#when this was written i was feeling mega sad so i was trying to cheer myself up | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

snarkwrites · 3 years

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ssw | embry call; he looks down. she looks up.

NOTES:

I preface with the following.. I am not a medical professional. I have never had any kind of amnesia, temporary or otherwise. So.. yeah. Anyway.. the tldr here is this idea came to me and it’s weird and i didn’t know what to think of it at first but honestly, having written it out now I kind of like it? And I think it’s gonna be a short series... kinda? Allow me to elaborate.. normally, for the ssw prompts I use like 3 or four six word sentences as ideas / parts of the oneshot, etc but with this one, I think I’m going to use one for each part because I did that with this one and I like the way it came out? Since I had four other equally good prompts chosen for the doc I started with him, I’m just gonna use the rest of those to kinda continue this? To an extent?

Anyway, enough rambling.

PROMPTS:

Taken from [ here ] or [ here ].

Inspiration / prompt used here was He looks down. She looks up.

FANDOM/CHARACTER:

Twilight / Embry Call x Imprint!OC, Merisa.

WARNING:

Amnesia tw. Injuries mentioned very vaguely. Beyond that, I guess mutual pining / a kinda slow burn and mentions of a jerk soon to be ex boyfriend.. Embry and this original character are both adults, approx 23-24 years in age just in case anyone’s wondering...

TAGGING:

@kyleoreillysknee

OTHER STUFF:

[ faq | request rules | sfw masterlist | tag list doc ]

The last thing I remember is hitting a water pocket. My head bouncing off the steering wheel. The sound of metal groaning and glass shattering before everything went totally black.

And now, upon awakening, everything is foggy... At first,I can’t remember my name, where I was going or where I came from. I can’t even remember what day or year it is.

When I really started to come to, everything hurt. From the roots of my hair all the way to the tips of my toes. I grimaced as I pulled myself up in bed. My stomach was growling. My eyes darted around the unfamiliar room and the scent of bacon frying only worsened the pronounced hunger I was feeling.

“Where am I?” I muttered to myself as I gingerly made an attempt to slip out of bed. But the second my bare feet connected with aged and cold wooden floorboards, the mild pain I’d been feeling only intensified. When the door to the room creaked open quietly, I was just getting back into bed.

The man standing in the doorway didn’t spark a shred of recognition. God do I wish he did because I like to think that if I even have a type, he has to be it. He kind of looks like a man you’d find gracing the cover of the cheap erotica I read.

At the realization that I’d just remembered something, even if it was something insignificant, I was laughing softly at myself and shaking my head about it. I took a deep breath.

“Uh.. hi.” I muttered finally, just to break the silence and the sudden thickening of the air around us.

He hadn’t broken his gaze or made a step into the room. When I spoke up, he jumped a little as if I’d startled him. My brow raised and I tried again. “Do I know you?”

“Not likely. Not well, I mean...” the guy answered after a second or two of hesitation.

I blew at a strand of hair fallen down in my eye. Dragged my fingers through my hair as I mulled it over. “Okay, let’s try this… How did I get here?”

“How much do you remember?” he questioned, not taking his eyes off of me. Avoiding the question I’d asked. I swallowed hard and really tried to think. Trying to grasp at anything, any shred of a memory.

I remembered the sound of metal groaning. Glass shattering. The icy chill of water as it lapped at my feet. Feeling like I was about to die at any second. My brows knit in frustration and the guy was at my side in seconds. Sitting hesitantly on the bed near me. Close but not close enough for my liking somehow.

I pouted about it for a second or two and pushed it to the side, taking a deep breath. “I was in a wreck, wasn’t I?”

“Mhm. You almost died, actually.”

“I thought so. Okay, now it’s your turn.. Where am I?”

“You’re in La Push.”

The words stirred little bits. Fragments of memory. An older woman with a kind but aging face. The smell of bourbon and a man with long black hair shouting at another woman. Stepping forward like he was going to shove her at any second. A little girl crouched out of sight behind furniture until the older woman picked her up and carried her out. And I knew without knowing somehow that the little girl was me.

I grimaced. Both in confusion and irritation that I couldn’t remember more. Because whatever I’d just recalled felt like it happened a lifetime ago and not recently.

How old was I?

“You remembered something, huh?” he asked, studying me quietly. A look of concern on his face.

“I think… But it doesn’t answer anything I’m wondering at the moment.” I sighed and took a deep breath. Asked another question after a few seconds that seemed to drag on forever. “What’s your name?”

“Embry.”

Another random trivial memory surfaced. The woman was there again. Introducing me to a group of boys who were all dirty from playing in the mud. I strained to focus. Honing in on the fact that she introduced me to the group as her granddaughter. My name was Merisa.

I cheered a little in triumph, forgetting for just the briefest of moments that I was literally a breathing ball of pain at the moment when I shot up off the bed to pump my fist in the air. Embry’s hand caught on my hips and he managed to keep me from crashing to the floor.

He smiled. A smile so bright that it seemed to bring light to the dullness of the room we were in. A smile, I found myself thinking, I’d give anything to see again.

“Easy. Whoa. The doctor said you’ve got some pretty gnarly injuries.” Embry scolded as he looked down at me in concern.

I nodded. Excited when I opened my mouth and started to babble about remembering my name. Remembering my grandmother and possibly growing up here in town. And on the heels of the happy came the sad.

A casket. A graveside service with gray clouds overhead and a fine mist of rain. Feeling numb and empty. Angry for some reason. This had me frowning. Shaking my head sadly.

“She’s dead.” I muttered the words. Deflated. Numb all over again.

Embry watched me like I was a landmine waiting to be triggered, his brow raising as if something I’d remembered was wrong but he didn’t dare tell me so. Sitting up like he was on high alert. Like he wanted to move closer. To attempt to offer comfort. But he didn’t dare.

A tear rolled down my cheek. I raised my hand and stopped it midway. Taking a few shaky breaths. The night of the accident came flooding back, the gaps filling themselves in as it did. I’d been crying when I left my mom’s funeral. Trying to call my grandmother. But I remembered that she was at a tribal meeting and she didn’t keep her phone turned on during tribal meetings. I must have taken my eyes off the road for a second, tops. The car hit a water pocket and went off the road. Hitting trees and flipping over a time or two before settling at the bottom of a steep hill. Next to water. Someone was pulling me out of my car. I recognized in an instant that Embry had been the one to pull me out. I remembered that he volunteered with fire and rescue.

I went quiet as I finished telling him what I was remembering. Wiping at my eyes.

And then it hit me. I didn’t really know Embry well but I did know of him aside from the fact that he pretty much saved my life the night of my accident... He was also the quiet kid down the street. One of the boys my grandma introduced me to that day.

“I do know you, actually.” I smiled at him softly, wiping at my eyes. I don’t know why, but I just didn’t mention that I knew he saved my life.

“Yeah, but not well. Kind of why I figured you’d have a meltdown when your grandma asked me to sit with you while she was out.” Embry muttered quietly. Leaning in just a little. His hand raised. A thumb rolling over my cheek as he wiped away another tear. Our eyes met and my breath caught in my throat.

“So we’re at my grandma’s. My old room.” I looked around at the room again and it felt right. From the books piled on my desk, an erotic novel turned face up and open where I’d left off reading to the posters tacked up on the wall. A contrast to my apartment I realized as soon as I started to remember the fact that I lived in Seattle.

I racked my brain trying to remember whether anyone there would be worried or missing me. I felt like there was someone waiting back there, but at the same time, I felt like maybe being here was better than being there.

Like whoever it was that might be waiting was someone I wanted to get away from.

“Greg called.” Embry spoke up after a second or two. He dragged his hand through long black hair as he held my gaze. A slightly irritated look on his face at even mentioning the guys name. “He wanted me to make sure I didn’t forget to tell you.” Embry chuckled at this, going quiet again.

When he said the name Greg, the mental image flooded my mind and my previous thought about someone waiting in Seattle proved correct. Greg was my boyfriend and honestly, he was a bit of an asshole. Uptight and moody. A bit on the controlling side under the guise of ‘this is for your own good’. I immediately started to remember a huge fight we had because apparently, he wasn’t happy about me coming back to the reservation for my mom’s funeral. Leaving him. But he refused to come along with me because to quote him “It’s not my type of thing.” and “I’m not good at emotional stuff, Mer.”

I grumbled and shrugged. “I’m not in the mood to talk to that bag of dicks.” I muttered, brushing it off. More concerned with my own current situation than I was with calling Greg to check in. It wasn’t as if he’d magically care enough to come anyway, he hadn’t come back with me for my mom’s funeral. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth because I remembered several instances in a rush. All of them were me, giving up something I wanted because Greg insisted on it.

,, Christ, why am I even with this mega asshole? I mean.. My grandma lives next to the literal embodiment of sex...” the thought had me perplexed because I didn’t remember enough to really pinpoint a good reason. Something told me that may or may not be a blessing in disguise. From the little I was able to recall about Embry, I found myself wondering why I wasn’t with him or someone like him instead.

Seattle must have changed me a lot. And apparently, not for the better. Why had I even left La Push to begin with?

And then I remembered.. My mom met another guy and we wound up moving to a military base in Seattle. And we moved around so much that I never really got to spend much time with my grandma because we were too far away to make the trip back and too broke to afford it. So leaving La Push hadn’t ever been my choice.

“Yeah, he seemed like an asshole.” Embry muttered, his gaze settling on his legs. The tension between us was so thick I almost couldn’t breathe. My breath actually caught in my throat for a second or two and desperately, I tried to come up with something to say. Anything.

“I smelled food…” I muttered quietly. Looking down just as he looked up after I’d said it. He chuckled. “I was wondering when you were going to get around to mentioning you’re hungry. Your stomach’s been growling for a while now.”

My cheeks heated up and I bit my lip, nodding. Embry stood and eyed me for a few seconds. “Do you think you can make it?”

“I don’t know..” just the thought of even trying to stand again given my amount of pain had me tensing a little. Quickly and gracefully, Embry grabbed hold of me, scooping me into strong arms. Carrying me down the hallway and into the dining room. He sat me down in a chair and made his way into the kitchen.

He came back out a few minutes later with a plate full of food. I eyed it hungrily and he sat down, taking a sip from a glass of orange juice. I dug into my food and more than a few times, I felt the weight of his stare. At one point, it prompted me to look up and meet his gaze, both of us laughing.

“What?” I asked, swallowing the bite I’d just taken.

“You act like you haven’t eaten in years.” Embry replied, giving me a teasing smirk as he spoke.

“I haven’t eaten anything this tasty.” I replied, wiping at my mouth because I felt syrup on the corner. “Sorry, this is good. So good.” I groaned through another big bite. Promptly almost choking.

With a chuckle, Embry reached over, patting me between the shoulders until I stopped coughing and when our eyes met again, he teased quietly, “Can you stop trying to die on me?”

I gulped. Getting lost in his eyes and almost not managing the nod I gave in response. “Yeah.” I muttered quietly. That tension I felt before only grew thicker. Mostly to ease it and try to keep a conversation going, I took a slice of bacon and held it out to him. “C’mon. Eat a little. I feel bad, sitting here pigging out and you’re not eating.”

He eyed me and took the bacon. Biting into it as he answered, “I ate earlier.” and shrugged it off.

The door to the house opened and my grandmother stepped inside. Dropping everything to rush over and give me a tight hug. I hugged back just as tight. “Ouch yikes.. Grandma…” I muttered. She laughed sheepishly, pulling away. Looking at me and wincing as if she felt my pain.

“At least you’re alive.” she mused. “You can stay here while you heal. I’d rather you stay here while you heal.”

I nodded, happy to agree to it. If I were to go back to Seattle, I didn’t see Greg being much help at all. Besides, I thought to myself, La Push is home. I never wanted to leave to start with.

Embry was silently making his way towards the door and my grandmother stopped him. “Thank you for sticking around today, Embry.”

“It’s not a problem. If you need me, I’m right down the road.” he answered, giving my grandmother a smile. As he said it, we locked eyes all over again. I shuffled my feet. But I didn’t look down or away. I was getting lost in his eyes all over again.

Almost as soon as the door was closed behind him, my grandmother turned her attention to me. Lecturing me about my choice in men. Filling me in on the fact that apparently my ‘lover’ couldn’t be bothered to come and see that I was safe or even alive but damned if he wasn’t calling every ten minutes demanding me to call him back. Irritated because my grandmother apparently told him at one point if he wanted to talk to me so badly, he knew where I could be found. “He’s a bum.”

I sighed and nodded. Dropping my gaze to the glass of orange juice in front of me. “I know. I wish I could remember what the hell made me choose him…”

My grandmother eyed me in concern. After going through a long list of questions, noting the ones I had trouble recalling easily for my follow up with the hospital, she sighed. “At least you remember enough. And you’re still with me. If I lost you that night…” she paused.

I got the feeling that she wasn’t good at emotional things either. But unlike Greg, she did manage to show she cared in her own way.

“But you didn’t. I’m going to be alright.” I reassured her and she nodded. When the phone rang, we shared a look at let it keep ringing.

“If you want to talk to him, Merisa..”

“I think I’d rather focus on myself and healing for a change. Getting my whole memory back. I get the feeling if I talk to him, it’s only going to stress me out.” I admitted after a long pause.

The phone went silent.

My grandma cleared away the dishes and found the crutches that the doctor had given me to use in the aid of getting around. Then she went over all the things the doctor told her about my injuries and the healing process.

“What about my memory?” I asked, curious. Anxious to know what I might be up against. Grateful that I remembered the most basic things about myself that I kind of needed to know.

“The doctor thought you might have some memory loss. I believe he said it would be short term because of the side of your brain the injury occurred in? With a little time and patience you’ll be fine.” my grandmother slipped an arm around me and then added in a more thoughtful tone, “Maybe the parts you don’t remember clearly are a blessing, yeah?”

I eyed her, considering what she said. She might not be entirely wrong…

“Embry’s always been a kind young man. Quiet. Respectful.” my grandmother mused after a few seconds of quiet. I gave a soft laugh and muttered, “Yeah. He seemed like a good guy.”

I won’t bother lying.. I hope I see more of Embry while I’m staying here at my grandmother’s… Something tells me I definitely will...

#embry call #embry call x oc fanfiction #embry call imagine #embry call fanfiction #embry call x oc imagine #embry call imagines #embry call fanfic #embry call x oc fanfic #my writing ; embry call #my fanfiction ; embry call #my oneshots ; embry call #my fics ; embry call #my imagines ; embry call #// amnesia tw #// vague injuries tw #// embry is an adult here fyi.#// pt 1 of 4?5?#// i haven't quite decided yet. i do know i yearn to write fluffy filth for this somehow

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fannishcodex · 4 years

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Unpopular Opinion Maybe: Kipo had an Identity Crisis in S1

More and more I honestly get bothered when people are all like “ooh Kipo wasn’t affected by being a mega mute lab experiment due to her parents experimenting on her it’s so refreshing compared to other cartoons LOL” because it’s completely glossing over season 1 where Kipo absolutely freaked out over her body suddenly physically changing and suddenly looking like a mute for no apparent reason. Tad Mulholland gave her a dream that was largely about this, Wolf almost left her over this. Kipo was absolutely affected by this, it absolutely caused an identity/existential crisis for her, it absolutely freaked her out.

Kipo absolutely freaked out when her body started growing fur and exhibiting other extreme physical changes and showed indications she was somehow suddenly changing into a mute for no apparent reason. (This in no way indicates she ever harbored serious anti-mute feelings. This is literally about her body suddenly physically changing for no apparent reason.) So much of Tad Mulholland’s dream reflects her anxiety and yes, angst, about these sudden physical changes. Kipo’s allowed to get upset when her body suddenly starts physically changing and she has no idea why; and it’s happening on top of an already stressful situation where she’s separated from her father and the rest of her people in a world that’s still brand new to her and filled with as many dangers as wonders, etc. Kipo again has angst, or is reasonably upset over the whole thing when Wolf realizes she seems to be part mute and seemingly lied about it, and apparently rejects her for it; Kipo pours out her sadness and frustration and emotional turmoil to Jamack, who comforts her, and of course Jamack couldn’t comfort her if Kipo wasn’t upset or had angst and an identity crisis.

Kipo’s not automatically a cheerful sunflower all the time. She’s largely positive because she makes a concentrated effort to be (for example, Kipo does seem tired and ready to leave Jamack, but she decides to go back for him). Kipo’s an actual character with feelings and should be allowed to experience all emotions, even angst, because she should be allowed to get upset.

The only “refreshing,” actually different thing about this is the order--Kipo freaked out and had an identity crisis and angst when she got signs of an extreme change in her body before she learned the truth behind why this was happening.

I’d argue Kipo’s reaction is more about being so relieved to finally get some kind of answer for why her body’s been physically changing that she doesn’t try to challenge it too much, and that she’s also in denial about the gravity of the situation when she gets the revelation about what her parents did to her, and she also ends up pressured by time crunch/emergencies and just pushes her actual feelings over this aside because there’s no time. Kipo learns what her parents did to her, and then has a like a week to save her dad and her people before Scarlemagne’s coronation. Kipo really doesn’t have time to fully process the revelation; she has to focus more on using her mega mute jaguar powers for the practical use of saving her father and people, not actually take the time to really consider how she really feels about them and what her parents did to her.

