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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years ago

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for anyone curious, my newest book is about the Salem Witch Trials! it’s at the point of view of Mary Warren and how she went through trials, ultimately ending in her downward spiral into madness as the trials deteriorate her mental health. it’s called Servant of Evil.

here’s the first segment of the first chapter!

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She was gathering crops the first day she caught wind of the hysteria.

It was late January and sunny, the last warm day in what would soon feel like forever. The sickle in her hand was wickedly sharp and gleaming in pale yellow light, and the stalks of the corn she was cutting away were rough and sharp beneath calloused fingers. Already, the skin on her hands was shredded, oozing ruby droplets of blood and staining bright green stems. Her legs ached from crouching in the dirt, muscles locked up and tense. Somewhere beyond the pillars of corn stretched out before her, she could hear her master’s children talking in high-pitched voices, dogs barking, and horses neighing. Even closer than that, however, she could hear heavy footsteps tramping through the field, and she knew the owner of this land would not enjoy such galumphing through his crops. But she also knew that the one who appeared through the stalks wouldn’t care much for the fiery point of John Proctor’s scorn.

“Something weirdish is going on in Salem.”

Without looking up, Mary Warren answered the unexpected visitor, “Something is always going on in Salem.”

That much was true, at least right now. Salem was a town of rich trade and sea salt, characterized by a sparkling harbor that was bested only by Boston’s and a habit of fighting with itself. For years, Salem had been split between two forces: the nobles up in Salem Town and the farmers down in Salem Village. The two territories were never not fighting with each other; they were always mad about something the other did, and it was easy to lose track of who hated who and for what reason. Salem Village didn’t like the control Salem Town held over it, while Salem Town was annoyed by Salem Village thinking it was its own settlement, but they all detested the British church, which was mutual. Salem Town often pulled men from Salem Village to be a part of the national guard, which made Salem Village nervous because then they would have nobody to protect them, and Indian attacks were a regular fear throughout the civilization. Aside from its harbor, the other thing Salem had to owe to its popularity was its unfortunate position in front of frequent ambushes. And if it didn’t suffer ambushes first-hand, then it suffered ambushes through the survivors of such raids, many of which populated the city and would soon help with the grisly events that turned the community over on its head.

But the only other thing Salem Village and Salem Town could agree on was that the Indians were an issue. Unfortunately, that was where agreements ended and arguments began- Salem Town wanted more men to train, promising protection; Salem Village refusing, saying they knew how Salem Town lied, and if they didn’t, then they only saved them because of their bountiful trade and not because they were their people. It wouldn’t be long until the yelling broke out, testaments from the Bible were quoted, and grown men argued like two children fighting over who was their parents’ favorite kid.

However, Salem as a whole had fallen silent recently. Things were peaceful. It was as though a grace period were opening up before them all--or, perhaps, it was actually ending.

Except for right now, in the Proctor corn field, of course. Because her visitor would only bring silence if she were dead, and she had proved to be too slippery for death’s fingers three times over after surviving several Indian attacks throughout her young life.

“This is different.”

Wiping a sagging green sleeve over her damp brow, Mary looked up and squinted through sweat and sun to look at none other than the Putnam’s maid, Mercy Lewis.

Mercy was a fine example of everything the Puritans didn’t want. Despite her name’s sake, she was stubborn, brash, and spitfire, though she was smart enough to never act in such a way in front of the church. And she was, indeed, smart. She was more clever than a fox, easily outwitting several situations despite the minimal education women had in their lifetime. The only thing she was merciful to was her younger cousin, Ann Putnam Jr. Her parents were better off naming her Big, Loud, and Vulgar.

Mercy was nineteen-years-old, two years older than Mary, and built like a small bear. She was short, compact, and sinewy, her muscles and joints well-honed from rough maid work. Her temper was black and her teeth were sharp. Her curly dark brown hair was tucked up in her blindingly white bonnet, and she was dressed in a nondescript dress of purple. Storm cloud grey eyes bore down on Mary with bright amusement.

The two of them met three years ago in Elizabeth Proctor’s tavern. Mary had been struggling to wipe away a sticky stain on one of the tables; Mercy was looking for fresh meat. They both were in the right place at the right time.

Mary hadn’t heard her come in. It was as though the shadows of the tavern itself had unfolded the sixteen-year-old before her because she was suddenly there, towering over the front of the table, and Mary ended up spilling the bowl of soapy water she was using all over herself upon noticing her.

“My, are you jumpy,” the strange girl had observed, peering over the edge of the table. She didn’t offer Mary her help or even an apology. Mary didn’t ask for one. “Were your parents murdered by savages, too?”

“What?”

“Ooo, no, then. Got it.”

Mary blinked up at her for a moment, then carefully got up out of the sudsy puddle and retrieved a dry rag to clean up the newest mess. The entire time, the strange girl watched her as she dripped droplets and beads of white soap from the bottom of her old lavender dress.

“Can I help you?” Mary asked as she got back down on her hands and knees to clean the floor.

“Oh, no,” the strange girl answered. “I just came to say hello. Introduce myself. You work for the Proctor’s, yeah?”

“Yes,” Mary nodded.

“Interesting, interesting. I work for the Putnam’s. Thomas is my cousin, actually.”

Mary nodded again. She looked back down at the puddle, trying to focus on that. The girl didn’t move.

“Mercy.”

Mary looked back up again. She blinked. The strange girl blinked back. Was this a game?

“Pity.”

The girl stared at her for a moment, then burst into loud laughter that seemed to shake the walls. Mary was startled; she had never heard anyone laugh so hard in her entire life. Especially in a town as strict as Sakem.

“No, that’s my name,” the girl said after calming down. “My name is Mercy. Mercy Lewis.”

“Oh,” Mary’s ears heated up. “Right. Your parents were feeling pretty creative, weren’t they?”

Another bout of laughter. “Yes. Yes, they were.” She squinted at her. “And you are?”

“Mary. Mary Warren.”

“Well, Mary ‘Pity’ Warren, I think we are going to be very good friends.”

And she was right.

Mercy, as menacing as she could be, made life in Salem a lot more bearable, especially when Proctor’s whip frequently began lapping at Mary’s bare back. Together, they formed a cohort of sorts, sneaking away into the woods with other village girls, hiding away from the Lord’s watchful eyes to discuss the most sinful of things.

And today, Mercy wanted to carry on with their long-running traditions.

“Different in what way?” Mary asked.

Mercy rolled her eyes. She kicked a cloud of dust at Mary, and Mary sputtered, nearly falling backwards into the corn.

“Different-different,” Mercy answered. “Something is wrong with Abigail. Betty, too, I hear. We’re gonna go up to the Reverend’s house and see them. They’re ill, you know?”

“No,” Mary shook her head. “Mister Proctor didn’t tell me anything. They’re sick?”

“Yeah. Real sick. Ain’t wakin’ up. The Reverend has been throwin’ a huge fit over them.” Mercy explained, “I’m surprised you never heard him howlin’!” Then, doing a horrible imitation of Reverend Samuel Parris’s voice, she wailed, “Oh Betty, Betty! Wake, my sweet daughter! Wake! Why won’t you wake?!”

She clung to Mary’s arm dramatically. “God! God! Why have you forsaken me?! What have you struck my little girls with?!”

Mary couldn’t help but giggle softly. Still, her mind was made up on the whole ordeal.

“Tell them my pardons and prayers,” she said, grabbing the fallen sickle. “My master said I gotta tend to the crops. Then I can go to town. But I am not spendin’ my free time meddlin’ in someone else’s affairs.”

Mercy groaned loudly and snatched the sickle away from Mary, making her yelp.

“Live a little, will ya? Let’s go see poor Abby and Betty!” Mercy urged. “To Hell with your master right now. You can’t let him lead you around by a leash all the time. Deal with the consequences later. Let’s go!”

Mary stared into the older girl’s eyes and then sighed, giving in. She stood up- Mercy was taller than her, as she always had been. “Lead on, Mercy.”

Mercy brightened.

Together, the two of them snuck out of the Proctor property, careful as to not get caught by one of the many children roaming the plantation.

Technically, the Proctor’s had eighteen children, though four were dead and eleven were brought forth by two different women, both of which had also passed over the seasons. The only living child of John Proctor’s first wife, Martha Giddens, was Benjamin, a tall, lanky man who could never seem to grow a beard, yet had hair down to his shoulders. He was thirty-three and didn’t talk to Mary very often, but when he did, he greatly critiqued her work in the field. That farm was his pride and joy, and it was a challenge to not roll her eyes when he would go on about the importance of their crops and proper plant care.

Elizabeth II was the second oldest at twenty-nine, and helped Elizabeth Proctor run the tavern with her other siblings: Martha IV, twenty-six (the first two Martha’s had died when they were both infants, along with the woman they were named after); Mary II, twenty-five; John II, twenty-four; Mary III, twenty-three; and Thorndike, twenty. Why Proctor decided to have TWO daughters named Mary was beyond Mary herself, but it wasn’t uncommon for things to become confusing when their name was shouted for whatever reason.

Elizabeth Proctor’s children stayed on the farm, helping clean and take care of the livestock: William, eighteen; Sarah fifteen; Samuel, seven; Elisha, five; Abigail, three; and Joseph, one. Mercy often made jokes that Elizabeth had obviously been the one to name the kids, as they were actually creative and not repeating several times over.

But with so many watchmen on the property, Mary was surprised about how easy it was to slip away unseen.

The road was loose and crunched loudly beneath their footfalls. Mercy kept kicking a rock, and Mary watched it bounce across the ground.

“So, what’s wrong with Betty and Abby?” Mary asked.

Mercy smirked widely.

“There be witches about, Mary.”

#servant of evil #lizzie’s dumb book #my writing #original story #salem witch trials #mary warren #mercy lewis

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jack-o-cel · 4 years ago

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I would like to officially introduce one of my OC's that live rent-free in my brain. He's a Resident Evil 8 OC. Even tho he's a fandom OC, he means a lot to me and has grown on me a lot. He's special to me :]

Also please spare me, Resi 8 is my first game in the Resident Evil series.

Forester Vein

Nickname: Ester

Biological Age: 138

Age Appearance: Early 20s

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Gay Demisexual

Place of birth: Norway

Occupation: Miranda's right-hand man. He essentially does her bidding and only takes orders from her. He also has power over the lords but is usually tasked with helping them. Besides that, he's a Botanist.

Family: Both his parents are dead. All he has is his little brother Foxglove, who looks around 7 years old.

Appearance: Forester is about 5'9". He's a twig. He's pretty pale with long white hair (It was originally brown before being implanted with his Cadou). He has light blue faded sharp eyes. He has sharp teeth (an effect of his Cadou). He also wears glasses.

When carrying out his duties for Miranda he wears a white tailcoat with gold accents, a black and white striped vest, a black dress shirt, a white and gold cross tie, black slacks, and black dress shoes with gold accents.

On his own time, he wears a white t-shirt, a beige knitted jacket, black sweatpants, and socks with sandals.

