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ayda--demir · 1 month

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WHAT I WOULDN'T GIVE FOR ANOTHER MOMENT

date: 17th of March, 2024 warnings: feels, too many fucking feels. death. guilt. mention of drugs and overdose. plotting ways for kate's demise. Emine's POV is in italic.

The shock remained ingrained and though she knew he was gone, the thought of processing it and allowing it to become a reality, she would happily live in denial. Dealing with this was something Ayda could handle for herself but being entrusted to tell his sister and best friend, despite the fight she knew they would overcome this hurdle, that was going to be the part that would break her.

She sent Emine a text, asking her to come over, and knowing that the other was currently dealing with a broken heart, this was going to shatter what was left. Idle steps paced around the room, collecting valuables that she didn’t want broken. There was no telling how Emine was going to handle this. Violence was always the way the other dealt with their feelings and this, she wouldn’t be surprised if overnight the borough was painted red.

“Ayda,” she heard her voice being called out, footsteps up the backstairs, having left the door open for her. “I hope you have food for me to take back to Olivier. He’s not a bad cook, but your food is so much better.”

Her steps halted, placing her in the middle of the living room when their eyes met and the way Emine’s demeanor quickly picked up that something wasn’t right, she froze in her spot.

“Kerem, he’s alright, right?” The way she found Ayda standing in the living room she knew it was bad news. It was the eyes. The other could never hide how she was feeling if one paid close attention to them. She had read the text message from her ex, thought about replying, but she didn’t know what to say. Part of her knew if she responded to him, if they talked, any promises he made she would give in easily, and she didn’t want that to happen.

“Em, he’s fine. I promise.” At least she could say that. The guessing game would start next. She knew Emine enough that she would start spouting off names until she got the answer. “Here, sit down.” A hand gestures to the couch where she finds herself sitting down, waiting for her to join her.

Relief washed over the petite Turk. “Is Azra okay?” It was a name that popped into her head. She didn’t dare think about her brother considering they talked the other day. Emine removes her shoes and makes her way over to sit on the couch, turning her body towards Ayda. “You know I would play the game and list a million names, but I really don’t have the energy for it. What is going on?” Concern laced in her words.

Her hands reach out to take Emine’s in hers. “Em….” This time her voice did crack, tears starting to slide down her cheeks. This was going to destroy Emine and this was news she never wished anyone had to give. “It’s Berat…” Hands are suddenly pulled from hers and she can see it in Emine’s eyes that she is starting to piece it altogether.

“What about Berat?” She didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to see where this conversation was going. Everything around her started to spin and she was barely holding herself together as it was, and now this. “Don’t you say it Ayda.” She warned her. “He isn’t. He went back home to visit my parents like they asked him.” It was easier to believe he was out of the country than the words that were going to be said. “Please….he can’t be.” The last set of words that left her mouth was a sob, wrapping her arms around herself.

What was she supposed to say? There was no denying the truth that was in front of them both, but holding on to a little faith a little longer, it couldn’t hurt. She wraps her arms around Emine, pulling the girl in for a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry Em. If there was anything I could do to change it, I would.” Her words are a mere whisper, loud enough for Emine to hear. It was then that Ayda let the reality hit her and she couldn’t hold it in any longer. Her eyes closed in efforts to keep the tears from falling.

“No…..” Emine allowed herself the comfort of Ayda’s arms for a moment. Allowing herself that one last opportunity of being held together from all the pieces that were starting to break. She pulls away from the embrace, shifting her body off the couch to stand up. A hand comes up to wipe under her eyes, removing any traces of emotions that she was giving into. “This is some lie. Where is my brother?” Her tone demanding, filling the rage starting to build.

Ayda stands along with her, hands reaching out to take hers once more. It was the only way she knew to keep Emine grounded. That she wouldn’t feel that spiraling out of control. They once were close, like sisters themselves, but she knew her loyalty would always lay with Berat when she left that night. “He overdosed. They are still looking into it. Something bad with the heroin. I’m still waiting to get all the details.” The last thing she wanted to mention was who found him. It was certain to set her off and Emine would suspect foul play regardless of the truth in front of her.

He overdosed. Emine closes her eyes taking deep breaths to keep herself from losing control. She could feel the guilt starting to hit her. She should have tried harder or been more of a presence in his life that he didn’t feel like he was alone. Why was she always failing the people she cared about? “What do I do with him gone, Ayda?” Her tone meak. Admitting that he was gone brought her to her knees, feeling her body slump.

Ayda finds herself moving down to her knees, keeping herself connected with Emine. “I don’t know Em.” She didn’t want to make any promises. How they were going to navigate through this was unknown. There were so many pieces that would have to be sorted out. She had to push those thoughts away and focus on the girl in front of her. “But I’m here. You know I am always here for you.” She meant every word.

Emine wanted to find some type of solace in Ayda’s words, but it didn’t stop the agony that consumed her. The world had no meaning to her. Everything that was good in her life had been taken away. “I know….” The only thought that could be formed in her fucked up brain. It was never supposed to be him. He had his downfalls, but she was the one that played with fire. She was the one that should be dead, not him. Her mind somehow drifted to ma and her head snapped up looking at Ayda. “Ma.” Instant dread hit her, this was going to kill her.

Her hands come up to cup Emine’s cheeks, keeping her eyes locked with hers. “We will get through this.” She wanted to repeat her words, that hopefully Emine would get the underlying message; not to do anything stupid. At the mention of Berat’s mother, a woman who still felt like family, she realised there was one more person to share with. It was better coming from her and Emine than the police. “We should go tell her.” She would never let Emine do it alone.

Emine nods her head, there wasn’t much more that could be said and surprisingly for herself she was handling this better than she expected; at least for now. A sense of relief washed over her when Ayda offered to go with her to tell her ma. She wondered if the woman knew, but if she did, she would have received a text already. “I need a moment.” Emine shifts to sit on her bottom, pulling her legs up and wrapping her arms around them, leaning back into the couch. “He’s really gone.” She mumbles, looking over to Ayda.

Ayda nods her head knowing that she had to do this at Emine’s pace. She scoots back, coming to sit beside Emine, wrapping her arm around her and pulling her into her side, feeling the body rest against hers. “He is Em.” She speaks softly. No words could ever explain the hurt they were both sharing, but she could offer comfort. That is when she felt arms wrap around her and heard the sobs into her arm. “I got you Em, let it out.”

#reaction #self-para #aydaxemine #tw: drugs #tw: overdose #tw: death #characater development #community #thread: emine yalaz

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emine--yalaz · 5 months

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Yes, to the Dress.

This was not how Emine pictured choosing her dress would be like. She wanted her close friends and family there with her, but with how everything was falling apart, the safe option was her mother -- the one that took her in when she didn't want to go back to Turkey.

She had pushed the doubting thoughts to the back of her mind, trying on what felt like every dress in the shop. None felt right. They all felt like another dress that could be worn for any occasion. There was also the modesty of being covered, something her mom kept reminding her when she came out in another dress.

"Maybe I won't find it," she sighed, sitting down beside her on the small couch, resting her forehead against her shoulder. "I'm tired." A sadness lies in her amber hues.

"One more," the older woman pats the top of her head and she nods, sliding off the couch, the last dress for the day brought to the changing room for her to try on. The second her hues landed on the dress, there was something about it that called to her.

Was this the one?

She could feel the anticipation build in the pit of her stomach when the woman from the shop helped her into it, using a bunch of clips to hold it in place. Tears started to swell in the corners of her eyes and she knew that this was the one.

The petite Turk made her way out of the room, a bright smile on her face when she saw her mom take one look at her, and tears formed in her eyes as well.

"Çok güzel görünüyorsun kızım." She whispers, getting up to place her hands on her cheeks.

"This is the one, mom." She smiles brightly, a veil placed on her head, turning to look at herself in the mirror.

Emine had found her dress.

#self-para #char dev #character development

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maria-azenha · 26 days

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Type: Reaction - After Party Plot Drop

Maria couldn't describe all the emotions flooding her. Dread hit her full force and a hand came up to cover her mouth. She did not care for the Russians, nor the death that was apparent, but by the look on their faces, it was someone that meant something to them.

Fear rippled through her.

Slender fingers play idly with the fabric of her dress, focusing on breathing in through her nose, out through her mouth. The steady increase of her heart beat was the drumming that echoed in her ears.

