#and while memories of prim are in her house from the fact that they make the memory book i don't think that's necessarily a bad thing

[i-put-the-s4p-in-s4pphic]

☄️Comet, 🔥Flame,🖋️ Pen, and 🕯️Candle for the s/i ask game!! And I'll ask for your spidersonas!!

thank you for the asks!! I'm gonna answer for mainly fern and prim, since technically they're my spidersonas and main characters™... also sorry for taking 50 years to respond I got anxious(ᵕ—ᴗ—)

link to asks

🖋️ Pen: Say a fact about your lore or yourself/self-insert, it can be absolutely anything! Short or long winded!

I'm gonna take this opportunity to talk about how magic works in Prim's universe ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻)

First of all: everyone has the ability to use magic, cast spells and all that jazz, but only some people become mages. Everybody from this universe is able to cast magic because the ability to cast magic (mana) is something that everyone has, kinda like how everyone has blood (both in reality and in this universe lol)

But how do you actually cast spells and do the magical stuff? Well there are 3 various ways; potion making, glyphs and senti-magic but I'm only gonna focus on the latter 2.

Using glyphs is an older way of casting spells. It's inspired by the owl house where there are symbols associated with different elements and activating these glyphs - by touching them - activates the spells.

Senti-magic has only been studied and developed more recently. This method focuses on converting emotions and memories into magic.

Both techniques are difficult.

Senti-magic you have to have control over your mind and emotions in order to cast the spell you want. Thinking of something warm, which depends on the user, will result in summoning fire. However it is fueled by the user's emotions so it is important to be grounded and have self-control.

Glyphs summons the element from the glyph resulting in the glyph being the fuel for the fire, can be less strenuous. However it can be difficult to remember which symbol is related to which element. Not to mention there are specific glyphs for specific spells - eg. a combination of an air and water glyph would summon mist, but fire and water would result in smoke - so it's important to remember all their meaning.

This results in people mastering certain elements with senti-magic, usually with the help of tools such as familiars or wands, and memorizing the glyphs for elements they struggle with, or simply not using them at all. Some people, like Prim, prefer keeping as many glyphs on their person as possible and restocking while others, like Daisha, make them in the moment.

☄️Comet: What was a moment where you/your self-insert really shined? This can be a badass moment, a moment where you felt important to the overall lore, or just a really cool and important moment!

I have this scene in my head that I think about all the time (making edits in my mind >> writing them down) so bare with me (ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)

The scene starts with a young Prim being shown how to summon a spark by one of her moms (Millie). Millie snaps her fingers twice as if she's trying to start a lighter before a small flame appears a over her thumb. She proceeds to playing and flipping the flame as if it were a coin before blowing it out. When Prim booes, Millie chuckles and starts the spark again before handing it over to Prim and helping her keep it alive.

This memory fades to an older Prim (16) staring at the same hand her mom was holding. She appears to be deep in thought before Daisha coughs and asking if Prim is ready. Prim sighs, turns to Fern who is standing awkwardly until Prim does the same trick her mother did all those years ago. She hands the flame to Daisha who playfully makes the flame grow and change colour before twisting it like a clown with a balloon, resulting in the flame turning into a flower. Daisha hands the flower to Fern as Prim continues explaining the basics of magic.

The scene changes a final time as we cut to Prim and Fern in glass prison rooms of some kind. Prim is sitting curled up on the floor and facing away from Fern. Fern is standing and staring at Prim with concern before catching his reflection. His gaze drifts to his hand, staring at his bruised knuckles, before he snaps his fingers with realisation.

He begins punching at the glass, his skin getting damaged while the glass stands strong. A black liquid begins to drip out from the cuts. Fern waits until the liquid has dropped to the bottom of his fingers before snapping them.

The liquid solidifies into makeshift knuckle busters. Fern begins punching at the glass once more, this time making more progress until it shatters and he and Prim are united once more.

🔥Flame: Do you/your self-insert have an enemy? If so, who is it and why are they so hated? What was a particularly heated moment between you two?

Funny story: Fern and Prim have the same enemy in different universes (like they both have a Doc Ock, but that's not this villain's name). The villain doesn't have a name yet, but Fern's villain killed Cameron and Prim's villain killed Bo, so they hate this dude with a passion.

The funny part is these 2 versions end up working together. Prim's villain traveled to Fern's universe, found Fern's villain and the 2 teamed up for funsies lol. I'm not sure if these 2 end up fusing somehow or remain to seperate individuals but either way, rip prim and fern

🕯️Candle: Do you/your self-insert have a secret? If so, what is it and why do they keep it to themselves? Is it dark and mysterious or something small, yet impactful?

Aside from them both hiding their spiderman identities from their families (it's a canon event lol) they don't have many secrets.

The biggest secret is that Fern (and by extension Cam) is prepared to die as Spider-Phantom. Not necessarilyin a suicidal way, but after Cam got reincarnated this thought has always lingered in the back of both their minds (although more Fern than Cam)

(tw: mentions of suicide/suicidal ideology)

It's important to understand that when Fern and Cam were bitten by Prim's spider, their souls became tethered in a way. They are tied not only to Prim since it is her magic that gave them spider abilities, but also to each other. So when Cameron died, Fern felt everything. A part of her literally died with him.

After he reincarnated he became tethered to Fern's body (he can only go a certain distance, can possess her body but not other people's, etc.). His existence as a ghosy is a constant reminder of what waits for Fern. While neither of them know for certain what will happen to Fern (and by extension Cam) after she dies, it's safe to assume that she will also become a ghost of some kind and the 2 will be tethered to Prim's body.

Being Spider-phantom is also literally killing Fern because her body is under a lot of stress from all the constant changes. The longer Cam and Fern fuse as Spider-phantom, the more animalistic (or phantom-link) she becomes as her body begins to physically transforms into a phantom. So between the fusing and the bad guys, the odds aren't exactly in Fern's favour.

This resulted in Fern writing letters for her loved ones in case something happens to her, whether she disappears, goes into a coma or gets captured for research. She first wrote the letters when he, Prim and Daisha grew closer but after being invited to Spider Society and making more friends he ended up writing more letters too.

These letters are stored along with some notebooks documenting all Fern's research and theories about ghosts and phantoms. There's also a diary where Fern writes about this specific situation stored with these books although it is labeled accordingly. The diary contains things such as why they felt the need to write the letters and how they feel about this situation as a whole. It's both a way to vent and a deeper look into the reasons behind her actions for her loved ones.

She plans to tell someone about them someday, but right now Cam and Lyla are the only people who know. Cam knows everything (and has written a few of his own) while Lyla only knows about the research, not the letters. Shes agreed to report the location of these books to Prim, Daisha and Miguel if anything were to happen to Fern.

in present time (which takes place in my head sometime after atsv where everything is chill with miles) there are letters for the following people:

prim, daisha, miguel, margo, hobie, gwen, pavitr

[starres-stuff]

FFXIV Writes 2023 | Day 27 | Sole

Vi comes by to teach Dimitri how to make a protection charm for Laurent to carry when he is on duty, however, they get off track with talks about other things like their Noble House in Ishgard.

Sole adj: functioning independently and without assistance or interference

A day later, Vi appeared on the cottage doorstep carrying a small bag and a cup of coffee she had made for the trip. A gentle tap at the exterior door roused the sleeping Dimitri from his place on the couch. He had chosen to stay there the night before wrapped up in a knitted blanket so he wouldn’t miss her arrival in the morning. “Come in, he called.” He rubbed behind his glasses at his eyes. He never could take them off, even when he got in the shower he would leave them on something about the world being blurry had always made him uncomfortable though he didn’t often bring that up to anyone.

“Well, I am quite shocked.” As she breezed with the scent of fall on her dress, he could feel her judging him from the second that she walked in then she chuckled a bit, reached out a small hand, and ruffled his hair so that his wild curls ended up a bit more uncontrolled. She was, of course, well put together, her hair straightened, her clothes immaculate and she certainly did not seem like she walked several malms for this visit.

“I have brought with me several things,” Vi explained as she sat down in the chair across from the couch he sat on. A small smile appeared on her lips as if she had been touched by some memory that had risen in her mind of another time she had seated herself across from someone who had slept on her couch. “They are all sealed in this bag. When you are more awake and your aether is focused. I will have you open the bag, take out what strikes you and I will walk you through making a protection talisman for Laurent. Do not expect me to touch anything or help you if you falter. If you want this to be effective you have to do it yourself.”

Vi could be such a prim and proper person from the way she spoke to the way she held herself while she did. It was often hard to believe she was anything but the perfectly trained Noble from the frozen wastelands. “While you are waking up though, I need you to think of Laurent. Things that you associate with him, colors, animals, even stones.” She continued as if she was teaching a class. “Xixa told me that you are having trouble focusing on your Aether. That is something we will need to talk about before we begin. You want what you imbue into the talisman to be steady and comfortable, uncontrolled Aether can create issues for you and Laurent later on.”

Dimitri nodded his head, stretching his arms above his head and cracking his neck. The worst thing about sleeping on the couch was it was small, and he was quite big. He had thought to ask Vi why there wasn’t bigger furniture here, but he never was sure how touchy she was about her short stature so he had left it as something he would ask someday when everything pointed to it being the perfect time to do so.

“Why is it so important that only I touch the items, did you not touch them when you put them in the bag?” The more he spent time in the woods and with the people of the Shroud the more he became curious of not only the magic they used but the various rituals he had observed even in just normal daily life. As soon as he asked his question he rose to his feet and then scratched his lower back with his all too big hand before heading upstairs into the kitchen area to make coffee for himself.

“While I did touch the items as I put them into the bag, the bag had been prepared in a fashion that it negated all aether once the item was put inside. One could call it a null area if they wished. There is also the fact that I have very low aether reserves due to my illness. I do not leave behind as much of a stain as others, even yourself would. If I have received my treatment, however, then I am far more likely to be brimming with Aether. You will begin to understand why it is important the more you learn to work with ritual. I do find it interesting that you have essentially hunted my kind and have no training on how a ritual is created. This tells me much about those you once studied under. I suspect there will be a great deal of superstition to clean from your mind. I will inform Xixa of that on my way home.” Resting back into the chair, satisfied with her detailed explanation, Vi’s hand dipped into the pocket of her oversized sweater and she withdrew her silver smoking case with its sunflower pattern on top and she took from it one of her cigarettes.

“I do hope that it is not Moko Grass this early in the morning,” Dimitri called from above her. “If it is, can you please take it outside? I do not want the smell to linger all day. It does get a little stale after a few hours. He braced himself for an explosion about telling her what to do but instead, she tipped her head back and smiled up at him. “It is made of cloves Dimitri. The moko is only for when I am overwhelmed or as the Priest puts it when I am anxious. There was a time I used it all day every day in great amounts, but I hardly need it that much anymore. I think I smoke it most now when I have a show. Other than that I’m not as interested in substances as I used to be.”

Dimitri watched her for a long moment, then he nodded his head in approval. “Good I worried about you when I first met you, you were constantly trying to obtain some form of escapism through drugs and drink. I am glad you no longer feel you have to escape from life.” Finally, his coffee was done and he turned off the flame under the small but fancy pot that he used. It wasn’t anything like the sludge he could make at Laurent’s house but at least he could brew it to a strength that he found palatable and with the cup in hand he trotted back down the stairs taking up his seat across from her and the bag she had left in the middle of the table.

“One cannot do business if they constantly have their heads in the clouds.” A wry smile appeared on Vi’s face “I do not know how Mother managed all the businesses we have solely.” Dimitri raised an eyebrow and leaned forward; it was rare she ever spoke about House Jienuex at all, let alone what businesses they had their fingers in.

“I need to put together a team to help me with this mess.” She admitted with a sigh. “I am not Mother and I have to accept that. With the events of my life, I lack the finer training that I would have gotten as I aged, and while I can still learn it! Trying to manage it on my own is absurd. I have hired someone to act as the House Chamberlain finally. I feel like a fool for how long I’ve left my responsibilities to rot. The coffers are full to the brims, yes, but most things have not had a personal touch since Mother passed on to the Sea. I always dreaded being the sole heir to the House. I have made the offer to Clement that when the day comes and we do wed he will have equal holding to our House and be taught everything of our business and personal family matters. I would still like to have my head out of my arse before we get there so I do not sound like a child as I explain it to him. I want him and I to function as equal partners, at least that is my desire.”

“Well, I could take a look at the books or at least help you hire someone skilled enough to look at them. My adopted Father spent a great deal of time teaching me how to manage the back end of a Noble House. Most of the Forum Members would be considered at least Lords or Ladies in Ishgard Society if they had been born there. I would of course recommend at least having someone look over my work. I am still learning how Eorzea functions within its political, government, and monetary systems. I have been warned Ishgard is a bit more difficult as there are differences from the rest of Eorzea due to the closing of the Gates for all those years.”

“Hmm, we will see, perhaps I will use your help for that. I plan to have Cenodocia look at things for me. Mother was a bitch, there is money everywhere and businesses I still haven’t found. I have heard good things about Cenodocia’s ability to find things that are lost. I also need to find a way to offload these brothels Mother owned without calling attention to the fact of what they are.” her nose crinkled “But let’s talk about all of this another day after we get your gift for Laurent made. The business aspect of our House is not going to sprout legs and walk away anytime soon. Laurent, however, goes into the woods for duty, yes?”

Dimitri frowned, he had hoped to keep her distracted for a little while. The thought of doing his first bit of ritual magic with his Sister watching unnerved him, but at the same time he knew she was the teacher that he would have wanted anyway. “Yes, soon,” he answered the question, then looked at the bag again. “Want to take this outside, Xixia said something about how being in touch with nature made balancing Aether easier at least that is what she has been teaching me.

“Mm-hmm, that is correct. Think of it as a transference between your Aether and the Ambient Aether given off naturally by the Star. No one else can touch that transfer. It is yours, you are the sole user. It is a good way to think of it. A channel if you will.” From the chair, she rose and she picked up the bag by the strap then outside she started waiting at the door for Dimitri to follow her.

[theveryworstthing]

So over on patreon Trevor asked for my take on the Addams Family and I grew up LOVING the Addams family movies so here we are. Instead of doing a straight up style interpretation, I decided to do a full on design challenge, using the characters as bases to make a black southern gothic Addams au. I actually drew the kids first, using the character bases of Wednesday and Pugsley to create some delightful kiddos I'm calling Sunday and Blanche. I of course then redesigned Gomez and Morticia into Carlisle and Mortesha.

The Addams have a very specific high aristocratic goth aesthetic (they've got a butler and nobody really works among other things) so in this re-imagining I wanted to go with vibes that run a little more middle class/upper middle class.  I thought it would be interesting to think about what would be considered weird and off-putting in an entirely different culture, and how being a big ol' goth is way less controversial than it used to be.

I tried to keep this short (HAHAHAHAHAHA) so I didn't spin off into an essay about villain coded families, black people in the horror genre, and normalcy as it pertains to social survival, but just...bits of that are in these designs and lore. Keep that in mind.

Also I made the kids twins because they've flip flopped in age so much in different media and also twins run in my family (i'm the daughter of one). And let's face it, I'm pulling a lot of their southern gothic traits from living as a southern goth so *shrug*.

10 thousand pounds of lore incoming loooooooooool.

The Parents

From the moment he saw her he knew that there was a 50/50 chance of him either never making it out of that swamp alive or marrying the figure that was creeping out from under the distant willow tree in a black cocktail dress. The third time she found him trussed up in one of her traps, he complimented her rope work and asked if she'd like to go out sometime after his head wound stopped bleeding.

Or while it was still bleeding.

If she was into that.

Some kids and a mysteriously burnt down Piggly Wiggly later, their love is still as strong and inescapable as a bear trap in a sink hole.

Carlisle Guillermo (now Addams through marriage but I wanted to give him two first names for a name since Gomez has two last names) makes a vaguely described living practicing ‘law’ around town. A loophole king, people come to him from miles around with contracts signed in blood, fights over chunks of hair buried in their rivals’ yard, dehydrated primate hands, memories that seemed like dreams until the evidence of their happenings became too real, and other regular Legal Items asking for counsel which he is all too happy to give. For a price. Sometimes that price is a homemade pie and sometimes it’s a million dollars, depends on who you are. Whatever you’re asked to pay it’s worth that price, and if you try to scam him out of work or he just plain doesn’t like you? Well. He knows how to twist a contract better than anything at the crossroads.

And he always gets his due.

He doesn’t just serve the local (living)humans though, there are many things that need proper legal representation in this day and age. You wouldn’t believe how many city councils try to build on sacred burial grounds even after he lets them know that his ghostly clients are totally gonna haunt the FUCK out of the ensuing shitty condos and curse their families for all eternity. At least 50% of his energy goes towards dealing with real estate bullshit.