And even when she’s just focused on practically using her mega mute jaguar powers, Kipo is in fact stressing and angsting over it. She may say she’s fine and express enthusiasm for her mega mute jaguar abilities and act impressed with what her parents did, but her mega mute jaguar abilities do adversely affect her whether she directly admits it or not. In the Deatherstalker episode, Kipo does show signs of the emotional pressure her mega mute status has put on her; with these mega mute powers, she has the power to help her dad and her people, so she keenly feels she has to, she feels responsible for this and probably feels that there’s no one else she can really turn to fully take this burden (of course she loves her dad and people and wants to protect them, and of course this is an all ages show with a number of kid protagonists, but still, she just turned 13, and lived a pretty normal, safe Burrow life until her home was attacked), and she stresses over suddenly being asked to successfully do a thing she’s never done before; Kipo gets super freaked out when her mega mute powers accidentally hurt Benson; and of course the Chevre Sisters have warned Kipo that she can lose her mind if she fully transforms, and much of the season is devoted to making sure that doesn’t happen. And later Kipo gets a concrete example of that threat when she learns her mother has been entirely absent in her life because she’s lost her mind to a mega mute transformation for 13 years and was also under Emilia’s control. (And while this probably needs its own post, to sum up: a lot of this is also again Song and Lio’s fault because of their experimenting, Song exposed herself to mutation, Emilia’s the worst but it doesn’t seem like she would weaponize Song if Song didn’t turn herself into a mega mute monkey susceptible to puppet pheromones torturously taken from Hugo.)

While it’s nice feeling like you’re seeing something new and refreshing, I feel like sometimes people fall into overly reactionary trends and don’t look at things on an individual basis or think of characters as their own individuals. Maybe people want to think it’s refreshing that Kipo’s not affected or not having angst over being a mute lab experiment due to her parents (but again, she has been affected by this) because they’re comparing this to other cartoons, but what about Kipo as a character herself and the show as its own story?

I also actually think the idea of Kipo getting upset over this makes more sense than many other cartoons and has much more impact, because her situation is actually really severe when you think about what the story’s done so far in terms of events.

I’ll probably do another separate “unpopular opinion” post on this, but to sum up: Lio and Song unnecessarily experimented on baby Kipo without her consent and pushed their own ambitions of “making the surface safe for humans” on her, also without her consent. It was canonically a dangerous experiment because they failed to realize Kipo could’ve lost her mind and been stuck as a mega mute, something that did happen to Song for 13 years; Song was accidentally mutated, and again the side effects were gravely underestimated because Song had a dramatic transformation where she not only lost her mind but destroyed the DNA Burrow, and Kipo could’ve been killed in that accidental rampage (and Hugo/Scarlemagne was literally scarred from it, he suffered literal physical damage from it--which also implies worse than injuries and physical scars could’ve happened).

I’ve read some people essentially say “well, not every cartoon has to get this emotional, it could just be cheerful,” and that just makes me think 1) then a cartoon should be written so that the more 24/7 cheerful tone fits, and 2) there are several cartoons you can already watch that don’t get so emotional. Just deal with the cartoons that do choose to be emotional, because cartoons can have a wide variety.

And I don’t think KATAOW is the place to pull “oh haha she’s not affected by all this even though it’s super messed up because let’s be just different from others and not think about our own story and cast we’ve just gotta go against an apparent so-called trend without laying down the groundwork to actually support that reactionary rejection of an apparent so-called trend.”

And I do really hope and still think that on some level the show is actually gonna pull through and address this and do something really neat. Because while Kipo acts like she’s fine with what her parents did to her, again there was her severe freak-out in season 1 when faced with actual consequences of what they did and with no one to give her any explanation for what the hell was happening, and there are her struggles with her experimental mega mute jaguar side in season 2; and just as importantly, Wolf and Benson seem alarmed by what Lio and Song did. I think that’s critical. Even if Wolf and Benson aren’t explicit about it, it’s pretty clear that they look uncomfortable with what they learn from the Project Kipo notebook, even if they’re more focused on going along with Kipo’s cheer. I just feel like that will be followed up in season 3.

And it’s a 3-season show. Writers have said that they have told a complete story with the show over 3 seasons. I can imagine that in season 3 they’ll follow up on this in some way and better challenge what Lio and Song did and let Kipo finally freak out over what her parents did, as much as she freaked out by herself in season 1.

Because that also gets to me. As things stand now, Lio and Song have avoided the worst of the direct emotional fallout of what they did to Kipo. They did not get to see their daughter have a gradual meltdown over the sudden changes in her body, her confusion and emotional turmoil and fear that her friend-sister Wolf rejected her over the whole thing. Kipo’s only ever acted like “it’s fine” to them about it. And I find that really unfair, especially to Kipo. She should get to be upset, she should get to be upset with her parents and make them better realize the consequences of what they actually did to her. Lio and Song should also just deal with even more consequences.

P.S. I also don’t really buy the half mute/half human as mixed race metaphor because it’s too deeply rooted in scientific experimentation on babies without any possible consent (and Kipo is already actually mixed race with a Black father and a Korean mother), and I have more thoughts on what it’s more about and its potential as a more unique story that’s specifically tied to the world of KATAOW, but I think that’s another post too.

#kipo and the age of wonderbeasts #kipo oak #lio oak #song oak #kataow #meta #not a reblog

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years

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10 things finishing my 10th book taught me

Hey People of Earth!

(I cannot believe I typed the title of this post!)

Today, I’m going to be sharing 10 things finishing my 10th book taught me, which means--as of 2:30 this morning, I have finished writing my tenth novel, aka MOTH WORK. I’ve written posts like this for my 7th, 8th, and 9th novels as well!

Enjoy this note no one asked me to write but that I wrote because I was sad:

I introduced this project on this blog back in June, but actually started it in the notes app of my iPhone (iconic) sometime in January of 2019. At this time, my mental health was *lackin* as I was stressed and in my final months of high school. I needed something to cheer me up, and so Moth Work became a place where I could dump my “bad writing” and also have fun. For more context, you can read more about Moth Work in my various writing updates HERE.

I didn’t intend for this project to become a novel, but thought I’d write it as a longer “for fun” story (prospective word count was 5k words). I chipped away at it for a few months, but didn’t really start picking it up as a serious project until around May/June. It was only once summer vacation hit that I, under the advice of my therapist to have a “reach goal” for the summer, decided to say fuck it!! I shall write this as a novel (prospective word count now 50k words). This novel has seen me graduate high school + almost finish my first year of university, and I’m so excited to share all the wonderful things I learned while writing it!

1. It is totally okay to take your “guilty pleasures” seriously.

I was in a mega dilemma writing this book. I’d wrapped up writing my ninth novel just after starting this project, and felt a need to write something that was more “serious”. Though I’m an advocate for writing what you want, when you want, even I struggled not to feel like I was wasting my time writing a project that didn’t have very much literary/craft merit (in my eyes, this changed eventually).

I am here to tell you--do NOT let anyone, including yourself, shame you out of writing what you like. Allow yourself to let loose and write “bad” things, and remember you don’t have to feel guilty/ashamed for writing stuff that seems “juvenile” or “bad”.

2. Processes change--embrace this.

I took about 4000 different approaches writing this book, and though I really wanted to stick to one (outlining, pantsing), eventually, I let my process be what it wanted to be. For example, I am a pantser and began this novel pantsing. Very quickly, I realized I needed an outline because I could not keep track of events (this book begins very plot-oriented). But, pre-determining events that would happen eventually stopped working as I began feeling constrained, and so I settled for outlining as I went so I could keep track of plot points.

I outlined 10 of the 15 chapters like this before I sort of... stopped doing this (though I will go back and fill it in just for future reference)! I went back to full-blown pantsing in the last four or so chapters, as what I’d planned would NOT pan out--and I think it’s so important to let your process be what it wants to be. Sometimes this book needed some planning--sometimes it really didn’t. This flexibility has really allowed me to be in touch with my projects more, and really listen to them/understand what it is they need.

3. Sometimes plans change. Don’t be afraid to follow your gut.

I did not plan for Moth Work to be a novel. But as the project developed, so did its final form. My gut was telling me what I needed to do (continue writing), and another example of this is when I sporadically made this a dual point of view book! I’ve never written a full-length dual POV manuscript, and haven’t written dual POV since I was 12, but I didn’t let that stop me from doing what I knew in my gut, was what the book needed.

I want to emphasize here--sometimes the vision you imagine changes. Allow this change to happen if you feel it’s right, even if it’s scary. I feel I’ve grown a lot as a writer by just allowing this of myself! It’s easy to beat yourself up for not following your plan, and I did this a lot. Understanding that sometimes plans turn into other plans turn into other plans etc, is the most freeing thing you can do for your writing!

4. Write what makes you happy!

This project began as a means to increase my serotonin lmaooo and I think sometimes as writers, we forget that yes, art is hard, but writing what you like can make that difficulty just a little more tolerable. This book started toiling toward disaster mode for a few chapters in the middle, and I really was not happy writing it. You can feel the difference in the chapters when I felt comfortable writing, versus when I struggled because I felt I “had to”. And so I took a step back and re-evaluated. Since this was not working/not making me happy, what would? This question solved my problems (not easily, but lead me on the right path). The artist! does not! have to! suffer!

Sometimes problems occur, and critically thinking through them is vital. I’m not saying just to do whatever every time something doesn't work because this isn’t a shortcut. However, my point is not to be afraid to change things up and write what will make you happier and help you finish the book if you feel that’s what you need. I wanted to write a cheesy romance about two boys who both need to chill, and so though I could’ve written something else, I wrote this because it genuinely made me happier! And I love that about this book!

5. Things can take longer than you expect. You’re not a bad writer because of this.

Y’ALL. I wanted to write 50k words of this book over one summer. One month! One! Month! Lots of folks can do this, but I did not! In fact, I hit 50k this month, which is half a year after I projected.

I think a lot of us constitute speed to being a good writer, and while speed and being a good writer can coexist, speed is not necessarily a determining factor in whether you can write or not! This book took me just over a year from when I started it (nine months from when I took it on as a full-time project), and while sure, I could’ve written it faster, I let it develop as it needed, and wrote it when I felt I could. I am not a professional writer with deadlines (that’s different)! While you gotta put in the time to improve, I think you also gotta look out for yourself! Use your gut, and take your time if that’s what you need!

6. Craft and play can coexist.

This took me so long to grasp, and I still struggle with this today! Craft and play can coexist. Say it with me y’all: craft and play can coexist!!

My manifesto for Moth Work initially was to have it be my dumping ground for shitty writing. While this took the pressure off initially, I then felt like I was regressing in my craft (which was untrue, I just didn’t realize it at the time). So, I decided to begin taking the craft aspect of this book very seriously, trying to write polished, delicious prose (every! time!) and the fact of the matter is that often, this did not happen.

I beat myself up over this! I was like: Rachel, 16-year-old you was pumping out better prose than this, what’s up? And I put so much pressure on myself to perfect the writing, even though this was only ever meant to be a “for funsies” project. Eventually, I came to understand that, okay, I really do want this to be a for funsies project, but I also want to enjoy re-reading it and not criticizing every aspect of it. I then began incorporating a few passes of line edits after drafting a chapter, until eventually, I stopped circling back to chapters to line-edit them altogether. You don’t have to be perfect on the first draft!

You also don’t have to sacrifice craft to have fun, just as the opposite is true. This book taught me a lot about finding this balance, something I’ve lacked in my writing process for years!

7. Your writing styles can differ from book-to book!

I couldn’t understand why my prose in this book felt “thin” (aka awful in my eyes), why the only thing I felt capable of describing was literally everything shining in some sort of way (glinting, glimmering, glowing lool) or overzealous descriptions of the moon. It was only about a month ago that I realized, after making a breakthrough with my litfic novel Houses With Teeth, that Moth Work was not sucking the life out of my prose--it was just a different book with a different style of writing.

And this makes sense! I was writing with two different characters, in two different perspectives, in a completely different POV than I’m used to writing in the long-form (third-present). Of course things were going to be different! I felt a bit silly realizing this, lol, because it felt so obvious, but I struggled with this for a long time (you can even see bits of this struggle in my video Problems I’m having with writing + solutions).

I thought I had regressed to being a bad writer because of this book, when in reality, the fault was on my inability to stop comparing a very different book to my very different past works. Sometimes you don’t even realize you’re working against yourself! Acknowledging this, and then letting it go was the best thing I did for this book and it allowed me to draft it much faster toward the end!

8. Writing is NOT linear.

I spoke about this in my Problems video, and I honestly was nervous to see how this hot take would be received. However, I was surprised to see that some folks thought this hot take was actually not a bad one, so I’m re-iterating it here!

I think, because we writers are often always practicing writing, we assume everything we write will be better than the last. Honestly, I feel like at least for me, this was my goal--to always be working linearly in terms of progress. It wasn’t until this book that I really came to realize that this is just not how writing works. The easiest way for me to compare this, also as a visual artist, is to say that sure, practice does make perfect, but I have sketches from last week that are worse than sketches I drew two years ago. Why is it that we expect writing to always be linearly better from one project to the next? My answer is that this is just not how writing works. I wrote some of my favourite paragraphs years ago, and may be embarrassed of a paragraph I write tomorrow.

I got caught up in this idealism of “I must be writing better each time I write” because I thought this was the most logical progression of my writing craft, but realizing that actually!! progress jumps around, was so important for me. Some days I’m better at writing description, some days I write dialogue worse than I did when I was fourteen! It’s okay not to always be uphill.

Y’all, if I step down a wrung on a ladder and then step up four the very next day, that’s how it’s going to be! Practice intrinsically will make you grow as a writer, but it doesn't mean everything you write has to be better than what you wrote before (though this can be the case, which is awesome). I feel like I don’t see this spoken about enough, so I do want to know if this is relevant to any of you or if this point is bologna!!!

9. The story wants what it wants.

This is heavily in line with some previous points, but is something that was driven home for me while writing this novel. If I can give one piece of advice, it would be to let the story be what it wants to be. If my story wants to be a YA fantasy trilogy, but I’m trying to force it to be a standalone pretentious character-driven coming-of-age saga (calling myself out), my writing may suffer! Of course, some writers can take control over their story and execute their initial vision perfectly! I am not! one of those! people!

I’m a firm believer that sometimes the story wants what it wants, and it’s often your best bet to follow this path. Write intuitively--if you know something feels wrong, or contrarily, feels right, follow that path.

I did not know how to end this book. I’d had an ending planned for a few months, though it eventually fell apart in the last few weeks. I didn’t know what I would do instead, but last night when I was drafting the last two chapters of the book, I felt in my gut that I was heading to the end. I wanted to stop writing for the night--I almost did, but instead, I kept at it because I knew I was on a roll toward the finish line, and I felt compelled to follow my instinct. This is how I landed at the end I wrote in, and it was a completely organic process.

Planning out your story is a great thing to do, and I’m not here to start a debate about whether plotting/pantsing is better because they’re both amazing!! But for me, it’s important to let the story breathe, and let it eventually grow into the shoes it chooses for itself. Taking a step back so I could stop trying to mould this story into a place it didn't want to be is probably the best thing I could’ve done for it because I finished the book. Any process is a good process if it gets you to the end healthily, and for me, allowing the story to be what it wanted to be and allowing it to take the lead helped me get there.

10. It’s okay to love your story.

I’m going to end this post on another hot take because it is probably what I primarily felt early this morning as I typed up the last paragraph of this book. I’m not going to lie--I cried finishing this book lol. I ached finishing this book. It *hurt* to finish this book. I didn’t want to finish this book. What I wanted to do was shut my computer, and pretend the end was not coming, and come back four months from now to finish it, maybe. I wanted to hang onto my story because it’s my story and I love it!

Y’all, this book is cringey. It’s melodramatic, juvenile in some places, comically serious in others. But it’s mine, and I love it. Sometimes I’m ashamed of the writing in this book--sometimes I think I’m getting worse. But it’s my story, and I love! it!

I think so many of us want to please other people! Or maybe that’s just me lol!! oh boy!! There were so many times I wanted to give up on this project because I thought others would find it cringey in places I too, thought were cringey, but simultaneously loved.

I’ve written for other people a lot in the past, and sometimes those ‘other people’ are just me--many critical versions of me. Don’t forget about how much you love a story (for its quirks maybe, its clichés, its “bad writing”) before you finish it. A first draft only comes once and finishing a first draft is so wonderful, and even more so when you love that story. We got enough hate y’all, lets give our stories some love.

So that’s it for this post! I still have five chapters to write writing updates for, so the party ain’t over til it’s over!!!

For my obligatory Oscar’s speech! A special thanks to @sarahkelsiwrites for reading about these trash people for five years, and for enthusiastically contributing to their trash decisions (#do it for the tea)! And for reassuring me that the prose in this book is actually not as bad as I believe because I would never have finished this book without that pep talk lol. To @imdisappointed for helping me crack some of the toughest plot problems!! You talk me out of problems and it’s magic! And to my MOM @shaelinwrites (for being my mom) and also for all the kind/insightful things you say! Y’all get me through it!!!

And of course!! I thank all of YOU for following this journey of drafting Moth Work. My community on here never fails to amaze me, and I’m a big stan of you all!! Please tag me in your stuff--I’d love to read about what you’re writing!