Afraid to blink, knowing where this moment was going to take her, and she refused to have an episode in front of anyone, especially in a room with those responsible for her demise.

The scream had her jump in her chair, letting out one of her own, tears pricking at her eyes, and though she knew who to call to help with this, tonight was not a night she could rely on it.

Anxiously emerald hues scan the room, a sudden need to flee crossed the Vixen and she slipped down one of the hallways, rationality gone, and all she could see in front of her was red.

#self-para #after party #event.mobawards2024 #post plot drop #tw: ptsd

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lefebvre-emilia · 9 months

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Early Arrival

July 23, 2023

Emilia had been pandering around her home, this sudden need to make sure everything was in order before Bean arrived. There was still eight weeks before her due date, but excitement started to draw closer. The nursery was done, decorated in soft pinks and purples, a classy taste but definitely designed for a princess.

Fingers curl around the wood of the crib, emerald hues glancing down to the bedding and the little pink poodle stuffy pushed up in the corner against one of the pillows. She took a moment to let it all sink in. This wasn’t how she pictured her life would be like when she was bringing a little one into this world, but all she could do was to make the best of what was being thrown at her. At least her mom would be here soon, a few more weeks, and she would have her to lean on before the birth and after.

“Emilia.” She hears her name being called out, turning her body to look out the door, the voice coming from one of her bodyguards. “We should be going.” He was right, there were things to do at the shelter.

“C–” Her words cut off, hues instantly casting down at the ground, looking at the puddle of water between her legs on the rug, feeling like she had peed herself. “Marco,” She cries out, a hand coming up to rest on her belly, a sharp pain in her lower stomach.

It was the way she said his name that had the bodyguard taking the steps two at a time. She could hear him coming down the hall, tears swelling up in her eyes when he walked into the nursery, seeing her doubled over. His eyes shift down to find the puddle of water, panic seeping into his gaze.

“Get the car out front now. Call the doctor and let them know we are on our way to the hospital.” He calls into his mic, alerting the other bodyguard in the house. “Ms. Lefebvre, let me help you.” He makes his way over, leaning down to easily scoop her up in his arms, tears streaming down her face.

“She isn’t supposed to come now.” Her words crack, wrapping an arm around his neck. “It’s too soon.” Terror seeps into every fibre of her body, letting him take her down the stairs, another contraction hitting her hard. Her eyes clenched shut, nails digging into the side of his neck and she bites down on her bottom lip to stop from crying out.

The next thing she feels is being placed into the back seat of her SUV with Marco beside her, leaning into him, a hand reaching out to take his, lacing their fingers together, giving it a tight squeeze when the sharp pain returns, breathing out through her nose. “I’ve already messaged your brother, your mother and,” there is a slight hesitation because he had a distaste for Olivier. “The father.” Not caring to mention his name, and if it wasn’t for the pain Emilia was in, she would have corrected him.

“That was three minutes.” Marco glanced down at his watch, timing her contractions while Tony drove them. Emilia feels the sweat drip down her forehead, her legs crossed practically laying her head in his lap and the rest of her body against the back seat. Her free hand wraps the best it came around her stomach. The London traffic was going to make her scream and curse at anyone who would listen through the window she would demand open. “We are almost there.” Marco felt his hand start to go numb.

“It hurts.” She cries out, shaking her head looking up at the ceiling of the SUV. “Make it stop.” Emilia didn’t have time to decide if she wanted drugs or not, and now, she was thinking she might not have a choice. The pain was more than she realised it would be, more so afraid of what might be with her coming early.

By the time they pulled up to the hospital, a bed was outside waiting for her with a couple nurses. “You need to sit up, Ms. Lefebvre. We are here.” His arms lifting her to let him open the back door, sliding his arms underneath her once more to help her out and placing her down on the bed waiting for her. “They will take good care of you.” He nods his head, watching her be pulled inside.

Emlia didn’t question how the gown was put on her, her mind too consumed by the pain from the contractions. The doctor rushed in, his brows knitted together in concern. “It seems she’s ready to make her appearance.” He tried to keep the mood light, a nurse between her legs to check how dilated she was. “She is ten centimetres, doctor.” Her eyes widened realising that it was time to push and she was alone.

More tears start to spill from her eyes, the sound of a door opening that she glances to find Olivier coming rushing in. “Oli!” A hand reaches out to take his, looking down at the doctor when he calls her name.

“When I tell you to push, you have to.” She didn’t even get time to question him for something for the pain when he looks her dead in the eyes and says. “Push!” Giving it all that she came, she pushes. She squeezes Olivier’s hand hard, her other hand wrapping around the handle of the bed, knuckles turning white.

A scream fills the air, not sure what he did, but it felt like he had cut her. “Relax. We didn’t need you to tear.”

She looks over at Olivier. “I can’t do this.” Exhaustion taking her over, but before he can answer the doctor’s voice fills the air and she can feel another contraction consume her.

“Push!”

And that is what she does, pushing with everything that she can, breathing heavily through a cry. “The head is out. The next part is easy. One more push and she will be here.” A group of nurses were there with an incubator close by if needed.

That close to finally holding her daughter.

Determined jaded hues glance down at the doctor, giving a small nod, when she can feel another contraction start to build. “Now!” He stated and she did, she pushed, feeling the rest of the body come out. Next thing she knew her daughter was placed on her chest, the nurses working on clearing out her mouth, the cry of a little one echoing in the room and her heart swells, an arm coming up to wrap around her, fatigue hitting her hard.

“Did you want to cut the umbilical cord?” He offers the scissors to Olivier, letting him cut it. Emilia can’t keep her eyes off her baby, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, the room starting to spin.

“Emilia.” A nurse notices the glossy look in her eyes. “Doctor.” Concern etched in tone.

His eyes glances down and notices the amount of bleeding. “Take the baby, nurse Berkley.” He looks at Olivier. “Get him out. We need to get to OR.” A command held in his words that all the nurses obey, pulling her daughter from her arms.

“No, you can’t take her….” Her tone faint, a sudden darkness pulling her under.

@varden-lefebvre @mrofontaine @nora-of-light

#self-para #character development #char dev #tw: postpartum hemorrhage #tw: labour #//have this whilst I fly for 9hrs #tw: difficult labour

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charlcyboy · 3 months

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10 years || Self-Para

Short description: Charley's wife has been gone for 10 years, here's how he "celebrated" Triggers: Death mention, Overdose mention.

Ten years, that was the date circled on his calendar. There hadn’t been a day that went by that he didn’t think about his wife, someone who had meant the world to him, someone who tried but burned far too quickly and brightly to ever be okay with the idea of settling down and having a family. That was the problem, though, they did have a family, they had a family and she was totally fine with leaving them to flounder and wonder where she really wanted to be. He was lying to himself, he always did hate that part. When he finally woke himself up to the fact that she was never going to be cut out to be a mother. It hurt, but she wasn’t the kind that was going to ever settle. Instead of just leaving and coming back when she was ready (that wasn’t her nature) she removed herself from the situation. Charley had never been more devastated than walking in that morning, the morning where she was gone. The after. After her it didn’t feel real, he finally had someone who he had been chasing since he was in his twenties, and she was here to settle down and be a real family, and then it was gone.

Charley made his way through the house, his feet moving slowly, numbly, unable to pick up the pace, like wading through syrup. He kept her possessions in the attic, finding himself picking up her things every now and then just to remember her scent. It was a harsh lifestyle to live but Charley had to for Cassidy. He pressed on, making his way up the stairs, his feet finding just the right step for each fall, trying his hardest to press his way on to the attic.

Stepping up into the attic it was like a breath was breathed so deeply into the world, he had taken the day off, he had to. Ten years was too much time for him to not take the time to remember her, ten years had passed so quickly he didn’t know how he wasn’t seeing it pass so fast. It was so quick and so slow at the same time, he didn’t know where he was going, but he knew it was passing without him knowing.

Charley wasn’t one to make plans in advance, but he picked up his wife's perfume, spraying the air, the scent instantly reviving him, throwing him back to the times where they met.

He smelled it in the air the very first time he walked into the history lecture hall, he had followed it like a cartoon following the smell of a freshly baked pie. Meeting her eyes he knew instantly what was going to happen, he didn’t know when, but he knew she was his future, past, present, and everything he needed in life. He didn’t know why it had meant that much to him, but the smell now in the breeze in the attic always drew him back to some of his favorite times in their life.

