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kpopimagi · 9 months

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A Flower Under The Rain [Part 5]

Characters: Baekhyun, Kyungsoo and Kang Gyuri (OC) Genre: Angst, Romance Au: Hanahaki!Au Type: Series Word count: 10, 205

It all began with a cough and then, a subtle sting in her chest. Kang Gyuri cried, knowing that in a matter of months, she would be another figure in the death toll of the most dangerous and cruelest outbreak in human history.

Everything was overwhelming.

Still, too out of it, Gyuri simply limited herself to letting Kyungsoo take her away from the coffee shop. As soon as she felt remotely better, he stopped a taxi before the police and agents from the National Health Service could take anyone into custody for questioning. They always did when someone died of the Hanahaki disease in a public space. Luckily, he managed to close the taxi’s door just in time the first ambulance arrived at the site.

After a silent ride with Kyungsoo, she arrived home, but the moment she closed the front door behind her and saw her parents watching television in the living room, Gyuri felt a lot better and grounded in a reality she knew was safe and secure. However, drained to even talk, let alone try to pretend she was all fine, she excused herself, saying she needed to lay down for a bit.

Although she felt like she hadn’t slept for days, something was bothering her, and taking the watch off her wrist. Gyuri realized how heavy it felt and the longer she looked at it, the more she noticed how refined and expensive it actually was. Kyungsoo must be a careful person, Gyuri decided, considering how well taken care of it was.

She flipped the watch around, and for a second, she thought her eyes were deceiving her. As exhausted as she was, her mind must’ve been playing tricks on her heart and her faith because the name she saw engraved in the back of the watch couldn't be true. That name wasn’t even real. It was only a pen name, and it was a legend. A mystery no one knew the face of. A tear fell down her cheek as her finger traced the capital that held so many of her hopes. A capital D and a capital O.

Gyuri wanted to laugh. Suddenly, his reply of being unemployed by choice seemed like the funniest yet unintentionally sarcastic joke ever. Because one of the reasons that made D.O. so mysteriously fascinating to the entire world was the fact that he never wrote a second book. That brought many to think it was all a scam, and the writer died like everyone else with the curse did.

Opening her laptop to do some research, Gyuri wondered how on earth she was supposed to start. She wouldn't be the first to try to find out his identity, but the cold watch on her hand reminded her that she had a clue that no one else might have. Gyuri simply typed D.O. watch on the search engine and hoped for the best. She could’ve never imagined getting thousands of results, and she just stared at the articles, utterly stunned. She even found the official website of the Swiss watchmaking manufacturer that made the watch that happened to be a special edition gift given to the writer as a token of their appreciation. That book was, after all, the greatest source of hope in the middle of such worldwide dispair.

Clicking faster than ever, Gyuri navigated through the website. She read the articles and then compared the watch in her hand with the one in the pictures. Her breath trembled, and her heart dropped to the floor when she saw the estimated price of the watch. She had been carrying almost 4 million dollars on her wrist, and she wasn't even aware.

Her cell phone buzzing somewhere in her room stopped her anxious train of thoughts, and when she found it, she wished she could ignore the texts on the screen but knew better than to ignore Baekhyun. Staring at the device for a while, Gyuri tried not to read too much between the lines.

Most times, Baekhyun would pick her up whenever they hung out, except for very few times when he had previous commitments before seeing her. He always made an effort. Her best friend tried to work his activities around to spend quality time with her. It was an engraved part of him and their relationship.

However, when he set a time for them to see each other at some random park, she couldn’t stop herself and feared the worst. Luckily or not so, her answer came a few seconds later in a whole minute and a half audio message, and she wasn’t entirely surprised when she listened to it.

“I was wondering if Mina can tag along tomorrow if that’s alright with you?” His voice asked with genuine and nervous hesitation. “If you don’t feel comfortable about it, don’t worry.”

Gyuri knew that the last part of his message was also honest. If she wasn’t comfortable yet, he wouldn’t force it. However, something did not feel entirely alright. Not trusting her voice enough to reply with an audio message, she replied with a simple text that she wouldn’t mind.

Taking the watch with her for safekeeping, Gyuri laid down in her bed, aware of how tired she was but at the same time, afraid of even closing her eyes. She debated if she should reach out for that one person that became a kind of a lifeline. It felt selfish of her to even bother him any further when he had done so much already, but she couldn’t help it.

Gyuri stared at his phone number, deciding if she could call him instead of sending a text. Because truth to be told, his replies so far had been extremely short. Closing her eyes, she made up her mind and pressed the button. Surprisingly, he answered the call almost right away, and greeted by his low and monotonous voice, she couldn’t bring herself to speak.

“Is everything alright?” He asked after a few seconds of silence.

“Are you free tomorrow?” She cut to the chase and facepalmed herself in embarrassment. “I’m seeing Baekhyun tomorrow and he wants to bring his girlfriend along.”

“He’s bringing her along?” He asked as if making sure he understood the situation. “Do you want me to go with you?”

“I’m so sorry,” She blabbered, suddenly mortified, “now that I think about it, it’s very silly.”

“I’ll go.”

Gyuri closed her eyes, smiling to herself at the amount of relief his short reply infused into her whole body. She had to remind her giddy mind to calm down.

“Can we see each other first?” She asked, begging the watch in her hands for him to accept.

Kyungsoo merely hummed in agreement, and somehow that simple answer made her body finally relax. Gyuri curled up in her bed, and too tired to change her clothes, she pulled the covers over herself. Once she settled between the bedsheets with the watch in one hand and her phone in the other, she couldn’t think of anything else to add to end the call.

“You must be tired.” He added after a long while as if he could read her silence, and suddenly aware of the exhaustion, she nodded even if he couldn’t see her. “Is it because of what we saw today?”

His voice was as soft as a whisper and stripped from any judgment. Although it was more than obvious he already knew the answer, Gyuri still replied with the smallest voice she could muster.

“I’m still scared.”

Kyungsoo hummed, and somehow, Gyuri didn't need more. Just by knowing that someone knew her struggle was more than enough. However, from all the responses she could expect from a conversation of that type, a sudden chuckle wasn’t one of them. Especially not from someone like him.

“I’m not good at these kinds of things,” Kyungsoo eventually said, more to himself.

Gyuri chuckled as well. It was amusing to her that he said that while he also happened to be the man that spoke to the entire world about hope. He didn’t even have to say anything comforting when she found his silence strangely reassuring.

“What do you like to do in your spare time?” She asked in a way to ease his awkwardness.

“I like to cook and watch movies.” He replied, quite animatedly, although his tone was still soft.

“What do you like to cook the most?”

Gyuri wanted to know out of genuine curiosity but it was as if that simple question turned on a chat mode on him, and she closed her eyes and smiled to herself as she basked in his voice. Especially when she asked how he prepared a particular dish and he would talk about that and all the different Korean dishes he liked. From time to time, Kyungsoo would ask if he should stop and let her sleep, but Gyuri would let out a soft sound every time to show him she was still listening, and he would start again. Eventually, his voice mellowed more and more until she couldn’t hear him anymore and fell into a peaceful slumber.

***

The dreadful day finally arrived, and there was no way Gyuri could skip it. The more she tried to come up with an excuse to cancel her weekly hangout with Baekhyun, the worse the sting in her chest got, and she realized she couldn't just lie to him without her heart twisting in response.

Despite everything, Gyuri was unexpectedly excited and even dressed up a little bit more than usual. She wore the expensive watch on her wrist and spent most of her bus ride constantly pulling the sleeve of her jacket down to cover it and overall thinking that someone was watching her and planning a whole heist to cut her arm off and steal the small fortune dangling in her tiny wrist.

Without any incidents other than her nervousness, Gyuri arrived at the coffee shop. She spotted Kyungsoo from a distance, already waiting for her, sitting at a table by the window. Ignoring the rush of giddiness and excitement she felt, she hurried inside.

As soon as she crossed the entrance, as if getting hit by a truck, Gyuri suddenly realized who she was about to meet and felt utterly unprepared. She even regretted having the book in her purse, naively thinking she could get his autograph or something of that sort. Pretending she hadn’t seen him yet, Gyuri made a beeline to the counter to order a drink.

Amid a mess of thoughts and self-awareness, she only asked for a water bottle, and her voice was caught up in a squeak when Kyungsoo himself showed up by her side. Unable to fully look at him as a sense of starstruck admiration paralyzed her body when she suddenly noticed his smart and expensive looks, the feeling of his heavy watch on her wrist, and his attentiveness even in the smallest of things. Gyuri didn’t even have the time to react when he pulled his wallet out to pay for her drink, and all the giddiness was soon replaced by remorse.

Once seated by the same window he had been waiting, she looked around, wary of everything and everyone in their near vicinity. As unsuspiciously as she could under the table, Gyuri took his watch off and slipped it across the table.

“Are you crazy?” She said, leaning over so she wouldn’t raise her voice that much, “How can you give me that so easily?”

“I get nagged if I don’t wear it often.” Kyungsoo replied with a small and amused smile as he grabbed the watch and observed it as if it was made of plastic, “I don’t really like it.”

“Still, what if I’d lost it or got it stolen?” She whispered out loud, feeling a weight over her shoulders being lifted as he put the watch on with a smirk.

The sudden confidence exuding off him caught Gyuri off guard, and she just stared at him, admiring him in a different light. For a split second, he seemed to glow in a very healthy and lively way that made her start to wonder a million things. Like, for starters, how manly and classy he actually looked without his glasses and how effortlessly handsome he was.

Gyuri also wondered how on earth she managed to become friends with one of the most famous personalities in the modern world. She even shared a freaking slice of cheesecake with him. She carried around his four million-dollar watch and was now sitting in front of him once again. Kyungsoo happened to be the only survivor of the outbreak. He was like an undefeated hero, and unable to believe her luck, she found herself speechless.

“You are him, aren’t you?” She whispered, stunned and scared and excited by his reply, “You are The Love Survivor.”

Kyungsoo lowered his head, but Gyuri didn’t miss the tiny twitch in his brows and the pout on his lips at the nickname some people had for the writer. However, and against all of her expectations, he nodded. It was a subtle nod, and in what looked like a nervous fidget, he scratched the back of his neck.

“I just wrote it down,” He said, his voice monotone as if he was talking about the forecast, “I wrote my pain and frustration down.”

Gyuri leaned back on her chair, mind blown at the confirmation, and the noise of awe and wonder that came out of her, made him look up and smile. It was such a tender and childlike expression that somehow felt like he threw a wrench into the works of her mind. He just seemed to find her reaction to the whole revelation somehow comical.

“Do you want to hear the story?” He asked as if the story of his journey to write one of the most successful books in the last decade was not that interesting.

“If you feel comfortable telling me, I would love to.” Gyuri said, trying not to sound that eager, “It’s not like we have anywhere else to go.”

Kyungsoo chuckled again, which Gyuri started to realize fit his face and tone very well. She looked at him, taking his time as he chewed on his lower lip, deep in thought.

“A friend of mine kept a close eye on me when I contracted the disease. He wanted to know how I was coping with it and I showed my diary to him.” He started, a bit too straight to her liking, “Back then, he was starting his career as an editor.”

Gyuri perked up. She instantly knew who he was talking about. The entire world knew about D.O.’s infamous editor slash manager. Some people were convinced he was the author in disguise but in every single interview, Kim Minseok was calm and collected and all dandy to deny any rumors. He was the public face of the book, and he knew how to capitalize on it with his charms and good looks.

The man was one hell of a charmer, and if she wasn’t mistaken, he was considered one of the most wanted bachelors in Seoul. Gyuri couldn’t argue with the masses; the man was genuinely pretty. He was also cute in a particular way but sweepingly and disarmingly handsome to everyone, men and women alike.

“He didn’t say anything but his eyes sparkled,” Kyungsoo kept on with his story, almost fondly at the memory. “He denies it to this day but he saw the potential.”

“That’s it?” Gyuri thought out loud before she could stop her mouth, but the twitch on the corners of Kyungsoo’s lips let her know he wasn’t offended.

“One day, I had a bad episode.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest and fixing his attention to something in the table between them. “It was so bad that it almost finished me. I was ready to give up when he just pitched me the idea of leaving a legacy behind.”

Gyuri felt small. She felt herself shrinking in her seat, and when Kyungsoo finally lifted his eyes to meet hers, she felt utterly exposed before him.

“I was running out of time,” he explained, “I knew the next coughing fit would be my last. I felt it ready to burst out of my skin so I did it. I amused him on his plan to publish my diary.”

“Is that why you don’t like it?” Gyuri wondered out loud. “Because it is your diary?”

“I never meant to stay alive and see it published.” He said, glaring at one bookshelf near them, and amongst all the books, she could see the spine of a copy of his book, “It’s my heart opened to the world.”

“If it counts,” she said, realizing she had to forget about the book in her purse for good, “I believe it’s terrific.”

“Why do you like it?” He asked instead, leaning closer to the table as if he was genuinely curious to know.

Gyuri didn’t need some time to think about it. She knew the answer just as well as she knew the story and what it made her feel. It was a no-brainer for her.

“I love,” She started, thinking of the best way to word it, “I really love the spark of hope at the end, even if it’s not clear if it is real or not.”

For a second, nothing around them mattered. All Gyuri was aware were Kyungsoo’s eyes on her. If he wanted to say anything about what she just said, he didn’t elaborate. He just stared at her face, and when such attention felt quite unbearable, and almost as if she was getting saved by the bell, she heard the soft buzz of her cell phone in her purse.

To her annoyance, they left the coffee shop to meet Baekhyun and his girlfriend in the specified place, although Gyuri felt like ditching them. Kyungsoo was far better company than them, but the sudden halt on the writer's strides made her almost bump into him. She chuckled at first, but the amusement wore off immediately when she found him facing her. Kyungsoo scratched the back of his head with one hand. His eyes fixed at some point away from her and his lips pursed in a wry face.

“About the book,” He said, his shoulders dropping, “don’t tell anyone about it.”

Kyungsoo gave her a wan smile that Gyuri didn't particularly like and then simply walked away. However, whether or not she could keep his secret safe, the thought alone of him asking for her discretion made her feel sick to her stomach. The sensation she had been pushing back since that long phone call the night before became too strong to ignore.

“I’m so sorry.” She said loud enough for the people walking around them to look at her.

Suddenly aware of the unwanted and judgy stares, Gyuri just ran up to Kyungsoo, who was looking at her, taken aback. Once she caught up with him, she recognized the uncomfortable heaviness of her actions.

“I’m sorry for taking advantage of you.” She apologized, closing her eyes in the hopes of the earth under her feet opening and swallowing her whole, “That has never been my intention.”

Gyuri heard the sound that came from him but other than that, he remained silent. When she opened one eye to see what she thought would be an upset glare, all Gyuri found was him just staring at her, and she was determined to make things right as the guilt continued to weigh her down.

“Back then, when we first met, you literally saved my life and I am grateful to the bottom of my heart.” She confessed, “But I feel like I keep taking advantage of your generosity.”

“You’re not.”

That ripped her eyes off from the round and lustrous tips of her favorite shoes. All she could see were those dark and round eyes in front of her. She kept looking at them but found nothing but understanding and an unmatched lack of prejudice in them.

“You have no obligation whatsoever to do any of this.” She added, looking around the buzzing crowd around them.

Kyungsoo opened his mouth, but that one voice that made her heart soar and ached at the same time called her name. Gyuri’s entire body snapped back to the only reality it seemed to know and that was completely and unquestionably ruled by Byun Baekhyun and his incomparable need of attention.

She turned around and cursed under her breath when she finally saw him approaching, all dressed up. Gyuri knew him well enough to know that he’d put effort into his clothes as she just gaped at him, at the well-fitted jeans, the belt, the tucked-in shirt, and the dark overcoat. This date must’ve been a special occasion for him, considering that he was even wearing dress shoes. Baekhyun didn’t do that. She could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he wore something different than sweatpants and his ugly white shoes.

Baekhyun called her again, greeting her from afar, already raising his arms. However, his smile faltered when he saw Kyungsoo by her side just as much as her heart twisted when she saw Mina walking right behind her best friend and flashing a huge smile at her.

The sting in the middle of her chest was suddenly back. The thought alone of having Baekhyun touching her in any way made her skin crawl in anticipation but not in a good way. As if her body not only longed for him, it also reminded her of the pain and the agony, and she felt forced to step aside. Gyuri stood slightly closer to Kyungsoo to protect herself from the pain and the motion was almost unperceivable, but Baekhyun still noticed it. Gyuri couldn’t be sure what hurt her more if the frown on his handsome face or the yearning burning in her heart. Forcing a smile, she ignored it all to embrace the horrific and painful certainty that the closer she stayed to Kyungsoo, the further she kept Baekhyun away.

The introductions were brief, or at least that was how it felt to Gyuri. Like it happened when they first met at the restaurant, she barely managed to even look at Mina. She was just too pretty and too perfect, with her big eyes, perfect smile, and perfect skin that was soft and white as milk. It made sense that Baekhyun liked her. He would be an idiot if he didn’t.

“Why are there so many people?” Kyungsoo wondered out loud.

Gyuri had been so out of herself, trying her best to mute Mina’s perfect and melodic voice that she hadn’t realized that they were surrounded by people. Lots of people. She looked around, getting lost at the sea of faces passing by so fast and so unbothered that she felt the anxiousness taking over. Gyuri latched onto the closest thing she could reach, which happened to be Kyungsoo’s arm, and when she peeped at him, he looked just as clueless as she was.

