#Am I luring myself into thinking he is actually worse than he is?? lol
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The discussion about Sukuna eating his twin in the womb reminded me of how Xavier (X-men) killed his twin in the womb cause he sensed her evilness (comic book panel under the cut).
I wouldn't put past jjk lore to really mean sukuna ate his twin. He is literally a malevolent kitchen with body altering capabilities (like when he changed his head to chomp down on Hana)...
...What if he was actually malformed or monster-like, and eating his twin helped him acquire his human form (the 'mask' hinting at what his body might have been more made of?)
#jjk 257#ryomen sukuna#Am I luring myself into thinking he is actually worse than he is?? lol#This adds a really interesting myth on his list#Btw the last part is just really wild midnight-born speculations lol
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Song Request
'I just wish the cost of her happiness wasn’t my own.’
Jungkook x reader - smut, angst, a little bit of fluff, a pathetic attempt at some humour and a bit of cheese lmao
Part of ficswithluv’s Bulletproof Bingo!
Rating: 18 (graphic sex and mature themes)
Word Count: 11.5k+
Warnings - there’s quite a few, please read carefully! infidelity, illness (Parkinson’s disease) and discussion of death, brief mention of drugs, dom!JK and sub!reader, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), pain kink, brief asphyxiation, JK has a big cock (and tattoos), hickeys, explicit dirty talk, degradation and praise, multiple orgasms, fingering, (ridiculously) rough sex, (kind of) soft sex, sad sex, brief mention of punishment, impregnation kink, possessiveness, hand-holding during sex, semi-toxic relationship, I think that’s it but please let me know if you notice that I missed something!
a/n: hey guys !! this is my first Bulletproof Bingo fic and I’m super excited to write some more fics for this event! I really like this fic, it’s one of my favourites that I’ve ever written, so I hope you all really enjoy it too! thank you to the love of my life @silverlightprincess for proof-reading this at 2am this morning and making me even more excited to post it by saying it’s one of the best things I’ve ever written (you’re the best and I love you). I’m like 99.999% sure that I’m gonna do a part two to this so please lmk if you like it bc it will motivate me to actually write the part two lol x
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‘You really shouldn’t be here,’ I sigh as I lean against the doorframe, trying to avoid meeting his eyes. ‘I know but… I had to come. I had to see you one more time,’ he says gently, and I look down either side of the corridor to make sure it’s empty before I let him in. The hotel is crawling with our friends and family, and I’m sure they’d have some questions seeing Jungkook outside of my room.
I move to the side, and I can sense the grin on his face without even looking up at him as he brushes past me. I shut the door behind him, and when I turn back around, he’s sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at me. He’s dressed in a loose white t-shirt, revealing the black ink curling up his hands and arms, and a pair of grey sweatpants, the black Gucci sliders that I bought him for his last birthday on his feet.
‘Have you been crying?’ he asks, voice soft, and I nod, feeling the tears flooding my eyes again. ‘Oh, baby, please don’t cry. It breaks my heart when you cry,’ he says, voice strained, and he holds out a hand to me. Every time he does this, the voices in my head get louder, and it’s an internal struggle to see what I’ll do.
‘Don’t do this again.’ ‘You’ve done it before, one more time won’t make a difference.’ ‘You’re only hurting yourself, making it worse for yourself.’ ‘He’s hurting, and you can take his pain away.’ ‘He can’t love you.’ ‘He loves you.’
And the same voice always wins.
I put my hand in his, the familiar smirk appearing on his face, like he knew what I’d do, like he always knows what I’ll do. He tugs my hand, pulling me towards him, and he spreads his legs, allowing me to stand between them. He tilts his head back to look up at me (though he’s not much shorter – these hotel beds are ridiculously high), and lifts his hands to wipe away the tears running down my face.
‘Don’t cry,’ he whispers again, before pulling me against him, his strong tattooed arms holding me close, his face buried in my chest as I wrap my arms around his shoulders. ‘Will you let me make it better?’ he asks, voice muffled against the white satin of my dressing gown, the words ‘Bride Squad’ embroidered across the back of it, and I hesitate, the voices getting louder again.
‘You can stop. You can turn him away.’ ‘What’s the point? You’ve done this so many times before.’ ‘This time’s different, and you know it is.’ ‘This might be your last time. Why would you turn him away?’ ‘Be the good person. Don’t do this.’ ‘You deserve one last time.’
‘Please,’ I breathe out, and his fingers tug at the belt of my gown, letting it fall open, and he sucks in a breath. ‘White lingerie? Anyone would think you’re the bride,’ he whispers, fingers skimming over my exposed skin before he pushes the gown off my shoulders. His words hurt, and he knows they do, but I shake them off. ‘I was trying it on, ready for tomorrow. I have to wear white, because of my dress,’ I say evenly, and his eyes flit up to where my dress hangs up on the outside of the wardrobe.
‘Such a pretty dress. I love you in blue,’ he murmurs, my heart fluttering at the praise. ‘Get on the bed for me, angel,’ he says, words laced with dominance, and I instantly lie on the bed beside where he sits. He doesn’t waste much time, getting up and shrugging off his t-shirt before climbing over me, lips ghosting over my neck and jaw.
‘Don’t you dare put marks on me,’ I say as my fingers tangle into his soft curly locks, and he chuckles against my skin. ‘Can’t you just cover them up with makeup?’ ‘No, the makeup will rub off onto my dress.’ ‘What if I put marks on your boobs? No one will see them there,’ he says, lips trailing down to my collarbones. ‘But it hurts.’ ‘You like it when it hurts, baby,’ he says with a raised eyebrow, looking up at me, and I roll my eyes. He takes that as a sign to do as he pleases, hands sliding beneath my back to unclasp my bra, pulling the straps off my arms and throwing it over his shoulder. His head ducks down to my breasts, and he doesn’t take care to be gentle, biting and sucking on the skin harshly, coaxing shaky breaths and whimpers from me.
Once he’s deemed the faint marks that are beginning to appear sufficient, his lips trail further down my body. ‘So pretty. You’re so pretty,’ he mumbles against me, my skin tingling where he touches it. His movements become more and more desperate with each moment, as though he’s scared I’m going to leave, but we both know I’m not going anywhere.
‘What’d you want, baby?’ he asks, like he always does, and I sigh, because he already knows. ‘You. I want you,’ I breathe out, and he stills with his lips on the seam of my pants. ‘Be more specific, angel.’ ‘For fuck’s sake, JK, I want your cock,’ I say, voice laced with desperation, and he chuckles against the white lace. ‘Gotta get you wet first,’ he says, and a breath escapes my lips as he looks up at me, lip caught between his teeth, eyes dark with desire. ‘You want that, baby? Want me to eat you out?’ he asks, and I nod, before whispering, ‘yes… please.’
‘Whatever you want, angel,’ he says, pulling my pants down my legs, leaving me fully exposed to his hungry eyes, the desire in his gaze making me shiver. He spreads my legs before lifting them, moving closer to me and letting them fall over his shoulders, giving him total access to where I need him most. He swipes the pad of his finger against my folds, a shaky breath falling from my lips as he holds his finger to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste, and he lets out an appreciative hum.
‘Taste so good. Better than her,’ he says, unable to help himself like always, and I freeze. He knows it hurts when he does this, and he does it anyway, because it inflates his ego every time. ‘What the fuck, JK?’ I spit, moving my legs from his shoulders and recoiling in on myself. He lets out a gentle chuckle, leaning on his forearms, as he looks up at me, not one hint of guilt in his face. No, he’s lucky. I’m the one that gets all the guilt.
‘It’s not funny. I hate it when you do that, Kook,’ I mumble, and a little grin appears on his lips. ‘Sorry, baby,’ he says, words dripping with amusement, not even trying to be sincere. ‘Don’t say it if you don’t mean it,’ I spit, and his grin grows even wider. ‘Bastard,’ I mutter, and he lets out another chuckle, seeming to find this situation hilarious, when in actuality, it’s far from it.
Silence falls over the room, his eyes on me, as I stare unseeingly at my hands. I really hate him sometimes. How can he be so bold to joke about this, when it’s so wrong? I will myself to have the strength to send him back to his room, to tell him to just go fuck himself, but I know I never will, and he knows it too, which is why he insists on pushing the boundaries. According to him, guilty sex is the best sex. How he knows that, I’m not sure. He never seems to feel the guilt that practically eats me up.
This is always the worst bit. I’ve done this enough times to know how this goes, to know the stages of our time together. He lures me in with sweet compliments and sad eyes, before he pulls some kind of dick move, to test me. To give me an out. Though we both know I’ll never take it. I’m never strong enough. And then he gives a pitiful attempt at making it up to me.
‘Are you done sulking yet, or should I just go?’ he says, and my eyes flit up to meet his, dark and chocolaty, smooth and bright. I stare at him for a few moments, waiting for him to melt and apologise properly, wondering if he will this time.
‘I’m sorry, y/n. I know I shouldn’t joke, but it makes it easier for me,’ he says, sounding sincere, yet his eyes are unreadable, making it difficult to tell whether he’s saying it because he’s sorry or because I’m naked in front of him and his dick is straining against his boxers. ‘But it makes it harder for me,’ I say, almost pleadingly, though my words may be falling on deaf ears. It’s hard to tell when he’ll listen to me, actually truly listen to me, and take my words on board, or whether he’ll pretend as though he has so that he can get his dick wet.
It’s hard to tell whether he loves me sometimes.
‘I know, baby, I’m sorry, I really am. I won’t do it again, I promise,’ he says softly, and I nod, wondering how long it’ll take him to break his promise again. We sit in silence for a few more moments, and I can’t tear my eyes away from his. ‘You forgiven me yet?’ he asks, all of the false remorse gone from his face now, replaced by an amused smirk and dark eyes. And I want to be angry at him, I really do. But my will to feel him is stronger. ‘Mmhmm,’ I reply, and he grins, reaching an inked-up hand out to my leg, and pulling me down the bed.
As soon as I’m lying down, he’s on top of me again, his lips meeting mine for the first time since he entered the room. No one has ever kissed me better than Jungkook, and I very much doubt anyone ever will. His lips are soft, yet his mouth is rough against mine, his tongue gliding over my own, making me number with every movement. And when he pulls one of my lips between his teeth, so hard he draws blood, it’s game over, my mind turning to mush as he laves his tongue over where blood blooms from my sensitive skin. If kissing were a sport, Jungkook would win first place, like he does with everything else.
But it doesn’t last for long. Whilst he’s an expert at pretty much everything, he loses interest quicker than children do. Even more so when I’m moaning against his mouth and grinding up into him desperately. He breaks away from me, lips taking the same path down my body as a few moments ago, but this time, he reaches his destination. As though he can’t waste another moment, he throws my legs over his shoulders and licks a broad stripe up my slit.
‘So wet for me, angel. Always so wet for me,’ he exhales, warm breath fanning out over where I need him most, and I let out a desperate moan. ‘You want my mouth?’ he asks teasingly, and I nod, looking down at him impatiently, his eyes shining with mischief. ‘Beg.’ I let out a frustrated sigh, hating that he pushes me so far, so stubborn that he’ll never be the one to give in because he knows that I will. I always will.
‘Jungkook, please. Need your mouth, need you to make me cum,’ I plead, tone lined with defeat, and he gives me an impish grin before his tongue darts out to wet his lips. He ducks his head but doesn’t do anything, and my fingers tangle into his hair to prompt him. ‘Such a pretty pussy, baby,’ he compliments, and I eat it up, letting his shitty generic praise soothe my pain.
‘Jungkook, please,’ I whisper again, and he chuckles before his tongue dips between my folds. I let out a broken moan as the pleasure builds, his ministrations making me squirm beneath him. ‘So sensitive for me,’ he says against me, lips enveloping my heat, tongue poking between my folds before he moves to suck at my clit, teeth scraping against the bud to push me even further.
‘Yes, fuck, feels so good,’ I whine, voice shaky as I run my nails over his scalp, head falling back into the pillow, back arching up into the cool breeze blowing in from the open balcony doors. His hands slide under my lower back and he pulls me even closer towards him, trying desperately to get deeper and deeper, suffocating himself with me.
‘Oh. Oh, God,’ I breathe out, and he hums into me, the vibrations sending a wave of bliss washing over me, and I let out a moan of his name. And that’s what pushes him, what always pushes him. He loves his name on my lips, and he loses all restraint, lapping, no, slurping at me with desperation. Every movement is greedy, desperate, full of lust so strong it seeps into me too, loud moans and obscene squelching filling the room.
His tongue delves into me, nose nestling against my clit, and it’s euphoria, absolute euphoria, my hands tugging at his hair to bring him closer, impossibly closer, and he complies, making me whimper with delight. And then his movements begin to slow, and I know where this goes.
‘So good. Tastes so good. So sweet for me, baby,’ he says when he breaks away, the bottom half of his face shining with my essence, lips drenched with me. He doesn’t even give me a chance to plead, to complain, to beg him, before his index finger begins teasing at my clit, flicking the bud gently. Slowly, impossibly slowly, his finger trails down to my folds before pushing between them, and my walls tighten around the digit.
‘Stop clenching. If you can’t take one finger, how will you take my cock? Huh? Gotta stop clenching,’ he murmurs, voice soothing as his finger pumps in and out leisurely, and I nod, my hands falling from his head and clutching at the sheets instead. He gradually speeds up, his finger being joined by another and making me whimper, body shuddering as he scissors his fingers, attempting to stretch me open.
Without warning, he ducks his head to suck at my clit, and I cry out as his fingers fuck into me, my body working of its own will to get away from him because it just feels too damn good, so good it hurts. ‘Stop moving, or I’ll spread you over my lap instead. I might not have my belt, but my hand works just fine,’ he threatens, lips moving against my clit, and I tense, trying not to move.
‘I’m gonna…’ I trail off, biting down onto my lip, my eyes screwed shut as he curls his fingers against my soft walls. ‘You’re gonna cum? Is that right, angel?’ he asks, and I nod, not trusting myself to open my mouth to reply, knowing only moans of his name will come out, and it’s too dangerous. Her room is right across the hall.
And then he adds another finger, the three digits stretching me wider, so wide it hurts. I let out a whimper of pain, and he chuckles, his breath fanning out over my stomach. ‘Don’t complain, baby, you like it when it hurts. My little slut can only get off if it hurts, right?’ he asks, fingers ramming into me without any concern for how it hurts, hurts so fucking bad. So bad it has me balling the sheets up into my fists, my back arching up from the bed, moans falling from my lips, so desperate for more. ‘Cum for me, baby,’ he whispers, before attaching his lips to my clit again, his fingers curling one last time, drawing an incredibly intense orgasm out of me.
My entire body tenses as I let out a long, drawn-out moan, his fingers and mouth still working to prolong my high, and I clench around him, so tight his fingers are caught inside me. Once he feels me coming down, relaxing around his digits, he practically rips them out of me, a shudder racking through my body as I watch him lick my cum off his tattooed skin.
‘I’m so hard, so fucking hard for you,’ he spits out, his body radiating frantic energy as he pushes himself up from the bed, hastily pushing his sweatpants down his legs, quickly followed by his underwear, his hard length slapping up to hit his stomach, red and swollen and leaking with precum. The desperation in every movement of his tells me that this is the moment he’d do anything I asked of him. The moment he loves me most.
He climbs back onto the bed, hovering over me again, and surprises me by pressing his lips to mine again. Usually, nothing comes before his cock filling me up, but I’m pleasantly surprised at the kiss, no matter how sloppy it is. I can taste myself in his mouth, my own essence dancing across my taste buds, and his hands dig into my sides so hard I know they’ll bruise.
‘Why is your hair in braids? I like pulling your hair when it’s out,’ he murmurs against my mouth, sounding like a little kid, his words making me laugh. ‘She prefers my hair wavy, said wavy hair looks prettier with flowers in it,’ I reply, lips moving against his as I speak, and he laughs. ‘Flowers in your hair, huh? Gives me something pretty to look at when you get on your knees for me tomorrow,’ he says, words dripping with arrogance, and I pull away from him, annoyed.
‘What? Oh, sorry. You’re the pretty thing I’ll be looking at, not the flowers,’ he grins proudly, completely misreading me, and I let out a huff. ‘I’m not sucking you off tomorrow,’ I say, and he frowns, eyes still full of amusement. He seems to find everything endlessly funny. ‘Why not, baby? You owe me.’ ‘You know why not. This is the last time, Jungkook,’ I say, and he doesn’t react for a few moments, just staring at me unreadably, before he rolls his eyes, a grin spreading across his lips. ‘Okay. Let’s make it a good one, then,’ he whispers, eyes darkening, a fresh wave of arousal flooding out from my core as I nod, Jungkook pressing a brief kiss to my lips.
‘Hands and knees, angel,’ he instructs, moving off me to stand beside the bed, and I grin to myself, hastily turning onto my front. My hands and knees dig into the mattress, a little shaky with how weak my body is after my orgasm, but Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice – or doesn’t care about – how tired I am, just teasing my folds with the tip of his rock-hard cock. ‘No condom?’ I ask breathlessly, and he chuckles before pushing the tip in, stretching me out with a deliciously painful burn. ‘Fuck a condom. Wanna feel you clench around my fat cock. Gonna fuck a baby into you,’ he spits out, his words making me gush around him as I let out a breathy moan, and he chuckles.
‘My little slut loves the sound of that, huh? You want my baby? Wanna be nice and round with my baby?’ he asks, voice harsh and low, but I’m struggling to focus on his words, my mind occupied by the feeling of his tip inside me. ‘Answer me, or the tip is all you’ll get. I can cum easily; it’s harder for you,’ he threatens, and I know he’d make good of it too. ‘Yes, yes, want your baby, JK, please fuck me, need your cock,’ I say mindlessly, the words just falling from my lips without thought because I’m so desperate that my entire body aches for him.
‘Good girl. That’s my good girl. My pretty little baby,’ he says, voice soft and soothing, and I’ve gotten used to how quick his entire disposition switches, the change no longer giving me whiplash like it used to. He slowly sinks into me, the painful stretch prompting a sob to be torn from my throat, and he rubs my back soothingly as he bottoms out. ‘So big,’ I whimper, and he chuckles. ‘Mmhmm, my cock’s way too big for you, but you take it so well, angel, so fucking well,’ he praises as he stays still inside me, allowing me to adjust.
‘Please, JK, move,’ I plead, and his hands stop rubbing, gripping onto my waist instead. ‘Sure?’ he asks, though I can feel that he’s practically itching to fuck me. ‘Yes, need you,’ I breathe out, and he doesn’t hesitate any longer, pulling out of me before slamming back in, winding me. He’s ruthless, pounding into me so hard that his balls slap against my thighs, hands digging into my waist, both our skin damp with sweat.
I arch my back, and he leans forward over me, grabbing my two French braids in one hand, tugging on them to hold my head up, the pull only slightly painful. He fucks into me, hard, with no restraint, my head bent back at an uncomfortable angle, my moans projecting around the room. ‘Does my slut like it when I fuck you like this? Like it when I fuck you like the little bitch you are?’ he asks, my moans answer enough it seems, a strained chuckle falling from his lips.
He props one foot up on the bed, allowing him to hammer into me at a bruising pace, cock filling me up completely, having me completely blissed out. ‘You take my cock so well, angel, so fucking well. You take it like a little slut,’ he breathes out between grunts, and it’s forceful, it’s vicious, it’s primal the way he’s fucking me, so good I can’t think of anything but him, and how fucking amazing his cock is.
My arms give way before I can realise how much they ache, and I fall face first into the sheets. ‘Oh, baby, are you tired?’ he asks gently, his cock stilling inside me, and I try to lift myself back up, desperate to feel him again. ‘No, stop,’ he says, turning me over, his dick slipping out in the process. When I’m on my back, I look up at him and my heart flutters. His dark hair is damp and curly, his pupils completely blown out with lust, his lips pink and swollen, his cheeks flushed, and his entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.
He pauses for a moment, eyes flitting over my body like how an artist admires their work, and I know he’s revelling in how fucked out I am, how wrecked he’s made me, my chest heaving and my entire body radiating hot desire. And there’s something in his eyes, something else, something different. Something affectionate, soft, sad. And that feeling seeps into me, knowing that this is the last time I can feel his touch, the last time I can get tangled up with him in the sheets.
The moment passes and his eyes harden once more, his hands sliding beneath my slick body and lifting me up into his toned arms, my legs coming up around his waist instinctually. He carries me over to the door, his strength astounding me all over again, my fingers running over the ridges of his muscles. He pushes me up against the door, my legs still clamped around him, and his hands roam over my body.
‘Won’t someone hear if you fuck me here?’ I ask, my lips against his collarbones, and he chuckles. ‘That’s the whole point. Isn’t her room right across the hall? Maybe she can learn what good sex sounds like,’ he says amusedly, and my heart doesn’t sink this time. It was only a matter of time before he brought her up again. In all honesty, it took him longer than I expected.
He doesn’t even give me a chance to reply before he sinks into me, my face contorting with pleasure beneath his intense gaze. He pulls out, still watching my reactions, before pushing back in at an agonisingly slow pace. He rocks into me, cock dragging against my walls leisurely, and I can feel it even more like this, can feel every inch filling me up and stretching me out.
‘Fuck, so good, so fucking good,’ I moan loudly, and he pushes two fingers into my mouth. ‘Gotta be quiet. We’ll get a noise complaint, and I don’t wanna rush. Like taking my time with you, like ruining you slowly, like making you a fucked out little bitch desperate for my cock. Isn’t that what you want, angel? Want me to fuck you nice and slow?’ he whispers against my ear, and I let out a moan around his fingers, gushing all over his thighs.
He takes this as a yes, grinning devilishly as he fucks me deep, swollen head scraping against the soft spongy spot inside me, and I whimper and whine around his fingers as he lets out sinfully soft grunts and groans against my neck. He’s usually so rash, so hasty, so eager, very rarely fucking me slow like this, both of us savouring every thrust.
I clench around him and he grins, bringing a tattooed hand to rest at the base of my neck, fingers still in my mouth. ‘Feels good?’ he asks, and I nod enthusiastically, a little laugh falling from his lips. ‘Of course it does. No one can fuck you like this. No one can fuck you like I fuck you. My good little slut, only mine. I own you, baby. This pussy is mine,’ he whispers, the dirty words combined with the slow drags of his cock against my walls making me sob around his fingers, a grin spreading across his lips.
His hand around my neck tightens, cutting off my airways slightly, and I let out an unintelligible string of curses around his fingers, my breathing quickly becoming laboured. I clench around him sporadically, quickly feeling my high approaching, and he can feel it too, his hands disappearing from my neck and mouth, coming to rest at my waist instead.
‘So pretty, baby, so beautiful and good for me. Love your pussy, feels so good. Love having sex with you. So lucky I get to touch you, taste you, fuck you,’ he whispers between groans, and I let out whimpers at his words.
His touches across my body are featherlight and soft, his thrusts slow and deep, and he breathes out compliments and gentle words against my skin. And then I realise that he’s no longer fucking me. He’s making love to me.
He leans forward, capturing my lips with his in a kiss, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, hands tangling into his hair. I feel myself reaching my climax quicker than ever as our lips move together, tongues and teeth clashing in the desperate and passionate kiss. He swallows my moans, and when they get more and more frequent, he breaks away from me.
‘Close, angel?’ he asks, and I nod, my eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his body rolling against mine, thrusts slow and deep. ‘So close, baby, feels so good. So fucking good, Jungkook,’ I breathe out and his hand reaches down to rub at my clit as he continues thrusting into me, the tip dragging against the soft spongy part inside me. The feeling is so euphoric, the pleasure rendering my mind black of everything but Jungkook, my body melting into his, our chests pressed together.
‘Come on, baby, cum for me. Wanna feel you clenching around me, baby, you’re so close. Cum for me, angel,’ he whispers into my ear before pressing his lips to mine, these soft and loving words so unlike anything he’s ever said to me before that they push me over the edge as I let out a loud moan of his name against his mouth, as a mind-numbing orgasm washes over me.
My vision turns blank, head empty as white noise fills my ears, pussy clenched around him in a vice-like grip, and he continues to rub at my clit to draw out the pleasure. Once I feel myself coming down, I pull his hand away before interlocking it with mine, a smile breaking across his face as our eyes lock together in a gentle gaze.
