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wintaerbaer · 1 year

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things we don’t say: part 1 (kth)

banner credit goes to the absolutely incredible @itaeewon

summary: Three years after graduating college, everything seems to be falling into place for you: stable job, cozy apartment, and a long-term boyfriend with a ring box hidden in his desk drawer. But when a mutual friend makes a remark that your best friend of nearly two decades is clearly in love with you, you realize that life may not be as simple as it seems.

pairing: Taehyung x Reader (with some VERY brief Seokjin x Reader and Yoongi x Reader)

rating: 18+ (minors dni)

genres: best friends to lovers, idiots to lovers (they’re so, SO stupid), slooooow burn, angst, fluff

word count: 8.4k

series warnings: swearing, sexual themes, one instance of mild violence, alcohol use, infidelity, brief mentions of neglectful parents and alcoholism

chapter warnings: potty mouths, oc teasingly threatens her friends, art world inaccuracies (probably, idk how art shows work), fns music festival dynamite performance taehyung (BLESSED), friends who can’t mind their own business, quick backstory on the aforementioned shitty parenting, oc needs (and has) a drink

a/n: so here is my first foray back into writing after being out of the game for several years! big shout outs to @itaeewon / @jeonqkooks for the banner and encouragement as well as @taegularities for giving me writing advice and letting me cry in her inbox every time i got frustrated with this. they’re also both INCREDIBLE writers so go show them some love once you’re done here!

SERIES MASTERLIST // MASTERLIST

Read on ao3

“She was checking you out.”

“She was not checking me out.”

“Kim Taehyung, she was so checking you out!”

“No.”

“She tucked her hair behind her ear and gave you the ‘come hither’ head tilt.”

Taehyung makes a face. “No one says that anymore, and that’s a perfectly normal gesture to make in everyday conversation.”

“When you want to get someone’s pants off.”

He shushes you, eyes flicking over to the nearby tables in the mostly-empty dining room with all of its dim lights and dark wood paneling. The bar had been a go-to for you and your friends in college, boasting a wide variety of burgers, sandwiches, and wraps that could even satisfy Jungkook and his bottomless appetite. Though your visits have become fewer and farther in between after graduation, nostalgia occasionally drags you back for a lunch or round of late-night drinks, which is how you’ve wound up here on a bright Saturday afternoon.

“You should ask for her number.”

“I am not asking her for her num—!”

“Can I get you anything?”

Taehyung’s face turns bright red as the waitress materializes at the side of your table as if on cue. It’s subtle, but she bats her eyelashes at him, body angled in his direction as if you’re not even there. You raise an eyebrow at him from across the table. See?

“I think we’re ready to order,” you say, mostly to put Taehyung out of his misery as he wordlessly stammers at the blonde.

You’d think he’s never seen a girl before in his life.

The waitress jots your orders down before strolling away in the direction of the kitchen, and you’d swear she’s swinging her hips a little more dramatically than before. You turn towards Taehyung.

“Told you.”

“I said no,” he says sheepishly, cheeks still brushed with pink. “Besides, she looks like she’s probably still in college.”

“You look like you’re probably still in college.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “And we’re not that old, Tae. You could date a college student.”

“Pass.”

You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Fine, but we still need to find you a date to the wedding. Can’t let those youthful good looks go to waste.”

Taehyung huffs in faux annoyance, but his lips quirk up at the compliment. “I’m not bringing a date.”

“So you say, but I’m going to change your mind.”

His smile widens. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” You hold out a pinky, and he only hesitates a moment before linking his with yours.

“Okay, we’ll see.”

You fall into one of your usual conversation patterns as you ask about how his job is going. He tells you about the upcoming art show at the gallery where he works as a curator, doing some freelance photography as a side gig. He’d managed to snag Maya, one of the aforementioned friends, a spot in it, and he smiles as he gushes over how great her pieces turned out, cheeks lightly flushed with what you interpret as pride. The two of them met freshman year as photography majors and quickly developed into friends and partners, challenging each other artistically and now occasionally teaming up to shoot larger weddings and events.

It makes pride warm your own belly, seeing him flourish and succeed in the field he had always dreamed of. Photography had been an outlet for him throughout high school, a vital reprieve from the insulated struggles of your shared childhood. Taehyung has never been a negative person, never weighed down in spite of the home life which would have given him every justifiable reason to become jaded. Still, you’d watched a new light bloom in him after he discovered photography as if the camera lens truly gave him a fresh way of seeing the world.

And you’ve always loved seeing happiness spill from your best friend.

Your food is just being brought to the table when Jimin comes shuffling up in a zombie-like trance, eyes wide and mouth slack.

"Finally made i—woah, are you alright?"

Jimin drops into a seat, glazed eyes fixated on the window overlooking the street.

"Maya and Kook are hooking up."

Taehyung chokes on his drink, water spraying onto his plate, while your jaw hits the floor.

"They're what?!"

"What the fuck?!"

Jimin works his jaw before wiping his hands over his face, "Yup."

You and Taehyung gape at him.

"What in the name of God would make you say that?" you ask emphatically, just as Taehyung says, "They hate each other."

"I don't know. Probably because I just caught her straddling him on our couch half-naked. But it’s just a feeling."

"Oh my God, we don't need to know that!"

"Our couch?!"

Jimin scrubs a hand over his face again as if he could wipe the image from his brain. “Yeah, I…can’t say I’m entirely surprised, but, Jesus, I did not need to see that with my own two eyes.”

“Okay, wait, wait,” you say, blinking rapidly in a futile attempt to clear your thoughts. “You’re sure it was Maya—not another one of his random hook-ups?”

“You think I don’t know what she looks like?” Jimin asks, pulling a face. “Look, she stopped by to grab some camera equipment Tae left for her and said she was going to hang around for a minute to wait for an Uber. I was already late for here so I left, but I forgot my wallet. When I went back they were…compromised. And I didn’t exactly stick around to interrogate them.” He frowns again, turning to Taehyung. “Speaking of, can you cover me for lunch?”

“This is unreal. Fucking unreal,” you fume. “I’m going to kill them.”

“Is it really all that surprising?” Jimin asks. “Somewhere in all of their bickering and nagging and constant frowning at each other was always some thinly-veiled sexual tension.” When you glare at him, he adds, “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t sleep with her.”

“That’s not the problem, Chim. You know how this shit goes.” You rub a thumb between your eyes, trying to ease the sudden tension there. “They already fight all the time, and sex only ever complicates things. How long until this blows up and we’re forced to choose sides?”

And that’s the crux of your worry—a disaster seems inevitable. Maya and Jungkook have always been clear about their bare tolerance of each other, seeing it as a necessary evil for the benefit of the rest of your friendships. And while their arguments and bickering have been relatively muted in recent years after you, Taehyung, and Jimin had put down a collective foot and told them you were tired of hearing their shit, you are not eager to see them test the fragile thread that links all of you.

You’ve dealt with enough instability regarding the people in your life; the last thing you need is more.

The waitress comes up to take Jimin’s order while Taehyung studies you as you press the heels of your palms to your eyes.

“Hey,” he says as the waitress walks off again, a hand sliding across the table in your direction but not quite making it there. “No one is getting divorced or anything. Just talk to Maya first. We really don’t even know what’s going on here.”

Jimin lets out a puff of air. “I do. He had his hand up her—” He shuts his mouth as both you and Taehyung shoot daggers at him.

After a moment, your fingers tap absent-mindedly over your phone. “Yeah, I guess I’ll talk to her tonight. We’re supposed to go dress shopping for the art show.”

“Gotta get something nice for Jace?” Jimin asks, wiggling an eyebrow. You smirk back at him.

“No, he can’t make it. Work has him putting in overtime like crazy for their annual convention in a few weeks.”

“How is he doing—Jace?” Taehyung asks. His tone is light, but as Jimin turns to look at him, he notices his hand on the table had closed into a fist.

“He’s good,” you say, the tension finally melting out of your face as your eyes light up. “He’s been incredibly upbeat lately, actually—more romantic even.” There’s a pause as you hesitate. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was going to…you know.” You wave faintly with your left hand.

Jimin’s eyes go wide. “You think he’s planning to pro—” You quickly press a finger over your lips, and Jimin slaps a hand to his thigh. “Fuck yes! About damn time. Hey,” he settles his face in his palm and stares off dreamily. “Can I be your maid of honor?” Then, when you giggle, “Don’t laugh. I would look great in a dress.”

“I’ll put you on the short list,” you say, turning towards your food as Jimin pumps a fist. “But no more talk about that. I’ve waited damn long enough and do not want to jinx it.”

Taehyung’s knuckles had gone white.

“It’s really none of your business,” Maya says, picking up a bright purple, thigh-length dress off the rack and holding it up to her shoulders. “How about this one?”

“Too short.” She puts it back. “And I beg to differ. When something stands to get between two of my best friends who I care about deeply, I think that makes it my business.” When Maya doesn’t say anything, still nonchalantly flipping through dresses, you press on. “You know this can’t end well, right? You’re adding sex to an already volatile relationship, and I don’t like the idea of the friend group having to split if and when the two of you implode.”

“First of all, we’re not your damn parents. Kook may be a walking man child, but the rest of us are mature adults. We’d figure it out,” Maya says. She holds up a green gown, frowns, and returns it. Turning towards you, she quirks an eyebrow. “Second of all, who says that this morning was the first time?”

Your jaw drops. As you stand speechless, Maya resumes her dress perusal.

“Wha—how long?” you finally choke out.

“Ooh, this is pretty.” Maya pulls out a deep red cocktail dress, silver roses adorning the fabric. Catching the look on your face, she says, “Two years, give or take.”

“Two—!” you squeak before shaking your head. “No. No fucking way. You two can barely be in the same room for two minutes let alone sleep together for two years.”

Maya smirks. “Turns out he can do much better things with his mouth when he’s not using it to talk out of his ass.”

“Maya, oh my God!”

“What? You wanted to make it your business, right?”

You take a breath to steady yourself. “Look, I am just worried about you guys, okay? That’s it. You’re two of my best friends, and I don’t want to see anyone get hurt. And I certainly don’t want to be put into a situation where I have to choose between you.”

“That won’t happen,” Maya says, trailing off towards a dressing room. “For someone to get hurt, there’d have to be actual feelings involved, and the only feeling he gives me is a migraine.” She slips into a changing stall while you lean against the wall, still trying to wrap your head around what you’re hearing.

“Besides,” Maya’s voice sounded from behind the curtain, “Jimin only found out because of his stupid wallet, and he notices everything. If we could fool him for that long with no problems…” She pulls the curtain back. The red fabric of the dress hugs her hips, her dark hair draped over one shoulder. “How do I look?”

“Gorgeous, as usual,” you say. And then, because you can’t help it, “I’m sure Kook will love it.”

Maya rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.” She steps back into the stall and yanks the curtain closed again. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“I’m sorry. It’s just…weird.”

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Maya says over the shuffling of clothes. “Nothing changed during the two years when you guys didn’t know and nothing has to change now.”

Maybe she’s right, you think to yourself, resting your head back and closing your eyes to the bright fluorescents above you. Maybe everything would be fine. Jungkook, in spite of his cocky playboy persona, may be a big teddy bear at heart, but you’ve never known him to mix emotions with pleasure. And Maya is certainly capable of handling herself.

Still, the whole thing just reeks of disaster waiting to happen.

The sun has just started its descent when the two of you step out of the shop, Maya now carrying a long white bag along with her. You pause for a moment, taking a slow inhale of the soft spring air. This is probably your favorite time of day, when the whole city is tinted gold, the push of the foot traffic slowing to a lazier pace as college students and businessmen alike meander their way to dinners and evening plans.

“Do you want to do dinner at my place?” Maya asks, starting to move in the direction of her apartment as you trail at her side. “I was planning on trying this new pot roast recipe, and I’d rather not get stuck with too many leftovers.”

“Ooh, that sounds good,” you say. “I’m in.”

“You just have to promise to stop looking so constipated.”

You let out a puff of a laugh. “I’m sorry—I really don’t mean to meddle.” You purse your lips. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I know, you said that already,” Maya sighs. “But we’re all grown-ups, Y/N. I know you mean well, but you’ve gotta loosen up the reins a little bit.”

“Whatever. As long as I don’t have to walk in on you guys like Jimin did.” You chew the inside of your cheek. “And just…be careful.”

Maya rolls her eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that day. She knows your heart is in a good place—the stereotypical “mom friend” just looking out for everyone—but your own blind spot drives her crazy.

You insist that you don’t truly mean to meddle. Maya, however, has no such qualms.

“You know,” she says, smirking at you with a sideways glance. “If you’re really worried about someone getting their heart broken, you should spend less time worrying about me and Kook and more time worrying about Tae.”

Your steps slow, frown lines gradually forming on your face. “Tae? What about Tae?” You pause. “He and Luna broke up months ago. He said he was over her.”

They were barely together a year, but the relationship had been the longest of Taehyung’s life. He’d spent the two weeks following the breakup locked in his room while you juggled both making sure he was alright and moving into a new apartment.