“Crowds,” Gyuri said under her breath, trying her best to stay calm. “I hate crowds.”

She soon found the only logical explanation for the chattering and menacing crowd moving in every direction hanging from a tubular structure. Gyuri just couldn't believe how ridiculous the entire situation was.

“World Human Statue Festival” Gyuri read the colorful banner that welcomed them and wished she had ditched them as she wanted in the beginning. “Who thought this was a good idea?”

"I've been wanting to come," Mina added, excitedly pulling Baekhyun by the arm, "I bet you will love it!"

With a fond chuckle, Baekhyun smiled at her and complied, letting her guide him through the crowd, leaving Gyuri and Kyungsoo behind as if they didn’t even exist.

“Does it make me a mean person if I don’t want to talk to them?” Gyuri asked as she stared at her friend’s figure disappear.

A part of her strongly wanted to run after him, to keep an eye on him and make herself noticed to him. Thinking in that way was a ridiculous idea, and attempting to contain her heart, she looked at Kyungsoo, who simply shook his head in agreement to her question. Letting out a relieved sigh, she made a beeline to the entrance line for the event.

“Do you want to go somewhere else?” Kyungsoo asked, standing next to her as someone pressed a stamp on the back of their hands.

“He won’t let us,” She retorted in annoyance when they found Baekhyun laughing at something his girlfriend was telling him. “Trust me. He is that annoying.”

Although he didn’t seem to be as bothered as she felt, Kyungsoo nodded and walked silently by her side. They wandered around the park in awkward silence, following the couple that seemingly hung out as if they were alone.

Baekhyun was so absorbed by his perfect girlfriend that he didn’t notice when Gyuri and the writer fell behind and took a different path. It was only then that she started to enjoy the event. She had to swallow her pride and accept that just like Mina said, she was kind of liking the festival despite the overwhelming amount of people around them.

Every track of the park was flanked by human statues standing on wooden platforms. For the first couple of minutes, Kyungsoo and her, just admired them in silence until a random kid ran from somewhere behind them. They watched him drop a few coins in a plastic cup placed in front of the platform of one of the statues. As if it was a machine, the statue moved, and Gyuri felt Kyungsoo jolting in surprise by her side as the person in costume high-fived the kid. When she looked at the writer, his eyes were wide in awe, as a big and nice smile spread across his face.

“Do you have change?” She asked, realizing every statue had a cup for coins near their platforms and got suddenly excited to see them all move.

“We should buy something.” He suggested, already bringing a few checks out of his wallet.

“This is so exciting.” Gyuri giggled to herself when Kyungsoo strode away to the nearest food stall.

Gyuri felt her legs slowly come to a halt and her smile disappear when they found Baekhyun standing in front of a statue that twirled and motioned him to do the same. He did as told, and the statue clapped, delighted but only to show him how to twirl the girl next to him. If it was her, Gyuri would’ve stepped back almost immediately and hid behind someone. Of course, Baekhyun chose someone that played along. Mina laughed, letting Baekhyun twirl her around just like the statue wanted.

“You don’t have to torture yourself,” Kyungsoo whispered as they watched the couple smile at each other.

“It isn’t that it’s not me, don’t believe me that shallow.” She explained, trying to rub the pain off her chest as she followed Kyungsoo away from the impromptu dancing show. “I've just never seen him like this and that hurts.”

Kyungsoo simply gave her a look that felt full of empathy that managed to comfort her before he told her to wait for him on the nearest bench. Not wanting to think about anything, Gyuri followed the instructions and waited for him, fixating her eyes on the tips of her shoes.

Minutes later, Kyungsoo was back and holding a huge strawberry milkshake in his hands and Gyuri’s first reaction was to wince just to imagine the amount of sugar that thing had. She could feel her tastebuds protesting even before actually taking a sip. However, not wanting to be rude, she grabbed the drink, thanked him but hesitated for a second.

“Don’t think about it.” He said, leveling to her eye level and gently nudging the drink towards her, “You need sugar."

Unsure, Gyuri did it, bracing herself for the sugar rush to punch her in the face, but it never came. The strawberry milkshake was as bland and tasteless as water, and the more she sipped and drank, the hardest it was to believe that she couldn't taste the slightest bit of sweetness.

"It happens when you feel uncomfortable," Kyungsoo explained.

“It's like the candies," She made the observation, grasping the calmness and sense of security in his voice and knowledge.

Kyungsoo nodded, giving her a small smile but their little moment was interrupted by Mina’s voice demanding a strawberry milkshake as well as she remarked, with a sting of jealousy, of how much of a thoughtful date Kyungsoo was. Gyuri didn’t care in the slightest about Mina’s rambling. All Gyuri was aware of was Baekhyun's scowl as his eyes went from her to Kyungsoo and the fact that he was still in front of her with one knee on the ground.

Like it happened on that first time they met at the restaurant, Kyungsoo ignored the glares and without explaining himself to anyone, he held her hand securely in his and helped her up. Gyuri heard him say something, she saw his lips move and gesture somewhere but every single cell in her only registered the sound of Baekhyun’s voice, the evident pout in his face, and the confusion taking over his expression.

“...But you don’t like strawberries, Gyuri.” Her friend mumbled as they walked past them and left him at the mercy of his demanding girlfriend.

That was partially true. Gyuri didn’t eat strawberries at any given chance as they weren’t her favorite fruit, which altogether was far from her not liking them. However, Baekhyun decided that she hated them just because he had never seen her eat one. Gyuri thought about that logic and found it so dumb that her grasp around the milkshake cup tightened in a wave of annoyance she didn't know where it came from.

“We have change now.” Kyungsoo interrupted her internal rambling and showed her a handful of coins.

Forgetting about the turmoil inside her, Gyuri found herself smiling only because Kyungsoo seemed beyond excited. His big and brown eyes were wide in wonder and eagerness, and the excitement in him was so contagious that she wasn't planning on spoiling the experience for him.

“This one is from Mexico.” Gyuri read out loud as Kyungsoo admired the mariachi painted in dusted black and gold.

She dropped a few coins on the cup, except the statue didn’t move immediately as some others did. Gyuri just stared at it, hopeful that it would do something at some point, but nothing happened. Disappointed, they were about to leave when a Mexican tune started, and the statue lowered his sombrero to salute her. Then it took a proud stance, and to her absolute delight, it started dancing. She heard Kyungsoo by her side gasped in awe as the guy danced in perfect balance on such a small surface.

A couple of minutes later, the statue ended the dance with a bow and flashed a dashing smile back to Gyuri. The writer was the first to start clapping, and she followed right away, just as amazed. The mariachi winked at her, and Gyuri immediately felt her cheeks flare but not before she did the same back at him. The statue chuckled, flashing a huge, unbelievable white smile at her.

“Kyungsoo, take me away,” Gyuri mumbled, pulling his arm, “take me away before I spend all of your money on him.”

Laughing, Kyungsoo dragged her away while still slightly in a daze by the flirty mariachi and as soon as she was out of danger of falling for a stranger, he left her behind in the search for the next statue.

Still giggling to herself, Gyuri finished her milkshake and caught up with the writer, who was standing still in front of a statue. She joined him and almost let out a sound of amazement. The next statue was an old man in what looked like a wool blazer, standing next to an old accordion-style camera on a tripod. Gyuri was sure the camera was obscenely and comically huge.

Kyungsoo was the one that dropped the coins into the cup, and as expected, the statue started moving. The cameraman gushed over the writer as if he had found the most handsome man ever. Gyuri couldn’t help but giggle at the embarrassment in his face, but that only caught the statue's eyes. She instantly froze under the sudden attention and felt her heart skip a beat when the cameraman made dramatic hand movements for her to move closer to Kyungsoo.

Gyuri could feel him stand next to her, and she was too startled to do anything else but watch the statue going behind the camera and make a face at them. Kyungsoo chuckled when the cameraman made movements more vehemently for them to stand closer to each other. Between the soft chuckle that came out of Kyungsoo and the sudden chain of events, she felt her cheeks heat up when he took her hand and drew it through his arm, placing his hand on top of hers.

The statue clapped, delighted, and ran back behind the camera. Before the picture was snapped, Gyuri dared herself to look up at Kyungsoo. She found him softly smiling at the camera, and his head tilted closer to hers in a stance that felt way too intimate for the kind of relationship they had.

Ignoring the sudden thrill and warmth feeling spreading through her skin, she looked forward to the camera and smiled. She never expected a flash coming out of the camera and even less to see the statue coming over to them, handing them an actual instant picture of them together.

Kyungsoo let her keep the picture, and awkwardly, they wandered off in different directions though they kept on finding each other in the crowd. Acting as if nothing had happened, they just smiled at each other before resuming their way to admire the rest of the statues.

Eventually, Gyuri heard Kyungsoo calling her name. His voice was unexpectedly loud, and he was smiling brightly as if he had just discovered the coolest thing ever. She joined him, infected by his excitement, and once by his side, she found the statue was just as amazing as his expression. A man was riding a bicycle with a leather bag hanging crossbody over a vest, a postman worn-out hat on his head, and an envelope in his hand. Gyuri immediately knew what he was portraying.

“You should see this one,” Kyungsoo mumbled as he slipped a few coins into her hand.

With an excited nod, Gyuri dropped the coins in the cup by the wooden box, and flashing a huge smile, the statue started pedaling, reciting what sounded like a poem in a foreign language. Once done, the statue blew a whistle. To her surprise, it jumped off the bicycle to give the envelope to her as it showed a gentle smile. Kyungsoo nudged her forward, and she mirrored the smile the mailman gave her and even more when it bowed in a very theatrical manner. After that, the mailman went back to his bike, brought out another envelope of his leather bag, and froze again.

“That was so cool.” She mumbled, slightly in a daze.

“Is there anything in the envelope?” Kyungsoo asked as they walked away to another statue.

“Of course there isn’t,” Gyuri snorted, “Can you imagine how many letters he must have printed if he’s just giving them out every time someone gives him a coin?”

“It's not empty.” Kyungsoo pointed out, and Gyuri had to concede that the envelope felt thicker.

They just stood there, in the middle of the square, as Gyuri opened the envelope to find a folded piece of paper inside and her heart softened at the words written. It happened to be one of her favorite excerpts of D.O.'s book, and she couldn't help but feel strangely comforted. However, the moment Baekhyun and Mina found them, the sting in her chest twisted uncomfortably.

Gyuri shut her mouth tightly, exasperated. Not entirely sure if it was at Mina’s antics or the effects she had on Baekhyun and subsequently what his reactions did to her heart. She firmly believed Mina wasn’t ill-intended but just as smitten with Baekhyun as Baekhyun seemed to be with her, and there wasn’t much Gyuri could do about that.

As if the curse was alive and aware of her mind, something twisted in her chest when she caught Baekhyun beaming a smile at his girlfriend, completely captivated. Gyuri had to force her body to look elsewhere and walk away even if she could feel something creeping under her skin.

With tears threatening to fall, she rummaged through her purse, searching for the candies tin can and focusing on her breathing as she practically ran away from the pain. By the time she managed to get some candies into her mouth, she was coming into a pop-up gift shop and was closely followed by Kyungsoo.

She halted for a second, aware that she ran away, leaving the rest behind and that that could have made Baekhyun grow suspicious of her. Mortified of her cowardice, she evaded Kyungsoo’s eyes when he stood before her. He just observed her in silence, and without saying anything, he went further into the shop, pulling her softly by the arm.

Gyuri let the trinkets distract her, and his steady presence by her side calmed her down and gave her something to hold onto. Without realizing it, the squirming inside her heart stopped, and she found herself smiling at an absentminded Kyungsoo grabbing some cutesy turtle toys. She just observed him bringing the small toy closer to his face and glaring at the turtle as if he was in a staring contest against it. Then he placed it back on the shelf and moved on.

“For being such a best seller worldwide known author,” Gyuri pointed out, and he looked at her taken aback, “you don’t talk much.”

The reaction was immediate. Gyuri saw his cheeks rising as his ears got red, and his eyes avoided looking at her. As if wanting to hide his embarrassment from her, Kyungsoo covered his mouth, but not before Gyuri heard his muffled laugh and saw his smile.

“Cute.” She observed.

She felt unexpectedly proud of herself for bringing such a riveting expression out of him that she had to look away to calm her nerves down. Thankfully, something in the corner of her eyes caught her attention.

“I’m not cute.” He insisted, and she could see how hard he was trying to placate his smile.

“I beg to differ.” Gyuri added, “We have to commemorate this moment.”

She grabbed him by his sleeve and pulled him towards the stall that caught her attention and where a photo booth was installed. Gyuri felt his resistance almost immediately as soon as he realized where she was taking him. She kind of had to give it to him that he tried really hard to stop her. Kyungsoo came to a stop, planting his feet to the ground so that she had to grab his arm and pull him into the booth.

“Why are you making me do this?” He asked as she handed him some random props for the pictures.

“It’s fun.”

“Stop.” He insisted, grabbing her arms when she tried to put some kitty ears in his head.

“Amuse me,” She persisted, not really expecting him to cave in so easily.

Kyungsoo actually did it. He caved in, dropping his hands in defeat. He kept the kitty's ears on and faced the camera, looking positively mortified. In a blink of an eye, the machine started snapping pictures, and it was a silent shoot as they stood in different poses while the lights flashed in front of them.

Just like it happened with the first picture, they remained awkwardly quiet as they returned the props to their place. When they stepped out of the booth, it was to find Baekhyun right outside, reaching out for the pictures that slipped out of the machine. In a blast of sheer instinct, Gyuri slapped his hand away.

“They are mine.” She said.

Not strong enough to see the hurt in his eyes, she just grabbed the pictures and walked to Kyungsoo. She gave him a look to let him do the rest of the evasive maneuvers, but it didn’t exactly work as Gyuri wanted. Minutes later, they were all seated at a small table. They ordered drinks and snacks as if they all got along as the best friends Mina and Baekhyun pretended they were.

“So, what do you do?” She heard Baekhyun ask as soon as he was settled in front of him.

Gyuri went stiff in the wake of the question. She never thought about that as she was mindful of keeping the secret to herself. However, it never crossed her mind the possibility of Baekhyun asking such questions. It was harmless curiosity and normal considering the setting, but Gyuri felt uneasy nonetheless.

“Accounting,” Kyungsoo replied nonchalantly, almost ignoring Baekhyun as he busied himself with the snacks.

Gyuri stared at Kyungsoo, taken aback by his lack of excitement in his reply. She wasn’t the only one that noticed it because Baekhyun simply waited for him to say more but after a long and painful silence, an annoyed scowl deepened on his pretty face.

“That’s it?” He pressed, unconvinced.

Kyungsoo nodded and, feeling her jaw drop, Gyuri kept staring at him, shocked. He was too modest. Kyungsoo wasn’t just the best-selling author in Korea. He was still on the New York Times Best Sellers list and had been granted countless awards. There was even a heated debate on whether or not he applied to win a Pulitzer as his nationality was still unknown and some thought he was probably American due to the fighting nature of the book's protagonist. Gyuri found that rumor ridiculous but not as absurd as the one that claimed he was a runner-up for the Nobel Prize in literature. That last one sounded too crazy for her and yet, Kyungsoo showed himself a bit too modest.

With a nod, Baekhyun changed the topic. He wasn’t interested whatsoever in whatever Kyungsoo could add about the subject and shifted his attention to his girlfriend. Other than the music playing around the dining area, the silence at the table felt heavy to Gyuri until a tune she knew picked her ears.

It was one of those catchy songs that could be heard everywhere she went, and the lyrics came to her mind. She started mumbling them, swaying from one side to another as her body relaxed at the melody, and she caught herself right on time. Baekhyun was singing the lyrics to himself too, and she found herself bobbing her head along with his voice. Suddenly aware of what she was absently doing, she noticed the stillness next to her.

“I like the song.” She muttered when she found Kyungsoo staring at her.

Feeling her cheeks burning with the embarrassment of getting caught doing something so silly, Gyuri snatched a corndog from Kyungsoo's plate and stuffed her mouth with it. Baekhyun, on the other hand, pulled his phone out to shazam the song, but the music was too faint and the sound of the crowd around them too loud to get the name of it.

Silently, Kyungsoo grabbed the phone from Baekhyun's hand and walked away. He would have stood up like a sprint and gone after the writer if they weren't all so stunned to watch Kyungsoo climbing up on one of the benches. They saw him raise his arm towards the speaker, placing the phone right in front of it.

Seconds later, he was back with the artist’s album on the screen of the phone. Feeling fuzzy inside, Gyuri grabbed the device and meant to look for the song on her phone, but when she pulled it out of her pocket, she found the pictures with Kyungsoo as well.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him.

With the song completely forgotten and careful to not crumble and damage any of them, Gyuri placed both pictures over the table and the fuzziness in her chest got stronger and more pleasant.

“Can I keep one?” He asked, looking at the pictures with renewed interest.

Gyuri observed them for a split second before deciding that she wanted to keep both pictures. She had a nice couple-like snap of Kyungsoo looking like a dashing boyfriend and an overly cutesy image of the writer with cat ears and a filter of rosy cheeks, red lips, and sparkling eyes. She couldn’t get rid of any of those pictures.

