#Annie of course knew better after 12 years with me

[bog--unicorn]

I lost my old dog earlier this summer. I knew it was going to devastate me and I’m glad to say it hasn’t. The last gift she gave to me— not devastated, but transformed. Oh I miss her. She was my first best friend out of college. She was with me in my first shitty rent controlled apartment. When I got married. When I got my first house. She was here when we first got to the farm. She waded into the bog with me in high water. I dreamed of her last night. She and Cider were both in my kitchen and I was about to feed them breakfast. Annie sat in front of me and bowed her head like she used to do, inviting a hug. And I hugged her again like old times, with Cider watching. Thinking about that now with Ci sleeping beside me. I miss her. If I know anyone half so good I’ll be blessed beyond measure. But I was so glad to hold her again in my dreams. I’m so lucky. I miss her.

[nashvillehq]

name: Sid Thorne gender & pronouns: Cis Man | He/him age & date of birth: 30 years old | October 30th, 1992 neighborhood: Downtown time living in nashville: 12 years occupation: Singer, Songwriter, Co-Owner of Bad Omen Music

BACKGROUND.

TW: drugs, death, cancer, overdose, addiction

Among the burning buildings and sirens that accompanied Devil's Night, Annie Thorne was giving birth to her first and last born child, Sid. Divorced before he reached corporeal realization, Ethan Wilson didn't meet his son until he was three days old. This absentee pattern would continue for the majority of Sid's childhood. He was unique in knowing his father as bad dad, Ethan's other three children knew him as a doting father who was there for them whenever they needed it. This separation was the first of many things that left a bitter taste in Sid’s mouth, leading him to harbor anger and spite later in life. As child, however, his mother’s love made up for everything his father couldn’t give.

From as far back as he can remember, he’s been a performer. Whether it be singing songs or dressing up and performing skits for an audience of action figures and his mom or practicing in front of a mirror. Music was his passion, his coping skill. Annie tried to get him in sports, he played baseball until he was in his teens but nothing quite stuck like the need to be creative. He hated school, it was forced hell for him because he was never a normal kid. He painted his nails black, wore eyeliner, clothes never fit right because they were thrifted or hand me downs, he struggled to follow lessons, and he was always getting into some kind of trouble. Between the rough neighborhood he lived in, his absentee father failing him, and lack of social life from school, Sid developed a deep seeded anger and resentment for the world around him. This led to a lot of fights and eventual further isolation from the crowd.

He did find comfort in some things, however. Writing, singing, and playing music was his greatest outlet (along with listening to it of course). Sid found comfort in melodies and lyrics that no one else could ever seem to offer him. He put his emotions into songs and art, worked relentlessly on fine tuning his abilities from the small room in their apartment. When his mom was diagnosed with cancer, he changed it to writing things for her - coming up with jokes to see her smile. The disease took her quick, and with that last bit of light gone from his life he felt no need to stick around in Detroit anymore. He took off to Memphis to live with his cousin. There he met he met another musician and told them the vision of the band he wanted to create. Quickly they became best friends and moved to Nashville where they would have a better chance at fulfilling their dreams. They formed the Crimson Crypt and immediately started making music, playing gigs, and grinding their way through the underground. After a year or two of this, they finally had a song that made some headway and were picked up by a label.

The industry is hard and there’s no doubt about that. Barely eighteen with little to no social skills and thrust into an environment with no experience was rough. They were on tour constantly, opening for bigger names, playing festivals, and small gigs throughout the country. There were dedicated fans that loved them but for all that love they were also met with a lot of hate. Sid and the band kept pushing through, trying to not let it weigh on them and devoting extra time with the fans that did like them. Far too early into all of it, Sid started becoming a garbage disposal for any and all substances. It was all he could find that helped with the anxiety and compulsive thoughts. Anything to numb the pain of loss, hate, and his own insecurities. It didn’t, however, stop the anger and often it amplified it. He would start fighting and arguing with haters at every show, giving them attention instead of playing for those there to see them. That’s what they were all doing at that time, though. Living fast and playing hard, so it was hard to see that it was becoming a problem.

Somewhere in the mess of everything, a new beacon of light came into his life. He met Juliet at one of the shows he was playing. Some no name news outlet for the scene was interviewing him and he spotted her. Sid left mid-interview to meet her and one smile from her had him hooked. Quickly she became his person and integrated into the little Crimson Crypt family. Though it didn’t stop his substance abuse issues, it was her helping the band get through to him that made him see it was becoming a problem. He tried to stop many times, especially when they went out on tour but the withdrawal only made him worse, getting into fights with people in the crowd or at bars that dared to show any kind of dislike for him or the band. Sometimes he went out of his way to start a fight with someone for simply looking at him the wrong way. The withdrawals and behavior got so bad that the tour manager eventually encouraged his drug use so he could get on stage and get through the remaining dates. Unfortunately it was all cut short when he got on stage ranting about nonsense and halfway through the set he forgot his own lyrics, mumbling and incoherent until he collapsed.

When he woke up in the hospital, Juliet was there and it was the worst he ever felt. He’d been blinded by all the spite that he didn’t see what he had right in front of him: the love of his life that wasn’t scared away by anything, a band that had bonded beyond friendship into family, and fans that adored the music he wrote and the shows his band put on. They broke their deal off with the record label, took a hiatus so he could go to rehab and clean up, and they started over. Together with a couple of other bands slighted by the labels available to them, they formed their own record label and called it Bad Omen Music since they all came together in low points of their life or careers.

Things got better for the band and for Sid. He married Juliet, and after ten years they’re still going strong. The band and the record label continue to see success. Sid’s addiction and anger issues are still a work in progress, but today he recognizes those problems and continues to put effort into getting better with it all the time. He also recognizes what he has instead of focusing on what he doesn’t. His life is good and now he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[glitt3r-litt3r]

can u write an everlark fic where gale was the one taken by the capitol and gets injected with the tracker jacker venom and he attacks katniss and peeta like freaks out and witnesses the whole thing and like fluffy everlark

Hey babe! of course I can. Hope you don't mind the Gale bashing lowkey

Note on how this might've happened- They both made it out in Catching fire but to punish Katniss Gale was taken when they bombed 12. Annie, and Jo were still taken though :( Also Italics are her thoughts

Peeta is massaging the base of my neck in an unsuccessful attempt to slow the migraine that was starting to creep into my head. It still felt good despite the throbbing feeling behind my eyes so I let him continue. After we were rescued from the arena we had spent every moment together and I knew his was of helping was physical touch. Anytime he could, there was a hand on my back or a knee brushing up against me.

It was comforting, sometimes verging on nice but not nice enough to make the pain go away. It tries killing me in my sleep when I see his eyes, those same gray distant orbs that only come from the seam.

Gale.

On those night's when I dream of him it always starts off beautifully. We're always in the woods on a sunny day and he's smiling. Gale, my companion is now with the people I hate most in this world. There is a longing that comes when the sun is just coming up, down here it's hard to tell when that is but my body clock keeps the score. This is when we would wake back in 12 to hunt together, or just breathe for the only time that day.

I always wonder what would've happened if there were no games. If we would've gotten married and had kids, probably out of convince. It would have been a good life but that idea is scrapped as I feel Peeta's hands on me. Peeta remains close but there's still something between us, it's awkward and pushes us away from each other in breathtaking moments. I want to reach out and tell him how much I care for him. That look he gives me, that he's always given me, is full of adoration and tenderness. So he swallows his pride and rubs my neck when I feel ill.

" better?" he asks

and before I even think about lying he notices the look in my eyes. Reading it silently he sighs and rubs my back instead. It's not going to go away but I want him to know that I appreciate his affection so I grab his free hand and hold it to my cheek. It's warm and fleshy at the base of his thumb. It always took me longer to notice these things about him even though I'm sure he'd notice if a new freckle popped up on my face before I did.

" It feels good I just don't think it'll go away, not until..." I hesitate

" you see Gale. Well hopefully that's soon. Coin has been talking about a rescue mission. Me and some others were talking about signing up" He says.

His eyes have no jealousy or malice toward my clear attachment to Gale. He looks at me with nothing but empathy. He really does want me to feel better. His eyes look calm and peaceful and beautiful. He is too kind to me. I want to thank him but those words come out of my mouth tasting like vinegar so instead I sit up from laying in his lap and throw myself into his arms. He wraps his arms around me like he was expecting this, expecting me to find my way to him.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

2 Weeks Later

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Run.

That was my only thought right now. Gale was back and Peeta was back. They were both here and it overwhelmed me in the best way. I was running, I hadn't moved this fast in what felt like years. I ran into Peeta who hugged me and without saying another word grabbed my arm. He knew where I wanted, needed to go. I needed to see Gale and Peeta was unselfish enough to personally escort me. I made a mental note to thank him for everything later but now in this moment my feet were moving at rapid speed. The back of his head was enough to let me breathe, you're okay.

" Gale" there were tears running down my cheeks and I could feel myself breathing better by the second. He was alive and he as sitting in front of me. If there was noise I couldn't hear it.

Again, " Gale" I said.

He wasn't responding and as I moved closer my feet stuttered beneath me. There was blood all over his gown, in his dark hair which was matted in several places. He had dark circles under his eyes so red for a second I thought he was crying blood. His eyes, those gray eyes were dark now, swirling with a storm even I could not weather. He looked so broken that I'm sure I sobbed.

Just as my fingers touched his shoulder he was standing up. It startled me and I felt myself jump

"it's just me-" before I could finish my sentence his hands were wrapped around my neck. I began clawing at his hands but it was no use Gale was easily 6'2 and had a hundred pounds on me I couldn't stop him. Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! There was blood in my ears I couldn't hear anything and my vision got hazy quick. When I looked over at Peeta he was moving closer but in slow motion. His face was calm but his eyes, the things that speak for him when he can't find the words, were so intense I thought I was drowning. I was drowning in a sea of blue, my lungs weren't working and all I could do is be tossed like a rag doll. Finally when mercy took over I was plunged into darkness calling for Peeta.

Peetas POV

I was often jealous of Katniss and Prims relationship. Their love for each other was boundless and unconditional. I wanted a sibling who was willing to die for me, do anything for me. The only other person in the world who has ever sacrificed their life for me was Katniss. To love and protect her was the least I could do for her. We do it for each other, keep each other alive and I wasn’t ready to ever stop that. 

So when I see Gales hands wrapped around her neck, I’m moving before I can even think. She was looking at me, her face red hot and panicked. Something inside me breaks open so strong I begin to cry and the scream that comes from my throat isn’t sad or scared even, it’s rage. He’s going to kill her. The moment comes in flashes, fading in and out of one another so in the end I can only remember bits of it. 

I was screaming, 

Gale is unconscious beneath me but I can’t stop, 

Haymitch’s breath sneaks behind me before he pulls me off,

 Katniss lays in my arms. 

I wait for the medic to take her from me but he seems scared and that’s when I realize how tight I must be holding her. Her eyes closed now, and when they move her onto the bed I can see the bruises starting to form on her throat in the shape of hands. Bile rises to the back of my throat and I have to force myself from spewing vomit onto my shoes.

The nausea fades away in moments only to be replaced with anger, it comes over my head in waves and for a second it makes me spin. The more I stare at her body the more I feel less like myself. This hatred had been boiling naively inside me since the beginning but now, there was a whole new level. Even if Katniss manages to forgive Gale for this, which I'm sure she will, I won’t.

This may be the only grudge I'll ever uphold in my life.

Medics are yelling and moving in and out of the room. The trembling in my hands is the only thing I can physically feel, they shake with adrenaline and what could be pain but I can’t tell.

All I want now is for her to wake up and be okay. I won’t feel better until she’s awake. Nothing else matters. When they move her I follow, Haymitch made it clear to the medics I wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t going to get my hand looked at until she was stable.

In her hospital room I pull up a chair next to her bed and let my head rest near her ribs. Sometimes when we would fall asleep on the train I'd end up lower than I started, finding my way to her ribs. In the morning she would poke fun saying that I slept like buttercup did on Prim but I knew she liked having me in her arms because she never moved me. Now resting in that same position I wonder how we got here. 

Katniss POV

When I wake the first thing I feel is my ribs, there’s something pushing into them uncomfortably. I blink once, twice, on the third one I try moving my head to see what’s on my ribs. I can’t move it and It’s aching something awful. Fuck. My hands come flying up to tear whatever’s holding me down off but before they get there Peeta’s eyes come into view. 

“ No Katniss, don’t touch. It’s okay. it’s okay just don’t pull on that you need it.” He looks like he’s been crying but other than that he looks okay, relieved. 

“ don’t try to talk yet okay? I’m going to call the medics in here”

But before he can stand I grab his hand and put the same fleshy part to my face for a second like I did earlier this week. I just needed a second, everything was too raw to be alone. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to look around, it hurt to think of what happened. Gale tried to kill me. I didn't want Peeta to move away even for the second it would take. Childishly I thought he could protect me in case Gale finds my room and tries again. 

“ it’ll just be one second, I promise. They need to know you’re awake okay? just one second and I'll come right back” He used the hand I was holding to push the hair from my face, standing and stretching a little he turned to leave.

He was true to his word, as always. He came right back and held my hand interpreting my blinks and thoughts to Plutarch and Prim. He never interjected or showed that he was upset with Gale, well not to anyone else. I could see the way he would get tense at the mention of his name before relaxing like he remembered something.

When everyone else left me to rest Peeta stayed behind. First cleaning up messes that I couldn’t see over by the table, then fussing over the way my pillows were set up, then finally he just started pacing. He wanted to talk but he couldn't which was so rare for him. By his third round trip between the two walls I slammed my hand down on the railing and glared at him. He knew what that look meant, what’s wrong?

“ Katniss, I know you love Gale,” he started

“ but today, what happened, I'll never get that image out of my head. It wasn’t really his fault I know that. I’m sorry I let him get that close, I’m so sorry...... And I know you need him to survive, for reasons that have nothing to do with me. But I also know his, I need you, to keep living. I need you everyday in my life even if it’s just for a minute, I need you here with me. When I saw him hurting you, and there was a possibility that he could take you from me, I wanted to hurt him. I’m sure I did but I can’t really remember” 

I’m crying now thinking of all the ways I need to thank Peeta for fighting for me, always. He see’s the tears and comes to wipe them off and then sits next to me before continuing,

“I’m sure he’ll get better with their help, that you’ll forgive him and I hope both of those things happen because you wouldn’t be happy without him. But if he ever, and I mean ever,” He stops pacing now to look me in my eyes 

“hurts you again, I’ll probably kill him. It took Haymitch and 3 other people to pull him off of my this time.” 

His tone was the most serious I'd ever heard it. He looked so different like this, like I hadn���t noticed the broadness of his shoulders or the size of his bruised hands until now. Everything about him was strong from the way he stood to the way his eyes were set. He almost killed Gale for almost killing me and it was sickening how this made me feel.

The pain and suffering that lay ahead for Gale made my stomach turn, it broke me to see him look so beaten. He would probably always be my best friend so I can overlook this, I can. Not that I care very much for my own life, if he had killed me, at least it would have been Gale and not Snow. But that wasn’t good enough for Peeta.

Peeta, gentle and kind and generous Peeta was standing here with bloody knuckles and a worried expression is what finally makes me cry harder. I can’t talk and the tears are burning my throat so terribly that it almost makes me stop but I can’t stop crying. Not with the way he’s looking at me, not with the way I feel. He loves me, he loves me, he loves me. it repeats until I can open my eyes and look at him again. He’s my Peeta now, getting a cold rag for my puffy face. 

“ You know Katniss this is the only time you’ve ever let me get more than 3 sentences out before interrupting me. Is this how you feel? Talking your head off all the time?” He says while cleaning my face. He’s smiling now and I can tell he feels better than he did a moment ago. My eyes say oh bite me but I can’t help but smile back, it’s small and hurts my cracked lips but it’s a smile. 

Finally when I’m ready to sleep again Peeta is next to my bed in his own cot because they had yelled at him when he tried to lay in mine. Not even my best sappy puppy eyes got them to change their mind but we made it work. We slept as close as we could without falling into the space between the beds. His hand held mine tightly that night as he talked me to sleep. Just before I fell asleep completely I heard him say 

“ I’ll never leave your side as long as I live. As long as I’m here, nothing bad will happen again.” in a hushed whisper.

I know. 

[dorminchu]

ALL THESE THINGS THAT I'VE DONE

The war against Paradis is over. Eren and Annie are forced to confront their mortality in a world that seems to have no need of them, and their significance to each other. [Post-Canon]

I didn't know there was an ereani week this year until a couple days ago, but I figured: cool, I should probably post something. Title comes from the track of the same name by The Killers.

The prompt is: Day 3 (4/12): "I love you" / "I loved you"

[Ao3 | FFNet]

i.

When the war was over, it was Armin who took the glory. That was a new look for him, Eren thought. Smart but eternally overlooked until he inherited the role of the Colossus Titan. Willing to carry the burden of humanity's savior without much complaint, unlike his teenage self who had always been plagued by doubts and fears. Eren wouldn't have thought Armin would be ready to chew the bullet while he quietly slipped into the background—but he was the leader, and Eren had always been accustomed to his status of figurehead.

Their roles had inverted with age.

As part of an overarching deal with Queen Historia, Eren was granted quarters—a cabin ten miles from the border of what had once been Wall Rose—and a modest pension, as long as he held his tongue and did not make any attempt to intercept the negotiations between Paradis and the surrounding countries. Eren put in an application for professor at the local military academy and spent the days trying to record what he could remember of his experiences in Marley.

The cabin had been around since the start of the war. About ten or so miles from the nearest village. Perhaps even before Eren was born, when Paradis was just a penal colony in name and the boundaries on inhabitable territory were less strict. The pipes still worked and there was evidence of an outhouse as well as quarters for a small animal—he wondered if it had been a hunter’s lodge.

After growing up in the back end of Shiganshina for the first nine years of his life and living in barracks and halfway houses for the next ten, it was a lot quieter. He felt oftentimes as if he were on a permanent state of leave, awaiting orders that would never come. There was so much time to fritter away now, without a war on the backburner.

ii.

In a bid to lessen the severity of his scarring, Eren tried growing a beard. He couldn't sprout a full one like Zeke could, just the chin-hairs, an innate reminder of his days in Marley. Most often he kept his hair pulled back in a short ponytail or else cut it short in the warmer seasons, though never as short as it had been in his days of adolescence.

He'd regenerated his leg and other limbs since the ceasefire, regained his motor functions in a week-long, agonsing process that he was sure Hanji would've loved had she been alive to witness it—but a day or so after settling into the cabin the old pain was flaring up again. He had a vivid memory of asking Commander Hanji once, at seventeen, after exhausting his father’s journal, but the only conclusion either of them could come up was phantom pain. Even if he were whole and unmarred, he did not anticipate sleep as any source of relief. Colours in his right eye gradually turned dull and it was getting harder to read even by candlelight, disorienting to walk out into harsh sunlight. Eventually he just began wearing a patch for the sake of simplicity. His other eye was unaffected.

He could still remember Ramzi's face better than most of his dead Scouts and it kept him up at night for hours. His way of life—the Titans, ODM gear—was quickly being phased out, trading blades and canisters for rifles and ammunition. His place among the armistice seemed moot.

Eren thought more often of his father. He did not wish to, explicitly, but the memories of him that popped into his head were usually indecipherable and triggered by stress.

The doctors in Marley would define this as shellshock. Other times they left impressions like the outline of the sun under closed eyelids; warmth, family, agony, guilt that would eat away at him for the rest of his remaining life.

Eren was, at least, confident in the fact that he was nothing like his father. He didn't pretend he was doing anything morally righteous, nor had he allowed himself to be molded into a pariah like Zeke. He had only accomplished what those same men were afraid or unable to do. It was nothing to crow about. He did not blame Zeke for that upbringing. Eren had taken action, knowing he would be hated and feared by his own comrades. He could only leave behind his memories in print, and if by some Godforsaken chance they somehow managed to fall into the hands of a like-minded company—well, perhaps one day he would be understood or misconstrued further. Rotting in the ground he could not defend his truth or bias.

But while he was alive, he could not rest. He knew better than most that all of this was fleeting.

It wasn’t as though he was out of shape with all the walking. He still stuck to drills in the morning to keep himself busy; awaiting orders that would never come. It sounded like something Armin might say. But Armin was content to busy himself with the sons and brothers of deceased bureaucrats; the succeeding generation to the brilliant men and women who'd led them right into the mouths of hell and out again.

Commander Hanji was dead. Commander Irvin had been dead four years now. Captain Levi was on his way to retirement and attempting to get Mikasa to replace him.

After seven years of military service his soldier’s inclinations remained unshakeable. He'd wake up every morning, going through the motions as though he were still a stowaway in Marley. He'd never allowed himself to consider a life beyond the pretext of enlistment and eventual expiration within the Scouting Regiment, much less the seemingly endless war between Paradis and the rest of the world. In the best case he had assumed he would die eventually, of old age or a more unheroic death out in the field. He'd never allowed himself to be ruled by that fear of mortality because he had to eradicate the Titans first—it was a child’s logic that had gotten him through military academy. Yet here he was, nineteen, with four going-on three years left to kill. Annie had three, going-on two. That was the only certainty she'd admitted to him without need for prying.

So Eren had to be sharp for the rest of their sakes. The war on Paradis had ended and brought with it economic turmoil. A mourning period that seemed to extend indefinitely. The next decade of prosperity would not be won in a year, nor three, and it would come on the backs of the losing side and breed the same old resentment, and then inevitably the same slow descent towards outrage and madness and oppression. Always in the back of his mind like the learnt urge to drink, or his inherited memories—he could almost convince himself of his hard-won stability. It was a good enough reason as any to stop answering Mikasa's letters.

iii.

The door opened to reveal the very last person he had ever expected to see again. She was every bit the woman he had seen in Marley and little of the girl in the crystal remained. What could he say to a four-year old crush-turned-heartbreak whose face he could scarcely recall among the hundreds of thousands of other casualties? "You shouldn't have come back."

When he moved to close the door, she stopped him with her heel. "I'm no longer a Warrior, nor a soldier. I have nowhere else to turn. You and I understand each other, so there's no point in bloodshed."

He gauged this, chewing his tongue. "Did someone send you?"

Her shoulders stiffened. "No one you'd know."

"I suppose you were sent here to finish the job for Marley?"

"No." Bluntly, she forced herself into the doorway. "I came here on my own. I just—"

"—all right, it seems like there's been some kind of miscommunication between you and whoever sent you."

"I was told you'd be able to accommodate me." 

"I don't need anyone else here."