Personality: On duty, he's in what I affectionately call, customer service mode. He's very formal and helpful. He'll hold his tongue. He's Miranda's most loyal servant and does his very best to meet her expectations. On his own time, however, he more casual and sassy. He speaks his mind. Oh, and he hates Miranda with every fiber of his being (which is a lot :3).

In general, he's manipulative, obsessive, and smug. But also caring to those he loves. Would go above and beyond for them. He's a pretty serious and quiet person. Only when he's alone or with his little brother does his playful and goofy side come out. Despite his usual serious attitude, he's very expressive. His most common expression is a mocking smile.

He's very clumsy, especially when thinking about his obsession, whoever that may be. He's borderline yandere (His yandere behavior is a combination of Yuno from Future Diary, and Tsukiyama from Tokyo Ghoul).

Powers/Abilities: Enhanced strength, and regeneration.

Forester can control large thick vines (which look like large tendrils) and all plant life. He can release special pollen that allows him to control plant life (similar to Donna). The vines are different tho. He can control them without his pollen. To understand why first you have to understand how Ester's body works.

His body underneath his skin is made of vines. He also can easily regrow his limbs and regenerate his skin and hair. His vines are an extension of himself. Although his body is his main body, it isn't his core. His core is located underground surrounded by vines and impossible to get to. Vines from the core spread across the village underground. Forester can only go a few miles away from the edge of the underground vines.

The only time his core would be possible to access is when Forester transforms. His transformed state is a 50-foot tall behemoth made of vines. In this state, he's stuck where he transformed. The core is moved to just below the neck area of the vine monster. Fighting Forester is suicide in most cases. He attacks with huge vine tendrils from his arms and the base of the beast. He doesn't tire and his vines regenerate.

There are only two ways to beat him. The first way would involve killing him. You would need large amounts of fire-spreading explosives to slow him down. It makes getting to his core easier, you'll still be getting attacked tho. You'll need to be able to fly (or just about anything that's not climbing) to his core, climbing would take too long. You'll need to plant explosives where the core is sealed away. Once opened, jump in as fast as you can, the vines will close shut rather quickly.

The core is a large amber sphere. it's soft and gooey when touched gently, but if you were to attack it, it would harden. Inside the core is the shape of a man in the form of vines. That's where Forester's brain and Cadou is. Destroying that kills him.

The second method requires cooperation with Forester's brother, Foxglove. This method is to non-lethally beat him. In this method you cant use explosives, Fox won't agree to help you otherwise. You'll need a team to pull this off. You need someone, or a group, to distract the majority of the vines. You'll need a way to get to the core and something strong enough to pry open the vines long enough for Foxglove to enter where he'll take care of the rest. This method saves Forester, but kills Foxglove.

His Area: Just like the four lords he has his own area. You'll need the six-winged unborn vine key to unlock the gate that leads to his garden lab. The lab is outside with a greenhouse nearby. It's a small area. Most, if not all, would miss the entrance to his underground lair.

The underground area is seven floors down with an arena to the right of all the floors. You can peek inside the arena through 5 of the sub levels. sublevel 1 is above the arena, while level 7 is where the entrance to the arena is. The arena's ceiling is about 60 feet tall. It's used for testing Miranda's experiments abilities among other things. Forester uses it to test and train his own abilities (which is why the ceiling is so high :3).

From the main entrance to the bottom level is a spiral staircase. Each sublevel has a floor gate on the steps with a unique lock. To continue you have to find the key somewhere in the sublevel. Each level has its own tactics and enemies. They're all based on the five senses. Also, before entering you will be disarmed, one way or another.

Sublevel 1 - normal. There's an elevator on this floor locked behind a door that requires the vine key, that only Forester, and his little brother (who i'll talk about later in the post) have. The elevator goes to each level by going through hallways behind the arena walls.

Sublevel 2 - enemies that rely on sight. It'll be essentially hide and sneak kinda gameplay. If you get spotted you have to run out of sight and into a hiding place. You cant be seen going into a hiding spot.

Sublevel 3 - enemies that rely on hearing. You have to explore as quietly as possible. If a chase scene happens you have to hide in a special safe room.

Sublevel 4 - enemies that rely on smell. You'll have to regularly step into ponds that have a special substance inside that masks your scent into smelling like the enemy. But you can't get too close to the enemies there. They'll be able to identify you if you're too close. There are special rooms filled with an overwhelming amount of scents that the enemies wont enter.

Sublevel 5 - the enemies there rely on touch. They have long arms and hands that sweep across the floors. All you gotta do is avoid them. Harder said than done tho. The enemies can sense vibrations =). Dont move too erratically. Simple fast movements are best. Since they're rather big, they cant fit inside some rooms.

Sublevel 6 - The enemies here rely on taste. The key in this level is at the end of a large room that's packed with enemies with long tongues. They interact with their tongues. If they taste a human they'll attack. You have to explore the rest of the level for a vine suit to disguise as one of them. A few enemies roam outside the crowded room tho. They whip their tongues around them. It's a pretty wide radius, but it's not fast. To get past them you gave to see the whip pattern. There are no safe rooms or hide spots, besides the merchant room, in this level.

Sublevel 7 - All the above (with Forester roaming around as a treat =3)~

Arena - Boss Battle =))))))

Story: Forester was born in one of the poorest areas in Norway. His parents barely had enough to feed him, and themselves. When Ester was 10 he found a job at a garden owned by an old wealthy woman. To get the job he had to pretend to be rich. He did a lot of stalking to learn the behavior of rich kids his age; he got very good and stalking and slipping on a mask. He also stole clothes and food to look the part. The old lady was none the wiser. For 6 years she believed in his carefully constructed lie.

The old lady happened to have no living relatives, with no one else to give her wealth and belongings to, she gave it all to Forester when she died; He was 16. With his newly acquired wealth, he gave his family a comfortable home, with everything they could need and want.

Forester had always wanted to attend school, but could never afford or have time for it. Now that he could, he immediately enrolled. It was incredibly difficult. He was somewhat educated, he'd stolen books in the past and taught himself, but he was still incredibly behind. Regardless he tried his best and spent countless nights up studying. Eventually, he was able to do more than catch up, but surpass many of his peers.

After graduation, he went to college out of his country where he majored in botany and aimed for a PhD. He met Miranda in college. They had a few similar classes and got along well. Eventually, they became close friends.

After graduating from college they both went out to do their own thing, but kept in touch and traveled often together. Eventually, Forester decided to work as her assistant and learn from her.

In his early 30s, he took in his little brother, Foxglove, after their parents died. Foxglove was around a year or two years old at the time. While raising his brother, Forester felt a void in him filled. He had someone to love and take care of. Someone he could trust and love unconditionally. Both Foxglove and Eva got along well and played often together.

When Eva died, Forester was there to support his closest most trusted friend. When Miranda found the megamycete she went to her friend and explained what happened and her new plan. Forester, although wary, supported her in any way he could. He refused to go near the megamycete tho.

When he got close to it, Miranda pushed him into it. The megamycete grabbed Forester with tendrils and seemed to absorb him into it.

A few months after Eva died. Foxglove wandered into the forest nearby and found beautiful flowers. Ones that shared his name. Curious the boy ate a few of the flowers. Not too long afterward he came to his brother as fast as he could. He felt sick. Very sick. Fox explained what happened to Forester. Panicked he quickly tried his best to make a remedy, a cure, anything with what he had. But with no time or sufficient supplies on hand, Foxglove died in his arms.

It broke Forester. The void from before returned, larger than before. He desperately turned to Miranda for help. Miranda smiled, with something malicious behind her smile, and told him to go to the megamycete.

Inside the megamycete was an indescribable experience. While inside Ester could feel his body painfully changing. It also awoke something hiding deep in his mind. Something he was forced to forget. Miranda had been brainwashing him for years as an experiment in creating a truly loyal servant. He could feel his anger overwhelm him. He thought they were friends. He thought he could trust her. She knows things about him that he never said out loud before. He was hurt, betrayed, and pissed. Forester was determined to confront her, make her pay.

With his mind quieter, Forester remembered his brother. He found Miranda and approached her carefully and asked where his brother is. Miranda took him to an unmarked grave in the forest. He broke down. Miranda interrupted him, and asked him what he was going to do. Was he going to continue to wallow in despair or try to bring Foxglove back?

He clawed his way out of the megamycete. He felt heavy, but he continued. Eventually, he broke through after weeks of being trapped. With him a giant sphere like object covered in vines emerged. Upon inspecting it, he quickly realized what it was. He could believe what he saw. He had to hide it, and fast. He had looked down and had an idea.

He felt a newfound power within him, and with it, he sent his core deep underground where its vines would grow and spread. With his core safe he confronted Miranda. She initially tried to kill him, but found the effort futile. Instead, she spoke a series of words. Forester blacked out.

When he awoke he was sitting in a chair in Miranda's lab. Miranda was nowhere in sight. Desperate to find answers he returned to the megamycete. Touching it revealed the truth. When he blacked out, he was still awake, but he wasn't himself. He saw as he answered every question Miranda asked and did exactly as he was told. He calmed his growing anger and thought carefully. He needed a plan to bypass her brainwash effect.

Soon he began working on his lab and lair. He worked tirelessly on ways to bring back his brother. After years of research and testing, he was able to make an exact copy made of foxglove flowers. Forester not caring that what he created was a copy, embraced the boy and accepted him. Ester explained to the new Foxglove who he was.

Forester was content. He had his brother back. Still, the void remained. Regardless he could now focus on getting rid of Miranda. By then he had learned how to pass messages and take notes unconsciously. He informed his brother about his situation.

As the years passed, Foxglove stayed physically the same, but his mind grew.

Eventually, during the time that Heisenberg began preparing his army, Forester had Fox give him a letter explaining everything he knew. In secret, the two conspired against Miranda.

Currently: So Forester was created for an rp with one of my closest friends (@plague-doctorz). So what happened with Forester is that a war had started with three forces. Heisenberg's army, William's (Plagues' OC) army, Miranda's one-man brainwashed army, Forester. Will provoked Forester into transforming, according to Foxglove's plan. After dealing with many attack from Forester, the pair, with Lady Dimitrescu's help, formed a plan.

William acted as the distraction. With most of the vines focused on him, Alcina, transformed, swooped in through the middle, while dealing with stray vines, and brought Fox to where the core is. She pryed open the vines. Foxglove stepped inside and forced Alcina to let go. The vines shut closed. Inside Fox opened up the amber easily. Even in a brainwashed state, Forester trusted his brother no matter what.

Foxglove began flaking into leaves and flowers and flew into the crevices of the vines that made up Forester. He was able to snap Ester back to his senses at the cost of his life.

Forester had lost consciousness, and when he awoke, Miranda was already dead. He felt even emptier than before. The hole in his heart got wider when he found out what happened.

Right now, a few months later, Forester is at a state where he's on the brink of snapping. What he needs is closure, and something to fill the void in his heart. But can he have both? Will he even get either?

So this is Forester! Please send me any questions and stuff if youre interested. I love to talk about him! Seriously, he lives rent free in my head.

Oh also, here's a picrew of him while I'm still working on his sketches~

His hair down too, cause im a simp,,,

Also here's Foxglove!

