#and then drag us through two seasons of garbage writing

[spill-that-anxietea]

I don’t care if you’re tired of hearing about it. It just irks me so much that Grandon KNOWS one of the largest driving forces of the fans pushing for a YJ revival is to see Wally’s resurrection. They knew that going into it!

Like, I really wanna know if they all sat down in the writer’s room and were like, “Okay, let’s see how many seasons of the show we can make without bringing Wally back before the ratings start to drop.”

Now, here we are again post-season four. The #KeepBingingYJ posts are making the rounds again, and I just? Don’t care anymore? The mediocre writing of the past two seasons is NOT enough to make me want more of it. Sorry.

#I just cant stand the fucking audacity of Greg in particular #like he gets so butthurt and offended when literally anyone critics him on Twitter #and honestly? #I’m normally one to defend writers but the past two season have been such a slap in the face to the very same fans #who helped bring the show back in the first place #you cannot sit here and name the title of your third seasons phantoms #say it’s focused on the original team #have all these implications that Wally isn’t actually dead #and then drag us through two seasons of garbage writing #WHY THE HELL did fans of GLTAS get more closure in YJ than Wally stans? #explain that to me Greg! #honestly fuck Grandon #they drug this out on purpose and now they have likely missed their opportunity to give fans what they want #because I don’t see us getting renewed this late in the game #and I don’t even care #I wish YJ had never been brought back in the first place #young Justice #dc stuff

[h50europe]

Why the myth about Steve's PTSD doesn't add up and other inconsistencies

In the last few episodes of H50, PL tried to sell us a mentally broken Steve suffering from PTSD. Only the whole thing came a bit too late. The clip you see is from season 4 and ended up - no, not in the series - but somewhere on the floor of PL's editing room. And why? after Kurtzman and Orci departed, along with their writers, PL took the helm and started turning Steve into a super-soldier. He stylized him into something that wasn't meant to be. Instead of developing the characters, PL began to incorporate more and more hair-raising action sequences into the series and then let Steve fight on the front lines. There was no mention of Steve's mental state, and a lot was explained by PL with: it just happened "offscreen." Yeah, sure. PL can't create a decent character. He can only produce stereotypes and one-dimensional beings. Like Adam. What potential would that character have had had he been turned into Five-0's antagonist? But no. So his role remained diffuse and monotonous. Sometimes even tragicomical.

Back to Steve. When SEAL Team started on CBS, PL also lapsed into SEAL mania. If someone who writes fanfiction were to produce as much garbage as this man did, he would be chased away from every writers' platform in disgrace. PL's Super SEAL also had to rescue his team members from a blazing inferno. Not man by man, no, he flew a helicopter right into the danger zone and lifted a whole cabin out of the burning jungle. If lunacy had a name, it would be PL. While the action became more and more exaggerated and unrealistic, the same happened to the protagonists. After the departure of Daniel Dae Kim and Grace Park, PL completely lost his mind. And please, don't blame the writers for the nonsense that was thrown at you. A series stands and falls with the showrunner. He dictates what he wants and passes it on to his staff.

And so, lovable Steve became a soulless robot who only showed feelings here and there. Danny diminished more and more into a sidekick. McDanno became a ship that drifted anchorless through a stormy sea and threatened to capsize again and again. From season 8, it became a reboot of the reboot. PL tried an ensemble show and failed more than miserably. Often the actors just stood around bored. At least that was the impression. The only highlight was episode 8.10. A feast for all McDanno fans. But even here, the outcome of "who shot Danny" was more than insubstantial.

Wait, there was something about SEALs... Oh, yes. Junior appeared on the scene and became Steve's lapdog. I really wondered when there was going to be an episode where he would fetch sticks for Steve. Luckily we had Eddie for that. And because he thought he was so clever, PL invented the episode speed dating. How many subplots can you squeeze into one episode at the same time? In some episodes, you couldn't even take a look at the bag of potato chips without losing the thread.

The case of the week became the yawn of the week. There were so many loose ends that PL then came up with something called retconning. That's what you do when you're no longer satisfied with what was once established in the series years ago, or it no longer fits. But PL went one step further and did the same with the characters. The more the series was dragged out, the more the characters deteriorated and became OOC. It means, often, they were not recognizable at all. And that's where we come to Steve. Because PL, in his desperation, didn't know what else he could do to Steve, and so he killed Joe White. He did it in such a cheesy way with a fake sunset that it made you sick.

Of course, one episode later, there had to be another gig of PL's favorite Barbie. He stuck a fake beard on poor Steve/Alex, so he couldn't even hug Danny/Scott properly. The episode also raised more questions than it answered any. And Steve? He still didn't suffer from PTSD, even though he had now lost Joe White and a fellow SEAL. Everyone is dropping like flies, except for Steve, who is standing like a rock. No matter what. He doesn't need in-depth talks with Danny, nor psychological care, nor any sleeping pills. No, he's doing great. He also opens a restaurant with Danny because apparently, the carguments are already getting on PL's nerves. Unfortunately, this plot device leads into nirvana. The idea was nice, but nobody thought it through to the end. And the merry-go-round continues. Until we get to season 10, where it gets even more absurd. Now PL is almost bombarding us with McDanno episodes, or at least it should seem that way. Oh well, he's already planning for season 11, so a new character has to come on board quickly. While in the beginning, Steve's mother, Doris, dies.

Alex was allowed to take on the subject. Of course, only under the strict eyes of PL. He then nullifies Alex's idea that Steve kills his mother. Because a good soldier and Super SEAL won't do that. Little does PL know. THAT could have been the opening of a PTSD scenario for Steve. However, apart from that, this episode would have had any potential for a multi-arc. Just imagine Steve chasing his mother across multiple episodes. Again, PL stepped in and butchered Alex's episode. You can really feel sorry for the guy. PL at his best or worse? He just can't help it. And then, on the very last meters of the series, he brings someone new, who is allowed to cruise around with Steve most of the time. Because Danny was kidnapped by Wo Fat's widow, PL also invented quite late to have some villain at his disposal. This wannabe mastermind must really have been living under a rock somewhere if she wasn't even mentioned by her husband or appeared earlier.

Because towards the end, PL obviously ran out not only of steam but also of ideas, everything culminated in a wildly illogical scenario. Steve has to live through a dramatic day with Eddie, who stands as a metaphor for Steve (as I said, PTSD was never a thing for Super SEAL), Danny bangs his brains out in a ladies' room with a complete stranger, who dies shortly after that in an accident with Danny's rental car. Apparently, there was no budget to turn the Camaro into scrap metal. Danny then also goes home alone, ignoring the incoming emergency vehicles. Everything remains open at the end of the episode. While Steve expresses his gratitude to Tani and Quinn and says, he would be just as lost as poor Eddie without the dog and all of them. The strange thing is that you never notice anything until that sentence. A few forced dialogues are supposed to make the drama visible, but they all happen way too late or are so poorly written that you miss them.

PL had decided early on to make Steve a Teflon hero. That also means he didn't need to put much substance into the character. Which you can clearly see if you compare the first three seasons to the rest of the series. But towards the end, PL wanted to turn the tide and forcefully rewrote Steve's past. There is a huge difference if you compare Steve from seasons 1 to 3 with Steve from season 10. It is only a sparse remnant of what made this character so great. This change in Steve's personality also affects his relationship with Danny. The witty, affectionate banter degenerates into a snappy, humorless bitch-fest that takes all the joy out of it.

The final two episodes could have been written for any other crime show. As mentioned, we have Cole, who even gets a book'em Cole from Steve, which can only be described as out of line. And it begs the question, was that what Lenkov originally had in mind? Danny out of the show and Cole in? Was the last episode, which mainly featured McCole, something of a test run? Did all the McDanno moments happen only to tear the two apart eventually? Was the real final scene the one where Steve and Catherine take Danny's coffin back to Jersey? Was Danny not supposed to survive? Was that the real reason Steve wanted to get out of Hawaii because he wanted to pay his respects to Danny? And would he really have returned to Hawaii later? Or would he have turned his back on Hawaii? To me, this ending is more plausible than what PL served us. Then, Steve handed over his credentials to Cole instead of Danny, his second in command. Honestly, you can't make the end of a series any more sloppy and dumber than that. And I won't even lose a word about the last 1:30 minutes because I think everything has already been said.

No PL, mission absolutely not accomplished. You created Teflon-Steve. You never wanted him to show any weakness. You turned him into a superhuman who can survive anything. Only to pull the rug out from under him on the last few meters to the finish line and spit on his legacy. How can you dismantle such a great series and its characters like you did? How much do you have to hate something to do that? In the final interviews, the showrunner didn't exactly cover himself in glory either. Everyone who grew up with the series from day one knows that its end was wrong on all the possible levels and that the showrunner is solely to blame for that. It takes a fair amount of egoism and carelessness to drive 10 years at full throttle against the wall. Not many people can do that. Whether you can be proud of that, however, I doubt.

My respect if you have made it this far. Each of you gets 10 extra brownie points for it.

#McDanno #steve mcgarrett #danny williams #scott caan #alex o'loughlin #H50 the final chapter #H50 series finale #Lenkov #Eddie #Junior #seal team

[wordynerdygurl]

A Wonderful Christmastime

Author’s Note:  Well Hello All!  I hope that you’re all taking care of yourselves and staying well!  My tag-list is open and you know I love the validation of reblogs, shares, tags and adds!! I have been working on a larger OC story which has kept my from my Loki writings, but I entered a challenge posted by @toomanystoriessolittletime​ for the Christmas holiday.  If you aren’t following, please do as she’s got a great little Advent Calendar of seasonal stories for you!  One a day through the month of December!  

I chose a prompt based off of my least favorite Christmas song.  Ever.  Like in the history of humanity.  Like, my family torture me with it because of how much I dislike it.  This story is a chance to take a little lighthearted revenge on Sir Paul McCartney and also, hopefully, help you all enjoy a Wonderful Christmastime!   Also, isn’t this gif the cutest thing in the world?  My thanks to the OP and creator for it... it’s amazing and I love Christmas Loki!! Pairing:  Female Reader x Loki

Summary:  Everyone has a favorite holiday song... when Loki learns which one you dislike, he uses it to his advantage. Warnings:  Christmas holiday mentions, SMUT, Oral (F receiving) and MF Sex, also, the over use of a certain song that makes me, personally, crazy!

This was it.  That perfect moment when all of the holiday hustle was behind you.  Nothing to buy, nothing to ship, nothing to wrap, nothing to bake.  It was all over.  You had made it through another Christmas Eve.

Your well decorated tree sat in the corner, presents tucked below for you and Loki in the morning.  The frittata was resting in the fridge along with the two bottles of Prosecco you planned to have with brunch.  Hell, it was the holidays, after all.

But that was for tomorrow.

Tonight you were relaxing after an afternoon of family Christmas fun.  Nieces and nephews, piles of shredded paper, stacks of snacks and so much laughter your belly muscles were sore.  And through it all Loki had been a champ! Holding your hand, rubbing the small of your back, pulling out your chair; Loki had put the other partners to shame.  Whether he was telling bawdy but tasteful jokes to the men who drank cheap beer around the TV, sharing hair care tips with your sister’s oldest girl or whispering with your mom in the kitchen, he was always where he needed to be.  For the first time in ages, you had been able to enjoy the day fully, and you knew Loki was the reason why. After getting home, trading your dress and boots for comfy shorts and a sweatshirt, you padded into the living room.  Loki was there, sitting cross legged, digging through your bag of swag.  He had put seasonal music on in the background while munching through a plate of Auntie’s sugar cookies, two well poured goblets of red wine waiting to be had at his side.  God, he was good. “Is one of those for me?”  You couldn’t help smiling.  Loki, looking like a little kid, over excited and surrounded by all the trapping of Christmas just felt so precious. It took him a moment to reply as he was solely focused on the handmade puzzle box your mother had crafted for all the guys this year, “Hmm?  Yes… one’s for you…” Kissing the top of his head, careful not to dislodge his Rudolf blinking antler headband, a gift to Loki from your youngest nephew, you moved towards the couch.  Sipping from your glass of wine, snuggled under the softest chenille blanket your sister-in-law could find, you sighed contentedly.  Victory over the holiday season felt amazing.  Now all that was left on your to-do list was eating, drinking, and enjoying alone time with Loki until New Year’s.  Suddenly exhausted, you felt the lovely warm drag of drowsiness and snuggled deeper into the sofa.  Shuttering your tired eyes, you listened as Loki stood up, off to hunt up some more food, no doubt.  Visions of sugarplums danced in your head as you started to succumb to a sweet slumber. That’s when you heard it.  

“The moon is right, The spirit’s up, We’re here tonight and that’s enough…” Groaning, wide awake now, you sat up with a shout, “Loki?!”  Like magic his raven head popped around the doorframe, his reindeer antlers askew, a candy cane hanging out of his mouth, “Yes?”

“Um… question:  What are we listening to?” Stepping back into the living room, his new holiday flannel shirt open at the neck, Loki leaned over you, husking playfully,  “Music.  At least, that’s what I believe you Midgardians call it.” “Ha ha.  Yes, I know it’s music, but this particular song?”  You couldn’t keep the tartness from your tone as you pressed your nose into the handsome one on Loki’s face. Pausing, listening intently, Loki cocked his head to the side.  Singing along, his bells jingling, “Simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!” “Ugh.  That’s what I was afraid of!”  Flinging a hand over your eyes, you grumbled, burrowing back into the cozy couch as a means of blocking out the obnoxious noise of the worst holiday song in the history of humanity. Making himself comfortable at your feet, pouring himself another glass of vino, “I like it.  It’s simple.  Direct.  What are you doing?  Me?  I’m simply having a wonderful Christmastime!” From deep in the cushions, muffled but forceful, you pleaded, “Make it stop!  Please!” “What for?  It is still Christmastime, is it not?  And we are enjoying a wonderful time, aren’t we?” Turning back to face him, a Scrooge-like scowl on your suddenly serious face, “I’ll do anything to get you to turn that off.” That got his attention, “Anything?”  Sitting up quickly, you reached for your blanket only to feel Loki snatching it out of your grasp, “You said anything, darling.” Tugging on the plush fabric, practically pouting, “You’re not going to take my new fluffy blankie, are you?” “Oh no.  That’s not nearly enough to stop me from playing my favorite Christmas carol.”

“It’s your favorite, now?  Loki, you just heard it.” Waving your gripes away, pinning you under his arms and under your blanket, “I love it.  It’s my favorite.  You can’t mess with perfection.”

You wiggled, trying to free an arm or a hand, anything to help defend yourself from Loki’s soft, but effective attack, "Perfection?  Loki, it's awful."

"I disagree.  But…”  Brushing a gentle kiss to your captive lips, making you melt into his warm touch, Loki made sure to keep you immobile.  Unraveling under his ardent attention, you gave up fighting, focusing on Loki’s roving hands through the protective layer of your new throw.  

Lost in his lips, you ignored the wretched recording still spinning, until sitting back with a sly smile Loki continued, “Regardless of my newly acquired antlers, I am a reasonable man.  I'm willing to hear your side of things.  Convince me, dove."

Looking up at him through your lashes, licking over your bottom lip that tasted of Loki's peppermint, it took you a moment to refocus on your argument.  Sighing doggedly, “It’s just garbage.  Too sweet, too synth-pop.  It’s plastic.  There’s no substance to it.”

At least Loki did you the service of considering your answer.  He paused, listening to the offending tune, starting to hum along once more.  “I don’t know.  It sounds like church bells ringing.  And I like when the kids start singing!”

“You couldn't.  Those are two of the worst things about it!  There’s not a single redeemable factor in it’s trite,  super saccharine, four minute run time.”  Agitated now and edging into anger, your voice kept rising, spurned on by the inability to get away from Loki’s plush prison, “Also, get off me!” “Can’t do it.  But-” nuzzling into your neck, tasting along the tendon there, “-I can replay this song.”  “That’s it!”  Fury tinted your words as you tried harder than ever to break free of your fleece prison but Loki was brick heavy, unmovable, and impossibly giddy at your predicament.  All things which only added fuel to your fire.  Wriggling like mad, struggling to kick a foot free, you squirmed desperately for leverage.  His response?  A deep chuckle, “Is that all you’ve got, darling?”  Laying those long, lanky bones on top of you, holding down the throw’s corners in a way that made fighting futile, Loki smirked at your distress, “I still don’t see why you hate it so much.  It is a simple song because we’re simply having a wonderful Christmastime!  It’s in the title after all.” With cheeks hot from exertion, fully frustrated and forced to listen to Paul McCartney’s bland holiday ballad start a second time, you nearly shrieked, "I hate it, Loki!  Loathe it, really!  The lyrics are basic, the keyboard is tinny, and Sir Paul is better than that!” “Is that all?” “No!  It's even worse when someone else sings it, like those kids from Glee or an up and coming Country artist making their first holiday record!"

Beneath the blanket your chest rose and fell with bothered breaths.  From rubbing against the couch your hair stuck up in odd angles and you could feel heat rising off your neck.  How had you gone from almost asleep to a blanket related battle royale?  Loki, taking advantage of your confinement, kissed your forehead sweetly, and the change in tactic caught you off guard.  His lips grazed the tip of your nose as you huffed out a pout, eager to see where his mischief making would lead.  Pressing his forehead to yours, that deep sonorous voice whispering lowly for your ears alone, "Not a compelling enough argument for me to turn it off, I'm afraid." And to your holiday horror the song in question started again.  Grousing, "Don’t play it again!  Please!  I’m begging you!” “Already begging darling?”  Thick with mocking, Loki slotted himself between your thighs, keeping you from fighting back with any power. Whining full out now, poking out your bottom lip, “Come on!  Please, let me up and turn this off!” “Why, of course, my pearl.”  With no effort on his part, Loki scooped you up, blankie and all, pulling you tightly to his chest.  Gripping your bottom, his fingers firm through the cotton of your pj pants, he squeezed hard enough for you to yelp. “Hey!”  But that’s all you managed before his talented tongue invaded your mouth.  Now the only thing you could hear was the shaky exhale of your shared sighs and your own needy mewls when Loki started to withdraw.

Godly hands drew your thick and comfy sweatshirt over your head, leaving you bare against the cuddly softness of your new blanket, a perfect dichotomy to the heated hardness of Loki’s chest.  With your arms finally free you tangled your hands in the long tresses of your lover, distracted from the awful music by his groan, “Easy darling.” But now that the tables were tipped in your favor, you had no intention of going easy on Loki.  Not after his antics tonight, not a chance.  Tugging hard enough for him to wince, you ground against his lap with a nip to his neck, “Turn it off then.”

“Now, why would I do that?  Aren’t we still enjoying a Wonderful Christmastime?” Bouncing in his lap, purposefully teasing your mischief maker with a smirk, “We were until you let this terrible song play!” Laughing heartily, Loki stroked over your bare shoulder, one hand resting on your waist and the other cupping your cheek.  “If I wanted to, my darling, I could change your mind.  I could make you adore this song.” “Is that so, Odinson?  I doubt it.”

“Doubt me?  On this, Christmas Eve!  When you know the feelin’s here that only comes once a year?” A confident nod was all he got for an answer.  In a flash you were laying on the soft rug, your legs wrapped over Loki’s and your new blanket tossed to the side.  Fiery kisses to your chest and neck led him to the shell of your ear where he hummed hungrily, “The moon is right, the spirits up…” Enjoying his mouth but not his music, you shoved against his shoulders, panting, “Don’t sing, just kiss me.” Licking into your mouth, Loki’s tongue obliged your need as his hands skated over the curve of your hip, breaking your kiss to croon, “We’re here tonight, dove… and that’s enough.”

“Loki… please stop…”  You fisted his shirt, pulling at the buttons until his muscular torso was under your fingers, strong and solid.  Pushing the plaid cotton off his shoulders, you let your nails drag over Loki’s naked back as you shifted your hips, subtlety be damned. He took the hint.  Nipping a trail over your tummy, Loki kept his eyes on yours as he shucked your shorts, snorting, “No panties?  Naughty!” “If that’s naughty, Loki, then what you’re doing to me is positively evil.” That made your lover grin, his eyebrows lifting in a wickedly Grinchy smile before caressing the inner skin of your thigh with his clever mouth.  Slithering closer to your center, sweeping his tongue in swirls, you couldn’t help the excited shiver he created.  It was enough to block out the terrible song now that you had something more arousing to hold your attention. Using those long, deft fingers, Loki parted your folds with a murmured moan, “You’re so wet, darling.  Maybe you like this song more than you let on?” A curse for him and his rotten taste in Christmas music died in your throat as Loki connected to your sacred skin through a carnal kiss.  Those strong forearms ensured that your knees stayed open wide as his tongue tasted, teasing your clenching cleft, humming with appreciation at your body’s response.  Circling your clit, sucking gently before changing direction and licking your lower lips once more, Loki had you teetering on the cliff of climax in minutes.

Your stomach tensed, ready for release.  Delicious waves of orgasmic bliss were pulsing through you, needing just a touch more friction, a little more pressure in order to crash over you.  Gasping out incoherent whimpers, fingers ruffling Loki’s dark hair, you can’t fight the neediness that he’s created in you. It just feels so incredible, something Loki knows you’re enjoying, “Like that, darling?” Passion clouds your vision as your desire crests, unfulfilled, “You know I do, Loki…” Fingers slide sensually through your slit, his bright eyes on you, “How much?  How much do you like it?” Shaking your head, still foggy with needs unmet, “So much, baby.  I love making love to you so much.” Bumping against your swollen bud, pressing down firmly, Loki begins using his hands to entice you towards ecstasy.  Two fingers enter you easily, delightful, sure, but not as filling as Loki’s hard member.  Reaching for him, you want to lose yourself in loving and being loved by your space god, “Sing for me, dove.” Beseeching you breathlessly, Loki’s hand stills, keeping you at the fringe of falling apart.  Waiting for your reply impatiently he asks again, “Sing, please.” “A song?” His reply is a shake of his dark head.  Slowly, smoothly, Loki withdraws his fingers, only to press them into your yielding flesh once more, “Yes, my darling.  Sing my favorite song!”

Sucking a bruise onto your inner thigh, those fingers of his spreading your walls, the exquisite pressure on your straining clitoris.  Any one of these distractions would have been hard to concentrate through.  Experiencing them all together?  Overwhelming.

And that’s the excuse you would use to explain what happened next.  “The party’s on… The feeling’s here…” As soon as the words left your lips, Loki’s attention resumed in earnest, “That’s it, dove!  Keep going!” “That only comes, this time of year… Ah!  Loki!” Loki watched you lustily.  Your eyes half closed, legs splayed lewdly, a nervous grin on your face.  He never wanted you more.  Slipping out of his jeans, wasting no time, Loki guided his hardened cock into you with a satisfying sigh. Your response to his abundance?  “Oh shit, Loki!  Yes!”  Snapping his hips against your pelvis, iron banded arms clinging to you, Loki stuttered, “I don’t hear you singing!” “We’re simply having a Wonderful Christmastime!”  How many times did you repeat the chorus?  Hard to say.  It became a mantra.  A thing to chant in time with everyone of Loki’s deliberate and deep thrusts. This time, when you felt the familiar stirring of your satisfaction, Loki didn’t stop you.  Encouraging you with a soulful kiss, his stroke surging in time with Paul McCartney’s crooning, you came apart in each other’s arms with a smile.  The song started again and you couldn’t stop the giggles from bursting out of you, “What’s so funny, dove?” “You said you could make me like this terrible, horrible, awful song.” Sitting up and taking you with him, Loki chuckled as he kissed your hand, “Hey, don’t make fun of the best holiday song I have ever heard.”  Pulling your new blanket around the both of you, “I still hate it, but-”

“But?”, his eyebrow arched in surprise, waiting for you to continue.

“But I don’t hate it as much.” Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, playfully ribbing you, “Do I have to force you into having another Wonderful Christmastime?” Biting your bottom lip, you returned the favor by sweeping a stray lock of Loki’s black hair over his shoulder, “Babe, you could make crazy, insane love to me each day and every night… and-” “And?”  Kissing Loki lightly on the nose, you stood up on shaky legs and started towards the hallway.  At the entry way you turned back letting the blanket fall to the floor, “-And Wonderful Christmastime would still suck.”  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To My Many Minxes:  @toomanystoriessolittletime @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely @lots-of-loki @thefallenbibliophilequote @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @iamverity @mizfit2 @sammy-jo1977 @wolfsmom1 @jessiejunebug @iluvsumbucky @unadulteratedwizardlove @procrastinatinglikeabitch @shxdowofdarkness @nonsensicalobsessions @ahintofkiwistrawberry @alexakeyloveloki @rorybutnotgilmore @crystalizedcaramel @lokislittlecorner @capcapcapsicle @jamielea81 @caffiend-queen @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @jenjen8675309 @that-one-person @roguewraith

#stephschristmaswritingchallenge #loki x you #loki x reader #loki smut #loki holiday #loki christmas #loki christmas smut #marvel smut #marvel holiday #marvel holiday smut

[oohfluffy]

TIHM Ch.20 | BBH

Group: EXO

Member: Byun Baekhyun

Theme: Angst | Fluff | Rated M | University!AU | Football!AU

Word Count: 4,950

chapter 20

You nibbled on your straw as you nervously watched him play on the field.

You've just arrived ten minutes ago right after your Wednesday class ended. Since you didn't have a work shift today, which Baekhyun knew as he already memorized your working schedule, you were dragged here to watch him practice. Although you preferred to study at home, you couldn't say no to that guy.

Not after indirectly accepting his confession yesterday.

Your cheeks automatically blushed at the thought of what transpired at the hallway yesterday. You looked down at the lemonade drink he bought for you earlier, a smile getting to your lips as you remembered his words.

"Here, baby. You just sit there prettily, and watch me. I'll get back to you whenever we take a break." Baekhyun grinned as he gently placed the plastic cup of a well-known café in your hand. Before you could even utter a word, he leaned on your face and pecked your forehead. "I'll take you home later, okay?"

And like a weak chick you are, you responded with a nod as if in a trance.

"Hmm, 'kay."

"I was wondering why Byun is in such a good mood and is basically smashing the game big time." You grunted as you saw your best friend walking towards your seat. "And the reason is right over here." She bowed at you as if greeting a higher-up, making you attempt to kick her shin.

"I forgot you're practicing here as well, Jiwon-ah."

"How heartless, Jin-ah. How could you forget?" Jiwon pouted as she sat beside you, slumping on the bench like a lifeless being. "So, I'm guessing you chose the latter."

You stared at her for a while, seeing how her eyes drifted towards the field. Her lips curled up into a smile as she looked back at you. Grabbing your other hand, she squeezed it in assurance. You don't know why, but your heart felt so relieved.

"I might always sound like I don't want you to be with Byun, but I'm your best friend." She mumbled as she looked down at your hand. "I want you to know that I've got your back, always. I just don't want you getting hurt because of love, may it be for friendship or something else. Not again."

Jiwon has always been there. Although we only became friends almost a year after the incident, she didn't get swayed by others' words or the rumors about me. She was the only one who believed me.

With these thoughts occupying your mind, you gave her the widest smile you could ever give to someone. Her eyes slightly widened at your expression, one that she has not witnessed in the past years of being with you.

"I'm happy to have you, Jiwon-ah. I'm very grateful." You said as you squeezed her hand too, cheeks trembling with your smile. You wanted to cry right now. "I'm sorry if I did nothing but to make you worry about me. I-I swear I won't be reckless—"

"Oh shut up, Lee Saejin. It's my duty as your best friend to worry about you, and yours to me as well! S-Stop making that pitiful expression." She tsked as she pinched your cheek, making you groan.

"Jiwon-ah! We'll start in a few!" You recognized one of her friends in the higher year called her from a distance. They were warming up for their practice near the grandstand.

"Oof, that's my cue then." Jiwon huffed as she stood up. "Byun will take you home, right?"

Your cheeks reddened at the mention of his name.

"Y-Yeah. You can come with us—"

"I might as well die trying to get in between your lovey-dovey time. No thanks." She chuckled while patting your head. "I'll get home by dinner, so cook for us, okay? I'll be looking forward to it!"

"Alright."

"Oh! And help me pack my things for the break later, please?"

You smiled as you watched her run back to her group, easily blending in to the outgoing atmosphere. You wondered why she chose to befriend a loner like you. That goes for Baekhyun as well though.

You almost forgot that the winter break is getting nearer, specifically two weeks from now. Right after the last football game of the year, the break will start. You remembered that Jiwon will be going to her boyfriend's hometown since he's finally back from the States after a year.

What should I do for the holidays then? Should I just work at the café for the entire holiday season? That will be tiring, but money is the best.

You chuckled at your thought as you shook your head. It is true, but maybe, you can rest for a week or two without doing anything at home. Just reading, eating, watching, and writing.

"I guess the rumors are true. Baekhyun oppa really brought her here!"

"How'd she manage to seduce him?! This is unacceptable."

"From Lisa to a garbage? I'm sure oppa has been cursed."

"Our poor Baekhyun oppa!"

Your mood got spoiled as your hearing sensed the bees trying to sting you at your back. With how loud their voices were, you knew that they intended to let you hear them just to irritate you. Unfortunately for them, you were immune to such harsh commentaries. No thank you for the past few years of hearing shit, huh?

Just in time as you glanced back at the field, you saw Baekhyun trudging back at you with a frown. Your furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. Did he do bad in practice? He was playing with so much vigor earlier while casually looking back at you. Why is he—

"You're not paying attention to me, Saejin-ah." He spoke as he stood right in front of you. You were actually seated at the front bench, where they left their water jugs and towels, thus, you get all the glares from the audience at the back. Baekhyun said he wants you near his sight, so he placed you at their bench.

This is why I can't seem to look around freely.

"I am! I was just talking to Jiwon for a while." You exclaimed as you looked up at his sweaty figure. You gulped at the sight. "I-Is it your break already?"

Who looks good while they're sweating and... breathless? This guy.

"No." Baekhyun said as he sat closely beside you. His jersey touching your shoulders gave you an unexpected sense of comfort. You moved a bit away from him before turning your head to him because for your heart's sake, you wouldn't be able to breathe being too close to him.

"What? Junmyeon sunbae will surely get mad at me!" You exclaimed, instantly glancing back at the field where the boys were. They are still practicing with the captain shouting as he pointed to their positions. "He's been glaring at me for sometime now."

"Eh, I'll be back after I recharge."

"Recharge?" You mumbled incredulously as he turned to you, leaning his upper body on the bench behind him. Your gaze drifted to his jug that was just beside you, and realized that he must be thirsty from the practice. "Oh."

Taking the towel that has a small BBH initials at the ends from the other side, you faced him again with a determined expression. He tilted his head in wonder as you placed the jug in his slender hand.

"Drink." You said while patting his wet cheeks with the towel in your hand. "You're so sweaty. No wonder why you stink so much." You stifled a laugh as his lips frowned more, giving you enough confidence to help him recharge.

With your serious eyes wandering from his forehead down to his neck, Baekhyun felt too comfortable that he was already feeling hot from your stare. His tongue clicked as you were too busy dabbing his towel on his face, unconscious of how you were affecting him right now. He can't even bring his jug up to his mouth without staring at yours.

"Why aren't you drinking? Do you want the lemonade instead?" You asked with an eyebrow raised. You stopped wiping his sweat off and let the towel rest on his shoulder. "Wait, I'll buy—"

"I don't need a drink."

His voice was deep and hoarse. You would have argued that he sounded like he really needs a drink right now, but his gaze was too... intense. He placed his jug back at his side, sliding a bit closer to you as if noticing the distance you've managed to build between the two of you.

"But you said you wanted to recharge?"

"It's a hassle to take off this jersey, so I can't hug you. It's dirty too, so no." Baekhyun huffed as he patted his chest. His uniform is indeed brownish already since he kept on rolling on the ground and running. "A pat on the head will do."