Annie squinted at him. Her hand was clenched tightly on the doorjamb. "You must get bored living up in the mountains. And you could use another pair of hands if you're not regenerating." Eren said nothing. "Did you carve your eye out again?"

"Goddamn you," he growled, and wrenched the door open.

He let her walk past the threshold. Looked at her once, and then away. "I'll set a place aside for you to sleep," indicating a well-worn sofa, "you can stay as long as you need to until you find somewhere you like."

"I don't know why you're so upset. You could have killed me years ago. You've had every opportunity, and yet—"

"—I've moved on." He said it flatly, almost resigned. "You haven't, obviously."

Annie didn't flinch. "So you're just going to stay here and wait to die?"

"I keep myself busy."

"What do you do?"

"I teach the new cadets over at the Academy. It's about two hours from where we are; nothing special, but they seem eager to learn."

"I see."

He turned finally to face her. "What about you?"

Annie hesitated. "Used to work with the other displaced soldiers up until a few days ago."

"How'd that treat you?"

"It was all right. Why, are you too good for it now, now that you're a war hero?"

Eren ignored the barb. "It's been a while since everything settled down, so I wondered how you would fare."

"What, so you just popped up in this house?"

He scoffed. "Of course not. There was a tribunal, and it was decided to let me live on the condition I'd be kept far away where I wouldn't bother with anyone. I can't say the same for the others."

"You sold them out?"

He chuckled. "I didn't have to say much. They did it to themselves. We shared a common goal at one point but never the same ideology. At the very least, I can say I took no pleasure in what I—"

"—Ackermann gave you an out?"

Eren gauged the sharpness in her tone, the stiffness of her posture. "I didn't ask her to." He frowned. "You never told me how you got here. Did Mikasa have something to do with this?"

Annie froze, then averted her eyes. "I didn't have much of a choice. It was either come here or work myself to death doing manual labor. I wouldn't have minded that."

"Why didn't you tell me that she sent you?"

"I don't know. She seemed to pity you."

"Oi, it's not your fault. She can feel however she wants." He sounded bemused, scowling. "What the hell else she she think I'm going to do in four years? I have no plans to start another war."

Annie finally eyed him in her peripherals. "We didn't talk much other than that."

Within the next few hours he'd gotten a few more details out of her. In exchange for agreeing to be quartered here, her record was wiped clean. She had recently reapplied for the MP brigade under a new name and secured a position as secretary in the Karanese district headquarters. She had also admitted to him that she was dying to get back onto the streets again.

As a bedfellow Annie was, in some ways, more than he could've hoped for. Despite the introduction, she talked far less than they had as cadets. She did not seem particularly happy or unhappy, just neutral. She woke up each morning at six hours and left to do her drills. She would come back in an hour and offer to help him with whatever menial tasks needed doing, as if they really were holed up together in the remnants of a cabin lost ten years ago to a threat that would live on in sordid, haunting memory. The kind of life one would find beyond the realm of a weathered photograph. 

Unobtrusive without becoming idyllic. The best outcome he could afford her was three years of uneventful domesticity.

They didn't spar anymore. Not for lack of want, or kicking the habit. Eren just couldn't keep up with her the way he used to. His leg was shaky and she pointed it out first. It would have an impact on the kind of punishment he could take as opposed to when he was fifteen and shrugged off every injury like it was nothing. His eye was not healing. 

Annie was in better condition. Just by studying her gait it was obvious that she'd taken better care of herself. She had not had to bunk up with a gang of stinking, vulnerable soldiers riddled by shellshock. Trying to communicate with them in German worked, but it got him a lot of funny looks and no end of comparisons to fathers and grandfathers enlisted or long since dead.

Annie wasn't interested in his stories from Marley but she didn't brush him off either. She just tolerated it in a much more polite way than Mikasa or Armin would.

At twenty years old she came up to his chest. Either the crystallization had stunted her growth or she was naturally short. She was also scarred enough down her face but it was of the same sheer consistency as her hair. You would only know what she was if you were paying close attention.

She got skittish and temperamental if he tried to push his luck training with her. Initially it had pissed him off:

"What do you think I'm going to do?"

She'd looked at him bluntly. "You're still recovering. Why overexert yourself?"

He'd never told her about his injuries but the idea of her picking up on it this quickly rankled for reasons he did not care to discuss. "I'm not a kid."

Something flashed in her eyes. "I'm not going to push you."

And that was the end of it. He'd decided that this ritual mattered more to her than him, and respected her space. He still did his own drills.

But every time they locked eyes now he'd get that same, absurd itch in the back of his mind from a year ago. Sharpened his tongue and made him want to speak in ways he didn't think he should attempt to justify whilst sober.

iv.

Days passed. He did not always see her until late in the evening.

In the middle of the night he rolled over onto his bad leg and the pain woke him. In silence he got up, not enough to require medication but still pretty uncomfortable.

“Eren?”

He went still. Annie was up herself, over by the window, staring at him as though he were on his deathbed. In the low light her eyes looked strange and luminous. “Does it hurt?”

“Does—what?”

“Your leg.”

Eren sat up slowly as not to aggravate his condition. She didn't say anything else. “It’s not so bad that I can’t sleep.” He studied her face for signs of age, finding naught but scars, a weariness in her eyes he could speak to. She didn't frown. She just watched him coolly. Eren shrugged. “You can’t sleep either?" No answer. "Thinking about to-morrow?”

“I can get you something for it.”

Eren shook his head. “That's not necessary."

"Don't be stupid."

"This isn't something I can just take pills for.”

"It's chronic." Her tone pregnant with incredulity. "Why haven't you seen a doctor for this?"

"Annie, what the hell is a regular doctor gonna do for either of us? We already fix ourselves. There are other veterans that have been stranded here, they aren't growing their limbs back. They need all the help they can get. Anyway, it's only, what, three more years of living? I can take three. Fuck, I've taken ten."

The more he kept talking, the darker her eyes became. Clench in her jaw, tautness of her shoulders, pronounced enough to notice from a distance—an involuntary reflection of his own revulsion.

"I don't know how you managed to win one war, let alone, if you can't even prevent yourself from running into the ground." Her voice was icy and distinctly contemptuous. She stalked over to him. Cold fingers dug into the meat of his naked shoulder, pushed him upright between the wall and headboard; tight, controlled movements. "Four years later and you still want to pretend you're a fucking martyr. It might've worked on Mikasa, but I'm not your sister. I'm not going to help you hurt yourself."

She kneaded at his leg in a much brusquer way than the way the orderlies in Marley. Eren didn't argue. She was not going to take no for an answer. When it was done she coaxed him to lie down again. He stiffened as he felt her weight join his on the mattress, curled almost tentatively against his chest. She didn’t try to hold him, just huddled as though for warmth. She did not explain herself.

Eren had a vague recollection of the last time this had happened. Back then she came up to his chin, rather than the middle of his chest; their disparity was only thrown into relief. He could feel the human warmth of her through the thin undershirt, the softness of her hair on his cheek. He’d dreamt about this a lot when he was sixteen, while the tragedy of her betrayal was no longer fresh but still painful in his mind. He had no energy left to hate her then, for she was not his enemy.

He heard her breathing even out.

She had stayed this long. There was no sense in abandoning her now.

v.

Sometime after that, Eren started noticing her in more tangible ways. Smell of her hair. The subtle glint in her eyes in lieu of a smile. She'd wait up for him in the mornings before he left. He'd tell her good-bye.

When he came home he’d catch her eyes lingering on him in profile.

Just one day too many of the same quiet inactivity. The fact that they had slept in the same bed was just a catalyst of how familiar they were with each other already.

She woke up an hour later than usual and, fuming, went out to train. A light rain had started. Eren made breakfast. Over the next twenty minutes the light sheet became much more torrential. Annie came back in about half-an-hour, dripping water all over the floor. He would've told her off but she grabbed his wrist. He turned as she leant up and took his face in her hands and kissed him like her life depended on it.

Maybe the situation had always been building to this. He had forgotten about its immediacy until the moment presented itself. But now there was nothing left to say. So he gathered her up and placed her on the counter, kissing her breathless, bunching up her threadbare shirt, palming her tits through the military-issue brassiere—he muttered, "see, I thought you were just being nice," and she scoffed, set her heel to the small of his back even as he put his mouth on her. She was chilled from the rain; it was not yet summer. Half-dressed and needy, he took her right there on the countertop. Afterwards, there was no shame or lingering uncertainty that would have been present as cadets. She pressed her cheek to his.

"I'm going to be away for a while. It's higher pay if I stay in Karanese. Maybe two or three weeks." She looked up at him. Her eyes were bright but her tone was stoic. "I just…" She trailed off because he was only looking at her face. Eren smoothed her damp hair away from her cheek.

"I love you." Then he stopped. Like he was finally coming to grips with the idea. Annie blinked rapidly. A crease formed in her brow. Her mouth worked but no sound came out. Eren kissed her chin. "But, if you're gonna be trackin' mud everywhere you'd best clean it up after yourself."

She finally came back to herself. Shoved him lightly in the chest. "Fuck off." Then hoisted herself off the counter, fixed her trousers, and asked in a dry voice where he kept the washbasin.

vi.

On his own the cabin felt distinctly empty. Sometimes he'd wake up hard and just—take care of it. Annie on top of him. On her knees. Pulling him up to her. He missed her a lot more than he'd care to admit to her face and it wasn't just in the sense that she was available. She'd probably just smirk at him anyway.

But when she returned it was nice to have her around, even for a little while. She kept to herself and he gave her space; it was as though she had never left.

It was still morning. He was working when he felt her come up behind him, hands slipping over his wrists. “Oi,” he muttered, “I’m a little busy.”

“You’re just sitting there.”

He scoffed. “Really? How would you know what I’m doin’?” No answer. Eren closed the book. “You really are demanding, ain’t you?” Faux-annoyance. But he turned.

She looked prettier in uniform. Hair pulled back into less of a bun, more of a severe ponytail. She was looking him up and down as though deciding something for herself.

She leant down, kissed him firmly, nipping at his lip until went with it, half-amused. She stepped back, breathing evenly, eyes glinting. She cupped his face, a vestige of tenderness he did not anticipate.

Then her eyes shifted, something empty, strange. A harsh crack against his jaw he could not anticipate and he took it, worked his jaw, blinking rapidly. “What the hell are you—?”

Annie jerked her head back slightly, fixing him with the same expectance he realised he’d completely misinterpreted. “Hit me.”

Eren didn’t move. Her jaw trembled, then set. He caught her wrist. “That’s enough.”

“Why?” She sounded annoyed. “It’s all right. I can take it.”

“What is this?”

“I’ll be dead before you anyway, it would be easier just to take—”

“—I said that’s enough,” he said, terse. “I’m not going to do anything to you."

Her brow furrowed. "I thought you understood.”

Eren just stared, fighting to keep himself calm when he wanted to grab her shoulders and demand her to justify why the hell she wanted to be hit. "What am I supposed to understand?"

Annie’s eyes darted over his face and then to his wrist. “I want you to hit me back.”

“I’m not going to do that.” He cupped her jaw and she almost flinched; his stomach twisted. “Do you understand me?“

Silence built up between them. "I know you’d stop if I asked you to.”

“I’m not going to wait until after I’ve hurt you to stop.”

Annie pressed her face into his chest. He took her by the shoulders, watching her stiffen.

“Do you hear me?”

She nodded.

"Why d'you want me to hit you?"

"Do you want a list?" He gripped her tight enough to make her flinch and immediately regretted the look of fear that came across her face. He let go of her. "I’ve been complicit in the death of your comrades.” Her voice thickened. “And I’ve taught you everything I know. You don't need me here for anything other than your own gratification.” Returning to the facade of impassivity with unnerving ease. “So, there’s no point in comparing our tallies.”

“Annie—"

“Are you stupid?” Annie spat, the most emotion she had exhibited thus far. “You've taken my country and my life and my father and you—now you want me to love you back. You want to marry me as if we're ever going to—I'm the one who killed your friends, why would you ever want to be reminded of—"

"You love me." She looked helpless in her vulnerability. "What? What's the matter?"

"Why would you want me? I—I can't even have children. I'm going to die in four years. I'm going to watch you die unless I kill myself fir—"

"—Annie—"

"—you could fuck anyone you wanted!" she exploded. "Why does it have to be me?"

"Because you don’t have to earn anything from me! I just want to be around you—can’t you accept that?”

Annie kissed him hard. He trembled though he was holding her.

“Take me to bed." Eren opened his mouth and she kissed his chin. “I want you to take me to bed. I—”

Even then, he was hesitant to touch her. She led the way, stripping down to skin and splaying on his bed. He caressed her when she asked him to, a gentleness in his hands that betrayed his own sympathy; for once she didn’t chastise him.

Her scarring was far more pronounced in the light. He'd noticed before, briefly on the counter and more clearly with enough attention, but not like this. It clustered around her sternum and down her spine. He wondered, briefly, if that was why she'd wanted to do it quickly. Now her eyes were bright and shimmering but she took him into her, reached for him.

"Is this OK?" His voice was a croak.

Her eyes flickered to him. Cautious, sure. "Yeah."

He was on his knees, lifting the small of her back, working her towards a much sweeter surrender. He slid one arm around her waist to support her and touched her breasts, the side of her neck, cupping her jaw. His thumb ran over her scarring.

“Annie.” She gasped at the sound of her name. “Ann. Look. Come here.” She was biting her lip. Head fallen back, her hair was almost diaphanous in the light. He murmured her name and she was shivering with emotion. She turned into her elbow and told him in an unsteady voice to go faster, and the bed creaked to match him.

Her body arched, jaw slack. She wouldn't stop shivering. Her voice did not rise in expectation. It just wavered, edgeless.

He took her wrist away from her face and—she flinched. This serrated, ugly, sound that jerked out of her body. He pulled out, holding her. “Look at me,” his voice hoarse and horrified, “please.”

Annie curled up against his chest and shook. Eren just kept apologizing. She didn't push him away.

Eventually she stopped. Raised her head. Their eyes met and she lost composure again. He brushed her hair from her face. “Stay,” she croaked, “please. I need you.”

He kissed her brow. She almost flinched. He tucked his chin into her shoulder, arms around her back, until she’d calmed down.

"You don't have to do anything," he said quietly. "Do you understand that?"

"I know."

Laying prone, she only came up to his sternum. Annie sat up first. She got to her feet and went over to the window. Her shoulder was parallel to the glass. His attention stayed firmly on her profile. “You’re gonna get colder than hell. Come back here.”

She turned and glanced at his forearm curled half-surreptitiously against his stomach. Scar tissue along her breasts was prominent. In the dead light of this cloudy, April afternoon she finally looked her age.

There was a naked uncertainty in her eyes that made him freeze. "You're not my father and you never will be. You've been kinder towards me than I deserve, given the circumstances. I wish I could despise you."

Eren rolled his shoulders. The silence held for a while. "I don't know if what either of us have done can be forgiven. But, as long as you’re here, I want you to know that I don't hate you." All she did was stare, a slight crease in her brow. “I never could.”

“You love me,” she said. Not with scorn. Like she was testing the idea in a way they would have shied away from as kids. She averted her face towards the window.

She watched him get up and tensed. He limped towards her in a couple strides and draped the blanket around her shoulders with the same tentativeness. She did not put her arms around him. She pressed her face into his shoulder. His arm came around her back and she closed her eyes, just existing in the cold slats of wood against her feet and the rise and fall of his breast.

He put the blankets around her and laid beside her.

He’d always supposed he would heal with enough rest. He didn't know how to put what he felt into words, but eloquence had never been his forte. It was not unlike laying on your deathbed, mulling over all the things that hardly seemed to matter until there was no time left to spare.

There was no pain now, just certainty in the presence of another—the old urge to drink was absent.

This is a cleaned-up version of a couple tumblr WIPs + some old/new material blended in for fun. Think of it as a pilot episode for a much larger fic.

For what it's worth I did like the ending of AoT. Elements of that ending will likely factor into the aforementioned larger fic. I am totally disinterested in arguing about ships or wasted potential—at this point, I’d rather write whatever seems interesting, and leave it at that, canon or not.

And hey, if you think acknowledging canon will override my crippling addiction to the "morally challenged antihero/problematic blonde" dynamic… I really don't see that happening. Even after exiting this fandom, it's like, ALL I've been writing for a year (looking at YOU Insult to Injury) and I feel like I'm going insane. Back on topic though: Now that AoT has concluded, I find I am far less stressed at the prospect for writing for this series again. It won’t be my main focus, but I do like this fic’s concept enough to flesh it out.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The World is Better Now

Peeta Mellark x Reader

Words: 2503

Summary: Nearly a year since the fall of the Capitol, the reader and Peeta have lived happily together in peace. They have helped each other through the darkest nights and the worst nightmares. Now, the reader feels a new kind of fear. 

Notes: I rewatched the Hunger games series and I forgot how adorable Peeta is. So here goes nothing. As always, let me know what you think! (So this is an AU where the reader was in the Quarter Quell, just in case anyone was confused. Katniss is just a friend in this one.)

-

You thought you knew what life was like. You thought that you would die in the Games and be just another fallen Tribute. When you won, you thought you were safe. When President Snow announced that the Quarter Quell would select from a pool of Victors, your hope for a better life was gone. But then he happened. Even after everything he had been through, he still had this light. A light that you thought you had lost forever. Somehow, he brought it back. So yeah, you thought you knew what life was like. But this was so much more than that. 

“Y/N!” Peeta called from your little house on the hill as you seemingly searched the meadow for something. His voice was like a distant murmur. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but you could feel it. Before you could think too much on it, you felt arms wrap around your middle and a puff of breath against your neck, blowing through the few strands of hair that had fallen from the hairpins you had put in that morning. You couldn’t help but jump, flinching away from the sudden contact. You turned to see your husband, clearly trying to hide the hurt in this eyes. 

“Sorry.” You muttered, feeling the shame turn your face slightly pink. Now he felt bad. You hated it when you made him feel guilty. He deserved the sun, if you only had the power to give it to him. 

“Hey,” He just smiled, quickly putting your mind at ease as he took your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I thought you heard me calling. I’m sorry.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, reassuring you that he wasn’t in any way upset before taking your hand. “Come on, dinner’s ready.” 

With the exception of Katniss and Haymitch, the two of you were alone out here. You weren’t part of the new society after the fall of the Capitol. Instead, you sought refuge in the rolling fields outside what was once District 12. Due to your isolation, there was technically no legality to your marriage. In fact, the only ones there to witness your vows were Katniss, Haymitch, and even Effie, who insisted on bringing endless yards of fabric with her to help you make a dress. You exchanged rings and vows, promising to love each other through everything and to never forget what you’d been through together. You didn’t need anything official. You were his and he was yours and that’s all you could have ever hoped for.

He, of course, was far better at cooking than you were so he often made dinner. Tonight, he made fresh bread and some seared fish from the lake nearby. You hardly touched any of it, feeling your stomach twist and turn, suddenly feeling ill. Your face had grown pale and Peeta’s expression morphed with concern. 

“Are you okay?” He stood from his seat across the table to move closer, examining the sweat that now glistened across your forehead. You nodded, but you quickly pushed away from him, burying your head in the sink and losing what little you had eaten. You felt Peeta’s hand on your back, rubbing up and down your skin trying to comfort you. When you slid down against the cabinet, he sat with you, grabbing a towel to wipe your lips. 

“Sorry.” You muttered through heavy breaths. “I-I don’t know where that came from.” You stood on shaky legs, but after a moment, you felt fine again. Strange, but fine. There was nothing in the meal that would have made you sick and you hadn’t been feeling ill at all that day. Deep in your gut, you started to worry. 

-

You spent the morning wandering the woods with Katniss. It was a weekly ritual for the two of you. Some time away from the guys. You liked to think that she opened up a little more when it was just the two of you. As if you had been friends since you were little girls. Growing up in District 5, you had a much cushier life than both her and Peeta, but you’d grown accustomed to the quieter, simpler life outside the New Panem. 

“Peeta said that you were sick last night.” Katniss started, looking up into the trees. You grimaced. Of course he did. There were few secrets between the four of you since you all lived out here by yourselves. 

“Yeah, but I feel fine.” You debated whether or not you should share your fears. That your illness was anything but random. That it meant something far more frightening than an upset stomach. Katniss noticed your uneasy expression and put a hand on your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” You took a deep breath. You needed to tell somebody.

“I’m worried that I might be…” You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it, but she understood. Her hand slipped off your shoulder and she crossed her arms, trying to process. 

“Oh.” She just stared at you for a moment, barely even blinking. Katniss was never really one with words. You exhaled deeply and explained to her your suspicions. This wasn’t the first time you had been sick. This wasn’t even the third. On top of that, every time you looked into the meadow, you felt like something was coming. You could search and search, but you never figured out what. When you finished talking, Katniss sighed. “Follow me.” 

She took you back to her house and found a small box she had hidden in the back of her kitchen cabinet. Handing you the box, she gave you a very uncomfortable smile. You dumped a small bottle into the palm of your hand. 

“What are these?” You shook the bottle gently, hearing pills rattle around inside. 

“Effie made me promise to give them to you when you and Peeta started thinking about... you know.” She rocked back on her heels. “It’s some kind of test from the Capitol.” You gave her a look. 

“Why’d she give them to you?” 

“She didn’t want you guys to think she was pressuring you or something.” She shrugged. “And it’s not like she could give them to Haymitch.” You both chuckled, breaking up some of the awkwardness. 

“Thanks.” You stuffed the bottle into your pocket, the small item somehow making your hand feel heavy. You started to leave, but you paused. “Don’t tell him about this, okay?” Katniss gave you a crooked smile and nodded. And just like that, everything changed. 

-

A day passed and you didn’t tell a soul. The test was positive. You were pregnant. In just a few short months you would be bringing life into a world that had taken so many lives from you. And that never seemed clearer than when you got letters from Annie. Sweet, loving Annie whose son would never meet his father. As Peeta read her encouraging words, all you could hear was Finnick. His laugh, his smug little jokes to cheer you up. Even though you’d only been a Victor for two years longer than Katniss and Peeta, Finnick was the one to help you adjust to the new lifestyle. He was really the closest thing you had to a brother. You winced, his laugh replaced by his dying screams in your head. 

“Love, Annie.” Peeta finished reading with a small smile and tucked the letter into the picnic basket beside him. “I’m glad she’s been able to somewhat adjust.” You nodded in agreement. You had barely said two words to him since you found out. Maybe you were afraid that you’d let it slip. Peeta had noticed your silence, but he chose not to press you. He knew that sometimes you would just let your thoughts wander without saying a word. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. 