Also here's the link to a playlist on spotify based on Forester: here

one last thing

👉👈 @roxyourworld look what i did~

#finally finished writing #this is seven pages in docs #I wrote more than i thought i would #i just have so much thoughts on Ester and Fox #OCs #Forester #Foxglove #Resident Evil 8 #Resident Evil #Resident Evil OC #Resident Evil 8 OC #the garden lab #original character #oc

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yastaghr · 5 years ago

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Nightmare’s Gang of Wranglers 1: Setup

Brand new story here! I’m not too sure of the summary yet, so that might change. Here it is!

Summary: The Star Sanses and the Bad Sanses become closer. Set in a Wranglers (Cowboy) AU. Please help me summary.

Relationships: KillerCreamMare, Dustberry, Horrorcest, Errorink

Characters: Killer Sans, Cross Sans, Dream Sans, Nightmare Sans, Dust Sans, Underswap Sans, Horror Sans, Horror Papyrus, Farmer Sans, Error Sans, Ink Sans

Warnings by Chapter: None

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341953/chapters/58695778

Not many outfitters can be described as ruthless, but that was the perfect word for Nightmare’s boys. His gang of wranglers had driven other companies out of business and seen farms go under in a blaze of light. They owned this mountain range. In most cases, quite literally. More than 100,000 acres in this range belonged to one or another of the gang. The rest was national park or national forest land, and therefore free range, at least with the proper permits. They had them. Whether or not they had earned them was up for debate.

With such a huge land tract available you would think there would be dozens or even hundreds of groups that roamed them. Nightmare’s gang was the only one. Occasionally a private group would venture into their territory. Never more than once. They simply didn’t allow that. Since there was only one you might reasonably assume there were a gaggle of horses. That would be wrong. This group ran less than 20 in a single train, and that included the pack mules. There were a further dozen on reserve, resting and growing strong on a rich, vast pasture. The skeleton simply known as Farmer made sure of it.

Today they were loading up the trailers for another pack trip. This one would be gone for two weeks. The gang rarely took trips this long, but the client had money and right now they were a bit… cash strapped. Nightmare had promised the Horror brothers that they would never go hungry again, and he kept his word.

That meant sometimes taking on clients that weren’t his usual handpicked bunch. Nightmare could be one of the most selective outfitters in the region. He couldn’t stand dealing with city folks who had never seen, let alone been on, a horse. No, his requirements were stringent. Unfortunately even that had earned him enough of a reputation to attract his worst fear. This client couldn’t have come at a worse time. Nightmare needed the cash to feed his boys. He couldn’t afford to be selective right now. But why did it have to be him?

Nightmare surveyed the parking lot. It was 5 am and his boys were loading up the trailers for the long haul to the trailhead. Old Classic, the trailer Nightmare had been running for ages, was being loaded up with the first five horses. Nightmare had already personally loaded up his bay pony, Razz. The gelding wasn’t his first choice, but Grape and Wine had finally grown too old for these trips. They were enjoying a well-earned retirement on the ranch, so Razz it was, despite his tendency to rush headlong into areas of uneven footing. He always seemed to come out alright, but Nightmare was an old horseman. He knew that every horse was an accident waiting to happen. He just hoped it wouldn’t be this time.

Killer’s little hellbeast was already loaded up, too. Nightmare couldn’t see what his right hand skeleton saw in the 1/2 thoroughbred bay gelding. Slim was an absolute nightmare to ride, heh heh. He required constant attention or else he would try to run a race. Nevermind that he wasn’t on the racetrack anymore. He always wanted to race. But Killer managed him effortlessly, so all Nightmare could do about him was complain.

Cross was just tying off the next two geldings. Honey, a dun gelding, was his personal horse. He was the tallest horse in the bunch at 17.3 hands. Conversely, Berry, an appaloosa, was the shortest pony at 12.3 hands. He was a guest pony, the one they usually saddled child or elderly monsters on. He was steady as a rock.

The final horse waiting to load up on Old Classic was Ghost, Dust’s grey mare. She was a sweetheart who Nightmare really should have retired already. But he’d yet to find another horse that could put up with Dust’s constant talking to his… brother… so for now Ghost had to stay.

Error, Nightmare’s newest hire, was loading up the last three true horses onto Big Red. His own black mare, Shadow, was nearly matched in colour by Classy, the second guest horse. Shadow spooked at everything. Gates, leaves, other horses, her own footsteps; everything, that is, except Error’s constant glitches, which was why she was still around. Classy was a real lady, dainty in her footing and wily as a fox. She’d sneak treats off of any bleeding heart she could. Nightmare liked to use her as a test. If the guest could manage her then they could come back. Rustle was the final horse on the trip, a pretty paint horse that was easy going and gentle as could be.

Blood and Sugar, the Horror brothers, were loading up their two mules. Pumpkin was a chestnut mare, bulky and imposing until you got to know her. Yes she could weather a hurricane and come out the other side fine, but she loved to snuggle and be groomed. Shanks, on the other hand, was a blood bay gelding that only a monster like Sugar could love. He bit, he kicked, and he was an absolute bear to the other horses. Except for Pumpkin, that is. Those two were just as much in love as their owners, Nightmare was sure. It was a little sickening how sweet that set could be, but that wasn’t exactly a problem, now, was it?

The final trailer held the pack mules and all their gear. Crown and Regal were a matched set of palominos who Nightmare had… inherited… from another outfitter. He didn’t know the stories behind their names. They certainly didn’t seem to fit the playful attitude of those two mules.

Much like Boss, when Nightmare wanted everyone’s attention, he had it. His boys paused in what they were doing and looked at him. He sighed and pulled out his lucky bandanna, a teal paisley print that he’d found after the apple incident, and wiped his neck with it.

“Well, boys, here we are again. You know the mission as well as I do. Keep the whole pack trip from going to shit. Whether or not the client enjoys it is the name of the game. We’ve done this a million times, but this time’s gonna be different. This isn’t a set of our usual clients. These are city slickers. I know you hate it as much as I do, but we didn’t really have a choice. I’m not about to let my boys go hungry. So I had to take them on,” Nightmare huffed, “Now for the part you didn’t already know. There’s just three of them coming with us. I don’t know about two of them, and the third… heh. You’ve heard about the third from me enough times. It’s my twin, Dream.”

That little bombshell had about the reaction he was expecting. Cross looked grim, like he had found out about his brother’s death all over again. Killer’s smile grew and his hand reached for his knife. Dust snarled, his eyes flicking to where he thought his “brother” probably was. Blood and Sugar stepped closer together, and Blood reached for his pack (which Nightmare knew held his butcher knife). Error just seemed confused. He hadn’t had the pleasure of hearing about Nightmare’s past yet.

“wasn’t there anyone else you could have gotten? even reaper’s family would have been better than this, and he makes us bring so much coffee!” Blood complained.

Nightmare shut him up with a look. “Do you really think I would have made this choice if there were any other options? It was this or sell off land, and that would have taken way too long. It had to be this,” He looked around at everyone, meeting their eye sockets with his singular one. “Now, I’m going to ask you to do your best job to not scare him. We need to put up with his group for two weeks. It’d be better for us if he didn’t want to turn back around halfway through. Besides, then he’d want a refund, and I already spent the money, so you’d better earn it. Is that understood?”

Everyone saluted with varying styles and degrees of formality. Nightmare grins. He loves it when they do that. It makes him feel like a prince rather than just a wrangler.

“Okay then. Carry on.”

And just like that, everyone went back to working like the smooth operation they were.

Dream’s hands gripped the steering wheel of his trusty old Jeep so tight that, if he’d been a human, his knuckles would have been white. As it was, the joints protested. They were used to typing away at a computer all day, not commanding a car through miles and miles of unpaved roads. They really wanted to just go home, but Dream wasn’t about to do that. No, he had committed to this and he was going to see it through. Besides, his friends were so looking forward to this trip. It would hurt to disappoint them.

Speaking of his friends, Dream quickly checked up on them. Ink was sitting in the passenger seat, chattering away about something or other. The artist was such a chatterbox. It was ridiculous. Frequently Dream found himself wanting to gag Ink with his own scarf. He never did, though. Maybe it was because Ink was his oldest friend, the first person who had taken a chance on him when he moved to the city. Maybe it was the fear that even that wouldn’t shut Ink up. Instead, Dream periodically had to just… take a break from his talkative friend. Ink was very forgiving. Or, more accurately, he was very forgetful. Dream was pretty sure that was why they were still friends. Dream was willing to put up with all his faults.

He had his good points, too. Ink was the definition of creative. He was always seeing the world in a unique light, and hanging around him made Dream constantly have to stretch and grow his mind and comfort zone. You never knew what Ink would come up with next, and it was always fun to follow him into trouble. Also, Ink always knew all the gossip, and didn’t mind sharing it with Dream at length.

His other best friend, Blue, was sitting in the back seat next to all their gear. Blue was small, maybe 4’ tall at the most. He was always full of energy, although sometimes it could only be described as nervous energy. His cheerful attitude permeated everything around him and reminded Dream of his own little goal: to spread positive energy wherever he went. With Blue around to help, that was easy. Dream just wished he could bring his friend more happiness of his own. Given the state of Blue’s home life, it was no surprise that he was always wanting to hang out with the two other “Star Sanses”. Dream tried to think of every excuse he could to take him out and about with them.

Dream wasn’t quite sure what had prompted him to schedule this little trip. Yes, Blue was getting close to his breaking point. Yes, Ink was getting restless in between commissions. And, yes, Dream was yearning to see something other than the city for once. But all those things happened on a regular basis, and this was not how he usually dealt with them.

Maybe it was those dreams (heh) he’d been having. Every night for weeks now Dream had dreamt of being on a horse, riding through the woods like he had when he was a child. His friends had been around him, and Dream was filled with this sense of peace and rightness. He couldn’t help but want to fulfill it.

And then Reaper had mentioned to Dream about the wrangler group he and his family went out with. Every word had had Dream more and more intrigued. He honestly couldn’t think of a single thing they were doing that he wouldn’t have done… at least when it came to their horses. He had no idea that the world of wrangling was so cutthroat. And then Reaper had dropped the bombshell like it was nothing. Nightmare was… okay? He had friends? More than that, he had horses and his own business? That was an absolute shock, so much so that Reaper had needed to splash Dream with a cup of cold water in order to break him out of it. Maybe he took a little too much pride in doing so, but Dream could hardly blame him. Every little bit of happiness he could spread made Dream feel that much better. Even if it was at his own expense.

Now Dream was driving through the countryside on his way to find out if what Reaper had said was true. Maybe it was a different skeleton named Nightmare and covered in living goop? That seemed unlikely, but you never knew what would happen in a world like this.

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roberthanleytortora-blog · 6 years ago

Text

This guy needs a new American dream

The guy was mid Sinatra song

Singing like some real-life crooner

As the room full of musicians

Obliged him

This one glory

Which I didn’t bother listening to

Instead taking a seat on the couch

After singing

Which is when he sat beside me

On the filthy smoke stinking

Practice space

Couch

He did lots of cocaine

Blow was all in his brain

Not a single look at him

The entire night didn’t see him

Slicing up piles of white powder

But don’t get the wrong idea

his lines were small

Not only that

He didn’t even shoot it

Matter of fact

There wasn’t a needle in sight

What a waste

so it’s not really like doing drugs even

His high wasn’t worth much

In Jesus feels

Warmth

And sunflower blooming

sure

he was high,

but w

ho here wasn’t?