Carl is an excitable and good natured(?) man who loves his family, cigars, dancing, and his many knife-based hobbies. People find him very charming once they get past the feeling that they’re talking to a sultry gator badly disguising itself as a human. I didn’t put a ton of deep thought into designing him, mostly I wanted to make a middle aged dude who looked like he would have been voted ‘most likely to smooch the literal devil’ in high school. Tbh he probably has, but no demonic ex’s can compare to his lovely wife~

Mortesha Addams(her name was already perfect so I just tweaked it)is a woman of many talents. A self proclaimed homemaker, she prides herself on a greenhouse full of Concerning Foliage, a beautiful wasp apiary, and a coop full of what are probably chickens that she keeps for what are probably eggs. She’s also an avid creator of the outsider art that can be seen around the estate. She has taken on the family business of selling her homemade goods in a little stall by the road just outside the swamp with her mom, and makes pretty good money doing so. A surprising amount of poison gets bought in quaint southern towns.

Speaking of poison, people who come out to the edge of the swamp to buy it are usually carrying a lot of secrets around, and Mortesha knows most of them. It’s not like she pries the truth out of people, it just so happens that many nervous hellos eventually turn into the tragic backstory power hour if she’s alone with a client for long enough. She supposes that’s just how people are. Despite the fact that the Addams are very active in the community (whether the community likes it or not) she especially, as a direct descendant of the first Addams matriarch, is seen as…Well not an outsider because the community feels A Certain Way about outsiders and despite it all the Addams are their people, but maybe something like an exception. They feel like whatever weirdness they’re hiding can’t be weirder than any given Addams, so they get a little loose with their words.

This is amusing to her, since Addams’ don’t naturally keep the kind dramatic secrets that their surface level prim and proper neighbors do. It’s much more fun to openly talk about those things.

Do they have a sadly decrepit yet terrifying grandma up in the attic? Yeah, like three. They got a tv, all the creepy porcelain dolls they could want, and they’re close to family. Where do you keep your gram-grams?

Any bodies buried on the property? Yeah some, but most are thrown to the gators.

Any creeping through the balmy summer night with ill intentions? Yeah dude, everyone loves a nice family stroll.

What about dangerous forbidden love? If an adult Addams isn’t incorporeal then they’re either queer or in a torrid romance with some person/thing mysteriously drawn to that awful swamp. Sometimes both at the same time. Most times actually.

Mortesha would know.

The current head of the Addams family is just as outgoing as her husband but a lot quieter and harder to read. She never really seems to get mad about much and always has a genteel smile for everyone whether they deserve it or not. A seven foot tall human shaped “Oh, bless your heart”. A perfectly composed Lady even when she’s, oh I dunno, burning down a Piggly Wiggly. You know. A regular southern mom. Chat her up at the hair salon for 50% off a jar of wasp honey with your next purchase of a mysterious but foreboding packet of herbs.

Designing her was pretty easy because I just drew a lankier Grace Jones and called it a day. I had some problems with her outfit simply because if we were going HARD southern gothic then she’d probably be wearing a white/cream dress with a fuller skirt but I thought keeping the silhouette and the black was more important. She’s supposed to be an anti southern gothic southern gothic character anyway. A woman who looks like she has a million secrets who is actually the most open person you could meet. For better or worse. The red hair came from a coloring error that I really ended up liking (my mom had red hair her whole childhood that only darkened up in high school so I can buy that an Addams can be naturally fire engine red) and the veil was to get more of that classic Morticia silhouette in there.

The Children

Sunday and Blanche are the twin children of Carlisle and Mortesha Addams. Some say the Addams clan got their cursed homestead when a wealthy local businessman made a deal with the devil and lost, leaving his grand mansion to his least favorite maid and cutting his losses once he realized that the swamp would do everything it could to drag the house into the water and take what was owed with its horrible curse. Others say that the family has just always squatted there and no one really cares because man, fuck that particular swamp. Have you been in there? Absolute horror show.

Anyway.

Blanche is the more outgoing sibling and quite the engineer/mad scientist in the making. He started going grey at 2 weeks old but considering he was also rocking some extra fingers, toes, and a tiny tail (he takes after his dad), his parents just put it on the 'not life threatening' pile and decided not to worry about it. He's the kind of smart that teachers find utterly infuriating, less a dog eagerly learning and obeying commands and more a hyena who keeps teaching itself how to pick locks. He has a few friends in his school's robotics club (which they honestly allowed him to make so the school could contain his... creations) but mostly hangs out with his sister exploring the swamp. They find all sorts of neat things in there! wedding rings, suspiciously lumpy garbage bags, cloaked cultists who can't read private property signs, it's an adventure every day!

Blanche is all about experimentation with his creations, his look, and his tether to this mortal coil. Is lipstick a cool thing to try? Let's find out. Can he get out of a strait jacket fast enough after being pushed into the depths of the swamp by his sister? let's find out. He's not dead yet and confused local doctors can attest to the fact that he's rarely attained more than a bad bruise so he's pretty set on continuing to kiss rattlesnakes on their cute little heads and have his sister practice her knife throwing at him until that fact changes.

Blanche is very much a country goth. Cowboy boots (customized by his mom), knife, and lighter are daily accessories. He likes to wear the crusty swamp jewelry they find (the rust adds a splash of color!) and despite appearances he does try to keep himself neat. He's just got  natural Grunge Colors and a tendency to wear clothes he likes until they fall apart. Pugsley always seemed the most modernly styled to me (which might just be because little boys clothes have been the same for a long time) so I wanted Blanche to be the most purposely fashionable Addams. Everyone else is goth by nature, but he's the only one truly familiar with goth as an alternative fashion.

I got really into designing Blanche because honestly, I find Pugsley to be the most boring member of the family. And he was hard to design! I had to mess with his vibe a lot to get him looking how I wanted. I know he's supposed to evoke an " 'evil' little boy next door who's parents never reign him in", but that's just goth Dennis The Menace.  I's 2020. We can at least go queer goth Calvin.

Sunday was much easier to design. Wednesday was my favorite as a child (of course) and I really wanted to keep the spirit of her look while adding things like billowy sleeves (it gets HOT down here), big poofy twists instead of braids, and a nice tie. She's a professional after all, been running the local pet cemetery since she was 6 and the previous groundskeeper met with an unfortunate accident after telling her that tarantulas don't have souls. Her specialty is creating beautiful naturalistic animal funerals similar to those that Maquenda (https://linktr.ee/artofmaquenda) makes, and she takes pride in creating miniature dioramas of her subjects after each burial which she uses as a kind of 3D catalog for future clients.

She really wants to try out her skills on humans one day. Well. Publicly try out her skills. Lotta random bodies float into the swamp. None of them have turned down her requests for diorama models so far. Most seem downright flattered. Plus, she usually figures out which graveyard/crime scene they floated over from and gets her parents to give them a lift back. She'll even help enact terrifying revenge from beyond the grave on whoever put them there if she's not, y'know, busy.

Besides arts, crafts, and pet based funerary arrangements, Sunday is an avid lover of archery (any ranged weapon really), books where little fantasy adventure animals die dramatic deaths, and history. She is That Kid who eagerly raises her hand when asked who Christopher Columbus was and ends up being sent out of class after 15 minutes for making 'a scene'. Her favorite party trick is just picking an item in the room and talking about how it relates to either some obscure historical figure with a buck wild life or a horrible disaster. At least one charity pancake breakfast ended with children in tears after her vivid description of the Great Molasses Flood of 1919.

Social-wise, while Wednesday is the girl that people ask to smile because they think she'd, "look so pretty", Sunday is rarely asked anything at all. People just kind of assume from her quiet nature (in between horrible history facts) that she's angry all the time and that she hates everyone. This is untrue. She hates some people but she's ambivalent to most everyone else and even downright friendly if you bother to talk to her like a person instead of a terrifying cryptid. Like, she IS a terrifying cryptid but she's also a little girl.  

That’s about it for now. One day I might do the other family members but for now I’m happy with the four I’ve redesigned. Making an au! Lurch in a family that doesn’t do butlers could be interesting. Over on patreon I put forth that he could just be Motesha’s mute little brother (similar bone structure) but Amy Crook had the nice idea of quote: “ a mysterious "cousin" that "helps around the house" whose origins are both long in the past and faintly unsettling. He's good for lifting heavy things, like that tank of propane you're about to throw into the burning Piggly Wiggly... “ which i now consider canon. Who's kid is he? How old is he? Not important. Anyone willing to commit arson with you is family.

Annnnyway.  This challenge was a lot of fun! I love indulging in AU’s.

[rainbowroadonsteroids]

Spoilers if you're not caught up on The Owl House

This is a sort of theory I have, relating to Luz, Amity, and memories.

A sort of "theme" if you will of the Owl House is that memories don't always tell the truth, and this is evident in a few different ways.

In Yesterday's Lie, Camila is essentially telling Luz she's sorry for pushing her away, and that she'll make sure when Luz returns she'll be a better mother.

In Follies at the Coven Day Parade, Luz remembers it as Camila telling her "when you come back home, promise you won't go back to that bad place". Luz's main reason for remembering it like this likely has to do with how she may have felt like Camila was trying to get her to change herself, so she remembered Camila's words as being harsher than they were. Camila just wanted Luz back, and never said she didn't want her going back to the Demon Realm.

This happens again From Hollow Mind to Edge of the World.

In Hollow Mind, during the scene which Belos is in the room with the Portal Door and he is talking to The Collector, Collector's riddle is about bringing on the Day of Unity so them and Belos could play. However, that's not how Luz remembers it.

In the beginning of Edge of the World, when Luz is recanting the story to Eda, Hooty, and King, how she remembers The Collector's riddle is different. She remembers it more in a way, where it paints Collector is bloodthirsty, and ready for carnage. And this may just be due to the fact The Collector is helping to bring on the Day of Unity, so Luz considers him as bloodthirsty instead on an iPad kid.

Now, how exactly does this relate to Amity? Well, look at how she remembers Alador. She remembers him as being prim and strict, like Odalia. But was he ever really like Odalia? In all the pictures we've seen, he's always been a bit... doofy. He's always been either a bit disheveled or just more like a lab rat. And while we did see him be a bit strict with Amity, it was never borderline manipulation like with Odalia. I could be wrong- maybe he had a stint of being strict. But with the theme of not remembering anything perfectly, you have to wonder.

[theartofdreaming1]

Katniss, Peeta, and Haymitch are slowly becoming a proper team! No more secrets! (for the most part)

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and (many) random thoughts on chapters 4-6 are below the cut.

heart

Losing that comfort of sleeping in each other’s arms after the Victory Tour must have been hard for Katniss and Peeta! Up until Katniss hurts her ankle, they probably didn’t really do much about it, just trying to make it through on their own... After she hurt her ankle and Peeta’s spending more time over at her place, I can easily imagine him staying over, at least until she’s fallen asleep, which might help a little... Since they are living only three houses apart from each other, I like to imagine that they can see each other’s bedroom windows from their bedroom (how else would Katniss know that Peeta sleeps with the windows open? I can’t really imagine that they would be able to open the windows of the train they were on - y’know, for “safety reasons” (i.e. making sure nobody can escape)); maybe they’d both light a candle and put it by their window, as a signal they are going to sleep... It’s not the same, but it helps a little 

mind

I mean, aside from the systemic rigging of the reaping system (i.e. poorer people generally having more entries, so they can have some food), I can easily imagine there being a manipulation of the “odds” when someone becomes too vocal or troublesome for the local authorities, such as someone trying to unionize a district’s workforce, for example

soul

In the districts, their impact has to be big - their win alone was a huge defiance of the Games as they used to be... sticking together and sticking up for each other ultimately led to them defeating the Capitol’s rules! In-between the Games and the Victory Tour I don’t think there was much noteworthy going on (although maybe the fact that, so far, none of the new victors’ loved ones had been hurt - Prim, Mrs. E., but also Gale and his family would be visible during the celebrations, I’m sure, same probably goes for the Mellark’s - might tell the people in the district that Snow and his cronies were aware of the attention any assassination attempt would gather and that this, in turn, might actually could become the last straw that would spark a revolution. In a way, that was proof that the people on top were at least a little afraid of what the people in the districts would do...) And then, especially during the visit of D11, with Katniss expressing her thanks and Peeta reaching out to share their winnings with the people from D11, another district than their own - it must have provided a lot of inspiration, I’m sure. 

As for the Capitolites, maybe some of them would notice for once how unhappy/riled up the people in some of the districts were... or at least stop to think about how this time, a show of love and companionship actually provided more “entertainment” and intrigue than the brutal gore and bloodshed from previous Games (also, longer lasting - there is actually much more “story” to be had from the star-crossed lovers from D12 than from any individual winner of previous Games, if you think about it... Their “love story” is still on-going, with an upcoming wedding and the promise of a family... it’s still creepy and voyeuristic as hell, though)

Chapter 4

Everything he [Haymitch] said was true about the Capitol’s expectations, my future with Peeta, even his last comment. Of course, I could do a lot worse than Peeta. That isn’t really the point, though, is it? One of the few freedoms we have in District 12 is the right to marry who we want or not marry at all. And now even that has been taken away from me. - God, this sucks so much! As Katniss rightly points out, her misery isn’t about Peeta at all - it’s about her (and also his, just pointing that out) agency being taken away! She’s being stripped even of that little sliver of agency that inhabitants of D12 usually have (choice of whom to marry, or whether to marry at all)

I wonder if President Snow will insist we have children. - Eugh, just the idea of Snow being the one to have the last word on that subject... 🤢 The invasion of privacy here... - The only person who should get to decide whether Katniss should have children or not is Katniss herself! Period!

My mind searches frantically for a way out. I can’t let President Snow condemn me to this. Even if it means taking my own life. Before that, though, I’d try to run away. - Boy, Katniss is even contemplating taking her own life, rather than to submit to the life the Capitol wants to force on her; it’s not her first choice (she’d rather run away), but it shows the desperation she’s feeling

Could I even manage to take everyone I love with me, start a new life deep in the wild? Highly unlikely but not impossible. - Later we will see that Peeta and Haymitch also belong into the category of “people Katniss loves” 😊(as well as her family, Gale, and his fam, of course)

“And Peeta’s team is probably still asleep.” “Doesn’t he need prepping?” I ask. “Not the way you do,” Effie replies. What does this mean? It means I get to spend the morning having the hair ripped off my body while Peeta sleeps in. I hadn’t thought about it much, but in the arena at least some of the boys got to keep their body hair whereas none of the girls did. - Gotta love that everlasting sexism that, even far into the future, still won’t allow women to have frickin’ body hair (y’know, like most humans do 🙄)

I can remember Peeta’s now, as I bathed him by the stream. Very blond in the sunlight, once the mud and blood had been washed away. Only his face remained completely smooth. Not one of the boys grew a beard, and many were old enough to. I wonder what they did to them. - Katniss seems to have committed every single detail about Peeta to her memory, including how his body hair looked when she cleaned him in the last Games... okay 👀😏 On a more somber note, what is it that the Capitol is doing to these poor kids?! The boys couldn’t grow beards and - I’m assuming - the girls wouldn’t get their periods while in the arena (since the Games can last for weeks, it would be a huge disadvantage if any of the girls also had to content with cramps + periods  - aside from worrying about getting murdered, I mean); it’s such a violation of one’s autonomy over one’s own body, yikes

Flavius tilts up my chin and sighs. “It’s a shame Cinna said no alterations on you.” “Yes, we could really make you something special,” says Octavia. “When she’s older,” says Venia almost grimly. “Then he’ll have to let us.” - Eeek, no thanks!😦 And frankly, it really shouldn’t be Cinna’s call to make but, y’know, Katniss’s!!! I don’t know, I get real panick-y just reading this exchange (I have never even gotten my ears pierced - my mom wouldn’t let them be pierced until I could make my own decision on that subject matter and as someone with skin issues and bad experiences with needles, I really don’t feel the need to have any unnecessary metal inserted into my body, so... I’m good)

His [Peeta’s] apology takes me by surprise. It’s true that Peeta froze me out after I confessed that my love for him during the Game was something of an act. But I don’t hold it against him. [...] “I’m sorry, too,” I say. [...] “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about. You were keeping us alive.” - That apology of Peeta’s... *chef’s kiss*; it was totally understandable that Peeta was upset and needed some time apart from Katniss after her confession, which had caught him completely by surprise, not even Katniss blames him for that... But his apology shows that he really made use of their time apart to work out his emotions and to reflect on both their situations - that’s some emotional maturity to be envious of! Plus, his apology is a good move to get their communication channel opened up again

It would be nice if he’d come to me with this earlier, before I knew that President Snow had other plans and just being friends was not an option for us anymore. But either way, I’m glad we’re speaking again. - Come on, Katniss, cut this boy some slack! He can’t read minds - how is he supposed to know about these things if you don’t tell him anything? It’s nice that you’re glad that you guys are on speaking terms again, but communication isn’t a one-way street, y’know?