“Peeta,” You said his name so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. You took his hand in yours, bringing it slowly up to your lips to place gentle kisses on his fingertips. You didn’t want anything to change. Peeta held your hand in between his own, his eyes shining with both admiration and concern. You had to tell him. 

“Y/N, are you sure that everything is- what, what is it?” He noticed your eyes grow wide, staring at his hand. His gaze followed yours and his breathing quickened with panic. A wasp crawled across the back of his hand, it’s bright yellow exterior providing little comfort. It wasn’t a tracker jacker, but it didn’t matter. 

“Peeta, it’s just a wasp.” You assured him, hoping he would look at you and not the insect. 

“I-I know.” He said, but his voice was shaky and his hands started to tremble slightly as he strained to keep still. You’d never actually had to encounter the mutt insects, but you knew that he had in his games. Tracker jacker venom was also what they used on him to try and distort his memories to turn him against the rebels and even you. His hand jerked away, but he only aggravated it more. He yelped as it stung him, flying away to safety. Though the pain was brief and minimal, it was the memories you feared more. 

Peeta tried to hold it back, but his mind swirled between the present and the past, mixing with all the horrors he had seen. You took his face in your hands, urging those beautiful hazel eyes to focus on you.

“Peeta, it’s okay. Look at me. It’s okay.” You pulled him close to you, his head resting on your chest, hoping that the sound of your heartbeat would calm him. It usually did, despite how rapidly it was beating now. You ran one hand up and down his back while you gently stroked his blonde hair with the other. “It’s okay.” Sitting there, holding him, you knew more than ever that you couldn’t do it. How could you bring a child into a world that had done such cruel things to such a kind person? A world that had broken him in ways you would never understand. It had broken you. 

-

After his episode, Peeta decided to spend the rest of the day relaxing inside. He settled in front of his easel, using a mix of blacks and greys to replicate the storm clouds gathering overhead. In contrast, he painted the yellow flowers beneath them, their brightness only slightly dulled by the gloomy atmosphere. He looked out the window, watching you walk slowly through the patches of primrose. 

“It’s beautiful.” Katniss said from behind him. He turned and gave her a small smile. 

“I want it to remind her that there’s brightness growing out of the dark.” He’d noticed that you had had a hard time adjusting to a life of peace after the horrors that you’d all been through. Sometimes, he was sure you were still trying to escape the games in your mind. 

“She should probably get inside.” Katniss noted, looking out to the flowers, but you weren’t there anymore. “It looks like it’s going to storm.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, followed by a loud roll of thunder. There was another sound; a faint cry muffled by the closed window. 

“What was that?” Peeta slid the window up and listened closer. Another boom was followed by another scream. “Y/N.” Your names left his lips in a panic as he ran down the stairs and out into the rain. 

“Y/N!” Katniss shouted, the rain starting to pour down, pounding against the pavement. She might have been more scared than Peeta. She knew the truth. It wasn’t just you in danger anymore. Peeta’s eyes swept the trees while Katniss checked around the houses. After the loudest crash of thunder yet, the screams became words. 

“No! Finnick!” You were running through the trees, looking up at the sky where you saw the faces flash in your head. Each boom of thunder was another canon, another death. Haymitch, Annie, Katniss… Peeta. “Peeta!” You shrieked, falling to your knees in the mud. “Peeta!” 

“Y/N!” He knew those cries. You often screamed like that when you had a nightmare, clawing up at the air as if he was flying away from you. 

You curled up on the forest floor, not caring that mud covered your cheek or that the rain pelted against your back. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, wishing that you could make it go away. You knew that the next canon was for your baby. 

“No!” You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t raise a child in this never ending storm. 

“Y/N! I found her!” Peeta’s voice was barely audible over your own screaming and the rain. You flinched away from his touch as another canon sounded in your head. You felt his strong arms wrap around you and lift you up, holding you close to his chest. 

“Peeta…” You whimpered, weakly tugging at his shirt. “T-the canons.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.” Katniss found him and he quickly took you back to the house, rain still pounding against your skin. You looked up at the sky one last time, seeing Finnick’s face once again flashing against the clouds. Peeta put you down on the sofa and wrapped as many blankets as he could around you while Katniss went to grab some dry clothes. 

“I can’t do this.” You cried, trembling violently from the cold. “Everything is so dark and cold and cruel. I can’t curse someone else to live through what we did.” 

“What do you mean?” Peeta pushed your wet hair out of your face. 

“The… baby.” He froze. 

“What?” 

“Peeta, I’m pregnant.” You felt more tears cascading down your cheeks, your hands clutching your stomach. “And I don’t want to bring a child into this place.” Despite your distress, Peeta could barely contain his smile. 

“We’re going to have a baby?” 

“Peeta… what about everything we’ve been through? Can we really condemn another person to that, let alone our child?” He put his hand on top of yours, looking deeply into your eyes. 

“Y/N, the world is better now.” He gave you a comforting smile. “We can raise our children in peace knowing that they will have a better life.” Your smile was still unsure so he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I will never, ever let anything happen to them.” You lifted your hand to rest on his cheek. 

“You’re going to be a great dad.” His face lit up and he scooped you up in his arms, causing both of you to laugh. 

“And you are going to be the best mother.” He pressed his forehead to yours, letting his words sink in. Cradled in his arms you felt like nothing would ever harm you. Maybe it was possible, after all this time and through all of the fears, to be truly happy.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination

[mairalynnwrites]

The 5 Times Johanna Mason Thought She Met Her Soulmate and the 1 Time She Was Sure Of It

The first time Johanna Mason met her soulmate, she was being sent to her death. It was a glance as she walked to her place in line for interviews. A glance at an older mentor, a handsome man whom she recognized from the gossip she had heard about him from the moment she got on the train. Finnick Odair, walking sex on legs, according to the capital. She groaned a little in the back of her throat. Of course she would meet her damn soulmate just before she died. And of course he had to be the prostitute of the capital. What was odd was that she did not see the flashing colors her childhood friends had described to her, merely shades of brown. That meant that this could be some sort of mistake, right?

  Their eyes locked, and she noticed that she still couldn’t make out the color of his eyes. Odair’s back turned to her, saying a few words to his tributes before marching straight past her and out the door. Asshole. The second time Johanna Mason met her soulmate was after she had won her games, covered in the blood of more people than she wished to count. When she came back to after being healed in the hovercraft, he was sitting in the corner of the room.

“How’re you feeling?” He asked, standing and put his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

“You’re not my mentor”

“Duly noted,” He smiled a wry grin before continuing. “I pulled a few strings with your mentor, she’s waiting for you on the ground, no worries.”

“Oh, so you slept with her?” Johanna raised her eyebrows, her lips pulling into a smirk.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business” He noted, making sure the door was closed. Her hackles rose, and she stiffened on the bed she was sitting in, survival instincts more present than ever. He put his hands up as if to placate her, saying “There’s no lock, if you want to leave, you will have no difficulties from me, I just thought you might prefer to have this discussion in private.”

“What, you think that since I’m your soulmate, I’m just going to jump your bones?” Her eyes searched the tables near her, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon by or against her. He said that he meant no harm, but so had a lot of people in her life, and that sentence never ended up being true.

Odair chuckled under his breath, moving to sit on the end of her bed, his hands still raised to the sides of his head. “No. As my soulmate, there’s some things you should know, before you accidentally say anything in front of the people.” He moved even closer to her, and motioned to a scalpel that had been accidentally left on the table beside her by the people who healed her. “Grab it. It will make you feel safe and we need to be as close and quiet as possible in order to not be overheard on cameras” He whispered, moving his upper body closer to her as she hurriedly grabbed the scalpel next to her, holding it against his throat in silent saying of ‘don’t get any closer’.

  He took a long breath, looking out the partially obscured window. “You can’t say anything about us being soulmates. You have to know, I’m not a capital prostitute by choice. You know better than anyone else that the capital is willing to do everything in their power to keep people controlled.”

She did know. She had just killed children, of course she knew. But there was something glinting in his eyes as he watched warily out the window, a bead of blood rising on his neck from where the scalpel was pressed to it. Oh. They had threatened him in some way. That’s what he meant. Then why did he say that- “You don’t mean that he’s going to want me to fuck half the Capitol.” She whispered to him, her eyes widening.

“You can’t tell anyone or they’ll kill us both. He sees the same thing in you he saw in me. Please.” His eyes looked back at hers, his voice dipping on the last word, ending in a silent plea.

“I just won these damn games and now you’re telling me I have no choice but to become a prostitute?” She glared at him, careful not to raise her voice as much as she wanted to.

“He’ll give you an ultimatum. Your life or your family’s. It’s just an illusion of a choice. But I’m not here to tell you what to do. I’m here to tell you that you need to say that you need to say that you can’t see any color. You’ve never met your soulmate. I came here to talk to you about what is expected from you as a victor if anyone asks.”

“God, this is such bullshit” She whispered, a small tear slipping down her cheek. He reached up and wiped it with his thumb, the scalpel still against his throat. Though she had no intention of using it, it felt good to have a defense against the older man.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He put his forehead against hers, and for once in her life, she felt still.

The third time Johanna Mason met her soulmate, she was once again being sent to her death, but with a plan this time. Although technically her and Finnick had talked briefly over the years, they had never discussed their situation, never discussed the feeling in their chests the longer they were apart from each other. Johanna’s family was dead, and she wasn’t willing to let the Capitol kill her soulmate too. The first night at the tribute building was haunting. She took to the roof, the cold air waking her. For a moment she entertained the thought of jumping, but she knew the Capitol would never let a tribute kill themselves. Where was the entertainment in that?

She didn’t even hear the boots walk up behind her. Damn it, she was so distracted by her thoughts she completely missed Odair walking up beside her. “Before my games I almost tried to kill myself by jumping off this building.” He said, a lilt in his voice. “I suppose it’s good I didn’t in a way, I did get to meet my soulmate after all.” He said with a smile evident in his voice, nudging his shoulder against hers, sending shocks from where he touched her.

“Damn, Odair, I didn’t know we were that close” She snarked, but with a smile on her face. Somehow, even with the possibility that she could die in the next few days, it was hard to be upset around Finnick.

  “I’ve got a question for you, Mason.” He teased, leaning against the railing, facing her. “Did you really strip in the elevator in front of Haymitch, of all people?”

  “Did you see my dress? It was hideous. I simply couldn’t stand to be in it anymore.” Her eyebrows raised, a small chuckle easing past her lips. “I’m surprised that you didn’t do the same, that net sure didn’t look comfortable.”

Finnick groaned, “Don’t remind me.” She laughed, the first time in a long time that she actually meant it. “Wow, if I knew that my misery caused you to laugh like that, I should have made myself miserable earlier.”

“Are there cameras on the roof, Mr. Secrets?” Johanna asked, taking a step closer to him.

  “No. We aren’t supposed to be up here.” He replied, glancing around to make sure of his statement.

“Good.”

  Her lips were on his. She didn’t care that she could die in a few days. Didn’t care that she was risking her life for a whiny District 12 girl. She only felt.

The fourth time Johanna Mason met her soulmate, she had barely made it onto the hovercraft in time to be rescued. Finnick was waiting in the main room, and without even thinking about it, she started running. She had just seen him minutes ago, but she was so full of relief that he had made it, that he wasn’t dead or captured, that she kissed him. Right there in the middle of the hovercraft, not even caring that Plutarch and Katniss’ other boy toy were trying to have a conversation. She placed a hand on his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the scabbed up cut on his face. 

“We’re okay.” She whispered, for once allowing herself to be vulnerable.

“For now.” He whispered back, his own hands coming up to cradle her face.

“We can do this. She can do this.” Johanna whispered, saying what they both knew to be true.

The fifth time Johanna Mason met her soulmate was when they were gathering to leave for the capitol. She reached her hand out to his, grasping two of her fingers in her own. “If we both make it out of there in one piece, I’ll marry your sorry ass.” She said, trying to use sarcasm to cover her fear. It didn’t work.

“When we make it out of there, we will have the biggest wedding the world has ever seen.” He said, emphasizing the first word.

“I’ll make Annie my bridesmaid, I think.” She could barely say the words now. Her fear overtook her.

“She’d like that. You think Betee would mind being my groomsman?” He questioned, a smile in his voice.

She laughed sharply. “We really do love the crazies, don’t we?”

“Crazy attracts crazy, love.” He told her, taking her hands in his, noticing that they were both slightly shaking. “I love you. When we make it out of there, I promise I’ll never let anything get in our way again. We waited so long to have our share of happiness. We deserve a lifetime of peace.”

“Peace sounds nice.” She sniffed, trying and failing to stop her tears from falling. “And I love you too, I have for a while now.

“I know.”

The one time Johanna Mason was sure she had met her soulmate was in the capitol sewers, watching as her soulmate was being eaten alive by mutant beasts. “Katniss, you know what you need to do” She said, not being able to take her eyes off of Finnick's body. She listened to the quiet whispers of Nightlock and watched as her soulmate was granted a quick death, instead of a torturous death. 

Her colors faded.

The world was black and white again.

[theoneandonlyameliajones]

For Those We Have Lost

Summary:  Annie has 1 more year left until her time is up, that was the price of being a Titan. She doesn't want to leave her life. Armin doesn't want to lose her, how will he live when she is gone?

 It was her last year to live. Twelve years ago, she inherited the female titan and accepted the power at the cost of her life. Thirteen years seemed like plenty of time back then, but now she found herself begging for more. A lot had happened these past few years, and she was frozen in her titan skin for four of them. 

“What are you thinking about?” her husband whispered into her hair as he pulled her closer in their shared bed. Despite all the death, all the time lost, the shortened lifespan, she didn’t find herself regretting any of it. She knew what she did hurt people, she knew their mission is what caused so many people to die, but she also knew if it wasn’t her it would have been someone else. That’s the thing about violence, it doesn’t occur at only one person's hand. Marley would have found someone else to inherit the female titan and the war would have happened anyway.

“Nothing,” she turned to kiss him on the forehead. She couldn’t regret anything, not when all her decisions led her to here, in bed with the man she loved. She didn’t even know she could love, not anyone aside from her father anyway, but Armin was different.

“Come on, I’ve told you what I’ve been thinking for four years without a response back, you could at least give me one now," he grumbled, his voice hoarse and eyes still closed. Those four years were the strangest for Annie and Armin was what got her through it. Of course, Hitch came in at times to talk to her too, but it was different with Armin. Hitch treated her like a diary, Armin would pause as if he was waiting for her to answer her back. So many times she wanted to, but she knew what was going on outside and didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to take part in these matters between Marley and Paradis. But oh so many times she wanted to hug him, to come out and feel the warmth of another human. 

“It’s really nothing,” Annie whispered and paused. She had grown very good at hiding her inner thoughts, sometimes she forgot she didn’t have to with Armin. “It’s just that I love you.”

“I love you too,” he opened his eyes to look at her. She focused her attention on them, they were a lot different from the eyes she once knew. Before she got in her shell, they glowed with innocence and hope. She hated that he didn’t know the true reality of the world, how much everyone on Paradis was hated. Then, she woke up and discovered his eyes didn’t shine so bright anymore. He was jaded and depressed and she found herself longing to see the glint of hope that he once wore. His eyes had changed again now, not quite as hopeful, but not quite as solemn either. There was something else as well, something she couldn't quite place. She liked his blue eyes, she loved all of him.

“That’s not it, it’s just that you know what today is.” Armin tensed at her comment.

“I know,” he pulled her in closer, “12 years ago, you inherited the female titan, didn’t you? That means-”

“I have only one year left.” she cut him off. She hadn’t meant to start crying, she never cried, but tears were streaming down her face now and she didn’t know how to tell them to stop.

“Annie,” he whispered.

“For the first time in my life I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to die. I wish everything could be normal.” She didn’t know what normal entailed and had never experienced it for herself, but it had to be better than this. She wanted what she read in books. She wanted to grow old, have kids, and live a peaceful life. She wanted to do it all with Armin, but their time together was coming to an end.

“I’ll be right here, we’ll be together. I promise.” His shirt was soaked with her tears, but he still held her close. She knew she was going to lose this one day, but for now, it felt good to be surrounded by his warmth.

1 year and a few months later 

Armin sat next to his late wife’s gravestone and talked to it like he once talked to her frozen body suspended in titan skin. It didn’t feel the same though, she hadn't been dead last time. Last time he could reach out and almost touch her, and some part of him knew that she would come out. Now she felt lost to him, permanently. 

“Jean apparently has been getting close to Pieck. I’m not sure why, but they seem like they’d work well together. Hitch also is pregnant, she and her partner seem happy. I’m glad she was able to find someone after Marlow.” He continued to update her as pulled the grass next to her gravestone for the next two hours. He had things to do, he was tasked with helping smooth over relations between Eldians and Marley. It was good work and it kept him distracted, but his heart wasn't in it. Annie and he spent most of last year traveling together before her time was up, it was quite possibly the best year of his life, but it was over now and she was dead and he was struggling to move on.

“I miss you, I know I say this whenever I visit, but I really do. I miss the way you smiled when no one was looking, I miss your death glare when I did something stupid, I miss the warmth of our bodies together in bed. I miss you Annie more than you can imagine.” Armin was crying now, he had been doing quite a lot of that lately. He avoided it when Annie was still here, he didn’t want to upset her more. He made her believe that he’d be okay when she was gone, but he wasn’t.

It was strange, Armin was no stranger to loss, he had experienced so much of it these past few years. First, it was his parents, then his grandfather, his comrades, Eren, and now Annie. He thought he would get used to it at some point, but he never did. Each loss still managed to wound him in ways he never thought possible. Annie was the first woman he ever loved in that way, and probably the only woman he would love in that way. He knew that his time would come to an end eventually as well. He had less than 5 years left at this point, but even that seemed pointless. 

He wasn’t suicidal, and he appreciated being alive, but sometimes he wished his clock aligned with Annie’s. He wished that they could have left this world together because living without her was too painful for him to handle. Of course, there was a lot of good he could do with his remaining time. Historia needed his help and he was happy to offer it, but he found his will to live slip ever so slightly.

At first, he was living to see the sea, and eventually, he found it. Next, it was to help Paradis in its war against Marley. Finally, it was for Annie and the home they created together. He couldn’t believe that they decided to elope two months into their relationship, but he hadn't regretted that decision once. He loved being able to call her his wife and she seemed to like calling him her husband. It was comforting to belong to someone in that way and now with her gone, he felt untethered. He floated through his days not sure what to do. Sometimes he wished they had children so he could have been left with a piece of her after she was gone. Although he knew that would have been irresponsible. With both of them marked by their expiration dates, they knew it was unfair to bring a child into the world. Hange, in her discussions with Hizuru, found a way to prevent pregnancy and although it broke his heart, they decided it was the best course of action.

“Talking to Annie again?” Mikasa snuck up behind him, wearing the traditional clothes of Hizuru. They suited her and she seemed to have taken to the ambassador role well.

“Just updating her on what was going on,” his voice was shaky, a sign he was crying just a few minutes ago.

“She’d probably tell you to move on.”

“I know, it’s just that I don’t want to." his tears started again. "I wish I was the one to go first, it would have been so much easier than living without her.”

“Don’t talk like that Armin!” Mikasa's voice came out more hostile than he was expecting.

“Mikasa-” he started.

“No, please listen," she softened her tone, "we’ve all lost people, but we need to keep on living okay? I miss my parents, I miss our comrades, I miss Eren.” she paused at his name and he knew not to push. Armin was devastated by Eren’s death, but he knew it hit Mikasa differently.

“Mikasa-I didn’t mean-”

“What I mean is we have both lost people Armin, we have both lost so much, but I know the people we lost would want us to keep living even when it is difficult.” she sounded broken, this was a side of Mikasa that rarely revealed itself.

“Mikasa,” Armin stood up and pulled her into a hug.

“Armin,” she cried into his shoulder, “We have lost so many people and soon I’ll lose you too. You and I, we’ve been together since the beginning, so I can’t have you talking about dying like that. You’re the last person alive that I love. Armin, I don’t want to hear you talking about dying.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anytime soon,” he felt her sink into the hug. Mikasa was more than a friend to him, she was more like a sister or a mother. They’d followed Eren to hell, but now it was just the two of them. She was the only person left that he loved, and having her next to him reminded him of why he had to live. They had been together since the beginning and he’d be by her side until it was his time to leave. That’s what Eren would have wanted, that’s what Annie would have wanted. It was easy to get caught up on those that they’d lost. It was easier to forget who was still here, but he wouldn’t forget. She’d lose him eventually, but for right now he was here. He would continue living for his parents, his grandfather, his comrades, Eren and Annie. He knew that once he left, she'd continue living for him as well.

[drawbauchery]

The Second Session

fic by cartoons-tothemoon

“So, let’s review, last session, we broke you down to many of your core traits and neuroses.”

“Thanks for reminding me, it’s not like I have the capacity to remember last week.” Skipper muttered.

“Well, now we’re here to build you back up, and work from that onwards.” Hans said. He had his hands folded plainly in his lap, and he’d changed the lighting in the office. Skipper hated it. He hated having to sit across from a smug as shit Hans as he waited calmly and quietly for Skipper to begin talking, with that terrible, blinding light that gave off a strangely clinical feel that makes him more uneasy than anything else. He wonders if Hans would let him sleep for the hour he was meant to spend here. Sure, he’d be paying $35 for a nap, which was crazy in of itself, but he knows from experience that sometimes all you need is a good nap to be a functioning person again.

“I’m not in the position to really diagnose you with anything, and even if I was, I’d still need more time to get to know your mind before I could really prescribe anything for your current conditions.”

“Conditions?”

“Plural. Like children trying to sneak into a cineplex in a trench coat, what was once one turned out to be two or more disorders standing on top of one another’s shoulders. Bouts of aggression and insomnia tied to intense paranoia, a complex that comes from being a leader, and a fear of depending on others. Abandonment issues, repression-“

Skipper waved his hands in a forceful sort of wave, “yes, thank you. Just tell me what to do about it already.”

“What?”

“Just fix me already.” Skipper seemed frustrated. “You’re the one who thinks I’m broken in the first place, the only reason I’m here in the first place is to prevent any future surprise tea parties.”

Hans sighed. They were barely even 5 minutes in, and Hans just knew he was going to be spending the rest of the session constructing arguments for statements Skipper constructed in seconds.

“If this was only to prevent any more…surprise visits from moi, then I would’ve been fine with just the first session. And I think you know that.”

