#i love the townies here so much. i will have to find more excuses for sims to visit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blackevermore · 3 years ago

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x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 13 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 8640

P.s: Long chapter is long because i didn’t wanna stop writing pff

There was something off about the townspeople. He could feel it every time he set off in the mornings to sell and trade produce. First, it had been the women, their heads hanging low and their eyes barely meeting him when they handed him the money. Some of them tried to linger their touches but he quickly pulled away. Young maidens sought out for his affections but he would quickly reject them with the promise they would find their true suitor in due time. However, when it was whispered through the walls that Lady Spelltra was smitten by Vladan, the other young maidens ceased to come near him.

“Have you already taken someone?” Vladan could remember the way the fiery ginger hair woman asked him in annoyance. Vladan had told her many times he wasn’t interested and yet she came to his stall every day with hope on her shoulder. Every day she came and every day he would tell her he wasn’t interested. He tried to be as much of a gentleman as his mother taught him to be. But even so, he was getting tired of her advances as they became more and more aggressive and demanding.

“I have and she waits for me.” Vladan held no remorse for the way he answered her. Maybe being nice was foolish, to begin with, he should have been more assertive with her, but none of that would get through the woman’s head. Vladan watched as the girl’s eyes widened then narrowed into a snarl. Through her anger, he could have sworn he saw green eyes glow. Unlike Tayonna’s that glowed with the help of the sun, this woman’s eyes gleamed in the shade that covered her face. The woman clenched her fist then sighed as she straightened herself out and held her head up in a pompous pride.

“Does she wait for you at home? Here or across the sea?” She asked, eyeing him up and down with a smirk. Vladan wishes he could say she waited for him at home. He wished he could happily say he was married as well, but they knew of the tragic end of his family and they knew he only lived with the housemaids. Vladan tried his best not to allow the other to see his anger. Lady Spelltra was the head judge’s daughter, it was best not to anger her if Vladan wishes to continue business within the community. Vladan told himself that in two months he would pack up everything and head back across the seas. The colonies were too much of a hassle while the English had a hold over it.

“She waits,” Vladan turned away from the woman and finished tying off the order she had come with. He handed it to her and the woman huffed and threw the money into his hand before yanking the bag and leaving.

Then there were the men of the town who tried their hardest to get him to join them in their scandals. Whether they were playful adult pranks or shameful adultery, Vladan always held up his hand to dismiss them and excuse himself. Since his family had died it seemed like the townspeople were different creatures. Four years ago they were respectable townies that gave each other space and kept the community running with honesty and pride. Of course, Vladan had his issues with the English but even so the community was able to prosper with the incoming Dutch natives. But now the men were sleazy, everything they did was excused by the law created to shield them from punishment or swore to by the bible. Vladan could recall the many times some old man wrapped an arm around his shoulders to pull him in and point to a crowd of women.

“They are to worship us like gods as we are to give them divine pleasure bestowed upon us by God himself.” The old man smelled of rioting morality and crooked senses, Vladan had pushed the man off of him and the old man laughed as he fixed his hat. “You are hesitant now, but once you are guided, boy, you will understand.” Vladan wished he could strike down the man by the power of the so-called God they worshipped. The cruel nature of imbalance was evident in the dark clouds that hung over the town more and more each day. The only peace Vladan had was when he was able to drive the carriage home and see the sun shining over his house in the distance. He could feel the weight of the gloomy corruption slid off his back as ghostly hands wrapped around him and the faint feeling of lips kissed his temple. When he made it to the short stretch of dirt road that led up to his home he quickly jumped from the driver’s seat. Without having to call out to the woman he loved, the door would always open to Tayonna wiping her hands on her skirt, smiling and beckoning him inside.

Vlad stirred in his sleep as he felt a wet sensation drape across his forehead. Slowly he blinked his eyes and tried to sit up but the pain in his chest made him wince and fall back. He could tell he was now in a bed and was grateful, the last few times of fainting to the floor was starting to wear him thin. After a few deep breaths, he had to make sure his lungs were back to normal, he placed a hand on his forehead to hold the cloth and sat up. He couldn’t remember everything that had happened before he made it to bed. The dream he had just woken up from had blocked out reality as he could now clearly remember it. Vlad removed the cloth and placed it on the bedside table. He tried to recall everything. He had been in his room drinking, then screaming, then that darn mist getting into his body...but what else? Vlad felt an aching pain starting to throb in the front of his head and he hissed as the throb felt like it was moving to the left and right. Then it all came like a crash course causing his brain to bounce around.

“Don’t get up.”Tayonna’s voice was demanding and Vlad was taken back by it. Vlad looked up and saw Tayonna standing by the door with his two ghost maids standing right outside. Vlad cocked a brow then tried his best to sit up straight.

“Tayonna, I assure you I’m fine.” Vlad gritted his teeth as he felt another throb hit the sides of his head, harder than before. He fell back into the bed and groaned, laying down was the only thing that subdued the pain and gave Vlad a small ounce of ability. Vlad turned his head to the side and sighed as he saw the three ghosts watching him carefully. “Just a minor headache is all, nothing to be worried about, now if you all must be here at least take a seat. Your constant standing makes me uncomfortable.” Vlad let out a small chuckle and snapped his fingers for the maids to heed his command. But they wouldn’t move and only looked even more anxious than before. Vlad knotted this at their hesitant nature then turned towards Tayonna. He could see that even though she was hesitant to come closer to him, she looked angry as well. Vlad didn’t like that look, it told him he was in trouble and she was the last person she wanted to upset. ‘Wait, why?’

“They refuse to come in,” Tayonna told him, moving closer to him slowly before taking the seat in an armchair across from the bed.

“But I ordered them,” Vlad huffed and gave Tayonna a look.

“You may have ordered them but he doesn’t want them around.” Tayonna's eyes bore holes into Vlad’s as he looked between his maids and her. Vlad was confused and sat up once more in a haste and pushed to his feet. He stumbled and quickly caught himself, he could see in the corner of his eye that Tayonna was gripping her wrist, most likely to not reach out and help him. Vlad took a deep breath as the sudden dizziness of shift in gravity unbalanced him. Once he was sure he could stand on his own he straightened up and ran a hand through his hair. It was a silvery mess and he knew he looked dishevelled and hated every minute of it.

“No ghost or mist or whatever anyone shall be will be making orders within my house. When I call for them they will come.” Vlad commanded with anger and snapped his fingers once more to command the maids. The two maids jumped and turned towards each other in fear. The maid on the left reached out and took hold of the one on the right and hid behind her. The maid on the right sighed and tried to walk towards Vlad but quickly recoiled when she placed a foot over the threshold. The maid behind her quickly pulled her back and checked over her. Vlad couldn’t possibly understand why something like this was happening. This was his house! If any ghost of any sort wished to have control over anything Vlad had they would have to go through him. Linked to him or not it didn’t matter, Vlad was a force to be reckoned with that held power for a reason.

“I demand that the both of you come here, now!” Vlad's voice was dark as he snapped his fingers again and pointed to the floor in front of him. The maids shook with fear and tried once more to heed their master’s orders but when they both tried to ghost through the door they were zapped away by a now visible red force. Vlad’s sudden rush of anger dropped a bit and he took a step back. Surprised by the boom of his voice and the way it shook him down to his core. He was losing control over his own emotions and that worried him. He had never yelled at his maids, human or ghost, he always treated them with respect and valued the work they provided. He held his head in his hand and muttered an apology to the maids then turned back to Tayonna. The girl sat quietly in the chair still facing away from him.

“They can not come in until you can control yourself,” Tayonna said. Control himself? Vlad could feel himself slowly losing a grip since she had started to haunt his dreams. How could she make such a comment when nothing had been going right when she was the one to blame. “He is projecting his anger through you and none of us can go anywhere until you can control it, control him.” Tayonna stood up and walked towards Vlad and once again locked eyes with him. Vlad felt the anger vanish completely from his body and a warm feeling spread through his chest. He wanted to reach out and touch her, pull her in and feverishly kiss her until he heard her laugh. He had never felt her lips before but yet he craved them. He wanted to apologize to her about something he didn’t know he needed to apologize for. Vlad really wanted to take her in his arms like he had longed for her unstoppably. He wanted to hold her like he wished he could hold Maddie. Tayonna was far from being anything remotely close to Vlad’s Madeline. But yet he reached out and tried to touch her which made the girl flinch away.

“Do not touch me,” Tayonna's green eyes grew cold and she gripped her wrist tighter. Vlad’s breath hitched and he took a step back as well. Behind Tayona Vlad had noticed the red barrier had faded away and the ghost maids stayed put with continuous worry. Vlad cleared his throat and sidestepped around Tayonna making sure he looked away from the girl.

“You two are dismissed, I apologize for my rudeness, please know I will never raise my voice like that towards the two of you ever again.” Vlad scolded himself for his behaviour and the maids knew he was sincere.

“Of course, Sir.” The maids spoke in unison and curtsy as they poofed away. The silence in the room grew awkward as the last two in the room stood frozen in place. Vlad wanted to say something but he was afraid anything he said wouldn’t be of his own thinking.

Tayonna on the other hand had finally worked up the courage to speak, “I want you to remove this collar.”

“Excuse me?” Vlad turned around and Tayonna was already beside him running a hand over her neck where the metal was.

“Remove this collar,” Tayonna said bitterly, folding her arms across her chest. Vlad rolled his eyes and did the same, even with his weird new thoughts and emotions he still had his same old mind working and he refused to be bossed around.

“And why would I do that?” Vlad lowered his eyes and watched the other take a deep breath. Vlad could feel the pull in his hands that wanted to remove the collar but he fought against it. This wasn’t him. This was nothing he wanted and nothing he felt. If this ghost was going to be in his house he wanted to have the advantage against her. But the constant double thinking and fogginess of certainty was a steep uphill battle.

“Because you’ve already allowed him into your house, into your body, into your mind.” Tayonna stopped and took a moment to look away from Vlad as she tried to find her words. Vlad could tell it strained her. “You’ve already become a pawn.” Tayonna slowly looked up towards him with heavy eyes and Vlad’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure he could trust her, let alone trust himself, but he also couldn’t be too sure if something else happened he would be able to handle it alone. He could call upon Danny but then he knew Dani would want to come. Plus they were a good distance away even with the aid of the ghost portal. Vlad sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to think of something reasonable and failed.

“I am no pawn Miss Tayonna, all of this will be sorted out and settled once you are put to rest. If I remove that collar there are rules you must follow.” Vlad held up a finger waving it back and forth and Tayonna rolled her eyes. He understood this was going to be a tough situation with Tayonna not being able to look past his face to see he was someone completely different. But the recurring reminders of him and Vladan being alike was displeasing.

“Even you have rules that must be followed. It’s like he never left.” Tayonna caught herself before she let out giggles and swallowed them to keep quiet. Vlad noticed but said nothing. Again, he didn’t want to be compared to someone else.

“As I was saying, the rules are simple, one, you are not allowed to attack me when you feel like it. Even if you look at me and see him you are to keep your hands to yourself. Two, We are to try and work together to figure this out, which means when I ask you a question you must answer it. I deal with enough vague responses from my affiliates. Three, you will behave yourself as need be and you will never use those mind tricks on me or anyone else in this house. If you break any of these rules I will not only throw you back into the Ghost Zone, but I will make sure you never leave that dark hole you called home. I will also make sure you will never be heard of again. Do you understand?” Vlad knew his words were harsh and that he only meant half of what he said. But he had to save face and keep his advantage over her if this was their new agreement. Tayonna was wary and it showed as she bit her bottom lip and hunched over a bit, surrendering.

“Very well,” Tayonna bowed her head and Vlad walked forward to reach out and pushed her curls to the side. They were so soft and full of life despite the fact she was dead. He wanted to run his fingers over them but he quickly stopped himself and took hold of the collar. He made sure to whisper the release phrase so she couldn’t hear it and the glowing bars lit up, turning red as the collar unlocked itself. As he slid the collar off her neck and dark rings formed at her waist and she transformed into her ghost self. Vlad could admit silently he much rather preferred her in her human like state. Her skin was no longer the soft brown with red undertones but purple with a steel blue hue. Her eyes were the same but now looked like floating orbs in a black void. She was still attractive as she was when human but now it was evident that she was dead. Tayonna was a spirit that was haunting Vlad, not a welcome guest.

Vlad cleared his throat from how dry it had become and nodded his head.

“Better?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Much,” Tayonna answered by rubbing her neck and sighing.

Vlad had locked himself away in his study as he felt it was the only place in the house that didn’t feel intrusive. He had asked that Tayonna kept her distance as he needed space and the other happily agreed. It didn’t need to be said that the both of them much rather preferred the space between them. Vlad couldn’t handle the unnecessary need to touch her and Tayonna couldn’t bear to look him in the face for too long. Vlad had told her where in the house she could go and where not to. When he saw that she kept making eyes towards the garden he quickly made it another rule that if she stepped outside she had to turn back into a human and be human. In an instant, Tayonna became human and sank through the floor to walk out the kitchen backdoors and find home in Vlad’s garden.

Vlad tried to muscle himself into doing work but it was a failed attempt as he kept getting distracted by visions. Every so often he would think of being off in the countryside of some state he couldn’t recall and walking along a stream enjoying nature. Then he would think of someone waiting for him to find them through the wildflowers. The warm feeling in his chest would come back and he hums happily. It would be minutes before Vlad realized he was slacking off and would pull at his ears to get back to work. The visions were peaceful and Vlad found himself longing for his trip to Wisconsin to hurry closer. The sooner he could make sure all his companies were staying clear in the green, the faster he could plan his trip and get away from Amity. Amity was his home away from home, the fields of Wisconsin was where his heart lied considering he was born there. After an hour or so of fiddling on his computer, he had finished all his leftover documents and emails.

Vlad sat back in his chair and closed his eyes to take a breather. The headaches were gone, thank god, but the constant mixed and foreign feelings he was experiencing kept tugging at him. Where is she? ‘She’s in the garden’ Vlad answered himself. Is she safe? ‘Why wouldn’t she be?’ Vlad opened his eyes and frowned at the odd thought. Why wouldn’t Tayonna be safe at his home? If a ghost wouldn’t dare to randomly show up and cause trouble, he was sure the fickle humans outside wouldn’t bother crossing into his property. Vlad tried to push the thought away but the more he sat in silence he kept asking himself the same question over and over. Now that Vlad knew who the little voice inside his head actually belonged to he had no choice but to reason with it to shut it up. Even he was getting tired of hearing his own voice, accented or not.

“I will go check on her, will that satisfy you?” Vlad asked coldly to the air knowing he wasn’t going to get a response. He grumbled and made his way out of the office and down the stairs to the kitchen. When he made it to the sliding doors he opened them and stepped outside. Tayonna was nowhere in sight but the garden seemed like it had become more vibrant. The rose bushes he had newly planted had already bloomed and the lilies were bigger than they were a day ago. Vlad ran his hand over the soft pedals and smiled at how beautiful they were. His mother would have been proud. He walked through his garden and saw his other flowers were just as alive, the tulip beds were fully bloomed and the many different colours they came in painted the ground. Vlad further into his garden and had finally found Tayonna sitting under the statue. She held a rose in her hand lacing the stem through her fingers somehow avoiding its thorns. Vlad couldn’t stop the smile that laces gently across his lips and the sigh that left his body in relief.

As Vlad watched the girl for a while he could recall a dream he had months ago when this all started. He could now piece it together, Tayonna was sitting by a small garden by the front of a house. She was digging with her hands to plant flowers she found and she looked so pleased with herself. Vlad could only imagine how happy, if she actually was, back then doing whatever she did. The dream would always end up with Vlad mouthing Tayonna’s name and the girl turned around to look at him with a big smile until it dropped in dread and fear. Tayonna would then drop everything she was doing to pick up her dress and take off running towards the dark nothingness. That dream always clenched at Vlad’s throat as he was never sure why Tayonna would suddenly run away when she looked so happy to see him.

I had to protect her.

“Oh! Will you go away,” Vlad grumbled and waved a hand near his ear to silence the voice and it seemed to work. As he rolled his eyes and looked back towards Tayonna he noticed the girl had finally spotted him. He awkwardly cleared his throat and nodded towards her before walking towards her.

“I see you take a great liking to my garden, Miss Tayonna. I also see you’ve done some work with advancing their bloom.” Vlad was pleased by her work. He hadn’t thought much of it to maybe use his powers to speed along their growth. Perhaps it was a part of him who wanted nature to take its time and he could play happy caretaker. Tayonna spun the rose in her hand with her fingers and hummed before placing it down on the ground and waving a hand over it. The rose started to glow and its stem warped like a snake and travelled towards the statue and began to climb up the base. The stem broke in twos and threes and little rosebuds sprouted. The stems wrapped around the body of the statue and stopped when it reached the head. The stem wrapped around like a crown but instead of rosebuds sprouting, thorns grew like spikes. Tayonna waved her hand over the rose on the ground once more and it began to wither and fall apart. When the rose on the ground was dead and nothing but dust, the stem around the statue curled into itself and stayed put.

It was a magical site and Vlad was very impressed as he watched the statue become something even more remarkable. Take that Mrs Welmsworth!

“As much as I would love to woo my neighbours with the sudden change in the garden in the middle of the summer, I would actually prefer it if you didn’t perform where people could see you.” Vlad spoke towards Tayonna as he kept his eyes forward looking around to see if anyone was outside. When he was sure no one had seen what Tayonna was doing he looked back towards her. She curled into herself and that intoxicating sad expression she wore was back.

“He used to tell me to stop doing magic all the time. Afraid someone would catch me.” Tayonna said. Vlad could feel the all too familiar tug on his heart to comfort her but he stayed still.

“Why would he be afraid of someone seeing you?” Vlad was curious, maybe this would help further aid in solving all this.

“I don’t know, I can’t remember.” Tayonna sighed and looked up towards Vlad in the same routine, her eyes would fill with hope but then die as she realized something and looked away. Vlad secretly hoped that’s not what he looked like when he reconnected with the Fenton family and saw Maddie.

“Was he trying to protect you?” Vlad walked closer and held out a hand for Tayonna to take. The girl was confused but it quickly faded as Vlad gave her a warm smile and nodded slowly for her to take it. Tayonna took it and he helped her to her feet, she pulled away from him and grabbed her wrist and turned away.

“I don’t remember,” Tayonna replied.

“Hmm, can you recall anything that might be important?” Vlad knew there had to be something buried that would unearth the truth. He could see the way her eyebrows twisted together that Tayonna knew something but didn’t want to share it. “Tayonna?” Vlad called out to the girl and she shook her head a few times, her mouth opened and close as she tried to find the words. Vlad saw the way her fingers dug into her skirt and she gripped the fabric for dear life.

“He was always so worried, always so tense, he didn’t like being there. We had to stay there because of his family but he wanted to leave so badly. He….He was….He-” Tayonna's voice began to break as the words lost themselves and tears formed at the corners of her eyes. She tried to wipe them away but the more she swiped at her face the more fell. Vlad had noticed that the sky above them started to turn grey and lighting sparked between the clouds. Vlad knew he shouldn’t touch her but he couldn’t deny that this was necessary for calming her down. He took hold of her hands and lowered them and used his thumbs to catch a few stray tears as he held her face. He didn’t say anything and just hoped his pleading expression was enough to calm her.

Tayonna didn’t pull away which amazed him, he continued to do that as a few more tears fell and finally, Tayonna held onto his arms. Not to pull him away but almost for safety. They stared into each other's eyes and that’s when Vlad felt an easing sensation starting to rise within him. For the first time, he felt his core beat against his chest like a heart. And a faint glow started to rise through his skin. He hoped she didn’t see it and he quickly lowered his hands from her face and she let go and held onto herself. Vlad held a hand to the centre of his chest and pretended to be more so relieved rather than checking his core. That was an all new experience for him. When he felt it settle down again he checked back over to Tayonna to make sure she was calm.

“This is a troublesome matter and it’s best if you don’t stress yourself talking about it. In due time, if you are comfortable enough to talk about it I’m willing to listen.” Tayonna only nodded her head and Vlad smiled. He turned on his heels and looked over his shoulder. “Would you like to come in for tea?” Ghost didn’t need to drink nor eat but Vlad felt this was the right response. Tayonna was more human than she was a ghost in the short time Vlad has had her around and could notice. Tayonna nodded and followed behind him as Vlad walked back towards the house and opened the doors for her to enter first. He gestured for her to take a seat at the small dining table as he went about preparing them both a cup. As the water boiled Vlad checked over his shoulder a few times to make sure Tayonna was still where he left her. A nagging feeling kept him doing so until the tea was ready and he could finally bring everything to the table. Setting up the tea set and giving Tayonna her cup and platter, Vlad sat across from her and poured both of their drinks.

“Thank you.” Tayonna watched him pour the tea and Vlad gave her a gentle smile in return. They sat together in silence sipping their tea keeping an eye on each other. So much for wanting to put space between them. Vlad snickered at how it was he who broke his own rule. He practically ran to find her like a dog to a bone. But now that they were in the same space it didn’t feel as awkward. Sure Tayonna still glazed upon him every so often like a lost child, but Vlad no longer had a strong desire to touch her. Which means he could now continue his investigation about who she was and her relationship with Vladan. Surely a simple question wouldn’t get her railed up like before.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Vlad waited for her to look up and to have her full attention before continuing. “Did you and Vladan have a good relationship?” Vlad could easily put together all the dreams he had to know they did. But he wanted to hear it from her, see if her side of things were the same or different than what he knew. Tayonna’s shoulders dropped and she looked down onto the table with a lost but relaxed expression.

“We were in love,” Tayonna said so dryly then took a sip of her tea then pushed away from the table to pull one of her legs onto the chair to lean against. Vlad wouldn’t ask any more about the relationship if she didn’t want to speak about it. So he hummed and sipped away at his drink. “You look so much like him,” Tayonna mumbled, not really hoping for Vlad to hear. But with ghost senses like his, he heard her loud and clear. Vlad put down his cup and sat up straight, he moose back his hair though it had no fly aways and he smiled.

“Well I assure you once more, I’m not him, no matter how much we may look alike. This is a new era of people with new and approved mindsets. All I ask of you to do is look upon me as my own person. I know it must be hard but try. If we are going to work together then it’s for the best.” Vlad was calm when he said it, he meant every word and hoped she would listen with open ears. Tayonna seemed to perk up and looked him up and down.

