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rons-hermiones · 3 years

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Three

The train was leaving at eleven.

That gave Ron breakfast to do what he needed to do. More than enough time if you ask him. He wasn’t exactly planning on reminiscing with Lavender.

“Good morning Harry.” Ron said a little too chipper, making the green eyed boy groan. He’d been up for sometime packing his trunk.

“Beautiful day to chuck Lavender Brown, isn’t it?” He said, despite his demeanor his voice was a bit shaky.

“Today’s as good as ever.” Harry added, slightly amused at the new air around Ron.

With a fierce determination he headed down to the great hall and for once was anticipating something unrelated to food when he entered.

He was ready to do this.

Until he was attacked the moment he opened the doors.

“Won-Won!” Lavender explained, rushing over and draping her arms around his shoulders, “I was so worried. Why didn’t you walk me to breakfast?” She questioned, pulling away with a pout.

He shucked her off as gently as he could, “look Lavender, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

Surprisingly, she doesn’t look upset, instead excited, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you too! Should we step outside?” She suggested, but before he could agree she was tugging on his sleeve.

Once they took residence on a bench in the hallway, they turned to each other and spoke at the same time.

“You go first.” He told her with a nod.

Eagerly she starts, “I know what you’re going to say, you’ve been trying to tell me for weeks, haven’t you?” She questions.

Again, he nods.

“Well,” she pauses, eyes almost shyly meeting his before she breaks out into a smile.

Do all girls smile while being broken up with?

“I love you too!”

He didn’t even have time to retort or process how delusional the blonde truly was, because just his luck, Hermione walked by at this very moment.

And the look of pain that came over her features didn’t even measure up to that night in the Astronomy Tower. In fact, comparing the two expressions made it seem like the night of the match was her wedding day.

And probably not his brightest idea, but without a thought, Ron calls for her, “Hermione!”

In his wake is a confused Lavender as a mass of brown hair disappears around a corner and toward the Great Hall.

Thank Merlin for his long legs because he’s able to catch up to her in no time. Grasping her wrist lightly and halting her to a stop.

She snatches his hand from hers like she’s been burned. He drops them awkwardly, the ginger didn’t think of what he was actually going to say.

“I have to eat.” She announces rather loudly, and too stiffly for Ron’s liking. When had things become this way?

“Look, I just wanted to tell you,” that I’m really sorry about your grandma. I know we haven’t really talked but I’m always here for you. Also about what you just saw, I don’t love Lavender. I was trying to chuck her, please believe me. I wanna spend holiday with you!

And just like so many conversations he had with Lavender, the words never left his lips. Instead, someone he loathed almost as much as his current girlfriend appeared.

“Ah! Lovers tiff!” Malfoy exclaimed, the most lively he’s seemed in weeks. Not that anyone missed this from him.

Instinctively he moved closer to Hermione as she spared him a glance.

“You know, when I heard you were sucking face with Lavender Brown I will not lie I was a bit shocked!” He exclaimed dramatically, “I just wouldn’t think you’d go for a pure-blood, thought you fancied mudblood scum!” He cackled.

His brow twitched as he stepped closer to Malfoy, not caring if Snape saw him pound Draco into the floor.

“But then again, who would touch that thing.” The blonde whispered loud enough for Hermione to hear.

Angrily, Ron pulled his fist back, and shockingly, Malfoy looked as if he was going to welcome the punch.

(Unbeknownst to anyone, he knew he’d get this kind of reaction from Weasley and he was so determined to feel something rather than the dread consuming him as of late.)

But before his fist could connect with the Slytherin’s nose, the slamming of a door was heard as Hermione hurried into the grand hall.

With a pained look he flicked his glance between Draco and where Hermione just stood.

Reluctantly releasing his robes, he made his choice to finally do the right thing and go after her.

He spotted her next to Ginny, the seat he hadn’t occupied in months, absently forking around some eggs while her nose was stuck in some old looking book. She wasn’t crying, but the distant look in her eyes was evident. Hermione hadn’t even acknowledged him as he walked over.

(And normally something, Malfoy, of all people, says wouldn’t bother, but the past twenty four hours haven’t exactly been a picnic.)

As he lurched closer he and Ginny locked eyes. His sister just shook her head, telling him not now, her expression wasn’t sour, but more sad than anything.

Promising himself he’d truly sort this out on the train ride home, he ventured again to set Lavender straight.

...

He was a coward. The ruddiest bloodiest one of them all.

After his run-ins with Lavender, Malfoy, and Hermione, he sought out to find the first girl. However, his attempts were failed as she had holed up in the girls dormitory to finish packing her things.

And just his luck, when the blonde finally emerged, she was joined at the hip with Parvati. He wasn’t cruel enough to break up with her in front of her best friend.

On top of it all, Lavender seemed completely unfazed by the events that occurred this morning. You’d honestly think that after saying those three words to someone, it’s a red flag if they run off to see another girl moments after.

But no, instead, he was boarding the train sans Lavender, sans Ginny, Harry, or Hermione as well. Alone.

Reaching the narrow corridor and lines of compartments, he knew he had a few choices to make. Breaking up with Lavender was at the top of list. He would hopefully have the next month to let Hermione know how sorry he is about her grandmother and to amend their fractured relationship.

First, he had to put his trunk down.

Sauntering down to the compartment that he, Harry, and Hermione always occupied, Ron hadn’t considered the fact that the bushy haired witch might be in there, warranting for an awkward confrontation. He really wanted to get it all sorted with Lavender as a way to show Hermione he’s serious about all this, about her.

Someone else.

The phrase Ginny had reiterated on behalf of Hermione had been ringing his head for the past twenty four hours. There was still hope, even if just a little.

Shoving the sliding door aside he didn’t see Harry in sight, who he did see, was Hermione.

At first she didn’t notice as she absently took notes on that same book he’s seen attached to her hands for weeks. He’s itching to ask her about, just to get her to talk about something, anything.

“Hello.” He was surprised she spoke first. She sounded awkward and stiff, a little shaky, but it was something. Small victories.

“Hi, uh, I’m just putting this away.” He commented in return as he shoved the thing over head.

Ron wanted to wait until he had chucked Lavender, but his morals were screaming to say something.

“I’m really sorry about your grandma Hermione. I know you two were close.” He told her genuinely sorry.

For a moment her face softens from the stoic expression, but he blinks, she snaps her book shut, and the look, it’s gone.

“Yes we were close, but I suppose people grow apart,” and just like that they weren’t talking about her ill grandmother, “sometimes something more interesting, better, comes along and you can’t find time anymore.” She’s spitting venom. Any sadness replaced by pure rage.

“Hermione,” he didn’t wanna row with her, though he surely deserved whatever she had to throw at him.