These guys were always handing 100 bills over

For cheap blow

All cut with filler

You want good coke

Get it from the real drug addicts

Their guys would be out of business if the junkies street supplies

Weren’t always the real thing

Guys like me who know their drugs

Know who has the hardest hard drugs

Actually

I run with smart girls

Pretty girls

Break your heart types who fly by the seat of their pants

Paint perfection

Star flower Lillie’s by the bouquet

Make me dream again

Kill me omg

Running with wicked women who create whole worlds around their souls

Sneak me into bathrooms

Stick needles full of cocaine, meth amphetimine, heroin, fentenyl, death dreams come true in this morning haha omg omg

Hey man you guys should have seen how the rain fell

Dead best friends

Dead lovers

Dead sacred presences who held every secret

Dead lips long to learn again lips kissing passion sharing living in this reality

Spaces of me given over for keeping, heart beat, sacred holy human electricity, magnetic fields which surround outside the end of body

Fields of us shaping our shapes and us our molecules all bound into frequency DNA schuman resonance

Everyone with whom I became one

Bawling on bathroom floors beneath sinks sinking into arms like Jon’s who just hold me love me hold me and will hold me forever hold on for hours as blood orange suns rise and

Tell me over and over

They are with me

They are here with me

They will love me

That they won’t ever not love me

That we have been through everything together

That kissing me in high school

Eating LSD

Phish festivals

Huge homemade bongs

How I first taught him how to write songs

That he knew every song I ever wrote

They’d be remembered forever

Because he knew

I forgot

Everything

All the time

And even Blue who said

“What happened to you man? You used to be so smart, Jon and I were always so impressed trying to chase down your latest accomplishments and catch up. I’m not trying to be a dick. I just want to know what the he’ll happened to you”

But Jon held me every night

Vodka Drunk and demolished by all day boozing everyday

10am to sundown to sunup

So much I’ll never say

But Jon is gone

Alyssa, gone

Caity Perretti

Hannah Serbun my heart hurts so much

Photos of her so dirty that every hour of our days of our years of our life together

Of our friendship

And of her as wife

Wicked games of womanhood who are worlds of wanting whatever will ease this agony, inside claws crossing through organs guts puss mess goo and excrement air of alone and in a room suffocating on everything oxygen and breathing, seeing, thoughts at all, every turn

TERROR

osh told me

‘this guy likes to talk a lot. A lot”

Sure

That was packed fact

as it turned out

But maybe that’s why

when he saw me

hunched over

the blank notebook page

scrawling

words

for hours

he asked

hey

what are you youwriting a novel

Not a novel

A poem

it’s this idea that

every poem

is written in

public

like on the subway or

while I’m walking through Cambridge or

pulled over on the side of the road or

in a room full of friends

who become strangers

as the ink

becomes more flash

then my body

and the page is

more eyeballs

then my eyes

“I’d love to read some of it”

Thanks the interest

this poem is terrible

There’s an old one here

My friend told me I don’t understand holy

No one understands holy holy holy holy

Can look at this now

How look at this now

how can you say that man

this guy needs a new take on old the old American dream

Cigarette machines gas stations diesel fuel Highway 69 thumbs up hitchhiking roaming from highway to highway across America eating apple pie diners more gas stations restrooms and gas stations big rig trucks with 18,000 wheels growing through the symphony of pavement High on meth and feta means so that sleep doesn’t come tonight but the bigger paycheck does cops and blue uniforms the ones that talk to neighbors and no the town maybe somewhere in Iowa like that place Hansberry lives the kind of town you take your New York Matt wife to and raise a family 34 dogs all with cancer and missing legs that live forever are like 900 years in people age who never read the Bible or pick it up until they’re in a church and it won’t offend anyone no one can get the wrong idea about them God liberals good liberals hate Trump are convinced that his election will end the world you know the type working a lifetime in office rooms and building up towards windows to look out while becoming a skeleton and sure as shit about American values and that half America doesn’t have them or or stupid The sort of folks who find everyone but themselves dumb or stupid just because just because.

This guy needs a new tag on the American dream something without all the apple pie dad coming home to cook dinner obedient mom who pops benzo’s and never fucks anyone Who lives in a different neighborhood or doesn’t know their lawn or has an old car or drives a truck with make America great again stickers and a friendly smile when greeting strangers who work behind counters or have shitty jobs or are perceived to be judged like they themselves feel judged by the America with real values who judge everybody who decide no one can have a good intention if they watch Fox News or have good things to say about the party of Trump or if they are conspiracy theory rest and say things like Alex Jones shouldn’t be allowed allowed to be censored because generations of our ancestors died laid down their lives for the right to have freedom of speech people who say things like I don’t care if you say vaccines don’t harm anyone everything affects everyone including injecting mercury various poisons cocktails of chemicals created by pharmaceutical companies like Purdue Pharma who told all the doctors to start prescribing Oxsee cotton nonaddictive Oxsee cotton because it’s not addictive no one gets addicted to it just like every facts and nation vaccination is totally homeless homeless harm this

Before I even started it man I was like this guy needs a new take on the American dream that was even before the poem started talking about the American dream and I got it the dead American dream night we were sold the world different than the world we live in but you need a new take on it a better take

Why don’t you write a poem and include hope in it

This American dream has no hope.

You need to have hope in an American dream if you’re going to have one otherwise what’s the point right

to which I thought in response

my question exactly

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elleberquist6 · 7 years ago

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Believe in Me -chapter twenty-three

Summary: Dan Howell is living at home while he’s saving money for college, which isn’t easy since his parents don’t understand him. Unlike them, he loves dogs, is a vegetarian, has no interest in the family business, and he despises the supernatural. He struggles to accept things that are illogical, even though he is a kitsune. Kitsune are foxes whose powers involve the ability to cast illusions, but Dan just wants to be normal. Phil Lester has just moved to London, where he works as a dog walker. When his path crosses with Dan, Phil is eager to get to know him. Unfortunately, Phil soon finds that being friends with Dan is far more complicated than he could have imagined.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2152 Warnings: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut

—

Kitsune fact: A kitsune can, to a limited extent, already influence the elements they are a part of, and if they study elemental magic, can become very dangerous in their field of study. Wind: With this study, they can create winds, cause tornadoes, and influence local weather patterns. This is also the element that manipulates ice and snow. [https://kitsuney.weebly.com/kitsune-powers.html]

~ 7 days ~

After dinner, Kath tried to start a game of Monopoly, but Phil declined. He was looking at Dan as he told his mum, “I think we’re both tired from the travel. We’re going to turn in early.”

Dan didn’t dispute this claim, and he followed Phil upstairs to his bedroom. While Phil was closing the door, Dan flopped on his back on the bed and closed his eyes. He kept them closed when he felt Phil sit beside him and touch his cheek.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked. “You were quiet at dinner. It was eerie. I’ve gotten used to the sound of your voice. Please talk to me.”

Dan opened his eyes the bare minimum necessary to see Phil’s face above his. “What do you want me to say?”

Phil bit his lip and looked away. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Dan said as he shook his head. “You’re perfect.”

“No one is perfect,” Phil said as he returned his gaze to Dan. “If I did something wrong, please just tell me.”

Dan swallowed heavily. “No. It’s true. You’re perfect.” He could tell that Phil was going to protest, so he fisted a hand in the front of Phil’s shirt, and pulled him down until he could reach his lips. Dan had just wanted to kiss Phil to stop his words, but Phil responded.

Without leaving the kiss, Phil climbed into bed beside Dan. He threaded the fingers of one hand into Dan’s curls, and he let his other hand roam across Dan’s side, under his shirt, and then he placed the hand on Dan’s hip to pull Dan’s lower body against his. Phil rolled his hips against Dan.

Suddenly, this was all too much. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t do this anymore. Dan felt like something was trying to claw out of his chest – it was hard to breathe, and he was gasping against Phil’s mouth, but Phil took it as a sign that Dan was enjoying this. There were tears stinging in his eyes, and he didn’t think that he would so easily be able to hide this from Phil, so he placed a hand against Phil’s chest and pushed him away gently.

“Dan?” Phil asked in a breathy voice.

Dan shook his head. He had composed his face, so hopefully Phil saw nothing. “I… I don’t want to.”

“Oh. That’s okay.” Phil rolled further away from him as he took a steadying breath, but Phil couldn’t hide how his body had responded to what they had been doing. “I think I’m going to take a shower.”

“Okay,” Dan said. He gave Phil a wobbly smile to encourage him to leave the room. It worked.

As soon as Phil was gone, Dan fell apart. He buried his face in Phil’s pillow to muffle the sound, but that had been a mistake – Phil brought his pillow from home to help him sleep, and it smelled so much like him. The clawing sensation in his chest got worse. He didn’t understand it.

How could Phil think that Dan felt nothing for him? He had never said it. He had never even admitted it to himself in his thoughts about Phil. It was hard when he had so recently believed that love didn’t exist, other than as a chemical reaction in the brain. Dan had always had trouble in believing in intangible things, but now that he had Phil he couldn’t deny what he felt. It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world.

If Dan of all people could believe in this feeling, how could Phil not? Phil had so easily accepted the existence of ghosts and Japanese gods – why was it so much harder for Phil to believe in Dan’s feelings? Had Dan been so awful to him that he couldn’t see how Dan really felt? Dan felt like the worst person in the world.

By the time that the pillow beneath his face was soaked, Dan heard the door open. He hadn’t wanted Phil to see him like this, but he hadn’t had time enough to get control of himself and now it was too late. He heard Phil gasp.

Phil said, “Dan, there’s snow in my room.”

“Oh?” Dan wasn’t sure what Phil was talking about, and he just took advantage of whatever had distracted Phil for a moment, as he tried to even his breathing and dry his cheeks before he had to turn around to face Phil.

“Um, I’m just going to lock the door so that my family doesn’t walk in and see this. That would be hard to explain,” Phil said, and Dan heard the lock clicking. Then Phil asked, “Why is there snow in my room? I’m not complaining – it’s beautiful. Did you do this for me, like the cherry blossom tree?”

Dan shook his head as he sat up, still facing the wall and headboard. He had stopped the tears from falling, but his breathing was ragged and he knew that he must look like a mess. He couldn’t help the quaver in his voice as he asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Dan, the snow. I… think it’s snow, but it feels warm. What is this?”

Dan hadn’t worked up the courage to turn around, but he saw it now. He looked down at the green and blue pillow. The pillowcase was coated with snow on either side where his face had been resting, and as he watched fresh snowflakes were falling on the tearstains. He felt the snow touching his face and hands as it fell, and Phil was right. It was snow, but it felt warm. This was some kind of illusion, but he wasn’t sure how he was doing it.

In his shock, he forgot about what he must look like now and he turned around to face Phil with wide eyes. Dan said, “I… I don’t know what’s going on.”