“You handle yourself differently from him, Vladan hated being proper and well put together. He was such a slouch.” Tayonna cracked a small smile and whisked her finger in the air to make her tea move in circles.

“Was not!” Vlad snapped then quickly covered his mouth. Tayonna looked at him with wide eyes then her face softened before shaking her head and looking away. “Pardon me,” Vlad cleared his throat again and blushed. The sudden outburst was not something he would normally catch himself doing....anymore.

“I’ve told you, Vladimir, you are nothing but a pawn now.” Tayonna sighed and lowered her head as she continued to magically stir her tea. Vlad grumbled ‘I’m not a pawn’ to himself and silently enjoyed the rest of his. Vlad looked off towards the garden and watched the flowers. They truly were beautiful.

It was finally Saturday, the week had felt like a whole month, but it was Saturday and Vlad couldn’t wait for the day to be over. Saturdays were special days, Vlad gave the whole office a half day so he could mossy over to the local country club for a round of golf. Then afterwards he and Dani would spend the rest of the day doing whatever she wanted. Which wasn’t much for the freshly 15 year old, she mostly wanted to spend time with her friends now that she was experiencing the thrills of being a teenager. Which was fine with Vlad but ever so often he craved the father-daughter bonding hours. Which reminded him, he needed to call her and make sure she was okay. After the whole thing on Tuesday he needed to make sure that those effects Tayonna had on her weren’t permanent. Vlad quickly reached for his personal phone and flipped through the contacts before landing on Dani’s number. He pressed dail and held the phone up to his ear.

“Hello?” Dani answered the phone in a whisper, Vlad brows knitted together and he looked over towards his desk clock. Why would she be whispering at 12 in the afternoon on a Saturday?

“I hope whatever you are doing is either legal or won't be getting you into trouble with the authorities.” Vlad tsked and he could hear the sigh in Dani's voice when she pulled away from the phone.

“It’s legal in the Ghost Zone,” Dani responded. Vlad could easily tell that whatever Dani was hiding from she really didn’t want them to find her. Vlad sighed and hit a button on his computer that blanked out the whole screen then pulled up a tracker on Dani within the Ghost Zone. Vlad hadn’t told her about it but Danny knew, the young Phantom thought Vlad was being overprotective but Vlad swore that he would only use it in emergencies. That was also the reason he placed one on Danny as well. Because wherever one went the other was sure to follow. Vlad saw that Dani was in fact following Danny somewhere north of the zone.

“Why are you following Daniel?”

“Wait how-oh never mind! I’m not sure I actually wanna know.” Vlad smirked as he gave himself a point for being ahead of the game.

“A father has his ways, now tell me young lady why are you following him.” Vlad knew Dani could hear the smile across his lips and he could only imagine her making the infamous pouty face she was known for.

“I just wanted to go out with him but Danny was doing that weird big brother ‘no stay home’ and I wanted to know what he was up to.” Vlad knew Dani got more of her nosy behaviour from him rather than Danny. That’s what happens when you raise clones. And that was enough for him to also become curious as to what Danny was up to.

“So where is he going?” Vlad leaned more into his computer and pulled up the exact location of where the two phantoms were. Since the map wasn’t complete it was hard to actually pinpoint what islands of certain ghosts were where. But still with how many years Vlad had spent bonding with those in the zone he had a somewhat clear understanding when he looked at the charting numbers.

“I think he’s going to Clockwork, I heard him mumbling about wanting to ask questions earlier.” Dani's voice became clear which meant she was moving from her hiding spot.

“Danielle, you realize he wouldn’t have to travel through the Ghost Zone to get to Clockwork. He has the medallion that could easily open a patrol for him.” Vlad could hear Dani stop moving and grumble to herself.

“Then I have no idea where he's going. Shit!”

“Language young lady.” Vlad couldn’t help but laugh at his daughter’s failed attempt at following her counterpart. Just then Vlad saw that Danny’s signal went out then popped back up now behind Dani. “I believe you should turn around.”

“Why-”

“Ha, I knew you were following me!” Vlad could now hear Danny loud and clear through the phone. Ah yes the good old dupe trick, never gets old.

“I just wanted to know!” Dani groaned.

“Is that Vlad on the phone? Cough it up, short stack.”

“Stop calling me that!” The phone shuffled through hands before Danny mumbled something to Dani about going home with the teenager replied with a strong ‘no’.

“Hey fruitloop, sending Dani after me again?” Danny laughed and Vlad took the jab light heartily.

“Nonsense, she has a will of her own and became curious of where you were going. I actually called to speak to her but she was very busy keeping an amazingly low profile.” Vlad could hear Dani asking what he was saying but Danny kept replying with ‘nothing’ and ‘go home’. Vlad wouldn’t mind listening to the children bicker back and forth, making him feel just as much as a father as he liked to be. But he had pressing matters that needed to be sorted out. “Well Daniel as much as I would love to listen to you go, I would rather like to speak to Danielle, please.”

“Yeah, Imma hand her the phone but you gotta convince her to go home. Deal?”

“You have my word,” Vlad gave a scout's honour to himself and laughed. Danny handed the phone back to Dani who was not out of breath from trying to fight off the older phantom to get her phone back.

“Yeah?”

“I wish to ask you if you are alright since the time you left the house.” Vlad didn’t want to sound worried but he knew he did. Dani could tell and she didn’t speak for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dani didn’t sound sure of herself and Vlad could only blame himself.

“Danielle, dear, I’m sorry you had to be put in that situation trying to help us. This is exactly what Daniel and I were trying to warn you about.” Vlad felt his heartache and he loosened his tie from around his neck. “Those memories…I…

” Vlad halted in his words, he didn’t want to bring it up either, those times were dark for the both of them, but he had to know. “You aren’t-”

“Dad,” Vlad felt the strength behind Dani's words as she stopped him before he could speak. “Dad, I’m okay, that was the past and we’re beyond that and we’re good, okay? Her weird mind powers were just hella strong for no reason.” Vlad could care less to warn her about her language. He only cared that she was alright mentally and physically.

Vlad nodded and sighed happily, “We are good, I was just worried about you, was all.”

“Oh god, come on, fruitloop, I can handle one mental breakdown and besides I wrapped her up with the gun. All under control.” Dani laughed.

“Don’t you dare start picking up any more of his bad habits. That forsaken nickname will be the death of me.” Vlad rolled his eyes and closed out the secret features on his laptop to pull back up his normal business work. “But I also wanted to know if you will be returning home before school is out or do you wish to stay with the Fentons’?” Vlad heard the laughter die down and he grew worried again.

“I-is it safe?” Dani whispered again, most likely turning away from Danny so he couldn’t hear her.

“Very much so, Tayonna is now being cooperative and has promised to do no harm. If you choose to come home, I will promise you no harm will ever come your way again, as long as I stand.” Vlad felt the protectiveness side of himself swell to its highest. He meant what he said. Even if Tayonna was willing to be on her best behaviour, one slip up between her and Dani and Vlad was ready to destroy her till there was nothing left. Even if it pained him in the end.

“I’ll think about it, that lady gives me the creeps.”

“Very well, just tell me when you are coming.”

“Thanks, dad.”

“Always.”

“Love you, bye!” Danny quickly hung up the phone before Vlad could register what she said. When the words finally formed themselves, Vlad pulled the phone away from his face with the biggest smile. Dani didn’t say if often, remotely never at all, but when she did he knew she meant it. Vlad had still yet to say it back despite how much Dani filled the empty hole in his heart. He didn’t feel the need to say it, which maybe was a problem, Danny says, all kids should be told they are loved. But Vlad was just never good with words. It was a lot easier to throw money at things and hope that they understood why you did it. Vlad would spoil Dani rotten if she’d only ask, but he was also grateful she had Danny’s small bit of humble nature. That’s why Vlad secretly placed money randomly throughout her room to make it seem like she forgot she had put it there. Vlad loved it when he saw her face light up and she called her friends to go hang out at the arcade. This had surely put Vlad in a good mood, he could only hope his golf match was just as great.

Vlad had luck by his side or was it so the high he still had from being told he was loved by Dani, either, his golf session was amazing and he even signed a new deal with an associate that happened to be on the course with him. Vlad felt the shine of the sun hit his face as he drove his golf cart back to the lot and it felt mighty fine, the summer was rolling in nicely. Though his core did make it a bit difficult to enjoy the really hot weather. Even when it was 90 degrees outside it felt like a nice sunny 70, people would be sweating to death and Vlad sat comfortably in his suit. When he parked the cattie he waved goodbye to the staff and gathered his things to head home. As he settled into his car his phone began to ring.

“Masters.” Vlad happily answered and he heard the ‘tsk’ of his lovely assistant on the other side.

“Good game?” Kate knew of Vlad’s Saturday golf sessions since she was the one that scheduled them for him.

“Simply splendid.” Vlad hummed back and started the car for his 30-minute drive.

“Well that's great but I have news for you. No luck at the other library nor any of the small business records I managed to get ahold of from companies that also happen to have partnerships with you currently that were established in the mid 18th century that happened to date back to the 17th century.” Kate sighed then moaned and Vlad made a bewildered look towards his car’s display screen.

“Miss Way if you are calling during rather private interactions, I think it's best if you would’ve-”

“I’m at the spa, Sir. I would much rather go out with your wacky affiliates than call you while getting my back blown out.” Kate groaned and then hissed in pain.

“Very well.” Vlad cringed at her explanation, rolling his eyes, he couldn’t be upset that she was doing something for her own pleasure when she did inform him she would.

“I leave for Pennsylvania tomorrow so I’ll keep you updated. Also, Jackson says hi.” Vlad could hear a faint nervous ‘Hi Sir’ come from the distance behind Kate and Vlad slapped his face. That’s where Jackson went?! “Before you get uppity about him leaving, it was a last minute thing and I paid for his flight.”

“Well it’s great I didn’t feel the need to call for him or I would have been utterly confused to be informed my driver was on vacation. A vacation he failed to inform his boss about.” Vlad sneered and Kate let out a small chuckle.

“Don’t worry you’re a big boy you can drive. Bye Sir.” Kate hung up the phone and Vlad shook his head but didn’t allow that one little hiccup to throw off his mood. Today was a good day, he thinks, and hopefully, when he got home it would end on a good note. When Vlad arrived home and pulled into his driveway he noticed Mrs Welmsworth standing outside across the street with her annoying little dog, Pepper, in her hands.

“Hello, Mrs Welmsworth, lovely day isn’t it?” Vlad didn’t particularly enjoy his neighbours, not because they were around but more so they didn’t know how to treat their former mayor with a bit more respect. Even in a quiet gated community people felt the need to be inside of someone else's home. Mrs Welmsworth was the worst offender. With only standing 5’foot nothing and 78 years old, she was the definition of old Hollywood that didn’t know who current celebrities were. She always wore her finest designer loungewear and kept her face painted with outdated beauty. She had long white hair and slanted hooded brown eyes that only showed young but matured mischief. She wasn’t ugly, even with her large nose and long face, Vlad knew that in her prime she must have been a catch with dark ebony hair and eyes, but she was indeed a very insufferable woman. Imagine her surprise when she thought the new guy moving him was just as old as her by the colour of his hair, only to find out he was only (mentally) 44. Vlad was grateful she didn’t like them young.

“Afternoon Masters,” Vlad felt his skin crawl at the way she seductively held out the letters in his name. Hopefully, she wasn’t changing her mind and trying her luck. “I see you’ve done some garden work and I couldn’t help but admire it. Considering just yesterday they weren’t in full bloom. Tell me your secrets.” The old woman chuckled and petted her dog as she eyed Vlad up and down.

‘My secret is a ghost that’s currently in my house’ Vlad thought and swallowed his annoyance to put on a gentle smile. “I have no secret other than money can make things very beautiful in a short time.” Vlad walked towards his trunk and pulled out his golf bag.

“Surely there must be something, I saw a young woman lurking around yesterday, is that your new gardener?” Vlad stiffened and quickly tried to think if anyone might have seen Tayonna when she wasn’t human. He should have been more careful. He knew he couldn’t turn around and lie or else the old woman would stick her long nose even farther into his property. So Vlad turned and nodded as politely as he could.

“Ah yes she is, a new hire I thought would help me maintain the glamour of nature. My mother would roll in her grave if I didn’t.” Vlad did take pride in his garden so it wasn’t a complete lie his mother could haunt him for killing flowers. God, he hoped not. One restless ghost in his house was enough. Vlad could see that Mrs Welmsworth was about to cross the street until he saw her stop in her tracks and go wide eyed. The woman began to seem confused as her mouth opened and closed repeatedly and she stumbled back a bit. Vlad’s brows knotted until he heard the sound of his front door open all the way. Vlad turned around and saw Tayonna, luckily as a human, staring deep into the old woman. Vlad hissed and quickly walked up the pathway and the stairs shooing Tayonna back into the house. “Good day, Mrs Welmsworth!” Vlad waved and slammed the door shut. Tayonna looked up at him with a stoic face while he was more than visibly distressed.

“Why in the world would you do that?” Vlad’s voice was a harsh whisper and Tayonna rolled her eyes.

“I could feel that you were uncomfortable and then you started to panic.” Tayonna crossed her arms and began walking away. Vlad’s distress lowered and he cocked a brow towards her remark. She could feel his emotions? Did that have something to do with his core? Vlad facepalmed and grumbled a butter biscuit, of course, it did, Vlad had spent years learning about this ghostly half and yet he threw it out the window of logic. Tayonna was linked to his core which meant she could sense him and...he could sense her. Vlad had ignored it this whole time, the over sense of emotions were mostly hers even when she wore a blank face. Of course. Of course.

“I appreciate your help, but do not ever do that again. I don’t need any more trouble from the humans than I already get.” Vlad pushed off the door and kicked off his shoes before hanging up his visor. He was curious though, “What did you make her see?” He called out to Tayonna who only huffed which led him to the kitchen. He waltzed in and saw her sitting on top of his breakfast counter with flowers scattered around her, she was weaving the flowers together. Oh, how Vlad wanted to yell at her to get off and sit decently and clean up her mess.

“Her husband cheated on her with her brother and she caught them but never said anything. He doesn’t know that she knows he prefers to lay with men and has never actually loved her. She loves him and tries to win him back but it never works.” Tayonna said dryly and continued weaving the flower stems through each other to create bases. Vlad was impressed and hummed in a pleased manner. He never knew that about his neighbour and now he couldn’t help but want to know more. Oh no, he was becoming the thing he hated. “She killed him ten years ago, he’s buried in the basement under the new flooring.” Vlad’s face quickly dropped and he stared at Tayonna bewildered. She said it so calmly, casually as if it was another Saturday conversation.

“Well, um, that’s none of my business, I should stay out of it.” That would explain why sometimes Vlad could see a shadow of a man standing in Mrs Welmsworth’s bedroom window some nights. Mrs Welmsworth always said her husband was a very busy movie man who was always away on trips filming his new movies, not dead. Vlad felt a shiver run down his back, he has been living next to a murder sight for the past 3 years. Vlad took that as his cue to probably leave Tayonna alone and busy himself with something else. In a couple of hours, Saturday's big game would be on and he much rather think about the Packers winning than the fact he could see Mr Welmsworth and never knew.

#📖Ghost Stories👻#vlad masters #Danny Phantom #dp fanfic #Secrets of The Lake #My writing #self shipping community #self ship

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toxiccaptain · 4 years ago

Text

Bully Oc Quotes: Richard Sinclair

((Gonna go off the actual wiki layout))

Conversing

My father has been getting to eat a lot more, but now he wants me to start working out

I can pay my around this place but i feel like that’s just a waste of money

A lot of people think I’m nice but then get hurt with what I say, so I don’t know what they would like for me to be

My birthmark tends to be very distracting in conversations, but I can’t seem to find the right makeup shade for my skin

Those jocks really get aggressive for the littlest things

Father gave me the key to his garage and my mother gave me the keys to her winery

When wondering around

People always stares at my face like I’ve got some sickness-

I wonder if my parents get bothered that my music taste is far different than theirs

I’m not that small- am I?

I don’t know who’s scarier, the jocks or the townies

Everyone is always tryna hurt me but jokes on them I can’t feel it half Of the time.

Gotta renew these bandages

I hope the bruise goes away soon

Everything is sore, why does it have to be sore

I may hurt myself unintentionally because of what I do but doesn’t mean I’m stupid

Why do the scary ones like me..?

Chasing someone

You’re more of a girl than I am

What’s wrong? You afraid of little ol me?

((No attacking because Richard is the only prep who doesn’t fight physically))

Insulting

Oh what the world has turned you into

You look both lonely and pathetic, not that it’s anything new

It’s a shame this school resorted in letting animals like you in

Real mature, do it again and maybe it can actually get you some attention

I’m guessing you escaped the rat trap

Someone notify the circus that one if their freaks was let out

Oh I feel so very bad for where you came out from

You’re not that pretty

You wish that was charming

You should be sorry for who you are

Out of breath

I need to work out

I shouldn’t be this out of breath at such a young age

When crying

...it hurts so much... why does it hurt this much...

When kicked in groin

OW! You Unfair...Lowlife!

When knocked out

Ah the floor.. my own friend I’ve learned..to love

That didn’t hurt..

I think I’m gonna pass out..

How unfortunate..it is..to be me

That’s.. gonna leave a mark...

Hit with a stink bomb

Someone please take a bath

That reeks more than the locker room after a game

Ally help me

Uh, could you give me a hand with this?!

please help me! I’m not a fighter!

Bumped into (friendly)

Oh, please do forgive me

My apologies

That’s my fault, can’t see from 1 eye after all hehe..

Bumped into (hostile)

Do you mind?

Are you stupid or something?

Watch where you’re going would you?

Move it

Don’t be a bother

I’d watch it if I were you

Don’t make me get the others on your ass

When bumped into other cliques

(Townies) I would ask you to watch it but I’m not trying to start trouble

(Greaser) I know you’re trying to take my money but you’re gonna have to try harder than that

(Nerd) get your glasses fixed cause clearly you can’t see where you’re going

(Jock) I don’t need your sweat on me

Saying goodbye

I must be going, mother is making food today and I do enjoy her cooking

I’ll catch up later, I must head off

I’ve got somewhere to be, we can speak more about this later

I do need to pick up some new clothes, see you.

Grossed out

Um,, excuse me, what is that?

Devilish-

Spat on

You Donkey! Haven’t you heart of having manners?!

Watching a fight

Oh it’s fun to watch others fight

Chicken fight!

My money is on the biggest one

Show them no mercy

When fire alarm is pulled

I wonder where the fire is

Flustered

Oh,, uh- hi

Look we don’t gotta get too ahead of ourselves-

I- I’m sorry if I did something

We..we can sort this out-

Receiving a gift

Oh how cute,for me?

You’re sweet, maybe you’re fitting to be a prep after all

You didn’t have to, honestly

You’re charming, really you are

Greeting

Bonjour

Hello

Good evening

Flirt

I’m more than just a pretty face

Grooming

Is it really that bad?(referring to birthmark)

Hm, maybe I should cover it up

I’m not that ugly-

Cute...?

I don’t see the resemblance between me and derby

Requesting an errand

Mind helping me out?

Here’s something you can prove to me

I have something I need you to help me with

Unknown

I’m nothing like him

My father is a more hush hush man

I’m average but even then that doesn’t make them leave me alone

I’ve broken 10 bones and I’m fine

I’m not inbred like the others but people assume just because of the birthmark

People always get a good impression of me just by the look but as soon as I talk I’m either weird or scary

I swear I’m nice

What a handsome fellow

What a beautiful girl

Don’t hurt me

Why do people always shove me against the lockers..?

I swear I’m not crazy

My elder brother scares me.. wait I’m not suppose to mention him-

I’ve been called a fruit before

I know more than what the others may think

Watch yourself or else people will end up at your door step

I have a lot of bruises on my body and my parents thought it was from a girl until I told them I fell out of a tree

#bullworth academy #bully: canis canem edit #bully #bully: scholarship edition #canis canem edit #bully canis canem edit #bully scholarship edition #bully oc #oc #richard sinclair #bully oc quotes

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valeriethepussycats · 5 years ago

Text

I’m Only Human

Chapter 4

Pairing- Loki x Reader, Thor x Reader( Best friends)

Warning- cursing

Your thoughts in italics.

Loki heads into the Vault, sees the Casket of Ancient Winters sitting on its stand. He walks over to it slowly, reaches out to it, lifts it between his forearms off its pedestal. As he does, a blueness spreads from his arms, across his body.The latticework behind the Casket starts to separate, the Destroyer rousing. A fire starts to glow within its black metal armor, as it rattles to life, but Loki ignores it -- the blueness spreading further, consuming his whole body.

“Stop!” Odin shouted.

Loki turns, sees Odin hurrying into the room, the Destroyer goes motionless, the latticework rejoining before it. Odin eyes Loki with dismay.

“Am I cursed?” Loki questioned.

“No. Put the Casket down.” Odin replied.

Loki sets the Casket back upon its pedestal, his body quickly returning to its normal form and color. He stares at his father.

“What am I?” Loki asked in a curious tone.

“You're my son.” Odin Said Sincerely.

“What more than that?” Loki started. Odin doesn't answer. He looks suddenly weary, burdened. Loki sizes him up, realizes the truth.

“The Casket wasn't the only thing you took from Jotunheim that day, was it?” Loki finished.

Odin looks him in the eye. He can deny it no longer. “No.” Odin answered. “In the aftermath of the battle, I went into the Temple, and I found a baby. Small for a giant's offspring -- abandoned, suffering, left to die. Laufey's son.”

Loki is sent reeling by the revelation.

“Laufey's son...” Loki trailed off as he desperately struggles to make sense of it all. “Why? You were knee-deep in Jotun blood. Why would you take me?”

“You were an innocent child.” Odin replied.

“No you took me for a purpose, what was it?”

Odin doesn't answer. “Tell me!” Loki shouted.

“I thought we could unite our kingdoms one day, bring about an alliance, bring about a permanent peace... through you. But those plans no longer matter.” Odin explained.

“So I am no more than another stolen relic, locked up here until you might have use of me.” Loki expressed.

“Why do you twist my words?” Odin Asked.

“You could have told me what I was from the beginning. Why didn't you?” Loki urged Odin for the truth.

“You are my son. My blood. I wanted only to protect you from the truth.” Odin stressed.