“It makes you think maybe you never meant that much to them. That you’ll always be the fallback plan. Second best.” Though still sounding furious, her voice rocks over the last sentence.

As soon as the words left her lips, she looked horrified.

“I’m sorry.” She says quickly, stuffing her hands onto her lap and clasping them. A nervous habit he knows she has.

What in the bloody hell is she sorry for?

“Look Ron,” it’s the first time she’d spoken to him in weeks, it evokes a chill, “I don’t want to argue with you.”

“I don’t either.” He agrees quickly.

She ignores that, “I think we both should just put this all behind us and do what’s best.”

Suddenly excited, he nods his head. If Hermione was saying all this now then maybe she’d jump into his arms when rumors of the breakup hit her!

“Good, I’m glad you agree,” her eyes are watering, her lips are a thin line, “I’ll stay out of your way at the Burrow, won’t bother you. Wouldn’t want to ruin your holiday, after all it is your house, I’m intruding.”

That is certainly not what he agreed to!

For the brightest witch of her age she could be so daft, Hermione would never be a burden to him or his family.

The ginger quickly shakes his head, “what? Hermione, no, I,”

And luck, as usual, isn’t on his side because Harry decides to enter at this very moment.

“Hello.” He announces, far too chipper for both Ron and Hermione’s taste.

At this she stands, needing to get away from what just transpired.

“Hey, where are you off to?” Harry questions, eyes flicking momentarily to Ron worried they might’ve rowed.

Now he wishes they did. Passionate fiery Hermione was easier to watch then this version of her. Quiet and sad.

“Loo.” She mumbled, scrambling for the text.

The second the door shut Ron groaned, beside himself.

“How’d it go?” The chosen one asked as he plopped across from Weasley.

Ron scoffed, “how do you think it went?”

Harry nodded awkwardly, “right...”

“Didn't even think things could get worse, she was going on about how she’ll stay out my way, some bollocks about how she’s intruding.”

There’s a pause, “have you chucked Lavender?”

The ginger just grunts.

And like it’s the world's biggest secret Harry speaks quickly, “you’ve got to sort that out. You and Lavender make Cho and I look as in love as your parents!” He exclaims recalling his disaster relationship in fifth year.

Ron let’s put a butter laugh, “I’m daft Harry, but not that daft, I know that!” His anger sizzles, he drops his tone, “why haven’t you said anything until now?”

Harry sighs, he doesn’t even know what to say. A stiff silence falls upon them before he can manage anything, “I didn’t want anyone to think I had been picking sides or anything. It’s not like Hermione said much about you or you were saying much about her. There wasn’t much to tell the other.” He drops his head, “I reckon some of this is my fault.”

Ron’s taken aback, “what?” if anyone’s at fault it’s him.

“You’ve been walking around for months miserable. Hermione, she barely has anything to say these days unless it’s about You-Know-Who.” He doesn’t say the name for Ron’s sake, “you two clearly haven’t been great communicators with each other but I could’ve done more. We could’ve talked about it sooner, I could’ve helped to cheer Hermione up.”

The ginger doesn’t have time to assure Harry, not yet anyway, “is she... is she sad?” He feels stupid asking.

“She’s Hermione you know, she does her best to not let it show, but I can tell it’s gotten harder for her. I haven’t seen her cry since the night it happened then yesterday with her Gran. You know she never likes to show anything ever bothers her, but she let it slip sometimes. Everyone’s noticed.” Harry states awkwardly.

Ron feels like his throat is closing. He never wanted to cause this type of pain. Between her clear distance from everyone, Harry being torn, Lavender following his every move, his own sister disappointed in him, along with most of Gryffindor, and a war bubbling, well he feels awful. No one needed this on top of everything else.

“Don’t blame yourself, alright Harry, that’s the last thing I need.” He says with what he hopes is a convincing tone.

The chosen one leans forward and pats his friends knee, “you too Ron. You’re in this situation because you don’t want anyone to get hurt.” He points out. Ron’s reluctance to chuck Lavender was because he didn’t want to hurt her feelings, no matter how irritating she may be. However, in the process he had been hurting Hermione.

“Look how that worked out? Our best friend doesn’t think I give two farts about her.” He says bitterly.

“Ron,”

“She sleeps on the common room couch every night because my girlfriend taunts her! Cormac McLaggen thinks it’s alright to force himself onto her and she probably thinks I think it’s alright too considering I did nothing!” He booms.

No one speaks for a moment, it’s a little tense.

“Okay, so you didn’t know, but you do now! You know and you care. You care so much so that you’re planning to break up with your girlfriend, sort this all out over holiday, and probably punch McLaggen along the way. So you do care, you just were late to the party. Better late than never, alright?” The dark haired boy rambles.

Ron digs the heels of his palms into his now watering blue eyes, “I think I might love her, but I’m not sure.” He admits hoarsely.

“Why not?” Harry whispers a little taken aback at the admission, but not surprised.

The ginger peels out from behind his hands, “how can you love someone so much and hurt them so bad?”

In response, Harry does nothing but leans forward and places a box of Bertie Blotts Bean’s he bought on the way in.

A small smile manages its way on Ron’s face. Harry has never been great with words, neither has the red head. It’s usually Hermione's thing. This gesture shows everything they don’t need to say.

That Harry’s here for Ron no matter what and he’ll do whatever he can to help him fix is.

“Cheers.” Ron mutters opening the cardboard.

“Hey, maybe if you eat a vomit Lavender won’t try and snog you whenever you speak.” The green eyed boy jokes lightly.

His friend manages a small chuckle at this before turning serious, “I should probably go handle that right?”

Cringing, Harry nods as Ron stands and wipes his jeans.

“Wish me luck.”

“Good luck, you’ll need it.” The chosen one says as Ron groans and the compartment door slides shut.

Sauntering like a man being sent to death, Ron eyes each of the compartments looking for a head of blonde hair probably adorned with a vibrant colored headband.

After about five minutes, he finds Lavender chatting animatedly with Parvati as the pair look over a Witch Weekly. Before he can announce his presence, it seems as if the girl has noticed, jumping up and squealing.

“Won-Won!” He hears her yell through the door as she throws it open, throwing her arms around her as she does.

“Vati isn’t it so sweet he’s come to see me!” She brags turning to her friend who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Sure Lav.” Parvati says dryly as she stands up and gathers her things.

It seems as if the twin can sense she should be anywhere else but Ron wants to make it clear, “could I talk to you alone Lavender?” His voice comes out firmer than he thought.

“It’s all yours.” Lavender’s best friend says as she motions to the seats and stalks down the trains corridors.

“Oh she’s so sweet!” The blonde gushes, “come in.” She instructs as she begins to drag his hand behind her.

Lavender takes the liberty to fall onto one of the cushions folding her legs in what seems to be an attempt at a seductive matter.