‘I love you, y/n,’ he whispers softly, and the words bring tears to my eyes, because I’ve never heard him say them before. Not to me, anyway. His smile falls slightly when I don’t answer, my whole body frozen, before I reply without even thinking; ‘I love you, too, Jungkook.’
His smile reappears with force, filling his face with such joy that it makes the tears spill out over my cheeks as I laugh. ‘I love you. I fucking love you, y/n. I love you so much,’ he whispers again and again, both of us completely still, our hands still locked together.
My walls still flutter around him with the aftershocks of my orgasm. ‘Shall I stop? Are you too sensitive?’ he asks, my heart melting as more tears run down my face. ‘No, want you to cum,’ I reply, and he lets out a curse, beginning to thrust into me again.
I keep clenching around him involuntarily, and I reach down my free hand to play with his balls, my other hand still in his tight grip. ‘Come on, baby, you’re so close. Cum for me,’ I whisper before pressing my lips to his briefly, digging my heels into his back to hold him in place, deep inside me, his dick twitching. He buries his head into my neck and lets out a strangled moan of my name as he cums inside me, painting my walls with his hot, thick release. His hips stutter as he tries to prolong his orgasm, my hand still playing with his balls, his whole body tense.
Once he’s come down from his orgasm, his body relaxes and I remove my hand from his balls, my other hand still clasped in his and his head still nestled in my neck. He wraps his arms around me, carrying me over to the bed and laying me down carefully before disappearing into the bathroom. He comes back a few moments later with a towel and some water, and he cleans me up with a loving gaze as I sip down the water.
Once he’s deemed his cleaning sufficient, he throws the towel across the room, both of us laughing gently, before his face becomes a little more serious. ‘I wasn’t just saying it, y/n. I do love you,’ he says, the thrill of the words not quite old yet. ‘I know. And I love you too,’ I say, the smile on his face mirrored on my own.
Before we both realise the weight of what we’re saying, and it hits us like a ton of bricks. This is worse than the usual comedown, much worse. All the previous times, it’s been easier, because it’s hard to love someone when their words and touches are full of lust and nothing more. But this time…. I could feel the love, in every single movement, in every touch, in every word. Yeah, this comedown hurts.
I open my mouth to speak, though I’m not sure what I’m going to say, but he shakes his head. ‘Don’t. Save it for the morning. I just want to be normal now. Can we do that? Can we just pretend to be a normal couple, pretend that you love me, and I love you, and that’s all there is?’ he asks, desperation in his voice, in his eyes, his face, his entire body, different from the desperation we both felt a little while ago, and I nod. ‘We can do that.’
He smiles, the most beautiful smile I’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing, before he leans towards me, pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. The kiss instantly deepens into something passionate, something soft, something full of love, and our arms wrap around each other as we fall back onto the bed, our limbs tangled together.
‘Don’t go,’ I whisper against his lips, ‘please don’t go. Stay the night.’ ‘I’m not going anywhere, baby,’ he whispers back, holding me in a tight grip, and I could live the rest of my life like this, in his arms, with his lips on mine. ‘I’m right here.’
‘y/n, so help me, if you don’t answer the fucking door!’ Jisoo’s shrill shriek breaks through my slumber, quickly followed by her fists hitting the door, making both Jungkook and I wake the fuck up. ‘Shit. Go hide,’ I whisper, pushing him out of the bed, and he gets out, still half asleep. ‘Bathroom?’ he asks groggily, grabbing his boxers and pulling them on. ‘No, balcony, she might need to use the bathroom,’ I say, and he sighs, rushing out onto the balcony and hiding around the corner where he isn’t visible through the doors.
I jump out of bed, grabbing my underwear and his clothes and shoving them into the wardrobe before I shrug on my white satin gown, quickly tying it as I kick his sliders under the bed. ‘y/n!’ Jisoo practically screams, and I wrench the door open, faced with Jisoo who holds a fist up, ready to bang on the door again. She jumps at the sight of me before huffing, pushing past me into the room. ‘What took you so long?’ she asks, and I sigh, shutting the door and going to sit at the foot of the bed. ‘I was, like, in such a deep sleep. Sorry,’ I say, and she shrugs. ‘It’s fine. I thought you’d disappeared or something,’ she says, and I let out a gentle laugh.
She’s in her white dressing gown too, white sliders on her feet, and her hair is already styled into an updo at the back of her head, a couple of loose curls framing her face with a few small blue flowers dotted around her head. ‘Your hair looks really pretty,’ I say, and she preens at the praise. ‘Thanks. I had to wake up so early, because the stylist has to do everyone else’s too. You’re lucky you can do your own hair,’ she says, and I grin, trying to ignore the panic in my veins, still half-asleep.
‘How did you sleep?’ I ask, and she huffs again, scowling. ‘Not well. Someone was having some loud ass sex. It must have been a couple in the room above me, because it was so fucking loud. Poor girl was nearly screaming – sounded like a pornstar, but real. I bet we’ll be able to spot her around the hotel today, barely able to walk,’ she chuckles, and I hope my face doesn’t betray me as I laugh along, my cheeks heating up.
‘Did you hear it?’ she asks, and I shake my head, feigning cluelessness. ‘No. It must have been above you ‘cause I couldn’t hear a thing. Or I just slept like a log,’ I say, and she rolls her eyes. ‘So lucky. You’ve always been a deep sleeper. You could sleep through a hurricane. Remember when we had renovations going on in the attic, and you literally slept through the entire thing?’ she says, and I laugh at the memory. ‘I get it from Dad. You’re like Mum – she’s a light sleeper too,’ I say, and she scowls. ‘Trust me, I know. She caught me sneaking in at night that many times,’ she mutters, and I burst out laughing, completely forgetting the boy out on my balcony as Jisoo laughs with me.
There’s something about reminiscing with a sister that makes you feel warm inside.
‘That’s not fair!’ she exclaims, looking towards my balcony, ‘you got a sea view! Mine’s a mountain view!’ She begins to walk towards it, and without thinking, I nearly shriek, ‘No! Don’t go out there!’ She turns to look at me, her face a mixture of confused and alarmed. ‘Um, why?’ ‘You’ll ruin your hair, dummy! It’s so windy out there,’ I lie, surprised at how quickly I thought of that, and she gasps with realisation. ‘Oh, my God, I completely forgot. What would I do without you, y/n?’ she says, and I try to smile at her with true happiness. ‘You’d have messy hair on your wedding day,’ I say, and she lets out a gentle laugh.
‘Speaking of which, how do you feel? Excited?’ I ask, and she hesitates. ‘I don’t know,’ she begins, and my eyes widen. ‘What?’ ‘No, not like that! Don’t worry, I’m not getting cold feet. He’s not getting out of marrying my crazy ass,’ she says, both of us laughing before she continues; ‘I just… I don’t know, I just don’t feel excited. It feels like a normal day.’ ‘Well, it takes a while to sink in-’ ‘No, it’s sunk in. I’m well aware. I just don’t feel… anything. At all,’ she says, seeming a little worried, and I sigh. ‘Jisoo, that’s okay. This is a big thing, and there’s no particular way you should feel. Trust me, when you’re walking down the aisle, then you’ll feel it,’ I say, and she smiles softly. ‘You always know what to say,’ she says gently, and I get up from the bed, pulling her into a hug.
She hugs me back for a few seconds before pulling away. ‘You smell…’ she begins before moving back in to sniff me. And then she pulls back in shock, eyes wide. ‘You smell like sex! Oh, my God, did Jimin come to your room last night?’ she demands. ‘No! God, no! He might be here as my date, but he’s still my best friend, Jisoo! And also gay! No, I… I struggled to drop off, so I… you know,’ I trail off, and she grins at me when she realises. ‘Ooh, okay,’ she says teasingly, and I bury my face in my hands embarrassedly.
‘Shut it.’ ‘Fine, fine, I’ll let it go. Anyway, I’ve gotta go get my makeup done, but I just wanted to check in on you, because you weren’t replying to my texts. I might go check on my lovely groom,’ she says excitedly, heading towards the door, and I grab her hand. ‘No, idiot, it’s bad luck! Mum would kill you,’ I say, and she rolls her eyes, sighing. ‘Whatever. I’ll just go back to my room then. But get ready. You need to shower, and do your hair, and makeup, and you’ve only got three hours,’ she nags, and I roll my eyes. ‘Now you’re sounding like Mum. That’s plenty of time. Go, get ready,’ I say, and she grins, pulling me into a quick hug before darting out into the hall, the door falling shut with a heavy thud behind her.
When I turn around, Jungkook’s already coming back into the room with a shit-eating grin on his face. ‘Jimin? She’s funny,’ Jungkook laughs as I get his clothes out of the wardrobe, but I can’t bring myself to join in with his amuseent. ‘You need to go,’ I say, retrieving the sliders from under the bed, and his face falls. ‘What? Why?’ he asks, and my eyes widen at his stupidity. ‘Because you’re getting married to my sister in three hours!’ I hiss angrily, throwing his clothes at him, and he looks so inexplicably sad, slumping down onto the edge of the bed, dropping his head into his hands.
And just like always, he manages to make me feel sorry for him.
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. But it’s true, Jungkook. You shouldn’t be here. You need to go and get ready. People are gonna start knocking on your door and wondering where you are,’ I say gently, and he nods, head still in his hands.
He takes a deep breath and looks up at me, and I really think he’s about to say goodbye and leave. And then he says something else entirely; ‘We could just run, you know.’ ‘What?’ I ask, blinking in shock, and he nods earnestly, getting up from the bed and taking my hands into his. ‘You love me, and I love you. That’s all that matters. We could run, start a life somewhere together,’ he says, and I can’t believe my ears.
I pull my hands from his, taking a couple steps back from him as his face falls. ‘Obviously you don’t care about my sister, but I do, and we cannot hurt her like that,’ I say coldly, his face twisting with rage. ‘You didn’t care about her when you were begging for my fucking cock last night,’ he spits, and I flinch at his words, the movement instantly taking the anger out of him.
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it-’ ‘It’s fine. You’re not exactly wrong. Neither of us cared about her last night, when we probably should have. But it’s done. Now… you go, and you marry her, and you make her the happiest girl in the world,’ I say as brightly as possible, and he sighs sadly, pulling me into his arms. ‘And make you the saddest? I can’t do that,’ he whispers, my head tucked under his chin, and I melt into him, blinking back tears. ‘You have to,’ I say, and he takes a shaky breath before pulling away from me.
‘I never should’ve proposed,’ he spits, so angry at himself, throwing himself down onto the bed again, feet planted firmly on the floor. ‘Why did you?’ I whisper, and he looks up at me in surprise. ‘What?’ ‘Why did you propose?’ I ask, and he sighs, throwing his head back with his eyes closed, pain all over his face. Silence descends over us as he hesitates, and I can practically feel his mind working at a hundred miles an hour. ‘She’s… she won’t be around for long,’ he says sadly, and the words don’t really register with me properly. ‘What? Why?’
‘She’s dying, y/n.’
The words strike me dumb, echoing in my ears as though he’d shouted them, even though they’d barely come out as a whisper. ‘No,’ I breathe out, clutching my hands together at my chest, my entire body numb. ‘I’m sorry you had to find out like this,’ he sighs, and I shake my head, trying to block out his words. ‘No, no, no, it can’t be true,’ I whisper, and he gets up from the bed, looking as though he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders as he takes the two small steps towards me, wrapping his arms around my body again.
I curl into him, seeking comfort from him, the word ‘no’ falling from my lips again and again, like a broken record. ‘I’m sorry, y/n,’ he murmurs against my forehead, and I take a deep breath, my hands balled up in fists against his chest. ‘No, Jungkook, no! It can’t be true. No,’ I practically shout, my fist hitting his chest repeatedly, and he continues holding me. And then I clutch onto him, like he’s a buoy in this sea of pain, the waves rising up higher than possible and washing over me so hard, I think I might drown.
And when it feels like lifetimes have passed, lifetimes of agony and pain and loss, I let go of him, stumbling towards the bed to sit down, hands clasping at the sheets to anchor me. ‘Why… why is she dying? Has she been diagnosed?’ I ask, and he nods, coming to sit beside me, and he takes my hands into his. ‘She’s got early onset Parkinson’s disease. It’s really rare in people our age. You know what that is, right?’ he asks, and I nod, trying to imagine my sister, my beautiful lively sister, debilitated, stuck in a wheelchair, unable to move and speak. The image hurts my heart.
‘Is she getting treatment?’ I ask, and he sighs. ‘It’s terminal, so treatment won’t save her, it’ll just… prolong her suffering,’ he replies, and I look at him with hard eyes. ‘Is she getting treatment?’ I repeat harshly, and he shakes his head. ‘Are you kidding?’ ‘y/n, she refused treatment. She said she’d rather die quickly than die painfully,’ he says, and my whole body shakes with fury.
‘She’s so fucking stupid, oh, my God! She’s going to die painfully either way! Parkinson’s isn’t a pretty disease! She’s gonna get to a point where she can’t even shit without help! Why wouldn’t she put that off as long as possible?’ I rant and Jungkook nods in agreement, inexplicably sad. ‘I’ve had this same conversation with her several times. You know what she’s like. Once she’s made a decision…’ he trails off, and I nod, knowing exactly what he means.
She decided she was going to get married at the beach that we visited in Santorini when she was 8 and I was 6. That’s exactly where we are. She decided that she was going to have her bridesmaids (and decorations) in blue since we saw a wedding on TV with that same colour palette when she was 11 and I was 9. That’s exactly what we’re wearing (and the colour of her decorations). And she decided she was going to marry Jeon Jungkook, the popular, sweet, soft and smart jock boy in her year at school, since she was 14 and I was 12. And that’s exactly who she’s marrying.
Once she’s made a decision, there’s nothing changing her mind.
‘Try not to be upset today, y/n. I know that’s hard, but you’re not supposed to know, and it needs to stay that way until she tells you herself. Just, please, try to put on a smile,’ he says, and I nod, blinking back the tears that had been pooling in my eyes, and putting on my brightest smile. ‘Good?’ I ask, and he grins. He looks genuinely happy. And then I look at myself in the mirror sat on the desk, and I look genuinely happy too. We might not have much, but at least we’re great actors. ‘Beautiful,’ he answers, my heart fluttering at the compliment.
‘Just remember… I was planning on breaking up with her. And then I found out she has around a year left before she starts getting really ill, and god knows how long she’ll have after that. I owe her the happiness of having her dream wedding, owe it to her after what we did. What we’ve been doing, for years,’ he says gently, and I nod, knowing he’s right. ‘Thank you, for marrying her. She’ll be happier than she’s ever been before,’ I say softly, and we smile sadly at one another.
We rise up from the bed and I walk him over to the door. ‘Remember,’ he says quietly, taking my hands into his again, ‘I’m the doting, head-over-heels, whipped yet annoyingly nonchalant and cocky husband, and you’re the supportive, over-the-moon, ecstatic yet annoyingly teasing and mischievous younger sister. Got it?’ I burst out laughing at his stupid descriptions of us, and he grins. ‘I’ll see you… at the wedding,’ he smiles, his voice tinged with sadness, and I nod, smiling sadly back as I say, ‘see you at the wedding.’
‘Speech! Speech!’ the crowd of our family and friends chant at Jisoo who holds the mic in her hand, laughing as she waits for them to quieten down so she can do her speech. Her smile is so big, and she looks so beautiful, so happy, absolutely radiant. Her dress is perfect for her, practically screams Jisoo – well, the whole wedding has screamed Jisoo. It’s her all over. She’s had her dream wedding, and I couldn’t be happier for her.
I just wish the cost of her happiness wasn’t my own.
It’s been difficult today, more difficult that I could’ve imagined. The worst part was being stood right beside Jungkook and Jisoo as they got married, said their vows, and praying Jisoo didn’t notice how often his eyes flitted to me. Being happy for Jisoo, though? That was the easiest part. Seeing her happy like this, knowing she’s dying soon, my happiness for her hasn’t been hard to fake. Even easier after I’ve been avoiding Jungkook all day, spending all possible time with Jimin instead.
And then the mic feedback sings out across the space, making everyone clap their hands over their ears. ‘Sorry, sorry. Shall I start?’ Jisoo asks, everyone laughing as Jungkook says, ‘yes, please,’ with an affectionate roll of his eyes, and she shoves him as he grins amusedly. He plays the role well.
Jisoo begins her speech by thanking everyone for flying out, thanking her bridesmaids for all their help and the hen party (which Jungkook pretends to scowl at), thanking the groomsmen for keeping Jungkook out of her hair during all the wedding planning, thanking all of both our family members and Jungkook’s that have helped out, and thanking both our parents and Jungkook’s for all of their support and help (and financial contribution which everyone lets out a hearty laugh at).
‘But I must give our biggest thank you to the two people that have helped out the most,’ she says, and I can already feel tears filling my eyes as she looks at me across the dancefloor. Jimin, sat beside me, coughs loudly, and Jisoo laughs. ‘Sorry, I mean, the three people that have helped out the most,’ she corrects herself, everyone laughing as Jimin puffs out his chest, making me roll my eyes at my eccentric best friend.
‘First, Jungkook’s brother, Hoseok. Thank you for coming to every single one of our different meetings and appointments and everything we needed you at, and not complaining at all. Thank you for accepting the fact that you couldn’t bring all of your old frat brothers to our wedding with such grace, and thank you for being a real support for me and Jungkook when things got stressful. I’m honoured to have been blessed with such a great brother-in-law, and I’m so grateful for the way you’ve welcomed me into your family with open arms,’ Jisoo says, her eyes on Hoseok, who looks awfully proud of himself, his eyes shining suspiciously bright, and I hear him shouting a moment later, ‘I’ve got allergies, I’ve got allergies!’
‘And onto my best friend… and her best friend. My beautiful y/n, you truly are my angel sent from above. Whilst Hoseok helped calm us down, you’re the one that gave us a kick up the arse when we were falling behind on planning. You were there for everything, absolutely everything, down to the miniscule things like deciding the font for the invitations, and the shade of blue for my earrings. You practically lived at our house, and so did Jimin. You’re the best Maid of Honour I could’ve ever asked for, and Jimin, you’re the best Vice Maid of Honour I could’ve asked for. You’ve both helped me out more than I can say, and I’m so grateful. We both are.
y/n, thank you for being the best sister ever. From when you were born, I knew I was lucky to have you, and you’ve never proven it more than during the wedding planning. I love you so much, my love, and I can’t wait to see you fall in love and get married so I can nag and annoy and bug you and your fiancé just as much as you did with us. Thank you,’ she says, her eyes shining, and tears run down my cheeks at how lovely her speech was. And also the fact that she won’t ever see me get married, because I’m in love with her husband.
‘I love you,’ I mouth at her across the space, and she grins her beautiful grin back at me, blowing me a kiss. And then she turns to Jungkook, handing him the mic, and he takes it with a smile.
‘I, um… gosh, Jisoo always was the clever one,’ he begins, everyone laughing as Jisoo shakes her head, and those of us that know him best know he’s just as clever as her. They’re practically a power couple; brains, looks, talent. Their kids will be like superheroes. ‘She’s said all of the ‘thank you’s, to be honest, but I just want to add to a couple of them,’ he says before thanking the staff, his groomsmen and the bridesmaids again, and then his and our parents.
Then he thanks his brother – well, it’s less of a ‘thank you’ and more of a roasting. But his smile and eyes are so full of love for his brother, and I’ve seen them together enough over the years to know that their bond is something special. Like mine and Jisoo’s, I guess.
Then he thanks Jimin (he’s practically preening at all the attention) for keeping Jisoo and I in check when we got overexcited/emotional/spent way too much, and for keeping their main wedding planner (me) sane, and also restraining me from throttling Jisoo when she turned into bridezilla.
And then Jungkook’s gaze turns towards me, and it’s like everyone disappears, like how that happens every time he looks at me. But I shake it off. Because here, today, we aren’t secret lovers. He’s the groom, I’m the Maid of Honour, and we’re in-laws now. And we have to be happy for Jisoo.
‘And y/n, the sister I would’ve preferred to be with, but she was taken when I met her,’ he jokes, everyone laughing as Jisoo slaps his shoulder with a grin. ‘Thank you, y/n, for everything you’ve done for us both. You’ve been there as long as I can remember, the annoying younger sibling – and, Jimin, the best friend that was attached to her hip – the two of you always wanting to hang out with the older kids. You’ve been in my life just as long as Jisoo has and, even though you’ve only been my sister-in-law for a few hours, you’ve been here all along. So thank you, for helping our dream wedding come true, and for being… you. I look forward to the day that we can see you get married… and our children can be your flower girls and page boys,’ he says, rounding off on a light note, and a gentle laugh runs around the wedding party.
Tears flow down my face, and everyone gives us indulgent smiles, in wonder at how close, how tight knit our family is. But Jungkook’s gaze lingers on me a little too long, and I see past the light grin, see through the cracks in his armour, see the way his eyes shine with tears, the way his top lip seems to quiver a little, the way his fist keeps clenching and unclenching. And it hurts. God, it really fucking hurts. And he can see how much it hurts, because his mask slips for a moment, and so does mine, before we both look away from one another.
He begins his speech for his wife, and I just know I can’t bear to listen, can’t bear to hear him spout lies, so I dismiss myself, giving Jimin the excuse of running up to my hotel room to fix my makeup and go for a wee. I rush past all the smiling faces, the soft breeze ruffling my hair and dress as I take the stairs that lead up from the beach and back into the hotel, but instead of turning left where all the rooms are, I turn right and run down towards where I know the hotel’s other stretch of beach is, tears running down my face.
I perch on a deck chair, the hem of my dress laying against the sand as I look out at the sea crashing against the shore, the setting sun reflected in the waves. My head finally calms, the tears coming to a stop as I listen to the sound of the sea, the rest of the world just melting away, everything else melting away. Jungkook, Jisoo, the fact that she’s ill, and the fact that she just married the boy I love, it all just… disappears from my head. For a few beautiful moments, there’s just me and the sea.
And then I hear footsteps approaching behind me. ‘y/n,’ I hear his voice, and I laugh, turning to him with a smile. ‘I swear to God, what can I do to get you to leave me alone?’ I ask, and Hoseok bursts into laughter as he sits on the deck chair beside me. ‘I saw you leave. You okay? I know today must have been really hard for you,’ he begins, but I hold up a hand. ‘Please, Hoseok, don’t. I get that you mean well, but I really can’t talk about this,’ I say, and he nods, smiling sadly. ‘Okay. We won’t talk about it,’ he says simply, and I smile back before both of us turn to look out at the sea.
I met Hoseok when I was… 14? Maybe 15. He was the older brother of the boy that my sister was convinced she would marry, and also the older brother of the boy that had asked me on a date (despite being two years older than me), and I’d had to tell him I had a boyfriend (how I wish I’d just gone on the date with him all those years back). I was out with my friends once when we’d heard some boy shouting my name. We all turned to look, and saw Jeon Jungkook, the most desirable boy at our school, and who must have been his older brother – the resemblance was striking. It’d been Hoseok shouting my name, teasing Jungkook because of his crush on me.
The next time I saw Hoseok was when I was 16, and Jisoo had told our family that she was dating someone, but wanted us to meet their family before they made it official. Both mine and Jungkook’s jaws had dropped when I walked into his house – obviously the fact that I was Jisoo’s sister hadn’t come up in their conversation. I’d seen Hoseok plenty of times since then; he’d been at every birthday of our family’s, and I’d been at every birthday of their family’s – he even came to my graduation. It was a couple years ago that Hoseok and I became really good friends, and I’d broken down and confessed to him that I was love with his brother and had been the entire time he’d been dating my sister. He took it well – I’m guessing his reaction wouldn’t quite have been the same had I confessed that we’d also been sleeping together for a few years behind everyone’s backs.
Hoseok had been like an older brother to me, all of the annoying traits included, and he’d managed to whisk me away from tough situations (like family get-togethers) with excuses of having to get some more lemonade from the shop or pick some weed up from his dealer’s house (he’s always been very open about his smoking, and it hadn’t been long before Jungkook joined in too, but he kept it to a minimum when Jisoo was around – I’d been with him whilst he was high several times though. He’s cute when he’s high – soft and affectionate and needy).