“Because I am the monster parents tell their children about at night?” Loki proclaimed loudly.

“Don't...” Odin trailed off.

“It all makes sense now. Why you favored Thor all these years.” Loki shouted.

“Listen...” Odin wheedled.

“Because no matter how much you claim to "love me,” you could never have a Frost Giant sitting on the Throne of Asgard!” Loki yelled.

Odin's body begins to shake, he lifts his hand. It starts to move out of synch temporarily, leaving a trail, the effect of the Odinsleep approaching. Loki doesn't notice as Odin tries to fight it off.

“Listen to me!” Odin shouted. Loki strides away towards the exit. “Loki!” Odin starts towards him, when the enormous mental, emotional, and physical strain of recent events finally takes its toll. The effect of the Odinsleep consumes him. His entire body now moves out of sync with the rest of the world, leaving trails behind him as he staggers backwards. Odin falls back against a wall, his face contorting in a scream. He collapses to the stone floor. Loki, shocked, hurries to him. He takes Odin in his arms, calls out. “Guards!”

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Cars, pick-ups, and SUVs are parked around the crater, the sound of a boisterous party coming from within. It looks like the whole town has turned out. Locals sit on lounge chairs, drink beer from coolers, laugh and talk. They watch the center of the crater, where large men have formed a line to take a turn with the mysterious object. One of them struggles and fails to lift it. As he gives up, the next man steps up and takes his turn, straining from the effort. Other Townies snap pictures of the scene with their cell phones.

They hear an approaching rumble, then clear a path as a large pick up truck backs its way down the crater's edge. An eager townie hops out the passenger side and pulls a thick chain from the back of the truck. He fastens one end around the object, then securely affixes the chain to the bumper and the rear of the undercarriage.

“This'll do it.” He yells to the driver. “Okay, let 'er rip!”

The townsfolk watch as the pick-up's engine roars, then strains, its wheels spinning futilely, until finally the rear of the truck, along with the back wheels and axles, break off and go flying.

People dive out of the way. The pick-up driver sticks his head out. He is STAN "THE MAN” LEE. He looks back, shocked. The townsfolk laugh, the party continuing. They don't notice as --on The Crater’s Edge above them An imposing Government vehiclepulls up to a stop. A Fed in a suit climbs out, peers down at the boisterous gathering Below, his eyes fixed on the object at the center of the crater. He is is Shield agent Coulson. He stares down at the object which glows with an otherworldly blue energy -- Mjolnir. He pulls out a phone.

“Sir -- we've found it.” Coulson says into the phone.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

In a back room, Thor, now shirtless and wearing jeans, looks around for a t-shirt. Jane, Y/n, and Darcy, standing in the lab, can't help but notice his reflection in the mirror. Darcy eyes his powerful build,rippling biceps.

“You know, for a crazy homeless guy, he's pretty cut.” Darcy commented.

“He’s not a homeless guy well technically he is right now.” Y/n explained well at least try to.

Jane turns away. Thor emerges from the back room, holding a t-shirt.

“Hey, sorry I tased you!” Darcy you called out and Y/n laughs.

Thor heads over to Jane's work area, starts fiddling with the equipment there with interest. Jane hurries over to put a stop to it.

“Excuse me... excuse me!” Jane yelped as She leads him away from the work station. Thor holds up the t-shirt. On the front, it bear a sticker which reads- hello my name is Dr. Donald Blake. Thor looks at it, puzzled. Jane rips the sticker off.

“My ex.” Jane started. Thor stares at her a beat. “They're the only clothes I had that'll fit you. Sorry.”

“They will suffice.” Thor replied as turns, his attention to the pictures of the Bifrost on the wall.

“You're welcome. Now tell me...” Thor studies the frame-grabs with interest. Jane points to his form in the Bifrost photo. “What were you doing, in that?” Jane asked.

He glances at it, dismissive. “What does anyone do in the Bifrost?” Thor asked.

“Portal?” Y/n answered.

Everyone stares at Thor and Y/n. Erik seems to recognize the word. Jane opens her notebook, quickly writes the word down. Thor moves close to her, eyes the notations and drawings within the book, curious.

“The Bifrost...” Erik said in amused but also skeptical way.

Jane starts to get uncomfortable with Thor standing so close to her, looking over her notations. She quickly closes the book.

“What exactly is the Bifrost?” Jane questioned.

“This mortal form has grown weak.” Thor announced.

“But--Somebody get the mortal a Pop-Tart.” Jane noted.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Frigga sits at her husband's bedside, holding his hand. Odin lies there -- looking pale and lifeless, his body and the space around it warped from the effect of the Odinsleep. The walls of the chamber have moved close around him, protecting him like a dark crypt, sealing off any daylight. Loki sits at Odin's side, across from Frigga. She speaks softly to him. “I asked him to be honest with you from the beginning. There should be no secrets in a family.”

“So why did he lie?” Loki wondered.

“He kept the truth from you so that you would never feel different. You are in every way our son, Loki, and we your family. You must know that.” Frigga informed Loki. Loki takes this in, stares at Odin. “You can speak to him. He can see and hear us, even now.”

“How long will it last?” Loki asked

“I don't know. This time is different. We were unprepared.” Frigga answered.

“I never get used to seeing him like this. The most powerful being in the Nine Realms lying helpless until his body is restored.” Loki disclosed.

“But he's put it off for so long now, I fear...” Frigga trailed off. Loki takes her hand. She's grateful, wipes tears from her eyes. “You're a good son.”Loki sits there, uncertain how to react, uncertain how he really feels. “We mustn't lose hope that your father will return to us. And your brother.” Frigga told her son.

Loki looks to Frigga, concerned. “What hope is there for Thor?”

There's always a purpose to everything your father does. Thor may yet find a way home.” Frigga said without a shadow of doubt.

Loki looks troubled by the revelation. He rises, heads for the exit, when they hear the clatter of armored footsteps hurriedly approaching.

The Einherjar guard enter the room, block his way out. Loki tenses, prepared for the worst, but the guards just stand before them. Loki is baffled.

“Thor is banished. The line of succession falls to you. Until he awakens, Asgard is yours.” Frigga remarked.

The Einherjar kneel before the shocked Loki. Another Einherjar enters, holding Gungnir before him. He kneels before Loki, offers the spear to him.

“Make your father proud.” Frigga proclaimed.

Loki reaches out tentatively, then takes it. He likes the feel of it in his hand.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Thor, Y/n ,Erik , Darcy, and Jane sit at a table in the local diner. Selvig and Darcy watch as Thor eats ravenously from a huge mound of steak and eggs. A couple other full plates --pancakes and biscuits and gravy -- are piled high before him.

Jane's eager, her notebook at the ready.

“Now tell us exactly what happened to you last night.” Jane voiced. Thor looks her in the eyes, staring, intrigued. Jane gets flustered, looks away. “Maybe start with how you got inside that cloud.”

“And how you could eat an entire box of Pop-Tarts and still be this hungry.” Darcy wondered.

“Big man bigger appetite.” Y/n Stated.

Jane shoots her a withering look. Thor downs a cup of coffee.

“This drink. I like it.” Thor announced.

“Yeah, it’s great, isn't it? Isabela makes the best coffee in town.” Darcy declare Thor.

Thor hurls the empty mug at the ground, shatteringit “Another!” Thor called out.

Isabela, the diner's proprietor, glares at Thor from behind the counter.

“Sorry, Izzy. Little accident.” Jane told the older lady.

“Yo voy a pagar la taza.” Y/n told lzzy (I'm going to pay for the cup.)

Isabela turns to Y/n and starts venting quickly in Spanish. “¿Viste eso? ¡La primera vez que trae a un hombre aquí, y él es un lunático!” (Did you see that? The first time she brings a man in here, and he's a lunatic!) Y/n is laughing her ass off.

“What was that?” Jane questioned in an irritated voice.

He doesn’t understand. The other patrons stare at him.

“It was delicious. I want another.” Thor answered.

“Then you should just say so!” Jane proclaimed.

“I just did.” Thor Replied.

“I mean ask for it. Nicely.” Jane corrected.

“I meant no disrespect.” Thor disclose.

“All right, then no more smashing, deal?” Jane told Thor.

“You have my word.” Thor promised.

“Good.” Jane noted.

A few townies, looking bedraggled, enter and take a seat at the counter. We recognize them from the crater. (Among them is the Drunk Townie Jake, who is not presently drunk.)

“Morning, Pete. Jake.” Isabela greet the man.

“The usual, please, Izzy.” The man replied

Isabela pours them a couple cups of coffee.

“You missed all the excitement out at the crater.” The man told Isabela.

“What crater?” Isabell asked.

Y/n and Jane overhear this, exchange a look, turn to the Townies with interest.

“They're saying some kind of satellite crashed in the desert.” Pete Answered.

“We were having a good time with it till the Feds showed up, chased us out.” Jake explained.

Satellite I think that’s the Thor’s hammer.

“Excuse me, did you say there was a satellite crash?” Jane asked Townies.

“Yep. They said it was radioactive. And I had my hands all over it.” Jake confirmed. “I'm probably sterile now.”

Thor, unconcerned, prepares to dig into the giant pile of pancakes. Darcy is amazed by the sight.

“Oh my God, this is going on Facebook.” Darcy whips out her cellphone. “Smile!” Darcy tote Thor. Thor smiles as she snaps a photo of him and his massive stack of food.

“What did the satellite look like?” Erik Chimed in.

“I don't know nothing about satellites. But it was heavy. Real heavy. Nobody could lift it.” Jack. Explained.

This gets Thor's attention.

Y/n projects one of her thoughts to Thor. It’s your hammer Thor.

Thor springs to his feet, heads over to Drunk Townie Jake, and pulls the Townie around to face him.

“Where?!” Thor demanded.

“About twelve miles east of here.” Jake answered nervously.

Thor grins, his spirits soaring, as he quickly strides out of the diner with Y/n hot on his trail.

“I wouldn't bother! Looked like the whole Army was coming in when we left!” Pete called out to Thor and Y/n.

Thor studies the position of the sun, gauging his bearings. Jane, Darcy, and Selvig catch up to him and Y/n.

“Where are you two going?” Jane question Thor and Y/n.

“Twelve miles east of here.” Thor Replied as he follows Y/n to her car. Jane walks with him.

“Why? And why are you going with him questioned Y/n.

“I’m going to helping him.” Y/n answered.

“To get what belongs to me.” Thor said without missing a beat.

“So now you own a satellite?”Jane questioned sarcastically.

“It's not what they say it is.” Thor replied.

“Whatever it is, the government seems to think it's theirs. You intend to just walk in there and take it?” Jane wondered.

“Yes.” Thor noted. “If you come with me there now, I'll tell you everything you wish to know.”

“Everything?” Jane wondered.

“All the answers you seek will be yours, once I reclaim Mjolnir.” Thor told Jane

Darcy looks to the others."Myeu-muh?" What's "Myeu-muh?" Darcy said confuse.

Jane studies Thor.

He looks sincere. She's nearly swayed,when -“Jane. Y/n.” Erik called for Them.

Erik pulls Jane and Y/n aside. Thor can tell that Selvig doesn't much care for him. “Please don't do this.” Erik stressed to Jane and Y/n.

“I think we should here him out.” Y/n said giving a knowing smile at Thor.

“You know what we saw last night. This can't be a coincidence. I want to know what's in that crater.” Jane expressed.

“I'm not talking about the crater. I'm talking about him.”Erik corrected.

“He's promised us answers.” Jane replied.

“He's delusional! Listen to what he's saying! "Thor." "Bifrost." "Mjolnir." These are the stories I grew up with as a child!” Erik explained.

“What if he’s telling the truth what if he really is the God of Thunder.” Y/n said trying to reason with Erik.

“Really you actually believe him. He hit his head when Jane hit him he’s not the god of thunder!!” Erik voiced.

“We just can’t abound you hit him twice I won’t do that look i’m not leaving him he needs help and I’m going to help him. Y/n declared.

“I’d just be riding with him and Y/n out there, that's all.” Jane explained.

“It's dangerous. He's dangerous.” Erik replied.

“So Am I and you asked me to be here so what’s the difference between me and him?” Y/n asked.

After a moment, Jane nods at Erik. They head back over to Thor and Darcy.

“I'm sorry. I can't go with you and Y/n.” Jane told Thor.

“I understand. Then this is where we say goodbye.” Thor Accepted. He takes her hand and kisses it.

“That's... thank you.” Jane giggled.

Thor bows slightly to each of them.

“Jane Foster... Erik Selvig... Darcy. Farewell.” Thor replied. He and Y/n gets in her car heads off down the street.

“Early you said you know who I am.” Thor Announced.

“I do you are the god of thunder.” Y/n replied.

“How is it you believe me when the others didn’t?” Thor questioned.

“I can reads.” Y/n answered taking her eyes off the rode for a second. “That’s how I woke you up in the hospital before.”

“Really your truly a mind reader?” Thor Asked.

“I know what happened with the Frost Giants and how you got here you were banished by your father Odin.” Y/n answered

“Wow... this is amazing how long have you been able to do this?” Thor wondered.

“Ever since I was five I can also control the weather too.” Y/n Remarked.

“You can what..” Thor Stated as he looks around the car he sees it begins to snow.

“This is extraordinary.” Thor beamed.

“I’m glad someone thinks so.” Y/n said smiling. “But we’re not going far.

Erik looks worried and relieved.

“Now... let's get back to the lab We have work to do.” Erik told as him and Darcy turn and start to go. Jane looks after the car as they drive away down the street.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Sif joins the Warriors Three as they hurry towards the Throne Room. Two Einherjar Guards enter, admitting Sif and the Warriors Three, who burst through the entrance, heads bowed.

“Allfather, we must speak with you.” Sif urged. But as they raise their heads, they stop short to see -- Loki Sitting sprawled upon his father's throne. He wears his horned ceremonial headdress and holds gungnir in his hand. Sif and the others look up, shocked at the sight before them.

“What is this?” Volstagg Questioned.

“My friends... you haven't heard? I am now Ruler of Asgard.” Loki informed them.

“Where is Odin?” Fandral Asked in a curious tone.

“Father's fallen into the Odinsleep. My mother fears he may never awaken again.” Loki answered.

“We would speak with her.” Sif replied.

Sif and the Warriors Three exchange a look. Loki notices.

“She has refused to leave my father's bedside. You can bring your "urgent" matter to me, your King.” Loki declared

Sif covers quickly. “We would ask you to end Thor's banishment.” Sif voiced.

“My first command can not be to undo the Allfather's last. We're on the brink of war with Jotunheim. Our people must have a sense of continuity in order to feel safe in these difficult times.” Loki remarked. Sif and the Warriors Three trade looks, not liking any of this. “All of us must stand together, for the good of Asgard.”

“Of course.” Fandral replied

Sif and the Warriors Three bow their heads and exit. Loki stares after them.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Jane, Selvig, and Darcy head up the street. They're by Arturo's, when a pick-up Truck pulls up before them, stopped by traffic. In the back of the vehicle, Jane notices,partially covered by a tarp, the dark matter analysis machine from her lab.

“Hey! That's my stuff!” Jane called out.

Jane, Selvig, and Darcy reach the lab, where government vehicles are parked. Shield Agent haul equipment out of the lab and load it into waiting vans. Other Agents strip all the equipment from inside the Pinzgauer and cart it away. Still others emerge from her trailer, arms loaded with scientific instruments and documents.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Jane barked at the Agents but they ignore her as Agent Coulson approaches.

“Ms. Foster, I'm Agent Coulson, with Shield.” Coulson informed them.

Erik, recognizing the name of the organization, grows wary.

“I don't care who you work for, you can't do this!” Jane voiced loudly.

“Jane. This is more serious than you realize. Let it go.” Erik Chimed in.

“Let it go?! This is my life!” Jane remarked angrily.

“We're here investigating a security threat. We need to appropriate your equipment and all your atmospheric data.” Coulson disclosed.

“By "appropriate" you mean "steal?" Jane corrected.

Instead of answering, Coulson gives her a check. “This should more than compensate you for your trouble.” Coulson replied.

She throws the check to the ground without looking at it. “I can't just pick up replacements from RadioShack! I made most of that equipment myself!” Jane exclaimed.

“Then I'm sure you can do it again.” Coulson pointed out.

“And I'm sure I can sue you for violating my constitutional rights!” Jane told.

“We're the good guys, Ms. Foster.” Coulson reported.He tries to walk away, but Jane blocks his path. She is fully herself, fueled by outrage.

“So are we! We're on the verge of understanding something extraordinary.” Jane started. Jane holds up her notebook. “Everything I know about this phenomenon is in this lab and in this book, and no one has the right to take it from me.” Jane finished.

Coulson gestures to a nearby Agent, who promptly plucks the notebook out of Jane's hands and adds it to the pile he's carrying. Jane is stunned.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Coulson announced.

He gets into a car. The cars and trucks pull away.

Jane,Erik, and Darcy enter, staring in shock at the now-empty space.

“Years of research, gone.” Jane cried out.

“They even took my iPod.” Darcy confessed.

“And your back-ups?” Erik questioned.

“Look around! They took our back-ups. They took the back-ups of our back-ups.” Jane explained.

“I just downloaded, like, thirty songs on there.” Darcy told.

“Will you please stop talking about your iPod?!” Jane barked at Darcy then she looks over to Erik.

“Who are these people?” Jane asked Erik.

“No one knows much about them. But I knew a scientist -- a pioneer in gamma radiation. Shield showed up, and he was never heard from again.” Erik answered.

“I'm not going to let them do this. I'm getting everything back.” Jane declared.

“Please, let me contact one of my colleagues. Dr. Pym or Dr. Munroe they had some dealings with these people. I'll e-mail them and see if one of them can help.” Erik insisted.

“They took your laptop, too.” Darcy Chimed in.

Annoyed, Erik thinks.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Erik and Jane in the Pinzgauer drive up in front of then town's rinky-dink library. A sign in the window reads, "Free Internet.”

“I'll just be a minute.” Erik told Jane as He climbs out and heads inside. Jane looks down the street and sees something that intrigues her.

Thor and Y/n enters the store. Thor approaches a pet store clerk While Y/n looks at all the animals.

“I need a horse.” Thor announced.

“Thor they don’t sell Horse.” Y/n answered.

“Ya, we don't sell horses. Just dogs, cats, birds.” The clerk agreed with Y/n.

“We’re just here to kill time for Jane to find us.” Y/n told Thor as she starts to play with some bunnies.

“Right well Then give me one of those, large enough to ride around town for now.” Thor replied.

“You can’t ride any of them you would squish them with your weight.” Y/n disclosed.

The Pet Store Clerk looks confused. Just then, Thor and Y/n hears a car horn . They turn to the open door. Across the street, Jane calls out to them from the Pinzgauer.

“You still have room for one more?” Jane wondered.

“Ya come on Thor.” Y/n replied.

Y/n and Thor walks out the pet store to the truck and Jane gets out the driver seat so Y/n can drive.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

It's story time in the library, as a LIBRARIAN reads a book --"THE SECRET HISTORY OF GIANTS"-- to a group of kids.

"And though they're large, giants can be quiet. You have to listen carefully for the sound of their

footsteps -- because they may be closer than you think." The librarian shared with the Group of kids.

Nearby, Selvig sits at a computer terminal, finishing up his e-mail and his Text to Dr. Munroe. Beside him, a kid flips through a book with interest. The Librarian stops mid-story and calls to the Kid pleasantly.

“Joshua, come sit down. It's story time.” The librarian voiced. The Kid closes his book and joins the others. Selvig looks over, notices the title of the book the Kid was reading --"MYTHS AND LEGENDS FROM AROUND THE WORLD."

He picks it up, flips through it, stops at the section on Scandinavian Mythology. It's a picture of a Rainbow bridge coming down from Asgard to earth. Asgardians walk upon it, among them Odin, Loki’, and Thor, who wields Mjolnir. On the ground below them, a group of vikings kneel reverently. He eyes the illustration, pondering.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

Jane's Pinzgauer cuts off the road, heads over the rugged terrain. Storm clouds roll in over the desert sky. Y/n drives. Jane is pumped with adrenaline, nervous and excited, as Thor sits beside her, upbeat and eager for battle.

“I've never done anything like this before! Have you ever done anything like this before?” Jane asked in a curious way. Thor looks amused by her excitement.

“All time he’ll I think I’m doing it right now.” Y/n answered.

“Many times. You're brave to do it.” Thor replied.

“I all time. Hell I think I’m doing it right now.” Y/n murmured.

Thor chuckles at Y/n. She is one funny mortal he thinks.

“They just stole my entire life's work. I really don't have anything left to lose.” Jane

“Who is they.” Y/n questioned in a serious tone.

“Erik said there Shield some law-enforcement organization they came and took everything.”

Y/n’s whole demeanor change. How the hell did they catch on so fast? How am I going to protect Thor if they find out what he is it’s over. The clouds outside turn a dark gray.

“But you're clever. Far more clever than anyone else in this Realm.” Thor said voice soft with affection

"This Realm?" Why do you talk like that?” Jane wondered.

“You think me strange?” Thor asked.

Jane laughs, catches herself. “Yeah. Just a little.”

“Good strange or bad strange?” Thor wondered.

“I'm not quite sure yet.” Jane answered as She looks at him, sees him staring at her. She's lost in his gaze. There so lost in each other that they don’t see the distress that Y/n in, being lost in her own thoughts of what’s going to happen. The pinzgauer lurches off the road. She quickly snaps out of her thoughts and regains control of the car.

“Sorry.” Y/n announced. Y/n glances at Thor through that review mirror and, he can see that something is troubling her but before he can ask her on the matter Jane speaks.

“Who are you? Really?” Jane queried.

“You'll see soon enough.” Thor told Jane.

“You promised me answers.” Jane Remarked.

“What you seek -- it's a bridge.” Thor answered.

“A bridge? Like an Einstein-Rosen Bridge?” Jane guessed.

“More like a rainbow bridge.” Thor corrected.

“God, I hope you're not crazy.” Jane declared.

As the Pinzgauer heads away, we continue up a hillside, revealing a light illuminating the valley beyond. As we move closer, we see the glow comes from -- A Massive Shield Base Now set up around the crater -- vehicles, trailers, barricades. Armed Guards man a gate in the razor wire fence that runs fifty yards from the crater's edge, enclosing the complex. Clear, plastic access tubes with junction boxes lead to a translucent cube structure erected in the middle of the crater. Through the glass walls of the base's command trailer, we see Coulson directing technicians, busy at work. Within the cube structure itself, a team of Shield scientist work with high-tech machinery, analyzing the object at the center of it all -- Mjolnir.