I remember the tiger lily cookie and, now that Peeta is talking to me again, it’s all I can do not to recount the whole story about President Snow. But I know Haymitch wouldn’t want me to. I’d better stick to small talk. - Katniss really should have listened to her instincts here - Haymitch might have a better idea of how the Games/Capitol works, but he knows little about teamwork, which is an important factor in their specific (and unprecedented!) situation; I’m not blaming Katniss for relying on her mentor here, but this entire approach is going to crash and burn in the next chapter

It’s good to feel his fingers entwined with mine again, not for show but in actual friendship. We walk back to the train hand in hand. - Not to say that you can’t have friendships where you frequently hold hands - you totally can - but it is noteworthy that I don’t think I can recall Katniss holding hands with any of her other friends... (somehow, I can’t really picture Katniss holding hands with Gale casually like that... nor with Madge or Finnick later on) 

At the door, I remember, “I’ve got to apologize to Effie first.” “Don’t be afraid to lay it on thick,” Peeta tells me.- There is something about this exchange that speaks to me... maybe because it reads like some sort of an inside joke between them? Or because it shows that, despite being on good terms with Effie, Peeta’s totally aware of how high-maintenance/over the top Effie is... I dunno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Peeta has painted the Games. Some you wouldn’t get right away, if you hadn’t been with him in the arena yourself. Water dripping through the cracks in our cave. The dry pond bed. [...] Others any viewer would recognize. The golden horn called the Cornucopia. [...] And me. I am everywhere. [...] “What do you think?” he asks. “I hate them,” I say. I can almost smell the blood, the dirt, the unnatural breath of the mutt. - These are the pieces Peeta meant to exhibit in the Capitol, right? I wonder if he hoped that these paintings of his impressions/memories of the Games might actually connect with some Capitolites and might even move them to feel some empathy for the Tributes? Maybe he hoped that they would be more receptive for that kind of thing if he packaged it in art?

“All I do is go around trying to forget the arena and you’ve brought it back to life. How do you remember these things so exactly?” “I see them every night,” he says. [...] “Me too. Does it help? To paint them out?” “I don’t know. I think I’m a little less afraid of going to sleep at night, or I tell myself I am,” he says. “But they haven’t gone anywhere.” - I do wonder, whether and how painting out these moments could have therapeutic value for Peeta - on the one hand, the act of painting out specific intrusions/flashbacks might be helpful because he’d end up focusing on the more technical side of painting, y’know? Focussing on mixing the right shade of a certain color might help create some emotional distance from the moment itself... also, since painting usually takes some time, Peeta would actually spend a considerable amount of time facing these moments head on, rather than trying to avoid them (avoidance tends to increase the frequency of flashback/intrusions) and maybe spending so much time on them could also help him contextualize them within the broader narrative of his life, which is the basic principle behind Narrative Exposure Therapy, which is said to be pretty effective at treating PTSD... just my two cents

I can’t believe the size of District 11. “How many people do you think live here?” Peeta asks. I shake my head. In school they refer to it as a large district, that’s all. No actual figures on the population. - Perfect example of how tightly the Capitol controls the information the people in the districts have about the other districts... which is basically nothing. Let’s keep them in the dark so they are less likely to connect with each other and band together...

Cinna comes in with a pretty orange frock patterned with autumn leaves. I think how much Peeta will like the color. - Lol, Katniss bringing everything back to Peeta because she definitely hasn’t a crush on the guy, I see 😉

And then he [Peeta] hesitates before adding something that wasn’t written on the card. Maybe because he thought Effie might make him remove it. “It can in no way replace your losses, but as a token of our thanks we’d like for each of the tributes’ families from District Eleven to receive one month of our winnings every year for the duration of our lives.” - Peeta, the rebel! Talk about an act of radical kindness! I’m so proud of him. But also, I think this is another excellent example of how he and Katniss are on the same wavelength (this took me some time to find, but here you go): I silently say good-bye to Thresh and thank him for my life. I promise to remember him and, if I can, do something to help his family and Rue’s, if I win. (Ch. 23, THG)

I look at Peeta and he gives me a sad smile. I hear Haymitch’s voice. “You could do a lot worse.” At this moment, it’s impossible to imagine how I could do any better. The gift... it is perfect. So when I rise up on tiptoe to kiss him, it doesn’t seem forced at all. - Peeta: does anything that exemplifies his sense of morality; Katniss: *swoons* - but honestly, it is so beautiful how Katniss is so attracted to Peeta’s goodness and kind heart - it also tells us a lot about her (she is quite pure, as Peeta will point out later in this book) and what she values

“Wait, please.” I don’t know how to start, but once I do, the words rush from my lips as if they’ve been forming in the back of my mind for a long time. - And then Katniss launches into one of her spontaneous, heart-felt, and inspiring speeches/acts, expressing her thanks, sympathy, and a sense of kinship with people beyond the borders of her district, beyond the superficial barriers the Capitol has been trying to maintain in order to weaken the ‘common folk‘ and keep the exploitation going

The full impact of what I’ve done hits me. It was not intentional - I only meant to express my thanks - but I have elicited something dangerous. An act of dissent from the people of District 11. - Again, Katniss has done something that will solidify her as a symbol of the revolution without intending to do so and that’s the point, I think - she inspires people through her genuine displays of caring for others (which, in Panem, is already rebellious on its own)

Chapter 5

“We’re going!” says Peeta, shoving the Peacekeeper who’s pressing on me. “We get it, all right? Come on, Katniss.” His arm encircles me and guides me back into the Justice Building. - Protective Peeta! Also, I think it’s interesting to note the wording of Peeta’s arms “encircling” Katniss and then “guiding” her - his arms surround her, and he’s leading her away from harm (at least to the extent that is in his power - can’t really be safe from harm in Panem, can you?), but it doesn’t seem smothering or oppressive  to Katniss in any way -”guide” has more of a connotation of giving direction without force, imo; in contrast, when Katniss talked about her kiss with Gale she mentions she’d never imagined how those hands [...] could as easily entrap me. (Ch. 2, CF); granted, these are two very different situations - the phrasing just stood out to me

“What happened?” Effie hurries over. “We lost the feed just after Katniss’s beautiful speech, and then Haymitch said he thought he heard gun fire, and I said it was ridiculous, but who knows? There are lunatics everywhere!” - Very telling how a clueless Capitolite like Effie wouldn’t register the rebellious aspect of Katniss’s speech; by keeping the Capitolites in the depths of sweet, sweet ignorance while simultaneously harshly trying to curb any spark of rebellion by cutting off the feed, the government is actually drawing the attention of the ignorant Capitolites to the act of rebellion itself (and also letting the people in the districts know that there was something censor-worthy going on); kind of shooting themselves in the foot here

As far as I know, Haymitch has only been here once, when he was on his Victory Tour decades ago. But he must have a remarkable memory or reliable instincts, because he leads us up through a maze of twisting staricases and increasingly narrow halls. [...] Eventually we climb a ladder to a trapdoor. When Haymitch pushes it aside, we find ourselves in the dome of the Justice Building. - I wonder how Haymitch has come to know this part of the Justice Building? Has he been to District 11 more often than Katniss supposes (he is friends with Chaff, after all), did his mentor take him there for some private conversation, or was there a moment during Haymitch’s Victory Tour where he felt so overwhelmed by feelings of guilt and powerlessness that he fled to the most desolate, solitary place he could find?

“I was supposed to fix things on this tour. [...] Calm things down. But obviously, all I’ve done today is get three people killed, and now everyone in the square will be punished.” I feel so sick that I have to sit down on a couch, despite the exposed springs and stuffing. - Obviously, all of this is awful and no one - especially a traumatized, 16-year old girl - should have to suffer carrying such a burden... But also, here we see one of the downsides of Katniss taking sole responsibility for everything - she totally forgot that Peeta might feel responsible too, only that he didn’t even know what’s at stake - which leads us to-

“Then I made things worse, too. By giving the money,” says Peeta. Suddenly he strikes out at a lamp that sits precariously on a crate and knocks it across the room, where it shatters against the floor. “This has to stop. Right now. This - this - game you two play, where you tell each other secrets but keep them from me like I’m too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them.”"It's not like that, Peeta-" I begin. "It's exactly like that!" he yells at me. - When kind, gentle Peeta’s mad, you know shit has hit the fan 😳 But also, being passed over/kept out of the loop seems to hit pretty close to home for Peeta (while I would like to know what his home life looked like before the Games, I have to admit that at this point, I’m somewhat afraid I might not be able to handle the truth...). I just think this scene is an important moment that leads to an end of (most of) their detrimental secrecy (hello end-of-CF-Haymitch!) and establishes their little team as such (hence the drawing)

“You’re always so reliably good, Peeta,” says Haymitch. “So smart about how you present yourself before the cameras. I didn’t want to disrupt that.” “Well, you overestimated me. Because I really screwed up today.” - Remember the last time someone overestimated Peeta (Foxface and the berries)? That ended in someone’s death as well... And, Haymitch? ‘Never assume’ applies to you, too!

“Do you think I gave them [Rue’s and Thresh’s families] a bright future? Because I think they’ll be lucky if they survive the day!” Peeta sends something else flying, a statue. I’ve never seen him like this. - Considering that his rebellious act of kindness is now threatening to become a sword of Damocles, hanging over those towards which he wanted to extend his kindness - simply because he’s been kept out of the loop (again)- Peeta’s anger is quite understandable

“Look, boy-” Haymitch begins. “Don’t bother, Haymitch. I know you had to choose one of us. And I’d have wanted it to be her. But this is something different. People are dead out there. More will follow unless we’re very good.” - Peeta doesn’t really care if it’s just his life on the line, but if other people’s lives are at risk? He takes no shit (it’s admirable in one way and deeply concerning in another); also, Peeta is right - while there still is a game to play, it’s not the Games, so different circumstances and rules apply

“From now on, you’ll be fully informed,” Haymitch promises. “I better be,” says Peeta. - Peeta generally is a very cooperative fellow, but don’t ever think he can’t be forceful and stand his ground when it matters!

“Did you choose me, Haymitch?” I ask. “Yeah,” he says. “Why? You like him better,” I say. “That’s true. But remember, until they changed the rules, I could only hope to get one of you out of there alive,” he says. “I thought since he was determined to protect you, well, between the three of us, we might be able to bring you home.” “Oh,” is all I can think to say. - This is such a quiet, sweet moment and also shows that Katniss, Haymitch and Peeta have been some sort of team from the start (also, in their team effort they actually managed to get the both of them back home!)

Everything is happening too fast for me to process it. The warning, the shootings, the recognition that I may have set something of great consequence in motion. The whole thing is so improbable. And it would be one thing if I had planned to stir things up, but given the circumstances... how on earth did I cause so much trouble? - Lol, you’re giving yourself a little too much credit here, Katniss ;) Frankly, the Capitol has been the one to create this powder-keg they are sitting on in the first place - all it needed was a little spark... All these injustices, the humilitation, the pain inflicted... it’s like an elastic rubber band that’s been stretched and stretched - until it snaps

“I’m something of an expert in architectural design, you know?” “Oh yes, I’ve heard that,” says Portia before the pause gets too long. - Bless Portia’s heart, making sure they avoid that awkward silence 😂

Effie looks so distressed that I spontaneously give her a hug. “That’s awful, Effie. Maybe we shouldn’t go to the dinner at all. At least until they’ve apologized.” - Aww, Katniss doing something nice for Effie!😊

Peeta and I join hands. “Haymitch says I was wrong to yell at you. You were only operating under his instructions,” says Peeta. “And it isn’t as if I haven’t kept things from you in the past.” - Peeta sorta apologizing, even acknowledging that he also had kept secrets from Katniss? We love to see it👍 - [...] “I think I broke a few things myself after that interview.” “Just an urn,” he says. - Peetaaa... stop diminishing your own physical injuries! Good thing that Katniss won’t let him: - “And your hands. There’s no point to it anymore though, is there? Not being straight with each other?” I say. “No point,” says Peeta. - Gasp! Honest, open communication as a good basis for a successful relationship? It’s more likely than you think!

“Was that really the only time you kissed Gale?” I’m so startled I answer. “Yes.” With all that has happened today, has that question actually been preying on him? - Peeta, you sly dog! Your priorities 😂

Some crowds have the weary-cattle feel that I know District 12 usually projects at the victors’ ceremonies. But in others - particularly 8, 4, and 3 - there is genuine elation in the faces of the people at the sight of us, and under the elation, fury. - I do think that it’s interesting how D4 is one of the districts being elated to see Peeta + Katniss and displaying such fury, despite being a Career district; just goes to show that, just because their odds are better at winning the Games, doesn’t have to make them more simpatico with the Capitol’s cruelty... (Considering how Finnick knows how to perform CPR, it’s highly likely that people in D4 are also used to awful and precarious working + living situations... maybe that’s exactly why they generally are so robust and do well in the Games; and maybe they are simply not that above joining the other Careers as long as it improves their chances of survival, like Katniss or Thresh had been... worked for a while for Peeta, too)

Effie starts giving me pills to sleep, but they don’t work. [...] Peeta, who spends much of the night roaming the train, hears me screaming as I struggle to break out of the haze of drugs that merely prolong the horrible dreams. He manages to wake me and calm me down. Then he climbs into bed to hold me until I fall back to sleep. After that, I refuse the pills. But every night I let him into my bed. We manage the darkness as we did in the arena, wrapped in each other’s arms. - 😭 Also: Very telling how Capitolite Effie just throws pills at the problem (with the best of intentions, I’m sure), which is an immediate, unpersonal, and superficial solution at best, whereas Peeta holding Katniss, offering comfort, understanding, a sense of safety, and human connection is so much more personal, intimate, and effective (for both of them!)

I personally killed the girl, Glimmer, and the boy from District 1. As I try to avoid looking at his family, I learn that his name was Marvel. How did I never know that? - You know why, Katniss -  I suppose that before the Games I didn’t pay attention and afterward I didn’t want to know. - Still, not knowing his name didn’t stop you from humanizing him, Katniss, and that’s important, too

Whatever we do seems too little, too late. Back in our old quarters in the Training Center, I’m the one who suggests the public marriage proposal. Peeta agrees to do it but then disappears to his room for a long time. Haymitch tells me to leave him alone. “I thought he wanted it, anyway,” I say. “Not like this,” Haymitch says. “He wanted it to be real.” - Come on, Katniss, don’t be so callous; Peeta’s just as much of a prisoner here as you! Also, it’s all about being real or not real with these two, isn’t it?

Chapter 6

... you would think that at this moment, I would be in utter despair. Here’s what’s strange. The main thing I feel is a sense of relief. That I can give up this game. [...] That if desperate times call for desperate measures, then I am free to act as desperately as I wish. - Honestly, I think it was pretty short-sighted of Snow to let Katniss know so clearly that she didn’t succeed in her task; she did her utmost and it wasn’t enough - might as well fling caution to the wind now. All bets are off. If there had been still some small chance she could have ‘made things right’, she probably would have been trying harder to comply to his expectations. (I’m sure Snow thought the upcoming implementations of his stricter regime would be enough to keep Katniss in check, but pride comes before a fall ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

It’s essential to get back to District 12, because the main part of any plan will include my mother and sister, Gale and his family. And Peeta, If I can get him to come with us. I add Haymitch to the list. - For such a ‘loner’, Katniss sure has a lot of people that are important to her... And how ironic that Peeta, who she isn’t sure she’ll be able to convince in following her will be a much more willing participant that Gale, who Katniss is pretty much banking on joining her

“You’ll probably have to pass a new law,” I say with a giggle. “If that’s what it takes,” says the president with conspiratorial good humor. Oh the fun we two have together. - The dynamic between Snow and Katniss is so strange; despite the obvious antagonism there is definitely some vibe of interacting with each other at eye level and it’s weird (Sidenote: Is there any law in Panem preventing minors from marrying?)

“I want to taste everything in the room, “ I tell Peeta. [...] “Then you’d better pace yourself,” he says. “Okay, not more than one bite of each dish,” I say. My resolve is almost immediately broken at the first table, which has twenty or so soups - couldn’t have happened to me; I hate soup (like, thick soups I maaaybe can get behind, but clear soup/broth is just flavored water to me, no thanks - then again, I’m a picky eater)

Peeta and I make no effort to find company but are constantly sought out. We are what no one wants to miss at the party. I act delighted, but I have zero interest in these Capitol people. They are only distractions from the food. - Well isn’t that a mood for every social gathering ever (one person I enjoy talking to and lots of food I like? Perfect.)