‘Okay, I think we should head back. They might start worrying we’ve snuck off somewhere. You know, Maid of Honour, Best Man,’ he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and I shove him with a laugh, both of us rising up from our deck chairs. He holds an arm out to me, and I take it, and we walk back towards the wedding in a comfortable silence.
The air is still deliciously warm, the setting sun casting an orange glow over the atmosphere, the sky streaked with pastel colours as the sound of the waves crashing against the shore is faint, yet present. ‘Is my makeup okay?’ I ask as we approach the wedding, the music getting a little louder with each step. ‘It’s perfect. I would never have guessed you’ve been crying your eyes out,’ he teases, and I nudge him in annoyance.
And then I hear the DJ’s voice ring out into the air; ‘First song request of the night!’ With the invitations, they sent out song request cards for people to… request a song to be played at the wedding. I can’t even remember what I put down on mine. ‘This request is from the sister of the bride, our beautiful Maid of Honour! This is Perfect by Ed Sheeran and Beyoncé.’
‘How tasteless of you,’ Hoseok says, and I give him an indignant look, though I can’t help but feel dread at this song playing. ‘It’s romantic,’ I defend, and he rolls his eyes as we reach the rest of the wedding party. It’s like I can sense his eyes on me, and I turn to meet his gaze, and he grins, instantly making his way towards me. ‘Can I have this dance?’ he asks with shining eyes and a gentle grin, and Hoseok instantly removes his arm from mine as I take Jungkook’s hand, letting him pull me onto the dancefloor.
‘Why’d you choose this song, y/n?’ he asks teasingly as we glide around the floor, as though we’re one person in two different bodies, moving as one. ‘It’s romantic,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘So you don’t remember the piece of our history that’s attached to this song?’ he asks, and I avoid his gaze, embarrassed. ‘You’re a little minx choosing this song,’ he jokes, and I let out a laugh, our eyes meeting with amusement.
It was a couple weeks before his aunt’s wedding, four years ago, and he was taking Jisoo as his date. But he’d asked me to help him learn how to properly waltz so he could surprise and impress my sister at the wedding. So I’d gone over to his house, nobody else but us at home, and we’d spent hours trying to waltz with this song playing in the background. He eventually got the hang of it, but we’d gotten lost in each other’s eyes and he tripped over his own feet and we’d fallen to the floor, his body landing on top of mine.
That was the start of our affair.
‘Shall we waltz?’ he asks, and I laugh, nodding as we begin to waltz around the dancefloor. My dress swishes around our legs as my heels click against the temporary dancefloor they’d put down on top of the sand. He looks so handsome, in his black tux and white shirt open at the collar, having discarded his tie a couple hours ago, silver cufflinks sparkling at his wrists and silver earrings dangling from his ears.
‘You look so handsome,’ I whisper without even meaning to, and he grins. ‘Why, thank you, y/n. And you look so beautiful,’ he whispers back, sincerity in his voice. He’s changed so much in the past 24 hours. How could I have doubted his love for me, when it’s in his eyes every time he looks at me?
‘Thanks to your wife. The dress, the makeup, the hair, it was all her idea,’ I say, and he chuckles. ‘She’s not the one wearing it though,’ he says, and I laugh. My dress is floaty, strappy and sky-blue, the perfect summer bridesmaid dress, and blue flowers are woven into the braid that winds around my head, the rest of my hair falling in wavy sheets around my shoulders. And my makeup is soft and summery, faint blue eyes, glossy lips and shimmery cheekbones.
And then he starts singing along to the song, our feet still moving in a faultless waltz. I’m suddenly hyperaware of his hand on my lower back, too low, the other one clasped in mine, too tight, and we’re standing close, too close. But I don’t care to move, instead singing along too. And it’s as though he’s singing the lyrics to me, telling me I’m an angel, that he doesn’t deserve me, and that I look perfect. And I live in this little fantasy, in this world where we can love each other, hold each other, touch each other without all the guilt. In this world where he’s just a boy and I’m just a girl, and we’re just in love.
But then my eyes meet Jisoo’s across the dancefloor, and it takes me a moment to realise they’re full of tears. The second our eyes meet, she begins to walk towards us, and the fear of her knowing nearly paralyses me, and Jungkook can feel it, his body tensing as his eyes stay locked on my face. ‘Can I cut in?’ Jisoo’s voice comes from behind him, and he turns to see her there. ‘Yeah, of course,’ I say, and she lets out a gentle laugh. ‘I was talking to him. I want to dance with you,’ she says gently, and Jungkook feigns hurt, pretending to march off in a huff as both of us laugh, watching him join his friends by the bar.
She holds her arms up in position, and I do the same, beginning to waltz with my sister now. She always used to lead, being the oldest and all, and that hasn’t changed, the girl spinning us around the floor flawlessly. ‘I need to say something, and I want you to listen to everything before you speak,’ she says, my heart nearly stopping with the fear of being caught out, and I nod wordlessly, trying to focus on the fact that there’s still a small smile on her face.
‘I love you. Just as much as I love him. Meaning I know you both very well. I’ve known for a while that there’s a boy in your life, whether or not he’s a boyfriend or just dating or just a crush. But I’ve known. And I’ve known there was someone else in his life. And we were near the end of our relationship when I found out that I’m ill, y/n, and I’m not going to get better. Don’t, don’t cry, we’ll come back to that. I really thought I knew everything, I thought I was so clever. But I didn’t know that his someone else was you and your someone was him,’ she says, my entire body going cold, but the smile still doesn’t disappear from her face.
‘How long? How long have you loved him?’ she asks, and I sigh. ‘Ji…’ ‘How long, y/n?’ ‘Since a month before we met his family,’ I admit sadly, and her mouth falls open. ‘y/n… why didn’t you say anything? I thought you were going to say a couple years. Not that long,’ she says sadly, and I shrug with a smile. ‘You were happy. I couldn’t ruin that,’ I say, and she smiles, eyes full with tears. ‘Thank you, y/n, for letting me have my dream wedding with the love of your life,’ she says, and I shake my head. ‘He’s the love of your life, not mine,’ I say, and now she shakes her head, still smiling the sad smile that breaks my heart.
‘He’s the love of both of our lives. Because I’m not going to be around much longer,’ she says, but I shake my head again, angry this time. ‘No, Jisoo, don’t say that.’ ‘It’s true, y/n, and I’m not going to drag out my suffering. I’m lucky if I have two years. So, please, don’t care what anyone else thinks once I’m gone. Marry him, spend your life with him, love him, because I want you to make him happy, and I want him to make you happy, but neither of you can do that whilst I’m still here.’ ‘Jisoo, don’t say that!’ ‘y/n, it’s true, we both know it is. You’re the loves of each other’s lives, and I won’t be the bitch sister who stops you from being happy.’
‘Jisoo, let’s not have this conversation on your wedding day. Please, just be happy today,’ I say sadly, and she nods, a big smile breaking across her face. ‘Okay. Thank you for making my wedding amazing. I love you, y/n.’ And then my eyes meet Jungkook’s, and it’s like he knows, because for the first time since I can remember, his gaze doesn’t have any sadness or yearning in it. No. This time, it’s just love, and happiness, and I smile back at him, before turning my smile to my sister, my heart swelling with love. ‘I love you, too, Jisoo.’
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For the Fic Asks: 4, 14, 22, 34 <3
thank you <33 sorry it took me so long to answer haha I got carried away
@floating-in-the-blue you did say to ramble in the answers so enjoy 😅 😅
4. Do you work with a beta? Why/why not?
I don’t but I would love to! Technically, my roommate @chaoticandproud is kind of a beta reader in the sense that I annoy her with my ideas and she sometimes reads my WIPs before they’re done, but that’s mostly due to me being annoying as mentioned above. 😅 I would love to get a beta reader for my bakery fic, though, because that’s gonna be a long one and I want to make sure it’s readable haha.
And as far as the why goes - I just love and need constant feedback? That’s why I keep annoying my friends with my writing because I just need someone to talk to me about the story and tell me what they think works and what doesn’t. Also, my usage of commas and em dashes is absolutely unhinged and I need someone to stop me lmfao.
14. How good are you at predicting how long a story is going to be?
Bad. They just have a mind of their own, don’t they? It’s always supposed to be a fun one shot and then it turns into a multi-chapter monster filled with angst and sadness. To be honest, most of the time I don’t even try to predict how long something’s gonna be. I might have a vague idea, but that’s it.
22. Is your style more visual or lyrical?
I’m honestly not sure how I’d describe my style.
I talk too much and that reflects in my writing (even in these answers lol). I use a lot of descriptions. My brain works very visually and because of that, I see the scenes I’m writing right in front of me and feel the need to describe them exactly as I see them to make sure the reader imagines the same thing or, y’know, has the general idea at least. I also try to give as much context as I can. I’ve always been detail-oriented so I try to include a lot of details but I always worry it’s too much (it probably is).
I tend to linger on thoughts and emotions and describe those as well. I like contrasting my long and dragged-out descriptions with short, snappy sentences or words to break them up and make my writing a bit more dynamic. I feel like my stuff isn’t necessarily easy to read, but I can’t write any other way. 😅
I think I need someone else to answer this for me because I am so overly critical of myself—I am way too biased to answer this properly haha.
34. What kind of summaries do you write?
I wish I knew lol. Honestly, it depends on the story? I’ve been writing more, but I’ve only published two fics so far + that teaser for my bakery fic where I also included a summary at the end and every single one of the summaries has been different?
For Head Over Knees I just put:
It was supposed to be a lovely afternoon... until it wasn't.
Or, that one time Alex had an existential crisis over his knees.
Which I think works for this story perfectly because it’s dumb and stupid and doesn’t take itself too seriously. It’s short and sweet and I feel like it really gives you an idea of how it’s gonna go lol. The “ It was supposed to be a lovely afternoon” (without the “until it wasn’t”) is also the first sentence of the fic.
Then for Finally Free, which ended up being 2 chapters, I put in a line from the first chapter because I feel like it sets the mood and feel of the story really well:
He thought about how long it took him to accept it. Not realize, no, Alex Mercer has always liked boys, there was not a single doubt in his mind. He’s always known. He just hated that part of himself for the majority of his life.
Or, Alex comes out.
I feel like with the line and also the additional “Alex comes out” it’s just intriguing enough for someone to want to go read more without giving anything away.
And then for my little teaser of Mercer’s Boulangerie (that bakery fic I keep talking about, also known as my baby), I posted the first two paragraphs of the story and added a short explanatory summary at the end to make it make sense:
Or, the AU where Alex owns a bakery and thinks he’s got everything he needs until a gorgeous skateboarder crashes into his life and turns his whole world upside down.
A story full of sweet pastries, yearning, and a lot of sadness… with a happy ending of course.
And I really just wrote that to give people an idea of what the actual story is, but I feel like it’s going to have to change once I finally start posting the fic because I worry it’s a little misleading... Willie does turn Alex’s world upside down, just maybe in a slightly different sense than people might think. 😅 I think I just made it worse lol so I should probably stop.
I’ve been told I’m pretty good at like sales-pitches and stuff, I like to think I’m good at being intriguing and luring people in. I really just go off of the story and what I think represents it best.
I’m not sure anyone WANTS to ask me more questions after reading this, but if you do, here you go. <3
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Survey 309
How do you dress when you’re not at work?
when i’m not at work and home. i’m not dressed. normally in a crop-top graphic tee and some briefs. if i’m not at work and out & about; i wear skinny jeans, converse and a t-shirt. i’m simple. i use to care way more about fashion when i was younger but now... idc. lol.
What is your favorite thing about yourself?
i do like my teeth. even though i hate when i smile.
Tell me about the shirt you’re wearing?
it’s a black crop-top from target and it has the words. “more glitter” on it.
What was the first thing you thought this morning?
“i have to pee”
Who did you last say I love you to?
boyfriend.
Are you wearing shorts?
nope, i’m wearing underwear only.
Ever had a boy best friend?
boyfriend. but other than him, no. i like girls more. ha.
Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby?
yes, i like pet names.
Do your parents actually knock on your door before entering your room?
yes. it’s called respect.
Do you think sweat bands look hot on guys?
nah.
Have you ever thought a man over 40 was attractive?
yes. there are many hot “daddies” out there. haha. Anderson Cooper is a cutie and he is 52.
Would you prefer to date someone taller, shorter, or the same height as you?
i don’t care.
Can you honestly say you’re okay right now?
sure.
Is there a song that every time you hear it, you think of someone?
many of them.
What can’t you wait for?
i can’t wait for this joint i’m about to have in few minutes.
Are you ticklish?
sometimes. in some spots.
Do you have a bad temper?
i was a lot worse as a kid/teen but now i tend to be more level headed. i don’t like to get angry and will just walk away or keep nodding.
What brand of digital camera do you own?
cannon.
Have you ever seen a Broadway show in New York?
no, but i want too. there are so many i would like to see.
Do you get drunk every weekend?
not even close. i haven’t been drunk in a while actually.
What did you do today?
so far today i woke up with my boyfriend, we drove to starbucks grabbed coffees, had a small disagreement, moved past it, took a shower together, got changed into comfy clothes. he is on world of warcraft and i’m doing this.
Are you listening to music right now?
no but i wish i was. i’m looking for my bluetooth speaker.
Your last ex died today, how would you feel?
anyone dying is horrible and don’t wish that on anymore.
Do you like maxi dresses?
sure. i don’t wear dresses though.
Do you worry about guys thinking you’re hot?
nope, it’s flattering if someone finds you attractive but of course they should remain respectful.
Are you healthy?
i like to think so. i do track all my food intake. actually i have been for over a year on my fitness pal app. i managed to lose 30+ pounds.
Do you like the idea of promise rings in relationships?
i think if someone feels strongly enough about you to spend money on a ring it’s sweet. so i guess i’m for them.
Did you wear sunglasses today?
nope.
If you straighten your hair, how long does it take?
i don’t anymore. i’m past my emo myspace phase. but it would have taken me like 15 minutes.
Can anyone in your immediate family play the guitar?
nope. my sister plays the drums though.
Why were you last frustrated?
boyfriend blowing things out of proportion.
Would you date someone 8 years older than you?
ehhhh.. nah. i’m 29 and that would make them 21. we would be in completely different phases in our lives.
Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?
bryanna & anna.
Do you have a friend of the same sex you can talk to?
boyfriend.
What is your secret weapon to lure the opposite sex?
i like to think i’m actually pretty charming.
What do you want to get accomplished today/tonight?
today i just want to focus on having a good day, and not petty arguments with the boyfriend.
You’re single, right?
not even close. 10+ year relationship.
Do you like the snow?
nah, i mean it would be weird living in a place that it didn’t snow but i would get over it pretty fast.
When was the last time you were told you were cute?
today. 30 minutes ago.
Would you ever smile at a stranger?
yes, i do a lot because i’m not a trash human.
Do you need to go shopping for anything?
home supplies and household items. because moving this week.
How much have you changed in the last year or so?
i have changed a lot. i found out what is important. and i have learned to not be an angry person. i’m way more laid back. i’m working on being a better listener. “according to my boyfriend” ha.
Do you have a favourite name? What is it?
i use to have many favorite names as like future baby names. but, i don’t ever want kids. i use to like the names, hunter, collin, caleb, lauren, hunter, travis, skyler, logan. and the Kennith. (r.i.p Ken) xo
Do you wrap up warm in the cold weather?
i’m it’s called bundle up. what am i a burrito?
If you could live anywhere, where would you choose? Why?
i have no idea. i do wish i could live in a tiny house in a small quaint town and i would own a small shop.
Do you have any habits you’d like to break? Which?
overthinking. not standing up for myself. holding back. procrastination.
Have you ever wished to be an internet celebrity? How about a ‘real’ one?
i sure did. back in the day on myspace i had a whole persona. i wouldn’t say i was really famous but i had a good following. around 100k it feels nice to have so many people watch or care. i don’t know if i could handle being a real celebrity. people turn on you fast.
Have you kept any birthday cards from when you were younger?
i have boxes of cards people have given more. it’s a good feeling when you stumble across them.
Have you ever been kayaking?
i haven’t but i mean i guess i should try it.
Do you care overly about other people?
not really. i don’t really care. i will wear the game hoodie for a month and not give a fuck. i never been a follower.
If you could have any animal as a pet, which would you choose?
hmmm. maybe something cute like a mini baby pig.
What is your favourite piece of furniture you own?
nothing. i just threw all that shit away. bought all new. and it’s all from amazon. cheap and idc. it looks cute. and i will replace it when i’m over it.
Do you still live with your parents?
i live in studio on third floor. mom lives on second currently. but, i am moving this week. new place is ready!
Have you ever been told your aspirations are unrealistic?
hmmm. most people tell me to go for my dreams. i’m holding myself back.
When were you last jealous? Are you a jealous person?
not a jealous person unless you trying to put your dick somewhere around my man. ha.
Do you ever think about embarrassing moments and cringe?
i guess.
Do you believe you will never get over someone?
nah.
Do you watch scary movies on your own?
not really. but i’m never alone. ever.
What is your favourite family tradition?
i guess x-mas eve at my nanas house.
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A Father Figure
Written by: @wingletblackbird
Prompt 44: Their love was forbidden in more ways than the obvious one (older!Peeta). Their love conquers all even with revelations that destroys other person relationships. AU. Toast babies for extra cookies. [submitted by @animekpopxx]
Betaed by: @jroseley
Warnings: Minor references to pedophilia, although there is none present in this story.
Rating: General. (If you’ve read the Hunger Games you can read this. lol)
A/N: This submission has four chapters and a little over 17k words. I have one more chapter and an epilogue, (with the extra-kudos toastbabies), left to write. However, I also have a couple other EFE fics to work on before the deadline, so I’m submitting this now. Hopefully I can compete this fic by April 7th, but if not, I should be able to finish it in the next month or two. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter One: Guardian Angel
I have never felt lower in my life, never felt more desperate. You’d think it would be the day Dad died, but that was just the harbinger of ill tide. It’s amazing how quickly things change. You never see it coming, like a sucker punch, every plan you ever had, every thought you took for granted, gone with the ash. When Daddy died it was so hard to understand. The words, Daddy died. Daddy died. Daddy’s dead. echoed all through my head, bouncing around the walls of my skull, mere sounds which garnered no understanding. I remember holding Prim tight, like I might lose her too, and Momma held both of us as we all cried and cried. I remember nuzzling my head into my mother’s breast and breathing her scent in, comforted. At least we had each other. I clung to her, our only rock left, our refuge. The next morning came, and Momma wouldn’t get up. It was like thinking you were holding onto driftwood in a flood, only to realise it’s sinking metal. Your refuge is torn from you, was never a refuge at all. You flail, and choke on water, can’t even make a noise. There’s no air, only panic, and terror, such terror. It imprisons you like prey lured to a dead end, rushing this way and that, trying to bolt; the terror and panic in their eyes…my eyes…crippling them. Desperation. You swim or die. I tried to swim, while holding Prim above the powerful waves. It’s so hard to manage even yourself against the tide. So here I am, soaked to the bone, drowning, and the icy rain falling is still warmer than the chill in my soul, the desperate ache in my ribcage, as I scrounge for scraps in the garbage bins in town, but there is nothing. I am nothing. The mines took all of us.
A raw, wrenching cry rises up in me. I keel over with it. There’s no food. We’re done. I failed. It’s like I can feel the severing of my life’s thread. I am dead. Soon everyone will know it. I’m only eleven, so close to tesserae, but I have no energy and no hope. The merchant’s trash was my last shot, but there’s not even trash for me. My knees buckle, but I can’t stay here, so I crawl through the mud to the meagre refuge of an apple tree by the bakery. I bet I look like those stragglers that lie down and die in the meadow. It’s a beautiful place to die. Maybe I’d go too if I had the energy. This apple tree will have to do. If only it had fruit.
I sit here under it, too raw for tears, as the water drenches me, and my fingers and lips turn blue. I don’t dare look at the bakery. The smell of it is cruel enough, to look and see inside the warmth, the light, and the food–all the food, mountains of food–not for me, would be too much. It would be the final confirmation I am nothing, will never be anything, locked out, not worthy to even eat the scraps. No one cares about Katniss Everdeen; no one cares about the Everdeens at all. All the people Momma healed, and all the people Daddy stood up for, worked with, not one of them had a care to return the favour. No one. It hurts. I close my eyes, unable to get up and face my sister with her hollow cheeks, and cracked lips. Does she even understand how bad it is? Gentle Prim who still cleans Daddy’s shaving mirror everyday like that’ll somehow bring him home? Maybe they’ll send me to the Home, but hopefully I’ll die long before I have to face the failure embodied in a broken Prim. I was supposed to protect her.
I’ve almost passed out from the hunger, fallen asleep from the cold, when I hear slushy footprints walking towards me. It’s probably peacekeepers, or maybe the baker is running me off, or someone’s going to drag me to the Community Home. I muster the energy to open my eyes, and turn my head over expecting to see a cruel face, a harsh twist of sneering lips, instead I am greeted with a smile. It is a gentle, kind smile. Not the kind that is fake, or is so peppy it ignores reality, or is just really forced, but the kind that comes at the end of a hard day when there’s really no joy to be had, except you see someone you love…and you smile. I can’t imagine why this man’d be smiling at me like that. I feel nervous.
He kneels next to me in the mud, ruining his slacks. The rain is drenching him now too, plastering his blonde hair to his head, but he doesn’t seem to care. He looks to be about mid-twenties, fair with blue eyes, like most people in town. He looks healthy, nothing like me. I just want to know what he wants. Get this over with.
“You’re Katniss, right?” The man, Mr. Mellark I suppose, looks at me earnestly, and he seems sincere, concerned. How does he know my name? I tense and I nod vaguely.
“Jack Everdeen’s daughter?”
I nod again, and tears fill my eyes at the words, at what seems like the compassion behind them, at the recognition, the gentleness… at Daddy. His eyes seem unbearably tender. He sighs.
“I’m sorry about your Dad. He was a good friend of mine.” He shakes his head. “I should have visited, but…I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”
What he means by that, I couldn’t say.
“How do you mean?” He hesitates a moment, and I worry he won’t answer, but he meets my tentative gaze.
“I used to trade with him, bread for squirrels and the like. He was a good man. I liked him. We talked sometimes.”
Yes, that makes sense. It would have been around the entire district if some townie walked up to our house. He’s right; it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’d wonder what everyone else’s excuse was, but talking to someone, anyone at all, who seems to care is warming me in spite of myself.
“Here.” He pulls a package out from under his jacket, and presses it into my hands. It’s bread, I realise: Three loaves. The tears overflow. I am overwhelmed, shocked. No one just gives food away in Twelve. I look up for a catch, but he just smiles sadly. “For your father’s sake,” he says. I can accept that.
With a sudden spurt of energy, I lean over, grasp him in a quick hug, mutter, “Thank you,” and dash off back home. I think I hear him say, “Anytime,” with remarkable sincerity, but I’m not sure. Either way, his kindness is unparalleled.
When I wake up the next morning the world feels different, warmer, not quite so hopeless, not quite so alone. It’s like Mr. Mellark’s kindness has stayed with me, penetrated me. Still, I know something is going to have to change. I can’t just keep reacting, hoping for more people like Mr. Mellark, (if they even exist). My pride won’t take it anyway. You don’t sit back and let people hand you stuff. You work for it. In the back of my mind, I take pride in the words Mr. Mellark said, how he identified me: You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I am, I think, and Daddy wouldn’t want me to quit, lie down in the dirt. When I spy a dandelion on my way to school, I know how we’ll survive. The spring truly returns to my step. I look back at Prim who’s trailing behind me, holding my hand, and smile.