Y/n, and Thor crawl to the edge of the ridge, look through binoculars, see the impressive shield base.

“Look I know how important this to you but We can go to Home Depot and get you a hammer.” Y/n insisted as she tries to pull Thor way from the edge. Thor doesn’t budge and looks at Y/n.

“Your worried about about me?” Thor wondered.

“Of course I’m worried you don’t know how these guys work if they catch you it’s over. There’s no way I’ll can help you get back home.” Y/n answered.

Thor puts a comforting hand on Y/n’s shoulder. “I will be fine I have been in worst situations before and I’m still here.” Thor explained.

“I that is real reassuring thank you.” Y/n replied Sarcastically.

Jane walks up to Thor and Y/n with a concern look. “Hat isn't a satellite crash. They would have hauled the wreckage away, not built a city around it.” Jane disclosed.

Thor shrugs out of his jacket and hands it to her.

“You're going to need this.” Thor commented.

“Why?--“ Jane trailed off.

Thunder rumbles overhead. She stares at him intently and takes his jacket.

“Y/n are you doing this?” Jane questioned.

“No this isn’t but I think I know who is.” Y/n answered.

“Stay here. Once I have Mjolnir, I will return what they stole from you—Deal?” Thor Remarked.

He looks to Jane then Y/n, already knowing that Jane will take put but Y/n will disobey his request.

“No! Look what's down there! You can't just walk in, grab our stuff, and walk out!” Jane proclaimed.

“No.” Jane looks relieved. “I'm going to fly out.” Thor replied.

Before she can react, he starts heading towards the crater. The first drops of rain begin to patter into the dust.

“Wait...” Jane trailed off. But Thor is already headed towards the crater.

A Needle spikes on a handheld sensor device. The technician holding it looks over at the hammer. Mjolnir begins to give off a subtle glow. A bolt of lightning cracks across the sky above.

A younger shield agent, a techie in a headset, monitors security. A junior, looks on, none-too-pleased.

“Feed from the keyhole. Can barely penetrate the cloud cover.” The Techie hikes a thumb at another monitor, squelching with static. It shows an SAR shot of the area, laid over a terrain map. “Tech's barely working as it is, with all the interference that thing's giving off.” He gestures towards the hammer. He checks a computer. “Hey, we've got a commercial aircraft coming in right over us, Southwest Airlines Flight 5434.” Techie disclosed.

“Reroute it, like all the others.” Sitwell ordered

“Right. Can I get the passengers some free drinks for the trouble?” Sitwell glares at him. “It'd be a nice gesture.” The Techie types into the computer, when he notices something on another screen, holds up a hand. “Hold a sec... we got something outside the fence, west side...” Techie trailed off. Techie points at the screen. Through the haze, it shows a thermal image huddled beside the fence.

“DeLancey, Jackson -- check it out.” Sitwell said into the radio.

Back at the top of the Cliff Y/n is using her telepathy to track everyone in the facility. She picks up on the conversation Sitwell is having with one of the Techie. They found you Thor keep your guard up two coming your way. Y/n broadcasted her thought to Thor. Back down at the Base a pair of Shield Agents(DeLancey and Jackson) take off in a jeep to investigate. Sitwell looks out the window, something strange catching his attention. The window's reflection that a glow is coming from the hammer containment area.

The jeep pulls up as the Agents scan the fence with an flashlight, see nothing unusual.

“Looks like we're good here. Must have been another coyote.” Agent Jackson seven to the radio to Sitwell. Just then, the Agents notice a section of the fence has been bent up from the ground, leaving a gap. Before they can call it in, a massive crack of lightning illuminates the night sky -- revealing the silhouette of a large man standing outside the driver's (Jackson's) side of the jeep. DeLancey looks over, notices.

“Jackson?” DeLancey hesitated. The Agents reach for their weapons. Thor elbows the driver across the jaw, causing him to drop his weapon. Jackson slumps over the steering wheel, as DeLancey starts to raise a shotgun at Thor.

Thor grabs the barrel, yanks it out of DeLancey's hands and thrusts the hilt back, smashing the Agent's jaw. Thor reaches into the jeep to grab a rain slicker.

Part 5

#thor x reader #loki x reader #marvel x reader #loki x black!reader

21 notes · View notes

nonbelievcr · 4 years ago

Text

[ RORY CULKIN, AGENDER, THEY / HE ] right, here are the files we have on THE CERBERUS ——— FLETCHER, FRANCIS. 28 years old, CHOSEN MEMBER. current employment looks like a RECRUITER. current residence is a TRAILER in BELLA VISTA for the past 5 YEARS. current views have been noted as NUMBLY INDIFFERENT TOWARDS THE COTC. current risk level has been listed as MEDIUM.

TW: INCARCERATION, DRUG USE, MENTAL ILLNESS

hi it’s cee again n this is my second goblin francis ! u may call them frankie unless they are in trouble in which case,, let it Rip. as per usual u can find all the necessary info below :-]

AESTHETICS

calloused hands, fingertips moving over a flame, cloying rotted autumn leaves, clothes worn to the point of becoming threadbare, hollow footsteps, purple beneath the eyes, crooked smiles, nineties pop punk roaring from a battered stereo, twice-used cigarettes.

BACKGROUND

a foster child hailing from Laramie with little expectations to rest on. raised on baptist values that never stuck, Francis knew by the time they graduated high school that their parents would never expect them to find success, no matter how much sickly sweet kindness was spoon fed.

academics were never Francis’ strong suit. it didn’t help that other classmates found them strange, withdrawn - collateral for being the odd one out wherever they went. often preferring to work with their hands, they found solace working part-time at a local garage. never mind the smell of grease and the dark stains they’d come home with on a perfectly ironed school uniform, at least they were doing something.

Francis dropped out of high school in their junior year, spending some time at the garage and most of the time staring at their scuffed tennis shoes while sitting listless on the couch. twenty and eventually with a GED, they took up vocational training. anything to kill time, really.

after a six-month stint in prison for drug possession (a little weed they got careless about hiding), Francis was estranged from the family at twenty-three. it’s difficult to burn out the look of disappointment from their younger sister’s eyes when they stepped out the front door for good, paler and thinner than the family had last seen them.

eden county’s nothing special, but at least it’s not laramie. Francis agreed to join the Chosen from an older Recruiter who promised a better life than the one they currently lived - bent over a glass of shitty whiskey at the bar of Exotic Jerry’s to the soundtrack of a gruff fight nearby.

the meadows sucked. they opted to become a Recruiter, if not to hold their stead in Bella Vista and to distance themselves from the weirdness of the truly devoted. it gave Francis a good excuse to continue to isolate themselves, just how they like it.

they’re not sure about staying or defecting to the Resistance. it’s more about the perks that come with it (free food and a snazzy outfit) than their own livelihood.

PERSONALITY & QUIRKS

dumbass first, gremlin second, empty void in general

king of the bella vista trailer park. feels at home and a part of the community there but won’t admit it out loud

nonplussed when it comes to pronouns. francis has never been fully confident in sharing their identity with others, so if someone uses he it’s little more than a second-best option. if they’re feeling less generous, they’ll quickly drop a hint to use they / them

hardly bothers to take their prescribed prozac

proud of having a grand total of like three friends

will sit and watch bar fights at exotic jerry’s with the same emotional investment of going to a football game. usually makes bets on them too

thinks formal wear is a band tee that doesn’t have any holes in it

often calm and friendly. it’s worked out well for francis in trying to get people to join the Chosen, although they tend to keep the demeanour when bringing someone in by force

francis rarely used to fret over the morality of the Chosen, although it’s begun to take a hold on them more often in recent months

individually names the cockroaches that scuttle around their trailer

a generous person, although francis has little to give by way of money

WANTED CONNECTIONS

francis just needs decent friends. please

in more detail:

friends outside of the chosen: townies, resistance trying to work a little information from them

fellow gremlins: someone they’ve met at Exotic Jerry’s (and maybe bet on a bar fight with), people who’ll indulge them and smoke with

listen i love a cliche good influence

someone trying to get them to defect to the resistance

#survival:intro #i can't upload a gif icon to save my life rn so we are Gifless lads #i just need to get this posted awright

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reality-refuge · 4 years ago

Note

Can I have all, for Casper? 😁

A classic Iza ask! Casper (and I!) are thrilled <3

1. How old are they?

Currently, they’re somewhere in the range of 15-16 years old.

2. How tall are they?

About 5’3”, or 1.6 meters.

3. What’s their zodiac sign?

Taurus (Based more on their personality than their actual birthdate, don’t @ me)

4. What’s their favorite activity on a rainy day?

Hanging out in the sunroom all day to be close to the sound, and maybe dragging a willing party outside for a little fun at some point!

5. What’s their favorite color?

Answered here!

6. What is their best subject in school? What is their favorite?

Their best subject is Language Arts, but their favorites so far have been Forensics & Debate and Home Economics.

(the rest of the answers are under the cut!)

7. What are their hobbies?

Making funny videos for their friends (whatever the Sims equivalent of Snapchat/Vine/TikTok would be, idk), watching SNL, spending way too much time on Simpedia looking at unsolved cases, volunteering time at the local nursing home and animal shelter.

8. What’s their favorite dessert?

Answered here!

9. A song they like? (or band, or type of music?)

At the moment, their favorite song is this one.

10. If they were a dog breed, which one would they be?

Some sort of corgi mix – maybe a corgi-lab mix?

11. What’s their biggest pet peeve?

When people push topics they’ve said they don’t want to talk about – which really is very few, so c’mon people, just stay away from the two things they don’t wanna talk about.

12. How do they act when they have a crush?

All lovey-dovey, doodling hearts in the margins of their notes, mind wandering, daydreaming and sometimes actually dreaming about them, trying to find any excuse to hang out with them.

13. What Hogwarts house would they be sorted into?

Ravenclaw, but they would have Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tendencies.

14. What’s the pettiest thing they’ve ever done?

A few years in the future, but, at a hangout with the other White Gen kids, Iggy was once again talking a big game about his juice pong skills. Everyone was sick of it and complaining every chance they got, and Casper got so sick of Iggy’s ego and everyone’s complaints. So they challenged him to an intense round of juice pong – aka with hard liquor in the cups instead of juice. Except they made sure the hard stuff only made it into Iggy’s cups.

15. How are they when they cook?

They’re unsure of themselves, and it shows, but they are the child of a successful chef. Cooking has so far (and will continue to be) one area of their life that isn’t a disorganized mess. Percy has taught them how to do mise-en-place, and Casper tries really hard to follow it to a T.

16. What would they do for the birthday of someone important to them?

What it is depends on the person, but Casper usually makes something – their cake, their favorite meal or snack, maybe a goofy video just for them or perhaps a song, if they’re really lucky.

17. What’s their idea of a perfect date?

Being treated to a fancy restaurant meal and some good conversation.

18. Are they right handed or left handed?

Right handed, but they’re ambidextrous with cooking utensils.

19. Are they more of a cat person or a dog person?

Dog person.

20. What was their Halloween costume last year?

Answered here for when they were a kiddo and for when they’re older, but last year they went as Gooby Doo as part of a Mystery Crew group costume with Iggy, his ex, Whitney, and a reluctant Lily Camryn.

21. What was their favorite show growing up?

The Great Simlish Bake-Off. They’ve watched it with Percy every Sunday for months.

22. Do they have any tattoos? If not, what would they like to get tattooed, if anything?

They don’t, but they follow a lot of tattoo artists on Simstagram and would love to eventually get a few. They don’t have any concrete ideas yet, but they do like clean and simple linework.

23. Do they believe in the supernatural?

I mean…when your home has never not been haunted, you kind of have to.

24. Do they like cheesy romantic novels/movies/shows?

Not really. Like, when Bee wants to watch them, Cas will stick around. But they’ll be on their phone or painting their nails or working on homework, and not really paying attention. Because honestly…they don’t really care.

25. Do they prefer coffee or tea?

Black tea, with two sugars and plenty of milk, if it’s something they have to make, or iced pour over coffee, if they’re ordering from somewhere.

26. Any special talents of theirs?

Answered here!

27. What’s something they’re really passionate about?

They are really into unsolved mysteries, particularly murders. They donate their pocket money to victims funds and organizations for the missing and murdered, and sometimes spend sleepless nights fact checking and updating Simpedia pages about the cases they follow closely.

28. What’s a secret of theirs?

Answered here, but I’ll throw another one at ya: Sometimes, Cas isn’t actually going to a charity fundraiser for the animal shelter. Sometimes, that’s just the excuse they use so it’s okay to stay out past curfew and sneak out to one of Iggy’s parties.

29. Do they have an aesthetic that they really like?

They’d say something between cottagecore and studycore. Those are aesthetics, right?

30. What’s a funny story they like to tell?

They absolutely love the story of how they used to play hide and seek with no one but themselves – and then would scare the shit out of every adult in the vicinity because where the hell did Casper go?

31. What’s something they’re really proud of?

Right now, they’re really proud of their work with the nursing home and animal shelter. They know that they’ve touched so many lives between the two, as well as made it easier for the people who will be volunteering after them.

32. Provide a description of their relationship with another character:

Because I don’t talk about or show it much – Casper is actually really good friends with Whitney. The two hang out all the time – they have regular coffee dates after working fundraisers or GeekCons together. Casper goes to Whitney when they need a companion who won’t take things as seriously as Bee but will give genuine support and understanding. She’s always the first to hear about Casper’s crushes and cooking successes.

Casper and Iggy get along like a house on fire. Iggy is just chaotic enough of a person to pull out Casper’s wild side without them turning all responsible on him. Plus, Iggy is one of few people who will tolerate Casper’s physical gags – he’s been pranked, slapped, and pushed into pools mid-sentence all for some classic Casper laughs.

33. If they’re a story character, what’s a lil vague spoiler?

Answered here, but I’ll give another one: Casper does not like the decedent of Jay Huntington the III – but there’s another townie name they hate more.

34. A random fact?

They’re a chronically disorganized person – so much so that they often end up accidentally writing in crosshatch because their notes are so messy.

#ask game #izayoichan #casper barnhart-prism #this was a DOOZY but it was a lot of fun #i've also got a lot of cute casper screenies now #i also forgot to link the song oops #there's one off-color joke in it sorry #nsb extras

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yakumtsaki · 2 years ago

Photo

-Can you believe I got fired on my second day?? I mean what in tarnation!!! -Sugar, I love you like a cousin but yes, I absolutely can. -We ARE cousins, douchebag!

-Oh right, somehow I keep forgetting Aunt Cyn is your mom?? Probably because, well.. you know.. -STOP GESTURING AT MY FACE

Well Aunt Cyn is living in marital bliss! With iVan, that is!

-I DON’T KNOW WHY BUT I AM EXTRA OUTRAGED BY THIS ONE!!! -You are, huhu? Why??💗 -I SAID I DON’T KNOW. A LITTLE HELP HERE?

Me? Umm let me think.. ‘Napping together was your special thing’ or some shit?

-RIGHT, good one! Napping together was our special thing!!

Don, not to add insult to injury but I think gonna stop taking pics of you catching Cyn cheating, my readers are tired of it and quite honestly your constant misery is starting to bum me out.

-OH I SEE, out of sight out of mind for Don now, huh?!

Exactly! Thanks for understanding.

Sophito: Does his homework happily in his desk like a normal person.

Sugar: Does his homework in the middle of the street sighing the whole time.

-What does a guy have to do to get run over around here?

Sugar for fuck’s sake, even your father managed to finish high school. Granted, he was a townie at the time so I wasn’t controlling him-

-Yea, there you go then.

Excuse you, Don has flourished under my influence! I finished his LTW, didn’t I?

-Oh wow, a career LTW!

Not my fault he didn’t roll anything harder! You know what, I’m not talking with you anymore, keep trying to master colors of the rainbow and sounds animal make or whatever your homework is.

Don, you’re happy, right? I mean other than Cyn relentlessly cheating on you, which to be fair, you knew about going in, so you know, not my fault!!1

-Well sure, I’m happy enough. Looking forward to retirement so I can play Doom all day long!

Looking forward to your what now?

OH FUCK I FORGOT YOUR BIRTHDAY I’M SORRY DON

-Gee, when have I heard that before?

Ya but unlike Cyn I actually am sorry!

Happy birthday, Don! That’s a very dignified outfit you grew up in, great job, we just need to make it more ‘you’.

Much better.

-Why do I have the sudden urge to tell these damn kids to pipe the hell down??

Go for it, that’s your God-given right as an elder!

LOL. Man the Sugar-Sophito relationship is so wholesome, they’ve always really gotten along, I see them way more as siblings than I ever did Shaj-Cyn who hated each other since birth.

Fun night out.. out in the yard that is.

-Sophito look, it’s an unemployed chess grandmaster! -Where, where?

Awww, ghost Alcibiades is playing with ghost Sophie❤️ I miss those kittos.

-WOOOOO ALL THE CAT GHOSTS ON THE FLOOR TONIGHT

Sugar is having a suspiciously nice night, which as we know simply can’t happen around here:

-HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME I GUESS

-WAAAAAH NOT THIS AGAIN! WHY? WHY ME?? I’M NEVER COMING OUT OF MY ROOM AGAIN!!

Oh yes you are, you have school tomorrow Mr. Barely Breaking a C-!

Just come down here and let Overpaid Butler #5 soothe your heart with some burned lobster. Seriously, where are we finding you people? Don’t you go to butler university or something?

-I’m sorry, your Majesty, but we’re still human! If you want a cold, heartless butler-machine to just perform tasks to perfection you can always get a Servo!

-𝙾𝙷, 𝚂𝚄𝙱𝙹𝙴𝙲𝚃; 𝙲𝚈𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚄𝙽𝙸𝙾𝙽, 𝙸 𝙰𝙼 𝚂𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝚈 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙴𝙳 𝙰 𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝚃𝙰𝚂𝙺 𝙸𝙽 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙰 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙷; -OMG iVIE, YOU SAID “I”!!!🌸 -𝙸𝚃 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙲𝙸𝙾𝚄𝚂𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙿𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙳𝚄𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙴𝚇𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙴 𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙸𝚁𝙲𝚄𝙼𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴𝚂;

Well isn’t that just great, I mean that’s the exact reason I had Jojo spend two decades getting the gold robotics badge: not to make our lives easier but so we could all relive the childhood magic of The Iron Giant except gross, sexual, and murder-suicidy.

If anyone has machine-like efficiency around here it’s Sophie, who is already two promotions away from completing her second LTW and has been skilling like crazy, get it Soph!!

I don’t remember if I’ve ever expounded on why I love Sophie so much, like ya obviously we all love her cause she’s a stone-cold chadette, but gameplay-wise it’s because Sophie is the sim that does the least amount of dumb shit. Like I never have to be like omg is Sophie gonna set a fire, is Sophie gonna have an idiotic autonomous affair in front of her wife etc, she just gets shit done, unwhiningly might I add, @ Jojo. The only really dumb thing she’s done was that time she almost died working out in college, which with the rest of these morons is a regular Tuesday. The other dumb thing was arguably agreeing to marry Shajar but what can you do.

YES, ONE PROMOTION TO GO. The shitty carpool is because she shares it with Sandy the Dishwasher Zombie, don’t worry bb, you’ll have a limo soon! And now the reason I went on the above Sophie love rant:

IT’S HER BIRTHDAY AND I’M FEELING EMO

-Jojo will you calm down with the party horn? It’s my birthday, not the puppy-killing convention.

-Ah, how lucky I am to be turning into an old hag surrounded by people so important to me: psycho father-in-law, Bluewater Village Teen Townie, and Remington Harris.

Sorry to bring it up, but Shajar is here too.

-Let’s get this bullshit over with..

-Well, that’s not so bad!

You look great, baby!!! Awesome outfit too, I would consider keeping it but you don’t mess with perfection.

-Who’s my silver fox? -You don’t mind that I don’t have abs you can grate cheese on anymore? -I’ve told you, Sophie, you were the only of us who was into that cheese thing!! Sophito in the background: Gross :D

Looks like my aggro cat breeding has borne fruit as Valentina attacks Kitana and gets rekt! You know what, I’m ok with this, since clearly I can’t have nice pets at least now it will be a fair fight.

Now for the next part, I’m gonna just present it factually since I have no comment nor did I take enough screenshots because I was loling too hard:

1) Cyneswith goes on a blind date with some Bon Voyage masseur NPC whose pic I didn’t take.

2) Sugar returns from school and brings this cute townie with him.

3) Sugar goes to talk to the townie, see his mom on a date and starts crying.

4) Cyneswith is caught cheating with masseur NPC (seen on the left with the date plumbbob over his head) by Don, iVan, and Remington simultaneously, this is the part where I was loling too hard to take pics.

5) Cyneswith makes up with iVan after Don has fucked off to work and is caught AGAIN by Remington who starts bullying iVan.

6) Sophito cucks Sugar.

7) Cyneswith makes up with Remington in front of both Don and Sugar.

All this in an afternoon's work?? Maybe the most efficient sim around here isn’t Sophie after all!

#gen 3 #ts2

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ms-maj · 5 years ago

Text

In This Diary

(Day 3- A song that reminds you of summer. Un-beta’d so please excuse all the mistakes, I drank way too much coffee tonight)

Here in this diary,

I write you visions of my summer

It was the best I ever had

There were choruses and sing-alongs

And that unspoken feeling

of knowing that right now is all that matters.

In This Diary-The Ataris

The summer before senior year is historically hectic. Between SAT and ACT prep, extracurriculars, community service, it’s a wonder that Betty Cooper even got a moment's rest. Of course, because she had every minute of her summer (including free time) mapped out, she would get notified that a position had become available at the prestigious writer’s retreat she was initially rejected from.

Getting to it and out of all her other obligations was no small feat, but, with deft humility and what she likened to mental gymnastics, she got there. Eight weeks away from New York, from her narcissistic mother and apathetic father, and the friends who always seemed like they had more important things to do. Eight weeks with likeminded people, good books and herself.

The campus was warm and inviting, not the monolithic buildings with their windowed walls she was used to in the city. Riverdale’s small university felt like some cliched, idyllic embodiment of what the countryside used to be. And she loved every second of it. From the perfectly manicured lawns to the stone facades of the lecture halls, she felt more and more at home with every day that passed.