Shaking her head, she grabbed both pictures and pressed them against her chest. It never crossed her mind how strange it could be to have his attention on that particular part of her body. Gyuri tried to convince herself that Kyungsoo was simply staring at the pictures in her hands. Her hands were just conveniently pressed against her chest, but nothing beyond that.

“Give them back.” He said in a serious tone that made her reconsider her decision.

“She said she will keep them,” Baekhyun added although his words were barely registered either by Kyungsoo and Gyuri as they kept glaring at each other.

“Why do you want them so much?” Gyuri asked, curious to know.

“You look pretty on them.”

Kyungsoo spoke in such an unceremonious manner that the silence that came after his answer was deafening. The fuzziness was too much to handle that Gyuri couldn't help but smile. She felt a tingle on her skin in a sensation she had never felt before. The sting in her chest shifted somehow as if it retracted and cowered at his words, and she kind of wanted to do the same out of pure giddiness.

“That was so smooth.” Mina mumbled to herself, and somehow, that managed to bring Gyuri back to her senses.

“So do you.” She retorted back, ignoring the heat she felt on her cheeks, and lifted her arm, holding the pictures far from his reach. “I’m keeping them.”

The quick motion made her gasp, and she could feel her face burning because she couldn't tell what actually startled her. She wasn't sure if it was Kyungsoo's suddenly leaning over her to grab the pictures or the hand clasped around his arm, preventing him from getting any closer. Gyuri couldn't really tell. What she could grasp was the uncomfortable silence that came afterward when they all looked at Baekhyun. They were all surprised not only at the sudden action but at the visible irritation on his face, and the tension became unbearable when Kyungsoo stared back at him, unfazed.

“Baek, I want coffee,” Mina chirped over animatedly.

If Gyuri hadn't been aware of the murderous glint in her friend's eyes, she would've found Mina's tone annoying. However, she was only trying to distract her boyfriend. Gyuri had to admire her composure because she managed to make him let the writer's arm go.

“These waffles go so well with coffee.” Mina pressed, smiling at him.

“She doesn’t like having people touching her,” Baekhyun muttered in a huff as he stood up and walked away.

Mortified, Mina apologized, forcing a smile before leaving the table as well to follow her boyfriend into the crowd and leaving Gyuri behind fully made into a nervous wreck. The silly excitement and giddiness of everything Kyungsoo did was nothing compared to what a single display of emotion from Baekhyun could do to her heart.

The sensation of the pain crept through her flesh. The pressure on her chest, and the realization that no matter how much she tried to engage with anyone else other than Baekhyun was hopeless, made it impossible for her to stay still. Just like she'd been doing lately, Gyuri ran away.

She bumped into numerous people as she tried to get some air into her lungs. Her body felt like it was about to collapse just at the memory of his angry eyes and furrowed brows, and what she needed was an isolated place to hide. She needed to find a safe place even if everything around her seemed to spin out of control.

Somehow, she found a small and dark gap between some booths, and Gyuri didn't even care to check what they were selling on each of them. She just hid there and let the darkness engulf her, but she didn't even succeed to calm down in that small hiding spot when she heard someone whine.

“Back off…” The girl warned, and as if in a sudden overdrive of adrenaline, Gyuri was ready to come out of the shadows, “You seriously need to back off. She’s clearly uncomfortable.”

The last sentence made her stop. To Gyuri's annoyance, she recognized that voice that she had to lean closer to the wall until she finally heard Baekhyun retort.

“How would you know?”

“You’re making it weird not just for her," Mina pointed out in a more mellowed tone, "but for everyone else too.”

“Are you jealous?” He asked, and Gyuri could sense the disbelief in his voice.

“Baekhyun, sweetheart, she is just as nice and adorable as you described her.” Mina explained with a soft and caring tone that made Gyuri wonder if they were talking about her. “And I’m not jealous of your friendship with her but you might be ruining her chances with your attitude.”

“What attitude?" Baekhyun shot back, confirming what she thought, "She’s the one that's acting all weird.”

Gyuri winced in pain. It wasn't even the sweet and condescending tone in Mina's voice but the fact that Baekhyun was talking about her behind her back.

"That dude is getting all handsy with her and she's letting him, and..." Baekhyun argued, his voice rising in frustration, "And she never does her nails.”

"They're dating, why wouldn't she want to look pretty?" Mina asked, and even from a distance, Gyuri could hear the amusement in her voice. “Sometimes, something as small as getting our nails done can make us feel prettier.”

“She’s already pretty.” Baekhyun retorted, and whatever Mina’s reaction was, it made her friend chuckle.

Gyuri thought she heard Baekhyun whisper something that had his girlfriend giggling in response, and she knew that was her cue to leave. She stepped out to the light, and afraid to even look around and find him doing something that might hurt her more, she went back to the food court where Kyungsoo was patiently waiting for her.

“What happened?” The writer asked.

“I heard them.” She gasped, collapsing in the chair next to him and realizing until then that she was on the brink of hyperventilating.

“Breathe.” He whispered, his hand softly rubbing slow and soothing circles against her back. “Focus on opening your lungs.”

She had been too upset and shaken to even think to try. However, her body seemed to listen to Kyungsoo well and without any resistance. Gyuri managed to calm down with the help of his gentle hands, his soft voice reminding her to breathe, and his overall, soothing presence. In a matter of minutes, she could finally take a deep breath that filled her lungs with something close to relief.

Her efforts were in vain though. Baekhyun and Mina were back, both of them looking at her and Kyungsoo as if they had grown a second head. Mina with curiosity and a hint of mischief, and Baekhyun, well, he was just bluntly glaring at the writer.

After that, everything went downhill for Gyuri. Mina insisted on walking down a trail of lights and flowers that apparently, was the must-look spot to get beautiful couple pictures to post on social media. All Gyuri wanted was to stay away from Baekhyun. She desperately wanted to alleviate the sting deep in her chest and breathe normally but she found herself witnessing the owner of her heart holding someone else's hand.

"Kyungsoo, I can't do this," was all Gyuri could mumble before the ground under her feet moved, "I can't breathe."

Something was bubbling up in her chest, coming slowly up her throat. Terrified to start throwing up flower petals in public and especially in front of Baekhyun, Gyuri turned around and got away from there with Kyungsoo's help.

“Where’s your watch?” He asked as soon as they found refuge on a nearby bench.

Gyuri desperately fumbled through her purse, but her hands were shaking too much. She could barely keep the watch in her hands without it slipping through her fingers that Kyungsoo had to help her put it on as fast as possible.

“You have tools,” He said, firmly, looking straight into her eyes and squeezing the hand she had over her watch, “and you know how to yield it, remember that.”

It was harder said than done. Gyuri understood what Kyungsoo said, and she meant to do as told but whatever was boiling inside her body had utter control of her. In a blink of an eye, some overpowering predilection compelled her to do the opposite. She looked aside to see where Baekhyun was and what he was doing, but Kyungsoo was fast enough to stop her. His hand cupped her face and, as gently as ever, turned it back to him.

"I can't hold it anymore, Kyungsoo," Gyuri stuttered, feeling her eyes watering because of the familiar itchiness in the back of her throat. "He will see it."

“You can cry if you need it.” He added, quite tenderly, and Gyuri almost fell for that.

“No, he will notice it.” She begged. ”I can’t let him see it.”

“I won’t let him see you like that," Kyungsoo reassured her, bringing her closer to hide her face from Baekhyun, “I promise.”

Shaking her head and refusing to let her body take over, Gyuri sat up straight, swallowing the pain down. If she let it happen, even if it was just tearing up, she would never stop. She couldn’t let Baekhyun see her struggling. One single tear would send him fussing over her, thinking that Kyungsoo did something to hurt her.

Gyuri opened her hand, and Kyungsoo poured a handful of candies, which she instantly threw into her mouth. Just like that, with the faint relief those candies brought, she focused everything on her to calm down until Baekhyun and Mina found them. Unable to look at her best friend, Gyuri stared at Mina instead, only to notice that she was possessively holding onto his arm.

“Are you alright?” The girl asked, genuinely concerned.

“I’m just tired.” She replied, trying her hardest to smile.

“I think we’re calling it a night,” Kyungsoo added, standing up.

Just then, Gyuri felt his absence. She stared at his back, realizing how close he had been. How firm his arm had been around her shoulders. She was so immersed in her breathing, commanding her mind to take charge and numb her heart that she hadn’t realized that Kyungsoo never let her go. It was then that she missed the warmth of his hand on her cheeks and the safety of his caring presence so overwhelmingly close to her.

Embarrassed in a way, although Gyuri couldn’t tell why, but she avoided her friend and followed Kyungsoo down the path to the exit. As she left the couple behind, she suddenly heard Baekhyun come to life, whining. Mina told him to calm down and knowing that whatever expression he had on his face would destroy all the self-control she had so hard to get, Gyuri covered her ears and caught up with the writer.

“I want to go home.” She mumbled, throwing the last couple of candies left on the tin can. “I’m losing it.”

Kyungsoo only nodded and kept walking, pointing to somewhere far away from where they were, but once again, Gyuri heard Baekhyun behind her, calling her. She had to close her eyes at the sound of his voice saying her name with such urgency. However, her good manners got the best of her, and they had to stop their escape.

“We were thinking about getting something to eat after this,” Mina said, smiling through and through, seemingly excited. “Like a true double date.”

“Gyuri needs to be home,” Kyungsoo explained, as calm and polite as possible.

“Did something happen?” Baekhyun asked directly to her, and the only thing Gyuri could do was to shake her head. “We can drop you off.”

“I’m taking her back home,” Kyungsoo added, and the surprised gasp Baekhyun let out finally made her look at him.

The itchiness came back in a rush, although her heart swooned at the severity of his expression. He didn’t look that happy. While Baekhyun could lose his temper easily in a childish way, sometimes, he knew how to control himself. She could see the genuine annoyance in the tiny yet unmistakable frown on his face as his eyes glared at the man standing next to her but whatever he was thinking, he let it slide.

“Hey, are you sure about this?” He asked her, once again as if he was giving her another chance to make the right choice. “Your house is on my way.”

“It’s fine.”

That was all Gyuri could say before her throat closed up. She forced a small smile through the pain and waved a hand to Mina, just to not come off as rude even if she didn't want to, and then followed Kyungsoo down the street.

Still in a daze, coughing and feeling lightheaded, Gyuri came to her senses once inside Kyungsoo’s car. For how long did they walk? She didn’t know. Gyuri couldn’t even tell how she got inside the car or how long Kyungsoo had been driving in silence. It took her a couple of seconds to gather her bearings and recognize where they were at that moment. As if knowing her surroundings was some sort of relief, the coughing fit was over, and she felt her windpipe open. Finally able to let out a big sigh, she closed her eyes, exhausted.

“That was taxing, even for me.” Kyungsoo added after a while and rubbed his hands over his eyes as they waited during a red light, “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry.” She pouted, finally having a clear mind to think, “You know, Baekhyun isn’t that much of an asshole, normally or like, most of the time and...”

“Don’t...” Kyungsoo interrupted her, his voice still leveled and relaxed, “It is not you who has to apologize.”

“But you don’t know him.” Gyuri defended her friend.

Uncomfortable with the way the writer could disregard what she had to say, Gyuri couldn't stop the harsh tone in her words. The annoyance bubbled inside her just to look at his stupid, calmed face and his unfazed attitude, and she was ready to throw hands at him, figurately. The writer beat her on that.

“No matter how much you love him.” Kyungsoo replied, “But Your unconditional affection for him doesn’t give him any right for you to apologize for his faults.”

Gyuri felt her face burning and her blood boiling. She wanted to curse at him. She needed to raise her voice and prove why he was wrong in his assumptions. She desperately wanted to say so many things, and yet, her eyes stung with tears. Just as fast as her anger flared, she recognized that that kind of feeling scared her. It annoyed her that she could get bothered by something so little and insignificant. Annoyed with herself, she just crossed her arms and looked out of the window, ignoring his annoying and calm poise until they arrived at her place.

Silently and still upset, Gyuri meant to get out of the car as fast as she could but when she was about to open the door, Kyungsoo called her with the softest and most tender voice she’d ever heard.

“Just cry it out.” He said, looking at her, and she noticed that despite the stuffing silence that almost drowned her, the look in his eyes was still gentle.

“Why do you always tell me to let it go and cry?” She asked, halting for a moment, “I’d assume that fighting back a disease meant, well, fight it back.”

Gyuri saw the change in his features. The gentleness faded away, and his face gave her nothing. He just stared at her. He blinked a couple of times but other than that, he was just so hard to read that she had to wait for him to explain himself.

“Resisting only makes the roots find a weaker spot,” He explained, after a while, “It will kill you faster.”

The last sentence was merely a whisper, and Gyuri couldn’t help it. The anger was all gone and forgotten and replaced by the very same fear that had been haunting her since the day she found out she contracted the curse. She wanted to cry and bawl her eyes out so she could just get rid of the horror once and for all.

“Yeah, that makes sense." Gyuri hesitated to say before opening the door, and moved by a sudden wave of regret, she brought the pictures out of her pocket and left them in the cupholder between them, "Good night."

#EXO #AFUTR #Baekhyun #Kyungsoo #EXO Fanfic #EXO Fanfiction #Hanahaki #Hanahaki Disease #Angst #Romance #Fanfic #Fanfiction

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adultswim2021 · 4 months

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Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job #36: “Road Trip” | March 2, 2009 - 12:30AM | S04E04

Tim and Eric very clearly got less and less interested in appearing on camera as this show went on, many episodes from this era only feature them in wraparound segments. Episodes where they actually participate in a non-wraparound sketch become the exception. The show doesn’t suffer for it, really, but the wraparounds definitely feel like they accomplished everything in one take and moved on.

The wrap for this episode is maybe the weakest thing in the episode, but it’s fine! I like it, even! In it, Tim takes Eric on a road trip to Fort Lauderdale where his parents are fishing. The plan is to have a womanless party in Eric’s parents hotel room while they’re away deep-sea fishing. They come back early and start boning while everyone hides in the closet. Inexplicably, they start moaning Eric’s name, which is simply beyond gross. What a gross show!

The first true sketch is Back to Squall, a really good parody of 80s comedies starring James Quall and insufferable retard Jonah Hill. Not only does it do a very good job of resembling an actual 80s movie (on an Adult Swim budget, no less), but it also does a good job at mimicking an 1980s television promo for said movie. For all it's impressive verisimilitude I do have one quibble: briefly being able to see Jonah Hill’s lame-ass tats on his arm. I remember being straight-up outraged in 2009 when I first saw it. I’ve calmed down since then. But I still don’t like looking at it.

DLH’s hilarious line about dating Barbara Streisand is in the running for one of the most quoted lines in my circle of friends. Also, there are two truly sublime moments that involve James Quall just giving up on life that they intentionally left in the episode. The faux-saccharine line “Of course I hope I never get to graduate so we can always live together” seems to be delivered while James is in the middle of powering down. This is one of my favorite jokes in all of Tim and Eric. Also the callback scene featuring an outtake of James just kinda muttering to himself in response to some off-camera stage directions (I assume) is really wonderful. There is more footage in the Extended Scenes portion of the DVD, featuring more riffing from Jonah Hill and a little more of DLH. In this version, Barbara Streisand is swapped for Geena Davis.

During on Drawing features a dude who teaches you to “draw” but all he does is apply artistic filters to photos. All the photos are of corpses laying in caskets. Very scary stuff. There’s also a Brule's Rules about using a twig instead of a toothbrush that I mention here only because I don’t want there to be two extremely short paragraphs in a row.

Cinco Boy is a very memorable sketch, featuring spokesperson Peter Stormare. The Cinco Boy is a synthetic boy that grieving mothers can purchase to replace their dead son. It is constantly replaced with older boys for as long as the mother lives. It’s a very creepy sketch, and has a great reprise where Stormare comes to her window and methodically gives her a thumbs up while she shakes her head in disgust. It’s punctuated by a great synthy musical sting. This moment hasn’t left my head since I first saw it on TV.

This sketch’s initial child funeral scene is also really funny; it features a callback to the drawing guy, seen taking paparazzi photos of the proceedings. Also a commemorative wreath with the bannered phrase “in lovin’ memory” is so fucking funny. Like, literally, just changing “loving” to “lovin’” somehow constitutes one of the funniest jokes ever told.

Also, a piece of pure video art: Mini Van Highway simply features a bunch of older men on old computers singing a electronica song about their minivan. Out of context, this one could theoretically be mistaken for a sincere music video, which is what makes it great.

The other notable extra associated with this episode is for the opening Road Trip segment: turns out to accomplish the stunt of Eric being hit with a van they actually went through the trouble of casting a plaster cast of Eric’s face and arms because they were dissatisfied with over-the-counter dummies. I accuse Tim & Eric of dashing things off lazily, but I gotta give them credit for this. For some reason

NOTE: THANK YOU TO ANOTHER MAN FOR LETTING ME STEAL A JOKE FOR THIS POST. SOME SAY STOP THE STEAL, BUT I HAVE TO DISGAGREE

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #tim and eric awesome show great job

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yelena-bellova · 11 months

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can you do that tv show ask thing for Mando?

Absolutely!

1: Favorite episode and why

Ooh, this is hard. I’d say either 2x05 or 2x07. Season 2 is the best in my opinion.

