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#and all i want is a loaf of bread with a hunk of cheese
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Find the Word Tag
I was tagged by @ofbloodandflowers Thank you!!  I’m going to do this with ATQH, as always. (Apparently every single one of these words except for “left” can be found in either Fallon and Kristopher’s first date, or the scene titled Panic.  I tried to choose something other than those two scenes if it was an option, just to give a little variety.)
drag
“What the hell do you mean you’re not certain?  Isn’t that your job?  What is going on?  Where’s Captain Blackthorne?” “Likely with the prisoner.” The guardsman swallowed nervously.  “What?”  Kristopher’s heart dropped, an icy first dragging it down. “I-“ The guard looked frantically from side to side, searching for backup. Kris stepped forwards.  “Explain to me what in the Morrigan’s name is going on, right now, or I swear I will knock you out cold and find out for myself.”
green
All of the flowers in the clearing were in full bloom, and their sweet scent filled the air.  In the shade of a white-blossomed tree, Kris has laid out a blanket.  Beside him was a basket filled with food.  A bottle of wine peeked out from behind it. “Oh…” Fallon exhaled softly.  “This is lovely.”  She slowly approached the picnic, picking her way carefully amidst the flowers.  “How…?”  She trailed off,  mouth watering as the scent of freshly baked bread reached her nose.  Kristopher smiled, pulling plates and wine glasses from the basket.  “I thought we might want some food after such an exciting ride.” He spread out an array of food before her.  A loaf of bread, miraculously still warm, a container of jam, large green grapes and a hunk of cheese.
road
SQUAWK! A hen scrambled out of the path of Phillip’s hooves.  He continued walking, apparently unbothered.  The country road was empty of other travelers and Kristopher and Fallon were able to ride side by side on the wide dirt track.  Overhead, the tree branches rustled softly in the gentle breeze and the sun was well into its trek across the sky.
fly
Fallon balanced on the edge between sleeping and waking for hours, but never tipped over the edge in either direction.  She watched the clock through heavy eyes, counting the minutes and hours.  Sometimes, she closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but every sound sent her eyes flying open, body tense.  Eventually, the sun slowly began to rise, spilling golden morning light into the room. At some point she heard a knock on the door, and Nina rose to answer it.  Lavinia?  No, just Captain Blackthorne.  Soft voices from the hall.  Fallon knew they were talking about her, and strained her ears to hear the words.  Shock.  Rest.  Process.  Grieve.  All things she had heard countless times after her mother’s death.  Old memories mixed with new, and Fallon imagined Lavinia standing over her mother’s body, smiling.
left
The suitors didn’t attempt the hide that they were watching her, and Fallon’s neck prickled under their gaze.  She was tired of being watched.  She wanted to be left alone.  But even as she thought it, she knew it was a lie.  She’d been alone for five years.  She never wanted to be alone again.
(Not my stupid ass looking at “left” and thinking the relative direction, and being certain it wouldn’t show up in my manuscript.  Cue my surprise when it turned up as many results as the rest combined.)
I’m going to tag @tc-doherty @diphthongsfordays @rose-bookblood @rodentwrites and @fiercely-raging-writer !! Your words are fight, tired, fall, and high.
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airiat · 2 years
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cw: suicidal ideation
“Nothing is ever guaranteed,” he said.
“Except for one thing.”
Before he answered, Iorveth paused to chew a hunk of cheese, eye falling closed, head tilted back. Ever so. The twist in my gut was from embarrassment at being there for this display, not out of pity, realization that this was probably the best he’d ever had in a long while. What did they feed themselves out there? Where did they sleep? How did they keep clean?
“I could have died, in all these years,” he said, words muffled around the cheese. “Plenty of opportunity. In fact, it was like the world taunted me with it. Brought me to the brink and then snatched it right back. ‘Sorry, you old fool, not today.’” He reached for the half-loaf of bread and ripped a piece off with his teeth. “Ploughing torture, it was. And, believe me, I’ve known that, too. So, yes, I suppose it seemed the one thing guaranteed was that I would live long enough to see my way back to you. Despite all the fucking odds.”
“I–” I began, faltering. I shook my head, swallowed. Dare I dip even a toe into those still waters? “You wanted to die?”
Iorveth popped a grape into his mouth. “Haven’t you?”
“No.”
His hand paused midway to his mouth with another grape, then dropped back down. “I see.”
- from a perfect & necessary darkness
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kamreadsandrecs · 9 months
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By Jessica Roy
It’s 90 degrees outside, and you’re too hot and exhausted from a long day of work to cobble together a proper meal. Luckily you’re home by yourself — no kids, no roommates, no partners — and therefore can eat whatever you want for dinner, without having to consider the food preferences or nutrition needs of others. You grab a bag of popcorn, a glass of wine, some bread, some cheese and a hunk of chocolate, and settle into the couch for a night of snacking and watching TV. Is there anything more glorious? Welcome to “girl dinner.”
According to TikTok, where the trend has more than 30 million views, girl dinner is akin to an aesthetically pleasing Lunchable: an artfully arranged pile of snacks that, when consumed in high enough volume, constitutes a meal. Or so the thinking goes.
Typical girl dinners may include some kind of fruit, a block of cheddar, sliced salami, a sleeve of fancy crackers and a dish of olives. Girl dinner is “both chaotic and filling,” as one TikTok commenter put it, requiring none of the forethought, cooking or plating demanded by an actual meal. As another commenter observed: It’s “no preparation just vibes.”
The trend started when Olivia Maher, a showrunner’s assistant currently out of work because of the writers’ strike, posted a video on TikTok this spring extolling the virtues of a humble, medieval-peasant-inspired assemblage that she called “girl dinner.”
“I think the concept of girl dinner came to me while I was on a hot girl walk with another female friend of mine,” Ms. Maher, 28, saidfrom her apartment in Los Angeles.
She said she and her friend had been discussing the unmatched perfection of bread and cheese as a meal unto itself, as simple as it is satisfying. “We love eating that way, and it feels like such a girl dinner because we do it when our boyfriends aren’t around and we don’t have to have what’s a ‘typical dinner’ — essentially, with a protein and a veggie and a starch,” Ms. Maher said.
She decided to debut the phrase on TikTok. “This is my dinner,” Ms. Maher says in the video, flipping her phone camera to display her spread: hunks of butter and cheese, part of a baguette, some grapes and pickles, and a glass of red wine. “I call this girl dinner.” Since she posted it in May, the 15-second clip has been watched more than a million times.
Alana Laverty, a 28-year-old food content creator in London who immediately embraced the phrase, said she started making what she called “snack plates” for dinner during summers when it was too hot to even consider turning on a stove.
“I feel like cooking full meals just gets so repetitive and exhausting, especially in the summer,” Ms. Laverty said. “When dinner came around, we would just pick up one main cheese or one main protein and get a fresh loaf of bread and throw it all on the plate. It’s a really normal way of eating for me now.”
Ms. Laverty started posting her beautifully arranged snack plates on TikTok last year. When the girl dinner trend began to take off, she recalled, “I was like, ‘I have never resonated with something more.’”
“There was this feeling of, ‘Oh my God, I’m not the only one,’” Ms. Laverty said. “I love anything that celebrates something women are all doing, but we don’t all know that we’re doing it.”
Some have pointed out that the grazing isn’t enough satisfy their own appetites and, in some cases, could be masking disordered eating.
“‘Girl dinner’ more like girl please go to the doctor you have an ED,” one user wrote on TikTok.
But adherents are quick to note that girl dinners are not about deprivation. Women have long been programmed to see food as the enemy, but the girl dinner trend is about embracing the simple joy of snacks as meals. Girl dinner represents a conscious choice to opt out of the tyranny of cooking and doing the dishes. It’s also, conveniently, the answer to fridge clean out day.
And though the trend may sound suspiciously like tapas, or mezze, or a charcuterie board, girl dinner differs in one key way: Unlike a Super Bowl-esque spread of appetizers, girl dinner is most frequently made by one person, for the consumption and enjoyment of one person.
“I remember trying to be a meal prepper and I just couldn’t do it,” Ms. Laverty said. “You could go through the effort of it, but why not open up a bunch of jars and satisfy your taste senses the same way?”
Seema Rao, an art historian in Cleveland, sees a historical connection between girl dinner and entrenched gender norms that dictate women prepare a hearty meal for their husbands every evening.
“The idea of cooking dinner was historically women’s work in the home,” said Ms. Rao, 49. “What I like about girl dinner is it takes away the idea that you have to cook anything: You just literally put it together. So you go from a position where the production of the food is what makes it good and makes you a valid woman, to the idea that having food is what makes you a valid woman.”
At least one nutritionist has given her seal of approval to the trend. Kathrine Kofoed, 27, a nutritionist and health coach in Portland, Ore., suggested that part of the reason girl dinner was being so widely embraced was its affirmation of the way women already eat: “It’s a pleasant departure from diet culture, and from all these rigid expectations of what food should be.”
“I see so many more issues for people with overeating and restricting and then perhaps bingeing, or just having this very complicated and often disordered relationship with food,” Ms. Kofoed said, pointing to the benefits of finding “more joy and pleasure in the meals we’re eating.”
Perhaps the most important thing about girl dinner is that you don’t have to be a girl to enjoy it.
“My friends and I were joking that it’s girl dinner, but anyone can have it,” Ms. Maher said. “But it’s for the girls, gays and theys.”
You may be wondering what, by contrast, “boy dinner” may look like. “Go to your local supermarket at 6:30 p.m. and stand behind a single man and see what’s inside of his basket,” the comedian Brian Lee observed on TikTok. “Frozen pizza, deli meats, potato chips, no vegetables.”
For Ms. Maher, it’s less about the content of the meal than the feeling around it. “The girl dinner is a giddy experience,” she said. “You could be having the slice of frozen pizza, but you’ve also got maybe a glass of wine and some grapes to go with it. And you’re just so pleased with yourself. You’re like, ‘I barely worked for this and it feels like an indulgence.’ That’s what makes it girl dinner.”

0 notes
kammartinez · 9 months
Text
By Jessica Roy
It’s 90 degrees outside, and you’re too hot and exhausted from a long day of work to cobble together a proper meal. Luckily you’re home by yourself — no kids, no roommates, no partners — and therefore can eat whatever you want for dinner, without having to consider the food preferences or nutrition needs of others. You grab a bag of popcorn, a glass of wine, some bread, some cheese and a hunk of chocolate, and settle into the couch for a night of snacking and watching TV. Is there anything more glorious? Welcome to “girl dinner.”
According to TikTok, where the trend has more than 30 million views, girl dinner is akin to an aesthetically pleasing Lunchable: an artfully arranged pile of snacks that, when consumed in high enough volume, constitutes a meal. Or so the thinking goes.
Typical girl dinners may include some kind of fruit, a block of cheddar, sliced salami, a sleeve of fancy crackers and a dish of olives. Girl dinner is “both chaotic and filling,” as one TikTok commenter put it, requiring none of the forethought, cooking or plating demanded by an actual meal. As another commenter observed: It’s “no preparation just vibes.”
The trend started when Olivia Maher, a showrunner’s assistant currently out of work because of the writers’ strike, posted a video on TikTok this spring extolling the virtues of a humble, medieval-peasant-inspired assemblage that she called “girl dinner.”
“I think the concept of girl dinner came to me while I was on a hot girl walk with another female friend of mine,” Ms. Maher, 28, saidfrom her apartment in Los Angeles.
She said she and her friend had been discussing the unmatched perfection of bread and cheese as a meal unto itself, as simple as it is satisfying. “We love eating that way, and it feels like such a girl dinner because we do it when our boyfriends aren’t around and we don’t have to have what’s a ‘typical dinner’ — essentially, with a protein and a veggie and a starch,” Ms. Maher said.
She decided to debut the phrase on TikTok. “This is my dinner,” Ms. Maher says in the video, flipping her phone camera to display her spread: hunks of butter and cheese, part of a baguette, some grapes and pickles, and a glass of red wine. “I call this girl dinner.” Since she posted it in May, the 15-second clip has been watched more than a million times.
Alana Laverty, a 28-year-old food content creator in London who immediately embraced the phrase, said she started making what she called “snack plates” for dinner during summers when it was too hot to even consider turning on a stove.
“I feel like cooking full meals just gets so repetitive and exhausting, especially in the summer,” Ms. Laverty said. “When dinner came around, we would just pick up one main cheese or one main protein and get a fresh loaf of bread and throw it all on the plate. It’s a really normal way of eating for me now.”
Ms. Laverty started posting her beautifully arranged snack plates on TikTok last year. When the girl dinner trend began to take off, she recalled, “I was like, ‘I have never resonated with something more.’”
“There was this feeling of, ‘Oh my God, I’m not the only one,’” Ms. Laverty said. “I love anything that celebrates something women are all doing, but we don’t all know that we’re doing it.”
Some have pointed out that the grazing isn’t enough satisfy their own appetites and, in some cases, could be masking disordered eating.
“‘Girl dinner’ more like girl please go to the doctor you have an ED,” one user wrote on TikTok.
But adherents are quick to note that girl dinners are not about deprivation. Women have long been programmed to see food as the enemy, but the girl dinner trend is about embracing the simple joy of snacks as meals. Girl dinner represents a conscious choice to opt out of the tyranny of cooking and doing the dishes. It’s also, conveniently, the answer to fridge clean out day.
And though the trend may sound suspiciously like tapas, or mezze, or a charcuterie board, girl dinner differs in one key way: Unlike a Super Bowl-esque spread of appetizers, girl dinner is most frequently made by one person, for the consumption and enjoyment of one person.
“I remember trying to be a meal prepper and I just couldn’t do it,” Ms. Laverty said. “You could go through the effort of it, but why not open up a bunch of jars and satisfy your taste senses the same way?”
Seema Rao, an art historian in Cleveland, sees a historical connection between girl dinner and entrenched gender norms that dictate women prepare a hearty meal for their husbands every evening.
“The idea of cooking dinner was historically women’s work in the home,” said Ms. Rao, 49. “What I like about girl dinner is it takes away the idea that you have to cook anything: You just literally put it together. So you go from a position where the production of the food is what makes it good and makes you a valid woman, to the idea that having food is what makes you a valid woman.”
At least one nutritionist has given her seal of approval to the trend. Kathrine Kofoed, 27, a nutritionist and health coach in Portland, Ore., suggested that part of the reason girl dinner was being so widely embraced was its affirmation of the way women already eat: “It’s a pleasant departure from diet culture, and from all these rigid expectations of what food should be.”
“I see so many more issues for people with overeating and restricting and then perhaps bingeing, or just having this very complicated and often disordered relationship with food,” Ms. Kofoed said, pointing to the benefits of finding “more joy and pleasure in the meals we’re eating.”
Perhaps the most important thing about girl dinner is that you don’t have to be a girl to enjoy it.
“My friends and I were joking that it’s girl dinner, but anyone can have it,” Ms. Maher said. “But it’s for the girls, gays and theys.”
You may be wondering what, by contrast, “boy dinner” may look like. “Go to your local supermarket at 6:30 p.m. and stand behind a single man and see what’s inside of his basket,” the comedian Brian Lee observed on TikTok. “Frozen pizza, deli meats, potato chips, no vegetables.”
For Ms. Maher, it’s less about the content of the meal than the feeling around it. “The girl dinner is a giddy experience,” she said. “You could be having the slice of frozen pizza, but you’ve also got maybe a glass of wine and some grapes to go with it. And you’re just so pleased with yourself. You’re like, ‘I barely worked for this and it feels like an indulgence.’ That’s what makes it girl dinner.”
0 notes
silverpaintedstars · 3 years
Text
Well, here’s a first chapter for y’all! Disclaimer it’s a little long, so be prepared for scrolling. I had a lot of fun writing this one
(if you havent read the prologue might wanna do that)
Chapter One: A Meal, An Encounter, and A Walk
He should be dead.
Somehow, though, he was alive.
But it felt like the opposite.