The night he smelled it again in the breeze of the club in Aurora Bay, he knew it, he just knew exactly who it was. He made his way across the club so quickly, finding his way to her. Seeing each other again after all that time felt like such a nice way of rekindling their relationship. This is where things started to kind of turn downward, she didn’t want to be tied down, he wanted to settle.

He had been keeping a letter she had written before she passed, it had ten years written on it, and he knew what it meant.

His hands trembled as he slowly slid his finger under the flap of the envelope, pulling out the letter. Everything came flooding back to him, reading her writing, knowing he watched her write this letter… There was something so painful reading and knowing it was her that had done it.

My loving Charley, Please don’t read this letter after ten years and still be letting my death shake your soul. You knew I wasn’t long for this world, you knew I wasn’t okay with being tied down, but I have never had so much fun or been so in love with you. I hope by now you understand what happened, why I had to leave. I kept Cassidy because I knew she would give you the piece of me that I could not be for you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me and please don’t think that my passing had anything to do with you. I knew what I was doing and I wasn’t trying to be selfish, I was trying to give you something you had seen before and understood. I am sorry, even after all these years I am so very sorry for the way I felt I had to leave the world to leave happily. Please tell Cassidy again that I love her so very much and that she means the world to me. I am sure she grew up with the best person in her life. I hope you have moved on and found a new person to love, if not I hope you will soon. Thank you for the very best years of my life. Your loving Bella.

Charley couldn’t help it, the anger surged through him, ‘trying to give you something you had seen before’. How could she ever think that was something he wanted. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. Why would he want his wife to die the same way as his mother had, needing to have drugs in your system to force yourself to die quicker.

He sat back on his heels, taking a moment to reassure himself that he was allowed to be mad, but he was also allowed to still love her and not understand why she would ever think that was something that he needed, for her to take her life in that manner because his mother had done it and he knew what it was like.

He needed to get out of the house, to find a way to work through this anger, to make his way somewhere where he felt like he could only ever get an answer. He pulled on his jacket, making his way out of the house and finding a way to exactly where he needed to be.

He slumped down in front of her grave, wrapping his arms around her headstone. He wasn’t drunk, but he was exhausted, and maybe a little out of touch with just how somber today was going to be.

“Oh belly morelly how wrong you were, how very very wrong you were thinking that I would ever want you to leave like that, I would never want you to leave. I never did want you to leave, I took care of our baby as best I could, I’m still trying. But belly morelly, I miss you now more than I ever have. More than I ever will.” Tears poured freely from his eyes, leaving traces down his cheeks, for as much as he wanted to say he was fine, anyone who was in the area would have a free show to see the fact that he was very much not okay.

Charley sat there, talking to Bella like he had never lost her for what must have been hours, but finally, he just had to go home.

He stood up, pulled himself together, and for the first time in a long time, he finally felt like he was ready to move on, to move past what had been holding his life hostage for what felt like forever. Maybe now was time for him to focus on he and Cassidy, time to not be so held up in the past.

#Self-Para #I had a lot of muse and I needed to put it somewhere #plus character development idk #tw: death #tw: overdose

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catmillers · 8 months

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no place like – self-para

time: june

location: cat's apartment, the capitol

tw: super passive suicidal ideation, tw: vague gore

With the last box lugged up the stairs, door locked, blinds pulled up, windows open, letting in the warm summer air, sounds from the streets below, Cat was moved in.

Well, ain't 'xactly moved in.

About twenty boxes littered her living room, almost packed still, a few had been opened, if only to get a blanket and towel out. A singular drawing hung on the far wall by the windows, held by a singular pushpin into the drywall. This was her first night in the Capitol. Hell, this was her first night alone in a long while. Without a co-conspirator, without a friend, without –

Without Mahlon.

She didn't wanna think about him, think about how bittersweet it all was. The love, the loss of it.

Cat ran though, as she always did, maybe for Mahlon's benefit, not wantin' him t'get killed or jailed like Slate. He's better off without me weighin' him down.

She eyed the empty space, at the center of it sat an open box, parts laid out to build a futon, the instructions sat nearby, the actual bed itself shoved off into a corner, half-slumped over on itself. She'd have to build it, she didn't wanna spend a night on the floor, Cat slept in enough shitty beds out in Eleven, sure as shit didn't wanna sleep in another one.

Cat sat on the floor, in front of it all of the parts and began to brute force her way through it, muttering little obscenities along the way as if she had an audience, 'There ain't a fuckin' part 23A', 'Where's the goddamn screwdriver', 'Why'd you only give me six then, fuckin' piece a' shit'. Finally, despite her thumb being hit by a hammer and her ego bruised, the frame was built. Cat lugged the mattress onto the frame, taking a few minutes to fully manhandle the stupid fuckin' thing onto it. She flopped down, not bothering to fold the thing out or to grab her blanket from the floor nearby.

Cat's eyes cast to the drawing on the wall, one of her; charcoal that captured the slope of her jaw, the curve of her cheek, her dimples, the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at something with sincere interest. On the back, the words 'love you, peach' were scrawled by a gentle hand. It was starin' at her and she wished it fuckin' wouldn't. Where was that Cat? Huh?

She'd quit everything minus the smoking. Found herself pounding through about two packs a week. Cat knew damn well enough she'd have to hold onto at least one vice, if she was gonna make it and she considered nicotine as the least obtrusive stress-reliever. Wasn't a drink. Sure as hell wasn't an ether, but she needed the clear head, needed to make sure her tracks were covered and that she'd be ready to run before they – the Capitol – got their claws in her. This Cat was afraid, this Cat was alone.

Her eyes finally tore free from her replica and she snatched her phone out of her pocket. Fingers hovered over her texts as she began to type:

'hey thinking about you wanted to say i'm sorry you were right maybe i shouldn't be–'

She deleted the line and tried again:

'know you said you hated the idea of moving to the capitol but think you'd like my plac–'

Deleted.

'i miss you'

Cat groaned, rolling her eyes at herself. She was so pathetic. Always wantin' the things she couldn't have; she tapped at her screen backing up the message once again before settling on typing out, 'ten okay? never heard if you made it there in one piece'. That was fine, that she could live with, that didn't sound desperate, didn't sound like she was aching to her core, sick to her stomach with loneliness. Cat hit send.

She sat back up, that feigned attempt at gettin' comfy and goin' to sleep ignored. On the floor alongside her blanket, she plucked her pack of cigarettes, the lighter tucked inside, and made for the large windows, forcing one open the rest of the way. She perched in it, one leg hanging out, back leaned up against the frame. Cat tipped the box open, plucking one of the cigarettes free and into her awaiting lips. She brought the lighter out, managing to light it and she took a gracious breath of menthol-tinted air. The pack fumbled in her hand, bouncing off her lap and out onto the pavement four floors down, scattering the few remaining sticks out.

"For fuck's sake," Cat muttered as she eyed the pack below. Briefly, for maybe a second she considered what would happen if she jumped. What part of her would hit first? Skull if she aimed it right, then her shoulders, probably an elbow or a knee, aching and reverberating with pain. She pushed the thought away in the blink of an eye. She'd be alright. Passive ideations and intrusive thoughts were the norm though for her, so she wasn't exactly phased, eyes almost seeming to glaze over as she took another careful drag.

She blew the smoke out and then closed her eyes, deciding the play pretend, the way she did at the balls, but instead chose to give herself a companion. Not someone invented, someone who loved her without condition, expectation, just love.

"Eugene," Her voice began soft, not sure if she was speaking aloud or if she was thinking it, "What the fuck am I doin'?"

"Dunno, what are you doin', kiddo?"

She hadn't expected her brain to invent a voice, or try to replicate Eugene's it had been too long since she had heard it so she couldn't even fact-check herself to see if it was accurate.

She shrugged, keeping her eyes closed, not wanting to end the illusion, "Fightin'? Tryin' to?"

"Looks a lot like that same lil' girl who tried to run from the Games."

"Which time?" A bitter laugh mingled with her words and she brought the cigarette back up to mouth pulling another puff off of it.

"Both," Eugene's voice gave its own laugh – throaty, warm like they'd always been. "You ever think you can't run from 'em?" He asked.

"Then what's the point?" She wondered aloud, her voice getting desperate, "Of survivin' that shit, dad – if I can't end it then what? You're gone and everyone I care about keeps goin' too, if people don't stay 'cause they're scared of fightin' and losin' or scared a' me, then what, huh?"