Phil’s expression had been full of a childlike delight as he watched the white snowflakes that were swirling around his room, as if they were in a snow globe, but when he saw Dan’s face his eyes widened in alarm. Phil rushed to his side and sat on the bed beside him. “Oh my gosh, what’s wrong?”

Dan shook his head as he turned to face Phil. When Phil raised his hand as if to touch Dan’s shoulder, Dan cringed away from it. He knew that he was being awful to Phil right now by worrying him, but as he was facing Phil now he was surprised to find that the emotional desolation he had been feeling before now was gone and had been replaced by anger. Phil doubted his feelings. How could he?

Phil pulled his hand back and let it fall to the bed, and he was momentarily distracted by the snow on his sheets. Then his eyes returned to Dan’s face, and the blue-green irises were shimmering. “Dan, please talk to me. You’re scaring me.”

Dan swallowed heavily. Phil hadn’t been scared when he thought that having Dan in his life meant that a ghost would show up at his place. He had only been scared for a moment when Dan showed him a fridge full of human liver. He hadn’t blinked an eye when Dan told him that they might only have two weeks together. But Phil was scared now? Dan took a calming breath before saying, “Don’t be scared.”

Phil nodded. “Okay, I won’t if you tell me what’s wrong.”

Dan bit his lip before admitting, “I heard you and your mum talking in the kitchen. When I left the room to change my clothes. I heard what she asked you, and I heard what you said. About you and me.”

Phil’s eyes widened. “Is that why you didn’t come back to the kitchen? I was wondering about that.” When Dan nodded, Phil sighed and said. “I wish you hadn’t heard that. Don’t worry about that. It doesn’t matter to me how you feel. I’m going to be there for you anyway.”

Dan stiffened in response to Phil’s words. Phil loved him, and he was going to be there for him regardless of how Dan felt – he was going to comfort Dan emotionally and physically. He was going to be there with Dan, even to the end if this went badly. And he expected nothing from Dan in return.

Phil thought that he could say things like this and that it made Dan feel nothing. Dan felt like he was about to explode, so he snapped, “Do you want to know how I feel about you? I hate you!”

Phil blinked. His face was smooth and cleared of emotion. “You do?”

Dan wasn’t sure what he had expected. Should Phil have started crying? It made Dan angrier that he wasn’t being taken seriously. His mind was racing as he tried to think of insults that he could hurl at Phil, but nothing came to mind as he stared at Phil, perfect Phil who was watching him closely. The snow was still swirling around them and it was settling in Phil’s black hair, which was messy and spiky since it was drying from his shower.

Suddenly, all Dan wanted was to have his hands in that hair. He grabbed a fistful of it and pulled Phil against his face. Phil responded, moving his mouth in their usual slow sweet pace, but this made anger burn through Dan again, and he moved roughly against Phil with nips and bites. Then he shoved Phil back in the bed. They were only half lying in the bed with their legs still touching the floor, but Dan crawled on top of Phil, reveling in the feeling of having Phil pinned submissively beneath him. Phil had hurt him so badly today, and he wanted to make Phil pay for it.

When he felt Phil gasping for air against his lips, Dan pulled back so that Phil could catch his breath. Phil’s lips were puffy from the abuse, but his eyes blazed with emotion and Dan could tell that Phil was enjoying this. “I hate you so much,” Dan said in a defeated voice, knowing that it didn’t sound as convincing anymore.

“Why?” Phil asked as he panted to catch his breath.

“ ‘I am. He’s not.’ You said that to your mother when she asked if we’re in love.” The clawing sensation returned to his chest as he stared down at Phil, and this time it felt like both despair and rage were tearing him apart. It should be so simple for him to fix all of this. Phil had been wrong earlier, and all Dan had to do was say three little words to put things right. But Phil didn’t understand how hard this was for Dan, and the pressure of this moment wasn’t helping.

As Dan saw Phil looking at him, his blue-green eyes full of tenderness and concern, the anger left him and then there was only despair. He was going to lose Phil. Phil didn’t think he cared about him because Dan was too much of a mess to say three little words. Phil deserved better. Dan rolled off of Phil, resting on his stomach beside Phil who continued to watch him carefully. Dan rested his cheek on his right arm with his face turned to Phil. His other arm was stretched before him, and he felt the warm snow on the bed against his left hand. He had an idea and he moved a finger carefully through the snow.

After a moment, Phil said, “Dan… talk to me. I know you’re hurt, but I don’t understand why.”

Dan shook his head. “I don’t know how to say this.”

Phil rolled on his side, getting closer to Dan. “Please. I can tell that I hurt you, and I want to make this up to you. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

Dan gave him a small smile since his answer was ready. “I can’t say it, so you’ll just have to read it.” He gestured with his chin to where his left hand had been moving in the snow, carefully tracing letters.

It took Phil a couple seconds to understand what Dan was telling him to do, but then he also rolled onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could read what Dan had written in the snow. Phil read the words aloud, “ ‘I love you.’ ”

#phandom #phanfiction #dan and phil #dan x phil #kitsune #magical realism #illusion

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everlarkficexchange · 8 years ago

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In the Waiting Dark (The Red Moon Rises)

Written by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Prompt: #5 Everlark fairytale au of Little Red Riding Hood, preferably similar in tone to the film “The Company of Wolves.” [submitted by Anonymous]

Rating: T for this chapter

Warnings: Mentions of blood, fantasy and horror thematic elements

A/N: This is the first chapter of what will be a multi-chapter story. Overall rating will be M for the following reasons - Blood, fantasy and horror thematic elements, violence, mentions of non-consensual, mentions of child abuse, disturbing imagery, and sexual content. There may be more as I am still working out a few details. Inspiration for this story was pulled from several different versions of the Red Riding Hood tale, to include the film mentioned in the prompt. I’ve been wanting to write this AU for a long time, so I truly hope you all enjoy what I’ve come up with, especially you, Anonymous! Feel free to stop by and tell me your thoughts, I have Anon turned on in case you wish to remain so. <3 KDNFB

CHAPTER 1

“Did you tell your mother ‘goodnight’?” He kisses first one forehead and then the second, once more laying the back of his hand flat on the fevered surface before patting his child’s cheek with a cool cloth. Their mother has already administered medicines. There is not much else they can do. So far, it’s only the oldest twin showing the signs, but he knows it’s only a matter of time.

“Yes, Papa. Can we have a bedtime story?”

“Just one,” he promises with a smile and settles at the foot of one of the narrow beds. “Let’s see…”

“Once upon a time,” the youngest twin says and giggles when both father and the oldest twin scowl slightly.

“Papa’s telling the story.”

The youngest twin sticks out a pink tongue and the oldest huffs, so he continues the story before a fight can break out in earnest.

“Long ago–”

“See, you got it wrong anyways.”

“–not far from here, there was a village, caught in the early days of spring. It was much like any other village, with small fields to grow crops, pastures where the villagers let their livestock graze, a blacksmith to do metal work, a grocers, a butcher, a baker–”

“Was there a candlestick maker, too?”

“Hush! I wanna hear the story!”

“And a candlestick maker, too,” he says with a soft smile, ignoring the muffled laughter from the doorway behind him. Already enthralled with the story, the children don’t even notice their audience. “There was also a healer, a woman who knew all the tricks to soothe pain and terrible illness. And the healer’s daughter was engaged to marry the baker’s son, but see, often in this village, it was a tradition for marriages to be chosen not for love, but for convenience. This was an old custom, started many years ago, and like many old customs, the reasons behind them faded with each generation until no one really understood why those customs were still around. The marriage contract was written and all but signed, but the healer’s daughter–”

“What was her name?”

“Shhhhh!”

“We’ll call her Flower for now,” the father says, not losing his stride with the tale. “Flower didn’t want to marry the baker’s son, because she was in love with someone else.”

“Who, Papa?” both children gasp.

“She was in love with a hunter.”

“No.”

The single word is the only thing I can manage to utter, but as I stare at my parents and the sadness, fear, and something else I don’t have time to name on their faces, I find my voice again and say it louder. “No! They can’t–”

“Actually, they can,” my mother says quietly and my father winces with pain.

“It’s a very old law. A remnant of the Dark Days. It was written when the population was stressed from the wars, famine, disease, and the fallout of the cataclysm. They wrote it to encourage…repopulation,” my father explains, lightly resting his hands on my mother’s shoulders to comfort her. They’re distressed. They should be. I can’t believe they would let this happen. Aren’t they supposed to protect us?

“Why bring it back now?”

“It was never really gone, just hasn’t been used in almost a hundred years,” my father says gently.

“It survived in a way through other arranged marriages, like many of the Merchants still hold to.”

“That doesn’t give them the right to force Prim into a marriage she doesn’t want!” I shout, thankful that she’s outside tending to Lady and can’t hear me.

“She’s not the only one. They selected twelve girls and twelve boys at random from the unmarried youth of the District and paired them together,” my mother says as tears form in the corners of her eyes, threatening to spill. She should be crying. I still can’t believe that my parents are powerless to stop this. My mind prickles at something she said, but I can’t grasp it and focus on it through my hopeless anger. The room is starting to spin and vomit rises high in my throat, threatening to choke me.

“We think it might have something to do with the pox that hit during the winter,” my mother whispers and I let loose a squeaking snarl. Didn’t we already give enough to that cursed disease? Primrose made it through alive, but Amaryllis…pragmatic and shy Amaryllis, Prim’s twin sister…she was not so lucky. Gone at thirteen years old. They could’ve prevented it, had they listened to my mother’s wisdom, her knowledge of how to prevent the spread of the disease. And now they want to take my only remaining sister, too. When she’s still grieving her twin. It’s wrong. All of this is wrong.

“She’s the youngest!” I protest. “She’s not even fourteen yet!”

“We know, Katniss. But there’s nothing we can do.”

“Katniss–” my father tries to soothe me, but I finish lacing my boots and stand, blinded by rage at their complacency over this. I spit on the floor next to the table with the hated missive and stomp towards the door where I grab my things.

“I have to go meet Gale,” I mutter and slam the door on my way out.

I am deaf to the early morning activities in town as I make my way towards the north gate. Usually, I would enjoy the crispness of the air and the freshening scents that signal the beginning of the end of winter. But the orders from the Capitol, countersigned by our Grand Marshal, have ruined even my appreciation of the vibrant green blades sprouting up through the remaining patches of snow along the edges of town.

The gates are already opened by the time I get there, the decree from the Marshal’s office interrupted my daily routine and delayed me from making it out here before sunrise. Now I’m behind, and will need to move quickly if I am to get caught up on my tasks and be home in time. With a nod to the guard, I proceed out of District 12’s official borders and take my first full breath of the day.

The woods smell wonderfully fragrant with the heavy scent of the soil, a sure sign that it rained last night, a welcome relief from the months of snow. Patches of white remain in shadowed areas, but the forest is slowly coming back to life after the hard winter. The rains will have made the ground soft. Any animals moving about this morning will leave clear tracks, and that is good for me.