2: Funniest/crackiest/it’s-terrible-but-I-still-love-it episode/scene

I mean, let’s be real, Star Wars doesn’t always do humor well. I think Christopher Lloyd’s cameo was pretty bad, but because I love him so much, I still love watching his 0.2 seconds of screen time lol

3: It’s-terrible-and-I-hate it episode/scene

Tbh, 3x06 was pretty bad. It just…didn’t really serve any purpose in the greater storyline? I understand Bo and Din had to get access to the other Mandalorians but the whole rogue droid plotline and the bad cameos…yeah, they could have done better.

4: Best episode/scene for my favorite character

I think it will always be Din removing his helmet in 2x07 on the Imperial base. Not just because we got to see Pedro, but because it was the first moment that he chose Grogu over the Creed.

5: Best episode/scene for my favorite ship

I can honestly say I don’t ship anyone on The Mandalorian. Star Wars and romance just don’t really go together for me.

6: Best episode/scene for a particular supporting character

I loved Mayfield’s monologue in 2x07. Loved that they added depth to his character, and I hope we get to see more of him somehow in future seasons.

7: Best episode/scene for a character I don’t usually like

If anyone followed me through this last season, they’ll know I was not a Bo-Katan fan. But her battle with Moff Gideon in 3x08 really changed my mind. It was such a great moment for her.

8: Most visually beautiful or interesting episode/scene

There’s been a lot of great visuals in Mando. I love the scene in 1x02 where Din is fixing his armor and his wound and Grogu keeps trying to help. The sparseness of the desert around them plus it being dusk is absolutely beautiful.

9: Most emotionally affecting episode/scene

The last ten minutes of 2x08. Hands down. No competition.

10: Most powerful use of music in an episode/scene

The score is easily one of the best television scores ever. Fight me. I think the most powerful musical moment so far has probably been the piece that plays over the end of 2x08 where Luke takes Grogu and Din is watching them leave and it’s all strings and tears and just beauty.

11: Episode/scene that changed my perspective on the show

I wasn’t a big fan of the show until 1x03. The scene where Din’s covert bails him out and they fight the bounty hunters was what finally made it feel like Star Wars to me and I became hooked.

12: Episode/scene where the acting stands out

Pedro’s acting in 2x07. He made so many subtle choices with Din’s expressions and mannerisms with moving without a helmet. It really stands out for me.

13: Overall best-written episode

I’d say probably 2x05. There was so much build up behind Ahsoka finally appearing and they really didn’t disappoint.

#anon #asked and answered #the mandalorian

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shamelessenthusiastpanda · 2 months

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Digital Video Recorder Your Satellite Tv

If you are certainly a going to surely proud owner of a real LCD TV soon (or have already purchased one), the following best thing you should do is to buy a LCD TV wall-mounted for it.

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But what can parents do today prevent this from happening? Turn off the television! By limiting the time which your teen spends in the front of the tv is the first task. Take your son or daughter to a park, play a game with them, or simply have them play with all the millions of toys that bought all of sony 80 inch tv them. To prevent your child from being a mindless drone it in fact limiting their time put in front belonging to the television.

The same should be true for commercials. I only say this because when we were watching a show that's appropriate for everything of our children, quite often, an ad would appear that hasn't been.

Start off with, a smart tv will over a moment of time become a "not so smart" Videos. Basically, the technology of smart tv is always changing. The Smart TV hardware can't changed to keep in pace with improvements and updates to the ever changing software.

They canceled this show and yet they allowed evil crap like Gilmore Girls to choke off intelligent suggestion. This proves one thing- there exists no Our god. This "Muppets a dirty world of show biz" was simply not PC enough, maybe television guys take care of the lowest form of life, maybe the new owners (Disney) wanted more wholesome kiddy fare-whatever the reason, we lost the funniest puppets since Kermit the Frog got drunk in the Emmys.

The best thing about this LG 47LW6500 is its very functional Home Dash board. With this product, you'll be able to look for various internet applications, integrate it in addition to your PC, and employ various game and video apps. In addition, it comes with very useful accessories regarding a magic remote control and 3D glasses. Furthermore, it presents a very stylish and very sleek shape softlogic tv .

A big thing is the sun. Glare is a really rotten thing to along with. It makes the pictures on the television look darker and should you be watching a movie, it's easy to miss from little stuff you can't uncover. It's quite annoying. To be able to choose where to put the television, hear the pattern of sunlight. It is in order to be shine in your window and parts of your room will be brighter and other parts possibly be in the shade. You also want to take in mind that when compared to the seasons change, so does the position of sunlight. Basically you want to choose the vicinity that is certainly to obtain the least regarding light. That means that you might be going discover is the sunlight from the tv.

After the installation process is done, you have to make confident that the cable works correctly while the technician will still be in household. When the cable faces the problem, the technician will help you to get rid of it.

#television aerial installation #smart tv explained #local television stations #orlando video production company #Youtube

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mapsofthingsremembered · 3 months

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23 Things from 2023

Yet another list of media that was important to me in 2023- films, television, novels, short stories, comics, and music.

Films, New

The Boy and the Heron, Hayao Miyazaki

Both the best movie of the year (in a good year for movies) and one of the best films Miyazaki has ever made. A masterpiece, deranged and elusive and personal and timeless, completely unafraid to challenge the audience to stare into the weirdest and most unsettling aspects of being a human. The kind of film you are excited to watch again while you are watching it.

The Holdovers, Alexander Payne

Either a deeply cynical film hiding a warm sentimental heart, or a sappy Christmas film that masks a bitter and biting worldview.

Spider-Man: Across the Spiderverse, Joaquim Dos Santos, Justin K. Thompson, Kemp Powers

Everything about this film should be completely exhausting and exhausted-- self-aware superhero myth re-arraganging, multiverse shenanigans, Spider-Man as a lens for a coming-of-age story-- and yet somehow it managed to do something original, remain interesting, and push a completely tired genre into places nobody asked for. In the year that superhero filmmaking died, this film managed to not only be survive, but feel completely essential.

May December, Todd Haynes

Unsettling, hilarious, bizarre, deeply biting satire. A situational comedy populated by freaks and perverts.

The Killer, David Fincher

It's worth watching this film multiple times. On the first viewing, it feels thin, slight, simplistic. But re-watching, the craftsmanship that Fincher achieves is a part of the text itself, just as important as the bare-bones plot and characterization. The Killer is Fincher becoming more and more himself, descending into his own mania and obsessivness.

Everything from The Creator that worked, Gareth Edwards.

While several films came out this year were "better" than The Creator- the aspects of this film were successful represent some of the most imaginative filmmaking of the year.

Does the films ideas concerning AI hold water? No, but then neither does Star Wars or Blade Runner or 95% of the films that have come out in the past fifty years that attempt to address aritificial intelligence in any way.

Do the central relationships of the film work in keeping us invested in the story? (Sorta) Does the story hang together to form a satisfying, well-structured whole? (Almost) Does the film attempt to address a set of themes in a hamfisted way that feels like the writers were just a couple of months behind where the discourse around AI would end up when the movie came out? (Yup). Am I an easy mark for a film that uses a Radiohead song to score a scene that is a direct reference to Apocalypse Now? (Definitely)

And yet, I kind of still feel like it's a great film. Maybe flawed, maybe uneven, yet still containing moments that are simply sublime, a combination of the practical and CGI that achieves what a dozen other franchise films failed to do: it feels both real and vast and original and exciting. It wasn't the best film of the year by any stretch of the imagination, but it still deserved better.

Honorable mentions in 2023 film:

Poor Things (funniest movie of the year?) Killers of the Flower Moon Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem How to Blow Up a Pipeline Beau is Afraid When Evil Lurks (most frightening movie of the year?) Theater Camp

Films, Old (But New to Me)

The Apartment, Billy Wilder (1960)

This film is much stranger and darker than you would expect going into it. It somehow straddles multiple eras; the stagey, bright, artificiality of classic old Hollywood, but with a haunted, mournful soul that anticipates that darkness and cynicism of the late 60s and new Hollywood.

A New Leaf, Elaine May (1971)

Elaine May both directed this film and casted herself as a loveable dope that Walter Mathau is trying to murder. It's funny and sweet and overlooked.

The films of Park Chan Wook, in particular Decision to Leave (2022)

I watched most of Park Chan-Wook's films, and among a lot of standouts (Lady Vengeance and The Handmaiden in particular), his most recent film stuck with me. It's a good summation of some of the psychological acrobatics his films can achieve, a murder mystery that is also a love story.

Paper Moon, Peter Bogdanovich (1973)

It's kind of funny that Ryan O'Neal essentially plays the same character as the role he would play in Barry Lyndon, a scoundrel con-man that uses his charm to finance a nomadic lifestyle, perpetually fleeing problems created by his own stupidity. He's a loveable himbo liar in both, but in Paper Moon, he gets to act next to his real-life daughter. The depth that this pairing creates makes for something genuinely unique and special.

Honorable Mentions in Old Film:

The Piano, Jane Campion (1993) Barton Fink, Joel and Ethan Coen (1991) Dead Ringers, David Cronenberg (1988) PlayTime, Jacques Tati (1967) One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Milos Forman (1975) Prisoners, Denis Villenueve (2013) The Innocents, Jack Clayton (1961)

Television, New

Scavenger's Reign (HBO)

The title of this show might be dumb, but I don't care. It's the best television show of the year, or at least my favorite. Admittedly, I'm kind of out on television in general; I don't think a lot of what is getting produced is justifying its runtime as much as its stalling for time. But then a show like Scavengers Reign comes along, an exploration of what an alien biosphere might be like that is as specifically rendered and wildly innovative as any science fiction in recent memory. It's a rare instance of television being used to accomplish something that could only be created in television-- a set of visual ideas developed over an extended series of episodes that builds to something both bizarre and somehow also moving.

Succession, Season 4

Succession is a show about how the levers of power and influence are manipulated at the highest levels of the capitalist plutocracy we live in by broken bufoons unable to recognize their own flaws and shortcomings. It's also simply very funny, and very sad, and very human. It's one of the best shows ever made, and its ending (along with the next entry's ending) feels like we've closed the chapter on Peak TV.

Barry, Season 4

Smaller in scope but just as much of an achievment than Succession, Barry developed from something grimly funny but fairly straightforward into something sad and twisted and uncompromisingly complex. In the final season, it took its influences-- the films of the Coen brothers, Breaking Bad, The Sopranos, Tarantino, sketch comedy-- and turned them inside out, making something entirely different, less digestible, and perfectly bleak.

Honorable Mentions in 2023 Television

Beef Poker Face

Music

The Talking Heads, 1973-1991, in particular the music in the film Stop Making Sense (1984).

Really didn't listen to much music this last year, which is something I'd like to change this year. The one artist I really explored this year that I haven't in the past is the Talking Heads. If you can see Stop Making Sense in theaters, do it-- it lives up to its reputation as one of the greatest concert films of all time.

Books, Old and New

Drive Your Plow Over The Bones of the Dead, by Olga Tokarczuk (2009)

The narrator of this novel is a bat-shit crazy woman obsessed with astrology and the poetry of William Blake; she's funny and interesting and insightful even as the full degree of her insanity slowly develops. It's also a murder mystery with a genuinely surprising twist (don't look it up on Wikipedia, the first line of the description spoils it).

We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Shirley Jackson (1962)

The final novel written by the author of "The Lottery" and The Haunting of Hill House. Careens between psychological thriller and comedy and outright horror. The kind of book that more people should read.

A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter M. Miller Jr (1959)

An "important" science fiction novel I've been putting off your years. It's both funnier and less dated than I expected it would be, and while some of the societal concerns it addresses may have shifted, it remains prescient in a way that truly great science fiction can even decades after being published.

The Troop, Nick Cutter (2014)

It's rare that a novel genuinely scares me, but this one did. Coming-of-age body horror that evokes Alien and Lord of the Flies and Cronenberg and Stand By Me.

Short Stories

I read a lot of short stories this year; the following are a few that stood out. All of them were in collections that are equally worth checking out.

Murder Mysteries, Neil Gaiman (1992)

Not the kind of murder mystery you'd expect. From Trigger Warning, 2015.

Nine Lives, Ursula K. LeGuin (1968)

Doesn't involve cats at all. (Also very good.) From The Wind's Twelve Quarters, 1975.

"Pearls Are A Nuisance", Raymond Chandler (1953)

One of Chandler's short mysteries; it plays with tone and voice in a way that sets it apart from his other short mysteries (which are also great.) From The Simple Art of Murder, 1950.

Comics, Old and New

The Nice House on the Lake, James Tynion IV (Author) and Alvaro Martinez Bueno (Illustrator)- DC Comics (2021-2023)

Comics usually don't have the depth or focus of a novel; as often as not they feel like a weekly serial meant to extend forever without really going anywhere. But The Nice House on the Lake felt purposeful and sharp in a way that comics rarely do. Like alot of the comics I like the most, it exists in a middle space between genres-- it's equal parts post-apocalyptic sci-fi and puzzle-box mystery and a tale of a sprawling friend group muddling their way through their mid-twenties. Honorable Mentions, Comics Eight Billion Genies, Charles Soule and Ryan Browne (2022-23) Gotham City: Year One, Tom King and Phil Hester (2022-23)

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind, Hayao Miyazaki (1982-1994)

I guess it was a year of Miyazaki for me. After watching Nausicaa last year, I decided to check out the manga that Miyazaki wrote both before, during, and after the 1984 film . It's the first full manga series I've ever finished. The manga expands the narrative way beyond the 1984 film; it's more vast and epic and complex and nuanced, sci-fi/fantasy that has as much in common with Lord of the Rings and the French illustrator Moebius as any contemporary anime. You could view the rest of Miyazaki's career as an exploration of the themes and imagery that began with in Nausicaä, and it's really worth going back to, even as the end of Miyazaki's career looms.

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ramblinevilshroom · 6 months

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Better Call Saul's first Season is a Mess and I Love It!

I've been a fan of the show, Breaking Bad for over a year now and being that I take forever to actually get through any given show, it took me exactly a year to finish Breaking Bad. I mean exactly because I watched the first episode about two days after RTGame posted his first Stardew Valley highlight video in May 2022. According to my super secret spreadsheet where I track every piece of media that I consume, with pinpoint accuracy, I can very safely deduce that it took me 368 days to watch Breaking Bad and I loved all of it.

After the high highs of Breaking Bad, I began to shift my gaze to another show which got quite a lot of buzz due to its sixth season, many claiming that for the ending alone, it is well worth a watch. I've seen people claim that the first two seasons of the show were not good or were boring but that as it moves forward, it becomes one of the greatest pieces of television. This show is Better Call Saul. I have only watched the first two seasons thus far and I think that makes this review unique because I may have theories and speculation as to how these two seasons will contribute to the bigger picture but for the most part, I'm seeing these seasons in isolation from the rest of Better Call Saul. So, I watched the first two seasons and I loved all of it.

There is a lot for me to talk about but I think we can divide this review season by season (which means that this review is a two-parter). So we will discuss the first season now, which is a big mess. When coming off of a show like Breaking Bad, how do you recapture that. Breaking Bad struck gold and was perfect for the time of its release. It was refreshing and different, if we look at other serialized television, Breaking Bad sticks out. There are a myriad of reasons why Breaking Bad stands out among the rest but I've boiled it down to just one big reason...comedy. Breaking Bad is funny, whether the comedy is intentional or unintentional, it is still one of the funniest shows I've ever seen even though, I would never go so far as to call it a comedy show. The humor can be attributed to the chemistry (get it) between the actors which becomes the chemistry between the characters. Walt and Jesse are funny because you have Walt's Paranoia and intelligence playing against Jesse's nevermind attitude and lack of knowledge in chemistry, there's also Gus and Walt which is a battle between big egos, Walt who works under Gus but thinks of himself as above Gus at the same time, the conflicting feelings of resentment and hatred for Gus but also fear. Saul just has good chemistry with everyone, he's like a conman at a casino in the sense that he can appear to be either dumber or smarter than any given character in the show depending on the situation. Another factor which adds to the comedy is the fact that a show like Breaking Bad is very over the top to the point of unrealism. I'm gonna quiz you quickly, to demonstrate a point.

which of these things did NOT happen in Breaking Bad?

A.) Jesse accidentally destroys his house due to chemicals burning through his bath and through his second floor resulting in the second floor of his house literally collapsing

B.) Walter pretends to be an irishman in order to get one of his workers out of prison

C.) Jesse falls into a portable toilet and becomes blue from the toilet chemicals

D.) Skylar White confronts Jesse while he is moving an unconscious body and she attempts to use 90s teen slang in order to intimidate him.

The answer is that... ALL OF THESE HAPPENED. All these things happened in this very serious, realistic and grounded show that is Breaking Bad. Breaking Bad is a very serious show but what makes it stand out is the balance between over the top moments as mentioned above and grounded, tragic moments. In fact, I think the humor can elevate the more serious moments and character growth. Like, Jesse's enthusiasm dwindling over the seasons.

There will be one last section before I actually move on to Better Call Saul's first season. It will be what I think is Breaking Bad's biggest theme...

Underestimation. Almost every main character in the show is underestimated by another. This is why Walt was never caught because he was underestimated, why Jesse is the idiot of the show but proves to be smarter than Walt in the later seasons. Eventually, all these characters get a chance to prove themselves and overcome their Underestimation, except Saul. Saul is always underestimated and at no point in the show, is his character really allowed to overcome that. In Breaking Bad, he's just funny lawyer man who sits behind desk and has a funny one liner every once in a while but Saul's been my favorite ever since his debut episode. He is only really allowed to exceed the expectations of the viewer and be more than just a funny lawyer man who does nothing, in Better Call Saul.