Maya gestures to the bag in her hands. “Don’t stop walking. This thing is a bitch to carry.”

As you jog a few steps to catch up, you ask, “Why? Did he say something to you?”

“Oh, please.” Another eyeroll. “He was never into Luna. It’s a wonder they even lasted as long as he did.”

“Then who?”

“C’mon, Y/N.”

“Maya, I genuinely have no fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

It’s Maya’s turn to stop in her tracks this time, passerby giving the two of you dirty looks as they swerve around you. She pins you with a pointed expression that has you blinking back at her. “What?”

Maya only continues to stare, tilting her head and biting her tongue until you finally put the pieces together. Your eyes going wide before you shake your head vigorously.

“No. No. You’re wrong.”

Maya scoffs and continues walking. “Uh-huh.”

“I’ve told you this before. We’re just comfortable with each other. He’s my—”

“Best friend who has made heart eyes at you the entire time I’ve known you two.”

“He does not. He looks at me like he’s always looked at me.”

“Exactly.”

“I—need I remind you that I’m in a committed relationship?”

“So? That doesn’t affect his feelings.”

“Tae has dated plenty of girls.”

“And with much success, obviously.”

You hesitate. “It’s not his fault that they all—”

“See how he looks at you and decide not to waste their time?”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Sure it is.”

“You’re misreading it. It’s just that we have history.”

“And chemistry. And while we’re rattling off school subjects the two of you share, I’m sure he’d be willing to help you with your physical education.”

“Maya.”

“I’m just saying!” She adjusts the bag, the plastic rustling the air. “I just got this sense that something, I don’t know, broke after Luna. I figured he finally realized how hung up on you he is or something, and that’s why he hasn’t dated since.”

The idea of a broken Taehyung squeezes your heart as your frown impossibly deepens. “That’s not…no. That’s definitely not what it was. He’s fine. We’re fine. Everything is fine.”

“Okay. Fine. If you say so.”

The two of you fall into silence, the light crackle of Maya’s bag hanging delicately between you. The sun is starting to dip behind buildings now, stretching long shadows onto the ground in front of you as you turn onto her block. You inhale a long, shaky breath.

Yes, it’s been a while since Taehyung has dated, and yes, this is a little peculiar. He may be your best friend, but part of that means you’ve watched him grow from awkward kid to gangly teenager to one of the most handsome men you’ve ever laid eyes on. You’re not blind—you’ve seen how it’s unsurprisingly garnered him a good deal of female attention throughout the years (Saturday afternoon was not the first time he’s been hit on by a waitress). And while he’s never been anywhere near Jungkook’s level of playboy, he’s definitely been on his fair share of dates.

You don’t doubt that Maya’s noticed something of a shift in him—after you, she’s probably the person who knows him best. But both you and Taehyung have always insisted that your platonic relationship is, well, entirely platonic. So even if something changed for him, she has to be off base as to the why.

Right?

“Maya—”

“Look, I’m not telling you to sleep with him or leave Jace or anything like that. Just…” Maya purses her lips together, blowing air out of her nose. “Step back and look at what you’re doing to him before you lecture the rest of us. The guy is crazy about you, and you’re the only one who doesn’t see it.”

Well.

Shit.

She climbs the steps to her front door, slipping in the key and opening it before turning back to where you remain at the bottom of the stoop fiddling with your purse strap.

“You coming?”

“Um,” you hesitate. Your eyes drift off down the street, mind suddenly racing . “I don’t know. I’m not really hungry anymore.”

Maya’s expression softens. “I didn’t mean to upset you…”

“No, no,” you say with another shake of your head. “I’m not mad. I just think I want to go home, maybe take a bath.”

“Okay,” Maya slowly responds. “I’ll see you at the show Friday night?”

You smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Perhaps, Maya muses as she watches you saunter down the sidewalk, calling you out was not the right move. But the thought only lingers for a moment before she turns with a shrug and goes inside.

It’s Sunday night when you find yourself at the guys’ apartment for your and Taehyung’s weekly meal prep tradition. The ritual is the evolution of several years of having to care for yourselves—a need to eat turned into a sacred bonding activity for two people who had learned to rely on each other.

You and Taehyung met when you were eight-years-old after your teacher had fatefully situated your desks next to each other on the first day of school. A compliment from Taehyung on the color of your pencil case (a bright and bold turquoise) turned into a fast friendship that rapidly deepened as you realized just how similar you were: both only children living in homes with parents who were neglectful in their own ways.

In spite of growing up in a lavish, sparkling house with more rooms than you could count, your childhood was a struggle as your endlessly-busy, high-powered-lawyer parents virtually ignored your existence and left you to your own devices, working late hours every day and oftentimes not even ensuring that you had been properly fed. The mansion had felt like a prison, long hallways and tall ceilings devoid of life, filled with nothing but a terrible sense of loneliness.

That was, at least, until Taehyung showed up.

When either of you had a bad day (which was, admittedly, most days), he would slip away from the tiny, one-bedroom house on the poorer side of town, where his mother had abandoned him to an alcoholic father, and you'd sneak him in the back door (your parents either never noticed or simply didn't care). The two of you would raid the kitchen cabinets for snacks and lug your loot up to your bedroom, where you'd throw together a giant fort made of pillows and blankets with your prized possession at the center—a small globe light with tiny cut-out stars.

You never really talked about your respective situations—there was never really a need to. He saw your non-relationship with your parents firsthand, and you had heard the rumors about his family—whispers at school about the boy with secondhand clothes and a dad who often had to be dragged out of the local bars. The outside world may have been cruel, passing judgment on the both of you (and Taehyung especially) for circumstances outside of your control, but in the comfort of your room, even that fostered your kinship. It was like your own minuscule universe, belonging only to the two of you, and as you munched on your popcorn and watched the soft stars dance across the propped-up fabric, you'd talk and tell each other stories. Stories about anything from kings and queens to pirates to cowboys to astronauts. The only rule was that every tale had to have a happy ending.

As you got older, you traded your storytelling nights for evenings experimenting in the kitchen, sick of gorging yourselves on chips, pretzels, and sodas. Occasionally, once Taehyung purchased his first camera from a secondhand shop with money he saved delivering newspapers, he'd drag you around town for a photoshoot. You’d wander the streets together, helping him to scout out areas for inspiration, and he’d use you as his model to practice portraits and photographing human subjects. This tradition, too, had faded once the two of you escaped your hometown to go to college (you're not sure your parents even realized you had left), as Taehyung began working on class projects with Maya and you started spending more time with Jace. Only your weekly meal prep had persisted.

Your cooking had been a staple during college, you and Taehyung hosting “family dinners” for you and your friends on weekends (usually followed by a good few rounds of drinks), eventually shifting into you making batch meals on Sundays once you’d all graduated and begun working. That was when it had been you who’d lived in this apartment, back before you’d moved in with Jace and Jungkook had taken your place here. Still, even as lifestyles and living arrangements changed, you always wound up cooking with Taehyung on Sunday nights.

“What are mom and dad making tonight?” Jimin trills, reaching over the counter to take a swipe at a baby carrot. You shoo his hand away.

“Nothing, if you keep stealing our ingredients. Aren’t you supposed to be going to the gym?”

“I am, but someone,” he turns to yell over his shoulder, “is taking their sweet ass time getting ready!”

A door clicks open down the hall before Jungkook’s voice yells out, “Calm down, asshole, I’m almost done!” The door slams shut again.

“Such a diva,” Jimin huffs, gaining an edge to pop a carrot into his mouth. You let out a cry of protest.

“Chim, cut it out!” You turn to Taehyung who is at the opposite counter with his back to you, chopping more vegetables. “Tae, stop him.”

Taehyung snorts, not turning around. “That’s my job?”

“You have a knife.”

“Sorry, I’ve taken a vow of nonviolence.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter as Jimin tries to reach around you again. “Hands off, Park, or I swear to God I will kick you in the balls, and you will not see it coming.”

“Guy’s gotta get some action somehow, am I right?” Jungkook comes striding down the hallway in a tank top and shorts, looking more like he’s ready for a magazine cover shoot than a gym visit as he bounds up to where you and Jimin stand in the kitchen.

“Hey, I get plenty of action!”

“You were literally whining this morning that it’s been three months.”

Jimin flushes. “That’s because I don’t sleep with my friends.”

“Neither do I,” Jungkook says, throwing a wink in your direction as you roll your eyes back at him.

“You’re disgusting. It’s a wonder Maya puts up with you.”

“It’s definitely more of a puts out situation.” He taps his chin thoughtfully. “And not really up? Contrary to what you might expect, she’s usually under—“

“Jeon Jungkook.” Then, when he makes a move to grab a carrot, you turn to Taehyung and snap, “Tae, give me a knife, I’ll stab them myself.”

Barely looking up, he reaches over to grab a knife out of the block, twisting it in his hands to hold it delicately by the blade and offer it to you handle-first. You grip it, only to slam the knife down firmly on its side in front of you, staring down Jimin and Jungkook in a silent challenge. But Jimin merely quirks an eyebrow in silent laughter, while Jungkook lets out a teasing, “Hot.”

You glare and raise the knife to chest level, pointing it at his sternum and trying to muster as much threatening energy as you possibly can in the face of a guy who could bench press you in his sleep. And while his facial expression remains one of passive amusement, he raises his hands in mock surrender and says, "Fine, fine, we're going."

With a sweep of their gym bags, they make their way out, and there's one last, "Save some for us!" from Jimin before the door swings shut behind them.

You sigh. "Idiots."

"But they're our idiots," Taehyung says, and a glance over your shoulder tells you that he's laughing at your frustration, a smile brightening his features and warming your chest.

"Remind me why we adopted them again?"

"You instantly fell for Jimin's puppy dog eyes when he was wandering around lost at orientation, and Kook..." He trails off. "Why did we adopt Kook?"

"School administration made you dorm with him, and we haven't been able to get rid of him since?"

"Oh yeah, that's right."

You fall into a comfortable silence, the only sound being that of your respective knives hitting the cutting board before Taehyung speaks up again.

"Speaking of Kook, you never told me how your conversation with Maya went."

You're thankful you have your back to him because you immediately feel yourself flush, heat shooting up your neck like an erupting volcano. You want to say, Yeah, it went great. She told me that you're desperately in love with me, and I'm the reason why none of your relationships have worked out. But that's ridiculous, right? Right?!

Instead, you do your best to mask your expression into one of relative impassivity and say, “Well, according to her, this isn’t new. They’ve been doing this for two years.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish.”

Taehyung ignores that. “How did none of us ever notice?”

“That’s what I can’t figure out. You’d think we would’ve noticed a change or something, right?”

He’s quiet, and you glance over to see him staring at a distant point out the window, lost in thought, the heel of the knife absentmindedly tapping a beat against the board. Taehyung’s always been introspective—content to sit in contemplation as he slowly works an idea through his mind. He’s thoughtful like that, ever the deliberator and rarely one to act on impulse. You balance each other out in this regard, with you having always been more inclined to break rules as you see fit and Taehyung being there to reel you in as needed.

“Maybe it works for them,” he finally says, and you feel your eyebrows shoot halfway up your forehead.

“You can’t seriously think this is a good idea.”

He shrugs, attention drawn back to the vegetables in front of him. “It hasn’t caused a problem yet, right?”

“The operative word there being yet.”

He shrugs again, brows tilting together. “I’m just saying that they’re both consenting adults, and if it’s gone this long without any catastrophes, maybe it really is a good arrangement for both of them.”

“It’s Maya and Kook. They’re always a catastrophe.”

“Exactly. They’d probably have an eventual falling out even if they weren’t sleeping together, so who knows? Maybe it actually helps them work some of that tension off.”

“That’s a terrible idea.”

“I didn’t say it was healthy.” He finishes chopping his last onion and sets his knife down, crossing the kitchen to check your own progress. Reaching over you, he grabs a piece of carrot and slips it into his mouth, grinning when you frown at him. “Really, Y/N, what can you do?”

“I know, but they’re…they’re the closest thing to family that we have. You know that.”

“Families can be dysfunctional. We both know that.” He munches on another carrot. “I’d still take them over my biological family any day.”

When that still doesn’t seem to entirely placate you, he reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, the tips of his fingers brushing the base of your neck and raising goosebumps there, before he slides his hand down to loop your pinkies together. “What will happen will happen. Don’t let it worry you unnecessarily.” Then he’s off heating up oil on the stove.

Normally, the brief touch would have barely registered in your mind—a simple gesture you had gotten into the habit of using when you were kids to provide reassurance. But it’s like your conversation with Maya has been inked under your skin, recoloring your perspective on the single-most steadfast relationship you’ve ever had in your life.

You hate it.

The oil begins to bubble on the stove, but Taehyung is distracted, rummaging around the refrigerator for something, so you take over, dumping in the beef that will help form the base for the soup. You throw in some seasoning, poking at the meat with a spoon and willing it to brown.

“So you’re really not interested in dating again?”

The words slip out, and the contents of the pot pop angrily at you.

Yeah, you might regret this later.

“Hmm?” Taehyung closes the fridge, cracking open the beer that’s now in his hand.