I pick up a small roasted bird, bite into it, and my tongue floods with orange sauce. Delicious. But I make Peeta eat the remainder because I want to keep tasting things - Katniss seems to like the combination of meat and fruit, huh? (the lamb and plums, now bird and orange sauce) Personally, it’s a combination that’s on thin ice for me; there are only a few dishes with that component I actually like and it took me forever to tolerate them (I don’t know if it’s the texture or the taste, but something makes me apprehensive about it); anyway, Katniss making Peeta eat the rest is such a casual, couple-y thing to do (or at least something you do with someone you feel very comfortable with, I think)

Peeta looks at the glass again and puts it together. “You mean this will make me puke?” My prep team laughs hysterically. “Of course, so you can keep eating,” says Octavia. “I’ve been in there twice already. Everyone does it, or else how would you have any fun at a feast?” I’m speechless, staring at the pretty little glasses and all they imply. - Oh boy, I have a lot of thoughts on this part: A) I just noticed how this is the second delicate/fancy glass/drink that’s bringing about a jarring revelation: first that orange juice with the frilly straw in THG, now these tiny wine-stemmed glasses, B) “Everyone does it” + “how else would you have fun?” are the shittiest reasons I’ve ever heard at a party for doing something stupid you probably don’t want to do (I’m having flashbacks to all the times I had people trying to pressure me into drinking alcohol as a teen - it was even legal, btw - although I insisted that I didn’t like the taste (which I still don’t, to this day); it was tiresome 😑), C) “everyone does it” - the people in the Capitol must have some messed up teeth if that’s a regular occurence (sure, they probably bleach their teeth all the time, but also... they’d really need to, D) the obvious: how effed up that they just puke to stuff in more food when in the districts people literally are dying from starvation?! (and yeah, unequal distribution of resources sadly isn’t just a thing in Panem, I know... but there is something about actively purging yourself just for funsies that’s just extra, well, sick)

All I can think of is the emaciated bodies of the children on our kitchen table as my mother prescribes what the parents cannot give. More food. - God, how awful! How powerless they must feel 😟

And here in the Capitol they’re vomiting for the pleasure of filling their bellies again and again. Not from some illness of body or mind, not from spoiled food. - Ooh, I’ve never noticed before how this passage not only recognizes physical reasons for purging, but also mental reasons! Wouldn’t have necessarily expected Katniss to acknowledge eating disorders like that, tbh... She has become a lot more cognizant and sensitive when mental health issues are concerned

One day when I dropped by to give Hazelle the game, Vick was home sick with a bad cough [...] he still spent about fifteen minutes talking about how they’d opened a can of corn syrup from Parcel Day and each had a spoonful on bread and were going to maybe have more later in the week. How Hazelle had said he could have a bit in a cup of tea to soothe his cough, but he wouldln’t feel right unless the others had some, too. - Aww, Vick is such a sweetheart! Hazelle is raising her kids right!

“Peeta, they bring us here to fight to the death for their entertainment,”I say. “Really, this is nothing by comparison.” “I know. I know that. It’s just sometimes I can’t stand it anymore. To the point where... I’m not sure what I’ll do.” He pauses, then whispers, “Maybe we were wrong, Katniss.” “About what?” I ask. “About trying to subdue things in the districts,” he says. - Peeta’s rebellious nature coming through again!

“Sorry,” he says. He should be. This is no place to be voicing such thoughts. “Save it for home,” I tell him. - I know Katniss means D12, but her phrasing of “home” evokes a more domestic, couple-y connotation again 😊

I don’t want to dance with Plutarch Heavensbee. I don’t want to feel his hands, one resting against mine, one on my hip. I’m not used to being touched, except by Peeta or my family, and I rank Gamemakers somewhere below maggots in terms of creatures I want in contact with my skin. - It’s telling that, while Katniss is not big on being touched aside from her family (does that include Gale? probably? although they hadn’t even really hugged until Katniss had been reaped, so... I dunno), she’s totally fine with Peeta touching her (more than that: remember how good she felt holding his hand again in Ch.4 and how she’s feeling safe in his arms when they are sharing a bed), it says a lot about how comfortable she feels around him

Plutarch steps back and pulls out a gold watch on a chain from a vest pocket. He flips open the lid, sees the time, and frowns. “I’ll have to be going soon.” He turns the watch so I can see the face. “It starts at midnight.” - Honestly, this very subtle hint/foreshadowing of the clock setup of the Quarter Quell arena is simply brilliant! And also, midnight is going to become an important point in time as well from here on out (lightning tree, in the hanging tree song, saving Peeta and the others from the Training Center in the Capitol)

It’s another mockingjay. Exactly like the pin on my dress. Only this one disappears. He snaps the watch closed. “That’s very pretty,” I say. “Oh, it’s more than pretty. It’s one of a kind,” he says. - The disappearing mockingjay on the clock is interesting because A) Plutarch can’t really be flaunting the symbol of rebellion as Head Gamemaker, duh, but also B) the clock arena will be the place where the Mockingjay will disappear (until the rebellion will be able to use her for their cause); and that last comment by Plutarch clearly is aimed at the Mockingjay (Katniss) herself

When I open my eyes, it’s early afternoon. My head rests on Peeta’s arm. I don’t remember him coming in last night. - Okay, Katniss must feel hella safe and used to Peeta joining her in her bed, because apparently she didn’t even wake up when he did, like... I’m a fairly heavy sleeper, but I can’t imagine sleeping so deeply that I wouldn’t jerk awake if someone crawled into my bed while I was snoozing

“No nightmare,” he says. “What?” I ask. “You didn’t have any nightmares last night,” he says. He’s right. For the first time in ages I’ve slept through the night. - Telling how the first time Katniss sleeps through the night is after Snow let her know her performance wasn’t enough; she’s must have been so tense and on edge, desperately trying to calm down the districts and convince Snow, that she hadn’t been able to sleep properly, aside from the obvious sleeping issues she’d have from the PTSD (I’m often that way before an important exam - especially if it’s an oral exam; I get tense just thinking about it 😓)

“I had a dream, though,” I say, thinking back. “I was following a mockingjay though the woods. For a long time. It was Rue, really. I mean, when it sang, it had her voice.” “Where did she take you?” he says, brushing my hair off my forehead. “I don’t know. We never arrived,” I say. “But I felt happy.” - Interesting how in Katniss’s dream, the mockingjay is Rue - lending further credence to the hypothesis that maybe Rue was originally meant to be the Mockingjay (would make Plutarch’s comment of the mockingjay being “one of a kind” a bit more hypocritical/exaggerated/dramatized, which still fits with his flair for propaganda/showmanship... and ultimately, Katniss as the Mockingjay was unique, but that doesn’t mean that the rebellion couldn’t have made someone else their symbol if they needed to); also, Peeta brushing Katniss’s hair off her forehead is so sweet and intimate 😊

After I got home, we [Madge and I] started spending time together. [...] It was a little awkward at first because we didn’t know what to do. Other girls our age, I’ve heard them talking about boys, or other girls, or clothes. Madge and I aren’t gossipy and clothes bore me to tears. But after a few false starts, I realized she was dying to go into the woods, so I’ve taken her a couple of times and showed her how to shoot. She’s trying to teach me the piano, but mostly I like to listen to her play. - Honestly? I’d love to read a fanfic about Katniss and Madge figuring out their friendship (let me know if there already are some!); it’s cute how they end up including each other in their hobbies 😊 Ah, the classic “I’m/We’re not like other girls”, which often is especially prevalent during your teen years (I’d be lying if I said that I haven’t been gulty of this in my past 😅)... Katniss might actually would have benefited from talking with Madge about her boys’ troubles, though... And it’s so funny how Katniss admits that she has no interest in clothes, despite it being her supposed “talent”, while she also admits that she does admire Cinna’s work

... there’s a mob scene. The square’s packed with screaming people, their faces hidden with rags and homemade masks, throwing bricks. Building burn. Peacekeepers shoot into the crowd, killing at random. I’ve never seen anything like it - I... I have. At least on tv... In different places, at different times, but... yeah...

[everlarkficexchange]

Hanging in the Balance

Written by: @ameliaodair

Prompt #29:  I want to request a fic where Katniss and Peeta almost lose their first child and it makes their love and relationship even stronger.  [submitted by anonymous]

The prompt pretty much says it all.  On their way to visit Katniss’s mother, Katniss, Peeta, and their daughter fight for their lives.  When Peeta wakes from the devastating crash, his life— and Katniss’s are forever changed as their sweet, baby girl has the fight of her life, with her life hanging in the balance.

Thanks to the amazing @taylerwrites for her magical beta skills!

Rated T for difficult situations

Warnings: (almost) losing a child

Hanging in the Balance

“How long has it been since the last time we saw your mother?” Keeping his eyes focused on the road and his hands firmly gripped on the steering wheel, Peeta glanced over to Katniss, his beautiful wife of six years.

“I don’t know, maybe …  Actually, I think the last time we saw her was just after Prim was born; oh my god, I can’t believe it’s been that long.  Oh, Peeta, did you rem—” Katniss tensed up, thinking they had forgotten an important item on their checklist.

“Calm down, Katniss. Trust me,” Peeta gave his wife a charming, yet reassuring smile and reached for her hand. “I went over the list three times before we even left the house, and then once more after loading the car up.  We didn’t forget a single thing.  And if, by chance, there is something we forgot, I’m sure it can be duplicated at the nearest department store.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Katniss murmured, catching a glimpse of the back of their daughter’s head before slowly relaxing into the passenger seat next to her husband.

“In fact, I’m almost certain we brought enough stuff with us to stay for a year,” Peeta gently joked with his wife, in hopes of easing her nerves.  He knew the real reason for Katniss’s high-strung demeanor, and her incessant need to be in complete control.  She had lost her younger sister when she was just a little girl and it nearly broke her.  Peeta still wasn’t convinced she had recovered from that loss. 

Katniss and Peeta were childhood sweethearts.  While Peeta knew from the moment he entered his kindergarten classroom that he was destined to be with the beautiful girl with the stunning grey eyes,  raven-colored braids down either side of her face, and a voice that could bring a stuttering, toothpaste-stained shirt little boy to his knees, it took Katniss a little longer.  It required some convincing, but Peeta was persistent and finally, at seven-years-old, Katniss accepted his friendship-invitation.  And the lovesick fool that Peeta was decided he would take what he could get.  So, for years, they were friends— best friends. 

Peeta was there the day Katniss’s sister, Prim, died.  He had sat next to Katniss, gripping her hand like a lifeline while they stood vigil by Prim’s bedside, and watched as she took her final breaths.  And it broke him too, but not like Katniss.  She was devastated beyond belief— for so long.  And for so many years after that devastating tragedy, Katniss vowed to never have children … she could not bear to love another person with so much of her heart, only to have them ripped from her life.  They dated for five years before she finally agreed to marry him.  And then it was another four years before she agreed, and quite apprehensively, to try for a family.

“I think I’m going to get off at the next stop for some gas and we can stretch our legs.  It’ll be nighttime soon and I’d rather you guys not wander around in the dark in some backwoods city I don’t know.”

“You worry too much, Peeta,” Katniss chided, taking Peeta’s hand and entwining their fingers.  She brought their conjoined hands up to her lips and placed a kiss against the crest of his knuckles.  That’s why they were perfect together— because they balanced each other out.  When one was overcome with fear and anxiety, the other was always there to level the other one out.

Peeta got off at the next exit and followed the signs to the nearest gas station, which was less than a mile away.

“Don’t go to the Shell, go to SHEETZ,” Katniss pleaded with her husband when she saw the direction he was headed.

“Why?  Shell has better gas.”

“SHEETZ has cleaner bathrooms.  Please baby,” Katniss whined, knowing the use of the pet name, in addition to giving him the wide, puppy-dog-eyes would be enough to melt his hesitation.

“Okay,” he conceded, “Anything for my girls,” he gave Katniss’s hand another squeeze as he stopped at the four-way intersection and then gently accelerated on the gas when he saw the coast was clear.  Ever since their daughter, Prim was born, Peeta drove like an old man instead of a man in his late twenties— precious cargo and all.

“PEETA!!!!!” Katniss screamed when a set of headlights came barreling straight for them.

    “Mr. Mellark?  Mr. Mellark, can you hear me?” Peeta opened his eyes and tried to sit up.  “Mr. Mellark, how many fingers am I holding up?” The uniformed man asked him as he waved his fingers in front of his face and shined a flashlight into his eyes.

“Three.  Where’s my wife?  Where is Prim?” Peeta responded, shoving the medic’s hand out of his face as he attempted to sit up again.  “Where am I?” Peeta demanded, turning his head from side to side, surveying the small space he was in and called for his wife, “Katniss?” But she wasn’t anywhere in sight; as far as he could see, he was alone in the ambulance with these three strangers— medics.

“Sir, please calm down.  You were in an accident.  My name is Pollux and I am a paramedic.  You have sustained some rather severe injuries.  We are rushing you and your family to the nearest hospital.”

Adrenaline flooded Peeta’s veins, his heart accelerated until he was fuming, “WHERE is my wife and my daughter?  Where are they?  Are they okay? Please, you have to tell me,” he demanded, oblivious to the steadily increasing beeping in the background and needing some answers before his anxiety consumed him.

“They were air-lifted from the scene of the accident; we should be arriving at the hospital any moment now.  We’ll know more upon arrival,” Pollux offered sympathetically and craned his neck to his shoulder to speak into the microphone attached to his uniform, “Hey Castor, what’s our ETA?”

Peeta didn’t realize there was already an IV connected into his arm, or that the paramedic injected something into it, which was the reason everything went black.

2 days later:

“Well!  There are those marvelous blue eyes I have been hearing about!  Good morning Mr. Mellark, my name is Dr. Trinket.”

When Peeta opened his eyes, everything was fuzzy at first.  He blinked a few times until his vision slowly adjusted, and this Dr. Trinket came into view.  She was a beautiful doctor, there was no denying that.  Probably in her mid to late thirties with short, curly, blonde hair— so blonde it almost looked pink … and she was in the traditional hospital scrubs you normally see doctors wearing.  

  ‘Seriously, bright pink scrubs?’ Peeta thought, wondering if he could go blind just by looking at her for too long.

“Can you tell me your name and date of birth?” Dr. Trinket asked him, shining a light into his eyes.  “Good, good.  Pupils are equal and reactive.”

Peeta recited his name and birthday for Dr. Trinket, and she nodded, satisfied with his response.  “Do you know where you are?”  Dr. Trinket asked, checking his reflexes.

“Um … a hospital?” Peeta thought that seemed obvious.

“And do you recall the circumstances that brought you here?”

Peeta closed his eyes and tried to pull the memory from his mind, only to come up empty.

“Mr. Mellark, you were in an accident,” Dr. Trinket began filling in the blanks for him, “You suffered a slight concussion in addition to a hairline fracture to your femur.  After assessment upon your arrival to Tribute Center Regional Medical Facilities, you were rushed into surgery to repair your injuries.  You have a splint on your leg and should heal just fine.  I foresee a speedy recovery as long as you stay off your legs.  Do you have any questions for me?”

Flashes came sputtering back, hitting the back of  his eyelids like one of those slow, stop-motion picture films from Dr. Trinket’s words. “M-my w-wife and daughter—” Peeta croaked, his voice still dry and hoarse from days of not using it.

“Nurse, nurse, can we please get Mr. Mellark some form of oral hydration to quench his thirst?” Dr. Trinket pressed the call button on the remote by his bed and spoke into the intercom, “I bet you are just parched, aren’t you Mr. Mellark?” As upbeat and gregarious as the lovely Dr. Trinket appeared to be, he was not fooled by her deflection.

Before he had the opportunity to ask about his family again, a woman with kind eyes entered the room, carrying a styrofoam pitcher of water, a small tower of cups, and a handful of straws.  She poured Peeta a cup of water and offered it to him.

“Thank you,” Peeta smiled at the woman, who returned his smile, and then disappeared from the room just as quickly as she entered.

Peeta took a long sip of water through the straw and wasn’t sure anything had ever tasted so good in his life.  But then he met Dr. Trinket’s eyes and asked the question that was looming over them once again, “My wife?  My daughter?  K-Katniss and Primrose Mellark?”

Dr. Trinket’s face fell, and then she looked at him with so much pity, which only compelled Peeta to immediately jump to conclusions.

“No, no, they can’t be!” He cried, covering his face with his hands.

“Oh, no!  No, no, my apologies Mr. Mellark.  Your wife currently rests in a medically induced coma.  She had some minor swelling on her brain, so the doctors felt it was necessary to allow her body adequate time to heal.  She should be waking at any moment and her prognosis is optimistic!”

Peeta took another sip of water and braced himself for what came next, “And P-Primrose, m-my daughter?” Peeta faltered, afraid of her response.  She was barely two years old; if he and Katniss were injured this badly, what happened to her?  She was so tiny, she was—

“Your daughter’s—”

“Prim,” Peeta insisted.  If his daughter’s condition was as critical as he feared, he would not allow the staff in this hospital to treat her as another ‘number’.  He’d heard of horror stories and patients being neglected because of arrogant doctors.  No, they would call her by her name.

“My apologies; Prim is in the pediatric intensive care unit.  I do not know much about her case, but your daughter’s doctor will stop by shortly with an update on her status.  I shall page him now to inform him that you are finally conscious.  His name is Dr. Abernathy.”