Saul Goodman is a character. I say this because when we watch Better Call Saul's first episode, we see a man with Saul's face but we don't see Saul. This man is James McGill or Jimmy McGill. Saul is a larger than life lawyer with a massive office, a variety of fancy suits for any occasion and a snappy comeback for any situation, James McGill is a struggling lawyer who uses a cramped backroom of a nail salon as his office who is always being bested in battles of wit by Better lawyers. Like I said, Saul Goodman is a character played by James McGill. Through This lens, it would be safe to say that Better Call Saul is spent refining the character of Saul Goodman. In the midst of this, however, both James McGill and the show itself goes through an identity crisis.

It's like I said before, how does one recapture the magic of Breaking Bad, it's a difficult task but Better Call Saul does try atleast. It's not very effective but they tried, I guess. It's kinda weird, they really wanted to go for a comedy route in the first episode but some of the jokes fell flat because Better Call Saul is not as over the top as Breaking Bad which isn't exactly a bad thing but the show just needed confidence in its story which it didn't have. That first season is a Rollercoaster. First it's a comedy, then it's a serious show, then it's an underdog story etc, etc until it finally becomes its own thing. I think the end of season 1 is immaculate. Those last two episodes especially even had me in tears but it took a while to get to that point. I mentioned just now that Better Call Saul needed confidence because the writers were clearly confident about the show's premise in Breaking Bad with tons of little nuggets of foreshadowing like Saul telling Walter in passing that his real name is McGill. In execution however, that confidence vanished and they tried to recreate Breaking Bad. I do however still like this little identity crisis that the show has because it contributes to James McGill's own identity crisis. To discuss this, we need to talk about the Legend of Slippin Jimmy (not the TV show slippin Jimmy, don't watch that it's actually very bad).

Slippin Jimmy is basically Saul before he became a lawyer, a name he earned by being a conman in his home town (don't worry this is all stated in the first episode of bcs). Now he's a lawyer who has to leave that behind and work legally and ethically. In the pilot of Better Call Saul, James tells the story of Slippin Jimmy to a pair of young, inexperienced twenty-somethings who tried to scam him. Being that he is a lawyer, I thought he'd recount this story with regret and resentment for the past but he actually tells it with pride and nostalgia. As middling as the pilot of this show is, this is the main conflict. James McGill grappling between his passion to pursue law, Legally but also his love for the con. He genuinely loves scamming people. There are many separate instances in the first 2 seasons alone where he scams people for no good reason. He even takes Kim Wexler (an important character in the show and a very strict, by-the-books lawyer) on a date where he shows her how to scam people. Fellas, get yourself a girl who commits white collar crimes with you. Anyway, my point is that he loves the hustle but also tries his hardest to escape it. His love for the con and his passion for law grab each arm and pull him on both sides like toddlers fighting over who's gonna play with who. That's the identity crisis. He doesn't know how to satisfy both sides of himself and he doesn't know how to leave one side of himself behind.

There's also an immense tragedy behind the character of James McGill. This comes from underestimation (callback) and that theme is intertwined with inadequacy. No matter how hard he works or tries, there will always be someone better. In the first season, he literally digs in garbage cans to find documents in order to make a case against a company, he is one of the most hardworking characters in the Breaking Bad universe and if you only watch Breaking Bad, you never get to see that side of him. Even if he is this hardworking, he will never be as good as his peers. Jimmy has watched everyone around him exceed him in every way. While he's struggling to find a case, his brother is one of the most respected lawyers in the show. While he's working out of the back of a nail salon, Kim Wexler is working out of an office (she deserves that position of course, but I'm trying to make a point here so bare with me). To put salt in the wound, his brother doesn't even believe that he will make it as a lawyer. Just from this first season alone, Saul or Jimmy or James is one of the most relatable characters in television through his constant sisyphean task to make it as a lawyer, working as hard as he possibly can. The constant, looming fact that he will never exceed his peers or competitors or brother and one funny thing is that Kim Wexler actually gets him a mug that says "world's 2nd best lawyer" I could write an entire review about this mug but I will only say that this only adds to the inaduacy that Saul feels. Actually, that's not true, the mug is symbol for his relationship to law practice and how he wants to make it work even if he will never be the best lawyer. There's a whole sequence where he can't fit it into his car's cup holder and when he finds a balance between law and scams, he makes it fit in that cup holder. It's a really sweet gift, I'm actually trying to find it for a relative of mine who's studying law but it fits my point better if I say the mug symbolises his inadequacy.

I'm excited to see more of Better Call Saul and how his story unfolds throughout the seasons. I already see it becoming one of the best television shows ever made and I hate lawyer shows, they're really boring. Anyway, this review is reaching the 2000 word count and I think I should close it off. I'd like to do a bigger character analysis of this show but this will do for now. I want to thank you for reading this whole thing and I want to thank Vince Gilligan for creating Better Call Saul and I want to thank Bob Odenkirk for being the best possible actor for Saul and I want to thank that one guy in my class who heard me say "Better Call Saul" and then proceeded to tell me that I should watch it and I want to thank Kim Wexler for being the best character in Better Call Saul. It's over The 2000 line so I'm actually going to stop now, seriously stop reading this.

#review #better call saul #breaking bad #saul goodman

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adamwatchesmovies · 9 months

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Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989)

After the criticism the violence of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom received and subsequent introduction of the PG-13 rating, it’s no surprise director Steven Spielberg toned down the intensity of the third movie in the series. Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade still offers rousing action sequences that’ll have you sweating bullets, plenty of memorable scenes to treasure, endearing characters and terrific special effects but the nightmare fuel has been replaced with comedy. This makes it the funniest of the original trilogy by far. For some, this will take something away from the character but for others, this will make this third film their favorite.

In 1938, Indiana Jones (Harrison Ford, charming as ever) learns his father, Henry Jones, Sr. (Sean Connery), has vanished while searching for the Holy Grail. While on their trail, Indy teams up with Dr. Elsa Schneider (Alison Doody) and learns the Nazis are also after the biblical relic.

Let me tell you about the picture's opening scene. It’s set in 1912 and follows a 13-year-old Indy (River Phoenix) as he discovers a group of grave robbers stealing a valuable artifact. It’s essentially a prequel to the series (and less a “sequel set in the past” like Temple of Doom). We see how our hero learned to use a whip, developped his phobia of snakes and obtained his trademark hat. Every other time you see this kind of thing, it makes you roll your eyes. Under Spielberg's direction, it works. The difference is that these events aren’t treated as priceless relics the world must pause and gaze at. They’re just things that happened. The hat, for instance. It comes from the most unlikely source. Right away, you know you’re in good hands. Your fingers dig deep into your armchair even though you know things are going to be alright because everything is so well paced. The action’s creative, the stunts immaculate. No wonder it inspired a television series.

Once The Last Crusade gets going, it never stops. You’re constantly met with surprises, laughs and action scenes that bring something new. They’re mini adventures that build up to the ever-elusive Grail but the sum feels less like a collection of adventure serials than in the past. This is a “movie” in that there is an overall theme and an emotional arc for our hero. It’s damn well written and paced. You won’t even notice the 2hr+ running time. Those who’ve seen the film before and are revisiting it might be looking forward to that chase scene with the tank of those amazing booby traps but there’s so much fun along the way it’s nearly impossible to pick a favorite moment. Favorite character? Maybe. Sean Connery is such a good match for Harrison Ford. If you can’t pick between them, you’ll probably choose to upset neither team and go for Alison Doody. Partially because�� well, just look at her! But also because they give her character a lot to do despite having limited screen time compared to the male leads. She’s terrific, a worthy match for Karen Allen’s Marion Ravenwood but in no way an imitation.

Do you lean more towards the kid-friendly (well, not THAT friendly) action comedy or the horror adventure genre? This will determine whether Raiders or Last Crusade is your favorite movie in the franchise but in the end, you’re just splitting hairs. This is an excellent film on its own and as a third chapter in a series, it’s even better. It teems with imagination and the best scenes are so great you're torn between admiring the filmmaking at work or sitting back to enjoy the ride. The performances, score, action scenes, stunts, dialogue are all so great. There’s something here for just about everyone. (On Blu-ray, July 10, 2020)

#Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade #Indiana Jones #movies #films #movie reviews #film reviews #Steven Spielberg #Jeffrey Boam #George Lucas #Menno Meyjes #Harrison Ford #Denholm Elliott #Alison Doody #John Rhys-Favies #Julian Glover #Sean Connery #1989 movies #1989 films

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weirdbraincustard · 2 years

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SP SATS SCENE IDEAS TO IMAGINE & VISUALISE

but babe, what's SATS? SATS (state akin to sleep) refers to the time when you're in between sleep and consciousness, wherein your subconscious mind is extremely open to whatever you feed it. this state can occur multiple times during the day (usually right after you wake up & right before you fall asleep) you can affirm, visualise, meditate, whatever, about your desire at this time.

...now onto the visualisation ideas

1) after a tiring day, imagine your body hitting the soft bed & the scent of your favourite person takes over you. they're half asleep as they mumble, "come here". you turn off the night lamp & crawl into their arms, under the warm covers. you can feel them holding you, their hair touching your face a little, their chest moving up and down rhythmically as they breathe. you can feel your body relax, you're falling asleep with the love of your life. feeling the safest you've ever felt. this is everything you need, right here, right now.

2) you receive a text right after you get off your office shift. you feel your phone screen buzz & light up with your person's name. it reads, "hey, let's grab dinner tonight? will pick you up if you're still at work" you are overjoyed! you did not even try to manifest this, but it did, because deep down you know you deserve this and much more. you reply to that text and sit in your chair, just marvelling at how good you're at manifesting, how it feels so unreal! you get in your person's car and they say "you look stunning!" and they lean in to kiss you. you head over to the restaurant and have a great dinner - laughing, flirting & just can't keep your hands to yourselves! in that moment, you realise how long you had been wanting this, but it is now a reality, this all happened because you PERSISTED. and now it's become such a natural part of your life :)

3) ( MILDLY NSFW ) you're sitting on your living room couch watching television with your person. your hand is resting on their thigh. you look at their lips. they lean in to kiss you and swiftly drag their lips down to your neck...their hands already inside your tshirt. they whisper to you almost breathless in desperation - "i want you, right now." you climb on their lap and kiss them, touch them, undress them... they pin you onto the couch and touch your (ahemm👀) as you're hot and heavy in the moment, they just marvel the feeling of watching you moan. your face, your lips, your chest, your thighs - everything turns them on so much. they go down on you and keep glancing at how you are unable to hold back... you cum and they lean close to kiss you while still running their hands down under where you're all dripping wet 👀

4) this isn't really an idea but a mindset you need to start thinking about your relationship in :

meeting & being with your person has become such a normal part of your life. you have takeout dinner dates in your apartment, you travel to places together & often take so many trips nearby - to the grocery store, or just the park, museum, or amphitheatre, wherever you want. you take care of your person when they fall sick & make them their favourite chicken soup. they love bringing you icecream when you're not feeling your best. you get to see their parents whenever they visit town , they absolutely love & adore you. you're living a life you've created with the person you love - while being the funniest, happiest & most loving couple there ever was!

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

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Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 3)

i did not expect this to turn into more than just a oneshot, but here i am, posting a part 3?? and there’s more to come??? lmao, im a mess, having a million wips at a time, whatever. enjoy this DIRTY piece in the world of Harry and Actress!Y/N hehe!

pairing: Harry x actress!reader

word count: 3k

warning: NSFW content (we are taking a dirty turn in this part babes)

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

“But are you really sure you’re fine?” Florence asks for the millionth time over the phone. “You know, I could come over anytime, have a few drinks and forget about the idiots who decided you don’t deserve that Emmy.”

“I’m very sure,” you chuckle, sinking further down on your couch, kicking your heels off your feet. “It’s not a big deal.” “Oh it is, but you are trying to act all tough, though I know it bothers you.”

“I didn’t say it doesn’t bother me, but there’s nothing I can do about it,” you tell her truthfully.

“You know, sometimes I forget that you are this wise ass bitch, not some petty loser that I usually am.”

You snort at her words laughing loudly. Florence is by far one of the funniest people you know, she never fails to make you laugh, no matter what’s the situation.

“It’s sad that I didn’t win, but I’m fine. Really. Maybe next time it will be me,” you say, genuinely hoping this wasn’t your first nomination.

“Okay, I’ll stop bugging you, but call me if you change your mind and want company.”

“Thank you, Flo. Talk to you later.”

Once you end the call you let a long, heavy breath out that feels like you’ve been keeping in all night. Walking into your closet you stop in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, taking a look at yourself, still wearing the burgundy pant suit you wore for the award show. You were the only woman in pants all evening and you felt more powerful than ever. You’ve always loved to make a statement with your fashion choices and tonight you feel like you definitely succeeded in getting the message through: you are a bad bitch.

Stripping out of the outfit you hang it carefully before putting on some sweats and an oversized vintage t-shirt, feeling so much more comfortable already. Your hair is still in loose waves and you kind of like the texture, so you just leave it like that, moving into your bedroom to check up on some emails.

Cozied up under your duvet, laptop resting on your thighs, you start replying to some emails, updating your schedule for the next week. You almost don’t notice the text you get, barely catching the lit up screen from the corner of your eyes. Grabbing the device from the night stand you smile down at the series of messages from Harry.

“Bunch of idiots,” the first one reads.

“I’m suing them. All of them.”

“You looked fucking unreal by the way. Couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Biting down on your bottom lip you read the last one over and over again. It’s been weeks since your number landed in Harry’s phone and you’ve been texting nonstop since then. Whenever you pulled your phone out to check if someone had tried to reach you, there was always a text rom him waiting for you, making you smile most of the time.

“Thanks Xx,” you reply shortly, not sure how to react to his heated words of calling the whole Television Academy a bunch of idiots, though it surely warmed your heart.

“Enjoying the after party?” his next text comes fast.

“Nope, I’m home already. Didn’t feel like partying.”

“What?! You not winning is not an excuse to skip celebrating. You still got nominated!”

“Already celebrated that, so I’m out of occasions.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t let you do that. Text me your address, I’m going over with wine and takeout.”

His bluntness in flirting and shooting his shot has been amusing to you since the moment he sat next to you on The Ellen Show. Harry Styles doesn’t shy away to try and show his attraction, or at least not towards you.

You hesitate a little, not sure if you want him here, but something deep down in your guts is telling you that you definitely want him to come over, some dirty thoughts already popping into your mind, but you are quick to get rid of them.

You send him your address and he tells you he’ll be over in twenty. You use that time to clean up a little around your apartment. You left in kind of a rush earlier, being a little late with your glam team, so you didn’t bother to leave the place in a decent state. It doesn’t take long though to clean up the mess and checking the time you see that you still have a little time until Harry arrives. As you walk past one of the mirrors in your hallway, you take a look at yourself, debating whether you should change or stay in your comfy homey outfit. At last you drop the idea to put on a different outfit, not wanting to look desperate when Harry arrives.

Not long later you get a notification from downstairs that a so called Mr. Styles has entered the building and is heading up to your floor. Running a hand through your hair you walk over to the front door and opening it you stand there, waiting for the elevator to arrive. When the familiar ding hits your ear you notice how your heart skips a beat upon seeing him walk out.

“Hi,” you smile at him holding the door open for him. He looks amazing, as always, wearing a pair of brown high-waisted pants with a loose white shirt tugged into it, a teal denim jacket topping the outfit. He looks comfortable, but still well put together, something you have always admired in his style.

“Hello, Love,” he smiles back at you and pulls you in for a short, one armed hug before walking fully inside. “Didn’t know what stuff you fancy, so I got a bunch,” he admits with a chuckle, holding up two plastic bags completely stuffed.

“You really shouldn’t have,” you shake your head at him smiling as you lock the front door and lead him into your open concept kitchen.

“But I should have,” he argues, setting the bags down to the counter, packing out everything he brought.

Three bottles of wine, all of them different kinds, snacks, both sweet and salty, topped with an insane amount of Chinese takeout that could feed a whole family, not just two people. You put the wines into the fridge though you know they won’t get chilly enough by the time you open it. Turning to Harry you smile at him shyly, only just now realizing that he is in your home for the first time.

“Want a tour?” you ask, pulling your shoulders up to your ears.

“Would love that,” he smirks and lets you lead the way.

The modern apartment in Manhattan has been your home for a little over a year now. One of the first things you invested into once you started earning like an A-list celebrity. It’s spacious, you did the interior over once you bought it, formed it a little more to your taste. You walk Harry through the living room, the three bedrooms from which one is yours, the others function as a guest room whenever a family member of one of your friends needs a place to stay. There are three bathrooms in total, a study room that’s always a mess, your desk filled with scripts and books most of the time, but Harry tells you it suits your vibe.

“And this here is my wardrobe,” you end the tour, flicking the lights on in the walk in closet, probably your favorite part of the place. It’s bigger than your bedroom, but it’s exactly what you and your passion for fashion needs.

Harry curiously walks inside, his eyes immediately stopping on the burgundy pant suit you wore earlier that night.

“This, Darling, was an excellent choice,” he smirks over at you, his fingers dancing over the soft fabric of the pants.

“Felt amazing in it,” you nod smiling.

“I bet you did,” he chuckles softly.