Here’s to finishing a book, but more importantly, to hoping I don’t make Moth Work a series lmaoo!!! *pops confetti*

--Rachel

#writing #amwriting #writeblr #writerblr #writingupdates #fostered #mothwork

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kakyoinsmom · 5 years

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How would each JoJo comfort their friend who went through a bad breakup with their boyfriend? Thanks ♥️♥️♥️

hey anon! 🤗 sorry if this took a bit but I hope you like them nonetheless! I haven't written for many of these characters but I did my best. 💗

Joestars comforting their friend who went through a bad breakup with their boyfriend

♡ jonathan joestar

☆ I feel like Jonathan would be your shoulder to cry on, smiling and letting you know it'd all be okay. Rubbing your back reassuringly as you cried into his chest.

☆ He'd ask you if there was anything you wanted to do, shopping, going out to eat, etc. to take your mind off things. He's willing to do anything! Even if you just wanted to stay home and do nothing. Jonathan wants the best for you and as your friend, naturally, he'll do anything for you!

☆ Whatever you choose, he's happy to be there for you. And he always will, through thick and thin!

♡ joseph joestar

☆ Joseph would insist you totally deserve better than him, either way! What did you ever see him in anyway?

☆ After seeing that those words probably didn't make you feel any better, he may let out a meek apology before, kind of like Jonathan, offering if you wanted to go anywhere. Maybe some place like the arcade! That'd be sure to make you feel better, yeah? All the fun and cool games?

☆ I can see Joseph dressing up in his tequila outfit as well if that were to make you smile! Maybe even offering if you wanted to dress up as well.

♡ jotaro kujo

☆ Jotaro's certainly not the best with comforting people but that's not to say he doesn't care.

☆ He wouldn't be entirely sure on how to make you feel better, but admittedly, though he'd never tell you this, seeing you so upset makes him upset as well—so in an attempt to cheer you up, he'll show you things that cheer him up when he's sad. Such as stuff about the sea and it's sea life. Maybe even taking you to the beach or the aquarium if you wanted to.

☆ If that was something you didn't wanna do or you took interest in, he'd kinda huff before asking you what makes you happy then. No matter what it was, though it may not show, he would make an effort. Trying to do some of the things you like with you.

☆ Like I said earlier, Jotaro's certainly not the best with comforting but he definitely cares about you and wants to do what he can to make you feel better.

♡ josuke higashikata

☆ To be completely honest, he'd wish he could heal your broken heart with Crazy Diamond and the fact he'd do that alone would probably make you smile slightly.

☆ Kind of like Joseph, he'd ask if you wanted to play any games! Such as F-Mega or Oh! That's a baseball! Or you guys could go out and get some of those fresh sandwiches at the shop, maybe even have a picnic.

☆ If you wanted to as well, he'd offer if you wanted to go and hang out with the gang! Telling you about how they're always a blast to be around and how they cheer him up when he's sad.

☆ Josuke loves all his friends dearly and he'll do anything to cheer you up. Even if it's just a simple hug you want.

♡ giorno giovanna

☆ Giorno's presence alone can be quite calming, something about him just radiates warmth and a bit of happiness if I may.

☆ Something he would do to cheer you up is bringing things to life, like taking one of his ladybug brooches and turning it into a butterfly or anything you would enjoy, really.

☆ He'd tell you that you're special! And that you'll find someone someday who treats you well, the way you deserved to be treated. No matter what happens, Giorno will always be there for you!

☆ I could see him taking you to Libeccio with him as well for some of that fine Italian food~

♡ jolyne kujo

☆ She'd give you a pat on the back! Like Joseph, she'd say you totally deserve better! And that you're a total badass and if she knows anyone who could handle this, it's you!

☆ She could totally go beat up that guy, too! Though you would insist that she really doesn't have to do that. And also really shouldn't, that you just wanna take your mind off it.

☆ Depending on whether or not you're a Stand user, she could definitely make you art with her string if that would cheer you up! Whether it be kind words or maybe art of you two.

☆ She'd offer if you wanted to go to Disneyworld! Whether or not you two had the money, she'll do whatever to make her friend smile again. All the rides and foods you could try!

☆ Jolyne can be kind of iffy with people and her hair (though certainly not as much as Josuke), if it were to make you happy and take your mind off things, she wouldn't mind taking it down and letting you braid or style it in any way you want.

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redglassesgirl-maruma · 4 years

Text

Live reaction/post to the new Drama CD

I decided to listen to it and live-write in a post with whatever I’m thinking XD

For the ones who want the general summary of this new CD, here’s marumafan post. You can get a good idea of everything that happens in it from the summary alone and skip this post if you’re not interested, there’s nothing new and I don’t have the japanese level to explain anything, I’m just doing this for entertainment purposes ^^

Aw, I missed the voice actors, they’re great as always <3 I understand like 20% or less of what I hear but it doesn’t matter haha.

That first reference they do is killing me, I strongly believe the “hot limit/revolution” thing Yuuri says about Wolfram’s costume is related to TM Revolution’s song Hot Limit, a video that was very sexy for his time and the costume the singer is wearing resembles the designs for this Halloween CD. Video here in youtube, I feel so old watching it again xD The dictionary Wolf’s using is making things worse but I love it, I hope they keep it as a running gag.

Anissina’s costume is super sexy, and now I see her voice in the CD is pretty sexy too. The whip and all, dominatrix style like Cherie. And I’m dying with Wolf crying and talking about Günter’s fate hahaha, so dramatic. He rolls back pretty quickly to “Sorry Günter, I’ll save myself” haha, same as previous CDs where he wouldn’t even sacrifice for Gwen. Hahaha they drop the CD name so casually, like “ah, here I have to say the title...” xD I love these funny details when they break the wall.

Oh man I couldn’t recognize Conrart’s voice at first, until he calls Gwen aniue I was wondering who was this. I had to go back here and listen to their scene again. Aw so cute when Conrart says daisukidayo to him, loved that. Specially because I always remember from the special The Maidmer Princess and I and the way Conrart thinks about Gwen there, so cold and distant, like they’re not even friends. I would like it so much if they maintain this development where they’re all close.

Ahhh, my Jozak xD I love to hear his voice, and he’s arriving with Mura. The “gaooo” Mura does is so cute, Gwen I feel you hahaha. The changes in Jozak voice are always amazing, the voice actor is so versatile, but Anissina in the first part also impressed me with her voice acting. Mura always breaking the 4th wall, that’s his thing . I’m sad I don’t understand some parts I was interested in detail from the summary haha, my second OTP being Jozak and Mura wants me to understand more moreeee.

Poor Gwen being whipped, but he seems to be enjoying it? XD so M, your Excellency. Jozak calling her Anissina-chan, he’s the only one that dares, hearing him is great.

Hahahhaa, the censored word Anissina is saying makes everyone loose their mind. And she keeps repeating and repeating, this part is hilarious. Excuse me, what did you say girl? XD

So, in this part in the summary she’s basically saying “pussy juice” and I just can’t when Yuuri ends up drinking the morning dew (aka the juice) and faints. Boy so gay he can’t stand anything related XDDDDDDD And he’ll end dreaming sad things, but also being married to a guy with an adopted daughter and enjoying his happy gay family hahaha. There’s so much to analyze about Yuuri here but it’s also very self explanatory.

Anissina goes from sexy queen to a lolicon voice in a split of a second, calling Yuuri-kun and all in a childish singing voice. Hhahaha, when Yuuri drinks the juice, Wolf screams “Yuuuuuuri” (Nooo, don’t go to the dark side of heterosexuality! xDDDDD Can’t help it).

So, now Anissina is just a chibi or something, her voice is 1000% loli. I applaud this woman with that range of voices and that control. We have the best seiyuus and I’m so glad. Everyone has been amazing so far, not just her, but I’m just impressed hearing Ani for so long this time.

Now the dream is happening. Gwen really sounds calm and happy, I’m so glad. I can’t say much about this part because I don’t understand much of what they’re saying, now Jozak is at his bar and all. Same as Apollo but hearing it makes me feel way less depressed than the written version. The Apollo ending made me so sad, so I don’t re-read it as other specials and parts of the novels. I think now Jozak is complaining no one comes to visit him and yeah, that’s sad. Yuuri is not having a good time, every time he steps in and out of some sort of room while seeing these dreams he’s like living a nightmare. Chibi Anissina is there to guide him trough the changes.

It’s Conrart part now. Well, it starts cheerful, then romantic and then they end things very badly. A roller coaster that I’m not a fan of, specially because I don’t like this ending for Conrart, I think he deserves better than “repenting” alone and nothing else. Like, let the man be happy for once. Yuuri’s even punching his clothes or something, and Conrart drops a sayonara there, so cold man so cold.

Now is Wolf time! Yuuri summarizes everyone’s situation to Wolf very quickly and they sound super casual with a romantic jazz music as OST xDDD Then the music turns serious and kind of epic when they speak about Conrart and also Shin Makoku, the decision to come to Earth, it’s quite nice. Wolfram’s always wonderful when he’s prince like. The wife/husband discussion again hahhaa, but so SO casual~ then they just talk about Greta with more slow music. So the topic about hey we’re newlyweds is very cute and super mega casual with no tsundere attitude at all.

They’re so married~ I can die happy now, this is enough for me specially because the dream is a about the actual future Yuuri shouldn’t have seen. It’s something that is actually true, and that’s sad because some characters endings could be better, but at the same time I’m so glad they’re fucking married, finally xDDDDD

And this ending just happens in two years, we can calculate thanks to Greta’s age, and I think Yuuri just said it to Anissina, that she’s 10 now and she was 12 in the dream/future. Now Mura calls by phone to wake him up, and Yuuri is sad about everything except Wolf and Greta. Now Yuuri must forget the spoilers xD Mura special powers/knowledge no one understand but are very convenient.

Yuuri wakes up, Murata says the prohibited word and the biiiip keeps being a great gag for me, with a 5 years old sense of humor. Jozak making Wolf calm down is great, let’s be zeeeeen. I think I understood Jozak said he likes Anissina because x and x reason. And now we go to another pairing, with Yuuri trying to remember the good part of the dream, but Wolf’s too excited and mad for his back and forth, some sort of hilarious discussion and misunderstanding I’m not getting XD

Something about Yuuri and Greta haha, and Wolf saying he’s not forgiving him. Nooo, the OST is the marriage song. Wolf’s voice when Yuuri actually explain they’re both dad and daddy, awn. The dictionary again haha, Wolfram keeps using it and making everything worse. Marriage fanfare again hah, but I don’t understand what’s happening here, there’s Jozak and Conrart commenting too. Then, something about Anissina torturing Gwen a lot aaaand... the end.

The rest of the CD is the freetalk with the seiyuus, and this is a challenge because even if I listened to it fully, I don’t get what they’re talking about. I’ll just leave this at a one time listening and go back to my favorite parts to listen again and again and practice my hearing skills xD

So, I really enjoyed this CD. My way of listening to it has been messy, a little bit here and there over an enteire week when I had the time and wasn’t dead tired. Slowly trying to understand but replaying and going back and forth. I have to listen to it again just in one go without stops, but I’ll not do the live writing again, it’s just pointless, once is more than enough!

#kkm #kyou kara maou #kyo kara maoh #maruma

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randomparanoid · 5 years

Text

Like Love You, Love You

A/N: This was written for @myinconnelly1‘s threesome challenge. Congrats on the 300, I’m so happy for you!! My prompts will be bolded on the story.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 3604

A/N 2: So, its the first I ever post something I’ve written, and it’s like the third time I’ve ever written something, so I’m sorry if it sucks, but feedback will be appreciated to improve. Also, English is not my first language so I’m sorry if it’s bad, I try to do it as best as I could and my mom helped me as well.

Warnings: some angst and fluff, I guess that’s it.

Y/n: Your name

Y/d/n: Your dad’s name

My dad and my mom were both raised as hunters and against all odds we were a happy family. They dropped me off at Bobby’s and went on hunts, a usual thing to do and apparently their friend John did so too with his boys, Dean and Sam. Every time the three of us happened to be left with Bobby I loved it, we became good friends and Bobby was like a second father to us, the one that instead of teaching us about weapons and monsters played ‘catch the ball’. My parents were kind of reluctant to teach me much about the life of hunting, but they needed me to know how to use a weapon and some basic lore for their peace of mind, just so they knew I could defend myself.

One day when I was eight, they took me to Bobby’s and went on a hunt for a werewolf pack. I hadn’t realized they were a day late for picking me up ‘cause I was having the greatest of times with my two best friends, but Bobby received a phone call that night.

I heard his footsteps on the stairs and approaching the bedroom he had given me and the boys. They were fast asleep, but I couldn’t close my eyes for some reason.

“Y/n, sweetheart, you awake?” He whispered as he opened the door.

“Yes.”

“Come on outside for a minute, please.”

Once outside he took me to the living room, made me sat at the couch as he kneeled in front of me. His eyes were cast down at the floor and he was breathing hard. When he finally told me what was going on, I didn’t really understand his gloomy expression. I mean, in my mind he was just taking me to where my father was and there was nothing bad about it. I ran upstairs and gave each boy a goodbye kiss and a promise to see each other soon to play. As soon as we arrived at a hospital my heart dropped, this meant that one of my parents was hurt, badly, they never went to hospitals.

We went inside, and Bobby asked the nurse at the front desk for my father, she looked it up and gave him a funny look before giving him a room number. He grabbed my hand and gave me a soft squeeze before walking. I will never forget the sight of my father, he looked so small with tubes everywhere and in pain; nonetheless, he smiled weakly when he saw me. I let go of Bobby and ran to him.

“Daddy, are you ok?”

“Yes munchkin, so much better now you’re here.” Bobby picked me up and helped me got on the bed beside my dad.

“Where’s mommy?” I snuggled my dad’s side as slowly and as softly as I could. He looked up at Bobby before he answered anything. Both with the gloomy expression again. No! I thought, this can’t be happening, she’s probably in another room.

I saw my dad hastily clean a tear with the back of his hand. His lower lip trembling as he exhaled. He opened his mouth several times before he said anything.

“She…. Umm she’s in heaven now munchkin.”

I shook my head no and looked at Bobby expectantly with a few silent tears running down my face, waiting for him to deny this and tell me it was a lie as if he could do that. He just nodded, his eyes glassy and gently rubbed my arm. That was all I needed to bawl my eyes out that night.

As I grew up, I started seeing Dean and Sam less and less, it made me sad, particularly because I had a mega crush on Dean and I would’ve done anything to just spend some time with him even if it was just as friends, because I knew there was no way in hell he would see me as something more. My father needed me for the cases, well, mostly research but he did take me on a few hunts.

Ten years later after having breakfast and 2 slices of my favorite pie (because it was my birthday) we were on the road, my dad told me we needed to get some things. We stopped at a supposed witch shop in New Orleans, a city I always loved. It was bustling with music and they all seemed so cheerful.

He went inside, and I stayed in the car looking through some cassettes to play. I finally decided on a rock mix my mom had given my dad who eventually gave it to me as a present.

“Umm dad, why are we here?” I asked, pointing at the shop he just got out of.

“I… I just needed some stuff.” He showed me a little bag with some dirt or something. And started the car again. He booked us at a scrawny looking motel and immediately made a line of the dirt at the foot of the door and at the windows.

“Ok, dad, what the hell are you doing?” He sighed heavily and sat on the edge of one of the beds, I sat beside him and took his hand. “What is going on?”

“I know munchkin that today is your birthday and that we should do something more fun, specially today that you’re turning 18…”

“But?”

“But I don’t have more time left-“

I laughed nervously, shaking my head, “I know you’re old, but not that old. Come on, don’t be like this.”

“Sweetie… I’m so sorry, I uhm… I made a deal. When your mom was giving birth to you…” he paused for a second to swallow. “It was a risky labor, she was in pain for hours and you both got tired. Your little heart was failing and so was hers and the doctor told me they could save you, but your mom was most likely to die. I couldn’t handle that, I just couldn’t bear the thought of not having her by my side to raise you, see you grow up and give you advice and…” he trailed off.

“Ok. But that was 18 years ago, deals are 10 years.” I got up shaking my head trying to wrap it around the idea that he was going to fucking die.

“Yeah the deal I made was that I could get 18 years if I did something for the demon.”

“That’s why we never hunted demons, isn’t it?” He nodded in response. “Why would you do that?” my voice cracking for trying to hold back my anger and my tears.

“To save your mom, I didn’t want you growing up without her and I couldn’t have raised you properly on my own.”

“But she stilled died!” I yelled, and he flinched, I know it was unfair of me to say that, but I couldn’t believe I was losing him too. “And you’re going to, you will leave me all alone.”

“Munchkin-”

“Don’t Munchkin me! I don’t want you to die pops. What am I gonna do with my life now?” I crumbled, my knees landing on the floor with thud and burying my head in my hands.

He got to the floor and gently laid me in his lap like I was 10 again. He rocked me back and forth and mumble apologies in my ear. I sobbed and drenched his shoulder. When I finally could get a grip of myself again, I looked up at him. “So, the thing you put on the door, is it to keep away the hellhounds?”

“It will hold them off for a bit, but there’s nothing we can do to stop them. I’m still going.” His voice cracked this time, some tears rolling down his cheeks. “Actually, I think you should go, I wanted to be with you ‘till the last second but now thinking about it I don’t want you to hear when they come for me.”

“Dad I’m not going anywhere.” I hugged him tight. “I love you.”

We stayed at the motel room, my dad was watching something on the tv while I was trying to find something, anything to help me keep my dad alive, but I came up with squat and time was ticking by. I got up from the chair and walked to the mini fridge, grabbing two beers and opening them. My dad lifted an eyebrow and gave me a ‘what are you doing?’ look.