You curse your loose tongue under your breath. “Just…the other day at lunch. You were so against asking that waitress for her number.”

“She wasn’t my type.”

“And you don’t want to bring a date to the wedding.”

“I’d only bring a long-term girlfriend to a wedding. Less of a chance we’d have to edit her out of pictures later.”

“And how many dates have you been on since Luna? It’s been what, almost a full year?”

His brow scrunches, and the way he’s studying you makes you blush. “Why the sudden interest in my love life?”

You stare determinedly into the soup pot, trying to look nonchalant. “You’re my best friend, and I want to see you happy. Of course I’m interested.”

He props his hip against the counter in thought and takes a long drag of beer before he answers you. “I thought after Luna that it would be best if I take some time to focus on myself before diving back in. That’s all.”

“She really did a number on you, huh?”

“Something like that.”

You poke at the beginnings of your soup, memories of an absolutely miserable Taehyung surfacing in your mind. “It sucked, you know.”

“What?”

“Seeing your heart break.”

“Ah.” He takes another drink. “Right.”

“I swear, if I saw her again, I’d be tempted to kick her ass.”

He chuckles at that, and it rumbles his entire chest.

It might stir something in yours, too.

“I mean it, Tae.”

“Oh, trust me, I know you do.”

“Could be anywhere: club, grocery store. I’m not afraid to throw hands.”

He gives a tilt of his head. “She was a third degree black belt.”

“Well I kicked that Kenji kid in the groin during recess after he stole your backpack, and he cried for like twenty minutes. Remember that? He was practically six feet tall in the fifth grade, and that didn’t stop me. First degree black belt my ass.”

“Third degree.”

“Whatever.”

“Well as much as I appreciate your determined defense of my pride, I can assure you any emotional distress I suffered was minimal—“

“You haven’t dated since!”

“—and is definitely not worth putting yourself in the hospital over.”

“You don’t miss it though? What about like…” You trail off, cursing your stupid mouth getting ahead of your brain. You’ve never really talked about this before. Relationships, sure, but when it comes to the physical, along with your families, it’s one of the few subjects you avoid.

As your pause stretches on, he raises his eyebrows in question, and you decide to just come out with it.

“What about sex?”

Taehyung, to his credit, is unfazed by your sudden mention of the taboo. “I still have two hands, and they haven’t failed me so far.”

“Oh, Tae, ew.”

He grins devilishly at you, mischief brightening his eyes. It’s a look that he used to wear all the time when you were kids but which became rarer once he mellowed out with adulthood.

Seeing it on him now makes your heart jump.

“Point taken, forget I asked,” you say, and he laughs.

“Really, I’m fine with taking a break from dating for now. Isn’t that what that band you love is always preaching? Self-love and all that.”

You huff out a breath, nodding at his hands. “You don’t say.”

He laughs again, grinning down at you, and the uncertainty you’ve been feeling bubbles up again, your nerves sparking in time with a particularly loud crackle from the pot on the stove.

“Ah, geez, don’t let it burn,” he says, nudging you out of the way to take over. You take the opportunity to wander over to the fridge for a water bottle, feeling the need to cool yourself down. Honestly, what is wrong with you?

Taehyung, in sync with your moods by now, reads you like a book. “I feel like I should be asking you if you’re okay.” He says as he sets the meat aside and begins simmering the mirepoix in the fat. “You seem distracted.”

The conversation has become too much for you to wrestle with at this point, and you feel the need to shut it down before it gets out of control entirely. So you swallow down your anxieties like a pill without water and deflect.

“There’s just…a lot going on right now.”

It’s almost imperceptible, possibly a trick of the light, but his back stiffens ever so slightly. “Hmm, I’m sure.” He looks up at you from the stove, eyes pinning you where you stand. “But you’d tell me if there were something?”

You swallow. “Of course. You?”

“Of course.”

And that has to be enough for now.

The glow of the sunset creeps into your room as you put the finishing touches on your make-up for the night. You're running later than anticipated as you had hoped to catch Jace before you left—you know he has a virtual client meeting scheduled in fifteen minutes that he had planned to attend from home, but he texted you a half-hour ago saying that he got caught up at the office and might just take it there.

With your make-up done, you can't justify lingering any longer and decide to just leave him a note letting him know when you'll be back. Jace's desk is an absolute mess, but you're thankfully able to locate a notepad easily. A pen, however, is a different matter, and it's not long before you're rummaging through the drawers trying to find anything to write with. For a man who keeps his appearance so well-groomed, he has a true affinity for clutter, and you roll your eyes at the junk you have to sift through in search of a simple writing utensil: a hammer, old movie tickets, a broken picture frame, a ring box...

A ring box?

You pause, fingers hovering over the black velvet. Surely, you shouldn't look, right? You already feel like you're crossing some line by discovering the small box—you should preserve some element of surprise for both of your sakes.

Still, the devil on your shoulder whispers to sneak a peek...

Your decision is made for you as you hear the front door click open and shut, and you hastily close the drawer and try to school your features into something casual.

"Hey, gorgeous."

Jace leans in the doorway grinning, not a single sandy brown hair out of place and his impeccably-ironed dress shirt pulled tight across his toned chest. In a fraction of a second, you see his eyes flick from his desk drawer to where you stand stiffly in front of it.

"Hey!" The word comes out a little too loudly, and you rush to cover up the blunder. "I thought I wouldn't see you."

"Wanted to surprise my girl," he says, smile brightening as he swings a hand from behind his back to offer you a single red rose. You feel your cheeks heating up as you take it from him, marveling at how—even four years down the line—he can still manage to charm you.

He presses a kiss to your mouth, hands trailing down the back of your dress to palm your ass with a groan. "Fuck. Can't believe I have this work meeting when you look like this."

"And unfortunately, I need to get going, too, or Maya will have my head." You lean in for another quick peck. "Rain check for later?"

He chuckles, letting you go with one final squeeze. "I'll hold you to that."

"Look who finally showed up!" is what you're greeted with when you locate your friends in the gallery atrium, dodging the other patrons milling about.

"Sorry, got caught up with Jace," you say, shrugging at Maya's teasing glare.

Jungkook winks at you. "I'm sure you did."

"Yah, Kook, don't be gross," Jimin complains, slapping him on the arm.

"What?! She looks great! Right, Tae? Tell her she looks great."

You meet Taehyung's eyes for the first time since you walked up, and he shifts on his feet, gaze darting down to the accentuated curve of your hips. Clearing his throat, he smiles and says, "You look beautiful."

Cheeks hot, you murmur a quiet, "Thanks," so distracted by the awkwardness of the moment that you don't notice the look exchanged by Jimin and Maya between you.

Friends can call friends beautiful and not have it mean anything beyond that, right? You told Maya she looked gorgeous when she bought her dress with you last weekend, and you’d definitely be willing to admit that Taehyung looks incredible tonight. His navy blue suit hugs the lines of his body perfectly—highlighting his tall, lithe form—while his hair is combed up and off his forehead in a style that projects both professionalism and approachability. Combine that with the easy smile he keeps on his face, and he’s basically in male model territory.

You’ll be stunned if he doesn’t get hit on again tonight.

You make some idle small talk with your friends for a few minutes (Jungkook is trying to convince the others to head over to the bar where he works after the reception) before Maya gently nudges you with an elbow.

"Go and have a look around. Mine are back there," she declares, nodding her head towards the right hand corner of the exhibit, "but you should really check out all of the work—there's some good stuff. Hoseok and Sunny are around somewhere too."

You nod, welcoming the chance to see what it is your friends have been working so hard on, and excuse yourself to peruse the gallery. You may not be much of a creative mind yourself, but years of friendship with Taehyung and his infectious enthusiasm have at least helped you develop an appreciation for art. Weaving between the walls of frames and canvases, you stop here and there as a piece catches your eye: dark bars slashed across a messy outline of a heart titled Fake Love; a small boy offering up a waffle cone that holds a rose instead of ice cream—For You.

However, you find yourself slowing down entirely when you get to Maya's collection of photographs. They're mostly black and white candids of strangers. A woman shopping in an outdoor market. A girl chasing a dog in a park. Your friends pop up occasionally, and you smile at one of the memories you recognize: Jungkook pushing Jimin into the pool during your friendcation last year, bunny smile stretched wide across his face.

And suddenly you're frozen by a photo that's in full color.

It's Taehyung's face in close-up, his head turned to the side as he looks at something out of frame. His jaw strikes a downward line, mouth ever so slightly dipped open in something akin to wonder and tan cheeks curving with subtle delight. It's his eyes you can't look away from, though, opened wide enough to soak in whatever he's looking at that they reflect the golden lights around him, tiny galaxies swimming in his irises.

"Enjoying the view?" a deep voice teases at your shoulder, the man himself coming to stand at your side.

"That's an incredible picture of you," you tell him, still taking it in.

He hums in agreement. "I told you, she did a good job."

"Was that last summer?"

"Yeah." He nods his head at the picture of Jimin and Jungkook. "Same night as that, I think."

"What were you looking at?"

Taehyung is quiet as he thinks, scratching lightly at his nose. "I can't say I remember. Probably Hoseok walking out with that plate of pork belly. That was mouth-watering."

You laugh, and he smiles back at you before gesturing at the rows of artwork. "Can I show you some of my favorites?"

"I'd love that."

You let him drag you away, but not before glancing back to read the title card delicately placed next to Taehyung's image.

Your eyes tell.

Taehyung navigates you around the exhibit for a while, describing his role in organizing the gallery and stopping to gush about his favorite pieces. You've always loved hearing him talk about art, his passion for the subject illuminating his face as he enthuses about light and shadows and colors.

He's explaining the rule of thirds to you when Maya interrupts, telling Taehyung she has a potential client for him that she wants him to meet. He promises to find you later as she whisks him away, and, alone again, you decide to head to the adjoining reception area in search of your other friends.

You’re only a few steps into the room when you hear a voice call out your name, Jimin flagging you down from where he stands at a table with Jungkook, Hoseok, and Sunny, and you quickly slide up to hug the latter two.

“You guys made it! We’ve missed you. How’s wedding planning going?”

Hoseok groans into his champagne. “Please do not remind me,” he grumbles. “It makes med school feel like a cakewalk.”

“What my wonderful fiancé meant to say,” Sunny says, playfully elbowing Hoseok in the side and making him sputter on his drink, “is that it’s going fantastically, and we can’t wait to celebrate with you all.”

“Rumor is that it’s the can’t-miss event of the year,” Jimin singsongs. “And Kook and I are bringing the party!” He reaches over so he and Jungkook can share a short but excessively elaborate handshake.

Sunny looks on, amused. “Speaking of, do you two know if you’re bringing dates? We don’t have to finalize headcount quite yet, but knowing sooner rather than later would be appreciated.”

“I will definitely be going stag, but I think Kook might have one, yeah?” Jimin’s voice is teasing, but Jungkook doesn’t catch on, throwing him a quizzical look and causing Jimin to clarify with a smirk. “Maya.”

Jungkook scoffs, muttering, “Not a chance,” while Hoseok’s and Sunny’s eyebrows shoot up in sync.

“You and Maya are dating now?” Sunny asks, eyes wide.

Jungkook tosses Jimin a glare. “No, he’s being an ass.”

When Sunny and Hoseok continue to look confused, glancing back and forth between Jungkook and Jimin, Jimin explains, "We found out recently—and unpleasantly for me, might I add—that Maya and Kook here have been engaging in some activities with, ah, no strings?"

Hoseok's eyebrows go impossibly higher, threatening to meld with his hairline, as his mouth pops open in surprise. "Uhh...congrats?"

Jungkook shakes his head, bottom lip jutting out like a child. "Chim's just jealous because he's in a drought."

"Hey!"

"I, for one, don't see an issue," Sunny says, hopping in to play peacemaker before Jimin and Jungkook devolve into one of their notorious bickering sessions. "You're both adults. And don't sweat it, Jimin, any girl would be lucky to have you."

"What's that supposed to mea—" Hoseok starts to ask before Sunny shuts him up with a finger to his lips, subtly nodding her head at the clearly placated men.

"I just can't believe you two are finally getting married." You change the subject, snatching up a flute of champagne off a tray as a waiter walks by. "Been a long time coming."

Sunny hums. "To be honest, I'm surprised we're beating you and Jace to the alter," she says, and now it's your turn to cough on your drink. "When is that happening?"

"Oh, I, um—" you stutter, as you weigh how much you should say. You should keep what you saw earlier a secret, right? After all, what if you're wrong and you come out looking like a fool?

But four pairs of eyes are now fixed on you expectantly, and these are your friends so you cave.

"Okay, I am swearing all of you to secrecy," you say, making deliberate eye contact with each of them in turn to emphasize your point, "but I literally found a ring box in his desk earlier when I was getting ready to come here."

The table erupts in your friends' squeals and cheers, Jimin and Jungkook coming around to playfully shake your shoulders.

"Oh my gosh, I knew it!"

"That's amazing news!"

"I want to be man of honor!"

"I already called dibs!"

"What are we calling dibs on?"

