just goes ‘Reah, rwhat ro rou mean?’ and then they just move onto the next question sdkjsdf

Velma and Shaggy making the hotdogga specifically to piss off Daphne, only instead of hotdogs it’s scooby snacks

Daphne implying in one episode that she did, in fact, manage to successfully fuck a ghost, but she chose to exclude the footage to preserve modesty

‘spot how many joints you can see in this episode’

“Shaggy Rogers Buy A New Shirt Challenge”

Velma once referred to Fred as the ‘communal sugar baby’ and no one is capable of moving on from that statement

one episode where Shaggy went on a five minute rant, uninterrupted, about how he could totally kick Zak Baggin’s ass. Daphne slowly pans in on his twiggy arms the more heated he gets. Zak Baggin’s retweeted the video without comment.

before episodes drop they always put up polls that are like ‘how do you think Fred’s plan will backfire this week?’ lmao

Velma’s glasses falling off right before a full bodied apparition appears before the rest of the group and since she didn’t see anything she thinks they’re talking bullshit so for like a month everyone was flooding her social media just begging her to buy some contacts

bets on what absolutely impractical but killer outfit Daphne will be wearing to a condemned building each episode

okay I’m sorry I love this but I’m getting tired right now but anyway basically the entire dynamic of this show is:

Fred

Scooby

Daphne

Shaggy

and Velma

and it’s very iconic I love this idea lmao

#scooby doo #mystery inc #shaggy rogers #daphne blake #bfu #asks #molly mumbles

3K notes · View notes

icicleteeth · 4 years

Photo

Aljsdfljds so Tamriel bread post got really popular, and I realized I never actually wrote a detailed breakdown of how/why each province’s bread was designed the way they were (Mostly because I hand wrote each description in the art so I had to keep them brief alsdfj), so I thought I’d write a more thorough post about it! More under the cut--though as with everything TES related I make, these are just my headcanons!

High Rock: Given High Rock’s prosperous kingdoms, most cities and the province in general flourishes with the comfort of being wealthy and powerful (Headcanoned this way since High Rock is one of the three main powers in the alliance war during ESO’s timeline, as well as being home to two large kingdoms, being Daggerfall and Wayrest, in TES2) This richness in the economy and resources allowed for the most experimentation and decadence with the province’s food, including its bread. A lot of these individual breads were based off french breads (baguette, buttery croissant, bread rolls, etc) Cinnamon swirl breads and sugary donuts (I call dough knots here/in my fic) exist, as High Rock’s geographic location in the Iliac Bay allows for a robust importing market where spices like cinnamon and sugar are brought in regularly from other provinces.

Hammerfell: Bread in Hammerfell isn’t nearly as decadent as High Rock, as food is treated with more utility and nutrition in mind, rather than flavor. Oats and seed breads are unassuming yet filling. Oats and rye are grown in the less arid eastern lands of the province, as very little is able grow in the western Alik’r deserts. That being said, livestock raised in the west are vital to providing milk, butter, and eggs, which are used in/eaten with the breads frequently. Smaller portions such as the bagels are compact and easy to pack for long journeys across the desert.

Wrothgar: Wrothgar’s climate (specifically the greener western parts of it) allow for them to grow their own grain (typically rye). Orcs’ tastes in bread also drastically differ the bretons in that they don’t go all out with making sickeningly sweet pastries (in fact, the only time they’ll sweeten their bread is with some snowberry jam). They do, however, love huge portion sizes, as many orcs live together in large tribes with just as large tribesmen and warriors, so they bake their breads in huge loaves.

Skyrim: Skyrim’s bread was the easiest to figure out design-wise as they’re directly based off the bread you find in-game, though some parts of it (namely the decision to have a Jazbay crostata here rather than the other fruits) were chosen to fit a general theme of sweetness. Sweetrolls are famous all across Tamriel for a good reason: nordic breads, given Skyrim’s significant honey industry, are generally very sweet (as honey is used generously, in more than just the mead markets) Jazbay is referenced to be very sweet, thus the Jazbay crostata. Braided bread is very buttery and large, like most foods from Skyrim. Like orcs, the nords love their generous portions!

Morrowind (this part’s really long, apologies in advance aljsdf): The bread of Morrowind was broken up into three categories based on very differing cultures within the province: Common (Found in the mainland and settled regions of Vvardenfell) Ashlander (found within Ashlander tribes) and Northern (found in northern villages and Solstheim, with nordic influence). The Common baguette is based on banh mi, which is just “bread” in Vietnam. Vietnam (yes I’m gonna kind of derail into history I’m sorry aljsf) used to be owned by the French, so a lot of our foods share some roots in french culture, which is why Vietnamese bread is similar to french baguettes (though are different, not just in look, but texture and taste, though it’s hard to explain in words) In TES3, the encroachment of Imperial/western conquest and control plays a big part in Vvardenfell’s politics and in (especially in it’s more southwestern region) architecture and culture. I found this mixing of the west with the east to mirror Vietnam’s history somewhat, thus Morrowind’s Common bread being directly based off banh mi.

Ashlander bread was designed in mind not only for nomadic people (thus they would be quite small and compact) but also with keeping in mind that Ashlanders would likely lack access to large ovens/utensils/space to bake anything substantial, so these were based on small pan-baked buns. The bowl they’re in is a hollowed-out green shalk shell!

Northern bread is directly inspired by nordic braided bread, though it’s baked much smaller than the nords’ usual preference for large portion sizes. The influence comes mostly from Solstheim, though it’s also found in north-western cities like Khuul.

Black Marsh: This one was a bit tough to figure out for a while, as one would expect you can’t grown much of anything in swamplands. I was however able to find a reference to the existence of marsh rice in one of the A Culinary Adventure volumes (they’re lorebooks from ESO I believe, in which an Imperial writes about authentic Argonian cuisine; it’s really wild and I highly recommend them!) Therefore these are loosely based on small slices of rice bread, wrapped in large banana leaves (yes this was also taken from Vietnamese cuisine. A girl likes to include bits of her own culture in her art sometimes, even if it’s really vague aljsdfjd)

Valenwood: Probably the most controversial choice that I should’ve explained better, as the existence of the Green Pact would have one assume bread is outlawed in the province due to the use of grains (plants) needed to make it. I still wanted to incorporate mostly meat into these breads, though the fact that bread is still used is based off a headcanon that the Green Pact only applies to plants grown within the forests, but doesn’t apply to grains grown in other provinces. One could infer that, especially at the time of the alliance war, travel and trade within the Aldmeri Dominion’s other provinces was very normal, thus bread could theoretically have made its way into bosmeri cuisine, first by bosmer living in other provinces, who brought the customs over to Valenwood.

Summerset: Altmeri bread prioritizes beauty, flavor, and presentation. Very unlike the nords, they aren’t inclined to large portion sizes (the smaller the better, as one should not indulge in gluttony) but what their bread lacks in proportion is exceeded in richness and taste--essentially the bread version of $200 tiny cuts of filet mignon with a bit of $300 truffle on the side (and maybe with a glass of $1000 wine for good measure) The food ought to look and taste as beautiful as Summerset’s city, right?

Elsweyr: Breads in Elsweyr are, like Morrowind, broken up into multiple sections due to Elsweyr’s drastically different northern and southern regions. Flatbreads like naan are found primarily in the north, and heartier breads that incorporate fruits are found in the south (as fruits are more easily able to grow in these tropical climates). Though it’s important to note that trade between the north and south is common, so these breads aren’t entirely restricted by region.

Moon sugar butter cookies are popular treats found all throughout Tamriel, though not entirely in the same innocent reasons that sweetrolls are popular. Since moon sugar is a narcotic that non-Khajiiti races react poorly to, potent moon sugar cookies are sometimes smuggled via the pretense of being less potent and non-harmful cookies (which use only a tiny bit of moon sugar along with regular sugar, which is the benevolent much loved treat anyone can enjoy). Think really, really strong weed brownies that some people have probably eaten by accident, which certainly would ruin the day of both the person who ate it and the smuggler it belonged to! Though of course, just like skooma, these more potent cookies are just as often willingly sought after.

Cyrodiil: Cyrodiilic bread is based on ancient breads (I tried to pinpoint it specifically from Rome, but “ancient” can mean a lot of different things to Google, haha.) The dry, basic, and unappealing nature of these breads aren’t actually meant as a dig at Cyrodiil (at least, not from my own personal standpoint). They were designed this way based on a line in The Red Kitchen Reader, which is a story about an Imperial speaking of his passion for food. The important bit is this excerpt:

As a child growing up in Cheydinhal, I did not care for food at all. I recognized the value of nutrition, for I was not a complete dullard, but I cannot say that mealtime brought me any pleasure at all. Partly, of course, this was the fault of my family's cook, who believed that spices were an invention of the Daedra, and that good Imperials should like their food boiled, textureless and flavorless. Though I think she was alone in assigning a religious significance to this, my sampling of traditional Cyrodilic cuisine suggests that the philosophy is regrettably common in my homeland.

Thus the design of Cyrodiilic bread is underwhelming and unappetizing.

#the elder scrolls #tes #morrowind #skyrim #food #bread #foodposting

207 notes · View notes

emachinescat · 4 years

Text

By Night My Mind

A Tales of Arcadia: Wizards Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat

@febuwhump day 19 - sleep deprivation

Summary: Sequel to “Dying Is Easy.” In the aftermath of the final battle against the Arcane Order, Douxie is plagued by guilt and nightmares about his part in Merlin’s death, and decides that he’s better off staying awake, which his battered and weary body does not take well. Written for Febuwhump on Tumblr. Day 19: sleep deprivation

Characters: Douxie, Archie, Jim, Claire

Words: 4,719

TW: None

Notes: Sequel to “Dying Is Easy, Living (Without You) Is Harder,” and set in the same universe as “That I Could Fear a Door” and “Lest Back that Awful Door Should Spring.” In this version of events, Douxie doesn’t have to leave with Nari, and is trying to adjust back to life in Arcadia after the events of “Dying Is Easy.”

Keep reading here, or on AO3!

If you enjoy, please consider liking, commenting, or re-blogging, and you can follow me for more content like this! :)

- From “Sonnet 27” by William Shakespeare

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed,

The dear repose for limbs with travel tired;

But then begins a journey in my head

To work my mind, when body’s work’s expired…

Lo! thus, by day my limbs, by night my mind,

For thee, and for myself, no quiet find.

The night after his battle with the Arcane Order, Douxie slept more soundly than he could ever remember. His near-death experience had left him with a litany of aches, pains, cuts, bruises, a couple of fractured ribs and a lot of unanswered questions - it should have been impossible for him to survive a fall from that height; every bone in his body should have been broken, and no one knew how he was still alive - but still he slept, his final meeting with Merlin and the restored Morgana fresh on his mind and a soothing balm through the night.

The trouble came the day after, when he nodded off while curled up on his couch with The Sword in the Stone distracting him from some unpleasant thoughts and a nagging guilt that had begun to crop up, slowly but steadily, over the course of his day. No one knew that the hokey, mostly plotless Disney movie was his favorite, and he preferred to keep it that way. It had always amused him, Merlin as a bit of a crackpot and Arthur a poor young boy running around after a magical master who only halfway knew what he was doing at any given time - it reminded him of himself, and of home.