“At least let’s have one beer before you…” I didn’t dare finish that sentence. “It’s a memory I know I’ll cherish, as well as the first time you taught me how to shoot a gun.” I laughed.

“Ok, fine.”

Halfway through our beer the door and the windows started to shake, and horrible snarls were heard but they were gone as quick as they had started. I looked over at my dad, scared out of my mind. The next thing we heard was a knock and a woman’s voice.

“Oh (y/d/n), open the door honey.” My dad and I exchanged a look. “Don’t make me do it the bad way.” She threatened.

My father reluctantly approached the door and slowly opened it. The woman outside pushed the door and entered the room looking around. When she spotted me, she gave me a fake smile.

“Well, well, well, so you’re the one I saved from not living at all?” She pointed a long finger at me.

“What are you doing here? Thought your pets would be the ones to drag me down.”

“Oh no, no. I needed to take you personally, you are special… I mean you didn’t kill a single demon all these years, right?”

There was something accusatory in her tone and I looked at my dad confused. I knew we didn’t kill demons, at all.

“I, no, I di-didn’t.”

“Why do I feel you’re accusing him of something?” I stepped in.

“Oh, ‘cause, you see, he may have not killed demons per se, but I know he called some of his buddies to do the job for him.”

“Ok. So, what?”

“I didn’t like that…” I was about to interrupt her, but she put up a hand to silence me. “I am a benevolent person, er, demon so I didn’t do anything about it. You need to come with me now, though, or I might turn out to be the worst demon you’ve ever seen.” My dad stepped forward and the demon raised a finger to scratch her chin. “Or maybe, you could do something to save your father.” She was looking at me.

“What can I do?”

“No! Don’t do anything munchkin, just get over here and give your old man one last hug.”

“Well, you could make a deal with me right now and I could give you both ten more years together. Then I would come back for both of you.”

I shook my head and looked at my father, maybe I should make this deal. He approached me and hugged me, whispering in my ear goodbyes and begging me not to accept the deal. He turned around to face the demon and she smirked at him. I saw him reach into his back pocket and slowly pull out his little bottle of holy water. No dad! What are you doing!? That ain’t gonna help, that’s just gonna piss her off.

I tried stepping forward to stop him but damn me for being so slow. By the time I grabbed his arm he had already thrown some of it to her. She screamed and grabbed her face and my father started reciting the exorcism.

“Oh no you won’t, you little piece of shit!” She looked at my dad and with a little flick of her face he flew across the room and got pinned to the wall.

“Run!” He screamed at me. I didn’t move, if I left, I knew he was going to die, and I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t at least try to do something. I heard the hellhounds growling again, now this time by the bed and rapidly getting closer to my dad.

“Stop! I will make you a deal, but please don’t hurt my dad.” She laughed, a creepy laugh. And looked at me.

I started walking towards her but only made it three steps when the door swung open and John Winchester tailed by Dean stepped inside, guns raised.

“You brought the Winchesters into this!?” As John ran to her to knock her down, she threw my dad down directly into the hellhounds and they immediately started clawing at him.

I screamed and lost notion of what was happening around me, I fell to my knees. “No! NO! DAD!” Faintly I heard John’s voice reciting an exorcism and the demon leaving the body.

“Y/n, we need to get out of here.” John’s grave voice sounded by my ear. And I could feel his hands on my arms trying to pull me up.

I shook my head, tears blurring my sight. “No, my my d-d-dad.”

“Please don’t argue. You must leave right now, you aren’t safe here. C'mon Dean help her, Sammy is in the car sweetheart.” He said it, trying to get me to move.

John pulled me to my feet, Dean grabbed me by the waist and dragged me out of the motel room. I completely shut down, didn’t really noticed when John got to the car or when he pulled into the driveway or Sam that was in the back seat with me softly caressing my arm, Dean’s nervous glances back at me. No, in my mind I still saw my dad getting clawed in the back by the invisible hellhounds, his screams of pain and the look in his eyes.

I stayed with them after that, I had no where to go and John sort of adopted me and wouldn’t accept that I went my own way. He even took me to some hunts, along with Dean. And I suffered just as much as Dean when Sammy left for college. We were both proud of him, he wouldn’t admit it, but we were also kind of jealous, Sam got the chance to get out of the hunting life and do something that he liked.

There were times when I wished my parents hadn’t been hunters, but I loved the feeling you get when you help someone, and I got pretty good at hunting. After Sam left for Stanford, John would send Dean and me on hunts while he went on his own for clues on the demon that killed Mary. I couldn’t stand seeing Sammy so sad after Jess got killed. The Winchester boys had taken a huge place in my heart and I was so thankful to the three of them for receiving me with arms wide open after what happened to my dad. They even put up with me on those days, I was so depressed and isolated, I barely spoke a word and ate close to nothing.

When I was myself again, things got to like they were before when we were kids, always had so much in common with Sam, Dean loved to call us nerds and I grew close to him which only made my crush on him to get bigger and bigger.

One day, we were still on the look for John’s whereabouts. The boys found a case in a small town in Colorado not so far from where they killed the wendigo. We booked a room in a shabby-looking motel, Sam took a shower followed by Dean and before I could get in the bathroom, they grabbed their stuff.

“I think you should stay here.” Dean said.

“What? Why?” I asked confused. They had left me out of a few hunts before, but they learned not to do that since I’ve proven that I could save their asses too.

“Look… just trust me on this.” He shared a look with Sam.

“No, just tell me a good reason why I can’t come with you guys?”

“We’ll tell you when we come back, ok?” Sam stood between me and Dean rising his hand.

“Are you taking his side against me?” I pointed a finger at Sam. “You’re the one always helping me convince Dean, telling him that without experience I couldn’t learn anything.”

“I’m sorry y/n, but we promise to explain things to you if everything goes right.”

“If? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dean let out a heavy sigh and left the room, Sam gave me a weak apologetic smile before closing the door. Well shit! Now what?

I spent all day locked up in that stupid horrible motel room, worrying my ass off about those two schmucks and not knowing what the hell to do. I considered the possibility of going to look for them, but they didn’t even leave Sam’s laptop for me or anything to do research for them so I had no idea where could they have gone.

Past 1:30 am I couldn’t stop pacing around, I was sure I had dug a hole on the floor. I texted Sam and Dean several times but neither of them had answered. I was about to pull my hair off when someone banged on the door. It startled me, and I stopped my pacing.

“Y/n, it’s us, open up please.”

I sighed of relief that was quickly changed to worry again as I opened the door. Sam had bruises and had a small cut on his cheek, but Dean was really banged up. Cuts on his forehead, his lip and he was clutching his shoulder. His features clearly letting me know that he was in pain but trying to act tough, as always.

“Oh my god, guys! What happened?” I grabbed Dean by the waist and walked him to the nearest bed. He just grunted in pain and I quickly helped him remove his shirt, so I could check his injuries.

He had a horrible wound on his right shoulder. I was used to patch the boys up, and Dean’s toned body always made me lose my breath, but I always tried to clear my mind to do a good job.

Sam walked into the bathroom to wash his face and tend to his cut cheek. “C'mon guys, tell me what the hell happened?”

“We, um, we found out that the demon who made your father the deal was here and… uh she wasn’t alone, so we got beaten up.”

“Why? Just why would you that huh? There was no need for you to go after her, I didn’t ask you to do this, in fact I never talked about wanting revenge.”

“We did this for you.” Said Dean through gritted teeth. I rolled my eyes, I knew I had to be thankful ‘cause I was, but I couldn’t after seeing them so hurt. I just wished they had told me earlier what they were planning to do so I could’ve convinced them to turn right back and go somewhere, anywhere else. “Bobby called us, he um, he heard that the demon bitch was looking for you.”

“So what?” I said just when I finished sewing Dean’s injured shoulder.

“So what?” he asked angry, getting up from the bed so fast that I almost fell from the bed. “She was coming for you so I, we thought we should kill her before she got the chance to even see you.”

“But why did you have to almost get killed to do that? You should’ve told me! How do you think I would feel if either of you died because of me?”

“No, y/n, I would die for you in a heartbeat, and I can’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” He had calmed down and was almost whispering now. “Look, I think it is to time for me to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” I looked between him and Sam that had come out of the bathroom and had taken a sit at the edge of the bed in front of me. He was smiling at his brother and that just confused me even more.

“There’s something I need to get off my chest.” Dean sighed and sat down beside me again. “I love you, y/n.”

“Yeah I love you too Dean.” He laughed and shook his head.

“No, I mean I like love you, love you, as in something more than friends.” He caressed my cheek with his thumb and smiled sweetly at me. I was shocked… I would have never in a million years thought that he would feel that way about me.

“Dean, I’ve felt that way about you for a long time.” I whispered, unconsciously getting closer to him. His gaze falling to my lips and mine doing the same, I sucked in a breath when he licked his lips slowly. He leaned in and I closed my eyes, when his plump lips finally touched mine, I was in heaven. He kissed me slowly and gently, his hands on my neck and mine instantly flew to his hair, urging him to kiss me deeper. I lost sense of everything around until Sam cleared his throat. “Sorry,” I laughed.

“Let’s sleep, okay? Tomorrow you can continue your make out session, without me.”

“Next time you two idiots think of doing something like this, don’t, I have proven more than enough times that you do better in a hunt with me.”

“Yes, sweetheart, cross my heart.” Dean said and pulled me to his side on the bed to snuggle a little bit.

#dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural #spn fanfiction #fanfic

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everlarkingjoshifer · 7 years

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Hello My dear lovelies. It is I back again with a one shot due to this amazing prompt hosted by @everlarkficexchange I’m sorry it’s a bit late. I would love to just say that this was super difficult for me, seeing as this is my first smut ever written. Please be kind. I would like to thank @titaniasfics for her amazing beta work and The biggest most ardent thanks to my baby doll @mega-aulover for helping me through everything and keeping my spirits up. Finally, I would like to thank my handsome hubs for the inspiration and patience. I made my own little banner. It isn’t much but I tried. I hope you all like this story. Please don’t forget to read and write a review, any kind of feedback would do. It would be much appreciated.

Prompt: Canon-Divergent where Katniss realizes she loves Peeta the night before the Quarter Quell, she tells him and they have sex. In D13, she finds she got pregnant, and while she’s sad that Peeta isn’t with her, she’s happy to be carrying Peetas child. Because should he not return to her, she has a piece of him with her to love. It also gives her the strength to try to rescue Peeta. And to help him constructively recover from the hijacking :). [submitted by Anonymous]

I can hear the muffled cheers of the Capitolites outside the window. They delight in their favorite Tributes and respective districts. Some might even be taking bets. Betting for which one of us would come out alive. Which of us is worth their sponsorship. Which one they would deem prettier or have a more tragic background so that they will give us a dim hope for survival, not realizing that no one comes out alive. Not if you count nightly terrors, and daily reminders of those we are forced to kill to ensure our empty continuity of life. Going about something resembling living but floating through it all with no feelings other than remorse and guilt because no matter how many times the Victor tries to convince themselves that everything was out of their control, you are left feeling as though it was somehow wrong to survive. You feel disgusted by whatever choices you made, no matter how inconsequential they may have been. You never forget the faces of the people who died by your hand. Unspeakable things that no one should be subjected to, but the Capitolites are so far removed to understand them.. So invested in hollow things such as drama, fashion and whether Peeta and I will last or keep on this charade of the star-crossed lovers. They don’t notice the despair that’s left behind. The bodies of children who never a chance to leave a mark on this world.

I walk over to the window and watch as the Capitol children run around gleefully in their bizarre dresses and coats carrying sparklers, pretending to jab one another, imitating their favorite Tribute. The fireworks lighting up the sky and hearing the ‘oohs and the aaahs’ from the crowd. I turn back disgusted and sit on the sofa as I wait for Peeta to join me.

Peeta, who once again tried to spare me when he convinced the crowd outside that I was pregnant. Me, who has done nothing more than to push him away. He has sacrificed himself more times than I can count. But, there he was on that stage, still trying to protect me.

I didn’t intend for my little rebellion to generate such an uproar. For Snow to put a target on both our backs, for Peeta to be in danger. He doesn’t deserve it, he is far too kind and forgiving.

I sigh and run my hands through the tips of my tousled hair . There was no power on this earth to make me want to wear the abhorrent wedding dress for more than it was necessary. I smile and for once I felt a surge of pride remembering the way people’s faces changed when the wedding dress burned before their eyes and was replaced by the dark and exquisite dress that Cinna made. I would have loved to have seen Snow’s face, but for now I’ll content myself with my imagination.

Peeta, on the other hand, was perfect. Pristine and handsome, and, dare I say it, even delicate in some way. His white tux made him look like a beautiful angel, too flawless to be touched, with his golden hair and crystalline blue eyes. Eyes so full of compassion and kindness. The kindness he had shown me when he fed me the burned bread despite the black eye he carried the next day. That was who Peeta was and perhaps Haymitch is right. I can live a thousand years but never truly deserve him. For I am the dark rebel. The one filled with fire and anger but I know I need the dandelion in the spring to gently quench of my own sorrows, my remorse, and fill my resentful heart. He is what I need and there would be no one to equal to him.

I hear the door click and I look back to see a casual Peeta walking my way, a sheepish smile on his face. He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck as he nears the couch and walks to sit at the far end of it, hands clasped between his strong thighs. I look at him and contemplate his newly washed hair. Droplets of water cling to each golden stand.

“What?” he asks.

I smile. “So we got married, huh?”

He nods, “Yep.”

“And I’m pregnant?” I ask slightly teasing him but wanting to hear his reasons for lying even though I know what they are.

Peeta clears his throat to cover his discomfort. “You look great!”

I raise my eyebrows.” Peeta.”

He flattens his back against the sofa. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you think they’ll stop the games?” I ask, worry still tightly wound in my heart.

He sighs, “No, I don’t think so but it was worth a shot.”

Time elapses before I dare to speak again, the silence enveloping us comforting me

“So, about our marriage…” I begin to lay the groundwork for what I know will probably be the most uncomfortable moment of my life.“Yeah,” he asks slowly, suspicion pricking his eyes.

I gulp and take in a lungfull of air, “I do want to marry you.”

He rolls his eyes, “Katniss, we’re gonna have to at some point if we get out of this alive.”

I frown and move closer, hesitating on whether I should even try to hold his hands. I rub my sweaty palms against my sweatpants, “Uh no Peeta. I don’t want to get married to you because it’s something we must do to stay alive and convince people that we’re in love. I don’t have to convince anyone of anything….”

He stares at me, clearly baffled as to what I mean. I soldier on before I lose what little reserve of bravery I have, “I -I don’t want to marry you because…”

“So, you don’t want to marry me??” he asks slightly annoyed.

“No! I mean yes. I mean I don’t know…” I falter as I feel my bravery waning and my insecurities creeping up like a dark hooded figure.

“What? What are you trying to say? I don’t understand what’s going on!” he fumed, getting up from the couch and pacing before me.

I’m panicking because I’m ruining everything again and I can only sit in silence instead of fixing it.

“Katniss, are you listening to me?” asks Peeta his eyes full of worry. Worried for me and all I can do is shake my head and stare at him. I’m losing him again and this time I won’t let it happen.

I get up off the couch, taking a step towards him before he leaves, “I don’t want to marry you because we have to. I want to do it because I really want to!”

Peeta stops and turns back to look at me, confusion and even slight hope mirrored in his eyes. He slowly walks back to me and asks, “Why do you want to marry me?”

“Because I love you.” I muster to say in one big gulp. My heart races, my palms are sweaty. I have just revealed the very depths of my soul. I love Peeta Mellark and it was out there, and almost regret it. As Haymitch pointed out I didn’t deserve him.

“You love me?” he repeats.

I nod as I feel my eyes prickling with tears but I try to hold them off lest he thinks I’m too weak to deserve him. It makes no sense to think he ever would consider me weak for crying but my stubborn head can’t find its way around weakness and emotional breakage. Who knows, maybe I’m already broken but then again, ‘who wouldn’t be under the current circumstances?’ At least that’s what I believe Peeta would say. Kind, understanding, benevolent Peeta. A man who loved a broken girl before she even knew she could herself.

Desperately, I caress his face softly, gazing at him. Remembering every nook and cranny of his face, every wrinkle, every nuance, every lovely feature, “I love you. I’m sorry I couldn’t say it sooner. I was too wrapped up on surviving the stupid games. Too wrapped up in my own misery that I forgot you were there with me too. Helping me, hurting with me, loving me. I don’t know what else I can say other than I love you and I probably always did, I just didn’t realize it until now. You saved me and now all I want to do is love you back as much as you do or did. I hope I’m not too late.” I smile and slowly let my hand drop but before my fingertips can lose what little contact it has, I feel his grip pulling me back and embracing me.

He pulls away and stares at me as though he were mesmerized and full of wonder. Then he smiles, “I do love you. I’ve always loved you. I always will.” He kisses me sweetly on the mouth.

I feel my soul glowing with happiness. A warmth unlike any I could describe fills me and all I can do is close my eyes and kiss him. Of course, I know I catch him off guard because he freezes for a moment before fervently rewarding me with his own lips. I feel his fingers gently running down my neck before settling under my chin while the other hand rests on my hip. His soft lips part and I feel his tongue begging for entrance. I willingly open and sigh contently as he explores me with an intimacy I hadn’t yet been privy to. I wrap my arms around his neck wishing the kiss would last forever because the fireworks that are running through my body couldn’t possibly be imagined. It’s so unlike kissing Gale, who’d inspired nothing when his lips touched mine. It was as though I were kissing an old friend goodbye. I’m moaning out little sounds of pleasure until we are interrupted by someone clearing their throat.