It takes some time, of course, to be sure I know all the edible plants off by heart, to know where and when to find them without Daddy watching over my shoulder, but soon the woods are
my refuge. I find food there, sustenance, comfort. As the seasons change, I spend hours upon hours in the summer practicing my shooting, making more arrows, storing food for winter. Between my poaching and my tesserae, we are managing. Prim brings my mother out into the sun more, and the return of meat to the house slowly seems to rouse her from her stupor. Prim gives her some kind of medicine that’s supposed to help. I guess it works. Momma’s not the same, but it’ll do. She’s functional. Prim is thrilled. Hugging Mom over and over, and smiling, like she’s back from the dead, which she may as well be. Me though, I hug mom stiffly, once, but I don’t know what else to do when she looks at me with sad eyes. The damage is done. I can no longer rely on her. Things have changed. They’ll never go back. Where’s the use in pretending? Her arms are no longer my refuge. There are the woods for that. That will have to be enough. It’s not that I hate her. It’s just that I can’t pretend to be younger than I was forced to grow to be. I don’t fit that niche anymore. I won’t nuzzle into her a chest again. I can’t need her, don’t know how to trust her. I’m glad Prim is happy. I keep my thoughts to myself.
It is about five or six months after the incident with Mr. Mellark that I see him again. We, Gale, a boy I became poaching allies with over the last month, and I, have excitedly hauled up our first ever deer into the butcher’s, and are just leaving with the cash. I’ve never seen so much before, I can only imagine what more I would’ve gotten if the doe had been intact. Even better, I now know I can trade with the butcher for currency if I need to, so it’s a good day when Mr. Mellark walks out from the back room.
“Hi, Katniss,” he greets cheerfully. “Aunt Rooba just told me about that deer you and your buddy shot down.” He nods at Gale as he says this. “If you ever get a squirrel, feel free to come down to the bakery, or better yet, actually, just come to my place.” He rattles off an address I quickly try to memorise. “My brother’s not too keen on trading.” He winks, pats me firmly on the shoulder, says he’s glad to see I’m doing better, acknowledges Gale politely, and heads back to the bakery. He’s humming a cheery tune. All in all, it’s a short exchange, but I feel a sense of pride go through me that he didn’t make a mistake in giving me that bread. You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I can get him that squirrel.
Gale doesn’t look nearly so pleased I notice as we head back to the Seam. His brow is furrowed, and his fists are buried so deep into his pockets they seem to bow his body forward. His breathing is strained.
“What’s your problem?” I ask, probably more defensively than I needed to.
“He is my problem.” Gale huffs, and there’s no doubt to whom he’s referring. “It’s sick. His type. Worse than Cray.”
“Worse than Cray?” I am utterly confused. Cray gives desperate women a pittance to warm his bed. How could Mr. Mellark ever be compared to such an odious man?
“Haven’t you heard, Catnip?”
“Heard what?” I’m getting mad now. Gale can be patronising at the best of times. It’s clear he thinks I’m just some little kid he had better put up with. Gale stops in is tracks, and pivots around to look at me intently. His rage matches mine.
“They say he gives out food to starving kids, but in return he expects them to…stay over…at his place. You get what I mean? They say that’s why he’s never married. He has preferences.”
Unfortunately, I know what he’s hinting at, and it taints the memory of Mr. Mellark giving me that bread right when I most needed it. Is this why he wants me to come to his place? Is he really worse than Cray? Does he expect something? It’s hard to believe. His smile, his warmth, had seemed so genuine. Now I worry I’ve been played for a fool.
“I get what you mean, but we trade with Cray too, and I’m not going to turn my nose up at a bargain that could help my family. Besides, my dad used to trade with him. He can’t be all that bad.”
Gale shakes his head like I’m so naive, and it pisses me off. He presses forward against the cold wind. “Suit yourself, Catnip. I just don’t like it. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t!” I snarl. He’s reaching to touch a part of me that is far to vulnerable for such callous exposure. We part ways quickly after splitting our haul. My good mood killed.
The next morning I rise before dawn and shoot a squirrel determined to know the truth for myself. I am absolutely dwarfed in my father’s leather hunting jacket I insist on wearing, no matter how pathetic it seems. I stomp into town gripping the handle of my knife in my pocket. I doubt I’ll need it, but still, I feel uptight. I draw in a quick breathe to fortify myself, and knock on the door.
“Katniss!” Mr. Mellark exclaims looking thrilled to see me, his eyebrows comically risen on his forehead. “Wow! You came faster than I could have hoped. Why don’t you come in?” He opens the door wider and gestures grandly for me to enter. “I’ll just get something for you.” I’m tempted to say I’ll wait, but it seems rather rude to a man who has been so seemingly kind.
His house is bright. I wonder if he’s decorated it himself. There are beautiful pictures, sketches, and paintings on the walls. Most look like they could be from Twelve. But some look like the scribbles of children which feels makes me feel like I’ve swallowed stones. He leads me into the kitchen and I can see breakfast is on the table. I have interrupted him, as well as two children I’m pretty sure are from the Community Home who are sitting there. I almost throw up.
“How many squirrels have you got me? And how would you prefer I pay? Bread or coin?” He asks. I try to shake myself out of my horror. “Katniss?”
“Umm…Just the one squirrel, and, um, bread, please.” I am utterly unable to take my eyes off of the children in front of me. They look about five and six. I think I really might puke.
Peeta just nods agreeably and goes to a bread box at the counter where he pulls out a loaf of sourdough which he places neatly in a paper bag and hands over at me.
“Katniss?” He asks again. I must really look bad.
“Yes, I’m fine.” I panic. “I just…I’m not used to being up this early.” He chuckles at that.
“Yes, the early mornings are hard to get used to.” He glances over at the children who are shyly pretending not to look at us. “You two done?” His voice is jovial.
“Yes, Mr. Peeta.” The young boy mutters, and grabs the hand of the little girl I assume must be his sister. Peeta looks back at me, because somehow I haven’t been able to move myself out of there as quickly as possible. “I don’t suppose you mind walking them back to the Home? I’m running a bit late.”
“Yes, of course.” I seize my chance, and grab the boy’s hand, and he pulls his younger sister behind him. I nod goodbye to Mr. Mellark, and dash out the door.
Watching them though, they seem shy, but not…harmed in anyway, and I wonder if I’m overreacting. Mr. Mellark didn’t seem horrible, hadn’t propositioned me for anything, but then again not everyone who is awful looks like it. Yet I find it hard to believe though that my Dad would have traded with someone who was a pedophile. Cray is awful, but to use children…
“Do you like Mr. Mellark?”
“Uh, huh.” It’s the girl that answers. “He’s nice. He lets us eat until we’re full sometimes, and if someone stole our place, he gives us a bed.”
“Does he ever…hurt you? Make you do…funny things?” How am I really supposed to phrase it? Does Mr. Mellark fondle you? Give you food and a roof over your head in exchange for satisfying his sexual perversions? I can’t even begin the process of saying it out loud.
“No.” The boy stops walking and stares forcefully up at me. He seems intently serious, more than his age should be. “There are a lot of people like that, but not Mr. Mellark. He’s really nice.”
“Sometimes he bakes cookies with us!” The little girl pipes in. The boy sighs at her optimism, and when his Seam grey eyes properly meet my own, I see an abject loss of innocence. I wonder what he’s seen. I wonder what he’s been through.
“I know what you’re really asking, but he’s not like that, and don’t ever let noone say otherwise.”
After that he won’t say another word, but his sister rambles on and on, about how Mr. Mellark had tucked her in at night, and told her a bedtime story, and how it was so warm, and they actually had enough blankets for once. I feel incredibly relieved, and also guilty for even doubting him: The Kind Man With the Bread.
I take to trading with Mr. Mellark–Peeta, he insists I can call him–about once a week or so. I keep an eye on him at other times too, and as the weeks pass I notice a variety of regular children who frequent his property. Mostly they are children from the Community Home, but there are others who are from truly broken homes who stay over at Mr. Mellark’s when they need a warm roof over their heads. The most he’ll ever ask is that they make their bed, or help him with breakfast. There’s a sixteen year old called Jude, Peeta’s known since he was about eleven, who runs errands for him. Peeta’s never even asked. Jude just looks up to him that much, or owes him that much, I suppose. Peeta’s become every stray’s older brother and father. I see him playing soccer with them in the backyard, or teaching them chess on the porch. Once he bought a young girl a new dress she was desperately in need of, and she proudly twirled it for me. I can easily see how he got such a terrible reputation. No one is going to think well of some Townie who hangs around with Seam children, giving them food and warmth, especially ones who are impoverished even by our standards. No one gives away food here, especially crossing the class lines. Clearly there has to be something salacious. No one’s that nice. Peeta is though, and he’s made a pariah for it.
“Why do you do it?” I ask him one morning when he invites me in. It’s one of those rare mornings he offers to have breakfast with me and the Home kids aren’t there too. Maybe that’s why it’s also the first time I accept.
“Do what?” He seems genuinely confused.
“Help all those kids. Most people wouldn’t. And you must know what they say about you.”
He laughs at this, and shakes his head.
“Oh yeah, I know what they say. I didn’t plan it, you know.”
“I didn’t think you did.” I mutter a bit annoyed at the idea that he might be laughing at me, but he just tugs on my braid good-naturedly and I feel my ire melt a bit.
“It happened sort of gradually, I guess.” He shrugs and spoons up a bit more oatmeal. “I noticed that there were a lot of kids digging around the trash cans. Mom hated it, used to run them off, but I felt bad. Children were starving, and she would go and yell at them,and threaten to call the White Shirts, and I’d give food we had to the pigs.” He’s not laughing now. He’s looking far-off like he’s playing out a distant, painful memory in his head. “So I started to leave food out for them, and when I got older, got a place of my own–anything to get away from Mom, to be honest–I noticed a young boy on the street. It was winter, bitter cold, I knew he probably wouldn’t wake up again if he fell asleep out there, so I brought him in. That was Jude. He was the first. It all snowballed from there. They kept coming, I’d see them on the street, locked out of the Home, and I couldn’t turn them away. We’re supposed to protect children, take care of them, not hit them, not watch them starve and freeze to death” His words drag me back to when I was the one starving and freezing, and I am so lost in the echoes of despair and gratitude, I almost miss the words he whispers next. “Or get thrown into arenas.”
“Is that why you never married?” The reference to the Games draws the question from my lips before I even have time to think. Having already decided myself never to love or marry for precisely that reason, if no other, I find myself quite sympathetic.
“No, not really. I’m just picky.” He picks up his bowl and mine and goes to the sink where he starts washing them up. I stand and grab a towel to help dry. “In town, a lot of people marry for advantage. Oldest son inherits, others apprentice out, often marry the daughter inheriting another business, so on and so forth. My parents have a marriage like that.” I look at his profile and see a tensing in his jaw, and I can tell this topic is difficult for him. “They don’t like each other very much, and mother’s bitterness spills over everywhere. I swore that would never be me, even if it meant the mines.”
“But it didn’t?” This seems intrinsically important to me. I would not want to see Peeta in the mines. I wouldn’t want to see anyone in the mines, but Peeta is the nicest man in my life now that Daddy’s gone, and that makes the image ten times worse.
“No, Ryen hated the bakery so much he apprenticed out to become a blacksmith, so I didn’t have to worry too much. The bakery can support both me and my brother. Still, to be on the safe side, it would’ve been good for me to marry well. I just never met any woman who I thought I could be happy with. They either don’t approve of me or what I do, or we have nothing in common, or I’m not attracted to them, or as the youngest and least financially secure son, they want nothing to do with me.”
“I’m sorry.” I say, and I am, because even though I never want to marry and never want to have kids, I am sad that such a nice man seems so alone. He flicks water up at me clearly unencumbered by such thoughts.
“Don’t look so gloomy, Miss Sunshine,” he teases. “Do I look unhappy to you?”
“No.” He drags a smile out of me, and gives me a loaf of bread to trade as I leave, telling me to drop by “anytime,”. The little girl I met when I first traded with him, I’ve learned her name is Sarai, runs up and gives him a hug.
“Morning, Little Angel!” he greets, and I realise Mr. Mellark never needed to be a husband to be a father. When I hug Prim in my arms that night, I realise I’m not much different there.
After our conversation that day, I do try to drop by every once in awhile. I tell myself it’s to make sure he’s okay. The truth is when I have my bad days, just walking by his house makes me feel better, reminds me that in the crushing grinder of life, there are people who will care. Someone who’ll listen. I’ve noticed I have an unfortunate weakness for kind people, but it is New Years Eve that ruins me.
I go to visit Peeta and wish him a Happy New Year when he invites me in saying he has a present for me. Inside there seems to be a little party going on. There is music playing, and I glance into the living room to see Peeta has clearly tried to bring some holiday cheer into his kids’ lives, but it is not the living room he takes me too. He takes me to some kind of office or studio where he presents me with a picture frame deliberately turned upside down. I turn it over and there is a beautiful painting of my father. The expression captured is perfect. The woods look incredibly real. His eyes are shining as brightly as they did in life. I realise Peeta must have painted this, must have made all the pictures around here. I’m impressed at his talent but that is lost behind the well of emotions which have broken through the dam I have built around them. Mom looks at the picture of Dad all the time, but I haven’t been able to bear looking at his visage since the day he died. Now he is here in front of me. Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t know how it happened, but Peeta’s arms are around me as I sob and sob and sob. I’ve been trying to be brave so long, I haven’t really cried.
“Shh. Shh,” he whispers as he rubs my back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
I shudder and gasp as I try to find the words. I settle for shaking my head and snuggle deeper into his chest as his arms encircle me. I haven’t been held like this since the day my father died, and I feel safe. I feel small, not like a bug about to be crushed under your foot small, small like a chick under their mother’s wing. The thought makes me shake and cry harder. I’ve missed this. I’ve needed this.
“It’s perfect, Peeta. Thank you.”
I pull away reluctantly and through watery eyes I see blue eyes meet mine. Something flops and rises in my chest; I know now, I will never be able to claw this man out of my heart, the guardian angel my father sent from beyond the grave.
Chapter Two: Loneliness
About a year and a half later, not long after I turn fourteen, I discover Peeta has ambitions far beyond what I’m sure anyone else could have imagined. As always, I don’t see it coming. Not much has changed over the year and a half so much as it has grown. Gale trades with Peeta too now, although his disdain for anyone from Town remains uncomfortably evident. I drop by sometimes for breakfast or supper, bringing trophies from the woods like berries, or wild onions, here and there, so Peeta doesn’t feel like I’m using him. I share parts of my life. It’s nice, to have someone to talk to outside of school or hunting. Madge and I don’t really talk much. Gale and I are only just learning to. And it is this undeniable passage of time that spurs the conversation I never saw coming.
“I have a proposition for you, Katniss, now it’s spring.”
I have to swallow quickly before answering.
“What sort of proposition?”
“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind taking some of your time in the woods to look for some sizeable flood banks, or moist valleys, you know, places water accumulates, and the soil looks good?”
I’m so surprised by the nature of his question my spoon is left suspended in the air.
“Why?”
He places his palms flat on the table in front of him, and draws himself up for what looks like a discussion he’s going to feel passionate about.
“Jude’s aging out of the Reaping this year.”
I nod.
“And I obviously don’t want him going down the mines.”
I nod again because I have no idea where he’s going with this.
“I also rather hate the tesserae system, and how dependent we are on the Capitol for rations in general.”
Oh, this is getting dangerous. I swallow.
“Everyone in Town depends on the Capitol for supplies to continue their trade–that’s a huge part of the reason no one from the Seam can buy from us, the prices are too high–and it’s also what keeps us Town-folk at their mercy. It divides us completely, and still I know people starve everyday.”
“Your point,” I say tilting my chin down for a stern look, because this topic of conversation is dangerous, and while I would expect it from Gale and his rants, I am not expecting it from Peeta, who prefers to talk about homework, or my relationships with my family, or other safer topics of conversation a man in his mid to late twenties might ask a young girl he looks out for.
“My point is that I want to change that if I can. I’ve been planning this for years, actually. I want to see if maybe we can farm in the woods. Get our flour from our own sources. Then we could open a bakery at the Hob, and sell at prices people can afford, cut out the middleman. It might help a lot. Of course, no one from the Seam is going to want to buy from me, and while I think if the alternative were tesserae or starve, most would, I thought maybe Jude could do it? And that way I don’t have to worry about him either.”
“You’re crazy.” The way I say it though sounds nothing short of awestruck. “You really could hang for this.”
He gives this about a second’s thought which either proves he’s not thinking this through, or he’s thought this through so much he’s already made up his mind. Knowing him, both could somehow be true at the same time.
“I could, but I’m one person. Children starve to death everyday.”
“What about the children you’re already responsible for?” I note even as I am saying it that technically Peeta isn’t responsible for them. The Home is. The Capitol is. The District is. But they are so inadequate, Peeta has stepped in.
“I know. I know. It is a risk. It’s a gamble. I just don’t see any other option I can live with in clear conscience. This is way bigger than that, and no matter what I do, there are risks we face.”
I can’t say he’s wrong, and who am I to argue with him when I risk my life everyday to feed Prim? I could hang for it, be shot for it, and if that happens, what’ll happen to Prim? But if I don’t she might starve and still die, or take tesserae and be that much more likely to die. It’s like Peeta said. It’s a gamble. It’s a risk.
“What’s in it for me?”
I don’t mean to sound callous, but business is business, and this is risky business. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind. A wide smile returns to his face. In truth it annoys me at times he seems to find my stern-negotiating-face adorable. I don’t want to be associated with adorable. I am not adorable. Regardless, he agrees to pay me a certain amount to find the land for him, and if they succeed in growing anything, he’ll give me enough grain to match my monthly tesserae rations. While it won’t mean I’ll be able to stop taking out tessera, since I split everything with Gale, it will mean decreasing the number of times I have to put my name in each year. I probably would have agreed to this scheme anyway, but there’s no way I could turn down a deal like that.
As it turns out, Peeta really has put a lot of thought into this farming scheme. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps it’s part of being a bakeer–the way he gets up at three every morning and methodically kneads dough–but deliberateness permeates his being. Peeta is as steady and solid as the earth he means to till. He’s been stockpiling barrels, and building airtight containers to store flour in. He’s been looking into long-term storage. He has a contact in Eleven, (how I dare not ask), who got him corn and wheat seed. He asked his blacksmith brother to make him several hoes, (and laments he couldn’t find a domesticated horse or ox even if it were possible to bring such a creature past the fence), and has even made arrangements with the Goat Man to shovel his manure which Peeta plans to use as fertiliser. Never has it been more obvious to me what a planner Peeta is. Since I usually react to things and don’t generally think past tomorrow, it’s rather mind-boggling to see the lengths to which one man can scheme. Peeta has even grilled Greasy Sae on what she can remember from before the Dark Days about farming in the area. Peeta’s decided to plant corn in the spring and summer, and then wheat in the fall and winter. Who knew wheat just sort of stayed packed under the snow and waited to be harvested come spring? I didn’t. Now I do.
Peeta has this way of talking about things that keeps you interested. Like when he talked about why he convinced his Aunt to give him chickens. I didn’t know gluten is what made bread stick together, and any flour he might get from corn, or even acorns, would need something else to make it stick. Hence, the eggs which he got from his Aunt, the butcher, who can occasionally get animals into the district. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have little particular interest in the making of bread, and I had no idea there was so much to the subject of flour, oil, sugar, water, and yeast, but there is, and I listen, because he is interesting. Peeta asked if he was boring me, and I told him he wasn’t, but it wasn’t really because what he was saying was interesting, but his eyes lit up, and his arms gestured, and his humour was on point. His entire countenance took on such an animated, light-giving quality, I’d dare anyone to not have been absorbed. It seemed too important to him. Peeta has tendency to wrap you up in his enthusiasm, and make you smile in spite of yourself. It’s infectious. I almost hate him for it.
He is truly pouring his all into this crazy scheme. He only works part-time at the bakery now. The rest of the day he is out in the woods, by the river, in the valley, hoeing the land. He’s crazy. He is. There’s no other word. It’s insanity. I worry all the time wild animals are going to savage him, but he carries several knives, and he has a hoe, and I’ve taught him how to scale a tree fast, (which was hilarious because he’s stocky and definitely wasn’t made to scale trees, so much as haul them home for fuel), so I tell myself he’ll be fine. For the first two weeks though, come schools end, I race into the woods to make sure he’s okay. He teases me when he notices.
“Worried about me?” He chortles.
I roll my eyes as he tugs my braid and splashes me with river water. I pretend I don’t care. I can sort of see the humour of a girl who barely reaches up to his chest crouching in trees to keep an eye on him, but it’s harder to not get aggravated when Prim joins in the teasing.
“It’s alright,” she says one day when I meet her after school to tell her where I’m going. “I’d run into the woods with Peeta too.” I immediately tell her off as she giggles. She is ten; I don’t know where she gets all this from. I point out that Mr. Mellark will be thirty come November, but she keeps laughing and later has mom tell a story about how her first crush was on the carpenter who was an older guy too. I huff and storm outside. Don’t they know why I worry? What Peeta has done for us, and still does for us? Of course, I’m worried. Of course I keep tabs on him. Maybe it’s just that I know nothing good stays. It’s nothing to do with crushes on older, stronger men. The problem is they’ve got me so worked up, I question every natural observation I have that Peeta’s arms are strong, and look good when they flex, or the way his shirt sticks to his skin when he sweats, or the way his hair shines gold when the light hits it just right. It’s normal to see these things when you look at someone. It doesn’t mean anything, but I head home when my keeping tabs on him results in me seeing him strip off his shirt and pour cool water over his head. There were many trails of water to follow over his chest, droplets that cascaded down him and dazzled in the sun, and he didn’t know I was there so it wasn’t fair.
On weekends, and everyday come summer, the rest of Peeta’s pseudo-family join him. There is Jude, who is the oldest, and Jet who I know from various conversations over the last year is seventeen, and lives with his mom who is an alcoholic. Then there is Colleen and her brother Cole, who are fourteen and twelve. They were orphaned in the blast that killed my father. Finally, there are the babies of this group, Sarai and her brother Elliot, who were the first of Peeta’s foster kids I met. They don’t help much with the plowing, but they’re up bright and early every morning when the time comes for planting the seeds. I dare say it keeps them out of trouble. I help out too when I can, which always earns me a huge smile from Peeta that makes it hard to maintain eye contact with him. I refuse any form of payment pointing out that this is an investment for me too. Truth is, I just wanted to. Seeing them all work so hard tugs my heartstrings. Contrary to popular belief, I do have them. The corn grows fast, and high, and waves in the wind.
It sometimes takes me time to find where they are working since Peeta has divided the farming land into sections. He hopes that’ll reduce the likelihood of damage to his crop than if they’re all in one place, and of the Capitol clueing into what’s going on with the two or three acres or so of land they’re farming. I have to say I agree. It was only a few months previously Gale and I had seen two people fleeing the Capitol only to be captured by hovercraft. I hadn’t told anyone but Peeta. Prim I couldn’t tell for fear of worrying her, and the same went with my mother. I don’t want to risk her checking out again, but Peeta, he is the one person in the world today I would say I trust unconditionally. That’s why I told him about the cabin by the lake my father brought me, in case he wants to fix that up to store grain in. He seemed terribly touched I’d told him, and I was glad he’d understood what it meant to me. Sometimes I go to the lake and see the work done and while it saddens me that this place is no longer my own, I am glad that my knowledge, my life, might now sustain others. (You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter.)
Gale cautions me about getting too involved in all this.
“It’ll be great if it works out, Catnip, but if it doesn’t, don’t go wasting your time with it. We’ve got our own mouths to feed.” I hate he has a point, and reluctantly agree. It doesn’t end there though. Another time he points out, “And don’t go giving away our trade secrets either. We don’t need that kind of competition.”
Again I agree with him, but a bakery isn’t going to compete with us, and I’ve known starvation too well not to help when I can, especially when I know what help has meant to me, and even more so when it is the person who helped me when I most needed it.
“Stupid Townie,” Gale mutters. “If he wants to help out, fine, but the woods are ours. He’s stepping in where he doesn’t belong, trying to take advantage of us, thinks we can’t do better, but what else is new?”