Your heart skips as Taehyung joins your table, smiling at the five of you but obviously perplexed as to what the ruckus is about. And maybe you're imagining it, but your friends all seem to quiet down at his appearance as well, causing Maya's words to once again echo in your mind. The guy is crazy about you, and you're the only one who doesn't see it.

An awkward silence drapes itself over the table, Jimin being the one to pipe up when Taehyung's expression begins to morph from curious to concerned. "Y/N, tell him the good news!"

At that, Taehyung's brown eyes settle on you, and so you take a deep breath and spill. "I found a ring box in Jace's desk."

You're looking at him intently, and it's only the tiniest sliver of a second, but you see it. Unmistakably.

His face drops.

If Maya's photo captured stars in his eyes, you watch each go out one-by-one, his lips pressing together like he's trying not to be sick. A heaviness hits his shoulders that has his chest curling inwards and you almost reaching out to him...

And just like that—all at once—he's gathered his features into a smile and beams at you.

"That's fantastic, Y/N. I'm so incredibly happy for you."

His voice sounds genuine, dripping in the baritone honey that is so warm and so him, but you know what you saw—you're sure of it—and it has your mind spinning.

Shit, shit, shit, she was right.

You down your champagne in one gulp, oblivious to the shocked faces around you as you throw it back and thump the glass harshly on the table. "I'm going for a drink. Anyone want anything?"

You barely give them time to shake their heads before you're scurrying away to the bar and ordering a cosmopolitan—strong. Thoughts whirring, you try to make sense of Taehyung’s crestfallen expression as the bartender mixes your drink. There surely must be an alternate explanation, right? Until now, Taehyung has never, ever given any indication that he has feelings for you. This must be a mistake; you must be seeing things…

But just as the bartender slides your glass across the countertop, you glance back at the table, blood running cold as you find Taehyung already looking at you. He gives you a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t quite make it to his eyes before turning back to listen to whatever Jimin is currently saying.

You quickly down your second drink of the night and order a third.

a/n: and we’re off! likes, reblogs, comments, asks, feedback, constructive criticism, and carrier pigeons are all appreciated! this started off as a story with all OCs, and the first drafts of some of these scenes were originally written in third person omniscient so please forgive me if the POVs are a little all over the place in this chapter. it’ll be rectified moving forward!

taglist open: just message or reply 😊

#taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #taehyung imagines #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung #bts fic #bts fanfic

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bitchesgetriches · 1 month

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{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Repairing Our Busted-Ass World

On poverty:

Starting from nothing

How To Start at Rock Bottom: Welfare Programs and the Social Safety Net

How to Save for Retirement When You Make Less Than $30,000 a Year

Ask the Bitches: “Is It Too Late to Get My Financial Shit Together?“

Understanding why people are poor

It’s More Expensive to Be Poor Than to Be Rich

Why Are Poor People Poor and Rich People Rich?

On Financial Discipline, Generational Poverty, and Marshmallows

Bitchtastic Book Review: Hand to Mouth by Linda Tirado

Is Gentrification Just Artisanal, Small-Batch Displacement of the Poor?

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

Developing compassion for poor people

The Latte Factor, Poor Shaming, and Economic Compassion

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Stop Myself from Judging Homeless People?“

The Subjectivity of Wealth, Or: Don’t Tell Me What’s Expensive

A Little Princess: Intersectional Feminist Masterpiece?

If You Can’t Afford to Tip 20%, You Can’t Afford to Dine Out

Correcting income inequality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap

One Reason Women Make Less Money? They’re Afraid of Being Raped and Killed.

Raising the Minimum Wage Would Make All Our Lives Better

Are Unions Good or Bad?

On intersectional social issues:

Reproductive rights

On Pulling Weeds and Fighting Back: How (and Why) to Protect Abortion Rights

How To Get an Abortion

Blood Money: Menstrual Products for Surviving Your Period While Poor

You Don’t Have to Have Kids

Gender equality

1 Easy Way All Allies Can Help Close the Gender and Racial Pay Gap

The Pink Tax, Or: How I Learned to Love Smelling Like “Bearglove”

Our Single Best Piece of Advice for Women (and Men) on International Women’s Day

Bitchtastic Book Review: The Feminist Financial Handbook by Brynne Conroy

Sexual Harassment: How to Identify and Fight It in the Workplace

Queer issues

Queer Finance 101: Ten Ways That Sexual and Gender Identity Affect Finances

Leaving Home before 18: A Practical Guide for Cast-Offs, Runaways, and Everybody in Between

Racial justice

The Financial Advantages of Being White

Woke at Work: How to Inject Your Values into Your Boring, Lame-Ass Job

The New Jim Crow, by Michelle Alexander: A Bitchtastic Book Review

Something Is Wrong in Personal Finance. Here’s How To Make It More Inclusive.

The Biggest Threat to Black Wealth Is White Terrorism

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality

10 Rad Black Money Experts to Follow Right the Hell Now

Youth issues

What We Talk About When We Talk About Student Loans

The Ugly Truth About Unpaid Internships

Ask the Bitches: “I Just Turned 18 and My Parents Are Kicking Me Out. How Do I Brace Myself?”

Identifying and combatting abuse

When Money is the Weapon: Understanding Intimate Partner Financial Abuse

Are You Working on the Next Fyre Festival?: Identifying a Toxic Workplace

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Say ‘No’ When a Loved One Asks for Money… Again?”

Ask the Bitches: I Was Guilted Into Caring for a Sick, Abusive Parent. Now What?

On mental health:

Understanding mental health issues

How Mental Health Affects Your Finances

Stop Recommending Therapy Like It’s a Magic Bean That’ll Grow Me a Beanstalk to Neurotypicaltown

Bitchtastic Book Review: Kurt Vonnegut’s Galapagos and Your Big Brain

Ask the Bitches: “How Do I Protect My Own Mental Health While Still Helping Others?”

Coping with mental health issues

{ MASTERPOST } Everything You Need to Know about Self-Care

My 25 Secrets to Successfully Working from Home with ADHD

Our Master List of 100% Free Mental Health Self-Care Tactics

On saving the planet:

Changing the system

Don’t Boo, Vote: If You Don’t Vote, No One Can Hear You Scream

Ethical Consumption: How to Pollute the Planet and Exploit Labor Slightly Less

The Anti-Consumerist Gift Guide: I Have No Gift to Bring, Pa Rum Pa Pum Pum

Season 1, Episode 4: “Capitalism Is Working for Me. So How Could I Hate It?”

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 1: Healthcare, Housing, and Labor Rights

Coronavirus Reveals America’s Pre-existing Conditions, Part 2: Racial and Gender Inequality

Shopping smarter

You Deserve Cheap Toilet Paper, You Beautiful Fucking Moon Goddess

You Are above Bottled Water, You Elegant Land Mermaid

Fast Fashion: Why It’s Fucking up the World and How To Avoid It

You Deserve Cheap, Fake Jewelry… Just Like Coco Chanel

6 Proven Tactics for Avoiding Emotional Impulse Spending

Join the Bitches on Patreon

#poverty #economics #income inequality #wealth inequality #capitalism #working class #labor rights #workers rights #frugal #personal finance #financial literacy #consumerism #environmentalism

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aziraphales-library · 7 months

Note

Do you have any ineffable husbands human aus where they're angsty with a happy ending?

Here are some angst with a happy ending human aus...

Upon This Rock by Eowyn1846 (M)

Crowley and Aziraphale meet as teenagers participating in a youth curling league. Years after losing touch when Crowley's family moves away, the two former friends are reunited at a major tournament...as competitors on two very cut-throat teams, whose captains seem willing to win at any cost, even to the detriment of the sport.

What the World Gives by Adzeisval (T)

Being a teenager is hard Aziraphale Fell feels out of place among his peers and has difficulties making friends. He is terrified that if his parents realize he is gay they will kick him out. Anthony Crowley is a new student hoping to fit in and hoping his medical issues don't make themselves known. Sometimes the world can be harsh, but sometimes one lucks out and has someone by their side.

Our Lost Time by Izabella95 & UnproblematicMe (E)

Aziraphale Crowley awakes in the hospital after an almost fatal accident. But he is lucky and gets away alive and without permanent injuries. The close call sets things into perspective and he wants to fix his strained marriage. His husband, Anthony Crowley - who simply goes by "Crowley" - takes good care of Aziraphale after the accident, but there seems to be an invisible barrier between the spouses. Can Aziraphale save his relationship? What secrets does Crowley keep?

Heaven (Is a Place on Earth) by soft_october (M)

“I’m just sneaking a break from the festivities, as it were.” Crowley twists his hand in a gesture meant to sum up the circumstances which led him here. “I haven’t taken up residency in the back of a bookshop in the middle of paradise.” “Ah, well, we clearly disagree over what, precisely, paradise might mean.” Aziraphale's eyes are sharp, and through that initial mask of annoyance, a small smile is curling. Crowley came to Lower Tadfield, the UKs version of San Junipero, to have a good time, try out the software, step out of his old and failing body into the magic of a virtual world with no consequences. At least that's what he had planned, until one night he stumbles into a bookshop and meets a buttoned up, blue eyed wonder with pale curls and a perfect smile.

A streetcar named desire by elf_on_the_shelf (E)

Crowley is trying his absolute best - even if that ain't all that grand - to please Morgan & Partners in his role as Chief Architect on their new development. Too bad that this development in particular is on the very same site that the City Council wants to build a light rail network on and, even though Crowley hates everyone involved, can he hate the angelic person who is in charge of the whole project?

The Ghost of Husbands Past by A_N_D (E)

Az always knew that he’d be thrown out the moment his father found out he was gay. He hadn’t expected to be declared dead though - or for his husband to believe it! But their marriage had been a foolish teenage impulse (not to mention invalid in America), so when Az moved to a small town far upstate New York to start his new life, he moved alone. The kindest thing he could do was let Crowley mourn and move on, not be shackled for life to a now disabled partner. Tony Crowley never recovered from losing his best friend, his childhood sweetheart, his better half. He’d been drifting ever since; no plans, no hope, no money - and now, just before Thanksgiving, no job either. Given the stark choice of freezing to death or accepting his sister’s invitation to join her upstate, Tony reluctantly lives out the Hallmark cliche of Recently Unemployed Person Moves to Small Town for Christmas. It’s a time of hope, love, and family. It’s time for Az and Tony to find each other again.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #human au #angst #happy ending #angst with a happy ending #mod d

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hellsgate-roadhouse · 5 days

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Abandoned hotel

North Korea 🇰🇵

It was supposed to become the world's tallest hotel. Instead, it became the world's tallest abandoned building. The pyramid-shaped Ryugyong Hotel is 330 metres (1,080 ft) tall and one of the most prominent features of Pyongyang's skyline. The structure consists of 105 floors and it was originally intended to house five revolving restaurants, and between 3,000 to 7,665 guest rooms

Construction began in 1987 and it was North Korea's response to other high-rise development taking place in cities around the West and Asia during the Cold War. For North Korean leadership, it was also an attempt to bring western investors into the marketplace. The hotel was scheduled to open in June 1989 for the 13th World Festival of Youth and Students, but problems with building methods and materials delayed completion.

In 1992, after it reached its architectural height, construction halted due to the economic crisis and famine in North Korea following the collapse of the Soviet bloc. By then, the hotel's construction cost $750 million, consuming 2% of North Korea's GDP. For over a decade, the unfinished building sat vacant and without windows, fixtures, or fittings, appearing as a massive concrete shell while A rusting construction crane remained at the top.

In 2008, construction resumed by the Egyptian Orascom company. The company had also made a deal to operate North Korea's telecommunications network and installed antennas on top of the building. By 2011 work had finished. Ryogyong Hotel was fitted with windows but not much work had taken place in the hotel's interior. Since then, there have been many rumors of the hotel finally opening but until today it remains unoccupied.

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aeoki · 1 year

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Grand Slam - Prologue

Location: Yumenosaki Grounds Characters: Tomoya, Eichi & Wataru Season: Summer Writer: Akira

TL Note:

This is a Japanese proverb for putting one’s own children through severe hardships in order to test their spirit and raise them to be respectable human beings.

< The latter half of September, the first year ES was established. At the Yumenosaki grounds (the “Old–Fashioned Sports Festival venue) up in the sky. >

Tomoya: GYAAAAAAAAAAAAH!?

Eichi: “Now, it has finally begun! The first category of the traditional event “The Old-Fashion Sports Festival” at Yumenosaki Academy: Sky Blue…☆”

Tomoya: I’ve never heard of this ridiculous event before! This is completely different from the sports festivals I’ve been in!

Eichi: “It seems one of the players is saying something, but we’re too far away to hear. Let’s not mind him and continue with the live broadcast.”

Tomoya: That’s so meaaaaan!

Eichi: “Also, your MCs for the event are fellow alumni of Yumenosaki, Eichi Tenshouin from “fine” and…♪”

Wataru: “Your very own Wataru Hibiki…!”

Eichi: “Fufu. Both of us have already graduated from Yumenosaki but for ES, the four great agencies can be rather competitive when it comes to the ‘Old-Fashioned Sports Festival’, after all.”