"Pat on the head?" You incredulously asked, a smile creeping up your face. You suddenly figured out what recharging meant to him. "I-Is that suppose to be your way of recharging?"

Baekhyun just slightly bowed his head near you, shaking it like a dog wanting to be pet. You consciously looked around with trembling lips. You wanted to chuckle so bad, but this guy is seriously asking for a pat on the head.

When you saw that most of the people around you were watching the practice or minding their own businesses, you reached your hand out to Baekhyun's head. He smiled as your palm rubbed his grayish hair gently.

"Is this enough?" You mumbled while combing your fingers through his hair. He hummed, and suddenly leaned his face closer to yours. You cleared your throat as your eyes glanced at the bleachers behind you, where a group of girls were watching. Fortunately, they weren't focused on you despite Baekhyun's presence.

I wonder why they tend to avoid my eyes when he's here.

"Can I ask for more?"

"Hmm?" You looked back at the man in front of you, and widened your eyes at the little distance between the two of you. "B-Baek."

He pouted his lips as if to elaborate his request, his eyes twinkling in anticipation. You could already hear Junmyeon's call from the field, making your heart thump in panic. You tapped Baekhyun's chest as you glanced at the boys he left practicing.

"Captain's calling you—"

"I won't go until you kiss me. Just once!"

"Byun Baekhyun, go. We're in a public place—"

"The hallways are public places too!" He argued with the most childish voice you have ever heard in your life. You stifled a snort as the blush spread across your cheeks, remembering the outrageous act you have done yesterday with him.

W-Well, that's right.

"T-That was—"

"LEE SAEJIN, IF YOU DON'T BRING THAT BASTARD BACK HERE, I'M SUING YOU!" Junmyeon's loud voice rang through the air, making you cringe at the threatening tone. The other boys just laughed loudly as they teased the said boy.

"Come on, Jin-ah. They're waiting." Baekhyun's lips curled into a smirk, eyes now full of mischief and seduction. "Just a peck, please. Pretty pweaseee?"

You sighed in defeat as you playfully slapped both of your hands on his cheeks, earning a grunt from him.

"Okay, just a peck and you run back there, alright?"

"Deal."

After squishing his cheeks for a bit, you leaned towards his face and closed your eyes. The second your lips touched his, Baekhyun moaned in delight as if his thirst was finally quenched. You chuckled as he tried to bite your lower lip in an attempt to deepen the kiss. He was frustrated that he couldn't touch you fully as much as he wanted because he was dirty, and the last thing he desired is getting the dirt to your white shirt.

Before pulling away, you intentionally glided your tongue on his, not knowing it would spark something inside of him. With a triumphant smile, you patted his chest once again to remind him of the deal. His expression cannot be read, but he was totally at the edge of frustration.

"Run, Byun." You pointed at the field as you heard the boys cheered and shouted for Baekhyun. "They're waiting."

Baekhyun incredulously stared back at you, lips plump and parted.

"I don't think I can practice now. I got a hard—"

"Just go! Junmyeon's going to sue me!" You pushed him off of his seat, forcefully making him stand. "If you don't go there now, I'm going to be mad. Big time."

He scratched the back of his head, glancing at his team before gazing back at you longingly. You smiled at his soft gaze. You reached for his hand and squeezed it.

"I'll be right here."

He nodded with a grin, looking at your small hand grasping his longer ones. Baekhyun took your words as his motivation to go. Finally, taking a step forward.

Not before stealing another kiss from your lips though.

"WOOH! BYUN FOR THE WIN!" Kai shouted as he pumped his fist to the air, earning laughs and cheers from the other boys. They were all waiting for his return, probably using the time as their break. Junmyeon was even laughing along with them.

Your whole face was on fire as you watched Baekhyun run back to the field energetically, as if he really recharged while being with you. You didn't even want to look at your best friend's reaction from the corner. Sitting back up straight, you gripped on Baekhyun's towel on your lap.

How will you get used to this, Lee Saejin?

—

"Where's your boyfriend? I don't see him around." Jisoo asked as she looked around the cafè. You stopped on your tracks, hearing the 'b' word.

"I-I don't have a boyfriend, unnie. He's..." You slowly put down the plates on the tray, waiting for Rocky to serve the order. "...my suitor?"

"You sure about that?" Jisoo chuckled as your eyebrows scrunched in wonder.

"W-Well, we haven't really talked about it. I mean, how do you start a conversation about it?" You bit your lower lip, tapping on the counter impatiently.

You were actually thinking about your official relationship status with Baekhyun these past few days, but you cannot get an answer without an agreement from him, right? He's probably in the suitor stage.

But is he still up for courtship? Will anyone keep a Byun Baekhyun in the waiting area?

"One iced americano, please."

You instinctively bowed at the customer, moving away from the counter to prepare whatever he was about to order. Jisoo hummed in delight as she tugged you towards the cashier area.

"What—"

When you looked up at the customer, you realized why Jisoo placed you here instead. She cleared her throat as she smiled at him. Somi, who was by the coffee machine, formed her lips to an 'o' as if getting what was happening. You inwardly facepalmed at the situation.

"Ehm, one iced americano..." Your fingers tingle as you tapped on the screen in front of you, feeling his gaze piercing through you. "Anything else?"

"Hmm, two slices of strawberry cheesecake and..." He hummed as he looked through the display glass. "... what else do you want, baby?"

You shivered at the endearment as you stopped sliding your finger against the screen. Looking back up, he was alone, and obviously that question was for you. He raised his eyebrows up as you met his eyes, waiting for your answer.

"B-Baekhyun, I'm working." You lowered your voice, hearing Jisoo's laugh nearby. "You'll be eating by yourself—"

"I'll save it for you later then." He jutted his lower lip out as he blinked his eyes rapidly.

Why does he have to be so cute and annoying?

"One iced americano, two slices of strawberry cheesecake..." You looked into his expectant eyes as you spoke. "... and two honey glazed bagels."

That did it. Baekhyun paid the bill with a grin, squeezing your hand in the process. He winked before sitting on the nearest available seat. You're not sure if you can focus on work like this. Him within your sight range? No.

"Jisoo unnie, please take the wheel. I'll just go back in helping Woobin oppa at the kitchen." You quickly went to the back, welcoming Woobin's commands with a smile.

"Oh, Saejin-ah." Mingyu, who finally got back in duty, called out. You waved at him as he was on the other side of the room, getting new paper cups from the boxes. "Hyunjin went to clean the men's bathrooms. Can you help here instead?"

"Okay!"

After two hours of being swept with several customers, your mind drifted to Baekhyun. The last time you got to glance back at him was an hour ago when he was still sipping on his americano while scrolling on his phone.

He wouldn't wait for another three hours, right?

"Saejin!" Hearing the familiar voice of Aunt Jinah, you instantly looked back. She was placing her wet umbrella on the stand beside the entrance. You took that opportunity to glance at the seat where Baekhyun should be in, but he wasn't there. "You're still here? I thought you're leaving by 6?"

"Aunt Jinah, let me get that coat for you." You smiled at her, helping her take off the coat. "Me? Why would I leave by 6? My shift ends at 8:30 though?"

"Y-You must have forgotten you asked me before." She nervously laughed as she patted your hand. "Go pack up. Your boyfriend's waiting outside."

Why do they keep on saying that?

"He's not—"

"Rocky, Somi, and Mingyu are on the clock now anyway. You can go." Aunt Jinah smiled as she pointed at the three employees. She meant that the crew can handle the work efficiently now that they were present. You couldn't deny that the past weeks without all of them were kind of unstable, so having them here was a relief. "Enjoy, alright?"

"You can rest easy, Saejin unnie. There's not many customers by this time anyway." Somi grinned while ringing the bell, placing down the cup of coffee on the tray. Rocky instantly went to get the order and smoothly trudged through the tables.

"You've worked hard."

You weren't certain if you really just forgot about asking for an early leave, or some external force was intentionally dragging you out. You watched as Aunt Jinah greeted the whole crew, casually reminding them their tasks and noticing various things around.

You scratched the back of your head in confusion as everyone was already back to their work. You walked back to the locker room to get your things. It was the first time that you'd be the first one to leave, and you were wondering what can be the occasion today that will make you ask for an early leave.

"I'll be leaving then." You slightly bowed at Aunt Jinah, who just waved at you with an encouraging smile. Jisoo gave you a thumbs up while Somi grinned.

As you left the café, you heard a horn from the side. You instantly recognized the black Mustang on the first row of cars. Seeing Baekhyun waving from the window, you walked towards it instead with your lips tingling.

"Did you get too bored?" You asked him as soon as you got in the passenger's seat. You instantly saw the paper bag with your bagels.

"No, I didn't. I heard from your boss that you have an early leave today, so I was excitedly waiting for you." He answered with a grin as he cooly reversed the vehicle with ease. You watched as he seriously gazed at the side mirror outside while turning the steering wheel. Your gaze dropped at his hands that are gripping the wheel, his veins protruding a bit with the force he is using towards it.

His hands are really pretty, but at the same time, really really seductive.

Bothered with your thoughts, your eyebrows knitted as you observed his hands.

How can his hands be pretty and sexy at the same time? Is that possible? No wonder people compliments not only his piano skills, but his hands too. Mine looks like an old lady's.

"What are you thinking about?" Baekhyun noticed your silence as he drove through the street. Glancing at your side, he saw that you were intensely looking at his hands.

"Your hands."

"Hmm, my hands?" He said with amusement while spreading his hands on the wheel.

"Pretty." You mumbled a compliment as you looked at your own hands. Your left pinky was wrapped with a band-aid as you got a small cut from the kitchen earlier. Your fingers look exhausted and sad.

Baekhyun gazed at your hands and smoothly slipped his right on your left. You were surprised that he was also looking at you, his eyes gentle and attentive.

"Y-You're driving! Eyes on the road!" You mumbled in panic as he intertwined his fingers with yours. You looked away from him, taking the opportunity to hide your reddening cheeks by gazing down your lap. Now you could clearly see how pretty his hand is.

"Yes, ma'am!" Baekhyun said in a firm tone, a smile playing on his lips as he looked back at the front.

"Where are we going anyway?" You suddenly asked.

"Somewhere."

The mall.

You forgot when was the last time you've gone to the mall. You almost gasped at the bright lights when you got inside with Baekhyun. He still has your hand in his, keeping you close while you walk side by side.

The car was actually parked by the valet employee, so you could enter the mall through the front entrance easily. You wondered if this mall was a high-class one.

"What are we doing at the mall?"

"Shopping? Date?" He mumbled his answers as he looked at you, who was curiously looking around with twinkling eyes. "Ah, I actually have an appointment today."

"Hmm? Where?"

Without answering your question, he just led you both to his destination where his appointment was. Baekhyun was being stared at as usual, women of different age were ogling at him without restraint. But fortunately, they weren't bold enough to come up to him.

Why does he have to be so popular? I'm gonna break these women's necks!

"What are we going to do here? It's already quarter to 7 pm."

"We're here."

When you looked at the front, you saw a beautifully decorated salon. The color theme was white and gold, making a surreal aesthetic visual of the place. From the outside, you can see expensive looking velvet couches and high chairs. The lights weren't too blinding, but pleasing enough to see with. The mirrors in front of each revolving salon chair have their own vanity lights—

"Welcome, Mr. Byun! We've been waiting." You didn't even notice the employees lined up at the entrance. Your lips parted in awe and shock. "I'll lead you inside then."

"B-Baek, what's this? Why does it seem like they're welcoming the president or a royalty here?" You whispered at him as he walked with you inside, passing the bowing employees quietly. You were too scared to speak louder because hell, the place was empty except for the presence of the employees and you two. "Did you just rent this whole place out?"

"I don't need to rent it out, baby." Baekhyun chuckled as he watched you look around cautiously. He looked at the employee that greeted you both, who seems like the manager of the salon. His playful eyes turned back to serious. "The usual—ah, not the usual. Give me a cut, and black."

"What—"

"What do you want, hmm? Tell me." Baekhyun's voice was gentle as he spoke to you, in contrast to how he spoke to the personnel. You awkwardly looked around. His fingers twirled around your hair.

I don't think I could have my hair cut here.

"I just want to watch you then." You lifted your eyes to him, watching how he admired your hair.

"Hmm, okay." Baekhyun smiled.

When Baekhyun sat on the black revolving chair, you were led to the nearest couch. You could clearly see and watch him from here. His eyes easily caught yours, turning into crescent moons as soon as they did. You waved a magazine at him to assure him you were comfortable there.

The salon was sensible enough to play some music throughout the place. Most of the employees went back to their respective stations, making you feel at ease because you cannot stay any longer under their curious gazes.

I didn't know Baekhyun was very highly respected, even here. His family is really no joke, huh?

"Would you like some tea, Ms. Lee?" You almost slipped off of your seat when a female employee came up to you. "It wouldn't take more than an hour for Mr. Byun's haircut, but we would like to see you comfortable enough as you wait."

"Uhm, no thanks—"

"We insist." She smiled.

"W-Water then."

"Alright, I'll be back."

After less than an hour, you were in the middle of reading the fifth fashion magazine when you heard Baekhyun's voice. Figuring that he must be done already, you placed back everything to the stack of reading materials on the side.

"Thank you for your patronage, Mr. Byun. It was nice to have you again."

"Saejin-ah, let's go." Baekhyun reached for your hand as soon as he got close enough to you. It was like the most casual thing you've been doing with him these past few weeks.

Were we acting like lovers before without being conscious about it?!

"Sorry, you must be so bored—"

"No, it was fun—"

You forgot to even look at him closely.

His hair is now dyed black, undercut and parted in the middle with his bangs loosely framing his pretty face. Although it still looks fluffy, he looks more intimidating in this hairstyle and haircut. You couldn't help but to reach out and touch it.

"Wow." — the only word you could come up with at the moment.

Baekhyun smiled at you, eyes mesmerized with the way you are looking at him right now. He bowed his head lower to let you touch his hair more, which you gladly welcomed. He can feel your breathing on his neck, making him feel things.

"Handsome." You giggled as you carefully scratched the sides of his head, feeling the roughness of the newly shaved part. "It looks good on you."

"Did you fall for me now?" He mumbled quietly as he held your waist closer. "I told you, you will when I dye my hair black." He chuckled, hands freely caressing you.

Hmm? I think I remember that conversation.

"I wonder if black hair suits you better."

"Any color suits me, love."

"Oh really."

"You'd probably fall for me when I dye my hair black."

You stifled a laugh, patting his cheeks as you remembered. Baekhyun pouted his lips, thinking that you were mocking him instead.

"You're hurting my feelings."

"Pss. You don't even have to dye your hair black."

When he heard your reply, his eyes turned into their usual crescent moon shapes as he happily gazed at you. Your cheeks flamed when you realized what you just said. In front of the many employees waiting around you—

"O-Oh, we should go." You bowed at the employees as you tugged Baekhyun out of the salon.

That was embarrassing! Did we seriously just flirt inside of a salon with several eyes and ears— ah shit.

"I think I'm getting too aggressive and bold like you, Baekhyun-ah." You unconsciously said as you breathed out when you got outside.

"I like it."

"Aish, this guy."

Baekhyun stopped right in front of you with a smile that almost blinded you for the nth time. His black hair can kill, damn it. His hands covered your flushing cheeks, making you feel warm. When he leaned in, you knew what was coming.

*smooch *smooch *smooch

His cute mouth made sounds as he pecked your lips repeatedly without any shame. Your eyes remained open, still not conscious enough to respond. Feeling the one-sided act, Baekhyun bit your lower lip carefully. His perfect teeth dug a small dent on your mouth, letting him earn a moan from you.

When you had the chance to peel him off of your lips, you placed your weak hands on his chest.

"I-I don't think we should be doing this here."

"'Cause it's a public place?" Baekhyun said with a smirk, his arms now dangling around your waist. His lips lingered over your cheek, letting you breathe and speak.

"N-Not just that, because it's inappropriate!"

"Car then?"

"Shut up!" You hit his broad chest as he laughed.

"Baekhyun?"

His laugh subsided and your breathing got stable when you suddenly heard a female voice. It was full, firm, and stern. You pushed Baekhyun away as he hesitantly took a step back to turn to the one who called him. A smile was still on his face until he recognized the woman in front of him.

She is in a wheelchair.

There are two body guards behind her, excluding the woman pushing her wheelchair. Her clothes were classy; her jewelries exude elegance; and her hair pinned in a neat bun. Her presence was intimidating but graceful enough for you to take a second glance.

You didn't know who she was, but you kind of got the hint that she was someone powerful and important as Baekhyun bowed his head in respect. You just slightly bowed your head, following him.

You wouldn't have heard his voice if not for the close distance between the two of you.

"Mom."

—

An early New Year gift from fluffy-nim!

Tagging my loves: ❤

@byuncock | @neogoturback | @jisungispilledmyuwus | @shesdreaminginoverdose | @precious-seungwooya | @junmyeonimissyou | @baekhyunsdangerouswoman | @jummyjammy | @tobiosbbyghorl | @lalalala-lav | @thoughtsofidk | @byuniieo | @feline-xiu | @banddits | @half-moon-x | @byunxo | @strawbaeri-s​ | @vishary15​ | @hansolturnt​ | @jungkooksworld18​ | @kingkushdealer​ | @marovekian1​ | @chloebarlin​ | @lifewithsehun​ | @dobomiyeon​ | @kpopseregi​ | @starrybbhx​ | @making-me-blush​ | @bbh-kji​ | @cam-peggio​ | @sehunnies-hunnie96​ | @chanvan61 | @cherish-you 

I don’t know why I can’t tag some of you huhu. I hope you guys can still see it! Stay safe. 

—

♫ Ch.21

#exo #exo fanfic #exo series #exo imagine #exo fluff #exo angst #exo x oc #exo x reader #exo x you #kpop fanfic #kpop imagine #kpop series #kpop fluff #kpop angst #exo baekhyun #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun angst #baekyun x you #baekhyun x oc #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun series #baekhyun fanfic #university!au #exo football au

[bqstqnbruin]

Teach Me Something

I am slowly but surely making my way through the requests that I have and I am sorry that I suck at writing them, but here this is. Also, ignore the fact that this can’t actually happen how I have it set up, but I started writing the beginning and really liked it and then looked up more information about the Stampede and didn’t want to change it (don’t judge me).

Thank you, thank you, thank you to @luvsherleafs​ for reading through this and helping me figure this out, you are an absolute angel human and I appreciate you.

Here is the original request! Hope you like this!

EDIT: Read the other parts: part 2 // part 3 // part 4

__________________

“Alright, I need you guys to start cleaning up, the bell is going to ring in five minutes! Beakers in the cabinets, lab goggles away, paper towels in the garbage. Lab calculations are due at the start of tomorrow’s class, and you have your nuclear quiz when?” you yell to your students as they finish up their lab.

“Wednesday,” some of your students answer.

“Cooper and Eugenie, when is the quiz?” you say louder, trying to get two of your students to stop distracting each other.

“Wednesday,” they chorus, the rest of their classmates running around the room trying to get everything away. 

“That’s right!” you say with a smile, trying to keep your teacher face on for the last few minutes. It was the end of the day, and you had to get home and change before you went over the Stampede for the show that night. What sucked, was that instead of doing just a July week of shows, they decided it would be fun to do a preview night for some groups in March in some tent instead of outdoors like normal, overlapping with your school year. 

The bell rings, your students scrambling to get out the door. “Bye, guys, see you tomorrow,” you say as they scurry out, saying things like ‘thank you, bye Ms. Y/L/I, see you tomorrow.’ You sit down at your desk, letting out a long sigh as the sound of students in the hallway gets louder from chatter, lockers, and overall high school chaos. Going through your lesson for tomorrow, you get lost in typing out your plan that the administration wanted to see, finishing the worksheets that you needed to print, and figuring out what other prep you needed to do before leaving for the day. 

You lean back in your desk chair, debating whether or not you should send the worksheets to the printer now and make the 100 or so copies you needed, or come in and do it during your prep that you had first period tomorrow. “Hey Ms. Y/L/N, any chance you could tell me about capillary action?” you heard a familiar voice say from the doorway. 

“Considering you learn about that in Biology and I teach Chemistry, I would say no,” you laugh, getting up to go greet your boyfriend, closing the door behind him as he steals your desk chair. “The US education system failed you, didn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not like I paid attention in science anyway,” he shrugs, “But what are you doing tonight?”

“I’m out tonight,” you say. You and Matthew had only been dating for about two months, and you still hadn’t brought up that you were one of the dancers with the Stampede. You didn’t know why; it just never came up. “Why, what did you have in mind?”

“The guys and I were going to go out for some Flames promotion thing, I wanted you to come.”

“If you guys go out after ten, I can try to catch up with you, but I also need sleep with school tomorrow,” you say as he pouts. You also needed more money, but that wasn’t something you were about to tell him. You ruffle his curly hair, him swatting your hands away as the pout turns to a smile. “You can come and make copies with me if you want. You have to wait to leave right now anyway, the buses are still outside,” you tell him, sending the documents to the printer down the hall. 

“Do I get to press the buttons?” he asks like a child, getting up to follow you down the hall.

You start walking, the sound of your heels echoing through the hallway as Matthew trails behind you, some of the students trying to figure out what he was doing in their school in the first place, him not knowing where he was going with you. “No, the thing is ancient and I don’t trust you not to break the one copier on this floor because then I’m the one who’s responsible for fixing it.” He starts to pout again, following you into the room with the copier. “Ok, then do you want to fix it when it stops working?” 

“That would end well for no one,” he says, looking down at his shoes. 

You can’t help but laugh as you go to start making the first set of copies that you needed. You sit down at the table in the center of the room, taking Matthews fidgeting hands in yours. “So, how did you even get into the school, to begin with? I didn’t know you were coming to tell the office.”

“You’d be amazed by what you can do when you’re a professional athlete. I just said I was visiting you and they told me I could go once the bell rang,” he shrugs. 

“That is an issue on so many levels,” you say, him just smiling and kissing the back of your hand. 

“Eh, well. Are you sure you can’t come out with us tonight? The guys love you and I think you’d have a really good time tonight.” 

You hear the copier stop, groaning as you get up to make the next batch. You could have just queued them all up at once, but that would make the copier angry. “What are you guys doing?” 

“It’s Flames night at the Stampede, so a bunch of us are going.” 

You stop what you’re entering into the copier, thankful that your back is facing Matthew. You should just tell him you were going to be there tonight, too. If you told him you were going to be there with other friends from work, that wouldn’t be a lie. Why weren’t you telling him in the first place? Maybe it was because you were slightly upset that you had to have two jobs just to make ends meet while he was living a life of luxury on one paycheck. But at least both jobs were ones that you loved, so that made things a little better. “Oh, cool. I’ve never seen one of the shows there, actually,” was all you could get out. That wasn’t totally a lie; you couldn’t see the show when you were in it.

“See, more of a reason why you should come out with us tonight!” 

“I said maybe. That’s not a no. Now come on, I need to get home,” you hand him the stacks of paper to bring back to your classroom.

“Can we at least do something tomorrow night?” he pleads, putting the papers down on your desk. 

“I need one copy of these in the yellow and orange folders and one copy of this one in the pink folders, and one copy of this in the blue folders,” you instruct him while you check to see if you have another rehearsal or anything that you need to be at tomorrow night. “But what do you want to do tomorrow night?” 

“Uh, well, I was planning on getting in an early workout with Noah and Johnny the next morning since we have a late flight to Colorado so nothing that involves anything late,” he says, trying to concentrate on putting one piece of paper into each folder. “Why do you do this again?”

“Nothing late is the best, so I’m down for whatever.” That also, hopefully, meant that it was something that involved little to no money being spent, “And it helps me know who is missing that day or just didn’t take their papers and it helps them make sure they get their papers. I put them out before each class and they take them when they walk in.” He just shrugs, not completely understanding the method to your madness, but it worked for you and your students, so who cared? “How much time do you have before you have to meet the guys?” You ask him, even though you really don’t have time yourself. 

“I gotta run; this was the only time I had to see you, so I wanted to come by,” he says, putting the folders in neat piles, handing them to you. 

“That’s so sweet. I feel like we haven’t gotten to see each other a lot lately, with the season picking up and all.” You put the folders on one of the counters in your room, dropping the two on the top.

As you bend down to pick them up, you hear Matthew exhale, “Is it bad that all I can think of is picking you up and doing some very bad things to you on that counter?”

You turn around, pretending to be disgusted. “Matthew! The students leave their water bottles here!” you squeal, thankful that your classroom door was closed since students were still roaming the halls. “That might be something we can do tomorrow night, just not on this counter.” You pack your computer in your bag, grabbing that, your keys, and Matthew’s hand to drag him out of the school before he says anything else that shouldn’t be said around children. 

“Can I at least kiss you in the parking lot?” he whines.

“Nope, my spot and therefore my car faces the track, some of my advanced kids are on the track team and I do not need them bringing up my romantic rendezvous with my boyfriend in class tomorrow and for the rest of the year. But where are you parked?”

“I ubered. Can I get a ride?” he says, giving you the puppy dog eyes that always made you say yes to him.

“Get in, pain in the ass.” You drive him home, the entire drive spent with him constantly begging you to go upstairs with him, but you really did have to get home and change. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Your place or mine?” 

“Your pick, just text me when you decide,” he says, leaning over to give you a kiss. “Wait, are we far enough away from the school for you to kiss me now?” he teases, ghosting your lips as a mischievous smile dancing across his face. 

“Shut up and kiss me,” you say, taking his face in your hands, kissing him instead. 

“Are you sure you can’t come upstairs for just a minute?” he begs once he pulls away, his forehead against yours.

You wanted to, but he did say he had to run and you definitely had to get home and change. Looking at the clock out of the corner of your eye, you had about an hour to get home, get ready, and get over to the grounds before the parking was so full that walking from your car to the grounds would be considered your warm-up. “I’ve really got to go,” you say.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, though,” he says, giving you another quick kiss before getting out of your car. 

“Yeah, bye,” you call as he runs inside. You did have to tell him eventually that you had another job, but he was going to find out tonight anyway. Would he be mad that you kept something like this from him, especially when he told you that he was going to be there tonight and you stood there and didn’t say anything? 

You spend your entire drive home freaking out a little. This is a pretty big part of your life that you hid from him, especially since dancing has been part of your life for as long as you could remember, but you just couldn’t figure out how to tell him you needed a second job to live. What if he hates you because you’ve been keeping part of your life a secret from him? No, he couldn’t hate you, could he? Not for something like this. In all your freaking out, you completely mess up your makeup. Frustrated and in a hurry, you now had to completely redo your face in what would be record time, or be late enough that you risked walking a mile from your car.

You restart your makeup, deciding that you were going to do as little as possible, only to be distracted by your friend Rory's face popping up on your phone with an incoming call. “So is your hunky boyfriend going to be at this thing tonight?”

“Hello to you, too. And yeah he told me he was coming.”

“So he knows you’re going to be there?” 

You hear her drop something on her end, which is perfect since it gives you time to avoid her question, pretend not to hear it as your finish your face and try to run out the door. “Sorry, Ror, didn’t catch that, I’m running out the door to my car,” you tell her. 

“That translates to: no, I didn’t tell him.” 

“Well, he’s not stupid, he’ll be able to figure out it’s me when he sees my face. It’s not like I look that different when I have makeup on.” 

“You could call him and tell him right now.”

“Nope. He’ll find out when he gets there if he even notices.”

“Alright, love. Just make sure you find me after he freaks out,” she says, hanging up. He wouldn’t freak out, right? It’s not like you were lying per se, you were just not telling him the truth of things. He might be a little mad about not telling him exactly where you were going tonight, but none of what you told him was wrong: you were out with people you worked with. You just didn’t say you were going to actually be at work. 

You spend your entire ride trying to justify to yourself why you shouldn’t be freaking out over tonight, which then inadvertently caused you to freak out anyway. After parking what felt like a mile away and pretty much running to the room where you got ready, Rory is standing at the door, waiting for you. 

“Come here, I’m finishing your makeup.”

“I finished my makeup!” you protest as she takes you by the hand and drags you in front of a mirror.

“If your boyfriend is coming tonight, then you need to look better than that.” 

“He came to my classroom earlier and I almost never wear makeup to school. I look fine.” 

“Eyes closed,” she instructs. You do as she says. You can hear the crowd coming in to watch the show that you were about to put on for them. You were in the opening act, one in the middle, and then the end, so you had plenty of downtime to worry, pace, and freakout, while trying to remember your routine and get a headstart on your lessons for next week. “I don’t understand why you’ve spent this entire time dancing here with us and then dating him for what, two months now? And he still doesn’t know that much about you? Like I understand keeping mystery in the relationship to keep everything exciting, but this seems like basic information that should have been shared. It’s not like you’re doing something illegal.”

“If my eyes were open, I’d be rolling them at you,” you mutter. You didn’t need a lecture from her about this. You were already well aware of the fact that this was something you should have told him, but what could you do about it now?

“I’m just saying,” she starts again.

“Yes, I know, I know. You have been just saying since I first showed you his picture.” Thankfully, she stops talking, finishing your makeup in less time than you thought it would take. You can hear your phone buzzing in your bag, Matthew’s face lighting up your screen. “Hey, what’s up?” you ask, trying to change while also holding the phone to your ear. 

“Just wanted to say hi before the show started,” you hear him say, the guys screaming in his ear about him already being whipped. “Shut up,” he yells at them. “I thought I saw your car in the lot, though. Did you and your friends end up coming here or something?” 

Shit. You hear someone calling that it was almost time for the show, everyone needing to get ready to be in their place as you struggle to get your other shoe on. “Fuck, sorry, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later, bye!” you spit out, hanging up before he can say anything else. 

“Ready to be exposed?” Rory asks, getting next to you with the lights out.

“That’s what she said,” you slip in, the music and lights coming on, blinding you instantly as you went into the routine like it was something you were born to do. At one point in the routine, you’re off to the side, out of the spotlight and giving your vision enough time to see the audience, make out their faces and see who was paying attention and who was on their phone and trying to hide you. You glance to the left, seeing a sea of red, each man wearing the familiar C logo that you were suddenly mortified to see. You spotted Matthew’s curls instantly, thankful that you weren’t able to tell if he could see you or not since you had to go back under the light, erasing the outside world from you. 

The routine ends, you running back to where you get ready to see your phone lighting up with texts from Matthew.

Hey, what the hell?

Anything you need to tell me?

I’m going to be by your car once this is over. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He was mad. He was breaking up with you. This was it; your best relationship was over before it really got started. You should have just told him. Why didn’t you tell him? “Did he see you?” Rory asks, breaking you out of the trance you forced yourself into. 

“Yep, and he’s mad. After tonight I’m going to be single again, so that’s fun.”

“Well, Ryan’s had a crush on you since you started here, so there’s always him.”

“Rory!” you yell, trying to tell her she’s not helping without actually saying so. 

“Are you going to be ok to go on?” she asks, sitting you down on the floor with her. 

“I don’t know. I just want to talk to Matthew,” you admit. You can feel yourself start to cry, the commotion of everything around you muted as she just looked at you.

“Hey,” she says, putting her hand on your knee, “Why didn’t you tell him?”

You take in a deep breath, shaking your head because of how dumb the real reason is. “Do you know what it’s like to date someone who makes so much money that he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants financially? I’m not mad about it, it’s just difficult when I have to work two jobs to make ends meet and that’s just not something he has to worry about. He always wants to go out with the guys and begs me to come but then I’m sitting there with like, ten dollars to my name meanwhile all of he and all of his friends can buy the bar if they wanted to and still have enough money to jet off to Australia or somewhere.”