Silence.

Cat's eyes opened, bleary, searching for Eugene as if he were in the room, sitting on the couch behind her. She looked back toward the darkening room, breathing shaky. Empty. The ghost of a laugh slipped her lips and she tossed the cigarette down to the street so it could join its brethren. Gone. Just like Eugene, just like Sawyer, just like Slate, just like Mahlon.

#tw: passive suicidal ideation #133 #ahw133 #location – cat's apartment #eugene –#self-para

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xalicethewonderx · 10 months

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Sentence First, Verdict Afterwards.

Summary: Alice receives a mysterious package.

Mentions: Lorelai Hart @queencfharts Trigger Warnings: Brief mention of disappearance, poisoning.

Alice had lost count of how long it had been since they had been found. They supposed it was a good thing. People had forgotten (or perhaps were quite happy to go on pretending like it hadn’t happened in the first place). Alice hadn’t, certainly, but, in a sense, they had. None of it had really felt real to begin with, owing to the missing time, and the longer things went on with the strange memories feeling more like dreams, the more it felt like it had all been in the town’s collective imagination.

Alice had written all of the unusual ‘memories’ down, and hidden the diary beneath the bookcase in the living room. Sometimes a new one appeared and they put it in there, only when Mia or their parents weren’t home to ask why they were rummaging around under bookcases.

They had slowed down now, the memories. Frankly Alice hoped that was the last of them, and that all of this Other Alice nonsense was finished.

The problem was… Lorelai. A chill followed at the mere mention of her name, and Alice could hardly stomach talking about her, let alone being in the same room as her. ‘That’s so rude, Alice. She’s your godmother, for crying out loud. She’s been nothing but nice to you.’ (Mia didn’t understand that the feelings deep within the pit of Alice’s stomach were entirely involuntary.)

Alice would have quite liked an explanation for all of this. At the same time, entirely on the contrary, they did not want to find out a single thing and wished to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary at all.

Alice returned from classes early, a horrible case of the ‘can’t sit stills’ and an uneasy feeling of being watched sending them into a bout of sickness that only sleep could cure.

No one was home.

It was just Alice and Dinah.

They bit into a piece of plain bread and noticed, sitting there at the back door, a small package, easily small enough to have been slid through the cat flap. It was discrete, unstamped and unaddressed; the postman wouldn’t have delivered such a thing.

“What sort of person delivers a package through a cat flap?” Alice asked Dinah, who blinked in response. Alice picked her up. Dinah wasn’t thrilled about being taken to the package to sniff it, clawing her way from Alice’s arms the way a toddler might refuse to go in the bath. “Dinah, please! It’s just a box, you love boxes. Can’t you at least smell if it’s… if it’s…”

The unease crept up the back of Alice’s neck, over the top of their head, and then down into their stomach where it remained for the next three weeks.

Sticking out from a fold in the wrapping paper was a small black envelope. Alice was written plainly on the front.

“For me?” Alice said to Dinah, who had taken to hiding beneath the kitchen table, hair standing on end. “Oh, don’t be like that, Dinah. I-it’s just a gift. It’s nothing. The postman must have realised it wouldn’t fit through the letterbox and put it through here instead. That’s all…”

The envelope opened easily.

The paper inside was the same inky black as the envelope. A void.

The answers you seek…

Alice pondered the words, white, floating in the night ocean parchment.

They sat on the floor, box at their feet. Dinah slid behind their back.

“The question is… what is the question? What’s the use in an answer with no question? Oh, to hell with it! I’ll never find out if I just–”

Alice pulled the box close, tearing the paper from the box. Dinah, not liking this one bit, crawled around Alice, pouncing on top of their arms, their hands, anything to get in the way (as cats often did at the most inconvenient moment).

With enough of a fight, Alice managed it, leaving Dinah to hiss from behind Alice once more.

The paper now removed, Alice opened the box.

The answer, it seemed, was a small glass vial, filled with a silver liquid that appeared to glow against the dark velvet lining of the box.

The first question had been what’s in the box? That question was now answered. But it raised so many more, and there wasn’t anything else in the box that could answer those questions!

Alice inspected the vial closely. It was freezing to the touch.

“Well, it doesn’t say poison…” they noted, opening it. Alice lifted it to their nose. A rush swirled over their head, almost knocking them flat out. Alice put the lid back on. “Maybe it should…” Alice frowned at the vial. They picked up the box, desperate for an explanation. Nothing obvious. They gave it a shake. They turned it upside down.

Another black card slipped out from the cardboard, landing on Alice’s lap.

“Perfect Strawberry Tarts.”

Three weeks passed. Alice had hidden the recipe in the diary under the bookcase, and the vial and in a shoebox in their cupboard out of reach.

The final step in the recipe was the very reason it had taken three weeks to make.

Alice did not have the guts to bake them for Lorelai for two reasons; one - baking tarts for Lorelai meant facing Lorelai; two - baking these tarts for Lorelai meant sentencing her to an unknown fate.

But those words on the inky void played in the back of Alice’s mind, over and over, floating amongst a sea of anxieties.

The answers you seek…

The only way to find out what that meant was to give Lorelai the tarts, and have her eat them.

‘Alice, you’re going to be late!’ Mia called, poking her head into the kitchen. ‘You couldn’t have just bought Lorelai a box of tarts from the bakers?’

“No! Mia, I just– You don’t understand! You said I’d to say sorry, and–” Alice was wrapping the blood-red tarts carefully, and stuffing them into their pockets. They were supposed to leave for the Hootenanny half an hour ago, but the tarts weren’t setting correctly. There was something so terribly off about them that Alice thought about throwing them out. “--and these tarts are the nicest way I can think of!”

All Alice could feel as they searched the Hootenanny, donned in the face of a hare, was the awkward wrapping of the tarts stuffed poorly into suit trousers.

Their one and only task was to find Lorelai before they let cowardice (or sense) win.

#happiestevent11 #drabble #self-para #plot drop #poison tw

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izakvoros · 8 months

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The moment you spot one of these birds and move closer to investigate is the moment you are overcome with a sense of dread that is heavy enough to send you running!

You know that this is deeply tied to the symbol that appeared on your body. As you stumble deep into the surrounding forest to try to escape, everything becomes more terrifying.

There is no doubt that you are being hunted now because you can hear someone chasing you through the trees and you can practically feel them breathing down your neck… OOC: Your character will find it extremely difficult getting out of this headspace and will need the help of another character to break out of it. This character can only be one who has broken free of the oneiroi’s magic.

His chest heaved with each rapid beat as he tore through the forest, running deeper and deeper and deeper until the canopy intertwined into a darkening, symbiotic embrace. He barely felt the cuts on his legs as he snagged against hidden brambles, and he thrust his hands out in front of him to feel his way through the pitch, colliding with rough bark or mossy stone. Every few strides had him slowing down, almost as if the forest itself was out to get him too.

Though, he wasn't sure what the real danger was. All he remembered was a single bird, and when their gazes collided, ice dripped into his veins and the world sunk into a pinpoint. His heart hammered deep and hollow like a bass drum, and in that singular moment of fear, he shot off like a rabbit away from the festival. The lights had been behind the bird, and behind the bird was also the beast that was determined to kill him. He would have never made it back to the party if he risked it, and he was too young to die.

A root caught his toes, and he stumbled forward, crashing into a pile of leaves and twigs. He wanted to vomit into them, but he couldn't bring himself to, shuddering in dry, cracking gasps instead. He was going to die here. He was going to die alone. It was a fear in him that he instilled in himself since he was a child, and his body would lay rot and forgotten and devoured by worms.

He crawled forward, muscles tight. He never experienced what he truly wanted, never got his desires or his wants or goals. He wasted it on the drugs in his system, wasted it riding the coattails of his father's fame. Would they even be sad if he was gone? He had been nothing but a pain, terrorizing the house for his own amusement under the guise of a big-grinned moron who couldn't bother with simple tasks that bored him.

His friends might miss him. They might hold a candlelight vigil, but once they graduated, had children, got jobs, they'd move on. He'd be the one they felt sorry for for not having a chance to grow up, the one they would think about on occasion when doing the dishes or seeing a similar face on the side of the street. He'd be bones, he'd be alone, he'd be dead.