Ron just slides the door close and sits across from her. As far as he can manage.

“Why don’t you come over here?” She pouts.

He shakes his head, “I need to talk to you. I think it’s best I do from here.” Part of him is absolutely babbled. She's not upset about this morning.

“Well alright silly!” The girl giggles.

Ron clears his throat, “Alright Lavender look,”

“Is this about this morning?” She soon cuts in, “I can understand it might’ve made you nervous but that’s okay, I’ll wait.” Lavender smiles, it seems genuine.

Oh wow she was delusional.

“No, Lavender I just needed to,”

“I already told you Won-Won I can’t come to your house for holiday. Next time I promise.” She begins to lean forward as he presses himself back into the seat.

“That’s not it,” he sees her open her mouth to say something else before he stops her, “please Lavender, please don’t interrupt me.” He says a little forcefully, not not enough to come off as rude. Though at this point, the situation may warrant it.

“I’m all yours.” She says batting her eyelashes and tucking her hair behind her ears for emphasis.

“This isn’t working. I really can’t see you anymore.” Finally he gets the words out.

“Oh,” she breathed a little shocked before the expression left her face, “no.”

“No?” He says scrunching his brow.

Lavender nods vigorously, “No.” she repeats.

“Lavender you can’t say no, I’m breaking up with you.”

She shakes her head slowly, “no you’re not.”

“Yes I am!” His voice grows louder, it’s becoming very hard to remain calm.

“No you’re not,” her voice is turning shrill, desperate, “this is about her isn’t it? That cow, that freak,”

“Don’t you dare!” Now he’s mad.

“Well it’s true! She’s useless in just about all aspects. When will you ever need to recite Hogwarts History, or whatever it’s called.” She says airily.

Doing his best not to correct her he goes on, “were you ever gonna tell me she doesn’t stay in your dorm anymore because you make fun of her?” He’s doing his best to level his voice.

“Oh, so this is about her?” Lavender jabs.

For a moment he doesn’t know what to say, “yes, yes it is!” He’s yelling now, “I can’t be with someone who’d say such horrible things and about my friend no less.”

The blonde scoffs, “it’s not like she doesn’t deserve it! Practically throwing herself at you like, like a little,”

“Don’t you dare finish that.” He bites out above a whisper, “I haven’t even spoken to her since I started seeing you. She hasn’t even looked my way.” He points out, not liking the insinuation.

She rolls her eyes, “so you have been watching have you?”

“That’s besides the point! I’m through having this conversation, me and you, we’re done.”

Lavender is wearing a hurt expression. Ron really can’t find himself to care after what just transpired. He thinks she’s going to concede, call it quits, but nothings ever that easy.

“No, we’re not. Merry Christmas sweetheart.” Her sickly baby voice is back as she leans forward and kisses his cheek before disappearing from the cabin.

Too shocked to even go after her, he sits there and tugs at his hair fiercely.

How were things so fucked up?

#rons-hermiones come find me #ron x hermione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron and hermione #6th year #romione fanfic #hp

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clowndaydreams · 4 years

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Yan!Marvus x Reader

I hope you all like it!

“Can you pass me the potato chips?” You looked over to your companion. Marvus nodded and reached over to get said bag from his side of the couch.

“here ya go.” You grunted a quick thank you to the clown and started to dig in. You had been hanging out with Marvus all day. You still couldn’t believe how friendly you’ve gotten with the superstar since you met him at that concert you went to. It had been a few perigrees since then, but the clown had since made a habit of inviting you over randomly when he was free. You were just happy that he remembered you at all.

Currently though, you were both relaxing on the couch and watching some Slam or Get Culled episodes that he was in. Right now, a season finale was playing. He was the final challenge for that season’s top 2. They had to rap battle him and whoever fared better was the winner. You glanced over at him. He was in his usual facepaint, but was casually wearing a neon yellow ripped tank top and matching pajama pants with some designer troll logo and ‘JUICY’ all over them. How he managed to look so hot in that would forever elude you. You snapped out of it when he started speaking again.

“u kno, i thought ricard was the better 1 outta those 2.” You pretended to glare at him.

“SPOILERS!” You jokingly huffed, lightly shoving his arm. It didn’t move, as you’d expect.

“LOL! XoD sorry fam, seen dis crap 1000 times alreddy.” Wait, then why did he let you pick this episode? Or even agree to watch this with you? If this was boring you could do something else. And as if he could read your mind, he held up a hand.

“dun worry bout dis. is chill or w/e. butt srsly, u kno who gunna win.”

“Still! I wanna watch it!” You giggled. You both watched on in silence as Marvus was brought on to surprise the contestants.

“How were they behind the scenes?” You asked as you watched the confessionals for both of the contestants.

“ricards moirail b a clown, so me n him knew each other alreddy. he wuz p chill i guess lol.”

“What about Krayaa?”

“turns out she wuz a fangirl. foamin at the mouth n erythng.”

“Really?!” You turned to him to try and see if he was lying. He looked almost bored about it all. Like you were both talking about the weather or something. You wished you could be so relaxed about meeting a rabid fangirl and somehow living to tell the tale. Seadwellers were supposed to be stronger and more durable than landdwellers. At least, that was according Polypa anyway. Huh, you had to remember to check on her later after you got home too.

“ye. she wanted 2 pail after the shoot.” Your jaw dropped. Krayaa was a seadweller! Did he have to listen to her? She could have killed him for not listening!

“Nahhh, no worries,, the contract she signed for the ep woulda had her disqualified and mah bodyguards woulda whooped her b4 she had a chance. ;op” He chuckled. “If she managed 2 get thru them, I aint no wimp.” He added, flexing his arms a little to prove his point. You almost couldn’t stop staring. He had to know what he was doing to you…right? Granted, this was a crush you had no intention of pursuing. If you were speaking honestly, Marvus was a guy who probably didn’t want commitment due to his lifestyle. Even then, he had people throwing themselves at him constantly. People his own species. People who were a lot better fitting with his general aesthetic and not some poor wandering alien that he would DM when he was high when they both should have been sleeping. Your own concepts of relationships and types of love were different. But you could dream, right? You were content with just having him as your designated hot friend anyway. …That did mean you were allowed to drool over him in your mind. As long as it doesn’t get creepy to him. Yeah. You were fine.

“u gud (Y/N)? u tryna lure snacks into ur mouth or smth?” You snapped out of your stupor.

“Ew! Gross! I don’t eat bugs like you weirdos!”

“it aint gross. literally free snacks u can catch. :o)” He laughed.

“Where I’m from they’re gross!” Granted, there were places that did eat crickets and the like on Earth, but you would never tell him that.

“dun knock it till ya try it.” He got up and left the room, returning after a moment with a small box.

“…What is that.” You had a sinking feeling you knew what it was.