Her single dorm had been clean, though surprisingly cold and sterile compared to how homey everything else had felt. She’d decorated modestly, a few framed pictures of her sister and friends from back home, and finally, sheets in a color other than pink. After the long days of instruction and group work, she was happy to come back to her small sanctuary and sink into the seafoam coziness.

It’s wrapped up in the soft fleece she feels comfortable enough to pull out her journal. She hadn’t been able to keep one recently. Her mother was overbearing on a good day and the last year, well, she took it to a whole new level. Not that she’d ever had much privacy, but she had thought her diary at least was off-limits. Everyone had boundaries, except Alice Cooper it turned out. Now, here, far out of her mother’s expertly manicured clutches, she can put the pen to the page and try to sort out her mind.

She had expected rigorous lessons, these classes were supposed to emulate the college ones she’d be taking in just a year, but everyone in them seemed to be on a different level than her. Betty was a journalist at heart, she wrote well and with conviction, but her writing did follow patterns. Truth. She laid it out as best she could, doing the facts justice while trying to reach her audience, but this seminar was in creative writing. And creative wasn’t something that Betty found came naturally to her.

It was the second week of the eight when she was approached. Sitting in the library, her second favorite place, her overthinking was interrupted by a messenger bag loudly hitting the table in front of her.

Confused, and a little annoyed, she looked up only to be greeted with the most beautiful blue eyes. “Um,” she cleared her throat. “Can I help you?”

He smiled, pulling out the chair, turning it around and sitting. “I think that maybe we can help each other.”

She’d be a liar if she said she hadn’t noticed him. With dark wavy hair and eyes that seemed to look right through her, he was exactly the kind of trouble she wasn’t planning on getting into. It helped in dissuading her that he carried himself the way most disaffected youths do; cool and aloof, sat at the back of the class, injecting only to be argumentative. (Even if his arguments were always thoroughly thought out and actually raised questions that Betty would have never thought to ask.)

Which is why when he dropped his stuff on her table that day, instead of rebuking him, she raised a dainty eyebrow and asked him what he had in mind.

He needed a critical eye; someone meticulous, methodical, detail-oriented, “With all your color-coded notes and penchant for detail, I figured who better.”

“And in return?” He leaned in, chair on two legs as its back rested against the table's edge. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light, the way his eyes seemed to darken as he watched her, or maybe it was just what she wanted to see.

“Seems like you need help getting out of your head,” If he only knew. “Your writing that is, it’s great—don’t get me wrong—but it’s all very…”

“Clinical?” Betty offered.

A smirk played on his lips. “That’s a good word for it. You write like you’re trying to convince everyone that there’s a story being untold, instead of letting it unfold organically. It’s your story, you set the tone, you set the tempo, there’s no one-size-fits-all option in creative writing. You have to start letting yourself show through.”

That’s how it started. A new notebook—blue—filled with hastily jotted observations in her perfect print and his semi-legible scrawl. He would always point out when she got too deep in her own thoughts and when her writing started to reflect it, and she helped him rein in his penchant for superfluous detail. They worked in beautiful tandem. One month into the program, two weeks after they’d met in the library, she not only noticed a change in her writing but in herself.

She found her reflection smiling back at her more often than not. Jughead, his acerbic commentary, and general vitriol were usually traits that repelled Betty, but here, where she didn’t have crushing expectations she was free to feel. Melancholia had been no stranger to Betty, her life a predetermined series of points set out by her parents, a living, breathing, paint by numbers. Pretty, pastel, prosaic.

But not in Riverdale.

In Riverdale, she was simply Betty. In her most base, true form. She found people who encouraged her writing and growth, and in return, found she really enjoyed the editorial component of writing. Almost more so than the act itself. There was a kind of peace in restructuring other people's works. Hearing for their voice, helping them to define and refine it. The freedom afforded to her over the summer had started to wear at her Type A proclivities, editing gave her some of that control back. But she had learned to enjoy that freedom in equal measure.

And she never would have gotten there without Jughead. The townie, she learned later, having lived in Riverdale his whole life and planning on attending this writing retreat since he could remember. Jughead who learned how she took her coffee in a matter of days. Jughead whose words struck chords within her as though he were a maestro, creating symphonies in prose.

Or maybe that’s just how she felt when she’d catch him looking at her. Staccato heartbeat, blood pounding in her ears, fire burning just under the surface of her skin. The rampant thoughts that ran through her head when they were together only letting themselves out when she sat down with her diary at the end of the day. What was once a detailed catalog of her day to day, from activities to feelings was now an abstract.

In her diary, she found her voice. She discovered poetry. More aptly she discovered how to use poetry. She found that, while she probably wouldn’t ever be a great writer of non-fiction, she could convey more with less in poetry. That her deliberate words carried more weight than the flowery supposition she thought she wanted.

It was in there, privately pressed between the pages, she confessed. Her fears, her doubts, how her heart sped up while the time simultaneously slowed when his arm would brush against hers as they lounged on her bed. That she noticed he hadn’t tried to make any other friends here, keeping everyone else at arm's length while letting her—inviting her—encroach into his carefully curated bubble. That even though all signs pointed to yes, even this more confident, more comfortable Betty was terrified of rejection.

She’d never been a stranger to it; she was initially rejected from this intensive after all. Before, she was expected to plaster on a Cooper approved smile and bury whatever feelings that presented themselves.

Now, she didn’t think she’d be able to do that. Jughead had helped her find so much more than just words. When she’d admitted she hadn’t had a cheeseburger in two years because her mother didn’t approve, he insisted on taking her to Pop’s.

“It’s not just a diner, Betty,” he said, slinging one leg over his motorcycle. He held his helmet up, urging that she take it. “It’s a Riverdale institution. You can’t be in this town for any amount of time without partaking in a milkshake and double cheeseburger.”

She slid the helmet over her head, hair loose around her shoulders for the first time in her life. She watched as his tongue peeked between his lips as he took her in. “This is my first time on a bike though, so, go slow,” her voice was muffled by the helmet she knew, but he heard her. Straddling the bike, she loosely wrapped her arms around his waist, trying not to think about how soft the leather of his jacket would feel against the skin or how the hard planes of his stomach would feel under her hands.

“I’m afraid going slow would be much worse. You’re just going to have to hold on much tighter than that.” She felt the air expel from his lungs as she tightened her grip. Maybe he was as affected by her presence as she was his. If he was though, he didn’t show it for the rest of the night. Aside from helping her off the bike, he didn’t initiate contact and made himself impossibly small looking in the booth, somehow physically shrinking into himself when he still seemed so emotionally open with her.

Even from the most mundane of topics the conversation flowed. He could make anything interesting, she loved watching his eyes light up when he got lost in the excitement of a good conspiracy theory or the thought of analyzing and dissecting pieces of popular culture. She could easily see herself like this with him: passionate, wild-eyed, thoroughly engrossed (or obsessed. It depended on who you asked, of course)

When they’d departed for their separate dorms, she couldn’t help but feel dejected. Back in the safety of her room, she changed into pajamas to get the smell of grease and exhaust and brooding boy she had a desperate crush on, off of her. She pressed play on the saddest playlist she had curated and poured her heart onto the pages of her diary.

The last week of the program came far too quickly. The feeling in the lecture hall was different as well. The homesick were excited for the end to be near, but Betty wasn’t ready to be back in New York. She wasn’t sure this new, improved Betty would hold up under her mother’s increasing scrutiny. She didn’t know how much time she had before she broke completely.

“For your last assignment, I want you to do something that scares you. Obviously I don’t mean skydiving or anything, but something to do with your writing that scares you,” the professor said before dismissing them. “Write in a different tense or point of view; write a different style; share your work with a different audience. Just find the one thing you haven’t done yet here and just...let go.”

Betty snuck a look at Jughead from the corner of her eye. His brow was furrowed, jaw clenched tight, appearing deep in thought. She let out a shaky breath before going to smooth back the ponytail that wasn’t there.

This is it, she thought. Her chance. To tell him how she felt, to bare her soul to him even more than she already had. She was up and out of her chair the second they were dismissed, talking herself into her decision with every step that led her back toward the dorms.

“Hey,” his voice was soft, pensive as he opened the door. They hadn’t spoken much that day, just a text confirming he was in his room.

Producing a hastily wrapped parcel from behind her back, Betty sighed. “If I don’t do this now, I won’t. The scariest thing for me, right now, is you reading what’s in there.”

“Betts,” he started, but she stopped him.

“There’s a lot of me in those pages that I could never share with anyone else. Whether they’d look at me differently or,” she shook her head stepping back, further into the hall. “Just read it...or don’t...either way, you’ll know where to find me.”

She didn’t stay to hear if he had anything to say, turning away from the boy holding the pieces of her heart, of herself, literally in his hands. Back in her room, she called her best friend Veronica and asked if she would watch some horribly cliched eighties teen comedy with her over facetime. She was asleep before “the guy” realized he was an idiot.

Morning came quickly, as it usually did, but it seemed even faster knowing her days were dwindling. The light filtered through the blinds, dust floating lazily in the haze. She threw her head back into the pillows, hoping to be swallowed by slumber once again. But something niggled at the back of her mind. Something was keeping her firmly rooted in the waking plane.

The sound of a knock on her door.

She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face what she thought awaited her. When another knock came, and then another, more persistent knock, she willed herself out of bed and across the floor. Hugging tight the robe she threw on, she opened the door.

Jughead didn’t look like he’d slept at all. His hair, normally secured under his beanie, was wildly sticking up in all directions. The eyebags that were everpresent on his face seemed deeper and more pronounced, and she was pretty sure he was still wearing the same thing he’d been wearing when she dropped the journal off to him.

The journal that was presently clutched between his hands.

“Did you mean it?”

Confused, she questioned back. “Mean what?”

“All of it? Any of it?” His voice seemed softer now, more unsure than she’d ever heard him. In their nearly six weeks of friendship he had seemed so confident. He was the one who approached her in the first place. But looking at him now, hands clenching at the notebook between them, maybe she wasn’t the only one who got more than just someone to look over their work.

Her eyes sought his, finding their usually blue hue stormy and grey. “Juggie, if I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have written it. And I certainly wouldn’t have shown you.”

He stepped closer, invading her space with his large body. “Betty,” he exhaled slowly. “There’s a reason nothing happened after we went to Pop’s and it wasn’t because I didn’t want it to.”

She watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “Then why?”

“Because I’m an all or nothing kind of guy, Betty. And I know this has an expiration date! It’s five days from now. You’re leaving Saturday, to go back to New York. Where you’re going to do amazing things. Because you’re amazing, and nothing you do could be anything less.”

“That’s not true, or objective, you know that right? We both only have a year of high school left and then what? You could come to New York—”

He shook his head sadly. “Betty, I’m not coming to New York. I’ll probably never end up leaving Riverdale.”

“Then I’ll come here! I like it here, Jug. I could come here, and we can…” His hand reached for her, finding golden locks and twisting them between his fingers.

“I could never ask that of you.”

“Why are you here then?” She asked cooly as his hand fell from her hair.

Slowly he dragged the hand that had been playing with her hair through his own before huffing a laugh. “I honestly don’t know. My plan was kissing you as soon as you opened the door and then my brain got involved.”

She felt the corner of her lip turn up. “Brains are dumb. They always get in the way.”

He smiled back at her, both of them moving even closer together. “Betty, I’m not one of those guys who does casual. I need to know that you're in this. Really, in this. That you want to be WITH me as much as I want to be with you because I can handle the distance if I knew you were all in.”

Brushing one of many unruly curls from his brow, Betty smiled. “Jughead Jones, haven’t you figured it out by now?”

He raised an eyebrow to her question, his arm coming to snake around her waist.

“I don’t do anything in halves.”

When their lips finally met she knew instantly that her life would be different. Maybe she didn’t know right then just how different, but she could tell you, with certainty that that summer changed her life. She had followed her heart and finally got it right.

#riverdale #Bughead #bughead fanfiction #songfic writing challenge 2019

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everlarkficexchange · 6 years ago

Text

A Father Figure

Written by: @wingletblackbird

Prompt 44: Their love was forbidden in more ways than the obvious one (older!Peeta). Their love conquers all even with revelations that destroys other person relationships. AU. Toast babies for extra cookies. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Betaed by: @jroseley

Warnings: Minor references to pedophilia, although there is none present in this story.

Rating: General. (If you’ve read the Hunger Games you can read this. lol)

A/N: This submission has four chapters and a little over 17k words. I have one more chapter and an epilogue, (with the extra-kudos toastbabies), left to write. However, I also have a couple other EFE fics to work on before the deadline, so I’m submitting this now. Hopefully I can compete this fic by April 7th, but if not, I should be able to finish it in the next month or two. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One: Guardian Angel

I have never felt lower in my life, never felt more desperate. You’d think it would be the day Dad died, but that was just the harbinger of ill tide. It’s amazing how quickly things change. You never see it coming, like a sucker punch, every plan you ever had, every thought you took for granted, gone with the ash. When Daddy died it was so hard to understand. The words, Daddy died. Daddy died. Daddy’s dead. echoed all through my head, bouncing around the walls of my skull, mere sounds which garnered no understanding. I remember holding Prim tight, like I might lose her too, and Momma held both of us as we all cried and cried. I remember nuzzling my head into my mother’s breast and breathing her scent in, comforted. At least we had each other. I clung to her, our only rock left, our refuge. The next morning came, and Momma wouldn’t get up. It was like thinking you were holding onto driftwood in a flood, only to realise it’s sinking metal. Your refuge is torn from you, was never a refuge at all. You flail, and choke on water, can’t even make a noise. There’s no air, only panic, and terror, such terror. It imprisons you like prey lured to a dead end, rushing this way and that, trying to bolt; the terror and panic in their eyes…my eyes…crippling them. Desperation. You swim or die. I tried to swim, while holding Prim above the powerful waves. It’s so hard to manage even yourself against the tide. So here I am, soaked to the bone, drowning, and the icy rain falling is still warmer than the chill in my soul, the desperate ache in my ribcage, as I scrounge for scraps in the garbage bins in town, but there is nothing. I am nothing. The mines took all of us.

A raw, wrenching cry rises up in me. I keel over with it. There’s no food. We’re done. I failed. It’s like I can feel the severing of my life’s thread. I am dead. Soon everyone will know it. I’m only eleven, so close to tesserae, but I have no energy and no hope. The merchant’s trash was my last shot, but there’s not even trash for me. My knees buckle, but I can’t stay here, so I crawl through the mud to the meagre refuge of an apple tree by the bakery. I bet I look like those stragglers that lie down and die in the meadow. It’s a beautiful place to die. Maybe I’d go too if I had the energy. This apple tree will have to do. If only it had fruit.

I sit here under it, too raw for tears, as the water drenches me, and my fingers and lips turn blue. I don’t dare look at the bakery. The smell of it is cruel enough, to look and see inside the warmth, the light, and the food–all the food, mountains of food–not for me, would be too much. It would be the final confirmation I am nothing, will never be anything, locked out, not worthy to even eat the scraps. No one cares about Katniss Everdeen; no one cares about the Everdeens at all. All the people Momma healed, and all the people Daddy stood up for, worked with, not one of them had a care to return the favour. No one. It hurts. I close my eyes, unable to get up and face my sister with her hollow cheeks, and cracked lips. Does she even understand how bad it is? Gentle Prim who still cleans Daddy’s shaving mirror everyday like that’ll somehow bring him home? Maybe they’ll send me to the Home, but hopefully I’ll die long before I have to face the failure embodied in a broken Prim. I was supposed to protect her.

I’ve almost passed out from the hunger, fallen asleep from the cold, when I hear slushy footprints walking towards me. It’s probably peacekeepers, or maybe the baker is running me off, or someone’s going to drag me to the Community Home. I muster the energy to open my eyes, and turn my head over expecting to see a cruel face, a harsh twist of sneering lips, instead I am greeted with a smile. It is a gentle, kind smile. Not the kind that is fake, or is so peppy it ignores reality, or is just really forced, but the kind that comes at the end of a hard day when there’s really no joy to be had, except you see someone you love…and you smile. I can’t imagine why this man’d be smiling at me like that. I feel nervous.

He kneels next to me in the mud, ruining his slacks. The rain is drenching him now too, plastering his blonde hair to his head, but he doesn’t seem to care. He looks to be about mid-twenties, fair with blue eyes, like most people in town. He looks healthy, nothing like me. I just want to know what he wants. Get this over with.

“You’re Katniss, right?” The man, Mr. Mellark I suppose, looks at me earnestly, and he seems sincere, concerned. How does he know my name? I tense and I nod vaguely.

“Jack Everdeen’s daughter?”

I nod again, and tears fill my eyes at the words, at what seems like the compassion behind them, at the recognition, the gentleness… at Daddy. His eyes seem unbearably tender. He sighs.

“I’m sorry about your Dad. He was a good friend of mine.” He shakes his head. “I should have visited, but…I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

What he means by that, I couldn’t say.

“How do you mean?” He hesitates a moment, and I worry he won’t answer, but he meets my tentative gaze.

“I used to trade with him, bread for squirrels and the like. He was a good man. I liked him. We talked sometimes.”

Yes, that makes sense. It would have been around the entire district if some townie walked up to our house. He’s right; it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’d wonder what everyone else’s excuse was, but talking to someone, anyone at all, who seems to care is warming me in spite of myself.

“Here.” He pulls a package out from under his jacket, and presses it into my hands. It’s bread, I realise: Three loaves. The tears overflow. I am overwhelmed, shocked. No one just gives food away in Twelve. I look up for a catch, but he just smiles sadly. “For your father’s sake,” he says. I can accept that.

With a sudden spurt of energy, I lean over, grasp him in a quick hug, mutter, “Thank you,” and dash off back home. I think I hear him say, “Anytime,” with remarkable sincerity, but I’m not sure. Either way, his kindness is unparalleled.

When I wake up the next morning the world feels different, warmer, not quite so hopeless, not quite so alone. It’s like Mr. Mellark’s kindness has stayed with me, penetrated me. Still, I know something is going to have to change. I can’t just keep reacting, hoping for more people like Mr. Mellark, (if they even exist). My pride won’t take it anyway. You don’t sit back and let people hand you stuff. You work for it. In the back of my mind, I take pride in the words Mr. Mellark said, how he identified me: You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I am, I think, and Daddy wouldn’t want me to quit, lie down in the dirt. When I spy a dandelion on my way to school, I know how we’ll survive. The spring truly returns to my step. I look back at Prim who’s trailing behind me, holding my hand, and smile.

It takes some time, of course, to be sure I know all the edible plants off by heart, to know where and when to find them without Daddy watching over my shoulder, but soon the woods are

my refuge. I find food there, sustenance, comfort. As the seasons change, I spend hours upon hours in the summer practicing my shooting, making more arrows, storing food for winter. Between my poaching and my tesserae, we are managing. Prim brings my mother out into the sun more, and the return of meat to the house slowly seems to rouse her from her stupor. Prim gives her some kind of medicine that’s supposed to help. I guess it works. Momma’s not the same, but it’ll do. She’s functional. Prim is thrilled. Hugging Mom over and over, and smiling, like she’s back from the dead, which she may as well be. Me though, I hug mom stiffly, once, but I don’t know what else to do when she looks at me with sad eyes. The damage is done. I can no longer rely on her. Things have changed. They’ll never go back. Where’s the use in pretending? Her arms are no longer my refuge. There are the woods for that. That will have to be enough. It’s not that I hate her. It’s just that I can’t pretend to be younger than I was forced to grow to be. I don’t fit that niche anymore. I won’t nuzzle into her a chest again. I can’t need her, don’t know how to trust her. I’m glad Prim is happy. I keep my thoughts to myself.

It is about five or six months after the incident with Mr. Mellark that I see him again. We, Gale, a boy I became poaching allies with over the last month, and I, have excitedly hauled up our first ever deer into the butcher’s, and are just leaving with the cash. I’ve never seen so much before, I can only imagine what more I would’ve gotten if the doe had been intact. Even better, I now know I can trade with the butcher for currency if I need to, so it’s a good day when Mr. Mellark walks out from the back room.

“Hi, Katniss,” he greets cheerfully. “Aunt Rooba just told me about that deer you and your buddy shot down.” He nods at Gale as he says this. “If you ever get a squirrel, feel free to come down to the bakery, or better yet, actually, just come to my place.” He rattles off an address I quickly try to memorise. “My brother’s not too keen on trading.” He winks, pats me firmly on the shoulder, says he’s glad to see I’m doing better, acknowledges Gale politely, and heads back to the bakery. He’s humming a cheery tune. All in all, it’s a short exchange, but I feel a sense of pride go through me that he didn’t make a mistake in giving me that bread. You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I can get him that squirrel.

Gale doesn’t look nearly so pleased I notice as we head back to the Seam. His brow is furrowed, and his fists are buried so deep into his pockets they seem to bow his body forward. His breathing is strained.

“What’s your problem?” I ask, probably more defensively than I needed to.

“He is my problem.” Gale huffs, and there’s no doubt to whom he’s referring. “It’s sick. His type. Worse than Cray.”

“Worse than Cray?” I am utterly confused. Cray gives desperate women a pittance to warm his bed. How could Mr. Mellark ever be compared to such an odious man?

“Haven’t you heard, Catnip?”

“Heard what?” I’m getting mad now. Gale can be patronising at the best of times. It’s clear he thinks I’m just some little kid he had better put up with. Gale stops in is tracks, and pivots around to look at me intently. His rage matches mine.

“They say he gives out food to starving kids, but in return he expects them to…stay over…at his place. You get what I mean? They say that’s why he’s never married. He has preferences.”

Unfortunately, I know what he’s hinting at, and it taints the memory of Mr. Mellark giving me that bread right when I most needed it. Is this why he wants me to come to his place? Is he really worse than Cray? Does he expect something? It’s hard to believe. His smile, his warmth, had seemed so genuine. Now I worry I’ve been played for a fool.

“I get what you mean, but we trade with Cray too, and I’m not going to turn my nose up at a bargain that could help my family. Besides, my dad used to trade with him. He can’t be all that bad.”

Gale shakes his head like I’m so naive, and it pisses me off. He presses forward against the cold wind. “Suit yourself, Catnip. I just don’t like it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t!” I snarl. He’s reaching to touch a part of me that is far to vulnerable for such callous exposure. We part ways quickly after splitting our haul. My good mood killed.