He did. He did know that. Hans suggested the idea of a second session, and so did Skipper, in the way that you do when you’re bonding with people you have a rather hostile history with. No commitment was really stated, which left the ball in Skipper’s court, but what was he supposed to do after that thorough deconstruction, let it simmer in his soul for the rest of his known life?

He couldn’t even let it simmer for a whole week at this point, after all, he was already considering asking RICO of all people if he was too arrogant a leader and intentionally pushing people away.

RICO.

It made sense at the time, Kowalski would question where he was learning such jargon and be able to draw conclusions based on his recent absence, and Private would do nothing but validate him. Because he was just that nice, he supposed.

“Second, it’s not about being “broken” or “fixed” or what have you, the fact of the matter is that you have the most high-stress job in your already high-stress career. As much as I enjoyed our battles in the fish markets of Denmark, it’s not like the experience hasn’t done something to me, or you for that matter.”

Hans sighed, he was already just so exhausted by this…session. He’d even revealed that he too shared in mental health struggles if Skipper was willing to pick up the scraps left behind for him. Skipper looked a little surprised, sure, but fell back into an understood complacency sooner than later.

Was this the closest they were ever going to get to a true understanding of the other?

He supposed he’d have to take it.

“And lastly, I can’t tell you how to “fix” yourself. I’m a therapist, not a life coach. I’m not here to give advice, I’m here to examine your trauma, and give you a better perspective on how to move forward. However, I can’t take those steps for you. You kinda have to figure out a lot of those things on your own.”

Skipper looked positively moody about this, but less in a spoiled, petulant five-year-old sort of way, and more…accepting of it. He looked tired, and less because it was barely just a quarter past 1. It was an abstract tiredness, one not born of resting or restlessness, but a thing all its own.

Skipper sighed. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

“This is a timely process for a reason, Skipper. Many people can spend years in therapy trying to handle these exact issues.”

“I didn’t realize this was a life sentence in the making.” Skipper muttered.

God, this was already such a process. Hans could tell that Skipper couldn’t stand the vagueness of this all. He was an action guy, he wanted an easy solution of doing task A to accomplish thing B, and achieve reward C, and go on with his life.

No, not even an easy solution. A clear solution. Skipper was a problem solver. All of this was already so abstract, and he didn’t even know if he was so vehemently against this whole process just because it was him, or just because it was therapy at all. He even had a client who after a bad experience with a therapist in middle school decided to turn her sessions into stand-up, just because she was already so familiar and so bored with the process.

Maybe that’s what he needed to channel. Therapy in of itself was at the best of times uncomfortable and at the worst of times boring. He was already dealing with a high energy, high stress client, who was uncomfortable as all hell with being there. If he put him back into a comfortable situation, he may or may not get something out of him, and if he doesn’t, at the very least make him more comfortable with spending time with him at all, off the clock, at least.

“What do you like to do, Skipper? In your free-time?”

Skipper eyed him suspiciously. “Uh, why?”

“I’m trying something. Trust me here.”

That could’ve been phrased SO much better, from nemesis to nemesis, but Skipper seemed willing in the moment to run with that trust. “I like working on my combat capabilities, driving around, sometimes I watch TV and movies, I help Private bake when he feels like it, I nap, I gamble…”

Skipper seemed to be drawing a blank for whatever reason. Surely, he had things he did in his free time, right? It wasn’t like he was ALWAYS on the clock, he just never really thought of certain periods of time as…free. What even counted as free-time anyhow? Was it just time that wasn’t spent doing other things? Under that definition, no time was free.

“Can I say this to you as both a friend, an enemy, and somebody who’s known you for quite a few years at this point?”

Skipper nodded hesitantly.

“Jesus Christ, you need some hobbies.” Hans stated, matter of factly. “Working on your “combat capabilities,” as you put it, seems to be a literal constant considering your job as…however your job is defined, so it’s less play and more work than anything else. You mentioned helping Private bake “when he feels like it,” and I wouldn’t exactly call napping a hobby, or gambling a healthy one.”

Skipper shrugged. It’s not like “Stomp the Wombat” ever left the confines of the lair, anyhow.

“It just feels like you don’t have a lot of things you do just for yourself, you know? Driving around and watching TV are the only hobbies that feel wholly your own, something you don’t do for work or for others. Keep in mind that you can keep doing these things you enjoy, but perhaps you should find other things for yourself. Like an instrument, or a cooking class.”

“I told the boys that I joined a bowling league just to be here.”

“And did that seem believable enough for you to do to be here?”

His silence told Hans everything, but not the literal everything of Skipper “going to bed” at 8 just to climb through his window at 12:30, shimmy down the fire escape, and walk to Hans’s office.

But he probably could tell anyhow.

Of course, this kind of put a blight on Hans’s plans to make Skipper more comfortable while being here, and as he told him such, Skipper proceeded to lay down on the couch. Hans couldn’t tell the exact reason for the action, but it did seem to be a point of exasperation for him.

“Well, damn, sorry I “foiled your plot” to make myself comfortable in the den of the beast.”

“Skipper, you insult me. You really think I’d decorate my den with wooden sailboats? Absolutely criminal.”

“You seem to forget that.” He muttered. Hans ignored it.

“Although the hobby talk didn’t exactly lead where I thought it could…It did lead me elsewhere.”

“Goddamn it.”

“What skill have you always wanted to learn? What’s something that you’ve wanted to try for just, so long, and never got the chance to?”

Skipper began to pick at his lip. This whole talk already made him nervous, but now what was he supposed to say? That he figured he’d be in the back of a truck with is hand hanging out the taillight since he was 14, for whatever reason, so he didn’t even bother considering his top 3 colleges, let alone any future ambitions?

Still, if he was quiet for too long, either Hans would judge him, or he’d render his lips a bloody mess, and that’d be a whole different thing to deal with.

“…Archery sounds fun.” He said. Hans nodded.

“That’s interesting. It’s closely related to your pre-established interests but it’s closer to a sport now than something to be used in an actual combat situation, which sort of allows it to be separated from your work.”

Skipper nodded as well, allowing Hans to believe that that was his thought process from the start, and more of just curious to see if he could shoot a flame off a candle like Annie Oakley.

“You mentioned you liked baking with Private. Do you like the idea of baking itself, or just doing it with another person?”

“Food is meant to be shared?” Skipper seemed to be asking, but also stated in a very definitive way. “It’s a process. It’d be weird not to help in the process.”

Hans pulled his hand away from Skipper’s mouth, where a few small cuts were beginning to form. “If you’d like to have a session where we did a low-stress activity you wanted to do, and we talked while doing so, I think it’d put you in the best conductive environment possible to actually combat the problems that seem so visible to me. This was a good first development, though. I just don’t know if I can expect on accidental issues to identify and attack every time.”

Hans sighed and got up from his chair to stare out the window. Skipper didn’t know why he did this, outside of being a dramatic bitch, but it got him to look anyhow.

“It’s so incidental, many people struggle with balancing work and life as is, but this could easily be one of the main causes of your paranoia, as well as causing a level of detachment and depersonalization, which relates to how you relate to others.”

And well, damn. What was Skipper supposed to say to that?

“Our time’s almost up.” Hans said, checking his watch. Skipper was coming to realize how strange time in therapy was. It simultaneously felt like hours and seconds passing all at once. Perhaps it was because there were no clocks, like a casino. Or maybe it was because going to therapy at 1 in the morning didn’t exactly give you a sun to follow in terms of time. Hans handed Skipper a weird sort of rack with string on it, along with some tissues.

“It’s a loom. Fidget with something that won’t bleed for the next five minutes, if you would.”

Skipper glared at him for the snide comment, but Skipper didn’t exactly put it back where Hans had stored it originally. Picking at the strings inanely didn’t feel as satisfying as his usual fidgets, but it would work until he lost focus and the skin had time to heal.

“I’m giving you three assignments until our next session.” Skipper would’ve originally rolled his eyes at the idea of homework, but there was something that felt already strange about this session. Last session, he was so thoroughly antagonized and owned in such a way that his entire psychological history had been exposed, but this made last session feel like…a misstep. It was almost like Hans was trying to give the rug back to Skipper after it had already been so unceremoniously swept away from him.

He seemed as unsure about this as he was, he even confided about the state of his own mental health, something he probably wasn’t supposed to do. Which, honestly, made Skipper feel better about the whole thing. He didn’t like being guided, and as much as he detested having to do this whole thing with Hans in particular, the idea of having to figure out a stranger at the same time they were trying to figure out him sounded like a nightmare. More than this already was.

The whole session felt off, sure, but it wasn’t as off as it could’ve been, and he knows it could only be worse.

“I want you to begin researching archery, if you really want to pursue it as a hobby, you should try to learn what you can about it before jumping in and figuring out it isn’t what you thought it was.”

“I want you to pay a compliment to each of your team members in a casual way, this’ll strengthen your bonds with them, in a way that allows you to affirm that you appreciate them, as much as they appreciate you.”

Okay, that sounded like hippie nonsense, but who was he to judge at this point.

“And finally, I want you to pick out a recipe to prepare during our next session.”

“Wait, what?”

“A recipe. Something that’ll take less than an hour. I have a friend who’d give me access to their kitchen in the middle of the night, so we’ll be on neutral ground, and I’m sure it’ll be more believable to your “boys” that if you really are doing something in the middle of the night, that you have physical proof of it. Considering how weirdly secretive you are already, the idea you covered up secret cooking lessons with a bowling league doesn’t sound too far-fetched.” Hans was muttering at this point. All these things answered questions he figured he’d have, but nothing that helped with where he was NOW.

“I know it’s a weird idea, but the clients who have had the chance to do different, vaguely active things during our sessions tend to be more open and honest with me about things that they’re worried about, things that they struggle with, and they can make for more engaging sessions where you actually take in what I’m telling you, and makes it less of a lecture.” Hans sighed. “If you hate it, we never have to try anything like that again, but, I do really want you to give it a try. This is a two-way street, I can only give as much as I myself get. I just got lucky this week.”

Skipper stopped strumming the loom.

“Text me the address.” He said, and Hans would have burst with joy if such a thing was appropriate in present company, until he realized.

“I…don’t have your number?”

“Oh, no, session’s over! Wow, how did the time fly? Guess you’ll just have to figure that out for yourself, what a swell talk we had, doc,” Skipper yelled as he headed out the door.

“Pay at the front desk!” Hans yelled back before relaxing into his chair. Skipper was never going to be an easy client to deal with. Maybe he wouldn’t ALWAYS dance around the issues at hand, but he was never going to REALLY come clean about it. There may be things they never talk about, the same way Hans did.

And that was fine. Maybe it made what little he did learn all the more rewarding. Maybe it made what little he learned all the more meaningless if Skipper ever reached a point of complete and utter honesty with him, a fantasy he knew would never see come to light.

But who was to say, really?

It was all a matter of time.

After all, this was only the second session.

(Ahh! I can’t believe I didn’t post another fic for a whole! Month! I think it’s just because I didn’t really know what to do for the second session, and I think you can kinda tell, considering it’s not like Hans knows what to do either. Do you guys really want a whole fic series about Skipper going to therapy? I have no idea. It’s pretty fun, though. I don’t know how Hans became a therapist, either, but I guess that’s just what the dude does now. By the way, the client who turned her therapy sessions into stand-up comedy? That was just me in high school with my mandated therapist. I once gave a funeral to a squeaky toy I broke in the middle of the session. It was simultaneously so sad and so funny at the exact same time.

This fic will be up on my ao3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tadstrangerthings, as soon as @drawbauchery posts it!)

[nagitoandkokichioneshots]

Did you know that it took me the whole day to write for her because I just can’t help but type and type? huhu habsuajwna skip the backstory if its too long for you. Sorry for the late submission!🙏✨

Name: Naomi Hitsuji

----> Naomi means "pleasantness" in Hebrew while Hitsuji means "sheep" in Japanese.

Age: 18-19

Birthday: August 26th

Height: 5'7

Weight: 132 lbs

Talent: Ultimate Police Officer

S/O: Nagito Komaeda

---> Despite being a significant other, their bond is only platonic love. Nagito told her that he never have an older sibling nor a younger sibling, he told her he would never hope of having it all since they will just be affected by his luck cycle. Knowing this fact, Naomi assured him that she will treat him like a sibling. She is always been babied by her older brother so she wanted to offer affection. The fact that he was stuck in a torturous luck cycle that stole his family made her feel like he is deprived of love and affection. Though Nagito declined the offer, Naomi told him that he deserves it. But time past by, Naomi has been more motherly and comfortable with him- she just wanted to see him with a satisfied smile in his face.

Japanese VA: Nana Mizuki (Hyuuga Hinata from Naruto)

English VA: Danielle Judovits (Sumia from Fire Emblem)

Looks:

—-> Naomi has loose and wavy beige hair that reach through the bottom of her breast. She has lavender mono-lid eyes. Her outfit is really hard to express—I am not knowledgeable with fashion so lets just leave it there isnsjwjwn 😔

Personality:

———> Experiencing a man dominated nature for quite awhile, her cheerful, childish and annoying determination shredded into a more sophisticated, formal and gracious persona. She changed to prove to her older brother that she could be an independent and firm person, that she could carry the both of them even if they are bursted by the waves of sufferings.

———> She is a woman that has strong will and broad principles. Despite being in the age of 19, she is very motherly, independent and understanding with her coleagues–but she is still strict when it is really needed. Her good communication and knowledge is what made her deserving of the title "Ultimate Police Officer".

———> She is a firm believer of hope, that hope can overcome this surge of loss and pain. She believes that hope can help her brother, hope can help the Ultimates. Which is why she believes that Nagito has good intentions, despite his eyes swirling from despair, he believes in hope.

Strengths:

———> Her choice of words. Naomi could move a person with her words. She always told her co-leagues with great assurance that they will do great and she always say that everything takes patience and understanding.

———> Her honesty and sincerity. Even though she can be blunt, she could be someone to be trusted!

———> A mother figure. She has a strong passion when it comes to people who needs guidance counseling and always there when you need a word of advice, no matter how annoying you are she could tolerate.

———> Her knowledge. She knows many things when it comes to handling heavy guns, drills, methods and fire coaching even though she is just a police officer—especially in the killing game COUgh. She really is good when it comes to strategizing and cooperation like ??? 😳

———> Her reaction time, agile and defense. (inspiration for this one is Annie Leonhart ✨)

WEAKNESSES

———> Lost of strong intimacy (such as romance). She's not capable of being open when it comes to intimacy like that. Its too out of her reach and she had been deprived from "romance" already—even her honesty have limits and she wouldn't like a topic surrounding that. Of course! she had loved but she will never admit that because it makes her uncomfortable. If someone confessed their love to her, she'll walk away with a small apology. If you ever ask for an advice related to intimacy, just so you know you'll get nothing ✨But don't worry! it just take an effort of assuring her and you'll get what you want.

———> Strength, stamina and power. She had lived for years without the proper nutrition after her family's massacre, she have to endure small amounts of food, famines and floods. The only thing that stop this weaknesses for showing is her knowledge because even without strength, stamina nor power—her knowledge is her weapon. Its not like she doesn't have it! But like its much more weaker than her strengths? Jdnjwjsns

———> Her loss of humor. KYAAA its not like she doesn't know how to get a joke! but if you ask her to tell a joke she wouldn't answer at all. Her humor suddenly walks away after her older brother's obsession in death. Like—humor isn't how she comforts someone, she'll be so awkward andddd in return you'll get her embarrassed and laughing out of it. She will somewhat tell you that she doesn't have good humor.

———> Her rage. Oh no, if you tell her to open up because it will be healthy for her—you'll also experience her anger. She will tell you that she wants to kill that scum who have the burning audacity to tell Megami to kill their family, she was so happy and contented even though they were living in a rural area and then someone comes there to steal it? For what? To have fun? Smh.

———> Meddlesome. If you catch her feels and moved her heart, you better catch this too. She is scared to lose another person even though she was just interested at you even a tiny bit so expect her to come with you even if you just want to look at the night sky and she will probably answer "Well you might get killed though" its not like she doesn't trust you but you guys are at a killing game so– free bodyguard I guess?

———> She is the type of person to put all her feelings in a jar then once it didn't fit her heavy heart—she'll burst and overflow then becomes empty afterwards. The cycle ALWAYS repeats ^^;

Family members:

Yuichi Hitsuji (Father : deceased) ,

Sara Hitsuji (Mother : deceased),

Hiroto Hitsuji (Eldest brother : ???),

Megami Hitsuji (Eldest sister : deceased),

Kenzo Hitsuji (Middle child/brother : deceased),

Nagahi Hitsuji (youngest/twins with Naomi : deceased),

Naomi Hitsuji (youngest/twins with Nagahi : alive)

Backstory (I noticed that there is someone who I almost have the same backstory so I change the siblings and the wholeass plot. It was supposed to be Naomi's twin brother but I found this out so I thought maybe— 😳 but just so you know you can skip this because its so HECKIN long)

The Hitsuji family lived in a rural area where they lived their happiness at the fullest. Even though they were almost hanging low from poverty, they were able to preserve their glee in the household. One day, when the eldest brother Hiroto Hitsuji was teaching the clueless Naomi how to plant crops on one of their lands—a sudden massacre happened inside the household. Blood spurts on the walls , the smell of blood was so strong to his nose that he feel like baffling.

The crime was so sudden and it astonished the residence when it was announced, no one was able to witness any clue or any sound that resonated from the house. Investigators visited but to no avail, there aren't hints of another suspect than the people themselves inside the household. Hiroto Hitsuji was almost suspected from the crime if it weren't for Naomi to be there with him. The case haven't been solved yet, but it was so popular to the public eye, almost as if it is an 'entertainment'—her older brother was so angry when the death of his family was made as a game waiting to be unsolved by people.

After 2 weeks or so, it was declared that Megami, the eldest sister of the Hitsujis was the one who slaughtered the ménage and to avoid getting jailed—she committed suicide along with them. Hiroto believed that it wasn't true and that Megami isn't capable of committing when she was the one who is the most contented out of the family. He believed that someone might've hypnotized or ordered her to kill though the authorities didn't pay mind to his blabbering. Poor Naomi didn't know anything of the slaughter until she turned 12.

She was so confused, Hiroto had to lie to her just so she wouldn't feel so disturbed of the sudden disappearance. She knew it didn't add up—she was trained heavily by Hiroto and the residence have been avoiding her and her brother, she could even hear whispers on her back just as she pass by. Not only that, she could always see him suffering alone as he fixed the crops on the field. It was so lonely, it was so depressing, it was so helpless in the household when only the two members have been there. It took all tears and shame for him to tell her that the others have been long gone.

Years have passed, and Naomi noticed Hiroto's immense hope. He never pay mind to rumors nor let every insult come shoot him. When he saw her so depressed and suddenly lamenting about the massacre, he will assure her with the most gentle smile he could muster. Hiroto was able to have income because lady luck gave him fortune to be able to stand up again. Naomi thought his behavior was amusing and when she opened about how laughable he is, he'll just grin at her way. Naomi adored and loved her brother from the bottom of her heart, he always stand up and always put on a smile even though he was carrying such a heavy load on his shoulders. She was so happy to be blessed with a strong man as a brother.

In years full of effort and recovering, his success didn't falter. The two was able to move on a well-known city (which is where the Hope's Peak Academy has took place). He was able to marry a woman named "Yuna Minato" whom he have met when he was selling what he has in supply. The family started with laughs and obnoxious behavior around the house. Naomi promised to do something for the family which is why she entered the police forces. Yuna and Hiroto welcomed her support with open heart, almost as if there were Naomi's parents. Naomi's new family is what she was sworn to protect and she delivered her determination and motivation to the military that she was able to rise up and get scouted by Hope's Peak Academy. She turned to a very positive, independent and determined person when she was able to engage with new Ultimates. She was so open and so capable of her job as an Ultimate.

The unbelievable blessings that happened also altered to a very horrendous nightmare, Horito and his wife Yuna who was pregnant with their 4 months child have gotten to a car accident after getting crushed by a truck who loose control. The truck driver ran away while swarms of people invaded the car. The family that Naomi have sworn to protect was hit by a wave of bad luck. To her surprise, Horito was able to survive the car accident but his wife and their child have died.

It resulted for Horito to fall in a pit full of self-loathing, he despised himself for never thinking. He thought that the only way he could give his apology with is his own life—its not like he need it anymore, its so pathetic anyways. He was placed on the mental hospital two months after the accident because he was spotted trying to die in public places, spotted by Naomi overdosing and etc. The admirable brother that Naomi rejoiced for, has finally broke and bursted from his heavy load of anger and sadness. With swirls and loops of despair, Horito cannot pass a day without crying and starving himself as he absorbed all the guilt of loosing another loved one with his reckless decisions. He told Naomi that maybe, just maybe—this was the curse of the Hitsuji family.

The hurt and fear she felt when Horito looked at her with contorted irritation and despair, when he yelled that this worthless and time wasting life shouldn't be tolerated anymore—that all he had was just false hope. She tried to maintain her composure and tell him to calm down because he is not alone, that she was still here with him. Her paranoia crept up to her as if she looked away, Horito will die the next second. Naomi can never exceed the pain if Horito died and leave her here. She wasn't able to protect the people she cared about, and thats what made her feel so drowned on doses of guilt. She bargained that this time she will carry for the two of them. Just like what Horito did when she was younger, she put a firm faith on hope. She believed that hope can stop this cycle of torture, she believe that hope can change her brother's self-loathing–it just needs some patience. She changed the childish personality of hers to a more sophisticated one, she wanted to prove him that she could carry his load.

Even though she said that, she can never resist fate. As if fate hated the Hitsujis forever, Naomi was transported to a killing game. Leaving Horito to suffer from loneliness and he secretly died after the fire on the mental hospital. He was condemned to ashes with his undying despair-filled life.

HEADCANNONS

-Naomi loves expressing her feelings on a letter, she would definitely put sticky notes on the head of her bed filled with rants and motivational poems!

-Naomi engages alot with Nagito because he reminds her of Hiroto. Like even the luck cycle is almost the same? If ever Naomi opened up about it, Nagito will prolly think that her brother has a luck cycle like him too.

-If Chiaki ever needs a gaming partner, she'll call on Naomi since she knew that she has good reaction time and really good when it comes to strategizing. Naomi will be a very great gaming partner!

-Akane will definitely challenge Naomi if she ever got reminded of Naomi's talent. But only for her to get disappointed because well—Naomi doesn't have that good of a strength at all.

-I really headcanon that Naomi and Nekomaru would be besties or like the mother and father of the group hmhmhm just a thought-

-Naomi didn't know that Horito is dead, which is why she had been believing at hope to something that would never be bound to happen.