I move quickly and undisturbed into the trees as there are only a handful of us who ever venture beyond the fringes of the woods that border District Twelve. Tales of monstrous beasts that roam the forest surrounding us keep many citizens inside, hiding behind barbed wire fences they sometimes electrify and a round-the-clock rotation of guards. There are a few brave souls who venture into the edges of the forest to forage for wild herbs, greens and fruits, but most of our food is grown in the fields and orchards to the south of the District.

Even with all the time I’ve spent in the woods, I’ve never once seen such a monster. Of course I’ve seen predators – foxes, bobcats, wolves, river otters, even the occasional bear – but nothing that would fit the legends of terror passed down through the ages. Sometimes I think the stories were made up just to control us, but that could be Gale in my head.

My mother used to start stories with the phrase, “Once upon a time…” At the utterance of these words, my sisters and I would cease all movement and noise, knowing that we were about to embark on a magnificent journey. Maybe if my mother had told different stories, panic would keep me from the woods. But unlike most of the other mothers in District Twelve, mine never seemed to feel the need to terrify us with the usual repertoire of stories. Tales of the monsters and darkness. Tales that instead began with the phrase, “Once upon a full moon…”

Perhaps my mother thought there was no point in terrorizing her children. Perhaps we behaved well enough for her to never feel the need to use the stories as a deterrent. Or maybe she refused to tell full moon stories for another reason. Whatever the reason, the bedtime stories my parents told helped make me braver, not more fearful.

The further into the trees I get, the more I relax. The sounds of life strengthen the deeper I go – the faint song of birds, the honking of geese as they return north. By the time I reach the brook, my heart is thumping powerfully and I pause for a quick drink from the frigid waters. The banks are already swollen and I check along the muddy shores for faint tracks, finally finding a few deer prints and following them. It is only in the woods, that I am truly able to be myself. Gale says that it’s the only place where I smile.

I move silently in pursuit of the deer, intending to catch up with Gale at our snare lines later, hopefully with a buck in tow. Eventually, I catch my first sight of it, head bent to graze. He’s majestic and proud, and for a second, I regret the need to kill such a beautiful creature. But beauty does not feed my family. So I take the shot.

It’s while I’m cleaning my kill and building a litter for the carcass out of a few fallen branches and a sturdy tarp I carry in my game bag that Gale materializes in front of me, always so silent, and I startle.

“Gotta be more alert with the Mutts roaming these woods,” he says, flipping his hunting knife in the air before catching it and squatting next to me to help. “Nice kill.”

“Not a bad way to start the morning,” I say and frown a little as I remember the actual start to my day. I’d been so lost in the woods that I stopped thinking about it. I’m guessing Gale’s family wasn’t affected by the decrees, or else he’d have already started in on one of his rants about the Capitol, the city hundreds of miles from here that governs our country.

“Snare lines real quick then back into town?” he says and I agree, because with the deer, we’ll need to head in soon. It’s a Sunday, so at least he doesn’t have to go into the mines, but I also need to be back home in time for afternoon tea with the future in-laws.

When he’s not paying attention, I get him back for startling me, sliding my foot out as he squints through the trees at who knows what. He stumbles over my ankle and I smile.

“Trapped the trapper,” I say and flip my braid back over my shoulder while he glares at me. The expression isn’t frightening at all now that I know him. When we first met, it probably would have terrified me, but now I know what supressed laughter looks like on his face.

After we empty the snare lines, we sit on a flat rock near the brook, eating a quick snack of dried fruits, a handful of jerky, and some goat’s cheese Prim left for me this morning. It’s not a feast, but it soothes the edge of the hunger we’ve built up traipsing through the woods and gives us the burst of energy we’ll need to drag my deer back into town.

I cup my hand in the stream and take a few deep drinks then shake the water from my hand and finish drying it on my pants. Feeling eyes on me, I look up and catch Gale staring at me. My cheeks flush as I think that maybe I’ve got blood on my face or in my hair again. “What?”

“Nothing,” Gale says, shaking his head and looking away to scowl at the trees.

He’s been doing that more often, staring at me, and it makes me nervous. I can’t put a reason to why, though. I’ve known Gale since I was twelve, and he was fourteen. His father had just been killed in an accident in the mines and Gale had taken over his father’s responsibilities. My father had to take extra shifts at the mine to cover the shortage of workers after the accident, and I began to venture into the woods to hunt without him. Many thought Gale and I were both too young to be wandering that deep in the woods alone to hunt, but no one stopped us. There aren’t many hunters and trappers in our village. My father taught me well and I was doing okay on my own when I met Gale.

We met on a cold, crisp autumn day. I’d tried my hand at snares, because it’d be foolish not to, but I didn’t have the knack for it. That day, I was late. If I didn’t hurry back into town, I’d be left with my considerable haul and no time to trade it before the market closed for the day. I stumbled across a hare, suspended in a perfect twitch-up snare. I reached out to examine the knots, the setup of the snare when Gale’s voice startled me.

“Stealing is illegal,” he’d said, making me jump and draw my arrow back, aimed at his heart. His eyes had narrowed and he nodded to my bow. “So’s killing an unarmed man.”

“Then what do you call that knife?” I’d asked in a huff, upset that he’d scared me so badly. At that point, I was still getting used to being alone that deep in the trees, far enough that the fences and even the sounds of the mines of District Twelve had long since faded into the nothing. Getting used to only having the quiet and the solitude for companionship.

Glancing down at the knife tucked in his belt, Gale’s scowl had finally melted away into a smile. It completely changed his face from that of a threat to that of a friend. Or at least, someone I thought could be my friend.

I’d been right about that. It took a few months for us to start trusting one another and stop seeing each other as competition. We both worked the woods, true, but the more we worked together, the more we came to realize we both did better when we operated as a team. My father built a bow for Gale and I taught him how to use it. He taught me more about snares, and together, we became a seamless unit.

Once we’ve cleaned up our meal, we shoulder the litter with my buck on it and head back towards the District. Inside the fences, the air hangs thick with tension. I briefly wonder if the pending forced marriages have anything to do with it. Which leads to wondering how much longer my sister will be free. I didn’t bother to ask my parents when the joyful occasion is to take place before I stormed from the house.

“Two days,” Gale says, waving towards the lunar chart prominently displayed in the town square.

Oh right. That’s why everyone is so tense. It’s two days to the next full moon cycle. Gale and I roll our eyes at this. Every full moon, the town places a selection of livestock on four altars, each of them three miles away from the four gates of our District, a Tribute to the monsters that the Capitol claims roam our lands as a result of the weaponry used by our ancestors. Muttations or Mutts for short. The townspeople believe it because after the three days of the full moon, there’s always a pile of carcasses, picked clean and eaten, on the altars. Any predator could do that, though. It’s not a sign that a real monster lives in the woods. It’s all a bunch of superstition the Capitol uses to keep people scared and from venturing too far beyond the fences. I’m not afraid of their monsters, and neither is my father. Neither is Gale. Still, it has most of the people of District Twelve convinced.

We finish our business with Rooba, the butcher, our pockets heavier with coins and our bags with a few freshly wrapped venison cuts. Both of our families will eat well tonight, although I don’t know how I’m going to stomach food knowing what Prim’s future holds.

“We should drop these at home and then head out the east gate to the lake,” Gale suggests. “Might be some good fishing with the brief thaw last week.”

“You go,” I say. “I have some things I need to take care of at home.”

“Alright,” Gales says tightly.

I feel like I should tell him about the trials my family currently faces, but inside the fence is no place to trigger Gale’s anger with the Capitol. So I keep my silence and head home. When I get there, I pack the venison on ice, scowling at my mother muttering to herself as she cleans the house.

“Katniss, I laid out a dress for you. Please go get a bath and dress,” she says once she notices me, not pausing in her sweeping. I hear the scrape of furniture moving in the living room and realize that my father is turning our comfortable sitting area into a parlor worthy of entertaining the Grand Marshal. It makes me sick that they can do this to their own daughter without a fight and I leave my mother without saying a word.

In the entryway, I gaze up the stairs leading to our bedrooms. The one I share with Prim, and used to share with Amaryllis as well, has its door is open, spilling light from the window into the hallway. I can’t believe that she’s going to be gone. Both of them. She may as well be dead if she’s going to be forced into marriage at fourteen. For repopulation. I suppose there’s a chance that she could have been paired with someone who will be kind and patient with her, but I doubt it. There is not that much luck in this world.

In a fit of anger, I snatch the order off the hall table and glare fire at the red and gold embossed eagle seal of the Capitol at the bottom of the page, trailing gold ribbons held in place by the wax. Then our Grand Marshal’s seal. A pair of crossed pick-axes in onyx black, trailing red ribbons. I scan the last paragraph, some nonsense about henceforth and forevermore and not to be undermined and–

Should the aforementioned parties be preceded in age by an eligible sibling, aged twelve to twenty-two, said elder sibling may volunteer to take the place of the younger in the ceremony of matrimony.

An eligible sibling can take her place. I can take Prim’s place!

Purpose fills me, and before I can think it through too much, I fold the command and stuff it in my jacket before racing from the house, my boots echoing against the wood floors.

“Katniss!” my mother yells after me. “Katniss get back here! This is not the time to go running away into the woods!”

My father yells too, but they don’t chase me. Good. My feet carry me swiftly to the council building and I quickly explain what I am there for. The clerk lifts his eyebrows at me, perhaps surprised. I’m guessing that not many older siblings were willing to volunteer to take the place of their younger ones in a forced marriage.

But I can bear so much more than my sweet, delicate sister could. I once took her into the woods to try to teach her a little about hunting, but she cried over our first kill, wanting to bring the rabbit home and try to heal it. I refuse to watch her crushed and slowly die in a loveless marriage, forced into it for the sake of breeding. My mother’s a healer. I’ve seen what happens to girls who bear children before their body is ready. Besides, I have no plans to marry anyone. I guess some people would have expected Gale and I to get married some day, since we’re best friends and almost always together.

Gale.

I freeze and second guess myself as the clerk carefully pens out the changes. But Gale is handsome and desirable. I’ve heard the girls whispering in town and in school, even after he graduated nearly two years ago. They want him. And who could blame them. He’s strong enough to make a decent living in the mines and his hunting skills mean that his family is bound to eat better than half the ones in town. Besides, it’s not like my getting married will hurt him. There’s never been anything romantic between us. We’ll still be able to hunt together. I won’t let my future husband take that away from me, I don’t care who he is.

My future husband.

The thought fills me with cold fear, but I cannot waver. It is better for me to bear this than Prim. This is the thought that keeps my hands from shaking when I accept the marriage order and two copies of the changes.

“Too close to the appointment time. Just give the second copy to the groom’s family when they arrive,” the clerk tells me and then waves me out the door. I’m a little miffed at having to play the messenger, but what does it matter. The louse will still be getting a bride, and maybe he’ll be disappointed that it’s me and not Prim, but I really don’t care about his feelings or desires right now. All I care about is protecting my sister.

I hurry home, and before my mother can start yelling, I shove the paperwork in her face. “I’ll go take that bath now.”

She cries out when I’m halfway to the back closet where we keep the tub, next to the kitchen to make filling it with heated water easier. “Katniss! What have you done?”

“Made sure that Prim has a chance at marrying someone she can actually love.”