There was the left-over pain from the shadows, and on top of that, his face stung terribly. But he was alive, and he’d take that. Elliot didn’t open his eyes yet, still getting used to the fact that there was more life to live, and how he was going to use it.
It felt like he was laying on grass, or something of the likes. At any rate it was quiet, and he needed this moment of peace. He was lucky to snag them whenever he could, few and far between.
Finally he groaned and wrenched his eyes open. Grey sky greeted him overhead. He was laying on damp brush, rough and overgrown. Not too far from his original guess. A few trees dotted the land around, but he saw no other living form on this desolate wasteland.
Mustering all his energy, he slowly sat up, his head throbbing from the effort. He still had his traveling cloak over his shoulders, but whoever had put him here didn’t think to give him a bag or something?
Whoever had put him here…
Elliot looked around, then yelped.
On a rather large rock to his left, a black-clad figure sat, watching him. He wore a rather curious black mask around his eyes. A few strands of white hair peeked out from under his black hood. A scarf waved in the breeze, and a sword was buckled at his side.
All in all, he looked quite impressive, and like he could kill Elliot any second.
The black-cloaked young man quirked a small smile, his eyes completely concealed so Elliot couldn’t see any emotion from there. Clearly he knew Elliot had seen him but made no move towards his sword.
Elliot remained perfectly still, eyes wide and heart thumping. Did this person bring him here? Or simply stumble upon him? Not knowing made him feel even more helpless.
After a moment of the two staring at each other, the young man deftly hopped off his rock and strode towards Elliot, quickly closing the few yards between them. His boots flattened the tall grass, forming a temporary path.
Elliot swallowed, knowing he should run, but he was half curious what this stranger wanted, plus he doubted he could run faster.
The stranger stopped right in front of Elliot, who was still on the ground, staring up at him.
What he could see of his face betrayed no emotion as he reached a hand down, in the direction of his sheathed sword.
Elliot squeezed his eyes shut, frantically trying to shuffle back in the process. But when he heard no telltale shhhk of the weapon being drawn, he cautiously opened his eyes again.
A grey-gloved hand was outstretched in front of him.
Confused, ELliot looked back up at the stranger, who nodded his head towards his hand.
After a moment's hesitation, Ellliot limply grabbed it, his joints popping as the stranger pulled him to standing. Elliot dusted himself off, wobbling a bit. His face still hurt and he was terribly sore, but it was something he could bear to live with.
“Careful, traveler. Might get stepped on down there,” the stranger said. His voice didn’t quite match the rest of his outward appearance. Lower, a little hesitant but still confident. Elliot didn’t yet know if he could trust this stranger, but a part of him very much wanted to.
“Uh--em--tha-thank you,” Elliot warbled out, rubbing at his hands.
The stranger tipped his head slightly to the left. “And you are welcome.”
“Wh-who are you?” Elliot asked, knowing that stereotypical question had to be asked at some point.
“Around here you can call me Reaper.”
Elliot blinked. “Around here?”
“Yes.” He offered no further explanation. “I trust you are in need of food?”
Elliot hadn’t gotten there in his train of thought yet, but when it came around he found he was quite ready to board the car of food. His stomach grumbled hard when he found that inside this car were piles of food-breads, fruits, soups, and sweets. “Yes,” he said aloud, adding a hasty, ‘sir,” because it sounded safer.
Reaper smiled, pulling a wrapped parcel out of a bag hidden under his cloak. Inside were contents that added more memories to his car of food. A loaf of bread with a bit already broken off, a chunk of cheese, and an apple. He sat on the hard ground in one swift motion, crossing his legs underneath him and spreading the food on the paper, placing it on the ground.
Elliot clumsily sat across from Reaper, hungrily eying the food as more items filled his car as he looked at them.
Reaper tilted his head, as if studying him. “Go on.”
Elliot grabbed at the bread, tearing a hunk off and stuffing it in his mouth. He tried to go slow, act like he had some idea of manners, but the food tasted so good in comparison to what he was used to. Fresh bread--a rare thing for him. He was more used to barren soups, thin, watery things. This tasted a thousand times better, and Elliot felt himself feeling a sense of peace--despite dining with a stranger.
“So tell me,” Reaper said, watching Elliot eat, “how a High Elf like you wound up sixty miles from Orlem.”
He was that far away?
Elliot glanced down at his left hand, which bore the mark of a High Elf--black swirls along the side. He rubbed it. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully. So then, Reaper hadn’t brought him here? Just...found him? He reached for the apple and took a meek bite, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
“Quite a scar,” Reaper said after a few more minutes of almost quiet, save Elliot’s chewing.
Elliot trailed a finger along the ridge, not trusting himself to be able to say anything. He ducked his head, letting his long hair hang over his face. He had finished eating and stared down at the ground, his head aching not just from physical wounds, but from memories triggered by it. Terrible memories. He willed them away, but it didn’t really go away. Just retreated until another vulnerable moment.
Why was he here? He was certain his father--no, the king--had killed him. He didn’t deserve the title father anymore. Elliot could bear king but not father.
And who was Reaper? Why was a random stranger being so kind to this small Elf boy? Elliot didn’t deserve this. He’d never even had someone really be nice to him before. Except Moss. But she was gone.
“Wh-where are we?” he asked Reaper, dragging himself out from his maze of thoughts.
“About a mile from Holden,” Reaper answered.
Holden. A town. Elliot had never been there, his few leavings of Orlem, the capital of Lucero, north rather than east, where Holden lay. He’d studied the geography of Lucero and the neighboring kingdoms, Chexon and Andromarche, before, so he vaguely knew the rough area.
What was so important about Holden? Was there a reason he had woken up here? Or was it simply...more convenient? He could think of plenty of wasteland around Orlem that would’ve suited the same need, but was closer.
“So…” Elliot started, trying to order his thoughts. “You--found me?”
Reaper nodded. “I was headed to Holden and came upon you. I couldn’t exactly leave someone in your, ah, condition.” For some reason Elliot got the feeling he didn’t mean his wounds.
Reaper rubbed his neck in an almost grabbing way. “To put it this way--most you meet will not sympathize with you. Since Loot has the throne, life has been difficult for most people, from cause of Elves.”
Oh. Elliot let that sink in. Because...of his father, people just associated elves with bad? And Reaper didn’t even know his father was the king.
“You’re lucky I found you,” Reaper added, snapping a twig in his gloved hands and making Elliot jump.
The world suddenly seemed a very messy place, and he’d been thrust in headfirst with no warning. He wasn’t quite sure what to do or say, so he just took another bite of bread.
“Now I know you probably don’t completely trust me,” Reaper continued, “and you just met me twenty or so minutes ago, but we can’t stay here very long. Benedons roam these parts, but the closer we move to Holden, the safer we are.”
Elliot definitely didn’t want to have to encounter a Benedon, a fanged, sharp-clawed creature. And there was a part that desperately wanted to trust Reaper. If he’d wanted to kill him, he could’ve. Elliot didn’t doubt that. But he hadn’t--and he’d given him food. So he had at least one good reason to trust him. But was it enough? He didn’t know who lay behind the mask. For all he knew, they were nowhere near Holden and Reaper was really leading him to his death.
He could never know.
But there was only one way to truly be sure.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll go.”
“Good,” Reaper said, looking around. “Because I doubt you have a choice.” He looked back at Elliot. “Rest a while longer--you don’t yet look strong. Then we will leave.”
Elliot nodded, wondering how he was supposed to rest.
Turns out he didn’t have to think about it, for he lay back in the grass and promptly fell asleep.
He woke up some time later to see Reaper anxiously studying the sky, where the grey had grown darker. He hadn’t noticed Elliot was awake.
Slowly he sat up, rubbing the cloud from his eyes and head. Reaper looked over and saw him. “Good, you’re awake,” he said. “We should be off. If it stays clear we should make it before nightfall, but it looks like storms. Though I know a shelter if we need it.”
Elliot listened to his words in silence. When Reaper had finished he made his way to standing with an amount of effort. His legs were sore and his head began to hurt again, but he made it. Reaper nodded.
“You seem well enough to walk. You feel so?” he asked, shifting the sword scabbard around his waist.
“I-I think so,” Elliot repeated, trying to convince himself that the words were true.
“Then off we will be,” Reaper replied with a readiness to his voice that Elliot couldn’t quite match.
They began to walk east, though it was hard to tell with the clouded sky, but Reaper seemed to know the direction, which didn’t really surprise Elliot. His strength still was weak, but he managed to get in a groove to walk, heaving breaths but refusing to ask for a rest, wanting to prove he could do this.
Yeah, well, he wasn't convincing himself.
At all.
They walked in silence, Reaper still kept looking at the sky, making Elliot start to worry himself if they would get caught in the rain. They had been walking for about forty-five minutes when Elliot felt it.
A drop of wet.
At first he thought it was a bead of sweat from how hard he was pushing himself, but when he felt another, he looked up, confused. Another drop hit him right between the eyes. “Um-eh-Reaper?” he said in a quiet tone. Reaper didn’t hear him. “R-reaper?”
Reaper looked at him. “Yes?” He wouldn’t feel the rain with his hood and cloak, Elliot figured.
Elliot opened his mouth to speak, when the whole sky opened up. He was drenched in approximately twenty one seconds.
Reaper let out a frustrated huff of air, the first time Elliot saw him drop the calm facade. “Come on--there’s a place just over this next way.”
“How far?” Elliot asked, but was lost in the torrent. He followed Reaper, almost running in the rain. His cloak was soaked through, his hair dripping rain in his eyes. He could barely see ten feet ahead of him, but he could see Reaper’s scarf, and followed that blindly like a lighthouse on a ravaging sea.
He squinted, rainwater running into his eyes and his strength almost completely gone, but if Reaper promised shelter--he would push himself as much as he could to get to it and out of this rain.
Finally he saw a blur of yellow. He wiped his eyes and it focused into a small building that was just coming into view from behind a small hill. “I-is that it?” he had to pretty much shout to Reaper over the wet.
“Yes,” Reaper called back. “We will stop there.”
Elliot let out a breath of relief. Finally, he could rest. He could stop and maybe, just maybe, feel safe. Of course, that was making a rather large assumption, but one could dream, couldn’t they? If you weren’t even safe enough to dream, then you were truly cut off from your largest freedom.
Then a crack of lightning struck somewhere close and he jumped, knocked from his thoughts yet again, remembering that he was still in the middle of a storm.
The building--or whatever--was closer now, and thanks to the light from within, he could make out Reaper, the clouds completely snuffing out the natural light. It wasn’t quite nighttime yet, but it was darkening towards it.
Elliot wrapped his dripping cloak around himself, utterly miserable in the wet, feeling like a cat out here. Finally, finally, he and Reaper stepped onto the small porch of the shack, sheltered after what felt like an eternity.
Reaper threw his soaked hood back, his white-grey hair also dripping into his black mask, but he kept that on. “We may have to stay here through the night,” he told Elliot, looking out at the desolate, wet land around. “Walking around in this isn’t quite my fancy, though we are not far from Holden.”
Elliot only nodded, trying to peer through one of the windows that opened onto the porch, but there was a cloth thrown across it on the inside, blocking his view. “What is this place?” he asked Reaper.
“Think of it like an inn for us...vagabonds,” Reaper said. “But less ravish.”
“Oh.” Vagabonds? Was he considered that now? Reaper definitely fit that category, at least from the time he’d known him. But he wouldn’t have labeled himself one before, but maybe now.
“Well then,” Reaper said, wringing the end of his cloak off and dripping into small puddles on the ground, “shall we go inside?”
Elliot definitely had no idea what to expect in this ‘inn for vagabonds’, in Reaper’s terms. But he supposed he would have no idea what to expect of anything he encountered from here on out.
“I-I guess we will,” he said, swallowing and moistening his throat, ironically enough the only part that seemed dry.
Reaper opened the wooden door, and it whined on the hinges. Then he and Elliot stepped inside, out of the external terrors, and into the internal mysteries.
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onlydreamofmysoul · 3 years
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Let Them Eat Cake part ii (Wolfstar bake off au)
This week on The Great British Bake Off
“Oh Lord I’ve just gone and dropped my dough. Repeat, I’ve just dropped my dough”
“I forgot to turn my oven on.”
“I’m going home for sure.”
Remus woke up to his phone ringing.
“Remus!” His mom half-yelled down the line, “You came third in the technical!”
Remus rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “Mam, I already told you that, I rang you right after it happened.”
“I know, I know,” Hope said, “But the first episode only came out last night so I’m all excited about it again. Christ Re it’s so strange seeing you on the telly.”
Remus let out an amused huff and flopped back down onto the plush hotel pillows. “Thanks?”
“I’m so proud of you sweetheart… What have you got on today?”
“We’re filming again today, so the first two challenges.”
“Oh, what’s the theme this week?” Hope needled and Remus rolled his eyes fondly. “Man, you know I can’t tell you that yet.”
“I’m your mother. I think if you told anyone, it should be me.”
“Well if I were telling anyone, I would tell you, however…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re not telling anyone.” She said a little disappointed. “It was worth a shot.” She let out a melancholic sigh, “My only child, too big a star now, doesn’t even have time to talk to his own mother.”
“I’m currently talking to my own mother so I think that contradicts your point a little.” Remus chimed in. “Also, I hardly think being on one episode of Bake Off counts as a star.”
“Well it’s all anyone here at home has been talking about for at least a month.”
“Wow, they really need to get a life.” He said dryly and chuckled when his mother began to admonish him. “Oh mam, I’ve got to go, I’m almost late for filming, I’ll call you later.”
“That sounds like a cop out if I’ve ever heard one Remus Lupin, but I’ll let you go anyways. Good luck today, I love you.”
“Love you too mam. Talk soon, bye bye.” He pressed the end call button and lay with his phone on his chest for a moment before actually checking the time. He had about an hour before he was expected on set. He rolled out of bed with a groan and headed into the shower.
Remus quite literally ran into Sirius.
“Oh shit sorry!” He cried as they collided. Sirius caught Remus’ wrist to steady himself and held on for a split second before letting go.
“In a hurry Lupin?” 
Remus flushed a little, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah I was supposed to meet Lily at the door five minutes ago but I got caught up.”
Sirius just maintained eye contact for a moment before reaching out and touching the sleeve of Remus’ cream knit sweater. “This is nice.”
Remus lost his words. “Oh um, thank you. I made it actually.”
Sirius quirked a smile. “A baker and a knitter? You’re a real home-boy.”
Remus laughed a little. “Yeah you could definitely say that. I knit when I’m watching TV or whatever, I hate when I don’t have something to do with my hands. ‘Idle hands’ and all that.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Remus said, shrugging him off despite the fact that he was possibly about to lose his mind. The Sirius Black was teasing him.
“Anyways, I should probably go.” He said, ducking his head. “Lily’s waiting for me.”
“And we’ve got a show to get to.” Sirius added.
“Yeah,” Remus smiled. “Yeah we do.”
“Hello and welcome back everyone, to this week’s episode of The Great British Bake Off.” James said grandly as soon as Marlene had signalled that she was recording. “This week, it’s bread week.”
Remus sighed. He fucking loved bread. He was coeliac, so he didn’t eat bread but… he fucking loved bread.
“For our first challenge,” Sirius announced, “Our judges would like to see two plaited loaves. Any flavouring is up to you, but each loaf should be twelve inches in length with clear, defined plaits.”
The bakers all nodded and the camera panned around the room to catch everyone’s reactions. 
“Alright then, Sirius, dough you want to tell them to begin?”
Remus bit his lip to stop himself from laughing. That pun was so cringy but Remus was a sucker for bad jokes. 
“Why yes James, I most certainly dough. Three, two one… Bake!”
Marlene started her rounds today by coming straight to Remus.
“So Remus, what’re you making today?” James asked, appearing by his side. 
“Well the first one, is going to have basil and some tomato sauce and then have some mozzarella plaited in.” Remus said as he took out a glass bowl and began adding ingredients to it. “Then the second one is going to have four different kinds of cheese in it.”
“So basically, no one who’s lactose intolerant can go anywhere near your bread.”