We spring apart as though someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on us. Haymitch leans against the doorframe with his eyebrow raised and a knowing smile while Effie stands next to him, frozen in place eyes wide and her jaw hanging open.

Haymitch pushes himself off the doorframe, “What’s this? Practicing in case there’s another set of people you have to convince?”

Effie closes her jaw and glares Haymitch, “Haymitch, that is most inappropriate. You know you can’t ask them why they do something. You’re overstepping your bounds.” She purses her lips unbecomingly and walks toward us, flashing a sweet smile.

For a moment, I’m left feeling a little suspicious considering how it’s usually Effie that ruins moments but I calm down once I see her reaching for both our hands and squeezing them affectionately, “I’m so glad you’ve finally come to your senses and seen what a great catch Peeta really is. He’s good for you, you know?”

Ah, there goes the Effie we all know and love. I look over at Peeta who is closely resembling a tomato and know that Effie would praise him above anyone else. She’s always preferred him to me and that suits me just fine.

Effie giggles and walks away on her precariously high stilettos. Haymitch is still looking at us suspiciously but something makes him saunter forward, “So, this is real then?” he asks pointing to both of us with his hands and linking his fingers together.

We nod and smile shyly. God, I wish the questions would stop. I’m becoming more mortified at being found in the way we did but I can’t blame them either. Of course, they’d want to know what was really going on. They are the people who fully witnessed everything between us.

Haymitch stares at us calculatingly and finally smiles as he slaps Peeta gently on the shoulder and walks away with “Well, can’t say I’m surprised. Not really, I knew this would happen sooner or later.”

Peeta and I look at each other one more time and come to a wordless agreement that we are now formally boyfriend and girlfriend. No words are needed to understand that we are no longer a benefit for the cameras or faking it in any way. We are together and the kiss I had experience solidified it. We lace our fingers together as we sheepishly walk over to join Effie and Haymitch for dinner.

“Baby bomb was a stroke of genius. Unfortunately, the games are still on.” Haymitch says in between bites of food.

Peeta and I glance at each other. We already knew they wouldn’t be cancelled but I can’t help but worry about our next step. I look back at Haymitch, “So now what?”

“Well, it’s a good thing you guys are really dating now, because we need to convince the public that you are in fact in love,” Haymitch replies and takes a gulp of his brandy.

“We are in love,” Peeta assures.

Haymitch looks at us both again before elaborating, “Well yes, you know that and we know that,” he says pointing to Effie and himself. “But Snow and the rebelling districts still think it’s all just for show.”

“So, what do you suggest we do?” I ask. I’m about to strangle him but Peeta squeezes my hand reassuringly and that’s enough to calm me down.

“There’s nothing we can do at the moment. The rebellion has already started and there’s nothing that can stop a man from wanting freedom once he’s been given the hope. You’ve already gotten engaged in front of the entire world and it still wasn’t enough to convince Snow.” Haymitch explains.

This time, it’s Peeta’s turn to lose composure, “So what you’re saying is that we have no hope of coming out alive? Are we to think that there’s no hope for either of us or even Panem?”

Effie chimes in desperately, “No Peeta darling it’s not what you think,” she shoots daggers with her eyes at Haymitch’s direction, “What Haymitch is trying to say, is that though there’s nothing we can much do about the rebellion other than to see where it lands us. You certainly have a hope for survival. You see, you said that both you and Katniss got married and not only that but that she’s expecting. It may not do much for the other districts but the people in the Capitol certainly believed you and that’s more than enough. They are, after all, the ones who sponsor you,” she turns to look at me and smiles, “You don’t think us so cold as to believe we’d let a would-be mother die and lose her one true love, are you?”

“But only one of us is supposed to come out. How do you expect both of us to survive the Arena when we have no idea what the Gamemakers have in store for us?” I ask, my voice catching on a quiver of fear. I know that the possibilities of both Peeta and I surviving are inconceivable. They already made that mistake last year. They wouldn’t make it again and all I know is that Peeta must survive. He has to be the one to live and go on to have the life a true Victor deserves. If anyone should have a family and children, It’s Peeta and I’m prepared to die for it.

“Well, you’ve done it before, right? Who’s to say it won’t happen again?” answers Effie taking a delicate nibble of her dinner roll.

Once again it solidifies that Effie is one of the Capitolites. She is so far removed from the real issue that she doesn’t realize that it wasn’t Snow’s compassionate heart that allowed us to live. It was all a mistake. A mistake that I had inadvertently caused when I refused to live just for their enjoyment. It was an unknowing act of rebellion that caused the uprising of the destitute Districts. I gave them too much hope and like Snow said to me when he showed me proof of his monitoring of my life, ‘too much hope is dangerous.

“By the way, this would be our last few days with you both,” Haymitch says, filling the void of silence and choosing to ignore Effie’s words because he knows all the explaining in the world would be for naught.

“You’re leaving?” Peeta asks.

Effie nods. “In two days, I’m afraid. We’re no longer allowed to stay.”

“What about our training?” I wonder aloud.

“There’s no more training to be had with us. We’ve gotten far enough with the interviews and you’ll just have to make sure you’re picking the right tributes for alliances.” Haymitch answers.

I can feel myself filling with nervous energy until Peeta puts his hand on top of mine and begins to caress it.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next two days pass by in a flash and suddenly I’m standing in front of both Effie and Haymitch who have their bags packed behind them. The Avoxes walk over to them and carry them off silently.

“Well I guess this is goodbye,” Haymitch says wrapping up Peeta in a one-armed hug and slaps his back affectionately.

“Presents for the boys.” Effie interrupts handing both men a black, shiny box.

“What’s this?” asks Haymitch.

Effie tuts. “Your token, remember? Hair for me, pin for Katniss,” she points to her hair, “Gold bangle for you, and for Peeta, the medallion that we talked about.”

“Thank you, Effie,” says Peeta with a somewhat forced grin. I know he’s trying to be positive for her sake despite the inferno we’ve to face.

Effie’s lips begin to quiver and her voice becomes shaky when she says, “We’re a team? Aren’t we?” Both Peeta and I nod and Effie’s eyes begin to glisten with unshed tears. “ And I’m so proud of my Victors, so proud,” she musters in between hugs and stands back as she stumbles on her words, slowly losing what little composure she had mustered and begins to cry openly, “You both deserved so much better.”

I’m rendered temporarily speechless at the show of pure love before us from a woman I thought to be so vapid as to be incapable of such feelings. “Thank you, Effie.”

“I am truly sorry,” she says while holding my hands and sobs before she walking and crying her pain away.

I stare after her and Peeta Hugs him once more, “Thank you Haymitch, for everything.” he says patting Haymitch back with the medallion still clutched in his hand.

“Any last advice?” I ask.

Haymitch nods. “Stay alive.”

“Haymitch, wait,” I call before he can walk away any further. I step forward to hug him and whisper, “Remember our deal, do whatever it takes to keep him alive. Promise me.”

Haymitch nods once I’ve backed away. “Okay,” he promises and before I could step towards Peeta he says, “Katniss, when you’re in the arena, remember who the real enemy is.”

I nod, not really understanding what he means but decided not to think more of it as I join Peeta once again.

We continue our routine of training and trying to prepare ourselves for the unforeseeable as I teach Peeta some wilderness survival techniques and he teaches me some self-defense moves. But at night after all our fleeting glances and appreciative gestures, we are exhausted and go to our respective rooms because Peeta would never try to impose his presence on me. I lie on my bed and toss and turn. It’s much too big and makes me feel so lonely. Having Peeta across the way was tempting. I was tired of sleeping alone, of not having his warm embrace. I came to the realization, I might never see him again. So, I get up and tip toe my way to his room as I’ve done many times before and stop at his open door hoping to gain access.

Peeta responds by opening his covers and I dash forward to snuggle underneath them. I snuggle myself as closely to Peeta as I can and smile contently.

“I love you,” mutters Peeta sleepily.

I sigh wanting more. But how do I get more. I wondered? I wet my lips and I say, “I love you too.”

He leans back and gazes at me with wonderment and all I can do is ask, “What?” If he knew my thoughts he wouldn’t think me pure. I want to slip my hands on his chest open his sleeping shirt and place dozens of little kisses there. I force myself from blushing. My legs rub together. This was more than lust, this was hunger I felt. The same type of love affair I felt with food.Peeta was as rare delicacy, to be savored.

“It’s just, I never thought you would. That this could be true. That you could love me and for once it wouldn’t be a dream,” he clarifies, running his hand on my cheek lovingly.

I smile and move up to place a kiss on his lips. I meant for it to be a small, sweet kiss but I was unprepared for Peeta’s passion as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders and softly runs his other hand through my hair. Internally I want to scream and jump for joy as my starved body rejoices. My heart races, my soul is enthralled, this is my home my mind repeats over and over again. I respond in kind, shyly and inexpertly, but once our tongues run across each other, all of my resolve is focused on loving this boy. My heart is as open as a window on a hot summer day. I kiss him with more intensity and clutch his shirt in my fists, my heart galloping at an alarming rate. I ignore the practical katniss and give in to the passionate one that has always brimmed under the surface. My curious nature takes over and I grow frustrated with the shirt and begin to run my hands underneath.’Finally’ I say to myself as my hands make contact with his warm skin. I caress his strong torso and he shivers. He looks at me pleadingly. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

I raise my eyebrow teasingly, “I want to.” I lean down and carry out my earlier desire. I plant hundreds of little kisses on his chest and enjoy listening to his groans and moans. My body over heats I can feel a wetness pooling in between my thighs. In the most seductive voice I can muster I say, “Besides, when I become your wife, we’ll be doing this on a regular basis.”

Peeta chuckles, though his breath is ragged. “I suppose you’re right.” He leans back to throws his discarded shirt on the bed, “I like thinking of you as my wife.” he says resuming his assault on my senses with his lips. My toes curl, his kisses causes fire to sweep through me.

He leans his head towards my neck when I lean back and pauses for a moment before he hesitantly presses a small yet sweet kiss at the juncture of my neck. My beautiful Peeta, gentle kind, has no idea he’s turned a shy recluse into a creature brighter than the sun. My eyes flutter close and I sigh greedily wanting more. I can smell cinnamon and dill, A scent so uniquely him that all I can do is clutch at him lest I fall off the bed, but his strong arm have me securely in place. I’ve never been one to really notice many boys but I noticed Peet. His physical strength is not exaggerated. At least that’s not what the tight muscles under my fingertips can sense. I feel as though an electric current were running through me. It’s more of a pleasant hum rather than a painful shock, and I hold on to this feeling as it grows like an uncontrollable fire refusing to be extinguish.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Peeta murmurs in between the kisses he plants along a hot trail from my neck and shoulder and all the way back. Once he’s back to the sensitive spot behind my ear he halts for a moment and licks it with the tip of his tongue. It’s so quick that I almost don’t realize the change until I feel the air cooling and drying the spot. He tries again with more confidence this time. I moan and I can feel him smile as he continues to swirl his tongue.

I reach for the hand playing with my hair and place it on my breast. Peeta stops and looks back at me. “Are you sure, this is okay?” he asks.

I gaze at him my eyes wild with fever, “Yes.” I whisper.

He returns to kissing me, but I feel the need to feel his skin on mine. The only way to do that is to remove the suffocating layers of clothing I’m wearing. I am desperate I pull back and tear at my shirt and bra. His eyes widen but once he looks down at me, his eyes glaze over as though he were drunk. Our kisses become more fervent, more desperate as I reach down and cup my hand around his penis.

Penis?

Would that even be the right word for it? I’m certainly not used to using another word for what had been flaccid worm-like appendages that my mother and I had seen when curing one of our own men back at the Seam. However, what I was currently holding was not something that merited such a clinical word. It was certainly not flaccid or thin or anything of the form. I wrack my brains for an appropriate word but come up blank until I remember someone once calling it a cock during what should have been a private conversation but I was curious and I needed to know what they meant. That is until I felt the strength that I was currently holding. Yes, cock seemed to be an appropriate word for what I was holding. It felt large, too and I was sure that there would have to be considerable effort on my part if we were to consummate our would-be marriage. I hadn’t realized how long it had been but Peeta grunted painfully, “Katniss we should stop or we might be in for some embarrassment on my part.”

I look up at him questioningly and he looks down at my hand holding his cock. I give him a smile and continue my torture. Peeta groans and instead decides to remove his pajama bottoms along with his underwear so that I may fully appreciate what I had been rubbing.

I look back at him and my eyes widen as I look down and back up at him once more. He raises his eyebrows, smiling and goes back to kissing the juncture between my neck and earlobe. I don’t know how he found it but it was driving me mad and I could feel myself pulsating and pooling with wetness. My legs fall open wantingly, I grind up against his knee. I moan and grasp his cock firmly in my hand and run my hand up and down, testing the reaction I would elicit. I’m fully satisfied once Peeta hisses.

He takes my hand off and I whimper. Instead he decides that he has been tortured more than enough and now it was my turn. He pulls back once more to make sure I’m okay with what he was doing. His consideration makes me bolder. I nod once more whimpering and he lowers himself, I offer my chest to entice him. His blue eyes glow and he puts his hand on my back. When skin touches skin we both groan in unison. His eyes darken to a midnight blue, and I gasp, as he tentatively blows his warm breath on my sensitive breasts and licks one nipple. When I arch my back upward, he smiles and runs his tongue, making my skin fill up with goosebumps and my nipples bud up into little pebbles. his hands were magic, I’d never considered his mouth. And he’s not finished with me yet. Ever the attentive one, Peeta begins his assault on my other breast and this time runs his teeth on top of them, making me moan. He smiles and returns to kissing me except this time his hand runs down my sides and he grasps my thigh tightening his grip as though he were holding back. For once I wish he didn’t. He raises himself just a bit and begins to touch me down there. His skillful fingers are drawing an elixir from me. Between his hands and his mouth I couldn’t stop the sounds that bursts from my mouth. His finger swipes an undiscovered area. I instantly buckle my hips up and he looks back at me alarmed, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” I whisper my body trembling . By god if I thought him licking my breasts was goosebumps-inducing than him running his finger in between my nether lips was tremor-inducing. I thought I would be prepared, but I had never known such intensity. It almost makes the practical me want to back out but the huntress, the girl madly in love is dying of curiosity. This huntress wants to explore his body, and she wants him to continue exploring mine.

He goes back to discovering my pussy with tentative fingers that only become bolder with every stroke. He inserts a finger inside and all I can do is try to cover my moans with the quilt rumpled next to me.

“God Katniss, you’re so tight.” he says pulling his finger back slowly making me feel empty until he pushes it back in intensifying the heat that threatens to overtake me.

Yes,vagina is definitely the wrong word for such a moment but I had no other names for it until I remember my mother having to refer to it by pussy. Either way whatever Peeta was doing is driving me over the edge. my toes curl and my back tightens. It’s as though I‘m about to be snapped and suddenly I feel myself letting go, fireworks erupts before. I lay on the bed listlessly feeling more relaxed than I ever have in my life. I wonder where that girl who didn’t like to be touched went. I guess I kicked her out of the bedroom. Being touched by Peeta broke all my inhibitions and emboldened me. I’m panting and I can feel sweat running down the sides of my forehead when glance up at him.

Peeta draws back and looks at me lovingly, “Did you like that?”

“Like it? I loved it. What more can we do?” I ask impishly.

I have no idea what just happened or how and I don’t care at the moment but all I know is that I don’t want it to stop. Curiosity gets the better of me as I wonder what his cock would feel like against my pussy and so I grasp his cock in my hands and guide it towards my lips and rub it around. Sparks of pleasure burst in front of me when I feel the head of his cock rubbing against my sensitive clit. I bite back a groan and gulp repeating the movement making Peeta groan and shake but lets me continue. His ragged breath turns me on. However, I’m unsatisfied with running the tip of his cock around me. I feel restless and I feel the need for more.I position his cock at the entrance of my pussy. I brace my feet against the bed and push my pelvis up. Peeta moans and begins to push in slowly. It hurts.

Immediately I regret my decision but It’s not fair to him. Besides, there must be something good about this if people are willing to do this often enough to have babies. So I persevere clutching at his arms and hoping the pain would go away. Once he’s fully seated inside me he stops and looks at me, “Okay?” he musters to groan out. I nod. “I won’t move until you tell me to.”

“Okay.” I reply nodding curtly. I’m touched by his concern that I lean up and give him a sweet kiss on his lips.

He lays there still, connected to me, refusing to move for what must be several torturous minutes and despite me still feeling a dull pain I begin to move slowly. Peeta, taking on my cue begins to move too, but slowly. Suddenly, the dull pain is replaced by a sensation I can’t quite pin on but it’s good and my breath catches in my chest. “Oh” I whisper. I can feel myself winding up all over again, passion sizzling through my body. I put my hands on his ass wanting more,” Faster,” I groan as I pull him towards me humming, “Yes.” in between pants. Peeta complies, his moves becoming more desperate and he begins to kiss my neck as our moans reverberate against the walls mingled with little bursts of ‘yes’ in between. Our inexperienced touches become more fervent as our pants come in short spurts.

Peeta links our hands together and leans his forehead against mine, “Katniss, I’m not sure I can last much longer.” he says through his teeth. His jaw tightens and he looks to be in pain.