But he was exhausted from the muscle relaxer he’d been prescribed when Jim and Claire had practically kidnapped him and forced him to let Jim’s mom, a doctor, examine him, and he fell asleep right when Mad Madam Mim issued her challenge to Merlin and for a few wonderful moments, there was nothing, and he could rest.

He woke with a yell only minutes later (Merlin was now turning into a germ to outwit the atrocious purple dragon), fighting desperately against the effects of the muscle relaxers that were already trying to pull him under again. He couldn’t even remember what it was that woke him, what he’d seen in his dreams, but it didn’t matter. Whatever it was - and he had a good idea - it left him trembling, short of breath, on the verge of tears.

“Douxie?”

Archie padded into the room and hopped up on the couch beside his friend, eyes full of concern behind his glasses.

“I’m fine, Archie. Just a nightmare.”

“I miss him, too,” the cat said solemnly, reflective gaze compassionate and sad as he observed his human friend. “Perhaps we should talk--”

“Talking won’t bring him back,” Douxie snapped, and Archie flinched back the tiniest amount and fell silent, looking more like a chastised pet than Douxie had ever seen him. The wizard sighed. “I’m sorry, Archie. I just don’t want to talk, that's all.” He rubbed the furry head with distracted affection, then moved from the couch and pulled up a hard-backed kitchen chair, and sat in that.

He didn’t feel like sleeping so much anymore, even if the burning of his eyes told him otherwise. He turned off the movie - it suddenly held no appeal. The Disney+ main screen took its place, and he clicked on something at random. He was so caught up in his bleak mood and dark thoughts that he didn’t even realize for a solid ten minutes that he was watching Hannah Montana.

***

Dr. Lake called him at five and asked how the muscle relaxers were treating him - “Are they keeping the pain and back spasms at bay? Are you taking them with food? Have you been able to rest?” Douxie placated her with lies on all accounts, but the truth was that he was sore even with the medicine, he hadn't taken it with food because he couldn't bring himself to eat, and every time he closed his eyes he felt the unfathomable pain of being run through all over again, or, worse, he saw Merlin kneeling over him, sacrificing his life for Douxie’s stupid mistake, and that wasn’t worth any benefits rest gave him.

***

He did finally fall asleep that night around eleven, not by choice - he’d been forced to take another muscle relaxer when the pain in his ribs and back crescendoed to nearly unbearable levels, and the drug worked quickly despite his best efforts to stay awake.

The dream was, at the beginning, not good, but not nightmare material, either. He found he was reliving his final conversation with Merlin, in that Nowhere between life and death where his mentor had waited patiently for him to arrive before moving on at last, after 900 long years.

At first the conversation was much the same as it had been, and Douxie found a thread of comfort in Merlin’s reassurances - I told you, my boy, I chose to die for you. I want no part of a world without you in it. And I am happy, reunited with my dear friend and first apprentice, ready to step into the next chapter.

But this time, right before Merlin stepped through the door into the light, he turned and contemplated his grieving apprentice with a cold look. “Although,” he said, accusation seeping from every word, “it is true that I wouldn’t have had to give my life for you if you hadn’t bungled things up so much in the first place.”

Douxie felt his heart stutter to a stop and he stammered, “W-what?”

“Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you?” Merlin hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously. “It was my fight. And if you were going to interfere, why not cast some other spell that kept us both out of harm’s way?”

Floundering for any purchase on solid ground, Douxie finally managed, “I didn’t know how - the magic, it just responded -”

“You were always good at making excuses, Hisirdoux,” the wizard snarled. “The faith I thought I had in your abilities was obviously misplaced.” A terrible, eternal beat of silence. Then - “Perhaps I should have let you die after all. It’s no more than you deserve.”

“But Master -”

“I’m done with you.” With a dismissive wave of his arm, Merlin stomped into the waiting light of the unknown, muttering, “Might as well enjoy your life since you ended mine to save it.”

And Douxie was left alone in the between-space, and the tower crumbled around him in time with his soul, and he let it bury him, book after book crashing on his head, and he hoped that this time, he wouldn’t wake up at all….

It’s all my fault.

He woke up crying, not screaming, and shortly after he flushed the muscle relaxers while Archie wasn’t looking (the wise familiar would most certainly have not approved), splashed his face with icy water, and grabbed his well-read copy of The Catcher in the Rye and forced his eyes across the familiar words in a vain attempt to distract him from the loathing and pain and guilt that screamed through his aching head and pounded out a tattoo of shame that persisted through the lonely, sleepless night.

***

Two days later, he returned to work, and his manager stared openly at his disheveled appearance. Douxie had slept a grand total of four hours since he’d tossed the pills, and those had been intermittent catnaps that his body had forced him to take. Eventually, though the thought of using his magic made his skin crawl now after what it had done to Merlin, he conjured a simple alarm clock that sensed when he fell asleep and screeched metal core at him every time it happened.

He knew he looked bad - he’d seen a glimpse of himself in the mirror before he left. His face was thinner than usual, pinched in pain that tylenol just wasn’t cutting through - but anything else would make him fall asleep. Although all of the bruising was centralized around his back and chest and invisible beneath his rumpled t-shirt, it looked like he’d been punched in both eyes, with the dark, puffy circles accenting each one. He’d been too out of it to properly bother with styling his hair, or brushing it, if he were honest, and he was pretty sure he was wearing two different combat boots. They were both black, though, so maybe no one would notice. He didn’t have the energy to care if they did.

“Damn,” said his manager, Jeff. “I think you came back from sick leave a little too soon, man. You look awful.”

Douxie shrugged, not trusting himself to speak. He’d been screaming from one emotion to the next with no warning ever since he woke up, and even though he felt rather empty at the moment, he knew it was distinctly possible that if he opened his mouth he might start crying against his will.

“I think you should go back home. Have you seen a doctor?”

Douxie grunted in affirmation.

“Go home until you’re feeling better, Douxie. Seriously, man, you have to take care of yourself.”

The hollowness inside of him filled with irritation at the dismissal. “I’m fine,” he growled sullenly.

His manager blinked, surprised at the tone. Douxie had always been a model employee, respectful and fun to be around.

“You’re going to scare customers away,” Jeff insisted. “You can’t wait tables like this - people will be afraid you’ll give them whatever plague you’ve come down with.”

With a snarl, Douxie spat, “Why can’t things just go back to normal?” He stormed out before his bewildered manager could answer.

***

The next afternoon, someone knocked at his door. He cast a suspicious side-eye at Archie, who sat innocently on the table, tail tucked contritely around his carefully arranged paws as he studied Merlin’s magic book, the one Douxie had refused to touch since returning home. Archie had disappeared for a short time earlier, flapping out of the window in dragon form and saying that he was just going for a short flight to clear his head. Now Douxie wondered if the dragon had actually gone out and told someone of his worries about his wizard familiar. After all, Archie had been on his case constantly over the past few days, practically begging his friend to sleep, to eat, to talk, and Douxie always ignored him and had even yelled at him on a couple of occasions.

Douxie was picking at a bowl of dragon-popped popcorn listlessly, the small desire for food that he’d felt earlier having been immediately usurped by a fresh waves of undulating guilt and devastating emptiness. A smattering of empty cans - soda and energy drinks - lay crumpled on the coffee table around Archie, and the dregs of his latest cup of coffee were still warm. He seriously considered just ignoring the knocking until whoever it was went away - they’d promised to give him some time to recover, after all - but then they started ringing the doorbell and his head already hurt so badly it made his stomach curdle, so he made the tremendous journey to his feet. He swayed, his limbs like pool noodles, head swimming with dizziness at the effort to stay upright.

Each step toward the door - that incessant, too-loud doorbell was going to drive him mad! - was a hard-fought battle, and by the time his hand reached for the doorknob, he felt like he was going to be sick, and his vision was blurred, and he was having trouble remembering why he had gotten up in the first place.

Then the doorbell rang again, and a muffled voice called his name from the other side of the door, and he remembered.

It was Claire and Jim. The moment they laid eyes on him, their expressions went from concerned to relieved to something Douxie couldn’t quite identify but that might have been a kind of shock, or even horror.

“Douxie!” Claire half-shouted, and Douxie fought the urge to cover his ears as her voice, normally pleasant and soothing, tried its hardest to split his head in two. “What happened?”

Douxie squinted at her in confusion. Shouldn’t she know what happened? She had been there, for parts of it, at least. She’d heard about the rest. He could barely stand up straight anymore, and his eyes started closing of their own accord. This had happened so many times before, but as soon as sleep started to stake its claim, the memories and nightmares and things that might have been memories followed, mixing up into a blur that he couldn’t navigate, and then his magic alarm clock would blare, and he would wake up, and drink another Mountain Dew or Monster or cup of coffee, and try to do something to take his mind off of sleep and pain and Merlin. Then the whole process would start over again.

This time, it didn’t look like he would make it back to the couch before he passed out - the arduous trek to the front door had drained him, made him breathless and dizzy - and he was toppling forward, trying to force himself to wake up, battling sleep and the panic of sleep, or worse, hitting his head and being knocked out and forced to sleep.

“Whoa!” He startled awake to a hazy reality as Jim caught his stumbling form and propped him up the best that he could given how much taller Douxie was than him. Distantly, Douxie heard, “Claire, help me get him inside.”

And then Claire slung his other arm over her shoulder and they half-supported, half-dragged him back into his house, and though his eyes were on his couch, he realized that they were taking him past it, further into the house, in the direction of his bedroom, and he began to struggle against them.

“No, not there,” he gasped, knowing that if he had a mattress under his body and a soft pillow under his bed, there would be no way he could resist the siren call of sleep. He’d been avoiding his bed for days now.

But they didn’t listen, and soon they helped ease him onto his bed, perpetually unmade, and he scrambled up clumsily into a facsimile of a sitting position and shook his head to clear it of the gummy cobwebs that infested it. Archie, having followed the trio closely, literally hovering right over their shoulders, perched on Douxie’s desk and kept his lamp-lit eyes on his human, watchful and protective.

As soon as their charge was no longer in any immediate danger of hurting himself, Jim pulled out his cell phone. “I’m calling my mom.”

“No, no,” Douxie said, forcing his burning eyes open as far as he could and making a feeble swipe at the phone in his friend’s hand. Jim hesitated, his thumb hovering over the send button.

“You are obviously not feeling well,” he said. “And you look sick. You need to see a doctor before --”

“I’m not sick,” Douxie explained, trying to project an air of wellness that he couldn’t even muster within himself. At their doubtful looks, he clarified, “Just a little tired.”

“You don’t look like you’ve slept in a month!” Claire exclaimed worriedly. “We promised to give you a few days to yourself to heal and rest, not turn into one of the living dead!”

“It’s only been a few days,” Douxie assured her. “I just need to sort some things out in my head, that’s all. Then I’ll sleep.” It was a lie, but he needed them to believe it, needed them to go home and go on with their lives and not sit here worrying about him - or worse, try to make him sleep. He appreciated their concern, and was touched that he had friends who cared so much about his well-being, but they had more important things to deal with - Jim’s transition from being half-troll to enslaved hulk troll to fully human and the loss of his amulet, for starters. And he had made this mess on his own, this was his fault, so if his punishment was to never sleep again, it should be his to bear alone. He didn’t deserve to be worried about, he suddenly realized - that was the crux of why he wanted to be left alone so badly.