Remus laughed and scratched his cheek. “Pretty much. But I mean, neither of them will be gluten free, so I can’t eat them either.”
James grinned. “I suppose I’ll just have to be your official taste tester then.”
“You know, those already exist. They’re called judges.” Remus chirped and Sirius who was passing laughed, shooting Remus an appreciative look.
James moved on to Lily and Remus could hear her telling him about her toffee bread. Remus had seen her practicing it - it always looked amazing and the other contestants had raved about it. Remus had gotten the recipe from her and he was going to try to make a gluten-free version when all of this was over.
Remus covered the bowls with a layer of cellophane and put them in the proving drawer, waiting until they had at least doubled in size before he would take them out again.
In the meantime, Remus got busy finely chopping fresh basil, making a tomato sauce and slicing mozzarella.
“Looking good, Lupin.” Sirius said, jumping up to sit on the end of Remus’ bench, away from the food.
“Why thank you.” Remus said then had to slap Sirius’s hand away when he tried to steal a slice of cheese. “Oi, get away you cheeky bugger.”
Sirius shrugged,” I’m just trying to relieve James of his official taste tester duties.”
“You’re trying to relieve yourself from your stomach grumbling is more like.” Remus shot back, but he held out a chopping board with his many different cheeses all neatly sliced and grinned. “Go on then, you can have one.”
Sirius’s eyes glimmered. “You know, I quite like you Lupin.” He said, before hopping off the table and wandering away.
“It’s a good thing I quite like cheese Mr Lupin.” Dumbledore said in an almost teasing tone as they reached Remus’ bench to judge. They cut the first loaf and each had a taste.
“I think I would have liked it to have stayed in the oven for a little longer.” McGonagall said, “It’s just missing the really crusty outside we were looking for. But the flavours are wonderful, I quite like the concept.”
“And I, as the official taste tester, i think it’s amazing.” James said, stealing a slice and there were a couple of giggles around the tent. Even Remus cracked a smile.
“Let’s move on to the next one, shall we?” Remus just nodded, his jaw clenched as he listened. This time, the knife made a much more satisfying sound as it cut through the bread. Remus couldn’t help but sigh a little in relief, his eyes trained on the loaf to see if the bake was even.
“Now, this one is much better.” Dumbledore said before he took a bite. His eyes fluttered closed as he chewed and Remus pursed his lips together to stop himself from smiling. “Very enjoyable Mr Lupin, I can’t find a fault with this one.”
McGonagall nodded in agreement and with that they moved over to Lily’s bench. Remus sat down on his stool with a sigh, his shoulders slumping.
 “Hey, good job. ”Sirius whispered as he passed and Remus smiled. Yeah, he quite liked bread.
“Ah look at little Remus, eating his salad.” Tonks teased, ruffling his hair as she plopped down on the chair next to him. Remus scowled. “Believe me, if I could be eating bread like the rest of you lot, I would be.”
“Alas, alack!” A guy Peter, another contestant proclaimed. “We get to eat your bread though. It’s so good mate, much better than that sad lump I presented.”
Everyone around the table started sniggering. Peter had had a bit of an accident resulting in burned bread. It was edible, but it really hadn’t looked like much.
“I’m really going to have to up my game in the next two challenges.” He moaned. “I really don’t want to go home yet.” They all nodded in agreement and the table went quiet for a moment as everyone thought while they munched.
“What a rowdy bunch you lot are.” Sirius said, he and James each pulling up a chair. ”Can we…?” He asked, pointing to the selection of breads, all sliced in the middle of the table.
“Yeah of course,” Remus said. “They’re there to eat.”
Remus certainly didn’t that Sirius immediately went for one of the loaves he made. Nope. Not at all.
“So how are we all feeling about the next challenge?” James asked, tearing parts off his hunk of bread and popping them into his mouth.
“Oh my god, new rule.” Tonks declared. “No competition talk when we’re on our breaks. I need to talk about something other than the ratio of sugar to flour.”
Sirius chuckled at her abruptness. “Fair enough. Let’s see… What are your favourite colours?”
“Basic question.” Tonks countered, leaning back in her chair, “But I’ll take it. Mine is pink.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.” Remus said dryly, gesturing to her hair. Lily choked on her food.
“What’s yours then Remus?” Tonks challenged. 
Remus shrugged. “I don’t have a favourite, I like them all.”
“Even brown?” Peter piped in. 
“Especially brown. It’s the colour of chocolate. It’s also like the most hated colour, it needs some appreciation.”
“It’s one of the most hated colours because it’s boring. Like is there any colour more dull than brown?” James asked.
“Beige.” Lily said and James pointed a finger at her, indicating that she had made a valid point. “Okay, that’s very fair. Beige is boring as fuck.”
“I can’t believe this is a conversation we’re having.” Sirius mused and Remus looked at him incredulously. “You’re the one who started it!”
“I asked for favourite colours, not the opposite. It was you who set us on this dull - coloured path.” Sirius counted, his eyes playful. Tonks looked between the two of them for a moment before checking her watch.
“I hate to be the one to break up the band but, it’s time for us to get back to it.”
“Ah, the woes of the working life.” Sirius lamented and Remus snorted. 
“Oh hush, you have like, the best job ever.”
Sirius threw his arm around James’ shoulders. “That’s very true. Come on then Jamie, let’s get back to it.”
“Our next challenge, is of course our technical.” James announced as the cameras began rolling. “This week, our judges have asked you to make bagels.”
“You should have five identical bagels at the end. Your instructions are on your bench.”
“Ready?”
“Set.”
“Bake!”
Remus lifted the cloth that was covering the ingredients and recipe McGonagall and Dumbledore had written for them. He both loved and hated the technical, possibly for the same reasons. The steps were vague and needed a lot of thought which was pretty annoying but it challenged him and pushed him to see what kind of baker he was. 
“You ever made these?” Lily asked and Remus shook his head. “No, never. You?”
“Nope.” She said, popping the ‘p’. “This should be interesting.”
Remus chuckled as he began reading the instructions. make a dough, it read.
“Don’t you love how specific these instructions are?” Remus said to Tonks sarcastically and some of her hair fell out of her comically short ponytail as she laughed.
“This dough is meant to be stretchy I think.” Lily commented and Remus nodded his head. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too.”
Remus set to work, covering his dough in cellophane once more and popping it into the proving drawer. 
“You know I could really get used to this proving business,” he commented, “It gives me the chance to make a cup of tea.”
“Glad to see you have your priorities.” Sirius joked as he appeared. “Any chance I can have one too?” Remus just nodded to the bench in response, where he had already taken out a mug for Sirius. 
Sirius finished making the tea as Remus took out a pot, filled it with water and put it on the hob to boil. Just then a panicked wail sounded through the tent. 
“Oh lord, I’ve just gone and dropped my dough. Repeat, I dropped my dough.”
James was immediately at his side to help him figure it out. They chatted intensely for a minute, the cameras circling like vultures as Peter forlornly tossed the ruined dough in the bin, but began to make a new one. Remus let out a shaking breath on his friends behalf, Peter would really be racing against the clock. 
“It’s make it or break it time.” Remus said, turning back to his own work , decking to focus on that for now. His thoughts wouldn’t help Peter and all Remus could do right now was work on his own project. Having divided his dough and rolled it into shape, he boiled them one by one, praying he was doing the right thing. “And now you fuckers are going in the oven.”
“Oh my god Remus.” Marlene said. “We had great footage of you there and you totally just ruined it.”
“Sorry sorry, I’ll do it again.” Remus smirked and slid the tray into the oven. “And now you little shits are going in the oven.”
Marlene just turned around and left as Sirius’ laugh filled the tent. 
Remus walked up to the table to present his baking to be judged. As per the rules, he placed the plate down behind his picture and sat in one of the stools lined up, facing the table. McGonagall and Dumbledore arrived, looking much to chipper for Remus liking, not when he was struggling not to start biting his nails. He chose instead to pick at the hem of his jumper until Lily took his hand in hers. He was grateful - he really liked this jumper.
Peter was disappointed but not at all surprised when his bagels hadn’t risen enough. How could they have when making a second batch had essentially cut out the proving process. Tonks’ were a bit too small. Lily’s were a bit too chewy. Remus  bit his lip to stop himself from beaming when his were the best of the bunch. Still not perfect, not by a long shot, but he had won the technical challenge and his relief sent him out of the tent, unable to lessen the grin on his face as Marlene questioned him.
“How are you feeling, after today?”
“I’m feeling pretty good! I got off to a bit of a rocky start today, but I think I recovered well so I’m looking forward to sinking my teeth into the challenge tomorrow.”
Marlene gave him a thumbs up and wandered away to find some of the others.
“Well done Mr Technical Challenge!” Lily cried, slinging her arm around his waist as they began to walk back to the hotel. 
“Why thank you, Ms Star Baker.”
“We make quite the pair.” Lily observed.
“That, my dear Lily, we most certainly do.”
Remus woke up in Lily’s room.
“Ugh, that alarm is so loud.” Remus groaned and ignored Lily giggling at him.
“I can’t believe how much you’re not a morning person, you seem like you’re hungover or something.”
“I am hungover as a result of life, Lily.” He muttered. “Existing is exhausting.”
“By god, you really are dramatic in the morning.” She gathered up a towel and some toiletries. “I’m going for a shower and to get ready. Meet you for breakfast in twenty?”
Remus nodded in agreement, shoved on his shoes and started gathering the one or two belongings he had. He hadn’t meant to sleep in Lily’s room, but they had stayed up so late talking the pair had just drifted off. It had been the best night Remus had spent her so far - he and Lily curled up under a pile of blankets, each nursing a mug of hot chocolate as they gossiped like school girls.
Remus stepped out the door and very closely avoided a collision with Sirius.
“I’m getting a freaky sense of deja vu right now.” Remus said, grinning.
Sirius raised an eyebrow. “This… isn’t your room.”
Remus shook his head as they began walking down the corridor. “Nah, it’s Lily’s, I’m heading back to mine now.”
“You and… Lily?”
Remus choked as he realized what Sirius was thinking. “No, no, God no. I mean, Lily’s fantastic but no. We’re just friends, we fell asleep talking.”
Sirius’ shoulders almost seemed to visibly lighten. “Oh right, yeah.”
Remus grinned and nudged Sirius’ shoulder with his own playfully. “Lily’s not really my type.”
“Oh yeah? What is your type then?”
“Oh you know… not women.”
Sirius smirked and looked at Remus sideways. “Now that, sounds like something I quite relate to.”
Remus slowed to a stop as they reached his door. “I suppose I’ll see you in the tent?”
“That seems pretty unavoidable, doesn’t it?” Sirius threw him a cheeky wink and turned on his heel, continuing down the hall. Remus would be lying if he said he didn’t watch him walk away.
“Welcome back for our showstopper challenge!” Sirius said, smiling at all the contestants. 
“This will be your second showstopper, so get ready.”
“That’s right,” James continued, “This week's challenge will be to bake pull apart rolls.”
“Jamie, are you sure you have the right challenge? That doesn’t sound very showstopper like.”
“Why thank you Sirius, you’d be right. I did forget to mention that your rolls should make the shape of your favourite animal.”
Remus rolled his eyes at the obviously pre prepared banter and yet he found himself smiling anyways. 
“Ready.”
“Set.”
“Bake!”
Remus immediately set to work, knowing exactly what he wanted to do and how to do it, however he had been cutting it quite close on time every time he had practised, so he wanted to work as quickly as possible to allow for all and any mishaps that tended to happen under pressure. 
He made, proved and rolled out his dough in record time and was now assembling the little rolls into the shape he wanted. He was shading the top with poppy and sesame seeds and stepped back for a moment to admire his handy work. He was in no way close to an artist, except for when it came to baking. If his canvas was starch and glucose, he might as well be Michelangelo. 
He made one or two more adjustments before putting it in the oven for thirty minutes. That still gave him twenty minutes to spare, making this the fastest he had ever completed his challenge. Maybe the pressure had its benefits after all
“Oh fuck.” He heard Lily say from behind him. 
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.” She cried, her time getting more and more panicked. 
“Lily?” Remus asked, whirling around in confusion. “What’s wrong?”
“I forgot to turn the oven on.” She whispered, her face pale. 
“You… What?”
“I forgot to turn the oven on! Remus I’m screwed this won't heat up for at least ten minutes and I have fifty minutes of work left at least!
Remus wasn’t sure what overcame him in that moment, maybe some panicked curled hormones but suddenly he was in full disaster mode. 
“Okay,” he muttered, opening his own oven and adding another wire rack. “Okay Lily, put yours in here with mine while your oven heats up. It’s not ideal, I know but it’ll get you started.”
“Remus Lupin.” Lily declared as she collected her tray and walked around her own bench to reach him. “You are my literal hero.”
She lifted herself up on her tip toes and kissed him on the cheek swiftly before putting her doe - shaped dough in the oven and racing back to her own workspace to turn hers on. 
Remus let out a shaky breath as he sat down for a moment. It was such a simple mistake that could happen to any of them.  Remus vowed to himself to be extra vigilant from now on and to never assume he did anything on muscle memory. Here everything was strange and new and it could quite throw off your routine, especially if you’re used to working consistently in one particular venue. 
“That, Mr Lupin, was quite the save.” Sirius commented, swooping in like he always did. Remus smiled weakly and ran his fingers through his hair. Just then Lily appeared again and took her bread out of the oven. 
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She cried as she dashed back to work, putting her bread in her own oven with a deafening clang. 
“Thirty five minutes left!” Sirius called and Remus stood up cracking his knuckles. He could chat to Sirius later, right now? He still had a little work to do. He grabbed the little bit of extra dough he had set aside in the fridge and set to work. 
“Mr Lupin, if you would please bring your challenge up to the table.” McGonagall called and even in his mild panic, Remus could still take a moment to appreciate the lovely lilt in her words. 
He set his baking down on the table and stepped back to look at his work - a wolf, howling at a full moon.
“The moon detailing is quite clever Mr Lupin.” Dumbledore said and Remus sighed in relief. It had been the little bit of dough he had set aside - put in the oven later to account for it’s smaller size.
“It certainly looks excellent, but the question stands; how does it taste.
“Remus winced as they pulled apart his, frankly, perfect design and each took a bite. Dumbledore gave him a broad smile and Remus bit his lip, grinning.
“I think you’ll find we’re very pleased Mr Lupin. These truly are very good.”
Remus could actually pay attention to the rest of the assessments after that thrilling review. He watched Peter present his rat bread (side note - what in the world had possessed him to make food in the shape of a rat?), Lily displayed her doe which had turned out very well in the end and some guy even made an alpaca. Remus didn’t know that dude too well yet, but he thought his name was Benji.
They all sat once more on the stools lined up at the front of the tent while the judges made their decisions. James and Sirius regaled them all with stories from their childhood while they waited,
“And then what do you know?” James cried, his hands flying everywhere as he told the story. “I look up, and there’s Sirius, hanging out the second floor window with his trousers down around his ankles.”
The entire room burst out laughing, Remus was pretty sure there were tears streaming down his face.
“But what made you think that would be a good idea?” Remus wheezed, still unable to breathe properly for all his laughing, but desperate to get a look into teenage Sirius’ state of mind.
Sirius just shrugged. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He admitted sheepishly and that set everyone off into another round of deafening laughter, when the judges walked in and they all sobered quite quickly.
James and Sirius conferred with them quietly in the corner a moment before walking back over to the contestants.
“Today, I have the absolute pleasure of announcing our star baker.” Sirius said, looking around the room with a small smile. “Our star baker this week is…” Sirius scanned the crowd for a moment before his eyes landed on Remus. “Remus.”
Remus didn’t even move. He wasn’t even sure he could if he had wanted to. He had won star baker.
“Which leaves me with the awful job of announcing who’s leaving us today.” James said in a flat tone but Remus didn’t even hear or register that some guy Fabien was leaving. He was just another baker Remus didn’t even know that well. But he was star baker. Lily pulled him into a hug and held him tight. The room around him was filled with pats on the back and congratulations and Sirius looked him right in the eye and mouthed well done.