He fell forward, the fear and anxiety overcoming him. He could get up and run, but he knew that the beast was not far from him. He could smell its acrid breath, feel the ghost of its stiletto claws. Or maybe he was fooling himself and it was nothing more than a man hoping to gain a bounty for killing the son of a public figure.

He curled into himself and threw his arms over his head.

#vcghostfestival2023 #self-para #[[ ignore how late this is ]]

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stuckonvenus · 1 year

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CORPORATE SECTOR OUTER RIM TERRITORIES 220 BBY

RD-202 was assembled and activated by a human for the singular purpose of measuring conduct among the patrons of the casino city Canto Bight. They were designed to look uniquely human, though their defining characteristic had been a glistening silver eye in their right socket that set them apart from both droids and humans. Despite this, they didn’t seem to mind, in fact they were rather apathetic about most things in general — unusual for its kind, as most droids, even those meant for battle specifically, had a certain guff about them. They did their job and they did it well, well enough to where they were eventually targeted by the police for their efficiency in halting criminals, most notably by exterminating them entirely. The business made the wealthy patrons of the casino uncomfortable and, so, RD-202 was set to be decommissioned off-world.

They didn’t quite understand. They were built as a battle droid, although their owner played the part of an oblivious bystander despite having put all his sweat into programming them to do precisely what they had to every malcontent that walked into the casino. And yet they were betrayed. What made it worse was that it wasn’t considered betrayal, all because they were a droid. Something soulless couldn’t possibly be betrayed, in spite of the fact they had possibly the most refined sense of loyalty out of any species in the Galaxy. It was during their brief flight to a nearby world that specialized in the decommissioning of droids that they felt the first pang of emotion reverberate through their circuits; wires that were once dim flooded with light, with life, their synthetic skin burning hot, eyes darting around frantically in search of an escape before they could be pulled apart limb by artificial limb.

The pull for the airlock was located conveniently near, so before either pilot of the ship could process what was happening, RD-202 had advanced forward in a few quick strides and pulled the lever, a vacuum engulfing the inside of the ship and rocketing their body into the vastness of space. As they gazed back at the ship, they noticed the airlock being forced back into place, and that the pilots didn’t turn around to retrieve the now rogue droid. Perhaps they thought they weren’t worth the trouble. It didn’t matter much to RD-202, what mattered then was hitching another ride. They remained floating for quite a while, considering themselves lucky that they didn’t possess the need to breathe or eat or sleep, although at some point they did grow bored of endlessly wandering and powered off for a bit. For the first time, they dreamt. It was a dream of far-away lands basked in colors that they weren’t certain they’d ever witnessed before on the desert world of Cantonica. Whenever they awoke from their peaceful slumber, they posed two questions to themselves: where had they gone? And where were they now? As they had been picked up by a passing ship, left in what appeared to be a storage closet.

Once the closet door came open, RD-202 saw a girl about as tall as them with a wide-set frame and an impressive stature. She stared at them blankly, analyzing them with focused brown hues, and tucked some black strands of hair behind her ears as she stepped back and gave them a complete once over. They felt truly scrutinized in the moment, which made them slightly uncomfortable.

“What are you staring at?” came tumbling out before their programmed response, which was the initial greeting: Hello, I’m RD-202.

The girl snorted at their dauntlessness and ticked her chin up at them. “I’m trying to figure that out,” she returned as she crossed her arms over her chest. She was wearing no armor, which they thought was a dangerous way for a young woman to dress so far away from the Core. “You survived out in dead space for a while, so either you’re a droid or a very accomplished Jedi.”

“I’m no Jedi,” they said. “I’m RD-202.” There it was.

“Well, that’s more fun. Most Jedi I’ve known have been terribly boring.” she replied as she extended her hand in greeting. They stared at it before slowly reaching out and accepting it, shaking it gently. They were once told that their strength was formidable, and they didn’t want to hurt her. No one had ever seemed particularly glad to have them as company before. “I’m Guinevere. Call me Ginny.”

RD-202 gave a curt nod and retracted their hand. “You can call me RD.”

“I’m not calling you that,” she told them bluntly as she reached to grab their elbow and forcefully summon them out of the closet they’d been shoved into. “I hate the way they name droids. It’s so—”

“Boring?” RD-202 finished for her.

She looked a little impressed, and a little annoyed. Nothing they weren’t already used to. “Yeah,” she confirmed.

“Then call me whatever you want.” they said. “You saved me, after all.”

Ginny hummed in thought for a moment. “I did, didn’t I?” she boasted. “I guess I could call you... Rodney, or Redd, or Radbert, or Rhoderick... or... Ridley. Yeah, I like that. Ridley. Ridley Albright.”

Ridley’s eyebrows furrowed. “I understand Ridley, but why Albright?”

“Your eye,” Ginny said, adorning a proud grin. “It’s all bright.”

THE BRIGHT JEWEL SECTOR MID RIM 285-257 BBY

Juniper was an adventurous young boy on his homeworld; a place which harnessed the gravity of fifteen moons, was of a temperate climate, and appeared with a pinkish hue if you were to pass by it from above its dense cloud cover. He was often praised for how proactive he was whenever it concerned family chores, always wanting to get a taste of the outdoors even if it meant by milking the banthas or snapping off enough green beans in the garden to fill a basket full. He’d been gladdened to get to do any of this, as he was often told of how difficult life had been on his father’s homeworld in the Outer Rim, how hardly anyone had autonomy of their own and fought day in and day out for the credits they needed to survive. It was Juniper’s dream from a young age to brave one of these worlds, his father’s chiefly, and restore goodness and peace to them.

His mother believed in him more than his father, or his countless siblings. He had legitimately lost count around his seventh or eighth younger sibling. According to her, it was typical of those of her kind to procreate quickly and at large, a fact which she said delighted his father for some reason. He asked if she meant that he’d been excited to have children, to which she laughed heartily and gave a nod, and with a smile he laughed along unknowingly.

In the middle of the afternoon, when Juniper was focusing intensely at the soil while yanking up some weeds that had grown stubbornly in the middle of the garden, a shadow was cast over him. He glanced up over his shoulder and blue eyes widened as a robed figure could be seen from where he was crouched down. The only robed figures he could think of arriving at their remote farm were the jawas that weren’t even native to his homeworld. As he began to recoil, a hand was offered to him, and he stared at it while trying to decide if it would be right to accept it. Jawas wouldn’t exchange niceties, would they? Or maybe it was a trick.

“I’m not going to hurt you, youngling,” the silky voice said.

Somehow, Juniper was compelled by this and locked his hand with the stranger’s, allowing himself to be lifted off and out of the ground. He stood on two feet and finally saw the man beneath the hood of his robe, feeling a partial relief that they’d actually been human after all. Still, could they trust him? They could’ve been as dangerous as a jawa.

“I’m gonna go get my Ma,” Juniper said as he started to back up frantically. He was surprised to see that the robed man didn’t follow after him, simply remaining in place with his hands folded over one another. He stumbled into their cottage and ran around, peeking around corners and searching the two bedrooms for his mother. It wasn’t he was running out of the hall that he caught a glimpse of the flower crown atop her head from the backyard.

He scrambled toward he and went to tug on her skirts. She frowned, looking down at her child and then up to where he’d pointed. He was clinging onto her neck whenever she tensed, in disbelief at first as she whispered to him that it was okay. That he would be okay. He didn’t understand why she made him pack a small knapsack’s worth of his belongings and glowblue noodles for a snack. Why would he need all of this? You only needed new clothes and a snack for when you’re going somewhere you’ve never—

Oh.

The robed man had been the Jedi of legend he heard his parents speak about for years. Juniper didn’t think he’d ever meet a Jedi in his lifetime, as much as he dreamt about it, about meeting all the different kinds of people you could in all the Galaxy. Suddenly that dream came crashing down around him as he realized that he was being taken from his home, away from the only place he ever knew and the only place he wanted to escape. The prospect of being unable to return home whenever you missed it too much had shattered Juniper’s perception of what reality was like.

When he boarded the ship on the abandoned hangar far away from his family, he couldn’t think of anything to ask his new Master. Where once there were words that couldn’t be prevented from tumbling off his tongue was now a dry basin of letters or eloquence. All he could hear within the confines of his mind was the simply inquiry: WHY?