“A few days without sleep will wreck you, man,” Jim said seriously, his blue eyes offering nothing but concern. He did pocket his phone again, though, for which Douxie heaved a sigh of relief. “Trust me, I know.”

Douxie didn’t know the details, but he had heard stories from Claire and Toby about how Jim had, over a year ago, willingly gone into the Darklands, a hellish nightmare-scape beneath the skin of this world, and Claire had told, her own eyes haunted, of how he had come back not himself, traumatized, and how he’d barely slept nor ate and had become a shell of his former self.

So he asked, voice far more unsure than he felt comfortable with, “How did you move on? How did you get back to normal?”

He hated himself for sounding so weak. He’d lived 701 years. He’d lost people he cared about so regularly that he’d eventually tried to avoid personal connections. Such was the curse of being a wizard, and being functionally immortal. The world around him would turn, but he would not age - or rather, he would age slowly, at the pace of his own choosing - and people would die, wars would rise up and die down, and still he would live, watching it all, alone. That wasn’t true. Even if Merlin had been entombed for much of that time, he hadn’t been dead, not really. The knowledge that he would see his mentor again had kept Douxie going during the loneliest of times, during the most devastating losses.

And, of course, he’d had Archie, a constant companion who even now had done everything he could to help his friend, and when that hadn’t worked, when Douxie had been too stubborn to listen, he’d taken it upon himself to gather more of Douxie’s friends and staged an intervention. If Douxie hadn’t been so exhausted and his mind hadn’t been so muddy, he might have been grateful or touched by the gesture and loyalty, but right now, he just felt irritated, like his privacy had been infringed upon.

Jim blinked. “Well, uh,” he stammered, glancing at Claire before continuing, “it took time, first of all. But, honestly, it was my friends. But it took talking to someone who had gone through the same thing as me, who understood what I was going through, to first start the healing.”

Douxie shook his head. “Everybody loses people,” he said slowly. “But this feels different.”

“Just because everyone deals with loss doesn’t make your experiences any less important, Douxie,” Archie said sagely. He was the only one in the room who had a true scope of all the heartbreaks Douxie had accumulated over his centuries of life in a world of short-lived mortals.

“It’s not that.” Douxie was desperate now for them to understand the truth. Then maybe they would stop being so kind to him. Dream-Merlin had been right. He didn’t deserve it. “Don’t you see? It’s my fault Merlin’s dead. I killed him.”

Jim froze at his words, looking like he’d just been struck across the face. For a moment, Douxie wondered why he reacted the way he did, but then remembered that Jim had been the one to hold Douxie down when Morgana was going to kill him. He hadn’t been in his right mind, had been enslaved by the Arcane Order, but still, he had, in a small way, been the reason that Douxie had been forced into doing the switching magic that he had. Still, Douxie could find no ill will in him against the Trollhunter. He’d not been in control of his own mind. Douxie had.

“I am so sorry,” Jim started, but Douxie immediately cut him off.

“It’s not your fault. You weren’t you. But me…”

“You have to see the truth,” Jim insisted urgently, now moving to take a seat on the bed next to his older friend. Sure, they hadn’t known each other all that long, but going through the things they had and saving the world together tended to bring people closer together rather more quickly than usual, in his experience. “It wasn’t your fault. You did everything you could to save Merlin. You took a sword in the gut for him.” Douxie flinched internally at the reminder of the agony, the feeling of dying, the cold and the dark.

“Yeah, Douxie,” Claire chimed in. “You’re a hero. You saved him.”

“If I’d had more control over that magic, if I’d channeled it a different way or done a different spell, then we might both be alive.” He was so tired, but the conversation held him in its grip, and he couldn’t sleep anyway, he’d go back to the sword and Merlin’s death and the wizard’s tower where Merlin would tell him again that he’d failed.

“Douxie, you’re the one who’s been teaching me more magic!” Claire reminded him. “One of the things I learned from my Shadow Staff - and that you’ve continued to show me - is that magic is emotion. You can’t always control what magic is going to do when you are in a moment of fear or anger or desperation. Magic reacts to your emotions. And Jim’s right. What you did was very brave and selfless.”

“That’s why Merlin gave his life to save you in return,” Archie added. “That, and because he loved you, very much.”

Douxie felt the sting of hot tears carving pathways down his face and didn’t bother to wipe them off. He felt like having a full-on temper tantrum, flopping onto his stomach and screaming and sobbing and slamming his fists into the ground and letting his magic explode out of him with all the force of the emotions and exhaustion that had built up inside. He knew if he did that, though, he would just end up hurting someone else.

So he asked a question he was ashamed to ask, because it made it sound like he blamed Merlin instead of himself, “If he loved me, why did he leave? Why didn’t he let me make my sacrifice? It was like what I did didn’t matter. I saved him because I don’t want to live without him, but that’s just what he forced me to do.”

Archie flapped off the desk and landed on the bed on the other side of his friend. Placing a paw on Douxie’s leg, he spoke gently, as if to a lost child, “Merlin was a great wizard” -- Douxie sobbed -- “but he was also very selfish sometimes. That comes with great power and an ego left unchecked paired with a very long life. Merlin saved you because he couldn’t bear to think of a world without you in it. Nor,” said the dragon, nuzzling Douxie’s elbow affectionately, “can I, for that matter.”

“But if I --”

“No buts,” said Archie. “This was not your fault. And I know Merlin told you the same.”

“He did,” Douxie admitted. “But then he didn’t. Every time I sleep, I see him, and he tells me… he tells me that I f-failed, that he’s d-dead because of me, and that I don’t deserve to live.”

“Oh, Douxie,” Claire breathed softly, sinking down into his desk chair.

“That’s not Merlin telling you that,” Jim spoke up. Something raw lingered in his eyes. “It’s the lies you are telling yourself. I know because for weeks after the Darklands, I…” He cast his gaze briefly at Claire, and even in his semi-conscious state, Douxie got the feeling that he hadn’t even told his girlfriend this before. “I had dreams every night of Claire, Toby, Blinky, Aaarrrgghh, everyone telling me I should have stayed in the Darklands. Should have died there, because I wasn’t strong or brave enough, and I went in alone and betrayed them, and that they were better off and happier without me. For a while, I believed them.”

Claire was crying quietly now, her hands pressed against her lips.

“But then,” Jim continued, “the more time I spent with my friends, and talked to them, I began to be able to separate their truth from my own lies. Like I said earlier, you really need to talk to someone who gets it, you know. And even though we’ve experienced a lot of the same things, it’s not me.” He looked pointedly at the small black dragon who was currently in the same place he’d always been - at Douxie’s side.

“I miss him too.” Archie repeated his words from a few days ago. “And I am here for you, Douxie.” He must have seen the doubt festering in Douxie’s eyes and he reassured, “I do not blame you for what happened. No one does. The Merlin in your dreams is not real. He is spitting your own self-doubts and guilt right back into your face, but deep down, you know the truth. The real Merlin told you. Jim and Claire told you. And I am promising you - Merlin died because he chose to in order to save you because after all he had seen and done and all the years he’d lived, the one thing he was terrified of was having to light your funeral pyre. And Merlin never did anything he didn’t want to do. No one could have stopped him from making that choice.”

The words struck something deep inside of Douxie, and he felt the tiniest fraction of weight shift in his chest. “M’be,” he slurred, so tired that his friends were all now blobs of blue, black, and purple. A giant bruise. He chuckled, a bit madly.

“Okay, Douxie,” came Claire’s voice, distant and very close at the same time. “I think you really need to lie down now. You’ve been awake for too long.”

She and Jim helped him lie down. Weakly, he protested, “I cn’t sleep.”

“You can,” said Jim. “Take Archie’s words with you if you end up facing that dream-Merlin again. Remember that we’re here for you. None of us will leave you while you sleep, okay?”

“Yeah, we’ll be right here when you wake up, and if you have nightmares, we’ll remind you of the truth,” Claire promised.

“And I will guard you,” Archie vowed, retaking his cat form and curling up protectively over his closest friend’s heart. “You are safe here.”

Douxie could resist the call of sleep no longer. He closed his eyes and let it take him, and he felt the warm weight of Archie on his chest and the presence of his friends around him and the slightest of smiles curved his lips as he drifted off.

***

Thirty seconds after Douxie grew still upon the bed, his three friends let out a collective sigh of relief.

Thirty seconds after that, Jim and Claire let out a collective yell of shock and Archie leapt to his paws, hissing and arching his back, as a giant, misty alarm clock appeared out of thin air and started screeching a terrible cacophony of wailing guitars and screaming vocals at top volume.

“What the--?” Claire shouted over the racket, slamming her hands over her ears.

“I forgot,” Archie called back, “he cast this spell to wake him up when he fell asleep.”

And yet, this time, Douxie still slept.

“Can you turn it off?” Jim yelled.

“No, only Douxie can undo the spell.”

Jim considered this for a moment and shook his head. “Let him sleep. He needs it.”

And despite the loud, jarring music, he, Claire, and Archie kept their promise and stayed faithfully at their friend’s side until, four hours later, he woke up long enough to blessedly vanish the clock.

Then, like a little boy with a teddy bear, the already fading Douxie pulled a startled Archie into his arms and held him tight, curling up on his side with his furry prize. Although uncomfortable in his new position and robbed of his draconian dignity, Archie snuggled in and purred, content to listen to the steady breathing of his deeply sleeping familiar.

12 notes · View notes

lithugraph · 4 years

Text

Ok I know y'all are thirsty for it, so I'm posting the first part of chapter 5 from The Book Smuggler here. There are still two more parts left to write. I've got the second part about halfway done. And I do feel bad it's taken me so long, I was on such a roll with this fic but this chapter was like hitting a brick wall because

Tilsit, East Prussia, 1863

The inn stood just off the market square, on a narrow street meandering carelessly down to the river. The plaster and timber frame sunk inward, as if the walls were in dire need of repair. They probably were, thought Eduard, as he eyed the building apprehensively, the way it slouched against the ones surrounding it, as if they were the only thing holding it up.

He pushed his glasses up his nose. This hardly seemed like a place his cousin would have chosen. Himself, on the other hand...well, he’d stayed in worse.

Eduard dug the telegram out of his pocket and checked the address again. It was right — this was the place. He flipped the card over as if it could offer up something else — some other clue as to why his cousin was staying — in Tilsit, of all places — at an inn that looked ready to collapse in on itself. But the back of the telegram was maddeningly blank.

Eduard sighed, adjusted the suitcase in his hand, and entered.

A surly-looking barman led him up a winding set of stairs to the top floor. Eduard had to duck his head to keep from knocking it against the sloping roof.

Tauras’ room was the third door on the right.

Eduard thanked the barman, then ensuring he was alone in the hallway, took a moment to compose himself — smoothing jacket lapels and flattening hair and cleaning glasses — and drew a deep, steadying breath. Though they corresponded regularly, it had been a few years since he’d last seen Tauras. And though Eduard had no qualms regarding sharing his exploits in letters, he certainly did not want to look the part of a con artist thief. He wanted to look every bit as respectable — as noble — as Tauras had.

Chin up, eyes down, mouth set. Eduard lifted a hand. And knocked.

The face that greeted him, though, was not the one he remembered.