Remus was pretty sure he wanted to live in this moment forever.
“Remus, would you be alright calling your family on camera? We’d just like to capture their reaction.”
Remus nodded and rang his mom. She answered on the first ring. “Hi, Ma?” Guess what?”
“What is it love, how did your day go?”
“I won star baker.”
Marlene giggled behind the camera as Hope let out a series of delighted yells. Remus laughed along with her for a moment. “Okay mam, I’ve got to go finish my interview, but I’ll call you later, okay?”
He said his goodbyes, hung up the phone and turned back to the camera. “So Remus, what were you thinking throughout the challenges?”
“Well after the first one, I kept thinking I’m going home for sure. But obviously I recovered a bit.”
“A bit? Marlene chuckled. “From going home to star baker. I’d say you recovered quite a lot.”
Remus chatted with Marlene for a few more minutes before she sent him away, claiming she had taken up enough of his time. Just as he was beginning to leave, Sirius sidled up to him.
“Well, if it isn’t the brightest star.” Remus teased.
“I think that today,” Sirius countered, “That would be you.”
Remus blushed and looked down at his feet. “Want to walk back to the hotel?
Sirius smiled. “That sounds like a plan.”
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sif-the-tsunami · 3 years
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Hello friends,
This is a small sample of the fantasy series I’ve been working on for a few years. I would love to get some kind of feedback. Positive, negative. Lay it on me. I want to know what you think.
This is a rough draft, barely edited. 
Summary: A young warrior starts the path to her destiny. 
Rated: PG-13, this will probably read like YA but there wont be any sexy times. Just talks about violence and death (this doesn’t mean that people under 18 can start interacting with my blog. I mostly post smut.)
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The attack on Dawnforge came without warning. Raiders, dozens of them, descended upon the small community surrounding a rural temple. The invaders poured violently out of the woods. In the cool shade of the temple’s grove, Ellisif Thrace’s mossy green eyes shot open from her late afternoon nap when she heard the Keepers sound the alarm. The war horns had only been blown ceremonially for as long as she could remember. The second blast echoed off the stone walls and summoned her to action. The young woman sat strait up, and listened for another moment to see if she could find out what direction the alarm was coming from.  She thought she could hear the Keepers shouting towards the east although she couldn’t make out what they were saying just yet. Always eager to be of assistance, Ellisif picked up her belongings and started running towards the commotion. Ellie, as she preferred to be addressed, had been learning defense and fighting techniques since she was strong enough to pick up a sword. Her father had been a knight errant and thought it was important that his children should know how to keep themselves safe.
Another blast of the horn let her know she was running in the right direction. Soon she heard the sound of weapons being thrown and bashed into the thick wooden gate. The Keepers were directing the villagers to leave the area, a man that Ellisif thought was named Erik told her to go home. He couldn’t have been much older than she was, his skin was sun kissed, with a little pink on his temples and cheekbones. Erik looked scared, brushing his reddish blond hair out of his face.
“I’m here to help, give me a sword!” She shouted.
“Little Sister, you need to go somewhere safe.” Erik ordered. As he was saying this, the Commander put his hand on her shoulder.
“Erik, Ellie is to join the Order at the Feast of Lyria. Let her pick up a shield, if they make it through our defenses, she knows how to handle herself.” The older man told Erik. He handed their recruit a wooden shield with metal studs, “Ellisif, make your father proud.”
Erik rolled his eyes as the Commander went to go hand out more tools. “They are going to break through in a matter of minutes. Take an ax. If they make it past us, cut the fuckers down. And don’t you dare get killed.”
Ellie pulled the cord she had on her wrist to tie her hair back. Her thick dark chocolate brown curls were pulled back out of her face and she said a small prayer to her favorite Goddess. I don’t want to have to kill anyone, but if I do, please let me do it quickly. Her heart pounded in her throat, her trepidation rose with every new crack emerging from the gate. The wood finally gave way, and she watched the horde of mismatched heathens break into her town. The Keepers had set up as much of a barricade as they could. Carts where pushed on their sides trying to create a funnel and direct the invaders to the villages best fighters and war priests. The Archers were doing what they could to thin out the herd. Ellisif inched closer to the battle, she tightened her grip on the handle of her ax just in time for a raider to jump over the stack of crates that had been near where she was standing. She raised her shield to the long sword he was swinging at her and it became stuck in the hard wood. Then it was as if her brain shut off and her body took over.
The warrior would never truly be able to recall everything that happened that afternoon. The surviving Keepers would tell her that she was brave, surgical with her actions and moved like she had been doing this all her life. In her state of shock, she would just say she had really good teachers. They would congratulate her for surviving her first battle. They thanked her for saving lives that day. Not a single invader made it past where she stood her ground.
Ellie looked up at the white stone buildings that were beginning to glow pink with the setting of the sun. What would they do with the bodies, she wondered vaguely. She leaned against the warm stone wall and slid down. What should I be doing? She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to make the sickness in her stomach go away.
“Where is she? Where is my sister, where is my Ellie?” a familiar voice was shouting. A couple of the Keepers pointed towards where she sat with her knees tucked to against her chest, her head resting on the wall behind her. Sarah thought she look more pale than normal.
“I’m right here.” Ellie croaked. Her throat was so dry. The healers had looked at her briefly, said she would be fine but to be prepared that she would probably have some pretty bad bruising on her forearms.
“Oh my Gods, why are you covered in blood? We’ve been so worried! Mama is going to skin you alive. Are you hurt? What were you thinking?” The thin woman stammered together as she fretted over her younger sister.
“I’m fine, the blood’s not mine. At least I don’t think so.” Ellie said, “What was I thinking? I was thinking that this is what I’m supposed to do. I’m supposed to run toward the fight. Do you have your water on you? I need a drink...”
The Commander strutted over like the fine peacock he was and pressed a bottle of ale into Ellie’s open hand and said something about how proud he was. She didn’t care. Ellie just wanted to be able to swallow without her throat feeling like sandpaper. The strawberry ale was sweet and warm, it made swallowing a little easier but after the third mouthful it became clear that the ale was doing nothing for her nausea. There might have been something said to her about how he was looking forward to seeing her take her oath, he chuckled and walked off. Sarah started trying to clean the viscera from her sister’s face but before she got too much grime off of her face, Ellisif turned her head and wretched.  She groaned, “Let’s go home.”
They walked home, arms wrapped around each other. It wouldn’t be until they reached their little home that Ellisif would start talking. The words slipped out of the young woman, still dazed. She looked down at the ax she was still holding onto with white knuckles and whispered “The one who gave this to me, Erik… I don’t know. He was killed. I killed someone today, Sarah. I killed several someones…”
Sarah, as gently as she could, wiped the tears off of her sister’s face, “You did what Daddy taught us to do. You helped keep our family safe, you kept or town safe. Lyria would be proud. She would be thrilled to know you will be defending her temple. Daddy would be so proud too.”
The older sister took her partner in crime into their house, and tucked the battle wary woman into her bed. The ax fell to the ground with a sickening thunk, and Ellie rolled over and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Sarah went to the kitchen and put a kettle on to brew some tea. Their mother, Kyra, had gone to the temple to help bandage up wounds of the Keepers and anyone else who took up arms. She eventually grabbing the heel of the loaf of bread from the pantry and slather it in homemade butter, pulling out her book of herbs. If Ellisif was more athletically inclined, her sister was definitely more well read. Sarah propped the book up and began plaiting her silky hair as she read the well loved tome. The front door opened quietly, the family’s matriarch came back after a long night of bandaging up injured young people and comforting the loved ones of those they lost.
“The Pale Mother now has a few more attendants now,” Kyra sighed, she and Sarah’s looks were similar, though she had more silver in her hair now. They both had dark brown eyes, almost black.  “Those poor souls. The Council and the High Priestess has asked that we all gather tomorrow at the Temple. They found their leader and they are interrogating him. He seemed to not understand that the forge our town was named after has been closed for generations, thought he could arm his merry band of miscreants. I heard Ellisif did her duty. How’s our girl doing?”
“She might have gone into emotional shock. I put her in bed, she’s going to need something strong in the morning. I was just reading up on something that will sooth her nerves, she was covered, and I mean covered, in blood. Evidently none of it was hers, which is good. Daddy taught her well. The Keepers were saying she showed a lot of potential.”
“Your father was the best knight I have ever seen wield a sword, I can only imagine what he taught her. The Temple will have never been safer if she is half as good as he was.” Kyra grabbed another hunk of bread and helped herself to some cheese. “I wish you could have seen him. I’ve never seen anyone burn with righteous fury like he could. When he would swing his sword in the tourneys he fought in, I swear that it looked like it was on fire. It was beautiful and absolutely terrifying. Ells has that same spark. When she was little, I saw it in her too.”
“I told her daddy would be proud.”
“He would be. He would also be profoundly sad for her. Sweetheart, you should go get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be very long.”
Ellisif slept until nightfall the next day. Siggy and Kyra left her to her mild unconsciousness to attend the meeting at noon. The temple slowly filled with the mourning villagers. More than a dozen Keepers had died that afternoon, it had been a decade since there had been any attacks on Dawnforge like this. It would be weeks before the damage the raiders did to the town could be repaired. The surviving raiders were told they could bury their dead on the other side of the ravine outside of the walls and then to assist the town in its repairs to try to make amends. The Thrace women where given the instruction on how they could help by the High Priestess. As soon as they where able to, Sarah and her sister would be going to the schoolhouse. They thought that having a couple extra adults around the kids would help make them feel safer.
Most of the school age kids knew Ellie. Two years ago she had won the combat tournament on the Feast of Seraphina, the Scarlet Mother. Usually the winners give the bouquet of fire Lilies to their significant other, she instead pulled out individual flowers and gave one to every little one who was around the ring that day. Her father had done the same thing the last time he had won the tournament. She enjoyed being their hero that afternoon, Sarah remembered as she and their mom walked home with their orders. The night of the feast, Ellie was asked attend the dance that was be held in the town square. Sarah had never seen her sister so happy as when she came home giggling, barefoot and a little in love.
When they made it to their home again, they saw evidence that Ellie had been up and moving but she was no where to be seen. Kyra suggested that they leave her be for the time being, they were kind in letting the young woman try to recover at her own pace. After a few days of her sleeping more heavily than she ever had, Ellisif needed to be in the forest behind the temple. She wanted to feel the presence of the Green Mother and ask her for guidance. There was a small clearing there, where a large stone acts as an alter for Lyria. It was a large piece of granite that always seemed to be covered with moss in all the directions, not just north. On the morning of Lyria’s feast day, the sun would align itself with this slab perfectly, and that is where she would be taking her vows to join the ranks of the Keepers. They were originally called the Temple Keepers, as the community grew, the area they kept safe grew with it. Once Ellie joined, she would be binding herself to the fate of the town. She could get married and have a family if she chose, but traveling would be almost impossible. If the Empire of Oril ever declared war on any of the other kingdoms, they were almost always the ones that were conscripted.  
While Ellie had wanted to become a Keeper for as long as she could remember, as of this morning, the idea of joining gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her mother had always talked about how even masters of their craft could have their confidence shaken if the seeds of doubt had taken root in their minds. Was this a seed a doubt she had been warned about?
“Lyria, divine mother, I come here to beg you for forgiveness. I never wanted take someone’s life. I thought they would yield if they got hurt. How could I have been so stupid...” and for the first time since the attack, Ellisif’s strength gave out. There she spent the rest of the day sobbing and trying to figure out what she needed to do. Her body shook violently as the waves of emotions crashed over her. In the back of her mind, a small notion crawled its way forward, seeping into her thoughts likes a strong tea in hot water. Devoting herself to the temple may not be the right choice. Ellie cleaned her face of the mess that the sobbing caused. The moon had risen, her family would be worried.
She made it into her home moments before they would begin searching for their missing member. There were hugs and more tears. They remained silent as Ellie made her way to her bed, she prepared herself for the night.
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forgottenyogurtgods · 3 years
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Noblesse Oblige
Summary: Robin Hood AU. (Sort of.) After her father is arrested for harboring and aiding the wanted criminal, Chat Noir, Marinette must seek him out or lose her father to a crime he did not commit.
Chapitre deux
Marinette Always Seems To Be Busy
“Give me that.”
Marinette watched as Alya took away the dough she had been working on, shaping it into an oblong loaf instead of the normal circular shape her parents preferred. It really didn't matter too much, but her parents liked the consistency. 
It didn't take long for news of her father’s arrest to travel around Rochers – even the villeins who had been working the field knew. And while the news hadn't gotten any queer looks yet, it was only a matter of time. 
She had heard what they said, however. They never were as quiet as they thought. “Tom Dupain was arrested, whisper whisper whisper, apparently he helped Chat Noir, murmur murmur murmur, his poor wife and daughter, mumble mumble mumble, how could he do that to them…” It was as if they had nothing new to talk about.
Honestly, though, they probably didn’t. They lived in Rochers, after all.
Thank goodness for Alya and Nathaniel. They had volunteered to help with the boulangerie in the mornings. Both of them worked for Alya’s mother at the Sanglier Bleu and had been up since mid-morning the day before. (“Who needs sleep?” Alya said when she had shown up at their gate just as Marinette and Sabine were getting started for the day. “Sleep is for the weak.” Nathaniel had agreed.) Alya, Marinette knew, would always help if they needed it. Nathaniel, on the other hand, was a pleasant surprise.
Alya had helped a couple of times before. She knew exactly what needed to be done, however she wanted to work quickly and just be finished with her task. The bread didn’t exactly agree with her methods much or often. Nathaniel caught on like a house on fire. Sabine had only had to show him a few times how to shape a loaf, and he could do it almost as perfectly as her mother did. 
With their help, they managed to finish ahead of time. Nathaniel and Alya opted to deal with haggling with others, rather than letting Marinette and Sabine do it. It was better this way. Less likely to be asked intrusive questions or hear the gossip.
“Thank you,” Marinette said to them when they finally had some peace and quiet. She blew a few stray strands of hair from her forehead – tried to, at least. She sighed and just brushed them away, tucking what she could behind her ear. 
“Yes,” Sabine said, “thank you both for your help. We’re eternally grateful.”
She brought out two small baskets covered in old handkerchiefs Marinette had embroidered back when she was just learning. The images were awful. She could see all the little flaws, even from a distance. But Alya and Nathaniel looked on in awe at them.
“Maman Sabine,” Alya said, starting to protest.
“Madame Cheng, really,” Nathaniel said.
“Take it,” Sabine said, insistently holding out the baskets to the pair. “Two loaves of bread each for your family and a good hunk of cheese Marinette made.”
“The rosemary and marshwort?” Marinette said, raising her eyebrows. That would be the only one that would be near ready, as far as she could remember.
“Where’d you get marshwort?” Alya said. 
“Some of the children found some and brought it to Brother Fu,” Marinette said. “He had them give it to me.”
Alya nodded and peaked under the handkerchief, smiling. 
“Don’t be greedy and keep it to yourself, Alya,” Sabine said in the all-knowing-mother tone. She patted Nathaniel’s hands, as he stood too tall for her to pat his shoulders. “We really appreciate all the help you can give.”
“We’ll come back again tomorrow, Madame Cheng,” he said.
Sabine smiled and nodded, shooing them away. She and her daughter would be able to handle things for the rest of the day. They were in much need of sleep.
Marinette walked them to the gate, hugging them each as they passed her.
“I can’t thank you guys enough,” she said. “You really didn’t have to. Maman and I could handle things. It’s just…”
“Your papa did nothing wrong,” Alya said, resting her hands on Marinette’s shoulders. 
“If anything,” Nathaniel said, “it's Chat Noir’s fault. He should know better by now. He got your father into this whole… mess, he should be the one to get him out.”
“Bah, he couldn't work his way out of a boat if it was on land.”
“I thought you admired Chat Noir,” Marinette said, eyeing her friend up and down.
“Admire, shadmire. He’s great for some things, but others? He really drops the ball when it comes to getting people out of a sticky situation. Especially situations like your fathers.”