“Okay,” Peeta nodded.

“I must warn you Mr. Mellark, Dr. Abernathy may come off a bit abrasive, his bedside manner needs much work, but—"

“Is he good?  Will he save my baby?” Peeta implored; he could care less about the doctor’s bedside manner, all he cared about was if the man was good at his job.  All he cared about was if he could save his baby girl.

“I may be a bit bias … but yes.  He is the best.  It is a fact that he is a world-renowned critical care pediatric surgeon.  You will not find a more qualified physician in all of Panem.”

“O-okay, that’s good,” Peeta stuttered, feeling more optimistic as Dr. Trinket walked toward the door.

  “Um … Dr. Trinket, if you don’t mind me asking, but why are you biased towards this doctor?”

“He is my husband,” Dr. Trinket answered proudly. “Oh, and please call me Effie, ‘Doctor Trinket’ is my mother … and besides, it makes me sound so old!”

  “Mr. Mellark, I’m Haymitch,” a man with scruffy blonde hair covering his eyes strutted into the room.  He had a white coat just like the other doctors Peeta had seen cruising the hallways, but this man looked far from any doctor he had ever met.  Sure, he had the arrogance the other doctors seemed to have in spades, but he did not share the chiseled and clean-shaven faces he had witnessed on some of the other medical staff.  He looked up, and above the breast pocket of this man’s jacket, the name, Dr. H. Abernathy, was inscribed in elegant script onto his coat.

So, this was Dr. Abernathy, Peeta thought.  “It’s— it’s Peeta.  Y-you have news about my daughter?”

“Yes, Primrose Ellis Mellark, twenty-six-month female,” Haymitch began, flipping through his notes.  Then he dragged a chair across the room, its legs scraping against the floor, finally planting it next to Peeta’s bed before he took a seat in it— backwards.  Dr. Abernathy— Haymitch put his notes away and crossed his arms over the back of the chair to look Peeta in the eye.

Yes, this was unlike any doctor I’ve ever come across before, Peeta thought to himself, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Mr. Mellark, Peeta, I ain’t gonna lie to ya, yer little girl is in pretty bad shape.  Thankfully, she was properly strapped in the car seat, and rear-facing at that— which is what will probably save her life.  Most parents don’t follow the PAP guidelines—”

  “I’m sorry, what is PAP?”

  “Oh, my bad— I mean … sorry.  It’s the Panem Academy of Pediatrics— you know, the guidelines— uh, the riff-raff of all the do’s and don'ts pertaining to childcare and whatnot.  Anyhow, most parents turn their kids around before it’s time so they can see them … but uh— yeah— she’s beat up pretty bad, we’ve removed all the shards of glass from her skin and stitched up all the residual lacerations.” Peeta cringed at the doctor’s extensive description of his daughter.  “She suffered some internal damage to her organs—”

“When c-can I see her?” Peeta stammered, interrupting the doctor and fighting back tears that were threatening to spill over.

“Soon.  I’ll have someone page your nurse once she’s stabilized, and then we’ll get someone to bring ya up there.  Ya got any other questions?” Haymitch asked Peeta, squirming to get out of the chair.

“Has … has anyone told Katniss— my wife?”  Peeta warily asked the doctor.  Part of him was hoping that Haymitch had already told her, while deep inside he knew it had to be him to deliver this crushing blow.

“No, not yet.  I have to round on a few patients and then I’ll be stoppin’ by her room.”

Peeta gulped, “Would it—”

“Sure kid, it’s all yours.  It’ll save me the trouble of havin’ to do it,“ Haymitch gruffed.

Geez, Dr. Trinket wasn’t kidding about his bedside manner, Peeta silently ruminated, all the while, wondering how in the world those two were married.

  “Katniss? Katniss, baby, can you hear me?” One of the nurses hunted down a wheelchair and rolled Peeta into Katniss’s room.  The sight of her broke his heart.  She was lying there, unconscious and connected to an assortment of tubes and wires.  As he sat by Katniss’s side, he found comfort in the steady beep, beep of her heart monitor, which he hoped was a good sign.  He reached for her hand, holding it in his own, and closed his eyes, silently willing her to wake up.

I … I can’t do this alone; please Katniss, please wake up, with a quivering lip, he silently pleaded to her.

“Shouldn’t she be awake by now?” Peeta looked up and asked the nurse.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Mellark, but it isn’t an exact science.  Patients can wake up anywhere between a few hours, to a few days once they’re weaned off the medication.”  Katniss’ nurse, Annie informed him with a sympathetic smile.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Although Peeta was frustrated, he knew it wasn’t Annie’s fault and forced a smile to his lips.

Peeta wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he first arrived in Katniss’s room.  He had already twice refused to return to his own room; he didn’t care about himself.  All they wanted him to do in his room was rest, and he was perfectly capable of doing that from the comfort of his wife’s room, if not better.  If he went back to his room all he would do is worry; at least in Katniss’s room, which was just across the hall, he could attempt getting a little rest.

“Mr. Mellark?” Annie slowly crept into the room.  Peeta had fallen asleep in the chair next to Katniss’s bed, the cramp in his neck proof of the poor position he was in.

He jerked up when he heard Annie’s voice. “I know you don’t want to leave her side, but Doctor— I mean Haymitch just called and said we could bring you up to see your daughter.  Would you like to—”

Peeta jolted up from his chair, forgetting about the injury to his leg for a moment until the pain shot up his spine.

“Oh no, no, no, I will get your wheelchair and take you up there.  You wouldn’t make it to the elevators,” Annie smiled.

Annie rolled his wheelchair in from outside the room and wheeled Peeta to the PICU floor.

“So, does everyone call Dr. Abernathy by his first name?” Peeta tried to fill the uncomfortable silence with small talk.

Annie chuckled from behind him. “Yeah.  He and Dr. Trinket— Effie; they don’t like formalities.  They claim it helps eliminate the doctor/patient barrier; something about trust and bonding.” Peeta nodded and thought, ‘Yeah, I guess that makes sense.’

“Okay, I guess … I can see that.  Have you worked here long?  Do you know … is he a good doctor?” Peeta hoped he wasn’t being too intrusive, he just needed to know if Haymitch was as qualified to care for his daughter as Effie claimed.

“Haymitch?  Oh, yes … he’s the best.  If it were my son lying in a hospital bed— no matter where in the world I was, I would want Haymitch as his doctor.  Heck, I would gladly pay him whatever he wanted and have him flown to whatever corner of the world I was in.”

“Wow, that’s … impressive.  So, you have a son?”

“Yes, Nick is four years old,” Annie stopped and flipped her name badge over, stretching it out in front of Peeta’s line of sight to reveal a picture of a little boy with the greenest eyes, and wavy, sun kissed golden-blonde hair.

“He’s adorable … he’s going to be a heartbreaker when he’s older,” Peeta smiled, his heart aching to hold his own daughter.

“Thank you.  His name is Finnick— well, Finnick Junior, after his father, but we just call him Nick.  Oh, look!  We’re here!”

Annie wheeled him into the PICU and spoke with one of the nurses who helped him to the “Scrub Room.”  ‘Johanna’ first demonstrated the process of “scrubbing down,” which meant vigorously washing your hands with a medical scrub brush that contained a special, hospital-grade antiseptic soap.  When it was his turn, Peeta “scrubbed” for exactly three minutes while Johanna stood over him, observing with her stopwatch in hand throughout the entire process.  On the one hand, it made him feel self-conscious, but on the other hand, he was glad the staff was this precise.  Then she checked his temperature, because, under no circumstances was anyone permitted to enter the unit with a temperature above 100.3.  The last step was donning a sterile gown, gloves, and a facial mask before finally being allowed to see his daughter.

  “So, if someone leaves and comes right back just a few minutes later, they have to do this all over again?” Peeta asked Johanna.

  “Every single time—no exceptions.  Hospital policy—or, well, Haymitch’s policy,” Johanna chuckled.

Prim looked so tiny in the incubator she was lying in, it reminded him of the ones you see premature babies in.  It brought back memories of the day Katniss gave birth to their daughter, Peeta, silently thanking the heavens that his and Katniss’s newborn baby was full-term and healthy.  He just hoped luck was on their side this time, too.

Peeta’s entire body quivered with trepidation when his eyes landed on his daughter.  Prim was covered in stitches— they stretched across her entire body; on her arms, legs, her chest, and covered a majority of her face and head.  It looked like they even had to shave a portion of her hair to place some of the stitches.  She had IVs inserted in both her arms, a tube down her throat, and a tiny nasal cannula blowing oxygen into her nostrils.  Peeta’s eyes began to sting from the sight of his beautiful Primrose, and the closer he inched toward her, the harder his eyes stung.  Until finally, the dam broke, and the tears began pouring from his eyes, followed by uncontrollable sobs escaping his entire body.

“Oh, Primmie baby, I am so sorry.  Daddy is so sorry; do you hear me?” Peeta cried to his little girl.

“Is she … will she make it?  Do you think— can she— will she survive this?” Peeta looked up, meeting the nurse’s eyes, and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve.

“I honestly cannot give you a definitive answer Mr. Mellark.  These little ones tend to have a mind of their own.  Right now, it’s kind of touch and go.  I would say that if she makes it through the night, then she’s got a standing chance.  But I’m going to tell you something, I’ve seen babies much worse than your daughter bounce right back, but— on the flip side, I’ve seen others with barely any injuries—” Her words trailed off, hesitant to complete her sentence, but Peeta knew what she meant.

They didn’t make it.  Peeta sucked in a breath, mustering all the courage he had to be strong for his daughter.  What would he do if Prim di— if she … he couldn’t even think the word without his chest feeling as if thousand-pound bricks were smothering him.

“Why is that? What makes the difference?” He forced the words out.  If Prim was to survive this, he needed to know.

“I think … Now, this is just my opinion, but I truly believe it depends on how hard they’re willing to fight.  Their will, their drive to live.  Right now, I would say, and perhaps this does nothing to ease your mind, but … hope and pray.  As a veteran PICU nurse, I truly believe in the power of prayer.  Talk to your daughter and let her know that you are waiting for her; that you are counting on her to survive this.” Peeta nodded, understanding what the nurse meant.  “Give that beautiful little girl something to fight for,” Prim’s nurse finished with a kind smile.

“What was your name again?  I’m sorry, I didn’t catch it, and how long will you be Prim’s nurse?”

“My name is Portia Rose, and I’ll be here all night,” the kind nurse replied, with an equally as kind smile.  Peeta wondered if it was fate that brought them together.  His daughter, named after Katniss’s lost sister, and this ‘Portia Rose,’ their names having an uncanny similarity.

  “Peeta, Peeta what happened?” Katniss croaked, knowing something was wrong the moment her eyes opened and her husband’s tear-streaked face came into focus.

“Katniss, there was an accident.  What is the last thing you remember?”

“I remember, we were going to the gas station … you wanted to stop before it got dark.  We … we were on our way to see Mom … and then … and then … Peeta, what happened?  Where is Prim?” Katniss asked, pushing herself up with her hands to straighten her position in the bed.

Water pooled in Peeta’s eyes and he bit down on the inside of his cheek to stop the flow of tears.  He had to be strong for Katniss, he couldn’t show weakness, not yet.  Not now. 

  Peeta poured Katniss a cup of water and handed it to her. “Here sweetie, I bet you’re thirsty.”

Katniss took the cup and pulled the water into her mouth, “Peeta, you’re scaring me.  W-what happened?”

“Katniss, we were in an accident; w-we were hit head-on by a drunk driver.”

Katniss felt the heat spread through her face, and then slowly, it radiated to the tips of her fingers and toes.  “And Prim?” She asked hesitantly, suddenly feeling nauseous and dizzy.

“She’s okay for right now.  The doctors are taking really good care of her.”

“Okay, that’s good.  That’s really good,” Katniss smiled.  Peeta could see the tears welling up in her eyes and knew she was biting down on the inside of her cheek to quell her tears as she nodded.  He instantly knew that something wasn’t right; this was the opposite of how Katniss should have reacted.  His Katniss would be screaming, throwing a fit— demanding to get out of the hospital bed, adamant to see her daughter.  But this was more like … like denial.  He saw this once before … when her father died.  Granted, that was years and years ago when they were barely teenagers.

Peeta observed Katniss for a few hours, occasionally leaving to check on his daughter.  He knew the staff in the PICU were taking exceptional care of his daughter, and something told him his wife needed him more.  After his most recent visit to Prim in the PICU, he made sure that Portia knew how to reach him in case … in case she needed him.

When Katniss was given “out of bed” privileges, she walked around the room, cheerful and full of smiles as she chatted jubilantly with her mother on the phone.  She acted as if their daughter’s life wasn’t hanging in the balance just a few floors above them.

“Mom’s on her way Peeta, she should be here tomorrow,” Katniss informed Peeta after placing her phone on the bedside table.

Concerned for his wife’s emotional stability, Peeta spoke with one of Katniss’ nurses to find out when he could take her to their daughter.

“I don’t see why it should be a problem, she does seem to be basking in the river of ‘De Nile’,” Dr. Cinna noted, trying to lighten the mood.  “Perhaps seeing Primrose with her own eyes will open her mind to the truth,” Peeta smiled, shaking Dr. Cinna’s hand; he was the first one to refer to their daughter by her name unprompted, and Prim wasn’t even his patient.  It was at this time that Peeta decided that he liked Dr. Cinna— that he was perhaps his favorite doctor as of yet.  Dr. Cinna provided Peeta with a wheelchair for Katniss, after first making sure Peeta’s legs were strong enough to haul her to the elevator.

“Come on Katniss, let’s go see our girl,” Peeta suggested, rolling the wheelchair up to Katniss’ bedside.

“Okay, sure.  Mom’s on her way Peeta, she should be here tomorrow.”

“That’s good Katniss, I’m glad,” Peeta tried to feign enthusiasm.  He frowned, wondering if she realized she just told him this only minutes ago.

Peeta wheeled his wife to the elevators and then pushed the “12” button that would deliver them to the PICU unit.  He followed the arrows and pressed the button on the intercom, waiting patiently for someone to answer them.  Johanna immediately recognized him, and took them through the same procedure from earlier of scrubbing down, a temperature check, and donning the sterile gown, gloves, and mask before Johanna led them to their daughter.

“Peeta, what— what are we doing here?  I thought you were taking me to Prim?” Katniss asked, all traces of joy disintegrating as she was wheeled to Prim’s bedside.

“Katniss, honey— this is—”

“Oh, baby!  Prim, baby, oh my God, what, how—” Katniss’ eyes filled with tears as she craned her neck up to meet Peeta’s eyes.

“No, no.  NO!” Katniss screamed, standing up from her wheelchair, glaring daggers at Peeta.  “NO, this is NOT happening!”  Katniss shrieked, bolting from the room.  Peeta did not follow her, he knew she needed time.  The wheelchair was only precautionary, Katniss’s main injury was the concussion, which had healed during her medically induced coma.

He pulled a chair up to his daughter’s bedside, stuck his gloved hand inside the isolette and began to stroke her tiny hand.  He needed her to know he was here for her and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Oh, my sweet, sweet baby girl.  My beautiful, beautiful, Primrose; Mommy, and Daddy are here for you and we’re not going anywhere, do you hear me?  Mommy is just scared right now, and she will be back really soon.  Oh, Primmie— we love you so, so much and we need you to get better.  Oh, Prim; I know you probably don’t know this, or understand it, but you are the light of our lives.  You have to get better, okay?  Please fight, Primrose; you have to fight.  I don’t think Mommy would survive if we lost you, I don’t know if I would survive.  I know that’s a lot of pressure to put on such a little girl, but … but—” Peeta closed his eyes, held his head down, and did something he hadn’t done since he was a boy. 

He prayed.

“If there is anyone out there who can hear me, anyone at all, I—” Peeta began, pleading with the powers that be as he sniffled, wiping his eyes with his free arm.  “Please save my girl, she is my world, my everything.  And— and my wife— Katniss needs her Primrose.  I’ll do anything; if it’s a life you want— or need, take mine instead.  Prim is just a baby; she hasn’t had time to live yet.  She still needs her first day in kindergarten, her first best friend—a first boyfriend and a first heartbreak.  I’ve lived, I’ve had all those things and more.  I’ve lived a happy life, but please, just please, don’t take my girl.”

“Prim …” Peeta began after a moment, hoping to reach out to the sister Katniss lost so many years ago, “if you’re out there, and you can hear me, please … please look over our girl.  Please, don’t … you can’t take her, it’s not her time,” Peeta sniffed again, his head perking up from the sound of footsteps behind him.

“Mr. Mellark?” It was Dr. Abernathy— Haymitch, looking no worse for the wear.

“Hi, Dr. Aber—”

“Haymitch.  Call me Haymitch.”