I hold on tighter onto him and kiss him. I want him to come, I want to see what he looks like when he comes undone. I know it’s dangerous, but the need to see him so thoroughly relaxed peaks my interest, “I need you Peeta.”

“Oh god.” He as he grunts, his eyes closed so tightly it almost looks painful but with one last thrust he comes. I look up at him and this time my eyes don’t just see fireworks but Peeta’s beautiful eyes. I feel warmth enveloping my insides and I’m more than content. He lays on top for a few seconds careful not to put his full weight on me, panting as though he had run a marathon, his sweat-filled body slowly begins to get up off me and I sigh contently as I see him walk away towards his bathroom to clean himself. He brings a warmth cloth with which to clean myself and throws it on the ground as he jumps into the bed and reaches for me. I stretch my back a little allowing for the hum of fulfillment to run through my spine like a small electrical current humming pleasantly throughout. Having been this close to Peeta was beyond intimacy I was used to. I’m bonded to him, first by the bread, and lastly by our physical intimacy. I thought it would be scary to be this open and vulnerable. I thought I'd become weak. But I'm stronger for knowing him, and yet i don't want to think about what will happen when we go to the arena but I have to.

I gladly move over and snuggle close to him, reveling in his scent, “I don’t want to be with anyone else in there. Just you,” I say as I raise myself up on one elbow to look at him.

He knows that I’m talking about the other tributes and their supposed alliance, so he looks at me and nods. “If that’s what you want.”

“That’s what I want,” I say nodding my head and looking at him in the eyes. I lean back to snuggle back up again.

“I can’t believe this is real,” Peeta mutters, blinking slowly.

I smile and then frown. “By the way, how did you know what you were doing?”

He chuckles and shrugs. “I don’t really know to be honest. I just kind of guessed. I mean, I knew the mechanics of sex but to get there I wasn’t sure. I was just testing things around and seeing what you liked. Why, did you like it?”

I cover my face with my hands, feeling myself burning up with embarrassment, “Oh please don’t ask me that…” I moan.

Peeta chuckles. “All right, I won’t.”

Feeling a bit impish I get close to his face. “But you know what?”

“What?” he asks.

“I did. I liked it,” I say quickly and giggle as he smiles, satisfied with my answer.

I yawn and begin to doze off. “I’m so tired though.”

“Sleep darling. I’m here to guide you from any nightmares you might have,” Peeta says.

I frown and raise myself on an elbow on last time, “But you have to wake me up if you have nightmares too. It’s not fair that I keep waking you up with my own. Promise me.”

He smiles back at me and caresses my chin and kisses my nose, “I promise.”

I lean back down and make myself comfortable before finally dozing off to a dreamless sleep.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Let’s start simple, let’s start with what we know is true.” I say as I rock back and forth holding the sides of my face. My curled-up body wracked with pain, “My name is Katniss Everdeen. My home is District 12. I was in the Hunger Games. I escaped. Peeta, Peeta was left behind,” I desperately whisper to myself as my voice shakes with suppressed sobs.

Suddenly I can sense people coming into my little haven and calling my name. I try to hide from my captors as they tell me that it’s time for me to go back to my room, or rather my prison. The place where my guilt, my pain, my memories plague me, all day, every day. It’s been so long that I begin to question the reality of everything.

I try to make myself invisible as I press myself even further against the pipes but it’s no use, they find me and are now calling for me to join them, “I had a nightmare, just five more minutes.”

“You need to sleep,” a female voice advices.

I shake my head vehemently. No, I don’t need any more sleep. My demons are far more insistent and powerful when I’m sleeping. So, against all advice, I shake my head,” Just five more minutes.” I tell them as I whisper ‘no’ to myself because I can hear the guards getting closer.

The footsteps are next to me now, “No please, don’t please, I just---” I beg but they don’t listen as they reach down to haul me up and take me with them, “Don’t touch me. Don’t. No! Get off me!” I yell wildly as I try to free myself of their grasp but it’s no use.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I’m lying on the hospital bed having woken up from yet another nightmare in which I’ve failed Peeta once again. ‘My Peeta’ I think as I roll the dark pearl I fell asleep with in between my fingers. I’m gasping and looking around, trying to come to grips with reality as the white tiled walls greet me. Since there’s no point in going back to my little hole, I decide to visit Finnick. I walk around and easily locate his room. I stare at him as he’s sniffling and winding arope small piece of rope like a madman. He looks back at me and all I feel is disdain for the person who did nothing when the time came for alliances. He was supposed to save him. After all, he knew what the plan was all along and having been in one of the two who stayed behind to protect Betee it would only make sense that it would be easier for him to save my Peeta. He was our ally and he failed us both miserably. I know it’s not fair to hold him to a sham agreement but he knew what the agenda was between some of the tributes and District Thirteen. Now, here I am. Useless to Madame Coin. To the entire movement because without Peeta I won’t do anything. He was the charismatic one. He could’ve gotten the rebellion going, not sour, prude me who is nothing but full of remorse and hatred. They picked the wrong person and for that they will pay.

“Finnick.” I announced my presence.

He looks back at me, tears in his eyes. He looks as though he hasn’t slept in weeks, “I wanted to go back for Peeta and Johanna but I-I I couldn’t move.” His anguished-filled face is asking for a forgiveness I’m not ready to give, “They have Annie too. They took her.” he says returning back to rope. “She’s uh, she’s in the Capitol,” he pauses, “I wish she was dead. I wish they were all dead and we were too,” he mutters, not looking at me. All I feel is emptiness but a bit of compassion fills my heart for the man who,like me, lost his one true love. Taken by the Capitol to be tortured and in that we have common ground. Perhaps, we may form another alliance. However, this time I will make sure to know every detail of every mission. I doubt it though, I have lost what little trust I had in him, I refuse to go in blindly and Finnick has to understand that.

Days pass. I don’t know how many but I float about, trying to convince Coin and Plutarch that they have the wrong Victor. That it’s Peeta they should’ve saved. I believe I’m beginning to convince them. But when I see Haymitch my numbness disappears only to be replaced by a fire of pure hatred.

“Katniss,” he calls after me.

I turn to look at him and stare daggers into his soul. When he asks me to ‘say it’ I look at him annoyed. “Say what?”

“We’re gonna have to work together okay, so you might as well get this off your chest.” Haymitch says and I know he wants an answer as to why I’ve been so particularly nasty with him.

I purse my lips, seething. “You promised me you would save Peeta.”

Haymitch nods regretfully, “I know.”

“Now you say it,”. .

“I can’t believe you let him out of your sight. Y-you gotta stop moping around. You think I want to be here? I want a bottle so bad, I’m ready to distill my own turnips. But I’m here, and you know why? Because Peeta’s still alive. He’s not dead yet and neither are we. We’re still in the game, Katniss. Okay?” Haymitch says, ignoring my own discomfort. For as much as I hate him right now he is right. We must work together for Peeta’s sake. At least he hasn’t given up hope that Peeta might still be alive even, though we have yet to see or know anything about him.

Days pass by and I believe I may have gotten sick because I have this incessant need to vomit every morning, but somehow, I seem to be fine once I’ve had breakfast. Except if breakfast includes scrambled eggs. Just the smell alone is enough to take me straight to toilet to empty myself, even though I think there’s nothing left to empty on a hollow stomach. I seem to be losing weight and I’m sure a lot of it has to do with the depression the doctors diagnosed me with. I’m well into my last bite of oatmeal when Gale plops himself next to me with a huge helping of scrambled eggs, “Hey Catnip!”

I look at the yellow, spongy, greasy confection and try to swallow the bile that’s threatening to rise up my throat. I gulp a few times, my mouth waters unpleasantly and I cover my mouth in order to keep my breakfast in.

“Katniss, are you okay?” asks Prim from across me, reaching out to get my attention.

I shake my head, getting up and running to the nearest toilet, leaving a worried Prim and a puzzled Gale. Some of the few people I managed to catch a glimpse of were either surprised or had a knowing smile plastered on their faces but at the moment I didn’t care as I felt my breakfast coming up.

I hurl violently into the porcelain bowl and collapse on the floor looking at what had been my breakfast. I sigh, reaching for something to clean myself with, but instead I see my sister’s hand offering a wet towelette towards me. I take it and weakly thank her.

“Katniss, what’s going on?” she asks.

I shake my head, “I’m not too sure, I think I might’ve caught a bug.” I lift myself up off the floor and walk over to the sink to throw some cold water on my face.

“Those symptoms are not a bug-worthy ailment.” Prim explains as she stands next to me leaning against the sink.

I turn the faucet on, “Then what do you think it is little duck?”

“I think you’re pregnant.” Prim says. Then she frowns, “But I don’t understand. I thought your romance with Peeta was for the benefit of Snow.”

“It started out that way but I fell in love with him. I was actually planning on marrying him for real,” I answer shivering a bit.

“I see,” mutters Prim thoughtfully.

“How would I even know if I’m pregnant?” I ask.

“Well, first I need to know if you’ve slept with Peeta,” Prim asks.

I frown, “Of course I’ve slept with him. I did so every night so that I wouldn’t have as many nightmares as I usually do.”

Prim tries to hide a smile, “No Katniss, I mean if you’ve had sex with him.”

I freeze and look at her water dripping off my face. I instantly blush, “How would you know?”

Prim giggles, “Sometimes I wonder who’s the youngest one between us.” She sobers up quickly, “I’m asking this because if you have then it looks to me like you’re pregnant. So, I’m gonna ask you again, did you sleep with Peeta?”

My cheeks feel hot and when I look at myself in the mirror,my embarrassment is reflected, “Yes.” I mutter avoiding my sister’s eyes.

“I think you should go make sure. I can test you myself.” Prim offers. She’s being so kind that all I can do is nod.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After much prodding and convincing, generally from Prim. I find myselfsitting on the toilet waiting for my test to reveal its results. Prim takes the small stick and looks at it with a huge smile, “Well, looks like I’m going to be an aunt.” She turns to look at me, radiant smile and all, “Oh Katniss, I’m so glad it’s Peeta. He’s always loved you.”

“How did you know?” I ask.

“Because silly, he was always looking at you. Never at anyone else, and when he did, he always looked as though you were perfection. Although, we all know you’re not. You snore.” Prim joked.

I stickmy tongue out at her, “I would’ve welcomed him with open arms as my brother in law, as I know mom would too.” Prim wistfully daydreams. She looks back at the door of the bathroom, “I have to go. I won’t tell mom until you’re ready but you have to say something before it’s too late,” she says and runs out the bathroom.

I stand up from the toilet and stare at myself in the mirror once again. My hair looks healthier and despite all the purgin,g I’m glowing. Or rather sweating. I look down at my flat stomach and place a hand on top. I still can’t believe I’m pregnant with Peeta’s baby. I smile, feeling my hollow heart began to glow with renewed hope but Prim is right. I should tell my mother before I begin to show. It would hardly be correct to hide my condition when she’s one of the best midwives of District twelve. As the grandmother, it would only be appropriate for her to look after my pregnancy, “Just hold on a little longer, Little Bean. I’ll bring your father back home.” I whisper to my unborn child and walk out of the bathroom, feeling happier than I’ve ever felt being stuck in this underground hell-hole.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When dinner rolls around. I am about to sit on one of the open benches next to Gale when suddenly, the Capitol Logo flashes on the television position in the middle of the lunch room for all to see. I look up at it intrigued and freeze in place when I see an intact Peeta sitting across Caesar Flickerman. My eyes widen and I move closer to the screen just to make sure that I’m not dreaming.

Peeta speaks about what our experiences were like during the Quarter Quell and how we managed to survive. When Caesar tries to convince Peeta that I was the one who shot the arrow that ultimately destroyed the arena because I was rebelling Peeta loses the calmness in his voice and fervently defends me. There he was, being subjected to a stupid interview, most likely pressured by Snow and he was defending me. Just as he’s always done. I place one hand on my flat stomach and the other on my lips, “You’re alive.” I whisper. My once dim glow of hope becomes a a fire of determination. He’s alive and there’s still a chance for me to get him back. I stand mesmerized as I listen to him until he urges the districts to lay their weapons down and the masses in the lunchroom jeer and boo him, calling him a traitor. I can’t hear all the negativity because I know it’s not something he is saying freely. This is Snow’s agenda and he is using someone who was once the most beloved Victor to deliver his message and I’m disgusted.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s night again and I’m sleeping when suddenly I wake up screaming and looking around wildly. The door open and in runs a worried Peeta.

“I’m sorry, it’s just a nightmare,” I explain as I try to calm myself.

“It’s okay, I get em’ too.” Peeta replies, “Well, good night.” He begins to walk away.

“Peeta?” I call and he stops to look back at me.

“Yeah?” he asks.

“Will you stay with me?” I ask sounding like a frightened little girl.

“Yeah,” he complies climbing into my bed and wrapping his arms around me. His thumb runs up and down my shoulder, “Always.” he whispers.

I wake up from my dream and look around the room hoping not to have woken up my mother and sister.

Prim looks back at me, “Hey, can’t sleep?”

I shake my head and she unwraps herself from the covers she shares with our mother only to climb into my bed and lie down facing me. “Tell me what’s happening. I can keep secrets, even from mom.”

I smile, “No one hates the Capitol more than me. And I want to help. But I just keep thinking even if we win this war, what happens to Peeta? I know he’s not safe there but he’s definitely not safe here.”

“I don’t think you know how important you are to them. If you want something, you just have to ask. You could demand almost anything, and they’d have to agree with it.” whispers Prim.

I hadn’t thought of that, “I should wake you more often, little duck.” I whisper back pushing Prim’s hair behind her ear.

“Now get some sleep.” Prim encourages.

I nod and doze off easily knowing what my next move will be.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Next morning, I wake up and write down all my demands on a piece of paper. I wrap it up in my pocket and walk purposefully to Coin’s office. Coin and Plutarch look up at me expecting for me to say something.

“I’ve decided I’ll be your Mockingjay. But I have some conditions,” I announce bringing my piece of paper out, uncrumpling it. “Peeta and the other Tributes, Johanna Mason and Annie Cresta, will be rescued at the earliest opportunity. If and when Peeta is liberated, he will be granted a full and unconditional pardon. No punishment will be inflicted. And the same goes for the other tributes.”

I look at Coin expectantly, “No,” she says and goes back to reading her documents.

“It’s not their fault you abandoned them in the arena. They’re doing and saying whatever they can to survive,” I try to reason.

“Individuals don’t make demands in Thirteen. There will be a tribunal and a fair judgement. Thank you,” Coin dismisses me.

My nose flares and my eyes flash angrily at her. She can’t dismiss me now. I won’t allow it. My child needs its father and I will not give up until I can have him rescued. I leaned forward and put all my weight on my arms supporting me. “The Victors will be granted immunity. And you will announce that in front of the entire population of Thirteen. You will hold yourself and your government responsible or you will find another Mockingjay.”

Coin stares at somewhat startled when Plutarch decides to speak and points at me. “That’s it, that’s her. Right there. Isn’t that who I promised you? She wears the costume, gunfire in the background, a hint of smoke. Our Mockingjay. Madame President we’re losing ground because the people are losing heart. This is worth the risk. She’s worth the risk. Pardons, tribunals. Power of the people. It can all be the new bedrock for the new Panem, but, in wartime I think even the noblest of causes can be bent a little bit, right?”

I look at Coin my resolve unwavering. “Do you have any other conditions?” she asks.

I look down at my piece of paper. “My sister gets to keep her cat.” I answer.

Coin nods approvingly and I walk out of the office feeling triumphant, “Don’t worry Little Bean. I’m getting your father back. Just be patient with me,” I whisper to my child as I run my hand against my stomach and walk back to my barracks.

#everlark #everlark fic exchange #prompt #canon divergence #fanfiction

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whitestonetherapy · 7 years

Text

George finally does it... (28.5.17)

Boxing isn’t a sport for everyone, but there’s something about it that I love.

When in my teens and early twenties there was a big social aspect to this. Whenever there was a mega-fight friends of mine from boarding school would come together from across the country, and sometimes even further, and we’d watch the fights together. A love of boxing and watching the big fights became something that continued to tie my group of friends together despite most of us living increasingly different lives in different areas.

Prince Naseem Hamed fights were the highlight. He was all about the swagger, with extravagant ring-walks, cat-like reflexes and outrageous power in both hands, plenty of trash-talking in fight week. He was brash and unbeaten and Naz fight-nights were just fun events. We made extra efforts to get together for these fights.

In 2001 Hamed came up against a prime Marco Antonio Barrera in Las Vegas in a super-fight at the MGM Grand. Hamed was the betting favourite and we all gathered in a party atmosphere. The fight didn’t go as we’d hoped. Hamed’s reflexes had slowed, his punches were telegraphed and falling short, and Barrera controlled the distance and made his opponent miss.

Hamed lost for the first time in a wide decision over 12 rounds. It transpired his training camp had not been good. I’ve since read that Naz had lost his appetite for hard training, increasingly believing his own press and relying on his freakish power to win fights. Barrera put on a master-class of boxing that night and made Naz look pedestrian. We were left feeling shell-shocked as the pre-fight bravado was for the first time not matched by the fighting in the ring.

I was especially sad when he lost, though I’m sure I disguised it well enough at the time. I felt in my bones that my group of school friends from my boarding school would see less of each other from that point onwards. It had taken events like this to act as a kind of catalyst, occasions significant enough to bring a large group of old friends back to one place. My feeling turned out to be right. I’ve since heard several similar stories from ex-boarding school pupils on the issue of school relationships coming to an end.