“chirp grubs.” He opened it and there they were. Disgusting caramelized crickets.

“I can’t.” You shook your head.

“more 4 me lol.” You looked away as he ate a few of the crickets. You looked back at him when his palmhusk rang. It sounded like a clown horn version of one of his songs. Fitting, honestly.

He glanced at it and rolled his eyes before silencing the phone.

“Who was that?”

“thottie.”

“Oh…” He looked bored again. Not good. What could you talk to him about to keep him interested?

“Uh…You ever get tired of the fans trying to aggressively pail you?” Ok, that wasn’t the best choice for conversation. Your bad.

“i meannn….in the beginning yeah. now its kinda the norm 4 me ufeelme?”

“Yeah, I guess. Does it ever make you feel like you can’t have a relation-er, quadrant?” You assumed it would, but that would also come with fame in general, wouldn’t it? You weren’t sure. Then again, if he didn’t want-

“kinda. i think its kinda funny how i can attract psychos, fans and thots, but not my crushes.” You sat up straight. Marvus had a crush?

“Wait. You…uh…are pale or um….red? for somebody?” You didn’t have the best grasp on quadrant terms.

“lol sumtimes i forget your an alien.” He leaned back onto the couch.

“butt yeah, i have a few crushes at the mo.” He smiled, staring at the ceiling. Few. He has more than one crush right now. That soft smile said it all. He had it bad.

“…Can you tell me who they are?” He looked over at you and looked sheepish.

“i…dun think is a gud idea.”

“Please? I have to know who the great Marvus Xoloto has a crush on.”

“u kno 1. itll be awk af :o(“ Now you had to know. Now you were thinking about whether or not Marvus had a type. What if they were all mega hot models? Wait! Did he have a crush on Chahut? They would totally have to know each other. Who else did you both know??? He heard of Cirava, but you didn’t think they talked. Who???

“…kk fine. only if u slam a faygo tho.” You gave him a look.

“Isn’t Faygo…not for non-clowns?”

“is just us. whos gunna kno?”

“You promise nobody’s gonna know?”

“on my life. u slam a faygo, n ill tell u who my flush be.” You thought it over. You remembered tasting the stuff at clown church when you went you went with Chahut that one time. Just a sip left you a bit tipsy. A whole bottle may have rendered you unable to be coherent enough to even process who his flush crush was. Would it be worth it? You felt a choice coming on. Either way you had to drink a certain amount in order to maybe try and learn this random troll’s identity. The question was, do you try and counter his offer or just slam the entire bottle and hope for the best?

…

It would be better to respect your own limits. A bunch of your friends had lectured you a few times over putting yourself out just to potentially make a friend. This would piss them off and would probably not end in your favor even if you did decide to just go with it anyway.

“How much faygo do I have to drink?”

“hm…” He got up, went to the kitchen and got a small can of Grape Faygo, a normal bottle for one and a whole 2 liter bottle. “imma b nice. u get a choice. u gotta try 2 finish the can. u get 1 q with the name if u finish the can. Smol bottle gets u 2 qs and the name n the 2L gets u as many qs as u liek. fair enough 2 u?”

…Now you wanted to chug the 2 liter. You haven’t even seen anyone try to down that other than the Grand High Blood once when you took Karako to clown church for the first time. But that guy was a clown and he is HUGE. You, not so much. But, you chose to respect yourself for once. You’d see how you felt after the small can and go from there. You picked it up, opened the can and took a deep breathe. Powers that be, let this not wreck you and let this answer be worth it. If he cops out with his answers, you would try to hurt him. You started chugging. You did your best to try and treat it like a shot like Cirava taught you so you wouldn’t taste the overly sweet flavor too much. After a moment of light agony and attempting to not drown in the soda, you reached the end of the can. You slammed it onto the coffee table and started panting. Ok, you weren’t feeling woozy like before. Maybe those tiny sips when you went to clown church helped your body get used to it.

“u gunna try the otha bottles?” You managed to shake your head. You weren’t gonna do that again. Your head started hurting. You looked over at him. Were his eyes always so vibrantly purple? Woah, now they’re flashing purple. What the heck? Was this Faygo high? You now understood why all the other clowns were so goofy after drinking a cup of this stuff. Crap, now your head was starting to hurt.

“Wh-Who….who is it..?” You started feeling like you were gonna pass out. You laid down on the couch. You needed to close your eyes. That was way too much for you. You felt Marvus pick you up into his arms.

“ye…after u wake up bb.” Wake up? Wait, did he just call you a pet name?! You were about to question him when he tilted his head.

“dangg,, u managed 2 stay awake with chuckles and faygo? ur stronger than i thought. Soz bout this babes.” His eyes became blindingly vibrant again and you blacked out.

#marvus #marvus xoloto #yandere!marvus #yandere!marvus x reader #olive fics #Let me know your thoughts!

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iresecho · 3 years

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FRACTURED

hey! here’s a draft of a story i wrote recently. feel free to give it a read (it’s only a mere 1500 words) and let me know what you think!

oh, and about that word count? this short was for my class, so please bear with it. i understand it is very minimal for the amount of substance it contains. i hope you enjoy it regardless though! i’ll upload a finished version once i’ve completed it. any and all suggestions/critiques are welcome! pls be nice :)

Genre: Creative Fiction

Word Count: 1520

!TW: MULTIPLE DEATHS, BLOOD!

I sigh as I tap my pencil repeatedly on the table, the rubber nub of what’s left of the eraser pinging the oak beneath it. What’s it missing? There’s gotta be something missing I ponder to myself. I’ve been working on this poem for ages, but I still feel like it isn’t ready for this contest. I switch back to the website and read the headline ‘Do you want to become a new up and coming writer? Enter this contest to win!’ It’s the New York Times contest for a new up-coming author, and the grand prize would be enough to pay off my entire debt, and then some. I’ve had this poem written for awhile now, yet I still don’t think that it’s ready. I’ve read it over a million times, and I can’t seem to find what it’s missing. My mother was never too fond of my writing, but my father always loved it. He loved everything I did. My father’s always been proud of what I’ve done, and what I do. He’s never once shamed me for choosing what I believe in, and what I’m passionate about. I glance down at the gold-crested penguin pendant around my neck, lifting my hand up to grasp the cool metal. I smile as the memory it holds replays through my head. It was a gift from my father for my tenth birthday. He bought our family tickets to Disney World to celebrate, and purchased this necklace for me after I had mentioned several times in the gift shop how much I wanted it. Ever since it’s been my favourite animal. I hold it in my palm tightly, fingers grazing over the smooth, yet rigid surface of the pendant as I reach for my cell phone beside my open laptop. I begin to scroll through the messages between me and my father, a fond smile appearing on my lips as I read through the texts:

YESTERDAY

Dad: Hey, honey! How’s the poem coming along for the contest?