Peeta nodded and met the man’s eyes, “Peeta.”

“Peeta, we’ve done everything we can for your girl, now it’s up to her.”

“What does that mean?” Peeta asked with a befuddled raise of his brow.

“It means that medically speaking, there is nothing more I can do for your girl.  Now, it’s up to her, whether or not she’s willing to fight.  If she gains consciousness before the night’s over, I am optimistic that, in time, she’ll make a full recovery.”

“And if she doesn’t?” Peeta asked, trembling with fear as he awaited the doctor’s answer.

“Then it’s not likely she’ll wake up at all, and then … we’ll discuss extraordinary measures.  But let’s not cross that bridge until we get to it.  In my experience, kids will fight to live if they have somethin’ ta fight for.”

“Thank you, Dr.— Haymitch.  I … I need to find my wife— what are visiting hours?”

“I’ve cleared it with the nurses; you and your wife can stay as long as you want.”

“Thank you,” Peeta smiled and shook Haymitch’s hand, eager to find Katniss.  As he made his exit from the PICU, he noticed Haymitch taking the seat next to his daughter and cleared his throat.  Peeta slowed his pace, straining to hear what the doc had to say.

Haymitch cleared  his throat once more and began to speak in a soft and gentle voice that  Peeta almost didn’t recognize from the hardened doctor.  But it was— without a doubt, him.  “Listen, sweetheart, I know you don’t know me and all, but my name’s Haymitch and I’m your doctor.  I know you’re little and all and you probably don’t understand how the world works, so, I’m gonna tell ya.  You see, doctors give orders and patients are s’pposed ta listen.  I’m the doctor, you’re the patient, got it?  Alright, well now that that’s settled, I’m ordering you to stay alive, alright kid?  That’s all you gotta do; stay alive.  I’ll do the rest.”

With that, Peeta went on a quest for his wife, knowing his daughter was in good hands.

  After Peeta wheeled Katniss to their daughter’s bed, it all hit Katniss like a ton of bricks.  That was her daughter lying in that miniature hospital bed.  Her Primrose.  She had already lost one Primrose; she wouldn’t survive losing another— she just wouldn’t.  Unable to face the truth, she ran from the room and took the elevators to the top floor.  Once she exited the elevator, she went to the nearest door, which led to a stairway.  She took the steps two at a time and passed through another door that opened up to the roof.

Katniss ran to the edge, leaning against the banister; not to jump, but just to look out into the sky.

For the first hour, she cried.  She cried and cried, trying her best to convince herself that wasn’t her Prim lying in that bed, but someone else’s baby.  It couldn’t be her daughter, it just couldn’t.  The universe couldn’t be that cruel, right?  But deep down, she knew it was.  And then, she was consumed with guilt—for wishing that fate upon someone else’s child.

During the following hour, she did something she hadn’t done since she was small, since her own parents forced her to do it.  She didn’t necessarily believe there wasn’t a God exactly, but she didn’t really believe there was one either.  But what if there was?  Would he still listen to her after all the years of silence?

Deciding it was worth the risk, on the off chance there was some kind of higher power out there, she begged, she pleaded for them to save her little girl.  And then, she resorted to begging, dropping to her knees as she bargained her life away.  She didn’t know that at the same exact time, her husband was doing precisely— the same exact thing.  She was on her knees sobbing when she heard the door whoosh open, her husband’s beautiful blue eyes piercing into her own grey ones.

“Katniss, are you okay?” Peeta asked her, worry glazing over him from the sight of her on her knees.

She wanted his comfort, needed it even.  But then, she was angry at him.  No, not angry, but furious, enraged.  This was all his fault, after all.

“Go away!” She shouted at him, seething with rage.

“Katniss, what?” Peeta shrunk back, hurt by her rejection.

“This is all your fault Peeta.  If you hadn’t— YOU’RE the one who wanted kids, not me.  If YOU hadn’t convinced me to have kids, this wouldn’t be happening.  We wouldn’t be losing her.” Katniss stood up and inched herself closer to Peeta, sending him a cold, icy, glare.

“You don’t mean that Katniss,” Peeta told her, holding his stance with pain-filled eyes.  He knew deep down that she was just hurt and needed to channel her frustrations elsewhere.  Lashing out at him was the easiest, and fastest way to achieve that goal.

The closer Katniss got to Peeta, the angrier she became.  The tears began streaming down her face until she could no longer hold back the uncontrollable sobs.  She began hitting and pounding her fist against his chest, she was so angry.  But Peeta didn’t budge.  He didn’t try and stop her, he just stood there, taking each hit and allowing her to use him as her own personal punching bag.  He knew it wasn’t actually him she was angry at, she just needed somewhere to divert her anger.

Peeta pulled Katniss into his arms and within seconds she ceased pounding his chest.  He held her, crying his own silent tears while Katniss sobbed in his arms.  Once the tears subsided, Katniss looked up to see the pained expression on her husband’s face, in addition to the tears streaking his cheeks and she felt … guilty.

“I’m sorry Peeta, I’m so sorry.  Oh, Peeta, I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.”

“Shhh, sshhh.  I know, I know,” Peeta whispered into her ear, stroking circles against her back as he tried to comfort her.

“I can’t lose her Peeta, I— I won’t survive if I lose her.”

“I know Katniss, I know.  Me too.  But … but I won’t survive if I lose you.  So, let’s pull ourselves together, go to our baby girl and give her something to fight for,” Katniss sniffled and nodded her head.  Together, they walked back to the PICU to be with their daughter.

They re-entered the PICU and headed straight for Prim, only to see a swarm of nurses huddled in a circle; in what looked like them holding vigil at their daughter’s bedside.  One look on their faces and Katniss and Peeta knew something was wrong— devastatingly so.

“I’m so sorry Mr. and Mrs. Mellark, her vitals are steadily declining.  It won’t be much longer now; would you like to hold her before— before—”

“I … I wasted so much time,” Katniss cried, nodding as the tears streamed down her face.  One of the nurses pulled up a rocking chair for one of the parents to sit in.  Peeta was adamant that Katniss hold her first— just in case.

They opened the tiny incubator and placed Prim in Katniss’s arms, draping a blanket over them while another nurse made a call to Haymitch.

“Oh, baby girl, momma loves you so much.  Mommy and Daddy love you so, so much sweet girl.” Katniss hummed through her tears.  “You are so special Prim, so, so very special, my sweet, sweet girl.  You are so special and so loved and …” Katniss sobbed through her tears, placing kiss after kiss to her little girl’s forehead.  Peeta squatted next to Katniss and with one hand, he linked their fingers, and with the other hand, he stroked his little girl’s foot.  The floodgates were open— he didn’t think he could cry any harder until he heard Katniss’s beautiful voice singing the lullaby to their daughter.

Deep in the meadow, under the willow

A bed of grass, a soft green pillow

Lay down your head and close your eyes,

And when they open, the sun will rise;

Peeta’s heart plummeted in his chest as he heard Prim’s heart monitor “flat line.”  As difficult as it was with the splint on his leg, he inched closer to his wife and daughter as they both cried and overwhelmed Prim with kisses.  They showered her with as much love as they could muster, telling her how much they loved her.  They told her how special she was and how they would never forget her.  As badly as it hurt Peeta to say the words, he finally told his baby girl that it was okay for her to go.  The last thing he wanted in this world was for her to suffer.

The nurse reached up to silence the heart monitor when, suddenly, the steady beeping from the machine resumed all on its own.

“What the—” the nurse exclaimed just as Haymitch burst through the door.

“I thought you said code red?” Haymitch growled, seeing the normal heart rhythm on the monitor.

“She—she flatlined, and then— she just— came back,” Portia stuttered in complete bewilderment.

“Little slugger had something worth fighting for, what’d I tell ya?” Haymitch chuckled, looking at the teary-eyed parents.

One Year Later:

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you …”  Katniss and Peeta sat on either side of their daughter on her third birthday, slightly less than a year after the devastating car accident that nearly took her life. 

  “That is one happy little girl,” Effie looked up and smiled at her husband.  “Thanks to you,” she added in a whisper.

  “Yeah, yeah.” Haymitch pretended like he didn’t care, but Effie knew—she always knew; he cared too much.

  “What did you wish for, sweet girl?” Katniss asked her daughter after she blew her candles out.

  “A baby brudder,” Prim said, her face smeared with chocolate frosting and a mouthful of chocolate cake.

  Simultaneously, Katniss and Peeta’s eyes locked and Katniss inadvertently reached up to palm her belly.

  “Should we?” Katniss mouthed to her husband who gave her a slight nod.

  “You’re going to be a big sister Prim, but not for a few more months,” Peeta informed their daughter, loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Yay!  I like wishes, Mommy!” Prim squealed, wrapping her tiny arms around her mother’s neck.

[katnissmellarkkk]

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” “Because it smells like you.”

Hi! So thank you for sending a prompt! I hope this is good enough? I’m so bad at writing fluff that isn’t kind of angsty, so I tried. In my defense, the angst isn’t at all between Everlark. But anyways, I enjoyed writing this so thanks for sending!!! 

Oh, also it’s important to know ahead of time before reading that a). this is set post-mockingjay and b). in my version of post-canon, Panem took on some semblance of our modern day winter holidays. So they have a celebration that’s kind of a variation of Christmas.

My feet trudge down the stairs, still somewhat unwillingly, although no one is forcing me. I could stay upstairs in my room all day if I so wished, I could hide under the blankets and just pretend. I could just pretend today was an ordinary, boring day and that most of the people I know won’t be convening in my house for the vast majority of the afternoon and evening.

But I don’t. Because that wouldn’t be fair to do to Peeta.

Peeta, who loves the celebrating and the family gatherings and the newfound holidays this country has adapted since the end of the war, since the end of Snow and Coin and the hunger games.

And it’s not that I don’t want to see my family. It’s not that I necessarily want to be a hermit in my own home, like Haymitch.

I just really don’t like this new holiday. For whatever reason, it has made my skin crawl every year, for the last six years that it’s been slowly making it’s way across the districts. Every year, people in every district alike put out decorations, purchase candy and trees, cook meat and pastries and, though every district calls the holiday a differing variety of names, everyone all celebrates alike. With their family, traveling to see loved ones, thankful for the safety not one of us can take for granted now since the war.

Maybe it’s that seeing the whole country uniformly celebrating anything still makes my skin crawl, as I still see loud, boisterous crowds in my dreams at night, and though the people celebrating this holiday are probably nothing like the faces I see in my sleep, I still can’t shake the connection.

Or maybe it’s that not all my family survived the war. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t want to celebrate anything if I can’t celebrate with everyone I love.

Either way I still make my way down the stairs and through the living room, just the same. I walk past Haymitch, drunk and passed out on the floor and the embers burning in the hearth next to him. I walk into the kitchen and meet the eyes of my husband, currently stirring batter of some kind in the bowl I did my best to handcraft for his birthday two years ago.

“Hi,” Peeta greets, his eyes visibly surprised to see me. “What’re you doing up?”

I give him a look as I slide into a tall chair by the counter. “It’s nine-thirty,” I deadpan. “I’m usually up at six.”

“I just figured,” he starts before hesitating, measuring me carefully before second-guessing his words. “I know you don’t like the new holiday traditions,” he finally amends.

I shrug my shoulders, non-committal. “It’s not like I can hide away while everyone’s here,” I state, as if I wasn’t contemplating doing that exact thing on the way down the stairs.

Peeta though touches my hand and gives it a squeeze, sympathetically. “I could tell them you’re sick?” He offers softly.

A part of me wishes to take him up on that offer but I shake my head plainly. “It wouldn’t be right.”

“I can tell everyone to head over to Delly’s and Kanon’s. Delly doesn’t mind changing her plans and hosting. We can just spend the day you and me.”

“And Haymitch makes three?” I tease, but give a half smile as I turn down this idea too. “I’m fine, Peeta. Really. I can even help you finish up...” I look at the bowl of mixed ingredients, attempting to decipher what he’s concocting. I’ve been married to him long enough to put together the smell of vanilla, cinnamon and chocolate, but still manage to come up empty to what his final product will be.

He just laughs at my confusion. “No, actually, I was planning on taking a break anyway,” he says, putting the bowl and spoon down, but I easily know he’s lying. He never stops halfway through making anything for a break, no matter how sore his arm can get from stirring.

“Really?” I raise one thick eyebrow at him, knowingly, as he walks around the counter and pulls at my hand to follow him.

As I stand, Peeta evidently takes in my attire for the first time since I came downstairs.

“Why are you wearing my sweater?” He asks, his own blonde brows furrowing now.

“Because it smells like you,” I say defensively, hugging it to me like I’m afraid he’s going to steal it away.

But his eyes soften almost imperceptibly and he gives me a look that is so loving and so sweet, it would disgust me if it were from anyone else.

“Come here,” he directs evenly, tugging me by hand. I let him guide me to the living room, taking a seat on the coffee table while he finds residence across from me, on the couch. We both, probably unwisely, ignore the drunk sleeping off his stupor by the flames.

Peeta takes my hands in his and leans down to press his mouth to my knuckles. “Talk to me, Katniss.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” I insist, but my voice is too quiet and he’s been married to me for over six years and he knows me too well at this point. He knew me too well at sixteen, let alone now, after all these years.

Proving just that, he shakes his head. “Something’s bothering you. And I don’t like it when you’re not happy.”

I shrug then, because I have no defense to really give. “I just... dislike Yuleday,” I admit simply, using the most common term for the holiday.

I feel his large hand cover my cheek tenderly. “Is this because your mom is bringing Rod this year?”

My jaw clenches at the mention of my mother’s new husband. I open my mouth to deny it but then I look into Peeta’s kind, understanding blue eyes, that have never judged me, that have sought so hard for so long to never let his demons cast shadows over them again, and I just can’t. His baby blue eyes stop me in my tracks, stop me from telling him a blatant lie. “It’s a part of it,” I admit begrudgingly.

I feel his hand move to rub one of my shoulders. “I know. I know it’s hard,” he validates. I lean over and kiss his fingers as they try to massage the tension away. “But it has been almost fourteen years since your dad died, Katniss. Your mom... it’s okay for her to move on. I think it’s a good thing, that she was able to open her heart again to someone new.”

I nod mechanically, knowing all this is true, logically. “Yeah,” I try to agree, but it comes out unevenly and I can’t quite make myself look at him now.

“It’s easier to accept from an outside position,” he notes kindly.

But I shake my head. “It’s not just that, Peeta. It’s... it’s not just that she remarried or that she didn’t tell me about him until they were engaged. It’s... it’s everything that came with her getting remarried.”

Already knowing what I meant without asking me to verbalize, he adds, “It’s the step-children that make it more difficult to swallow.” His words are a clear statement, not a question.

I shrug at that, knowing it’s true. “It just feels odd that she has this whole other family now,” I explain, feeling immature and ridiculous and petty.

Practically reading my mind again, Peeta tries to comfort me. “That’s natural, Katniss. For you to feel that way, I mean. I would.” He lifts my chin so I have to look at him now. “I would feel the exact same way. Especially...” he cuts himself off now, once again second-guessing what he wants to say.

“Especially what?” I prompt.

“Especially if I lost my sister like you did. I would be sensitive about my mother gaining step-kids too. Younger step-kids, at that.” He gives me a long measuring look in which makes me feel naked. And not in a good way, like usual. “That’s what really bothering you, after all.”

My eyes widen, startled by his call out. “What?”

“That’s why you’re really upset. About the holiday, about everyone coming over, about your mom’s new family. Because it just reminds you that Prim is missing.”

I stare straight ahead blankly, unable to respond. Nothing hurts more than that simple truth, that glaring fact, that cuts me right down to the bone. That the real reason I hate this new celebration is because my sister would absolutely love it and she’s not here to experience it. She’s not here to see it and I don’t know how to enjoy it properly, even for Peeta’s sake, without her here too.

“Come here,” Peeta says now, and he tugs me by hand from the coffee table and into his lap. His fingers sift through my hair tenderly and his lips find resistance against my forehead. After a long beat, he whispers against my temple, “She would want you to make new memories. Prim would love Yuleday. And she would want you to love it.”

“I know she would love it,” I say and we both pretend not to hear the way my voice cracks. “But she isn’t here to love it and... I feel wrong celebrating without her. I know it’s been eight years-“

“Katniss, there’s no time limit on grief. Trust me, I know.” Of course he did. He lost his entire family in one fell swoop and I’m over here whining about my loss. I feel his hand slip up my sweater—well, technically his sweater—and rub my back. “Do you remember what I said at our toasting?”

I crane my neck back from it’s place against his throat, giving him a puzzled look. “Off topic but yes. I remember everything from that day.” And I do. I remember how perfect his outfit was, how it wasn’t too casual or too formal, just the right simplicity. I remember what he said and how the warmth of the fire reflected the warmth inside my heart. I remember the bread he made and how it was the exact the bread he tossed to me in the rain all those years ago, the exact bread that had saved my life. I remember the look in his eyes as he stared at me, the tears he shed of utter happiness, because we were finally able to love each other safely and wholly and without pressure or reservations.