“What about him?”
“Your father is really well known and liked,” Nathaniel quickly said. “Almost everyone in Rochers already knows he was arrested. If he were to just randomly reappear…”
“It wouldn't be good,” Alya said. “He'd have to keep the escape quiet. Or figure out a way to prove his innocence.”
Marinette eyed them. It sounded as if they were planning to help her father escape. Could either of them be the infamous Chat Noir? She had never seen him in person before, so she didn't know. But it wasn't too impossible…
“...could ask him for his help,” Nathaniel said.
“Hmm?” she said, looking up at him as she shook herself from her thoughts.
“I said, it's not as if you could ask him for his help. Chat Noir is elusive. He can only be found when he wants to be found.”
“Or by random idiots bumbling through the forest,” Alya said under her breath, though Marinette wasn't quite sure if she had heard her correctly.
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smilemoreimagines · 4 years
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something tragic about you (Geralt x reader)
Chapter 5
length: 1,492
tw: mention of past sexual assault
author’s note: I’m sorry it took so long to update, this chapter (and life) kicked my ass and I’m still not totally satisfied with it but I wanted to post anyway.  I hope you enjoy!  and I promise Geralt will return in the next chapter :)
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Jaskier is a force to be reckoned with, in terms of conversation, and you are slightly surprised by the relative tenderness Geralt shows when listening to his friend talk and gossip.  The bard throws out names and places that sound beautiful and terrifying in equal measure, inquiring if Geralt remembers whatever adventure Jaskier roped them into, only getting answering grunts which you can’t tell mean yes or no.
When you glance out the window the sun is getting low in the sky and the snow is starting to melt, dripping from the roof.  As you are wondering when it will be fully melted, a man rides up on a horse shiny with sweat and he throws himself from the saddle, the door slamming open a moment later.
“Where’s the Witcher?” He shouts, eyes wild. 
“Shit,” Geralt grumbles.  
The inkeep points to your table and the stranger staggers over, says, “Witcher, I’m in need of your services.  A pair of Drowners, not a day’s ride from here, toward the city, got the mayor’s boy and my own daughter.  We’ll pay anything.”
Geralt closes his eyes and sighs, says under his breath, “Can I get one fucking week without a monster?”
Jaskier is not hesitant to give his two cents.  He tells Geralt to do it, take the coin to buy some new clothes.  He looks at you, takes in your old handmade dress, adds that Geralt could afford to get you something nice as well.
The Witcher hmms, tells the man, “I’ll do it for no less than 250 ducat.  We leave now,” then addresses the innkeeper, “I will pay for rooms for my two companions when I return.  See to it they get food as well.”
“I know you are good for your payment, Witcher,” the man answers.
Jaskier gives the parting remark, “Fight hard and return with coin!”
As the door is closing you call out, “Please be safe, Geralt.”
He pauses in the doorway, looks at you with those liquid amber eyes, murmurs, “I will be.”  
And he is gone.
“Ah, well, there he goes again,” Jaskier says, breaking you from your thoughts.  “It is to be expected though.  He’s always leaving.”
You note a hint of dryness in his tone, but when he speaks again it is with a renewed cheerfulness.
“What to do now but drink, hm?  Maybe find a bedfellow for the night…”  
Those winterblue eyes catch on yours, lingering in his trailed off invitation.
“I will drink with you,” you say carefully, not wanting to offend, “But I wish to sleep alone.”
It’s not that you don’t have desire, just that you engaged in the act only once before and it didn’t end well.  And if you think of bringing anyone to bed, there is only one man who comes to mind.  But Jaskier seems unaffected by your rejection, his eyes crinkling in a smile when he orders your first round of drinks.
You nearly spit out your first sip when the bard says, “I can see that you are getting tangled in his web, you know.  I have certainly looked at him the same way.  But he never quite looked back at me as he does you; like you are something he’s been searching for for a long time.  It’s nice, to see him interested in someone, for once.”
You take a big gulp from your ale, feel your nerves jangling.  You cannot tell if it’s pleasant or not.
“That can’t be right,” you finally manage, “He’s a Witcher, they aren’t supposed to… to feel things like that.”
In this moment Jaskier seems much more knowing than he previously let on, calmly tells you, “Maybe other Witchers.  But you and I both know that isn’t true of Geralt.” 
Deep down you feel his words ring true, but you don’t know what to do with this information, that Geralt may think as warmly of you as you do him.
You don’t know what to do, so you down the rest of your drink and order another.  Jaskier’s coin purse is full and his heart generous, and though it takes a bit to get you drunk, that is how you find yourself some time later, when it is late enough that the townspeople have gathered to drink as well.  
The room is full enough that you feel bad taking up a table when you have certainly drunk your fill already, Jaskier too if his rosy cheeks are any indication, so you suggest a walk.  
He offers you his arm when you step outside; a true gentleman.  The air is chilled and feels nice on your flushed cheeks, the moon lighting enough to see the road muddy with snowmelt, the stars peeking out of the black velvet sky.  You walk arm-in-arm, the bard singing something soft and sweet.  
Feeling bold, you release him for a moment to tuck your hair behind your ears, brush a finger over the small scar there before admitting, “I am not experienced enough to know what to do about Geralt.”
The bard considers, then says, “I find it best to do what feels right.”
You mull over his simple advice, and though it is sound, you don’t know if you can do it.  “The last time--the only time--I did what felt right in regards to romance it ended poorly.”
“Care to talk about it?”
“I suppose so.”  You’ve never told anyone about that night, but the alcohol seems to make you candid, and so you tell him about your job as a barmaid, the travellers who would shamelessly flirt, the one who seemed genuine and funny and kind.  “He took me out back,” you say, “And it was all fun until I was halfway undressed and he saw my ears.  He became mean, he hurt me and did not stop until he was finished.  I don’t like to think about it.  But thank you, for listening.”
You stop walking to take in calming breaths, and the bard stops too, watches as you try to school your expression to something neutral.  
“I really do like him, Jaskier.”  Your voice cracks when you speak, this admission a weight on your heart that you don’t know how to bear, because you’ve never had to bear it before.  Hope and love are new to you, and scary in their mystery.  
Jaskier opens his mouth to say something right as a woman steps out of her door to empty a pail and happens to glance at you.  You notice her mouth press to a thin line, her eyes narrow, and you are confused until she spits, “Filthy elf.”
Your ears, you’d pulled your hair back and she can see your ears.
Jaskier steps in front of you, says, “We’re just passing through.”
You recognize her now; she is the woman who smiled at you earlier today, so friendly when she thought you were human.  Jaskier is tugging on your hand, hurrying you back to the inn, but as he is ushering you up the stairs to the safety of your room, the front door bangs open and she yells your secret to the good people of the town.
She is pointing, and every eye in the bar turns to you, and she hisses, “Endell, are you going to let the creature stay in your inn?  Surely not.”
He sighs, looks to you apologetically, but echoes, “Surely not.  You must go, girl.”
What can you do but obey?  Your heart pounds in your throat as you go, your skin prickling under the scrutiny.  You’re at the edge of town when Jaskier catches up to you with your bag.
“I’ll come with you,” he says, his words sounding like a plea, “You don’t have to leave alone.”
You shake your head.  “You need to be here when Geralt returns.  Maybe we will meet again, Jaskier.”
“Here, at least take this.  The innkeep wanted me to give you some food; he felt bad that woman found out.  He said to be safe.”  The bard presses a loaf of bread and hunk of cheese into your hands, wrapped in a handkerchief.  You slip it into your bag.  “And take this as well.  I also want you to stay safe out there.”  He gives you ten gold coins, more money in the palms of your hands than you’ve ever held before.  You swipe away stray tears, smile at him, though you know it isn’t convincing.
“Thank you, my friend.”
You don’t look back when you leave the town’s border.
You only pause when he shouts, “I pray that the fates cross our paths again.”
The night stretches long before you, empty time with nothing to do but think, but there is only one thought that pounds in your head, drums in your heart.  You should have known not to trust a good thing to last.   You deny the tiny spark of hope that still lingers in your chest, weak but there nonetheless.
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My OC Universe: Rowan 66
Chapter 66 Summary: Rowan struggles to convince Cordelia that he’s okay. Because he very obviously isn’t. (Tags: @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi, @much-ado-about-whumping, @abitefullofeverything, @whump-me-all-night-long, @sky-or-something-idfk and @tears-and-lilies)
Trigger Warnings: Conditioned whumpee, kind of implied prostitution.
Rowan walked nervously down the stairs, hand running along the railing to keep him balanced. 
He hesitated as his foot landed on the floor, uncomfortably scanning the room, in case the men from…no, Cordelia, ‘dealt’ with them. 
In that case, anyone like them. All that he met were empty tables and chairs, one man stood at the bar, the same man from yesterday, he had glanced at Rowan as he came down, but returned his focus to the washing up before him until the man decided to interact with him.
It took Rowan a moment to will himself to stop simply considering moving and actually step towards the bar. He stood in-between two barstools and waited, trying to decide whether or not he was allowed to sit. The owner noticed the boy’s reluctance and looked up. “You want some breakfast, lad?” He asked and Rowan looked up, meeting his eye for half a second before lowering his gaze once again. “Uh-yes pl-yes please.” He murmured, hands clutching his clothes tighter. “Well, take a seat, I’ll get you a plate.” Rowan carefully slid onto a chair and settled quickly, his head angled down to hide his bruise from the man. There was some heavy banging and a sizzling sound before the man reappeared, thumping something down in front of Rowan. The boy flinched and his eyes darted to the object, it was a crude clay mug with a dark steaming liquid in it. “Thank you,” He murmured, his fingers inching towards it. The man grunted in reply and turned back to the kitchen. Rowan sat in silence, sipping the bitter tea every few minutes. His mouth always cringed at the flavour but it was nicer than the overly-sweet milk tea that William always drank. And Rowan was rarely allowed to drink anything other than water unless William had given it to him. He flinched again when a plate was placed heavily down in front of him and he swallowed uncomfortably as shame brushed his cheeks. “Thank you.” He said softly and the man nodded. “Don’t worry about it.” He replied and moved back to his washing up. The meal consisted of half a small loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and two fried eggs. It was a far cry from the meals that Rowan watched the servants present to William, but that wasn’t too bad. For once, the plate was intended for him, and all the food on it was his. As he began chewing he felt a hand rest on his back and whipped his head around, relaxing when he saw Cordelia behind him. “Hey,” She smiled softly. “You have everything?” She asked and he nodded, looking down to his sheet. “Yes, I checked three times.” He always felt a flutter in his chest when she spoke to him in such a kind tone. “I have everything.” “Good,” She sighed softly, palm lingering on his back as she sat down beside him. “A couple of my crew brought my things this morning, so we can leave as soon as we’ve finished breakfast.” She said, taking the mug that was placed just as heavily down in front of her. “I want to talk a bit more about what happened last night,” She said quietly and held up a hand as Rowan turned frightened eyes to her. “Later, not here, don’t worry,” She added and he calmed slightly, turning back to his food, which he was eagerly devouring. “Maybe once we’ve left the city, maybe then,” He nodded weakly and swallowed the dry bread and cheese uncomfortably. “Wha-what do you want to talk about?” He murmured, eyes flicking to Cordelia’s face. “That whole exchange,” She sighed. “I don’t…I don’t need to know exactly what happened, but I don’t want to trigger, whatever I triggered last night. And I never want to risk causing something even worse to happen.” Rowan understood that. He supposed he did. He didn’t really want to explain it, though. “I can’t keep…leeching off you, though,” He finally whispered. “You’re being so kind to me, and even if you claim that I should accept the kindness as…I don’t know, fate, or something, I don’t like being so reliant. On anyone. I don’t think I deserve your kindness and I don’t like receiving it without any way to return it.” He paused as he felt his voice break and willed his eyes to remain dry. “I’m useless. I am. And no one else is forgiven for being dependant past their teenage years. Why should I be?” They sat in silence for a moment, the owner of the inn having disappeared into the kitchen. “I won’t argue with you right now,” Cordelia finally admitted. “You’re wrong, but I won’t argue with you until we’re further away. “Until then, here,” She dug into her satchel and pulled out a leather purse, it clinked brightly as she placed it on the bar and he glanced at her nervously while his fingers twitched towards it. “What is it?” He asked, resisting the urge to take it and confirm what he already assumed it was. “Retribution.” She said, watching as curiosity won out and he picked it up. She watched his eyes bulge out of his head as he realised the purse was full to the brim with gold coins. “I-I can’t…” “A messenger came this morning,” Cordelia interrupted. “The letter I sent Marie last night, I explained the levels of trauma that weren’t immediately visible to her. She sent a message in response and that purse. She’s fined all the men who abused you do offer some compensation.” Rowan looked from the coin to her face in shock and she nodded softly. “It was the least they could do.” He shuddered and nervously picked up some of the coins, looking up at her. “Can-can I give-can I pay you?” He asked and she sighed in resignation. “Yes,” She said softly. “If it will make you happy.” He held the coins to her and she took them reluctantly. “Come on, let’s get out of the city.” She said solemnly as she pulled herself to her feet.
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chainsawwrites · 4 years
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                                 TUTORIAL - BAKERY JOBS
Disclaimer: I work in one (1) bakery. Different bakeries are going to work differently, and things work differently in different countries. Also, tw for discussion of food, because that’s what bakeries make.
Going back to my ongoing series of things I know for some reason, today I’m gonna explain how things work in a commercial bakery. I happen to work in a bakery-- a real big supermarket bakery, not a little shop or anything fancy, but the basic process of “get bread made before customers show up” is probably about the same. 
If you want a fairly good idea of what a character might do if they work in a bakery, the whole thing is below the cut.
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JOB REQUIREMENTS:
So I know anti-discrimination laws exist and technically my boss wouldn’t be able to not hire someone because of a disability, but broadly speaking it’s not a job for people with significant physical limitations. People who work in a bakery regularly carry around heavy things (think 50 pound sacks of flour), are on their feet for for their entire shift, spend a good deal of time working in the freezer/cooler and near ovens and proofing boxes, and operate heavy machinery.
However, because actual baking usually takes place out of sight and involving minimal interactions with customers (compared to, for example, a cashier), things like tattoos and fluency in the local language can slide. 
Prior experience is appreciated, but no real certificates or education is really needed. Some places might require a food handler’s license, but not everywhere. 
CONDITIONS AND PAY:
This is a job where you can be part of a union in many places, so you’d have someone who looks out for you and makes sure the latch to get out of the freezer from the inside isn’t broken and your boss is following labor laws. Unions might include regional grocery employee unions, the Bakery, Confectionery, Tobacco Workers and Grain Millers' International Union (US & Canada), and so on. Generally it’s a good idea to be part of the union. 
OSHA (Occupational Safety and Health Administration, USA) guidelines or the local equivalent are gonna apply, because it’s a setting with a lot of machinery as well as some pretty giant ovens. 
You shouldn’t work if you’re sick because you’re gonna be handling food, but y’all know the whole thing about hourly employees and paid time off. There are six illnesses that you cannot work if you have though: Norovirus, Nontyphoidal Salmonella, Salmonella Typhi, E. coli, Shigella, and Hepatitis A.
Pay tends to be pretty average for retail-- more than other positions in the store that don’t require as much training, but not very high. Minimum wage is going to vary by location. Labor laws concerning breaks are gonna apply, but vary by location.
LAYOUT:
Before we get too much further, I should really explain what's probably in the back and what it’s used for. A bakery is definitely going to have a good amount of space that’s inaccessible to customers where the bread is made-- think like the size of a high school classroom for the working area, plus other spaces in different areas. I’m gonna describe how the one I work at specifically is set up, starting up front with the customers and working back from there.
Displays: Where the bread is on the sales floor. This would be the entire shop for a small bakery, but for a supermarket it’s a corner of the sales floor that’s visible from the bakery counter + a few other scattered places. This is maintained by the bakery employees, not the grocery employees. You’ve all seen this.