“If he really likes you, then that kind of stuff shouldn’t matter. His first clue that you didn’t have a lot of money should have been when he found out you were a teacher.” You shoot her a look, “Ok, ok, but you know I’m right. From what you’ve told me, he just wants you to be happy. Go talk to him.”

“But the show?” 

“I’ll find your partner and tell him not to go on unless he can find you first. Ok?” Rory says, picking you back up off the floor, “Go to your man.”

You send him a text to meet you out by your car as soon as he can. You beat him to the car, pacing back and forth in front of the hood. You see him walking towards you, your heart beating like crazy. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you blurt out to him before he can even get a word in.

His eyes meet yours, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

You just shrug, trying to figure out the words to say. “It never came up? I don’t know. I should have. It’s not a big deal, I just have to work the two jobs to make ends meet, especially since this is normally during the summer when I don’t have school and I can get a paycheck and I told you that I’ve been dancing since I was like three, I just left out the part about me still dancing and I’m sorry are you mad?” you let out all in one breath. 

He shrugs back, his hand in his jean pockets as he kicks a pebble back and forth with his foot. “That’s not the real reason. I know you well enough, Y/N, you’re not a good liar.”

 “You have everything. I have to struggle to make ends meet, and even doing this, it’s still tough. I love both of my jobs; I was always worried that I would have to choose between teaching or dancing, and yes I have to do both in order to survive, but I would do both even if one was enough. I’m sorry,” you say again.

“This isn’t something that’s going to work if we keep things from each other. I mean, what if I had a secret family? I mean, the guys know who you are, too. What do you think it was like having them see my girlfriend dancing out there and me sitting there like an idiot not even knowing this was something you do?” he counters, his hands starting to wave around with frustration.

“Not telling you about a job is a lot different than you keeping a whole family from me. It’s not like this is some sort of scandal, this is something that I’m insecure about, I don’t know what else to tell you. Sorry I made you look slightly stupid in front of your friends.” you turn away from him, starting to go back inside when he grabs you by the arm, turning you towards him. 

He bites his bottom lip, face scrunched like he’s trying to figure out what he’s going to do next. “This is something that makes you happy?” 

“Yeah.”

“What about teaching?”

“Same feeling.”

“Then that’s all I care about. Come on, you think I would be angry that you had two jobs, or something? I would be angry if you had two jobs and you hated both of them. You’re doing what you love. Every time you talk about what you did at school that day, your eyes light up and I don’t even think you realize how much energy you get just thinking about your students and I feel so proud to be with someone who’s so passionate about what they do. If you’re like that about this, then oh my, god, I think the guys are going to kill me for talking about you so much.”

“Aw, you talk about me to the guys?” 

The line in his lips turns into a small smile as he moves towards you, pulling you closer to him. His hand finds the small of your back, lips close enough that you’re sure he’s about to kiss you. “Are you kidding? I don’t shut up about you.”

“I talk about you a lot here, but if I did that at school my Principal would get very angry at me for not teaching.”

“Damn, your kids would go wild if they knew you were sleeping with one of their favorite athletes.”

“Yeah, and I would be fired for telling them and also lying to them since their favorite player is Sean.” 

He pulls away, a shocked look on his face, “I’m better than Monny,” he says, acting like he’s hurt. You throw your head back laughing as he pulls you closer to him. “Is it bad that I’m still thinking about fucking you on the counter in your classroom but now you’re wearing this?” 

“How about somewhere that my students don’t have access to and I wear one of your jerseys instead?”

His eyes grow wide before he closes them, obviously thinking about it, “Fuck,” he lets out, his face going towards the sky. “Please do.”

“Calm down there, Tkachuk, you still have the rest of the show to get through first.” 

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagines #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #flames #flames imagine #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey #hockey imagines

[angelfireeast]

The Flash: Armageddon 8x01

We have entered Iris West-Allen's news media empire era

My Thoughts as the episode aired

Saving money on CGI right out the gate changing the baddie into a human.

Caitlin asking questions the same from one she would ask in s1. This so cringe. It's like they don't know what to write for Caitlin so they going over old ground. How hard is it to write for women?

Omg not Frost and ChillLame garbage 🤮 She's dragged out this toxic relationship with her stalker all summer and fall? Barry said she was always a romance? Really?😒🙄

Barry doesn't give a rats about Caitlin's love life. He's so disinterested. The writing is flat in the scene and GG is giving nothing. It feels like Caitlin is living out s1/s2. Eric rebooted Frost in s6 & s7 to stories she should gotten in s4 as if YEARS hadn't past which left a very cringe and jarring story. When I say rebooted I mean in s6 Frost was being mentored by Barry to be apart of TF two years LATE. S7 Frost realized she should take responsibility for her criminal actions after the cops came for her YEARS LATE. It feels like that is happening with Caitlin now. As if her life hasn't been paused for 7 years and just pretending those years didn't happen.

Omg not Frost and ChillLame garbage 🤮 She's dragged out this toxic relationship with her stalker all summer and fall? Barry said she was always a romance? Really?😒

Sue brought the whole building and now Iris has her sign on the outside but I think they only are renting/taking up one floor. I could be wrong

The new CCC expanded:

3 new reporters 

A office manger 

A intern too 

Allegra senior editor

podcast

More office space

Glad Frost was sent away for 2 weeks. Wish she was sent away longer but I know she will be back sooner since this takes place over 7 days.

Last season took place over like a month and they did a time jump over summer and fall between s7 and s8.

Poor Ray deserves better from the Legends. I'm glad he's thriving in his research career and with his wife. I hope Ray and Jax get to hang out with their families. Ray is such a nice guy. I hope Chester and Ray get to be besties.

I'm glad Ray is happy not to start another tech business. He gave his business to FeFe the man doesn't have good business sense. 😂 Chester wanted to pitch a business didn't he? That's why he's so upset?

Mentor Iris is the best! She's so good with people and she brings out the best in them.

Why was Chester's comment about 'being dead to Ray' so offensive to Ceclie? Can someone explain?

Caitlin literally offered nothing in that team scene in SL. She starred at board. Asked questions and offered no help. Chester and Barry came up with all the answers. Even Ceclie did more. The writers really don't know what to do with Caitlin it's so cringe. It's sad that they can't come up with anything.

Iris interviewing Ray! Loving it! This what I want.

Not Barry giving a speech to prop up team flop when it’s held him back for so long.

The CGI hasn't improved😬 keep him human looking

Barry leveled up but got taken down so easy🙄

Ray is founding a foundation in chester's father's name🥺

Let Chester become a business icon. Let him have have his own company not someone else's company. Give my man the things Cisco was denied!

They keep updating us on Frost's relationship with ChillLAME and not one person cares. Not Frost's stans, not general viewers and not the rest of us. Can Eric stop trying to make fetch happen? No one is feeling it. No one wants it.🤮

Allegra got a lot of growth in her professional life in this episode. I hope they remember that Allegra has career through the season.

This ep really highlighted how much I miss Ray Palmer. How much I miss Brandon. He's too good and always underused. If they cut those flashbacks then we could have had more time with Ray.

Why should Caitlin's scans mean jack when her scans in Elseworld said Oliver!Barry was man "fine" too. Ceclie had more to offer

There Barry goes revealing himself to a villian. 🙄 Fans don't have to worry about Barry revealing himself at the end of series like SG cause everyone will know by then.

Iris doing the heavy hitting interviews like she should! With Ray. She on the podcast. She still being published in the newspaper. This what I've always wanted. I wish building CCC media being built up didn't happen off screen but I'll take what I can get.

Iris has so much going on in her life! She's expanded her business in different media, new employees, a great mentor to Allegra, getting great interviews, & trying for a baby & still involved in the hero business. The leading lady has a BOSS life! Thriving. Boss ass bitch

#the flash spoilers

[feverdancing]

When it rains we run, okay? chapter two.

Chapter One 

Chapter Two (You are here.)

Chapter Three

Nene sat on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest. Staring blankly ahead. Soft piano flowed through her headphones, her poor attempt at blocking the rain out. Glancing over, Amane stood, hard at work, cooking what he managed to find in the cabinets.

Amane stood towering over her, blood on his hands from the knife she used. His amber eyes wide, filled with fear-

Out of the corner of her eye, she notices movement. She turned her head to see Hanako was holding a bowl up, Nene blinked, watching him move with it, picking up another one. He made his way to her.

‘Ah, has that much time passed already?’

Sliding her headphones off she smiled widely at him,

“Dinner already?” She awed at him, watching his eyes averted from her, a sweet smile forming on his pale face.

“Yup! It’s time to eat, Mokke!”

Nene pushed herself up onto the couch she was against. A delightful hum as she eagerly grabbed the bowl. It was chicken curry and rice. It was a comfort food for the two of them.

She stared down into the bowl. The night after she committed the sin, Amane’s mother blissfully unaware of it, made Amane and her curry and rice “to make them feel better”

“Mokke” Nene’s head perked up to look at him. He has a worried smile on his face, concern swirling in his eyes. Nene felt her lips curl into a smile automatically, trying to ease his worry.

“It looks really good! Thank you for the meal Hanako!” She giggled while taking a big bite of the food.

Hanako studies her for a second as if picking apart her actions before settling with a nod of his head, sitting beside her.

He doesn’t like sitting, it leaves him vulnerable. Nene told him he’s fine to do what makes him most comfortable. But in the end, he knows that sitting beside her gives her ease.

“How was work?” He asks, taking a small bite of his food, seemingly watching her eat her fill.

Nene nodded, swallowing, “it was okay,” inhale, “I wrote about the start of Gemini season,”

Hanako hummed, “The zodiac personality stuff?”

Puffing her cheeks out she nods, “There is way more to it than just” she pauses, exhale, “‘Personality stuff’, Hanako”

“You should know, space nerd,” Nene added, giggling.

Hanako narrows his eyes, smirking at her at the nickname, “I know astronomy, not that astrology stuff, Mokke.”

Nene snickered, taking another bite of food, only a few more bites to savor.

“You can see who you’re compatible with! You’re a Sagittarius! And I am a-”

“A Pisces, I know, you’ve told me this many times” She huffed at him with a smile,

“Sagittarius and Pisces are good together, you know?”

His cheeks become rosy, he looked away from her, towards the kitchen. The tips of his ears were red as well.  

Whenever love was brought up he was so easy to fluster. Hanako is able to dish it the flirtatious behavior but cannot receive it.

“You’ve said that.” his voice was small.

Nene giggles, reaching out and tapping his arm, “I know I have, I’m just teasing, Ha-na-ko,”

“Yare, yare, Mokke” Hanako exclaimed with a shake of his head and his usual smile.

“You tease me too much to act like that” Nene chided, grinning widely at him.

Hanako rolls his eyes, taking the now-empty bowl from her hands.

“I’m going to wash these,” He states as he’s heading to the kitchen.

Nene watches him intently, her smile falling. It was tiring to keep up a smile with him. Why he was still here with Nene is beyond her.

How could he still want to be with me after I… After he saw what I did.

"I know that already, just explain to me what the-” Stammering he threw his hands out towards the still-warm body, “Fuck you did?”

She tilted her head to look at the dark TV screen. Her eyes were blank. mokke’s mask. Hiding her emotions.

Nene sat on the ground, watching the still body. Looking, searching for any signs of movement. The bathroom door opened slightly making her head jut up to the door, frozen. Caught red-handed.

Mokke grabbed the remote sitting on the table, switching the TV on, the static cut through the air. She listened to it, moving her gaze to the open blinds, watching the rain pelt against the glass.

“Yashiro?” Amane’s voice called out from behind the door, “Are you in here? I’ve been looking everywhere for you,”

Inhale

Exhale

Nene rips her gaze from the window back to the tv and starts to search for a channel.

Static. Click.

Static. Click.

A soft murmuring of some tragedy. Click.

A rerun of some comedy show that was popular in the 90s.

Nene does her best to focus on the awful dialogue that the characters on the show said.

‘The writing they did for this show is complete garbage,’ She bitterly thought, analyzing the show.

Nene loves to write and loves to consume other people's writing.

Kou wrote, his writing blunt, lacking any underlying meanings, no symbolism, very to the point, and obvious. His articles reflected how he viewed the world. Bias, full of passion.

Nene thought back then, Kou, her underclassmen, hated writing. His scores were always poor. She wonders if she’s the reason for his newfound interest in writing.

With how much the characters bickered and argued, this was supposed to represent friendship? How did people find arguing fun? Sure maybe in a drama about romance, but stupid stuff like this?

The two characters were arguing in a kitchen.

Nene’s eyes catch the kitchen knife sitting in the background.

She took a deep breath, a gasp of air, her lungs felt constricted. Nene wondered briefly if she said nothing he would leave.

“I'm coming in,”

Her body seized up,

This was the public girls’ bathroom, why would he go through so much trouble to find her? He’s going to get into trouble.

He shouldn't have to see this-

He’s going to see-

God, there was so much blood.

A faint voice called her. Over the rain, the thoughts, Nene couldn’t understand.

She was too deep.

Amane pushed the door open further, her breath shallow, rushed, panicked.

His amber eyes were petrified as he saw it. His eyes darted from her to the body.

A sharp gasp, his throat catching his scream.

“Mokke?” Amane’s voice was soft, his hand on her forearm, pulling her from her head.

Mokke drew her head up to look at him. His free hand held her cheek, wiping her tears with his thumb.

Ruby eyes were glassy as she stared at him with remorse, her forehead creased.

She didn't want him to be brought down with her. But his selfishness. Her selfishness drags him down regardless.

She will never truly understand why he had helped.

Why did he help her get rid of the body? Of the evidence?

Nene inhaled. Held her breath, before slowly exhaling.

Was he already done washing dishes?

“What are you thinking about,” Hanako whispered to her, urging her to tell him.

Nene’s gaze looked to the TV, it had been shut off.

Did I turn it off? Looking to her hands, finding them empty, the remote on the table.

Did I ever turn it on?

A soft squeeze on her forearm pulled her attention back to him.

Amber eyes, the moon. Her moon. Clouded with pain, and sorrow.

His mouth moved, saying something, Nene couldn’t understand. She blinked at him. Trying to hear,

“...mokke...okay?”

Hanako was trying to see if she was okay… A murder.

Even after he saw the knife she plunged into that guy’s chest, he still wanted to see if she was okay?

“I-” her voice caught in her throat. Her eyebrows furrowed.

Hanako gave her a patient smile, squeezing her arm again.

Nodding dimly, she listens to his breathing,

“Fine…” her voice is small, weak, pathetic.

He tugs her face closer and leans his head against hers, remaining silent. Amane has always been too patient for her.

A shaky exhale.

“The night I…” her voice trails off, her eyes shifting from him, Hanako nods, understanding what day she was talking about immediately. “I didn’t want him to die.”

Amane wrapped his arm around her,

“I know,”

She sucked in sharply, whimpering. He only held her tighter.

“I hate the rainy season.”

A softer, “I know.”

He pulls away slightly, making Nene clutch onto him. Hanako stiffened a little bit, before relaxing, reaching for her headphones.

He put one in her ear, putting the other in his, and fumbled with her phone, turning the music back on.

They sat there, holding onto each other listening to the soft piano.

Amane rubbed her back in a circular motion, doing his best to calm her down. He slowly rocked the two of them to the music.

Amane’s heart rate was faster than usual.

Inhale. Exhale.

He was trying to calm himself down. Was it her? Was he afraid of her? Could it be the rain?

Nene realized she let herself go too far again. She let herself get wrapped up in her head, she let Nene panic.

Listening to the music, she found her hands loosening their grip on Hanako,

Inhale...

Hold

Exhale…

“Let’s go to bed,” Nene spoke softly, tired.

Hanako helped her up, keeping his eyes trained on her, watching her every movement. The only noise was the piano coming through the earbuds and the pouring rain.

The rain was a distant sound.

It was safe in this home.

The rain wasn’t coming for them.

The rain was safe.

Did he ever feel safe in the rain?

Nene let Hanako guide her to their bed, let him undress her, and put her in warmer clothes, clothes that were comfortable to sleep in.

She laid on her side facing him, watching as he moved around shutting the blinds, moving to the living room, she rolled around to watch and tightly shut the blinds out next to the couch.

Hanako pauses at the window, staring out. The small reflection she saw of him, made her tense.

The fear in his eyes as he flinched at the sound of a particularly hard drop of water hits the glass. His eyes dart around, searching for something out there, in the dangerous world. His lips trembled.

Hanako grips the curtain and yanks it, his movements rigid, blocking the view to the streets below. He turns around, the pain locked back behind Hanako, back into Amane. His amber eyes looked worn, tired.

Inhale

She felt much better, more able to breathe as he walked back towards the room.

Hanako’s shoulders relax with every step towards her. He walks into the room shutting the door behind him.

Nene rolled back around, facing his side of the bed, and waited for him to climb back in.

Listening to the shuffling as he got undressed, Nene lets her eyes flutter closed.

He climbed in besides, unplugging the earbuds from her phone.

The phone speakers weren’t the best, but Hanako said it was bad to sleep with earbuds in. She listened to him plugging her phone into the charger before rolling to face her.

Hanako told her that it messes up your ears, he read about it online.

She moved her arm out and felt him hold her hand.

He was warm.

“Sleep well, Hanako,” Nene mumbled.

“Sleep well starlight,” Hanako echoed.

Exhale.

#hananene #amanene #yugi amane #yashiro nene #Yashiro murderer au #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #everyone is alive #jshk #jibaku shonen hanako kun

[rosecorcoranwrites]

September Reading Roundup

It's time for this month's reading roundup, but first, a little announcement that no one but me will care about: I'm staying off the internet until the election. Well, mostly. I'll still post to Tumblr, Twitter, and Instagram when the mood strikes me or when I have a writing update. I'll still post Rant Rave Reviews on here and Youtube (the theme this month is spooky stories, of course). But I won't be interacting much (ie, I won't be spending hours reading through Twitter and Tumblr and watching random Youtube videos I've already seen). If you @ me or retweet or reblog a post, I'll probably respond in a day or two, but other than that, I'm becoming a recluse.

The reason for this is twofold. First, I'm offering it up. For those of you who aren't Catholic, "offering it up" is sort of like giving up something for Lent. You discipline yourself by enduring some deprivation (either natural, like pain, or of your own choosing, like not watching hours of Youtube). At the same time, you offer up your (albeit, in this case, slight) suffering as a sacrifice for some good. I'm offering it up for America. Not the election, America. Because, not to get political or anything, but no matter who wins the garbage fire that is the 2020 election, America is doomed unless our culture changes. As I said to a friend recently, if this was the 90s, we could weather whatever storm Trump or Biden brings, but people hate each other so much right now that our country is pretty much over. Unless...

I don't know what I'm praying for, but I'm praying, praying that come what may, God in his Providence will drag something good out of all of it, kicking and screaming if need be. I will also be doing a rosary novena with my diocese October 14th through October 22, and then another one with the USCCB October 26th to November 3rd. Join me if you would like.

On a lighter note, I'm a volunteer writer-in-residence again at my hometown library, so I'm obligated to focus on writing this month, and need write, research, and workshop without distraction. I have two Forensics and Fiction books all tabbed and ready to read, plus a book about army nurses in the Vietnam War. The plot of book one in the alternate-history/fantasy/mystery trilogy is fast congealing, and I want to strike while the iron is hot. I need to focus! My ultimate goal is to be ready to write a little each day in November, returning to my heretical NaNoWriMo ways.

I'll let you know how it all turns out in my first Novemebr post, which will be a reading roundup of October. Until then, let's take a look at what I read this month:

Two Six Shooters Beat Four Aces: Stories of a Young Arizona by Barbara Marriott Ph.D

Genre: History - Anecdotes

Why I read it: Arizona book club pic

What I thought of it: While it's clear that Marriott is an excellent researcher, she is either a bad writer or in serious need of an editor. Individual paragraphs proved internally repetitive, and the overall structure of each chapter was slapdash. It needed smoother transitions from anecdote to anecdote or more section breaks and section headers.

Would I recommend it: No, everyone in my book club, including myself, hated it.

7 1/2 Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton

Genre: Supernatural Mystery

Why I read it: I'd been wanting to for a while; the premise caught my eye

What I thought of it: The body-hopping time-loop stuff was brilliant, the characters likable, and the story delightfully twisty. The last twist and conclusion were unsatisfying, though.

Would I recommend it: Yes!! Despite it's flaws, it was an exciting, fun, and original book. I will definitely be reading Turton's next book (which involves a closed circle of suspects and, possibly, demons!?).

The Exorcist by William Blatty

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: I'd been meaning to for a while, and writing research gave me an excuse to do so

What I thought of it: I like that it doesn't pull it's punches; I'm kind of shocked that it's only been censored a couple times, actually. It presents demons as they are: hateful, grotesque jerks who get off on picking on humans. I also liked that there was a murder mystery subplot. I'm not sure I approve 100% of the ending, theologically speaking, but that's a pretty minor quibble.

Would I recommend it: Yes, but it is not for the feint of heart. Trigger warnings for child sexual abuse, adult sexual abuse, language, violence, the works.

How to Destroy America in Three Easy Steps by Ben Shapiro

Genre: Nonfiction - politics

Why I read it: It's a long story that I shall tell about in my memoir of library life, but not here. Also the cover is 10/10

What I thought of it: It was ok. I already knew most of what he said. I disagreed with some of it, like seeing the constant moving of people from town to town in 1950s as a positive thing; in actuality, "company men" in the 50s were moved around so they wouldn't have community ties but instead ties to the company, which is anti-human to the extreme. I did think it was interesting that he combatted the idea of America's greatness being built off the backs of slaves by pointing out that slavery was actually terrible for the south, as reliance on slavery retarded their economic system well after the Civil War.

Would I recommend it: If you're into political books, sure.

American Sherlock: Murder, Forensics, and the Birth of American CSI by Kate Winkler Dawson

Genre: True Crime - forensic history

Why I read it: I love historical true crime

What I thought of it: It was ok, but kind of didn't make the case for him being "The American Sherlock Holmes" (even though people really did call him that back in the day), in that a lot of his conclusions ended up being a little dubious. Still, from a research perspective, it did establish when various forensic practices started being used in the USA.

Would I recommend it: Maybe? I personally liked Father of Forensics more. I'd say this book is, like, 3/5 stars, just because it could have been tightened up a bit.

Coraline by Neil Gaiman

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: It's spooky season!

What I thought of it: Having already seen the movie, I knew pretty much what was going to happen, but I love Gaiman's turn of phrase.

Would I recommend it: Yes, especially for children who are too young for scarier fair but still want a creepy story.

The Horror at Red Hook by H.P. Lovecraft

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: It's still spooky season!

What I thought of it: I honestly liked this a lot more than the Cthulhu mythos stuff. Rather than vague demoniac blasphemies or black cyclopean gulfs, there's a real tangible cult that sacrifices (reanimated?) corpses to a pale, dancing, snickering Thing on a golden pedestal. I dig it.

Would I recommend it: Yes. Just... ignore the racism. That goes for all of Lovecraft's stuff, by the by.

Herbert West: Reanimator by H.P. Lovecraft

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: Turns out I like HP Lovecraft. Who knew?

What I thought of it: You gotta love mad scientists who try to reanimate the dead, right? I think this one would make an excellent mini-series.

Would I recommend it: Yes.

Solutions and Other Problems by Allie Brosh

Genre: Essay - illustration/comics

Why I read it: I loved Hyperbole and a Half, and was excited when I saw Brosh was coming out with another book.

What I thought of it: It was okay. Not as good as her first book, but for an understandable reason: medical complications and her sister's suicide (that's not a spoiler, as the book is dedicated to her sister). Thus, the book had a heaviness to it that the first one didn't. Still there were some parts that made me laugh so hard I cried.

Would I recommend it: Maybe? I'd say borrow it from the library, but don't buy it, unless you are also suffering a loss. It might be really relatable and cathartic in that case.

The Rats in the Walls by H.P. Lovecraft

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: I like HP Lovecraft

What I thought of it: Not as scary as I had been led to believe by my brother, but still a good story. I plan on reading Lovecraft Country at some point, which supposedly flips Lovecraft's racism on it's head, and so help me, if it doesn't make reference to this story and chattel slavery, I'll throw a fit.

Would I recommend it: Yes. I like that the cat didn't die. :)

The Shadow Over Innsmouth by H.P. Lovecraft

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: I just... I just really like Lovecraft, okay?

What I thought of it: I find the sea inherently creepy, so when you have a decrepit backwater filled with a fishy stench and secrets, it's gotta be good.

Would I recommend it: Yes, especially if you liked the Fishing Hamlet part of the Bloodborne DLC (which I could not help but think of the whole time reading this novella).

The Thing on the Doorstep by H.P. Lovecraft

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: You know why.

What I thought of it: So if you've read enough Lovecraft, especially Dunwich Horror and Shadow Over Innsmouth, you already know what's coming... or do you? Right away, HP establishes that there is a special knock the guy uses with his friend, so I assumed the twist end would involve the Thing appearing in the guy's body but not using the knock, thus revealing itself to be (redacted for slight spoilers). I was wrong. That's not how it played out, and the way it played out was so much creepier!!!

Would I recommend it: Yeah! I really liked this one!

Haunter of the Dark by H.P. Lovecraft

Genre: Horror

Why I read it: Yup

What I thought of it: Same ol', same ol, but what I thought was cool in this one was that the supposedly superstitious Italian Catholic immigrants totally know what's up and spend their stormy nights keeping the Haunter at bay with nothing but candles and flashlights. What a neat detail!

Would I recommend it: Yup. :)

#reading roundup #book review #book reviews #hp lovecraft #lovecraft #h.p. lovecraft #booklr #bookblr #horror #horror books #horror stories #fall reads #autumn reads #fall books #autumn books #october reads #october books #september reads #september books #book recommendations

[castlevania-afterdark-imagines]

Christmas Special: Characters spending Christmas with their S/O

HAPPY HOE-LIDAYS!!!

Christmas morning is happening all around the world, but no matter what you do or don’t celebrate, or how you do or don’t celebrate it, we here at Afterdark hope y’all have a wonderful time! 

The holidays are hard (pun not intended), but please know that if you’ve ever enjoyed a post on this blog, we love you, we appreciate you, and wish you all the best in the world.

Here’s your present!

Trevor

AINT NO CHRISTMAS LIKE A BELMONT FAMILY CHRISTMAS! 

Lights, food, music, more lights!

His whole extended family gets together for this, so expect to be dragged along to many many events throughout the month. 

No pressure about the gift buying though, they're all very practical people and contributing to the food pile is a perfectly acceptable offering. 

You never would have guessed the size if his personal ugly sweater hoard.

And you are less surprised to find his mistletoe belt buckle. 

It's not so much he gets jolly as he and his family honor the traditional route of drinking and feasting. 

He's very shy about his few gifts he gets you though, when you both get to have Christmas Day to yourselves. 

He gets a few necessities, like the soaps you like and socks to replace all the holey ones he tossed behind your back. (The man can have holey underwear but is weirdly specific about socks being intact)

But among them he'll get a cheesy sentimental thing, like a locket his nan thought you'd like or a card with a better poem than he has any right to be able to write. 

With the rest of the month having been crazy, this day he wants to spend with you, in pjs, nibbling on leftovers and watching movies. 

Begs you not to get sexy santa lingerie because he really doesn't need to be reminded of his family while fucking you that night. 

Adrian 

He can enjoy the sentimentality of the season, but you can see him roll his eyes at gaudy Christmas displays. 

He sees mistletoe in doorways less as an opportunity for a grand romantic gesture and more of a game. 

How many seconds does it take him to go from noticing to smooching your face?

You have the suspicion he might also be so quick about it because he wants to make sure there's no window of opportunity for anyone else to come in.

He offers to spend the holiday with your family if you prefer, his parents aren't sticklers about the exact day you visit. 

He uses the cold weather as an excuse to be ten times more cuddly than normal.  Obviously he just doesn't want you to catch a cold. Obviously…

Kid damn near forgets to buy gifts. 

He's just so used to getting things as you need them he forgot to actually hold anything back to the holiday. 

He does get cheeky with them though, adding things like "Christmas Edition" naughty dice next to your favorite candy. 

Hey, the point of the holidays is to have fun, right?

Sypha

Caroling, caroling, caroling- Sypha it is literally December 1st.

Expect there to be music playing through the house 24/7 of a wide range of genres.

While her family has always spent extra care to teach each other about the variety of celebrations during the winter months they would settle on Christmas as the day to actually get together. Work schedules and all. 

Has much more fun with Christmas activities than gifts or food. Sledding, building snowmen, watching movies, quality time is huge for her. 

Her family has such a variety of ways to spend the holiday she has to ask you exactly what your family might expect of her if you visit. 

Very much a getter of "us" gifts. Fancy coffee for us to try,  a new toaster for us to use, spa passes for us to go to tomorrow. 

When things boil down she's a bit glum, knowing most people will go back to being less kind without the holidays and a looming hint to be nice. 

But she can't stay sad for long with you to be with her until next Christmas. 

Hector

December always sneaks up on him, you can tell by the eye rolling when he hears the music in the stores change overnight.

Not digging the cold much, but he will risk freezing to avoid the gaudy Xmas sweaters. 

Snowflakes are fine, he draws the line at lights and tinsel. 

You can tell he gets a little salty about a lot of people only acting nice during this month but he can't stay sour when he sees you glow under the lights strung up between street lights. 

Spends extra time at the animal shelters, helping them bring critters in from the cold and he donates all the blankets and pillows he can grab from second hand stores. 

He's not a huge gift giver, but if there's something specific you've been eyeing he'll go out of his way to make sure you don't get it for yourself.

Is the YouTube boyfriend who gets you the puppy/kitten you've been looking at online,  minus actually filming it. 

He also loves making a big Christmas Eve meal,  even if it's just the two of you,  and then having delicious leftovers for days after. 

Isaac

Probably the one who needs the most persuading to be…"jolly".

No Christmas sweaters, no Christmas music, any carolers are getting a door shut in their face. 

He finds it the biggest spit in the face for people to think being jolly for 25 days undoes all of the cruelties of the world.

But you discover he has a soft spot for decorations, especially the lights. 

He likes the handcrafted ornaments and the reflection of people's personalities in how they arrange their homes. 

But of course he won't discourage you from enjoying the season, he just has trouble doing it himself. 

When it comes to gifts he's very simple,  minimal wrapping, but he does make a little game of it.

Why put everything under a tree when you can find small tokens of his affection by the coffee mugs, on your nightstand, maybe in the pantry?

He cuts off the baking early in the month though once he notices the slightest tightness to his belt. 

He can't say no to your cooking, clearly this isn't his fault!

Dracula

Is he a scrooge? Not… exactly. 

He gets testy about the hypocrisy of a celebrity holiday turned commercial and the religious overtones and the worst version of "Santa Baby" to be released in his lifetime which he always thought was a garbage song in the first place-

But for you he can suck it up. 

He always gets confused at how people with wish him a Merry Christmas for things like holding doors during December, even though he does that year round. 

To be honest he'll follow your leads, not carrying many traditions with him. 

You like big family gatherings? Sure, he can bring the roast beef or honey ham for the crowd. You want to hide away and drink peppermint schnapps in hot chocolate watching horror movies? Strange approach but whatever makes you happy. 

He won't buy a ton of gifts, but the one thing he has a weakness for is holiday lingerie. It is perhaps the one thing he could argue that pays tribute to the original holiday practices, fucking. 

It's gaudy and can be ripped apart easily but replacing it is what next Christmas is for.

Lisa 

You can guess by the boxes upon boxes labeled "XMAS" living in the attic that there's some serious decorating that's gonna happen December 1st.

Lights everywhere, giving a little ray of hope and magic. At least that's how she will describe the effect she wants her elaborate display to have. 

No religious symbols, since she wants the feelings of goodwill to be broader in scope. 