I get where Gale is coming from. I really do. We’ve been at the backdoors of people who will give us a pittance for our work, because they know we can’t really say no, especially when the law is on their side. It’s frustrating to say the very, very least, but I resent even more the notion that Peeta Mellark is like that when he is the one out here sweating under a hot sun, and working so hard I know I saw blood on the handle of his hoe. I also know that blood is there because he gave Jet his own gloves, and never let on a hint to his own pain. Peeta is staking a lot on this venture. I tell Gale so, and before I know it we’re in a flaming row. I generally try to avoid rows with Gale, or wait until we’re done hunting. They scare off the game, but I can’t help myself this time. There is a lot of huffing, arm-waving, and finger-pointing, and Gale calls me a naive child, again, and eventually we just stop unable to reach an accord. He’s only two years older, I wish he’d stop acting uppity. The truth is, I should have seen this coming. I’ve been called a halfie a few times, and that’s one of the kinder words out there. It doesn’t matter how much my mother does as a healer in the Seam, and I am proud of her for that if nothing else, she is still from Town, and people still skirt around her. It’s no different for Peeta. Gale is sceptical. He always will be, I think. It exhausts me.
It works though. The corn grows, is harvested, dehydrated, and stored to be ground into cornmeal. I take Sarai and Elliot through the woods with massive buckets to get acorns to supplement that as well. One Sunday in October, Peeta invites me to join in a celebration in the woods. I am told I can bring my mother and Prim if I want to, but something in me hesitates and I seek them out alone. When I arrive I find a massive bonfire, and Jet playing something on some kind of wooden instrument. There are some cookies to snack on, and everyone is milling and dancing about the flames. I stop in the shadow of a tree just to watch them as the night grows darker. It’s strange this group of people. Seam colouring aside, they don’t look like a family, and Peeta doesn’t even have that. Jet is the only one that has anything merchant to him, blue eyes, because he’s the product of some Townie looking for fun without responsibility. Jude is lean and thin faced, but Jet is circular and short. Colleen and Cole look related of course, but their hair is blunt and straight, as are their noses. Then the youngest, Sarai and Eliot, well they have an impish look to them, even as serious as Eliot can be. Peeta sticks out like a sore thumb. Yet there is a harmony to this group, a joy, and a hope that unites them as they join hands and spin around and laugh together. They seem bound by something beyond anything I’ve experienced before. It makes something in me ache. I want to join in, but it feels dangerous to do so. I am not a part of this, and celebrating something scares me in a way I don’t fully understand. It seems risky, even as I wish it.
“Katniss!” Elliot has spotted me. “Come on!” He runs forward and pulls me in. Jude hands me a cookie. It’s delicious, and I can’t help but smile. Soon Sarai who had been enjoying a piggy-back ride by Colleen runs over to get me to dance with her, and her joy drags all of us in as we spin and spin around. Half way through a twirl I lose my balance and Peeta catches me. All I notice is his warmth, his strong arms and chest, and then his blue eyes and his smile, and I forget to breathe. The urge to move forward is so overwhelming I shove him away.
“I-I’m sorry. It’s getting late. My family’ll worry.”
“Of course,” Peeta nods, apparently finding nothing the matter with my reaction. I suppose maybe I’m just that awkward. “Give them my regards.”
“Yeah, sure.”
I turn away to hug the youngest one’s goodbye and dash off trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that my mother and Prim were right.
I avoid him after that. It’s stupid, because it’s not like he’d care, but I don’t know how to act. I trade with him as always, but insist that with winter here, I’m needed elsewhere so I don’t stay. Peeta looks concerned, but I brush him off and he lets it go. I encourage Gale to trade there more often. Gale notices and asks if Peeta has done anything wrong, but he really hasn’t. Gale doesn’t believe me, of course, but he lets it go for which I’m grateful.
I am, however, kept up to date on everything that’s happening in Peeta’s life by Colleen. For whatever reason she has decided we are friends now we’ve been to a bonfire together. I discovered this when she decided to sit with Madge and I and lunch. I don’t discourage it though, it wouldn’t be particularly nice, and I also know Colleen, like me, doesn’t have many friends. Still, she’s a chatterbox which is an odd change since I think Madge and I are friends-of-a-sort, because we both don’t like to talk. Colleen isn’t shallow though, and her conversation does cover things that are at least relevant or interesting. I don’t think I could’ve bourne a gossip. Funnily enough, the injection of a talker to our group seems to have done Madge and I a bit of good allowing us to actually acknowledge that we are, in fact, friends. She drags us both to her house to teach us to play the piano, which is a huge laugh to say the least, and she talks us into bringing her to the woods. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything besides hunt and trade and work, I never realised how much I missed it. Short of some joking with Prim, or family time at New Years, I haven’t just had fun since my father died. It fills me with a deep ache in my heart. My father and I used to spend time together just singing with the mockingjays. Sometimes, he would seat me on his lap and teach me to sing in harmony with him. Silly songs. Folk songs. Love songs. I learned them all, and now waching Madge laugh as Colleen fudges up her part of Heart and Soul, I almost feel I could cry. For the first time, it doesn’t feel quite so much like death and loss, but life and growth. The cracking of a shell I’m out-growing. I’ve never considered that new life comes in to the world to us with pain, so much as I have fixated on the losing of it.
Gale and I stop trading with Peeta as of November. We split the grain he gives us between our families, and go straight to the new bakery in the Seam if we need bread. Greasy Sae has partnered with it to give it even more legitimacy, if such is a concern in a black market, and it is gaining popularity quickly. I am told there was a problem with the other bakery at the Hob. The system worked where children could sell there tesserae grain for coin, and that grain would be milled down and baked and sold at the Hob. Before Peeta, that was the best most people could hope for for a bakery in the Seam. With Jude selling now, fewer people were buying tesserae bread, or even having to sell as much tesserae grain for coin. Jude and Jet had almost come to blows with the other baker, I think his name was Mr. Salter, before people came to break it up before the Peacekeepers were forced to actually remember they were on duty. Peeta sorted it out by arranging to pay the Salter family help him mill down his grain, since it’s hard for them to farm, bake, and mill, all by themselves, and now they’ve settled into a reluctant sort of truce. Jude has not been condemned to the mines.
But death comes anyway. It’s unstoppable. Colleen looks sombre come February.
“Did something happen?” Madge asks, concerned.
“Peeta’s mother died.”
None of us say much after that, but after pacing around the woods guilty, I visit Peeta for the first time in four months. When he answers the door he looks dreadfully exhausted. His eyes have a haunted quality to them, and his hair seems simultaneously lank and uncombed. There is stubble where he is usually so clean shaven.
“Hey, Katniss.” He mumbles and motions for me to enter.
“I, um, heard about your mother.” I offer tentatively as I place several squirrels on the table for him.
He sits down and sighs with weariness that is soul-deep.
“Yeah, it’s no surprise really. She’s been sick for awhile, and had stroke a few years back besides.”
I hadn’t known that she was sick. I should’ve known that. Guilt is rising steadily in me, as Peeta emotionally runs his hand through his hair which waves in a way that makes it clear he’s been doing that a lot today. I have never seen him sit with such a slump in his shoulders before. Not knowing what else to do, I decide to cook the squirrel. I remember how hard it can be to move when you lose a parent, how simple tasks can seem monumental. I’m not a brilliant cook; I’ve never had much opportunity to learn, but I think I can handle a stew. Something about the smell seems to wake Peeta up and he enters the kitchen as the stew is bubbling.
“Thank you.”
I just nod. Saying “You’re welcome,” seems trite somehow. This was the least that should be expected. I have been a poor friend to him.
“I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” he continues as he sits down, his voice has this hollow quality to it. “She and I were never close. I was her disgrace…but now that she’s gone. I guess, I don’t know, there’s no way to ever make it right. Not that it was ever going to be made right, of course. Ever. So what’s the use in–” he waves half-heartedly with his hand, unable to articulate himself for once. All I do is hand him over a bowl of soup. You can’t go wrong with feeding someone, right? I pass him a spoon, and I can tell something’s wrong by the way he stares at it, turning it back and forth before his eyes like it is the key to some kind of puzzle. He drops the spoon and covers his face with his hands. His sobs are mostly soundless, but I can tell they are there by the shaking of his shoulders. They wrack his whole body.
After a time, I hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder, and start to rub his back. This seems to help a little. I’m half tempted to sing to him, like I would to Prim, but he’s a grown man and that feels strange so I restrain myself. It hurts to see him like this. I’ve never really registered how alone he is. He’s here, in this house, alone, even though he has a father, two married brothers, and several nieces and nephews. It is I who comforts him. I can feel my heart swell with the absurd need to cradle and protect a man so many years my senior. When he calms, he gently places a large, warm hand over my small one, and smiles. I smile gently back.
“Sorry to do that in front of you.”
“It’s fine.”
“Thanks for the soup. It helps. The kids’ll be in soon, and then I’ve got to go meet with my brothers and Dad about the arrangements.”
“If you ever need anything, please just…let me know.” I say the words earnestly and hesitantly, because I’ve never considered before that I could be of any real help to Peeta Mellark. His face lights a slight amount anyway, and he seems more like himself. He tugs my braid lightly and musses my hair and says he’ll bear that in mind. The gesture squeezes my heart in a way that pains. I know what I’ve always known, that he sees me as a cute kid, the daughter of a good friend, but it’s better that way I think as I walk home. There’s no reason that should hurt me. If I ever had to be attracted to anybody, best to be attracted to someone way beyond me. Peeta is older, from Town. It could never work. He’d never notice me, so I have nothing to fear. I can, however, be a partner to him, and more than just in trade. Gale and I share the burdens of having to help support our households. It makes things easier. I can do the same with Peeta, and bringing him some of Prim’s old clothes for Sarai is a good start, because no one deserves to shoulder the burdens of a family alone. I mean to bridge that gap however I can.
Chapter Three: Artless
“Why art?” I remember asking Peeta shortly after I’d first started trading with him.
“What do you mean why art?”
“I mean…no offence…but, isn’t it a waste of time, even money?”
Peeta took his time in giving me a response. It was something I always appreciated about him. He never belittled me, and spoke to me with respect. When he answered he was still sort of staring into space.
“You can starve physically, but your soul can starve too. You can survive, but have no reason to live. Art feeds the soul.” He pauses and looks over at me. “You know how when you’re tired you can sit down and not want to get up again? You can. But you don’t. You can give up.” Immediately I am brought back to the apple tree where I had sat lost, weak, and weary. I could have gotten up, as I proved when Peeta gave me the bread, but before the hope he gave me, I wouldn’t have believed I could at all. I had no defense. “Art gives rise to hope, and validation of pain. It’s important, Katniss.”
I nodded, content to never bring the topic up again, but after a lull in the conversation I thought was over, Peeta added one final thought. “Your father used to sing all the time. I always loved to draw, but I dare say he taught me the power of it.”
I still haven’t truly sang since my father died, not to anyone other than Prim. I once stood at the edge of the lake my father brought me, not long after that talk with Peeta, and considered opening my mouth and letting the song that flooded to the back of my teeth pour out, but when I saw the mockingjays, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sing and know they would take up the call and sing it again, and again after me for who knew how long. I knew singing again without my father would crack through some barrier that dammed the grief in me, and if I started, would I stop? And how could I bear the mockingjays carrying my pain onward and onward and onward, magnifying it for all to hear? I am too small for that. Too weak. So I don’t sing.
It hadn’t stopped someone else from their own brand.
It was In the spring, shortly before my sixteenth birthday, that I first noticed it. Graffiti on buildings depicting the faces of fallen tributes, or supporting the miners, or deriding the excesses of the Capitol. I’d never seen anything like it before. We usually try to forget the Reaping exists during the rest of the year, not like we ever do of course, but we tuck our heads down and move on. I’ve never seen anyone calling attention to it before, honouring those we’ve lost. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but Gale loves it, of course.
He thinks it’s great to stir people up, take down the Capitol. I want to point out that it’s useless if we’re all by ourselves, one tiny district, but know from experience he won’t listen. He says it would be great if some Townie got reaped so maybe they’d fight alongside us. In truth, I never dreamed he’d get his wish.
I am a mess the 74th games. It is Prim’s first time, and even though the odds are most in your favour the first time, somehow it feels like the worst. I jerkily lead her up to the counter where peacekeepers are taking blood for their records, and guide her through the process. I hardly even noticed when they prick my finger. When I tell her I will find her immediately after the ceremony is done, I know I am reassuring her as much as myself. I love Prim like I love myself…more actually.
Colleen is waiting for me in the area for sixteen year olds and she grasps my hand tightly. I know she is as worried for Cole as I am for Prim, but she’s been through this a couple of times already. I’m not used to this kind of fear. I squeeze her hand back in solidarity and appreciation. She offers me a tight smile I can’t bring myself to return. I stare fruitlessly at the bowl and beg it will not call my name, not Prim’s name, or Madge’s, or Colleen’s, or Cole’s, or Gale’s, and muse that in spite of my best efforts, I care far too much. I don’t want it to be anyone, but I can’t stop that, so I must protect my own. There is a tension in the air, as Effie Trinket quickly reads the name more intent on maintaining her tenuous grasp on her wig then appreciating what she’s doing.
“Flouer Mellark!”
And a fifteen year old girl from Town is reaped: Peeta’s niece.
Colleen and I exchange looks. I can read in her eyes what must be in my own. Was the Reaping punitive? It must be even worse for her, because Mellark is her last name now too. Peeta had adopted them all a few months ago when Jude’s Bakery took off. Colleen grabs my hand even tighter, so much so I fear the circulation must be cut off, but I do the same to her. WIll it be Peeta’s nephew, or will it be Cole, who is the only other boy Peeta cares about who might be eligible? Or if it is about trading in the Hob, what is it’s Gale? My breathing loosens when it’s a boy from the Seam, Terrence Carter–but it’s still horrifying to see it is a twelve year old boy. Twelve year olds are seldom Reaped, but when they are, they come from the very back of the crowd, a longer walk, a longer torment, as if the Capitol wants to rub it in our faces what they do.
Tears are streaming down Colleen’s face now, and the moment we are cleared to leave she runs to find her brother, as I run to find Prim. I clutch her in my arms, breath her scent in, run my fingers through her hair. I need to know she is here, real, in my arms.
“Oh, Katniss,” she sobs, “how awful.” I can only imagine how this felt to her. I had tried to comfort her, comfort myself, saying her name was only in there once, but so had Terrence’s been. Besides, she knows who the Mellark’s are and that drives it home too. No one is safe. How can anyone choose to go through this?
“Hush, Little Duck,” I say as I pull away and tuck in her shirt again. “How about we bring them some strawberries?”
She nods and wipes her tears with the back of her hands. Mom is here now and she hugs Prim too and squeezes my shoulder with her free hand, a teary-eyed smile on her lips.
Gale is waiting at the edge of the crowd, and I motion to my mother and Prim to go on home first. I give him a hug, the first we’ve ever shared.
“Congratulations.” I whisper, trying to remind myself to also be grateful I’ll never have to worry about him being Reaped again.
“Yeah, it’s great,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about Rory who will be eligible next year. I know I am. “Who’d have thought it’d be someone from Town? Maybe now they’ll know what it’s like.”
“Don’t joke like that Gale.” I glare at him. He doesn’t comment on it.
“So,” he puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks back and forth on his heels, “I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate with me?”
“Celebrate?”
“Yeah, everyone who’s aged out this year. We’re all meeting in the meadow. You want to come?”
There’s an urgency in his eyes, and a nervousness in his tone that make me think this must be more important than I realise, but my mind is at the Mellark house, so I don’t think too much when I reply.
“Of course, I’ll be there. I’ll meet you after dinner.”
“Great!” His eyes light up, and his smile is wider than I’ve seen in ages, and I am happy for him, so I try not to let my distractedness show as he walks me home and prattles on inanely. I nod and hum at appropriate intervals, a practice I am well-versed in given my conversational skills are nil at the best of times.
When I knock on the door with the basket of strawberries in my hand, it is Jet who opens the door for me. He motions me in, and I don’t comment on the shadows under his eyes. Inside, Sarai is softly sobbing in Colleen’s arms; Cole, next to her, has his eyes closed and is leaning on her shoulder. Eliot is stiff as board on the sofa. Jet sits down next to them, and rests the strawberries on the table. No one eats them.
“Is he still at the Justice Building?”
“Yeah,” Jet’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Jude and his wife’s with him. Or were. Family didn’t want the Seam there.” He sighs and rests his chin on his clasped hands.
I stand there awkwardly until the door bursts open. My heart falls when it is Jude and Maria not Peeta.
“He’ll be here in five minutes.” Jude explains awkwardly.
“How bad was it?”
“His brother punched him across the jaw.”
“Shit.” Jet groans.
“Language!” Colleen reprimands him pulling Sarai in closer. He ignores her and goes up to thump Jude on the back in masculine affirmation. Maria announces she’s going to make dinner and courteously thanks me for the strawberries. I feel out of place as Jude flops down next to Jet. I’m the only one standing, but this isn’t my house, and I doubt it would be polite to sit. Maybe I should go, but I don’t feel I can do that until I see Peeta.
He walks in not long after, and already there is the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his left eye. His movements are slowed; his exhaustion is evident.
“Dad,” Sarai rushes over to him, and he kneels to the floor to grasp her in a tight hug. He closes his eyes so tightly I think he must be hiding tears. As the others gather around, I slip out the door feeling like a voyeur.
I almost don’t remember I agreed to go to Gale’s celebration, but halfway through washing the dishes after a silent post-Reaping meal, I head off to the meadow.
Gale is already there. A few people are playing some upbeat songs, and I can tell the Ripper’s liquor has already started to be passed around the large crowd of eighteen year olds.
“Catnip!” Gale waves me over, and introduces me to his friends, Thom, Bristel, Jason, and Axel. “You all know who Katniss is, of course.” He gestures towards me proudly, but all can think is that of course they know who I am. I know my reputation. The surly, halfie, criminal who can kill you from a distance. Daughter of the the Townie healer, with the sister with the fair features. Other. Alien. Jack Everdeen’s daughter.
I am deeply uncertain why Gale wants me here. I am useless with conversation, and I don’t know anyone here. Gale and I spend time together in the woods, but we’ve never done much outside of that. But then I realise maybe that’s the point. I won’t be able to see Gale terribly much after he enters the mines. He’ll only be free on Sundays, so I try to put my best foot forward which I think he appreciates.
I don’t know how well I do, there’s only so much one can say about the weather, the seasons, and the coal. It’s an unwritten rule not to talk about the Reaping, but I still I detect a general sentiment that “at least it’s a Townie this time,” and “now they’ll know what it feels like” which makes me uncomfortable in it’s callousness. They’re all just children. I dance a few dances, and almost have fun, as much as one can at theses sorts of things where you’re never told what you have to do, and what’s expected of you, which leaves someone like me hanging awkwardly wondering how many gaffes they make a second. The only comfort I have is that initially, I can follow Gale’s lead as he drags me around everywhere to introduce me. Once I exhaust my sparse reserves of small talk I cautiously retreat to a corner while Gale takes swigs out of one of the several bottles of white liquor making its rounds. I wonder how long I’m obliged to stay here before I can go home politely. It has been a taxing day and all I want to do is sleep.
As it gets colder and darker, I wrap my arms around myself and realise I forgot to grab a sweater before heading out. My Reaping dress is thin and short-sleeved. I decide I’m just going to go home when Gale notices my discomfort and slips his jacket around me saying he’ll walk me back. Behind him some boys who notice the interaction jeer and wolf-whistle. I’d shoot them a glare, but I am honestly too tired to care. We are just up at my doorstep when Gale grabs my arm.
“Listen, Catnip, we’re both older now, and I’ll be in the mines soon.”
I wearily lift my eyes up to his to hear him out when he grabs my cheeks and pulls my face up to kiss me. I can smell the liquor on him. I am so shocked it takes me a moment to respond. I shove him away with both hands and run inside, trying to ignore the dismayed look on his face. I feel like the ground is rocking under me, and I fall to the ground once I am inside. I wrap my arms around my knees and finally, finally give into my tears. How could he kiss me like that, when he knows how I feel about it, without even asking, and on a day like today when I see what could be all my worst fears realised?
Prim is a sleep, but Momma comes to the front door. She must hear my crying.
“Oh, Katniss,” she whispers sympathetically, and wraps her arms around me soothingly rocking me into her chest. It’s been years since I’ve allowed her to hold me like this, not since Dad died, and it turns a key in my chest that makes me sob all the harder. Somehow it feels good. Momma plants a kiss on my head.
I drop Gale’s jacket on the Hawthorne’s doorsept early the next morning, and go squirrel hunting. Gale, fortunately, is not there. He’s probably still hungover. I work quickly, and soon I am at Peeta’s with fresh meat.
“It’s not to trade.” I murmur when he opens the door. He nods me in and says I don’t have to do that. I already brought them strawberries. I decide to pretend I didn’t hear him since I don’t know what to say.
“The kids are still asleep then?”
“Yeah.”
“It is still quite early.”
“It is.”
The stuntedness is more than I can take, so I address the obvious issue.
“You’re eye looks bad. Is it true your brother hit you?”
“Yes. It is.” He looks away at the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast?”
“Sure.” But I know he’s trying to change the subject.
“Did your brother think it was punitive?”
“Yeah.” His back is to me at the stove so all I can see are clenched muscles and slumped shoulders.
“Do you think it is?”
“I don’t know. They could’ve reaped any of my children if they wanted to do that. Not my nieces. It could just be a coincidence, or maybe they just didn’t want to be too obvious. I don’t know.” He sighs and his hands still. “Either way it doesn’t matter. Over this last year, fewer people than ever have had to take tesserae, which means the odds were less in favour of the Merchants than ever. So either way….I suppose you could argue it’s my fault.”
I frown, uncertain which side to take. “Are you going to stop?”
“No,” he shakes his head firmly. It’s the strongest gesture he’s made since I arrived. “I knew the risks when I started this. More people starve everyday then are reaped every year. The bakery helps with that. I just never expected to have to face the consequences so…soon.” He’s gripping the edge of the counter so tightly now that I can see his knuckles whiten. I can’t help myself. I go up and wrap my arms around him, and he reciprocates. We stand there for a few moments until he extracts himself murmuring a thank you.
“So, how are things for you?” He finally asks, and I grant him the reprieve. There’s nothing more to say in any case. Sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.
“Gale kissed me.” I blurt out. Against my will I scan his face for a reaction. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but all I get out of him is raised eyebrows.
“And you didn’t like it?”
“No!” I cross my arms. “I’ve told him time and again I don’t want marriage or kids. I told him yesterday morning before he even tried. What’s wrong with him?”
Peeta chuckles which contrasts to the stain of grief that remains on his face. I hate him for laughing at my plight.
“He’s an eighteen year old boy, Katniss. He’s just survived his last Reaping. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and he wants to share it with a remarkable woman. He overstepped his bounds. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I’m not remarkable.” I grumble. Peeta places a hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him directly.
“Yes, you are.” I pretend I can’t feel myself blush under his stare.
“I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” He reassures me touching my cheek in a friendly manner. “Tell Gale how you feel, and if he’s as good a friend as you say he is, then he’ll come around, and accept it.”
“I just hate all the presumptions!” I hate that I’m whining too, but it is so annoying. “Everyone assumes we’re together. I never thought he would just assume too! And now I’m getting older, and the mines are looming, all everyone seems to talk about is boys and marriage.”
“I suppose they figure partnership makes it more bearable.”
“Not me.” I scowl. He laughs lightly.
“Don’t worry about it. Look at me!” He says as he flips eggs that have been frying in the pan too long. “I’ve never married, and I’m doing just fine.” I crook my lips at that one.
“You’ve adopted a bunch of kids and have a terrible reputation.”
“True!” He taps my nose with his index finger. “So don’t be like me.” Then the glint leaves his eyes, and he remembers what happened yesterday. I reach out and grasp his hand. We stay like that a long while as the eggs cool to rubber.
Gale and I don’t talk again until the day after the bloodbath. It’s clear he’s been avoiding me. When we finally meet up again in the woods I rail at him for kissing me and not even having the guts to face me afterward. I hadn’t appreciated splitting my haul with a man who wasn’t there. He at least has the decency to pretend to look ashamed, but I know he isn’t because he says it was just because he had a bit too much to drink, and had originally planned to “ease me into it.” Whatever the Hell that means. I’m not known for being fickle.
“I know you don’t like the idea, Katniss, but I also know you hate the mines. They might turn a blind eye to you poaching, but only if you’re working too. What are you going to say when you turn eighteen? Are you going to go down the mines?”
“I could say I’m a healer like mom!”
He laughs. “Yeah, like that’s going to work.”
“It might!”
“Never mind. Let’s just get on with it.”