“Do you remember what I said about Prim?” He inquiries softly.

And then I understand why he brought up our toasting. “Yes,” I affirm, my voice quiet again.

“She’s always here, for all the big events and the small ones. She lives inside you, Katniss. Your sister is a part of you, no matter what.”

I blink back the moisture in my eyes, trying my hardest not to let any of it fall. “I know.”

“Prim would want you to be happy,” he says again, kissing my hair, his fingers dancing over my braids. I put my hair in two today, knowing he liked it when I did. “Happy with and for your mother.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I do hope she’s happy,” I murmur finally, my grey eyes boring into his. “I hope Rod makes her as happy as you make me.”

I feel his lips before I realize he’s leaning in, our mouths connecting instantaneously. His lips are softer than ever, but still firm, still able to create an electric spark inside of me. I thought the kiss on the beach was good when I was seventeen, but in reality, it was nothing compared to how he makes me feel eight years later. It was nothing compared to the fireworks he erupts now, without even so much as trying.

But he can’t go without teasing me for long and as soon as we pull apart, as I trail my lips downwards to begin hungrily kissing his throat, he doesn’t even miss a beat, saying, “I hope Rod makes your mom as happy as my sweaters make you.”

I immediately pull my mouth away, my eyes narrowing. “I’m leaving.”

“No,” he pleads, grabbing me by the waist as I try to stand and tugging me back into his arms again. His lips find where my neck meets my shoulder and he sucks, putting a vast amount of pressure there, knowing it’s my utter weakness. “Don’t leave me. I love you,” he mumbles gently against my skin.

I can’t help my smile then as I reach my hand up and touch his cheek, making sure not to interfere with him continuing his task. “I love you too, Peeta.”

But another voice joins us, effectively ending the moment. “Can you two get a room?” Haymitch barks, his eyes bleary as he leans his head up off the floor now, still waking up.

“Actually, we got a whole house, Haymitch,” Peeta assures smoothly. “But thanks for making yourself at home in it.”

Haymitch only offers a thumbs up in response before flopping back on the hardwood, groaning in response to the dying fire’s last sizzling flames.

“If only we could use our house to our... liking. In peace.” I don’t even bother keeping my voice down or hiding my meaning from Haymitch.

“Girl, if you want to talk like that, save it for after company leaves.”

“You’re not company, Haymitch,” I shoot back.

“I’m talking about everyone else coming today, sweetheart.”

Oh. It had momentarily slipped my mind that we were expecting people any moment now. “We’re really grateful you could grace us with your presence early,” Peeta says to the hungover man, who’s now reaching his hand closer to the fire, attempting to absorb any heat he can.

“Shut it, boy. It’s Yuleday. Have some kindness for an old man who saved your life.”

“By kindness he means alcohol,” I murmur, eliciting Peeta’s chuckle.

“She’s not wrong,” Haymitch adds under his breath.

“Let me up,” Peeta pats my butt, signaling for me to get off his lap. “I have to go finish the chocolate cinnamon rolls before our family gets here.”

But as he starts to make his way back towards the kitchen, I follow behind him, grabbing his hand to catch up. “What’re you doing?” He asks, his voice confused.

“I’m going to help you finish baking.”

His brow push together. “What suddenly got you in the spirit?”

I shrug, making my way ahead of him and grabbing the bowl he was using before to stir the batter around. “Like Haymitch said. It’s Yuleday.”

Peeta’s eyes relax and then soften as he looks at me, no doubt taking in the image of me in his sweater, mixing batter around in the bowl I handmade him. Just as I finish stirring all the ingredients together, he wraps his arms around my waist and starts planting kisses on my neck greedily.

And I decide in that moment, as I twist around to capture my husband’s lips again with my own, to do everything I can to be happy for my mom.

To be as happy for her as I know somewhere Prim is for me.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, mega-aulover!

Happy Birthday, @mega-aulover​! We hope you’ve had a wonderful day so far, and that you got exactly the presents you were hoping for! To keep your party going a little while longer, the lovely @endlessnightlock​ has written a story just for you!

Happy birthday @mega-aulover! Here’s something a little spicy, a little sweet for your day. Soul-mark Everlark. Rated M for non-explicit sexual content.

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The first time I remember talking to Peeta, we were five, and it was a fall day, much like today- cool and windy, a welcome cool down from the heat of summer. He was standing at the bakery’s back door with his father, his little round cheeks pink from the heat emanating from the ovens. The heat was so intense from the kitchen you could feel it out on the step, and his eyes were the bluest things I’d ever seen. I think I fell a little bit in love with him then.

We were there that morning because my father took me along with him to trade with the businesses in town. It was a day of a lot of firsts: not only did I meet Peeta, but I also had my first Mellark’s fall apple muffin- I’d never tasted anything so delicious in my life. Since that day, I’ve had lots of baked goods from Mellark’s, and while my favorite is probably the cheese buns Peeta makes especially for me, I’ll never forget those apple muffins- they were like magic.

That day also marked the first chance I had to spend the morning in the woods with my father, tagging along behind him as he hunted and checked his traps. Prim was just a baby back then, and in my hazy memory of the day, I think she was teething, and Mother needed to sleep; that’s why I got to spend the day with Father. It was such a good day, and meeting Peeta was the icing on the cake.

My father is a hunter-gatherer, and we live in a small house in the woods close to where the fence used to run, separating it from the district boundary. It isn't far from town because my mother is one of the district healers, and there was school in town that my sister and I needed to attend, of course. It’s been a wonderful place to grow up, straddling that line between wilderness and civilization. My family is a happy one.

According to my parents, our life looks entirely different from how things were even five years ago now that our country is the New Republic of Panem. 

When my parents were teenagers, the Great War erupted, and the districts, with the military backing of newly rediscovered Thirteen, rose together and defeated the Capitol’s heavy hand of oppression. They’d taken everything away from the districts for so long- food, freedom, hope in addition to the two children a year, forced to fight to their deaths in the Hunger Games. 

After the war that ended in the rebel’s victory, citizens of Panem were free in ways they’d never been: free to travel, free to pursue higher education, and in Twelve, they were free not to work in the mines for a pittance until they died an early death from miner’s lung or cancer. The possibilities to choose the path of your own life? They’re endless now compared to what they used to be. 

The only place where we are not so free is marriage, which wasn’t the Capitol’s doing. That’s because of the soul marks. 

A soul mark is a pattern that emerges on your body through your teen years, eventually pairing you with your soulmate when you reach adulthood. If you’re going to get one (not everyone does), the beginnings of it show up around puberty, and the pattern typically doesn’t fill in entirely until you reach the age of eighteen. Once you hit your eighteenth birthday, you are considered ready for marriage as soon as you find the person with the other half of your soul mark. There’s a ceremony during the first day of the Harvest Festival where the eighteen-year-olds participate; it’s when the couples typically pair off. 

We’re all told from an early age about the force that draws you to your mate; the older couples in the district are continually telling us younger ones there will be no doubt who your soulmate is when your time to meet comes.

I have a soul mark- it looks like a series of lines on my right hand in the space between my thumb and pointer finger; it’s a long line, with a series of eight identical hash marks that meet it vertically, leaving me with a soul mark that forms what I think must be the bottom half of a barcode. I’m not entirely sure that’s what the mark represents or what it is supposed to be.

Some of my friends have the marks; some don’t. Delly has one on her thigh, and Madge has one on her back. Peeta, my closest friend, and the person I have so many confusing feelings for, has a soul mark; when I asked him where it was, he flushed six different shades and told me he couldn’t let me see it.

I don’t think Peeta knows this, but I got a good look at what had formed of his soul mark when we were fifteen. That summer, a group of us hiked to the lake hidden in the woods to swim. Madge and Delly and I wore our darkest bras and underwear, we’d been before and knew what the water would do, while Peeta and Gale wore their boxer shorts. Peeta wore a pair of boxers that were unknown to him, transparent from behind when wet. 

That’s pretty much when all the confusing thoughts I have about him began. I’ll never forget how dry-mouthed and hot I felt looking at him that way- I could hardly take my eyes off him. Peeta’s frame wasn’t as large then as it is now, and he wasn’t so muscular either, but it was still wholly overwhelming. He was all thick legs and broad shoulders even then, with the thin, wet material of his boxers leaving little of his backside to the imagination. 

I’ve spent a lot of time alone in my bed at night thinking about that day, not just because of the way he looked and the way it made my body tingle (of course, that was part of it), but because of his soul mark. On one side of Peeta’s, err, butt, I guess you’d call it, were a few curving lines I could just make out through the thin material, which I kept sneaking glances at when no one was paying attention to me. 

Like mine, I couldn’t determine yet what Peeta’s mark was supposed to be, but the curving lines reminded me of a loose sketch of clouds I’d watched him sketch once. Clouds and barcodes? Those two things were as unrelated to each other as doorknobs and jackrabbits. And it made me sad, realizing that his mark and mine were so different because that meant we were both destined to be married to someone else. 

I don’t know why I felt like that- I didn’t even know if I wanted to get married; it was just that if I were, Peeta was the only boy I could picture myself spending the rest of my life with. He’s my best friend- he makes me laugh and makes me feel comfortable just being myself, and lately, I find myself thinking a lot about what it would feel like to kiss him, among other things I’m too embarrassed to mention.

The fact that I’ll never have any of the answers seems impossible to stomach, and today is the day- Match Day, the first day of the Harvest Festival. I’m so scared of what it’s going to bring: both who I’ll end up matched with and who I’ll watch Peeta walk away from the square with. Both are reason enough to make me want to run.

In the square with the other girls, I’m here, waiting with Madge and Delly for Mayor Undersee to stand on the stage and give out instructions for finding your mate in the crowd; if your mate is of age. If you couldn’t find your mate today, you keep coming back every year until you met the person with the matching soul mark. Twelve isn’t a large district, so there aren’t many young men and women here, maybe fifty. I’d say a quarter of them are a few years older, like Gale, who hasn’t paired up yet.

I scan the crowd, and my eyes briefly catch Peeta’s. He stares at me intently, something in his eyes I can’t name. It doesn’t look like the fear that I’m sure mine hold. I don’t know what he’s thinking, so I look away from him quickly, my stomach sinking at the reminder that he will never be mine, not the way I wanted. 

Why couldn’t it have just been him? Why did we have to have these stupid marks on our skin anyway? I stare ahead at the stage, not looking to the left or right after escaping the razorlike sharpness of Peeta’s gaze on me. 

And then, it’s time. Mayor Undersee appears on the small stage erected in the square just for this occasion. He stands in front of the groups of young men and women gathered near the front while curious onlookers and family of the soon-to-be-matched stay towards the back. Mayor Undersee looks out, smiling benevolently at us all.  “Welcome to the matching ceremony!” 

I feel like I’m going to be sick. I think panic might be setting in. Because I’m so nervous, I can’t concentrate on what the Mayor is saying; every noise around me sounds like buzzing and droning. Words bounce around inside my head, but very few of them form a coherent thought. 

Meanwhile, my only real thought is- 

I can’t do this. I can’t do this-

And so, as Mayor Undersee is wrapping up, as I’m panicking, as I realize that I’d be just as happy living alone in the woods for the rest of my life as I would be married to anyone other than Peeta, I come to a decision. As unobtrusively as possible because I don’t relish the idea of making a scene, I turn around and, ducking my head, elbow my way to the back of the crowd. When I get to the end of the girls’ group, I take off running without looking back. 

Getting further and further away from the crowd, I hear someone call out my name, but I don’t stop.

I run for the first place I can think of, the bakery. The business is closed for the matching ceremony since Peeta is running it now; he has been since we graduated in the spring. At the time, Mr. Mellark moved into his new wife’s home. He still works at the bakery, but he wanted to make way for Peeta to have a place to bring his new wife. 

Surely Peeta won’t come back here right away with his match? He’ll have to meet with her family and make plans for their wedding first. I know I should go somewhere else, I tell myself as I run up the back stairs that lead to his living quarters above the business, but I want the comfort of being here one last time before I lose him forever.

Letting myself into his kitchen, my favorite room in this space because it reminds me of time spent here with him, I drag myself over to his table; it’s old, it’s wood worn smooth and soft over time. Pulling a chair out, I slump down into the seat and let my arms drop to the tabletop, laying my head there.

Eventually, I hear heavy footsteps coming up the steps. When they stop, I look up to see Peeta standing in the doorway. “Are you alright?” he asks, sounding out of breath as he approaches me.

I laugh derisively. “What are you doing here? You should have stayed. You’re going to miss your match,” I tell him, although I’m glad he’s here, secretly, even though I know it’s just going to delay the inevitable. Peeta’s still going to match to a girl who isn’t me- someone who’s soul mark matches his.

“What happened?” He asks gently, ignoring my words. He pulls out the other chair and sits, scooting his chair close to me.

Instead of looking at him, I stare down at my hands; the breath caught in my throat. I’ve never been hesitant with Peeta, but my heart is thumping oddly inside my chest, and warmth is spreading through me. What I’m experiencing is similar to how I always feel in his vicinity, but greatly intensified. I sense Peeta watching me, waiting for an answer. When I glance over at him, he’s staring at my mouth. His tongue darts out, and he licks his lips; it makes my whole body feel tight.

“I can’t do it,” I say, tearing my glance away from his mouth, “I can’t marry some random man from the district. Not when, if things were different, it could’ve been-” 

I’m trying to say it, trying to tell Peeta why I can’t go through with the soul marks match, but my words trail off when he moves into me. What I soon discover are his impossibly soft lips are on mine quicker than I would’ve thought possible, and oh, the feeling. At the first touch of his mouth on mine, heat spreads through me. It travels down to the tips of my toes and fingers, snaking its way through every fiber of my being. Peeta wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me down to the floor. We’re kneeling together when he pulls me against him again. I go without any hesitation; I want to keep kissing and touching him so badly.

“We can’t- we can’t do this,” I say, finally fighting against my wants as I attempt to pull away from him. I’m so weak, though, giving in to him when he chases me with his lips. Everything feels so good; I feel more alive, more right than I have ever been.

“Why not?” Peeta asks softly. His hands are everywhere, and I don’t want him to stop. I want to climb on top of him; it’s an overwhelming, powerful need. “Katniss, I love you-”

I give in because he loves me too, throwing myself at him with such force, I knock Peeta off balance. We tumble to the floor, landing side by side with our arms entwined around each other. “You shouldn’t say that,” I tell Peeta as my mouth drops to his neck. It feels like my brain and my body are directing two completely different courses of action, and I can’t seem to stop either one of them. 

“Why?” Peeta moans as I suck on his skin. 

“Our marks don’t match.”

“Do you want me, though?” he asks, sounding serious as he pulls away. We’re both harshly breathing as we stare at each other. “Do you want to be with me?” he repeats.

“Yes,” I whisper, searching his eyes, “Of course I do, but-“

He interrupts me, impatient with my reasons. “How do you know we don’t match? You’ve never seen my mark.” Peeta quickly sits up, rising on his knees. His hands drop, and I watch him tear frantically at the button and zipper of his pants. It’s surreal, lying on the floor beside him. My body is buzzing in a way that feels amplified times a thousand as I watch him unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper. 

I know I should look away, but I can’t- for the first time in my life, I let him see that I’m looking at him, that I’m fascinated by him, and I want to know all his secrets. As he pushes his pants down to his knees, the tails of his shirt drop, obscuring his front so that all I can see are his muscular legs. 

I don’t know what to do- Peeta is naked under that shirt, and I just-

He shifts a little, moving the bottom of his shirt to reveal one side of his behind, and I finally have a good look at him. I’m instantly distracted.

Wow, he’s got a great-looking behind. Gorgeous, really; in fact, I have a crazy urge to sink my fingers into it. 

I tell myself to snap out of it because it makes things a little weird with me lying on the floor next to Peeta, staring up at the side of his butt. So I sit up; when I’m upright, I move the portion of Peeta’s shirt away that’s obscuring my view since I still couldn’t see his soul mark.

Peeta shivers when my fingers brush against him, exposing his bottom while I remain silent. I stare at the sight that greets my eyes, and he glances over his shoulder at me expectantly with eyebrows raised. 

All I can do is drop his shirt, concealing his bottom again before covering my face with both hands, trying to keep the happy laughter escaping me from crossing over into hysteria. 

I absolutely cannot believe this.

“Don’t laugh!” Peeta says, but he’s smirking himself. “I know my mark looks ridiculous, but I told you we matched.”

I sit back on my heels- my body shaking with the effort of trying to hold my laughter in. I cannot believe this- I’m thrilled. I’m getting everything I want. 

Peeta turns to face me. He’s still on his knees, and his pants are still in a puddle around his legs, but he doesn’t hesitate to put his arms around me, pulling me close to him. “I love you,” he says as I get my laughter under control. I can feel him smile against my scalp.