Becoming a padawan hadn’t been any easier of an adjustment. While he eventually would adapt to his surroundings and cooperate as a youngling, he would never make a conscious enough effort to connect to the people he was with. They weren’t viewed as competition by any means, instead as colleagues; ones that ate nearly every meal together and slept in the same bunks at night. That’s partially due to the fact that Juniper was sublime at isolating himself so he could learn as much as he could about the Force, in the hopes one day he could return to his family and offer them his protection. He hadn’t realized this until he was halfway through his apprenticeship under his Master, how truly alone he was. Had always been. By the time he tried making friends, they had all entered their own cliques and found their place among each other with no spare time for outsiders. So, he remained close to his Master and stuck to his books, even if he wasn’t very good at comprehending what they were telling him. He wanted to keep trying, he’d do it for an eternity if he had to. Although he didn’t choose to be a padawan, he never had the mind to ask to be brought back to his family either, and as he grew older he began to wonder if that was because he knew deeply that he was meant to be in the Order or because he didn’t want to remember how easily his mother gave him away.

Eventually, he would grow close to the padawans Jae and Micah, and they would form the key trio in their graduating class that lasted much longer than any of them anticipated. They seemed to get even tighter-knit with each passing day, going as far as accompanying others on their solo missions.

“W-We should stick together f-forever,” Jae said after training one day. They were close to becoming Jedi, mere hours separating them from their graduation. “We’re g-good together.”

Micah seemed delighted to agree. “We are,” he affirmed. “It’s just us against the Galaxy.”

“Just what the Force had in store for us,” Juniper laughed along as he slung his arms over their shoulder and walked with them into the last sunset they would share together.

THE CORUSCA SECTOR THE CORE 157 BBY

Reina was a high profile Senator’s daughter, and the gem of the citizens of Coruscant with her wide-lipped, full cheeky smile and adorable brown eyes that could expand at will. But she was going to need to be more than that soon — she had finished all the required work done at Junior Senate so that she could ascend to the rankings of the Galactic Senate, a dream she was now actively pursuing. This thought particularly frightened her, because she wasn’t sure how much more she could truly handle when not in the arms of a trusted professor or any adult, really. Could she be cunning? Reina Wozniak, cunning of all things? Her father said that doubt didn’t suit her, and she knew that, it never suited anyone, but it didn’t help relieve any of the pressure she felt weighing in on her the quicker the days passed. She would sit, alone, in her room and did research on one of the Mid-Rim’s many temperate planets that wasn’t littered in connected cities, and daydream about escaping there and living a life of peace, far away from conflict.

Yet, she stayed among her peers in the Senate and did as she was told. She filed paperwork and remained under the thumb of other Senators that beckoned her assistance, tried not to feel resistant against the steel walls she was trapped between every day, and most importantly, made a name for herself that extended beyond her father’s reach. Everyone came to know who Reina Wozniak was without automatically connecting the dots and thinking first of her father when she came to mind. It was everything she should’ve wanted for herself; and yet it still wasn’t enough.

She was busying herself by reviewing a joint legislation in the middle of the night, nursing caf incessantly and trying to keep her eyes open whenever she heard a rustling from outside her bedroom door. Glancing around, she frowned to herself before pushing herself out of her seat and padding closer to the entrance, pressing her ear up against the cold steel and listening to the murmur of conversation happening on the other side.

“You’ve been gone for thirteen years, Amihan, did you expect anything different to come of this?” came her father’s sharp tongue. Amihan. Her mother. Reina could feel her heart leap into her throat. She hadn’t seen her mother in over a decade, not since she left on a whim with a note that had simply read ‘I’m sorry’. What could she have possibly wanted then?

“I expected you to understand this at the very least,” Amihan replied hotly. “The Nihil have plans to invade Starlight. I need your help in convincing the Jedi to—”

Walter audibly scoffed, and Reina recoiled a bit. Starlight? That was near the two warring worlds Eiram and E’rohnoh. It acted as a beacon, sending out a signal that guided travelers and boosted communication networks active in the Outer Rim.

“I will not be sought out by you for one of your grand plans,” Walter hissed. “Especially after you abandoned your only child, and for what? It seems all your hard work will soon be returned to dust anyways.”

Giving a sigh, Amihan continued despite her ex-husband’s initial refusal. “This is bigger than you and I or Rainbow, Walter,” she insisted. “And I miss her. Everyday, I miss her. But I have to help. If the beacon is destroyed, the Outer Rim will be thrown into utter chaos again. None of us want that. I know the Republic certainly doesn’t.”

“You should ask any of your other friends in the Senate for this favor,” Walter said grimly. “I will not be an accomplice in any of your schemes. I left that behind the day you walked out on this family.”

A pause ensued, and Reina thought to open the door to her room and announce herself before her mother spoke up again. “It seems you walked out on it, as well. How is she? Do you pay her any mind?” Amihan asked. “I trusted you to take care of her.”

“And I trusted you to remain faithful,” Walter rebutted, which seemed to be all the answer that Amihan needed to know that she’d made a grave mistake. Reina wished desperately she could’ve left the confines of her room, run into her mother’s arms and beg to be taken away from the Senate, from Coruscant, from all the jumbled mess that was politics in the Core. I can help you, they like me better than him anyway, she thought to herself. Alas, it seemed no one wanted her, not even if it could be for their benefit.

She returned to her personal computer, tears staining her cheeks as she tried to quiet herself down. She could hear the hiss of their front door open and close, and she felt the absence of her mother weigh down on her for the rest of the evening. She couldn’t find sleep, no matter how hard she tried, and by the time she woke up still in her chair she went to retrieve more caf and found her father perched on the couch.

Looking around, somehow expecting to find her mother around the corner, she instead took note of what was being displayed on the hologram broadcast on the living room wall. She slowly approached her father and went to sit beside his solemn form. As she looked up, she could see the Starlight Beacon fall dramatically onto the surface of Eiram after an explosion catapulted it out of orbit. Eyes widening, she stared blankly before her father reached for the remote and went to pause it. The still image was stuck to the wall, the beacon suspended in midair.

“The Senate has already summoned me,” Walter said without being prompted by his daughter, whose attention was solely on the single frame. “They wished for me to leave to Naboo so we could speak of the consequences with Chancellor Jensen and make nice with his royal family there. I... I suggested you be sent there instead.”

Reina’s brows furrowed and she brought her gaze away from the beacon, confusion written on her features. “Me?” she echoed.

“You leave this afternoon for Theed City.” Walter said conclusively and stood up, not sparing her a second glance as he retired to his room, leaving her to her own devices once more.

#self-para

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vengefvlx · 9 months

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Day 7 of the 75th Hunger Games; Beside the stage

Portia didn't think she would ever tire of styling Peeta. He just appreciated it so much. It was quite refreshing actually. She had worked for Domi for so long, seen her style tributes, victors and socialites before. And some of them just did not appreciate it. When she'd gotten 12 last year, or well decided to style them alongside Cinna, she hadn't known what to expect. So, to come out with friends, was a shock. But she had liked it. It hadn't made this year easy though.

She'd watched the games before. She knew what it felt like for your favourite tribute to die. This year, and last, had been different though. This year the tribute was hers. She was involved in the games. And losing Chandler had been harder than she had thought. She supposed she had been treated last by getting a victor on her first year. Chandlers death hadn't meant that her schedule slowed down though. Oh no no. She had one of the star crossed lovers, and well really, she was busier than ever.

That's how she found herself stood back stage at yet another interview. She'd styled Peeta again, putting him into an impressive suit. Personally, Portia thought that she had outdone herself. Styling against Cinna was hard. He was just a revolutionary when it came to his designs. But it was times like this when she thought she was just as good. Portia had hugged Peeta, and then he'd gone off, to entertain the masses.

It was all going swimmingly. Until it wasn't. There were holos around them, showing the game, alongside others of Peeta's interview. It was about half way through the interview when everything went wrong. The screens showing the arena went blank. Her eyes were glued to the screens, watching as Peeta panicked, and then his screen went blank too. She could have easily stepped away, she was back stage after all. She could go see what was going on. But she felt like she was glued to the spot.

She did eventually turn around, only to be greeted by peacekeepers. It through her off actually. She was loyal to the Capitol. She'd never been anything but loyal. Sure, she styled 12, and considered them her friends. But she was from the Capitol. They didn't give her much choice, grabbing her by the arms, and forcing her away. Portia wanted to scream, but somewhere in her brain was telling her it was useless. Something huge had just happened, and nobody was going to come save the stylist.