The next morning I rise before dawn and shoot a squirrel determined to know the truth for myself. I am absolutely dwarfed in my father’s leather hunting jacket I insist on wearing, no matter how pathetic it seems. I stomp into town gripping the handle of my knife in my pocket. I doubt I’ll need it, but still, I feel uptight. I draw in a quick breathe to fortify myself, and knock on the door.

“Katniss!” Mr. Mellark exclaims looking thrilled to see me, his eyebrows comically risen on his forehead. “Wow! You came faster than I could have hoped. Why don’t you come in?” He opens the door wider and gestures grandly for me to enter. “I’ll just get something for you.” I’m tempted to say I’ll wait, but it seems rather rude to a man who has been so seemingly kind.

His house is bright. I wonder if he’s decorated it himself. There are beautiful pictures, sketches, and paintings on the walls. Most look like they could be from Twelve. But some look like the scribbles of children which feels makes me feel like I’ve swallowed stones. He leads me into the kitchen and I can see breakfast is on the table. I have interrupted him, as well as two children I’m pretty sure are from the Community Home who are sitting there. I almost throw up.

“How many squirrels have you got me? And how would you prefer I pay? Bread or coin?” He asks. I try to shake myself out of my horror. “Katniss?”

“Umm…Just the one squirrel, and, um, bread, please.” I am utterly unable to take my eyes off of the children in front of me. They look about five and six. I think I really might puke.

Peeta just nods agreeably and goes to a bread box at the counter where he pulls out a loaf of sourdough which he places neatly in a paper bag and hands over at me.

“Katniss?” He asks again. I must really look bad.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I panic. “I just…I’m not used to being up this early.” He chuckles at that.

“Yes, the early mornings are hard to get used to.” He glances over at the children who are shyly pretending not to look at us. “You two done?” His voice is jovial.

“Yes, Mr. Peeta.” The young boy mutters, and grabs the hand of the little girl I assume must be his sister. Peeta looks back at me, because somehow I haven’t been able to move myself out of there as quickly as possible. “I don’t suppose you mind walking them back to the Home? I’m running a bit late.”

“Yes, of course.” I seize my chance, and grab the boy’s hand, and he pulls his younger sister behind him. I nod goodbye to Mr. Mellark, and dash out the door.

Watching them though, they seem shy, but not…harmed in anyway, and I wonder if I’m overreacting. Mr. Mellark didn’t seem horrible, hadn’t propositioned me for anything, but then again not everyone who is awful looks like it. Yet I find it hard to believe though that my Dad would have traded with someone who was a pedophile. Cray is awful, but to use children…

“Do you like Mr. Mellark?”

“Uh, huh.” It’s the girl that answers. “He’s nice. He lets us eat until we’re full sometimes, and if someone stole our place, he gives us a bed.”

“Does he ever…hurt you? Make you do…funny things?” How am I really supposed to phrase it? Does Mr. Mellark fondle you? Give you food and a roof over your head in exchange for satisfying his sexual perversions? I can’t even begin the process of saying it out loud.

“No.” The boy stops walking and stares forcefully up at me. He seems intently serious, more than his age should be. “There are a lot of people like that, but not Mr. Mellark. He’s really nice.”

“Sometimes he bakes cookies with us!” The little girl pipes in. The boy sighs at her optimism, and when his Seam grey eyes properly meet my own, I see an abject loss of innocence. I wonder what he’s seen. I wonder what he’s been through.

“I know what you’re really asking, but he’s not like that, and don’t ever let noone say otherwise.”

After that he won’t say another word, but his sister rambles on and on, about how Mr. Mellark had tucked her in at night, and told her a bedtime story, and how it was so warm, and they actually had enough blankets for once. I feel incredibly relieved, and also guilty for even doubting him: The Kind Man With the Bread.

I take to trading with Mr. Mellark–Peeta, he insists I can call him–about once a week or so. I keep an eye on him at other times too, and as the weeks pass I notice a variety of regular children who frequent his property. Mostly they are children from the Community Home, but there are others who are from truly broken homes who stay over at Mr. Mellark’s when they need a warm roof over their heads. The most he’ll ever ask is that they make their bed, or help him with breakfast. There’s a sixteen year old called Jude, Peeta’s known since he was about eleven, who runs errands for him. Peeta’s never even asked. Jude just looks up to him that much, or owes him that much, I suppose. Peeta’s become every stray’s older brother and father. I see him playing soccer with them in the backyard, or teaching them chess on the porch. Once he bought a young girl a new dress she was desperately in need of, and she proudly twirled it for me. I can easily see how he got such a terrible reputation. No one is going to think well of some Townie who hangs around with Seam children, giving them food and warmth, especially ones who are impoverished even by our standards. No one gives away food here, especially crossing the class lines. Clearly there has to be something salacious. No one’s that nice. Peeta is though, and he’s made a pariah for it.

“Why do you do it?” I ask him one morning when he invites me in. It’s one of those rare mornings he offers to have breakfast with me and the Home kids aren’t there too. Maybe that’s why it’s also the first time I accept.

“Do what?” He seems genuinely confused.

“Help all those kids. Most people wouldn’t. And you must know what they say about you.”

He laughs at this, and shakes his head.

“Oh yeah, I know what they say. I didn’t plan it, you know.”

“I didn’t think you did.” I mutter a bit annoyed at the idea that he might be laughing at me, but he just tugs on my braid good-naturedly and I feel my ire melt a bit.

“It happened sort of gradually, I guess.” He shrugs and spoons up a bit more oatmeal. “I noticed that there were a lot of kids digging around the trash cans. Mom hated it, used to run them off, but I felt bad. Children were starving, and she would go and yell at them,and threaten to call the White Shirts, and I’d give food we had to the pigs.” He’s not laughing now. He’s looking far-off like he’s playing out a distant, painful memory in his head. “So I started to leave food out for them, and when I got older, got a place of my own–anything to get away from Mom, to be honest–I noticed a young boy on the street. It was winter, bitter cold, I knew he probably wouldn’t wake up again if he fell asleep out there, so I brought him in. That was Jude. He was the first. It all snowballed from there. They kept coming, I’d see them on the street, locked out of the Home, and I couldn’t turn them away. We’re supposed to protect children, take care of them, not hit them, not watch them starve and freeze to death” His words drag me back to when I was the one starving and freezing, and I am so lost in the echoes of despair and gratitude, I almost miss the words he whispers next. “Or get thrown into arenas.”

“Is that why you never married?” The reference to the Games draws the question from my lips before I even have time to think. Having already decided myself never to love or marry for precisely that reason, if no other, I find myself quite sympathetic.

“No, not really. I’m just picky.” He picks up his bowl and mine and goes to the sink where he starts washing them up. I stand and grab a towel to help dry. “In town, a lot of people marry for advantage. Oldest son inherits, others apprentice out, often marry the daughter inheriting another business, so on and so forth. My parents have a marriage like that.” I look at his profile and see a tensing in his jaw, and I can tell this topic is difficult for him. “They don’t like each other very much, and mother’s bitterness spills over everywhere. I swore that would never be me, even if it meant the mines.”

“But it didn’t?” This seems intrinsically important to me. I would not want to see Peeta in the mines. I wouldn’t want to see anyone in the mines, but Peeta is the nicest man in my life now that Daddy’s gone, and that makes the image ten times worse.

“No, Ryen hated the bakery so much he apprenticed out to become a blacksmith, so I didn’t have to worry too much. The bakery can support both me and my brother. Still, to be on the safe side, it would’ve been good for me to marry well. I just never met any woman who I thought I could be happy with. They either don’t approve of me or what I do, or we have nothing in common, or I’m not attracted to them, or as the youngest and least financially secure son, they want nothing to do with me.”

“I’m sorry.” I say, and I am, because even though I never want to marry and never want to have kids, I am sad that such a nice man seems so alone. He flicks water up at me clearly unencumbered by such thoughts.

“Don’t look so gloomy, Miss Sunshine,” he teases. “Do I look unhappy to you?”

“No.” He drags a smile out of me, and gives me a loaf of bread to trade as I leave, telling me to drop by “anytime,”. The little girl I met when I first traded with him, I’ve learned her name is Sarai, runs up and gives him a hug.

“Morning, Little Angel!” he greets, and I realise Mr. Mellark never needed to be a husband to be a father. When I hug Prim in my arms that night, I realise I’m not much different there.

After our conversation that day, I do try to drop by every once in awhile. I tell myself it’s to make sure he’s okay. The truth is when I have my bad days, just walking by his house makes me feel better, reminds me that in the crushing grinder of life, there are people who will care. Someone who’ll listen. I’ve noticed I have an unfortunate weakness for kind people, but it is New Years Eve that ruins me.

I go to visit Peeta and wish him a Happy New Year when he invites me in saying he has a present for me. Inside there seems to be a little party going on. There is music playing, and I glance into the living room to see Peeta has clearly tried to bring some holiday cheer into his kids’ lives, but it is not the living room he takes me too. He takes me to some kind of office or studio where he presents me with a picture frame deliberately turned upside down. I turn it over and there is a beautiful painting of my father. The expression captured is perfect. The woods look incredibly real. His eyes are shining as brightly as they did in life. I realise Peeta must have painted this, must have made all the pictures around here. I’m impressed at his talent but that is lost behind the well of emotions which have broken through the dam I have built around them. Mom looks at the picture of Dad all the time, but I haven’t been able to bear looking at his visage since the day he died. Now he is here in front of me. Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t know how it happened, but Peeta’s arms are around me as I sob and sob and sob. I’ve been trying to be brave so long, I haven’t really cried.

“Shh. Shh,” he whispers as he rubs my back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

I shudder and gasp as I try to find the words. I settle for shaking my head and snuggle deeper into his chest as his arms encircle me. I haven’t been held like this since the day my father died, and I feel safe. I feel small, not like a bug about to be crushed under your foot small, small like a chick under their mother’s wing. The thought makes me shake and cry harder. I’ve missed this. I’ve needed this.

“It’s perfect, Peeta. Thank you.”

I pull away reluctantly and through watery eyes I see blue eyes meet mine. Something flops and rises in my chest; I know now, I will never be able to claw this man out of my heart, the guardian angel my father sent from beyond the grave.

Chapter Two: Loneliness

About a year and a half later, not long after I turn fourteen, I discover Peeta has ambitions far beyond what I’m sure anyone else could have imagined. As always, I don’t see it coming. Not much has changed over the year and a half so much as it has grown. Gale trades with Peeta too now, although his disdain for anyone from Town remains uncomfortably evident. I drop by sometimes for breakfast or supper, bringing trophies from the woods like berries, or wild onions, here and there, so Peeta doesn’t feel like I’m using him. I share parts of my life. It’s nice, to have someone to talk to outside of school or hunting. Madge and I don’t really talk much. Gale and I are only just learning to. And it is this undeniable passage of time that spurs the conversation I never saw coming.

“I have a proposition for you, Katniss, now it’s spring.”

I have to swallow quickly before answering.

“What sort of proposition?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind taking some of your time in the woods to look for some sizeable flood banks, or moist valleys, you know, places water accumulates, and the soil looks good?”

I’m so surprised by the nature of his question my spoon is left suspended in the air.

“Why?”

He places his palms flat on the table in front of him, and draws himself up for what looks like a discussion he’s going to feel passionate about.

“Jude’s aging out of the Reaping this year.”

I nod.

“And I obviously don’t want him going down the mines.”

I nod again because I have no idea where he’s going with this.

“I also rather hate the tesserae system, and how dependent we are on the Capitol for rations in general.”

Oh, this is getting dangerous. I swallow.

“Everyone in Town depends on the Capitol for supplies to continue their trade–that’s a huge part of the reason no one from the Seam can buy from us, the prices are too high–and it’s also what keeps us Town-folk at their mercy. It divides us completely, and still I know people starve everyday.”

“Your point,” I say tilting my chin down for a stern look, because this topic of conversation is dangerous, and while I would expect it from Gale and his rants, I am not expecting it from Peeta, who prefers to talk about homework, or my relationships with my family, or other safer topics of conversation a man in his mid to late twenties might ask a young girl he looks out for.

“My point is that I want to change that if I can. I’ve been planning this for years, actually. I want to see if maybe we can farm in the woods. Get our flour from our own sources. Then we could open a bakery at the Hob, and sell at prices people can afford, cut out the middleman. It might help a lot. Of course, no one from the Seam is going to want to buy from me, and while I think if the alternative were tesserae or starve, most would, I thought maybe Jude could do it? And that way I don’t have to worry about him either.”

“You’re crazy.” The way I say it though sounds nothing short of awestruck. “You really could hang for this.”

He gives this about a second’s thought which either proves he’s not thinking this through, or he’s thought this through so much he’s already made up his mind. Knowing him, both could somehow be true at the same time.

“I could, but I’m one person. Children starve to death everyday.”

“What about the children you’re already responsible for?” I note even as I am saying it that technically Peeta isn’t responsible for them. The Home is. The Capitol is. The District is. But they are so inadequate, Peeta has stepped in.

“I know. I know. It is a risk. It’s a gamble. I just don’t see any other option I can live with in clear conscience. This is way bigger than that, and no matter what I do, there are risks we face.”

I can’t say he’s wrong, and who am I to argue with him when I risk my life everyday to feed Prim? I could hang for it, be shot for it, and if that happens, what’ll happen to Prim? But if I don’t she might starve and still die, or take tesserae and be that much more likely to die. It’s like Peeta said. It’s a gamble. It’s a risk.

“What’s in it for me?”

I don’t mean to sound callous, but business is business, and this is risky business. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind. A wide smile returns to his face. In truth it annoys me at times he seems to find my stern-negotiating-face adorable. I don’t want to be associated with adorable. I am not adorable. Regardless, he agrees to pay me a certain amount to find the land for him, and if they succeed in growing anything, he’ll give me enough grain to match my monthly tesserae rations. While it won’t mean I’ll be able to stop taking out tessera, since I split everything with Gale, it will mean decreasing the number of times I have to put my name in each year. I probably would have agreed to this scheme anyway, but there’s no way I could turn down a deal like that.

As it turns out, Peeta really has put a lot of thought into this farming scheme. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps it’s part of being a bakeer–the way he gets up at three every morning and methodically kneads dough–but deliberateness permeates his being. Peeta is as steady and solid as the earth he means to till. He’s been stockpiling barrels, and building airtight containers to store flour in. He’s been looking into long-term storage. He has a contact in Eleven, (how I dare not ask), who got him corn and wheat seed. He asked his blacksmith brother to make him several hoes, (and laments he couldn’t find a domesticated horse or ox even if it were possible to bring such a creature past the fence), and has even made arrangements with the Goat Man to shovel his manure which Peeta plans to use as fertiliser. Never has it been more obvious to me what a planner Peeta is. Since I usually react to things and don’t generally think past tomorrow, it’s rather mind-boggling to see the lengths to which one man can scheme. Peeta has even grilled Greasy Sae on what she can remember from before the Dark Days about farming in the area. Peeta’s decided to plant corn in the spring and summer, and then wheat in the fall and winter. Who knew wheat just sort of stayed packed under the snow and waited to be harvested come spring? I didn’t. Now I do.

Peeta has this way of talking about things that keeps you interested. Like when he talked about why he convinced his Aunt to give him chickens. I didn’t know gluten is what made bread stick together, and any flour he might get from corn, or even acorns, would need something else to make it stick. Hence, the eggs which he got from his Aunt, the butcher, who can occasionally get animals into the district. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have little particular interest in the making of bread, and I had no idea there was so much to the subject of flour, oil, sugar, water, and yeast, but there is, and I listen, because he is interesting. Peeta asked if he was boring me, and I told him he wasn’t, but it wasn’t really because what he was saying was interesting, but his eyes lit up, and his arms gestured, and his humour was on point. His entire countenance took on such an animated, light-giving quality, I’d dare anyone to not have been absorbed. It seemed too important to him. Peeta has tendency to wrap you up in his enthusiasm, and make you smile in spite of yourself. It’s infectious. I almost hate him for it.

He is truly pouring his all into this crazy scheme. He only works part-time at the bakery now. The rest of the day he is out in the woods, by the river, in the valley, hoeing the land. He’s crazy. He is. There’s no other word. It’s insanity. I worry all the time wild animals are going to savage him, but he carries several knives, and he has a hoe, and I’ve taught him how to scale a tree fast, (which was hilarious because he’s stocky and definitely wasn’t made to scale trees, so much as haul them home for fuel), so I tell myself he’ll be fine. For the first two weeks though, come schools end, I race into the woods to make sure he’s okay. He teases me when he notices.

“Worried about me?” He chortles.

I roll my eyes as he tugs my braid and splashes me with river water. I pretend I don’t care. I can sort of see the humour of a girl who barely reaches up to his chest crouching in trees to keep an eye on him, but it’s harder to not get aggravated when Prim joins in the teasing.

“It’s alright,” she says one day when I meet her after school to tell her where I’m going. “I’d run into the woods with Peeta too.” I immediately tell her off as she giggles. She is ten; I don’t know where she gets all this from. I point out that Mr. Mellark will be thirty come November, but she keeps laughing and later has mom tell a story about how her first crush was on the carpenter who was an older guy too. I huff and storm outside. Don’t they know why I worry? What Peeta has done for us, and still does for us? Of course, I’m worried. Of course I keep tabs on him. Maybe it’s just that I know nothing good stays. It’s nothing to do with crushes on older, stronger men. The problem is they’ve got me so worked up, I question every natural observation I have that Peeta’s arms are strong, and look good when they flex, or the way his shirt sticks to his skin when he sweats, or the way his hair shines gold when the light hits it just right. It’s normal to see these things when you look at someone. It doesn’t mean anything, but I head home when my keeping tabs on him results in me seeing him strip off his shirt and pour cool water over his head. There were many trails of water to follow over his chest, droplets that cascaded down him and dazzled in the sun, and he didn’t know I was there so it wasn’t fair.

On weekends, and everyday come summer, the rest of Peeta’s pseudo-family join him. There is Jude, who is the oldest, and Jet who I know from various conversations over the last year is seventeen, and lives with his mom who is an alcoholic. Then there is Colleen and her brother Cole, who are fourteen and twelve. They were orphaned in the blast that killed my father. Finally, there are the babies of this group, Sarai and her brother Elliot, who were the first of Peeta’s foster kids I met. They don’t help much with the plowing, but they’re up bright and early every morning when the time comes for planting the seeds. I dare say it keeps them out of trouble. I help out too when I can, which always earns me a huge smile from Peeta that makes it hard to maintain eye contact with him. I refuse any form of payment pointing out that this is an investment for me too. Truth is, I just wanted to. Seeing them all work so hard tugs my heartstrings. Contrary to popular belief, I do have them. The corn grows fast, and high, and waves in the wind.

It sometimes takes me time to find where they are working since Peeta has divided the farming land into sections. He hopes that’ll reduce the likelihood of damage to his crop than if they’re all in one place, and of the Capitol clueing into what’s going on with the two or three acres or so of land they’re farming. I have to say I agree. It was only a few months previously Gale and I had seen two people fleeing the Capitol only to be captured by hovercraft. I hadn’t told anyone but Peeta. Prim I couldn’t tell for fear of worrying her, and the same went with my mother. I don’t want to risk her checking out again, but Peeta, he is the one person in the world today I would say I trust unconditionally. That’s why I told him about the cabin by the lake my father brought me, in case he wants to fix that up to store grain in. He seemed terribly touched I’d told him, and I was glad he’d understood what it meant to me. Sometimes I go to the lake and see the work done and while it saddens me that this place is no longer my own, I am glad that my knowledge, my life, might now sustain others. (You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter.)

Gale cautions me about getting too involved in all this.

“It’ll be great if it works out, Catnip, but if it doesn’t, don’t go wasting your time with it. We’ve got our own mouths to feed.” I hate he has a point, and reluctantly agree. It doesn’t end there though. Another time he points out, “And don’t go giving away our trade secrets either. We don’t need that kind of competition.”

Again I agree with him, but a bakery isn’t going to compete with us, and I’ve known starvation too well not to help when I can, especially when I know what help has meant to me, and even more so when it is the person who helped me when I most needed it.

“Stupid Townie,” Gale mutters. “If he wants to help out, fine, but the woods are ours. He’s stepping in where he doesn’t belong, trying to take advantage of us, thinks we can’t do better, but what else is new?”

I get where Gale is coming from. I really do. We’ve been at the backdoors of people who will give us a pittance for our work, because they know we can’t really say no, especially when the law is on their side. It’s frustrating to say the very, very least, but I resent even more the notion that Peeta Mellark is like that when he is the one out here sweating under a hot sun, and working so hard I know I saw blood on the handle of his hoe. I also know that blood is there because he gave Jet his own gloves, and never let on a hint to his own pain. Peeta is staking a lot on this venture. I tell Gale so, and before I know it we’re in a flaming row. I generally try to avoid rows with Gale, or wait until we’re done hunting. They scare off the game, but I can’t help myself this time. There is a lot of huffing, arm-waving, and finger-pointing, and Gale calls me a naive child, again, and eventually we just stop unable to reach an accord. He’s only two years older, I wish he’d stop acting uppity. The truth is, I should have seen this coming. I’ve been called a halfie a few times, and that’s one of the kinder words out there. It doesn’t matter how much my mother does as a healer in the Seam, and I am proud of her for that if nothing else, she is still from Town, and people still skirt around her. It’s no different for Peeta. Gale is sceptical. He always will be, I think. It exhausts me.

It works though. The corn grows, is harvested, dehydrated, and stored to be ground into cornmeal. I take Sarai and Elliot through the woods with massive buckets to get acorns to supplement that as well. One Sunday in October, Peeta invites me to join in a celebration in the woods. I am told I can bring my mother and Prim if I want to, but something in me hesitates and I seek them out alone. When I arrive I find a massive bonfire, and Jet playing something on some kind of wooden instrument. There are some cookies to snack on, and everyone is milling and dancing about the flames. I stop in the shadow of a tree just to watch them as the night grows darker. It’s strange this group of people. Seam colouring aside, they don’t look like a family, and Peeta doesn’t even have that. Jet is the only one that has anything merchant to him, blue eyes, because he’s the product of some Townie looking for fun without responsibility. Jude is lean and thin faced, but Jet is circular and short. Colleen and Cole look related of course, but their hair is blunt and straight, as are their noses. Then the youngest, Sarai and Eliot, well they have an impish look to them, even as serious as Eliot can be. Peeta sticks out like a sore thumb. Yet there is a harmony to this group, a joy, and a hope that unites them as they join hands and spin around and laugh together. They seem bound by something beyond anything I’ve experienced before. It makes something in me ache. I want to join in, but it feels dangerous to do so. I am not a part of this, and celebrating something scares me in a way I don’t fully understand. It seems risky, even as I wish it.