When they were boys, Tauras had been a field of grass on a summer day, warm and vibrant. That spirit had since left him, and he just seemed...hollowed out. Tauras was thin, his shoulders rounded. A shadow hung behind his eyes — eyes that would not look at Eduard, but around him, through him.

Eduard’s lofty guise melted at the sight of his cousin. He set his suitcase down just inside the door and scooped Tauras into a tight embrace.

Air hissed through Tauras’ teeth, his shoulders tensed.

Eduard let go and stepped back, alarmed. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Tauras said — and Eduard could not help notice the quaver in his voice, nor the pained look creasing his brow.

“No, you’re not.”

“I said I’m fine, Ed.”

Eduard studied him — the shadow lurking in his eyes, the subtle way his shoulders shifted up and down. He noted the shirt, the coarse cotton weave unlike the finer cloth he had last seen his cousin wearing.

Eduard frowned. “What happened to you?” he asked softly.

Tauras raked a hand through his disheveled hair, shaking his head. “I need a drink,” he muttered as he shouldered past his cousin, descending to the bar below.

Eduard followed him down the stairs, eyes catching on the faint, rust-colored lines hatching across the back of Tauras’ shirt.

They sat at a small table near a window, the glass fogged from tobacco smoke and factory soot. The city beyond looked just as dulled under a hazy summer sky. The surly barman that had shown Eduard upstairs brought over two clay mugs of beer, all but throwing them onto the table.

“Welcome to Prussia,” Eduard said under his breath as the barman stalked off. He picked up his mug, drinking a long draught.

Moments later, a young woman brought over two bowls of stew and a loaf of rye bread. Eduard flashed her a smile out of habit. She returned it, cheeks reddening as he gave her a swift, appraising look over, but she had nothing on her worth pick-pocketing. He turned back to Tauras, who was idly stirring his stew.

“So,” Eduard said, “Tilsit. Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Why the hell you’re here” — he glanced around — “in this hovel of an inn? The last thing I heard from you, you were at the seminary. And don’t you dare tell me you’ve come here to minister to these people. I know priests take a vow of poverty and everything, but the last time I checked, they don’t dress like workmen. You can’t lie to a conman, cousin. Lies are what I do for a living, and yours are terrible.”

“I’m not a priest,” Tauras said quietly.

Eduard’s mouth settled into a thin line, his eyes blazing behind his glasses. Corresponding for years in letters had made him forget just how obstinate his cousin could be. Because letters could be edited. That part of yourself you did not wish to show could be hidden, buried with words — or else removed completely.

“You asked me to come here,” he pressed. “The least you could do is tell me why.”

“Is it wrong of me to want to see a familiar face?”

Eduard folded his arms. “Stop avoiding the question.”

Tauras’ eyes drifted up to lock on his cousin’s. Eduard felt himself shrink away at the look they held. Tauras flicked his gaze around the bar, but they were its only occupants. The barmaid had gone back to the kitchen, and the man was nowhere to be seen.

“I left the seminary, and I can’t go back home. That’s all you need to know.”

Eduard scowled, drinking his beer. It was just like when they were boys. Tauras, the leader; Eduard, following his every word. Tauras, the nobleman’s son; Eduard, the bastard-child-turned-serving-boy, following his master’s orders. They would never be equals, no matter how much Tauras had promised it when they were younger. Whether he knew it or not, Tauras still behaved much like the entitled boy he was raised to be, believing his word was final.

“You plan to stay here, then?” Eduard asked, a cutting edge to his voice.

“Yes. I don’t have much of a choice.”

Eduard arched a brow, finishing his beer. “Don’t you? You could have gone anywhere — Berlin, Munich— but you chose Tilsit and can’t even deign to tell me why.” He pulled his bowl of stew closer, tearing a piece of bread from the loaf and dipped it in, watching his cousin. “What does your family think, of you living here?”

“They don’t know. For all I know, they still think I’m at the seminary, or — ” Tauras broke off, shaking his head. The shadow was back, behind his eyes. He drank deeply from his beer mug.

“There are other Lithuanians here,” Tauras continued, as if to himself. “I just need to make contact. They’ll have ways of knowing what’s happening back home.”

Eduard’s eyes narrowed as he slowly chewed his bread. Pieces of the puzzle were gradually falling into place. “You’re talking as if...this is something permanent.”

Tauras looked at him a moment, as if disbelieving his cousin could really be that obtuse. “I already told you: I can’t go back home.”

“No, I know that, but it’s just...I’m trying to understand — and help you understand — whatever’s happened, you’re on your own now. Do you know what that means, truly?”

“Yes — “

“Then what’s your plan?” Eduard asked, tipping his chin back. A challenge. For once, he had the upper hand. For once, his cousin would have to listen to him.

“I have money. It’s not much, but it’ll support me until I can find work.”

Eduard shook his head. “Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as you make it sound. Be honest with yourself — you haven’t worked a day in your life. What skills do you have? What experience? You can paint and draw, play piano, speak four languages — that’s fine for impressing the ladies and gentlemen of society, but you’re not in that world anymore.”

Tauras bristled. “I haven’t been in that world for the past three years, or have you forgotten?”

“I’d hardly count the seminary as useful,” Eduard retorted, “unless you plan to join a monastery.”

“You know nothing of where I’ve been or what I’ve done — “ Tauras’ teeth clacked together as he cut himself off mid-sentence. He shoved himself up from the table. “This was a mistake.” He turned and stormed out of the inn.

“Shit,” Eduard sighed. He adjusted his glasses and stood, tossing a few coins onto the table for their meal, then left to find his cousin.

Tauras was seated on the banks of the Memel, elbows resting on his knees, staring across the river. He turned, hearing the crunch of sandy gravel behind him.

“You always did like the water,” Eduard remarked, hands resting in his pockets. “I remember following you through the woods to the stream when we were younger. And Nanny finding us and scolding us every single time.”

Tauras bowed his head, a faint smile softening the hard edges of his face. “She should have known not to sit on the terrace when she took us outside. The sun always made her fall asleep, and we’d always sneak away then.”

Eduard chuckled at the memory. He sat down beside his cousin. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you back there. We’ve always been honest with each other. But something’s changed that.”

Tauras swallowed, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to see a familiar face. I did — I do. But seeing you — here — all of a sudden...it made everything seem too real. Everything that’s happened the past few days...it feels like it belongs to someone else’s life, not mine.”

“What has happened?” Eduard asked gently.

Tauras looked at his cousin, his face stricken. “I was caught, Ed.”

Eduard’s brow furrowed. “You mean like — like last time, when your brother — “

Tauras shook his head, a wry smile twisting his lips. “No. Nothing like that. Though I’m sure I’ve only further disgraced myself, as far as my father is concerned.” He picked up a rock, thumb brushing over its smooth, worn surface. “I’m a traitor to the empire. I was arrested and punished as such. And that’s what I mean when I say I can’t go home. If I do, I’ll just be arrested again — only this time I’m sure my sentence won’t be as lenient as a whipping and a train ride to Siberia.”

Eduard’s face paled under the waning afternoon sun. His eyes flicked to his cousin’s back, to the faint marks on his shirt.

Tauras’ shoulders shifted. “And that’s not even the worst of it,” he said, casting a sidelong glance at his cousin. “I left the seminary and joined the uprising. We thought we could overthrow the empire and get our country back. It sounds so foolish to say now, but....” His voice trailed away, eyes growing distant. “It was such a simple plan. We ambushed them, these Russians soldiers — my squadron did — and one of them was right there in my sights but I...I c-couldn’t — I couldn’t shoot him.”

“I ran, Ed,” he rasped. “I turned and I ran, and now they’re dead because of me. I failed my country just as I failed my men.”

They sat in silence, listening to the steady trickle of the river as it gently flowed by the bank.

“I tried to cross the border,” Tauras continued, voice thick, “but a Russian soldier recognized me — one of the ones from the ambush. I was brought to the customs house in Tauragė and sentenced to Kara. Needless to say, I escaped. I hid in the back of a wagon and crossed into Prussia four days ago. Though...there’s a part of me that thinks I should have stayed — stayed and...finished my sentence instead of running again. I owe my men that much, at least.”

Tauras let the rock fall from his hand. Eduard placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Words of assurance, of comfort, clung to the tip of his tongue, but he knew it would do his cousin no good to hear them just now. They would sound empty and trite compared to the immeasurable guilt Tauras sought to atone for. Sometimes, the only thing you could do was sit with someone and watch the water.

Eduard went for a walk around Tilsit later that evening. If Tauras did indeed plan to make this city his new home, they would need better lodgings. Eduard included himself in that measure because, as he told his cousin, he may have worn out his welcome in Chemnitz. Actually most of Saxony, really. So he set out, scouting the rest of the city to see where they might feasibly purchase accommodations. Tauras told him of the money he’d managed to get from the estate. Paired with Eduard’s share from his last con, they would be able to live decently for a few months. But there was still the problem of work. Tauras would need a job and Eduard would need to make contacts as soon as possible. Though he would need to use discretion — Tilsit was nowhere near as big as the cities in Saxony — and his cousin would not appreciate being run out of town after only having just arrived.

Most of the Lithuanian population clustered around the riverfront or around the Lithuanian church further inland. Eduard took this information back to his cousin, along with noting a few help wanted signs hanging in windows near their vicinity.

When he got back to their room, he found Tauras standing in front of the dresser mirror. A basin of water rested on a table nearby. Tauras had removed his shirt and was gingerly cleaning the cuts criss-crossing his back, shoulders tensing as he caught sight of his cousin, reflected in the mirror.

Eduard lowered his head, averting his gaze. “Sorry. I...guess I should have knocked first.”

Tauras simply stared back — that same hollow stare from earlier. All sound seemed to be sucked from the room, save for the steady drip of water from the rag in his hand as he squeezed it over the basin.

“I, um, might have something for that,” Eduard said, eyes flicking up to his cousin’s, then back down.

The tension eased from Tauras. He lowered the rag, giving a near imperceptible nod of his head.

Eduard went to his suitcase, his movements stiff, limbs feeling like they belonged to someone else and not him. He knelt and flicked open the latches, taking a moment to collect himself as he lifted the lid, uncomfortably aware of his cousin watching him the whole time. There, resting on top, was a black leather case. Eduard took it out and set it on the bed, making a quick rummage through it.

“You travel with a medical kit?” Tauras asked.

“I travel with everything all the time,” Eduard said, trying to keep his voice light. “You never know when you’ll have to pretend to be a surgeon.” He spun around, holding up a roll of dressing and a container of salve.

The curiously amused expression Tauras wore as he watched his cousin shifted and became closed once again. Like a cloud passing over the sun, Eduard thought.

Tauras wordlessly approached and sat on the bed. Eduard patted his back dry with a clean cloth and began applying the salve. It had a woody smell, and he’d used it before to treat everything from scrapes and boils to eczema — much to his former patients’ satisfaction. He often thought if he had been able to keep with his schooling, he would have liked to become a doctor. A real doctor. It was probably why he spent so many years watching and imitating them, pretending to be them — and stealing whatever medical instrument he could get his hands on.

Eduard applied the dressing once he was finished with the salve, his eyes catching on the small golden cross around his cousin’s neck. He remembered the letter Tauras had sent him, almost a year after he had left boarding school. They were both sixteen and Tauras was absolutely besotted with his best friend from childhood. Eduard had already known this. Had known long before his cousin knew it himself, from the way Tauras would talk of Feliks in his letters to Eduard.