The two of you head back to the kitchen and sit at the kitchen island, roaming through all the food Harry has brought. A short silence comes over the room that’s broken by Harry first.

“So how are you really feeling about tonight?”

“I’m fine,” you shrug, but then feel his hand on your knee that’s closer to him and your eyes flicker over to him, his gaze burning down on you intently.

“No, I’m asking fo’ real. You don’t have to mask your disappointment.”

Licking your lips you look back at your plate filled with dumplings and you start to just poke them around with the chopsticks in your hand.

“Of course I’m disappointed. Who wouldn’t want to win? But there’s not much I can do about it, right?”

“Still, you shouldn’t push it all down.”

“I’m not the type to rage very publicly, if you haven’t realized that,” you chuckle, diverting your eyes back at him, catching a soft smile on his lips.

“That I know of. Miss No Beef,” he teases you, even though you could pretty much say the same thing about him. “I was properly screaming at the screen when they said someone else’s name over yours.”

“Yeah?” you chuckle.

“Mhm. I was rooting for you big time.”

“Well,” you sigh turning back to your plate. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Nah-ah, none of that crap, Y/N,” he protests right away, dropping his chopsticks to his plate as he slides off his stool, stepping closer to you, one hand lying flat on the counter, while the other one finds the underside of your stool and he easily turns you so you are facing him, your knees involuntarily parting so he could stand between them. “I’m not letting you think of any less of yourself because of some stupid award.”

“The Emmys are not stupid,” you correct him, but it seems like he doesn’t even hear you, staring down at you with a smug grin, his hand moving from the stool to your waist.

“Mhm, they are. They made the most talented and beautiful woman think she is not the best of all.”

You can’t push down the smile that tugs on your lips as you watch him slowly lean closer. Heart beating faster, you let him do whatever he has on his mind, not finding the will to push him away. Not that you want to do that, you’d be stupid to say no to this man.

“Who’s this woman we are talking about?” you breathe out with a teasing smile. Harry smirks back at you, his hand squeezing your waist gently as his other hand moves up to the base of your neck, his thumb running along your jawline.

“The woman I’ve been fantasizing about lately.”

A desperate whimper tries to escape your lips, but you bite it back in time, feeling so lost how much effect he has on you with just a simple sentence.

“What are these fantasies about?” you find yourself asking as he leans closer, his nose brushing against yours.

You’re aching for his lips, to feel him touch you everywhere. You want to come undone under his hands and the breaking point where you won’t be able to mask up your desperate feelings is threateningly close.

“I’ve been thinking about making her feel real good. Watch her fall apart under my touch,” he murmurs lowly and this time, you can’t hold that moan back. Your lips brush against his, but he pulls back smirking, not kissing you.

“Fuck,” you breathe out when you feel his hand move from your waist to your stomach, cheekily teasing you as he is drawing circles around your belly button over the soft fabric of your shirt.

“Can I touch you, Y/N? I really want to make you feel appreciated and good. Will you let me do that?”

Not able to find your voice you whimper out something that’s close to being a yes, but it’s not enough for him and while you are losing touch with what’s really going on, Harry is very much enjoying seeing you like this, all for himself.

“Use your words, Love. I wanna hear you say it.”

“Yes!” you choke out and luckily, he doesn’t waste any more time.

You feel his lips connect with your neck as both his hands work on the waistband of your sweats, pushing them further down a little before his right hand taps on the top of your lacy underwear, the one you wore under your suit tonight, the one Harry definitely thought about when he first saw you through his screen.

You gasp when his hand slides into your underwear, fingers finding your sensitive bud of nerves, pressing down on them softly. You desperately turn your face, eager to meet his lips, but he pulls back for your dismay.

“Not now, Love,” he tells you and though the words sting a little, you don’t have much time to dwell on them when you feel his fingers slide back and forth between your soaking wet folds. “So wet for me, aren’t you?” he smirks while you’re trying to breath evenly, though it’s quite the challenge.

His lips return to your neck and your hands fly up to grab onto the back of his neck and shoulders, his fingers teasing you around your hole, not entering just yet. You start buckling your hips, desperate to get him take the next step and he is surely enjoying the show you are putting on for him.

“Ready to feel good?”

“Yes,” you breathe out, hands grabbing onto his hair roughly and a loud moan escapes your lips when he pushes two of his fingers inside you.

“Fuck, this feels so nice,” he groans, lips nipping on the soft skin under your ear. He is quick to take up on a pace, moving his digits in and out, his thumb circling on your clit, adding that extra magic most men always forget about. But not Harry, he is eager to please you the best he can and if you weren’t sitting, you’d be on your knees for him by now.

“Yeah, tug on my hair, Darling,” he growls, his voice sending chills down your spine as you tighten your grip in his hair just as he asked, while you feel your climax building up.

He picks up his pace, curling his fingers inside you every time he thrusts them in, making you almost see stars. Your legs fly around his waist, ankles crossing above his bum as you bring him closer, and a whimpered groan bursts out of him, probably because his erection just got squeezed against his hand by your action, his nonstop moving hand now stuck between your heated core and his throbbing member. When his head pulls back you quickly look at him, about to ask if he is alright, but he just presses a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth as his unsaid answer that he is perfectly fine.

His forehead comes to rest against yours as he adds a third finger, making you moan his name in ecstasy. Your mind is starting to completely shut down, the sensation of utter pleasure taking over your whole body as you can feel your orgasm just a few thrusts away.

“C’mon, Love. Let it go for me,” he mumbles, his free hand sliding to your back so he keeps you flushed against him, your heaving chest touching his upper body with each drawn breath.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you pant, eyes screwed shut, tipping over the edge of your climax. “Please don’t stop!” you beg whining.

“Never, Darling.”

And he keeps his words. He keeps going and going until your walls close up around his slick fingers and your thighs tremble around his waist. You tug on his hair once again, pulling his head back just enough so your eyes meet right when you come undone. His fingers keep moving a little longer, bringing you down from your high before the last wave of your orgasm dies down and you are brought back to reality.

When his fingers slide out of you, the feeling of emptiness makes you breathe out in dismay and it brings a smile to his lips as he licks his fingers clean and you swear that’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, watch him taste your pleasure on his own fingers.

Glancing down you see the very visible bulge in his pants and you reach down to return the favor you just had the pleasure to get, but his hands wrap around your wrists stopping you, your eyes snapping up to meet his.

“Not now, Love. This was all about you. I’ll be fine.”

“But—“ “No,” he cuts you off shaking his head gently. “Seeing you like this was more than enough for me.”

Biting down on your bottom lip you feel yourself blushing at his words, the whole situation that just went down dawning on you just now. Harry really did just finger you on one of your kitchen stools and it was one hell of an experience for sure.

When your gaze wanders over to his lips you remember how he refused to kiss you and now you actually have the chance to pay more attention to this tiny detail.

“Why didn’t you kiss me?” you ask him, legs falling from his waist as he goes to sit back on his stool. He glances at you, a soft smile on the lips that never touched yours.

“I wasn’t planning to do this, but I just couldn’t stop myself. However, I’m still trying to be a gentleman, so I won’t kiss you until I’ve taken you out on a proper date.”

“I can’t believe you,” you chuckle shaking your head at the absurdity of what he just said. “So you are fine fingering me shamelessly, but you won’t kiss me without a date?” you ask, rephrasing his words.

“That’s right,” he nods, his smile growing into a smirk now. Shaking your head you turn back to your probably cold plate of food, chuckling to yourself.

“Harry Styles, you are… something else.”

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everlarkficexchange · 3 years

Text

Like The Stars Hold The Moon

Written By : @katnissmellarkkkk

Prompt 59 : "Katniss dad is a victor, he won his hunger games and is a mentor. Peeta is reaped for the games and Katniss begs her dad to help him win the games. [submitted by anonymous]“

Hi! It feels like there’s so much I need to say here and I can’t remember any of it now! This is obviously–if you read the summary, which I assume you did and that’s why you’re here hahaha–an EFE prompt. It was submitted by an anonymous person, so I don’t know specifically if this is what you wanted but I really hope this is good enough that you’ll be fulfilled?

I don’t think there is much more to say? I hope everyone who reads this has a good day! I wrote plenty of this on Easter so I’d like to thank Jesus for rising again. And I feel like the prompt alone is a sufficient summary but just so you know, this heavily features Katniss, Peeta (obvi), Haymitch and Katniss’ father, Hunter (I named him, that’s not canon, I know).

This fic I likely going to be a three-shot with an opportunity for a sequel three-shot. Oh and also, thank you to the anon who sent the prompt!

Oh and this got really long, so I’m just going to submit the first part on here and then I’ll add a link at the bottom to continue reading on AO3. I’ve never done this before so I don’t know if I’m doing it right?

Okay, if you read all my talking, bye now!

Rated T for the canon violence.

At the reaping for the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games, Matty Knick drew out the names of a ”very special boy“ and ”a very special girl“ from the reaping bowls. She read them off in a bright voice and matched the sentiment with an out of place perky smile. The girl’s name was Heather Branch.

And the boy’s was Hunter Everdeen.

Of course, everyone knows the story of Hunter Everdeen.

Year of the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games.

"So Hunter,” Caesar Flickerman leans toward the victor, absolutely electrified, and says, “tell us, tell us. How excited are you for the games this year?”

The camera focuses in on gray eyes, the color of a storm cloud or a cleanly polished knife. Dangerous and hard and cunning.

Or protective and frightful and angry.

Or warm and loving and kind.

“I’m about as excited as I always am, Caesar,” he shoots back, not a trace of even so much as a smirk on his face. Not even so much as a lift from the corner of his mouth.

And still, the crowd of Capitol idiots burst out in laughter, as if they just heard the funniest joke in the world, as if this was Hunter’s desired response to the words.

As if the conversation wasn’t about teenagers—and some as young as twelve—killing other teenagers.

“And what about you, Haymitch?” Caesar asks next, segueing from one aggravated man to another.

“I’m looking forward to the free drinks,” Haymitch says while tipping back dark gold colored liquid into his mouth. Almost as an afterthought, he gestures wide and sloppy to the crowd, igniting cacophonous sounds from the population once more. “And of course, the social interaction with all you lovely people.”

No one in the audience recognizes the insult. No one understands the blatant sarcasm at their expense.

Here in District Twelve though, we do. As exemplified by Peeta’s laugh, vibrating against my back. “Shh,” I hush, laser focused on the enormous television screen before us.

“Daddy’s not speaking anymore,” Prim reminds me from the other room, where she’s currently flipping through a magazine our father sent.

“Well, be quiet before he does,” I snap, elbowing Peeta when he rolls his eyes now. “Stop it, I haven’t seen him in weeks,” I complain, fixing him with a fierce glare.

“I know,” he murmurs agreeably, gently kissing my temple. “But he’ll be home in a few days.”

As if they could hear our exchange from inside the television box, Caesar turns his attention back to my father. “Hunter, how excited are you to get home to District Twelve?”

At that, his eyes genuinely light up with ferocity. “I’m counting the minutes,” he replies, but still manages to keep his tone cool. He adamantly refuses to give away his true emotion to even a single soul in the Capitol. It’s his way of withholding power from their greedy, glitter covered hands.

But I see the change in him. Prim, from her position against the doorframe, sees it. I’m positive my mother, who’s watching with our brother from the comfort of our house sees it as well.

Our father’s eyes are now alive again, the permanent frown his mouth resides in on every televised appearance loosens a bit, his brows aren’t knit so closely together any longer.

Caesar Flickerman sees the change too evidently.

“Look at those silver coins!” He bellows, gesturing for the cameras to put my father in a close up now. “They just lit up like the stars when talking about home. Tell me, Hunter Everdeen, how’s the family back in District Twelve?”

At that, my father makes a considerable effort to transform his entire expression into a mask of indifference. “They’re good,” he states evenly, his tone clipped. Making it blatant to even the airheaded Capitol citizens that he refuses to speak publicly about his family.

“Because you’re not property of the Capitol, baby,” he told me once, while on a walk in the woods. “You’re not anyone’s property.”

“What about you and mommy?”

“You’re our responsibility, but not our property.” He’d knelt down to my height, which happened to be the shortest in my second grade class. “Property implies ownership, Katniss. And no one owns you. No one owns you or your sister. Remember that for me. And never let yourself forget it.”

“You’re daughters are both old enough for the reaping, am I right?” Caesar presses further, and my sister and I automatically sigh. Knowing the response that’s bound to come.

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks, as he still remains completely clueless. I shake my head instead of offering an explanation though, leaning further into his chest.

Peeta won’t understand. He was raised in town by merchants—the owners of the bakery, to be specific. He’s never understood the fierce protectiveness, the instantaneous fury, the irrational tunnel vision, that appears when a victor’s child is mentioned entering the games.

Peeta’s never even met my father. I’m not impatient by any stretch of the imagination to put the two of them in the same room, to watch my father chew my boyfriend up and devour him alive, to abide by his rules and regulations that will surely come with dating.

He doesn’t know Peeta and I have even so much as shaken hands. I’ve never so much as left him even the slightest hint. Not even when I’ve accompanied him to the bakery for the occasional trade with Peeta’s father, the baker himself.

Like both Prim and I predicted, our father is now on edge, his breathing uneven and his nostrils flaring. “Yes. Both my girls are of age,” he says after a long beat, his tone hard and jagged.

Caesar though is either oblivious or is extraordinarily practiced at appearing obtuse. “Well, wouldn’t it be something if either of them were chosen for the games? Am I right?” He directs his questions to the audience. “Don’t we all love a family story?” His words elicit cheers and hollers and a murderous glint in my father’s silver eyes. The camera only catches it for a moment’s time before quickly flitting away, towards the much more enjoyable image of the Captiolites chattering like chipmunks at the very idea.

And suddenly I feel Peeta’s arm tighten around me, the vision of me—the only person in the world he’s certain that he loves—being taken away from our home here in Twelve and tossed into an arena with kids twice her size, too much for even his naïve mind.

“Don’t we all believe in Mr. Everdeen,” the talk show host continues to push and I feel my typical annoyance with the odd man bleed into anger. “I mean, he brought home Mr. Abernathy here.” And with one single hand gesture from Caesar, the entire interview’s focus re-centers on Haymitch.

And unlike my father, he doesn’t even miss a beat before replying.

“Barely,” he mutters with a last swig of his drink, cleaning the glass. “And he was stingy with the gifts.”

Next to him, my father relaxes a bit. Haymitch always brings out a bit of levity in him, even on his worst days.

After all, in my father’s eyes, the paunchy drunk is a symbol of hope.

Haymitch is the only person my father’s ever brought him. He’s the only other living victor inside the confines of Twelve.

Not to mention his closest friend.

And my surrogate uncle, I note, a bit ironically. Haymitch and I have a far different relationship than he has with anyone else in my family but he’s always been there, has known me since the day I was born, often has dinner at our house, rain or shine, no matter how much he annoys my mother, and he’s an irreplaceable member of my family.

The audience is still riled up from Haymitch and howling with laughter—a bit too much, in my opinion—but my father can’t let the subject of his children go before adding one last sentiment.

“Don’t worry, Caesar. If either of my girls are reaped, trust me,” he states, louder and far more pronounced than anything else he’s said the entire interview. “They will be the victor. There’s not a tribute in the arena that would survive against my girl.”

For as long as I can remember, my father had taken me to the woods. He sometimes claims the first time he looked down at me in my mother’s arms, at a mere two days old, he saw a familiar hunger in my eyes.

Not a hunger for food. District Twelve is the smallest and the poorest in the country of Panem, but luckily, my family is one of the richest.

Unlike my schoolmates, I’ve never once had to worry about having enough to eat for lunch. My parents never worried that we’d starve to death or that Prim and I could be taken from their grasp by authorities. They never worried about supplying us with whatever we needed—they gave us more than we ever could have wanted—and they never had to fret that we’d be sent to the mines for work one day.

No, we were far too wealthy and far too famous for any of that.

But my parents had a far different batch of worries to keep them up at night. Not about food or finances or anything remotely common in Twelve.

No, they had to worry about cameras peaking into the privacy of our home and photos being taken without our knowledge and my face or Prim’s face being splashed across every magazine and newspaper in the country.

They worried about the almost insatiable thirst the Capitol seems to have for more family dynamics among the victors.

Especially after the recent back-to-back sibling victories led the hunger games to higher ratings and revenues in the Capitol.

When I was a child, my mother coached me to never go into town without my father by my side. Which sounds easy enough, until my father’s extensive vacations to the Capitol are taken into consideration. For as long as I can remember, my father would leave at random stretches of time, for weeks on end. To go play puppet for a population so dumb, so completely isolated from the rest of the country, that they took his anger for sarcasm. They took his bite as charm. They believed his glare was an act, was part of his appeal, when in reality my father had rebelled against performing for the last twenty-seven years.

When he was gone, our lives became strict. Bedtimes came earlier, curtains remained drawn day in and day out, our mother never wanted to sing or dance or even so much as smile with her husband gone.

But when he was home, sunshine peaked in our windows again. It danced on the floor and it swept us away with its gentle affection.

There was music and laughter and sweets and toys. He never returned from the Capitol empty-handed. He brought back expensive jewels for our mother, he built me and Prim a fancy treehouse in the backyard, put up a large, golden swing-set, went as far as purchasing as many cakes and breads as he could hold from the Mellark Bakery.

Peeta’s parents bakery.