“Katniss!” Elliot has spotted me. “Come on!” He runs forward and pulls me in. Jude hands me a cookie. It’s delicious, and I can’t help but smile. Soon Sarai who had been enjoying a piggy-back ride by Colleen runs over to get me to dance with her, and her joy drags all of us in as we spin and spin around. Half way through a twirl I lose my balance and Peeta catches me. All I notice is his warmth, his strong arms and chest, and then his blue eyes and his smile, and I forget to breathe. The urge to move forward is so overwhelming I shove him away.

“I-I’m sorry. It’s getting late. My family’ll worry.”

“Of course,” Peeta nods, apparently finding nothing the matter with my reaction. I suppose maybe I’m just that awkward. “Give them my regards.”

“Yeah, sure.”

I turn away to hug the youngest one’s goodbye and dash off trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that my mother and Prim were right.

I avoid him after that. It’s stupid, because it’s not like he’d care, but I don’t know how to act. I trade with him as always, but insist that with winter here, I’m needed elsewhere so I don’t stay. Peeta looks concerned, but I brush him off and he lets it go. I encourage Gale to trade there more often. Gale notices and asks if Peeta has done anything wrong, but he really hasn’t. Gale doesn’t believe me, of course, but he lets it go for which I’m grateful.

I am, however, kept up to date on everything that’s happening in Peeta’s life by Colleen. For whatever reason she has decided we are friends now we’ve been to a bonfire together. I discovered this when she decided to sit with Madge and I and lunch. I don’t discourage it though, it wouldn’t be particularly nice, and I also know Colleen, like me, doesn’t have many friends. Still, she’s a chatterbox which is an odd change since I think Madge and I are friends-of-a-sort, because we both don’t like to talk. Colleen isn’t shallow though, and her conversation does cover things that are at least relevant or interesting. I don’t think I could’ve bourne a gossip. Funnily enough, the injection of a talker to our group seems to have done Madge and I a bit of good allowing us to actually acknowledge that we are, in fact, friends. She drags us both to her house to teach us to play the piano, which is a huge laugh to say the least, and she talks us into bringing her to the woods. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything besides hunt and trade and work, I never realised how much I missed it. Short of some joking with Prim, or family time at New Years, I haven’t just had fun since my father died. It fills me with a deep ache in my heart. My father and I used to spend time together just singing with the mockingjays. Sometimes, he would seat me on his lap and teach me to sing in harmony with him. Silly songs. Folk songs. Love songs. I learned them all, and now waching Madge laugh as Colleen fudges up her part of Heart and Soul, I almost feel I could cry. For the first time, it doesn’t feel quite so much like death and loss, but life and growth. The cracking of a shell I’m out-growing. I’ve never considered that new life comes in to the world to us with pain, so much as I have fixated on the losing of it.

Gale and I stop trading with Peeta as of November. We split the grain he gives us between our families, and go straight to the new bakery in the Seam if we need bread. Greasy Sae has partnered with it to give it even more legitimacy, if such is a concern in a black market, and it is gaining popularity quickly. I am told there was a problem with the other bakery at the Hob. The system worked where children could sell there tesserae grain for coin, and that grain would be milled down and baked and sold at the Hob. Before Peeta, that was the best most people could hope for for a bakery in the Seam. With Jude selling now, fewer people were buying tesserae bread, or even having to sell as much tesserae grain for coin. Jude and Jet had almost come to blows with the other baker, I think his name was Mr. Salter, before people came to break it up before the Peacekeepers were forced to actually remember they were on duty. Peeta sorted it out by arranging to pay the Salter family help him mill down his grain, since it’s hard for them to farm, bake, and mill, all by themselves, and now they’ve settled into a reluctant sort of truce. Jude has not been condemned to the mines.

But death comes anyway. It’s unstoppable. Colleen looks sombre come February.

“Did something happen?” Madge asks, concerned.

“Peeta’s mother died.”

None of us say much after that, but after pacing around the woods guilty, I visit Peeta for the first time in four months. When he answers the door he looks dreadfully exhausted. His eyes have a haunted quality to them, and his hair seems simultaneously lank and uncombed. There is stubble where he is usually so clean shaven.

“Hey, Katniss.” He mumbles and motions for me to enter.

“I, um, heard about your mother.” I offer tentatively as I place several squirrels on the table for him.

He sits down and sighs with weariness that is soul-deep.

“Yeah, it’s no surprise really. She’s been sick for awhile, and had stroke a few years back besides.”

I hadn’t known that she was sick. I should’ve known that. Guilt is rising steadily in me, as Peeta emotionally runs his hand through his hair which waves in a way that makes it clear he’s been doing that a lot today. I have never seen him sit with such a slump in his shoulders before. Not knowing what else to do, I decide to cook the squirrel. I remember how hard it can be to move when you lose a parent, how simple tasks can seem monumental. I’m not a brilliant cook; I’ve never had much opportunity to learn, but I think I can handle a stew. Something about the smell seems to wake Peeta up and he enters the kitchen as the stew is bubbling.

“Thank you.”

I just nod. Saying “You’re welcome,” seems trite somehow. This was the least that should be expected. I have been a poor friend to him.

“I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” he continues as he sits down, his voice has this hollow quality to it. “She and I were never close. I was her disgrace…but now that she’s gone. I guess, I don’t know, there’s no way to ever make it right. Not that it was ever going to be made right, of course. Ever. So what’s the use in–” he waves half-heartedly with his hand, unable to articulate himself for once. All I do is hand him over a bowl of soup. You can’t go wrong with feeding someone, right? I pass him a spoon, and I can tell something’s wrong by the way he stares at it, turning it back and forth before his eyes like it is the key to some kind of puzzle. He drops the spoon and covers his face with his hands. His sobs are mostly soundless, but I can tell they are there by the shaking of his shoulders. They wrack his whole body.

After a time, I hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder, and start to rub his back. This seems to help a little. I’m half tempted to sing to him, like I would to Prim, but he’s a grown man and that feels strange so I restrain myself. It hurts to see him like this. I’ve never really registered how alone he is. He’s here, in this house, alone, even though he has a father, two married brothers, and several nieces and nephews. It is I who comforts him. I can feel my heart swell with the absurd need to cradle and protect a man so many years my senior. When he calms, he gently places a large, warm hand over my small one, and smiles. I smile gently back.

“Sorry to do that in front of you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Thanks for the soup. It helps. The kids’ll be in soon, and then I’ve got to go meet with my brothers and Dad about the arrangements.”

“If you ever need anything, please just…let me know.” I say the words earnestly and hesitantly, because I’ve never considered before that I could be of any real help to Peeta Mellark. His face lights a slight amount anyway, and he seems more like himself. He tugs my braid lightly and musses my hair and says he’ll bear that in mind. The gesture squeezes my heart in a way that pains. I know what I’ve always known, that he sees me as a cute kid, the daughter of a good friend, but it’s better that way I think as I walk home. There’s no reason that should hurt me. If I ever had to be attracted to anybody, best to be attracted to someone way beyond me. Peeta is older, from Town. It could never work. He’d never notice me, so I have nothing to fear. I can, however, be a partner to him, and more than just in trade. Gale and I share the burdens of having to help support our households. It makes things easier. I can do the same with Peeta, and bringing him some of Prim’s old clothes for Sarai is a good start, because no one deserves to shoulder the burdens of a family alone. I mean to bridge that gap however I can.

Chapter Three: Artless

“Why art?” I remember asking Peeta shortly after I’d first started trading with him.

“What do you mean why art?”

“I mean…no offence…but, isn’t it a waste of time, even money?”

Peeta took his time in giving me a response. It was something I always appreciated about him. He never belittled me, and spoke to me with respect. When he answered he was still sort of staring into space.

“You can starve physically, but your soul can starve too. You can survive, but have no reason to live. Art feeds the soul.” He pauses and looks over at me. “You know how when you’re tired you can sit down and not want to get up again? You can. But you don’t. You can give up.” Immediately I am brought back to the apple tree where I had sat lost, weak, and weary. I could have gotten up, as I proved when Peeta gave me the bread, but before the hope he gave me, I wouldn’t have believed I could at all. I had no defense. “Art gives rise to hope, and validation of pain. It’s important, Katniss.”

I nodded, content to never bring the topic up again, but after a lull in the conversation I thought was over, Peeta added one final thought. “Your father used to sing all the time. I always loved to draw, but I dare say he taught me the power of it.”

I still haven’t truly sang since my father died, not to anyone other than Prim. I once stood at the edge of the lake my father brought me, not long after that talk with Peeta, and considered opening my mouth and letting the song that flooded to the back of my teeth pour out, but when I saw the mockingjays, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sing and know they would take up the call and sing it again, and again after me for who knew how long. I knew singing again without my father would crack through some barrier that dammed the grief in me, and if I started, would I stop? And how could I bear the mockingjays carrying my pain onward and onward and onward, magnifying it for all to hear? I am too small for that. Too weak. So I don’t sing.

It hadn’t stopped someone else from their own brand.

It was In the spring, shortly before my sixteenth birthday, that I first noticed it. Graffiti on buildings depicting the faces of fallen tributes, or supporting the miners, or deriding the excesses of the Capitol. I’d never seen anything like it before. We usually try to forget the Reaping exists during the rest of the year, not like we ever do of course, but we tuck our heads down and move on. I’ve never seen anyone calling attention to it before, honouring those we’ve lost. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but Gale loves it, of course.

He thinks it’s great to stir people up, take down the Capitol. I want to point out that it’s useless if we’re all by ourselves, one tiny district, but know from experience he won’t listen. He says it would be great if some Townie got reaped so maybe they’d fight alongside us. In truth, I never dreamed he’d get his wish.

I am a mess the 74th games. It is Prim’s first time, and even though the odds are most in your favour the first time, somehow it feels like the worst. I jerkily lead her up to the counter where peacekeepers are taking blood for their records, and guide her through the process. I hardly even noticed when they prick my finger. When I tell her I will find her immediately after the ceremony is done, I know I am reassuring her as much as myself. I love Prim like I love myself…more actually.

Colleen is waiting for me in the area for sixteen year olds and she grasps my hand tightly. I know she is as worried for Cole as I am for Prim, but she’s been through this a couple of times already. I’m not used to this kind of fear. I squeeze her hand back in solidarity and appreciation. She offers me a tight smile I can’t bring myself to return. I stare fruitlessly at the bowl and beg it will not call my name, not Prim’s name, or Madge’s, or Colleen’s, or Cole’s, or Gale’s, and muse that in spite of my best efforts, I care far too much. I don’t want it to be anyone, but I can’t stop that, so I must protect my own. There is a tension in the air, as Effie Trinket quickly reads the name more intent on maintaining her tenuous grasp on her wig then appreciating what she’s doing.

“Flouer Mellark!”

And a fifteen year old girl from Town is reaped: Peeta’s niece.

Colleen and I exchange looks. I can read in her eyes what must be in my own. Was the Reaping punitive? It must be even worse for her, because Mellark is her last name now too. Peeta had adopted them all a few months ago when Jude’s Bakery took off. Colleen grabs my hand even tighter, so much so I fear the circulation must be cut off, but I do the same to her. WIll it be Peeta’s nephew, or will it be Cole, who is the only other boy Peeta cares about who might be eligible? Or if it is about trading in the Hob, what is it’s Gale? My breathing loosens when it’s a boy from the Seam, Terrence Carter–but it’s still horrifying to see it is a twelve year old boy. Twelve year olds are seldom Reaped, but when they are, they come from the very back of the crowd, a longer walk, a longer torment, as if the Capitol wants to rub it in our faces what they do.

Tears are streaming down Colleen’s face now, and the moment we are cleared to leave she runs to find her brother, as I run to find Prim. I clutch her in my arms, breath her scent in, run my fingers through her hair. I need to know she is here, real, in my arms.

“Oh, Katniss,” she sobs, “how awful.” I can only imagine how this felt to her. I had tried to comfort her, comfort myself, saying her name was only in there once, but so had Terrence’s been. Besides, she knows who the Mellark’s are and that drives it home too. No one is safe. How can anyone choose to go through this?

“Hush, Little Duck,” I say as I pull away and tuck in her shirt again. “How about we bring them some strawberries?”

She nods and wipes her tears with the back of her hands. Mom is here now and she hugs Prim too and squeezes my shoulder with her free hand, a teary-eyed smile on her lips.

Gale is waiting at the edge of the crowd, and I motion to my mother and Prim to go on home first. I give him a hug, the first we’ve ever shared.

“Congratulations.” I whisper, trying to remind myself to also be grateful I’ll never have to worry about him being Reaped again.

“Yeah, it’s great,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about Rory who will be eligible next year. I know I am. “Who’d have thought it’d be someone from Town? Maybe now they’ll know what it’s like.”

“Don’t joke like that Gale.” I glare at him. He doesn’t comment on it.

“So,” he puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks back and forth on his heels, “I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate with me?”

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah, everyone who’s aged out this year. We’re all meeting in the meadow. You want to come?”

There’s an urgency in his eyes, and a nervousness in his tone that make me think this must be more important than I realise, but my mind is at the Mellark house, so I don’t think too much when I reply.

“Of course, I’ll be there. I’ll meet you after dinner.”

“Great!” His eyes light up, and his smile is wider than I’ve seen in ages, and I am happy for him, so I try not to let my distractedness show as he walks me home and prattles on inanely. I nod and hum at appropriate intervals, a practice I am well-versed in given my conversational skills are nil at the best of times.

When I knock on the door with the basket of strawberries in my hand, it is Jet who opens the door for me. He motions me in, and I don’t comment on the shadows under his eyes. Inside, Sarai is softly sobbing in Colleen’s arms; Cole, next to her, has his eyes closed and is leaning on her shoulder. Eliot is stiff as board on the sofa. Jet sits down next to them, and rests the strawberries on the table. No one eats them.

“Is he still at the Justice Building?”

“Yeah,” Jet’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Jude and his wife’s with him. Or were. Family didn’t want the Seam there.” He sighs and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

I stand there awkwardly until the door bursts open. My heart falls when it is Jude and Maria not Peeta.

“He’ll be here in five minutes.” Jude explains awkwardly.

“How bad was it?”

“His brother punched him across the jaw.”

“Shit.” Jet groans.

“Language!” Colleen reprimands him pulling Sarai in closer. He ignores her and goes up to thump Jude on the back in masculine affirmation. Maria announces she’s going to make dinner and courteously thanks me for the strawberries. I feel out of place as Jude flops down next to Jet. I’m the only one standing, but this isn’t my house, and I doubt it would be polite to sit. Maybe I should go, but I don’t feel I can do that until I see Peeta.

He walks in not long after, and already there is the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his left eye. His movements are slowed; his exhaustion is evident.

“Dad,” Sarai rushes over to him, and he kneels to the floor to grasp her in a tight hug. He closes his eyes so tightly I think he must be hiding tears. As the others gather around, I slip out the door feeling like a voyeur.

I almost don’t remember I agreed to go to Gale’s celebration, but halfway through washing the dishes after a silent post-Reaping meal, I head off to the meadow.

Gale is already there. A few people are playing some upbeat songs, and I can tell the Ripper’s liquor has already started to be passed around the large crowd of eighteen year olds.

“Catnip!” Gale waves me over, and introduces me to his friends, Thom, Bristel, Jason, and Axel. “You all know who Katniss is, of course.” He gestures towards me proudly, but all can think is that of course they know who I am. I know my reputation. The surly, halfie, criminal who can kill you from a distance. Daughter of the the Townie healer, with the sister with the fair features. Other. Alien. Jack Everdeen’s daughter.

I am deeply uncertain why Gale wants me here. I am useless with conversation, and I don’t know anyone here. Gale and I spend time together in the woods, but we’ve never done much outside of that. But then I realise maybe that’s the point. I won’t be able to see Gale terribly much after he enters the mines. He’ll only be free on Sundays, so I try to put my best foot forward which I think he appreciates.

I don’t know how well I do, there’s only so much one can say about the weather, the seasons, and the coal. It’s an unwritten rule not to talk about the Reaping, but I still I detect a general sentiment that “at least it’s a Townie this time,” and “now they’ll know what it feels like” which makes me uncomfortable in it’s callousness. They’re all just children. I dance a few dances, and almost have fun, as much as one can at theses sorts of things where you’re never told what you have to do, and what’s expected of you, which leaves someone like me hanging awkwardly wondering how many gaffes they make a second. The only comfort I have is that initially, I can follow Gale’s lead as he drags me around everywhere to introduce me. Once I exhaust my sparse reserves of small talk I cautiously retreat to a corner while Gale takes swigs out of one of the several bottles of white liquor making its rounds. I wonder how long I’m obliged to stay here before I can go home politely. It has been a taxing day and all I want to do is sleep.

As it gets colder and darker, I wrap my arms around myself and realise I forgot to grab a sweater before heading out. My Reaping dress is thin and short-sleeved. I decide I’m just going to go home when Gale notices my discomfort and slips his jacket around me saying he’ll walk me back. Behind him some boys who notice the interaction jeer and wolf-whistle. I’d shoot them a glare, but I am honestly too tired to care. We are just up at my doorstep when Gale grabs my arm.

“Listen, Catnip, we’re both older now, and I’ll be in the mines soon.”

I wearily lift my eyes up to his to hear him out when he grabs my cheeks and pulls my face up to kiss me. I can smell the liquor on him. I am so shocked it takes me a moment to respond. I shove him away with both hands and run inside, trying to ignore the dismayed look on his face. I feel like the ground is rocking under me, and I fall to the ground once I am inside. I wrap my arms around my knees and finally, finally give into my tears. How could he kiss me like that, when he knows how I feel about it, without even asking, and on a day like today when I see what could be all my worst fears realised?

Prim is a sleep, but Momma comes to the front door. She must hear my crying.

“Oh, Katniss,” she whispers sympathetically, and wraps her arms around me soothingly rocking me into her chest. It’s been years since I’ve allowed her to hold me like this, not since Dad died, and it turns a key in my chest that makes me sob all the harder. Somehow it feels good. Momma plants a kiss on my head.

I drop Gale’s jacket on the Hawthorne’s doorsept early the next morning, and go squirrel hunting. Gale, fortunately, is not there. He’s probably still hungover. I work quickly, and soon I am at Peeta’s with fresh meat.

“It’s not to trade.” I murmur when he opens the door. He nods me in and says I don’t have to do that. I already brought them strawberries. I decide to pretend I didn’t hear him since I don’t know what to say.

“The kids are still asleep then?”

“Yeah.”

“It is still quite early.”

“It is.”

The stuntedness is more than I can take, so I address the obvious issue.

“You’re eye looks bad. Is it true your brother hit you?”

“Yes. It is.” He looks away at the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast?”

“Sure.” But I know he’s trying to change the subject.

“Did your brother think it was punitive?”

“Yeah.” His back is to me at the stove so all I can see are clenched muscles and slumped shoulders.

“Do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. They could’ve reaped any of my children if they wanted to do that. Not my nieces. It could just be a coincidence, or maybe they just didn’t want to be too obvious. I don’t know.” He sighs and his hands still. “Either way it doesn’t matter. Over this last year, fewer people than ever have had to take tesserae, which means the odds were less in favour of the Merchants than ever. So either way….I suppose you could argue it’s my fault.”

I frown, uncertain which side to take. “Are you going to stop?”

“No,” he shakes his head firmly. It’s the strongest gesture he’s made since I arrived. “I knew the risks when I started this. More people starve everyday then are reaped every year. The bakery helps with that. I just never expected to have to face the consequences so…soon.” He’s gripping the edge of the counter so tightly now that I can see his knuckles whiten. I can’t help myself. I go up and wrap my arms around him, and he reciprocates. We stand there for a few moments until he extracts himself murmuring a thank you.

“So, how are things for you?” He finally asks, and I grant him the reprieve. There’s nothing more to say in any case. Sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.

“Gale kissed me.” I blurt out. Against my will I scan his face for a reaction. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but all I get out of him is raised eyebrows.

“And you didn’t like it?”

“No!” I cross my arms. “I’ve told him time and again I don’t want marriage or kids. I told him yesterday morning before he even tried. What’s wrong with him?”

Peeta chuckles which contrasts to the stain of grief that remains on his face. I hate him for laughing at my plight.

“He’s an eighteen year old boy, Katniss. He’s just survived his last Reaping. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and he wants to share it with a remarkable woman. He overstepped his bounds. It’s not the end of the world.”

“I’m not remarkable.” I grumble. Peeta places a hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him directly.

“Yes, you are.” I pretend I can’t feel myself blush under his stare.

“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” He reassures me touching my cheek in a friendly manner. “Tell Gale how you feel, and if he’s as good a friend as you say he is, then he’ll come around, and accept it.”

“I just hate all the presumptions!” I hate that I’m whining too, but it is so annoying. “Everyone assumes we’re together. I never thought he would just assume too! And now I’m getting older, and the mines are looming, all everyone seems to talk about is boys and marriage.”

“I suppose they figure partnership makes it more bearable.”

“Not me.” I scowl. He laughs lightly.

“Don’t worry about it. Look at me!” He says as he flips eggs that have been frying in the pan too long. “I’ve never married, and I’m doing just fine.” I crook my lips at that one.

“You’ve adopted a bunch of kids and have a terrible reputation.”

“True!” He taps my nose with his index finger. “So don’t be like me.” Then the glint leaves his eyes, and he remembers what happened yesterday. I reach out and grasp his hand. We stay like that a long while as the eggs cool to rubber.

Gale and I don’t talk again until the day after the bloodbath. It’s clear he’s been avoiding me. When we finally meet up again in the woods I rail at him for kissing me and not even having the guts to face me afterward. I hadn’t appreciated splitting my haul with a man who wasn’t there. He at least has the decency to pretend to look ashamed, but I know he isn’t because he says it was just because he had a bit too much to drink, and had originally planned to “ease me into it.” Whatever the Hell that means. I’m not known for being fickle.