“We are graduated students so we don’t have the right to take part, but we’ll be cheering and supporting the current students as part of the staff.”

Wataru: “Amazing! I hope you’ll have a wonderful time watching the lovely tragicomedy that is the high schoolers living out their youthful days…! ☆”

Eichi: “But the sports festival is indeed nostalgic. It’s truly hard to believe only a year has passed.”

“A lot of things happened, such as our graduation and the establishment of ES; it’s been a very jam-packed time.”

“My recollection is already fading in the distance.”

“However, the fun memories of my youth will always remain.”

Wataru: “I had thought you would have nothing but terrible memories of the sports festival, where muscles and stamina are everything, as you were born with a frail body.”

Eichi: “That’s not true. Those who are weak have their own means of enjoying things. In actuality, one cannot participate in all the events by themselves.”

“Just because you are a ‘weak character’ with no stamina whatsoever doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the sports festival at all.”

“Last year, I enjoyed tactically guiding and moving those around me. It felt as though I was playing a game of chess, it was rather delightful.”

Wataru: “Ohh, that’s a very Eichi-like thing to say! It appears the ‘Emperor’ of Yumenosaki is still alive and well!”

Eichi: “That is simply my nickname. I’m not that sort of arrogant figure at all. Fufu.”

Wataru: *Whispers* Oh? I touched upon a risky topic but you dodged it quite gracefully. As expected of you, Eichi ♪

Eichi: *Whispers* Fufu. I’m probably a “compassionate and lofty idol” in the eyes of the world, though.

*Whispers* It’s not interesting if you’re a straight-laced person, so I need to sprinkle a few jokes here and there.

*Whispers* Besides, ever since “Crazy:B” appeared, they spread and exposed everyone’s weaknesses, so I may not be able to maintain my clean image forever.

*Whispers* That’s why I’ll let a few “maybe-I’m-actually-a-little-bit-black-hearted” phrases slip and make the fans' perception of me grow closer to my actual image – until it has thoroughly blended together.

Wataru: *Whispers* Right. It’s because of such tactics that I commented and said the “Emperor” is still going strong ♪

Eichi: *Whispers* Fufu. I’m no match for you, Wataru ♪

Tomoya: You murdereeeeeeers!

Stop chit-chatting and explain what’s going on! I’ve got no clue~!

Why did I get taken up to the sky in a helicopter, was told no ifs or buts and then thrown off!? Just what did I do to deserve this~!?

Wataru: “...Oh, we must direct our attention to Tomoya-kun soon.”

Eichi: “You’re been working very hard, Wataru.”

Wataru: “Tomoya-kuuun! My Tomoya-kun! Can you hear me?”

Tomoya: I don’t ever remember becoming yours but, yeah, I can hear you, dammit!

Wataru: “Then, please listen carefully! The first category of the “Old-Fashion Sports Festival” is called ‘Sky Blue’ and, just like the name suggests, it will be held in the sky!”

Tomoya: What do you mean by that!? Humans can’t fly, you know? The only movement we can do in the sky is “falling”!

Wataru: “Rest assured! By introducing a variety of new equipment, it is now possible to hold a new ‘Sports Festival in the Sky’!”

Eichi: “We can fly through the air using the wings of an aircraft, after all. While we’re on that subject, the Tenshouin Zaibatsu are the ones responsible for supplying that new equipment.”

“It’s technology that can only be used for children to play with or in war, but I’m deeply moved to have the opportunity to showcase it this time.”

Tomoya: You guys can actually hear me, right? Then, why did you ignore me earlier and just start talking between yourselves? Are you guys heartless or something~!?

Wataru: “Tomoya-kun, Tomoya-kun! Can you see four different coloured mats on the ground? Currently, you have been tossed out into the open air but…”

“Find the colour of your agency – you’re in RhyLin, so that’ll be pink! Please land on the pink mat skilfully!”

“Once you do, that’ll count as a huge success and RhyLink will gain one point! That’s what this event is all about!”

“It’s the first event in ‘Sky Blue’ – Meteor Impact ♪”

Tomoya: Okay, okay! So I’m a meteor! I just have to let gravity do its thing and fall, right?

I’m most definitely going to turn into minced meat but is that fine!? This year’s sports festival is being broadcast on TV and the internet, right!?

Ahh~ I’m doomed! ES and Yumenosaki are doomed too! It’s going to be a huge incident that’ll go up in flames online and everything’s going to be done for! It’s game over!

Wataru: “Don’t despair, Tomoya-kun! Remember the days of our training!”

“If you remember your experience and handle it calmly, you will – for sure – succeed in this event!”

Tomoya: Yeah! Unfortunately, I do remember you tossing me out into the sky numerous times!

From the number of hot-air balloons that you’ve got! You said it was all for me to “build courage”...!

Wataru: “Fufufu, lions will toss their precious children into a steep valley[*], after all ♪”

Eichi: “If you were to think about it normally, no matter how strong their bodies are, anyone would die after falling from such a high place, though ♪”

Tomoya: Daaaammit! I’ll never forgive you for this!

If I die and get reincarnated, I’m coming straight for you two for revenge!

Wataru: “Amazing! I’ll be looking forward to it, Tomoya-kun ♪”

Eichi: “Fufu. I’m curious to see how the event will turn out, but we’re just in time for a commercial break ♪”

Tomoya: You monsterssssss!

(Oh, jeez! Why is this happening!? Wasn’t the Sports Festival a peaceful event for Yumenosaki~!?)

Next Chapter →

#enstars translation #grand slam

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scavengedluxury · 10 months

Text

10th World Festival of Youth and Students, East Berlin, 1973. From the Budapest Municipal Photography Company archive.

#berlin #east berlin #fernsehturm #architecture #1970s

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mioritic · 1 year

Photo

“Wir grüssen die friedliebende Jugend der Welt!”

Treffpunkt Berlin : Die Hauptstadt Deutschlands rüstet zu den III. Weltfestspielen der Jugend und Studenten für den Frieden (Berlin: Verlag Neues Leben, 1953)

#wfys #world festival of youth and students #berlin #deutschland #ddr #germany #east germany #1953 #communism #wfdy #world federation of democratic youth

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antiwaradvocates · 2 years

Text

A sticker that was distributed at the 13th World Festival of Youth and Students held in Pyongyang, DPRK, in 1989.

#dprk #North Korea #palestine #free palestine #solidarity

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haggishlyhagging · 5 months

Text

…[I]n the spring of 1975, the reconstituted Redstockings went on the offensive in a desperate attempt to reassert radical feminist politics. On May 9, 1975, the group issued a press release accusing Ms. magazine editor Gloria Steinem of having once been involved with a CIA front. Following as it did on the heels of the Alpert controversy, the Redstockings' revelations raised anew the question of feminism's relationship to the state.

This aspect of Steinem's past had already been made public in 1967 when Ramparts magazine revealed that the CIA had subsidized a number of domestic groups including the National Student Association (NSA) and the Independent Research Service (IRS), an organization which Steinem had helped found. The IRS had been established in 1959 to encourage American students to participate in the communist-dominated World Festivals of Youth and Students for Peace and Freedom. Steinem had been the director of the IRS from 1959 through 1960 and had continued to work for the organization through 1962. Redstockings alleged that the CIA established the IRS to organize an anti-communist delegation of Americans to disrupt the festival. They also claimed that Steinem and the IRS had been involved in gathering information on foreign nationals attending the festivals. However, Steinem's own account of the IRS's involvement in the festivals differed dramatically from the Redstockings' version. Shortly after the Ramparts article appeared, The New York Times published an interview with Steinem in which she admitted that she had known about the CIA funding, but claimed that she had never been asked to gather information on Americans or foreigners who participated in the festivals. According to Steinem, the IRS had encouraged Americans to attend the festivals in order to open up the lines of communication between the East and the West. In fact, Steinem maintained that the CIA's involvement was benign, if not enlightened:

“Far from being shocked by this involvement I was happy to find some liberals in government in those days who were far-sighted and cared enough to get Americans of all political views to the festival.”

Steinem asserted that "the CIA's big mistake was not supplanting itself with private funds fast enough."

But Kathie Sarachild, Carol Hanisch, and the other Redstockings members were not only concerned about Steinem's former relationship with a CIA front. They insinuated that Ms. magazine was part of a CIA strategy to replace radical feminism with liberal feminism. Ms. magazine had been a source of irritation to many feminists since its inception. A number of feminist writers were especially angry when Ms. first formed and went outside the movement for its writers and editors. (In fact, Susan Brownmiller, Nora Ephron, and Sally Kempton were struggling to establish a mass-circulation feminist magazine named Jane before Ms. was even conceived. When Brownmiller heard that Elisabeth Forsling Harris wanted to establish a feminist magazine, she suggested to her that the two groups work together. However, Harris reportedly insisted that Steinem was her editor and rejected Brownmiller's offer. Brownmiller's group was forced to scuttle its plans because they could not raise the necessary seed money.) Generally, radical feminists complained of the magazine's liberal orientation and attributed Ms.'s denatured feminism to the magazine's commercial orientation. But Redstockings looked at Ms.'s "curious financing"—Warner Communications put up virtually all the money for the magazine but relinquished corporate control by taking only twenty-five percent of the stock—and asked:

“We are wondering whether all this curious financing is connected to the lesson Gloria Steinem said she learned in 1967: ‘The CIA's big mistake was not supplanting itself with private funds fast enough.’ The Ms. editors should come forward with more information about their unusual stockholders.”

Redstockings contended that the formation of Ms. magazine had given Steinem a strategic position from which "feminist politics can be influenced." And they alleged that “information can and is being gathered on the personal and political activities of women all over the world.”

Steinem, reportedly devastated by the Redstockings' accusations, decided against responding to the charges. However, this decision backfired as some feminists thought her silence suggested that she might, in fact, have something to hide. Betty Friedan, never a big fan of Steinem's, reportedly declared that the CIA had infiltrated the women's movement and called on Steinem to answer the Redstockings' charges. Steinem's vocal support for Alpert and her own refusal to repudiate her past involvement with the IRS made many feminists, like Ellen Willis, curious about her stance on cooperating with the state. In fact, Willis resigned her position as part-time contributing editor at Ms. on June 30, 1975. In her statement of resignation, Willis emphasized that the Redstockings' accusation solidified, but did not precipitate, her decision to resign. Willis explained that she was ending her two-year association with Ms. because of political differences with the magazine—including its promotion of "conservative, anti-left feminism."

-Alice Echols, Daring to Be Bad: Radical Feminism in America: 1967-75

#Alice Echols #feminist history #redstockings #Ms. magazine #gloria steinem #cia #amerika #liberal feminism

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scamuel-likely · 8 months

Text

Week 3 of writing workshop with @bettsfic & @books

Stories of a place:

The place I wrote about was Rokkō Island in Japan, and the surrounding area where I used to live.

I only used the common facts that anyone could find out.

1. The Rokkō Liner is an automated tram that transports people from the mainland to the manmade Rokkō Island.

2. Kobe was hit by a devastating earthquake in 1995.

3. Rokkō Island was made by taking the top off nearby mountains and compressing them to form new land in the ocean.

Tangled Up In Blue:

The tram snakes its way across a thin stretch of vibrant water, a thousand crystalline waves dance far below its metallic carapace. Inside, it carries precious cargo. The kind of cargo that thrums with the rush of blood and the spark of life, the kind that reads the morning paper and taps away at their cellphones. The tram is a noble beast, and it carries its task of transport out with no direction, no driver at its helm. It’s an entirely automated system, ferrying travellers from the densely packed mainland Sumiyoshi to the equally dense Rokkō Island. A commuter tram for many, as Rokkō Island houses few attractions and the heavy boom and bustle of harbours echo from its shores. This island is a freak of nature. It has been stitched together by the hands of mankind, mountains ripped from the earth and shoved into an orderly rectangular form. A picture perfect piece of the modern industrial world.

The tram, the Rokkō Liner, announces its destination to the passengers in singsong Japanese and again in a similarly musical yet somewhat mechanically clumsy English. Many, many foreigners, live and work on the island. Stacked into towerblocks and gated housing complexes, these expats make their livings in finance, shipping and translation. The early dawn illuminates a sea of suits, Japanese and foreign salarymen shuffling to work. Their faces are lined with stress and their company-issued tie clips shine in the newborn sunlight. One of them trips and falls, his briefcase letting loose a deluge of papers onto the pristine pavement below. He looks up at the sky, a tangle of telephone and electrical wires crisscrossing from granite apartment to granite apartment, and beyond that a vibrant cloudless blue. His suit is scuffed and he’s grazed his palm, but no one stops to help him up. So he’s left to shake himself off and pick himself up, as his spreadsheets and quarterly reports are pulled away by the soft morning breeze. He sighs and that too is snatched away by the wind. His boss isn’t gonna like this one bit.