She'll drag you outside to browse other people's displays, squeezing your hand and pulling you close and she gets lost in the glittering lights. 

She doesn't push much for the family get togethers, she likes to keep things intimate and personal with you. 

Movies, going ice skating, just taking the time to appreciate being together. 

Which means she's a hell of an accurate gift giver, always finding the exact thing you need without you having to ask for it. 

She also does a loooot of baking. She does donate a lot of it, and will give it to carolers if they come by, but you might need to step in to tell her that you have no more room in the fridge or pantry for all of the goodies. 

Godbrand

The whole of December was quiet...too quiet. 

Sure he was up to his usual hijinks, but not really feeding into the holiday theme.

Aside from the stash of eggnog in the fridge and gigantic bottle of rum to go with it. 

You would've thought he'd completely ignored the tree aside from a few baubles that got rearranged. 

Then Christmas Eve rolls around and he's full ugly sweater, glitter and lights in his beard, sack of gifts over his shoulder,  "Ho ho ho Merry FUCKING Christmas!" 

Apparently he doesn't think much of wasting the whole month being half assed when he can go balls to the walls in one night. 

Spoils the fuck out of any kids in either of your families. 

Once your home alone, expect the whole ribbon on his dick, sexy Santa ready to "cum down your chimney" bit.

Is it gaudy and ridiculous as fuck? Yes.

But he'd rather be over the top for you than make you think he just hadn't cared at all. 

-Mod Soviet

#trevor belmont #adrian tepes #Sypha Belnades #Vlad Dracula Tepes #Hector #isaac #Godbrand #Lisa Tepes #gender neutral reader #mod soviet #modern au #holiday imagines #winter holidays #imagines #Castlevania

[flvcr]

— ( harry styles, twenty-five, cismale, he/him ) did you see ETIENNE FLUOR walking down main street earlier? you know who i’m talking about, they’re a POTTER / HOCKEY PLAYER. everybody in town says that they’re IDEALISTIC & INTUITIVE, but have a tendency to be UNPREDICTABLE & DESTRUCTIVE too. ETIENNE has been in town for THREE years. c'mon, they’re always requesting RUNNIN’ WITH THE DEVIL BY VAN HALEN at karaoke nights. well, i’m sure you’ll see them soon! @westmerestarters​

hiya! i am kt &+ underneath the read more is a LOT of info about my bb, etienne. ** insert clown emoji but make ‘em yee-haw ** if you’d like to plot you can reach me on here or at space cowboy#8536 on discord !! <33 v excited to interact with y’all and your bbs !!

𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖈𝖘

name: etienne ‘ marcel ‘ fluor. 

nicknames: goes by marcel, only allowing very few people to call him etienne.

gender / pronouns : cismale / he, him.

age: twenty-five.

birthday: june 27th.

zodiac: cancer !!

orientation: pansexual / panromantic.

occupation: hockey player ( currently injured ) // potter ( for fun ) !!

languages spoken: french, english & italian.

𝖎𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

- PINTEREST - featuring his wardrobe, his home, his aesthetic, some character inspo and olive, his german shepard pup !!

- SPOTIFY PLAYLIST - what he is currently listening to !!

personality type: INFJ-T / THE ADVOCATE

moral alignment: chaotic good

style-wise: etienne is v stylish, but isn’t overly flashy by any means. he’s intuitive in the sense of what works and what doesn’t. willing to explore the latest wardrobe craze, but also just likes what he likes and likely won’t venture out unless pressed by another to do so. post coming soon for his wardrobe !!! they say that the cancer man’s clothing is selected to reflect “ sophistication over flash “ but kdgjn i’ll let ya’ll be the judge of that. he’s v much harry inspired clothing wardrobe, but also tones it down with some casual looks, especially when it comes to getting his hands dirty in creative aspects !! but can be a bit on the flashier side as well, especially w/ hockey press and what not !!

𝖇𝖆𝖈𝖐𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉

   etienne ‘ marcel ’ fluor was born in montpellier, france to two lovely parents, theodore and estelle fluor ( both born in england themselves ) . he is the youngest of his siblings, having one older brother and an older sister, all of them being roughly two years apart. at the age of eight, his family relocated to montreal, canada as a result of a promotion his mother received, which at such a young age, etienne had no qualms with, despite his siblings’ uneasiness.  upon moving to a new country at a young age, etienne truly found himself via escaping into various books and movies. often attempting to write his own and would force encourage his siblings to act his skits/plays out for his parents enjoyment. he continues to be very close with his parents and siblings - recently he taught his parents how to use facetime, so catch him face timing his family on sunday nights. 

   growing up, etienne also enjoyed playing all types of sports ( his parents signing him up hoping that he’d make friends as a result, which he did ). when it came down to it, athletic abilities-wise, there truly wasn’t anything that he wasn’t ‘ good ’ at, and that’s simply because he’s always been such a competitive individual / as well as a perfectionist. that competitive/perfectionist energy caused him to go home and practice a skill or trick for hours in order to be able to come back the next day and whoop everyone’s asses. overall, he’s very athletic, found alternating between various sports offered not only at school, but as well as through local clubs. ultimately, his love and appreciation for hockey swayed him and soon enough it became his sole focus. due to his perfectionist tendencies, etienne is very dedicated to his craft, he will spend hours practicing specific tricks and skills in order to be the best at what he does, which transcends past hockey and into, really, every aspect of his life. 

   throughout highschool ; etienne was a v dedicated student. although he’s a bit reckless and loved to goof off, he was always acing classes and applying himself. he genuinely cares for others, you could’ve seen his ass volunteering at a soup kitchen with his mom on sundays and what not, as well as take part in various clubs and sports ! just SOFT and sporty things. during this time, he joined the ontario hockey league and from there was eventually scouted out and recruited to the pittsburgh penguins as a defenseman at the age of eighteen - forgoing his parents desire for him to attend a university. although he enjoyed his time with pittsburgh, he was excited when the idea of being traded came up - eager to explore a new city and immerse himself in a new area. 

      trigger warning - injury, dislocation ( just in case !!!! ) however, he really didn’t enjoy new york ( hehe ), so he relocated to westmere soon after his initial arrival to nyc - finding a lot of comfort in living in a less populated area. he would commute during the hockey season to nyc, which to him wasn’t very far away, so this is where he’s been residing for the last three years !! however, in the last couple of weeks while training for the upcoming season my lil bb injured himself - not to get into tooooo much detail, i’ll just leave it at shoulder dislocation / joint separation due to a hard hit !! basically he’s out for this upcoming season, already having surgery completed, he’s currently healing for the next couple of months, allowing himself to fully experience that westmere fall !!!

   overall, etienne can come off as a bit reserved, and distant whether that be a result of his untrusting nature of others, or simply unfamiliarity. it takes a bit of time before he feels comfortable to share his true opinion / commentary / only doing so when he feels secure to do so. he’s not necessarily unfriendly, just a bit distant / lost in his thoughts. which varies, as with most ppl ofc, upon person to person and his level of comfortability among them. despite his often lack of conversation, he abhors an uncomfortable silence to settle and will fill it with nonsense to simply avoid the feeling altogether. so, if you ever want to catch him rambling, just making him uncomfortable dkjfngdf. he definitely approaches most things with a bit of ‘ tough love ‘ . he doesn’t mind getting into a quarrel or two if he knows its worth the outcome he’s envisioned. etienne will tell others when they are fucking up, and if they are throwing a punch as a result - catch him leaning into it, which explains his bout of reckless antics. he can come off as a know it all, when it comes to advice giving, but more so because he thinks he’s really good at analyzing others and situations they are in, not necessarily because he’s lived through them himself, he’s just rather intuitive and able to empathize quite easily with others despite his verbal admittance of it. when it comes down to this binches reckless bits, he just feels so intensely that he ends up numbing himself in the aftermath of it all ( especially bc he’s definitely not sharing those feelings with the people around him ), therefore he’s willing to put himself into harms way in order to get a bit of that - happiness / pain, it doesn’t matter to him as long as he no longer feels overwhelmed by numbness. so, if ya see him with some scrapes and stitches ~ mind ya business. but he’ll likely try to drag somebody else into it, and make it seem like it was their idea. but if he is truly comfortable with somebody, he walks a fine line of won’t stop talking, especially if it’s an interest of his, and comfortable silence.

_________________________

𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 & 𝖍𝖆𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖘

he is a CANCER, therefore in this essay i will..... kidding but here’s some fun cancer info i saw that applies to my bb !! at first he appears to be wistful, sarcastic ( maybe a lil crabby ) , shy, distant and mysterious. this personality remains if he isn’t completely comfortable around somebody. but overall, that’s just his facade, his ‘smokescreen’ of sorts to scare off the world from his outwards persona. underneath that layer ( makes me think of shrek metaphor with onions // don’t mind me ), BUT he’s gentle, kind and affectionate ( if you manage to make it to that level * bell dings * ) !!! overall, etienne is a sensitive soul, a bit emotional although he’d rather d*e than show that to others. likely will internalize anything that can hurt his feelings / a low blow and will do something chaotic as a result later on bc of it. very polite, and a little worldly, he is truly the epitome of old-school gentlemanly manners. chivalry coming as a second nature to him !!

that was getting ramble-y, so continuing HERE. but when it comes to romance, as per the cancer man, the concept of love is a mystery, one that etienne is trying to attain. however, his shyness and innate distrust of others make it difficult for him to allow himself to fall in love. his guard is always up when it comes to his emotions, and it’ll take a bit of prodding before he’s willing to speak up on what’s desired from him. he’s v picky when it comes to finding the “ partner of his dreams “ - but he’s def willing to throw himself into the romance of the situation, i.e. buying flowers, riding white horses, and slaying metaphorical dragons. the traditional side means that he will shower his partner with thoughtful gifts, wine and dine them in the best restaurants, and try to grant their every wish. he will take the garbage out, fix that wobbly shelf, navigate on road trips, and kill more so trap and release bugs for his partner, and most important of all he will do it all without being asked. his loyalty and keen attention to the needs and wants of his potential partner. so basically, more so willing to showcase through actions than speak on it. it’s the little things, right ??!?!?! he def cherishes not just the act of being in a relationship, but what it means to become one with another person in mind, body, and soul.

prides himself on being able to make a mean cup of coffee, likely the worst person to watch a movie with bc he knows exactly how it’s going to end after only watching five minutes of it, he has a godawful sense of direction, will walk in circles for fifteen minutes before even raising a question about it/noticing ( but he refuses to acknowledge it. )

his house, car, workspace, junk drawer, closet….you name it - it’s organized, practically sparkling. often times arranged by color, and / or style. nothing is ever out of place, and if it is - there’s trouble brewing. but, more than anything, if he’s visiting somebody’s place and it’s messy, he will spend a solid thirty minutes picking everything up before doing whatever it is that was intended.

likes : reading, flowers, handwritten notes/letters, deep cleaning, baking, working on his pottery, watching the history channel and true crime docs and playing / watching hockey !!

dislikes : artichoke, clutter, sandals ( fkjgh ), unrealistic plotlines in movies &+ burnt coffee.

habits :  likely has a severe caffeine addiction, although he’s now normalized having six cups of coffee throughout his day. he’s an early riser, no matter how little the amount of sleep he’s received, he’s always the first to rise - for his early morning runs !!

strengths: creative, insightful, inspiring, convincing, determined and passionate, decisive, altruistic, intuitive !!

weaknesses: sensitive, extremely private, perfectionist, low-key always needs to have a cause / purpose, can burn out easily !!

overall : etienne truly strives to be kind, and genuinely wants for everyone to get along. treat people with kindness and the like. he has the best of intentions, but often times that can get a bit muddled with the way he goes about things due to his bit of chaotic energy / as well as his often points of getting lost in his thoughts. he won’t realize he’s been quiet for the last three hours unless it’s mentioned to him. he will do anything to lighten a dark mood, and will sacrifice / throw himself under the bus if its needed. however, he also is the type to cause the dark mood depending on the day. wahoo! his more reckless antics increase when he’s feeling a bit emotional !! but he’ll likely try and convince somebody to propose the idea so it’s not on him.

𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘

he lives with sebastian !! with his commuting to nyc for the hockey season, he wanted somebody to be able to take care of his house / garden and what not, and thus, seb arrived.

he’s v into making ceramics, cups / bowls / vases / etc !! what began as a fun hobby to distract himself in the offseason became something that he truly enjoys. ( laughing about that scene in ghost BUT DKJFNG OKAY ) although he’s pretty low-key about it, you can catch him at the farmers market selling his creations !! some pictures of his work can be found on his pinterest board !!

he is a vegetarian ! he has been since his freshman year of high school and has no plans on eating seafood/meat ever again.

he loves fancy wine ~ he’s cultured. 

he can play the drums !!

he collects vintage matchbooks and the stickers off of various fruits ( he puts them in a little notebook - can be found on his bookshelf ).

saves handwritten notes and letters from pals.

he loves to garden !!!! he has a specified rose shearing hat.

HE WANTS TO JOIN A BOOKCLUB PLEASE !!!!!!!! or at least have some casual moments of silence with another reading. plz and tysm.

to make things a bit simple, he has all of harry’s tattoos !!  might add more along the way !! stay tuned, folks !!

𝖜𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘

i am so up for anything!! please accept this ramble of ideas thrown below.  if you have any other ideas, lmk !!!! <3333 :’-) down to start from scratch and PLOT PLOT PLOT !

( 2 / 2 ) - BFFZ : the z for an added emphasis dkfjgnd. somebody who likely has a key to etienne’s house, they can enjoy one anothers company as well as the bouts of comfortable silence. you know how best friends are but kdjfngd still !! whether they are likeminded or polar opposites that just flow ~~ down for anything !! even a trio of sorts ?!

( 1 / 1 ) - RIDE OR DIE / CHAOTIC COMPANION : it would be wrong to say one is the more likely the bad influence over the other, although etienne may just be. these two find themselves bounding into, well hell, ( i guess??? ) together. playing on one anothers impulsiveness and if one ends up in the back of a police car, the other is handcuffed to them. and yet despite the length of their potential injuries, they find themselves thinking of something crazier to subject them to the next time around.

( 1 / 1 ) - GUARDIAN ANGEL / GOOD INFLUENCE : with etienne being a bit chaotic in nature, he needs somebody that is likely going to steer him clear from all the ideas that’ll bring him to the brink of disaster. he’s impulsive and in that desperate attempt to feel again, he’s very likely to bring a bit of mayhem upon himself. so while they may be worrying and attempting to talk his ideas down, he’s trying to get them to go along with his plan. it may be rare that he actually takes their advice, but when he does it seems to be for the best.

( 1 / 1 ) - PARTY FRIEND : these two know how to have a good time together. despite the amount of alcohol they are throwing back and the shenanigans they find themselves in as a result, this is a time where they also find themselves confiding in one another. if you look at their camera rolls, it’s likely they have tons of embarrassing and unflattering videos and pics of one another, in between their sob-worthy confessionals and venting/rants. these two trust one another, and although they love getting wreckT together, they find themselves discussing very raw and personal details. likely the only person etienne confides in, simply bc he’s completely plastered.

( 1 / 1 ) - SIBLING-LIKE RELATIONSHIP : these two have a love/hate relationship, very sibling like filled with pranks, competition, teasing and playful banter. however, when it comes down to it they have so much love and respect for one another. they know that no matter what happens they will always have one anothers back and be supportive of the other. truly a pure content filled relationship.

okay quick mention, ENEMY PLOTS ?!?!?!?!?!? i would live for one. i can’t imagine etienne being hardcore nasty, but i’d like to see whatever version comes out for this. so let’s get it djfngjakdfg maybe they just hold different viewpoints on the world and what not and clash, anything really !!! v open !!

( 1 / 1 ) - MENTOR - etienne needs a bit of structured or unstructured guidance, all depending on what their deemed mentor is wanting to impart on him, a bit of wisdom or slight chaos. kdjfgn he’ll take anything !! 

RANDOM LITTLE IDEAS : maybe they’ve heard of one another in town, but haven’t quite met yet! or maybe they see each other around all the time, but have yet to introduce themselves to one another but low-key maybe in some online forum for the town together ?! who knows some fun things kdjnfg i AM OPEN !

ooh maybe a slowburn of sorts ?! something spicy to wreck HIS and my life with.  dkfjgn we can base this off of chemistry !!! :’-)

#( & ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ . ) #westmereintro

[aeneidpdf]

big sky country

chapter: 3/?

word count: 4.3k+

summary: they set out for Niagara Falls, and stop for lunch at Becket Quarry.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24394804/chapters/59282086

They got through the checkout line quickly, and then they were back in the van- Pete in the back, Ray and Art in the middle seats, and Abraham and Collie up front. Abraham fiddled with his phone, pulling up the directions to Niagara Falls while Collie popped in the first of the Johnny Cash CDs that Pete had bought.

It was the American IV: The Man Comes Around album. Johnny Cash’s voice came over the speakers, saying: "And I heard, as it were, the noise of thunder. One of the four beasts saying, 'Come and see.' and I saw, and behold a white horse."

“Great,” Abraham said. “A song about judgement day to start our trip. That’s not a bad sign at all.”

“It’s just a song,” Ray said.

“Ray’s right,” Pete added, lazing in the back row. “No need to worry yourself, Abe. Geez, good thing it wasn’t God’s Gonna Cut You Down or we never would’ve gotten this thing off the ground.”

In the side mirror, Art could see a hint of a grimace on Abraham’s face, but Collie was laughing and asking him to start the directions. Over top of the music, came the canned voice of the maps app: “Turn right to merge onto Maine Turnpike toward I-95. In 55 miles, keep left on I-95 South.”

Collie whistled low through his teeth. “Shit. Fifty-five miles.”

“Better get a move on!” It was Pete, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Lot more where that came from.”

Collie didn’t answer that, and they pulled out of the parking lot and merged onto the Maine Turnpike. Art didn’t quite know what he thought about the song, but he felt like he was on Abraham’s side. He didn’t practice much now, but he was raised Baptist, and his family had been heavily involved in the church down home in Louisiana, until they moved. They’d found a new church when they moved up to Maine. Art had been baptized in Highland Lake, just a thirty minute drive out of Portland, when he was eleven.

He had stood in the water that came up nearly to his armpits, his clothing floating loose around him and the marshy bottom of the lake swirling and tugging at his feet. It was a bright hot day in early May, but the water was cold, and the look in the minister’s eyes was serious. Art had been scared then. He wanted to turn tail and run back to his mother. But his mother and father and aunt and uncle were watching with bated breath, and his siblings were waiting on the shore, their shoes and socks shucked off and tossed aside. They were watching him too, and waiting for their turn. He was the oldest now; he had to be brave.

Art had then been dunked under the water and he resisted the urge to thrash against the strong hands that held him. The lake water wrapped around him and engulfed him like a coffin. He was drowning. He had forgotten to take a breath before the minister submerged him, and now he was drowning. He thought of another body, rotting in standing water, and bubbles expelled from his mouth in a mad burst as he let out a soundless scream. Finally, he was hauled up by the collar of his starched white dress shirt, and he came up breathless and temporarily blinded by the sun, while his mother cheered hysterically on the shore.

Thinking of it now still made him feel like he was going to be sick.

Even more than religion though, his life was ruled by superstition.

Superstitions were as sure as summer storms and waves of summer heat rising up from the cracked and melted asphalt. The whole south was steeped in superstition, and the Baker family was no exception. Superstition worked its way into the practices and customs of every season. On New Year’s, they ate black-eyed peas and collard greens for good luck and money. In fact, that was what they ate nearly all year round, because that was what they could afford.

The Baker children went around town with dimes strung around their necks to ward off the devil, and whenever his mother opened a new loaf of bread, she threw the first end slice in the garbage. “To keep money comin’ our way,” she explained when Art asked about it. Art watched, forlorn and hungry, as she tossed the bread into the garbage. Money never seemed to come their way.

In the summer, when the alligators came out of hibernation and the humidity floated off the wetlands and settled heavily over everything, Art was warned about alligators climbing out of the bayou and slithering under his house. Those meant there would be a death in the family soon. Art always took the stairs up and down the porch two at a time, frantic to get away from the monster hiding under the house, waiting for the perfect moment to snap at his ankles and drag him under.

There weren’t any alligators in Maine, but Art still sometimes dreamed of one, lying in wait for him, red eyes glowing out of the darkness. He shuddered imperceptibly at the thought.

Would a song ruin their whole trip? No, but a part of him still felt apprehensive.

Outside the window, South Portland disappeared, and they were on the Maine Turnpike, heading south. The song had changed, and Hurt was playing now. Over the van’s speaker system, Johnny Cash’s voice sang: “What have I become, my sweetest friend? Everyone I know goes away in the end.” The guitar melody built behind his voice in a way that made Art’s chest tighten. It rose in a crescendo and then disappeared as the next verse began.

“Have any of you heard the original of this song?” Ray asked.

From behind them, Pete answered, “Yeah. Nine Inch Nails. It’s good, but, you know, it’s not this.”

“I’d be fucking pissed if I wrote a song and then found out Johnny Cash did a cover of it,” Collie said.

Abraham laughed in the passenger seat. “Of course you’d be pissed.”

“Well, yeah! You write a song about some personal shit, and then Johnny Cash comes along and sings it and makes it a hundred times better. How would you feel?”

He thought for a moment and shrugged. “Shit, yeah. I guess I’d be kinda mad too.”

“You guys are thinking about it the wrong way,” Art said. “Imagine getting a call that Johnny Cash wants to record your song? That’d be exciting. That’d be an honor.”

He could see Collie looking at him in the rearview mirror, his eyes creased with his smile. “I guess that’s right.” It made Art smile too, and duck his head.

“It’s a good thing you’re on this thing with us, Art,” Abraham said, twisting around in his seat to face him. “It’s a good thing at least one of us isn’t an asshole.”

“Hey!” Pete protested. “Ray’s not an asshole.”

Ray snorted, and said, “Thanks, Pete.” Abraham twisted back around in his seat. The song changed. Art looked back out the window.

///

In a half hour, approximately forty miles into their journey, they passed a sign saying that there was a  toll plaza in four miles.

“Alright,” Collie said, turning the music down a few notches. “Who brought cash for tolls?” Silence answered him. Art had completely forgotten that they’d even need to pay tolls. “Jesus, nobody?”

“There’s a rest stop coming up on the right,” Abraham told him, reading the road signs as they zoomed past. “There’ll be an ATM there. We can take some cash out there.”

A couple miles down the road and they pulled into the rest stop. The parking lot was mostly empty as they all piled out of the minivan. The rest stop was a small building with a dramatically slanting roof and the front was mostly covered over with windows. Out front was a Smokey the Bear statue with a sign next to him proclaiming the fire danger in the area for today. The risk was low.

“I say we each take out $20,” Abraham suggested. “That should be good to start out, right?”

“I think so,” Ray said, looking like he was deep in thought. “After this, we’ve got a toll to get on the New Hampshire turnpike, and a shitton of them in Massachusetts. Once we’re west of New York, I have no clue.”

“Geez, you’re like a walking road map,” Pete said admiringly. Ray ducked his head. “We can spend whatever leftover cash we have on food and stuff.”

The group turned and headed towards the rest stop. Art followed, but Collie caught his arm and held him back. Art looked down at the hand and then into his friend’s face. Collie dropped his hand quickly.

“Art, if you want I can take out money for both of us,” he offered, his face flushed like he was embarrassed. “You don’t have to take out the $20 if you don’t want to.” Art heard the implication there. He meant: “if you can’t.”

Now it was Art’s turn to feel embarrassed. It brought him back to being a kid, and not being allowed to go to birthday parties because he couldn’t afford to rent the bowling shoes or the roller skates. It brought him back to eleventh grade, when they all got their driver’s licenses and started to go out to eat on the weekends and pass late nights crammed into diner booths. Pete had always pulled him aside and offered to pay his way for him. Pete always looked at him with a kind and earnest look in his eyes, and shame always rolled around in Art’s stomach like a hot coal.

He felt it now, rolling around in his stomach and pressing down on the back of his neck, forcing him to look down at his shoes. Collie was bouncing from one foot to the other, looking back at the rest stop every so often. The others were probably already crowded around the ATM, wondering what the hell was wrong with them.

“It’s alright, Collie. I can pay my own way. I have some money saved up,” he answered, finally looking back up at Collie. “Besides, it’s not like any of us have a ton of money.” Sickly he thought: there’s a big difference between being middle class and being poor. He knew that, and he knew Collie knew that. For a second, he thought Collie was going to say it, but mercifully, he didn’t. He just patted Art on the back, and the two of them walked across the parking lot to the rest stop.

///

Once they had finished at the rest stop, Collie had a modest stack of twenty dollar bills in his hand. The twisted the key in the ignition and the van rumbled to life. They pulled easily out onto the highway.

It was still only 9:30 in the morning, and the only traffic was huge semi-trucks carrying goods and produce across state lines. They rose up around the minivan on all sides, dwarfing it. Art figured the traffic would be heavier once they got closer to Boston. The route that Pete had devised had them driving within thirty miles of the city before veering off west into New York. Abraham’s phone estimated they wouldn’t reach Niagara Falls until 5:00 in the evening.

Their Johnny Cash CD had just restarted, and Abraham was shuffling through the other ones Pete had bought as Collie pulled up to the tollbooth. The toll only cost $3.00, and he handed the woman working in the booth a twenty with what looked like an apologetic smile. She gave him his change, the bar lifted, and they drove on.

“She probably thought I was a dick, paying with a twenty,” he mumbled to himself, sticking the change in his cup holder as he continued down I-95 South. Over the radio, Johnny Cash sang: “Whoever is unjust let him be unjust still. Whoever is righteous let him be righteous still. Whoever is filthy let him be filthy still. Listen to the words long written down, when the man comes around.” It was the song that had played when they first left the Target back in South Portland, the song that had made Abraham nervous. It made Art nervous, too. The upbeat guitar playing underneath it only served to remind him of his father, playing hymns on the back porch in Louisiana. The songs were always happy, but they said such horrible things.

He wondered if Abraham still thought the song was a bad sign. He wanted to ask him, but couldn’t bring himself to do it, in the car, in broad daylight. It seemed like the sort of thing where, if you admitted to it in the daylight, all the monsters and all the bad luck in the world would find you and strike you down. Better to say it in the dark, where you could hide. Art gulped- he guessed he was more superstitious than he thought.

Abraham ejected the CD, causing the music to cut out sharply. He put in the next CD, the American III: Solitary Man album. The first song on the album was I Won’t Back Down. A cover of a Tom Petty song. He noticed Collie was singing softly to himself. It made Art smile. He knew it was just the sort of song Collie would latch onto.

Ray had turned in his seat, and he and Pete had their heads together, putting their playlist together. Collie’s words in the Target that morning hadn’t deterred them.

“How much do y’all have so far?” Art asked, turning in his seat too to face them better.

“We’ve got like a hundred songs,” Ray answered. “All sorts of stuff.”

“Wow,” was Art’s only response.

“I think once we add a bit more we’ll be done,” Pete added. “We’re gonna be on the road for some ninety hours. Gotta be prepared.”

Art turned back around. Not for the first time, he wondered what exactly he had set into motion. Ninety hours on the road.

They crossed over a bridge, and beneath them the Piscataqua River lazed along. Some sailboats were gliding over the surface. Art wondered what it would be like, to lay on the deck on a sailboat, warming in the sun. Maybe his friends would be there too, casting their fishing lines over the side of the boat. Art decided that would be nice.

A sign posted on their right announced that they were entering New Hampshire.

“Look at that! We’re in New Hampshire!” he gasped out.

“New state!” Abe cheered, banging on the car dashboard.

“Maybe New Hampshire will be more to your liking, Parker,” Pete teased from the backseat.

Art was excited- it had been a long time since he’d crossed the Maine state line. They finished crossing the bridge, and the Maine Turnpike became the Blue Star Turnpike. The trip felt real in a way it hadn’t before. Art hadn’t left Maine since he was a kid, and now he was going to travel across the country. He looked around him, eagerly left and right, and took it all in.

After another twenty miles of driving, they came to another tollbooth. “Christ, again?” Collie exclaimed. “Fuck Maine, and fuck Maine’s roads.” They all laughed at his customary outburst.

“I think you mean New Hampshire?” Abe supplied.

“Yeah, fuck New Hampshire, too,” Collie grumbled.

“So… so far Parker hates 4% of states. Should we start placing bets on what that number’ll be by the end of the trip?” Pete asked.

Collie ignored him and gave the man at the tollbooth a few crumpled dollar bills. Then they were through.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” Ray asked him fondly.

“Not at all,” Pete replied, and leaned back in his seat.

Art looked out the window.

///

They were in New Hampshire for only half an hour, and then they were crossing into Massachusetts. Another state to add to Art’s list. As they passed over the state line, Pete asked, in that fake earnest voice of his, “What do ya think of this one, Collie? Gonna add it to the list? Make it 6%?”

“You’re gonna get your stupid ass thrown out,” Art choked out between laughs.

“Art’s right, Pete. You’re getting yourself on my shit list,” Collie said.

“Who isn’t on your shit list?” Abraham asked.

“You know, Abe, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Hell, it’s fun to watch you get all red in the face.” Abraham grinned. Collie rolled his eyes but grinned too and kept on driving. They merged onto I-495 South, and then all the road signs began to point towards Boston.

“I was thinking we could stop and eat lunch around noon, and then switch drivers,” Pete said. His antagonistic streak seemed to be over, and he was back to examining the itinerary he’d put together for the trip.

“That sounds like a good idea,” Ray agreed.

“I like the sound of that,” Collie said.

“How you doin’ up there, Collie?” Art asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” he assured, rolling back his shoulders and stretching. “But I’ll be ready to switch two hours from now.”

///

They were mostly quiet after that, just singing along to the CD playing over the radio, until they were nearing Lawrence, Massachusetts. There was an exit leading onto I-93 South, which would take them into Boston.

“Collie, can we go to Boston?” Abraham asked, looking longingly out the window, as if he could see the city’s skyline from the highway, thirty miles away. “I’ve never been to Boston.”

“Who the fuck lives in Maine and hasn’t been to Boston?” Collie asked in disbelief. “I’m not even from here and I’ve fucking been to Boston.”

“Well, fuck you. I don’t have a car, dipshit,” Abe shot back.

“That’s a shitty excuse. Just take a Greyhound from Portland into Boston,” Collie replied. “You guys have been to Boston, right? Even you, Art?”

Ray and Pete nodded, but Art shook his head. “No, I’ve never been. Until this, I hadn’t even left Maine in like eight years.”

They all looked faintly surprised at this. “Jesus, what?” Collie asked incredulously. “I’ve failed the two of you as a friend,” he said to Art and Abraham. “Once we get back, I’m taking the two of you to Boston.”

Art liked the sound of that- exploring a new city with Abraham and Collie Parker. His world seemed so much bigger than it had this morning, so much bigger than his present in Maine and his past in Louisiana.

///

By the time noon rolled around, they were nearing Blandford, Massachusetts. Boston was over a hundred miles behind them. “Pull off here,” Abraham instructed, and Collie did, and they rolled into Blandford. The welcome sign said the population was 1,233.

“There’s a park around here that’s really pretty. We should eat there,” Ray said, looking intently at his phone screen. Collie asked for directions, and Ray gave them. After a few minutes of driving they pulled into the parking lot of Becket Quarry and Collie paid the parking attendant $10. They’d already spent nearly $20, and it had only been a few hours. That stack of twenties wasn’t stretching as far as Art thought it would.

They all got out of the van and crowded around the trunk, pulling sandwiches and water bottles out of the cooler Abraham had brought. Collie grabbed one of the packs of beef jerky out of a Target bag, and then they were locking up the van and heading down the trail.