I scrub blood from beneath my fingernails, dirt from my hair. I scrub and scrub until I’m raw as I hear my family whispering in the next room and ignore their words. When I’m done, my mother appears with a towel to help me dry and then assists me into a robe. I begin to shiver, missing the warmth of the bath, and perhaps frightened as the realization of what I’ve gotten myself into sets into my heart. This one impulsive choice will affect the rest of my life.

My mother follows me upstairs and it disturbs me a little, but then she carefully guides me to sit in front of the fire in my room, which she’s clearly built up just for me. “Where’s Prim?” I ask as my mother combs through the wet strands of my hair, carefully massaging a cream into it that smells of gardenia and will make it shine with softness.

“Downstairs, helping your father prepare,” she murmurs, her voice soft. I relax beneath her gentle ministrations as she holds strands out to let the warmth from the fireplace dry them. Eventually, her hands move to swiftly braid it, the brief tugs on my scalp lulling me into a state of comfort, helped by her soft humming.

She doesn’t do this very often anymore, but that’s partly my fault. I haven’t let her. Too busy rushing out the door early in the mornings to meet Gale in the woods and hunt before I had to be at school. I realize now that I am going to miss this. My mother’s touch.

When she’s done fixing my hair, she helps me stand and don a lovely blue dress. Simple, but lovely. While she’s tying the sash around my waist, Prim skips into the room, dressed all in white. A heavy sweater and a tulle skirt. The clothes look new and I briefly wonder if my parents took her to town to buy something new in which to greet her fiancé. Who is now my fiancé. She flops onto the bed and watches as my mother adds the final touches to my outfit. A gold hair comb in the shape of a flower that belonged to my grandmother. A creamy knit shawl draped over my shoulders for added warmth.

“There. All done,” my mother says softly, giving my hair one last pat. I turn to face the mirror for the first time today and stare at the face looking back at me. It’s still me, I think, only with sweeping bangs that give my face an almost sultry appearance, my braid more intricate than I’ve ever worn it before, starting at one ear and crossing over the back of my head and curving down the opposite shoulder, the tail of it resting over my heart. I examine the blue dress that used to be my mother’s and is apparently now mine. It’s softer and finer than what I usually wear.

“You look beautiful,” Prim breathes from where she sits on the bed. I manage a smile and twirl so she can see better. As much as I am dying inside, I don’t want her to know how scared I am. How much it’s costing me to do this.

“I look nothing like myself and not nearly as beautiful as you, Little Duck,” I insist and grab her hands to tug her off the bed and into a hug. My mother reminds me about the shoes I am to wear and then heads downstairs to finish preparing for our guests.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, Katniss,” Prim whispers as soon as my mother is out of hearing range.

“Why wouldn’t I? You deserve the chance to choose who you love and who you marry,” I say, leaning back to look at her and tapping one finger on the tip of her nose. She giggles and shrugs. It bothers me that she’s being so nonchalant about her future.

“So do you. And it wouldn’t have been so bad. I could’ve done a lot worse as far as husbands go,” she says and I wrinkle my brow.

“You already knew who it was?”

“Well of course. His name was on the order. Didn’t you read it?” No, I didn’t. At least not all the way through.

I’m not given time to work through this news before voices reach us through the open window and Prim lets me go, a smile on her face as she rushes to peek outside. I’d rather not, so I remain rooted in place. I’m going to have to look at him for the rest of my life, whoever he is. The voices don’t sound too happy, though, and I wonder how they’re going to take the news of the bride swap.

“Are you coming?” Prim asks as she rushes to the door, pausing when she sees me motionless in the middle of the room.

“Yes. I need to put my shoes on and then I’ll be down. You go ahead,” I tell her. With one last cheerful smile, Prim hurries downstairs as our guests knock on the door. The black leather shoes my mother set out for me pinch my toes, so it takes me a moment to adjust them and I’m just reaching my bedroom door when voices reach me from downstairs.

“This is preposterous!”

Oh no. I know that shrewish voice. It belongs to the baker’s witch of a wife.

“Agatha, it’s not a problem. The contract is stamped and approved with the change.”

“That’s beside the point and you know it. He was supposed to be getting a lovely, fresh, young bride who could at least fit in with us, but now–”

Agatha Mellark stops talking when she notices my father and her son watching me. I spare him only a glance before walking sedately down the stairs, not long enough to figure out which one it is, wondering if he’s as disgusted with his Seam bride as his mother is. Instead, I focus on my father, whose lips twitch in a smile, pride glowing in his eyes as I tilt my chin a little higher. He gives me strength to face this ordeal with dignity.

I did not choose this path for my life. It was forced upon me, and I will not be cowed by it. I will not bend to the orders of this witch the way my kind and naive, not yet fourteen year old sister might have done had she been the one forced into this sham of a marriage. Maybe it is this knowledge that makes Mrs. Mellark so furious. The knowledge that I will not be so easily controlled.

When I’m close to the foot of the stairs, I finally face my groom to see which of her sons it is. I think the oldest would be ineligible based on his age, which leaves the middle or—

The youngest. Peeta Mellark.

I meet his blue eyes as I take the last few steps. He’s there waiting for me, dressed handsomely in a red sweater over a white dress shirt, a dark brown tie tucked beneath the sweater, and tan corduroy pants. His ash blonde hair falls in messy waves over his forehead. When I pause on the final stair, he extends his hand, palm upwards. My fingers shake as I place them in his. They curl around mine, enveloping them in steady warmth. He doesn’t look away from me as he bows his head over my hand, lips hovering several inches away from my skin.

“Would you care to join us for tea?” my mother asks nervously.

“We would love to,” Peeta tells her, cutting off his mother and preventing any further insults. As soon as our families head towards the living room, he drops my hand. I flex it at my side and move ahead of him.

They don’t really have much of a choice but to accept anyways. I remember enough of my mother’s stories about her childhood. Arranged marriages – ones orchestrated by the parents of the bride and groom, not by the Capitol – were common enough amongst Merchants when she was a girl. She’s told us enough for me to know that this tea is customary. I even remember the details of what’s expected of me.

Stepping up to the table my father and Prim prepared while my mother helped me dress, I carefully place a piece of tea leaf bark into the strainer of the pot of steaming water, gently swirl twice and set the pot aside. While it steeps, I arrange the cups on saucers. Beside me, Peeta places a basket on the table and removes a wooden cutting board, a serrated knife, and a loaf of bread. It’s thick and dark, the crackle of the breaking crust as he slices it provides the only accompaniment to the faint clattering of fine china as I complete my task.

The dishes, along with the blue dress that I’m wearing, were one of the things my mother brought with her when she left town to marry my father. I glance up at them over the tense table and see that my father holds her hand, rubbing soothing circles into her skin with his thumb. They share a look of love and encouragement, to fortify one another. A pang hits me as I realize that their fate will never be mine. My parents married because they were madly in love. Still are. A rarity between Seam and Merchant. In contrast, Peeta’s parents sit on the edges of their chairs, putting as much space between them as possible. They look directly at no one, but rather aimlessly examine the room – his expression apathetic, hers hostile. Finally, I steal one quick glance at the boy who is to be my husband.

He calmly slides slices of bread onto the delicate porcelain plates, adding a basil leaf and small dollops of the goat cheese that my father must have laid out for us. I wonder if Peeta baked the bread himself or if his time is now too occupied by his second profession, the one he was apprenticed into since his oldest brother will eventually inherit the bakery and no doubt staff it with his own wife and children.

While Peeta’s not smiling, he looks neither terrified nor appalled. Just steady as a rock. Calm. How can he be so calm about this? I’m ready to race out the door screaming. But for some reason, his placid demeanor doesn’t frighten me as I think it should. It actually makes it easier to keep going with the ritual.

I pour the tea when it’s ready and Peeta quietly asks everyone how many sugar cubes or if they want cream, pausing to give me time to add the requisite ingredients, handing the appropriate bowl or carafe to me. Throughout the entire ordeal, Mrs. Mellark keeps coughing.

“Katniss, add a spoonful of the honey and black pepper to Agatha’s tea, would you?” my mother suggests. I glance over the jars my mother always puts with the tea tray and pick up the one she wants.

“What’s that for?” Mrs. Mellark asks, clear distrust in her tone.

“For your cough. It will help sooth any irritation in your throat,” my mother says kindly and Peeta’s mother wrinkles her nose.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing. What are you people trying to do? Poison me?”

Mr. Mellark whispers to her, his face turning red. “Agatha. Lily is just–”

“Well if they wanted to get their hands on our son’s inheritance faster, all they’d have to do is kill you and me to get it. I’ve heard of these things happening before.”

None of us know what to say. My father’s brow furrows in anger and my mother clenches his fingers in hers to keep him from an outburst. Prim’s gaze darts nervously between the adults. And Peeta…

Peeta carefully takes the jar from my hands and unscrews the lid, dipping a spoon into it for a small amount of the remedy.

“Is this enough?” he asks me quietly and all I can do is nod and watch him stir it into his own tea. He picks it up off the table and locks eyes with his mother before taking a slow sip.

“Peeta!” she scolds, because the bride and groom are supposed to be the last to drink in this little ceremony. He takes another deep sip before placing the cup back on the saucer and setting it aside for him to finish later.

“Any inheritance goes to my brothers if I die before the wedding,” he says simply. “And since no one here seems worried, and I’m still alive, I think it’s safe for you to drink Mrs. Everdeen’s medicines, mother.”

Mrs. Mellark’s mouth gapes comically and Peeta thanks my mother for her consideration before he gives me a shy smile and adds the tonic to his mother’s tea. I stare in wonderment at him, confused by his actions, his swift defense of my parents, the mollification of what could have turned into an explosive disagreement between our families, and the unexpected warmth that flows through me.

We finish serving the tea and finally take our seats. Somehow, my family and Peeta manage to keep a conversation going, despite his own parents’ complete silence. Every so often, Peeta will turn to me and ask a question, almost a whisper. I answer with a word or two, unable to say much more than that. I don’t even remember what he asks me. Or my answers. I feel like I’m living in a fog.

Finally, the guests make their excuses and leave us in relative peace. My mother suggests that I go upstairs and lie down, reassures me that they will clean up from the tea. I do exactly as she asks and only manage to kick off the uncomfortable shoes before falling into my bed. I wait for tears to arrive and instead, fall into a fitful sleep.

“Did she marry the baker’s son?” the oldest twin asks, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. They’re a pretty pair, cozied up in a pile of soft gray and green cashmere blankets and one another’s arms, the younger having climbed into her sister’s bed at some point during the story. Entranced as they are with their father’s recitation, they’ve both been yawning the past few minutes.

“It’s late and you both need your rest. I’ll tell the end of the story tomorrow night.” They try to protest and he smiles, easily lifting the younger and tossing her back onto her own bed. She squeals in laughter, but quickly scurries beneath the covers for warmth. He adds a log to their fire and secures the grate before kissing each of them in turn and dousing the lights.

“Papa, are you sure we can’t finish the story tonight?”

“Not tonight. Get some sleep girls,” he urges, leaving the door slightly ajar before joining his wife, already deep in slumber in their bedroom.