His boss, the one who requested those quarterly reports to be on his desk by nine am at the latest, is sitting on the Liner reviewing a book his wife recommended to him, on Goodreads. He’s giving the thing, an American book called All The Pretty Horses, five stars. He’d sat down to read it one evening, with a glass of port in one hand and a cigarette in the other. After three refills of port and eleven more cigarettes he was done and, despite his insistence to the contrary, there were tears in his eyes. And tears freely flowed again when he conversed with his wife about the book over breakfast. Something about the book’s message of freedom and hope was inspiring, and made him hark back to the days of his youth. He was once a young revolutionary student who campaigned to end uniforms and for the school to stop getting funding from the nearby American airbase. He used to be a free spirit, used to wear a beret to school and sport Groucho Marx style glasses. Used to quote Karl Marx to teachers and Keats to fellow students. Used to organise film festivals, write in the local newspaper and mitigate street showdowns between young Yakuza members. And then he’d grown up. Life had caught up to him, forced him into a suit and pushed him through the sliding doors of a faceless office building. And he’d lost the joy in his life, crushed by timesheets and shipping mandates.

The review he was writing, on his wife’s account, was full of beautiful prose and cascading metaphors. He unleashed his creative streak, the one the grindstone of society had oppressed, and crafted an excellent essay-like review of McCarthy’s book. While writing this, his mind filled with such raw emotion, he let loose just one more tear. The teenager sitting across from him pretended not to notice him wipe it away with his shirtsleeve, which had been neatly ironed the day before by his wife.

The boss’s wife, an American-Japanese woman who’d grown up in Kobe, had first discovered Cormac McCarthy in a quaint little bookstore tucked away in the shadow of the Kobe Tower. The red light spilling from the tower reflected on the window display, dousing all its contents with an eerie blood-red glow. She’d taken shelter in there, as it was raining something awful and the karaoke bar she’d been at had closed early due to a leak in the roof. It was late at night, she was quite tipsy and in no mood for the noise and light of a train station, so she tapped on the window of this bookstore. It was closed, but light was spilling from a beaded curtain partitioning the shop from its backroom and her hurried and frantic tapping soon altered the owner. He was a man around her age, his eyes were ringed with the telltale dark circles of the sleepless. He wiped a stray eyelash away from his eye with one slender hand as the other fumbled for the door key. She wondered, somewhat drunkenly, if he was single.

He let her in, gave her a cup of green tea, and asked her, in excellent English, “What the hell are you doing dancing around in the street during a typhoon?”

She admitted to being a little drunk, and he gave her a blanket and a book, telling her to rest while he finished up his work for the night.

“Then what?” She enquired, but he clearly hadn’t heard her, as he’d slipped through the beaded curtain into the shop and was busying himself with the shelves.

Having no real other option, she took a sip of the piping hot tea and blearily glanced at the book.

The cover was well-loved, the spine supple and the edges fraying. Emblazoned on its front were the words: No Country For Old Men by Cormac McCarthy.

She took one more sip of tea, and began to read.

Eleven years and a long marriage later, she’d finally recommended the author to her husband. She knew he loved old Clint Eastwood films, and she knew something of his creative side, remembering him writing her elegant haikus when they’d just started dating. They’d been quite distant as of late, with her time mainly spent working from home and his in the office. She knew full well he didn’t do anything of substance, it was all delegation. His boss would tell him something, then he’d repeat it to his own employees, mimicking his boss’s angry demeanour best he could. The stress of his job had been making him snappish and standoffish, so she thought a literary diversion might be just what he needed. And she was right. He openly sobbed into his miso soup when they’d talked about the book at breakfast, the tears mixing with the broth and dissipating like rain into an ocean.

The ocean the tram was crossing was prone to violet outbursts. This was mainly due to the fact Japan sits in between four different tectonic plates, making it prone to earthquakes and tsunamis. One such earthquake had occurred in 1995 and had wreaked Kobe. Water had been forced out of the soil used to build Rokkō Island, causing pavements to crack open as water bubbled onto the surface. The rush of underground water brought with it geysers of sand that burst pavements, tearing down towering red construction cranes and shiny new bridges alike.

The bookseller remembers that earthquake well. His shop had been flooded by a burst sewage pipe, and his parent’s house had collapsed in on itself, a supernova of rubble and debris. He had wandered through the wreckage days after the quake, trying to find anything that remained. Quite a bit of the ground floor walls still remained, jaggedly and abruptly ending at around shoulder height, giving way to a sky still grey from debris dust. His parent’s fridge still stood, remarkably, dented as it was. A lone survivor of the now mostly-unrecognisable kitchen. He swung open its door to find a mush of foodstuffs, mulched up berries, squished meat, crushed pasta, eggshells, juice cartons spilling their contents onto the rubble-strewn cracked wooden floor below. A line of orange juice ran through a contour in the wood and pooled at his shoe. He glanced at his reflection in its vivid bring surface, a colour pop in this grey world, a world still shaking from the events of the past few days.

He looked just the same as he had on that rainy night in the bookstore, only now his hair was being eaten by wisps of silver and his shaded eyes were adorned by wire framed glasses, these two effects combining to make him seem scholarly and intellectual, though doing nothing to aid his never-ending quest for long term companionship. His parents, who had luckily been on holiday in Hokkaido when the quake had struck, had tried to set him with so many women in the past but nothing had ever stuck. He’d gone on a few dates with a girl in university but when her grandfather died she had to move back to Kanazawa. Their relationship slowly fizzled out after that, the fire of passion dying through increasingly rarer and briefer love letters and phone calls. Since then he hadn’t really had much luck with love, even going to a love hotel, just out of sheer desperation, only to find that sex was something he utterly didn’t understand, even when doing it. It was the human element that he fell for.

Take, for example, that woman he’d met when he was working late at the bookshop. Her tipsy little smile as she sipped her tea and opened No Country on her lap. Then the awe and raw excitement that flitted across her face as she read further and further. He had spoke a few more times to her that night, to refill her tea, to answer some basic questions about himself and to ask her where she lived so he could phone her a taxi. Her replies had all been witty and polite, and he’d etched them into his mind, despite her actual appearance fading into the obscurity of his memory, long since tarnished with taxes and neighbours and train times and the pressures of adulthood.

The teen on the tram didn’t want the pressures of adulthood. If adulthood made you cry on your morning commute, like she had seen that salaryman do just moments ago, she wanted no part of it. She was heading onto Rokkō Island to meet her girlfriend for early morning coffee. Her stomach was filled with a buzzing static that built and rose to her throat, making it hard to swallow. Not only had she called into school to tell them a family emergency had come up, which she had never done before, but she’d also slipped from her bedroom window and tiptoed to the train station in the waning night, which she’d also never done before. She was now sitting on the first train out to Rokkō Island, a doughnut in the shape of a lion in her hand. She bit into its adorable face, the soft sugary flesh splitting with the force of her teeth, spraying forth a tsunami of cream filling onto her hand. Another doughnut, this one a plump porcelain-like Hello Kitty face, with a jammy centre, sat in a paper bag on the seat next to her. It was for her girlfriend. The static in her stomach surged at the thought of that. She had a girlfriend. They’d met playing netball, it was a sweltering summers day and the tarmac had felt like lava when her palms had smacked down onto it after she had tripped trying to defend the net. After the ball had rushed through behind her, the girl that had scored, a very pretty girl with shoulder-length brown hair and sparkling eyes, had reached down and helped her up. She was so surprised that this girl, who was far better at sports and probably far more popular than she was, had helped her, instead of hugging a teammate or somesuch celebration. She was even more surprised when that girl cornered her by the changing rooms and gave her a tiny slip of Snoopy-branded notepaper. Etched on it in elegant gel pen was a set of digits. And a heart. They’d spoken over the phone a lot since then, and met for a few whirlwind dates when either school was competing. But now, now they were meeting up not in school hours, bunking to go to a boba & coffee place together. She felt so alive, like someone had lifted up her soul from her body and she was floating freely among the candyfloss clouds that hung in sparse bunches over the horizon. But there was a worry, a deep and suffocating one, that sat squarely in her chest and didn’t budge. It was the anger of doubt, of wondering if she was unnatural, of fearing her parents wouldn’t understand, of having to keep it all a secret. She finished the doughnut and wrung her hands together, her nails digging into her palms, making deep white marks that drowned out the static inside her.

“Miss, are you okay?”

It came from the salaryman. He’d put his phone down and was looking at her with deep concern through his thick-rimmed glasses.

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright.” She managed to stutter, her hands shooting apart and onto her lap.

“That doughnut for someone?” He, rather redundantly, pointed at the bag with the smiling Mr Doughnut mascot on it.

“Urm, yeah, it’s for a friend.” She said, mostly to the gum on the underside of the salaryman’s seat.

“Well I hope they enjoy it,” He smiled at her, a kindly tired smile, “do you read much poetry?”

The question hit her like a freight train. A salaryman asking a teenager about poetry? She was astonished.

“No, no I don’t really, sorry.” She spurted out.

He leaned forward on his knees and with an exclamation of ‘yoisho’ lifted himself out of his chair and motioned to see if he could sit down next to her. She nodded, like a frightened rabbit.

“Well you should,” he said, sitting down, “it can free one’s mind of all sorts of heavy burdens. Can I read you a haiku?”

She was strangely at ease with this stranger, and so mumbled, “Yes, you may”.

He cleaned his throat and read, from memory;

“Even with insects-

Some can sing

Some can’t

It’s an Issa poem,” he said to her, “ and I think it relates to you somewhat. You seem different to others your age. And that’s fine, I was different once. I was a communist! Or I thought I was at least. And look at me now, huh? Another cog in the machine.”

The machine of the tram ground slowly to a halt and the lilting voice of the automated announcer proclaimed they’d reached Rokkō Island. The few passengers flooded out from the train and made their way out of the station. Passengers going from Rokkō to the mainland queued in orderly lines at the side of the tram doors, waiting for everyone to exit before stepping on. It was an intricate and well-executed dance of etiquette and unspoken rules. The salaryman picked up his briefcase, loosened his tie a bit, and walked off towards the shining sliding doors of his office building. The teen half-walked, half-tripped her way to the coffee shop, her brain was alight with hope and happiness, and all the static washed away on the wind.

The wind had carried the man’s papers far far away and so now he sat in his puffy, uncomfortable swivel chair, awaiting his boss’s arrival with a glum look on his face. His cubicle neighbour and best friend, a man with dyed blonde hair and perfect teeth, was consoling him.

“At least he’ll give you saké, he does that with everyone he fires right?” The guy grinned, leaning over the cubicles.

“I’d rather keep my job than have a bottle of saké, if I’m honest.” His mate glumly replied.

“Well bossman isn’t even here yet, maybe he’s been chopped up by the Yakuza, or run over by a car or-“

And in walked their boss, his tie loose around his neck and an odd spring in his step. He smiled, yes, smiled at them as he passed. When the door of his office was shut, the two men looked at eachother, then looked around at the puzzled looks on the faces of every employee in the room.

“What the hell just happened?”

“I think you’re not getting fired. Or maybe we all are.”

Music began to drift from behind the boss’s door. American music. Rather old.

Tangled Up In Blue by Bob Dylan.

#week 3: stories of a place #tumblr writing workshop with betts #creative writing

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lemonluvgirl · 1 year

Text

New Everlark Fall Fic

*very lightly beta read*

The wind was kicking up as Katniss exited her modest home on Seam street.

Outside the whole world had been turned to muted gold. The trees were painted through with streaks of orange and red to herald the reign of autumn over all nature.

The breeze felt pleasant as the setting fall sun spread its final rays of warmth over the surrounding region, but Katniss knew that once the sun had set the air would turn thinner and chillier as the night wore on.

That was why she made sure to tell her little sister to button up her sweater.

“I’m thirteen, not three, Katniss,” Primrose Everdeen grumbled under her breath even as her delicate fingers moved to obey her older sister. They were only four years apart, but Katniss was as protective of Prim as any mother was of their own child. It was just in her nature.

“Anyone can catch a cold at any age, or don’t they teach you that in your fancy medical courses?” Katniss teased. In actuality she was extremely proud of her little sister, who had been chosen out of hundreds of other students in the district to be accepted into the Twelve’s very exclusive youth medical training program. They only took the very best kids, who showed the most potential. Katniss had been considered once, when she was thirteen, due to her practical knowledge of local plants and herbs, but her squeamishness around blood and patient nudity had ruled her out as a serious candidate.

Twelve was still one of the smallest districts in the country, and although things had improved in recent years after the 2nd war was fought and won to free the districts, it was still by and large a mining community. 75% of adults worked in mining or mining related jobs, and the other quarter were identified and trained from a young age to work essential jobs in medicine, teaching, and law enforcement. Katniss herself was apprenticed to the local tanner, and when she graduated in two years she would be able to help expand the dwindling business to meet the needs of their growing district. It wasn't a glamorous job, by far. It was often foul-smelling hard work, but Katniss felt she was lucky to not end up slated to work in the mines, like so many of her other classmates.

Her brilliant little sister Prim, she had always known, was meant for much bigger and better things.

“Courses on the human immune system don’t start until next semester,” Prim said with a small smirk, “but yes, I am aware that anyone can get sick, at any age.” She finished with a small laugh, and turned back to her big sister with blue eyes large with excitement, glad for any excuse to talk about her new studies, which of course her big sister knew, and worked into conversations readily just to see her little sister smile so freely.