Me: it’s okay… I still feel like there’s something that it needs. I just can’t figure it out

Dad: When is the deadline to submit?

Me: tonight at 6

Dad: I’m sure you will figure it out sweetheart. You’re a great writer. Love you kiddo Xoxo.

Me: thanks dad, love you too

I smile again as I set down my phone, peering back to the computer screen before me. What seems like minutes go by and I get lost in the words in front of me. I jump as my phone begins to vibrate loudly on the table. I can’t help but shut my eyes for a second to brace myself:

“Hello?” I answer.

“Hello, what are you doing right now?”

It’s my mother. Great. She’s probably at work.

“Working on my poem for the contest, why?”

“....” There’s silence on the other end of the line. I wait a few moments, then,

“Mom?”

“...Huh? Oh, sorry. What did you say?”

“Forget it.”

“....” More silence. She does this every time. Doesn’t it bother you?

“Are you still at the hospital?”

“....” I’ve had it.

“MOM!!” I yell.

“What? Oh sorry honey, what were you saying?”

“Why do you do this to me every time? You never listen to me! You’re always on a call or too busy for me anyway!”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just hard for me when I’m at work sometimes honey but I promise I want to hear it.”

This is always her excuse. It’s always just too ‘hard’ for her to actually have a conversation with her only daughter. It’s always about work for her.

“You know what. Forget it. Call me when you have time for your daughter.” I hang up the phone.

Ugh she makes me so mad! Why does she never listen to me? First it was denying my talent for writing and trying to force me to go down some boring nine-to-five career hole I’d never get out of, now this?

I peer around my dingy, one bedroom apartment. Maybe she’s right. You’ve been living off chickpeas out of a can and barely surviving. I mean, look at you? You have barely any food in your fridge, and your ‘apartment’ is broken down and disgusting! What did you think your BA in English would get you anyway? You’ve been searching for a job in your field for a while, and still no opportunity has come up. Maybe your mother was right. Maybe you should have studied law. Maybe she would have listened to you then. Maybe you should have listened to her—

Me: hey dad, can I talk to you?

Dad: Sure honey, is something wrong?

Me: it’s mom, she’s always too busy to listen to what I have to say. it’s like talking to a brick wall

Dad: I’m sorry honey, but your mom is pretty busy at work. Maybe on her break?

Me: i’ve tried. she even calls me and then doesn’t listen! I feel like she hates me...

Dad: No she doesn't sweetheart, she loves you. And so do I. Xoxo.

Me: I love you too, dad where are you now? dad? helloooooo?

Ugh, now my own father is too busy for me too? I guess no one has time for me. Or maybe, I’m just not enough for them. Maybe I’m just some big disappointment, maybe—just take a nap, you’re probably stressed from being tired.

I’m abruptly awoken out of my slumber when my phone goes off loudly. I scramble to find it on my bedside table, slamming my hand down repeatedly to try and locate the device. I manage to pinpoint the phone, and hold it up before me. I squint at the screen, scowling at the newfound brightness and see the word “MOM” in bright bold text. I press accept and hold the phone up to my ear:

“Hello?”

I can hear her sobbing on the other end of the line. I sit up straight in bed, eyes wide with worry as I stare at the dark matter in front of me.

“What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

“Honey, your dad’s been in an accident.”

“What? What do you mean?”

I start to shake, eyes brimming with panic, heart banging against my chest as I wait for her response after an ill-conceived sob:

“He was driving on the highway, and um—I found his phone and he was texting you while driving and he swerved into the other lane and he—”

“What, he what?!”

“He’s dead.”

I drop the phone to my side as my life starts caving from the exterior in. I lose my breath as the realization sets in. How did you let this happen? How could you?

“No.”

A single tear streams from my face.

“NO!”

I sob as I wail into the darkness of my room, hands covering my flooding sockets as I scream. A steady river forms blurring my vision for what seems like eternity. I stay like this for a while. You did this. You killed him.

“I’m so sorry”.

I pace back and forth, raking fingers through my hair, tears streaming down my face as I try and accept the truth. How could I have let this happen? I’m the reason he’s gone, if I just would’ve called him instead, maybe things would have been different. I press my spine against the cool tile of the bathroom wall as I stare at my dishevelled reflection. You’re disgusting. I slam my fist against the mirror, shattering the glass littering shards throughout the room. My eyes begin to pour, as does my bleeding hand from the impact. I look below me at my feet, peering at my skewed reflection through the broken, bloody pieces. I’m sorry dad, this is all my fault. I’m so sorry.

“Thank you all for coming”.

I watch my mother from the church pew seven rows back, wiping her tears as she stabilizes herself on the podium. The room is dimly lit, filled with a few dozen family members I haven’t seen since infanthood. The white, flowered casket sits perpendicular to my mother on the stage behind her.

“She was always so driven” I hear her say. “She was stubborn,” she laughs, “but we all loved her the same.”

She takes a few new tissues from the funeral-gifted box, looking at my graduation picture surrounded with white roses, taking a breath before starting again with a shaky voice:

“It hasn’t been easy, with my husband passing and now my daughter. But um, I’d like us to celebrate her death. She was a brilliant writer, and it certainly showed when she won the contest for the New York Times Best Up-and-Coming Writer. I’m really proud of her, we all are.”

My eyes well up with tears as her words hit my chest like bombs. She’s proud of me? She thinks I’m a good writer? I smile to myself,

“I finally did it, dad. I made it.”

“I know sweetheart, I’m so proud of you.” He smiles as he wraps his arm around my shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s go home.”

Winter eventually fades

Revealing the unknown golden flowers

Blooming just below

#fractured #short story #short fiction #creative fiction #creative story #novel #graphicnovel #literature #english #story #original story

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redsdesktop · 6 years

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AU-ctober: Day 1

Masterlist

Pairing: RK800, RK800-60, RK900

AU: Bloodborne

Warnings: Mild Violence.

Ever since they came to this accursed town, it was one nightmare after another, never ending in its horrors. Connor pulled the thinner version of the Holy Blade from the beast that had once been a resident of this diseased and cursed city. Reaching up with one hand he pulled the cloth that covered his lower face down so he could get a decent breath. However, the unfiltered air reeked of rotting flesh and despair, he was beginning to lose hope that this cursed town would ever return to its former glory. Not that he'd seen it before everything had went down. All the evidence he found pointed to some mystical source, otherworldly and yet he wasn't certain the secrets the church kept from them. What could turn people into such monstrosities. What exactly was in this cure all blood?