I hate that he’s probably right, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t like being talked down too like that. It is a very tense hunt.
Flouer Mellark dies in the bloodbath. Peeta leaves the bakery in Town.
Every time I got to trade in Town I can feel the resentment. I can feel the glares at me, even worse than usual for being from the Seam. I can also feel anger towards the Capitol though. It’s palpable. The Mellarks, Peeta aside, are a respected family here. Meanwhile, at the Hob, Sae starts up a fund to sponsor Terrence. He is killed by the Careers on the fourth day.
No one knows what to do with the coin. We hadn’t had a chance to send it in yet, and Sae hadn’t exactly been keeping records of who gave what. It is Jude who suggests they send it to Rue. When we see there isn’t quite enough yet to get her something decent, he convinces Peeta to ask for donations in Town. I am deeply sceptical, but Peeta rallies his few friends and so angry are the people in Town at the Careers and the Capitol, they donate, and we send Rue some bread. When she receives the bread that is obviously not from her District and thanks us, and everyone in the crowd cheers. I notice the Peacekeepers grip their weapons tighter. I notice Gale is grinning.
We all root for Rue to win, and she lasts longer than I think any twelve year old has before, but she dies when the Careers smoke her out of the tree she hides in. Her death is cruel, painful, sadistic, and brutal. Everyone looks traumatised for weeks. Mockingjays with Rue’s face are found in alleyways making everyone stew. I don’t know if it’s one artists or several that grafiti the District, but they stir us up. Our only consolation is that for once someone from an outlying District wins, someone we actually like: Thresh. If you can call it a consolation when it is a rallying point. There is a curling in my stomach that tells me I need to ask Peeta a few pointed questions, but I decide it’s better not to know.
Chapter Four: Catching Fire
Summer break begins soon after the Games end, and I don’t see much of the Mellarks. All of them disappear into the woods from dawn until dusk to harvest the wheat. I keep an eye on them intermittently between my own prolific hunting. Summer is when you store up for Winter. Everytime I see them, they are hard at work. Jet and Peeta do the scything. Colleen and Cole bundle, and the youngest two rake. That’s just the beginning of course; they also have to thresh and winnow what they’ve gathered. After that, they’ll have to prepare the land to plant the corn. Whenever I catch them working, I invariably think of Thresh, and how skills like this had helped him survive. He knew how to handle a scythe; he knew how to survive in the forest of grain they provided for him. I wonder if the Gamemakers had planned to have an outlier win this year, to keep things from being too boring. It seemed a bit of an advantage for anyone with farming experience, like people from Eleven raised in fields of grain. I wonder if they’re regretting it.
Thresh has been a difficult victor to say the least. His shout, “For Rue!” when he made his last kill has been taken by the District as something of a rallying cry. I’ve seen the phrase graffitied everywhere. During his victor interview, much like his tribute interview, he really made Caesar work for every word. There was seething resentment in him, and tears that shone hatred in his eyes when he saw Rue die. He made it clear he thought anyone who participated or enjoyed that kind of thing was monstrous. It didn’t matter how much the Capitol tried to edit his interview. There really was no salvaging it. I worry all the time about the consequences for him, but so far he’s still around. I can’t imagine what the Victory Tour will be like.
Gale is thrilled by what he’s seen. Ever since he’s started down the mines, he’s been even more of a ticking bomb than ever. Resentment spills out of his every pore. He was made for more than back-breaking minework in unsafe conditions for which he gets a pittance.
“Don’t you see, Catnip! This proves that the other Districts feel the same way we do!”
“Maybe they do, Gale, but we’re all still trapped by fences.” I wish he would be rational. “Do you even know how you’d communicate with them? Let alone ally with them?”
“Thresh is coming here on the tour, isn’t he? We can get him a message then.”
“How? How are you going to get close enough to him?”
He rolls his eyes at me. “All we need is a signal. Someone to shout from the crowd we support him.”
“And get us all killed.”
“They can’t kill all of us, Catnip. Where would they get their coal?”
“Didn’t save Thirteen.” I point out cynically.
“Look, we’re all on camera. Maybe they’ll edit it out in post-production, but maybe other Districts will see what we did too.” He looks down at me in frustration. “I don’t know why you’re fighting me on this, Katniss.”
“I’m not! But there’s no point in having this rebellion if it doesn’t work. I’m not risking my life, let along my sister’s and mother’s on some fool’s scheme!” My chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. “When I’m sure you’ve thought this through, maybe I’ll consider joining.” He internalises this. His eyes are watching me in a manner that is calculating, and, for once, I can’t fathom what’s in the recesses of his mind. Do I know him as well as I think?
“Alright, Catnip. I will. I’ll give you a plan. It’s simple. We get to Thresh. He gets word out to the other districts, other victors, maybe. We make bows, weapons, grab the tools from the mines, take the Peacekeepers. The miners are angry, Katniss. We’d do it. If we can coordinate that with the other districts, we could take the Capitol.”
“They. Have. Bombs. Gale!” I spit through gritted teeth.
“We have a victor who is an ally in the Capitol.”
“And?”
“Maybe he can cripple them somehow.”
“It’s a bit much to hope.”
“All at once, maybe, but if we plan this over a few years. It could work.”
It might. I reluctantly concede to that. We spend the rest of out time in the woods in silence, but I can tell from the distant look in his eyes that Gale is scheming. Right before we leave, he shocks me with that he says.
“Your friend, Madge, the mayor’s daughter.”
“What of her?” I ask cautiously. Gale’s never liked her.
“She’ll be at the banquet when Thresh comes here, won’t she? She could get a message to him, discreetly. Could you talk to her about it?”
I muse over it a bit, but Madge has mentioned her Aunt Maysilee a few times. I know she has a rebellious spirit in her, it’s evident if only in who she choose to befriend. And, in truth, as careful as I’ve learned to be, I want to end these Hunger Games. I want to rebel. I tell Gale I’ll talk to her about it. Something this simple is small, not likely to hurt anyone, but could have impact.
I broach the subject with Madge when she joins me gathering in the woods. She looks intrigued.
“I’ll need to be able to tell him what kind of support to expect.” She muses. “You’ll need to know how many miners are involved, how far they’re willing to go, but, yes, I’ll certainly do it. Actually,” she adds hesitantly, but I see pride in her eyes as she raises them to mine. “My family has been rebels for ages.” Then she bites her lip, before adding something that confounds me. “Just tell Gale to be careful about running his mouth in the mines. New shafts should be fine, but I’m pretty sure the Capitol bugs them to make sure there isn’t anything treasonous that might translate into action. I can’t be sure, but I’ve heard it speculated that that’s why there was that accident years ago. The one your father died in.”
“You mean…?” Could it be possible? My father poached. He was hardly a law-abiding citizen, but I had never considered he might have been a rebel in the revolutionary sense. I suppose it could explain the lack of support we received afterwards. I still don’t doubt it was because my father’s marriage was so unpopular, because everyone was too wrapped up to care, but now there might be another reason as well.
“Yeah.” Madge nods. “I don’t know much, but my aunt and your mother were friends. I think that’s what got your mother into it, when she saw Aunt Maysilee die.”
My mother, a rebel? I can hardly imagine it, but then again, she did leave everything she’d ever known to marry me father. She’d been brave once, rebellious. I feel a stirring of desire to know her again burning up inside me warring with the urge to keep her at a distance to protect myself. A war that has been going on in earmest since she held me after Gale kissed me.
I’m going to have to talk to her.
“Yes, it’s true.”
“Seriously?” She says it so casually. Yes, it’s true. I feel my mind spinning, but at the same time it’s like it’s falling into place, being screwed on right, because it makes a bizarre sort of sense.
“You were rebels?”
“Yes,” my mother nods again. She sips her tea before she elaborates. We’re both sitting at the kitchen table. Prim is out with a friend. Despite the fact that we are talking about Dad, or perhaps because of it, Momma seems more animated than ever. “I grew up thinking, if not nasty things, than superior things about the Seam.” She explains. “I never imagined I would ever visit here, let alone live here. But one day, your father showed up, asking to trade meat for antibiotics. A boy had been horribly whipped, and needed help. My father refused him, but I admired his courage in coming there. There was something shining in his eyes. It was well-known that my family believed in doing business only with those who had the coin. Your father went on about how the young boy was the only child left to a widowed woman. Something about the entire scene touched me, so I followed your father out. I got him the medication. That started everything.”
“You said you met when he came to trade plants with you?”
“I did. The whippings back then were terrible. After Haymitch won, new peacekeepers were brought in, and the punishments were absolutely barbaric. My parents said we shouldn’t help; the people involved were criminal, and it would only cause trouble. The truth is, I wanted to cause trouble. I watched my best friend die a horrific death on live television. Haymitch tried to help her; they were allies. I thanked him for that once.” She quiets as she becomes lost in a distant memory. She shakes herself out of it. “I was angry at the Capitol for what they’d done, and I was sixteen so sneaking out to heal the backs of those who were whipped for defying them seemed a terribly grand idea.” I can see it now. My mother, before grief diminished her, sneaking out to help those in need. I’m proud of her, I realise. “I told your father I couldn’t help him with Capitol-grade medicines again, so I looked through the Plant Book, and told him which herbs to gather. I suppose I realised interacting with all these Seam families that they weren’t so different, the depth of the unfairness. It’s not often someone from Town is Reaped, but now that I knew how devastating it was…I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to face that all the time.” She shrugs, takes another sip of her tea, and concludes. “So that’s how I fell in love with your father, and, yes, eventually, we joined organised rebellion.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I mumble. I twist my head trying to process what I’ve just heard. Momma reaches out to grasp my hand.
“It was nothing I meant to hide from you,” she says softly, “but first you were too young, and then…”
“And then…” I conclude, knowing exactly what she means.
“When Jack died, I feared it was my fault,” she whispers. “Did I get him killed?”
For the first time in years, I go up and wrap my arms around my mother. I love you, I think to myself, because I do. My mother has never turned anyone away, has always healed everybody, and I know, once she came back, she did all she knew how to do for us. Slowly, haltingly, those words cross my lips, and as we cry together, our tears intermingle.
Afterwards she lifts a trembling hand and wipes my tears away.
“I understand why you’re so reticent to have children, you know.” She says tremulously. “Your father and I waited years to have you, until things were safer. I knew better than most do how to avoid a pregnancy. But, sweetheart, I never regretted marrying your father, or having you and your sister. There’s things I wish I’d done differently, but I’ve never regretted it. And if I hadn’t done it, I know I would have always wondered, and that would have been worse. I don’t know what happened between you and Gale, but if he isn’t for you, then he isn’t. I rejected men too, but if you’re afraid…be honest, and consider if it’s worth the risk. I’d never take back what I had with your father for the pain of his loss. And you’re not alone, not like before. Prim and I will stand by you, if nothing else.” She closes her eyes and I touch her hand, the one that wiped my tears. “If you do want to talk to me about that, Katniss, I can listen.” Then she moves to wash up the dishes, and I help her dry. Momma’s like me that way. She says what she has to say, but she’s not wordy. The silence between us communicates what we cannot. It is not shards of ice that let in a chill wind, but a warm chord that hums between us.
I warn Gale about talking in the mines, and about what Madge says, and it fires him up. In light of what I now know, I also try to corner Peeta to talk to him, but even past the harvesting and planting season, he’s hard to find. When I come over with some clothes Prim has outgrown, Colleen greets me at the door, and encourages Sarai to try them on. As she excitedly does, Colleen confides in me that Peeta has been distant ever since the Games. He throws himself into his work, and barely surfaces at the end of the day. He’s gone early in the morning.
“It’s true,” Sarai confirms as she gathers up the clothes that don’t fit her anymore. They’ll likely one day be Posy’s. “He doesn’t tell stories like he used to.” Colleen brushed back her little sister’s hair comfortingly and something rends in my chest.
I go home and stew for hours before marching into the woods to find Peeta. He’s there, sure enough, and I storm up to him hissing at him to come talk to me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I reprimand as soon as we are out of Jet’s earshot.
“Farming.” He replies blandly, although I detect shock in his eyes at my dressing down. I suppose it’s true I’ve never dared talk to him like this, then again, have I ever had to?
“I’ve barely seen a peep of you in weeks,” which hurt more than I want to admit, “and now I have to hear from Colleen and Sarai that you’ve been all checked out?” I fight the tears forming in my eyes, because it brings back uncomfortable memories. “I’m not your daughter, and even I haven’t appreciated not being able to talk to you, how do you think they feel?”
“I’m sorry.” He stammers. “I-”
“I really don’t care.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Just stop. Do better.”
I storm off, but he follows me, and grabs me by the left forearm twisting me around.
“I am sorry,” he speaks earnestly. “I hadn’t realised I was hurting you or them. I just…I don’t know. Whenever I’m upset, I work.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I have ever since I was a boy, kneading bread is a good way to work out anger. It’s always worked before, and it means things get done that…appease people, I guess.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work now though. I hurt all the time. It never goes away, and now Maria’s pregnant, and-
“Maria’s pregnant?!”
“Yes. And I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen, and if maybe I’ve screwed up, and my brother won’t look me in the eye, or talk to me, or accept anything from me, and then I go home, and wonder if I haven’t condemned every single one of them. I just…” He looks skyward and blinks rapidly. I know he’s trying not to cry, and I don’t know what to say.
“Is it true you’re part of the rebellion?” I blurt out instead. He looks gobsmacked again. It seems to be a day for it.
“Yes. Did you figure out from the art?”
“Partially,” I admit, “but Mom told me today about how she and Daddy were in with the rebels, and you said you knew him, and you said he taught you about art. You said he used to sing. It reminded me of the Hanging Tree, and how he used to sing that, but Momma would tell him to be careful. So, I just wondered if…”
“If that’s how we met?”
I nod.
“No. We met because he traded with me, but he was the one who brought me into the Rebellion. I felt like I had to get involved.”
“Why?”
“Because of Jude, I suppose, and the others when they came. So many children starving, I can’t feed them all. Even with the new bakery, I can’t feed them all. Then, I realised I was a father, and how could I be a good father, if I turned a blind eye to something threatening my kids?” He sighs and looks deflated. “My mom used to hit me. My dad did nothing. The Games are worse than being hit, and I couldn’t do nothing the way he did.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s how I got in.”
“Just tell them that then.” I say. “They’ll understand that you’re fighting for them. You’re all in too deep now.”
“Do you think they’ll forgive me?” He whispers, and in the curling of his torso I can see what it had cost him to admit this. The family he was born into turned against him. Does he expect the one he created will as well?
“I wouldn’t worry about it. I forgave.” I pause. “And I’m not always good at that.”
He smiles. “Thank you.”
“What for?”
He laughs. “Yelling at me. I guess, I needed it.”
I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and head home.
Rebellious sentiment spreads quickly. The idea of trying to make contact with other districts proves popular, and while not everyone is willing to join in actively now, they do say that if the Districts unite, they’ll fight. Our district is small so we’ll need a lot of the population to fight, but with the addition of Peeta’s farming, there’s more self-sufficiency, and that means more people who see hope. Which means there’s a shot. I tell Madge everything and she dutifully promises to relay the information. Gale’s ambitious and he hopes that maybe if they show something on camera, it’ll get through during the mandatory viewing, reach more than just Eleven. I don’t know who organises it, or how it’s decided, but when the Victory Tour finally comes, a recording goes off during Thresh’s clearly scripted speech of Rue’s four note tune, and someone shouts For Rue! And gets carted off. Thresh nods in solidarity. We are all put under curfew.
Regardless, Madge is able to get her message to him, and Thresh tells her District Eleven had an uprising after Rue’s death, and are chomping at the bit for freedom. And having been on Tour, he can confirm that other Districts are angry too. Word is quickly spread through the mines, and soon people are whistling various four note tunes in solidarity.
Gale is extremely eager.
“Don’t you see, Catnip!” He exclaims. “It’s closer than ever!” He crows in the woods, and I let him. In spite of myself, I am excited too. “Maybe a couple more years, and we’ll have them. We’ll have them.” I smile at his enthusiasm, even if I think it’s a bit premature. “And what about us, Catnip?” He turns around and looks at me with shining eyes.
“What about us?” I hedge. All the delight in his exclamations dies.
“I know you’re worried about having kids, Katniss, but if we built a whole, new, better world, it would be different.” He says it so hopefully, almost confidently that I can’t bring myself to crush him. Besides, I don’t know if he’s wrong. Without the Games, with access to food and Capitol-grade medicine, I really wouldn’t object to having kids, but the idea of opening my heart like that hurts. I do consider it though, I already care about Gale, care about a lot of people, maybe there’s no stopping it. Momma’s right too, we aren’t nearly so helpless now. So I say,
“Maybe I can be different.”
And maybe I can, but when I dare to dream, since I’m dreaming anyway, I dream of blonde hair and blue eyes. Even though I know it’s as likely to happen as pigs flying.
It’s Peeta who first tells me about Thirteen. It is Madge who confirms it. It’s a game-changer really. Weapons are an issue for us. We don’t have a whole lot to fight with. Knowing someone could supply us with arms helps. If every district, or even of most districts, can take their Peacekeepers, we’ll have a shot at the Capitol. It’s sensitive knowledge though, and not something we can blast around which makes recruitment difficult. I don’t do much of any of it, but Gale rales in the mines, and Peeta is working on it in Town with a friend. I provide a listening ear to them both. One thing everyone is nervous about, riled up about, is the upcoming Quarter Quell, and both Gale and Peeta are using that to their advantage.
But Winter is difficult, even more so than usual. Most people become so intent on heating their homes, and overcoming illness, we know we’ll have to wait until spring to really start the conversation up again.
Eliot drags home another girl from the Community Home. She’s three years old, adorable, and her name is Crystal. She’s recently orphaned. After a couple months, she’s one of the many who fall ill. She’s still far from the last. Mom and Prim are gone all hours of the day and night for weeks trying to keep on top of it all, but there’s not much they can do. It drags on and on. There’s speculation it’s punishment, biological warfare from the Capitol, but we don’t know and it doesn’t matter. Either way, it changes nothing of our reality. I spend a lot of time at the Mellarks for support. Crystal coughs and sputters and tries to breath. We feed her as best we are able, and hold her head over steam to help her breath. We try to bring her fever down, and soothe her cough. Nothing works. Finally, I hold her and sing. It’s all I can do. Peeta stands in the doorway as she falls asleep. I see tears stream down his face.
She is in the ground come March.
“This is why I don’t want kids.” I mutter to Prim as we both cry in bed.
“That’s stupid,” she mumbles. “You cared about Crystal; she wasn’t yours. If you stop caring, I don’t think you’ll like yourself very much.”
I don’t know how to answer her, but I still feel a bit validated in my opinion when there is the Reading of the Card for the Quarter Quell.
“As a reminder that they only endangered their most vulnerable by rebelling, this years tributes will be Reaped from only the twelve year old population.”
My mother gasps. Prim cries. I stare.
Gale storms up to me and tells me to meet at the Mellarks for an emergency meeting. There I see Gale and Thom, a couple of other miners I know by sight and not name, and Peeta and his friend Melissa Donner. I gather these must be various cell leaders.
“We need to start the uprisings in May, before the Reaping.” Gale starts off the conversation, “People are furious about this. It’s perfect timing. They want to stomp us down, but we’ll rise up.” The conversation spirals from there. People are only just starting to recover from the harsh winter; we don’t have the numbers yet. It’s hard to organise a community of thousands. That’s why next year was more feasible. Just because Twelve was ready, didn’t mean all the other Districts were and so on. I agree to wait and Gale glares at me, but I don’t see and alternative.
Things don’t really fall apart until Gale and Peeta get into an argument. Peeta makes a reference to offering the Peacekeepers the choice to surrender, and Gale says it would endanger lives.
“Not all the Peacekeepers are bad, Gale.” He points out. I think of Darius and agree.
“If the White Shirts want to join us, that’s fine by me.” Gale growls back. “But I’m not giving them another opportunity to get one over on me.” He is met by enthusiastic agreement. “It’s Us v. Them.”
“How are they going to know to side with us, if we don’t offer them a chance?” I can see by the tenseness around Peeta’s eyes that he is angry, but his voice is carefully modulated and even. “We shouldn’t kill without mercy.”
“It’s war. Sacrifices have to be made. They’ll shoot with us or against us. That’s their choice, but I’m not taking any kind of risk that loses this for us. Anyone who sides with the Capitol is the enemy.”
“I’m so grateful to know, Gale, that anyone who even looks like something you don’t like is the enemy. It’s a wonder you’ll talk to us Townies at all. But, of course, it’s because you get something out of it, allies. I wonder what you’ll do when being allies with the Capitol benefits you more than not.”
Gale swings a punch and the meeting is quickly ended as we break the two men up.
“Are you alright?” I ask Peeta as he sits back down. He seems to need more from me than Gale.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You didn’t seem to be at your best.”
“I think Dad’s sick.” He whispers and I walk over and hug him tightly where he sits. “It’s no surprise. Dad’s getting on anyway. He’s almost sixty. It was really only a matter of time.” Releasing my hold a bit, I card my fingers through his curls trying to soothe him. When I’m done I caress my hand down his jaw. He stops my hand and looks up at me. There’s a focus in his gaze that’s raw, even new, and I immediately become aware of how close he is, how fast my heart is beating, and how my breath started for just a second. I don’t know who does it. I think I do it. But it’s the easiest thing in the world to press my lips to his. Slowly, oh, so slowly, our lips move, part in a gasp of pleasure, so light and tentative, like dragging your finger against a flower petal. Then closer, I press closer, feeling his hands on my hips. I change the angle of my head, and he bursts away. Footsteps pad down the stairs.
“Dad, is it over? Is everything okay?” Cole sidles up to us rubbing at his eyes, and we burst apart.
“It’s fine, son.” He ruffles the boy’s hair. He bounces his eyes past me, and I know we won’t be talking about this today. “Just a disagreement in method. You should be in bed.”
I take that as my cue and awkwardly say my goodbyes.
Peeta doesn’t meet my eyes at the door, and I wonder if I’ve ruined everything.
TBC….
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Trial 6 - ”hello, world!” (6)
Time to pick up the fallen torch.
Trial: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5
K.... K1-b0? This - this must be you, right?
I’ve been waiting for this moment since the beginning of the chapter 3 trial! Finally, the explanation I’ve been craving! If - if the inner voice is coming into play now - it might actually be a benevolent force, right? Maybe? At this point we just need something to keep us moving forward...
Yes!!!
..... Oops.
“And please choose the right answer this time.”
Okay okay, jeez -
K1... K1-b0? W-Why not - ?
...... remedy the situation. Not save... but fix...???
Voices??? It’s plural now? Does that include me, the player?
K1-b0! Your moment has finally come, with no more lasers or explosions required! hopefully
WAIT
WE’RE OFFICIALLY IN HIS POV NOW???
This is incredibly late game for a protagonist switch b-but okay! also oh god what does that say about Sweetcheeks’s condition -
I’m glad we haven’t completely lost Shuichi. ): He really does look like he’s not with us, though. How can we help him? I joke about how much I love this sprite, but it’s awful seeing him like this.
But apparently Shuichi’s been relegated to the sidelines entirely now, because K1-b0 is entirely focused on Jun - Tsumugi. Oh boy, I almost started thinking of her as Junko. I will not let her hide behind her characters, damn it!
Yes! Yes, exactly! She can’t have it both ways!
YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO BE ANNOYED YOU APPARENTLY WROTE HIM TO BE THIS WAY!!!
Ooh? Yeah, the text is changing at the bottom...
U U H I’M SORRY YOU CAN’T JUST DROP A BOMB LIKE THAT SO ABRUPTLY -
TSUMUGI LET HIM HAVE HIS COOL MOMENT
HE LITERALLY JUST GOT HIS MOMENT IN THE SUN DON’T JUST UNDERCUT HIM OUT OF NOWHERE
no seriously she didn’t even give him a chance to build up momentum
The way she’s able to just dismiss him so casually like that, just completely trivializing him, is absolutely brutal. also what plotline lol -
I-I mean I’m joking, he has had a ‘coming to terms with his status as a robot amongst humans and accepting himself’ plotline! Sorta! It’s just been pretty.... well, behind the scenes. I just wished we got to see more of you and Miu together at the very least.