“Did you know that catching a virus from being outside in cold weather for extended periods of time is a huge misconception, actually, it's the congregation of large groups of people in small spaces…” Prim prattled on and Katniss paid attention to the joyful gleam in her eyes, more than her actual words as they headed towards town and the reason for their late afternoon excursion.

The No-More-Reaping Festival.

***~***

A drop of sweat slipped from Peeta’s hairline and trailed precariously close to his eye as he transferred the freshly made batch of cinnamon twists from the third oven to the cooling rack. Peeta blinked repeatedly and tilted his head in order to encourage the sweat droplet to alter its course.

It worked.

The bead of perspiration trickled along his hairline, lodging itself finally in the slightly overgrown ashy blond curls that peaked over his ears.

With a sigh of relief, Peeta adjusted the tray’s placement on the cooling rack to make sure it was secured properly, before picking up the edge of his apron and mopping up the excess moisture that was dotting his forehead.

He was sweating like a roast pig.

But 12 hours working 4 ovens and baking for an entire district will do that to you, he thought with amusement.

“Peeta, how’re the twists coming?” a familiar deep voice called out from the kitchen entrance.

Sure enough, when Peeta looked over he saw the graying mop of ash blonde waves and bright blue eyes so much like his own, only a few decades older, staring back at him.

“All done, Dad,” he replied proudly, extending his arm in a sweeping motion as he gestured towards the cooling rack.

His father beamed in response.

“That’s great Peeta! Right on schedule, as always,” he praised.

Peeta gave his father a humble smile in return and wiped his palms on his aprons.

“Why don’t you go and wash up?” his father suggested, and Peeta looked back at him in surprise.

“Now? But it's only half past five! We’ve still got to transfer everything to the outdoor stand, and then set up and-” Peeta’s list was cut off by his father’s amused laugh.

“That’s what your brothers are for Peeta. They might not be my apprentices, so they don’t have to help bake for the festival, but they still live under this roof and have to pull their weight around here. You’ve done enough for today. Take the rest of the night off.”

Peeta stared back at his father in bewilderment. He had assumed he’d be working the entire festival since he was officially apprentice to the only baker in district 12.

“Go on!” His father ordered jovially, “Go meet up with your friends! You’ve been working too hard lately!” his father added with a laugh and a friendly slap to the back when Peeta couldn’t seem to shake off his surprise.

That got him going.

With a jolt he sped up the stairs and made a dash for the bathroom, speeding by and jostling his middle brother who had been heading for the bathroom as well.

“Hey! I was going to take a shower next!” Rye complained loudly from the other side of the door as Peeta anxiously stripped off his dirty work clothes.

“Dad said to tell you to head to the kitchen!” Peeta called back through the door, and turned on the water of the shower to help drown out the curse words and indignities his brother lobbed against the door before retreating downstairs to help their father pack up the sweets they’d be selling for the No-More-Reaping festival.

***~***

The festival didn’t officially start until 7pm.

Yet, Main Street was lit with strings of glowing bulbs strung between the trees and lampposts overhead. The town square itself had been transformed with quaint decorations of hay bales and baskets filled with fall harvest vegetables, like squash and pumpkins. At the front of the square a stage was set up, but stood empty at the moment.

The sides of the festival were lined with activity though, because even an hour and a half early many of the food and game booths were open. A handful of the vendors were handing out small free samples or free turns to play.

That’s why Katniss always made sure she and Prim came to the festival early each year.

It's not that they were hungry per say, but every little bit helped ever since they had lost their father in the last big mining accident to befall District 12 six years ago. They got by alright on their father’s accident payout checks that arrived every month, but their mother had never recovered from the loss of her husband, she was still despondent and unreachable most days, and consequently never got a regular job like many of the other miner’s widows had been forced to do in order to make ends meet for their large families.

Luckily, their family had been small enough that if they budgeted well and also subsisted with Katniss’ hunting, they were alright. In fact, it was her hunting that had helped her claim the coveted spot as the tanner’s apprentice. The fact that she shot her kills in the eye every time, wasting none of the hide, or meat, was widely known and respected. The tanner decided that it was more beneficial to choose an apprentice who had ready access to pelts on a consistent basis, even if she was kind of tiny, and a girl to boot.

Once Katniss graduated, she’d start earning a real wage and then things would be even better for her and Prim. Kantiss mused, as she sipped on a small cup of spiced apple cider.

“Mmm,” Prim intoned happily as she chewed on a cranberry she had plucked from her sister’s cup.

“Ok, where do you want to go next?” Prim asked after she had swallowed the tart little berry.

Katniss shrugged, she didn’t really care much for the games or contests at these things. They were just distractions from the food in her opinion. But she knew Prim loved the entire festival, from the stupid bobbing for apples contest to the late night historic recounting the mayor recited every year.

They’d probably end up walking the entire festival circuit twice before the night was over. So Katniss ambled in a random direction while Prim practically skipped at her side.

“Well, if you leave it up to me you know where we’ll end up!” Prim said with a mischievous glint in her eye, before turning in the direction where both sisters could hear short strains of melodies ringing out. The musicians were already tuning their instruments.

That stopped Katniss short, and she groaned.

In times past dancing in the square with Prim had been fun, a way to keep warm as the night grew progressively colder. But recently, in just the past couple of years, Kantiss had come to dread the dancing portion of their festival.

Every year there were more and more boys, who were determined to intrude on their sisterly fun. Always asking to cut in, or if they wanted some cider to drink, or if they wanted something stronger than cider.

Katniss had been tempted to break Corey Carwright’s nose last year when the little sneak kissed Prim’s cheek after she agreed to dance a reel with him. No good, presumptuous little weasel. But Prim had stayed her hand, and the Cartwright boy had given Prim a wide berth for the rest of the festival, and the rest of the year after Katniss had promised hellfire and retribution to any boy foolish enough to make designs on her precious little sister.

Katniss wasn’t anxious for a repeat of last year, and so she dragged her feet when Prim tried to usher her towards the dancing arena set up in the middle of the square.

“Come on, Kantiss!” Prim cajoled with a pleading look as she fixed her large blue eyes into two wide pools of beseechment.

Katniss huffed, and grumbled, and threatened bodily harm to any boy who tried to take liberties, but eventually she gave in and followed her sister. They claimed a coveted spot near to the stage just as Mayor Undersee began his opening speech.

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen of District 12! Tonight we celebrate the end to years of tyranny and oppression, a hard fought end to years of hunger and grief. On the 25th anniversary of the last Hunger Games ever fought, we strive to keep the memory of The Last Victor alive. We, of District 12, are honored to have been the District that The Last Victor called home. We are honored and grateful to have been the start of the rebellion that sparked the war that freed all the Districts of Panem, even though it came at a great cost. That is why every year we gather together to make merry on a night that once brought countless families grief. 25 years ago, four families sent away four of their children to fight, and die in the Quarter Quell. That night was filled with tears and a bitter longing for the day when every family would be free of the fear of The Reaping. Then, many more families lost sons and daughters in the war against The Capitol. All of those lives lost, all that blood shed, to bring about one simple thing. It is a freedom every father and mother alive today can now enjoy, as we watch our children play and frolic as children should, without anxiety of a future filled with Reapings. With a future marred by the shadow of The Hunger Games. So tonight, I implore each and every person here, from the age of 2 years old to 92. Be happy! Be merry! Be free! Countless died so that you could see this come to pass. Honor them by making the most of it!”

A great cheer went up as the mayor concluded his speech and the band on the stage took up their instruments and started playing a lively fast tune right away. Prim grabbed her sister’s hand, and Katniss smiled a real smile, large and free, because she was glad she didn’t have to imagine living in a time when her little sister’s name might be called in a Reaping.

She laughed as she and Prim spun around, forgetting about the usual worries of meager finances and a coming winter. And just for a moment Katniss Everdeen was a girl of 17, happy and unburdened.

***~***

She looked radiant as the late fall sunset as she twirled around the square with her little sister. She was wearing a blue wrap dress that floated around her hips and billowed in the breeze underneath her usual too large leather jacket. She had brown colored stockings on, and plain flats on her dainty feet, but her beautiful dark hair was coiled around her head in a maze of intricate braids, with little pieces left to frame her delicate heart shaped face.

Peeta stole glimpses of her from the corner of his eye as she danced song after song with her sister, always turning down any offer she got from the boys her age.

It was a widely known fact that Katniss Everdeen didn’t fraternize with the opposite sex, or anyone for that matter. People had lots of theories as to why. Some speculated that she still held a candle for the miner’s son, Gale Hawthorne who had been recruited out of high school for a specialist engineering program and had relocated to District 2 a few years back. There had been talk that the two of them were an item when Katniss was still in middle school and Gale was in his first year of high school. They were hunting partners for a few years after the mining accident that claimed their father’s lives and forced the new government to revamp the entire mining infrastructure to make it more secure and sustainable. But Peeta always personally thought she didn’t have the look of a girl in love with a memory, or in a long distance relationship. When she came to trade her game at the back door of the bakery, or when he sat beside her in history at school, she had the look of a person who didn’t have the time or energy to waste on romance.

So, for a boy who’d been in love with the same girl since kindergarten, he resolved to bide his time. She might not be ready for romance right now, but maybe she would be one day, when her little sister was settled in her medical training program as the new District doctor, and Katniss herself took over for the tanner.

He could wait, Peeta told himself.

But then Katniss shrugged off her leather jacket and draped it over a nearby chair and suddenly he got to see her newly developed curves in motion. The swaying of her gently rounded hips tested Peeta’s resolve.

He wanted to throw caution to the wind to ask her to dance with him, no matter that she would probably turn him down like every other poor fool before him.

Instead Peeta beat down his more impulsive side and downed more of the spiked cider his friends were passing around, and he chewed on the corner of his bottom lip. He tried very hard to ignore the flush of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes as she laughed and kicked out her feet in time to the music.

But he wasn’t sure he would ever be successful at ignoring Katniss Everdeen at all.

***~***

As the night wore on, Prim danced more and more with her friends, other girls her age and even a few boys, though Kantiss kept a sharp eye on those coed interactions.

Colin Cartwright steered clear of the Everdeen girls, and stuck mainly to his big sister and her friends, lucky for him. Prim and Katniss even took a few breaks from dancing to play the booth games and eat the cheaper snacks the vendors were selling. The cinnamon twists were especially delicious.

All in all the night was going splendidly. It wasn't until Kantiss was taking a water break from a particularly upbeat rendition of the old District favorite, ‘Still Comes a Crawling to You,’ that things started to go sideways.

Prim bounded up to her with a great big smile on her face, the one that meant she wanted something.

“Katniss, Marcee McAffey invited me to sleep over at her house tonight!” Prim squealed in delight.

Suddenly Katniss’ carefree attitude dissolved into the rapidly cooling air, and a familiar frown started to form on her young face.

“Please say I can go Katniss! It’ll be so much fun! Odette and Gia are going to come as well!” Prim argued preemptively. Katniss was much more comfortable with Odette and Gia, who were residents of Seam street like her and Prim. All three girls were in the medical youth training program as well, with Odette and Gia training to become midwives. But even with the reassurance of the other two girls, Katniss still wasn’t sold on the idea of her little sister staying over at a rich girl’s house in town.

Marcee McAffey was the daughter of the mine doctor. And although Prim came into contact with their family because of the medical training program, the position of mine doctor was still fairly new, having been created only five years before in response to the death of many miners after the last tunnel collapse. The collapse that Katniss and Prim’s father had died in. Officials who investigated the collapse after the fact had argued that if a trained medical professional had been on site at the time of the tragedy, many men could have been saved. So, the government sent Doctor McAffey to District 12 to ensure that if anything like the horrid collapse ever happened again, some of the miners would have a fighting chance.

Despite the fact that Dr. McAffey was well liked by the miners and Seam residents, Katniss still had never gotten over her wariness of him. He and his family were from District 14, or as many still called it, the old Capitol. Even though he was not a part of the generation that had enslaved and oppressed the people of the Districts during the time of the Hunger Games, his grandparents had no doubt grown up in that era.

She worried, however subconsciously, he might think that all District born people were beneath him in some way. Less educated, less cultured, less human.

Katniss had still been a child when her father first explained the concept of the Hunger Games to her, when she came home from school asking questions. She had been unable to understand people, many of them parents themselves, had been ok with sending off children to fight to the death in a horrid pageant of violence. Her father had explained, with some difficulty, that people in the Capitol back in those days had seen the citizens of the Districts as something less than human and therefore, thought almost nothing of sending scores of children to die year after year for their entertainment.

It was a lesson that had shaken her down to her bones, and still shook her to this day. However, her father had also told her that people could change their minds, and their hearts if they truly tried. That was why the districts gave the people of the Capitol another chance, and instead of wiping them all out they opted to vote them in as the 14th District of Panem.

Katniss did not want her little sister staying in the home of people who held to old beliefs of Capitol superiority, but she also didn’t want to judge them without proof. Therefore, she resolved to go meet the McAffees and ascertain what kind of people they were.