“Do you still think of him?” Eduard asked, nodding at the cross.

“Sometimes.” A sad smile passed over Tauras’ lips. “I suppose I was lucky my father sent me to Kaunas instead of forcing me into the imperial army, like Feliks’ father did to him.” He reached up, closing his hand around the cross. “Mostly though, I just hope he’s safe.”

And that’s it for now! It hasn’t been fully proofed yet, but I hope you enjoyed it so far and I’m sorry for the long wait! The rest of the chapter is in the works and who knows, maybe it’ll be up by the end of February??

#hetalia #aph fanfiction #my fic #the book smuggler #aph lithuania #aph estonia #aph poland #hws lithuania #hws estonia #hws poland

7 notes · View notes

lost-n-stereo · 4 years

Text

i sleep a little deeper when you’re next to me

The clock reads two am when she wakes up after hours of tossing and turning. Harry’s side of the bed, as she’s come to think of it even though they don’t officially live together, is cold and still made the same way it was this morning.

They had a fight, which was more her fault than his. Her courses are hard and she’s working a full time job on top of school to pay her bills so her parents don’t have to. Harry had offered to pay for her rent but she refused because she’s not going to be that small town girl that hooks up with a rich guy just so she doesn’t have to work for what she has.

But Cassandra has a lot of medical bills and she doesn’t want to be a burden so she trudges down to a local diner five nights a week and waits tables for minimum wage and decent tips. Harry visits her sometimes and always leaves a hundred dollar bill for a tip just to…she doesn’t know, help? Or piss her off, maybe. She always splits it equally with the other waitresses on shift when she’s working and then drops whatever’s left in the cup of the homeless man that lives outside of her building.

Tonight’s fight wasn’t a bad one but Allie still feels like shit because of it. She’s not even really sure it could classify as a fight. Harry had met her at her place after her shift like he does most nights. His job is demanding, since he works almost eighty hours a week most of the time. Her place in Brooklyn is closer to his job than his apartment in Manhattan and she knows that he’d rather sleep with her than take a train to his own place and do it all again the next day. There’s a drawer of slacks and socks in her dresser, and at least ten oxford shirts hanging up next to her clothes in the tiny closet of her bedroom.

She’d snapped at him because her shift at the diner was shitty. A customer had tried to feel her up when she handed him his roast beef on rye and she’d almost gotten fired for chewing him out. Then on her way home she’d decided to walk because the rain had finally start to let up but just as she reached her building a cab had blown by her, along with a wall of muddy water all over her work clothes. Needless to say she wasn’t in the best mood when Harry had walked in using his key and laughed a little as he’d seen the state she was in.

“What in the world happened to you?” he’d asked her, dragging his fingers through the mud she still hadn’t washed from her hair.

“It’s not a good time, Harry,” she’d snapped back and he’d reared back like she’d hit him, surprise and then disappointment on his face before a mask of indifference fell over his features.

She hates that look.

“Fine. I’m gonna go then, have a good night, Al.”

He was already out the door before she could protest and ask him to come back.

Now it’s two in the morning and she’s cold, her bed is cold, and all she wants is her boyfriend to come sleep next to her.

I’m sorry, she texts him, entirely aware that it’s the middle of the night and they haven’t spoken in over seven hours. He has no reason to even be awake and yet…

Me too.

She takes a deep breath, maybe because it’s the first one she’s taken since he walked out the door or maybe it’s so she doesn’t burst into tears. She absolutely hates it when they fight.

I woke up and you weren’t here. I don’t like it.

His message back is instant. I can be there in thirty minutes.

Maybe she’s an asshole for expecting her boyfriend to get out of bed in the middle of the night just because she misses him.

Frankly, she doesn’t really care what it makes her. She just wants him next to her, always.

All she sends back is the world please and he tells her that he was pulling on his shoes before she even wrote him back.

Forty minutes later she’s still wide awake, waiting for the sound of his key in the lock. When she finally hears it she gets out of bed, pulls the Harvard tee of his that she sleeps in over her underwear and pads out into the living room.

His eyes are downcast when they meet in the middle of her living room and she sighs, reaches up with her fingertips and pushes his chin until he’s looking at her.

“I suck, I’m sorry.”

Harry nods, reaches out and settles a hand on her hip. “I fucking hate it when you’re pissed at me, Al. I didn’t even know what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything,” she insists, standing on her tip toes so she can brush her lips across his. “I had a bad day and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry for shutting down. I shouldn’t have done that either.”

Allie shakes her head, like it’s nothing he needs to apologize for because it’s not. “It’s over, you’re here. That’s all that matters.”

She takes his hand and leads her into the bedroom, which is just as much his now as it is hers. When she goes to set the alarm that will wake him up for work he puts his hand out.

“Can you skip your classes tomorrow?”

She wants to crack a joke about how it’s actually today but she doesn’t, just thinks about how it’s Wednesday and she can probably email her professors and just say that she wasn’t feeling well.

“Yeah,” she says as she climbs in bed next to him. “Are you thinking of calling in tomorrow?”

Harry smirks a little, nuzzles her neck the way that she loves. “I already did. I told them my girlfriend yelled at me and I needed a personal day.”

Allie laughs and pokes him in the side. “Shut up, you did not.”

“Hand to God.”

His hand starts to trail up her side before resting it just under her breast and she sucks in a breath as he trails kisses from her shoulder up to a spot just behind her ear.

“I should make that up to you then,” she says, tilting her head so she can catch his lips with her own.

#hallie #hallie fanfiction #harry bingham #allie pressman #drabble #fanfic

35 notes · View notes

allie1804-fan · 4 years

Text

The Middle of the Road (Chapter 13)

Warnings: None just romance

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8 , 9, 10, 11 , 12 13

Eventually they got up to eat, feasting on one of Keanu’s favourite breakfasts - French toast - and freshly brewed coffee out on the terrace - it was nearly 11 by the time they ate so it was warm enough to sit out. Later they were planning a hike up into the woods then back down to the lake for a picnic. Emily had packed 2 of his favourite things for lunch: Heinz tomato soup and pastrami to go in a rye bread sandwich including all the trimmings: Sauerkraut, Russian dressing, mustard and dill pickles. He loved her for being so thoughtful.

Before they left, they checked in with Chloe and John that all was well with their children which it was. That night, they would return them home where Karina and Keanu’s mom would take over the babysitting. With their minds put at rest, Emily and Keanu set off up into the woods behind the cabin, taking a route about half-way up the mountain before looping round and back down to the lake shore.

For the first hour or so they were largely quiet, enjoying the open air, just commenting occasionally on the plant life and vistas. Eventually, Emily suggested they start to tackle some of the issues they had put on the table the week before.

“So maybe we should start by thinking about how we handle the situation now – I mean while I’m still feeding Hannah and not working and you have stuff to do but you’re not filming. I don’t really like the idea of being regimented but it might help if we lay some markers down. It feels like because we didn’t, that’s why things slipped off the radar without us meaning them to.”

“And the children need routine I guess, so yeah that makes sense - and it appeals to the Virgo in me!”

“yeah” she laughed “Mr regimented sock draw!”

“hey, leave my sock draw be”

It was good to have some light-hearted banter to punctuate the discussion. They continued and agreed on designated days for her writing and his gym when they were all in LA. Swapping days was allowed, but ideally to be an exception only so everyone knew where they stood. It didn’t sit well with him to demand that others working on his projects fit in with him, but he reluctantly agreed that his status was high enough for him to be able to ask for that so they could make the routine stick.

For the time being, Emily wasn’t ready to throw her hat in the ring for live projects, but she thought in around 4 months time, when Johnny would be 2 and Hannah had turned 1, she would contact her agent about working again.

If she did get a script she really wanted to do, whether just to get her name out there again or if she really loved it, then they would probably need to think about childcare options since Keanu did have a film coming soon as well as Arch and some production commitments with Company films. She didn’t need to work for the money clearly, but so she had her own life and her own creative outlet. It was one of the things they had talked about last week – that her sense of self wasn’t complete without writing just like his without acting. He’d fallen in love with Emily the writer and he wanted her to have that back as well as the new identity of mother to their children.

For childcare, a nanny was an obvious option but Emily had concerns about finding the right one given they didn’t need someone full time all year round but they would possibly need someone full time every now and then.

“We can pay someone a full-time rate though even if we don’t need them full time” Keanu stated.

“Yeah I know, but is a good nanny going to want to be paid to do nothing sometimes? Or maybe there are people who do this on an occasional basis to supplement their income? I guess that is a question we can tackle when we have an actual need.”

They agreed to park it for now. As the children got older there would be more social settings they could go to and then of course kindergarten and school.

“What about when you go on location? Would you want us to travel with you? Us all being there might be a bit much for you after long days on set – I know you get so focussed”

“yeah but before I didn’t have them to think about - the last film was in LA so I haven’t ever had to film and be far from them so it’s kind of an unknown. I mean if it’s a long shoot, it would be hard on us all for me to be away without you. And when they’re older you’ll have to stay home if they’re in school”

“What do you mean “if” they’re in school?” she raised an eyebrow “Are we going off grid?”

“naaah - I meant that some kids are home schooled or tutored – but I dunno, doesn’t that strike you as a bit weird? I mean you know I didn’t enjoy school, the education part I mean, but the social thing is key. I don’t want them to grow up weird!”

“Me neither. I mean maybe sometimes we’d take them out of school for a bit when they’re younger if the experience they’d get from travelling with you to a shoot would be valuable, you know but I’d want to be in a house not a hotel if it was more than just a week. A hotel would soon lose its appeal after a few days!”

“Sure, I’ve been in a rented house or apartment on shoots for a while now – I’m less of a gypsy boy these days. You’ve tamed me I think! Anyway, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Like we said before, when we were actually planning on having kids, we did say I’d cut back so I can’t see me doing more than one location film a year from now on. I don’t want to miss them growing up. It’s not like we need the experience or the money. And it was fine, you know last year just making one small film.”

By the time they stopped for lunch by the lake, most of the points had been talked through and they could enjoy their lunch.

“You know, that whole conversation and the conflicts were so much more simple to resolve than I’d imagined, now that we’re actually talking” Emily marvelled.

“and listening, that’s the difference – I know I spent time second guessing what you wanted or worse assuming rather than just coming to you with my questions. Could have saved ourselves a whole lot of heartache!”

Em leaned over to kiss him.

“Ewwww you taste of pickle!”

“Your fault, you made me my sandwich!”

“touche”

“Sorry but that’s what you signed up for!”

“I don’t recall signing anything!” she laughed.

“would you like to?”

“What? Sign a contract to kiss you even when you eat pickle?!”

“No, Em, I mean would you like to marry me?”

“what?!” Em’s eyes were wide with shock “ what are you talking about?”

Keanu’s mind was racing, trying yet again to second guess her thoughts. He pressed ahead again, just to make it clear what he was saying.

“Em, I mean, will you marry me?”

“But we never ……I mean I know it was years ago when we discussed it, but we said we didn’t need the piece of paper” she stuttered

“I know, but now, it feels right”

“Why?”