It wasn’t a far walk to the quarry, and along the path and trees surrounded them, green and leafy and tall. They reached the end of the path, and came upon the quarry. It was beautiful- the surface of the water reflected the endless blue sky overhead, and large rock faces emerged from the water and towered over it, covered over with moss and bright green foliage. There were a few different groups sitting around the quarry, but it was mostly empty- plenty of room for them to spread out and eat their lunch.

Abraham climbed one of the smaller rock formations overlooking the water and set his water and sandwich down. “We should go swimming.”

The rest of the group looked eager, excited at the prospect, but Art hesitated. “How deep is it?” he asked.

“Well, it’s a quarry, so I think the most shallow spot will still be at least forty feet,” Ray answered.

“Forty feet,” Art repeated softly to himself. That was awfully deep. It would be easy to disappear in that water and never come up again. That old panic gripped him.

The rest of them were stripping down to their boxers to swim. Abraham dove in first, and then Pete jumped in, dragging Ray with him by his hands. Collie went next, doing a cannonball and splashing the three of them in the water.

Art wished he could follow, but he imagined jumping in and sinking down down down, away from the light. Instead he took off his shoes and socks and sat at the edge of the water, his legs under it up to his mid-calves. The water was cold, perfectly refreshing for a summer day.

A few feet away, Abraham was floating on his back, and Pete and Ray splashed at him, giggling to each other like conspirators. Collie was swimming laps around them, his tanned arms glinting in the sunlight. Show off, Art thought, and suppressed a secret smile.

It made Art happy to watch him, and it felt good to bask in the sun, to feel it on his arms and his legs. It was still early June, but the temperature must have climbed past eighty degrees. It had been humid in the forest, but by the water the air felt crisp and clean.

The sun flashed brilliantly off the surface of the water, casting his friends in a harsh glare. They looked like an old overexposed photograph, or a child’s crayon-colored dream come to life. This, he thought, is what summer is.

Collie noticed him sitting on the bank alone and swam over. “You coming in?” he asked. Art shook his head. “Can you not swim?”

“I can swim,” Art answered. “It’s just… it’s too deep.” He could only see a foot or two below the water’s surface. Below that, darkness straight down. He could see Collie’s arms as he tread water, but the rest of him was obscured by the quarry water. Pete, Ray, and Abraham were just floating heads, bobbing and laughing a dozen yards from shore.

“Oh.” Collie pushed his wet hair out of his face. “I get that.” He braced his hands on the rock and lifted himself up out of the water, sitting next to Art. Art’s shirt sleeve was wet from where Collie’s arm touched his.

“You don’t have to stop swimming on account of me,” he said softly.

“Oh, it’s not on account of you,” Collie answered. “We have to dry off and eat anyways. I don’t know about the rest of them, but I don’t want to drive around for another four hours in wet shorts.”

They sat in companionable silence for a minute, Collie kicking his legs and churning up water. The droplets seemed to catch fire in the afternoon sunlight. “What bothers you about the water?” Collie asked, looking over at him. The heat of Collie’s arm was still heavy against his arm, but neither of them moved away. Art’s face burned with the proximity.

“I can’t see the bottom. I can swim fine,” Art explained. “But I don’t like it when I can’t see the bottom.” He almost wanted to add that no one knew what was down there, lurking below the reach of the sun. But that was the stuff of nightmares, and he didn’t want to seem stupid.

“We’ll have to find you a swimming pool, then,” Collie replied.

Art fixed him with a look. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, I’m not making fun of you. I’m trying to be nice. I don’t make fun of you, you know. At least not, like, seriously.” He had a faintly hurt look in his eyes, like this was something he really wanted to get across.

Art answered that look with a smile. “A swimming pool sounds nice, then.”

“Good,” Collie said simply. He got up and walked over to where his clothes were discarded, and started getting dressed. Art averted his eyes. He called out to the three in the water, “Come on and get out now! We gotta hit the road soon to keep on schedule!”

“Don’t be so lame!” Pete shouted back, in the middle of dunking Ray under the water. Ray pushed him away, laughing.

“Dumbass, it’s your schedule,” Collie answered, sitting back down and ripping open the pack of beef jerky. “Get over here and eat your sandwiches.” The three reluctantly swam over and pulled themselves out of water, instead eating their lunch and drying under the sun. Art left his perch on the edge of the rock and went to sit with them.

They ate their sandwiches and drank from their water bottles, warming themselves in the sun and keeping an eye on the time. When it hit 1:00 PM, Collie got up and said, “Time to go, guys. Pete, you’re driving.” He tossed the keys, and Pete caught them cleanly.

“Aye aye, captain.” Pete gave a mock salute and started getting dressed. “Ray can sit up front with me. We’ll debut our playlist.”

“Can’t wait,” Collie grumbled.

As they left, Art looked back at the quarry one more time, at the murky depths and the glare it cast on the rock formations surrounding it. Then, he turned around and followed his friends through the trees.

#the long walk #art baker #collie parker #bakerparker #my fic #big sky country au

[everlarkficexchange]

A Father Figure

Written by: @wingletblackbird

Prompt 44: Their love was forbidden in more ways than the obvious one (older!Peeta). Their love conquers all even with revelations that destroys other person relationships. AU. Toast babies for extra cookies. [submitted by @animekpopxx]

Betaed by: @jroseley

Warnings: Minor references to pedophilia, although there is none present in this story.

Rating: General. (If you’ve read the Hunger Games you can read this. lol)

A/N: This submission has four chapters and a little over 17k words. I have one more chapter and an epilogue, (with the extra-kudos toastbabies), left to write. However, I also have a couple other EFE fics to work on before the deadline, so I’m submitting this now. Hopefully I can compete this fic by April 7th, but if not, I should be able to finish it in the next month or two. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One: Guardian Angel

I have never felt lower in my life, never felt more desperate. You��d think it would be the day Dad died, but that was just the harbinger of ill tide. It’s amazing how quickly things change. You never see it coming, like a sucker punch, every plan you ever had, every thought you took for granted, gone with the ash. When Daddy died it was so hard to understand. The words, Daddy died. Daddy died. Daddy’s dead. echoed all through my head, bouncing around the walls of my skull, mere sounds which garnered no understanding. I remember holding Prim tight, like I might lose her too, and Momma held both of us as we all cried and cried. I remember nuzzling my head into my mother’s breast and breathing her scent in, comforted. At least we had each other. I clung to her, our only rock left, our refuge. The next morning came, and Momma wouldn’t get up. It was like thinking you were holding onto driftwood in a flood, only to realise it’s sinking metal. Your refuge is torn from you, was never a refuge at all. You flail, and choke on water, can’t even make a noise. There’s no air, only panic, and terror, such terror. It imprisons you like prey lured to a dead end, rushing this way and that, trying to bolt; the terror and panic in their eyes…my eyes…crippling them. Desperation. You swim or die. I tried to swim, while holding Prim above the powerful waves. It’s so hard to manage even yourself against the tide. So here I am, soaked to the bone, drowning, and the icy rain falling is still warmer than the chill in my soul, the desperate ache in my ribcage, as I scrounge for scraps in the garbage bins in town, but there is nothing. I am nothing. The mines took all of us.

  A raw, wrenching cry rises up in me. I keel over with it. There’s no food. We’re done. I failed. It’s like I can feel the severing of my life’s thread. I am dead. Soon everyone will know it. I’m only eleven, so close to tesserae, but I have no energy and no hope. The merchant’s trash was my last shot, but there’s not even trash for me. My knees buckle, but I can’t stay here, so I crawl through the mud to the meagre refuge of an apple tree by the bakery. I bet I look like those stragglers that lie down and die in the meadow. It’s a beautiful place to die. Maybe I’d go too if I had the energy. This apple tree will have to do. If only it had fruit.

  I sit here under it, too raw for tears, as the water drenches me, and my fingers and lips turn blue. I don’t dare look at the bakery. The smell of it is cruel enough, to look and see inside the warmth, the light, and the food–all the food, mountains of food–not for me, would be too much. It would be the final confirmation I am nothing, will never be anything, locked out, not worthy to even eat the scraps. No one cares about Katniss Everdeen; no one cares about the Everdeens at all. All the people Momma healed, and all the people Daddy stood up for, worked with, not one of them had a care to return the favour. No one. It hurts. I close my eyes, unable to get up and face my sister with her hollow cheeks, and cracked lips. Does she even understand how bad it is? Gentle Prim who still cleans Daddy’s shaving mirror everyday like that’ll somehow bring him home? Maybe they’ll send me to the Home, but hopefully I’ll die long before I have to face the failure embodied in a broken Prim. I was supposed to protect her.

  I’ve almost passed out from the hunger, fallen asleep from the cold, when I hear slushy footprints walking towards me. It’s probably peacekeepers, or maybe the baker is running me off, or someone’s going to drag me to the Community Home. I muster the energy to open my eyes, and turn my head over expecting to see a cruel face, a harsh twist of sneering lips, instead I am greeted with a smile. It is a gentle, kind smile. Not the kind that is fake, or is so peppy it ignores reality, or is just really forced, but the kind that comes at the end of a hard day when there’s really no joy to be had, except you see someone you love…and you smile. I can’t imagine why this man’d be smiling at me like that. I feel nervous.

  He kneels next to me in the mud, ruining his slacks. The rain is drenching him now too, plastering his blonde hair to his head, but he doesn’t seem to care. He looks to be about mid-twenties, fair with blue eyes, like most people in town. He looks healthy, nothing like me. I just want to know what he wants. Get this over with.

  “You’re Katniss, right?” The man, Mr. Mellark I suppose, looks at me earnestly, and he seems sincere, concerned. How does he know my name? I tense and I nod vaguely.

  “Jack Everdeen’s daughter?”

  I nod again, and tears fill my eyes at the words, at what seems like the compassion behind them, at the recognition, the gentleness… at Daddy. His eyes seem unbearably tender. He sighs.  

  “I’m sorry about your Dad. He was a good friend of mine.” He shakes his head. “I should have visited, but…I didn’t want to make things worse for you.”

  What he means by that, I couldn’t say.

  “How do you mean?” He hesitates a moment, and I worry he won’t answer, but he meets my tentative gaze.

  “I used to trade with him, bread for squirrels and the like. He was a good man. I liked him. We talked sometimes.”

  Yes, that makes sense. It would have been around the entire district if some townie walked up to our house. He’s right; it probably wouldn’t have been a good idea. I’d wonder what everyone else’s excuse was, but talking to someone, anyone at all, who seems to care is warming me in spite of myself.

  “Here.” He pulls a package out from under his jacket,  and presses it into my hands. It’s bread, I realise: Three loaves. The tears overflow. I am overwhelmed, shocked. No one just gives food away in Twelve. I look up for a catch, but he just smiles sadly. “For your father’s sake,” he says. I can accept that.

  With a sudden spurt of energy, I lean over, grasp him in a quick hug, mutter, “Thank you,” and dash off back home. I think I hear him say, “Anytime,” with remarkable sincerity, but I’m not sure. Either way, his kindness is unparalleled.

  When I wake up the next morning the world feels different, warmer, not quite so hopeless, not quite so alone. It’s like Mr. Mellark’s kindness has stayed with me, penetrated me. Still, I know something is going to have to change. I can’t just keep reacting, hoping for more people like Mr. Mellark, (if they even exist). My pride won’t take it anyway. You don’t sit back and let people hand you stuff. You work for it. In the back of my mind, I take pride in the words Mr. Mellark said, how he identified me: You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I am, I think, and Daddy wouldn’t want me to quit, lie down in the dirt. When I spy a dandelion on my way to school, I know how we’ll survive. The spring truly returns to my step. I look back at Prim who’s trailing behind me, holding my hand, and smile.

  It takes some time, of course, to be sure I know all the edible plants off by heart, to know where and when to find them without Daddy watching over my shoulder, but soon the woods are

my refuge. I find food there, sustenance, comfort. As the seasons change, I spend hours upon hours in the summer practicing my shooting, making more arrows, storing food for winter. Between my poaching and my tesserae, we are managing. Prim brings my mother out into the sun more, and the return of meat to the house slowly seems to rouse her from her stupor. Prim gives her some kind of medicine that’s supposed to help. I guess it works. Momma’s not the same, but it’ll do. She’s functional. Prim is thrilled. Hugging Mom over and over, and smiling, like she’s back from the dead, which she may as well be. Me though, I hug mom stiffly, once, but I don’t know what else to do when she looks at me with sad eyes. The damage is done. I can no longer rely on her. Things have changed. They’ll never go back. Where’s the use in pretending? Her arms are no longer my refuge. There are the woods for that. That will have to be enough. It’s not that I hate her. It’s just that I can’t pretend to be younger than I was forced to grow to be. I don’t fit that niche anymore. I won’t nuzzle into her a chest again. I can’t need her, don’t know how to trust her. I’m glad Prim is happy. I keep my thoughts to myself.

  It is about five or six months after the incident with Mr. Mellark that I see him again. We, Gale, a boy I became poaching allies with over the last month, and I, have excitedly hauled up our first ever deer into the butcher’s, and are just leaving with the cash. I’ve never seen so much before, I can only imagine what more I would’ve gotten if the doe had been intact. Even better,  I now know I can trade with the butcher for currency if I need to, so it’s a good day when Mr. Mellark walks out from the back room.

  “Hi, Katniss,” he greets cheerfully. “Aunt Rooba just told me about that deer you and your buddy shot down.” He nods at Gale as he says this. “If you ever get a squirrel, feel free to come down to the bakery, or better yet, actually, just come to my place.” He rattles off an address I quickly try to memorise. “My brother’s not too keen on trading.” He winks, pats me firmly on the shoulder, says he’s glad to see I’m doing better, acknowledges Gale politely, and heads back to the bakery. He’s humming a cheery tune. All in all, it’s a short exchange, but I feel a sense of pride go through me that he didn’t make a mistake in giving me that bread. You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter. I can get him that squirrel.

  Gale doesn’t look nearly so pleased I notice as we head back to the Seam. His brow is furrowed, and his fists are buried so deep into his pockets they seem to bow his body forward. His breathing is strained.

  “What’s your problem?” I ask, probably more defensively than I needed to.

  “He is my problem.” Gale huffs, and there’s no doubt to whom he’s referring. “It’s sick. His type. Worse than Cray.”

  “Worse than Cray?” I am utterly confused. Cray gives desperate women a pittance to warm his bed. How could Mr. Mellark ever be compared to such an odious man?

  “Haven’t you heard, Catnip?”

  “Heard what?” I’m getting mad now. Gale can be patronising at the best of times. It’s clear he thinks I’m just some little kid he had better put up with. Gale stops in is tracks, and pivots around to look at me intently. His rage matches mine.

  “They say he gives out food to starving kids, but in return he expects them to…stay over…at his place. You get what I mean? They say that’s why he’s never married. He has preferences.”

  Unfortunately, I know what he’s hinting at, and it taints the memory of Mr. Mellark giving me that bread right when I most needed it. Is this why he wants me to come to his place? Is he really worse than Cray? Does he expect something? It’s hard to believe. His smile, his warmth, had seemed so genuine. Now I worry I’ve been played for a fool.

  “I get what you mean, but we trade with Cray too, and I’m not going to turn my nose up at a bargain that could help my family. Besides, my dad used to trade with him. He can’t be all that bad.”

  Gale shakes his head like I’m so naive, and it pisses me off. He presses forward against the cold wind. “Suit yourself, Catnip. I just don’t like it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I won’t!” I snarl. He’s reaching to touch a part of me that is far to vulnerable for such callous exposure. We part ways quickly after splitting our haul. My good mood killed.

  The next morning I rise before dawn and shoot a squirrel determined to know the truth for myself. I am absolutely dwarfed in my father’s leather hunting jacket I insist on wearing, no matter how pathetic it seems. I stomp into town gripping the handle of my knife in my pocket. I doubt I’ll need it, but still, I feel uptight. I draw in a quick breathe to fortify myself, and knock on the door.

  “Katniss!” Mr. Mellark exclaims looking thrilled to see me, his eyebrows comically risen on his forehead. “Wow! You came faster than I could have hoped. Why don’t you come in?” He opens the door wider and gestures grandly for me to enter. “I’ll just get something for you.” I’m tempted to say I’ll wait, but it seems rather rude to a man who has been so seemingly kind.

  His house is bright. I wonder if he’s decorated it himself. There are beautiful pictures, sketches, and paintings on the walls. Most look like they could be from Twelve. But some look like the scribbles of children which feels makes me feel like I’ve swallowed stones. He leads me into the kitchen and I can see breakfast is on the table. I have interrupted him, as well as two children I’m pretty sure are from the Community Home who are sitting there. I almost throw up.

  “How many squirrels have you got me? And how would you prefer I pay? Bread or coin?” He asks. I try to shake myself out of my horror. “Katniss?”  

  “Umm…Just the one squirrel, and, um, bread, please.” I am utterly unable to take my eyes off of the children in front of me. They look about five and six. I think I really might puke.

  Peeta just nods agreeably and goes to a bread box at the counter where he pulls out a loaf of sourdough which he places neatly in a paper bag and hands over at me.

  “Katniss?” He asks again. I must really look bad.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” I panic. “I just…I’m not used to being up this early.” He chuckles at that.

  “Yes, the early mornings are hard to get used to.” He glances over at the children who are shyly pretending not to look at us. “You two done?” His voice is jovial.

  “Yes, Mr. Peeta.” The young boy mutters, and grabs the hand of the little girl I assume must be his sister. Peeta looks back at me, because somehow I haven’t been able to move myself out of there as quickly as possible. “I don’t suppose you mind walking them back to the Home? I’m running a bit late.”

  “Yes, of course.” I seize my chance, and grab the boy’s hand, and he pulls his younger sister behind him. I nod goodbye to Mr. Mellark, and dash out the door.

  Watching them though, they seem shy, but not…harmed in anyway, and I wonder if I’m overreacting. Mr. Mellark didn’t seem horrible, hadn’t propositioned me for anything, but then again not everyone who is awful looks like it. Yet I find it hard to believe though that my Dad would have traded with someone who was a pedophile. Cray is awful, but to use children…

  “Do you like Mr. Mellark?”

  “Uh, huh.” It’s the girl that answers. “He’s nice. He lets us eat until we’re full sometimes, and if someone stole our place, he gives us a bed.”

  “Does he ever…hurt you? Make you do…funny things?” How am I really supposed to phrase it? Does Mr. Mellark fondle you? Give you food and a roof over your head in exchange for satisfying his sexual perversions? I can’t even begin the process of saying it out loud.

  “No.” The boy stops walking and stares forcefully up at me. He seems intently serious, more than his age should be. “There are a lot of people like that, but not Mr. Mellark. He’s really nice.”

  “Sometimes he bakes cookies with us!” The little girl pipes in. The boy sighs at her optimism, and when his Seam grey eyes properly meet my own, I see an abject loss of innocence. I wonder what he’s seen. I wonder what he’s been through.

  “I know what you’re really asking, but he’s not like that, and don’t ever let noone say otherwise.”

  After that he won’t say another word, but his sister rambles on and on, about how Mr. Mellark had tucked her in at night, and told her a bedtime story, and how it was so warm, and they actually had enough blankets for once. I feel incredibly relieved, and also guilty for even doubting him: The Kind Man With the Bread.

I take to trading with Mr. Mellark–Peeta, he insists I can call him–about once a week or so. I keep an eye on him at other times too, and as the weeks pass I notice a variety of regular children who frequent his property. Mostly they are children from the Community Home, but there are others who are from truly broken homes who stay over at Mr. Mellark’s when they need a warm roof over their heads. The most he’ll ever ask is that they make their bed, or help him with breakfast. There’s a sixteen year old called Jude, Peeta’s known since he was about eleven, who runs errands for him. Peeta’s never even asked. Jude just looks up to him that much, or owes him that much, I suppose. Peeta’s become every stray’s older brother and father. I see him playing soccer with them in the backyard, or teaching them chess on the porch. Once he bought a young girl a new dress she was desperately in need of, and she proudly twirled it for me. I can easily see how he got such a terrible reputation. No one is going to think well of some Townie who hangs around with Seam children, giving them food and warmth, especially ones who are impoverished even by our standards. No one gives away food here, especially crossing the class lines. Clearly there has to be something salacious. No one’s that nice. Peeta is though, and he’s made a pariah for it.

  “Why do you do it?” I ask him one morning when he invites me in. It’s one of those rare mornings he offers to have breakfast with me and the Home kids aren’t there too. Maybe that’s why it’s also the first time I accept.

  “Do what?” He seems genuinely confused.

  “Help all those kids. Most people wouldn’t. And you must know what they say about you.”

  He laughs at this, and shakes his head.

  “Oh yeah, I know what they say. I didn’t plan it, you know.”

  “I didn’t think you did.” I mutter a bit annoyed at the idea that he might be laughing at me, but he just tugs on my braid good-naturedly and I feel my ire melt a bit.

  “It happened sort of gradually, I guess.” He shrugs and spoons up a bit more oatmeal. “I noticed that there were a lot of kids digging around the trash cans. Mom hated it, used to run them off, but I felt bad. Children were starving, and she would go and yell at them,and threaten to call the White Shirts, and I’d give food we had to the pigs.” He’s not laughing now. He’s looking far-off like he’s playing out a distant, painful memory in his head. “So I started to leave food out for them, and when I got older, got a place of my own–anything to get away from Mom, to be honest–I noticed a young boy on the street. It was winter, bitter cold, I knew he probably wouldn’t wake up again if he fell asleep out there, so I brought him in. That was Jude. He was the first. It all snowballed from there. They kept coming, I’d see them on the street, locked out of the Home, and I couldn’t turn them away. We’re supposed to protect children, take care of them, not hit them, not watch them starve and freeze to death” His words drag me back to when I was the one starving and freezing, and I am so lost in the echoes of despair and gratitude, I almost miss the words he whispers next. “Or get thrown into arenas.”

  “Is that why you never married?” The reference to the Games draws the question from my lips before I even have time to think. Having already decided myself never to love or marry for precisely that reason, if no other, I find myself quite sympathetic.

  “No, not really. I’m just picky.” He picks up his bowl and mine and goes to the sink where he starts washing them up. I stand and grab a towel to help dry. “In town, a lot of people marry for advantage. Oldest son inherits, others apprentice out, often marry the daughter inheriting another business, so on and so forth. My parents have a marriage like that.” I look at his profile and see a tensing in his jaw, and I can tell this topic is difficult for him. “They don’t like each other very much, and mother’s bitterness spills over everywhere. I swore that would never be me, even if it meant the mines.”

  “But it didn’t?” This seems intrinsically important to me. I would not want to see Peeta in the mines. I wouldn’t want to see anyone in the mines, but Peeta is the nicest man in my life now that Daddy’s gone, and that makes the image ten times worse.

  “No, Ryen hated the bakery so much he apprenticed out to become a blacksmith, so I didn’t have to worry too much. The bakery can support both me and my brother. Still, to be on the safe side, it would’ve been good for me to marry well. I just never met any woman who I thought I could be happy with. They either don’t approve of me or what I do, or we have nothing in common, or I’m not attracted to them, or as the youngest and least financially secure son, they want nothing to do with me.”

  “I’m sorry.” I say, and I am, because even though I never want to marry and never want to have kids, I am sad that such a nice man seems so alone. He flicks water up at me clearly unencumbered by such thoughts.

  “Don’t look so gloomy, Miss Sunshine,” he teases. “Do I look unhappy to you?”

  “No.” He drags a smile out of me, and gives me a loaf of bread to trade as I leave, telling me to drop by “anytime,”. The little girl I met when I first traded with him, I’ve learned her name is Sarai, runs up and gives him a hug.

  “Morning, Little Angel!” he greets, and I realise Mr. Mellark never needed to be a husband to be a father. When I hug Prim in my arms that night, I realise I’m not much different there.

  After our conversation that day, I do try to drop by every once in awhile. I tell myself it’s to make sure he’s okay. The truth is when I have my bad days, just walking by his house makes me feel better, reminds me that in the crushing grinder of life, there are people who will care. Someone who’ll listen. I’ve noticed I have an unfortunate weakness for kind people, but it is New Years Eve that ruins me.

  I go to visit Peeta and wish him a Happy New Year when he invites me in saying he has a present for me. Inside there seems to be a little party going on. There is music playing, and I glance into the living room to see Peeta has clearly tried to bring some holiday cheer into his kids’ lives, but it is not the living room he takes me too. He takes me to some kind of office or studio where he presents me with a picture frame deliberately turned upside down. I turn it over and there is a beautiful painting of my father. The expression captured is perfect. The woods look incredibly real. His eyes are shining as brightly as they did in life. I realise Peeta must have painted this, must have made all the pictures around here. I’m impressed at his talent but that is lost behind the well of emotions which have broken through the dam I have built around them. Mom looks at the picture of Dad all the time, but I haven’t been able to bear looking at his visage since the day he died. Now he is here in front of me. Tears stream down my cheeks. I don’t know how it happened, but Peeta’s arms are around me as I sob and sob and sob. I’ve been trying to be brave so long, I haven’t really cried.

  “Shh. Shh,” he whispers as he rubs my back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I shudder and gasp as I try to find the words. I settle for shaking my head and snuggle deeper into his chest as his arms encircle me. I haven’t been held like this since the day my father died, and I feel safe. I feel small, not like a bug about to be crushed under your foot small, small like a chick under their mother’s wing. The thought makes me shake and cry harder. I’ve missed this. I’ve needed this.

  “It’s perfect, Peeta. Thank you.”

  I pull away reluctantly and through watery eyes I see blue eyes meet mine. Something flops and rises in my chest; I know now, I will never be able to claw this man out of my heart, the guardian angel my father sent from beyond the grave.

Chapter Two: Loneliness

About a year and a half later, not long after I turn fourteen, I discover Peeta has ambitions far beyond what I’m sure anyone else could have imagined. As always, I don’t see it coming. Not much has changed over the year and a half so much as it has grown. Gale trades with Peeta too now, although his disdain for anyone from Town remains uncomfortably evident. I drop by sometimes for breakfast or supper, bringing trophies from the woods like berries, or wild onions, here and there, so Peeta doesn’t feel like I’m using him. I share parts of my life. It’s nice, to have someone to talk to outside of school or hunting. Madge and I don’t really talk much. Gale and I are only just learning to. And it is this undeniable passage of time that spurs the conversation I never saw coming.

  “I have a proposition for you, Katniss, now it’s spring.”

  I have to swallow quickly before answering.

  “What sort of proposition?”

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind taking some of your time in the woods to look for some sizeable flood banks, or moist valleys, you know, places water accumulates, and the soil looks good?”

  I’m so surprised by the nature of his question my spoon is left suspended in the air.

  “Why?”

  He places his palms flat on the table in front of him, and draws himself up for what looks like a discussion he’s going to feel passionate about.

  “Jude’s aging out of the Reaping this year.”

  I nod.

  “And I obviously don’t want him going down the mines.”

  I nod again because I have no idea where he’s going with this.

  “I also rather hate the tesserae system, and how dependent we are on the Capitol for rations in general.”

  Oh, this is getting dangerous. I swallow.

  “Everyone in Town depends on the Capitol for supplies to continue their trade–that’s a huge part of the reason no one from the Seam can buy from us, the prices are too high–and it’s also what keeps us Town-folk at their mercy. It divides us completely, and still I know people starve everyday.”

  “Your point,” I say tilting my chin down for a stern look, because this topic of conversation is dangerous, and while I would expect it from Gale and his rants, I am not expecting it from Peeta, who prefers to talk about homework, or my relationships with my family, or other safer topics of conversation a man in his mid to late twenties might ask a young girl he looks out for.

  “My point is that I want to change that if I can. I’ve been planning this for years, actually. I want to see if maybe we can farm in the woods. Get our flour from our own sources. Then we could open a bakery at the Hob, and sell at prices people can afford, cut out the middleman. It might help a lot. Of course, no one from the Seam is going to want to buy from me, and while I think if the alternative were tesserae or starve, most would, I thought maybe Jude could do it? And that way I don’t have to worry about him either.”

  “You’re crazy.” The way I say it though sounds nothing short of awestruck. “You really could hang for this.”

  He gives this about a second’s thought which either proves he’s not thinking this through, or he’s thought this through so much he’s already made up his mind. Knowing him, both could somehow be true at the same time.

  “I could, but I’m one person. Children starve to death everyday.”

  “What about the children you’re already responsible for?” I note even as I am saying it that technically Peeta isn’t responsible for them. The Home is. The Capitol is. The District is. But they are so inadequate, Peeta has stepped in.

  “I know. I know. It is a risk. It’s a gamble. I just don’t see any other option I can live with in clear conscience. This is way bigger than that, and no matter what I do, there are risks we face.”

  I can’t say he’s wrong, and who am I to argue with him when I risk my life everyday to feed Prim? I could hang for it, be shot for it, and if that happens, what’ll happen to Prim? But if I don’t she might starve and still die, or take tesserae and be that much more likely to die. It’s like Peeta said. It’s a gamble. It’s a risk.

  “What’s in it for me?”

  I don’t mean to sound callous, but business is business, and this is risky business. Peeta doesn’t seem to mind. A wide smile returns to his face. In truth it annoys me at times he seems to find my stern-negotiating-face adorable. I don’t want to be associated with adorable. I am not adorable. Regardless, he agrees to pay me a certain amount to find the land for him, and if they succeed in growing anything, he’ll give me enough grain to match my monthly tesserae rations. While it won’t mean I’ll be able to stop taking out tessera, since I split everything with Gale, it will mean decreasing the number of times I have to put my name in each year. I probably would have agreed to this scheme anyway, but there’s no way I could turn down a deal like that.

  As it turns out,  Peeta really has put a lot of thought into this farming scheme. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Perhaps it’s part of being a  bakeer–the way he gets up at three every morning and methodically kneads dough–but deliberateness permeates his being. Peeta is as steady and solid as the earth he means to till. He’s been stockpiling barrels, and building airtight containers to store flour in. He’s been looking into long-term storage. He has a contact in Eleven, (how I dare not ask), who got him corn and wheat seed. He asked his blacksmith brother to make him several hoes, (and laments he couldn’t find a domesticated horse or ox even if it were possible to bring such a creature past the fence), and has even made arrangements with the Goat Man to shovel his manure which Peeta plans to use as fertiliser. Never has it been more obvious to me what a planner Peeta is. Since I usually react to things and don’t generally think past tomorrow, it’s rather mind-boggling to see the lengths to which one man can scheme. Peeta has even grilled Greasy Sae on what she can remember from before the Dark Days about farming in the area. Peeta’s decided to plant corn in the spring and summer, and then wheat in the fall and winter. Who knew wheat just sort of stayed packed under the snow and waited to be harvested come spring? I didn’t. Now I do.

  Peeta has this way of talking about things that keeps you interested. Like when he talked about why he convinced his Aunt to give him chickens. I didn’t know gluten is what made bread stick together, and any flour he might get from corn, or even acorns, would need something else to make it stick. Hence, the eggs which he got from his Aunt, the butcher, who can occasionally get animals into the district. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I have little particular interest in the making of bread, and I had no idea there was so much to the subject of flour, oil, sugar, water, and yeast, but there is, and I listen, because he is interesting. Peeta asked if he was boring me, and I told him he wasn’t, but it wasn’t really because what he was saying was interesting, but his eyes lit up, and his arms gestured, and his humour was on point. His entire countenance took on such an animated, light-giving quality, I’d dare anyone to not have been absorbed. It seemed too important to him. Peeta has tendency to wrap you up in his enthusiasm, and make you smile in spite of yourself. It’s infectious. I almost hate him for it.  