Bakery counter: This is the around chest height wall (usually with a display in the front) that keeps the bakery area separated from the rest of the shop. Customers don’t come back here for any reason. Store management might, but they don’t often. There’s a maybe prep counter on the employee side of it, where bread and donuts and all that are packaged.This is a food safe surface, so you gotta wear gloves if you’re touching it and you gotta hide your energy drink on the shelves under it.
Cake decoration counter: This is where all the cake stuff is done. It’s got a small (by bakery standards, more like the big brother to your kitchenaid at home) mixer, all the various icing implements, and a counter. 
Floor space where all the racks go: Granted that’s pretty much everywhere there is free space, but there are a lot of probably 6′ tall, 3′ wide racks that all the trays of baked stuff go on. They’ve got wheels, they can go into the coolers, proofing box, and ovens, and they always seem kinda like they’re gonna tip which would be a disaster if they did. These usually end up between the oven and the bakery counter.
Oven: We’ve got one (1), but it’s like the size of a small walk in closet. One of the big boi racks described above goes in, the giant door gets shut, and the temperature, steam duration (this is for bread), and time gets set. You pretty much have to stand inside this to get things out of it, which kind of sucks during the summer but it’s only for a minute. 
Proofing box: So you know how bread has to rise? That’s also called proofing. You might have seen proofing drawers on the Great British Bake Off, and this is just about the same concept except it fits five of the big racks in it. It’s a really humid, warm box and it sucks to go near in the summer. It has to be cleaned every so often (which can only be done by standing inside it) and I feel bad for the person who does that, but that person isn’t me.
Dough roller: This is a machine that’s probably about 5′ tall, 5′ wide, and 3′ long. You put sectioned dough in it and it turns it into a cylinder of the right size and all to be a loaf. That’s how come I can make pretty bread at work and not at home. Ours is bigger than this but here’s the concept. 
Tables: You do prep stuff. Big tables. They’ve got storage underneath them.
Microwave: Yes, we have one. Mostly used for making glaze liquid so that we can dunk donuts in it. There is stuff that comes into the bakery as frozen raw dough and gets baked in the bakery, not gonna lie, but nothing gets cooked in the microwave. It’s bigger than yours at home, but it’s not massive. More like the uncanny valley of sizes where you don’t initially realise it’s big. 
Small freezer: This is probably the size of a large walk in closet. It’s mostly cake decorating stuff in here, but it’s in the same actual room as all the bakery stuff.
Cooler: Probably could fit about ten racks? Fresh ingredients (olive, cheese, jalapeños, strawberries, etc) get stored in here, and big racks of bread stuff goes in here to rise overnight before being cooked the next morning.
Bread sectioner: You put a big hunk of dough in here (like 30 pounds big) and it turns it into sections that can go in the aforementioned bread roller. Has lots of big knifes basically. 
Roll maker: This boy. Takes a big sheet of bread dough and makes it into rolls.
Mixers: We’ve got two really big mixers, one that you could probably blend a small child in and one that you could probably blend three or four small children in. The smaller one is used to make batches of icing and the big one is used to make batches of bread-- easily makes 90 pound batches of bread at once. 
Freezer: This is our main freezer, it’s in a different room and is probably the size of the average doctors office waiting room. Mostly it has boxes of things that come in raw frozen and get baked in store-- bagels, some pastries, donuts, etc.
JOBS:
Obviously this varies a lot by location, but because of specific training people do different things. There’s probably 7-10 people who work in the bakery I work at, so there’s not tonnes of staff but there are usually multiple people around.
Manager: In charge, but still has to answer to the store director or whoever. Generally knows how everything works and could do any job, deals with ordering inventory, and generally makes sure everyone’s doing what they should. 
Baker: This is the person who is actually making all the bread. They have to get in hella early (think like 3 am for a 6 am store opening time), so their work day usually only overlaps with everyone else’s by a couple hours. They’d be working unsupervised for the most part.
Cake decorator: They make all the cakes pretty. They do not actually bake the cakes, but they do make all the frosting and so on. There’s essentially a book of company standard designs depending on holidays, graduation season, etc., but they do all the customers’ custom orders too.
Clerk: These are the minions who stock all the displays, make sure everything looks neat, package the bread, and do everything the manager tells them to. 
Generally a given day will have one manager, one baker (may actually be the manager, morning only), one cake decorator, and two ish clerks working.
TASKS:
This is a run through of what happens in the store on a daily basis, though of course everywhere’s going to be different.
3 AM-- Baker arrives and does an inventory of what needs to be made. Starts moving bagels, bread, and so on from the cooler to the proof box and then the oven.
4 AM-- Baker starts on donuts. Donuts have to be put on baking trays, put in the proof box for a certain amount of time, baked in the oven for a certain amount of time, and then fried in the donut frier.
5 AM-- Baker starts on types of bread that are not made in house (sourdough, rye, basically everything but French bread). This dough comes in frozen and is let to thaw and rise in the proof box, then is baked.
6 AM-- Store opens. Clerks arrive and start by checking all the displays for food that’s at its sell by date. This food (usually about two shopping carts worth) is taken out to the compost (I know, it hurts my soul too, it’s corporate policy but I’m trying to look at how it can be donated). Clerks then move onto packaging and putting out donuts. 
7 AM-- Baker is probably making pastries (all the types of danish, turnovers, etc). Clerks are probably packaging bagels and bread, then move onto everything else. 6 AM to 9 AM is probably the busiest time for the clerks, but it’s when things are starting to wind down for the baker.
8 AM-- Cake decorator arrives, checks for special orders, and does their inventory of what they need to make. They follow this inventory for the rest of the day. Baker is doing bagels-- dough comes in frozen and is thawed, given toppings, and then left to rise overnight. Clerks are packaging whatever’s on the trays at this point, pretty much by order of whatever they grab.
9 AM-- Baker makes the dough for tomorrow’s French bread, puts it through the various bread machines, and then puts it in the cooler to rise overnight.
10 AM-- Baker goes home. 
11 AM - 12 PM-- During this time, clerks and cake decorators will take lunch breaks.
2 PM-- Clerks go home.
4 - 5 PM-- Cake decorator goes home. 
10 PM-- Store closes.
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xueyangapologist · 4 years
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watching howls moving castle was a mistake now all i want is bacon and eggs..... maybe a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese too
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A Slice of Boterkoek
A scene involving my version of Siebren and Selene.
The two had met in passing outside between classes, but had not had a true conversation since the impromptu lunch and chocolate moment two weeks ago. In the time between, Siebren had consumed anything and everything he could find on reputable sources about schizophrenia, especially regarding treatments. He had missed this feeling of a new interest and voracious desire for more information, but had decided midway through to keep things to himself unless she brought it up. He didn’t want to seem prying, and the simple accidental mention of her sister nearly sent her into tears, he did not want to be the cause of that. 
Siebren had no real skill in the kitchen past easy, ready-made meals, so he decided to stop by a bakery on the way to campus and pick up one of his favorites to share with his new acquaintance—could he call her that? He had always been the odd child in any group, and any time he had attempted to gain friends, they had always shunned him for daring to rejoin the group the next day. But the word fit. It felt right. And unlike most, she didn’t seem to judge him on anything. 
It was that reason that led him to choose the boterkoek from the display case. And, in his purely professional observation, food tended to be a better social lubricant.
The third time meeting, and you’re bringing her a cake, his inner voice noted. Aren’t you afraid she’ll take the calorie-laden dessert as an offense? Afraid she’ll state it’ll spoil her girlish figure?
Siebren silenced the voice with a shake of his head. What would one small slice do? Selene clearly enjoyed food, but perhaps this “social experiment” of his might teach her a more epicurean approach. How to savor, how to taste the different notes and how they became a symphony together. He snorted and shook his head again. Back to music. It circled back around to music.
He found himself walking perfectly in time to the synth music playing through his headphones, fighting the urge to let more of his body express itself. Walking in a regular rhythm was socially acceptable; flat-out “grooving” would only earn him more stares than he usually received for his height and build. He did allow himself a small head bob and a shoulder swing here and there but otherwise tried to keep his mask of normalcy firmly planted. He had started to turn towards the entrance to the building when he caught motion out of the corner of his eye. He initially dismissed it as a bird of some sort but as he turned slightly, noticed the side to side motion couldn’t be duplicated by a bird, save a large one like a crane, and those were only found in zoos in this area. He turned to face the motion fully and found Selene kneeling and waving furiously at him. He smiled, plucked an earbud out and waved back with the same hand. He noted that she had left her hair down, this being the first time he could truly see the length--and, his inner voice noted, how the sunlight caught the highlights in her auburn hair.
He shook the voice silent again, replaced the earbud, and turned back to the door, Selene’s waving returning to the previous intensity. He faced her again, pointed towards the door, and nodded in the same direction.
She shook her head, moved her arms in a large “no”, and pointed to a spot across from her on the grass.
He shook his head with exaggerated movements, and pointed back to the door.
She scowled, planted her hands on her hips, and settled into a deeper kneel.
He narrowed his eyes, but Selene had done all but put down roots. He clearly wasn’t going to win. He sighed, turned on his heels, and walked over to where she sat on the grass, dodging a flock of freshmen en route to their classes, plucking out his remaining earbud and pocketing both. 
“I thought we could sit under the stars,” Selene began as he approached the edge of her blanket, the opposite edge pinned down by her bookbag. 
He loomed over her, feeling the nearly-ever-present frown begin to tug at his face. “It’s daytime,” he replied dryly.
“Star, then,” she replied, not missing a beat. “The Sun is a star, yes? And technically we are under the stars, the Sun is just bright enough to outdo their light.” She smiled up at him, the smile unwavering until Siebren sighed and sat on an open corner of the blanket. “You look like you could use some outside time anyways.”
He casually ignored the dig at his complexion and brought the bag with the confection around to the front, having it join the spread Selene already had set out. There were slices of various cheeses both soft and hard that joined different types of sausages and salami on two plates. Next to those on other plates were both fresh and dried fruits and two different types of bread, one a sliced baguette, the other a loaf clearly intended to have chunks pulled off as needed. “What inspired the charcuterie al fresco?”
“I wanted something different. Routine is nice, but it’s also nice to change things up every now and then. Agreed?” 
Siebren stayed silent as he untied the knot in the bag and pulled out the boterkoek. That point of view was almost the polar opposite of his own. Routines were comfy, predictable. Inside was still; outside was loud, windy, messy. This change would probably throw his entire day off.
“Ooh, what’s that?” she asked, adopting the same child-like gaze she had when she noticed the projector when they had first met.
“Dessert,” he replied simply. She fixed him with a look, and he returned it with like intensity. “Dessert means after the meal. And after the meal, I will share with you one of my favorite things.” 
She snorted in annoyance, but his look remained unwavering. She grumbled, grabbed a slice of Calabrese salami, folded it, and inserted the entire thing into her mouth, chewing with exaggerated motions. He tried to remain stern, but he could feel one corner of his mouth pulling up into a smirk. He waited until she had finished her angry chewing before crossing his legs in front of him in a more comfortable position, reaching out for one of the softer cheeses, brie, he believed. It was a young brie, the rind not quite sitting in his nose like it should. Still, it was a good compliment to the Genoa salami and...sourdough?
“I got a 90 on my last math test,” she started, grabbing a sip of water from her bottle. “He said he’d give it to my lab teacher for me to work through and maybe get some points back.”
He smiled. “Glad you took my advice on seeking accommodations.” He plucked a grape off the bunch and popped it into his mouth. A bit of sweet to offset the abundance of savory. “Let me know if it helps.”
She nodded, mouth full of a bite of bread. “It seems to be,” she answered after swallowing. “I don’t like the fact that math is this hard for me.”
He shrugged. “I am bad at expressing myself in writing. I have trouble keeping my numbers straight, but I’ve learned strategies over the years.” He rolled up a slice of cheese, then glanced over at her. “Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all. And perhaps your mistakes come from your state of constant hurry.”
Selene stared up at him, pulling the cheese cube away from her tongue. “And what do you mean by that?”
He leaned back, placing the cheese on his lap, letting it unroll. “Think back to the first day we met.”
“I was trying to get some food in my stomach before my class. I hadn’t had breakfast that day, so I was getting something to keep me from keeling over.”
“Ah, there it is. Time management.”
She adjusted the way she was sitting. “You’re not trying to psychoanalyze me, are you?”
“Budding astrophysicist, not psychologist. Or psychiatrist, I can never remember which. But no, your problem is time management. You have little to no sense of time...” he paused slightly, catching the glare over her water bottle, “and when it’s time to do something, it has to happen now or else. Have you considered a planner?”
“Use them for two months, then forget where I put them. Next option.”
Siebren inclined an eyebrow. He was not used to having a suggestion so quickly dismissed. “The calendar on your phone, perhaps?”
“I’ve never used it,” she stated, tearing off another hunk of bread.
“Perhaps now is the time to start?” he proposed, a hint of amusement in his voice.
She sighed, pulled her phone out of her bag, and tossed it across the blanket to land in front of him. 
He sighed as well, adopting a pose he more commonly had when listening to underclassmen explain why they needed more time on an assignment to professors in the department. He purposely took other assignments that didn’t involve being a TA for that reason. “I was going to talk you through, but if you’d like me to set up the first few reminders…”
“Reminders for what? When to get to class?”
“No,” he muttered, slightly disturbed she had no security on her phone--perhaps the next lesson? “Important things. Like remembering to eat. To take a drink of water. To use the bathroom…” He glanced up, her ice blue eyes studying him. “I get caught up in my work too. There have been days where I’ve forgotten to eat and drink anything, and I’ve paid dearly for it.” Her eyes sized him up as he said that. “Let’s start simple. When do you wake up?”
“When do I have to, or when I should?”
He snorted in amusement. “When you should be up. An attempt to retrain your mind into useful habits.”
She plucked two grapes and squirreled them into her cheeks. “My first class is at eight. I live on campus, though.”
He nodded. “And what is your morning routine?”
“Routine?”
“Surely you have things you do every morning? Take a shower, brush your teeth—” he rubbed his tongue over his front teeth subconsciously, noting that he had neglected his own teeth this morning “—have a cup of coffee with hagelslag…” She stared at him with half a slice of sausage in her teeth. “Buttered bread with chocolate sprinkles.”
“For breakfast? That’s considered a normal breakfast?”
He nodded and made a mental note to stop by the store and pick up another box for later. “Do you eat breakfast?”
She shook her head. “It’s not normally a thing. I’m not hungry until like two hours after I wake up, and it’s just easier to skip until lunch.” She stared down at the plates, consolidating the six down to three. 
“Perhaps you could consider a breakfast shake of sorts? I have a lovely recipe for one using cooked oats, peanut butter, a banana, seasonal fruit...fix it before you leave and sip on it as you go.”
“I’ll think about it.” She made a sandwich using a slice of baguette, sausage, Swiss cheese, and a grape, somehow managing to get the entire thing into her mouth. “So I have a wake up alarm and a eat breakfast alarm?”
He nodded. “Now, what is your class schedule this semester?”
She pulled a crumpled half sheet of paper from her bag, rolled up onto her knees and handed it over to him. He glanced down at the page, then back up to her. 
“Yes, I know you’re judging me.”
“Not judging. Just...considering other methods. Examining at a different angle. A three-ring binder with a front pocket, for instance, is a good starting point. Reprint this schedule, slide it into the front, put notes and such inside, since you also like doing things by hand—”
“It kinda becomes muscle memory if I write things down,” she stated, picking up the train of thought easily. “I watch my classmates type stuff and...it feels like we’ve lost touch. My parents were telling me and my sister once that they were probably the last ones to be taught cursive in class.”
Siebren briefly held his breath and stole glances over at her while he inputted when and where her first class was as well as when she should be leaving to get there on time. She had simply continued talking about how she felt she was the only one in her classes who hand wrote anything aside from response papers, seemingly glossing over the mention of her sister. He let his breath out slowly and continued adding reminders and alarms as she finished her train of thought and any meat and cheese that remained on the plates, leaving a small bunch of grapes and two dried apricots on the now stacked plates. He had waited until she had finished her train of thought before taking over, explaining how each of his alerts worked, how he had learned these coping mechanisms in Secondary School and how they had carried over easily to University, requiring only slight tweaks each semester. When he had finished explaining his methods, he noted an odd silence from Selene. He stopped and glanced up.