AAAA THIs was 2467 words like emmmm, chile- anyways I am sorry its so long wjdnwjwj.

Gina: Welcome to OC fest, Naomi! My name is Gina, the Ultimate Philanthropist. This may sound a bit weird, but I never met a police officer before. But I bet it’s a super cool job. It’s so nice to know the safety of everyone here is in the hands of someone as hopeful as you!

Yukari:..............Gina, you’ve been spending WAY TOO MUCH time with the awesome Nagito

Gina: *blushes* Sorry.....but thank you for taking care of him, by the way. I appreciate it

Yukari: You ever need to awesomely vent about your unawesome trauma, we are all ears! And maybe an awesome game of chess with Oresama can cheer you up *smirks* Gotta warn you though, Oresama never lose~

[kriscme]

One Life to Live

Hi, so now we come to the end.  The final two chapters.  Thanks to everyone who’s been following this story.  It can be read on AO3 too.  My name is Kris22 there.  As always, thanks to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take” available on AO3 and Fanfiction.  And thanks to Loueze for her encouragement and support.  Chapter 37 By the time the television crew was due to arrive, Peeta and I were as convincingly in love as two people could possibly be.  Of course, it was helped a great deal by the fact that we actually were.  Even so, we were hardly looking forward to our private lives becoming public again and cameras following us around as we went about our daily routine.  We worried about how intrusive it might be. Cressida had promised it would be tasteful, but the Capitol idea of tasteful can be very different from the districts.  I was afraid that it might be like that show I once saw on television about a houseful of people under constant surveillance.  They couldn’t even shower in privacy.  Would it be like that for Peeta and me?  Would they follow us into the bedroom?  Expect us to perform?  Our one consolation was that we’d be left alone once filming had ended and we vowed to ourselves that we’d do nothing newsworthy for the rest of our lives.   The day came. The house had been cleaned and tidied.  Everything was where it was supposed to be to reflect a couple who lived together as romantic partners.  Buttercup was bathed and freshly groomed.  I had the scratches to prove it.  Peeta, always considerate, had baked an assortment of breads for the crew, although I told him he shouldn’t bother.  At 7 am everything was in readiness.  10 am came and went.   And then 11 am.   At 2 pm we were still waiting.   At 4 pm we wondered if we’d got our dates wrong.   It was 6 pm when Haymitch finally got around to telling us.  They weren’t coming.  At all.   The video Remus took had violated victor media protection.  I had been filmed without my consent, wasn’t engaged in illegal activity and hadn’t voided my own protection by taking on a public role or seeking publicity.  Plutarch knew this but gambled that in our ignorance, we could be coerced into co-operating.  And once filming had started, our media protection was automatically revoked, since we had clearly consented to it.   It took only one phone call from Haymitch to President Paylor to have it sorted.   I suppose it’s of some consolation that Plutarch was severely reprimanded and threatened with dismissal.  And that he was also out of pocket for the purchase of the video and pre-production costs. As for Haymitch, I couldn’t decide whether to thank him or kill him.  He had certainly saved us from our lives being turned into a media circus for a second time but he’d let us have the worry of it for a whole week.  Peeta calmed me down and reminded me that it had brought us together.  Haymitch’s defense was that he was sick to death of our crap and wanted an end to it. He thought that a week of living together would get us sort out our differences and he was proven right.   I argued that it would have happened anyway, although I had to concede probably not as quickly.  With that in mind, I decided to let him live.   The year rolls around.  Peeta doesn’t move back into his house. It was never discussed; it was simply taken for granted.  We keep busy.  Peeta still works at the bakery as a specialist cake decorator.  He’s a partner now.  The sign above the new premises reads “Carter and Mellark Bakery and Patisserie.”  I teach at the school and on weekends I hunt. Marcus wrote to ask if I was interested in culling pest species such as wild dog and feral pig.  I jumped at it.  It seems you can be a hunter and a conservationist.   Haymitch works at the council and raises geese, which he does a pretty good job of considering he’s inebriated most of the time. We attend two weddings and one toasting.   Arthur and Lace don’t wait long before they tie the knot, or to be more accurate, thread the needle. Predictably, it was the source of much hilarity for Max, who was also invited.  At least he refrained from making jokes until after the ceremony.  I enjoyed catching up with Sateen and her husband Roy. They have a little boy.  They called him Felt.   Poor kid.   The second wedding was Octavia and Thom’s. Octavia made a beautiful bride with her rich auburn hair and fresh complexion.  Venia’s fear that their past as prep team to the Games would jeopardize their position in 12 proved needless.  Everyone knew who they were.  They’d seen them on television.  Flavius’s bright orange hair and Venia’s facial tattoos made them easily recognizable. But people had moved on.  They were tired of holding onto resentments – especially for three harmless beauty therapists whose former “victim” still willingly availed herself of their services.   The toasting was ours.  One day, we just did it.  There was no planning, no prior understanding that we’d have one.  It was the middle of winter.  We were snowed in and confined to the house.  Peeta got a roaring fire going and we picnicked in front of it using odds and ends from the pantry.  We had some stale bread to use up and toasted it by the fire.  He’d hold the toasting fork with a piece of bread to the flames and offer it to me when it was done.  The significance of it entered our heads at the very same moment. It was just a look followed by a kiss. Nothing needed to be said.  One day we might make it official, but for us we’re more married than any piece of paper or big party could make us.   Johanna won the election for District 7 mayor. She’s kept very busy but we talk on the telephone regularly.  She’s coming to visit 12 for a few days next month.   Doubtless she’ll be as disruptive as ever.  But sometimes we can use a little stirring up.  That’s what Johanna says anyway.  She takes full credit for getting Peeta and me back together and I can’t say she’s entirely wrong.   And we had a visit from my mother!  I had her possessions shipped to her home in District 4 and it seemed to have jolted something inside her, because soon after she was making plans to travel here.   It was a short visit.  She was nervous about coming here, of the memories it could evoke.  But aside from the Village, there’s nothing left of the old Twelve.  The debris from the bombs has long since been cleared away, new buildings have replaced the old, and the grass grows long and thick over the meadow.   We had a long talk about her reasons for not joining me in Twelve after I’d been released from the Capitol.  She feared being pulled down into a depression along with me.   I understood.  When you’re in the grip of it, you can see no way out.  My mother, having recovered once, was deathly afraid that she wouldn’t recover a second time.  And since misery feeds on misery, she would likely have only made mine worse.   Peeta is somewhere in the house repairing the painting of the primrose he did for me.  I don’t visit Prim in her room anymore except for that one time I when I wanted to tell her about my toasting with Peeta.   She wasn’t there.  She hasn’t been for a long time.  It was then I realized that Prim doesn’t reside in any particular place.  She’s with me every time I think of her.  I took down the primrose painting from the top of the dresser.  It belongs somewhere where I will see it every day.   I had an idea for a book, similar to my family’s plant book.   It’s to preserve the happy memories of the people we’ve lost.   Lady licking Prim’s cheek, what Cinna could do with a length of silk.  In my best handwriting, I carefully record all the details it would be a crime to forget and accompany it with a photo if we have one, or a sketch or painting by Peeta. There are photos of Finnick strewn across the dining table as I try to make my mind up on which one to use - a publicity shot that shows off Finnick’s sea-green eyes or a photo taken of himself and Annie at their wedding.   “Katniss, I was looking for some kind of adhesive tape to fix the painting and I found this letter in one of the drawers in the study.  It was addressed to me, so I opened it.” I look up, wondering what Peeta’s talking about.  He holds the painting in one hand and a sheet of paper in the other.  He leans the painting up against a wall and then pulls out one of the dining room chairs to sit across from me.  He lays the letter down in front of him.  I immediately recognize the handwriting on it as my own.  It’s the first letter I wrote to him after the mayor’s party before I thought better of it and wrote a second.  But not before putting it in an envelope and stuffing it in a drawer.  I’d forgotten all about it.   I try to snatch the letter away but he swiftly puts it out of my reach.  “Dear Peeta,” he reads. “I’m writing to you because – ““You don’t have to read it.  I know what’s in it,” I say.  “Give it back.”  I make another grab for it but he’s too fast. “. . . because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.” He stops reading and hands me the letter.  I take it from him, refold it, and slip it beneath the memory book, hoping against hope, that this will prevent any more mention of it. “Did you really want to break off all contact with me?” he asks, frowning.  “I didn’t think it ever got that bad.  When?  Why?” I sigh. Why didn’t I throw the damn letter out? “It was after the mayor’s party.  I was very upset when I wrote it.  And then I had second thoughts and wrote you another. That’s the one I slipped under your door.  I’d forgotten about this one.” He gives his head a shake. “I don’t understand. Nothing happened that night.  Not between us, anyway.  Did someone say something?  Was it Max?”  His lips thin in anger.  “That – “ “No,” I say quickly.  “It was nothing Max did.” I let out a breath, and plough forward. “It was something you did.  You and Lace.  It was when you sneaked off to have sex.” There’s a moment of stunned silence.  “What?” “You know what I mean.  I saw it all.  Well, not all, but I did see the two of disappear through those swinging double doors only the staff used.   And when you came back, Lace’s hair was all mussed. And if you didn’t have sex exactly, it was something close.  That was really tacky, Peeta.  Civilized people have more decorum than to do that.  Civilized people wait until they get home.  Civilized people – “ “Katniss, we didn’t sneak off for sex. Cass invited me to see the kitchens once the dessert course was over.  That’s where we went.”   Oh.  I guess that’s a reasonable explanation.  But that dream had been so vivid.  “Then why was Lace’s hair messed up?” “Was it?  I don’t know.  I don’t remember anything different about her.  We went to see the kitchen, Cass showed us around, and then we came out. Nothing else happened.”   “But it was sticking out,” I insist.  I know what I saw.   The scene plays again in my head.  I was at the bar with Haymitch and Max, sampling shots of whisky and getting drunker and more agitated by the minute.  Agonizing over what they could be doing.  Kissing, fondling each other, maybe even fucking. “And then you didn’t even look to see if I was still there when you came back,” I add in a small pitiful voice.  It sounds so pathetic, saying it aloud.  It’s a trivial reason for cutting someone out of your life. Just because they didn’t look for you when they came into a room.   But after everything, that’s what tipped it over for me.  What finally made me give up hope and decide to end it. He reaches across the table to take one of my hands.  “Katniss, look at me.” I turn my face away, and he gives my hand a tug.  I reluctantly meet his gaze.  His eyes look earnestly into mine.  “I can’t explain the hair, okay?  But I can tell you what I do remember about that night.” He pauses, as if waiting for my approval before he proceeds.  I shrug.   “Go ahead.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds.  “You, looking so beautiful in your Cinna dress.  And me, assailed by memories of other entrances and other gowns.  Being dragged around by Lace from one boring conversation to another, unable to resist looking around to see what you were doing.  And Max, who didn’t leave your side for a minute unless it was to get you another drink. I was jealous of him without knowing why but attributed it to a fear of losing your friendship.” He pauses and adds, “At the time, you didn’t seem very happy with me.”I feel a twinge of remorse.  He’s right.  I was often moody and distant with him.  The tape viewings weren’t going as I wanted and I’d recently learned of a pattern book he was making for Lace, similar to my family’s plant book.  “You seemed to be having such a good time together, at dinner and on the dance floor. So, when we came back into the ballroom, I just didn’t want to be reminded of it.  I kept my head down and headed for the nearest group of people.  And then I did my best not to think about you.  I’m sorry.   I hurt you and used Lace to hide from my feelings.  But that’s the truth, awful as it is.”   But not nearly as awful as what I’d convinced myself of.   I don’t know what to say.  I feel so foolish.  So much anger and pain for something that existed only in my imagination.   And I’d also assumed that Peeta’s willingness to help me with the Marcus thing was due, in some part, to either empathy or guilt for having being in a similar situation himself. “No, I’m the awful one for jumping to conclusions.  I thought the worst.  You’d never be so crass as to do something like that.  I owe you an apology.  I should never – “ “You don’t owe me anything,” he says, interrupting me before I can go further.   “In fact, the opposite is true.  You wouldn’t have thought it if I hadn’t given you reason to.” He reaches across for the memory book and flips through the pages we’ve done so far.  My father. Peeta’s father.  Boggs.  It stops on Rue.  Peeta has drawn her poised on her toes, arms slightly extended, like a bird about to take flight.  There’s a reason why I asked him to portray her like this.  It’s how I want to remember her.  You can’t change the past, but you can bring the best of it into the future.   “Let’s make a deal. ��Only good memories for us from now on.  Like this book you’re working on.”   He walks over to where I’m sitting to pull me out of my chair.  “Now come show me where you want this painting hung.”  I take him into the living room.  It’s the room we use most and where I’ll see it every day.   As I decide where to place it exactly, Peeta comes to stand at my back to hug me from behind.  I lean back against his broad chest and luxuriate in the strong arms that encircle me.   My dandelion in the spring.  The lullaby that Prim liked as a baby comes to mind.   Here it’s safe, here it’s warmHere the daisies guard you from every harmHere your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them trueHere is the place where I love you. “I was thinking over the mantle?  Or maybe on the far wall . . .”    ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 38 Lace’s story: what happened on the night of the mayor’s party.   It wasn’t fair!  This was supposed to have been her night.   She had been looking forward to it for weeks ever since Peeta casually mentioned it on one of their date nights.  The mayor’s inauguration party was to be the biggest social event in District 12 in living memory.  All the important and influential people in the district would be there.  For ambitious Lace, it was invaluable in terms of creating contacts and securing the kind of clientele that could afford to buy her evening wear, a design niche she wanted to develop.   Besides, she dearly loved a party and she hadn’t been to one in ages.  The last one had been the district party where she had met Peeta for the first time.   He didn’t remember it though.   That was fortunate since she had come to District 12 for a new life and a new identity and didn’t want her past in District 8 compromising it in any way.   Since she was to be her best advertisement, she put a great deal of thought and effort into her gown.  She hadn’t much money saved but she splurged the lot on pale yellow satin and then spent many hours making it up.   The final touch was a trip to the salon to have her hair colored and styled.  It was an extravagance, keeping up the hair color.  But she loved it and it formed something of a disguise as it was subtly different from the typical ash brown of the natives of her home district.   As she entered the ballroom, Lace felt she was at the beginning of an exciting new phase.  After a slow start, her business had gained momentum and she was making a steady income.   A few family members had also made the move to 12 which added to her sense of security.  But best of all, was the man on whose arm she clung.  How did she get so lucky?  Peeta Mellark!  Her teenage crush.  The romantic heartthrob whose posters had adorned her bedroom wall.  The boy she had married in her dreams every night.  What a fortuitus twist of fate it had been that day when he came into her shop to have a coat made.  A flirtation had led to a date at a restaurant and then another, until she could now, without exaggeration, call him her boyfriend! True, he wasn’t quite what she had expected.  He seemed a bit aimless, and he liked activities she had outgrown, like hanging out at the ice-cream parlor and the swimming pool, but he was Peeta Mellark!   And he really was so sweet and considerate with his little romantic gestures and compliments to her beauty.  He told her she was a wonder.  And the more she kissed and flattered and stroked, the more wonderful she became.  It was a mutual admiration society that she was more than happy to live in.  The one blot on her happiness was Katniss Everdeen.  Lace had mixed feelings about meeting her. Katniss was intimidating.  Her reputation as romantic heroine, fearless symbol of the Rebellion, skillful warrior and (privately thought by most of the populace) savior from another Snow, preceded her.  But most intimidating of all was her relationship with Peeta.  He talked about her all the time. Not in a romantic sense, it was true, but it was clear she occupied a great deal of his thoughts.  The Games had been mandatory viewing and Lace, like everyone in Panem, had watched Peeta gaze at Katniss with love in his eyes.  But Peeta had an explanation for that.  It had been an illusion.  He thought he had been in love with her, but it turned out that he was in love with his idea of her, rather than who she really is.  But now he thought of her as very good friend with whom he shared an unbreakable bond.  As for Katniss, well, she had never loved him.  It had all been an act on her part. That should have been reassuring.  And it was.  Sort of.  But Peeta had lost many of his memories and what was left was distorted, so how could he be certain? But what gave her most pause wasn’t Peeta.  It was Katniss.  It was clear at the first meeting that Katniss didn’t like her.  Katniss wasn’t rude, but she was cool, even giving her the once over when they were first introduced.  And when Lace and Peeta discussed a housewarming gift from the two of them for Lace’s brother, a shadow passed over Katniss’s face.  It was subtle but unmistakable.  Katniss wasn’t as disinterested in Peeta as Peeta made out. That’s why Lace gatecrashed the tape viewings.  If there was anything going on, she wanted to know about it.  She didn’t trust Katniss one inch.  Unfortunately, the second of the tapes triggered the memory of a traumatic incident for Lace and she reacted hysterically.  Peeta asked her not to attend anymore and she had no choice but to do as he said.   However, despite Peeta watching video tape of hugs and kisses and romantic slow dancing at Capitol parties, nothing changed between herself and Peeta.  If Peeta had ever loved Katniss, it appeared that he no longer did.   Even Leevy’s revelations in the salon that day didn’t worry her for long.  So what if the star-crossed lovers had been real?  It still aligned with Peeta’s version.  What had happened in the Games and during the tours was before Peeta had realized his true feelings for Katniss.  And she’d already guessed that Katniss was in love with him.   The party was everything Lace had dreamed of. So elegant. The women in evening gowns, the men in dinner suits.  Waiters with silver trays laden with flutes of sparkling champagne. The tables resplendent with starched white tablecloths and napkins and gleaming cutlery.  She turned to Peeta to kiss his cheek. “Thank you so much for bringing me,” she said. “You really are the best boyfriend.”  He brushed her lips with his and gave her a fond smile.  “Only because I have the best girlfriend,” he replied.   She beamed and squeezed his arm.  She could hardly recall a happier moment.   And then Katniss Everdeen arrived.  Lace’s practiced eye immediately recognized her gown as haute couture.  Cinna, probably.  Deep blue, the bodice studded thickly with diamonds – were they real? – with a strapless sweetheart neckline and more diamonds scattered on the skirt.  It dazzled and Katniss dazzled with it.  Luxuriant dark hair cascading down her back in loose curls.  Smooth olive skin, fine features and those surprising eyes.  Silvery gray, the colour of storm clouds.  She had a man for each arm.  The school teacher Max Matson, who all the girls agreed was very good looking if you could get past his personality, and – it couldn’t be – Arthur!  Lace’s friend who adored her since they were children together.  She knew he was coming tonight but not with her!  She felt the arm beneath her fingers stiffen and her glance swiftly turned to his face.  Peeta appeared stunned, his mouth gaping slightly.  There was admiration, certainly, but also something darker and more sinister.  Recognition. A memory, perhaps several, had resurfaced.   Lace’s happiness dimmed as if a cloud had passed across the sun.  But she rallied, pulling Peeta quickly along to greet the new mayor and his wife who were momentarily on their own.  Lace was in her element.  She was a natural networker.  She loved to interact with people and was always searching for opportunities.  Peeta seemed a little distracted though. Looking around, not quite keeping up with the conversation.   She followed his gaze, and it led directly to Katniss Everdeen, who, no surprise, was looking directly at him.  They both looked quickly away, but that was of no comfort.  It was clear that they were on each other’s mind. Meanwhile, she was pleased to observe, Arthur had detached himself from Katniss and was busy working the room too.  Now there was a man with get-up-and-go.  He didn’t let his natural reserve get in the way of achieving his ambitions.  Lace waved him over and he changed direction to come to her side.  Soon they were talking business, a fascinating subject for them both. She didn’t notice how restless Peeta was during the exchange. Dinner was announced and everyone made their way to their allocated seats.  Unfortunately, theirs was a dull table and not even Lace’s pearly laugh could liven it up. A burst of laughter from nearby grabbed her attention.  Arthur and Haymitch seemed to be at the center of it.  It caught Peeta’s attention too.  He seemed envious, it appeared to Lace.  But whether it was over the entertaining company or because Katniss was seated there too, she couldn’t tell. After the food had been served, people resumed their mingling, moving from table to table. Peeta wanted to talk to Katniss.  Ordinarily, Lace wouldn’t feel particularly threatened by this.  Over the preceding weeks, Peeta had confided to her that Katniss seemed uninterested in spending time with him unless it was watching the tapes.  And even then, she often seemed angry with him. Lace immediately guessed the situation. Katniss had grown frustrated with Peeta. He hadn’t responded as she’d hoped and she was distancing herself as a form of self-protection.  As long as this status quo was maintained, Lace felt safe. But after tonight, she wasn’t sure of anything.   Lace demurred.  Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea.  Katniss appeared occupied and hadn’t he told her that she didn’t seem keen on his company lately?  It was best to leave her alone.  But Peeta said that they should, that it would look odd if they didn’t.  So, when Max headed off in the direction of the bar, leaving Katniss on her own, Lace reluctantly let Peeta lead her to where Katniss sat.   It was an awkward conversation.  Lace embarrassed herself with her ignorance on what it meant to be a victor at the district parties and having to face the families of the dead tributes.  Worse, she let it slip that she had been to a district party.  Her story was that she’d been a factory worker in 8. Factory workers weren’t allowed to attend district parties.  Fortunately, Peeta didn’t pick up on it, but Katniss appeared to sense that something was amiss.   There was an awkward pause.  Peeta broke the silence.  “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he said to Lace, pretending to be annoyed.  She had intended to stay at Peeta’s side, but perhaps it would be better to leave before she dug herself a deeper hole. “Okay, okay,” she said, in mock surrender.  “I know when I’m not wanted.  I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway.  Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” There, that would show Katniss who’s really in charge and hopefully plant a seed that Peeta wasn’t exactly happy in her company either.  She stroked his hand and kissed his cheek, enjoying her Svengali-like effect, knowing that his eyes would follow her as she walked away. She went to the ladies’ room as she said she would and did the usual things women do there.  She wanted to get the timing right and was gratified to see Peeta waiting for her at their table when she returned.   The dancing started up soon after and Lace pulled Peeta to his feet.  She loved to dance.  Peeta didn’t. His prosthetic leg made it a chore rather than a pleasure and he had faint memories of dancing at Capitol parties. But he wanted to be a good boyfriend, so up he got, and shuffled dutifully around the dancefloor with her. But then Katniss and Max came into view. Max had Katniss pulled tightly against him and he swung her around in a series of fancy turns, almost lifting her off her feet.  They were making fools of themselves, thought Lace.  That’s no way to behave at a formal event. So undignified!  So tasteless!  She turned to Peeta, expecting him to be as unimpressed as she, but his face was hard, giving away nothing.  Suddenly, he put his head close to hers and whispered words in her ear.   She nodded and followed him through the double swinging doors the staff used to bring food from the kitchen.  It had been pre-arranged.  Peeta had told her about it.  Cass from the bakery was to show Peeta around the kitchens. He had never seen a commercial kitchen before.   While he marveled at the long row of ovens, the walk-in freezer, the huge storage room, Lace could barely stifle her yawns.  So boring, and it was fricking cold in there after the warmth of the ballroom. But she stuck a smile on her face and did her best to appear interested but she was hardly in the mood to hear about the merits of blast chillers when her heart was breaking.  Somehow, she had to widen the gulf between Katniss and Peeta. She had to ensure that any fledgling signs of a possible reunion between them was snuffed out before it could begin. And then she had an idea. Just as they were about to re-enter the ballroom, Lace ruffled her carefully styled hair and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth to wipe away some of the lipstick, smearing it a little. Let Katniss believe that she and Peeta had snuck away for some canoodling in a dark corner.  Isn’t that what Peeta and Katniss did as star-crossed lovers?  Sneaking off to be alone when they were at fancy events? It was in a fan magazine she’d read, anyway.  With a bit of luck, Katniss’s mind would go straight there.   She scanned the room and saw Katniss by the bar with Max and Haymitch.  The hour was growing late and the crowd had thinned but there was a group of merry young people standing around nearby.  She started to lead Peeta in their direction, but he seemed to have the same idea and led her.  And when his arm went around her waist and he pressed a fond kiss to the crown of her head, relief flooded through her.  Everything was as it should be.  She turned in his arms slightly to look over his shoulder and managed to catch a glimpse of Katniss’s stricken but resolute face, just before her hasty exit with a startled Max close behind her.   Satisfied, she leaned her head against Peeta’s shoulder and he squeezed her waist.  She had worried over nothing.  It was inevitable that as Peeta regained his memories they’d be focused on Katniss. They were, after all, the memories that Snow had meddled with.  It didn’t mean that Peeta was wrong when he said his feelings for her had been an illusion. The real proof of who he loved was in who he chose to be with.  And that was her, Lace Bomul from District 8.  