Wait -
He’s been the actual audience’s surrogate? That.... that means his ahoge....... really is the connection to the outside... but also, the only thing holding him back from going kamikaze??? It’s basically an outside force that’s been suppressing his free will?
Oh shit... is that why the game switched us to this POV, for that reveal? Well-damn-played, DRV3!
.....
wow this is getting worse and worse, huh
ALSO OH NO WAY TO SMASH HIS FRAGILE SELF-ESTEEM INTO PIECES
“You know all those hi~lar~ious asides everyone had at your expense about you being no more important than your average kitchen appliance? Guess what - ! They were r i g h t!”
Somehow I wonder if it would have been better if it was the mastermind’s will. At least it would assign him some sense of importance, even if that stinging feeling of betraying his friends would be there. At least he wouldn’t literally just be the subject of some nameless audiences’ whims - as it is, he’s basically been relegated to the status of ‘plaything’.
From Chapter 3 onward, when I was thinking about it, I wasn’t sure originally if I should consider it a force for good or evil - it seemed to be generally benevolent and since he didn’t take any actions against anyone, it was generally okay for me to discard it as an extension of ‘a mastermind whose goal was for everyone to be at odds with each other/kill each other’. He was always one of the most willing to cooperate with the others, too! I even considered if any of his actions had indirectly caused tension or murder, and I couldn’t find any instances where he did. But if he’s been at the beck and call of a third party, who’s been directing him for the sake of entertainment? Well, that’s a completely different story. In that context... everything makes... a lot more sense...
.... Except for his Chapter 5 actions??? He nearly got Shuichi to take him out twice??
Wait, actually - oh, this does change how I might look at him from this point on. How often would he consult the voice? Do the decisions override his own every time? Does that mean he can only make a move at the behest of the audience????
THE WAY HE PUT IT IS EVEN MORE DEMEANING
fhgh I guess that answers one of my questions
THE GIMMICK....
every production buzzword thrown in makes my stomach drop more
S-Shit the last time he had his ‘short-circuiting’ sprite was when Kokichi did his mastermind reveal in tandem with the ‘outside world’ reveal - D:
A.... Are you trying to make them feel bad for you, because I don’t think it’s working -
omg I just realized there would totally be twitter threads and reddit posts and stuff dedicated to this, and I’m trying to imagine the rage!posts that would swarm them as users ran to the internet to bitch about how ‘the robot totally isn’t responding to us anymore!’ and ‘I bet they’re rigging it so the ending goes the way they want! What a cop out ending!’ and hell, one of those more topical ‘let 👏 us 👏 control 👏 the 👏 robot 👏 you 👏 cowards 👏’
K1-B0 WAS THE CAMERA?!?!
..................................
glances at my computer monitor, then back here
ahahaha I am officially part of the outside world!mastermind tomfoolery oh god I’m so sorry everyone
Wait.... wait. Wait! So the Nanokumas’ footage is for the mastermind’s exclusive use? Really?
I... I was under the impression that if this audience was watching everyone, they’d have access to everything....
Then how different would this all look from only K1-b0′s eyes?! Did he know about Kaito’s training, for example? About Kaede and Shuichi’s practical inseparability in the first chapter? Wow, how different would this entire thing look from K1-b0′s exclusive POV?
I’m sorry what?
okay okay she’s going off on a despair rant which is - y’know, great, you do you and whatever - but I think it just turned my brain off a little bit. Like I just got catapulted back to DR1.
A-Are we really turning back to the whole ‘Junko persona’ idea? That she took on that role specifically, and by taking on the role as ‘Junko Enoshima’ she feels obligated to follow it through to the end? B-But...... but??? For a show??? That’s... no, that can’t be right, that’s weird, that’s stupid, that can’t be right....
You gotta admire her dedication to the craft I-I MEAN NO
WHAT THE HELL TSUMUGI
THAT IS NOT A GOOD ENOUGH MOTIVE
WHAT THE HELL IS THAT KIND OF REASON
SHUT THE FUCK UP KOMAEDA AND DON’T LOOK SO HAPPY ABOUT THIS oh that actually felt pretty good
i say this as someone whose previous favourite was komaeda it was very love/hate don’t @ me
Oh hey, the opening music is on! Is this the big turnabout we’ve been waiting for? It’s.... so.... weird that it’s coming from K1b0 now? Also wasn’t this sort of the plot of the DR3 anime via the Ultimate Animator or -
I??? I guess??? Weren’t they all just screaming DESPAIR at Shuichi a minute ago??? Isn’t it their comments on the screen???
Inspirational and all but -
I’m GoINg to cHOkE anD DiE
ULTIMATE HOPE ROBOT
FJKGHSDKLFJ
WHAT ARE YOU KIDDING ME
oh shit well there’s text saying Hope now so I guess something has changed out there
I believe it’s called déjà vu.
No seriously, am I hallucinating? Is this not what led to the whole final vote in DR1 or am I going crazy? Is this... what is.... happening........???? And Shuichi has just completely BSoDed in the corner??? Like, is he disassociating right now? Where is he?
It’s interesting that she looks happy here compared to angry Junko. She looked excited earlier when K1-b0 challenged her too (her new jazz-hands!sprite, lol) too, and her voice is on the brink of. Uh. I’m just going to say it’s getting very.... passionate. Is she just that confident or...?
Oh hey their sprites mirror each other. Parallels. :D
I like how Tsumugi is having Makoto say this part ~
But this brings up a good question... how exactly is this so-called final battle going to work? If they can’t fight for the right to leave, then what can they do?
alksdfj Himiko and Maki have also been so quiet this so time - I almost forgot they were there. K1-b0 and Tsumugi are basically the only ones doing the talking and between all the cosplays it feels like there are way more people here than there actually are - which is the point, I think? It really adds to that oppressive, ‘everyone is against you four’ atmosphere.
“- DETAILS DETAILS anyway it’s happening I don’t really care, now about that special vote ~”
This -
This is literally DR1?!?!
This.... this is strange. There has to be incentive to vote one way or the other. Is she going to tie ‘vote for K1-b0’ and ‘you’ll be forced into a world where you can’t/shouldn’t exist’ together vs ‘Vote for Tsumugi′ and ‘stay inside forever’? That’s.... what happened in the others, right?
Shuichi, mentally clocked out but occasionally checking back in so he doesn’t miss anything important: Wow this is absolute bullshit
Yeah... there’s no way they weren’t going to find a way to tempt you to vote for K1-b0. Okay, lay it on us.
YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE THEM KEEP GOING?!?!
“Ugh why did I let myself get lured back into the conversation by my bitchin’ ‘Lazy Parallel World’ theme song I’m going to mentally check out again because everything hurts and I want to die -”
There.... there aren’t....??
THAT’S NOT ENCOURAGING omg I missed that catchphrase it always made me laugh
I??? I don’t know if I can trust that??? If you can literally make flashback lights to override their old memories - if you can force it on them, whether they’re willing or not - if you can delete the last 24 hours, you could make them do something again??? T-Though if Tsumugi is gone... but then again, there’s a whole team of people behind this apparently! Her being gone means nothing!
“So you cannot leave this place.” Is it? Is it literally, physically impossible to leave this place? That’s the real question. the impossible is possible all you gotta do is make it so... s o b
HOW EVIL CAN YOU GET
HOW COULD YOU NOT EVEN GIVE THEM A POSSIBILITY OF RETURNING TO THEIR ORIGINAL SELVES
WHY WOULD ANYONE MAKE SOMETHING LIKE THAT WHY WOULD THAT BE OKAY FOR A PUBLICLY TELEVISED TV SHOW
For that matter this whole damn series sounds like a snuff film, if actually people are involved. Dear lord, even if they are actually adults - and I desperately hope that if this is true, that the outside world is actually like this, and watches this for fun, then they have a ‘18+’ rule for auditions (actually considering the love hotel exists they must be at least 18 ggh) - even the survivors.... have been killed, in a sense. Their previous selves have been killed. They were dead the moment they entered the world...
So either 16 people consented to ‘dying’ in an existential sense as well as possibly a physical sense, or 16 people were kidnapped and ‘killed’ for the entertainment of the world. I.... I actually... do at least believe, no matter what, that there is a depraved audience viewing this from somewhere. There’s no way there isn’t - this feedback via comments, the scene with that kid Makoto watching this at the beginning of this chapter - those are true. And they were more than okay with the idea of these people dying for their entertainment, even the so-called winners.
You can only create new identities, not recover them... I, I dunno. Somehow that’s so much more soul-crushing than a lot of the other things that have come up this trial.
t-the way his voice is breaking skdlfjgh -
W HA T!?
WHAT THE FU -
WHY?! WHY?! WHY MUST IT ONLY BE TWO, EVERY TIME?! WHY HAVE YOU BEEN SO DETERMINED TO ONLY HAVE TWO PEOPLE SURVIVE TO THE END?!
H.... How the hell.... are they supposed to do that?! Is that how you’re doing it?! Putting the burden of the decision on them, in order to break them?!
H-HE LITERALLY SOUNDS LIKE HE’S GOING TO BREAK DOWN SOBBING ANY SECOND I CAN’T TAKE MUCH MORE OF THIS
She is really trying to push that point, huh... but there it is. They can escape to the ‘outside world’. That is a cold comfort at this point, but...
They...... I don’t. I don’t know. I wouldn’t be able to do this - look my classmates in the eyes and condemn them. I guess this somehow managed to be worse than DR1.
K1-B0 NO
fml of course the only potential option would be students choosing self-sacrifice
I... I’m glad Shuichi is showing concern. I’ve noticed it a few times, how finally in the last chapter or so that he’s been observant of K1-b0′s well-being where the others haven’t been.
But I’m getting distracted - that’s not the point! FML I know he’s been shown those extremist tendencies towards the vague ideal of hope and destroying the despair, I - between this and the ‘destroying the school’ rampage he went on - what is he aiming for? You’re saying that you’re trying to defeat despair, but what is that? Is hope just the opposite of despair? Is despair just whatever Tsumugi says it is, so we’re immediately opposed to it, as the representatives of hope? Are you fighting for them to escape? Why is everyone surviving together ‘living despairful lives’ if Tsumugi is gone and they aren’t trying to kill each other anymore? What makes it that way? Why is this considered ‘defeating despair’? What does that even mean?
I... I guess K1-b0 would be punished anyway if they voted for him, but.... still....
Ugh, I get it. I get that kibou is hope, and that K1-b0 is therefore hope, and that we’re fighting for him to win or... something.... uhghghgh
DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE SHUICHI
This was such an uncomfortable parade of ~ideal waifus~ sdlkfjsdf especially when we were getting into the ‘super tiny/cute’ territory because I have absolutely no interest in that whatsoever also I accidentally deleted Mahiru’s cameo sorry -
.... I wonder if this would’ve been more effective if I was the target audience for this? Either way, ending on Junko was still an offsetting choice, right? Right??
..........
Wait for that matter, who was this aimed for? Who out of Maki, Himiko or Shuichi would have fallen for that? Even if you believe that Maki or Himiko have an interest in women, nothing about the types they showed or may have shown interest in the game (Maki @ Kaito, Himiko @ Angie, Tenko and hell, even Kokichi) would lend them to the girls Tsumugi just cosplayed as? And even Shuichi’s strongest interest were in Kaede and Kaito - so who is Tsumugi trying to appeal to here?!
Oh shit we’re going into a mass panic debate! Okay, okay okay - !
.... Oh. Oh boy, I have to shoot down every mention of despair. Uh, okay -
OMFG I missed the screenshot but Monokuma started shilling their merch and their website I cannot even deal with how they’ll occasionally devolve into corporate shilling it’s so good -
But!!! We’ve got better things to do than get caught up in Monokuma’s commercializing of the class trial!
MAKI
NO MAKI WHY
ARE YOU TRYING TO MAKE UP FOR LAST CHAPTER IS THAT WHAT’S HAPPENING RIGHT NOW
omg
are you telling me
you’re not even doing this out of guilt
it
it’s spite
you’re doing this out of spite
you’re sacrificing yourself purely ou t of spite
MAKI HOW MANY TIMES ARE YOU GOING TO MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE
“FOR FUCK’S SAKE MAKI, AGAIN??? AGAIN?!?!?!”
“LET ME KILL SOMEONE SAIHARA IT’S MY DAMN TALENT FFS -”
DOES THIS SCREENSHOT SAY ‘SHUICHI LOOKS YUMMY <3′ YOU’RE RUINING THE MOMENT
okay I’m not going to feel right until I write down the new set of comments
Makiiii
my darling assassin T_T
Hope lives on!
Shuichi looks yummy <3
Well said!
Another hope loop?
Hope is contagious!
Two steps forward...
Don’t lose to despair!
Don’t tempt Maki’s fate...
That’s my Maki.
Hope must go on!
Maki, darling...
;_; I’m gonna cry...
Hope vs despair!
one vote for Keebo!
tfw you’re in despair
ALL OF THESE TEARS
Assassiiiiiiiin
I am living for these comments and I would have killed to see the comments for the Chapter 5 trial - hell, the Chapter 4 trial. that’s what let’s plays and YT comments are for I suppose -
tbh I think if that one that keeps lusting after Shuichi comes to help we’re going to need a restraining order
o
o-oh?!
AAAAAAH
NO DON’T
MAKE ME FIGHT HIM
MY ACTUAL SOUL BRO
is............... Is that -
Clair de Lune playing......?!
#Ryou plays drv3#Kiibo#Shuichi Saihara#Keebo#Tsumugi Shirogane#Himiko Yumeno#Maki Harukawa#spoilers#drv3 spoilers#K1-b0
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booked and busy
sometimes when i think about dating again i’m like “how am i supposed to do this when i’m not young and hot anymore?” and then i have to remind myself that i’m 25, not dead. it’s hard to not feel behind though when everyone i went to high school with is already on their second marriage.
speaking of marriage, all of my friends got married last summer. i get that pandemic weddings suck for the people getting married- but they were great for me, because i didn’t even have the option of having to be like “haha hey sorry i can’t come i’m still grieving the loss of my wedding xoxo send me ur registry.” for future reference, i am still emotionally unavailable to attend any weddings. i don’t even really drink anymore so don’t even think about trying to lure me in with an open bar- hit me up for your second weddings, i might be ready by then.
let’s address the elephant in the room: i’ve been lonely lately. i’ve finally gotten to a point where i’m not constantly in survival mode, the last couple of years have been tough- between the whole being so sad i thought i was simply going to pass away thing and being so poor that i thought i was going to pass away thing. but i’m finally at a place where i have a little bit of time to think of other things than “oh my god am i going to be able to pay rent this month?” and the thing i’ve been thinking about is how much it sucks to come home to…just myself.
in november, i officially moved back to austin after my departure due to the pandemic. when i initially returned, i wasn’t sure how long i’d be back in austin for. my lease at my apartment ended in july, and i ended up basically housesitting for a friend. and as the paramount kept having events, i kept extending my time housesitting. and eventually i wound up with a second job.
a coworker asked if i was available for a couple-day gig and i was like “yes, i love money” and that gig has extended until now. it’s not technically permanent, but maybe if i bat my eyelashes enough i can keep working. i’ve now somehow weaseled my way into the TV industry which is hilarious because one of my favorite pastimes in college was getting involved with film bro dudes and absolutely horrifying them with how little knowledge i have of tv/film.
with the second job, i knew that i needed to find a place to live. i also knew that i still didn’t make enough money to actually be able to rent anything in this hell city without a guarantor, and as a woman that has no financially stable adults, my options were slim. and somehow- i got lucky. the friend i was housesitting for ended up actually moving out, and i just slid right in. and now look at me! the proud renter of a house! i have a backyard! i pay way too much money in rent! i love it!
i love my house. she’s uhhhh, quirky- but she’s a place to live. in november, i began the arduous process of moving all my shit from abilene back to austin, a shuffle i’ve made too many times at this point. it took three trips, but i eventually moved my wares- a desk, a nightstand, a handful of kitchen items, my clothes. for awhile, it was pretty empty in here. but it’s finally starting to fill in. i spent my first couple of weeks building flatpack ikea furniture, and eventually started scouring the salvation armies near me. my biggest dilemma was trying to find a couch.
how do people with no friends, no truck, and no money get a couch to their home? i’d find a cheap one on facebook marketplace, but would need someone to pick it up for me. i looked through wayfair, but the idea of waiting for a couch that may or may not arrive in 5-10 weeks and need two people to assemble was too much. and eventually, my neighbor was like “hey do you want my old couch? i just got a new one” and i was like “uh yes, absolutely.” shortly after that, i found a chair at salvation army for $25. and hark! there it was, finally i had a place to sit down. as they say, every desk is a standing desk when you don’t have anything to sit on.
when it came to furnishing my place, i was willing to wait for the right pieces. when i moved in, i thought a lot about the place i had in philly with nathan. if i’m being honest, i hated it. all of our furniture was black, from walmart. it looked ugly, it was uninspired, but it was functional. and sure, at that point, that’s all that mattered. we only lived there for a month, so obviously there wasn’t time to actually move in and personalize it. but still, i didn’t want to have that experience with my place. in all honesty, it’s always felt like home. even when the only thing i had was a mattress on the floor of my bedroom and a bar cart. but now that it’s starting to fill in, it’s been really great.
when jose first came to visit, he immediately was like “this place has good vibes,” and i have to agree. when i first moved out on my own after nathan died, i moved back into an apartment that i had already lived in during the before times. it haunted me. even though i had filled it with completely new furniture, in a completely different arrangement, the walls still knew too much.
sometimes it’s lonely living by myself. i’ve always had a roommate and this is my first time where i’m just coming home to me. i miss living with nathan. it was all the perks of living alone (not having to wear pants in shared spaces, being able to be awake at stupid hours of the night) with the addition of the warmth of being able to come home to a partner. to be able to say “hey, i’m at 125th right now, i’ll be home soon,” and have someone excited for my arrival. to not have to stress about doing all the chores because someone else was there to lighten the load. to have someone to reel me in when i start spiraling before bed.
i had to have a weird conversation with myself when it came to hanging up pictures on my wall. i have pictures with all of my favorite people, which obviously includes pictures of nathan and i had to take a moment to ask myself “does seeing his face every day still make me happy?” when i try to make myself sad, i’ll go through all the pictures of him on my phone. and for a period of time, catching the glimpses of us hanging on my wall would put me in a weird mood. i ended up leaving the pictures up. i hate thinking about the day i’ll eventually take them down.
becoming a home-renter has taken a village. from my friend advocating for me to make sure i got the lease, to jose and dan coming here on the weekends to do all the stuff i just don’t have time for (yard work, knocking down wasp nests, cleaning my blinds), to everyone that’s given me furniture or other home goods. and most recently, my friends that let me live with them during the snowstorm because my home became uninhabitable because one of her quirks is that she’s impossible to keep warm!
i’ve felt so supported by my friends lately, which has been dope- but there’s still a lingering emptiness. starting next week, i’m going to attempt to fill that emptiness with 50mg of zoloft (yes, ya girl finally got an anti-depressant prescription), but realistically, i know that i’m missing having a partner.
something i’ve noticed a lot on The Apps is that dudes will put “no kids, never married” in their bio, and while i do appreciate the child disclaimer- the whole ‘never married’ disclaimer sends me on a spiral. because like, yeah i’ve never technically been married, but i feel like that’s an even worse way to try to explain my past than just being like “yes i’m 25 yes i’m a widow yes we exist,” and it’s like- why are you seeing that and addressing it like it’s a red flag? shouldn’t be a good sign that there’s been at least one person who liked me enough to want to marry me? i still haven’t worked out the best way to navigate the whole “haha yeah i’m a widow” conversation, as you can imagine, it’s A Lot to ingest.
(also, a quick side tangent- over the last few months, my blog has gotten a lot more hits, like literally thousands more than usual, and as a result of that, i’ve been getting a lot of pushback because of the way that i refer to myself as a widow even though i wasn’t married. i’ve never had to make this disclaimer to anyone that knows me in real life, because they get it. but i wanted to make a quick disclaimer to anyone that’s ever thought “lol this poor grieving woman isn’t a widow!!! i must tell her in a very rude way!!!” literally the only reason i wasn’t legally married was because nathan died before we could get married. in every other aspect, we were married. we had joint finances, we were on a lease together, but more importantly, every decision we made was with the other person in mind and with the intent of bettering each others’ lives- we were very much A Unit. being legally married doesn’t legitimize a relationship in any sort of significant way, other than….legally. the whole point of marriage is to promise to take care of someone until they (or you) die, and that’s exactly what i did. and by that merit, yeah, i do refer to myself as a widow. if you want to be technical about it, legally, no i’m not a widow…but like….get over it….are you really going to argue semantics with someone that lost their partner?)
ok so back to the hell that is Being On Dating Apps. i’ve done my time, i’ve put in my work, and when nathan and i got together i was so excited that i didn’t have to date ever again because honestly, i hate it. and now look at me, back in business.
it’s exhausting being this unimpressed by men. my arms are tired from having to carry every conversation.
i’ve talked about the first date i went on after nathan died, but the second one is truly a train wreck that needs to be witnessed.
picture this: i’m on bumble, and i start talking to this dude that’s like….pretty decent. we’re having a good enough conversation, and eventually he’s like “hey! let’s get lunch this week” and like an unsuspecting fool, i said yes. so we go to lunch, and once again, things are surprisingly normal. until eventually, he looks me in the eyes and says with his whole heart- “hey, i’ve gotta be honest with you. i’m actually a magician, i recognized you on bumble from in & of itself and i really just wanted to pick your brain and ask some questions about the show,” and i immediately was like “oh yeah for sure, let me run to the bathroom real quick and then we can discuss magic” and then i literally made myself disappear. i just left. poof. no trace of me to be found again.
i’ve always said that i hate magic because if i wanted to get lied to i would just do it for free by talking to a man- and boy, have i always been right.
anyway, now i live in fear of being bamboozled by a magician again.
one time i let my friend swipe through my apps for me, and she was like “you sure do match with a lot of people named nathan,” and i was like “yeah, i think it’s the trauma.” i went through a phase where i’d swipe right on anyone with any sort of commonality with nathan….like literally anything. i’d see someone that graduated from columbia and i’d be like “ok that works” or like…..i’d see a picture of someone playing a trumpet and i’d just swipe right.
i’ve tried to break myself of that habit because like, that’s not fair to the other person but sometimes i recognize those little patterns and it’s just a little reminder of how i’m still broken.
when i’ve mentioned being back on apps, sometimes people are like “omg how did you move on? i couldn’t imagine dating someone else” and first of all- bold of you to assume i’ve moved on, also bold of you to assume that it’s not totally terrifying to me. being back on apps isn’t the same thing as being in a relationship with someone else. just because i’ve been casually talking to people doesn’t necessarily mean anything substantial. it’s progress, but the thought of having to be genuinely vulnerable around someone else is hard to wrap my head around, especially now with all this additional baggage.
there have been times in my life where i’ve struggled with feelings of being unloveable. when i was in college, i was convinced that i would die alone. and a lot of the work that happened within my relationship with nathan revolved around getting me to a place where i was able to be like “i am a person deserving of love.”
i’ve had to come to terms with the fact that there are also countless other people in this world deserving of love, and i have plenty of it to offer. do i wish i was offering to nathan? absolutely, all the time. i know that my relationship with nathan is incomparable, but that doesn’t mean that i can’t go on to have fulfilling relationships with other men. right before nathan and i got together, in the time when we thought we were about to go our separate ways- we had this conversation where i was like “lol you’ll be fine, you’re about to move to new york and you’ll find someone better than me and forget that i exist” and his response to that was “shut the fuck up, do you actually believe that? i have what i have with you- even if i wanted to, i couldn’t just replicate that with someone else.” and i think about that a lot now- in the sense of i had i had with nathan, and nothing will touch that, or replace that, or compare to that- and that’s totally okay. that doesn’t take away from or negate the importance of theoretical future relationships.
i can’t say that i’m actively looking for a partner right now, but if the opportunity presents itself, i’m not opposed to the concept of dating someone. like i tweeted the other day, “i can’t believe that one day i’m going to have to be a mother figure to a straight man, yet again.”
ok cool, so that’s enough vulnerability for today- i’m gonna save the rest for my therapist xoxo
+++
the fun thing about having jobs (plural) is that instead of feeling emotions i just feel stressed. i can’t believe that i’ve finally become one of those people that has to be constantly doing something but here i am, working from 9-5 and then coming home to do chores and then scrolling through my phone while watching netflix because god forbid i allow my brain to have one single moment where i’m alone with my thoughts. some days i work from 9am to midnight and those are the days where i really don’t have any time to be alone with my thoughts. thank god!
i have been taking time to try to do more creative pursuits. i’ve been writing more- recreationally. my resolution this year was to become the most insufferable woman in the world, so i am currently working on both a screenplay and a stand-up routine. i’ve also been doing some freelance editing and social media consulting. which like…..how millennial of me to do.
circling back to the “having thousands more readers” on my blog thing i mentioned earlier, i checked my stats the other day and i’ve somehow gotten 10k page views in the last few months. i’ve been getting a lot of DMs on instagram/emails/etc from people that are like “oh my god i feel so much less alone now” which is insane.
after nathan died, i purposefully stayed away from all grief content- i didn’t want any influence on what i was feeling- especially when i started writing how i was feeling. i wanted to be able to look back on it and know that the feelings i was writing about were uniquely mine. and then slowly, i started introducing works about grief into my reading lists and i also remember having those moments of “oh!! other people feel this way!!” but, if i’m being honest, a lot of grief writing makes me cringe. i hate platitudes, i hate cliches, i hate when people try to give me unsolicited advice and i hate published collections of advice even more.
nonetheless, i keep getting asked the same question- “does it ever get easier?”
so here’s what i’ll say about that, it does.
there was a period of time in my life where i’d be awake at 4am frantically googling “can you die from a broken heart?” (spoiler alert, apparently you can). i didn’t leave my house for 9 months. i literally could not be social without having to step away to cry. it was impossible to function. everything felt so incredibly empty (and i definitely still have days where things feel meaningless), i was literally a whisper of who i used to be. and then gradually, it got easier. my chest was a little less tight, the weight on my shoulders was a little lighter, and now i probably feel the closest to “myself” i’ve ever felt.
everyone told me that the second year is the hardest, but there was a chunk of time where i didn’t even think i would make it to the second year. and then i did. and the second year has been weird (love grieving and also getting tossed into a pandemic) but it’s been better. i’ve been joking about it a lot more. which i’ve noticed a lot of people being very confused by- but to paint you a picture, one time pretty shortly after nathan died one of my friends texted me and was like “hey…..you haven’t made any jokes and i’m pretty concerned. you must really be doing terribly if you’re not joking about it” and they were right! i was doing terribly!
but i’ll leave you with this- perhaps the most egregious platitude of them all- it gets better.
but first, it’s going to be really awful.