“Mutt. Mutt. Mutt. Mutt.”

The single word is whispered on the winds, following the girl as she walks through the woods, carrying her basket. The scent of sweet meats drawing forth the terrors of the night. She turns her head, looking over her shoulder, fear flashing across her face. Was that rock there a moment ago?

“Mutt. Mutt. Mutt. Mutt.”

She quickens her pace, drawing her creamy knit shawl up over her hair, the moonlight as bright on the snowy fabric as it was on her pale skin and golden hair, a beacon to the wandering hunters of the night. Fear courses through her blood, calling them to her faster and faster as she runs. The rock shifts and follows her as others join, pointed ears tuned to the sounds of her fright, tails swishing eagerly through the night. Branches snare her luminescent tulle skirt, cling to it, slowing her down and drawing the hunters closer.

“Mutt. Mutt. Mutt. Mutt.”

With a cry of pain, she trips and falls, her ankle turning, hands and knees scraped raw on scattered brambles and twigs as her basket spills its contents on the forest floor. She needs to keep moving, but she’s captivated by the porcelain doll she tripped over, it’s white dress stained red, face smudged with red dirt. When she lifts her head, she meets rancid breath and gleaming fangs. Red eyes and a snarl. The trees bow in the wind, blocking out the moonlight, plunging the area into utter darkness as the other hunters form a ring around her, their hackles raised and low growls filling the night.

She releases a soul piercing scream as jaws open wide to consume her.

Author’s Note: If you’re not exactly sure what’s going on but are intrigued, then I have accomplished my goal for this chapter! Real life responsibilities are starting to catch up to me, so I am uncertain when or how often I will be able to publish updates for this story. I apologize for that, but your patience is appreciated!

I have to thank @titaniasfics and @peetabreadgirl for their excellent help in beta reading, editing, and discussing complicated structuring with me. Any remaining mistakes are all my responsibility. Ladies, you are pillars of creativity. Love you both!

#Everlark Fic Exchange #Springtime Edition 2017 #submission #katnissdoesnotfollowback #prompt 5

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drgoddamndmt · 8 years ago

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new project

THE BACARDI FIVE-HUNDRED by TWP Outline CH 1: Tuesday Night; Chilling w/ the girls & some strange news. A frantic & fulfilling Race Home. CH 2: Thursday Night; Race to score liquor & drugs before pre-game ritual: Bonfire w/ friends. CH 3: Awkward Arrival of a Shorthaired White Girl; Painful dining experience @ Steak n’ Shake in the early AM. Then Home for final preparations. Yakira’s neediness preyed upon… Pack my bags & sleep on the couch… CH 4: Friday Morning Race to Bank & Store after waking up late; Get cleaned up & load the car. Smoke a bowl, have a shot, then hit the road, onto FL-417 North. CH 5: Party On the Road; Maps out, music blasting, blunts, & Bacardi from the canteen. Zach & I each eat one Adderall and two mushroom caps. Good times. Finally enter Daytona. Arrive early @ La Quinta Inn & now we wait. 21st Century Fox is fashionably late & every one wonders what James is doing here… CH 6: Check In & the Nightmare of Parking; Off on foot for quiet, awkward lunch. Weird scenes on the Boardwalk: Doomsday Preachers, hobo street performers, witches. @ Ocean Deck Bar & Grill, some bad vibes, & an acoustic revival. Then back to Hotel. CH 7: Git’ Down; Rolling blunts & mixing drinks, rushing off to ICE machine. Out on balcony, Race to catch the buzz before dusk. Down to pool & hot tub. Swirling whirlpool foursome in Jacuzzi. “Dead Cats, Dead Rats!” Josh takes Meghan to bed. Jackson, James, & Yakira help make sure she’s okay. Me & Zach stay downstairs. What now? Cocaine… CH 8: Neon & Noise; the remaining five of us roam on foot down Main St and Boardwalk theme park district. Go Karts. We race around, but not for very long. Me & Jackson eat some shrooms. Tilt-a-Whirl, then Sling-Shot, & finally photo booth. Singing drinking songs walking back. Waiting @ Domino’s for James’ food, me & her finally get to talk. Having a good time, glad you’re here. Back @ Hotel, more blunts on balcony before Ocelot wants food, TV & sleep. Jackson abides (?!?!?!) & now all beds are occupied. Still wired, what comes next..? CH 9: Night Alive; A messy exit, across street & down block to Yakira’s Corolla. Knew Jackson would snoop thru my bags, so I snuck out drugs & her present. @ Waffle House for another painful dining experience, and some horrible music. Paranoia, angst & hijacking the juke-box. Bad vibes. Madly laughing, “sympathy for the rooster…” Escape. CH 10: Race back to Hotel; Collect liquor & towels. Down to beach. Tequila, & The Black Angels on the dark shore. We split up… Naked run into ocean, cold swim. See something and return, witch going thru my belongings. She says hi. I say hi. In the distance, hear familiar voices & see lights of security carts. The witch was gone. Nervously dressed. Zach & Yakira return. Race back to Hotel… CH 11: Drunk Nostalgia on the Balcony; Three of us reflect on how much we’ve grown up & changed. Talk about the drugs we’ve done, the ones we haven’t & the ones we want to try. Eventually discuss sleeping arrangements & call it a night. Alone on the balcony, I reflect heavily on my journey w/ Jackson & what the future might hold. Heavy thoughts on a heavy night. Hear a party next door or downstairs but don’t care. Lay down w/ pillow & blanket, listening to laughter & sea birds… CH 12: Dreamlike Witch Encounter; Strange girl from beach woke me & invited me to party next door. Inside, there were 100 Corona bottles & a pound of ditch weed. Three other dudes, & the Witch. Balcony, shrooms, coke, weed, beer. Then we find ourselves talking about fulfilling our dreams, & the witch starts asking how willing/ determined we are… She started making strange promises in return for drugs & booze. I never gave her anything. Before dawn, I went over the rails & returned to my own balcony & slept. CH 13: Jackson’s Laughter Woke Me; Stood & saw her in hot tub, pale luscious & GD sexy… I saw James tho & calmed down. “Good morning, Crazy!” She laughed. Changed, grabbed stogies, and joined them. Got to sit alone w/ her half naked in day light hot tub. Shortly followed by Meghan & josh, only 2 minutes alone. I see the dudes from last night staring @ us from their balcony. They wave. I ignore. We all go upstairs to pack. Jackson tells me to clean up balcony, & trash talks. We stare each other down & watch each other’s hearts break. Alone, the dudes ask me what’s up w/ Jackson, & can they get w/ her. Dude, No. She’s my ex, & that’s her baby daddy. Leave her alone. Move cars, load up. Missing gift & key- card scene, was it the witch? EJ tells me don’t worry. Drive confusedly back to boardwalk theme park area. Get turnt & go out… CH 14: Johnny Rock n Roll’s Gift Shop on Main St; lots of amazing sights, beach stuff, Woodstock & Grateful Dead memorabilia. Biker chic, stoner chic, Veteran, Hippie, beatnik chic… Onto Boot Hill Cemetery, & a bad time taking photos, Jackson & James always bickering. Browse thru more gift shops, & I realize James is only here to buy Jackson anything she wants… CH 15: Boardwalk Gauntlet; Sling-shot, liquor, blunt roaches, & tilt a whirl. Philosophies of adrenaline junkies. Split up for taffies, Frisbees, kites & beer. Regroup on beach for full contact free throw Frisbee. Down to the ocean for a quick swim, & a tender moment w/ my woman. After her kite won’t fly, Meghan hears about the go kart track near by, & wants to check it out. CH 16: The Bacardi 500; We bribed some workers @ the track to let us all Race together. It would be three rounds, of five laps each. It was a brutal, unforgiving trial to weed out the worst drivers, & we were all drunk and stoned. Nearly an hour of high speed curving & passing, shit talking screaming, shouting, singing. Hearing anthems like L.A. Woman & Going the Distance in my head… There was no clear winner & the techs had no idea, so it was highly debated, but in the end, I didn’t care. CH 17: Last Look @ the Deep Blue Sea; Another round of drinks, Frisbee, & swimming before the rain clouds form. I finally tell her happy birthday. We head back to the cars… It was time to go. Jackson & her band had more places to stop & things to do before returning to Lake County. The three of us had to get back to Orlando while we still could… We said our good byes & hit the road. We followed her at first, until FL-400, then onto I-4, and finally, FL-417… CH 18: The Stormy Road Home; Still drinking & smoking, Yakira plays some music & suddenly they are venting, talking mad shit about Jackson, her attitude, the way she made everything a downer. I stood up for her but they chewed me out. Heavy music to cope w/ heavy thoughts. Silent breakdown. Finally Zach changes music & everything is better temporarily. We Race Home @ great time, less that an hour. But bad vibes soon return. Arguing & fighting upon return. CH 19: Angry Night Home; I brood & dwell on negative thoughts while Zach & Yakira waste all the hot water. Found the lost q in the backyard & salvaged it. Zach maintained his shitty mood & had to leave for work. Yakira & I went to the gas station & got more beer & cigarettes. Got turnt & made dinner @ the house. Ma came home, & Yakira talked her ear off. Eventually her & I crashed in the living room watching TV & I fell asleep. After two AM Zach came home. They woke me up giggling in the shower & I didn’t go easily back to sleep. CH 20: Sunday, February 19th, Jackson’s 21st Birthday; More ugly bickering w/ Zach. Both of us dope sick, he talks major shit & I break a glass pipe. He threatens to slug me. I punch myself & get a bloody black eye. He leaves w/ Jason to score more weed. Yakira asks if I’m okay, then leaves. Jackson never comes & alone @ the house I reflect heavily on the trip & her scornful words on the balcony. I decide to clean up. Then chill & drink w/ Jorge from work. CH 21: Strange Days; Jackson finally comes on Monday. I take her to get ice cream, then gift her card & an eighth. We talk. Neither of us seem very happy… Don’t hear from her for several days. Back @ the Hardware Store the owners are losing their grip w/ sanity, but I get closer w/ Jordan & Rachael & Shannon. Continue chilling w/ Jorge, Yakira & Yesse P. The next times I hear from Jackson is to buy weed & rush home. Sometimes she brings James, or somebody else… After I angrily speak my mind about it, she stops responding to my calls, texts, or snaps… Temporarily concluded that she hates me & it’s time for me to really move on & let her go. Have the epiphany that happiness comes not from others, but from within myself. EPILOGUE: The Uncertain Future; About a week later, Yakira wanted me & Zach to join her at the fair. We agreed. She came to the house & we chilled. Then she revealed Jackson was coming too. We went in two separate cars & the two of us talked everything out & felt much better. Ate some shrooms @ the carnival & staggered thru the fun house & rode all the attractions. Yakira & Zach got sick after all intense whiplash from the rides. They sat it out while me & Jackson shared a close moment on an incredibly dangerous ride. After everything was over, we had to part ways & go home. She had school & her child. I had work & hustling bags. But as we parted, we did knowing we’d always have each other there, as long as I stayed careful not to fuck it up…

#bacardi500 drgoddamndmt newstory #novel #poetry #adventure

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