Selene gazed up at him, head cradled in her hands, elbows resting on her knees. “Your voice...you sound like a chocolate cake.”
“Pardon?”
“Or maybe...the warm caramel drizzle on cold vanilla ice cream.”
He set the phone down and regarded her with another raised eyebrow. He had received comments on his deep baritone voice before, but had never been compared to...food before. 
“I’ve heard some people compare it to a smooth bourbon, but I don’t drink.”
He blinked. “The caramel, or…”
“You have the most wonderful sounding voice,” she said, sitting up, still with a stupid grin across her face. “I could just listen to you go on and on…” she trailed off.
He cleared his throat and rolled up his sleeves. It had been a comfortable temperature outside before, had it gone up since they had started the picnic? “Uh...perhaps time for dessert?” he asked, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Her eyes redirected to the box still between them. He let out a grateful sigh at the change of attention. He opened the box while she pulled out two of the cleanest plates in the stack, then scoffed when he pulled out the slice.
“Is that all?”
No fears of losing her figure here, he chided his inner voice. “You’ve never had boterkoek?” She shook her head. “You poor thing. Let me enlighten you.” He handed her a piece, fished through the bag for a fork, and waited for her to take a bite. She practically purred as she bit into the dense cake.
“Oh...this is good...really good.” She closed her eyes as she swallowed. “How has this not made it over to the States?”
Ah, she is American. “I’m certain there’s areas it’s found. Surely there must be a ‘Little Amsterdam’ to go along with ‘Little Italy’ and ‘Chinatown’?”
“Not in my area.” She took another forkful, chewing slowly, moving it from one side of her mouth to the other. “What did you say this is again?”
“Boterkoek. Butter cake, in essence.”
“Butter cake?”
He nodded. “Butter, sugar, flour. Some add vanilla or lemon zest. I prefer it as is, but if flavor is added, almond, in my opinion, is best.”
“Is that what I’m tasting?”
He shook his head as he grabbed a slice of his own. “I figured I would start you out on what I feel is the purest take. A control, if you will.”
She raised her eyebrows. “So...this is an ongoing experiment?”
“If you will. Many data points.”
“Indeed. Are you providing the samples?”
“I can. But there must be time between the samples. As to not overwhelm the data pool.”
“Mmm-hmm.” She took another bite. “Sound scientific method. I take it you’ve done this experiment before?”
“A purely original hypothesis.”
“I see.” She gave him a sideways grin.
There was a part of him that told him he was clearly missing something socially, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. Rather than focus on that, he instead turned his attention back to the dessert. If this was his control, how could he possibly improve?
“So...next week is the next sample size?”
“Perhaps,” he said, swallowing. “Perhaps I assist you with some of your issues in the interim?”
“What issues would that be?”
“Homework?” He watched something in her demeanor change. “Perhaps these meetings become more frequent, I help tutor you, I introduce you to my culture, you enlighten me to yours?”
She smiled. “That sounds fair. Can we switch off where we meet? I know you like inside, but on days like this, can we study al fresco?”
“That sounds agreeable. Tomorrow in the eatery? It’s expected to rain.”
“Sure. I’ll bring dessert.”
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Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}
Chapter Five → in which Nick gets to climb something again
“How do you know who we are?” Lilac asked, jumping to her feet. 
Her siblings also quickly stood, and the sweatered scout said, “I thought you might be headed this way. And, well, there are five of you. Where’s the other toddler?” 
“Sunny’s been captured by Count Olaf.” Violet said quickly. “Are you VFD?” 
“In a way.” the boy said. “But stay quiet. Bruce is a light sleeper, and if the kids catch us, they’ll either tattle or want to tag along. Come on.” 
He gestured, and Nick quickly said, “How do we know we can trust you?” 
Klaus and Soli both grabbed tightly onto his hands as they all looked to the scout. He watched them for a moment, and then said, “Xenial.” 
“I’m sorry?” Violet said. 
“Xenial is an adjective that starts with X,” he explained. “It means ‘being welcoming to strangers.’ Having a good vocabulary doesn’t guarantee that I’m a good person, but it does mean I’ve read a lot, and in my experience, well-read people are less likely to be evil.” 
Nick narrowed his eyes. “We may have had some different experiences.” 
“I’m very sorry,” the scout said, “But we don’t have time for this. We need to get to Headquarters quickly.” 
“Take your mask off.” Nick said, slowly picking up Solitude. 
“I can’t. If any of them wake up, I don’t want to be recognized.” 
“Why not?” 
“Nick,” Violet carefully said, “He knows the way to headquarters.” 
“Violet, we can’t-” 
“If he tries anything,” Klaus said, “We’ll protect you. Promise.” 
Nick took a deep breath, looking between all of his siblings. Then he approached the masked scout, stopping just short of him. 
“If you hurt my siblings,” he said, very darkly, “I will kill you, and it will not be fast.” 
“I understand.” the scout said, not even seeming very concerned, but maybe a little sympathetic. “Now follow me.” 
The Baudelaires glanced to each other, and then slowly followed. 
He led them to the center of the room, slowly stepping over sleeping scouts, before pointing a flashlight from his pocket. He gestured upwards, and the Baudelaires looked up to see a large hole in the ceiling of the cave, wisps of smoke disappearing into it. 
“The official name is Vertical Flame Diversion.” the scout whispered. “It serves as a chimney and secret passageway, running from his cave straight to the valley of four drafts. If we climb up there, we can reach headquarters within hours, instead of hiking up the mountain. There used to be a pole there so people could slide down and hide in this cave during an emergency, but it’s gone now. There should still be carved toeholds on the side.” 
“How do you know that?” Lilac asked, as Nick held tight onto Solitude. 
“I read it.” he said. “In The Incomplete History of Secret Organizations.” 
The Baudelaires jumped; most of them hadn’t thought of that book in a long time. Nick started to speak, but they heard a low whisper. They turned, to see Carmelita muttering in her sleep, “Give me those earrings…” 
“We’ll talk when we reach headquarters.” the scout said. “Can you all climb?” 
“Not well.” Klaus said. 
“A little.” Lilac said, while Violet and Nick nodded. “Soli might need help.” 
“There’s some extra rope in our supplies.” the scout said. “We can tie her to someone’s back.” 
“I can do that.” Nick volunteered, before running to find the rope. 
“You should also put your masks back on.” the scout said. “The air will be smokey, but the masks might be able to filter that.” 
“Copy that.” Lilac nodded, rushing to grab their masks. 
Violet walked over to the sweatered scout, putting a hand on his arm. Something about him seemed familiar, though she wasn’t sure what. “Can you really help us?” she asked. 
“Of course.” he said, sounding very soft. “It’s what Volunteers do.” 
Nick returned, and Violet helped him tie Solitude to his back, while the toddler whispered instructions on how to avoid Babbitt in her pocket. Lilac brought their masks over, which they put back on, as Solitude pulled the poncho over her face again. The Sweatered Scout went up first, cautiously climbing his way up to the Vertical Flame Diversion, and then Violet helped pull Klaus up before going up herself. Nick hesitantly followed, after making certain Solitude was very secure, and then Lilac. 
And then, quietly and carefully, they climbed. 
Sunny clambered out of the casserole dish, yawning to herself and pulling her coat over her. She’d just heard the adults yelling, and she’d much rather be prepared for whatever they were doing than hiding in her dish. 
Her former coworkers were chatting with the White-Faced Women, while the Hook-Handed Man tried to fix a fallen tent. Esme must’ve still been in her tent, because Sunny couldn’t see her, but Count Olaf was standing by his henchpeople, barking directions. He turned to see Sunny, and he called, “You! Orphan! You’ll cook breakfast for us! We’ll need the energy to do unspeakable crimes!” 
Sunny gave him a look. “Planka?” she asked, which meant, “How am I supposed to cook breakfast on the top of a freezing mountain?” 
“Too bad your brain isn’t as big as your teeth, you dentist’s nightmare.” Olaf said. “You’re talking nonsense, as usual.” 
Sunny paused, staring at him, and then she smiled. “Sneakitawc,” she said, which meant, “Of course, because you can’t understand me, I can say anything I want to you, and you’ll have no idea what I’m talking about.” 
The Hook-Handed Man jumped, giving her a look as she giggled and Olaf said, “I’m getting tired of your ridiculous speech impediment.” 
“Brummel,” Sunny said. “In my opinion, you desperately need a bath, and your clothing is in shambles.” 
The Hook-Handed Man waved his hooks to try and get her to stop, as Olaf ordered, “Be quiet this instant!” 
“Busheney,” Sunny said. “You’re an evil man with no concern whatsoever for other people.” 
“Shut up!” Olaf shouted, and he threw the car keys at her. “Get the groceries out of the trunk of the car and get to work!” 
Sunny paused, picking up the keys. She could probably drive the car herself, but… well, that mountain path looked dangerous. She wouldn’t want to miss a turn and go flying off a cliff. 
She toddled over to the trunk, unlocking the car and flipping it open, hoisting herself up to see what supplies she had. Unfortunately, a thin layer of frost seemed to cover every item, meaning she had to use her sleeves to wipe the ice away; everything was very frozen over. She found a bag of coffee beans and a frozen hunk of spinach, as well as a bag of mushrooms and a completely frozen jug of orange juice. Sunny pushed aside some cold cheese, a can of water chestnuts and an eggplant about her size, she found a jar of boysenberry jam and a loaf of bread. She hmmed, brushing her bangs out of her face as she considered what she could make with all of this. 
“Olaf!” Esme called, as Sunny pulled the bread to the edge of the trunk. “I need longer to choose what I’m going to wear! It is not In to burn own a headquarters without wearing a fashionable outfit!” 
“I can’t imagine why you need all this time.” Olaf huffed, as Sunny started dropping ingredients onto the ground. “I usually just wear one outfit for weeks at a time.” 
“Boss!” Hugo called. “I can’t find the soap!” 
“We don’t have any. Why would we?” 
Sunny slowly pulled some cups out, and started chopping the coffee beans with her teeth, combining it with snow to make iced coffee. She walked over to a blanket that had been laid out, presumably for the meal, and put the cups down, before ripping apart the loaf of bread and starting to spread jam. 
“What are you doing, baby?” 
Sunny looked up to see the Hook-Handed Man had stopped just short of her, watching curiously. “Breakfast.” she said. 
“That’s very smart of you.” he said. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t be able to make anything.” 
Sunny brightened, and then said, “Hamo!” which meant something like, “I know a way you can help!” 
“Oh, the boss wouldn’t like me to-” 
Sunny held out the mug of orange juice, and said, “Aurantiaco,” which meant, “Chip away at the juice until you have shavings, so I can make orange granita.” 
The Hook-Handed Man looked very impressed, and after glancing over his shoulder, he sat down and started chipping. “That’s a good idea.” 
Sunny smiled and shrugged, and once she’d finished with the bread, she ran back to the trunk, pulling out a bouquet of ivy and placing it in an empty cream dish, walking back and placing it down as a centerpiece. She took the orange shavings and started spreading them out. 
“You’re very good at preparing a meal.” the Hook-Handed Man complimented.
Sunny sighed, smiling a little, remembering once when she was small, and had been hanging out in the kitchen with her mother, who was throwing together a salad. Sunny had mostly busied herself dropping a fork onto the floor to see what it sounded like, but he remembered Beatrice Baudelaire saying, “This isn’t a very complicated recipe, Sunny, but if I arrange the salad very nicely on fancy plates, people will think I’ve been cooking all day.” 
“Defero,” Sunny said, repeating what her Mother had said next- “Often, when cooking, the presentation of the food can be as important as the food itself.” 
The Hook-Handed Man nodded seriously, and once Sunny had finished arranging, she stepped back and said, “Breakfast!” 
The rest of the troupe approached, and Sunny backed off, smiling slightly, but her face fell as Olaf picked up a cup and yelled, “What is this? It looks like coffee, but it’s freezing cold!” 
“What is this orange stuff?” Esme asked suspiciously. “I want fashionable, in food, not a handful of ice!” 
Colette picked up a piece of bread. “This toast feels raw. Is it safe to eat raw toast?” 
“Of course not.” Hugo said. 
“The baby is trying to poison us!” said a White-Faced Woman. 
“Actually, this coffee isn’t so bad.” Kevin said. “Though it’s a little bitter. Could someone pass the sugar?” 
“Sugar?” Esme screeched. 
Olaf grabbed onto one end of the blanket and pulled as hard as he could, and Sunny ducked as all of her hard work went flying into the air. 
“All the sugar in the world couldn’t save this terrible breakfast!” he shouted. “Orphan! I told you to make a nice, hot breakfast, and you gave me cold, disgusting nonsense! Do you realize how high up we are, you little shit? If I threw you off Mount Fraught, you’d never survive!” 
Sunny shrunk back, but she hissed, “Bull!”
“I don’t have time for your nonsense!” 
The Hook-Handed Man, who looked a little uncomfortable, spoke up. “She’s calling your bluff, boss. Says you can’t kill her without losing her fortune.” 
Olaf gave her a cruel look, and Sunny felt even colder than she had before. “Is that so? Well, little orphan,” he took a step forwards, and Sunny tried to move back, only tripping over herself and falling into the snow, “I don’t need to kill you to punish you. We have ways of making you behave. Didn’t your dear brother tell you what finally got him to shut up?” 
Sunny hissed, and the Hook-Handed Man said, “Boss, I really don’t think-” 
“I don’t pay you to think!” Olaf said. 
“You don’t pay me at all.” said the henchman. “But I was just saying, maybe it was difficult for the baby to prepare a hot breakfast without a fire-” 
“Oh,” said a deep, low voice behind them that caused everyone to jump, “But there is a fire.” 
Everybody turned to look behind them, and Sunny instantly detected an aura of menace from the two people now standing behind them, having somehow snuck up on the group without alerting them to their presence. One was a tall man with a beard, but no hair, and the other, who’d spoken, was a woman with hair, but no beard. 
“It’s good to see you, Olaf,” said the sinister woman, stepping forwards, and Sunny scooted back against the car. The woman pulled a wooden toboggan behind her, making an eerie scraping sound against the ground. “We were worried the authorities might have captured you.” 
“You look well,” said the man with a beard but no hair, with a hoarse voice. “It’s been a long time since we’ve laid eyes on one another.” He gave Olaf a wicked grin, and Sunny started to feel very, very scared. 
Olaf wouldn’t meet their eyes, which did not help Sunny’s anxiety; in fact, everyone seemed terrified. “Hello.” he said nervously. “Did you, um, say something about a fire?” 
The woman and man looked to each other and laughed, and Sunny covered her ears with her hands, trying to think about her siblings, and how Lilac and Klaus would be hugging her right now. “Haven’t you noticed that there are no snow gnats around?” the woman said. 
“I just assumed they were no longer in.” said Esme, who seemed to be trembling. 
“Don’t be ridiculous, Esme,” said the man with a beard but no hair. “The gnats aren’t around because they can smell the smoke.” 
“I don’t smell anything.” said Hugo. 
“That’s because you’re not a snow gnat.” replied the woman with hair but no beard. “We did you a favor, Olaf. We… took care of the VFD Headquarters for you.” 
Sunny started, and before she could stop herself, she shouted, “No!” 
The two new adults turned to look at her, and Sunny straightened up then, and tried her best to look brave. 
She tried her best to not look like a baby. 
“The top’s up here.” said the masked scout. “We’re almost out of the woods.” 
The Baudelaires very much doubted that, but they managed to finally push themselves up and into a dark tunnel. It seemed to be some dim hallway with a small grate on the ceiling, but they could all clearly see the Eye etched into the grate. 
The scout helped Klaus up, and then Violet. Nick just pushed himself past him, before untying Solitude and making sure she was alright. Lilac climbed up, moving a bit awkwardly. 