  He is truly pouring his all into this crazy scheme. He only works part-time at the bakery now. The rest of the day he is out in the woods, by the river, in the valley, hoeing the land. He’s crazy. He is. There’s no other word. It’s insanity. I worry all the time wild animals are going to savage him, but he carries several knives, and he has a hoe, and I’ve taught him how to scale a tree fast, (which was hilarious because he’s stocky and definitely wasn’t made to scale trees, so much as haul them home for fuel), so I tell myself he’ll be fine. For the first two weeks though, come schools end, I race into the woods to make sure he’s okay. He teases me when he notices.

  “Worried about me?” He chortles.

  I roll my eyes as he tugs my braid and splashes me with river water. I pretend I don’t care. I can sort of see the humour of a girl who barely reaches up to his chest crouching in trees to keep an eye on him, but it’s harder to not get aggravated when Prim joins in the teasing.

  “It’s alright,” she says one day when I meet her after school to tell her where I’m going. “I’d run into the woods with Peeta too.” I immediately tell her off as she giggles. She is ten; I don’t know where she gets all this from. I point out that Mr. Mellark will be thirty come November, but she keeps laughing and later has mom tell a story about how her first crush was on the carpenter who was an older guy too. I huff and storm outside. Don’t they know why I worry? What Peeta has done for us, and still does for us? Of course, I’m worried. Of course I keep tabs on him. Maybe it’s just that I know nothing good stays. It’s nothing to do with crushes on older, stronger men. The problem is they’ve got me so worked up, I question every natural observation I have that Peeta’s arms are strong, and look good when they flex, or the way his shirt sticks to his skin when he sweats, or the way his hair shines gold when the light hits it just right. It’s normal to see these things when you look at someone. It doesn’t mean anything, but I head home when my keeping tabs on him results in me seeing him strip off his shirt and pour cool water over his head. There were many trails of water to follow over his chest, droplets that cascaded down him and dazzled in the sun, and he didn’t know I was there so it wasn’t fair.

  On weekends, and everyday come summer, the rest of Peeta’s pseudo-family join him. There is Jude, who is the oldest, and Jet who I know from various conversations over the last year is seventeen, and lives with his mom who is an alcoholic. Then there is Colleen and her brother Cole, who are fourteen and twelve. They were orphaned in the blast that killed my father. Finally, there are the babies of this group, Sarai and her brother Elliot, who were the first of Peeta’s foster kids I met. They don’t help much with the plowing, but they’re up bright and early every morning when the time comes for planting the seeds. I dare say it keeps them out of trouble. I help out too when I can, which always earns me a huge smile from Peeta that makes it hard to maintain eye contact with him. I refuse any form of payment pointing out that this is an investment for me too. Truth is, I just wanted to. Seeing them all work so hard tugs my heartstrings. Contrary to popular belief, I do have them. The corn grows fast, and high, and waves in the wind.

  It sometimes takes me time to find where they are working since Peeta has divided the farming land into sections. He hopes that’ll reduce the likelihood of damage to his crop than if they’re all in one place, and of the Capitol clueing into what’s going on with the two or three acres or so of land they’re farming. I have to say I agree. It was only a few months previously Gale and I had seen two people fleeing the Capitol only to be captured by hovercraft. I hadn’t told anyone but Peeta. Prim I couldn’t tell for fear of worrying her, and the same went with my mother. I don’t want to risk her checking out again, but Peeta, he is the one person in the world today I would say I trust unconditionally. That’s why I told him about the cabin by the lake my father brought me, in case he wants to fix that up to store grain in. He seemed terribly touched I’d told him, and I was glad he’d understood what it meant to me. Sometimes I go to the lake and see the work done and while it saddens me that this place is no longer my own, I am glad that my knowledge, my life, might now sustain others. (You’re Jack Everdeen’s daughter.)

  Gale cautions me about getting too involved in all this.

  “It’ll be great if it works out, Catnip, but if it doesn’t, don’t go wasting your time with it. We’ve got our own mouths to feed.” I hate he has a point, and reluctantly agree. It doesn’t end there though. Another time he points out, “And don’t go giving away our trade secrets either. We don’t need that kind of competition.”

  Again I agree with him, but a bakery isn’t going to compete with us, and I’ve known starvation too well not to help when I can, especially when I know what help has meant to me, and even more so when it is the person who helped me when I most needed it.

  “Stupid Townie,” Gale mutters. “If he wants to help out, fine, but the woods are ours. He’s stepping in where he doesn’t belong, trying to take advantage of us, thinks we can’t do better, but what else is new?”

  I get where Gale is coming from. I really do. We’ve been at the backdoors of people who will give us a pittance for our work, because they know we can’t really say no, especially when the law is on their side. It’s frustrating to say the very, very least, but I resent even more the notion that Peeta Mellark is like that when he is the one out here sweating under a hot sun, and working so hard I know I saw blood on the handle of his hoe. I also know that blood is there because he gave Jet his own gloves, and never let on a hint to his own pain. Peeta is staking a lot on this venture. I tell Gale so, and before I know it we’re in a flaming row. I generally try to avoid rows with Gale, or wait until we’re done hunting. They scare off the game, but I can’t help myself this time. There is a lot of huffing, arm-waving, and finger-pointing, and Gale calls me a naive child, again, and eventually we just stop unable to reach an accord. He’s only two years older, I wish he’d stop acting uppity. The truth is, I should have seen this coming. I’ve been called a halfie a few times, and that’s one of the kinder words out there. It doesn’t matter how much my mother does as a healer in the Seam, and I am proud of her for that if nothing else, she is still from Town, and people still skirt around her. It’s no different for Peeta. Gale is sceptical. He always will be, I think. It exhausts me.

  It works though. The corn grows, is harvested, dehydrated, and stored to be ground into cornmeal. I take Sarai and Elliot through the woods with massive buckets to get acorns to supplement that as well. One Sunday in October, Peeta invites me to join in a celebration in the woods. I am told I can bring my mother and Prim if I want to, but something in me hesitates and I seek them out alone. When I arrive I find a massive bonfire, and Jet playing something on some kind of wooden instrument. There are some cookies to snack on, and everyone is milling and dancing about the flames. I stop in the shadow of a tree just to watch them as the night grows darker. It’s strange this group of people. Seam colouring aside, they don’t look like a family, and Peeta doesn’t even have that. Jet is the only one that has anything merchant to him, blue eyes, because he’s the product of some Townie looking for fun without responsibility. Jude is lean and thin faced, but Jet is circular and short. Colleen and Cole look related of course, but their hair is blunt and straight, as are their noses. Then the youngest, Sarai and Eliot, well they have an impish look to them, even as serious as Eliot can be. Peeta sticks out like a sore thumb. Yet there is a harmony to this group, a joy, and a hope that unites them as they join hands and spin around and laugh together. They seem bound by something beyond anything I’ve experienced before. It makes something in me ache. I want to join in, but it feels dangerous to do so. I am not a part of this, and celebrating something scares me in a way I don’t fully understand. It seems risky, even as I wish it.

  “Katniss!” Elliot has spotted me. “Come on!” He runs forward and pulls me in. Jude hands me a cookie. It’s delicious, and I can’t help but smile. Soon Sarai who had been enjoying a piggy-back ride by Colleen runs over to get me to dance with her, and her joy drags all of us in as we spin and spin around. Half way through a twirl I lose my balance and Peeta catches me. All I notice is his warmth, his strong arms and chest, and then his blue eyes and his smile, and I forget to breathe. The urge to move forward is so overwhelming I shove him away.

  “I-I’m sorry. It’s getting late. My family’ll worry.”

  “Of course,” Peeta nods, apparently finding nothing the matter with my reaction. I suppose maybe I’m just that awkward. “Give them my regards.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I turn away to hug the youngest one’s goodbye and dash off trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that my mother and Prim were right.

  I avoid him after that. It’s stupid, because it’s not like he’d care, but I don’t know how to act. I trade with him as always, but insist that with winter here, I’m needed elsewhere so I don’t stay. Peeta looks concerned, but I brush him off and he lets it go. I encourage Gale to trade there more often. Gale notices and asks if Peeta has done anything wrong, but he really hasn’t. Gale doesn’t believe me, of course, but he lets it go for which I’m grateful.

  I am, however, kept up to date on everything that’s happening in Peeta’s life by Colleen. For whatever reason she has decided we are friends now we’ve been to a bonfire together. I discovered this when she decided to sit with Madge and I and lunch. I don’t discourage it though, it wouldn’t be particularly nice, and I also know Colleen, like me, doesn’t have many friends. Still, she’s a chatterbox which is an odd change since I think Madge and I are friends-of-a-sort, because we both don’t like to talk. Colleen isn’t shallow though, and her conversation does cover things that are at least relevant or interesting. I don’t think I could’ve bourne a gossip. Funnily enough, the injection of a talker to our group seems to have done Madge and I a bit of good allowing us to actually acknowledge that we are, in fact, friends. She drags us both to her house to teach us to play the piano, which is a huge laugh to say the least, and she talks us into bringing her to the woods. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything besides hunt and trade and work, I never realised how much I missed it. Short of some joking with Prim, or family time at New Years, I haven’t just had fun since my father died. It fills me with a deep ache in my heart. My father and I used to spend time together just singing with the mockingjays. Sometimes, he would seat me on his lap and teach me to sing in harmony with him. Silly songs. Folk songs. Love songs. I learned them all, and now waching Madge laugh as Colleen fudges up her part of Heart and Soul, I almost feel I could cry. For the first time, it doesn’t feel quite so much like death and loss, but life and growth. The cracking of a shell I’m out-growing.  I’ve never considered that new life comes in to the world to us with pain, so much as I have fixated on the losing of it.

  Gale and I stop trading with Peeta as of November. We split the grain he gives us between our families, and go straight to the new bakery in the Seam if we need bread. Greasy Sae has partnered with it to give it even more legitimacy, if such is a concern in a black market, and it is gaining popularity quickly. I am told there was a problem with the other bakery at the Hob. The system worked where children could sell there tesserae grain for coin, and that grain would be milled down and baked and sold at the Hob. Before Peeta, that was the best most people could hope for for a bakery in the Seam. With Jude selling now, fewer people were buying tesserae bread, or even having to sell as much tesserae grain for coin. Jude and Jet had almost come to blows with the other baker, I think his name was Mr. Salter, before people came to break it up before the Peacekeepers were forced to actually remember they were on duty. Peeta sorted it out by arranging to pay the Salter family help him mill down his grain, since it’s hard for them to farm, bake, and mill, all by themselves, and now they’ve settled into a reluctant sort of truce. Jude has not been condemned to the mines.

  But death comes anyway. It’s unstoppable. Colleen looks sombre come February.

  “Did something happen?” Madge asks, concerned.

  “Peeta’s mother died.”

  None of us say much after that, but after pacing around the woods guilty, I visit Peeta for the first time in four months. When he answers the door he looks dreadfully exhausted. His eyes have a haunted quality to them, and his hair seems simultaneously lank and uncombed. There is stubble where he is usually so clean shaven.

  “Hey, Katniss.” He mumbles and motions for me to enter.

  “I, um, heard about your mother.” I offer tentatively as I place several squirrels on the table for him.

  He sits down and sighs with weariness that is soul-deep.

  “Yeah, it’s no surprise really. She’s been sick for awhile, and had stroke a few years back besides.”

  I hadn’t known that she was sick. I should’ve known that. Guilt is rising steadily in me, as Peeta emotionally runs his hand through his hair which waves in a way that makes it clear he’s been doing that a lot today. I have never seen him sit with such a slump in his shoulders before. Not knowing what else to do, I decide to cook the squirrel. I remember how hard it can be to move when you lose a parent, how simple tasks can seem monumental. I’m not a brilliant cook; I’ve never had much opportunity to learn, but I think I can handle a stew. Something about the smell seems to wake Peeta up and he enters the kitchen as the stew is bubbling.

  “Thank you.”

  I just nod. Saying “You’re welcome,” seems trite somehow. This was the least that should be expected. I have been a poor friend to him.

  “I didn’t expect it to be so hard,” he continues as he sits down, his voice has this hollow quality to it. “She and I were never close. I was her disgrace…but now that she’s gone. I guess, I don’t know, there’s no way to ever make it right. Not that it was ever going to be made right, of course. Ever. So what’s the use in–” he waves half-heartedly with his hand, unable to articulate himself for once. All I do is hand him over a bowl of soup. You can’t go wrong with feeding someone, right? I pass him a spoon, and I can tell something’s wrong by the way he stares at it, turning it back and forth before his eyes like it is the key to some kind of puzzle. He drops the spoon and covers his face with his hands. His sobs are mostly soundless, but I can tell they are there by the shaking of his shoulders. They wrack his whole body.

  After a time, I hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder, and start to rub his back. This seems to help a little. I’m half tempted to sing to him, like I would to Prim, but he’s a grown man and that feels strange so I restrain myself. It hurts to see him like this. I’ve never really registered how alone he is. He’s here, in this house, alone, even though he has a father, two married brothers, and several nieces and nephews. It is I who comforts him. I can feel my heart swell with the absurd need to cradle and protect a man so many years my senior. When he calms, he gently places a large, warm hand over my small one, and smiles. I smile gently back.

  “Sorry to do that in front of you.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Thanks for the soup. It helps. The kids’ll be in soon, and then I’ve got to go meet with my brothers and Dad about the arrangements.”

  “If you ever need anything, please just…let me know.” I say the words earnestly and hesitantly, because I’ve never considered before that I could be of any real help to Peeta Mellark. His face lights a slight amount anyway, and he seems more like himself. He tugs my braid lightly and musses my hair and says he’ll bear that in mind. The gesture squeezes my heart in a way that pains. I know what I’ve always known, that he sees me as a cute kid, the daughter of a good friend, but it’s better that way I think as I walk home. There’s no reason that should hurt me. If I ever had to be attracted to anybody, best to be attracted to someone way beyond me. Peeta is older, from Town. It could never work. He’d never notice me, so I have nothing to fear. I can, however, be a partner to him, and more than just in trade. Gale and I share the burdens of having to help support our households. It makes things easier. I can do the same with Peeta, and bringing him some of Prim’s old clothes for Sarai is a good start, because no one deserves to shoulder the burdens of a family alone. I mean to bridge that gap however I can.

  Chapter Three: Artless

“Why art?” I remember asking Peeta shortly after I’d first started trading with him.

  “What do you mean why art?”

  “I mean…no offence…but, isn’t it a waste of time, even money?”

  Peeta took his time in giving me a response. It was something I always appreciated about him. He never belittled me, and spoke to me with respect. When he answered he was still sort of staring into space.

  “You can starve physically, but your soul can starve too. You can survive, but have no reason to live. Art feeds the soul.” He pauses and looks over at me. “You know how when you’re tired you can sit down and not want to get up again? You can. But you don’t. You can give up.” Immediately I am brought back to the apple tree where I had sat lost, weak, and weary. I could have gotten up, as I proved when Peeta gave me the bread, but before the hope he gave me, I wouldn’t have believed I could at all. I had no defense. “Art gives rise to hope, and validation of pain. It’s important, Katniss.”

  I nodded, content to never bring the topic up again, but after a lull in the conversation I thought was over, Peeta added one final thought. “Your father used to sing all the time. I always loved to draw, but I dare say he taught me the power of it.”

  I still haven’t truly sang since my father died, not to anyone other than Prim. I once stood at the edge of the lake my father brought me, not long after that talk with Peeta, and considered opening my mouth and letting the song that flooded to the back of my teeth pour out, but when I saw the mockingjays, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t sing and know they would take up the call and sing it again, and again after me for who knew how long. I knew singing again without my father would crack through some barrier that dammed the grief in me, and if I started, would I stop? And how could I bear the mockingjays carrying my pain onward and onward and onward, magnifying it for all to hear? I am too small for that. Too weak. So I don’t sing.

  It hadn’t stopped someone else from their own brand.

  It was In the spring, shortly before my sixteenth birthday, that I first noticed it. Graffiti on buildings depicting the faces of fallen tributes, or supporting the miners, or deriding the excesses of the Capitol. I’d never seen anything like it before. We usually try to forget the Reaping exists during the rest of the year, not like we ever do of course, but we tuck our heads down and move on. I’ve never seen anyone calling attention to it before, honouring those we’ve lost. I’m not sure how I feel about it, but Gale loves it, of course.

  He thinks it’s great to stir people up, take down the Capitol. I want to point out that it’s useless if we’re all by ourselves, one tiny district, but know from experience he won’t listen. He says it would be great if some Townie got reaped so maybe they’d fight alongside us. In truth, I never dreamed he’d get his wish.

  I am a mess the 74th games. It is Prim’s first time, and even though the odds are most in your favour the first time, somehow it feels like the worst. I jerkily lead her up to the counter where peacekeepers are taking blood for their records, and guide her through the process. I hardly even noticed when they prick my finger. When I tell her I will find her immediately after the ceremony is done, I know I am reassuring her as much as myself. I love Prim like I love myself…more actually.

  Colleen is waiting for me in the area for sixteen year olds and she grasps my hand tightly. I know she is as worried for Cole as I am for Prim, but she’s been through this a couple of times already. I’m not used to this kind of fear. I squeeze her hand back in solidarity and appreciation. She offers me a tight smile I can’t bring myself to return. I stare fruitlessly at the bowl and beg it will not call my name, not Prim’s name, or Madge’s, or Colleen’s, or Cole’s, or Gale’s, and muse that in spite of my best efforts, I care far too much. I don’t want it to be anyone, but I can’t stop that, so I must protect my own. There is a tension in the air, as Effie Trinket quickly reads the name more intent on maintaining her tenuous grasp on her wig then appreciating what she’s doing.

  “Flouer Mellark!”

  And a fifteen year old girl from Town is reaped: Peeta’s niece.

  Colleen and I exchange looks. I can read in her eyes what must be in my own. Was the Reaping punitive? It must be even worse for her, because Mellark is her last name now too. Peeta had adopted them all a few months ago when Jude’s Bakery took off. Colleen grabs my hand even tighter, so much so I fear the circulation must be cut off, but I do the same to her. WIll it be Peeta’s nephew, or will it be Cole, who is the only other boy Peeta cares about who might be eligible? Or if it is about trading in the Hob, what is it’s Gale? My breathing loosens when it’s a boy from the Seam, Terrence Carter–but it’s still horrifying to see it is a twelve year old boy. Twelve year olds are seldom Reaped, but when they are, they come from the  very back of the crowd, a longer walk, a longer torment, as if the Capitol wants to rub it in our faces what they do.

Tears are streaming down Colleen’s face now, and the moment we are cleared to leave she runs to find her brother, as I run to find Prim. I clutch her in my arms, breath her scent in, run my fingers through her hair. I need to know she is here, real, in my arms.

  “Oh, Katniss,” she sobs, “how awful.” I can only imagine how this felt to her. I had tried to comfort her, comfort myself, saying her name was only in there once, but so had Terrence’s been. Besides, she knows who the Mellark’s are and that drives it home too. No one is safe. How can anyone choose to go through this?

  “Hush, Little Duck,” I say as I pull away and tuck in her shirt again. “How about we bring them some strawberries?”

  She nods and wipes her tears with the back of her hands. Mom is here now and she hugs Prim too and squeezes my shoulder with her free hand, a teary-eyed smile on her lips.

  Gale is waiting at the edge of the crowd, and I motion to my mother and Prim to go on home first. I give him a hug, the first we’ve ever shared.

  “Congratulations.” I whisper, trying to remind myself to also be grateful I’ll never have to worry about him being Reaped again.

  “Yeah, it’s great,” he says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Maybe he’s thinking about Rory who will be eligible next year. I know I am. “Who’d have thought it’d be someone from Town? Maybe now they’ll know what it’s like.”

  “Don’t joke like that Gale.” I glare at him. He doesn’t comment on it.

  “So,” he puts his hands in his pockets, and rocks back and forth on his heels, “I was wondering if you’d like to celebrate with me?”

  “Celebrate?”

  “Yeah, everyone who’s aged out this year. We’re all meeting in the meadow. You want to come?”

  There’s an urgency in his eyes, and a nervousness in his tone that make me think this must be more important than I realise, but my mind is at the Mellark house, so I don’t think too much when I reply.

  “Of course, I’ll be there. I’ll meet you after dinner.”

  “Great!” His eyes light up, and his smile is wider than I’ve seen in ages, and I am happy for him, so I try not to let my distractedness show as he walks me home and prattles on inanely. I nod and hum at appropriate intervals, a practice I am well-versed in given my conversational skills are nil at the best of times.

  When I knock on the door with the basket of strawberries in my hand, it is Jet who opens the door for me. He motions me in, and I don’t comment on the shadows under his eyes. Inside, Sarai is softly sobbing in Colleen’s arms; Cole, next to her, has his eyes closed and is leaning on her shoulder. Eliot is stiff as board on the sofa. Jet sits down next to them, and rests the strawberries on the table. No one eats them.

  “Is he still at the Justice Building?”

  “Yeah,” Jet’s voice breaks. He clears his throat and tries again. “Jude and his wife’s with him. Or were. Family didn’t want the Seam there.” He sighs and rests his chin on his clasped hands.

  I stand there awkwardly until the door bursts open. My heart falls when it is Jude and Maria not Peeta.

  “He’ll be here in five minutes.” Jude explains awkwardly.

  “How bad was it?”

  “His brother punched him across the jaw.”

  “Shit.” Jet groans.

  “Language!” Colleen reprimands him pulling Sarai in closer. He ignores her and goes up to thump Jude on the back in masculine affirmation. Maria announces she’s going to make dinner and courteously thanks me for the strawberries. I feel out of place as Jude flops down next to Jet. I’m the only one standing, but this isn’t my house, and I doubt it would be polite to sit. Maybe I should go, but I don’t feel I can do that until I see Peeta.

  He walks in not long after, and already there is the beginnings of a nasty bruise on his left eye. His movements are slowed; his exhaustion is evident.

  “Dad,” Sarai rushes over to him, and he kneels to the floor to grasp her in a tight hug. He closes his eyes so tightly I think he must be hiding tears. As the others gather around, I slip out the door feeling like a voyeur.  

  I almost don’t remember I agreed to go to Gale’s celebration, but halfway through washing the dishes after a silent post-Reaping meal, I head off to the meadow.

  Gale is already there. A few people are playing some upbeat songs, and I can tell the Ripper’s liquor has already started to be passed around the large crowd of eighteen year olds.

  “Catnip!” Gale waves me over, and introduces me to his friends, Thom, Bristel, Jason, and Axel. “You all know who Katniss is, of course.” He gestures towards me proudly, but all can think is that of course they know who I am. I know my reputation. The surly, halfie, criminal who can kill you from a distance. Daughter of the the Townie healer, with the sister with the fair features. Other. Alien. Jack Everdeen’s daughter.

  I am deeply uncertain why Gale wants me here. I am useless with conversation, and I don’t know anyone here. Gale and I spend time together in the woods, but we’ve never done much outside of that. But then I realise maybe that’s the point. I won’t be able to see Gale terribly much after he enters the mines. He’ll only be free on Sundays, so I try to put my best foot forward which I think he appreciates.

  I don’t know how well I do, there’s only so much one can say about the weather, the seasons, and the coal. It’s an unwritten rule not to talk about the Reaping, but I still I detect a general sentiment that “at least it’s a Townie this time,” and “now they’ll know what it feels like” which makes me uncomfortable in it’s callousness. They’re all just children. I dance a few dances, and almost have fun, as much as one can at theses sorts of things where you’re never told what you have to do, and what’s expected of you, which leaves someone like me hanging awkwardly wondering how many gaffes they make a second. The only comfort I have is that initially, I can follow Gale’s lead as he drags me around everywhere to introduce me. Once I exhaust my sparse reserves of small talk I cautiously retreat to a corner while Gale takes swigs out of one of the several bottles of white liquor making its rounds. I wonder how long I’m obliged to stay here before I can go home politely. It has been a taxing day and all I want to do is sleep.

  As it gets colder and darker, I wrap my arms around myself and realise I forgot to grab a sweater before heading out. My Reaping dress is thin and short-sleeved. I decide I’m just going to go home when Gale notices my discomfort and slips his jacket around me saying he’ll walk me back. Behind him some boys who notice the interaction jeer and wolf-whistle. I’d shoot them a glare, but I am honestly too tired to care. We are just up at my doorstep when Gale grabs my arm.

  “Listen, Catnip, we’re both older now, and I’ll be in the mines soon.”

  I wearily lift my eyes up to his to hear him out when he grabs my cheeks and pulls my face up to kiss me. I can smell the liquor on him. I am so shocked it takes me a moment to respond. I shove him away with both hands and run inside, trying to ignore the dismayed look on his face. I feel like the ground is rocking under me, and I fall to the ground once I am inside. I wrap my arms around my knees and finally, finally give into my tears. How could he kiss me like that, when he knows how I feel about it, without even asking, and on a day like today when I see what could be all my worst fears realised?

  Prim is a sleep, but Momma comes to the front door. She must hear my crying.

  “Oh, Katniss,” she whispers sympathetically, and wraps her arms around me soothingly rocking me into her chest. It’s been years since I’ve allowed her to hold me like this, not since Dad died, and it turns a key in my chest that makes me sob all the harder. Somehow it feels good. Momma plants a kiss on my head.

  I drop Gale’s jacket on the Hawthorne’s doorsept early the next morning, and go squirrel hunting. Gale, fortunately, is not there. He’s probably still hungover. I work quickly, and soon I am at Peeta’s with fresh meat.

  “It’s not to trade.” I murmur when he opens the door. He nods me in and says I don’t have to do that. I already brought them strawberries. I decide to pretend I didn’t hear him since I don’t know what to say.

  “The kids are still asleep then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It is still quite early.”

  “It is.”

  The stuntedness is more than I can take, so I address the obvious issue.

  “You’re eye looks bad. Is it true your brother hit you?”

  “Yes. It is.” He looks away at the kitchen. “Do you want breakfast?”

  “Sure.” But I know he’s trying to change the subject.

  “Did your brother think it was punitive?”

  “Yeah.” His back is to me at the stove so all I can see are clenched muscles and slumped shoulders.

  “Do you think it is?”

  “I don’t know. They could’ve reaped any of my children if they wanted to do that. Not my nieces. It could just be a coincidence, or maybe they just didn’t want to be too obvious. I don’t know.” He sighs and his hands still. “Either way it doesn’t matter. Over this last year, fewer people than ever have had to take tesserae, which means the odds were less in favour of the Merchants than ever. So either way….I suppose you could argue it’s my fault.”

  I frown, uncertain which side to take. “Are you going to stop?”

  “No,” he shakes his head firmly. It’s the strongest gesture he’s made since I arrived. “I knew the risks when I started this. More people starve everyday then are reaped every year. The bakery helps with that. I just never expected to have to face the consequences so…soon.” He’s gripping the edge of the counter so tightly now that I can see his knuckles whiten. I can’t help myself. I go up and wrap my arms around him, and he reciprocates. We stand there for a few moments until he extracts himself murmuring a thank you.

  “So, how are things for you?” He finally asks, and I grant him the reprieve. There’s nothing more to say in any case. Sorry doesn’t change a damn thing.

  “Gale kissed me.” I blurt out. Against my will I scan his face for a reaction. I don’t know what I was hoping for, but all I get out of him is raised eyebrows.

  “And you didn’t like it?”

  “No!” I cross my arms. “I’ve told him time and again I don’t want marriage or kids. I told him yesterday morning before he even tried. What’s wrong with him?”

  Peeta chuckles which contrasts to the stain of grief that remains on his face. I hate him for laughing at my plight.

  “He’s an eighteen year old boy, Katniss. He’s just survived his last Reaping. He’s got his whole life ahead of him, and he wants to share it with a remarkable woman. He overstepped his bounds. It’s not the end of the world.”

  “I’m not remarkable.” I grumble. Peeta places a hand on my shoulder and turns me to face him directly.

  “Yes, you are.” I pretend I can’t feel myself blush under his stare.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” He reassures me touching my cheek in a friendly manner. “Tell Gale how you feel, and if he’s as good a friend as you say he is, then he’ll come around, and accept it.”

  “I just hate all the presumptions!” I hate that I’m whining too, but it is so annoying. “Everyone assumes we’re together. I never thought he would just assume too! And now I’m getting older, and the mines are looming, all everyone seems to talk about is boys and marriage.”

  “I suppose they figure partnership makes it more bearable.”

  “Not me.” I scowl. He laughs lightly.

  “Don’t worry about it. Look at me!” He says as he flips eggs that have been frying in the pan too long. “I’ve never married, and I’m doing just fine.” I crook my lips at that one.

  “You’ve adopted a bunch of kids and have a terrible reputation.”

  “True!” He taps my nose with his index finger. “So don’t be like me.” Then the glint leaves his eyes, and he remembers what happened yesterday. I reach out and grasp his hand. We stay like that a long while as the eggs cool to rubber.

  Gale and I don’t talk again until the day after the bloodbath. It’s clear he’s been avoiding me. When we finally meet up again in the woods I rail at him for kissing me and not even having the guts to face me afterward. I hadn’t appreciated splitting my haul with a man who wasn’t there. He at least has the decency to pretend to look ashamed, but I know he isn’t because he says it was just because he had a bit too much to drink, and had originally planned to “ease me into it.” Whatever the Hell that means. I’m not known for being fickle.

  “I know you don’t like the idea, Katniss, but I also know you hate the mines. They might turn a blind eye to you poaching, but only if you’re working too. What are you going to say when you turn eighteen? Are you going to go down the mines?”

  “I could say I’m a healer like mom!”

  He laughs. “Yeah, like that’s going to work.”

  “It might!”

  “Never mind. Let’s just get on with it.”

  I hate that he’s probably right, but it doesn’t matter. I don’t like being talked down too like that. It is a very tense hunt.

  Flouer Mellark dies in the bloodbath. Peeta leaves the bakery in Town.

  Every time I got to trade in Town I can feel the resentment. I can feel the glares at me, even worse than usual for being from the Seam. I can also feel anger towards the Capitol though. It’s palpable. The Mellarks, Peeta aside, are a respected family here.  Meanwhile, at the Hob, Sae starts up a fund to sponsor Terrence. He is killed by the Careers on the fourth day.

  No one knows what to do with the coin. We hadn’t had a chance to send it in yet, and Sae hadn’t exactly been keeping records of who gave what. It is Jude who suggests they send it to Rue. When we see there isn’t quite enough yet to get her something decent, he convinces Peeta to ask for donations in Town. I am deeply sceptical, but Peeta rallies his few friends and so angry are the people in Town at the Careers and the Capitol, they donate, and we send Rue some bread. When she receives the bread that is obviously not from her District and thanks us, and everyone in the crowd cheers. I notice the Peacekeepers grip their weapons tighter. I notice Gale is grinning.

  We all root for Rue to win, and she lasts longer than I think any twelve year old has before, but she dies when the Careers smoke her out of the tree she hides in. Her death is cruel, painful, sadistic, and brutal. Everyone looks traumatised for weeks. Mockingjays with Rue’s face are found in alleyways making everyone stew. I don’t know if it’s one artists or several that grafiti the District, but they stir us up. Our only consolation is that for once someone from an outlying District wins, someone we actually like: Thresh. If you can call it a consolation when it is a rallying point. There is a curling in my stomach that tells me I need to ask Peeta a few pointed questions, but I decide it’s better not to know.

  Chapter Four: Catching Fire

Summer break begins soon after the Games end, and I don’t see much of the Mellarks. All of them disappear into the woods from dawn until dusk to harvest the wheat. I keep an eye on them intermittently between my own prolific hunting. Summer is when you store up for Winter. Everytime I see them, they are hard at work. Jet and Peeta do the scything. Colleen and Cole bundle, and the youngest two rake. That’s just the beginning of course; they also have to thresh and winnow what they’ve gathered. After that, they’ll have to prepare the land to plant the corn. Whenever I catch them working, I invariably think of Thresh, and how skills like this had helped him survive. He knew how to handle a scythe; he knew how to survive in the forest of grain they provided for him. I wonder if the Gamemakers had planned to have an outlier win this year, to keep things from being too boring. It seemed a bit of an advantage for anyone with farming experience, like people from Eleven raised in fields of grain. I wonder if they’re regretting it.