"If you keep losing yourself in your head, Connor, something might sneak up and get you." Collin's gloved hands grabbed at his shoulders, giving him a playful shake, rousing him from his thoughts. Connor shook his head, taking out a rag from his long coat's pocket to wipe his blade clean of the rotting blood. He had woke up on a table beside Collin, with no real memories of a previous life. When they had stumbled out of the exam room they had been assaulted by a creature they had never seen before, either due to memory loss or the vague knowledge that something wasn't right. Together they slayed the beast and had become inseparable ever since. It was a good thing too, in this hellish realm, help was hard to come by and danger lurked around every corner.

"Why else would I keep you around Collin if not to watch my back?" Connor retorted as he sheathed his blade across his back once more. Collin was in the same hunter garb as he, making them almost identical, their dark attire and tattered hats making them look almost like wraiths in the night. They might as well be, they worked together in near silence, traversing the streets in some vain attempt to cleanse this town of all the vile creatures that inhabited it. It had taken some time, but he soon realized that these were no beasts that had crawled out from the unknown depths of horror stories, but they had indeed once been townsfolk, losing their minds to the old blood and disease. If it had only been crazed townsfolk and transformed beasts of medium size though, it maybe wouldn't be so difficult.

Connor walked up the crumbling steps before him, the architecture had once been grand but now lay in ruin. He'd been up these steps time and time before to face the beast that lay inside. He didn't know how or why, but he was not allowed to escape this nightmare as every time he died, he would return and he kept the memories of each death, no matter how brutal or painful they were. Collin seemed to be able to appear like it didn't bother him, but Connor knew better, he could see the fear every time they woke up in the graveyard, gasping for air as f taking a breath for the first time. It was taking a toll on them, both tried to be steady and strong for the other while the suffered in silence. What else was there to do? They had tried to find a way to escape but the only way out was a destroyed bridge over a bottomless ravine.

Connor looked up at the great doors that lead inside where the great white beast lay inside, waiting for them. However, this time there was a hunched figure, it didn't seem like the usual townsfolk, not with that blade in his hand. It was far too well crafted to be something a simple townsperson would have. It could only mean another hunter, they hadn't run across another hunter yet, only heard stories on them from the ill, still sane but dying remnants of the townsfolk. Connor took a few quick steps up the stairs, it appeared the man was injured, had he gone to face the beast inside alone? A dangerous feat seeing how Connor and Collin had yet to defeat it even with their combined power.

"Greetings, are you a fellow hunter?" Connor called out, not getting too close, trust had been something he didn't hand out too freely these days, not when he watched seemingly weak humans morph into ravenous beasts before his very eyes.The other hunter went into a coughing fit, making Connor quickly step back, Collin seemed to stay one step behind Connor, moving back as well. Already Collin had his hands reaching for the beastclaw weapon at his side, far less trusting than Connor. Connor didn't want to have to fight a hunter, he thought by some miracle that hunters would be immune to the change. Collin seemed to play a even balance with his partial transformations and returning back to normal once the fight was done. The hunter before them slowly straightened up, looking over at them and Connor could see the madness in his eyes.

Before Connor could even pull out his blade, the other hunter lunged down upon him, withdrawing his blade in the desire to cut Connor in twain. Collin was faster though, shoving Connor to the side as the beast claw was already in hand, his arms rippling with corrupted beastly power, fur sprouting out from the busted seams of his long coat. Sparks flew in the dimness of the eternal night as the blade scraped harmlessly off the skeletal remains that created Collin's weapon. By then, Connor had already drawn the smaller blade from its larger sheath. The sheath in itself could be used as a larger sword, but he reserved that for larger beasts or slower moving targets. The hunter before them was quick, needing the smaller, single handed blade. The terrain they were fighting on wasn't the best either, the deteriorating steps that threatened to crumble beneath their soft leather boots, uneven and difficult to gain balance on. However, the two worked with practiced skill even with such odds against them.

Connor and Collin began to fight back, Collin with brutal and quick slashes that would leave grievous wounds with no real precision while Connor slices and stabbed with more precise movements, their tactics were to bleed their opponent to a weakened state. However, even with the both of them and their well timed execution, the other hunter seemed to be handling both of them at the same time with ease, speaking volumes of his expertise and experience. The other hunter even managed to land a few strikes of his own on the pair, but it didn't deter them. In this world it was fight with everything they had, even to their last breath because mercy didn't exist here, only death. Connor took a step forward to make a downward slice with his blade, only to find the stone stair beneath his foot crumble beneath his weight, sending him stumbling down the staircase after losing his balance.

With only Collin, the hunter had and advantage, especially with Collin briefly distracted by Connor's disappearance. The stranger kicked out, slamming his foot into Collin's chest sending him over the side railing, Collin crashed into the decayed garden below with a heavy thud. The hunter began to make his way down the steps, dragging his blade across the stone as if he wasn't all there, the only target left in his sights now was Connor who was slowly pushing himself up to his feet. Connor's lifted a hand, swiping the blood from his busted forehead out of his eyes, attempting to clear his vision so he could attack the man coming for him. It was difficult as he wanted to pass out the moment he pushed himself up onto his feet. Even though he knew he'd only come back, Connor didn't want to die, it was painful and each time it wore away at his sanity. However, he couldn't see himself winning this, without Collin at his side against a formidable foe, there wasn't any chance. Fear skittered up like a chill along his spine as he braced himself for another death.

The other hunter seemed to sense Connor's despair and grew more confident in his insanity, bold strides as he raised his blade to impale Connor upon it. Before he could, there was a slight glimmer of steel that Connor barely caught sight of in his light headed state. The man paused, the sword falling from his limp fingers, clattering to the stone at their feet. Soon after, the head rolled forward off his shoulders to land with a soft thud beside the fallen blade. The rest of the body fell to its knees before Connor as if praying for mercy to him, only to be nudged aside by a black leather boot. Connor looked up to see a eerie sight, a man stood before him with a bone white skull of a bird concealing his face. It was the last thing Connor remembered before he himself crumbled to the ground, losing consciousness.

When Connor came too, his head was pounding, a sign that he hadn't died. When he tried to push himself up into a sit, a firm hand pushed him to return to laying on the bed. "Collin?" Connor asked in confusion, the room was dark and it made it impossible to see who was there. A match struck, giving little light before it was held into a oil lantern, the oil soaked cloth flared to life, making the room brighter. He looked up at the figure sitting beside his bed, the facial features were familiar but he was definitely not Collin. Gray eyes stared down at him coolly with a tinge of concern. His attire was near pitch black with a mantle of raven feathers gracing his broad shoulders. Connor frowned, this was a stranger but he didn't seemed maddened like all the rest, while that was a curious thought, Connor had more important questions to ask.

"Where's Collin?" Connor demanded, since the man had insisted he remain laying down, which was for a good reason since Connor felt on the verge of passing out again. The stranger grabbed the lantern and held it up, illuminating the room more to reveal Collin was still passed out on another bed nearby.