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1-ALLL I wanna know all about the Mun!!!
OwO lol ok ^w^ *gives diedrie a big hug
1. What is the middle name? *leaves it n/a* owo
2. How old are you? OwO 27 wishing i was younger
3. What is your birthday? september 7
4. What is your zodiac sign? virgo owo
5. what is your favorite color? all the colors of purple >=3
6. What’s your lucky number? would it suprise you if i said 7? cause thats my lucky number x3
7. Do you have any pets? Yes but its my sister’s dog though that is a goldendoodle they are lovely dogs that loves playing with kids. but also good guard dogs.
8. Where are you from? USA kansas xP
9. How tall are you? i am 5′8 owo
10. What shoe size are you? oh gawd shoe sizes are evil if its in womens i gotta get size 12 if its in mens i gotta grab 13, But i happen to lose weight over the 2 years from before so i had to go slightly smaller size shoes. So i am unsure the size right now.
11. How many pairs of shoes do you own? I would say about 5 i think all for different occasion *has lost count cause she kept some old shoes for outside yard work.*
12. What was your last dream about? Hmmm the last thing i remember was that I was talking to black shadows and sparring supposingly it was supposed to be a nightmare but i manage to turn it around i guess *shrugs*
13. What talents do you have? hmmm well i am good at writing some stuff cause i can write a short one and leave a good cliff hanger. But love to draw alot x3. and messing with yarn still learning all of the basics when it comes to crochet.
14. Are you psychic in any way? Now i wouldn’t really call it physic but I often do see ghosts from time to time that would give you guys the chills x3. But the problem having that ability growing up was hard cause i kept it a secret only cause i was scared to be called crazy or insane. But i was taught alot of things thanks to some ghosts i have met but i also learn not all of them are safe to talk to as well. So be careful if you have this ability or if your child happens to have this. Cause some ghosts are not safe and tend to try to lure you away.
15. favorite song? omg this is hard can i just say imagine dragons is the favorite band please? love too many of their songs but if i was to choose it would be raidioactive
16. Favorite movie? spirit away =D
17. Who would be your ideal partner? owo that would be someone who i can chill to hang out with and that we just be ourselfs to be honest. I rather place no judgement if i can between the partner and me only cause i rather have us have fun and be able to relax.
18. Do you want children? x3 me and my hubby has talked about this since ours is a distant relationship we did decide if we ever got to move together to be in the same house its a definate yes.
19. Do you want a church wedding? That i don’t know actually to be honest that would be somthing down later in the future road i rather think of the present than worry about later in the future.
20. Are you religious? now this kind of topic i rather stay away if i can but i am most comfortable talking to my hubby with. Only because i seen alot of wars between people who are religious and some who are not. I rather respect both sides if i can to be honest. even though to being religious i would say i am a little cause i am a wiccan gonna be honest here. But i still respect all religions if i possibly can and i even have respect for the preists as well.
21. Have you ever been to the hospital? Yes i have alot of good and bad memories i have out of going there the last thing i been there for though was worrying about my grandpa which i am still worrying about him even now. Which I am hoping he can live a bit longer. Cause he is a great man to be honest.
22. Have you ever got in trouble with the law? Not really like the last thing i got trouble for was accidently speeding and I had apologize to the officer which he did gave me a ticket but i didn’t have to pay for it just take the ticket in and was warned to be more careful next time. Which i am more careful and try my best to stay out of trouble.
23. Have you ever met any celebrities? nope i haven’t =/ but i probly would freak out just a little but try to stay calm as well.
24. Baths or showers? Can i say both? please =3
25. What color of socks are you wearing? Was wearing black grayesh socks last night but took them off lol =3
26. Have you ever been famous? nope =3
27. Would you like to be a big celebrity? Hmmm i would say yes but i rather work for it.
28. What type of music do you like? to be honest i love all kinds of music but i love the most is country rock
29. Have you ever been skinny dipping? um no I haven’t owo
30. How many pillows do you sleep with? uhhh....*counts* about 5 big pillows and 2 small little ones owo
31. What position do you sleep in? which ever is the most comfortable but mostly sleep on my side.
32. How big is your house? owo....idk.....*shrugs*
33. what do you typically have for breakfast? which ever sounds good but love susage sandwiches the most. but somtimes i would make myself a really fluffy egg omelette =3
34. Have you ever fired a gun? Yes but only because my uncle was teaching me how to use one properly to get over my fear. Cause i rather be able to move if i get stuck a situation one day instead of being frozen in fear. I rather help those in need to get out of the dangerous situation if i can.
35. Have you ever tried archery? Yes when i was little i went to church camp and tried archery there it was actually alot of fun learning how to use the bow.
36. favorite clean word? meep
37. favorite swear word? uhhh.....welp i know some of you will laugh real hard cause i said this a few times and left my hubby laughing alot hearing this. quote “What the flying fuck?!” x3
38.Whats the longest you’ve ever gone without sleep? only one day i went without sleep.
39. Do you have any scars? uhhh.....*hides her scars.* sorry leaving that n/a? owo
40. Have you ever had a secret admirer? hmmm nope owo
41. Are you a good liar? hmm i don’t really like lieing to be honest i only do this only if there is a good reason cause alot of drama does happen quiet often in the family and i only do this to avoid it. so i am somewhat a good one but i rather not do it it if i can.
42. Are you a good judge of character? umm idk?
43. Can you do any other accents other than your own? um no not really although i have a few people in irl who keeps saying i have some sort of accent and idk where it comes from.
44. Do you have a strong accent? um idk again owo
45. What is your favorite accent? owo uhh.....*shrugs*
46. what is your personality type? i would say just a fun loving type of personality with a slight dark humor once a while even though we don’t mean to have the dark humor to happen.
47. what is your most expensive piece of clothing? uhh....i would say a dress?
48. Can you curl your tougue? heck yea x3
49. Are you an innie or an outie? I am both =3 but mostly an innie
50. Left or right handed? i am right handed
51. Are you scared of spiders? uh... I am but spiders and me go to war actually cause i had got bit all the time by them spiders.
52. favorite food? Anything Pasta related! =D
53. Favorite foreign food? Chinese food
54. are you a clean or a messy person? a little of both owo
55. most used phrased? idk owo
56. Most used word? merp =P
57. How long does it take for you to get ready? about 1 hour. to 30 min.s if i rush like mad almost about 10 min. flat.
58. Do you have much of an ego? ego? what ego? *has no ego*
59.Do you suck or bite lollipops? I only suck unless there’s somthing in the middle then i bite it.
60. Do you talk to yourself? I often do only when i am thinking or trying to decide on things to make a right choice. and yes this actually helps me think of a better choice.
61. Do you sing to yourself? owo yes i do when i am by myself.
62. Are you a good singer? ehh? idk?
63. biggest fear? I think i have a slight fear of abandonment i think but i think the worst one is snakes even though i found them cute on the net. the old biggest fear used to be guns.
64. Are you a gossip? I rather not gossip if i can actually.
65. best dramatic movie you’ve seen? can i say the best scary movie please? if i can i would say resident evil.
66. Do you like long or short hair? I like both actually owo but long hairs are harder to maintain.
67. Can you name all 50 states of america? I think if i can i would name all of them but its been a while so i might forget a couple actually.
68. Favorite school subject? owo Art class!
69. Extrovert or introvert? mostly introvert but i still like going outside once a while.
70. Have you ever been scuba diving? nope but would love to one day
71. what makes you nervous? Um not knowing whats gonna happen next if things do get complicated
72. Are you scared of the dark? Yes V w V but mostly if i am outside at night is where its worse but i am fine inside the building.
73. Do you correct people when they make mistakes? only if i can somtimes i am not able to all the time.
74. Are you ticklish? yes sadly lol.
75. Have you ever started a rumor? no and actually i don’t like dealing with rumors.
76. have you ever been in a position of authority? nope but it would be interesting to try i guess.
77. Have you ever drank underage? nope actually i never gone drinking dispite my age.
78. Have you ever done drugs? noppity nope never done them and never will.
79. Who was your first real crush? sorry keepin that a secret owo
80. How many piecrings do you have? one for each ear owo so only 2
81. can you roll your rs? uhh....idk? *has no clue what rs is*
82. How fast can you type? last i checked it was about 60 on the speed scale on that mavis bacon typing program.
83. How fast can you run? uhh idk....
84. What color is your hair? dark brown
85. What color is your eyes? hazel so a bit of blue and green
86. What are you allergic to? eh feathers (sorry bird friends i can’t touch birds owo) house dust might and mold. which i find this silly.
87. Do you keep a journal? nope
88. What do your parents do? eh....sorry leaving that n/a guys
89. Do you like your age? to be honest i wish i am younger but its ok really cause i at least can help my family by having a job and help pay the bills. which allows me to spoil my mom once a while. Why cause she deserves it ^^.
90. What makes you angry? oh well i really don’t get angry really easy mostly if it comes to family members starting drama and start shit up that they shouldn’t be doing and lie and steal yea i can get angry really easy then. And i had people get scared of me before cause i was like angry but looked calm at the same time. I try my best not to get angry cause i rather think clearly if i can to find out whats actually going on to help fix the situation.
91. Do you like your own name?.....*leaves it n/a*
92. Have you already thought of baby names, and if so what are they? um owo.....sadly nope.. i am not good with names to be honest. I try my best to come up with good ones if i do get stuck picking one though.
93. Do you want a boy a girl for a child? Eh?...idk i just rather leave it up to fate of what comes first in the future.
94. What are your strengths? I think my biggest strength i have is helping on calming a person down really and somtimes letting them lean on me to cry if they needed it.
95. What are your weaknesses? owo hmm not sure i think seeing cute things is my weakness lol.
96. how did you get your name? eh? i came up with this name a long time ago when i was younger i loved to draw and do alot of art related stuff but I also love playing fighting games as well. and actually had 1 year of karate as well.
97. were y our ancestors royalty? umm idk? it would be cool to find out owo.
98. Do you have any scars? owo uhh.. *hides her scars once again* why did this question come up the second time?
99. Color of your bedspread? white with a few other colors on it mostly green. been thinking about getting a new different one.
100. Color of your room? white if i had the choice i would paint it purple not only cause purple is my favorite color but also its a calm color to have in the bedroom.
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Initial Thoughts: 6x13 Ill-Boding Patterns
Okay, I’m going to do my level best to keep this short and sweet, because I really am tired, and I need to get some sleep. I need to get this down, though, because tomorrow it’s back to my Lent restrictions, so I’ll only give myself an hour a day to engage in any kind of fandom.
Long story short? I really liked the episode. Shocking, but that was a Rumple episode that I didn’t walk away from feeling even worse about Rumple than I did going into it. That hasn’t happened for a looooooong time! I actually kind of sympathized with him in this episode, although I have some issues with some of the writers’ choices. This was a powerful episode for Regina, and her redemption is definitely in full swing. And then there’s CS. The proposal both made my fangirl heart sing...and burst into broken tears. So that’s the Reader’s digest version. Here’s a little more in-depth look:
Rumple, Bae and Gideon
As I said, I was pleasantly surprised at Rumple in this episode. Neither his actions in the past or in the present were completely without issue, but they really brought his love for his sons to the forefront. I think it’s clear that if he is redeemed (as it looks like he will be, given the direction the writers are taking), it will be through sacrifice and love of his son.
In the past, we see some of Rumple’s first days as the Dark One. Rumple wasn’t completely sold to the darkness in the beginning of this episode. He used the darkness to defeat the ogres, but he still wanted to be a good man at that point. When Bae begged him to refrain from using dark magic, he agreed even to give Bae his dagger. That was huge. But when Bae decided to use the dagger to command him to kill Beowulf, the effects of the darkness were complete. Rumple gave into the addiction, and it was all downhill from there.
Beowulf certainly was no hero in the OUAT version! Dude...you want to turn the villagers against Rumple by killing another whole group of villagers? Serious overkill. Also...did you not realize the villagers are already starting to turn on him?
Bae beginning to be ensnared by the lure of the darkness was not a twist I expected. Rumple giving him a memory potion--which not only made him forget about his pull to the darkness, but also made him horrified at Rumple killing Beowulf--was truly a selfless act on Rumple’s part. I’m impressed.
My problem with the flashback? It did seem to rewrite show history a bit. Rumple was already all in with the darkness by that point--shown in visual form by his sparkly golden face. He gave into the darkness when he killed Zoso to become the DO. If that wasn’t enough to solidify the darkness’s hold on him, his murder of the duke and the soldiers sealed his fate. Quite simply, Rumple was already too far gone at the point this episode began, so he shouldn’t have struggled with it as much as he did.
Now, moving on to the present part of the storyline. It’s clear that Rumple truly loved Gideon. He may be pretty dark himself, but he very much does not want Gideon to make the same mistakes he did.
Tying him up in the clocktower and then trying to use the memory potion on him...that was clearly the wrong move. It started the whole chain of events that made his choice near the end possible. Using the memory potion may have been the right move with Bae in the past, but it was taking a shortcut in the present. And as this whole season has shown us, taking shortcuts toward doing the right thing never works out, and is never the right move.
So Gideon steals the dagger and makes Rumple tell him what he needs to know about making the sword whole. Look, Gideon, I get it. Sounds like grandmama dearest was a real piece of work, and I get you wanting to defeat her, but this “kill the savior so that I can become a savior” thing is a bad, bad idea. Murder is not the way to become a hero.
Then we have the scene with Blue. This was the one Rumple scene in the episode that really bothered me. Rumple takes all of Blue’s magic to restore the sword for Gideon. I get why he did it...and his motives actually weren’t bad. He wanted to save Gideon from blackening his heart, and he also wanted to buy them time to stop him before he kills Emma. Good motives; I approve. What I don’t approve of is using dark means--intentionally injuring an innocent (albeit shady, lol) person--and further darkening his heart to do it. Evil done for a good purpose is still evil and it’s not justified. I like that Belle recognized the good intentions behind Rumple’s act, but I don’t like that she praised him for doing something evil in service of that good intention. To be clear, this isn’t a Rumple criticism as much as it is some serious reservation about the message the writers are putting forth here.
So, altogether, Rumple did not make perfect decisions, but he’s heading in the right direction.
Regina/Robin/Zelena/EQ
Wow! This was a really good episode for Regina. She was willing to find a way to free Robin from the town line restriction so he could go out in search of his happiness. That’s true love there. Beyond that, she took ownership of her evil acts as the EQ, and she fully admitted the split was wrong. She worked to rectify that. Definitely moving along the path of redemption. Kudos to Regina there!
Wish World Robin is quite a bit sneakier and more villainous than the Robin we know and love. He certainly isn’t ready to go on the straight and narrow. I kind of get it though. He can see that Regina is constantly comparing him to the man who died for her, and he doesn’t think he could ever live up to that.
Zelena....what to say about Zelena? I still haven’t decided whether I think she’s going to cast her lot with team!evil or team!good. Right now, she’s firmly team!Zelena. Her team up with WW Robin, certainly wasn’t a heroic move, but in the end, she wasn’t really after anything evil. She just wanted the same thing he did--a chance to get away and live the life she wanted without Regina looking over her shoulder.
I also thought it was a mark in the “Zelena will choose good” column that Zelena apologized to Regina and was there to help her reintegrate (that was what Regina was about to do in her vault, wasn’t it? I’ll probably have to rewatch to make sure.
And then there’s the EQ. Clever way of de-snaking herself, biting Robin and getting the benefit of his “ant-spell” potion. I, however, have a very bad feeling about her teaming up with WW Robin there at the end. This could be bad...
Captain Swan
Okay, I have to say I liked the CS and Killian moments in this episode! Of course, the proposal was shadowed a bit by the fact Killian hasn’t told Emma about her grandfather yet, but it was still really romantic.
Killian’s talk with Archie at Granny’s was a true testament to how much he’s changed. Archie was a great sounding board, and the advice he gave Killian was spot on. The fact that Killian believes he’s the only person who knows about what really happened to David’s father and yet he wants to tell Emma says a lot about how much his heart has changed, and how completely he’s become a hero now. As he mentioned to Archie, if he’s the only person who knows the truth, he can take the secret to his grave, and no one need be any the wiser. But Killian knows that’s not something he can live with anymore. He knows he has to tell Emma even if he loses her because of it.
I was really proud of Killian for going to Emma and planning to confess. But then she basically derailed his plans with her revelation that she found the engagement ring.
No, Killian shouldn’t have gone ahead with the proposal there. That’s a given. Still, I honestly can’t say I would have had the strength to do anything differently than he did. Emma is incandescently happy, telling him she’ll accept when he proposes, running into his arms, kissing him, looking at him with such pure love and devotion. The thought of giving that up, of destroying that has got to be terrifying. Quite simply, his love for Emma and hers for him overwhelmed him and he simply didn’t have the strength to tell her something that might bring her whole world (and his) crashing down around them. I’ve no doubt he’ll do the right thing in the end (actually, probably in 6x14 if I read the promo right), but for right now, I can understand him needing this moment of happiness.
The proposal itself was beautiful. It was simple, without all Killian’s flowery language, but it was the looks in both of their eyes, the way they obviously both love each other to distraction that had my heart swooping pleasantly. Yeah, the moment might not have been perfect due to Killian’s secret, but it was still a CS engagement! Our babies are still engaged to be married! Let’s celebrate!
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Deliver me from evil
Everybody has an enemy. It may be that vapid harpy at Walgreens who looks at you like she smells something whenever you insist on paying with cash and present your half inch stack of coupons. For that moment anyway, this particular cashier might want to feed you rat poison with your next bowl of 33 cent coupon off Cheerios. Somedays I’d be right there with her because I’m standing behind you as you count out your coupons and figure out that three of them are expired and ring for the manager to make “extra special sure” these can’t be used because your check is late this month. Can’t walk out my front door without the temptation to sin.
Getting on social media has become a task because nowhere is perfect. Nowhere is flawless. You know why? It’s too darned peopley. People don’t know how to behave themselves. It’s sad and pathetic but people really are stupid. People cut off their nose to spite their face and then blame someone else for it! They get on Facebook and whine and complain about their life to people they think care and those people are making fun of them while they tell other people (because they don’t love you, they just think your life is more entertaining than theirs but you think they’re your BFF) and by the time it gets back to the person you hate the most in the world (the cashier at Walgreens holds NOTHING in comparison to this lecherous knuckle-dragger) it has achieved Oscar winning status!
I log into Facebook….retraction, I never log OUT of Facebook, so essentially to begin again, I pick up my phone in the morning hoping to have a bit of good news here or there and there’s already whining and griping at 9 a.m. There’s already someone screwing someone else over for no other reason than selfishness and pride, someone’s dog has been stolen, someone’s house has been burglarized or burned to the ground. Then there are people I actually know who are in love for the 32nd time this year and this time, boy, THIS TIME, “he’s the ONE”. Insert obligatory over-acted eye roll here. People! It’s just easier on Twitter.
No, no, it’s really not because then the President of the United States gets on there talking smack about the fat kid in North Korea or some other such thing and he’s got 20,000 followers just hot in the buttocks about what he’s been saying and how he’s trying to start WWIII and how we’re all going to be in a mess and I have the urge to jump in there and argue with them but then I’m like - no way dude, you have too much stuff to do today. Skip it.
Then I get a picture in Messenger. Disturbing. Offending. Usually has something to do with the minions of Luciferia, and I insert yet another gratuitous eye roll, this time with a perfunctory groan of disgust, and move on past that one until it’s insisted that I hear the story. So, I know what that’s going to lead to. Shannon is going to get mad and then there’s a blog and then everyone thinks I’m the bad guy because i wrote a blog when seriously it doesn’t take me that long to write this stuff down. Social media - lures me right back into negativity and sin.
Attending church is pretty sketchy these days too. I have to clear some things up though, I’m not mad at Aaron because I did good things for him and his family and he crapped on me. Who told that lie? I’m not mad at him because he used me and betrayed me! Lord heaven’s no. I already forgave him for what he did to me - that’s long since past. No, I’m bitter because he abused his wife and the children and got back on drugs and was still pretending to be good enough to play his guitar on stage. That’s why I’m mad. I HATE hypocrisy. I DESPISE hypocrisy. If you’re going to be one way then BE THAT WAY but don’t lie to God and don’t lie to the people of God. Ever. I’m not comparing myself to anyone else, so I don’t recommend anyone start because it takes me less than a minute to break things down in a way that will make you wish you had never opened your mouth. Trust and believe, when I’m really mad I will stretch the minute just to make it hurt worse. No no, Lord no. I’m not bitter about doing things for people and them crapping on me!! That has been going on for as long as I have had my own home. Since I was 18 years old!!
Oh yeah, no, I can’t hate people for that because that would make me a monster. I do things for people out of my profound love of God, for the supreme sacrifice of Jesus and his desire that we love each other. That’s why I do good for others. I don’t expect anything in return from these people. I’m not bitter about ANYTHING they did to me. Pfffft, worse has been done to me by people in my own family! LOL No, I don’t care about that. I care about the people who deserve an apology never getting one. I care about the fact that it’s okay for Aaron to cuss me out on the phone and threaten to end my life, and then show up at my church and act (and I use that term broadly because it was Academy Award winning acting) repentant - but never once took the time to apologize to the people he hurt THE MOST in all this. The two people in that building that he and his bad choices hurt the most were sitting on the back pew. We never spoke to them, never gave them any dirty looks, just stared in disbelief that they were even in the building. Had they walked up and apologized, everyone who knows me knows I would have accepted the apology because that’s who I am, but it never happened and it never will. So are they repentant for what they’ve done?
NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Anybody who believes otherwise is kidding themselves. That’s all I have to say about that. Good night.
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