[nerianasims]

Billboard #1s 1983

Under the cut.

Toto -- "Africa" -- February 5, 1983

This song becoming massively popular recently sort of mystifies me. But maybe it shouldn't; the music is very pretty, and we've been short on popular music that goes for "pretty" for a long time. The lyrics... I really don't know. The best explanation I've seen was someone joking on Tumblr that maybe the narrator's a werewolf. I'm sure that wasn't the intent, but it's what I'm going with. It is a good song, entirely because of the music.

Patti Austin and James Ingram -- "Baby, Come to Me" -- February 19, 1983

I'm not sure I've ever heard this song before. It's a romantic duet. It's not annoying or anything, it's fine, but now that I've heard it I think I'm probably about to forget it again immediately.

Michael Jackson -- "Billie Jean" -- March 5, 1983

This song, I've heard. A whole hell of a lot. Like everyone else, we had the Thriller album (or tape, rather.) Actually I had it -- for some reason, Thriller was seen as some kind of child's first pop album. Every kid I knew had it. (And since seeing Leaving Neverland, that has been very creepy to me.) As for me, I'd put it on and dance, especially to this song. I pretty much understood what the song was about, and even got the "His eyes looked like mine" line. I didn't have an opinion on whether or not the kid was his son. It didn't matter; it was entirely about the music. Which is truly great.

Dexys Midnight Runners -- "Come On Eileen" -- April 23, 1983

Until the last couple years, I didn't entirely know what this song was about, because I couldn't understand Kevin Rowland's weird singing outside the chorus. I got that he wanted Eileen, and that this was about the combination of arrogance and horniness of youth. I did not know about all the references to the previous generation's pop culture, with an obvious inference that they felt the same way at one time. Also about Margaret Thatcher's intentional destruction of her own country's society. You don't have to think about any of that to enjoy the song if you don't want to, though. It's a fun dance song as well as being complex lyrically.

Michael Jackson -- "Beat It" -- April 30, 1983

This is the Michael Jackson song I remember being played on the radio by far the most when I was a child. It's basically the main background song of a couple years of my childhood. It's a hard-driving song about how you should run away from a physical fight rather than die. "It doesn't matter/ Who's wrong or right." Yes. It's rock, and it's dance, and it's... probably really great? I don't know, some things are too formative.

David Bowie -- "Let's Dance" -- May 21, 1983

"Put on your red shoes and dance the blues" makes no sense. But this is David Bowie; he knew that. It's part of the point. While this song is perfectly feasable to dance to, it's not really a dance song. It's achingly romantic and not the tiniest bit soppy, with music that's both accessible and fascinating. And my god Bowie could sing. I love it so much.

Irene Cara -- "Flashdance... What A Feeling" -- May 28, 1983

I didn't see Flashdance until college, when my roommates decided we would watch a bunch of cheesy 80s movies because it seemed a brilliant thing to do. It was, actually. Some of them even turned out to be good. Not Flashdance. Flashdance is memorably stupid, at least -- it doesn't hold back. It's extremely entertaining because it's deeply unintentionally hilarious. This song, though, I've heard a lot since it came out. The song is much better than the movie. It's got a wide-eyed optimism that's appealing, and the music is fun.

The Police -- "Every Breath You Take" -- July 9, 1983

I remember people periodically insisting that many, many women don't understand this song and think it's just romantic. I have never met any of these women. I have a feeling it was only a few, and that got blown up into some kind of crisis, as things do. Especially when people can imagine angelic airheaded women being dumb and somehow inviting abuse from those scary scary men. That's a favorite hobby for many. Anyway. It's a really good song that gets into the mindset of a really bad man -- or of a man who's currently imagining being really bad but is going to wake up, deal with his hangover, and get on with life. It's not a comfortable song, and that is good. Also Sting's hot.

Eurythmics -- "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" -- September 3, 1983

Usually repetitive songs drive me nuts. This song is incredibly repetitive lyrically. I love the lyrics, though. And musically, it changes up just enough to keep my interest. It's almost hypnotic. Apparently, Annie Lennox can do whatever she likes with me. Speaking of "some of them want to be abused"...

Michael Sembello -- "Maniac" --  September 10, 1983

The original demo of this song was about a serial killer, and it sounds like it, with the Psycho-like musical parts. It's not a dance song at all. Michael Sembello worked with Stevie Wonder during his best years, but he's no Stevie Wonder. He has that 70s light rock white guy voice, and it doesn't fit this song. If he'd handed this to another singer, it would have been better. Though still goofy, because it's music about a serial killer wedded to a story about a dancer. Many of the lines don't seem to have been changed either: "On the ice-blue line of insanity/ Is a place most never see." And  okay, that's a good line; I wouldn't want to leave it out either.

Also my aunt is a professional dancer (mostly choreographer now), so I've seen quite a bit into the professional dance world, and it is seriously unhealthy. It seems to be getting better, at least in modern dance, but the reason my aunt didn't go farther as a ballerina and switched to modern dance is that she could not get skinny enough for the fashion in ballet, no matter what she did. We're a muscular family with solid bones, and she couldn't get rid of that. She's got an eating disorder still though. Professional dance is harsh and terrible, and probably kills more women than serial killers do.

That's what I think of when I hear this song.

Billy Joel -- "Tell Her About It" -- September 24, 1983

Billy Joel's best songs didn't make it to #1, but that's almost always the way. This bouncy throwback of a song is still fun. With most excellent advice: "Tell her about it/ Tell her everything you feel/ Give her every reason/ To accept that you're for real." (It occurs to me that my husband is the first guy I dated who did that actually while we were dating, as opposed to waiting until after we broke up. Most of the guys I dated did not take in "I will not get back together with you if we break up." Not my fault; I told them about it.) Anyway, this isn't as good as "Big Shot," or "You May Be Right," or "My Life," or a whole lot of other Billy Joel songs I like a lot better, but it's pretty good.

Bonnie Tyler -- "Total Eclipse of the Heart" -- October 1, 1983

Melodrama, I love it. This song is so Great -- big, fantastical, unembarrassed, and awesome in both meanings of the term. Bonnie Tyler knows her strengths and has no hesitation about using that huge voice, and yet she doesn't oversing, either. The lyrics? Hell if I know. To me, it sounds like that part of a relationship where you're losing yourself and can't think about anything but the other person, and especially about having sex with the other person. But whatever else it is, it's poetry. And big thunder crashes. Which is a lot like falling in love. It's not necessarily happy. It just is.

Kenny Rogers and Dolly Parton -- "Islands In the Stream" -- October 29, 1983

Going from "Total Eclipse of the Heart" to this song induces emotional whiplash. The opening goes "Baby, when I met you/ There was peace unknown." That's the exact opposite of "Total Eclipse of the Heart." What is the same as "Total Eclipse of the Heart" is that the lyrics make no actual sense -- but of course they don't, this thing was written by the Bee Gees. Nonsensical lyrics can be poetic, but the Bee Gees didn't do poetry, at least not good poetry. Oh well, it's probably their most tolerable song. It's a sweet and light song, and I'm sure the narrators will be very happy together. They sound exceedingly "emotionally healthy." But as art, I prefer the "Total Eclipse of the Heart" take. Also I think this song might have been better with just Dolly Parton. Kenny Rogers was good, but he couldn't match Dolly.

Lionel Richie -- "All Night Long" -- November 12, 1983

Lionel Richie puts on a fake Jamaican accent for this thing. Also he makes up pseudo-African chants. I'm not going to go all "j'accuse!", at least not of problematicicity. No, I am accusing him instead of being annoying. Also dull. This is a party song, but an extremely boring one. Also Richie kind of tries to do an "ow" thing, obviously inspired by Michael Jackson, but of course it doesn't work. It's still not terrible. Unlike all the gloop Richie made, I can listen to the whole thing. The drums --  or drum machine, rather -- have a neat beat, and there are some good horns and other musical touches.

Paul McCartney and Michael Jackson -- "Say Say Say" -- December 10, 1983

Well this is weird. I can't remember ever having heard this song before. The song is about begging someone not to "play games with my affection." And it sounds like the two men are singing to each other, regardless of the lyric about getting through to a "girl." It's not bad -- Michael Jackson gives Paul McCartney the musical edge that he'd lost as soon as he left the Beatles. Strong beat, harmonica and all. But I'm not going to seek it out, either. I think the beat's too repetitive. Also it feels too busy.

BEST OF 1983 -- "Let's Dance" by David Bowie, "Total Eclipse of the Heart" by Bonnie Tyler, and "Sweet Dreams" by The Eurythmics. Great year for the pop charts. WORST OF 1983 -- There aren't any that I think are truly terrible this year, so I guess I'll go with "Baby, Come to Me," because as predicted, I have already forgotten it.

[everwitch-magiks]

dance with somebody (ch. 11)

start from ch. 1 | back to ch. 10

Whiskey had been the one to suggest meeting at Founders.

The library is one of the few places on campus where it’s not-so-likely that he’ll run into anyone from the team. Unfortunately, it’s not completely guaranteed – it does happen, on occasion, that one of his teammates find it within themselves to actually hit the books – but it’s definitely Whiskey’s best bet when he wants some form of privacy at Samwell. Annie’s would’ve been much cozier, of course, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Whiskey would’ve run into at least six hockey players in the first half hour. Which is not happening, thank you very much. Whiskey is determined to avoid that onslaught of prying questions for as long as he possibly can.

Thankfully, Miguel had no objections to Founders.

And so, here they are. At Founders. Studying – really, just studying. Their statistics textbooks lie open on the table and everything. That’s right, nothing to see here, just two classmates being perfectly cordial classmates. It’s whatever, really. It’s almost nothing.

Except maybe, Whiskey thinks, daring yet another glance in Miguel’s direction and feeling his heartbeat quicken as he finds those brown eyes steadily meeting his own, it might actually be a little bit more than nothing.

Maybe, it could be something.

Miguel holds his Whiskey’s gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then he pushes his textbook aside.

“I wish I could just cram for the final, pass and then be done,” he complains, his tone a little wistful. “Like, I wish I didn’t actually need to know this stuff.”

“You do?” Whiskey asks curiously.

Miguel grimaces.

“I want to have a career in marine research. My academic advisor says I should try to include at least twenty credits of statistics and applied mathematics in my degree.”

“Oh,” Whiskey says, surprised. Although maybe, he doesn’t have a reason to be. “Your major is… Biology something, right?”

That makes Miguel smile.

“Marine biology,” he confirms. “Yeah.”

“Water polo, and marine biology,” Whiskey says, feeling like he’s starting to connect the dots. “Wait, let me guess. Scuba diving?”

Miguel grins, perhaps a little self-consciously.

“Bingo.”

“That’s really cool,” Whiskey tells him, because honestly, it is. “Do you, like. Go diving with dolphins and sharks?”

“No, goodness no!” Miguel laughs. “Try sea cows. And sometimes octopuses.”

“... Wait, really? I was kidding.”

“Sea cows are actually so cool,” Miguel says, sitting up a little straighter. There’s a glow in his eyes that definitely wasn’t there before. “I’ve mostly seen the antillean manatees, since there are a lot of those in Belize where my grandparents live. It was after my first time diving there that I knew I just had to do it again, and again and again, preferably. So I’m hoping that a degree in marine biology will make it possible for me to become a marine researcher, working in the field.”

“Huh,” Whiskey manages in return. There’s something about Miguel’s animated expression that’s making it unusually difficult to string sentences together. “Are there, uh. Are there many career opportunities for field marine biologists?”

Miguel’s smile falters a bit.

“I mean, I know it’s something of a long shot,” he admits, his tone a little quieter. “It’s definitely going to be very competitive. But I still want to try and get there, if i can.”

“No, I mean – of course you should,” Whiskey says hurriedly. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Miguel is still frowning slightly.

Whiskey takes a moment to try and find the right words. He thinks about long shots, about hundreds of prospects competing against each other in a draft, about elusive seven-figure-contracts and his actual chances of landing one. Statistically? Probably not that great.

“It’s better to try than to live with regret,” Whiskey finally settles on, and fucking fuck, that sounded a whole lot better in his head. “I mean. Isn’t it?”

Miguel raises both eyebrows. He looks decidedly unimpressed.

Whiskey sighs.

“I want to play in the NHL,” he offers, somewhat desperately.

That makes Miguel’s eyes widen.

“You want to do what?”

Whiskey smiles weakly.

“I know. Extremely long shot.”

“I mean, yeah,” Miguel agrees. He still looks sort of shaken. “Are you, um. Do you play well?”

“Yeah,” Whiskey says. He doesn’t need to hesitate on that one. “I really do. Although there’s a lot of really good players out there, so there’s absolutely no guarantee that I’ll ever make it. But I just know that I have to try. I have to. Failure can’t be worse than living with so much regret.”

Miguel nods, thoughtfully. And this time, Whiskey notes with relief, he looks more understanding than confused.

“I get that,” Miguel tells him gently. “I really, really do.”

Then he starts to smile.

Whiskey quirks an eyebrow.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Miguel says, even as his smile keeps widening. “It’s silly, it’s just... I just knew that you’re a Slytherin, you had to be. And I was totally right!”

“Oh,” Whiskey says. Then he grins. “Actually, no – Beauxbatons Academy all the way.”

“Right,” Miguel laughs. “How could I possibly forget?”

“Maybe I’ll take you there sometime,” Whiskey offers loftily, surprising himself – he has never, ever been this smooth. “France should be nice, this time of year.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Miguel returns, his tone irresistibly playful. “How’s Saturday?”

“Saturday’s... “ Whiskey begins, before pausing. “We have a game, Saturday.”

“That’s totally fine with me,” Miguel says, and for some reason it sounds like the answer to a question. “What time?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck. Fucking fuck.

Then again, everything went perfectly fine with Beth. Why should this be so different?

“Four p.m.,” Whiskey says bravely. “There’s, uh. There’s going to be a party, after.”

“Oh,” Miguel says, tilting his head in a way that looks a little bit indecisive. “At the hockey frat, I guess?”

“The very one,” Whiskey confirms. And then he continues, quite firmly, before he changes his mind. “You should come.”

“Okay,” Miguel agrees, his expression immediately brightening, almost as if those three words were the password he’d been waiting to hear. “Cool. I’ll be there.”

“Cool,” Whiskey repeats stupidly, his mind still spinning from this unexpected turn of events – what in the world is he going to tell the team? And, perhaps more importantly, what is he going to wear?

Miguel grins.

“Cool,” he parrots back, his tone amused. “Super cool. The coolest of cool.”

“Right.” Whiskey swallows. Wasn’t he totally smooth, like, five minutes ago? Where did that Whiskey go? “Should we, uh… Should we maybe study?”

“I mean, probably,” Miguel says. Except he doesn’t reach for his book. “Hey. Do you wanna go get ice cream?”

Whiskey blinks. Miguel is smiling towards him, that same playful smile from before. It’s still completely irresistible.

They get chocolate ice cream at the murder Stop-n-Shop.

It’s probably not the best ice cream Whiskey’s had in years. Yet somehow, it tastes like it is.

(ch. 12)

[our-kendrick]

Anna Kendrick Puts Her Characters, Her Career—and Herself—Under the Microscope

The actor turns inward to reflect. But don’t worry, she’s laughing along the way.

© Casey Mink

Read here, or below. 

Anna Kendrick has an idea. “Every character should do a scene with her mother at the beginning of a shoot,” she suggests. Her theory is that this type of interior work could function as a sort of controlled breakthrough in therapy—but instead of your own lifetime’s worth of baggage, it’s your character’s.

The notion occurred to her during production on her new HBO Max series Love Life (debuting May 27), on which Hope Davis portrays her mom. “I learned so much about my character during that episode; you go back to your own childhood stuff,” she says. And though she hadn’t previously considered it in such explicit terms, to hear Kendrick talk about her acting is to realize she’s actually been putting her roles under the proverbial microscope for years.

“Why does that person behave that way? Why do some people see the world in a different way?” she muses, chatting by telephone from her home in Los Angeles, where she’s been quarantining since mid-March. “And that’s the kind of driving curiosity that, hopefully, makes me effective at my job.”

Of course, having been acting professionally since adolescence, Kendrick knows that what initially lured her to the trade was a good deal less existential. “It would be really insane for me to suggest that finding truth in a person’s psychology interested me at that age,” she says, with just a little bite. “It was more that I knew plays like Annie and Gypsy meant that I could get on a stage and wear a costume, and people had to pay attention to me. My goals were more streamlined: I wanted to sing really loud and be onstage.”

Streamlined, indeed. Kendrick starred in the 1998 Broadway premiere of High Society, for which she earned a Tony nomination at the ripe age of 12, making her one of the youngest performers in history to earn the distinction. Not long after, as it so often does, Los Angeles came knocking. And, as it so often does, it quickly proved less glamorous than advertised.

“I don’t really know what to say about it other than it sucked. It was hard,” Kendrick says of her early days navigating the “business” side of the business. “Every now and then, I’m walking around in L.A. and I notice some back alley, weird entrance, and remember I used to go around to that entrance because they didn’t want you coming in the front entrance if you were there to audition. It’s a very degrading process to be holding your sides and have some bored receptionist say, ‘Can you use this back entrance?’ And then, obviously, the image of walking into a room and there are 20 girls who look exactly like you.”

Though she hardly recalls the period with rose-hued fondness, it was a necessary steppingstone to becoming the Anna Kendrick we know today, the singular one who is known as much for her turns onscreen as her quips on Twitter. (She even wrote a book of nonfiction essays, Scrappy Little Nobody, that went on to become a New York Times best-seller.) As it happens, learning to unleash the persona inside the person—to embrace rather than smother whatever nonconformity exists within—was a critical turning point in her approach to both acting and auditioning; one which, believe it or not, came courtesy of a certain vampire franchise.

“I remember auditioning for the family in Twilight and running into a friend of mine and both of us being like, ‘Why are we here?’ ” Kendrick recalls. “ ‘[The role] is the bitchy mean girl, they’re going to hire some leggy blonde, because that’s the part.’ I thought, OK, I’ll just go in and do something dumb, because I’m not going to get the job anyway. Hopefully, the casting director will remember me as being funny, and they’ll bring me back in for something else. It’s such a hideous cliché, but I just had to realize the only times I got a job were when there was something I could do that nobody else could do.”

To again lift that turn of phrase right off the therapist’s couch, it wasn’t just a career breakthrough, but a psychological one. That isn’t to say it suddenly unlocked the secret to enduring Hollywood success, but it did help secure the actor’s first Oscar nomination.

The story—well-documented in the history book of Kendrick’s life by now—goes that the writer-director Jason Reitman already had her in mind when she came in to audition for his new feature Up in the Air. The role was a co-lead opposite George Clooney. She got it, obviously, but as the greener of the two actors, how did she step on set and believe, I have a right to be here?

“Um, I didn’t,” she says with a terse laugh. “George was such an angel, and would say things like, ‘Are you nervous? Got to get nervous for your first day’—and that is complete bullshit. He absolutely does not [get nervous], but I believed it at the time, and that’s what I needed to hear: that I had permission to be nervous. Because it’s one thing to be nervous, and it’s another to be pretending you’re not.”

Now, Kendrick is herself a formidable leading lady, having starred most notably in all three Pitch Perfect movies; the series has to date made more than $500 million worldwide and solidified Kendrick as a capital-N Name. In a position quite different from the one she was in about a decade ago, today she tries to practice the same on-set empathy that has been shown to her.

“No, I’m an absolute monster,” she says with just a split-second pause before answering in earnest. “I mean, you try to adjust to your various co-workers. Obviously, there are people who you realize really thrive when it feels spontaneous, and it would be better if we weren’t word-perfect. And then, for other people, it’s those early takes that are really magical and you want to make sure it’s as on-book as it can be.” As for her ideal scene partner, when given a preference, Kendrick does have one in mind.

[hutchhitched]

Maybe This Summer, Chapter 3

Summary: Katniss Everdeen needed a vacation. On a whim, she reserved three months at Panem Resorts in North Carolina. She expected to spend her time recovering from the recent death of her sister, exploring the nearby nature reserve, and reminiscing about happier times. What she didn’t foresee was bumping into Peeta Mellark, one of Panem’s most valued employees, during his early morning run. Neither did she think she’d grow to admire him when she’d hated him from first sight, but his killer smile and gorgeous blue eyes had a way of breaking down the walls she’d built around her heart. Maybe this summer she’ll finally get what she’s always deserved. Benefiting @fandomtrumpshate​ for @ldyglfr62​. AO3.