  Thresh has been a difficult victor to say the least. His shout, “For Rue!” when he made his last kill has been taken by the District as something of a rallying cry. I’ve seen the phrase graffitied everywhere. During his victor interview, much like his tribute interview, he really made Caesar work for every word. There was seething resentment in him, and tears that shone hatred in his eyes when he saw Rue die. He made it clear he thought anyone who participated or enjoyed that kind of thing was monstrous. It didn’t matter how much the Capitol tried to edit his interview. There really was no salvaging it. I worry all the time about the consequences for him, but so far he’s still around. I can’t imagine what the Victory Tour will be like.

  Gale is thrilled by what he’s seen. Ever since he’s started down the mines, he’s been even more of a ticking bomb than ever. Resentment spills out of his every pore. He was made for more than back-breaking minework in unsafe conditions for which he gets a pittance.

  “Don’t you see, Catnip! This proves that the other Districts feel the same way we do!”

  “Maybe they do, Gale, but we’re all still trapped by fences.” I wish he would be rational. “Do you even know how you’d communicate with them? Let alone ally with them?”

  “Thresh is coming here on the tour, isn’t he? We can get him a message then.”

  “How? How are you going to get close enough to him?”

  He rolls his eyes at me. “All we need is a signal. Someone to shout from the crowd we support him.”

  “And get us all killed.”

  “They can’t kill all of us, Catnip. Where would they get their coal?”

  “Didn’t save Thirteen.” I point out cynically.

  “Look, we’re all on camera. Maybe they’ll edit it out in post-production, but maybe other Districts will see what we did too.” He looks down at me in frustration. “I don’t know why you’re fighting me on this, Katniss.”

  “I’m not! But there’s no point in having this rebellion if it doesn’t work. I’m not risking my life, let along my sister’s and mother’s on some fool’s scheme!” My chest rises and falls with each rapid breath. “When I’m sure you’ve thought this through, maybe I’ll consider joining.” He internalises this. His eyes are watching me in a manner that is calculating, and, for once, I can’t fathom what’s in the recesses of his mind. Do I know him as well as I think?

  “Alright, Catnip. I will. I’ll give you a plan. It’s simple. We get to Thresh. He gets word out to the other districts, other victors, maybe. We make bows, weapons, grab the tools from the mines, take the Peacekeepers. The miners are angry, Katniss. We’d do it. If we can coordinate that with the other districts, we could take the Capitol.”

  “They. Have. Bombs. Gale!” I spit through gritted teeth.

  “We have a victor who is an ally in the Capitol.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe he can cripple them somehow.”

  “It’s a bit much to hope.”

  “All at once, maybe, but if we plan this over a few years. It could work.”

  It might. I reluctantly concede to that. We spend the rest of out time in the woods in silence, but I can tell from the distant look in his eyes that Gale is scheming. Right before we leave, he shocks me with that he says.

  “Your friend, Madge, the mayor’s daughter.”

“What of her?” I ask cautiously. Gale’s never liked her.

  “She’ll be at the banquet when Thresh comes here, won’t she? She could get a message to him, discreetly. Could you talk to her about it?”

  I muse over it a bit, but Madge has mentioned her Aunt Maysilee a few times. I know she has a rebellious spirit in her, it’s evident if only in who she choose to befriend. And, in truth, as careful as I’ve learned to be, I want to end these Hunger Games. I want to rebel. I tell Gale I’ll talk to her about it. Something this simple is small, not likely to hurt anyone, but could have impact.

  I broach the subject with Madge when she joins me gathering in the woods. She looks intrigued.

  “I’ll need to be able to tell him what kind of support to expect.” She muses. “You’ll need to know how many miners are involved, how far they’re willing to go, but, yes, I’ll certainly do it. Actually,” she adds hesitantly, but I see pride in her eyes as she raises them to mine. “My family has been rebels for ages.” Then she bites her lip, before adding something that confounds me. “Just tell Gale to be careful about running his mouth in the mines. New shafts should be fine, but I’m pretty sure the Capitol bugs them to make sure there isn’t anything treasonous that might translate into action. I can’t be sure, but I’ve heard it speculated that that’s why there was that accident years ago. The one your father died in.”

  “You mean…?” Could it be possible? My father poached. He was hardly a law-abiding citizen, but I had never considered he might have been a rebel in the revolutionary sense. I suppose it could explain the lack of support we received afterwards. I still don’t doubt it was because my father’s marriage was so unpopular, because everyone was too wrapped up to care, but now there might be another reason as well.

  “Yeah.” Madge nods. “I don’t know much, but my aunt and your mother were friends. I think that’s what got your mother into it, when she saw Aunt Maysilee die.”

  My mother, a rebel? I can hardly imagine it, but then again, she did leave everything she’d ever known to marry me father. She’d been brave once, rebellious. I feel a stirring of desire to know her again burning up inside me warring with the urge to keep her at a distance to protect myself. A war that has been going on in earmest since she held me after Gale kissed me.

  I’m going to have to talk to her.

“Yes, it’s true.”

  “Seriously?” She says it so casually. Yes, it’s true. I feel my mind spinning, but at the same time it’s like it’s falling into place, being screwed on right, because it makes a bizarre sort of sense.

  “You were rebels?”

  “Yes,” my mother nods again. She sips her tea before she elaborates. We’re both sitting at the kitchen table. Prim is out with a friend. Despite the fact that we are talking about Dad, or perhaps because of it, Momma seems more animated than ever. “I grew up thinking, if not nasty things, than superior things about the Seam.” She explains. “I never imagined I would ever visit here, let alone live here. But one day, your father showed up, asking to trade meat for antibiotics. A boy had been horribly whipped, and needed help. My father refused him, but I admired his courage in coming there. There was something shining in his eyes. It was well-known that my family believed in doing business only with those who had the coin. Your father went on about how the young boy was the only child left to a widowed woman. Something about the entire scene touched me, so I followed your father out. I got him the medication. That started everything.”

  “You said you met when he came to trade plants with you?”

  “I did. The whippings back then were terrible. After Haymitch won, new peacekeepers were brought in, and the punishments were absolutely barbaric. My parents said we shouldn’t help; the people involved were criminal, and it would only cause trouble. The truth is, I wanted to cause trouble. I watched my best friend die a horrific death on live television. Haymitch tried to help her; they were allies. I thanked him for that once.” She quiets as she becomes lost in a distant memory. She shakes herself out of it. “I was angry at the Capitol for what they’d done, and I was sixteen so sneaking out to heal the backs of those who were whipped for defying them seemed a terribly grand idea.” I can see it now. My mother, before grief diminished her, sneaking out to help those in need. I’m proud of her, I realise. “I told your father I couldn’t help him with Capitol-grade medicines again, so I looked through the Plant Book, and told him which herbs to gather. I suppose I realised interacting with all these Seam families that they weren’t so different, the depth of the unfairness. It’s not often someone from Town is Reaped, but now that I knew how devastating it was…I couldn’t imagine what it must be like to face that all the time.” She shrugs, takes another sip of her tea, and concludes. “So that’s how I fell in love with your father, and, yes, eventually, we joined organised rebellion.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I mumble. I twist my head trying to process what I’ve just heard. Momma reaches out to grasp my hand.

  “It was nothing I meant to hide from you,” she says softly, “but first you were too young, and then…”

  “And then…” I conclude, knowing exactly what she means.

  “When Jack died, I feared it was my fault,” she whispers. “Did I get him killed?”

  For the first time in years, I go up and wrap my arms around my mother. I love you, I think to myself, because I do. My mother has never turned anyone away, has always healed everybody, and I know, once she came back, she did all she knew how to do for us. Slowly, haltingly, those words cross my lips, and as we cry together, our tears intermingle.

  Afterwards she lifts a trembling hand and wipes my tears away.

  “I understand why you’re so reticent to have children, you know.” She says tremulously. “Your father and I waited years to have you, until things were safer. I knew better than most do how to avoid a pregnancy. But, sweetheart, I never regretted marrying your father, or having you and your sister. There’s things I wish I’d done differently, but I’ve never regretted it. And if I hadn’t done it, I know I would have always wondered, and that would have been worse. I don’t know what happened between you and Gale, but if he isn’t for you, then he isn’t. I rejected men too, but if you’re afraid…be honest, and consider if it’s worth the risk. I’d never take back what I had with your father for the pain of his loss. And you’re not alone, not like before. Prim and I will stand by you, if nothing else.” She closes her eyes and I touch her hand, the one that wiped my tears. “If you do want to talk to me about that, Katniss, I can listen.” Then she moves to wash up the dishes, and I help her dry. Momma’s like me that way. She says what she has to say, but she’s not wordy. The silence between us communicates what we cannot. It is not shards of ice that let in a chill wind, but a warm chord that hums between us.

  I warn Gale about talking in the mines, and about what Madge says, and it fires him up. In light of what I now know, I also try to corner Peeta to talk to him, but even past the harvesting and planting season, he’s hard to find. When I come over with some clothes Prim has outgrown, Colleen greets me at the door, and encourages Sarai to try them on. As she excitedly does, Colleen confides in me that Peeta has been distant ever since the Games. He throws himself into his work, and barely surfaces at the end of the day. He’s gone early in the morning.

  “It’s true,” Sarai confirms as she gathers up the clothes that don’t fit her anymore. They’ll likely one day be Posy’s. “He doesn’t tell stories like he used to.” Colleen brushed back her little sister’s hair comfortingly and something rends in my chest.

  I go home and stew for hours before marching into the woods to find Peeta. He’s there, sure enough, and I storm up to him hissing at him to come talk to me.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I reprimand as soon as we are out of Jet’s earshot.

  “Farming.” He replies blandly, although I detect shock in his eyes at my dressing down. I suppose it’s true I’ve never dared talk to him like this, then again, have I ever had to?

  “I’ve barely seen a peep of you in weeks,” which hurt more than I want to admit, “and now I have to hear from Colleen and Sarai that you’ve been all checked out?” I fight the tears forming in my eyes, because it brings back uncomfortable memories. “I’m not your daughter, and even I haven’t appreciated not being able to talk to you, how do you think they feel?”

  “I’m sorry.” He stammers. “I-”

  “I really don’t care.” I throw my hands up in the air. “Just stop. Do better.”

  I storm off, but he follows me, and grabs me by the left forearm twisting me around.

  “I am sorry,” he speaks earnestly. “I hadn’t realised I was hurting you or them. I just…I don’t know. Whenever I’m upset, I work.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I have ever since I was a boy, kneading bread is a good way to work out anger. It’s always worked before, and it means things get done that…appease people, I guess.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t work now though. I hurt all the time. It never goes away, and now Maria’s pregnant, and-

“Maria’s pregnant?!”

  “Yes. And I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen, and if maybe I’ve screwed up, and my brother won’t look me in the eye, or talk to me, or accept anything from me, and then I go home, and wonder if I haven’t condemned every single one of them. I just…” He looks skyward and blinks rapidly. I know he’s trying not to cry, and I don’t know what to say.

  “Is it true you’re part of the rebellion?” I blurt out instead. He looks gobsmacked again. It seems to be a day for it.

  “Yes. Did you figure out from the art?”

  “Partially,” I admit, “but Mom told me today about how she and Daddy were in with the rebels, and you said you knew him, and you said he taught you about art. You said he used to sing. It reminded me of the Hanging Tree, and how he used to sing that, but Momma would tell him to be careful. So, I just wondered if…”

  “If that’s how we met?”

  I nod.

  “No. We met because he traded with me, but he was the one who brought me into the Rebellion. I felt like I had to get involved.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of Jude, I suppose, and the others when they came. So many children starving, I can’t feed them all. Even with the new bakery, I can’t feed them all. Then, I realised I was a father, and how could I be a good father, if I turned a blind eye to something threatening my kids?” He sighs and looks deflated. “My mom used to hit me. My dad did nothing. The Games are worse than being hit, and I couldn’t do nothing the way he did.” He shrugs his shoulders. “That’s how I got in.”

  “Just tell them that then.” I say. “They’ll understand that you’re fighting for them. You’re all in too deep now.”

  “Do you think they’ll forgive me?” He whispers, and in the curling of his torso I can see what it had cost him to admit this. The family he was born into turned against him. Does he expect the one he created will as well?

  “I wouldn’t worry about it. I forgave.” I pause. “And I’m not always good at that.”

  He smiles. “Thank you.”

  “What for?”

  He laughs. “Yelling at me. I guess, I needed it.”

  I lean up on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and head home.

Rebellious sentiment spreads quickly. The idea of trying to make contact with other districts proves popular, and while not everyone is willing to join in actively now, they do say that if the Districts unite, they’ll fight. Our district is small so we’ll need a lot of the population to fight, but with the addition of Peeta’s farming, there’s more self-sufficiency, and that means more people who see hope. Which means there’s a shot. I tell Madge everything and she dutifully promises to relay the information. Gale’s ambitious and he hopes that maybe if they show something on camera, it’ll get through during the mandatory viewing, reach more than just Eleven. I don’t know who organises it, or how it’s decided, but when the Victory Tour finally comes, a recording goes off during Thresh’s clearly scripted speech of Rue’s four note tune, and someone shouts For Rue! And gets carted off. Thresh nods in solidarity. We are all put under curfew.

  Regardless, Madge is able to get her message to him, and Thresh tells her District Eleven had an uprising after Rue’s death, and are chomping at the bit for freedom. And having been on Tour, he can confirm that other Districts are angry too. Word is quickly spread through the mines, and soon people are whistling various four note tunes in solidarity.

  Gale is extremely eager.

  “Don’t you see, Catnip!” He exclaims. “It’s closer than ever!” He crows in the woods, and I let him. In spite of myself, I am excited too. “Maybe a couple more years, and we’ll have them. We’ll have them.” I smile at his enthusiasm, even if I think it’s a bit premature.  “And what about us, Catnip?” He turns around and looks at me with shining eyes.

  “What about us?” I hedge. All the delight in his exclamations dies.

  “I know you’re worried about having kids, Katniss, but if we built a whole, new, better world, it would be different.” He says it so hopefully, almost confidently that I can’t bring myself to crush him. Besides, I don’t know if he’s wrong. Without the Games, with access to food and Capitol-grade medicine, I really wouldn’t object to having kids, but the idea of opening my heart like that hurts. I do consider it though, I already care about Gale, care about a lot of people, maybe there’s no stopping it. Momma’s right too, we aren’t nearly so helpless now. So I say,

  “Maybe I can be different.”

  And maybe I can, but when I dare to dream, since I’m dreaming anyway, I dream of blonde hair and blue eyes. Even though I know it’s as likely to happen as pigs flying.

  It’s Peeta who first tells me about Thirteen. It is Madge who confirms it. It’s a game-changer really. Weapons are an issue for us. We don’t have a whole lot to fight with. Knowing someone could supply us with arms helps. If every district, or even of most districts, can take their Peacekeepers, we’ll have a shot at the Capitol. It’s sensitive knowledge though, and not something we can blast around which makes recruitment difficult. I don’t do much of any of it, but Gale rales in the mines, and Peeta is working on it in Town with a friend. I provide a listening ear to them both. One thing everyone is nervous about, riled up about, is the upcoming Quarter Quell, and both Gale and Peeta are using that to their advantage.

  But Winter is difficult, even more so than usual. Most people become so intent on heating their homes, and overcoming illness, we know we’ll have to wait until spring to really start the conversation up again.

  Eliot drags home another girl from the Community Home. She’s three years old, adorable, and her name is Crystal. She’s recently orphaned. After a couple months, she’s one of the many who fall ill. She’s still far from the last. Mom and Prim are gone all hours of the day and night for weeks trying to keep on top of it all, but there’s not much they can do. It drags on and on. There’s speculation it’s punishment, biological warfare from the Capitol, but we don’t know and it doesn’t matter. Either way, it changes nothing of our reality. I spend a lot of time at the Mellarks for support. Crystal coughs and sputters and tries to breath. We feed her as best we are able, and hold her head over steam to help her breath. We try to bring her fever down, and soothe her cough. Nothing works. Finally, I hold her and sing. It’s all I can do. Peeta stands in the doorway as she falls asleep. I see tears stream down his face.

  She is in the ground come March.

  “This is why I don’t want kids.” I mutter to Prim as we both cry in bed.

  “That’s stupid,” she mumbles. “You cared about Crystal; she wasn’t yours. If you stop caring, I don’t think you’ll like yourself very much.”

  I don’t know how to answer her, but I still feel a bit validated in my opinion when there is the Reading of the Card for the Quarter Quell.

  “As a reminder that they only endangered their most vulnerable by rebelling, this years tributes will be Reaped from only the twelve year old population.”

  My mother gasps. Prim cries. I stare.

  Gale storms up to me and tells me to meet at the Mellarks for an emergency meeting. There I see Gale and Thom, a couple of other miners I know by sight and not name, and Peeta and his friend Melissa Donner. I gather these must be various cell leaders.

  “We need to start the uprisings in May, before the Reaping.” Gale starts off the conversation, “People are furious about this. It’s perfect timing. They want to stomp us down, but we’ll rise up.” The conversation spirals from there. People are only just starting to recover from the harsh winter; we don’t have the numbers yet. It’s hard to organise a community of thousands. That’s why next year was more feasible. Just because Twelve was ready, didn’t mean all the other Districts were and so on. I agree to wait and Gale glares at me, but I don’t see and alternative.

  Things don’t really fall apart until Gale and Peeta get into an argument. Peeta makes a reference to offering the Peacekeepers the choice to surrender, and Gale says it would endanger lives.

  “Not all the Peacekeepers are bad, Gale.” He points out. I think of Darius and agree.

  “If the White Shirts want to join us, that’s fine by me.” Gale growls back. “But I’m not giving them another opportunity to get one over on me.” He is met by enthusiastic agreement. “It’s Us v. Them.”

  “How are they going to know to side with us, if we don’t offer them a chance?” I can see by the tenseness around Peeta’s eyes that he is angry, but his voice is carefully modulated and even. “We shouldn’t kill without mercy.”

  “It’s war. Sacrifices have to be made. They’ll shoot with us or against us. That’s their choice, but I’m not taking any kind of risk that loses this for us. Anyone who sides with the Capitol is the enemy.”

  “I’m so grateful to know, Gale, that anyone who even looks like something you don’t like is the enemy. It’s a wonder you’ll talk to us Townies at all. But, of course, it’s because you get something out of it, allies. I wonder what you’ll do when being allies with the Capitol benefits you more than not.”

  Gale swings a punch and the meeting is quickly ended as we break the two men up.

  “Are you alright?” I ask Peeta as he sits back down. He seems to need more from me than Gale.

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You didn’t seem to be at your best.”

  “I think Dad’s sick.” He whispers and I walk over and hug him tightly where he sits. “It’s no surprise. Dad’s getting on anyway. He’s almost sixty. It was really only a matter of time.” Releasing my hold a bit, I card my fingers through his curls trying to soothe him. When I’m done I caress my hand down his jaw. He stops my hand and looks up at me. There’s a focus in his gaze that’s raw, even new, and I immediately become aware of how close he is, how fast my heart is beating, and how my breath started for just a second. I don’t know who does it. I think I do it. But it’s the easiest thing in the world to press my lips to his. Slowly, oh, so slowly, our lips move, part in a gasp of pleasure, so light and tentative, like dragging your finger against a flower petal. Then closer, I press closer, feeling his hands on my hips. I change the angle of my head, and he bursts away. Footsteps pad down the stairs.

  “Dad, is it over? Is everything okay?” Cole sidles up to us rubbing at his eyes, and we burst apart.

  “It’s fine, son.” He ruffles the boy’s hair. He bounces his eyes past me, and I know we won’t be talking about this today. “Just a disagreement in method. You should be in bed.”

  I take that as my cue and awkwardly say my goodbyes.

  Peeta doesn’t meet my eyes at the door, and I wonder if I’ve ruined everything.

TBC….

#Springtime Edition 2019 #submission #wingletblackbird #animekpopxx #prompt 44

[romanticsuspense]

Roger: An Analysis

Season 4 of Outlander has sparked quite a lot of controversy in the fandom and one of my favorite fictional characters, Roger Jeremiah Mackenzie, is being dragged through the mud by critics and fans alike. This was originally going to be a post in defense of Roger. But as I started thinking about what exactly I wanted to get off my chest, I realized that a defense of Roger would be really hard to do without first defining who Roger is. And defining the character of Roger is really hard because there are so many different iterations of him. There’s Diana Gabaldon’s Roger, the Roger in my head, the Roger in your head, the Roger in the show, and Richard Rankin’s Roger.  So, this post is not a defense of Roger, nor is it a comparison of showRoger vs. bookRoger.  This post is merely my way of reconciling the many iterations of Roger.  I’m compartmentalizing so as to avoid the uncomfortable cognitive dissonance that occurs when the Roger in my head doesn’t match the Roger on screen.   

bookRoger

bookRoger is the Roger that Diana Gabaldon writes. He is canon Roger.  bookRoger is intelligent, musical, wears his heart on his sleeve and is deeply in love with Brianna.  I love bookRoger.  Most of the time.  bookRoger is not perfect. He is flawed, and sometimes weird, and like most of Gabaldon’s characters has done some questionable and problematic things (what I shall call Gabaldon Garbage) that are troubling and hard to ignore. For example, in the books, both Jamie and Roger derive pleasure at the idea of spanking their wives (see Outlander Chapter 22 and Drums of Autumn Chapter 40) and have forced themselves on their wives when they’ve clearly said “Stop!” (see Outlander Chapter 23 and A Breath of Snow and Ashes Chapter 6).  How can book readers, myself included, continue to read this series and care about the male romantic heroes when things like the above are canon? I can’t speak for all book readers, but the only way I can continue to read these books is if I attribute the problematic bits to Diana, and not the characters.  These passages reveal a lot more about the author than the characters themselves.  Diana has some weird, unhealthy fascination with intermingling pain, punishment, power and sex.  Diana also does not understand consent, and would benefit from watching this video.  It’s strangely horrifying that an author who uses rape as a plot device so often, is so blind to the other rape in her books.  She seems to believe rape is only rape if it’s violent stranger rape.  Someone should write an analysis on the way that Gabaldon uses sex and sexual assault in her books.  That would be an interesting read.

myRoger

When I filter out the Gabaldon Garbage while reading, I am creating my very own version of the characters. myRoger = bookRoger - Gabaldon Garbage + my own perceptions of the character.  One of the joys of being a book reader is that I get to use my imagination and fill in gaps in the writing. And I bring my own prejudice, bias, and life experiences into my reading. Which is why, even though there is only one bookRoger, there are a gazillion myRogers, because he turns into someone else inside the head of each individual reader. If Diana says that Roger and Brianna write letters to each other, but never shares any of those letters in the books, then it’s up to the reader to decide what’s in the letters. I could imagine that the letters are funny and sweet.  You could imagine they’re serious and philosophical. And another reader could imagine they’re full of historical research or cookie recipes. myRoger is not a sadist or a rapist like bookRoger because I’ve filtered out the Gabaldon Garbage. And I have my own ideas about what is in character or out of character for him. I can’t call this Roger bookRoger because this Roger exists only in my head. And when I’m critiquing showRoger I’m not really comparing him to bookRoger, I’m comparing him to myRoger.

showRoger

For the most part, the show writers have been very good about nixing the Gabaldon Garbage and sometimes even improving upon the source material.  In Season 4, however, the show writers have done a great disservice to both Roger and his relationship to Brianna by:

condensing several chapters of character and relationship development in Drums of Autumn into a single episode

not having Brianna verbalize her feelings about Roger before “Wilmington”

giving Roger lines that make it sound like his sole motivation is to wed and bed Brianna

not sufficiently explaining why Brianna changed her mind about marriage

improving Brianna’s character at the expense of Roger’s

showing Roger and Brianna together in only two episodes so far this season; both episodes ending with them fighting and Roger walking away

Most of this could have been avoided by giving Roger and Bree more screen time in the first half of the season.  But, there are nine different show writers this season, each with their own ideas of who these characters are. And I think they’re more preoccupied with hitting major plot points than capturing the nuances of each individual character.

Am I disappointed with showRoger?  Sometimes.  But, I have to say that I vehemently disagree with this harsh NYT Review:

At that point, his condescension (“ … maybe it’s time you listened to me”) and deflecting (“You’re acting like a child”) seem less like a character with human foibles than one with an emerging pattern of abuse.

The show did not need another sexual assault to prove the past was dangerous (Roger seems proof that men can be horrible in any era).

I think showRoger is arrogant, stubborn, a traditionalist, and occasionally disrespectful.  But is he abusive, misogynistic, and horrible?  Absolutely not.  

richardRoger

I love Richard Rankin.  I think he’s extremely talented and attractive.  I think he has great chemistry with Sophie.  And I have zero complaints about his casting or his performance.  All of my qualms about showRoger are the fault of the writers and editors and the costume department.  

Even though I think it’s ridiculous that he has to defend Roger’s actions and motivations after every episode, I have really appreciated Richard sharing his perspective on Twitter.  His responses are often quite humorous and insightful and he’s not afraid of calling out fans who cross the line into hateful and mean-spirited.  I always feel better about showRoger when I read his responses to fans (and haters).   

Richard and Sophie obviously take these roles seriously and do their best with the scripts they’re given.  They discuss their characters and make sure they’re on the same page when approaching a scene.  I highly recommend watching all the interviews you can find of him and Sophie discussing Season 4.      

I actually think that richardRoger is closer to myRoger than showRoger is.  Richard understands that Roger thinks with his heart, and not his head, when it comes to Brianna.  Richard understands that Roger not only wants Brianna to be happy, but wants her safe and out of danger.  Richard understands that Roger and Brianna love each other, but clash because of their differing views, and their tempers get the best of them.  Richard seems to both understand and love Roger.  And for that, I am forever grateful that he was cast on this show.    

In Conclusion

I hope I haven’t been too negative in this post.  My intent was not to pile onto the ever growing heap of Roger hate.  But, breaking Roger down into these separate boxes has really helped me process this season of Outlander.  Overall, I’ve really enjoyed this season.  It’s really exciting seeing my favorite Outlander book on screen.  I’m still going to critique the parts of each episode that bother me.  But, I’m no longer going to let fandom hate and negativity ruin the show for me.  And I’m no longer going to feel personally hurt every time I see someone call Roger a jerk.     

As a book reader, I’m used to having my Gabaldon Garbage filter on.  I’m used to being bored with or unhappy with entire sections of the books.  I’m used to ridiculous writing choices and convoluted melodramatic plots.  So, I’ll keep my garbage filter on both while watching the show and reading about the show.  I’ll  continue to enjoy the series for those moments when myRoger is on screen. And I’ll continue to enjoy Sophie Skelton’s and Richard Rankin’s performances and the work that they’ve put into these characters. Maybe showRoger will be closer to myRoger by the end of the season. The finale title, “Man of Worth,” gives me hope.

#outlander #roger mackenzie #richard rankin #outlander talk #diana gabaldon #in defense of roger

[nebris]

Hating Valerie Solanas (And Loving Violent Men)

by Chavisa Woods 

My fourth book, and first full-length work of nonfiction will be released by Seven Stories Press in June. 100 Times (A Memoir of Sexism) is a 240-page memoir, written as in-scene vignettes, telling the stories of one hundred experiences of sexist discrimination, sexual harassment, and sexual violence I have personally experienced and witnessed, beginning at age five, through the present day.

I recently shared an excerpt of this book on social media, and immediately an old friend who I’d long ago lost touch with, a man from the Midwest, began arguing with me, and compared me to Valerie Solanas. I could tell from the tone of his comment, he expected me to recoil at the mention of that name — Valerie Solanas — the direst of insults; queer female hysterical violent “femi-nazi” insanity personified. This name was meant to summon shame in me, like invoking some Goetic demon to bate and restrain my crazed feminism.

He’s not the only one who sees her that way. When so many people think Valerie Solanas, they think, “bat-shit crazy, violent, murderous, ridiculous, woman.”

In a recent season of the popular television show, American Horror Story, for instance, Solanas was depicted by Lena Dunham as a demented serial killer who led a cult of murderous feminists to kill heterosexual couples — kids hooking up in cars, happy newlyweds and such — in a bloody, nationwide feminist murder spree. This, of course, is a completely fictional narrative, and for the purposes of this show, Solanas’s epitomal work, The Scum Manifesto, was interpreted as a literal, earnest text. Dunham portrayed Solanas as a frumpy, grumpy, clownish homicidal lesbian.

In the mainstream media and collective consciousness, Solonas has been written off as a worthless artist, and remembered only for her violent act against Andy Warhol.

All of this got me thinking about unconscious bias, and what it takes for us to denounce a female artist’s historical worth, versus what it does for a man.

William Burroughs shot and killed his wife while drunk and high, playing a game they called “William Tell,” wherein his wife placed an apple on her head, and he shot it off. He missed, killed her, and later wrote about it, implying it was possible he subconsciously wanted to kill her, because he was gay and resented having a wife. He served only two weeks in jail for this slaughter. Because the homicide occurred in Mexico, and through a combination of bribery and fleeing the country, he avoided serving any prison sentence.

Burroughs, of course, is still widely celebrated as a great author. I, in fact, had a poem published in a literary magazine a few years ago, the cover adorned with a photograph of him holding a rifle. This image was considered darkly humorous.

Almost every other author I’ve spoken with about the ethics of celebrating Burroughs and his art points me in the direction of compassion; he had a drug problem, he and his wife were “in it together.”

After the murder of his wife, he served as a member of the prestigious American Academy of Arts and Letters. His body of work still remains relevant, is widely taught in English and Writing curriculum in colleges, and is written about reverently in current scholarly articles and in major media outlets worldwide. He is generally thought of as good man. In his bio on Wikipedia, the slaughter of his wife doesn’t even come in until the sixth paragraph. (I am citing Wikipedia, because it represents the most current, popular, collective opinions of the general public, not as a scholarly reference.)

Valerie Solanas, on the other hand, shot Andy Warhol, not killing him, but severely injuring him. He died twenty years later from health complications possibly exacerbated by the injury, as well as a speed addiction.

Solanas and Warhol had a documented horrible working/personal relationship, rife with insult. She saw Warhol as constantly demeaning her privately and publicly, even after featuring her in one of his films.

Warhol agreed to look at a play she’d written, possibly to produce it. She gave him the only manuscript to read, and he (claimed he) lost it, though she believed he threw it away to spite her. This was the catalyst for the shooting.

Pablo Neruda raped a servant while he was visiting her country as a diplomat. He wrote about it quite matter-of-factly and unapologetically in his memoirs (I Confess that I have Lived, first published in 1974, in English in 1977):

One morning, I woke earlier than is my custom. I hid in the shadows to watch who passed by. From the back of the house, like a dark statue that walked, the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen in Ceylon entered, Tamil race, Pariah caste. She wore a red and gold sari of the cheapest cloth. On her unshod feet were heavy anklets. On each side of her nose shone two tiny red points. They were probably glass, but on her they looked like rubies.

She solemnly approached the toilet without giving me the slightest look, without acknowledging my existence, and disappeared with the sordid receptacle on her head, retreating with her goddess steps. She was so beautiful that despite her humble job, she left me disturbed. As if a wild animal had come out from the jungle, belonging to another existence, a separate world. I called to her with no result.

I then would leave some gift on her path, some silk or fruit. She would pass by without hearing or looking. Her dark beauty turned that miserable trip into the obligatory ceremony of an indifferent queen.