Since I was two, further back than I can even retain, my father would take me out to the woods, would hold my hand and tell me old stories of District Twelve’s past, detail insane urban legends, teach me about plants and berries and trees and the direction of the wind.

And for as long as I can remember, I idolized him. He was so confident and so charismatic and so kind. For as long as I could remember, I wanted to be exactly like him when I grew up. It felt like an honor to me that I received far more his end of the gene line than my mother’s. She was regarded as a beauty in her youth, but he was one of the most magnificent people in the country. Having his coloring and the same silver eyes felt like a special gift, awarded every single time someone marveled at how similar we appear.

But my father was gone often and the unpredictable lengths of his stays in the large, foreign city was one of the only constants my family ever knew. So it really came as no surprise when my mother phoned the cabin only minutes after Caesar’s interview was over.

“I’ll get it,” Prim says flatly after a moment, throwing a sardonic glance at me and Peeta on the couch. Now in a much different entanglement than we had been while watching the talk-show.

“Thanks,” I murmur unintelligibly against Peeta’s mouth, before closing my eyes in pleasure.

“Don’t strain yourselves,” she can’t stop herself from tacking on the end.

“We’ll try not to while you’re still here,” Peeta murmurs cheekily, moving his lips downwards, towards my neck, right onto my pulse point. I let out a somewhat ridiculous squeak in response.

“Hello?” Prim says lightly into the receiver, already knowing it’s our mother. No one else calls this phone, inside this hidden cabin, located in the woods surrounding Twelve.

The woods in which officials fenced off years ago. The woods in which it’s illegal to enter. The woods in which my father has taken me to hunt for families less fortunate than ours since I was a small infant.

It’s not a typical cabin found in the outskirts of Twelve. No, ordinarily a cabin out here—a cabin anywhere in Panem, really—is nothing more than a broken down shack. There’s normally nothing other than an unsteady foundation, a freezing damp floor and an unlit fireplace.

But somewhere along the lines, in the years before I was born, my parents resurrected this place from the depths of despair and expanded it, rebuilt it, refurnished and redecorated and turned it into a vast, warm, safe second home for all of us to run away to when we felt the need.

Prim listens into the receiver for a long moment before she sighs deeply and beckons me. “Katniss, can you?”

Instantly, I break away from Peeta’s embrace, cupping his face and pulling him back from my collarbone.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as I scramble off the couch, my anxiety abruptly spiked. “Did something happen?” I search Prim’s eyes as I take the phone from her but, to my utter relief, all I find there is blatant, unmasked disappointment.

I already know what my mother is going to say before I put the phone to my ear. “Hi?”

“Hi, honey,” she murmurs, her voice both strained and higher than typical. Which indicates she’s trying to put up a front for us right now, when she’d rather be moping in bed. “Your father just called. Evidently Effie Trinket informed him he has more scheduled commitments to fulfill before he can come home.”

I deflate, already prepard, knowing this was coming. Isn’t it always coming inadvertently? My father has never been home when he was scheduled to be in my life. No matter the holiday, the birthday, the emergency or event, the Capitol demands that they comes first to him. Not even my birth could upstage his commitments. He wasn’t allowed to return home to Twelve, to meet his firstborn child, until his press events were done and over with.

It’s no wonder he refuses to put on show for those people.

“Okay,” I mumble after a moment, not even convinced my mother is even still there on the other end.

“It’ll be alright,” she says, as positively as she can. “He’ll be home as soon.”

“Yeah.” I try and fail miserably to match her tone. I inherited my father’s ability to act. Or inability, that is.

There’s the faint sound of crying in the background, and my heart aches a bit. “I’m sorry, honey, I have to go check on Archer,” she apologizes as a way of saying goodbye.

I make my way into the kitchen as soon as we hang up. Prim is standing by the counter, staring at the same magazine our father sent three weeks ago.

Peeta comes up behind me then, his hand rubbing my back in comforting circles. “Your father delayed again?”

I nod silently, as my eyes focused on my little sister now. She’s trying her best to hold back the upset that’s threatening to take over.

And without hesitation, my instincts to protect my family from anything and everything painful kick in. “Prim, it’s okay. It’s probably only going to be another week before he’s back,” I console, stepping closer to her small frame and touching her back.

It’s all the initiation she needs before spinning around into my arms and clinging onto me tight. “He’s never around,” she cries into my neck—I’m not much taller than her—as her shoulders shake with tears.

I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, measuring my reaction to Prim’s words. He’s heard me cry the same thing time and time again, he knows the familiarity of this scene better than anyone should.

“He tries his best, Prim,” I whisper thickly into her long, blonde hair. She’s fair and light, like our mother. Like a merchant or peacekeeper. Looking at my little sister, you’d never consider her to be the daughter of a man from the Seam.

But you’d easily believe that she was a girl raised in Victor’s Village and I suppose that’s what counts. Where we were raised and not where we could have been, if things had gone different.

“He’s never really going to be ours though,” she weeps and I don’t have words to comfort her now. Because she’s right.

Our father will always belong to the Capitol, first and foremost.

And not even his children can upstage that.

Prim leaves not long later, to head home to Victor’s Village and more than likely curl up with our mother for the night. They’ve both always been so alike, so much softer and more hopeful than me. I half expect every trip of our father’s to double in time, if not triple. After a lifetime of disappointments, I can’t help but prepare myself.

It’s not that they’re weak for believing. It’s that I have too much Hunter Everdeen in me. I have too much pessimism crawling inside my bones to ever fully trust that he’s really coming home until he’s already stepped off the train in Twelve.

Too many hours of my childhood were spent, wearing fancy stockings and warm, fur-lined coats, standing at the train station, only to welcome a load of cargo and no father in sight. Too many times were phone calls answered in tears. Too many night spent crying, clinging to my father’s hunting jacket, so disoriented by the hazardous schedule in which our lives were ran, waiting for my father to phone, waiting for him to walk through the front door, waiting for him to sneak up on us in the middle of the night or pull us from class on a school day.

That was the true constant in my life. Waiting for my father to finally come home, knowing every moment we shared was on borrowed time. Knowing that he’d never truly belong to us. Waiting for the other shoe to drop. Waiting to hear my mother’s bedroom door slam and lock, waiting to hear Prim cry or Archer wail, waiting to see that defeated glint in my father’s slate gaze.

I close the cabin door behind my sister now, knowing with confidence that she’ll make it home alright, even with the sun currently setting in the faded blue sky.

Our father never took Prim hunting like he did me, never brought her out to the woods and taught her to shoot a bow and arrow, never showed her how to trap and kill an animal. But even still, the path from the cabin to our home in Victor’s Village is imprinted in our brains, like a birthmark or tattoo. We’d be able to find our way to and from, even if we were sleepwalking.

As would Peeta. Considering this is the place he spends the majority of his time.

Considering this cabin may as well be his permanent address.

And if it weren’t illegal, it very well might be, I think to myself wryly as I walk over to where he’s leaning against the doorframe now.

“Hello,” I greet again, hopping onto my tiptoes and kissing his lips lightly.

He grasps my hips, smiling against my mouth. “Don’t you have to get home too?” He hesitantly asks, his desire to keep me here bleeding through every caress of his fingers, as they trail underneath my loose shirt, sliding upwards and causing an electric current to ripple through the core of my body.

But I just shake my head at his inquiry, moving my mouth from his to kiss down the side of his face, underneath his jawline.

“Mmm,” he moans after a long moment, before suddenly putting a few more inches between us. “Are you sure your mother won’t miss you?”

Peeta’s always been considerate of my mother. Too considerate sometimes, if I do say so myself. Bordering on obsessive.

He is obsessed with keeping her approval, with never crossing any invisible line, with never even so much as mildly exasperating her.

I suppose it’s only natural though. She is the only parental figure he has in his life.

I’ve never been too enthusiastic to introduce him to my father and he’s never pushed the issue too far. Hunter Everdeen is a practical legend around Twelve—and beloved across the entirety of Panem—but he’s the reason, I’ve always privately felt, that I was isolated from all my classmates.

Sure, I’m already not the most friendly person to start with, in anyone’s book. As Haymitch never hesitates to tell me. But there was already very little chance of me making friends in school anyway. Being the victor of the Forty-Seventh Hunger Games’ child dropped the chances of play-dates or sleepovers drastically. My father trusts no one. Not with his children.

And I didn’t mind for the most part. I’m too like him to enjoy people much anyway. This whole notion was much harder on Prim, who adored her fellow classmates and easily endeared herself to them as well. But no matter how darling my little sister may be, nothing changed our father’s mind and when he was set on something, it was practically written in stone.

I can’t even imagine how Peeta must feel, having to live in fear for the entire last year of our little secret being exposed. I may be nervous about how my father will react, but Peeta has to be outright petrified.

“My mother will be fine,” I murmur, rolling my eyes as I lean back against the wall now. “She’s got Prim and Archie to keep her sane until my father’s home.”

Peeta chuckles at me, a mirthful smile in his eyes. “And you got me,” he teases, tapping my nose with his finger.

I giggle in a way I withheld until Prim left. I wasn’t about to give her ammunition to mock me later on. “All to myself,” I add, matching his expression now. “For unlimited hours of the day.”

“That’s my girl, looking on the bright side.”

I snort. “Yeah, that’s me.” I’m the exact opposite of an optimist. I prefer expecting the worse and setting expectations low. Maybe it’s a learned behavior but, at least that way, I’m not crushed like my mother when things don’t pan out the way I want.

Peeta mistakes the look on my face to be one of hidden disappointment. “You’re father will be home soon, sweetheart. They can’t keep him in the Capitol forever.”

“Can’t they?” I mumble, not expecting an answer. Before he can offer one—because Peeta is nothing if not a fixer—I quickly segue to a new topic. “Where do you think you’ll go when my father does come home?”

He just shrugs the question off though, completely unbothered. “Anywhere but home,” he says simply, his stunning blue eyes clear as the sky they remind me of.

“Anywhere but there,” I agree, my smile twisting into a grimace.

A year ago, when I was barely fifteen, President Snow—Panem’s true Gamemaker, my father always said—demanded every victor extend their stay in the Capitol, even after the games ended that year. He gave no outright reason and my father was cagey to speak on the subject, but in the end, the president’s word was law and there was no room for argument. President Snow can demand of us whatever he wishes.

It was a cold, dreary autumn that year, with early snowfall, which was the leading cause to the significant increase in accidents and injuries. My mother, the born healer, had more patients than she could handle, and even while training Prim as her assistant, she required my help. I was to head to town and purchase a list of herbs from the apothecary shop her parents still owned. The people who disowned her, who had little to no interest in her after she married a man from the Seam, victor or not. The people who never cared to meet their own grandchildren, to acknowledge our existence even as we passed right by their shop, in their plain sight.

I was dragging my feet the entire walk there, already with a sour taste in my mouth, when I heard the loudest wail my ears had every registered. When I heard sharp words being screamed out, when the sound of a boy sobbing filled the air.

And my instincts took over, my every sense focused on finding the hurt and helping them, altogether forgoing the trip for my mother’s herbs.

I followed the commotion to the bakery’s backdoor. Right through the open threshold, it was crystal clear, the baker’s wife—the witch, as many of the kids at school referred to her—had beaten her youngest son senselessly.

He’s in my year, I’d realized abruptly, staring with an agape mouth at his bloody face. His eye was swelling and his nose and lip were smeared scarlet and the only thing that crossed my mind at first, was I recognized him as the blonde boy with the colorful notebook, who could never meet my eyes and always wore long sleeves.

Of course, I snapped out of the daze after only a moment. The witch turned and caught sight of me, snapping that no Seam brat was going to get any free handouts from her and to scatter before she called the Peacekeepers.

Something about the unmasked prejudice against the Seam, a place where people in Twelve had next to nothing and were seen as lesser than the merchants, jolted me into action.

“Get your hand off him!” I’d demanded, using my entire body weight, just as my father taught me, to push the door open as she tried to close it in my face. “Let him go or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”

At that, I heard an ugly laugh and the door flew open again, my exerted force throwing it back into the wall.

“I’m serious, child,” she snaps, her blue eyes narrow and her mouth in a snide smirk. “I will call the Peacekeepers to remove you from my shop-”

I didn’t even let her finish. I wasn’t one to be messed with. Not when I just witnessed something awful firsthand, not when I had it in my power to do something.

I knew then I couldn’t bring my father home. He was owned by the president and the Capitol. To an extent, we all were. And I knew I couldn’t stop the games from happening or the possibility of my name being pulled from the reaping bowl. I couldn’t always make my mother come out of her room or even out of her bed, when her illness struck bad. And I couldn’t stop my siblings from crying for our father at night.

But I knew that day in the bakery, I had the power over Mrs. Mellark and I wasn’t going to let her get away with hurting her son anymore.

“Call them,” I dared, not an ounce of insecurity in my voice. “Cray is an old family friend.” He was actually indebted to my father, who’d kept the man’s secrets for too many years to count. But family friend rolled off the tongue more effectively.

“Head Peacekeeper is now making friends in the Seam?” She spat in disbelief. “No wonder this district is so rundown.”

She laughed humorlessly, but my focus was pulled towards the boy. He was covering the left side of his face, as if it hurt too badly to release. As if he was trying to stop his eye from swelling, stop his nose from gushing blood. As if he could hold his now split lip together with nothing more than the palm of his hand.

The sight hurt my heart to see. It burned a fire inside of me that only a true injustice could set alight.

“My father is Hunter Everdeen,” I snapped in the woman’s direction, not even basking in satisfaction when her face drained of all color. The idea that a scrappy little girl with olive skin and dark hair was the child of the most powerful man in all of Twelve struck a cord inside even the witch. “Still wanna make that call?”

The woman’s face was caught between anger and shock when I glanced at her again. And I hated her for it. I hated her and every single person in this district who hurt their kids, who took out their grievances on them, who made them cower and quiver in fear. Who raised them to be afraid of those they loved in a world already so awful.

I know I live a privileged life but, deep in my bones, I know even if things were different, my parents wouldn’t have laid a hand on us. Even if we were so poor I had to take tesserae, even if we were starving to the point of no return, even if we were practically homeless in the Seam, my parents would never hurt us.

“Leave,” the witch spoke then, but her voice was void of all emotion.

“Not without him,” I refused, my eyes planted on the wounded boy in front of me. The boy who was doing everything to avoid looking me in the eye, too busy covering his battered face.

I heard a sound caught between a groan and a shriek, before a cutting board was tossed across the room. “Just go!” She shouted at her son, causing him to flinch severely. “Just go with her!”

On her order, which sounded more distraught than angry, the boy had stormed out the back door and into the chilly evening air, still covering his face desperately, still looking utterly ashamed.

But he waited for me to catch up with him. He waited for me to guide him away from that awful woman he was forced to call his mother.

He didn’t flinch when I touched his arm nor when I took his hand. And when I led him away from the town and towards the village, he followed me without complaint.

Actually, he followed me without a single word.

I realized this just as my house came into view. “You never told me your name?” I whispered, looking up at him gently.

He had tears leaking from his eyes that he was doing his best to ignore, the bleeding on the left side of his face had barely even lightened up, his eye was swelling bigger and bigger, and yet, he chuckled a little at the question. “I’ve been in your class since kindergarten, Katniss.”

I felt my cheeks burn pink, even under the darkening sky. “I know.” But I still peered up at him, curiously waiting for him to tell me.

“It’s Peeta,” he finally answered, maybe a bit satirical.

“Peeta Mellark,” I suddenly recognized.

“Mhmm. Figured you’d pick up the last name.”

“Why’s that?”

“It’s printed across the bakery in huge letters?”

“Oh.” He chuckled at my ignorance, causing my blush to deepen.

And I realized immediately how much I liked the sound of his laugh. How I liked being the reason for the sound.

My stomach did a complete flip at the notion and my ears abruptly felt hot, but I tried to push all this away, needing to get him to my mother.

“Wait,” he halted before I could even reached the front door. “Is your mother in there?”

I shot him a confused look. “Yeah, of course? Who else-”

I didn’t even get a chance to finish though. “I really don’t want anyone else to know about this,” he pleads, his eyes looking as frightened as they did with the witch.

“Peeta-” I start, opening my mouth argue, to convince him to go into the house and let my mother treat his injuries. To let me get him help.

But one look inside his desolated, defeated, terrified eyes and I couldn’t make myself do it. I couldn’t put him through any more than he’d already gone through. Not when he’d eventually have to go face the witch again at home.

“Okay,” I whispered, and I felt him squeeze the hand I didn’t realize I was still clutching. “Let me take you somewhere else. And I’ll try to fix you up myself.”

I wasn’t a healer like my mother and Prim. I was a hunter, just like my father, just like his very name, through and through. But I had witnessed enough of what my mother did—my father had forced me to witness enough of what she did, in case I ever needed the knowledge—and I was confident I had the expertise to help him.

My decision was validated by the relief in Peeta’s eyes, by the visible exhale he expelled from inside. He was ashamed, I realized, of his abuse. He was embarrassed to let anyone know what was happening behind closed doors.

I guided him by the hand outside the village, through the Seam—a place in which he’d never been before—and to the fence line.

“Isn’t it electrified?” He asked, his grip on my palm tightening. I liked the sensation for some reason. I liked the way his big hand felt wrapped around my small one. I liked how he wanted to hold onto me in the darkness.

“Nope,” I say, and let out a proud giggle. Or maybe a nervous one. Whenever I think back to this night, I can never tell.