There is often difficulty in maintaining relationships forged at boarding schools. Young people generally have less money and more limited means to travel freely, perhaps even more-so in years gone by. Until recently there was no social media and no mobile phones to help people stay in contact over long distances. But friendships made at boarding school can span many important formative stages of growing up, and are built over many years. This happens in the near-total absence of parents for long periods, and in an institutional environment where ‘care’ or ‘love’ are not things that staff can provide beyond a certain point. I think, in these situations, there are often some deeper or more pronounced fundamentals found within close boarding school friendships.

Friends at a boarding school are not just people with similar interests who spend time together for a while after school before each goes home. Friendship in this environment can become part of an absolutely critical support structure for children, helping them navigate and even survive a difficult environment. These relationships between children can also take on some of the characteristics we most associate with parenting - children can literally co-parent each other at times, drawing on the examples they have internalised and, as best they can, helping their friends mediate tough emotional and physical experiences. A number of people have told me of a feeling of grieving as such relationships have come to an end abruptly when school finally ends, and friends who have lived together for years are suddenly dispersed across the globe. These things are not written about enough.

I’ve been waylaid. Back to boxing. On Saturday night George Groves finally won a world title. He bear Fedor Chudinov at Bramell lane with an incredible stoppage in the 6th round. If you don’t know George, he is a charismatic fighter with a sharp mind, always entertaining in interviews and good fun to watch. This was his fourth attempt at a world title, I think only Frank Bruno has previously had as many attempts before winning a version of a world title. Groves first came to wider attention with his 2011 fight with James DeGale, where the crowd had sided heavily with Groves (who many felt had been the target of unfair personal attacks by DeGale in the build up).

In his previous title fights George had fought Carl Froch twice for the WBA belt.

In the first fight George had made some bold predictions and come in as the underdog against a seasoned champion. He knocked the iron-chinned Carl Froch down in round 1 to stunned disbelief in the stadium, and gave an impressive account of himself before being stopped controversially later in the fight. Here’s the thing… George just looks rattled when under pressure. It’s another reason why I find watching him compelling but also quite hard. His long arms and looping hooks are serious weapons when on the offensive… but when he is taking shots in return he is all flailing arms and legs and slumped shoulders. He just has the look of someone who is exhausted, despite his good engine. Being a pale skinned person he also marks up easily, and taken together this is a vulnerable package. Referees rightly have to make judgement calls in hard fights and this is what happened against Froch. The referee stepped in and stopped a flailing George Groves when under sustained pressure. The crowd was not pleased at the stoppage and George wasn’t either. He left with his hand raised as the crowd cheered his name that night, as a moral victor, but with his first loss.

A rematch with Froch was made - George’s second attempt. Fuelled I think by his excellent performance in the first fight and a sense of injustice at the stoppage, Groves was too cocky in the build-up. You felt a shift in the mood of the same boxing fans who had given Groves plaudits after the first fight. Froch was increasingly needled in the build up and the fans did not like it, a champion being humiliated by Groves in TV interviews despite having won the first fight! And so it was that when the second fight came around many people were willing Carl Froch to win. The 80,000 strong Wembley crowd was against Groves that night, the noise was deafening. After some very close rounds with George getting the better of a tactical battle, Carl Froch landed a knockout blow. Froch has since retired but can rightly be considered a great champion. Poor George meeting him twice…

Groves went away to regroup before a third crack at the title in Las Vegas against Badou Jack. Jack is the sort of fighter who does “everything well”. In addition he is a freakishly tough specimen and Groves lost against the home-town fighter in a fight that might have gone either way. Groves had some poor advice from his corner and instead of trying to win the final rounds decisively he sat back, defending a lead he did not actually have. Unlucky again. And back to the drawing board with a new trainer and changing every aspect of his life.

Finally on Saturday night Groves got everything right. A boxing ring leaves nowhere to hide, and you have to marvel at the determination, the physical and mental strength it must have taken for Groves to walk down Fedor Chudinov - himself an undefeated ex-champion. A lifetimes dreams and work and 36 minutes to get it all right, in front of an audience of 35,000 and millions on television.

I’m delighted George Groves won this. He has had to deal with tremendous pressures to achieve his dream. Borrowing the ‘drama triangle’ metaphor from Transactional Analysis and taking the large liberty of trying to apply it to boxing - over the course of his notable fights, George has shifted spectacularly from the role of victim, to persecutor, and back to victim again. The idea behind the drama triangle is that within any drama people will naturally assign themselves one of these roles: victim, persecutor, or rescuer. I assign the role of rescuer to the referee (who is bound by rules) and the crowd in attendance. I also include the general mood of boxing fans who watch at home on TV, of which the fighters must be aware in fight week. On whose side are the fans? Who do they want to ‘rescue’? Sometimes of course the crowd want to see the persecutor win in which case they too becomes persecutors, as was often the case in Hamed fights (until he met Barrera). This can be a lonely place for a victim to be, ranged against an opponent and a noisy partisan crowd, with no rescuer in sight except a referee.

On Saturday night the crowd wanted to see George win, with him cast psychologically as the victim (having failed honourably in three previous attempts at the title) facing the strong, determined teak-tough persecutor in Fedor Chudinov . And with some help and noise from the rescuers, the drama was completed when he did.

www.whitestonetherapy.com

#boxing #boarding #school #counselling #psychotherapy #whitestonetherapy #wellbeing #therapy #therapist

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justanotherbandomdevotee · 7 years

Text

Title- The Universe Hates Me.

A Brendon Urie One Shot.

)��(G�

Pairing- Brendon Urie+ Original Character.

Era- Too Weird To Live, Too Rare To Die.

Word Count- 2,701

Warnings-

Angst.

Pretention.

Mentions Of Drug Abuse.

Unrequited Love.

Horribly Written.

Terribly Long.

Trying Too Hard

!�� *

A/N-

This wasn’t requested or anything, i just felt like writing something angst-y. It’s not as good as I imagined it to be. Feel free to leave criticism and point out my mistakes.

Disclaimer-

This is a work of fiction based on real events. I only own the Original Character. I do not know what happened in Cape Town.

-Sentient Potato.

“Do you, Sarah Orzechowski, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? To love him and cherish him in sickness and health, until death parts you?” The evangelist asked the beautiful girl in white who nodded and uttered a soft ‘I do’. Her nude lips framed her perfect teeth and were the supporting stars of her award winning smile. Her eyes were big, blue, and innocent. He had always been a sucker for long legged, petite waisted, innocent angels, which is why I always wondered what he saw in me.

The evangelist repeated his question to the man in the black tuxedo who was smiling so big that I couldn’t even hate him for it. He was so happy, something that he wasn’t back when I knew him. He nodded and repeated the black haired angel’s words.

The sun was pricking my bare shoulders, ringed ears, and bare neck when the wedding venue erupted in cheers because the couple was kissing. People were clapping, children were giggling, somewhere far away, fan girls were crying their smudged eye liner eyes out, and the attending women were crying, trying very hard to not ruin their makeup that was worth more than my entire existence, but then again, my existence was pretty pointless and forgettable. The couple separated their lips and gazed at each other like the bag of tissues, cartilages, bones, veins, and arteries in front of them was the most genuinely fascinating thing in the world and they couldn’t believe that they were lucky enough to be the other’s one and only. It was sweet, so sweet that it triggered my nonexistent diabetes.

The open field, where the vows and ‘I do’s’ were exchanged smelled like fresh flowers, strong colognes, aftershaves, expensive perfumes that sat on the dressing tables of expensive houses as a show piece, and heartache. I would apologize for my blunt description and borderline bitter tone, but that’s who I am. So, I won’t.

The couple walked down the strip of green grass that served as a walkway and still had a few stray pink petals on it. There it was again, that smile that I fell in love with all those years ago. That smile that reached his ‘typical brown’ brown eyes, every part of his face lit up, and his jaw became more prominent. That smile made it impossible for me to hate him, I tried to imagine him with a frown on his lips, but my brain stuttered and died. It decided to focus on that breath taking smile of his instead.

The couple disappeared from my line of sight after a while, but I can’t blame them, I am tragically short.

The attendees started moving towards the golden handled brown double doors that had intricate wooden patterns on its chipped surface with a general sense of hurriedness. I walked across the lawn leisurely, like I had nothing else better to do. To be fair, I didn’t.

I moved from the sweltering heat of April and into the air conditioned insides of the banquet hall. I lost my breath when I noticed the insides. With pale pink walls, white marbled floors, high ceilings, low lying, intricate and grand chandeliers, and a wall of three giant windows that were functioning as the only light source it looked like a ballroom from a Disney movie. I was in awe. That’s the only adjective that I could think of to describe my feelings. I guess Brendon took Monica Gellar’s words to heart and went all out to give Sarah her perfect wedding.

The circular tables with pale yellow and stark white table cloths and a centre piece of pink and red flowers arrangement hosted the guests. At the north wall, the groom and the bride sat with their posse, the west wall was the window wall and had the buffet line, the east wall had a bar, and the south wall housed the entrance. I could hear the clicks of my heels as I walked across the wooden floor in search for my seat.

I found mine and it was in the groom’s peripheral vision line, great. I was hoping to have one awkward eye contact and one forced conversation and I was done with both of them. I had caught him just before he had to walk down the aisle and wait next to evangelist and shared an intense and awkward eye contact for 10 seconds when the evangelist asked to come forward and recite any qualms that one might have regarding the holy matrimony of Brendon and Sarah.

We had always joked about how he would put on a fake wedding as a front and burst in like his entrance from ‘I write sins not tragedies’ music video during that part of our wedding.

He and I were always super cheesy and dramatic. I suppose the universe gets off my pain. No wonder we don’t get along.

I stared at the cursive font of my place card as the best man and the maid of honor gave their respective speeches with clichéd versions of Brendon and Sarah’s already fairytale-esque love story. I was fingering the rim of the champagne flute that was in front of me when I felt a presence next to me.

“Is this seat reserved?” Asked a sharply dressed Spencer and I couldn’t help but smile at his adorableness. “No.” I replied without looking up at him. The chair scarped back and Spencer placed himself on it. He was facing me, of course he was. He wanted to talk, ‘Wow! You are full of observations and deductions today, Sherlock.’ The voice in my head spoke, more like sneered.

“How are you?” Spencer asked after a short and awkward silence. ‘Suck it up and talk to him. He never wronged you.’ The voice reasoned. Now it uses its gentle tone, great. I closed my eyes and forced myself to shut up. “I am well. What about you?” I spoke after opening my eyes. I could feel my mascara coated eyelashes separating from each other as I did that. From my peripheral vision, I could see Spencer smiling. He ducked his chin into his chest and scratched the nape of his neck. “I’ve been better, to be honest.” Spencer spoke as he pulled his head up. That was Spencer for you, he was brutally honest and never sugarcoated anything, especially when it came to him.

“Still brutally honest, I see.” I noted and finally, finally averted my eyes from the flute and my clear coat covered pointer finger’s nail and chanced a glance in his general direction. “Still your cherry self, does it ever get tiring, being that happy?” Spencer sassed and for the first time since my arrival to the public display of my heart break, I laughed.

Spencer smiled a mega watt smile when he heard me laughing and placed his right elbow of the table, causing the table cloth to crease, and leaned against it. Spencer loved making me laugh, he had admitted to it on countless occasions. “God, I still love that laugh.” Spencer remarked.

“Don’t let Hayley hear that.” I replied without missing a beat and leaned back to rest my back against the back rest of my chair with a smile on my dark red lips. This was us, we were chilled, easy going, we were basically hippies without the psychedelic drugs flowing through our veins. Well, no drugs flowed through my veins anyway.

“I, uh, I and Hayley broke up.” Spencer spoke after he recovered from the shock of hearing his ex’s name. “Oh,” My stumped brain managed to get the exclamation past my lips. “I, um, I am sorry.” I paused and gulped as I uttered my apology. Spencer smiled his smile that caused millions of fan girls to swoon and die in the same comment on social media everywhere and shrugged it off. “It doesn’t matter. I am perfectly happy now.” Spencer smiled a close lipped smile to punctuate his sentence. His eyes were twinkling with happiness. His beard dotted, pale cheeks were colored a pale red due to the sudden rush of blood. He seemed happy, really happy. The kind of happiness that one experiences when they are with someone whom they want to murder, but don’t cause they’ll miss the dead too much, he was in love, genuine, proper love.

“You know your right hand doesn’t count as a girlfriend, right?” I questioned in a joking manner and felt his knuckles bruising my bare upper arm. I moved to rub it, to soothe the supposed wound. “Oh stop it! It wasn’t even that hard.” Spencer commented after seeing my over the top antics, but his words held a weight of concern to them. Spencer was the elder brother that I deserved but not the one that I needed, I had Ryan to fill that department. He was my cousin, but he was still my brother.

“How is Ryan?” Spencer asked the dreaded question after asking me about Jon, his voice held pain and confusion. I knew it was coming. I was prepared to face this question ever since I got the invitation 2 months ago, but now that it was actually happening in real life and not in my head during a steamy shower where I controlled both aspects of this difficult conversation, my heart started thudding and my mouth became dry as every answer took a flight.

That night in Cape Town had left its dark mark, of varying degrees, on all of us. Spencer lost one of his best friends and a brother. I lost my boyfriend and my friends, Jon lost 3 of his close friends, and Brendon lost his best friends and lover.

“He is doing well.” I lied through my teeth. I couldn’t tell him the truth. I couldn’t tell him how utterly broken and sad Ryan is; how much he misses them. How he cries himself to sleep every night because he misses them so much. I am, generally, a very sulky person, but I suck at delivering bad news. I am not built for it.

“You always were a shitty liar.”

After speaking for a few more minutes, Spencer took his leave and Brendon replaced him. After exchanging pleasantries, congratulations, and quick summaries of our time apart, Brendon brought up the one topic that I had been trying to avoid all night, our past.

We didn’t have a clean break up, far from it actually. It was messy, almost brutal, words were exchanged, and insults thrown in the air. Our actions were less than graceful. We, also, never got closure.

Brendon sending me his wedding invite was the first time he had reached out to me in four years. “Brendon,” I started with a sigh, a pain started surging through my head. “No, wait, just hear me out.” Brendon practically pleaded, his words held a sense of urgency. A hundred and fifty people at this wedding and not one of them is wondering where the groom is. The universe really needs to stop getting off my pain.

“Look, things were said and actions were carried out and I just want you to know that I am not proud of the way I acted. I should’ve been more mature about it, but I was doing so many drugs back then that I couldn’t differentiate between right and wrong. I was horrible to you when I had no right to be horrible. You were extremely kind to me during our relationship and I treated you like shit after the release of fever and I am so sorry. You apologized after every single fight, you stayed up worrying about me all those nights when I stumbled through the front door late at night, you slept on the couch so many times, and sometimes, you didn’t sleep at all because the drugs were causing me to have hallucinations and I was scared and confused. You held my hand through everything for so, so long. You refused to believe that I was cheating on you when everyone was telling you that I was. Even when they showed you compelling evidence, you still refused because you trusted me so damn much, and I only broke that trust. I took your heart and poisoned it. I was a shitty human being back then. You said ‘I love you’ to me so many times and I never once said it back to you. I broke you, I damaged mentally and physically and, I just…” And at this point of his rant-apology, Brendon’s voice cracked, his eyes filled with tears, and he took a shuddering breath through his quivering lips to stop himself from crying. He ran a hand through his hair after ducking his chin into his chest. He was breathing heavily, hyperventilating.

For the second time in 7 years, I saw the broken Brendon Urie, the raw, scared version underneath all of the pretence and the faux primadonna.

“Brendon,” I started as I uncrossed my legs. On numb legs, I got up and crouched in front of the shaking groom. “Bren,” I placed my hand on his right knee and he placed his hands on top of mine. “I am sorry, I am so sorry for being such an ass to you. I am sorry for never saying I love you to you.” Brendon burst and practically bawled his words out. He was shaking uncontrollably and his tears were streaming down his clean shaven cheeks. His eyes were red rimmed and his lips looked darker than usual, probably because he had eaten his dead skin off by biting his lips out of nervousness, an old habit of his. His condition caused my heart to ache.

I had hated Brendon for so long that his very name ignited a ball of fury in my core. I was so bitter, but crouching here in front of him on the night of his wedding, I decided to forgive him.

“Brendon, I forgive you.” I spoke in the most convincing tone that I could muster through the crack in my voice. “Do you?” He asked in a soft and broken voice. He looked at me through the lashes that curtained his brown eyes. He looked so tired and broken. I nodded as my eyes filled with tears. I pressed my lips together and worded it out. “I do, I forgive you for everything.” A weight lifted off my chest and suddenly I could breathe properly, which was weird considering that Brendon had just pulled me into a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you, fuck, thank you so much.” Brendon mumbled into my shoulder. I smiled against his tuxedo clad collar bone.

Sure I still loved him and watching him with Sarah hurt, but I couldn’t control it. He is happy with her and that should bring me enough solace. We pulled away from each other and smiled after taking in each other’s crying faces. It felt good. It feels like I was drowning and someone came along and finally saved me.

“I should go and have my first dance with my beautiful wife.” Brendon said and started getting up. I got up as well, my numb legs and knees threatened to drop me like a bag a potatoes, and moved aside after making a remark about how I am taller than Brendon in heels. He whined a little and lightly punched me. “She really is beautiful, by the way.” I said and he smiled before he started retreating.