One morning, I decided to go for all, and grabbed her by the wrist and looked her in the face. There was no language I could speak to her. She allowed herself to be led by me smilelessly and soon was naked upon my bed. Her extremely slender waist, full hips, the overflowing cups of her breasts, made her exactly like the thousands year old sculptures in the south of India. The encounter was like that of a man and a statue. She kept her eyes open throughout, unmoved. She was right to regard me with contempt. The experience was not repeated.

No one remembers him for this.

Charles Bukowski is on video kicking and punching his girlfriend during an interview about his writing, and was said to have been physically abusive to multiple female partners. He is still celebrated worldwide as a great poet.

Louis Althusser strangled his wife to death in an act of cold-blooded murder. In his Wikipedia bio, he’s described as, “A French Marxist philosopher, whose arguments and theses were set against the threats that he saw attacking the theoretical foundations of Marxism.”

As I write this, the murder of his wife doesn’t receive mention until the last paragraph, and then it simply says, “Althusser’s life was marked by periods of intense mental illness. In 1980, he killed his wife, the sociologist Hélène Rytmann, by strangling her.”

He is widely celebrated. The murder of his wife is mentioned only in the context of his mental illness.

Valerie Solanas suffered from Schizophrenia. She was also a victim of childhood incest. Her father repeatedly raped her, and then she was sent to live with her grandparents as a teenager, and then her grandfather raped her, and then she ran away from home and became a sex worker.

The shooting of Andy Warhol is currently the first sentence of her Wikipedia bio. She is widely regarded and repeatedly portrayed as a worthless, angry, bat-shit crazy piece of human garbage. Where is this compassion that we are asked to have for male artists, for her?

She was a brilliant artist. The SCUM Manifesto is a masterwork of literary protest art, which is often completely misread. Much of it is actually a point-by-point re-write of multiple of Freud’s writings. It is a parody.

In his essay The Psychogenesis Of A Case Of Homosexuality In A Woman, Freud suggests that a good treatment for lesbians would be having their (most likely already hermaphroditic) ovaries, and genitals removed and replaced with grafted “real” female genitals.

Freud’s exact words:

The cases of male homosexuality which (have) been successful fulfilled the condition, which is not always present, of a very patent physical ‘hermaphroditism’. Any analogous treatment of female homosexuality is at present quite obscure. If it were to consist in removing what are probably hermaphroditic ovaries, and in grafting others, which are hoped to be of a single sex, there would be little prospect of its being applied in practice. A woman who has felt herself to be a man, and has loved in masculine fashion, will hardly let herself be forced into playing the part of a woman…

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas posits that a good “treatment” for straight men is to get their dicks chopped off: “When the male accepts his passivity, defines himself as a woman (males as well as females think men are women and women are men), and becomes a transvestite he loses his desire to screw (or to do anything else, for that matter; he fulfills himself as a drag queen) and gets his dick chopped off. He then achieves a continuous diffuse sexual feeling from ‘being a woman’. Screwing is, for a man, a defense against his desire to be female.”

Freud’s texts are rife with suggestions of female castration and hysterectomies as treatments for all sorts of psychological troubles suffered by women, and in response, The SCUM Manifesto is infamous for suggesting castration might improve the behavior of men.

Freud posited that heterosexual women are sexually passive, engaging in sex only because they want children. He invented the theory of “penis envy.” He claimed that because girls do not have  penises, girls come to believe they have lost their penises, and eventually, seek to have male children in an attempt “to gain a penis.” He believed women, on some deep, subconscious level, viewed themselves as castrated males. In his theory of psychosexual development he posited that for women, sex (with males) may also be a subconscious attempt to gain a penis.

In his essay, The Taboo of Virginity, Freud writes: “We have learnt from the analysis of many neurotic women that they go through an early age in which they envy their brothers, their sign of masculinity and feel at a disadvantage and humiliated because of the lack of it (actually because of its diminished size) in themselves. We include this ‘envy for the penis’ in the ‘castration complex’.”

Solanas, replaces the envy of the penis, not only with envy of the vagina, but most often, with women’s emotional openness, complexity and individuality as the focus of men’s envy. She writes of men: “The female’s individuality, which he is acutely aware of, but which he doesn’t comprehend, and isn’t capable of relating to or grasping emotionally, frightens and upsets him and fills him with envy. “

At the time of the writing of The SCUM Manifesto, Freud was a celebrated figure in psychology, and his theories were being widely touted in academic and popular spheres alike. Solanas took issue with this, and wrote The SCUM Manifesto as a parody, mocking the popular, sexist, and hetero-centric thinking on gender and sexuality at the time. But the text is a reversal. In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas directs everything Freud said with an equal amount of vigor and confidence back at men. So, instead of “female motherhood” being a primary drive, she reverses this to attack/analyze the “male sex drive” through the same line of thinking as Freud.

In his essay, Leonardo Da-Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood, Freud hypothesizes that homosexuality in men stems from their relationship with their father and mother. He proposes that homosexuality (which he assumes is a bad thing) is caused by a relationship with a mother who is too tender to her son (as in all his texts, he repeatedly states that children are naturally sexually attracted to their parents of the opposite sex), and a mother who is, at the same time, too assertive and independent in relation to her own husband (the boy’s father.) This causes the boy to see his mother figure, who’s also an object of his  sexual desire in childhood, as a man, not a woman. And this makes the boy gay. He writes:

In all our male homosexual cases the subjects had had a very intense erotic attachment to a female person, as a rule their mother, during the first period of childhood, which is afterwards forgotten; this attachment was evoked or encouraged by too much tenderness on the part of the mother herself, and further reinforced by the small part played by the father during their childhood. Sadger emphasizes the fact that the mothers on his homosexual patients were frequently masculine women, women with energetic traits of character, who were able to push the father out of his proper place. I have occasionally seen the same thing, but I was more strongly impressed by cases in which the father was absent from the beginning or left the scene at an early date, so that the boy found himself left entirely under feminine influence. Indeed it almost seems as though the presence of a strong father would ensure that thee son made the correct decision in his choice of object, namely someone of the opposite sex.

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas takes this analysis and flips it on its head through an extreme feminist lens, where becoming a “real (straight) man” is already assumed to be a bad thing. She writes: “The effect of fatherhood on males, specifically is to make them, ‘Men,’ that is, highly defensive of all impulses to passivity, faggotry, and of desires to be female. Every boy wants to imitate his mother, be her, fuse with her. So he tells the boy, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, not to be a sissy, to act like a ‘Man.’ The boy, scared shitless of and respecting his father, complies, and becomes just like Daddy, that model of ‘Man’-hood, the all-American ideal — the well-behaved heterosexual dullard.”

While Freud accuses the mother of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a homosexual, Solanas accuses the father of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a straight man.

As you can see from the above, The SCUM Manifesto in many places is an almost line-by-line mockery of Freud’s writings on women and homosexuals, and was never meant to be read as a literal, earnest text throughout. This does not mean it is intended as a joke or to be taken lightly, though. As some may have noticed in the above text, it is not without serious, meaningful and resonant critiques of patriarchal institutions. There is a lot of truth in this parody. It is a political satire. It is simultaneously dead serious, yet written with a nod and a wink. In keeping with the protest art of the time, if you didn’t get it, she wasn’t going to explain it to you. She was happy to make cocky comments, like, “I mean every word of it,” knowing, and indeed, hoping that the “squares” who didn’t understand the sarcasm inherent to the foundation of the text, would be that much more shocked at her effrontery.

Valerie Solanas just said, in a modernized (now dated) vernacular, exactly what Freud had said about women, only about men, and everyone freaked out, because when we talk about men the same way men have talked about women for centuries, it reads as grotesque and insanely violent, un-compassionate, and shocking, which was exactly her point.

Her work is still misinterpreted as a literal text by many to this day.

After shooting Andy Warhol, Solanas turned herself in to the police. She was charged with attempted murder, assault, and illegal possession of a gun. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and pleaded guilty to “reckless assault with intent to harm,” serving a three-year prison sentence, including treatment in a psychiatric hospital. In a darkly ironic twist of fate she was subjected to a nonconsensual hysterectomy during her hospitalization. Shortly after her release from prison, she became homeless, and never published another work.

Michael Alig, known for being a famous party promoter and club kid in the 1980s (in the film about his life, Party Monster, he was played by Macaulay Culkin), brutally murdered his friend, Andre “Angel” Melendez, over an argument about a drug debt.

Alig cut his friend up into pieces and threw him in the Hudson River. He’s been released from prison and is currently working as a club promoter in New York City.

Since his release, he’s also appeared in an indie film with artists I know personally, called Vamp Bikers, in which Alig plays a homicidal sociopath who slowly, brutally murders his friend.

I accidentally watched this at a film screening I attended in Brooklyn years ago, having no idea what I was getting into. It made me want to throw up, seeing him happily take part in a campy fictional portrayal of a murder so similar to the one he actually committed, and being celebrated for this. Many people around me were excitedly saying they hoped that Alig might attend the screening.

His website, michaelalig.com describes him as an “artist, writer, curator.” You can hire him to produce your party, or buy one of his many pop art paintings for $500 a pop.

I think this is all abhorrent. I’ve had debates with friends over this, and have been asked, “Well, he served his time. Shouldn’t we have compassion? He was young and on a lot of drugs when he did that. Don’t you think he should get a second chance?”

Perhaps. Perhaps a chance at living as a free person again, yes, perhaps that, but definitely not a chance to be celebrated for being the famous club kid who murdered his friend. And it’s not lost on me that the person he murdered was a poor, lesser known gay man of color, and I wonder if he would have gotten out of prison so early if he’d been the one who murdered Michael.

Perhaps more shocking than this, is the life and reception of essayist and novelist Norman Mailer. When speaking about feminism and women’s liberation Norman Mailer said: “We must face the simple fact that maybe there’s a profound reservoir of cowardess in women that had them welcome this miserable, slavish life.”

In his book Advertisements for Myself, Mailer claims that a writer without “balls” is no writer at all:

I have a terrible confession to make — I have nothing to say about any of the talented women who write today. Out of what is no doubt a fault in me, I do not seem able to read them. Indeed, I doubt if there will be a really exciting woman writer until the first whore becomes a call girl and tells her tale. At the risk of making a dozen devoted enemies for life, I can only say that the sniffs I get from the ink of the women are always fey, old-hat, Quaintsy Goysy, tiny, too dykily psychotic, crippled, creepish, fashionable, frigid, outer-Baroque, maquillé in mannequin’s whimsy, or else bright and stillborn. Since I’ve never been able to read Virginia Woolf, and am sometimes willing to believe that it can conceivably be my fault, this verdict may be taken fairly as the twisted tongue of a soured taste, at least by those readers who do not share with me the ground of departure — that a good novelist can do without everything but the remnant of his balls.

I would argue that Norman Mailer spoke and wrote just as violently, grotesquely and shockingly about women as Valerie Solanas did about men. But he was not saying any of these things or writing his sexist texts as a parody or protest of his own subjugation.

Norman Mailer is still widely celebrated for both his fiction and essays, including numerous works that take a stand adamantly against feminism and women in general. In 1968 and 1980 he won the Pulitzer Prize. In 2005, he won the National Book Award for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. In 1960, he attempted to murder his wife by stabbing her multiple times in the chest, barely missing her heart.

While his wife lay in the hospital in critical condition, a day after the stabbing, Mailer appeared in a scheduled interview on The Mike Wallace Show, where he spoke of the knife as a symbol of manhood. He was briefly arrested two days later, though his wife refused to press charges, saying that she feared for the safety of their children if she did so. She did, however divorce him once she recovered.

The parallels between Mailer and Solanas are as astonishing as their differences. The only reason I can find for the differences in how they are popularly viewed is that Mailer was a man, speaking and acting violently against women in a sexist society, and Solanas was a woman, doing the reverse in this same society.

I can’t help but conjure Solanas’s legacy when looking at the current questions that keep popping up on the subject of violence, art, and who we celebrate today. Do we forgive Louis C.K. for serially masturbating on countless women he worked with? What does forgiveness mean? Does it mean he continues to enjoy the same level of reverence and celebrity as before? Can we still enjoy Michael Jackson’s music knowing that he had ongoing sexual relationships with what seems to be an endless stream of young boys? Should we still be patronizing Woody Allen’s films? Is it alright to feel heartbroken over the loss of the Bill Cosby so many knew and loved? What of the beautiful works of so many beloved male authors I have spoken about above?

I do not have clear answers to these questions, nor do I think there is one rule of response that is correct for every situation, but I do know that the social hammer has come down hard on women who commit similar acts of violence, especially when those acts are directed at men. I do know that sexist bias has judged one of my artistic heroes much more harshly than her male counterparts.

I do not condone or celebrate Valerie Solanas’s shooting of Andy Warhol. But when people bring up Valerie Solanas as if she is a horrendous, murderous, bat-shit crazy, worthless, hysterical, violent criminal whose literary artwork is as valuable as the ramblings of a madwoman, suggesting that she should be written off as nothing more, I always think to myself, “Well, that’s exactly what she would have expected from this society.” Much less has changed since she first released the book in 1967, than I would have hoped. Those opening lines still remain eerily significant: “Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore, and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation, and destroy the male sex.”

http://www.full-stop.net/2019/05/21/features/chavisa-woods/solanas/

#The Sisterhood

[douxreviews]

Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. - ‘The Other Thing’ Review

"I've been to a lot of worlds. Some good, some garbage. But I've never been to one where people recognize my face."

Now, this was more like it, wasn't it? A solid, confident episode that goes right into the arc story and doesn't disappoint. Three parallel plots unfold and converge to the same place, while propelling the characters forward in great directions.

May vs. Coulson

May started off this year in a placid state of mind. Happier, more relaxed, ready to enjoy the goodness of life. The arrival of Sarge, though, changed that. It didn't send May back to an unhappier place, but I've never seen her so focused against an opponent before. One could presume that Sarge wearing Coulson's face would soften her, but she is repelled by Sarge's methods and cruelty. He is the antithesis of Coulson in many ways, which is why she wants to take him down so badly. When Sarge says "I thought you loved his face," May unleashes all her rage and beats him until he passes out. Then she puts his fallen arm on his lap, the same thing she did for a very tired Coulson back in Tahiti. I didn't read that as a sign of affection, but it is curious nonetheless. It's a reflex, a muscle memory, something she's ought to do, and she does it nonchalantly.

That's terrific writing for a character that becomes more interesting with each year. May could be a one note character, the stone cold archetype, but she is so much more than that. I loved how she subverted Sarge's accusation that Coulson was an impostor and had him question his own existence for a bit. He didn't let her see, but when he turned to get the radio, you could tell her words had hit him. Sarge may say that he doesn't look his age, that he's been around for 100 of Earth's years, but I still believe he's a version of Coulson from another dimension. Maybe that's wishful thinking, but it can't be a coincidence that the word "Coulson" ringed a bell and May's verbal attack affected him.

The use of the flashbacks to Coulson's final days in Tahiti was clever. Coulson and Sarge echoed one another but the phrases had different meanings, another sign of how these two characters have something in common (beyond the looks) but are not the same. It was nice to see Coulson again, so loving and caring. Coulson, you are dearly missed. Dare I say, though, I think Clark Gregg is doing an even better job as Sarge. He plays Sarge with such confidence and distinction that I can't help but appreciate his work. Sarge could've been a poor excuse to keep Gregg around and not scare away the already small audience, but the writers and Gregg's efforts have paid off.

It turns out that Sarge and his team – as it was obvious since last episode, but for some reason the writers only wanted to spell it out here – are not creating the evil birds, they are hunting them. Sarge says they are called the Shrike and that they serve their creator, a monster whose purpose seems to be destroy planets. Bring death to everything. The problem is that Sarge's approach to take down that monster and stop the plague from spreading to other planets now involves destroying Earth. This is a good development, for it keeps Sarge someone our heroes must fight against, even though he is not the actual villain of the tale.

It's all connected, within the TV series, at least

I wasn't expecting the Monoliths to have anything to do with this new threat, and I appreciate that Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. constantly goes back to elements from previous seasons to create new storylines. They did that really well last season, to the point that I didn't think there were any lose threads left (except for that Inhuman dude in the bottom of the ocean), but now here we are dealing with Monoliths again, and then it hit me that they are kind of a lose thread because we never learned what that third Monolith did. It deepens the mythology of the series and gives me confidence that the writers know what they are doing.

But how exactly are the Monoliths connected to what's going on? Is the rift that created the fear dimension last season responsible for bringing this Shriek plague to Earth? I'm lost and intrigued. How does an Incan word fit into all this? Pachakutiq means "the death of everything," but how would an interdimensional traveler know an Incan word? I can only assume he came from a different version of Earth, and the same could be said of Sarge. Luckily, Dr. Benson's research will give us some answers.

In the Lighthouse, Mack checks on Yo-Yo to see how she's doing – spoiler alert, she is totally not dealing with Keller's demise –, but ends up opening up about his own struggles. I have the impression that the writers are still figuring out how to write Mack as a leader, and so far they have relied on his broken relationship with Yo-Yo to show how he has been processing his new role. He wants to keep a distance, be responsible, but can he keep it all together on his own? I thought it was very telling that he couldn't be there for Yo-Yo and instead their conversation went completely off the rails. It was a weird dialogue, I'm not sure how much of that weirdness was intended, but it worked as a moment between two ex-lovers who don't speak the same language anymore. It looked like Mack was willing to bring some barriers down, but Yo-Yo wasn't having it.

I have great respect for Yo-Yo as a character. She is even more loyal to her work ethics than Mack is to his, and that's saying a lot. Being someone willing to do what's necessary no matter the cost demands a lot from her, but she doesn't let her spirit get broken. Her relationship with Keller wasn't developed enough, but her reaction to his death is well written here. She doesn't allow Mack to comfort her, but Dr. Benson is able to reach out to her. I liked how he brought the death of his husband as a parallel to Yo-Yo and Keller's situation. Both Benson and Yo-Yo had to end the life of their significant other who wasn't really there anymore. Now they have to live with the burden of that choice, even though they know it was the right one.

Enoch, the Traitor

The third plot of the episode revolved around the Space Crew, and now that storyline started to fit into the big picture of the season. Many Heads, One Tale is how this show rolls, isn't it?

The Chronicoms had their home planet destroyed, and Atarah, who seems to be the leader of the surviving few, said that minor distortions in the fabric of space released a plague, which is pretty much what is going on on Earth right now. Initially it looked like the Chronicoms were after Daisy et al. to punish them for tampering with the universe... but they too want to tamper with the universe: go back in time and save their planet from destruction. Kidnapping Fitz was part of their plan to get Daisy and Jemma to tell them how to travel through time. Interesting that the noise Daisy had been making on their search for Fitz backfired and turned them into targets. Of course, they couldn't know someone else had their eyes on time travel and, consequentially, on their intelligence.

The agents find themselves cornered, and it's a trap they can't escape of. They didn't create the technology that sent them to the future and then back to the present, how can they help? In order to keep Fitz alive, Jemma says that he could figure out how to build the technology. It all leads to Enoch's betrayal, who sides with Atarah on a move of loyalty to his race. It's a switch of sides that makes sense. Enoch left his home behind to observe humanity and now that his own planet met a similar fate to the one he helped stop on Earth, wouldn't he try to help? I also believed him when he told an enraged Fitz that he did what needed to be done to keep them all alive. Enoch is a decent being and I felt for him when Fitz called him a useless automaton.

The noble move of the episode comes from Jemma when she realizes that she needs to surrender herself in order to keep the others alive. I loved that she gave credit to Daisy, Piper and Davis, acknowledged their help, thanked them and said that she couldn't keep putting them in danger. This is enough of a redemption after dragging them to another place of the galaxy against their will, and a nice bookend to their adventures together. It's also a necessary development for Simmons: her likability rises just in time for the Fitzsimmons-centric episode coming next. It is set up perfectly when Simmons says that, whatever happens, she will be with Fitz. For the two of them, that's all that matters.

Intel and Assets

- Could the Monoliths have some connection to the infinity stones? There is a Time Monolith, a Space Monolith and the third one has something to do with life and death, like the Soul Stone.

- Chronicoms have no gender.

- Chronyca-2 was destroyed by a plague. What about Chronyca-1?

- I liked the continuity of the Confederacy trying to exploit the remnants of a destroyed planet. Also convenient to save some money on set design.

Quotes

Yo-Yo: "I've made hard choices before. Being right doesn't stop it from feeling wrong."

Enoch: "They will never release Fitz." Simmons: "And I'll never stop fighting."

Sarge (to May): "You keep staring like that, my head is bound to catch fire."

Atarah: "Lies. A favorite human pastime."

Sarge: "Our tracker shows [Deke] is not from here, but he's no Shrike. What is he?" May: "Exhausting."

A good ol' Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. episode. Three out of four flashbacks.

---

Lamounier

#Agents of SHIELD #Daisy Johnson #Jemma Simmons #Melinda May #Alphonso Mackenzie #Elena Rodriguez #Leo Fitz #Marvel #MCU #Agents of SHIELD Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

[aabaker1]

Just finished Harvey Girls season 2

First spoiler-free Version. Season two of Harvey Street Kids or Harvey Girls Forever call it what you want, was...uneven. The season started and ended in good places, but there was a block of three episodes towards the middle that just fell flat. Good new characters, though only a few of them got developed. And I am really hesitant about the cliffhanger, it could easily go wrong in a lot of ways.

Okay time for the full rundown after the break.

Hoo boy this series had some highs and lows. I’ll break down by episode and then final thoughts.

Raiders of the Lost Park:

Okay does anyone else notice that the episode titles Netflix presents aren’t always the same as the ones on the title card? It’s not that big a deal, but come on, it’s Dreamworks and Netflix. A little consistency would be appreciated.

Nice way to start the series. This was a risky move, introducing brand new characters was one thing, but giving Audrey and Melvin, two established characters, brand new siblings? That was taking a risk. If I had to complain about something the tension and strife Dot caused in the season 1 finale was brushed aside way too quickly, but that’s a nit pick at most.

Dottie Rocket/Weekend at Audrey’s:

Good Dot episode, nice to see her obsessive compulsiveness get the better of her sometimes. But, Dot sill came back down to Earth in the end, even if it took a sugar-induced hallucination to do it.

Digital pets kicking the bucket, sigh, I can relate. But Audrey was just a bit out of character here. Not her recklessness, but her attempts at covering up. Audrey is not the type of person to hide mistakes, get frustrated by them, sure, but not hide them. Okay, she didn’t want to disappoint Lotta, but Audrey just doesn’t have that kind of deception in her.

Boy Story/ Puzzle, Puzzle, Toil and trouble.

And this is what I meant by character development. It’s nice to see that even the Bloogie Boys have limits, and legitimately like more than stereotypical boy hobbies. Also, nice touch remembering Dot and Pinkeye are friends.

Frufru, getting character development? Didn’t we already do this in season one? Okay, I know, people don’t just change overnight. But, for being so eager to be recognized for her brains, Frufru was a bit too quick to cheat. Though nice callback to Audrey Parkour. And I seriously don’t want to know why there’s an old well full of butter, that is just leads to several nasty implications.

Treasure of the Sierra Harvey/ Babies Day in:

And the character development continues, this time for TIny. Also not all old toys are dangerous. The treasure trove of old toys idea has been done before, but this wasn’t a bad example. Though I thought for sure Tiny was going to leave his action figure behind in the storm drain.

And a nice way to show that Lotta’s compassion can get out of hand some times. Also nice way to show that raccoons aren’t always jerks. Just gonna say it now, ninja pajamas, just ninja pajamas. Also, Dot, running bare-foot, outside, in the park? What kind of bizzaro world is this?

The Lice Storm/ Mission Impossibow:

This one kinda fell flat for me. Audrey over reacting is expected enough, but everyone going along with it, including Dot, that was a bit too far. But, the big letdown was the Harvey Avenue Kids. Okay we’ve seen them before in season one, but this was there chance to shine. And most of them came off as background filler, just like before. Penny was the only one who got any kind of development. But, she and bald Audrey did just enough to save this ep for me.

Decent episode and it shows Dot’s possible great weakness. She’s creative, but in a scientific, A, to B, to C kind of way. Imagining fantasy scenarios on the spot is just not in here wheelhouse, props to her stepping outside of her comfort zone.  Bow initiated the plot here, but didn’t get a lot of character development. But, I’m okay with that. The Bow doesn’t really need development. She’s the bow, the weird kid who does her own thing, sometimes you don’t need to add more to make something good. My only complaint is that there just wasn’t enough of her this season, but I guess there can be too much of a good thing. Did I mention Bow’s my favorite character? Could you tell?

Fandom Menace/Moby Dot:

This one was a meh for me. It didn’t do Lotta any favor. I know she’s the trusting type, but she’s not dumb and certainly not the type to willfully delude herself. I think this was a bit of a miss step. Thankfully they didn’t do the cliche of scamming Zoe out of the ticket she sold. Lotta’s online appeal did fit her character and kudos to Crush4you to being stand up guys and respecting their fans like that.

The Cheer Hunter: Dot’s entertainment:

And more character development in an unexpected direction. So far Zoe’s two appearances had her solidly in the antagonist role, but here we she she’s actually a person, not just a stereotype. Also Maria feeling generally dissed by Zoe fast-tracking Lotta felt genuine. It’s nice to see them do plots that don’t involve someone getting their comeuppance. And everybody coming together to cheer Lotta up was a perfect touch. Also, Dot and Stu being completely (whatever) to the whole situation was funny as hell.

And once again we have Dot at her Obsessive Compulsive best. She discovers a new side to herself and like Dot, naturally takes this to the extreme. Also, nice to get a glimpse of how Dot’s brain works.  Also, Fluffy’s still around, what? You do remember that was just a rat covered in garbage can fuzz, right?

I wanna Crush Your Hand:

And this is where the dip in the season started. I’m just going to say it now, I’m not the target demo for boy bands, not by a long shot. But, that wasn’t the problem I had with this episode. No the main problem was Lotta’s obsession taking up the whole spotlight. It felt like Audrey and Dot just got shoved into the background. Plus this episode just dragged. I’ve gotta say it, I think the two stories an ep format works best for this series. The double-length story just doesn’t fit, here.

Beyond Thunder Dot: Ten things I hate about Ew:

And this is where the season hit the valley for me. Seriously, you’re doing the “Let’s shove the environmental message down kids throats” Thing in 2019? I thought that went out of fashion in the 2010s. But, the most galling thing for me was all that character developing they were doing came to a complete halt. Frufru’s character development? Nah, let’s just turn her into a low rent Captain Planet villain. And since when did Dot get that preachy? I’m sorry but this got so painful for me I had to stop the ep and walk away. Ten things I hate about Ew might have been a decent episode, I don’t know. And I never will if I have to sit through this outdated, anvilicious garbage to get to it.

Something’s Glotta Give/Afernoon Contrite:

I think the main thing with this story is it made no sense to me. I thought Gerald and Lotta got together in season one, now Lucretia’s trying to hook them up, what?

This is where the season started to pick back up for me. It’s nice to see that even after the previous character development Melvin can still be Melvin. It’s nice to see that Lotta tries to fix things, even if she did it by accident, but naive Lotta is back and I just don’t know how I feel about that. Still seeing Melvin get a bit more character growth saved this one.

Can’t Hardly Wait/Bring it Prawn:

Ah that’s more like it. This touches my fanfic-writing heart. It’s nice to see Lucretia stretching her active imagination. It’s also nice to see the Audrey Girls and  Tiny encouraging her self confidence. Plus in short order we got return of Audrey the Destroyer, Sci-Fi Dot and Lotta Moon, what’s not to love?

Thank you! Thank you for showing that cartoon siblings can do more than just fight with each other. This almost makes up for the environmental debacle, almost. In one fell swoop we see Maria and Melvin get along and Zoe and Audrey put their differences aside and work together for a common cause. Bonus points seeing Zoe stick up for Audrey. Audrey may be an annoying twerp, but she’s Zoe’s annoying twerp, damn it! Also, anyone else imagine buff Zoe and Audrey when Dot kept saying aabs.

Hover, may I board with danger/free Gilly:

And here’s Stu’s character development. Stu always seemed the odd man out. While Zoe and Maria have Audrey and Melvin to play off of, Stu was just sort of there. Now we see his too cool for school attitude is really a front for him being sensitive and a little insecure, that’s a nice touch. Also Audrey gets to grow as a person. First she was just legit conning Stu for time on the hover board, which was really just a Segway without the handles, but then she genuinely gets into the contact juggling. And one of her plans actually works for once, what? Also, what is up with Bobby this season, last season he was the older kid who doled out sage advice and could be a little jerkish sometimes. Now this season the sage advice stuff is all but gone and we just get the jerk, everyone else gets character development, but Bobby actually backslides a bit, guess they had to cut corners somewhere. 

Finally a payoff to the running gag of Audrey’s goldfish issues. Nice to see that finally wrapped up. But, was it strictly necessary to give the animals voices? Okay, I admit it wasn’t so bad for Bobby the skunk, but every freaking animal? Yeesh, I mean there is such a thing as subtlety.

That thing you Dot!/Where the streets have no games:

You know, at first I thought I was going to hate bring Chevron back, didn’t she and Dot make peace back in season one? But, then I found that I really didn’t hate it. Dot used the wrong word. Chevron is not a frenemy, she’s a competitor and that may actually be a good thing. Dot and Chevron are very similar, they like to take hobbies to the absolute extreme and there’s nothing wrong with that. They two drive each other to succeed. In fact if they didn’t have each other they probably wouldn’t do half as much as they do. And Kudos bring Penny back and giving her a voice, she’s going to be the lead Harvey Avenue kid, I just feel it.

And here we are, okay, I’ll go through ep first before getting to the diamond-studded elephant in the room. Nice commentary on mobile games and how their designed to addict you. And yeah they really are just excuses to gather data. Also, nice touch Lotta and Audrey being the only ones who weren’t suckered in. Sadly Dot’s obsessive compulsive tendencies made her an easy target. But, then we go into that cliffhanger. Yeesh, that cliffhanger.

Finale Thoughts:

I’ll just say it. I know they were going to pull Richie in at some point. But to quote the Bow, not this way. The entire idea behind Richie Rich is that in spite of being the richest kid on Earth, Richie was a normal, average kid, who just wanted to make friends and have fun. He was never portrayed as being snobbish, sheltered or clueless.

Only now it’s clear Richie set up the mobile game and the contest to try to figure out how kids have fun. Not only is being clueless, he’s using money to try to solve his problems, which Richie never did.

And worse it’s predictable. I can tell where this story is going. The Harvey girls together maxed out the fun-o-meter, so Richie’s going to take them off to his estate to be his new friends and the Harvey Girls are going to bring him down to Earth.

But, they shouldn’t have to. Richie has always been portrayed as already being down to Earth. Now they’re going out of their way to portray Richie as a clueless rich kid who doesn’t understand how the real world works, and that is just wrong. That’s not Richie. Although nice touch with the Irona reference.

But, there’s something that worries me even more. Now that you’ve pulled the pin on Richie, where do you go with him from here, does he become a regular? I hate to say it, but I hope not. 

You have to remember, that by default, Richie is the biggest presence in the room. If you over use him he could quickly over shadow Audrey and the others, in fact, he already has once before.

I’m taking about Harvey Comics. For over ten years, Audrey, Lotta, Dot and their friends ruled Harvey comics. Then Richie, Wendy and Casper came along. And within a few short years Audrey and company were all but forgotten. I just hope to go they have enough sense not to try to make this the Richie Rich show. I think they do. I think they understand a way to use Richie right and they already done it in the same episode, with Chevron.

Chevron is a big personality, so they don’t overuse her. So far she’s shown up once a season and that’s just right for her. It’s all she needs. If she were on regularly she’d drown the others out too much. But, this way when she shows up it’s a big deal. I think that’s the perfect approach to take with Richie, less is more. Just don’t turn him into a clueless rich kids, please? 

#harvey-street-kids #Harvey-Girls-Forever