“Are you okay, Li?” Violet asked. 
“Fine.” Lilac said. 
Violet moved to her sister, and then flinched. “Your sleeve’s torn- shit, what  happened to your arm?” 
“Just grazed something on the way up. Not a big deal.” 
Violet paused, and then said, “Well, um… we might have matching arm scars now, that’s pretty cool.” 
“Where are we?” Klaus asked, turning to the scout, who was sadly watching the sisters. 
The scout paused, and then gestured to the grate. “That’s where the smoke escapes. Leads to the very center of the Valley of Four Drafts, so the winds scatter the smoke before people can get suspicious and investigate. If a Volunteer needed help, they’d light one of these.” 
He pulled a box from his jacket, pulling out some green tubes. 
“Is that a cigarette?” Lilac asked. 
He shook his head. “Verdant Flammable Devices. It sets off a dark green smoke.” 
“I’ve seen that box before.” Klaus said, standing up and looking shocked. “In Father’s desk. Why would he-” 
Nick huffed. “He was hiding them from us, Klaus. Obviously. Keeping them secret, like everything else in this hellhole.” 
“Everything is secret in VFD.” the scout said sadly. 
“It makes things very difficult.” Lilac said, crossing her arms. “We had to learn the secret location of headquarters from a secret code on a map.” 
“I had to draw my own map.” the Scout reached into his pocket, pulling out a dark purple notebook. “In my commonplace book, I gathered information from The Incomplete History and other books from Dr Montgomery’s study.” 
The Baudelaires jumped. “Monty?” Solitude asked, and they could hear Babbitt let out a muffled, soft chirp from her pocket. 
“Long story.” the scout said. He held out the map and said, “Look here, this passageway branches off in two directions.” 
“This is a really well-drawn map.” Violet said, impressed. 
“Thank you.” the scout replied. “I’ve been interested in cartography for quite some time. But anyway, if we go left, there’s a small area for sled and snowsuit storage. If we go right, we’ll arrive at the Vernacularly Fastened Door, which opens to the Headquarters’ kitchen.” 
“Then let’s go.” Violet said. 
“No!” Nick grabbed Solitude, jumping to his feet. “No, we can’t just-” 
“Nick, one of our parents might be there.” Violet snapped. 
“So could anyone else!” 
“We’ll be careful.” Lilac put a hand on Nick’s arm. “We’ll be careful, I promise. But we don’t have anywhere else to go.” 
Nick shut his eyes tight, clutching onto Soli, who gave him a tight, comforting hug. Klaus put his arm around him, and then Violet turned to the scout and said, “Lead the way, mystery boy.”  
The scout hesitantly nodded, and then said, as they walked, “It’ll be safe, I’m sure.” 
Nick didn’t respond, instead just leaning onto Klaus’s shoulder. They started down the hallway, with the scout leading the way. It started to feel colder, and Solitude curled up against her brother and shivered a little, and Lilac grabbed onto Violet’s hand, and Klaus and Nick held each other for a while. And after a minute or two, Violet reached forwards and grabbed the scout’s hand, too, not wanting him to feel left out. The corridor was starting to give off an eerie, powerful feeling, and none of the children wanted to feel alone. 
At last, they reached a large metal door, with a strange device, looking a bit like a spider, where a doorknob should have been. Wires were spread from it, going in all directions, and at the head was a typewriter keyboard. Violet immediately broke away from the others and ran forwards, taking off her mask and pulling her hair back with a ribbon to inspect it. 
“Careful.” the scout said, as Lilac ran forwards to join her. “This is a coded lock. If we don’t operate it properly, we won’t be able to get into the headquarters.” 
“How does it work?” Violet asked, as her siblings also discarded their masks. 
“I’m not sure. I couldn’t read through the pages it had in The Incomplete History.” said the scout, taking out his commonplace book as the other Baudelaires crowded around the lock. “I was more interested in the maps, honestly, and then I lost the book.” 
“Well, it’s called the Vernacularly Fastened Door.” Klaus said. “So it operates on language. Vernacular means ‘a local language or dialect.’” 
“That makes sense.” Violet nodded. “Look how the wires are curled around the hinges. They’re locked in place, unless you type the right sequence of letters on the keyboard.” 
“I know you’re supposed to type out three specific phrases in a row.” the scout said, looking down at his commonplace book. “The phrases change every season, but for right now, the first is the scientist most widely credited with the discovery of gravity.” 
“That’s easy.” Lilac said, and she leaned forwards and typed in S-I-R-I-S-A-A-C-N-E-W-T-O-N, and when she was finished, there was a muted clicking sound, as if the device was warming up. 
“The second is the Latin name for the Volunteer Feline Detectives.” the scout said. “That’s Panthera leo.” 
Violet typed in P-A-N-T-H-E-R-A-L-E-O, and the wires near the hinges began to shake a little. 
“What’s the third phrase?” Klaus asked. 
“I don’t know.” the scout sighed. “Another volunteer told me it’s the central theme of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina, but I haven’t read it.” 
“We did.” Klaus said, turning to smile at Nick. “Do you remember what Mother told us?” 
Nick stared very hard at the ground as he nodded. “A rural life of moral simplicity, despite its monotony, is the preferable personal narrative to a daring life of impulsive passion, which only leads to tragedy.” 
“That’s a long theme.” the scout said. 
“It’s a long book.” Klaus said, as he began to type. 
He worked very quickly, and as he did, the Baudelaires could see the wires begin to curl and uncurl very quickly, and the door start to quiver. When Klaus finally typed out T-R-A-G-E-D-Y, the children stepped back, waiting. 
The door stopped shaking, and the passageway fell dead quiet. 
“It’s not opening.” Lilac said. 
“Maybe that isn’t the central theme of Leo Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina.” Violet said. 
“It seemed like it was working.” the scout said. 
“Maybe the mechanism is stuck.” Violet said. 
“Maybe a daring life of impulsive passion leads to something other than tragedy.” the scout said. 
“No.” Nick said quietly, and they heard a low rumble. “No, Violet was right. It was just stuck.” 
The door swung open, with a slow and eerie creek. The Baudelaires started up excitedly, only to immediately back up and cough, as smoke filtered into the tunnel. 
“No…” Lilac muttered, as Klaus rushed forwards into the remains of headquarters, and his siblings hastily followed. 
The entire headquarters had gone up in smoke, and as they stepped over ashy debris and burnt pages, they felt their hearts sink to the floor.  They had stepped into what used to be a kitchen, which they could only tell due to an overturned, singed table and the remains of what might have been cabinets or ovens, as well as a fridge in the corner. Violet let out a small cry, and Solitude started to wail, clinging to Nick, who stumbled back against what was left of a wall, shaking uncontrollably. 
“No, no, no…” Lilac said, looking around. They could see other rooms to the side- the remains of what might have been a library, what could have been a recreational room, or a study, or a dorm. 
“Mother!” Klaus shouted, his voice breaking. “Mother! Father!” 
“Mother!” Violet joined him. “Mother! Father!” 
“Dad?” Lilac shouted, hearing only their own voices echoing back. “Mom?” 
There was no response. 
“This headquarters is gone.” Klaus said, shaking. 
“And there’s no survivor.” Violet said, tears streaming down her face. 
“No.” Klaus shook his head. “No, that can’t be.” 
“Klaus-” Lilac began. 
“Jacques Snicket said there was a survivor of the fire.” Klaus cried. 
The sweatered scout, who’d been walking around the headquarters, seemingly just as in shock as the Baudelaires, stopped dead in his tracks. “Jacques Snicket said that?” 
The Baudelaires turned to him, and then Klaus nodded. 
The scout quietly said, “Then he was right. There is a survivor of the fire here.” 
“Where?” Nick asked. 
“Here.” said the scout, and then he took off his mask. 
The Baudelaires stepped back in shock, and Solitude whispered, “Duncan?” 
“I’m Quigley Quagmire,” said the scout, “And I was hoping to find my siblings here.”
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prolestariwrites · 5 years
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Mead stops at the door, swallowing uncomfortably when he scans the room full of chatty boys and girls. His eyes open wide and his fingers tremble as they grasp the little sack that holds his lunch: a small loaf of honey bread, an apple, and a hunk of sharp cheese. Nana Mary, with whom he had been staying since arriving in the capital a week ago, had said this was what all the children ate at school, but seeing their fancy clothes and embroidered backpacks, he suddenly feels incredibly out of place.
Someone bumps him from behind, making him stumble forward, and Mead tries to slip in unnoticed. He takes a seat in the very back corner, running his hands over the smooth wood of the desk before lifting it up. Inside are sheets of paper—the thin kind, cut prettily, not the thick parchments like the mayor uses at home to hang up notices—along with a few pencils and even an inkwell and pen. His eyes go even wider at the sight. He’s never even seen a real pen before.
“Boys and girls, have a seat!” The teacher walks in, a tall and imposing woman with birdlike features and her hair pulled back into a severe bun. Her black robes swirl around her, the uniform that signifies her status as full professor, and she stands at the desk in the front as the children scramble for seats. Within thirty seconds they are seated and still, everyone’s hands folded on the desk, so Mead sits up and does the same.
“We will start with the pledge.”
Everyone stands, Mead jumping up as well, and he follows suit as they place their right hands over hearts. The recitation begins, and this he mostly knows, although in Bernia they say it a bit differently, not so stiff and formal. 
We pledge allegiance to Liones, To the king and to the kingdom, Hearts and minds devoted to peace, And justice for all men.
“And women!” one of the girls proclaims, earning a round of giggles. The professor gives a sharp look that quiets them down immediately before the children take their seats.
“Name and date at the top, then I want at least one hundred words on The Brave Knight and its themes.”
The blood drains from Mead’s face as he frantically looks around. The other children open their desks and store their sacks away, which he does as well; then they remove a piece of paper and a pencil and begin working, the only sound is the scratching of writing.
Mead writes his name and the date at the top, and then stops. Nana Mary had read him The Brave Knight just the other day, but what is he supposed to do now? And one hundred words? Mead only knows about twenty, tops!
Biting his lip, he puts his pencil to paper, and immediately the tip snaps off. Mead looks around in alarm, wondering what to do, when a voice beside him whispers, “It’s that one.”
He looks over to see a boy with light hair and a sunny smile pointing to the side of the desk. “There is a little knife to carve. Be sure not to get scrapings on the floor, Professor gets cross when you make a mess.”
“Thanks!” he whispers back. Mead slips the little carving tool from the side of the desk and quickly whittles another point. His desk is now covered in little slivers of graphite, so not knowing what to do he scoops them into his hand and dumps them into his desk.
The boy beside him giggles, and Mead crooks a brow at him. “What?”
“You’re funny. What’s your name?” he asks.
Leaning over he says, “Mead. What’s yours?”
“Zeal. Are you new?”
“Yeah. I just moved here from Bernia. This knight guy named Meliodas said I had to come here and go to school.” 
“Woah! You know Meliodas?”
Mead smiles smugly. “Yup. He made me one of the Seven Deadly Sins and everything. We stopped the evil Holy Knights.”
Zeal frowns. “Nuh uh. My sister is a Holy Knight, I would have heard about that.”
His mouth twists as he tries to think up a retort and fails. Meanwhile, his eyes lift to Zeal’s paper, which has a proper paragraph already written. “What’s the answer?”
Zeal laughs behind his hand. “It’s whatever you think. There’s no right or wrong. Professor wants to know what you think the story is about. Just say why.”
Mead nods. He sits back up and writes: “The Brave Knight” is about a knight who is brave.
“Damn,” he mutters. “Only ten words.”
Quickly he erases brave and writes very very very very very very over and over until he triumphantly counts up to one hundred, then adds brave on the end with a flourish.
“Done!” he murmurs. Then he turns to Zeal and asks, “How many words you got?”
Eight-four, Zeal mimes.
“Not bad.” He props his elbow on the desk and says smugly, “I’m at one hundred and ten.”
“No way!” Zeal protests, holding out his arm. “Let me see!”
Proudly Mead hands over his paper, but his grin turns sour when Zeal snorts loudly. “This isn’t a theme! The Professor will—”
“In all my years, I have never seen such a blatant display of cheating! How disgraceful!”
Both boys look up to see the Professor glaring down at them. Mead feels as though he is pinned by her glare, shrinking into his seat. This is worse than any of the time the old villagers yelled at him. “We weren’t!” Zeal protests. “Promise!”
“Boys chatting and sharing papers is the very definition of cheating,” she scolds. “You’ll both stay after in detention and write three hundred words on why cheaters are a drain on society.”
She turns and stalks back to the front of the room, leaving Mead blinking in her wake. That’s it? Detention? She didn’t even hit him! He turns and grins at Zeal, who has completely sild down in his seat. “Hey! I thought we were goners for sure. Detention don’t seem so bad.”
“It’s worse than it sounds,” Zeal groans. “She makes us clean the whole room and now we gotta write three hundred words? This will take forever!”
“I’ll clean if you write?” Mead offers.
The teacher hisses at them, and both boys shrink back. “Deal,” Mead hears him whisper, and he smiles to himself.
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haliasjane · 4 years
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inktober day 25 -  tasty
As Anne approached the tiny house on the cliffs, she smelled the unmistakable tang of something burning. She rushed up the steps and pushed through the front door without knocking. 
To her relief she was not greeted by the sight of flames or smoke, but rather the same house she had known as a young girl. One room, sparsely furnished, with a loft for sleeping above the back half. The only difference was that the table was spread over with flour, discarded tops of turnips, and some potato peelings. She took another step inside.
Donnchadh was bent over the hearth. She crept closer and heard him muttering to himself.
“It’s no good, it’s no good at all. I should have known better than to try this, I should have known it wouldn’t turn out right. Everything I do turns to —”
He stood up and turned around, a pot grasped between his leather-gloved hands. When he saw Anne, he stopped short, both in his movements and his speech. As she looked between his crestfallen expression and the still-smoking pot, Anne realized what had happened.
“Would you like some help?” she asked. He stared at her for a long moment before shaking his head. He put the pot down on the table with a thunk.
“It’s too late for that,” he said. “It’s already ruined.” Anne stood next to him at the table, reaching up to put her hand on his sturdy shoulder.
“I’m certain it’s not that… oh,” she said. She stopped once she lifted the lid and saw what was inside: the charred remains of what had once been a serviceable pie. She glanced up at Donnchadh. He was fidgeting with his hands again, his breath short and frustrated.
“I knew I oughtn’t have tried to make something so complicated,” he said, more to himself than her. “But I got ahead of myself and wanted to impress you so maybe you’d stay and… Well, it doesn’t matter what else. It won’t happen because I ruined this and now we’ve nothing to eat.”
Anne went from being on the verge of teasing him to feeling like he’d reached into her chest and squeezed her heart tight. She chewed at her lip, trying to find the words that would comfort him. As he rubbed his hands together until they were nearly red, Anne reached out and stilled them with hers. 
“Oh, Donnchadh,” she said. He looked down at her from under his furrowed brow. “It’ll be all right. I’m glad you wanted to make something nice for me even if it didn’t quite turn out. Truly, I appreciate it.” She gripped his hands tighter and pulled them to her chest. Some of the wrinkles smoothed out from Donnchadh’s forehead.
“We still don’t have anything for supper, though,” he said.
“I wouldn’t quite say that,” Anne said. She let go of his hands and retraced her steps back to the front door, where she had left the basket she had brought with her. From it, she took out a loaf of fresh bread and a hunk of cheese. “I brought this for after supper, but it should suffice for now,” she said as she returned to the table. “All we need is something to drink, and perhaps some butter for the bread if you have any left.”
With a shy smile, Donnchadh fetched a jug of wine and two mismatched cups. He placed them on the table next to the bread. Anne smiled as she tore off a hunk of bread and offered it to him.
“See?” she said. “I told you it would be all right. We’ll have a fine meal after all.” Donnchadh took the bread and chewed it thoughtfully.
“So you’re not going to leave?” she said.
“No,” Anne said as she helped herself to the wine. “I don’t think I shall.”
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