Author: @hutchhitched​

Rating: Explicit (eventually)

Beta/Graphics: @xerxia31​

The story will post on Tuesday mornings at 11:00 am CDT.

_______________

Reaping Day

Katniss pressed back on her heels and propped her elbows on her knees. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she smiled triumphantly at the array of leaves, flowers, and bark she’d collected in the hours since she’d roused at dawn and stepped into the natural wonder of The Woods. She wiped her hands on the front of her t-shirt and narrowed her eyes at the words on her chest. “You reap what you sow” gleamed in neon red, and she considered burning the piece of clothing once she returned to her room. She hated the saying, and memories from that science camp were one of the worst she had from her lifetime of exploring the natural world.

 More than anything, she fundamentally disagreed with the message. She hadn’t reaped what she’d sown, and neither had Prim. Her sister didn’t deserve what she got—a cancer diagnosis at 25 and death two years later. Katniss hadn’t asked to lose her father at eleven and take over raising herself and Prim as a consequence. She’d been a child. No one “deserved” to be punished for something they hadn’t done, and she resented the implication that every experience was part of a huge cosmic plan that somehow made sense.

 Nothing about losing her sister made sense. There was no hidden meaning. Prim was dead, and it sucked. Platitudes about her being “in a better place” or “everything happens for a reason” made her want to scream, and she’d cut out several acquaintances who’d attempted to comfort her that way during the days following Prim’s memorial service. Maybe that wasn’t fair, but she wasn’t very good with friends anyway.

 Perhaps burning the shirt was the answer. Fire seemed to be a good enough weapon to destroy it and watch something else rise from the ashes. At least that had been her reasoning when she’d agreed to cremate Prim instead of burying her, even though it almost killed her to acquiesce to her sister’s decision.

 “I don’t want to be shoved underground in a dark box, Katniss. Not like dad. Anything but that,” Prim had announced from her hospital bed after the final round of chemo had proven ineffective. Katniss understood the fear. Her beloved father’s death in a mine explosion a mile underground had haunted them both during their childhood and adolescent years. She’d concentrated on that when she realized that would mean reducing her baby sister to ashes.

 She was still waiting for something good to rise from them. To sow what she reaped. To find the hope for the future and realize that things can be good again.

 “Well, you’re just full of cheer today, Katniss Everdeen,” she chided herself and put the items in her bag. “Look what you accomplished. Look what you reaped…”

 Today marked the end of ten days at Panem. She’d spent the good part of the past week avoiding the other guests and sticking close to her cabin until she’d finally admitted to herself she was escaping something else entirely. She didn’t want to run into Peeta again, not after her over-reaction and abhorrent behavior during their brief encounters. She was being ridiculous, but today marked the end of that. She’d go to the pool and mingle with the rest of the world. Maybe she’d even meet someone, and if she happened to run into Peeta, perhaps she’d apologize for her behavior. And maybe she wouldn’t.

 She only had two swimsuits, one a more practical halter that was still wet from her frequent dips in the lake at Cabin 12’s private beach. The other was much more revealing, a coral, peachy, orange-ish type of bikini that Madge insisted she buy the last time she’d been dragged to the store to shop. She had to admit, it looked amazing against her olive undertones, so she changed into it, slipped on a robe, and grabbed a towel and book.

 The pool area was fairly empty for the early afternoon, so she took a quick dip to rinse away the traces of her morning excursion into the woods. Once she cooled down, she settled onto a lounge chair on the far side of the deck and started to read. Lost in the book, she didn’t stir until another guest plunked down next to her.

 “Johanna Mason,” the other woman introduced herself and pulled down her sunglasses to take in Katniss’ lithe form. “Nice suit. You could fill out your top a little more, couldn’t you?”

 The unwarranted familiarity and insolence startled Katniss so much she had to laugh. She should have been offended, but the other woman had a way of breaking down the walls she’d carefully constructed to keep her distance from others. Before she knew it, she knew quite a bit about her new friend.

 Johanna, a recent divorcée who enjoyed spending her ex-husband’s money, was everything Katniss was not—confident, brash, outspoken, and, most of all, memorable. She drank too much, talked a little too loud, and had an irrepressible appetite for sex. She freely admitted she loved visiting Panem to see what new “eye candy” had been hired for the season and then set her sights on a particular one at the beginning of the summer. Her victory came if she snagged the younger man and kept him on the string for her entire visit.

 “His name is Darius,” she mock whispered to Katniss. “He’s much kinder than I usually go for, but he’s a redhead, and his enthusiasm matches his hair color. Insatiable and eager. Always willing to take lessons. Always willing to—”

 “Can I get you ladies something?” Finnick stood before them with a wide grin on his handsome face. “You’re looking so comfortable and chummy. I’d hate for you to have to disturb yourselves to get anything else from the bar.”

 “Cosmo,” Johanna replied, “and keep them coming. My new friend Katniss and I are getting acquainted. How’s Annie, and where’s your little blonde friend who makes me drool and refuses all my advances? Bread boy, I call him, because he has a loaf in the front and buns in the back.”

 Finnick grinned and shook his head. “Right away, Ms. Mason. Annie’s wonderful, as always, and Peeta’s… Well, Peeta’s working through some things. He’s had a rough start to the season.”

 Katniss stared in horror at Finnick and swallowed hard. She hadn’t realized until just this moment what a small world Panem was. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and the young man who’d run into her while jogging was known and seemingly admired by this brash older woman. Was Katniss the reason his summer started out less than ideal? No, she decided. She didn’t have that kind of power over anyone, but she vowed to be much nicer to him when she saw him next.

 Finnick was as good as his word. The cosmos appeared at their seats whenever either finished one. They drank all afternoon. The alcohol loosened her up, and before she knew it, they were ogling the pool boys and dissecting her non-existent sex life like old girlfriends.

 “You should find yourself a little something here,” Jo, which she insisted on being called, argued. “Technically, it’s not allowed, but fraternization is rampant here. There are only a few who refuse, and I think that’s only because they haven’t found the right guest yet.”

 “I wouldn’t feel right,” Katniss insisted, but Jo snorted.

 “You’ll feel right if you find someone who knows how to do it. Come on, woman. Live a little. Let go of all that angst, and immerse yourself in something. Or let someone immerse himself right into you,” she said with an overexaggerated wink.

 The sun dipped lower in the sky as the afternoon passed, and she agreed to eat dinner with Jo on the deck. The food helped, but by the time Katniss stumbled back to her cabin as the sky filled with a gloriously majestic sunset, she was fairly drunk. She tripped on the steps and would have fallen if a figure hadn’t popped out of the shadows and caught her.

 “Easy there.” The words rumbled through his chest, and she felt them against her back. She wasn’t surprised in the slightest to see dark blue eyes filled with concern when she turned to look at him.

 “Mr. Mellark,” she sighed. “Of course.”

 _________________

 “Peeta,” he insisted. Katniss was pliant against him. A lazy smile graced her lovely face, and her eyes were soft and unfocused. She smelled like sunscreen and booze, and the scent was oddly erotic. “Are you alright, Ms. Everdeen?”

 “I’m fine, and my name is Katniss.” She slurred her words, and Peeta chuckled at the look on her face when she realized it.

 “Can I help you inside?”

 “Suuuuuuuuuuuuuure,” she drawled and smacked him on the chest. She poked at him a few times and blurted, “You have great muscles.”

 “Um, thank you, ma’am. Here we go.” He shifted her and looped her arm over his shoulder to help her up the stairs. She produced the key, and he swung open the door and ushered her into the main room. She smiled weakly at him as she sank onto the sofa and leaned her head back on the cushion. He hesitated for a moment, but he needed to get out his apology before he lost his nerve, even if she wasn’t in the right state to fully understand.

 “Katniss, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior last week. Here at Panem, guests are our first priority, and I was incredibly rude. I should have come to you right away, but I needed some time to work through some things first. I really am very contrite about my behavior. It was unacceptable.”

 She didn’t respond. The silence stretched over a minute and then two before he tried again. She interrupted immediately.

 “I was equally awful to you, Mr. Mellark, and I’m sorry. It’s been a rough year or so.”

 “How many times am I going to have to ask you to call me Peeta?”

 She opened her eyes and raked her eyes up and down his form. The gray heated to molten, and he shifted under her gaze. “Peeta,” she murmured and closed her eyes again.

 “Can I get you anything before I leave, ma’am? Water or something?”

 Her lips quirked, and she opened her eyes and sat up. “No. No, that’s okay. Only… Do you think maybe you could stay with me for a little while? Until the world stops spinning, anyway.”

 He nodded carefully. She heaved a sigh, and he reached out to offer his hand. She grabbed it and hauled herself off the couch. His mouth went dry as her robe gaped open, and her taut stomach peeked at him from between two strips of his favorite color in the world. Soft orange against her smooth skin made him react quickly, and he was relieved when she stepped from the room so he could adjust. The last thing he needed was a raging boner with a woman who he’d already offended.

 Peeta wandered over to the kitchen counter where stacks of leaves and other fauna decorated the surface. He nudged a few but stopped when he saw the labels carefully marking what each specimen was. They seemed much more organized than her soil samples he’d knocked from her hands when he’d bumped into her the week before, and he didn’t want to destroy any more of her work.

 “They’re my babies,” she said softly from behind his left shoulder. He jumped at her nearness. She’d snuck up on him, moving silently back into the room, after changing into a pair of black leggings and a green v-neck t-shirt that looked so soft he wanted to wrap himself up in it.

 “What are they?” he queried and turned to focus on the plants again instead of noticing the way her legs curved elegantly under the tight fabric or the tiny hint of cleavage that peeked above her neckline.

 She poked at a piece of bark and explained, “They’re a collection of the local flora and fauna. I’m on leave from an agro-biology lab, but Panem is so close to The Woods that I decided I better use the time off to my advantage. I’ll catalog these, and we can use them as further research. I’ve also wondered… Well, never mind.”

 “What?” he prodded. “What have you wondered?”

 “My sister wasn’t ever much of an outdoor type of person. She loved helping people and was halfway through med school when she…uh, when she got sick.” He waited patiently as she struggled to control her voice and continued. “We spent a summer here once, and it was the only time I could get her to hike with me or go into that cave. You know, the one over there on the far side of the lake?”

 “Yeah, I know that one.”

 “She asked me so many questions that summer, all about which plants were edible and what ones could be used for medicine. My mom used to know a bunch of that, too, but Prim said I explained it so much better.” Her pause was wistful and full of memories when she added, “I’ve always thought maybe I could make a field guide. For kids, you know? With illustrations and short descriptions instead of the scientific explanations the ones with photographs have. Get kids interested in nature at an early age.”

 He nodded and glanced over at her. Her face was soft, and it made her even more lovely than he already knew she was. “That’s a wonderful idea. Why don’t you?”

 “I can’t draw,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Not even stick figures. I’m terrible. I’d have to hire an artist, and I’m just not in a place finically to do that right now.”

 “I see.”

 “Anyway, I’m going to sit down because the room isn’t quite stable yet. If you wouldn’t mind making us some, there’s cocoa in the cupboard. That always helps sober me up better than coffee. If your offer to get me something still stands, that is?” She looked so hopeful that a pang shot through his stomach, and he turned quickly to make their drinks.

 “Here you go,” he said as he handed her a steaming mug and settled into the chair closest to her side of the couch. “Feeling a little better?”

 She sipped the cocoa and groaned when it hit her tongue. “This is so good. Yes, I’m much better. I don’t normally have so much, but I made a new friend today. That woman could drink a sailor under the table and curse better than him while she did.”

 “Johanna Mason?” It had to be. None of the other guests could hold a candle to the divorcée, and she added so much color to the resort. Despite her bawdy sense of humor and relentless attempts to lure him into her bedroom, he genuinely liked the woman. She made no apologies for who she was, and he admired her confidence.

 “Yes, Jo. What a personality.”

 “She’s something alright. She puts quite a spell over everyone she meets. Lots of my co-workers, actually, too. She might have mentioned it.”

 Katniss nodded and considered him. “She did. She also mentioned you.”

 “Did she? She have anything good to say about me?”

 “I guess that depends on what you consider good. She said you were sexy and one of the few employees who didn’t dip into the company pool of eligible women.”

 “Flattering and fair. She’s right.”

 “Some people call that good ethics,” she said.

 “And what do you call it?”

 “I call it integrity, and I’m a fan. Don’t push the boundaries unless the boundaries should be breached. Then it’s fair game.”

 Peeta took a drink and studied her over the rim. Her earlier snippiness was nowhere to be seen, and he had to admit he liked this version of her. Annie was right; Katniss seemed a little lonely and guarded herself behind a brick wall built with sadness and shitty luck. She probably hadn’t had a break for a long time. Maybe he could offer her one.

 “You know if you need an artist, I happen to know one who’s pretty talented.”

 “An artist?”

 “For your book. The illustrated field guide thing?”

 “Oh! The plant book,” she laughed. “I’d almost forgotten I shared that. Nobody really knows anything about that little dream.”

 “Well, he could probably do whatever you needed, and I know for a fact he’s available this summer if you wanted to work on it during your stay.”

 “Really?” she asked eagerly. “What’s his name? When do you think he could start?”

 “Peeta Mellark, and is tomorrow afternoon too soon?”

 She gaped at him for just a moment until it registered, and then she broke into a smile that lit up the room. She dazzled, and he knew he’d made the right decision.

 “Tomorrow afternoon is perfect. How’s 4:30?”

 “I’ll be here.”

  _________________

 “You’re looking awfully smug. Where’ve you been?”

 Finnick grinned at his friend and retorted, “A gentleman never tells.”

 “And where can I find one of those?” Peeta deadpanned.

 “I’m wounded. Wounded, I say. Whatever happened to being kind to your friends? Especially one who’s newly engaged.”

 “You didn’t.”

 “I did.”

 Peeta whooped and grabbed Finnick in a bearhug. “You finally did it! Congratulations, man! Annie’s such a great girl, and you’re…well, you’re not the worst. Really happy for you.”

 “Thanks, Peet. I took her out on the lake, over to the cove on the other side and surprised her with a candlelight picnic on the shore.”  

 He stopped there. Peeta didn’t need to know about how Annie had surprised him once he’d slipped the ring on her finger. How she’d made noises that scared away wildlife and done things to him that might be illegal in some countries.

 “The outdoors seems to suit you. I’m surprised you didn’t make her swim over there,” Peeta teased.

 “Just because I look my best when I’m shirtless and drenched doesn’t mean everyone does. Although, Annie…”

 Peeta laughed and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “To be fair, I think all women look better shirtless and sopping wet. And speaking of that, I have something completely off topic to tell you.”

 “No drenched women begging Golden Boy to make them come?”

 “Finn, that’s…so beyond my abilities it’s not even worth a comment.”

 “Just tell me,” Finnick sighed. “After that, we’re going to work on getting you laid sometime soon. You’ve lost all sense of humor.”

 “I apologized to Cabin 12.”

 “Katniss Everdeen?”

 “Yes. Katniss. And I offered to help her with a project.”

 Finnick narrowed his eyes and asked, “What kind of project?”

 “I’m going to offer my services as an illustrator for a project she’s working on this summer, but it’s not something she’s willing to share yet, so keep your mouth shut, please.”

 “Will you both be fully clothed during this process?” Something flashed across Peeta’s face, and Finnick chased it like a cat does a mouse. “What? Explain that look.”

 Peeta shook his head. “It’s nothing. She was in a bikini when I showed up at her cabin.”

 “And?”

 Finnick waited until Peeta admitted, “She looks great in it.”

 “I bet she does, Peet. I bet she does.”

 “Shut up, Finn.”

 “Goodnight, lover boy.”

[victorianwestpiano]

What would it be like if Colette and Holt lived in 2020 (without the virus!) but there was no Dreamland? What jobs might they have? How would they meet? How did Holt lose his arm (war? accident?). Is Colette famous? If so, for what?

Oh so many ideas, but here’s the one I’ll respond this ask ;)

Kentucky, June 2020

Holt Farrier, ex horse showman, was reading the newspaper in the morning like he always does every day. Although today, it was for him to concentrate because of his son Joe, who was playing with his new Xbox he got last Christmas.

It annoyed a bit the cowboy that Joe was so addicted with this technology with high volume and at this early hours. His daughter Milly was not different, when she was younger once in a while sat on her father’s lap and read the paper together alongside with his wife Annie. But now she prefered watching the news on her cellphone, searching science updates in the world. The worst part was the uncountable TikToks they do with their friends, now that summer began, TikTok was their only way to communicate apparently.

But in some way it didn’t surprised Holt at all that his kids were so submerged in their gadgets. Since their mother died of an illness almost an year ago, his children coped with their loss in the best way they could. In some parts, Joe dealt with Annie’s death better than Milly but it was still hurtful for both of them.

However, Holt felt he was suffering the loss the worst, he lost the love of his life while he was away on a excursion on the mountains with his friends Arav, Puck and Rongo. He felt guilty for not being there for her and for his kids. And if it was not enough, some days before Holt received the news of the death of his spouse, he had a terrible accident while he was climbing on the rock mountains. According to his friends, Holt was barely on the top, trying to reach one of the picks, but out of nowhere he slipped and fell many feet in the air. His body crashed somewhere in the rocks and woods. The last thing the cowboy remember is that he waked up in a hospital...without an arm. His left arm was gone and some days after his wife was gone too.

Holt and Annie were horse showman and woman, touring around USA doing  tricks with their stallions since that was the thing they loved to do the most. Their connection with horses was one of the things that united them even more. They loved the aesthetic of old-school circuses, but nowdays people are not longer interested on circuses anymore which brought Holt many economic problems.

Now without the love of his life, without an arm and without a job, Holt’s world was no longer the world he adored, so he decided to move with his daughter and son to his childhood town and buy a small house with the few savings he had kept. It wasn’t much but it was something, they had at least a roof upon their heads, electricity, hot water and of course wifi which is very expensive. Not living in tour anymore felt weird; static like a rock and being in just one place, it was practically boring.

Holt’s friends, who came from different parts of the country and the world, tried to convince him and lend him money until he find a job, however, Holt was so proud to accept money from his friends. If he wanted money, he had to earn it and he did not want to be in debt with the people he cared.

Just in very rare ocassions he accepted his friend’s monetary help and became stubborn promising a lot of times he’ll return what he owes, even though his pals said to him is not a big deal, that he’ll pay when he can.

That’s why Holt was reading the newspaper, so he could find a decent job, although, what job would accept a handicapped guy?. The rider from Kentucky was desperated, mostly for his children.

Suddenly, a knock of the door was heard, Holt reacted to the sound and quickly lifted his head up. The cowboy looked at his son sitting on the couch, which was nearer to the door, playing with his Xbox, super concentrated.

“Joe would you get the door?” Holt asked the boy.

“I’m busy dad, I’m in the middle of a mission right now.” the kid responded.

Holt rolled his eyes and spoked again, “Joe, c’mon, or I’ll plug off that damn thing this instant” he warned out loud.

Joe turned his head to see his father and reluctantly the kid obeyed him. He paused his game and circled the couch to get to the entrance.

“It was an important mission you know?” Joe protested.

“Yeah you said that yesterday 12 o’clock PM, you’ve been playing all week boy”

Joe’s eyes widened and then he nodded embarassed, “Non taken.”

The boy headed to the door and opened it, only to find a short man, he was the same height as Joe. He was around his sixties, had white curly hair, a pair of shades on his eyes, brown shorts, black flip flops and a radiant colorful hawaiian shirt.

“Hey Max!” Joe exclaimed in surprise seeing their family friend.

“What’s up little buddy!” Max responded in glee, “Tell me, is your dad here? I have excelent news for him.” the short man said excited.

“Max!” Holt waved him from the kitchen, “Come on in and sit.”

Max Medici, a not very succesfull sales man, was best friends with Holt’s dad and him when the rider was just a lad. Holt enjoyed his company, his optimism was very contagious even when his plans not always go as he wanted. Anyway, Medici’s smile made everyone smile too, that was one of his gifts.

“What is it Gustavo? Please sit” Holt invited his friend to sit with him at the kitchen table.

Max sighed at the mention of his real name, “Please Holt, just call me Max, ok? You’ll ruin my reputation here.” he took off his sun glasses and cliped them into the collar of his shirt.

“Ok sorry,” Holt chuckled, “What are this incredible news you have for me? Oh, please don’t tell me you had another fail in your bussiness and you need cash.” Holt sat slowly, expecting the news to be bad, since, now he’s used to them “Don’t ask me money pal, I still owing you those $100 bucks from last month---”

“Can you please shut up cowboy” Max interrupted him. “Jeez, I didn’t came here to bother you, on the contrary, I came here to cheer you up, bud.” he said with a huge smile.

Holt rose an eyebrow and listened. “So, what is it?”

“Look, a friend of a friend, of a friend, of a friend of mine, said that a famous actress has a ranch here in Kentucky, and she needs a foreman to take special care of it, mostly the horses.” Max said with a trusting glance.

“Wait, wait, wait a minute. Work for a famous actress? Who?” Holt was curious and wary of proposal.

“Colette Marchant the french actress of course!” the old man made a happy gesture with his hands to encourage his friend.

The name of the woman ranged on Holt and Joe’s ears, so much so that the boy left his game and turned around to face the adults.

“You’ll work for Colette Marchant dad!?” Joe asked happily, “I love her movies, and she’s so pretty. You will work with her dad?”

“What happened? Why is Joe so excited?” Milly enetered to the living room with cellphone in hand and her curly hair combed into a bun.

“Dad is going to work for Colette Marchant, the actress!!” Joe was very happy about the news.

“Wow, really?” Milly looked curious at her father.

“Kids uhhmm, I haven’t decided this  yet, I just found out. Go to your rooms and I’ll tell you later, or go outside.” Holt said to his children who obeyed him after a few minutes.

After that, Holt continued, “You want me to work as a foreman for a celebrity?” This didn’t conviced the cowboy very much,”Remember Max, I used to be a celebrity as well, I was like a superhero on top of my horses, if my friends find out that now I work as a foreman... they’ll think I fell so low.”

“Yes I know, but now things changed lad, this is a great job and the pay is very good. Look, this woman will stay in America all summer, from June to September 3rd. The rumor says she wanted to leave her home France for a couple of months and be alone, or somethng like that. She says she loves horses and needs somone efficient for the job. And don’t worry, she does speak english.”

Holt started to think massaging his chin, “And how is she, I mean, she’s bossy or calm?”

Max inhaled through his nose, “I heard she’s quite, well, spoiled but nothing that you can’t handle.”

“And where’s her ranch?”

“In Louisville, right in the north.” Max answered.