Years and years of negativity and hatred and all it took was a tear jerking rant to find peace, maybe the universe didn’t hate me after all. “I did love you at one point, I just never told you cause I was a piece of shit back then.” Brendon remarked halfway through his retreat.

The ballroom was empty. No wonder people didn’t come up to us, everyone was out on the fairy lights lit patio, waiting for the first dance to be shared between the bride and the groom. I smiled a small, sad smile.

“I’ll always love you.”

You know what, I spoke too soon, the universe does hate me.

J��K#�

#brendon urie #p!atd #panic! at the disco #angst #unrequited love #wedding #spencer smith #sarah orzechowski #no smut

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kelbottumbles · 7 years

Text

Mrs. Mxyzptlk

Mon-El has challenged Mixy to a duel for Kara's freedom, trapping him with the challenge. It will be a duel to the death, and only one man can win!

(My fantasy ending to episode 2x13! I'm sure the episode will be amazing and won't need any alternate ending for Karamel, but I can't contain my excitement, so here is how I would write it!)

Ao3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9843449

Kara watched with bated breath from her magical prison, not wanting to look but unable to turn away. Mixy had settled the cage about twenty feet above front row center of the theatre he had picked out for the occasion, and bid her to watch as he “proved his love” and “vanquished her other suitor”. She fought down a sob and wiped a tear away as she tried unsuccessfully to pry her eyes away from the duel that was about to take place below her.

The imp – the imp that she so underestimated, that she assured Mon-El was harmless – had used his magic to ensure she wouldn’t miss a second, fixing her gaze upon the stage. He was smirking up at her at this very moment, cleaning his dueling pistol with aplomb, and the sight filled her with such rage she thought she might burst. The feeling of helplessness, and the thought of what was going on below her – the thought of Mon-El – it was simply too much.

She tugged at the white toile of the awful dress he was forcing her to wear, the feel of it making her skin crawl. He had snapped his dangerous fingers and the dress had appeared, and to her dismay it appeared indestructible. And so there she stood there in horror, all in white, so that she would be ready to marry him, the moment Mon-El lost the duel… and his life. The sob she had being trying to hold down suddenly broke free and she called down to him. “Mon-El! Please! It’s not too late!” She cried. But of course, that did nothing to change his mind. He just looked up at her sadly, his face resolute in its determination to win but also resigned to its fate.

“You know I can’t do that, Kara.” He said with a sad smile, his eyes searching her face, like he was trying to drink it in. Like it may be his last chance. Seeing that look… knowing what he was about to do, that was all Kara could bear and she wailed against the magical bars yet again. She knew it was fruitless, and she cried with frustration as her efforts brought no results. She was so unused to feeling helpless, it was awful. She had grown so accustomed to her strength, her power, that she had tragically underestimated the man, the thing that called itself Mr. Mxyzptlk.

But Mon-El hadn’t. He’d seen him for what he was from the start. Kara tried not to think about how she had shut him down, accused him of jealousy, belittled his concern. She had become so… so… the only word she could think of was arrogant. She knew Mon-El might have chosen a more complimentary way to describe her self confidence and reliance, but now, in this moment, all she could do was think that if she hadn’t been so arrogant… hadn’t written off Mon-El’s concerns, hadn’t pushed him away… that his life wouldn’t be in danger at this very minute.

Because despite this being her own fault, despite her bravado causing her to shoot down two previous plans that may have solved this without loss of life, Kara had gone and gotten herself captured. And things had, well, escalated. And despite the obvious danger to his own life, Mon-El had devised a plan to save her. Daxamite fool. The tears fell freely as she watched him fumble with the revolver, holding it up and looking at it curiously, like he’d never seen one before.

“This isn’t how they look in Call of Duty…” He mused, his typical defense mechanism of humour lacing the words that otherwise said plainly to Kara ‘I don’t know how to use this, I’m probably going to die.’ He looked up at her, a mega-watt smile plastered on his face with raised eyebrows as he waggled the gun, pointing at the end. “Oh, I think I’ve got it. Point this end at the bad guy.” He said with a sad chuckle, to which Kara couldn’t help but give a laughing sob. Even to the end, he was trying to make her smile. She wanted to remember him like this. Sweet, funny, brave Mon-El.

The whole plan had been horribly ill-conceived from the start, but the fact that he was doing this… for her… She fought down a wave of helplessness. In any other situation, she might have at least had some hope that Mon-El may succeed. She would encourage him or cheer him on. But in this case… if she could do nothing to defeat the imp… what hope did Mon-El have?

He was only here because of a loophole he had discovered in Mixy’s magic… one that she now wished they had never uncovered. As it turned out, the other-dimensional being could not turn down a challenge. Regardless of the challenge. The problem was, that the stakes of such challenges were always dire. And he always won.

When Mixy had appeared to take Kara away (again), Mon-El had been ready. He hadn’t left her side, intent upon catching him when he came for her. When he finally had his chance, there had been some heated words, but most importantly, Mon-El had managed to trap the imp when he challenged him to a duel.

Mixy had flashed anger, but quickly composed it, confident he’d win, and had set the terms before whisking Kara away for safe keeping prior to the fight. If Mon-El (when Mon-El) lost, Mixy would be successful with his original plan and Kara would officially be bound to marry him. And everything that entailed. She (and all her power) would be his to command. The magic would seal, and she would be Mrs. Mxyzptlk and serve him… she guessed forever.

If Mon-El won, Mixy would leave Earth and forget about Kara. And he’d have to admit - in song - that Mon-El was the better man. He’d added the silly term during negotiations, something that would have made Kara roll her eyes if she wasn’t so scared for him.

And so for the past day Kara had been trapped behind these wispy but impenetrable bars as Mixy talked her ear off, going over all the ways he would humiliate Mon-El, musing about how the lead bullet would kill him with the slightest graze, not that he was planning to miss his heart. He told her stories about what their life would be like once they were married. He was, she now realized, not just completely delusional but also completely psychotic. Why hadn’t she seen the real danger earlier, before it was too late?

“The time has come, Mon-El of Daxam, you cannot delay my joyous nuptials any longer!” Mr. Mxyzlptk called out in his best stage voice, bringing Kara back to the present. He was dressed in 18th century duelling attire and projecting like an actor in a play. It was all so… dramatic. He was hard to take seriously, which is how Kara got into this situation in the first place. “Place the pistol on the pedestal, Mon-El, and I shall explain the rules of the duel.” He instructed, placing his own down with a flourish. “I saw them in a movie, it shall be quite dramatic. I actually think this was a wonderful idea of yours, perfect wedding present, really.” He added, goading Mon-El.

But Mon-El just smiled, like the cat who ate the canary, Kara noticed. What was he up to? “What? Oh I thought these were just for fun… did you think we were doing an, did you think we were duelling with pistols?” He asked, and Kara felt an unbidden bubble of hope rise up in her. Was this his plan?

Mixy narrowed his eyes. Kara could see he was thinking furiously. “What do you mean?” He asked sharply, to which Mon-El laughed. “You challenged me to a duel! This is a duel. The conditions of your challenge have been met!” Mixy spat out with a venom Kara had not seen of him previously, but she could hear the fear and uncertainty in his voice. He didn’t like being tricked, or challenged.

“But this, this is some kind of Earth duel…” Mon-El, mused, walking casually over to the pedestal and laying his pistol down. “Why would I challenge you to an Earth duel, I’m not from Earth. And neither are you.” Mon-El continued, his voice sharpening, his eyes narrowing. He was pushing up the sleeves of his duelling blouse and he stalked forward towards Mixy.

“Explain yourself!” Mixy demanded, and Mon-El’s smile turned cold, and Kara was glad she wasn’t on the other side of it. His hands were fists at his sides and his entire body seemed coiled to explode.

“You seem to have assumed what I meant when I challenged you to this duel.” Mon-El began, a victorious smile pulling up the corners of his mouth as he talked. “And they have this saying here on Earth, about what happens when one assumes…”

But Mixy didn’t ask him elaborate. He just stood there, the gun still in his hand, gaping at Mon-El in furious confusion. Mon-El took the opportunity to continue on.

“But like you called me before… I’m Mon-El of Daxam, not Earth. And when I challenge one to a duel, it is to a Daxamite duel. And on Daxam… we fight our duels with FISTS!” He shouted the last word as he lunged forward, Mixy’s eyes going wide, he used his powers to pop out of place and back into existence across the stage. The gun he had been holding lay on the ground where he disappeared.

“This is- this is!” He stammered, unable to finish his thought.

“This is the duel I challenged you to, IMP!” Mon-El shouted charging forwards again. “And magic is forbidden! My duel, my RULES!” He grunted, winding up for a huge uppercut.

Somehow, Kara assumed because he was so caught off guard, Mixy didn’t dodge the attack. Maybe his magic wouldn’t let him, because he had accepted the challenge, he had to accept it on Mon-El’s terms… but the punch connected. And it connected hard. Mixy was knocked up and back through the air on an epic arc, and the whole moment seemed to happen in slow motion. As Kara watched, she felt the hope soar in her chest like an eagle.

She couldn’t help it, she felt the whoop of a cheer burst from her lungs unbidden. It was just- wow – what a punch. She bit her lip, unable to take her eyes of the fight but not wanting to any more. As she watched, Mon-El stalked forward, toward where Mixy lay stunned on the ground, and pulled him upright by the shirt. “Aren’t you gonna fight back?” Mon-El taunted with bravado. Kara wished he wouldn’t, wished he’d just beat Mixy to a pulp without giving him the chance to gain his footing, and send him back to his dimension with his tail between his legs.

Mon-El took a few steps back, assuming the stance of a boxer, allowing Mixy to do the same. “I’m warning you, though.” Mon-El continued, flashing a genuine quick smile up to Kara, “I’ve been training with the best teacher. You don’t stand a chance.” Then his smile turned predatory and he sprung forward and the two were brawling like teenagers. Like… super-speed capable, super-strength wielding teenagers.

The fight became desperate, and violent, as punches were thrown, kicks landed, and bodies flew. Mon-El was giving more punches than he was taking, but there were a few that made Kara wince and throw curses at the imp, who was putting up more of a fight than she had thought him capable. But then again, he was a magical being. As she watched, she saw him kick Mon-El in a decidedly unsportsman-like area and use his temporary shock to toss him crashing against the back wall of the stage. The set-piece cracked in two and wood and plaster fell down around him.

“Mon-El!” Kara gasped, seeing him disappear under the rubble. Mixy laughed, when Mon-El didn’t immediately rise, and floated up next to her cage.’

“Forget about him, my love, I’ve won! You’re mine now! Aren’t you happy? We can finally be married!” He sang, completely delusional. “Wasn’t that so romantic, how I-“ But to his surprise, Mon-El wasn’t down for the count. The sound of chunks of debris falling and hitting the stage echoed throughout the theatre.

“You didn’t think I’d go down that easy, did you?” He asked, taking a running start and leaping off the stage, jumping twenty feet into the air to collide with Mixy where he floated, next to Kara’s cage. Kara gasped as she felt the force of the impact, so close to her. She turned quickly in the cage to watch as Mon-El’s momentum would take Mixy and himself (and the fight) into the seats behind her, but was surprised when they didn’t travel past her field of vision.

Turning quickly back to where Mixy had been floating, her eyes turned wide as saucers as she saw Mon-El, a chokehold around the imp’s throat, zooming towards the wall at the back of the stage, ready to slam him against the same wall he’d been thrown into just moments before. But. He was… he was… he was flying!

A second later, the impact crashed like thunder and Mixy was dropped like a doll onto the rubble below. And as he fell, limp, the cage disappeared from around her. She stayed there, hovering in the spot the cage had just been, for a moment before he realized what had just happened. And the sob she had been withholding burst forth, but it was happy. It was so, so happy. Mon-El had saved her. He’d won.

She watched with tears in her eyes as he seemed to realize this. He had landed next to Mr. Mxyzpltk, and looked up from his prone body, a look of shock and wonder on his face. “I- I-“ He stammered.

“You did it!” She cried, still frozen in place. “Mon-El you-“ But in that moment realization seemed to wash over Mon-El. That it was finally over, that he’d done it, and the look of joy and adulation, pride and wonder that crossed his face was a sight to behold. Kara felt her heart constrict as she watched him smile up to her.

“I, did I just – did I just fly?” He asked, suddenly struck by the knowledge. Kara laughed through the tears.

“I think you did.” She replied, her voice thick with emotion as she smiled down at him, and the look on his face took her breath away. His eyes lit up before he scrunched them in concentration, and then he was slowly, shakily rising in the air towards her. He looked like Kara did, her first time, like bambi learning to walk. Only, flying. She laughed at the memory and held her hands out to pull him towards her, steadying him. And then they were there, floating above front row center, in each other’s arms, and all was right with the world. Neither could speak for a moment, until finally Mon-El broke the silence.

“This is harder than you make it look.” He said with a chuckle. Kara bowed her head a little, a soft laugh her only response. When she raised her head back up, a strand of hair had fallen into her eyes. Mon-El reached up and carefully tucked it behind her ear, smiling gently and not taking his own eyes off hers. “So where were we? Before this guy got in the way?” He asked, his voice soft and deep at the same time, full of emotion.

Kara smiled at this. “I think I was about to try to have it all.” She answered, and without hesitating, with all the confidence and happiness in the world, she leaned forward quickly to seal their lips in a kiss before anything else could interrupt. But thankfully, nothing did. Not even Mixy stirred from where he lay unconscious. And so for a long time, they just floated there, in each other’s arms, their lips softly intertwined, just breathing each other in.

After a long moment, Mon-El pulled back, leaving Kara’s lips feeling bereft of the warmth and comfort she had finally found in him. He smiled shyly at first, before the smile became wide and child-like. “Can I just say…” He started, his smile turning mischievous in the cute way it often did. She waited for him to finish, wanting nothing more than to connect her mouth to that perfect smile.

“Mmmm?” Was all she could get out, but she smiled and nodded her head encouragingly.

“Best. Duel. Ever.” He replied, making Kara laugh before she pulled him back down to resume their kiss. And this time, it deepened. She needed more. The emotions and tension had been too much. Kara opened her mouth and Mon-El quickly followed suit and their lips and tongues danced as they both became breathless and their arms writhed and their hands raked at the other’s hair and back. It was a connection unlike any other Kara had ever felt and she wanted it to last forever. But it couldn’t last forever. Eventually, slowly, they began descending back to Earth. Both metaphorically and physically.

When their feet hit the floor of the theatre, they pulled apart, both out of breath, and Mon-El pulled Kara’s head to his heart and hugged her there. She felt herself melt into the spot as if it were made for her, her arms twining around his waist. For a minute she stood there just listening to his fluttering heart, smiling, regaining her breath. Mon-El’s cheek was resting on the top of her head when she heard him repeat himself quietly. “Best. Duel. Ever.” He breathed.

Somewhere behind them, Mr. Mxyzpltk stirred, waking up, finally causing Mon-El to pull away from Kara. But he wasn’t angry, or scared. He was smiling, his eyes wide like a child on Christmas. “I almost forgot!” He laughed, as Mixy groaned and regained his footing. The imp scowled and snapped his fingers. A cloud of magical mist appeared, but nothing happened. Mixy looked vexed and confused as he snapped his fingers again and again, to no avail. Trying to magically teleport away. Realizing it wasn’t going to work, he looked up at Mon-El angrily.

“What is happening? Why can’t I—“

“I think you’re forgetting the terms of our duel.” Mon-El interrupted, slowly wrapping a gloating arm around Kara’s shoulder “Best duel ever, if I might add.” He added under his breath, to Kara, though she knew Mixy heard. There was literal steam coming from his ears. He had such a flair for the dramatic. And suddenly Kara remembered, realizing what Mon-El was talking about, why Mixy’s magic wasn’t working, and she barked a laugh she couldn’t hold in. It wasn’t very nice, to gloat… wasn’t exactly the personification of the American way… but by Rao, it felt good in this case. So she stood there under Mon-El’s arm and leaned her head on his shoulder, ready to enjoy the show.

The imp stood there, staring back at them in disbelief, his magic useless, seething as he waited. Kara didn’t think he’d ever lost before in his life and he wasn’t taking it well. “I think we are ready for our song now.” Mon-El instructed, a wide smile splitting his face as he pulled Kara closer. Before them, the steam rolled out of Mixy’s ears, whistling like a tea kettle before he begrudgingly snapped his fingers, his magic now working for their only allowed purpose until he completed the terms of the duel. With a snap of the fingers, he transformed the stage from the destroyed duelling scene to mood-lit set up with a microphone. He was dressed in 80s hair rock style, in purple silk and leather pants, his hair defying gravity, and he began to sing about how Mon-El had defeated him.

His production quality was second to none, Kara noticed, as pyrotechnics shot off despite the scowl on his face as he sang beautifully, albeit begrudgingly. She swayed along to the song in Mon-El’s arms, enjoying it almost as much as he must have been, thinking just how lucky she was. And how wrong she was, thinking she didn’t need help, that her ideas should be valued above everyone else. And how she was only standing here right now (not letting the hideously awkward wedding dress diminish the moment) because of this wonderful, persistent, funny man to her right. Because he had succeeded where no one else could. And saved her. And how he was right… this was the best duel ever.

I hope you guys liked that! It has been my headcannon for days and I had to get it out into words. It's literally my birthday and I've been sitting here feverously getting my headcannon into words before the episode airs! lol happy Karamel day, Karamellows! And I'd love to hear what you thought about this! :)

#Karamel #karamel fic #mon-el #kara danvers #headcannon

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