So she was unusually quiet as the practically dragged her away. They must have sedated her or something at some point because she wakes up in a darkened room, to very familiar screams. She couldn't place them at first. The room was pitch black. And she had no clue where she was. It terrified her.

And then she could place the scream.

"Cinna….." Her voice as quiet.

It all clicked in her mind. She knew why she was here. Twelve. Her involvement, and close proximity to those in the District Twelve team had directly led to her being here.

Wherever here was.

And she was scared.

#character: portia lux #eventideevent03 #eventidepast #self-para #medical tw #dark tw

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ayda--demir · 19 days

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Where: Mulism Cultural Society Mosque for Berat's Funeral

When: March 19, 2024

Idle fingers tug the headscarf a little tighter around her neck, knelt on a pillow in the third row (children in the second and men in the first) in the prayer room outside of the mosque in Haringey. Inwardly Ayda berated herself for not putting more into the funeral, the last thing she could do was give Berat the ending he deserved, but there was too much in the little time they had. A hand reached out, taking Ma’s hand in hers, catching sight of Emine on the other side, holding the opposite hand. At least she was able to accomplish one thing, giving Ma the time to process and grieve, leaving the arrangements to her.

All those in attendance, and the body, faced in the direction of Mecca. The whole community had shown up, and those that cared for him, and it made her sad that he couldn’t see all of those who loved him, let him know that he wasn’t alone. She wanted to believe that he was looking down at them. That he was in a better place.

The Iman stands facing them, ready to give the prayer. “God is greater.”

“God is greater,” all the voices echo.

“In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. Praise be to God, the Lord of the Universe, the Compassionate, the Merciful, Sovereign of the Day of Judgment! You alone we worship, and to You alone we turn for help. Guide us to the straight path, the path of those whom You have favoured, not of those who have incurred Your wrath, nor those who have gone astray.” The Iman’s voice carries a power that resonates in Ayda.

“God is greater,” all the voices echo once more.

“Allah, we ask You to raise the rank of Muhammad, and have mercy upon the Al (family, friends, and everyone else present for the funeral) of Muhammad, as You raised the rank of Ibrahim (Abraham), and the Al of Ibrahim. Verily, You are the One Who deserves to be praised and thanked, and the One Who is glorified. O Allah, we ask You to bless Muhammad, and the Al of Muhammad, as You blessed Ibrahim, and the Al of Ibrahim. Verily, You are the One Who deserves to be praised and thanked, and the One Who is glorified.”

“God is greater,” a choir of voices rang.

“Allah, grant forgiveness to our living and to our dead, and to those who are present and to those who are absent, and to our young and our old folk, and to our males and females. O Allah! Whomsoever you grant to live, from among us, help him to live in Islam, and whom of us you cause to die, help him to die in faith. Grant especially this dead person your ease, rest, forgiveness and consent Allah, if he acted well, then increase for him his good action, and if he acted wrongly, then overlook his wrong actions. Grant him security, glad tidings, generosity and closeness to you. We seek Thy blessings, Thou art the most Merciful.”

“God is greater,” a moment of silence follows, then all those in unison along with the Iman finish the prayer. “May the peace and mercy of Allah be upon you.”

She can feel the tears start to swell in her eyes, giving Berat’s mothers hand a small squeeze in reassurance that she wasn’t alone. Slowly the front row stands, taking a moment to pass by Berat’s body, a silent goodbye said. Next the children went, a few words murmured. Lastly, the women stand, letting them all take a turn before leaving the end for herself, Emine and Berat’s mother.

She can’t believe she’s saying goodbye.

Emine leads them, tears streaming down her cheeks and given the custom, she was doing a good job holding it together. A hand comes to rest on top of his and she can hear what the girl whispers.

“I want you to know that you are the best big brother. I know we had our differences, but I wouldn’t have wanted to do this world without you. I love you, always.” She leans down to kiss his forehead, moving to let Ma take her turn.

“My sweet boy. Life is not fair.” The words are heard between the sobs. “I will pray for you every day. I love you.” She placed a kiss upon his forehead, Emine reaching to take her head.

And that left Ayda, standing there looking at the man she was so certain she would have spent the rest of her life with. “May you be at peace. I will look out for them.” That she could promise them. “I’m sorry for leaving.” The last words she whispers, moving away.

The burial grounds are not too far off, a line of people following behind the men carrying Berat’s body and he is slowly lowered into his grave. Muslims did not believe in cremation, that there will be a physical resurrection on Judgement Day, and Ayda wished for nothing more.

Ma, Ayda and Emine are the first to throw three handfuls of dirt onto his grave, reciting a small prayer.

“Out of it We (Allah) created you, And into it We deposit you, And from it We shall take you out once again.”

The rest of the family, friends and the community do the same, reciting the same words. A lot of hands wiping under eyes and hugs shared amongst those there.

It wasn’t long until everyone was invited to Tamamen Dolu for food and drinks, a custom that would have taken place at Ma’s, but this felt like a better setting and would allow her to go home when she was ready. Where she knew it would be quiet for her. .

Ayda kept busy, making sure everyone had something to drink and food on a plate, it gave her a way to keep her mind distracted.

When the night was starting to wind down, she caught sight of Emine sitting at the table that had their engravement.

She moves to stand behind her, a hand reaching up to unclasp the necklace from around her neck, moving to place it around Emine’s.

“Ayda, what are you doing?” Emine questions her, turning her head before a hand comes up to wrap around the ring hanging from it.

“I think you should have this.” It was breaking her to give the last piece of Berat she had, but it felt right giving it to Emine. “That was the engagement ring he got for me. I wanted to give you something to remember him by.”

Emine sits there speechless for a second, head turning to look down at the ring. “Ayda…I…” Ayda could feel the tears return and when she saw Emine’s face after she slipped out of the chair, it seemed both of them were doing the same. Arms wrap around her, letting hers wrap around the other. “Thank you.” She whispers.

#self-para #character development #char dev`#flashback #haringey #community #berat's funeral #//anyone who would have liked to be there can write a self-para #//there are some customs - i can send a link #//pretend Emine is wearing a headscraf

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emine--yalaz · 26 days

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Type: Reaction After Party Plot Drop

If they were all being honest, deep down everyone had to know some crazy shit was going to hit the fan. The track record was not one to prove anyone wrong considering all these fucking events they kept continuing to go to; glutton for punishment.

Emine had excused herself to grab another drink when she felt the vibration in her bag and pulled out her phone, face recognition getting her into her photo and swiping up to watch the content.

"Fuck me," she whispers under her breath, head slanting watching the death of the Russian; which only meant there was going to be some fucking pissed off ones soon enough. It was obvious that it was either the French or the Italians.

She did have to admit, what she witnessed was fucking art and she might have tweaked things a little differently for a full affect; not that there wasn't one happening at the moment.

It was the artist in her.

The original thought of what she was going for had vanished from her mind and she could feel that high kick in. The adrenaline starting to pump through her. First order was finding herself something to use as a weapon.

She wasn't one afraid of getting her hands dirty, at least if she was provoked.

#self-para #after party #post plot drop #event.mobawards2024 #//she needs help #tw: death

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maria-azenha · 11 days

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Solace In Your Arms

Date: 25/03/2024

Maria read Cecelia's text a few times and had to keep in mind that the woman ran a business and her visit to the doctor's assured her that she wasn't in the right state of mind to be in a room full of people. She was finding it too easy to slip back into where she wasn't sure what was real and what was that night locked deep in her head.

A bag was packed, and she left a text to Ophélie and Amélie that she would be staying with Guillaume for a few days, not that he was aware of it at the current moment.

A light rap echoed off the door to his flat, taking a small step back waiting until he opened the door, brows furrowing at the sight of her. A quick glance over her, his eyes rested on her bag and he knew the drill.

No words had to be spoken between them, their friendship going that deep that he knew what she needed. The door opened wider for her to slip inside and that is when she noticed the redhead sitting on his couch, giving a small crinkle to her nose.

"Rebecca, we are going to have to cut our night short." What a horrid name, Maria thought, not feeling bad at all that she was breaking this little get together up.

It didn't go unnoticed the way the woman looked at her and a stoic expression remained etched into her features, ready to tear her down if she tried to go at her.

"Guillaume, we were just...." She wasn't able to finish her words before he spoke again.

"Time to go, I'll message later." A hand gestured for her to use the door.

A huff coming from the redhead's lips as she started to get up from the couch, going to fetch her belongings. She paused at the threshold, looking them both off. "Don't bother." A hand came up to flick her hair over her shoulder and stomped off.