“I know you don’t like the idea, Katniss, but I also know you hate the mines. They might turn a blind eye to you poaching, but only if you’re working too. What are you going to say when you turn eighteen? Are you going to go down the mines?”

“I could say I’m a healer like mom!”

He laughs. “Yeah, like that’s going to work.”

“It might!”

“Never mind. Let’s just get on with it.”

I hate that he’s probably right, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t like being talked down too like that. It is a very tense hunt.

Flouer Mellark dies in the bloodbath. Peeta leaves the bakery in Town.

Every time I got to trade in Town I can feel the resentment. I can feel the glares at me, even worse than usual for being from the Seam. I can also feel anger towards the Capitol though. It’s palpable. The Mellarks, Peeta aside, are a respected family here. Meanwhile, at the Hob, Sae starts up a fund to sponsor Terrence. He is killed by the Careers on the fourth day.

No one knows what to do with the coin. We hadn’t had a chance to send it in yet, and Sae hadn’t exactly been keeping records of who gave what. It is Jude who suggests they send it to Rue. When we see there isn’t quite enough yet to get her something decent, he convinces Peeta to ask for donations in Town. I am deeply sceptical, but Peeta rallies his few friends and so angry are the people in Town at the Careers and the Capitol, they donate, and we send Rue some bread. When she receives the bread that is obviously not from her District and thanks us, and everyone in the crowd cheers. I notice the Peacekeepers grip their weapons tighter. I notice Gale is grinning.

We all root for Rue to win, and she lasts longer than I think any twelve year old has before, but she dies when the Careers smoke her out of the tree she hides in. Her death is cruel, painful, sadistic, and brutal. Everyone looks traumatised for weeks. Mockingjays with Rue’s face are found in alleyways making everyone stew. I don’t know if it’s one artists or several that grafiti the District, but they stir us up. Our only consolation is that for once someone from an outlying District wins, someone we actually like: Thresh. If you can call it a consolation when it is a rallying point. There is a curling in my stomach that tells me I need to ask Peeta a few pointed questions, but I decide it’s better not to know.

Chapter Four: Catching Fire

Summer break begins soon after the Games end, and I don’t see much of the Mellarks. All of them disappear into the woods from dawn until dusk to harvest the wheat. I keep an eye on them intermittently between my own prolific hunting. Summer is when you store up for Winter. Everytime I see them, they are hard at work. Jet and Peeta do the scything. Colleen and Cole bundle, and the youngest two rake. That’s just the beginning of course; they also have to thresh and winnow what they’ve gathered. After that, they’ll have to prepare the land to plant the corn. Whenever I catch them working, I invariably think of Thresh, and how skills like this had helped him survive. He knew how to handle a scythe; he knew how to survive in the forest of grain they provided for him. I wonder if the Gamemakers had planned to have an outlier win this year, to keep things from being too boring. It seemed a bit of an advantage for anyone with farming experience, like people from Eleven raised in fields of grain. I wonder if they’re regretting it.

Thresh has been a difficult victor to say the least. His shout, “For Rue!” when he made his last kill has been taken by the District as something of a rallying cry. I’ve seen the phrase graffitied everywhere. During his victor interview, much like his tribute interview, he really made Caesar work for every word. There was seething resentment in him, and tears that shone hatred in his eyes when he saw Rue die. He made it clear he thought anyone who participated or enjoyed that kind of thing was monstrous. It didn’t matter how much the Capitol tried to edit his interview. There really was no salvaging it. I worry all the time about the consequences for him, but so far he’s still around. I can’t imagine what the Victory Tour will be like.

Gale is thrilled by what he’s seen. Ever since he’s started down the mines, he’s been even more of a ticking bomb than ever. Resentment spills out of his every pore. He was made for more than back-breaking minework in unsafe conditions for which he gets a pittance.

“Don’t you see, Catnip! This proves that the other Districts feel the same way we do!”

“Maybe they do, Gale, but we’re all still trapped by fences.” I wish he would be rational. “Do you even know how you’d communicate with them? Let alone ally with them?”

“Thresh is coming here on the tour, isn’t he? We can get him a message then.”

“How? How are you going to get close enough to him?”

He rolls his eyes at me. “All we need is a signal. Someone to shout from the crowd we support him.”

“And get us all killed.”

“They can’t kill all of us, Catnip. Where would they get their coal?”

“Didn’t save Thirteen.” I point out cynically.

“Look, we’re all on camera. Maybe they’ll edit it out in post-production, but maybe other Districts will see what we did too.” He looks down at me in frustration. “I don’t know why you’re fighting me on this, Katniss.”

“I’m not! But there’s no point in having this rebellion if it doesn’t work. I’m not risking my life, let along my sister’s and mother’s on some fool’s scheme!” My chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. “When I’m sure you’ve thought this through, maybe I’ll consider joining.” He internalises this. His eyes are watching me in a manner that is calculating, and, for once, I can’t fathom what’s in the recesses of his mind. Do I know him as well as I think?

“Alright, Catnip. I will. I’ll give you a plan. It’s simple. We get to Thresh. He gets word out to the other districts, other victors, maybe. We make bows, weapons, grab the tools from the mines, take the Peacekeepers. The miners are angry, Katniss. We’d do it. If we can coordinate that with the other districts, we could take the Capitol.”

“They. Have. Bombs. Gale!” I spit through gritted teeth.

“We have a victor who is an ally in the Capitol.”

“And?”

“Maybe he can cripple them somehow.”

“It’s a bit much to hope.”

“All at once, maybe, but if we plan this over a few years. It could work.”

It might. I reluctantly concede to that. We spend the rest of out time in the woods in silence, but I can tell from the distant look in his eyes that Gale is scheming. Right before we leave, he shocks me with that he says.

“Your friend, Madge, the mayor’s daughter.”

“What of her?” I ask cautiously. Gale’s never liked her.

“She’ll be at the banquet when Thresh comes here, won’t she? She could get a message to him, discreetly. Could you talk to her about it?”

I muse over it a bit, but Madge has mentioned her Aunt Maysilee a few times. I know she has a rebellious spirit in her, it’s evident if only in who she choose to befriend. And, in truth, as careful as I’ve learned to be, I want to end these Hunger Games. I want to rebel. I tell Gale I’ll talk to her about it. Something this simple is small, not likely to hurt anyone, but could have impact.

I broach the subject with Madge when she joins me gathering in the woods. She looks intrigued.

“I’ll need to be able to tell him what kind of support to expect.” She muses. “You’ll need to know how many miners are involved, how far they’re willing to go, but, yes, I’ll certainly do it. Actually,” she adds hesitantly, but I see pride in her eyes as she raises them to mine. “My family has been rebels for ages.” Then she bites her lip, before adding something that confounds me. “Just tell Gale to be careful about running his mouth in the mines. New shafts should be fine, but I’m pretty sure the Capitol bugs them to make sure there isn’t anything treasonous that might translate into action. I can’t be sure, but I’ve heard it speculated that that’s why there was that accident years ago. The one your father died in.”

“You mean…?” Could it be possible? My father poached. He was hardly a law-abiding citizen, but I had never considered he might have been a rebel in the revolutionary sense. I suppose it could explain the lack of support we received afterwards. I still don’t doubt it was because my father’s marriage was so unpopular, because everyone was too wrapped up to care, but now there might be another reason as well.

“Yeah.” Madge nods. “I don’t know much, but my aunt and your mother were friends. I think that’s what got your mother into it, when she saw Aunt Maysilee die.”

My mother, a rebel? I can hardly imagine it, but then again, she did leave everything she’d ever known to marry me father. She’d been brave once, rebellious. I feel a stirring of desire to know her again burning up inside me warring with the urge to keep her at a distance to protect myself. A war that has been going on in earmest since she held me after Gale kissed me.

I’m going to have to talk to her.

“Yes, it’s true.”

“Seriously?” She says it so casually. Yes, it’s true. I feel my mind spinning, but at the same time it’s like it’s falling into place, being screwed on right, because it makes a bizarre sort of sense.

“You were rebels?”

“Yes,” my mother nods again. She sips her tea before she elaborates. We’re both sitting at the kitchen table. Prim is out with a friend. Despite the fact that we are talking about Dad, or perhaps because of it, Momma seems more animated than ever. “I grew up thinking, if not nasty things, than superior things about the Seam.” She explains. “I never imagined I would ever visit here, let alone live here. But one day, your father showed up, asking to trade meat for antibiotics. A boy had been horribly whipped, and needed help. My father refused him, but I admired his courage in coming there. There was something shining in his eyes. It was well-known that my family believed in doing business only with those who had the coin. Your father went on about how the young boy was the only child left to a widowed woman. Something about the entire scene touched me, so I followed your father out. I got him the medication. That started everything.”

“You said you met when he came to trade plants with you?”

“I did. The whippings back then were terrible. After Haymitch won, new peacekeepers were brought in, and the punishments were absolutely barbaric. My parents said we shouldn’t help; the people involved were criminal, and it would only cause trouble. The truth is, I wanted to cause trouble. I watched my best friend die a horrific death on live television. Haymitch tried to help her; they were allies. I thanked him for that once.” She quiets as she becomes lost in a distant memory. She shakes herself out of it. “I was angry at the Capitol for what they’d done, and I was sixteen so sneaking out to heal the backs of those who were whipped for defying them seemed a terribly grand idea.” I can see it now. My mother, before grief diminished her, sneaking out to help those in need. I’m proud of her, I realise. “I told your father I couldn’t help him with Capitol-grade medicines again, so I looked through the Plant Book, and told him which herbs to gather. I suppose I realised interacting with all these Seam families that they weren’t so different, the depth of the unfairness. It’s not often someone from Town is Reaped, but now that I knew how devastating it was…I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to face that all the time.” She shrugs, takes another sip of her tea, and concludes. “So that’s how I fell in love with your father, and, yes, eventually, we joined organised rebellion.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I mumble. I twist my head trying to process what I’ve just heard. Momma reaches out to grasp my hand.

“It was nothing I meant to hide from you,” she says softly, “but first you were too young, and then…”

“And then…” I conclude, knowing exactly what she means.

“When Jack died, I feared it was my fault,” she whispers. “Did I get him killed?”

For the first time in years, I go up and wrap my arms around my mother. I love you, I think to myself, because I do. My mother has never turned anyone away, has always healed everybody, and I know, once she came back, she did all she knew how to do for us. Slowly, haltingly, those words cross my lips, and as we cry together, our tears intermingle.

Afterwards she lifts a trembling hand and wipes my tears away.

“I understand why you’re so reticent to have children, you know.” She says tremulously. “Your father and I waited years to have you, until things were safer. I knew better than most do how to avoid a pregnancy. But, sweetheart, I never regretted marrying your father, or having you and your sister. There’s things I wish I’d done differently, but I’ve never regretted it. And if I hadn’t done it, I know I would have always wondered, and that would have been worse. I don’t know what happened between you and Gale, but if he isn’t for you, then he isn’t. I rejected men too, but if you’re afraid…be honest, and consider if it’s worth the risk. I’d never take back what I had with your father for the pain of his loss. And you’re not alone, not like before. Prim and I will stand by you, if nothing else.” She closes her eyes and I touch her hand, the one that wiped my tears. “If you do want to talk to me about that, Katniss, I can listen.” Then she moves to wash up the dishes, and I help her dry. Momma’s like me that way. She says what she has to say, but she’s not wordy. The silence between us communicates what we cannot. It is not shards of ice that let in a chill wind, but a warm chord that hums between us.

I warn Gale about talking in the mines, and about what Madge says, and it fires him up. In light of what I now know, I also try to corner Peeta to talk to him, but even past the harvesting and planting season, he’s hard to find. When I come over with some clothes Prim has outgrown, Colleen greets me at the door, and encourages Sarai to try them on. As she excitedly does, Colleen confides in me that Peeta has been distant ever since the Games. He throws himself into his work, and barely surfaces at the end of the day. He’s gone early in the morning.

“It’s true,” Sarai confirms as she gathers up the clothes that don’t fit her anymore. They’ll likely one day be Posy’s. “He doesn’t tell stories like he used to.” Colleen brushed back her little sister’s hair comfortingly and something rends in my chest.

I go home and stew for hours before marching into the woods to find Peeta. He’s there, sure enough, and I storm up to him hissing at him to come talk to me.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I reprimand as soon as we are out of Jet’s earshot.

“Farming.” He replies blandly, although I detect shock in his eyes at my dressing down. I suppose it’s true I’ve never dared talk to him like this, then again, have I ever had to?

“I’ve barely seen a peep of you in weeks,” which hurt more than I want to admit, “and now I have to hear from Colleen and Sarai that you’ve been all checked out?” I fight the tears forming in my eyes, because it brings back uncomfortable memories. “I’m not your daughter, and even I haven’t appreciated not being able to talk to you, how do you think they feel?”

“I’m sorry.” He stammers. “I-”

“I really don’t care.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Just stop. Do better.”

I storm off, but he follows me, and grabs me by the left forearm twisting me around.

“I am sorry,” he speaks earnestly. “I hadn’t realised I was hurting you or them. I just…I don’t know. Whenever I’m upset, I work.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I have ever since I was a boy, kneading bread is a good way to work out anger. It’s always worked before, and it means things get done that…appease people, I guess.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work now though. I hurt all the time. It never goes away, and now Maria’s pregnant, and-

“Maria’s pregnant?!”

“Yes. And I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen, and if maybe I’ve screwed up, and my brother won’t look me in the eye, or talk to me, or accept anything from me, and then I go home, and wonder if I haven’t condemned every single one of them. I just…” He looks skyward and blinks rapidly. I know he’s trying not to cry, and I don’t know what to say.

“Is it true you’re part of the rebellion?” I blurt out instead. He looks gobsmacked again. It seems to be a day for it.

“Yes. Did you figure out from the art?”

“Partially,” I admit, “but Mom told me today about how she and Daddy were in with the rebels, and you said you knew him, and you said he taught you about art. You said he used to sing. It reminded me of the Hanging Tree, and how he used to sing that, but Momma would tell him to be careful. So, I just wondered if…”

“If that’s how we met?”

I nod.

“No. We met because he traded with me, but he was the one who brought me into the Rebellion. I felt like I had to get involved.”

“Why?”

“Because of Jude, I suppose, and the others when they came. So many children starving, I can’t feed them all. Even with the new bakery, I can’t feed them all. Then, I realised I was a father, and how could I be a good father, if I turned a blind eye to something threatening my kids?” He sighs and looks deflated. “My mom used to hit me. My dad did nothing. The Games are worse than being hit, and I couldn’t do nothing the way he did.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s how I got in.”

“Just tell them that then.” I say. “They’ll understand that you’re fighting for them. You’re all in too deep now.”

“Do you think they’ll forgive me?” He whispers, and in the curling of his torso I can see what it had cost him to admit this. The family he was born into turned against him. Does he expect the one he created will as well?

“I wouldn’t worry about it. I forgave.” I pause. “And I’m not always good at that.”

He smiles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

He laughs. “Yelling at me. I guess, I needed it.”

I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and head home.

Rebellious sentiment spreads quickly. The idea of trying to make contact with other districts proves popular, and while not everyone is willing to join in actively now, they do say that if the Districts unite, they’ll fight. Our district is small so we’ll need a lot of the population to fight, but with the addition of Peeta’s farming, there’s more self-sufficiency, and that means more people who see hope. Which means there’s a shot. I tell Madge everything and she dutifully promises to relay the information. Gale’s ambitious and he hopes that maybe if they show something on camera, it’ll get through during the mandatory viewing, reach more than just Eleven. I don’t know who organises it, or how it’s decided, but when the Victory Tour finally comes, a recording goes off during Thresh’s clearly scripted speech of Rue’s four note tune, and someone shouts For Rue! And gets carted off. Thresh nods in solidarity. We are all put under curfew.

Regardless, Madge is able to get her message to him, and Thresh tells her District Eleven had an uprising after Rue’s death, and are chomping at the bit for freedom. And having been on Tour, he can confirm that other Districts are angry too. Word is quickly spread through the mines, and soon people are whistling various four note tunes in solidarity.

Gale is extremely eager.

“Don’t you see, Catnip!” He exclaims. “It’s closer than ever!” He crows in the woods, and I let him. In spite of myself, I am excited too. “Maybe a couple more years, and we’ll have them. We’ll have them.” I smile at his enthusiasm, even if I think it’s a bit premature. “And what about us, Catnip?” He turns around and looks at me with shining eyes.

“What about us?” I hedge. All the delight in his exclamations dies.

“I know you’re worried about having kids, Katniss, but if we built a whole, new, better world, it would be different.” He says it so hopefully, almost confidently that I can’t bring myself to crush him. Besides, I don’t know if he’s wrong. Without the Games, with access to food and Capitol-grade medicine, I really wouldn’t object to having kids, but the idea of opening my heart like that hurts. I do consider it though, I already care about Gale, care about a lot of people, maybe there’s no stopping it. Momma’s right too, we aren’t nearly so helpless now. So I say,

“Maybe I can be different.”

And maybe I can, but when I dare to dream, since I’m dreaming anyway, I dream of blonde hair and blue eyes. Even though I know it’s as likely to happen as pigs flying.

It’s Peeta who first tells me about Thirteen. It is Madge who confirms it. It’s a game-changer really. Weapons are an issue for us. We don’t have a whole lot to fight with. Knowing someone could supply us with arms helps. If every district, or even of most districts, can take their Peacekeepers, we’ll have a shot at the Capitol. It’s sensitive knowledge though, and not something we can blast around which makes recruitment difficult. I don’t do much of any of it, but Gale rales in the mines, and Peeta is working on it in Town with a friend. I provide a listening ear to them both. One thing everyone is nervous about, riled up about, is the upcoming Quarter Quell, and both Gale and Peeta are using that to their advantage.

But Winter is difficult, even more so than usual. Most people become so intent on heating their homes, and overcoming illness, we know we’ll have to wait until spring to really start the conversation up again.

Eliot drags home another girl from the Community Home. She’s three years old, adorable, and her name is Crystal. She’s recently orphaned. After a couple months, she’s one of the many who fall ill. She’s still far from the last. Mom and Prim are gone all hours of the day and night for weeks trying to keep on top of it all, but there’s not much they can do. It drags on and on. There’s speculation it’s punishment, biological warfare from the Capitol, but we don’t know and it doesn’t matter. Either way, it changes nothing of our reality. I spend a lot of time at the Mellarks for support. Crystal coughs and sputters and tries to breath. We feed her as best we are able, and hold her head over steam to help her breath. We try to bring her fever down, and soothe her cough. Nothing works. Finally, I hold her and sing. It’s all I can do. Peeta stands in the doorway as she falls asleep. I see tears stream down his face.

She is in the ground come March.

“This is why I don’t want kids.” I mutter to Prim as we both cry in bed.

“That’s stupid,” she mumbles. “You cared about Crystal; she wasn’t yours. If you stop caring, I don’t think you’ll like yourself very much.”

I don’t know how to answer her, but I still feel a bit validated in my opinion when there is the Reading of the Card for the Quarter Quell.

“As a reminder that they only endangered their most vulnerable by rebelling, this years tributes will be Reaped from only the twelve year old population.”

My mother gasps. Prim cries. I stare.

Gale storms up to me and tells me to meet at the Mellarks for an emergency meeting. There I see Gale and Thom, a couple of other miners I know by sight and not name, and Peeta and his friend Melissa Donner. I gather these must be various cell leaders.

“We need to start the uprisings in May, before the Reaping.” Gale starts off the conversation, “People are furious about this. It’s perfect timing. They want to stomp us down, but we’ll rise up.” The conversation spirals from there. People are only just starting to recover from the harsh winter; we don’t have the numbers yet. It’s hard to organise a community of thousands. That’s why next year was more feasible. Just because Twelve was ready, didn’t mean all the other Districts were and so on. I agree to wait and Gale glares at me, but I don’t see and alternative.

Things don’t really fall apart until Gale and Peeta get into an argument. Peeta makes a reference to offering the Peacekeepers the choice to surrender, and Gale says it would endanger lives.

“Not all the Peacekeepers are bad, Gale.” He points out. I think of Darius and agree.

“If the White Shirts want to join us, that’s fine by me.” Gale growls back. “But I’m not giving them another opportunity to get one over on me.” He is met by enthusiastic agreement. “It’s Us v. Them.”

“How are they going to know to side with us, if we don’t offer them a chance?” I can see by the tenseness around Peeta’s eyes that he is angry, but his voice is carefully modulated and even. “We shouldn’t kill without mercy.”

“It’s war. Sacrifices have to be made. They’ll shoot with us or against us. That’s their choice, but I’m not taking any kind of risk that loses this for us. Anyone who sides with the Capitol is the enemy.”

“I’m so grateful to know, Gale, that anyone who even looks like something you don’t like is the enemy. It’s a wonder you’ll talk to us Townies at all. But, of course, it’s because you get something out of it, allies. I wonder what you’ll do when being allies with the Capitol benefits you more than not.”

Gale swings a punch and the meeting is quickly ended as we break the two men up.

“Are you alright?” I ask Peeta as he sits back down. He seems to need more from me than Gale.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You didn’t seem to be at your best.”

“I think Dad’s sick.” He whispers and I walk over and hug him tightly where he sits. “It’s no surprise. Dad’s getting on anyway. He’s almost sixty. It was really only a matter of time.” Releasing my hold a bit, I card my fingers through his curls trying to soothe him. When I’m done I caress my hand down his jaw. He stops my hand and looks up at me. There’s a focus in his gaze that’s raw, even new, and I immediately become aware of how close he is, how fast my heart is beating, and how my breath started for just a second. I don’t know who does it. I think I do it. But it’s the easiest thing in the world to press my lips to his. Slowly, oh, so slowly, our lips move, part in a gasp of pleasure, so light and tentative, like dragging your finger against a flower petal. Then closer, I press closer, feeling his hands on my hips. I change the angle of my head, and he bursts away. Footsteps pad down the stairs.

“Dad, is it over? Is everything okay?” Cole sidles up to us rubbing at his eyes, and we burst apart.

“It’s fine, son.” He ruffles the boy’s hair. He bounces his eyes past me, and I know we won’t be talking about this today. “Just a disagreement in method. You should be in bed.”

I take that as my cue and awkwardly say my goodbyes.

Peeta doesn’t meet my eyes at the door, and I wonder if I’ve ruined everything.

TBC….

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #wingletblackbird #animekpopxx #prompt 44

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