“You don’t want to, it’s OK” he said frowning slightly

“No, no that’s not it at all, not what I meant at all” she repeated for emphasis and took his hand in hers, “but I asked you why”

He sighed, relieved, then took a moment to steady himself. He’d surprised himself by asking the question and then when she hadn’t just said yes straight away, it had thrown him off. She was right though, they’d always said they didn’t need a piece of paper, and when they’d got pregnant with Jonathan, they had other things on their mind, like just making it through to having a heathy baby. Once he was born, they had been in the thick of having a new-born and shortly after that, pregnant again with Hannah. There had been no room to think about marriage or for that matter to really prioritise their relationship. Now was time for a reset.

“Emily, ever since we started trying for kids, it’s like “us” hasn’t been the priority, but we’re lucky, we’ve got through it, so far at least and we still love each other. And the love I have for you, the connection mentally and physically, I’ve never had that before, not with anyone and I can’t imagine it, and I don’t want it with anyone else. That intimacy we have, it’s so special, so wonderful and I just think I want to celebrate it, to make a public commitment to you, to us. And I know a piece of paper won’t make it secure, only we can do that. But for the kids, as they grow up. I think the solidity of parents who are in love AND married would be helpful to them too. So, errrm, that’s why!”

Tears were running down Emily’s face by the time he finished his speech. She pulled herself together and knelt up in front of him, taking his face into her hands.

“How, just tell me how I got so lucky to fall in love with you? Yes, Keanu I’ll marry you, in a heartbeat I’ll marry you”

A gentle kiss sealed the deal.

“Yes?” he kissed her again

“Yes!”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, one hundred percent yes, a thousand percent no, make that a million percent, yes!”

@penwieldingdreamer @fortheloveoffanfic @kindainlovewithkeanu @ladyreapermc @witty-wallflower @gatsbynouvel @bitchyslut99 @keanureevesisbae @omg-imagine @iworshipkeanureeves @fics-not-tragedies @ficsnroses @kindainlovewithkeanu @paperplanesandwallflowers

#keanu #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves fanfiction #keanu reeves #keanu reeves ofc

2 notes · View notes

alkhale · 5 years

Note

Alkhale, i always like your story very much. You're story inspire me to make a story, can you please tell me an advice how to make an ocs, the story and character to?

thank you for liking my stories

- a lot of my stories start out from a really huge adrenaline rush of desire to write just this one scene. I think of what kind of person I would need to see that scene fulfilled and I’ve had these moments driving home from work or in the shower or in the middle of eating cup noodles at 3am watching low-budget horror movies!

I’d ask yourself a few key questions first before creating your character:

- Do you need this character to fulfill a certain role/change something in the story?

- Or did you make this character and now want to implement them into this world?

Either one of these is totally fine, but it kind of helps you figure out what you might need to work on. Say, if there’s something about a storyline you really loved or wanted to change, you might be considering making a character that fits a role that will smoothly build up to that specific moment. If it’s the other, you have a lot more room to build and create someone, and you don’t necessarily need to consider the world they might enter, because I find it a bit more organic to make that character first then consider how they would interact in this world, give them a better sense of self, don’t craft them specifically for certain characters.

- Appearances are always pretty free game, I tend to go with more neutral colors like black and brown, but I really like white hair and used to have a huge thing for ginger. I think hair colors can actually be pretty colorful as long as it makes sense in their world or maybe its dyed for a reason! Have a lot of fun with this, go diverse, and don’t focus really hard on making sure every detail of your character is revealed in the first paragraph. Start slow, give us bits and pieces to put the character together and if anyone asks for a detail description, you can put it at the bottom!

- I tend to make my OCs fairly different from myself, but give them pieces of things I’d be able to relate to (liking food, one character likes rain, the other likes this etc.) because it helps me consider why they might like it and if that affects their character at all

- Usually I build up the character around a few key actions they would take or characteristics, for instance, I’d say building Fuyu, I wanted a pretty short-tempered person, someone with a rough way of speaking who wasn’t really honest with themselves–but doing this, I asked myself what Fuyu would do if a woman dropped all her things in the street in front of her.

Fuyu before and early into the story would’ve stared, watching a bit, hesitating and wanting to help, but not actively helping herself. She might even snap at the person who bumped into the woman, but still not help the woman herself. Fuyu now would focus on helping the woman first. What changed the character to get them there, and why?

- I ask myself a lot what the character would do in certain situations, presented with certain emotions, and try to gauge who they are based on that. I give a lot of different scenarios in my head or write it down in notes, and then start to build things around them.

Say, someone they really loved and respected died, just a quiet death, wishing they saw (the character) one more time, but the character didn’t go to see them because of (x,y,z):

Kali would smile a bit softly at the news, recall some fond memories and slip off, disappearing. She’d grow something in their memory, stare at it for awhile, walk around and then disappear, running off again. (Mourning is a bit hard for her, most people around her might think she’s not even really that sad)

Hoku would fucking cry. She’d go off somewhere or just start fucking bawling depend who it was, a really ugly cry. If it was her fault for not seeing them she’d still cry, but she’d understand if people cursed her out or anything. She’d cuss them back, even if she knew it wasn’t her right, but she’d do it anyway. She feels pain a bit more openly and is more liberal with her tears. Hoku has a lot of fluids lmao.

Fuyu would sit in silence, taking the news. She’d seem sort of numb, asking about it, hesitating, and then wanting to know properly etc.

- You start to get a feel for the differences between your characters over how they face certain things

- I really like giving each character a quirk, something that makes getting into the gear for writing them a bit easier. Hoku is a gambling addict with funny-not-so-funny suicidal tendencies. Kali is problematic. Fuyu likes pickled radishes and can’t stand cockroaches, she’s really good at studying because she’s poor and likes to save money. She likes math because it’s easier to understand with a simple answer versus the openness of literature to interpretation (which I think says something) Rye doesn’t know how to write like the feral child she is and Sora eats hotpot no matter what weather it is.

- it helps for me to actually actively write a little bit of a character, just a snippet, even a few sentences of dialogue, something that feels more tangible and gives you a grasp of who they are (this can all just be on a page of notes or something for your reference, maybe even key phrases you want them to drop one day in a story)

- also always, always REMEMBER TO HAVE FUN WITH IT, it’s kinda like giving birth, it’s friggin weird but awesome at the same time, take a step back if it stresses you out and just come back in intervals, have fun!

- really hoped any of this helped, sorry it all seems like nonsense

#stories #from now on any writing advice which is hardly advice because i suck #will be tagged #writing tips i hope help #because i rlly hope they help #fanfiction #ocs

61 notes · View notes

syntaxeme · 4 years

Text

Giardino Segreto ch. 1

[Read on AO3] | [Next Chapter] [Support me on Ko-fi] Rating: T Summary: Alastor finds himself in a bit of a pickle. He’s fallen in love with a human--a frustrated young man named Angel--and now needs to win his love in return before he chokes on pent-up affection (Hanahaki Disease). What’s a demon to do?

— — –

Another night in New York City, and Alastor sat cross-legged on one of the Dellarosa home’s many balconies, observing, listening. The room he was peering into was on the third floor, one of few still lit so late at night. Inside, two very similar young people—easily recognizable as twins—sat on the edge of a nicely-made bed. Both had bleach-blond hair with dark roots starting to show, both were a little thin in some place, a little curvy in others. The young woman was tending to a cut on her brother’s cheek, dabbing an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against the gash.

“Ow,” he said softly.

“Sorry.” She quickly drew away, biting her lip, visibly agonized over his pain.

“It’s fine. I’m used to it by now.” Alastor could’ve recognized that voice even without seeing its source, that soft tenor currently tinged with bitterness. Angel. His heart quickened slightly at the sound. “His fault, not yours.”

“I don’t know why he gets so steamed about it. Even if you two can’t agree—”

“Agree? It’s my fuckin’ life; he shouldn’t get a say!” Angel growled. His sister (Molly, if Alastor recalled correctly) cowered slightly, and he sighed. “Sorry. You know it’s not you I’m pissed at.”

“I know.”

“And Criss ain’t helpin’! He acts like he gives a shit when it’s just us, then when Dad’s around, it’s ‘Antonia’ this and ‘sorellina’ that.” The anger in Angel’s voice was drawn down with pain, and he gripped tightly at the covers beneath him. Molly wiped blood away from the cut on his forehead, and he winced slightly. There was nothing she could do for the bruise under his left eye. “Thanks. Sorry I keep buggin’ you with this shit.”

“He’ll come around eventually, Angelino.” She leaned in and planted a kiss on his forehead, then left for her own room. Angel sat very sit for a few seconds, dark eyes staring at the floor with a kind of helpless fury and sorrow that Alastor couldn’t help but find fascinating. He glanced toward the window, and the demon froze. But of course, Angel couldn’t see him. The boy—a young man, really, somewhere around the age of 25—let out a sigh and turned out the lights, then crawled into bed and buried himself under the covers. It wasn’t until Alastor heard his breathing turn slow and deep that he finally left, strolling away from the house and twirling his staff idly through his fingers.

Was there something a bit voyeuristic, a bit ‘creepy’ about this? Certainly. But could he help himself? Absolutely not. This wasn’t the first time he’d observed Angel Dellarosa and been utterly captivated by every word from his mouth, every toss of his hair. Angel, who had been given a different name at birth but had since chosen a new one for himself. Angel, whose family—excluding his sister—refused to acknowledge who he was and how he felt. Stubborn, passionate, beautiful Angel, who had caught Alastor’s attention on his first night in the Big Apple and held it firmly ever since.

It was odd. He didn’t typically take such a fixed interest in any particular human. Most of them, he would’ve said, were more or less interchangeable. Predictable. Boring. But Angel had surprised him and continued to do so. If only there were something he could do to make the boy’s life easier, he would, without a moment’s hesitation. To see him comfortable, to see him at ease, to see him fulfilled and smiling…

When Alastor’s chest inexplicably tightened, his stride faltered. Further tightness, an itch in his throat, and he coughed. Instead of fading, the sensation of his chest constricting got worse, forcing him to cough harder and cover his mouth by reflex. He was familiar enough with the idea of consumption that he expected to see blood when he pulled his hand back.

The flower petals, however, came as a surprise.

Rose petals, to be specific. Powder pink roses, pink like Angel’s lips when he smiled, like his fingertips when they ran through his hair. Funny. Knowing himself, Alastor would’ve expected red, but although they were stained with the same blood still marking his lips, there was no denying the petals were soft and pale. Another unexpected turn, and once again, it was Angel’s doing.

The concept wasn’t entirely foreign, though he never would’ve expected it to apply to him of all people. He’d always thought of this as more of a Heavenly affliction. Was it a Biblical story? He couldn’t recall.

The tale went that love was a gift, a thing of beauty, and one should never keep such a gift hidden. If kept trapped inside and unshared, the blossoming emotions would fill the space they were given: the space in one’s chest, one’s heart, one’s lungs. The only cure was to confess and to have the feelings reciprocated. Otherwise, the ‘beautiful’ sickness that was love would consume the victim from the inside out. Oh, it was all very symbolic. Very artful. Very poetic.

It made Alastor want to vomit. More petals. Ugh. And the implications! Love. For crying out loud. He’d never felt any such thing in his life. Never mind that he’d gotten a little sidetracked on his recent visit to New York City and stayed a few days…weeks…all right, months longer than intended without forming a single contract. He had been berating himself for it every day. Yet there he stayed. Idiot. And now he was ‘lovesick’ in every possible sense of the word. Fool!