Maria couldn't help but giggle, a hand coming up to cover her mouth when his eyes narrowed at her.

"You owe me, you know that." A smile pulls on his lips, shutting the door and locking it. "Go get ready." He knew the drill.

The brunette nods her head and makes her way off towards the bathroom where she brushes her teeth, washes her face, and lathers her face with all the different facial products she uses. Hair tied up into a loose bun. Taking a glance at herself in the mirror, she was finding it hard to recognise who she was. Slipping into the t-shirt she always slept in, Maria pads silently out into his bedroom, a side lamp the only light illuminating the room, finding him already stripped down to his boxers sliding into bed where he opens the blankets at the opposite side for her.

Without hesitation she climbs in beside him, scooting closer to him where she can feel his arm wrap around her, pulling her back to his chest. There was a comfort in his arms, the only place where he chased her demons away and she could find a dreamless state. No faceless man pointing a gun at her, pulling the trigger seconds after killing everyone she loved, sending her into a painful darkness.

Her body relaxes against his, finally closing her eyes and not being scared about it. A kiss is placed to the top of her head. "Sleep Maria, nothing will harm you. I promise."

I promise.

She trusted him with her life.

"Goodnight Guillaume." She whispers, not long after drifting to sleep.

#self-para #character development #char dev #flashback #25/03/2024

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hazel-sawyer · 2 years

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task 005. || the apple doesn’t fall rot too far from the tree

(all text bits are under the readmore)

Eight

“Mom, guess what?”

“Mom.”

“Mommy.”

Mrs. Sawyer worked her way around the kitchen, breezing past the eight year-old. Ignoring the small voice ringing up to her ears.

“Mama,” Hazel whined again, tiny hands grasping at the hem of her mother’s shirt, trying for what felt like the millionth time, to get her attention.

Mrs. Sawyer stopped in her tracks, hands messy with flour, hair astray, bags weighing heavily under her eyes. She turned to face her daughter while snapping, “What, Hazel?”

Hazel’s hands reflexively retracted away from her mother, her brows knitting together, teeth catching over her bottom lip. Her lip trembled for a second her hands knitting into the worn fabric of her own shirt as she spoke in stumbled starts, “I lost another tooth.”

“Great,” Her mom spoke, through a sigh, turning her attention back to the meal in front of her, dusting another layer of flour over her fingers, “Go tell your sister.”

“Aspen told me so you could tell the tooth fairy.“

“Hazel, I’m busy,” She sighed, “Aspen knows the tooth fairy too, she’ll figure it out. Go bother your sister.”

Sixteen.

Grass from the backyard hugged Hazel’s sides, the blades rising a few inches higher than she knew her mother would like; no one had taken the time to take care of the backyard in weeks, but who had the time to deal with that? Not when there were mouths to feed, school to go to, siblings to help look after. Hazel also figured that doing yard work in the middle of the night was a moot point anyway, she’d only get hurt, so she allowed the overgrowth to cradle her for another day. The sticky warmth of the summer sun had long since dissipated, fireflies began to dance across the tree line, and a steady breeze jostled the greenery around her.

“You okay?”

Hazel bolted up at the sound of the voice, vision immediately trailing to the speaker. She scoffed and laid back down, “Aspen, you scared the shit out of me.”

A bright laugh fell from Aspen’s lips as she joined Hazel on the ground, “My bad.” A beat of silence fell over the sisters followed by Aspen nudging Hazel with her elbow, “Stop bein’ all avoid-y – like, are you good?”

“Mom’s just being mom,” Hazel half answered, a hand lazily tangling into the grass next to her, gaze firmly fixed on the stars in the sky above them.

“What’d she say?”

Hazel brought her hand back to rest on her stomach as she began to mimic her mother, “No one helps me around this goddamn house, I work all day and I’m mom, so I’m gonna be a big bitch about everything, and you’re all so ungrateful, maybe if your dad was still around–”

“She really pulled the dad card? That’s fuckin’ low.” Aspen exclaimed, “You know, if dad were still here he’d be out here with us.”

Hazel’s line of sight tore away from the sky and over to her sister, curiosity piqued, “He would?”

“Yeah, totally, dude, you don’t remember?” Aspen gave a sideways smile, face scrunching up a little as she talked, “When we were super little he’d, like, always come out with us after dinner and we’d chase fireflies and – he could like name all of the stars and stuff”

Hazel wished she could reminisce with Aspen, she wished she could force herself to remember something from when she was that small. She wanted to match the train of nostalgia, but when her mind even considered her father, there was nothing. Maybe some loss, emptiness, no fond memory, she couldn’t even remember his face, only the facts: Ewan Sawyer walked off into the woods a decade ago and hadn’t been heard from since.

What Hazel knew is she had Aspen. She always just had Aspen.

“Let’s starting doing it again, then,” Hazel began, attempting to comfort her sister, “I don’t know any of the stars or whatever, but like, that sounds nice.”

“Deal.”

#eye strain #ig?#cw: themes of neglect #self-para #vaguely idk i'm throwing tags at the wall #lemme know if i need to tag anything else guys #ruleandtask

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drrutherford · 2 years

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Fathers & Sons || ft. Andrew Rutherford

“Is this your idea of some kind of joke?”

If it wasn’t for the television chattering on low volume in the adjacent room, it would have been still enough to hear a pin drop. Gideon made no move to accept the papers being extended to him. Two Transatlantic flight tickets in his and Felix’s names. He hadn’t been the one to purchase them. After a moment, and with a huff of irritation, they dropped back down to his father’s side.

“Do I look amused, Gideon? It’s a wonder you haven’t taken the initiative already. Really, after what happened at the hospital, what were you waiting for?” Andrew shook his head in disapproval. “... A bomb personally delivered to your office?”

“Yes, with a pink bow on it. Who gave you the spare key? Was it Damon?”

“Damon had the good sense to flee already. Even Adriana’s understood the critical importance of safet-”

“Yvonne’s staying put. Planning on bullying her too? Next pit-stop on your drive?”

“Bullying?” It was obvious enough that he’d taken offense to it. “Yes, do forgive me for being concerned over my grandchild’s safety and wanting to get him and his father as far away from imminent danger as possible. How very selfish of me.”

There were many retorts he could give to that, the muscle tensing in Gideon’s jaw was a very old tell. Where to even begin?... That if he absconded with his son while Katherine still had full guardianship he might as well kiss his chances of a custody appeal goodbye? That their family’s lives wouldn’t be in danger now were it not for Andrew Rutherford’s own choices? That the patriarch only seemed to care about their safety when it suited him? That he was a fucking hypocrite after the violence he’d rained not only on his enemies, but on countless innocents knocked off in the resulting domino effect? That maybe if Lara had idolized him less growing up she wouldn’t be-... No, he refused to think about that now.

"What about Maddie? She's your grandchild too."

"Yes thank you, Gideon, I happen to be aware." A pause. A sigh, when it became clear his son wouldn't budge without an explanation. "She's a product of both the French and the Rutherfords. Neither the Italians nor the Russians would risk all-out war with two parties at once by bringing her to any harm. The same cannot be said for Felix."

"Product. That's how you see us, isn't it?... Just products, just pawns for— "

"You know that's not how I meant it."

" — I don't know you at all."

Tense silence lapsed between them. Inevitably, it was the older man who broke it first. “Whatever you may think of me, Gideon, I’m only trying to protect— ”

“ — Your interests, yes. I got that the first time.” The eldest of Andrew’s four children sneered. He opened his mouth to say more, but just as swiftly clamped it shut again when a thin little voice chimed up behind them.

“Why is auntie Lala on the telly?...” The boy’s fretful, tremulous tone, slices straight through Gideon’s heart. If it was ice a moment ago, it’s glass now and threatening to shatter. “Why are they saying she’s dead?”

He stares at his father. For once in his life, Andrew Rutherford has the decency to look ashamed. Gideon turns on his heel and moves to the doorway to collect his son. “C’mon Felix, let’s turn off the TV. How many times have I told you it’s just rubbish?” His own voice threatens to break over the word, but unlike the four-year-old, he's quick to channel it into bitterness. He hefts the child’s weight from the crook of one arm to the other and throws a parting glance at his father over one shoulder.

“Get out. I don’t want you here when I get back.”

#self-para #June '22 #P: Fathers & Sons

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