Holt’s eyes opened wide, “Louisville? But that’s too far! Mhmmm, I don’t know Max, I’ll have to think about it...” Holt was trying to considerate the offer.

“Well,” Max said a bit nervous, “in your place I won’t think it that much because... I’ve already talked about you and maybe I’ve send you refferences as well.”

Holt looked at his friend in shock, “You did what!!? How can you do that without telling me!? Are you insane!?.”

“I did it because I knew you were going to doubt and think this kind of job is below you.” Max stated strictly. “Here,” the older man took from his pocket a card with a number, “this is the phone number of her butler, if I were you I’ll call him now and accept the job.”

Holt gave a glare at Max, he couldn’t believe that his friend did all this behind his back.

“Holt c’mon, is a good payed job, surrounded by nature, taking care of horses and have your kids taking fresh air, isn’t that what you wanted?” Max stood up and left the card on the table. “Do it pal is a great opportunity.” the short man put his shades back on his face, approached the door and left.

Holt passed his only hand through his hair and looked at the card, this was all new to him he didn’t know what to do. But at the same time, working for a celebrity could be very interesting not to mention to payment, it could be higher than he can imagine. Also, the most important thing for Holt now are his children, he needed to give them a secured and stable life.

The cowboy reached for his laptop and searched about Colette Marchant, some pictures were showed on Instagram and the most recent one was a photo of her black and white, already in Kentucky sunbathing, in the backround there was her big house of her ranch.

Then Joe’s words about her resonated on Holt’s mind, She looks...pretty... I’ll give her that, he thought. He had never seen any of her movies but now he knows why a lot of people admires her or talks about her as soon as he read the reviews of her films. Then he searched for more pictures of the place, including her horses, which looked very healthy and beautiful. Holt went to the kitchen table and stared at the card with the number one more time. He made a long sigh and took it.

“I must be very crazy right now.” he said trying to grab his phone too.

-------------------------------------------------

A couple of days later and some other calls made, Holt and his kids finally flew all the way from the south of Kentucky to the north in Louisville to get the foreman cadre. In the airpor they were greeted by Sotheby, Miss Marchant’s english butler.

He gently guided them to the car, which he personally drove, and headed to Marchant’s ranch.

After 30 minutes travelling by car, they finally arrived and admired the big splenderous house. The vehicle parked in front of the property.

“Wow!” Milly and Joe said at the same time in awe looking the place through the window. “ Look at this place! I want to get in now!” the Farrier boy exclaimed opening the car door.

“Now, now lads,” Holt stoped Joe making a sign with his hand, “This is gonna be my working place, let’s go with calm.” Holt exited himself from the car and then his children followed him. He was wearing a dark blue short sleeved t-shirt, blue jeans, snikers and his lucky white cowboy hat. As soon as they were getting closer to the house, Milly took a couple of pictures of it and post them on Twitter.

Once they were on the porch, Sotheby told them to stay there, “Just wait here, Miss Marchant will talk to you in a couple of minutes, please sit.” the english butler politely offered to the Farriers.

Three minutes passed and Holt was already getting nervous, so he decided to talk to the children.

“So, how do you imagine Colette Marchant is behind the cameras?” Holt asked.

“I don’t know,” Milly answered “I heard she’s a diva, I watched her latest film Femme Fatale with my friend some months ago, she was very good in it, but...the plot sucked.”

“I see...” Holt rised his eyebrows. He remembered when he read Colette’s film reviews, some the critics said practically the same, Colette was stunning, but the direction and script by the known famous director VA Vandevere, where just ok or not very good.

Suddenly Sotheby appeared again, the Farriers rose up from porch couch and waited for the butler to speak.

All of the sudden, coming out from the door, there was a woman on her mid thirties, with almost wavy black hair, black dress, make up on her eyelids and intense blue eyes. It was her.

“Mademoiselle Marchant, this is Holt Farrier and his children, he came here for the foreman job.” Sotheby intoduced the cowboy and the actress.

Joe and Milly where in awe by looking at the elegant actress, Joe tried his best to not squeal, while Milly couldn’t contain her big grin.

Holt put his head steady and took a deep breath. “Hi, is a pleasusre to meet you,” the rider offered his hand to shake with hers.

But when Colette turned around to see clearer the man, her face showed a shocked expression. Then she started to talk.

“Uhhhmm, excuse moi but, what is this?” the french lady questioned staring at the cowboy.

Holt’s eyebrows frowned in confusion, “I’m sorry? I came here for the job Miss. that’s why I’m here.” he retreated his hand took off his white hat.

Colette’s eyes were fixed on on the man’s left side.

The cowboy noticed that and looked at where his left arm once was. Holt exhaed a quiet laugh and spoke up again. “Yeah, I know what you’re thinkin’ but don’t worry, it didn’t hurt that much.” he said trying to erase the uncomfortable topic, “and it doesn’t hurt now---”

“You don’t have...an arm monsieur.” the french celebrity was obviously dissapointed.

Milly and Joe glanced with concern at their father. They knew how hard it was for him to deal with a missing limb, it was something that made him more insecure with time. But they also knew that their dad tried to ignore it and move on, he hated when others feel pity for him.

“Well, yes Miss,” Holt started to get even more puzzled, “I mean....you didn’t know?” he looked at Sotheby who was just as confused as him.

Colette sighed impatiently “Do you think I would’ve hire a handicapped man as my foreman if I knew he was handicapped?”

“But, with all respect, I thought they had send you my refferences. My friend send them to you.” Holt explained.

“I have recived them and nothing in there mentioned a missing arm.” Miss Marchant said bluntly.

Holt started to breathe through his teeth with impotence, “Max you idiot!” he quietly muttered a bit enraged. First Max send his refferences without asking him first and he didn’t even mention the thing about his arm? The rider wanted to kill his friend at that moment.

The european lady sensed Holt’s discomfort and clasped her hands, “I’m sorry, but I cannot hire someone who is not capable.”

Holt turned his head to face the woman, breathing deeply and swallowing , “I am capable, please Miss, give me a chance.”

“You are not up to my standards, ma cherie.I cannot force a cripple to do this kind of work, because they can’t---”

That word hit Holt right in the chest, like bullet to his heart. That single word made his blood boil and encreased his anger, “I’m not... a cripple.” he said low and serious.

Colette’s eyes opened wide giving him a sarcastic shocked reaction, “Then I am not french!” she stated joking with irony, “Oh, my parents will be glad to hear it!”.

“Very funny.” Holt gave her an unamused sideway smile, “Look, if I’m going to stay in this place to be insulted, I’ll get the hell out of here. Let’s go lads.” Holt put his hat on, taking his children with him while walking away from the woman and her butler.

Colette crossed her arms, exhaled an unimpressed sigh, denying her head. She looked how the Kentucky rider was leaving the porch walking by her loan, until she spoke again.

“With that attitude of yours you are not going to get anywhere. You are too proud, cherie.”

The Farriers stoped as soon as Holt stoped, the rider bit his lip and slowly turned around. He wasn’t going to let this woman to have the last word.

“And you, princess,” the cowboy challenged, “you’re too spoiled”. His kids looked at eachother in surprise for what his father had just said.

Colette’s mouth fell open at Holt’s statement, “What an attitude.”

“What an ego.” Holt interjected again teasing her, imitating her tone and with a rised eyebrow.

“You have a problem?” Colette’s voice became demanding. She started to walk towards him.

“You’re my problem. Princess.” Holt smiled like a child.

“Do not take that tone with me. Do not disrespect me!” Colette approached the cowboy until she was just one meter from him. “And please, do not call me a ‘princess’.”

“You called me a cripple, and I call you princess. I think is pretty fair.” Holt rested his hand on his hip. “It is what you’re. You’re spoiled, believing you’re better than me, also, you like to whine when people tells you the truth. Oh, I’m sorry, did her majesty got her feelings hurt.” he teased her with a exagerated pout.

“How dare you---!” before Colette would say or do something else, the cat and dog fight was interrupted by Sotheby who ran towards the two of them.

“Miss Marchant, if I may please!” Sotheby calmed his boss, “Try to considerate this man, we have read his file, he may not have an arm, but his expirience is very good. Better than the other ones, and Miss, if I you give me your permission to say this, yesterday you said you liked his profile, that it was what you needed.”

“Don’t worry mister.” Holt stated directly to the butler. “Is not necessary to defend me, we’re going now, have a nice day. C’mon children.”

But Milly did not move, “No dad wait.” she exclaimed and turned to face Colette.

Holt and Joe stayed where they stood when Milly spoke. Her dad whispered to her, “Milly, what you doin’?”.

Milly walked towards the actress with her chin held high and honesty in her eyes, “Miss Marchant please forgive my dad, I know he can be a bit, well, stuborn.”

“I saw that.” Colette gave a glare at Milly’s father for a second. Holt rolled his eyes.

“But... he tried for months to get a job that we don’t know if he’ll ever get another opportunity like this one anytime soon. Please, give him another chance.”

The girl’s pleading moved a little the french woman, she amired how determinated she was, it reminded of herself when she was Milly’s age.

“Please Miss,” the Farrier girl’s voice suddenly became melancholic, “since...my mom died, life has been hard on us.” she turned to see her family, “It was very hard for my dad too, he lost his arm in an accident, but he’s still strong, he always was.” the girl smiled at her dad.

Holt felt overwhelmed by his daughter’s words and smiled back at her. Then he faced once more at the actress who was just moved as him. Sotheby also felt the emotions of the girl.

Miss Marchant placed a hand on her heart and showed a genuine worried expression, “Your mother died, petit? I’m so sorry...I didn’t knew.”

“It’s ok.” Milly answered.

“What was her name?” Colette asked.

“Annie.” Holt responded for his daughter, “Her name was Annie. She left us an year ago.”

“I see, and what is your name petit?” Colette asked to the girl.

“Milly”

“And yours monsieur?” the actress looked at the boy at Holt’s side.

Joe froze as the famous celebrity talked to him, “I-I’m Joe, a-a-and I’m your biggest fan.” Joe said nervous.

Colette laughed a bit at the boy’s presentation, she thought it was kind of cute. She glanced over Holt again and approached him litte by little, making him suspect on what this woman is going to do now.

“How much do you need this job?” she sternly asked at the rider, not breaking eye contact.

Holt blinked and inhaled deeply, “Honestly....very much.”

“Tres bién, I’ll give one more chance, I’m not giving it just because you are capable, we will see about that with the time. But also because this will be good to your children as well, do it for them, not just for you.”

“I am”. Holt answered firmly looking at the woman’s sapphire eyes.”My kids... are the most sacred thing I have left in this world.”

She gave him a trusting grin, “That’s the attitude I wanted. You are hired ma cherie.” she gave him her hand.

Holt looked at her elegant and white hand and gently, he took it and shaked it, sealing the deal. He glanced again at her face forming a tiny smile and feeling the softness of the lady’s hand.

“And I’m sorry if I insulted you, is just you can really push a person’s buttoms, monsieur.” Colette said not letting go the gentleman’s hand.

“I can say the same thing about you, but I’m sorry too. Thank you for givin’ me this chance, I hate to admit it but I’m forever in your debt.” Holt’s voice became quickly smooth with real remorse on his apologizing words. Then, he winked at her to give her trust.

All of the sudden, Colette’s cheeks turned pink, she was blushing. She didn’t know if the cowboy noticed, they were in summer so he could see her cheeks became hot for the heat. But Holt would never guess what was happening inside Colette’s body, because Holt’s commentary and the soft look in his eyes made her heart skip a beat.

The woman coughed and gently released her hand, she still could felt the roughness of the rider’s hand on her palm and fingers. But... somehow....she liked it.

“Tres bién! Let’s go inside, shall we?” Colette guided the Farriers to her house. Milly and Joe rushed inside the mansion, leaving Holt and Colette behind. The two giggled at the kids’ enthusiasm.

“They are very charming, monsieur.” Colette said walking alongside Holt, Sotheby was heading to the house a few meters away from them.

“Yes, they are. I’d give my life for them.” Holt turned to see the actress.

“I know they will enjoy being here, you will have good rooms to stay and later I will show my horses.”

“That sounds nice.... princess.” Holt teased her, containing his laughter.

Colette, as soon as she reached the entrance door, she turned again back to him with a warning stare, “Do not play smart with me Holt, I mean it.”

“Sorry...” he took off his hat and put it behind his back, he was smiling in a very naughty way.

“Non, you are not.” Colette crossed her arms, smiling in the same way as him.

“True.” with that Holt entered in the house. Leaving the french lady denying with her head, rolling her eyes and laughing to herself.

“Oh mon dieu, this man!” she entered to her house and closed the door behind her.

----------------------------------

THE END.

@vavandeveresfan​ This was fun, not my best work but still fun, I hope you liked it ;)

[cottagecorewhore420]

One Broken Headphone

A fluffy, WLW, protective girlfriend short <3 ~ 2500 words <3

I hope you enjoy reading it! Please lmk what you think :)

tw: brief mention of physical assault

Corrine had gone downstairs to get the delivery- which thank gods, she was starving. If Marcie didn’t get crab ragoon in her stomach within the next five minutes, she couldn’t and wouldn’t be held liable for any damages incurred.

Right as she was starting to fantasize about the fried piece of heaven her girlfriend was currently tasked with obtaining, a huge clap of thunder shook the apartment.

Philly, the large and skittish cat who Corrine had adopted off the street a year ago, mewled pitifully before a dart of white crossed the room. Apparently, it seemed as if Philly was scared of thunderstorms, if her current location of under-the-loveseat was any indication.

Way too often in Marcie’s past had people called her a bleeding-heart, but even now, when obviously the cat was beyond safe from the storm, she felt a jolt in her chest at the poor, scared, little baby.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, I promise-,” she dropped down to her knees, and slowly began crawling over to the couch, moving slowly and purposefully as to avoid scaring the cat any further. She had only just started being trusted by the animal, and she didn’t want to backtrack any progress, especially since she knew how scared Philly was right now.

She received a meow as she continued closer- which, really, was better than nothing.

As another clap of thunder resounded outside, she idly worried about Corrine, but considering Corrine was a fully functioning human adult, and Philly was an anti-social terrified cat, her loyalties at the moment were a little more inclined to making sure the latter was okay. She started moving towards her again, and in doing so heard a crunch underneath her left knee- looking down, disheartened, she saw the broken right earbud of Corrine’s headphones she used on her laptop.

Before she had time to wallow in the fact that she had just broken her girlfriend’s headphones, Philly yowled and jumped from her position under the couch into Marcie’s lap, covering up the now-useless wires with her copious fur.

The cat was obviously really scared of the onslaught of rain outside, and Marcie’s bleeding heart beat again in sympathy for the poor cat, who assuredly had endured these kinds of storms by herself on the streets before Corrine found her.

With that sad thought, she mournfully began petting the fat feline in her lap, talking softly to her, trying to steel herself to telling Corrine that she had broken her earbuds.

~

“Corrine, I’m so sorry! I just, I- the thunder started, and I watched Philly dart under the couch, and she was so scared of the storm, and I knelt down to talk to her, and I heard a crack- it- I’m- I’ll buy you a new pair, I promise, I’m really sorry!”

All of this was said through a rush of words and teary eyes, the avalanche of apology hitting her as soon as Corrine walked back into the living room with their food.

Marcie looked near tears, sitting on the floor looking dejectedly up at Corrine’s standing-form, and yet, despite her obvious upset, she wouldn’t stop petting and comforting the cat that had been the cause of- well, what was Marcie upset about?

“Wait- I’m confused. What happened?”

Marcie thrusted the pair of earbuds at her, the right one’s speaker pitfully haning out of the in-ear part, obviously broken.

Looking down at the misty-eyed woman, who felt obviously horrible about breaking some old pair of headphones, because she had been trying to comfort a cat- who was even NOW, while upset, more obviously invested in the wellbeing of a cat who wasn’t even hers, Corrine was struck with the thought of “oh, fuck- I love her.”

“Hey, hey, Marcie, it’s okay, I promise.” She set the bags of food on the coffee table, and leaned down to sit next to Philly and her girlfriend.

“First and foremost, I’m glad you were up here to comfort Philly- she’s always reacted really badly to storms. I actually found her right after one, when she was meowing behind the dumpster out back.”

She could see the anguish that caused Marcie, to think of the sweet if not slightly-anti-social cat as sad and lonely.

“Secondly, I have had to headphones for I-don’t-even-know how long, baby. Seriously. I have like three others like that anyways somewhere in my room.”

Marcie looked up from where she had been resolutely staring at Philly’s back, seemingly studying the calico coloration in an attempt to not look up to Corrine.

“Also, honestly, that’s my fault, I’m the one who has a habit of sitting on the floor and then leaving stuff- I promise that’s not the first thing of mine that’s been broken because of me being forgetful.”

“Thirdly, I’m not mad, or upset, or secretly resentful- okay? I promise. I do not care about those headphones. They’re just an object, sweet pea.”

They lapsed into a terse silence, both petting Philly who was purring loudly at the attention, before Marcie spoke up.

“I- ahem. Um.” She swallowed past a lump in her throat, tearing her hand and eyes away from Philly and looking out to the balcony, looking through the window at the storm.

She focused on the sheets of rain as she steadied herself. “My last girlfriend- I accidently broke her- I broke her laptop charger one day. Like, the cable insulator part. I didn’t mean to! She had asked me to plug in her computer, but it wouldn’t attach, so I had taken it out and went to put it back in, and I guess the insulation maybe was unraveling or something, which wasn’t good, cuz it just snapped…”

Corrine was only idly stroking her cats’ fur now, staring at Marcie’s turned-away face, studying the obvious tension.

“She freaked out. She started yelling at me, and saying that I…” Marcie seemed to steal herself, looking out to the balcony intently, as if she was staring down the rain in a battle of wills. “She was saying how I was a complete fuck up, and she didn’t know why she even bothers with me. And that I owed her a new charger, and then she- ahem.”

There was a growing pit of dread in Corrine’s stomach, but she could see that this was something important to discuss if they wanted to build a long lasting, strong relationship. She needed to show Marcie she was safe, now, and protected. And it seemed Marcie needed to heal from this, too.

“She got really pissed, and she had gotten laid off earlier that week. That’s why her computer needed to be plugged in, she had been looking at jobs online for so long. She was just really, really stressed, and then I think I just was the thing that- “

“Baby,” Anne stopped stroking Philly, who seemed wholly unbothered now that the thunder had turned to just heavy rain. The calico got up and walked off elsewhere, apparently content with the amount of attention she had been bestowed. “Why are you excusing her?”

Anne reached out to grab Marcie’s hand, and when she did, Marcie’s head whipped around from her watch point, out to the balcony- there was tears welling up in her eyes, and her nose was bright red. “She hit me. Not just once, but like. A couple of times. She was really stressed, and she just- she started screaming and hitting me and she was so mad, and I- “she started sobbing, and lunged into Anne’s waiting arms, where Anne started comforting her, whispering similar platitudes to the ones Marcie had coaxed Philly with earlier.

“Baby, shh, it’s ok. I am so sorry that ever happened to you- that’s not right. I don’t care if her whole family died in a plane crash and then she got fired and stubbed all her toes. That is no excuse to ever hit you, Marsha Braun.” The serious tone coming from her usually-jovial girlfriend, along with her given name, made Marcie pull back and look into Anne’s eyes, seeming to search for something.

Anne sat there, idly reminded of when her uncle and she would wait patiently in the woods for the baby deer to approach.

Whatever Marcie was searching for, she apparently needed to find. When it seems she was satisfied, Marcie lunged forward again, but to hug Anne, locking her arms around her neck and pressing a kiss into the woman’s juncture between shoulder and neck.

“I was so scared when it happened, Annie.”

Anne’s heart cracked at hearing that, the words reverberated within her, sounding hollow. Marcie was such an abundantly kind, generous, loving person. The idea that anyone could do something such as strike her, multiple times, for doing nothing more than trying to do a favor- it made a fire boil in her veins.

“I’m so so sorry, kitten. I will never, ever, let you feel like that again.” And she meant it. Anne may not look intimidating, but her 12 years of Judo and ample weapons training said otherwise. She had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to those she cared about, and Marcie quickly was entering that realm, despite the two of them only having dated for going-on five months.

“I like that.” The words were soft, breathed into her neck.

“What?” Circles and nonsensical patterns were drawn on Marcie’s back, in comforting sweeps.

“Kitten. I like that- “Here, she yawned widely, also into Anne’s neck. “I like that a lot.”

“Tired?”

“I’m sorry- we haven’t even eaten yet and I know you’re hungry and we haven’t seen each other in days-“

“Baby, kitten, shh- I am hungry, so I’ll go ahead and eat my half while you take a short nap next to me on the couch, hmm? That way you get some beauty sleep, not that you need it-“

Marcie gave a shy grin.

“-and I get to eat my General Tso’s and watch whatever show I want, without having to battle somebody over Kitchen Nightmares or Hotel Hell. And, of course, I get to be next to the prettiest woman in the world while doing so.”

“I love you.”

Holyshitholyshitholyshit- They hadn’t said that yet. They were going tragically slow, and then she just says that! Marcie just said that! Anne’s heart constricted slightly, and she could practically hear the concerto playing in her brain, a cacophony of emotions.

“I love you too, Marcie.”

~

“Y’know… sometimes I worry it was my fault. She did it more than just the one time. I didn’t leave right away. I just- she had made me feel really really bad about myself. Like she was right, that nobody would want to put up with me. She only slapped me around a few more times-“

A few more times too many thought Anne darkly, listening as Marcie spoke, her voice projecting upwards into the blackness of their bedroom. She was laying on her back, looking to the ceiling, sidled up next to Anne.

“But… the last time, she had slapped me around and then was really pissed and she threw something at Benji. And I just- I felt so bad for my poor boy. He did nothing to deserve that, and I couldn’t let him stay there any more. It didn’t hurt him, thank god, but I left that night.”

Benji. The huge golden retriever that Macie loved; the one she had to put down a few weeks before she and Anne met.

She had only known about the dog through pictures and stories, but she knew he was Marcie’s childhood dog, and she had had him all the way up through college. She had loved Benji so much.

Anne was filled with aches in her soul- anger, brittle and sharp at Marcie’s ex. Rounded, hollow pain for Benji, who was gone. A resounding ache, pointed, for Marcie’s hurt. She didn’t know what else to say, so she said all she could think.

“I’m happy you left.”

“Yeah… me too.”

As they drifted into silence, Anne said a silent prayer, sent up to a golden retriever named Benji, in thanks for protecting her now-girlfriend from herself, when she hadn’t been there to do so.

She hoped the old dog would have liked her- she certainly liked his owner.