"He landed on spikes when he fell, he is lucky to be alive." The low voice easily slipped past those lips, quiet as to not to disturb the sleeping Collin. Connor wanted to get up and check on Collin himself though, they'd been through so much together that it was difficult not to reach out for him. "He will be alright, I've tended to his wounds and now all he needs is just some rest for now." The man reassured, making Connor's eyes turn towards the stranger again, studying him. What motives did he have in saving them? Connor had yet to meet anyone who didn't outright attack them or wanted something from them.

"Who are you? Why did you save us? What do you want?" Connor pressed for direct answers from the mysterious man who had cleanly cut a man's head off with one swing of his blade. Though the crazed hunter had been distracted with Connor, but still, the feat was impressive.

"My name is Conrad, I am a Hunter of Hunters. I make sure to end any hunter that falls from grace, though lately... it has been quite a busy schedule." Conrad frowned a bit, looking down at Connor with tension making his lips turn into a thin line. "I have been following the pair of you for some time, Most hunters do not last as long as you have without falling into the madness. Though, the more I watched the pair of you interact and move in tandem, I must admit I grew a little envious." Conrad admitted, glancing away briefly as if ashamed of having such a feeling. "I would like to offer my assistance to you two, I only ask to be able to remain at your sides."

Connor turned his head away from a moment, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of the blanket covering him, a habit he had whenever he was in thought. His first instinct was to not trust Conrad, mostly because it was hard to trust anyone in this hellish place. However, if he stopped trusting people, stopped trying to help others, would he be any better than the mindless beasts crawling the streets? He'd set out to clean Yharnam, to return it to whatever glory it had been before, to help those in need. Not only that but Conrad had exceptional skill, to be trained to fight and kill hunters who were already highly trained for combat. It would be a valuable asset to have around, their chances of dying would diminish. Finally, Connor turned his attention back on the patiently waiting Hunter, his gaze steady and firm.

"I think it would be wise for us to stick together. By the way, my name is Connor and that's Collin, pleasure to meet you, Conrad." Connor nodded firmly to reaffirm his decision, in this nightmare, he needed more help, needed help to keep himself and Collin safe. Another blade, an experienced one might help them escape this hellscape and return to something more peaceful, though Connor couldn't remember a time that wasn't pure madness.

"The pleasure is all mine, Connor."

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fanfickittycat · 6 years

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The Price

TITLE: The Price CHAPTER NUMBER/ONE SHOT: Chapter 7 AUTHOR: fanfickittycat CHARACTERS/PAIRING: Roman Godfrey x OC GENRE: Romance, Smut FIC SUMMARY: Ginger makes a deal with popular bad boy Roman, if he helps her up the social ladder by pretending to be her boyfriend then she’ll be his dog in return RATING: M AUTHORS NOTES/WARNINGS: sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind

Time seemed to be moving slower than usual and it was making me antsy. The lethargic ticking of the clock at the front of the classroom seemed to mock me, making me feel more restless than usual. I could see that the substitute teacher was getting irritated by the way I held the pen between my thumb and index finger, shaking the biro from side to side as my leg shook in accompaniment. I had tried to ignore the feeling throughout the week; the sense of loss and confusion that made my stomach turn if I concentrated on it too hard. It had been exactly one week of no Roman, and though I was still annoyed with the way he spoke to me I was starting to miss him a little. His stupid smirk, and the way he’d make his way through a pack of cigarettes like it was candy. His complete lack of awareness of the normal world, and the inside jokes we’d share was missing from my life. Sometimes when I thought back to our first kiss my lips hardly remembered what it had felt like, as though it hadn’t happened. Even my dreams seemed to be plagued with Roman, whether it be a happy or angry version of him, and I’d wake up with the dying sensation of his phantom touch leaving me as I tried to differentiate between dream and reality. I realised later that day as I sat with my new friends that I missed Roman’s presence, but also his friendship. Our relationship was difficult to define but it was there, only barely being held together by the tenderness I still had for him. I couldn’t stop it and I felt as though I were fighting a losing battle.

I had started to wander around his favourite haunts, hoping to catch him but he was never there. I had even used my new found popularity to scour the latest parties but was left disappointed, with my feet sore from the heels, and an untouched cup of warm beer in my hand. It felt like I was simultaneously at my best and worst, and all I wanted was to talk to Roman again but it had been two weeks since he had been in class and I was starting to get worried. I was about to believe my conspiracy theory that Roman had fled the country when I overheard a teacher talking to Peter about delivering Roman’s missed homework and notes. In typical Peter fashion, he had taken the stack of papers and dumped them gracelessly to one side of his locker as he fiddled with an exchange of his own possessions. He smiled politely when he saw me, and I wondered if Roman had said anything to him about me.

“Hi” it felt weird to say, especially because my mind raced to find an opening to a conversation “nice jacket.”

Peter glanced down at his everyday brown jacket “um, thanks.” A tense silence followed and I opened my mouth, hoping something normal would come out.

“How are you?” I asked, hugging my book against my chest tighter as the nerves started to get to me.

“I’m okay. You?”

“I’m okay too.” I bit my lip and Peter looked away to his locker.

“He’s sick” he finally said “caught the flu. I’m meant to be delivering these to him” he patted the stack “but something tells me that maybe you’d like to instead.” He held out the pile to me and I reached out, and then hesitated briefly.

“Well I mean I’m going to be in the neighbourhood so” I cleared my throat “I guess I could help out, like, if you’re okay with that.” I took the collection of unwanted work from him, shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I struggled to express the relief I felt.

“He’s been a grumpy son of a bitch for the past two weeks, I think a visit from you might cheer him up.”

“Really? Did he say that?”

Peter shrugged “I can just tell. Go easy on him though, he’s never really had to deal with relationships before so he’s pretty bad at them. I blame the parents.”

“I’ll ask him to lie down and tell me about his mother when I see him.”

“Make sure to wear comfortable clothes when you do, that’s a whole Pandora’s box worth of pent up feelings” Peter joked but his smile softened “he misses you.”

“I miss him too” I admitted, feeling strangely free when I said it out loud.

I let the feeling give me the courage to navigate my way to Roman’s house, which was more daunting looking than I had ever previously imagined. The dead leaves tumbling past my ankles didn’t make me feel much better, but I pushed myself to knock at his door whilst my hands shook. I reminded myself to breathe, straightening my back and pressing my freshly re-glossed lips together. It was quiet and I wondered if I should knock again, but the sound of the lock clicking made me jump and draw my hand back.

“What’re you doing here Ginger?” Roman stood in front of me, a frown on his pale face that should have been severe but wasn’t. His cheeks were flushed, and his nose red as he dabbed at it with a scrunched up tissue in his hand. His hair, which was usually immaculately slicked back was free of any constraint, and it flopped towards the front softly. Gone were the formal shirts and leather gloves, he instead donned a pair of blue striped, cotton pyjamas. He looked younger and less intimidating than ever before, and it made my heart somersault in my chest.