“How do you know?” His blonde eyebrows knit together, still afraid in a way I’d never had to be. My father had taught me everything there was to know about the woods from a young age.

“Listen,” I urge softly, leaning my ear towards the fence.

He cranes forward too, waiting for the buzz of electricity to fill his ears. Only, just as I knew, it never does. Because it never has. The fence’s electricity was shut off long before we were even born.

I watched as his face registered the silence, as he realized and trusted I was right. And I beamed at him, before showing him the way my father slips beyond the fence and guiding him through the trees, towards the cabin, buried deep inside the woods.

It took an hour to find, not because of the blackened sky, but because Peeta’s face hurt so badly that his gait was slowed. But I remained patient, even though that was never my strong suit either. I waited for him to pick up the pace, to be ready to move, to find our way through the tall green trees. I pulled all the branches I could see out of his path, used the moon as our flashlight and didn’t complain once when he stumbled along the way.

By the time we got to the cabin, it had to be past Archer’s bedtime. My mother would be worried sick for me, but I soothed myself that she had plenty on her plate. I’m her firstborn. The child she understands the least, the one who’s like her husband in body and soul. I knew I was probably near the bottom of her worry list.

The very first thing I did when we entered the cabin was order Peeta to sit down in the dining room. I gathered my mother’s first aid kit from the bathroom, wet a rag in cool water and I got to work cleaning the blood from his face.

“This has to be gross for you,” he murmurs after a long stretch of silence. His eyes betrayed how self-conscious he must have felt.

Trying to alleviate his anxiety, I pretended to shrug it off. “My mother cleans wounds all the time. At our kitchen table, no less.”

Peeta made a noise that indicated he didn’t buy my act of ease. “I heard at school that you run from the sick and injured.”

I raised my eyebrows at the comment. No one at school talked about me. No one knew me well enough to. People stopped trying to get close to any of Hunter Everdeen’s kids years ago.

The longer I stared at Peeta in disbelief, the more he seemed to lose confidence in his statement. “Maybe I didn't hear it,” he finally amended. I brought the damp cloth back up to his face again as a reward, tenderly wiping away the blood, before using the clean side to set against his swelling lid, hoping to offer some pain reduction there as well. “Maybe I saw it,” he added sheepishly.

I furrowed my brows, even more perplexed by the elaboration. “Saw it?”

“When Leaf Barker tripped and broke his knee in Physical Education last year? You were almost green when you bolted out of the gymnasium.”

His words conjured up a vague image. Still though, something about this felt odd to me.

“How do you remember that better than I do?”

At that, Peeta shrugged. “I guess, I notice you sometimes?”

“What do you mean, sometimes?” I pressed, none of his words suddenly making a bit of sense.

“Why did you stick up for me tonight?” He abruptly segued, his expression shifting into something of defense, like he’s trying to deflect.

But I’m not one to be deterred. “I wasn’t going to stand there and watch your mother hurt you,” I stated, my voice remaining firm. “Why?”

He continued to walk around my question. “Is tonight the first night you ever noticed me?”

I pulled my hand and the damp cloth away from his wounded face, reaching in the kit to grab a white cream I’d seen my mother and Prim both use on swelling before. “Yes,” I finally replied, because I don’t know what else to say. That I saw him glance at me sometimes and then watched as his eyes flit away? That I noticed how he doodled in math class, because he found the subject boring? That I’d seen him lift a sack easily over his shoulder at the bakery and watched him beat almost every upperclassmen at wrestling, even while three years their junior?

None of that seems even remotely relevant to mention.

“When was the first time you noticed me?” I shot back, still being careful to apply the cream with only the lightest pressure to his battered eye.

“Kindergarten,” he instantly blurted out, his tone simple and bold.

I stared at him in disbelief for a long moment before chuckling, catching the joke. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” he refuted, peaking his good eye open, the sky meeting a silver dollar as our gaze locked. And I see that he is serious somehow.

“What?”

“The first day of kindergarten,” he continued, after a long beat of me just staring him. His confidence had wavered once again and he was looking a bit regretful that he’d put this out in the open. “You were wearing a red velvet dress and brown stockings. Your hair was in two braids instead of one and your ribbons matched your dress. The teacher asked during music assembly who knew The Valley Song and your hand shot right up. She put you on a stool and you sang it, clear as day, for everyone to hear. Even the birds outside stopped to listen. And from that moment on… I was a goner.”

I just continued to look at him in disbelief, unable to put the pieces of what he’s said together. Finally, I whispered, “you’re telling the truth?”

“I’ve had a crush on you for forever,” he admitted, his singularly open eye giving away his nerves at the admission. “And I know you probably don’t feel the same way. I know you didn’t even know my name until tonight but I just wanted to say, in case we never have the chance to speak again-”

“Stop,” I cut him off, my mind already about to explode. “Stop, um…” I refused to look at him as I spoke, furiously staring down at my lap. “I need more time to… process this.”

He had a crush on me since the first day of kindergarten? He’d heard me sing and from that day forward he held a hidden candle for me?

And he never once worked up the courage to talk to me?

Dozens of moments suddenly race through my mind.

Cerulean blue eyes finding me in a crowd countless times and then pulling away as soon as I meet them. The time I wanted to play a stupid game at recess and a stocky blonde boy volunteered to be team captain, and then picked me first. The stunning drawing I found in my locker last year on Sweetheart’s Day, that I was convinced was put there by mistake, though it bore a striking resemblance to the doodles on Peeta’s notebook.

And before I could stop it, I felt myself begin to shake with nerves.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he apologized, seeing my frightened reaction. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just… I didn’t know if I’d ever get the opportunity to tell you again-”

“Shhh,” I hushed, picking up the damp cloth once more. “Let me take care of your face. And then…” I hesitated again, unsure what to say in this situation. I had exactly zero experiences to compare this to. “Tomorrow we can talk more.”

Peeta nodded amicably, staying silent for the reminder of my ministrations. I felt a terrible pang of guilt for not responding the way he’d probably hoped, but there was still a part of me too stunned to even fully register the confession.

I was an outcast. I’d never fit in with the kids at school, neither town or Seam. I don’t look like the merchants and I’m too rich for the Seam folk. I would have been alone all the time at school if it weren’t for Madge Undersee, the mayor’s daughter who sat with me at lunch and partnered with me in class.

How could anyone have even noticed me to be anything other than strange? I barely spoke, even in classes where I knew all the answers. And I hardly participated in games or gossip. I had a father who insisted most days on picking me up himself from school, not allowing me to walk home alone like the other kids.

But the look in Peeta’s eyes was earnest. He wasn’t playing some elaborate trick on me, he wasn’t trying to coerce me into confessing something as well so he could humiliate me. He was being genuine in every way I could tell. And I had my father’s senses.

The same senses that helped him win his hunger games.

A new thought struck me out of the blue. Peeta seemed too kind and too considerate to have a mother who beat him like this. He doesn’t fit the profile of the kids in the community home, brought there by even less abuse than I witnessed firsthand tonight.

The insane urge to get to know him more, to learn more about this complete stranger who I went out on an impulsive limb for suddenly surges through my brain.

It wouldn’t be a good idea, I told myself. He’s a merchant and I’m the daughter of a victor. Two titles that seem not far apart in theory but are miles away from the other in practice. And I’m not experienced with people the way he is. I don’t know how to make friends or how to maintain them. I don’t know what he expects from me but it’s surely more than I know how to give. I don’t know what to say in a situation like this. Haymitch always tells me I’m as romantic as dirt.

But is that what I want to be? I asked myself as I finished fixing Peeta up. Do I want to be romantic? Do I want to be that girl who holds her boyfriend’s hand in the town square and kisses him under the moonlight? Do I want to put an embroidered ribbon in my hair and wear an expensive dress from the Capitol to go to the Sweetheart’s Dance? Do I want to sneak in through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn so my father won’t know I’ve been out all night?

If I could learn to be romantic, would I want to be?

And naturally, the answer I’ve always known automatically seeps through my brain. No. I’m not like my mother and Prim. I’m practical by nature, rather than fanciful. I’ve never truly obsessed about falling in love or fawned over even the most incredible looking men on the television.

But something held me back now. Something inside me said that answer, the truth I’d always known, is suddenly not entirely accurate anymore.

Because I find that I did want those things I just described. I did want to have someone to hold, someone to laugh with, someone who conjured up that same flip in my stomach as Peeta did earlier when he laughed.

I wanted the same kind of love my parents had. The kind of love that brought them both to life, despite the horrible circumstances they’d both separately endured. I wanted the kind of love that they showed me was possible, even in a world as bleak and as inhumane as Panem felt at times.

I only realized how long I’d been silent, contemplating my inner desires, when Peeta offered a minuscule smile and stood up slowly to leave.

I opened my mouth to speak but when his eyes met mine, every thought in my head was magically wiped away. I had nothing to say, nothing that could be of any sort of consequence, that could mean anything in comparison to his confession.

“I should head back to town,” he murmured, trying to appear nonchalant. “Face my mother. Hope she’s in a better mood now-”

But I couldn’t stand the idea of him returning to the witch, the idea of going to school tomorrow and acting like his words weren’t still spinning around my brain, the idea of even sleeping soundly tonight.

“Peeta,” I called just as he was about to reach the front door. “Wait!”

He turned towards me, looking puzzled by my outburst. “What’s wrong?”

And I don’t know what came over me. I still can’t place what made me—a girl who had never been decisive a day in her life—fling myself across the room and smash my lips onto his.

He didn’t respond at first. I caught him too completely by surprise. His lips hung there, frozen, as mine pushed against his, with too much force and an overload of desperation.

But I felt an incredible stirring in my chest, an odd sensation that felt akin to a giggle amplified.

And when he finally recovered from the shock of it all, his hands both came to rest on either side of my hips, his mouth began to move against mine, his knees bent to reach my height with more success, and the stirring turned to a fiery spark. I know he felt it too, as the kiss was swiftly disturbed by his wide grin.

“Don’t go back home tonight,” I gasped out, looking up at him, wide-eyed and breathless.

His gaze melted as he took me in, he head bobbing in agreement without even needing to consider my request.

“Okay,” he’d whispered with a dazed smile, his blue eyes impossibly wild and sleepy at the same time.

His expression, his spirit somehow, was contagious, and I found myself somewhere stuck between a laugh and a blush when I replied.

“Okay.”

After that night, Peeta rarely went back home. I had called my mother and let her know I was staying at the cabin, but intentionally eluded telling her that the baker’s son was joining me. We’d spent the entire night talking in front of the fire, making each other laugh. The bashfulness I felt from my unexpected kiss stayed in my gut, causing me to bubble up with embarrassed laughter every so often.

But instead of that making things awkward, it cut the tension pretty smoothly. It was only months later did Peeta confess he’d felt just as nervous and just as shy about spending time with me. He was charismatic, I realize even that first night. Ironically funny. He was nice, in a way I rarely have found anyone to be. And, the more time went on, the more my desire grew to stay close to him. The more often I was around him, the more painfully I missed him when we were apart.

It was only a matter of time until my mother found out—not least of all, because my siblings accidentally caught us kissing in back of the school, a month to the day we first spoke.

I always imagined she’d be strict on me, the firstborn, when it came to dating. Especially in the world we lived in. Especially with my father’s position. I truly thought she’d forbid a relationship until I was of age. Maybe I was wrong about her. Or maybe she just saw how I looked at Peeta and understood that I wasn’t just being careless or rebellious. That whatever magnetic connection I felt towards Peeta wasn’t just an ordinary school-aged fling.

To my surprise as well, my mother seemed to take on a very similar stance to me when it came to Peeta and my father. Keeping the news of this entanglement from her husband’s ears was almost her idea.

“What are you thinking about?” Peeta asks me now, bringing me back to the present moment. His fingers tickle my neck as they brush my hair back behind my ear, touching one of the satin green ribbons weaved throughout my loose braids.

“You,” I reply coyly, shooting him a sly glance as I slip past him to head back towards the kitchen.

“Me?” He calls in mock disbelief. He trails up behind me, catching me by the waist and swinging me into his arms without warning.

“Peeta!” I exclaim, automatically wrapping myself around him as I try to steady my balance midair.

“What, baby?”

“Put me down, baby,” I mock, pressing my nose to his now, rubbing them together.

“I like holding you though,” he whispers, like he’s confessing some huge secret.

“Until your arms gets tired-”

“That was one time, Katniss.”

“I’m just reminding you,” I say with an air of superiority. “You don’t always appreciate holding me.”

At that, his demeanor falls a little. “I do when I realize I won’t be seeing you much in a few days.”

I feel my heart sink now too. As excited as I am at the prospect of my father coming home, after weeks apart, I always have to be a little more careful upon his first days back.

He always likes to spend time at the cabin and go for long walks in the woods upon his return. Spend more time in nature than the indoors, stay far away from people outside our family, sleep under the stars by the lake. The Capitol is apparently luxurious, but in my father’s own words, it is void of any true or natural beauty. Everything is artificial, man-made, concocted and orchestrated. There’s nothing that compares in his mind—or mine either—to a cool breeze on a sunny day spent in the meadow where the dandelions grow tall.

“But I’ll still see you in school?” I say, though my voice comes out as more of a plea. Peeta doesn’t always like to attend school these days, not when he knows his parents can easily track him down there.

His father, the baker himself, took the ambiguous loss of his youngest—his favorite—son particularly hard. It was only a matter of weeks after I intercepted his mother beating him that Peeta definitively decided to sever ties with majority of his family.

I’d like to say he made the choice all on his own but that’d be a lie. I watched as the physical bruises on his skin healed, as he began to peel back emotional layer upon layer to me, as he slowly told me what really had been going on in the Mellark’s family home. And I can’t say that I was impartial to his decision to cut the connection to a mother with a bruising fist and a father who closed his eyes and let it happen.

“Delly’s parents usually make me go to school so…” He shrugs it off, like it’s of no consequence, his arms hoisting me higher against his chest.

But I feel a sudden wave of gratitude towards the Cartwrights. They may be a little too jolly for my liking and their daughter, Delly, maybe can’t take a hint to save her life, but at least they always watch out for Peeta’s well-being. At least they cover for him when his mother come sniffing around and they feed him what they can afford and force him to attend class, where I’ll be able to see him.

“Good,” I murmur, at peace now. My father will be home soon and Peeta will be safely tucked away with his best friend.

I lean down and kiss his nose sweetly, reveling in the tender moment. His lips follow my lead and begin to plant themselves across my chin, underneath my jaw, causing me to squirm and squeal at the sensation.

“So,” he murmurs against my throat. “We have the entire place to ourselves, for the whole night, huh?”

His audacious smile elicits my own. “At least.” My father’s delays usually mean a minimum of two days.

Within a minute, Peeta has me on my back, against the softly quilted bed of my upstairs room. He takes his time helping me out of my clothes before I hurriedly shove his off, impatient and hungry.

He, of course, finds time to crack a joke. “Good thing Archie is too young to come here unchaperoned. Or else we’d never get the chance to do this.”

I roll my eyes and shove his mouth off my collarbone, utterly disgusted now. “Talking about my baby brother is one sure way to turn me off, Peeta.”

Archer, my three-old-brother, was an unexpected surprise, to put it lightly. My parents were done with two girls. My father joked him and my mother were both already set with one clone each, but alas, the year of the Seventieth Hunger Games was a year full of shocks.

A few months before the games that year, the coal mines—the industry Twelve is known for—exploded. Right in the middle of the afternoon, as everyone was obliviously going about their day.

It was a close call for many and one more reason my father is beloved around these parts. If he hadn’t been at the right place, at the right time, if he hadn’t volunteered to go with Prim and her class on a field trip down to the mines that day, there was a chance that no one would have noticed the gas leak.

It was too late to do anything by the time my father pointed it out, but his warning and the fact that people in Twelve take his word very seriously, managed to save the lives the inevitable explosion would have otherwise cost.

Through the outpouring of gratitude, and the overwhelming media coverage my whole family was abruptly bombarded with, my parents made the decision to pull me and Prim from school for a while, to hole up in the remodeled cabin, where no one could find us because of its illegal location.

I’ve never ask and I don't ever want to know when my parents conceived Archer. But about nine months after the vacation from the world, my mother gave birth to a little boy who looked identical to me and my father.

“Sorry,” Peeta whispers with a chuckle, collapsing beside me. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He moves to kiss my stomach, to trace circles on my hips like he always does. But I shake my head, a different request—or more like it, demand—on my mind.

“Tell me the story of how you first fell in love with me?”

Peeta rolls his eyes. Very dramatically. “You mean a year ago?”

“I mean in kindergarten,” I say with a smirk and then let out a shriek of surprise when he pounces on me, his lips attacking my neck.

“Aren’t you tired of that story yet?” He asks, his voice edging on exasperated.

“You never tire of a classic.” I give him a pout, knowing he never refuses me anything when I pull that trick.

I’m right, as per usual. “Fine,” he relents, but his eyes tell me that he enjoys telling this tale more than he leads on. “Come here.” He holds open his arms and waits for me to crawl into them, to settle against his chest.

I lay there for a long moment, my pointer finger running up and down the center of his bicep, as my ear rests against his heartbeat, patiently waiting for him to begin.

“It was the very first day of school. You were wearing a red, velvet dress…”

Read the rest on AO3

#katnissmellarkkkk #prompt 59 #Springtime edition 2021 #submission

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