There weren’t many he could rightfully call friends, but there were some who tolerated his presence more than others. One such beast was a fellow demon named Husk, one who also spent much of his time lingering on Earth and enjoying the darker sides of human society. Unsure of what to do or how to approach this issue, Alastor sought him out in one of the seedy speakeasies he was known to frequent.

Husk was the sort of demon who adopted an entirely human appearance when mingling with humans so as to not give away his nature, but he was still easy enough to pick out of a crowd. After all, he was the only one who could see Alastor even while his magic was concealing him from mortal eyes.

“Bullshit! No way is that the hand you got dealt,” Alastor heard as he entered the darkened, smoke-hazed room and headed for the poker tables, where he knew he was likely to find his ‘friend.’

“You callin’ me a liar?” That was Husker’s voice, easily recognizable by its rough and perpetually-irritated tone. When Alastor reached the tables, he found Husk on his feet, in a shouting match with another patron over their game.

“Making friends as always, I see,” he remarked mildly, and Husk glanced briefly in his direction without answering.

“You know what? Fuck it. This bet ain’t even worth arguing about.” Throwing his cards down on the table, he turned to walk away, giving Alastor a subtle nod that said he should follow. So he did, wandering over to the bar, where Husk ordered a rye whiskey.

“You could have finished your game,” Alastor said, leaning against the bar and scanning the room for anything of interest. Not likely, since he knew what to expect here. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Doesn’t matter. I was cheating anyway,” Husk said flatly. “What’re you doing here? Lookin’ for some poor sap to dupe into a deal?”

“As phonetically pleasing as that is, no. I was hoping to catch you for a chat, actually. I, er, have a problem I’m not quite sure how to solve.”

“What, you’re lookin’ for advice? From me?” After receiving his drink, he gave the bartender a nod and led the way to a table in one quiet corner of the room. “I ain’t promising I’m gonna be helpful, but go ahead and lay it on me.”

Sitting very still and very straight in his chair, hands folded on the table, Alastor explained his situation as dispassionately as possible while Husk sipped his liquor. The more he talked, the more he was forced to realize exactly how complex a position he was in and how few options he had left himself. Predictably, when he got to the part about the rose petals, Husk laughed at him.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? You got the fairy tale flower-puke disease?” he choked out, and Alastor remained silent, placid, ignoring his irritation. Yes, yes, it was all very funny until one was forced to deal with it personally. With no choice in the matter and no easy way out, it became significantly less amusing.

“I didn’t ask for it, mind you. None of this has been planned by any means.”

“But you let it happen.” Husk’s tone made it clear how strongly he disapproved, that he saw the predicament as Alastor’s own fault. And Alastor was forced to agree, to a point. “You’ve never even talked to the kid and you got it this bad? I woulda figured that wasn’t possible.”

Before I saw him, I would have too. Of course, he didn’t dare say that out loud for fear of his friend ruthlessly criticizing his—very uncharacteristic—romanticism. “However it happened,” he said instead, “I don’t have much choice but to address it at this point. The question is how to go about doing that.”

“What question? You got two options, right? Either you win him over or you eventually choke to death on your fucking feelings. Unless you just wanna give up and die—”

“You know, my friend, you have been every bit as helpful as I expected when I came here,” Alastor said pleasantly. “I truly appreciate your tact and understanding on this sensitive subject.”

Husk rolled his eyes and drained the last of his whiskey. “Look, if you wanted ‘tact and understanding,’ you came to the wrong guy. But I don’t think that is what you wanted. I think you wanted to be told exactly what you have to do, so you couldn’t keep beatin’ around the bush about it. Am I right?”

Unfortunately. The Radio Demon—funny to think how utterly inapplicable his power and reputation in Hell were to this situation—let out a defeated sigh and turned his eyes down toward the tabletop. Stained. Messy. Not his cup of tea. But his friend was right, and he’d gotten what he had come for: confirmation that there was only one thing he could do now.

He had no idea how to go about wooing anyone; he’d never had any need to in the past. How he might persuade Angel to love him and to admit it…he couldn’t begin to imagine. But at the thought of succeeding, of coming to occupy the most important and valued position in the boy’s life, his chest tightened again with desperate longing, and he quickly covered his mouth, trying to keep his cough as silent and subtle at possible. Since the first time, there had been an almost constant tension vaguely lingering around his respiratory system, but it only became unignorable at moments like this.

“Huh. Y’know, I almost figured you were bullshittin’ me,” Husk observed with vague interest as petals collected in Alastor’s palm. “Guess it’s for real. Good luck with that.”

Alastor’s fist clenched, delicate petals crushed, blood dripping down his wrist. Luck was the very least he needed.

#RadioDust #Giardino Segreto #damn I like that last paragraph #Hazbin Angel Dust #Hazbin Alastor #Angel Dust x Alastor #human!Angel Dust #trans man Angel Dust #I have Some Plans for this one kids........#stay tuned #Hanahaki Disease #mutual pining #mob boss Angel Dust #mafia AU #human AU

24 notes · View notes

everlarkficexchange · 4 years

Text

Operation: BREAD (Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad)

Written by: @alliswell21

Prompt 23: Rumor: MrEverdeen crossed fence dividing Town and Seam, kidnapped Mrs Everdeen making her his common law wife. Years later, Mellark sons plan to avenge their father by raiding Seam and kidnapping one of Everdeen’s daughters for one of them to take as a wife! Does Katniss “volunteer,” does she escape, how do the 3 brothers decide what to do with her since they didn’t plan it all out well? [submitted by @567inpanem]

Rated: T for now, for language.

Author’s Note: So, I resigned myself that this prompt won’t be completed by the new dateline of May 10th, because believe it not, quarantining with the husband and children at home makes for a very busy day… everyday. I haven’t been able to write anything for days at a time, and everytime I come back, I reread what I’ve written so far, and find faults that need fixing and what I hoped to be a short story is turning into a long one shot because I’m incapable of keep things simple… and now I’m ranting about everything instead of thanking everyone— from the EFE administrators, to @567inpanem for the prompt, and y’all dear readers— and wishing all moms a happy Mother’s Day, even if you celebrate it on a different date in your country… and I a belated happy birthday to Katniss Everdeen and Also a happy Mother’s Day to her, because she deserves it… anywho…

Here’s is the very first part of this story, that can’t make up its mind on what it wants to be (it’s leaning into romcom territory right now), I’ll post all my submissions soonish (hopefully finished), and I apologize for any formatting defects since I’m posting from my cell phone, otherwise I’ll forget to post it at all.

Sorry this is messy! I love y’all! Stay healthy.

————

“Quiet, you morons!” Bannock… whispers?

Is that the right descriptor for the harsh, low sounds that comes from his mouth? I’m not quite sure, but I look at him sheepishly, since I was the one to trip on air this time around and nearly knock down a clothesline, poles and all.

“S-sorry…�� I stutter drunkenly.

Rye shrugs, uncaring. Asshole!

Bannock glares at us with his bloodshot, angry blue eyes before turning around and creeping forward.

It’s a chilly night out, with no stars and just a sliver of moon casting minimal light over us, ideal to maraud and raid… if we lived any place else, that is.

If we were to find ourselves face to face with the flashlight of a Peacekeeper patrolling the streets, things could go anywhere from awkward to deadly, and I really hope we don’t have to find out how it’ll truly go. We’re wasted, outside our house after curfew, and facing our mother’s wrath would probably be as terrible as any punishment the peacekeepers would inflict on us.

The later option has me swallowing thickly.

I’m no coward by any stretch of the word… but I do enjoy being alive, so… yeah.

“Don’t mess around, no more!” Bannock chides.

As soon as Bann turns around, Rye mouths his words back, mockingly, and I wonder— not for the first time— how can my brothers be so immature? Bannock just turned 25, while Rye has the mind of a 13 year old trapped in the muscular body of a 24 year old man; leaving sweet, little me, the 21 year old baby sibling, to bring the rear.

Rye burps, mostly quietly, earning another warning glare from Bann. All things considered, I’m a little impressed at how stealthily we’ve been moving so far, being as enebriated as we are and all. But who knows? Maybe we really aren’t as slick as my alcohol soaked brain thinks we are, and I’m just too skunked to know any better.

“D’you think we’ll be back before father wakes to take care of the ovens?” Rye slurs a little, squinting his eyes at a cat trotting across the alley in front of him. A second later he’s frowning down at the cat, shushing it obnoxiously, as if it’s soft paws are the ones making the stopping sounds coming from his own boots.

Bannock shrugs, “Who cares!”

I’m about to raise my hand and respond that I do, I care, but Rye starts laughing like an idiot, already distracted by something else. We turn to catch him picking up a stick and throwing it at the poor, unsuspecting cat. As soon as the stick hits it’s side, the animal loses its balance, making it fall into a trash can, with a terrified cry.

It’s awful. And loud.

“Knock it off!” Bannock growls as quietly as he can. “You’re gonna wake up the whole town, asshole!”

The cat meows indignantly, climbing out of the trash. He jumps to the other side and it’s gone in the next moment.

I sigh, rubbing one hand over my face. “Guys, I think we should go back. I don’t think Father will approve of this.”

“Shut up, Peeta!”

“Yeah! Shut it, runt!”

I grunt in aggravation under my breath. “I’m serious. We shouldn’t be out here… at all!” I insist.

“Why did you come then?” Bann hisses.

“You dragged me out with you, jackass!” I counter, pointedly. Plus, I’m the least drunk out of the three of us, and I figured I should keep an eye on them two, make sure they don’t get hurt in this idiotic quest… but I don’t say that out aloud. “I still don’t understand why, are we stumbling across town in the middle of the night, risking getting caught outside after curfew.”

“You know why, Peeta! We’ve gone over it to death,” snaps Bann, twisting his whole body to face me and almost walking into a potted plant sitting by somebody’s back door. “Father doesn’t know how to take care of himself, let alone how to defend his honor!”

“Our hands have been forced, runt. We need to pick up the slack, that’s why!”

I roll my eyes at my brothers.

It’s true though. For the last 26 years, our father has been both the butt of every joke said in the streets of district 12, and the victim of a tragic cautionary tale, people somehow feel the sadistic inclination to bring up to us, Mellark boys, as if we needed the reminder.

“Geez… save it for Everdeen, Bann. Let the runt keep his head instead of chewing it off him!”

Bannock frowns. It’s not everyday Rye comes to my defense, which means he really must be hammered.

Cool! I love brotherly affection… even if given under the influence.

“Whatever.” Bannock mutters under his breath. “We’re here anyway.” He signals to the fence dividing our district into two unequal sections: the merchant quarter, where we live, and the Seam (our destination), the largest— yet poorest— side of 12.

It’s unclear why the government erected the fence running right through the district in the first place, but the effect of having a literal barrier separating everyone in our small district, couldn’t be any clearer: we have a huge social divide amongst our people, very distinct and hard to overcome. Both sides distrusting the other, despite there never being a tangible reason why.

Personally, I think the most logical explanation for the creation of the internal fence, was just sheer desire to create hostility and antagonism between the citizens of 12… maybe it’s easier for the Capitol’s long arm to control a podunk place like here, when there’s an unbridgeable social chasm between our own denizens; how can we band together to demand better treatment and fair representation from the mighty Capitol, when we’re fighting with each other?