“I brought you your homework and stuff” I said, resisting the urge to reach out and touch him.

“Keep it” he muttered “not like I do that crap anyway.” He sniffed, trying to hide how obvious his illness was.

“Where’s your mom?”

“Some business trip.”

“So you’re here all alone?” I asked, feeling an instant stab of sadness at the thought of Roman alone in his big house.

He scowled “I’m not a kid, I can take care of myself” he insisted, though he looked more vulnerable than I had ever seen him before. I was still upset with what had transpired between us last time but I was seeing what Peter meant, Roman didn’t know how relationships of any kind functioned. This was uncharted territory for him; something which needed him to be open with his emotions without fear of being hurt. He didn’t know what to do.

“Roman, can we ta-” but before I could be honest about how I felt he had slammed the door shut and left me speechless and more bruised than I was. I turned away, not sure how I was meant to get him to listen to me. The cold was getting worse, and the rejection threatened to make my heart freeze too. I walked away in a daze, only to come back an hour and a half later brimming with tenacity.

“You again” Roman said when he opened the door, and I barged my way past him into his house much to his surprise.

“Where’s your room?”

“You can’t come in here!” He said, his face revealing just how astounded he was.

“I don’t care” I said, more argumentatively than I had planned to sound “tell me where your room is.”

“You’re trespassing private property!”

“I’m going to assume it’s upstairs” I said, ignoring his empty threat and walking up the grand staircase. It didn’t take long to hear his own footsteps following mine eagerly, as he continued to complain about this being a ‘criminal activity’ and saying that ‘I had lost it’.

“Right or left?” I asked when we got up to the first floor.

“I’m not telling you.”

I shrugged and turned left down the hallway only to be stopped.

“It’s right” he mumbled, conceding defeat bitterly as I changed direction to accompany him at his heels.

His room was cleaner than I thought it would be, with only his bed sheets ruffled from where he had tossed the covers aside. The room itself seemed devoid of any personality, and only a small collection of items were strewn throughout the room. I set down his neglected homework on the desk, and started to take out the things I had both earlier from the paper bag. Roman stood behind me, watching suspiciously as I took out a medley of medicines, teas, juice, chicken noodle soup mix, and two boxes of tissues that had been on offer.

“What is this?”

“They’re things to make you feel better” I said “now get into bed.” He looked vaguely annoyed but turned to get in anyway. He made a sound of discontent when I started fluffing his pillows and tucking him in, but I slapped his hand away and kept rearranging the sheets until I was satisfied.

“Have you eaten anything?”

“What do you care?”

“Guess I’ll take that as a no. I’m going to go make you some soup.” I turned to leave but Roman caught my sleeve, prompting me to turn back.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care about you” I said, breaking eye contact with him as I nervously looked instead at his grip on my sleeve “and dogs are always loyal to their owners.” Roman seemed perplexed for a moment and then let go of me.

“Don’t keep me waiting then, dog.” He tried to sound dominant but his voice was still stuffy and he sounded comical more than anything.

He complained indignantly when I tried to feed him, but soon let me spoon the broth and noodles into his mouth though he still kept the expression of a surly house cat, or a sulking child. He was mildly irritated when I pushed the glass of watered down juice to his mouth every few minutes, batting me away and grumbling that he didn’t need so much liquid. He even objected to taking medicine, and his face screwed up at the taste of the syrup and was quickly followed by a list of curses. His sleeping was sporadic, and I had taken to a chair I had pulled to his bedside where I would do my own homework whilst he rested.

“You’re still here” he croaked, a few hours later, sounding not so much accusatory as factual. He wasn’t very happy when I brought out the tub of Vapor Rub, but quickly stopped whining when I rubbed the gel in slow circles on his chest. He watched me drowsily as I screwed the lid back on, and exchanged it for the near empty glass on his bedside table. He now sipped without complaint.

“How’re you feeling now?” I asked, to a now mollified Roman who practically purred when I stroked my hand over his hair.

“Better” he said “and sleepy.”

“Close your eyes, you need all the rest you can get.”

“But you’ll go” he said worryingly, rubbing his eyes with his knuckle.

“I’m not going anywhere Roman” I said, but he still looked troubled.

“Come here” he said patting the space in bed next to him, and I raised an eyebrow only for him to repeat the action. I put down my book, and slid in next to him, feeling his body pressed against mine. Even though I had taken his temperature earlier and confirmed that he had no fever, his body was still considerably warmer than mine. I shifted to face him and he watched me silently for several minutes before speaking.

“Doesn’t your boyfriend mind that you’re here?”

“He didn’t like it at first but now that he’s let me lie next to him I think he might be okay with it.”

Roman huffed “you should break up with him, he sounds like he’s not capable of being in a relationship.”

“He’s just not used to be being cared for, but” my tone changed as I continued “if he’s going to let his insecurities get the better of him then he can’t shut me out.”

He averted his gaze “well stop talking to that guy then.”

“Roman.”

“Okay fine” he relinquished “but I’m still going to hate him.”

“That’s not much better.”

“It’s my final deal” he said “now close your eyes dog, all this emotional stuff is making me feel nauseated.”

“Ha ha” I said humorlessly and I leaned over to peck a kiss on his pink cheek. He reached out and pulled me closer, and I finally closed my eyes and let Roman’s breathing lull me to sleep.

#fanfiction #fanfic #my fanfic #fanfickittycat #the price #chapter 7 #hemlock grove #hemlock grove fanfic #hemlock grove fanfiction #netflix #Roman Godfrey #roman godfrey fanfic #roman godfrey x oc #Bill Skarsgård #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard fanfic #updates

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everlarkficexchange · 7 years

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In the Waiting Dark (The Red Moon Rises)

Written by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback

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

Rating: T for this chapter

Warnings: Mentions of blood, fantasy and horror thematic elements

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

CHAPTER 1

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

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

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

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

“Papa’s telling the story.”

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

“Long ago–”

“See, you got it wrong anyways.”

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

“Was there a candlestick maker, too?”

“Hush! I wanna hear the story!”

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

“What was her name?”

“Shhhhh!”

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

“Who, Papa?” both children gasp.

“She was in love with a hunter.”

“No.”

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

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

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

“Why bring it back now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alright,” Gales says tightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gale.

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

My future husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You already knew who it was?”

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

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

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

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

“This is preposterous!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The youngest. Peeta Mellark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mutt. Mutt. Mutt. Mutt.”

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

“Mutt. Mutt. Mutt. Mutt.”

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

“Mutt. Mutt. Mutt. Mutt.”

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

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

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

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

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

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