Without saying a word, Kantiss grabbed Prim’s hand and marched over to where the Doctor and his wife and daughter were sitting at the edges of the dance area, ignoring Prim’s questions along the way.

“Thank you for inviting Prim to the sleepover. But my mother is very strict about who Prim spends time with,” she stated flatly, without so much as an introduction.

At this statement, Marcee McAffey’s face fell, and Prim let out a shocked little squeak.

Mrs. McAffey looked confused and slightly affronted.

But Dr. McAffey remained remarkably unperturbed.

“Ah, well that’s understandable. Can I assume you’re Katniss, Primrose’s older sister?” At this Katniss nodded, and the doctor continued, “Is your mother here? So that we can meet her and discuss things?” Dr. McAffey asked amiably.

But Katniss simply shook her head.

“My mother wasn’t feeling well enough to come to the festival. But she left me in charge of Prim. I’d like to ask you some questions before I give permission for Prim to go to the sleepover,” Katniss said.

“Katniss!” Her little sister tried to admonish her. Prim was starting to feel embarrassed and annoyed, but Katniss wouldn’t budge.

“Oh, I see,” Dr. McAffey replied with an accepting nod of his head. “What would you like to know?”

“How are you liking it here in District 12?” Katniss asked, eyes narrowed in concentration.

Mrs. McAffey laughed at her question and Katniss frowned, she did not like being laughed at.

She was sure that the woman was amused by the simplicity of her question, and probably thought Katniss was a little dim witted. But Katniss wanted to see what kind of answers they would give. If they would admit to missing District 14 and all its modern conveniences, or if they would try to lie and save face by saying they loved it out here in backwater little District 12 where people still died of black lung and the flu every winter.

But then Dr. McAffey put his hand on his wife’s forearm, in a gentle but restraining manner. And murmured, “Jean,” with a hint of rebuke.

“Forgive my wife, we’ve lived here in 12 for over five years so it seems a little strange for someone to be asking how we like it, this late in the game,” Dr. McAffey explained.

Katniss only narrowed her eyes even further at his choice of words. Game. Was that what his assignment here in District 12 was to him? She wondered.

“But to answer your question, we have made District 12 our home and are happy here. Happier than we could have ever been in District 14.” The doctor elaborated in an even tone.

“Happier? Here in 12?” Katniss asked incredulously.

Dr. McAffey nodded, and seemed sincere. But Katniss wasn’t willing to let it go at that.

“How so?” she prodded, and the doctor smiled gently at her in response.

“If we would have stayed in District 14 we could have had quite a comfortable life. Doctors are needed in every District as you can imagine, but we chose to come here, to 12, so that we could make a difference. Once we heard about the need for medical professionals in the outer districts, we made up our minds to volunteer,” the man told her in a very matter of fact voice.

Katniss blinked back at him in surprise, trying to process what she had just heard. She had always believed that the position of mine doctor had been assigned. She had no idea why anyone from the inner and more affluent districts would volunteer to come out here to a place like 12 where some areas still struggled to get running hot water and reliable electricity.

“Why?” she asked again, posing the question more to herself than anything, but Dr. McAffey still answered her as if she had asked him directly.

“That answer is simple, to repay the Districts for freeing us from the tyranny of President Snow,” Dr. McAffey replied, daring to use the name of the most hated and reviled man who had lived in the past century.

Katniss’ eyes grew wide, at his frankness and his use of Snow’s name. In recent times most people used it in place of a curse.

“You can go with Snow for all I care!” or “Why don’t you keep Snow company in hell!” were common examples. So it was unusual for someone to mention the evil man in casual conversation.

Despite her speechlessness, Dr. McAffey went on.

“A lot of people from the Districts aren’t aware of just how oppressed people from the old Capitol really were under Snow’s regime. They were spied on constantly, in their own homes, watched by the secret police and their own neighbors. Anyone suspected of not conforming to the ideology of Capitol supremacy was turned into a mute slave, or summarily executed. My own grandfather helped treat the surviving Hunger Games’ victors while he was alive. His biggest regret was that he was unable to help the victor from your district, the Last Victor, Haymitch-”

“Don’t-” Katniss interrupted him, with a slight shake of her head. Hearing the Last Victor’s name always upset her for some reason. Maybe because her father always spoke of him with a respect that bordered on reverence, or maybe because his story was just too tragic to remember on a night when everyone was supposed to be celebrating their gains instead of lamenting their losses.

Dr. McAffey simply inclined his head in acquiescence, noting the sheen of her eyes, and the tightness of his lips. He supposed maybe Katniss might have been a distant relative of the man, the hero of 25 years ago who had stood up to the Capitol, to Snow, and all their combined fury and refused to back down.

“My grandfather’s name was Dr. Felix Aurelius and it's because of him I became a doctor. Though he specialized in the healing of the mind, whereas I was only smart enough to become a general practitioner, he implored me to continue working with and for the people of the Districts,” Dr. McAffey elaborated.

“He always said we owed you, especially in District 12, a debt we’d never be able to repay, for opening our eyes, and for giving us the courage to fight back despite the odds being against us,” Dr. McAffey finished his speech in the same quiet and even tone he began it in, but his eyes held a special spark that resonated with Katniss, through and through.

Katniss took a deep breath, and weighed the man’s words in her head with the impression she got from him. She had always been a good judge of character and she trusted her instincts in this case. That and she knew Prim wasn’t a little kid anymore. She was growing up and Katniss would have to start making allowances for her to interact with people her own age. She couldn’t keep her locked up in their little house forever or Prim would start to resent her, which was something Katniss never wanted to happen.

“Alright, Prim can go to the sleepover, as long as it's only girls, and they go straight from the festival to your home, and they are supervised properly the whole time,” Kantiss acknowledged with a small inclination of her head and Prim let out an excited squeal, which Marcee immediately echoed back as she jumped up and wrapped Prim in a girlish hug.

“But just so you know, I’m the best hunter in the district and my mother was apprenticed to the apothecary before she married my father. She knows all sorts of herbs and plants. You take good care of Prim, and all those girls, or you’ll be hearing from us,” Katniss said with as much dignity as a 17 year old could muster while threatening a full grown adult man.

Dr. McAffey did his best to keep his expression neutral even though Katniss thought some part of him might privately be amused at the idea. But Katniss was dead serious when it came to protecting Prim. She was the one person Katniss would give her life for in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

“We could arrange to have Prim call you before bed and also in the morning if that would make you and your mother feel more comfortable,” Dr. McAffey offered graciously, and Katniss felt better about the decision already.

“That would be good, yes,” Katniss accepted the offer with equal grace and Prim turned around and hugged her tightly.

“Thank you!” she whispered into her big sister’s ear. Katniss hugged her back with equal force and whispered instructions to follow should anything go ary.

Then Prim broke away to confer her excitement to Macee, and the two were soon joined by their other friends, Odette and Gia until the four of them resembled a giggling, squealing mass of high pitched anticipation.

Mrs. McAffey came up beside Katniss then and gave her their address and telephone number, with an ironic smile and a comment about how it wasn’t the girls Katniss needed to be worried for, if anything it was them as the adults who’d be outnumbered tonight.

Katniss hid a laugh behind her hand and waved to Prim as the group set off, followed closely by the McAffeys, who walked hand in hand while the girls discussed the sleepover activities they wanted to indulge in, in loud voices.

After their group had disappeared from sight Katniss looked around and found herself alone at the harvest festival for the first time in her life.

It was only nine o’clock and she suddenly had no idea what to do with herself.

***~***

It was nine o’clock and Peeta had no idea what to do with himself. He had danced a few clumsy reels at his friend Delly’s insistence, but none of the girls here tonight left any lasting impression on him.

Well, all except for one, and Peeta couldn’t seem to think up a way to approach her.

He scanned the crowd for her dark braided crown and blue dress, expecting to find her small blond sister by her side.

But no, she was alone, and more than that she seemed almost sad.

This would not do at all.

Peeta wasn’t sure if it was the slightly vulnerable and lost look on her face or the small buzz from the three cups of spiked cider he had consumed over the course of the night but suddenly he found himself walking over to where Katniss stood apart from the crowd, watching the festivities with a detached sort of expression.

When he was about three yards away her gaze suddenly snapped up in his direction as if she could feel him looking at her and gazes locked.

Katniss looked at the blond merchant boy coming towards her.

Well, nowadays Peeta Mellark looked more like a broad shouldered young man and less like the sweet-faced boy who was kind enough to bring over a basket of breads from the bakery when her father died when she was eleven years old.

She glanced around to see if she happened to be standing near one of his friends or something, but she was as alone as she had been when Prim left.

He gave her a small, friendly smile once he reached her. Katniss’ brow only furrowed in confusion.

“Nice night, huh?” Peeta asked casually, as if they chatted all the time. The truth was they had never really spoken before, at least not outside of school and the banal politeness that was expected there.

“It's alright I guess.” Katniss answered suspiciously. She wasn’t sure what he was doing here, approaching her and making small talk.

“You looked like you were having fun earlier, dancing.” Peeta commented and turned to face the area of the square where people were still dancing jovially.

“Uh, yeah. The music’s good this year.” Katniss replied without thinking, because she was still mostly caught off guard that Peeta Mellark was speaking to her. More than that, he had sought her out to have this strange quasi-conversation. He was known to be exceedingly friendly and popular, but he’d never extended that reputation to try and include the district’s solitary and taciturn huntress.

“Yeah. The band’s got a much better fiddler than last year.” Peeta added, still not looking at her but staring now fixedly at the musicians on the stage.

Katniss nodded in agreement, still shooting him confused looks.

“So why aren’t you dancing anymore?” Peeta asked after a moment.

“My sister’s my partner every year. She left.” Katniss replied matter of factly.

“Oh.” Peeta nodded understandingly and stole a sideways glance at her.

“And Prim’s the only one you’ll dance with.” He said it like a statement, not a question.

“Yes.” Katniss replied affirmatively, almost defensively.

“How about food?” Peeta mumbled.

“What?” Katniss asked, turning towards him sharply. His cheeks pinked at her sharp tone.

“Food? Do you like any of the food this year?” He said after he cleared his throat.

“Um…there were these cinnamon things-” Kantiss began,

“Cinnamon twists! Yeah, I made them with my dad this year.” Peeta interjected excitedly, shooting her a proud grin.

Katniss just blinked at his sudden enthusiasm.

“Oh, so I guess that means you were chosen for the apprenticeship to the bakery?” She asked after a moment of too long silence.

“Yes, to the great relief of my father. He was afraid that out of his three sons, none of us had inherited the baking gene.” Peeta replied with a wry chuckle, seemingly unperturbed by her dismal conversational skills. .

“How fortunate for him. And are you ok with that? Becoming a baker?” She asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

“Oh, yes. I always wanted to keep the family tradition alive. It might not be glamorous but baking puts a smile on people’s faces. I think that’s gotta have some value in the scheme of things.”

Katniss privately thought simple jobs like feeding and clothing people had a lot of value, but she was afraid if she said that out loud it would sound ridiculous, so instead she nodded her head in agreement and studied Peeta out of the corner of her eye.

His cheeks looked windswept and the tip of his nose looked cold, but his blond eyelashes caught the light of the suspended bulbs overhead. They were so long, she wondered how they didn’t get tangled up together when he blinked.

“Would you-”

“Why are you-”

They both started speaking at the same time and shared a quick, awkward laugh.

“You go ahead.” Katniss recovered first and prompted Peeta to speak.

Peeta lifted his right arm and rubbed at the back of his neck nervously before he spoke.

“Do you want to take a turn around the festival together?” Peeta asked cautiously.

“Like, just walking?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could play some games and eat some more of those twists. I could probably get them for free since I know the baker.” Peeta finally said, and he added a playful smirk at the end that almost tugged a smile onto Katniss’ own lips.

Almost.

“Why?” She asked incredulously.

“Because it's a festival, and we should be having fun. I mean, this is all for us you know,” Peeta tipped his chin up toward the festivities, the people dancing and eating, and talking, “It's supposed to be a celebration of our unfettered youth. No more reapings, or hunger games. Just music and dancing and a good time.” He turned towards her then, and gave her a shrug that seemed like an invitation.

Katniss studied him for a moment, his ash blond hair curling over the tops of his ears and his blue eyes that seemed like a piece of the noon day sky broken off and captured in his open stare.

“Ok,” She said, surprising both him and herself.

“Yeah?” Peeta asked, blue eyes practically glowing with poorly contained excitement.

“As long there will be more of those cinnamon twist things.” Katniss said sternly.

“I’ll get you as many as you want, if you show me how you got the top score on the ball toss game.” Peeta promised with a sweet smile, that was just a tiny bit shy and compelling.

“Baked goods first.” Katniss ordered and Peeta laughed deeply and freely as he took her elbow and hurried towards the bakery stand.

Part 2 Coming Soon

#fall 2022 #everlark #thg #fanfiction #autumn #lemonluvwrites #my writing #romance #fall feels #no games au #no reaping

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