Of course, I keep my opinion to myself, because speaking of such things is just a sure way to find oneself in prison, facing charges of public agitation and whatnot.

Bann cuts through my musings, “Alright… let’s find a spot to cross over.” He says determined and still very intoxicated.

The worst kept secret in District 12, is how some sections of the fence are too close to the houses in the merchant side. If one really wants to cross into the other side over the fence, one only needs to look for a low wall adjacent to the top links of the fence to climb on, and after that, it’s all a matter of gravity pulling you down. Its been done before too…

Everyone speculates that’s what happened the day our father fell into disgrace: A man from the Seam found a weak spot to exploit… and the rest is history. Never mind the fact that jumping the fence is a common enough hooligan deed; how else can teenage couples reach the Slag Heap at the edge of the old coal mines to engage in their secret affairs?

It only takes us a few minutes to find a brick wall circling the backyard of a random house, just two feet shy of the fence.

We climb it with all the grace of a pig crawling up a greased pole, but after much huffing and puffing, we manage— with great effort— to drag ourselves over the barrier. We’re sweating and swearing, but who could blame us for that? We Mellark boys are just too broad and heavy with muscle, add to the mix the fact that we’ve drank our body weight in white liquor right before Bann had the brilliant idea of dragging us out here, and you have an uncoordinated— mostly clumsy— sad excuse, trio of vandals.

Rye goes first, then I go; finally, Bannock splatters down like a bullfrog, falling on his ass. He’s disgruntled and I suspect in dire need of a nap.

“Come on!” He commands, dusting his behind sloppily.

We’ve been walking aimlessly through unfamiliar dirt roads and dark unpaved alleys. The place is littered with produce crates set upside down in neat circles every other road… I vaguely wonder if that’s what passes as a socializing hot spot here in the Seam, like the square with its concrete benches is for us in town?

Sometimes I forget how things can be so shitty on this side of the District. It makes my stomach twist unpleasantly with guilt, realizing I take certain privileges for granted.

About five minutes into our stupid intrusion into Seam territory, Rye speaks up.

“Dude… do you know where they live?”

Bannock’s head snaps up, clearly annoyed. “How hard can it be to find the Seam’s apothecary?”

Very, actually.

First of all, The Seam consists of row after row of seemingly identical shacks, in varying states of shabbiness, arranged in a huge matrix of sorts. Each row is made of three to five houses with a slim road in between the next set of homes.

For what I gather in my limited liquor-addled brain, each horizontal row has a designated letter, and the vertical street goes by number. Other than that, there are no other distinguishing signs, telling us where we are or how to find the ‘Seam apothecary’ as Bann inarticulately dubbed it.

Rye groans in annoyance, seeming ready to overrule Bannock and call the whole thing off, himself; but my drunk ass is too stupid to keep my big mouth shut.

“They live close to the electric fence. Right before the meadow. They probably have a fence-in yard, too.”

I wince, regretting my words right away. I shouldn’t have said anything, but like an idiot, I couldn’t help spilling out the small bursts of information I’ve gathered over the years on the Everdeens.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but the Everdeens are a bit of an obsession to me… for all of us Mellarks, really. Given our entangled past with them, it shouldn’t be so much of a revelation, but this thing between our families has been a nuisance ever since I can remember and while my brothers and mother use it as a focal point of hatred and animosity. For me, is a curiosity driven thirst for knowledge on everything Everdeen. Anything that could shed light on our sordid past, I would gobble up, trying to answer why something that has virtually nothing to do with me and my brothers, still haunt us everywhere we go.

Rye frowns. “Fence-in yard?” He looks around the houses we are passing, realizing none of those have fences.

“Goat.” Bannock grunts, nodding thoughtfully. “Good catch, runt.”

“Huh?” Rye is scratching his head, confused.

“The blonde girl,” Bann says with mild irritation.

People from the Seam have a very specific look to them: dark— usually straight— hair, gray eyes, olive skin… ‘blonde’, blue eyed and pale, is more of a descriptor for people from the merchant class, like us… like Mrs. Everdeen.

The poor woman must stick out like a sore thumb in here; probably the same goes to her merchant-looking daughter, Primrose.

“What about the blonde?”

“She makes goat cheese.” Bann huffs as explanation, but since Rye still looks like the concept is too hard to fathom, Bannock grunts, expanding. “She trades the cheese in town. Mainly with Father. Which means, Everdeen has to keep at least one goat for the girl to have access to milk.”

“M’kay… goat, fences, meadow.” Rye lists clumsily on his fingers, following after Bann. “Got it!”

We quickened our steps in the direction of the electric fence. I’m still kicking myself for saying anything when we reach the last row of houses before the meadow.

I really hope I’m wrong about them having a goat, although I find it hard to believe Primrose steals milk from other people for her cheeses. She looks so sweet and innocent.

Alas, I’m too clever for my own good sometimes.

The very first house in the row at the edge of the meadow, has a pen connected to the house on the strip of backyard allotted to them. A tiny but sturdy shed stands against the back wall of the house, and if my eyes don’t deceive me, I can barely make out the snout of a goat, peeking out of the narrow opening of the shed.

“This is it!” Rye crows excitedly, rubbing his hands together and licking his chops like a hungry, humanoid wolf.

“Yeah. Finally!” Grunts Bann, “keep your voice down, doofus.” his reaction, both frenzied and anxious.

“Let’s do this!” Rye’s smile is deranged.

“Great!” I hiccup with fake enthusiasm. “What are we doing?” I deadpan, staring at my siblings with all the aggravation I can muster.

My brothers speak excitedly at the same time:

“Taking one of the girls back home with us!”/“Beating the shit out of Everdeen!”

My brothers look at each other, perplexed, and go, “”What?!” At the same time.

“Fuck!” I groan to the skies, noting its near dawn. “You better be joking! We came all the way out here, and you idiots didn’t plan what you were going to do once we arrived?”

“No… I mean, yes! No. it’s simple,” Slurs Rye trying to stare me in the eye and failing miserably, “We’re dragging Everdeen out here. Then, we’ll beat the snot out of the bastard, and have you doodle the whole thing out for Father… you’ll finally use that art talent of yours for something we’ll all enjoy… not just you,”

“No, no, no, no!” Snaps Bannock. “We’re taking one of Everdeen’s daughters, bring her back home with us, and avenge father.”

“What? Why?” Rye whines much too loud and even I shush him. “I thought we were just gonna jump the bastard and rearrange his face a little,” Rye sounds disappointed.

Bannock answers right away, sounding like our mother when she’s chiding us for some thing or another. “Dude… the guy stole Dad’s girl! You know what they say about repaying a slight with the same coin and all that shit. It stands to reason, the course of action here is to take one of the girls home with us, sleep with her, and get her pregnant or something, then she can’t come back to her daddy.”

I throw my hands up in the air, “That’s it! I’m out!” My brain practically short circuits with the outrageous shit my brothers are spewing out of their mouths.

Sure, beating the lights out of an unsuspecting man in front of his house in the middle of the night is already crazy, but Bann’s idea to take a girl away from her home, it’s beyond preposterous!

Instead of lashing out, I turn around and stalk away as fast as my legs can carry me. I’m still tipsy, so I stumble a little, but I’m determined to leave.

“Hey! Where are ya going?!”

I get grabbed by the bíceps and pulled back to ‘hide’ behind a scraggly bush overlooking the house we assume is Everdeen’s. My brothers push me down by the shoulders roughly, until I’m sitting on my ass.

“The hell is wrong with you two?” I snarl, trying to punch and kick either one of them.

“Shut up, runt! They’re gonna hear you!”

“Good! Then someone will call the Peacekeepers over.”

“Wha— No! Why would you want that?” Rye whines.

“I didn’t sign up for any of this crazy shit!” I spit enraged.

“Dude, you can’t bail on operation BREAD,” Rye scrunches up his face.

“Operation Bread? What in the hell, is operation Bread?” I wrench my arms free from them at last, glowering up at both.

“Bring Revenge on Everdeen to Avenge Dad!” Rye says proudly, a lopsided smile brightens his face, and all I want to do is punch his nose.

“You’re insane!” I sputter.

“No… I’m cle-ver!” Rye grins, tapping a finger to his temple.

“Come on, Peeta. You know this needs to be done!” Bann cuts in.

“No! It doesn’t!” I argue. I still feel woozy from alcohol though, so it’s costing me too much effort trying to get up. “This is just insane, Bannock! What you’re proposing is just… heinous!” I hiss.

Bannock’s face hardens, “Nobody will see it like that.” He assures, “An eye for an eye, baby brother.”

“So what? We’re gonna kidnap and rape an innocent girl in revenge, and you think that’ll fix anything? Will it bring peace? It’ll help you get Madelynn’s parents to back off and let her marry you?” I’m so pissed off, I’m pretty sure spittle is flying out of my mouth. “It won’t do anyone any good! Not us, nor father, and especially not Katniss or Primrose!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Bannock flies at me, and all I have to do is lift my arms to shield my head.

Rye is an equal opportunity asshole most of the time, but in this moment, he’s the one stopping Bannock from breaking my face in two, and I’m very grateful for my middle brother manhandling our eldest for me.

“Rape is a strong word, runt.” Rye gasps with the effort of keeping Bannock from kicking my ass. But if the wrinkling of his nose is any indication, I think maybe my words are chipping away some of his complicitness in this mess. “Maybe, what Bann meant, was, one of us will… you know… spend time with the girl, and then… make her his common law wife or something?” Rye looks at Bann expectantly.

Bannock nods. Rye lets go of him.

We all stay silent, breathing heavily for a moment.

“Same coin. Simple as that.”

If the stories are to be believed, Sorrel Everdeen crossed the fence dividing the merchant quarter and the seam, kidnapped my father’s betrothed— Lily— and made her his common law wife, despite being common knowledge, that the woman in question was engaged to our father since they were very young.

It’s an old rumor, really, with no real way to fact-check the events that led to this moment in time, but there’s always been some nasty whispering churning around town; tales varying in height and perjury, sometimes scandalous, others depraved, always with add-ons and full of conjectures flavored by the speaker in turn, but never the whole truth.

The worst thing is that the stories die down for a while when something juicer comes up, but then resurface, like a persistent oily stain on cement… It’s been 26 years since the real events leading to the Everdeens controversial marriage took place, yet the old gossip mill in District 12 has waxed over and rewritten the sordid story through the lense of judgemental people over and over again, until even our mother has started to repeat the outlandish tales, as if she wasn’t an active participant of the story herself.

Still… “I just can’t!” I say both exasperated and grossed out. “We should just go home—“

I get cut off when the door of the Everdeen house opens spilling faint candlelight into the almost blackened-out street.

My brothers rush to huddle around me, crowding on top of me like a pair of boulders… or worse: a pair of sweaty, heavy, alcohol doused men. Disgusting!

The door of the shack closes softly and to our shock, a very angry looking Katniss Everdeen stomps in the direction of the sad excuse for a bush we’re hiding in.

“Hmm… guys… I think she sees us.” I mumble calmly, yet terrified. Katniss Everdeen, eldest daughter of Sorrel and Lily, is coming our way with fire in her eyes.

TBC on AO3…

#Springtime Edition 2020 #alliswell21 #567inpanem #prompt 23 #submission

103 notes · View notes