“I love you, too,” I mumble, happy tears streaking down my face and wetting his cotton shirt. I’m probably getting snot on him by now, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Peeta pulls away, looking down at me. He uses one hand to wipe my eyes, and I take the opportunity to wipe my nose on the sleeve of my dress. I know it’s gross, but I guess some excess body fluids aren’t much to consider- he and I will be married soon. The corners of his mouth turn up in a smile as he watches at me. “You love me- for real?”

“Real,” I say, wiping my face with my sleeve again, just to be sure I got it all. “I love you.”

When my face is dry, I kiss him again, eagerly. I’m so happy, and I want him to know the way I feel. I love Peeta so much, and I want him so much. 

We’re kissing intently, and I’m urging Peeta to lay on top of me again as he slowly undoes the buttons of my dress, when I have an epiphany. What’s happening between us right now, this all-consuming hunger must’ve been what the older soul-matched couples referred to when they (rather knowingly now that I think about it) told soul-marked teens they’d know their mate when the time came. 

Apparently, in Peeta and I’s case, at least, “knowing when the time came” meant a quickly-awakened, unbridled desire for each other. Not that it took much for us when the love between us was already there, fully formed. I know this would’ve happened anyway.

It doesn’t take long for things to become even more heated between us. Before I know it, I’m lining up Peeta’s soul mark with mine when I reach behind him, grasping a handful of his delicious rump. My forwardness must surprise him, catching him off-guard in the middle of kissing a line down my neck and into the valley between my breasts, because when I do it, he grunts. HIs pleased noise makes my pulse race, so I do it to him again.

As for our marks? Of all things, Peeta’s is the top of an apple muffin, while mine is the bottom half. His curved lines and my rigid ones- they’re a lot like him and myself. Together we’re delicious. Although him on top and me on the bottom doesn’t last very long, just until he rolls us over and pulls my dress up and over my head, telling me he wants to look at me.

A while later, when the back of his head thunks against the wooden floor in bliss, I realize that maybe those apple muffins were pretty magical.

[shiteatinggrin]

Hi, so this is my contribution to my first jilytober, I wrote some canon fic, it is kinda sad so I guess you could call this angst? I don’t know, I’m not that good at categorizing fic. Anyways, here is a love letter to James Potter from Lily Evans because he just died under her eyes. Wrote this fast, so I can’t vouch for the quality of this. This is almost 3k of Lily being a sap, so enjoy! Find it here on Ao3.

Bastard with a shit eating grin

Do you remember our first kiss? I can still feel the cold air of winter seeping through the walls of Greenhouse Number Three and you and I laughing together. It was not an unusual thing anymore, but some people could have been surprised, because we had had some big feuds over the years, the Dormitories Dashing and Destroying Disagreement, the Inflating Inner Ear Incident, the Flying Fiona Fight and the Severus Snape Saga consisting of the big highlights. However frustrating it was, we always had fun together, didn’t we?

Now we were falling in love dutifully without realising we had always been meant for each other in some way. I was all colors: glorious red hair, pink cheeks, pale green eyes and horrendously yellow socks. You were all teeth: shining smiles, arrogant smirking, belly-laughing in a silent room or grinding them in concentration for the task you were committing to (hyper-focusing on) at the moment.

‘Oi, Evans, can I copy your homework?’ You would say that practically every day.

‘How about a please, Potter? Might do you some good.’ You watched me smear some soil on my neck when I scratched it and said nothing. I discovered it in Transfiguration two hours later. Crazy how we can only remember the smallest details years later and the big things just go right over our heads. I could only ever remember the small details with you, because whatever we said to each other was never important, only the talking to you part was.

‘Oh Lily, dearest flower to my heart that I worship beyond any rainbow, might I please please please see your diligently done homework so that I can rewrite it because, being the idiot that I am, I was off gallivanting with Sirius yesterday instead of being a good student.’ You added pouts and made doe eyes for good measure as if I wouldn’t already have grabbed the moon from the sky’s grubby hands every night if you had asked it.

I would stifle a smile and put some piece of parchment in your extended hand without even looking, sometimes it was the homework if I was feeling generous, if I were more in a creative mood I might give you a stupid doodle or some kind of letter that would say something like: ‘Dear Prongs, you are an asshat. Looking forward to our rounds tonight so I can kick your ass in Gobstones. Now listen to Sprout, will you? Lily’ with a stupid heart over the i that basically meant PS: I love you. Finally, I’d say something like:

‘I would have laughed, but your head might inflate so much you’d have neck pain for a week.’

You let yourself smile then and continued to jest me, hoping to wrench a smile out of the beast (you always did it literally two minutes later, it is funny how easy it is to win when you give yourself such small tasks).

But that day, amazingly, we broke out of our routine.

At night we would always hang out together in the common room with our friends and slowly the people would fizzle out, having gone up to their dormitories and I would stay on the couch with the urge to kiss you with some dumb excuse not to leave on the tip of my tongue. I painted my nails or read some book or talked to you extensively about something I’d learned recently and you would listen with concentrated eyes and a much too easy smile.

Then you would start talking and when you started some story it would never finish, even now you can’t even recall something as simple as Harry’s first smile without going on for five full minutes without stopping. In these nights I would try to look like I wasn’t paying too much attention to you, like I was detached from everything pertaining to your person, but being young and in love doesn’t exactly give you the best skills in subtlety and so you would ask me if I was paying attention and I would blush and you would make some quip about redheads and their skins and everything would go back to normal.

And out of the blue, when I was talking about getting some sugar quills next time we were in Hogsmeade and how difficult the Ancient Runes paper was, you kissed me. Your hands flew to my hair and mine to cup your face and you pressed your body hard against mine. I’d never seen you so hungry for anything before, it seemed like you had been starving for a thousand years before our lips found each other. I had kissed three boys before you, and none of them could compare to the feeling of ecstasy of your mouth against mine. No one will ever compare to James Potter, right? That’s what you used to say in fourth year when you made a particular lucky goal in Quidditch or when you caught the Snitch in mid-air even though you were a Chaser and we were in Potions classf. Is it weird that I miss that?

I don’t think there ever was a time when I didn’t love you, all electric hair and much too quick brain and hundred stupid nicknames that didn’t mean anything unless you explained them in excruciating detail and you would smile too much and talk too loud and walk too fast and I wouldn’t feel so out of place with you because I did the exact same things. Petunia was always prim and proper and I always tried to be like her and please everyone but you taught me how to be myself and how to blossom into my personality without even knowing it. With you I’ve never been too much, I was always just enough.

Everything always came so easy to you, and I’ve always hated you for it. Now I think that I can’t appreciate enough how you could always share that with everyone around you, that incredible luck that could get you out of the worst of predicaments. I guess it all caught up to us today, but I don’t mind now. I’ll love you forever, come what may.

My heart is full of wanted posters of you: dead or alive.

I can’t remember the first time I’ve really noticed you, because you were always in the periphery, doing stupid things and getting in trouble and beaming for no reason at all and the memory of your presence was impossible to shake, but I still remember the first time we really became friends. We were fifteen by the lake and my best friend betrayed me under the glistening sun, the following day I had the worst grade in Transfiguration I’d ever gotten. You found me crying by a window on the fifth floor and apologized a hundred times (which I couldn’t have cared less at the moment), but you still went and talked to McGonagall and she agreed to let me retake the test in the afternoon and offered me a biscuit.

In seventh year, a girl told me that she was so jealous of the fact that I was the only one that could make James Potter change and mature. As if your life revolved around me. I thought of your sick father and the fact that Sirius had appeared on your front door one day and never left your house and with a twinge in my heart thought of the war coming and I couldn’t believe my ears. With all this going on, and she still thought you’d only change for a girl?

I’m not proud of this, but I might have shouted at her and maybe, perhaps I was the one that sent a silencing charm her way, but who could really tell? Not her, because her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

I wonder if I ever told you that. Probably, because you know everything interesting there is to know about me. You even know the most boring facts about me, because they amuse you just the same. You know I like peonies the best in spite of my name and that my first kiss was with Snape when I was eight, you know that I wiped my mouth right after and didn’t know yet what love was. You know that my favourite band is Hate Potion and that my guilty pleasure is Celestina Warbeck. You know that I wanted to name our son Harry because of a muggle TV show I used to watch with Petunia when I was seven on Saturday mornings and that when I fight my favorite charm is Expelliarmus. You were at my side when I killed my first (and last) Death Eater and that I cried for a week afterward. You comforted me for five hours when Marlene and her entire family were massacred in their own home, the same one where I had spent a good chunk of my summers to avoid Petunia. You know that I only ever paint my toenails blue and that my favorite flavour of ice cream is mint chocolate chip. You know all about my relationship with my sister and how she used to be my best friend and that we used to dance in bathing suits around the sprinkler and fake being witches to make potions out of mud and flowers and how she never forgave when this dream became true for me but not for her. You know all about my failed relationships, with Tuney, Sev and my ex-boyfriend who left me because he didn’t want to be associated with a muggleborn. You know I’m absolute shite at drawing and that I can’t dance to save my life and you laugh at me when I’m drunk and try to follow Peter’s choreography to some dumb song I don’t know. Last year, you helped paint flowers all over my bookcase because I wanted it to be unique and just mine.

When Harry was born, you refused to sleep for two days because he was so cute when he slept against your chest, but you finally fell asleep while cutting onions for dinner and I had to intervene.

One of my favourite things about you is that I have never seen anyone so full of life. You smile like nothing has ever gone wrong in your entire life and you are more loyal than any Hufflepuff I’ve ever seen, you would die for any of us in a heartbeat and we would do the same for you anytime. My love for you is so big I wonder how it even fits in our little house in Godric’s Hollow. You painted our walls burnt orange because you said it reminded you of my hair and I wonder if it is weird to fall in love with you even more over some colour choices. You complete me because as much as you are a complete idiot, you still recommend the best books and are smart enough to plan the best pranks, but too smug to make anyone else take the blame. You had always been my favourite person in the whole universe until Harry arrived, but he is so much like you that it is like meeting you at a much earlier age. He has the same laugh as you, you know?

I cannot believe how brave you are, because traditional courage requires you to go into battle and protect everyone you love like a lioness does her cubs, but you have found the energy to keep going even trapped in this house with an infant without being able to help your friends outside. You go everyday against your most basic instincts and you manage to have so much fun with us, but I see the tired bags under your eyes and the fact that you lose your train of thoughts sometimes and I know that you’re thinking about the war and the security of the boys, I know they are your family and it would kill you if one of them ever fell into battle, yet you never complain, yet you never lose hope. I love you so much my feeble heart can’t contain it all. My love for you is as inevitable as the blue of the sky, as the oxygen in our lungs, as the passage of time, I love you so much that when I see you it is like coming home, your wild hair and round glasses and mischievous eyes and soft voice and much too long limbs and wide chest and calloused hands and smile like an answer to all my problems.

No one has ever made me feel as secure as you and now I know I have to be strong for you, because you are the one that’s fallen, like a marionnette whose strings were cut. The coffee stain on the right arm of your shirt is the last thing I will see of you, or maybe it is a bit of your wild inky hair. I will never be able to look at the night sky the same.

I can hear him in the stairs, and all I can think about is you and Harry this morning, my two favourite people in the world, sat on the carpet and puffs of colour coming out of your wand, your laugh coming out of his mouth, one single tooth poking out, little chubby legs shaking from laughter, the wand you stupidly left on the carpet (the wand you didn’t care wasn’t in your hands because you didn’t care if you died, you just wanted us to live). Your last gift to me was the most precious of all: you gave me the time to say goodbye to Harry.

‘Mama loves you. Dada loves you, Harry.’ That is the only thing I find to say, because it is true and my heart is breaking, I can hear it thundering, collapsing like a dying star, you are dead, I will die, Harry has to live. I cannot withstand the thought.

I have never loved anyone better than the two of you. Apparently I never will, but at least I have known real love, the one that comes from daily life, that never dies because it is kept alive by stupid little things that make us who we are. Crazy how we only remember the little things and the big ones just go right over our heads.

I will remember the smallest things about you, like the little scar in your left eyebrow, the weird placement of your thumb on your wand, the feel of your skin against mine and the way it tanned in the summer while mine just became redder and redder, the sound of your laugh when Sirius said something funny and the way you always pushed your glasses up your nose with your middle finger, the way you sit in any chair like it’s a throne, the way you answered questions in class without raising your hand, the way you held a book open when you were reading it, your last day where you wanted to make pasta and I wanted steak, the way you would mess with your hair not because you thought it would make you look like you just stepped off your broom, but because you were nervous or restless. On your good days it would stand flatter on your head and I had to pass my hand through it because otherwise it just didn’t feel like you. You laughed too much when Sirius decided to read Crime and Punishment to Harry as a bedtime story and your son wouldn’t go to sleep. You would tell him stories of your childhood disguised as muggle magical adventures and I became a knight, Sirius a prince and Snape a dragon. You would call my cat Fiona the ginger cat, as if Fiona wasn’t enough and she needed an extra title. I guess she was royalty after all. You always tried to make me believe that she loved you more than me, even though I’d had her since I was eleven and you once made her fly across the common room just to annoy me.

Do you remember this morning? The last time you ever kissed me? You made me eggs and tea for breakfast and sang some Beatle song for me in the most off-key voice. You stole the bacon from my plate, laughing from across the dinner table. I was so happy because you were in a good mood today, you didn’t seem to feel so trapped and it was Halloween and you were trying to convince me to dress Harry up as a muggle magician, which I thought was the worst joke you’d ever made. You kissed me on the mouth and we settled on a pumpkin costume. Your lips tasted of stolen bacon and orange juice (you’ve never been much of a morning tea person).

I have never loved anyone better, and apparently I never will.

The house is so silent now that you are gone. All I can hear are my own ragged breaths. Harry seems to think this is some kind of game. He is all that we have left now. All that will ever be left of us. To love is to create, right? We have created the most beautiful person in the world, it should be the only thing that counts.

I love you. I could try to make this poetic, the love thing, but I think the most poetic way it can be is on its own. I don’t know any words more powerful than I love you. I love you and you are dead. I love you and I will die soon. I love our son and he will live. Life is as simple as that. I love you and soon we’ll be together again. Miss you already.

[scriptaed]

blue side next door (m);

genre: angst/fluff/implied smut; friends to lover!au; neighbors!au;

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 24.1k;

synopsis: between the windows of two souls, one with a perpetually lone heart and another with the scar of an unfaithful partner, the blue side overlooking the roof of their neighborhood best friend is a solace that has stood against the test of time. they were there to lend the other a shoulder to cry on, to spend the entirety of dawn whispering the night away, and to treat them in a way they deserved, a way no one else was capable of; because for the two childhood friends blinded by the thin line between friends and lovers, the soulmate they’ve both been searching for far and wide has always been right next door all along.

As with any college student, Winter and Summer breaks are your favorite times of the year. Your reasons for taking a particular liking to these seemingly long-waiting, fast-passing breaks from the constant hustle of studies, however, most certainly strayed from those of your classmates; because when the constant chatter of your house settles into the background crickets and your digital alarm rings at the stroke of midnight, your hand smacks the clock off a tad harder than necessary and your legs kick against the wooden floor to send you and your chair swiveling toward the window by your desk—because, there, you would lock eyes with an equally ecstatic boy through the windows of a bedroom across from yours. 

The bite of the winter chill blasts through the slightly cracked windows and sends shivers down your back as you work to clear the obstacle between your muffled voice and his—

“—Merry Christmas!” 

The endless streams of white puffs are enough to fill the gap between his windows and yours. 

“It’s not even Christmas yet, dumby,” your neighbor’s laughs are like a familiar tune to confirm your arrival home. Unbeknownst to you, the smile on the dreamy haze of your state remains even as he continues his tease, “I see you’re as on time as always.”

With your favorite golden yellow, oversized tee of his draped over his broad stature, you let out a breath of relief over the spark in the air that has remained resilient yet ever the more bold throughout the years. Enraptured by the luminescence of his honey-like skin that glows under the beam of the moonlight and the way the apples of his cheeks raises at the sight of his best friend, you begin to play connect the dots between the stars of the galaxy and those of his eyes, pearly whites, and golden tee. The penmanship of his breath evaporates into the beautifully painted sapphire night sky bedazzled by the stars before you—and that’s when you know, finally, you are home. 

“I could say the same for you,” you muse, although you’ll never confess having set up an alarm the second you had returned home a week before his break had even started. “See, I’ve been telling you all this time! I can always tell whenever you’re near. It has to be a sixth sense that only best friends have for each other.”

The boy raises a brow and prims a crooked grin as he leans into his hand with an elbow perched to the sill, “you really think I can’t hear your alarm every night from just several feet across?”

“You—” your lips fall agape and your cheeks turn beet red in the wake of the winter winds “—you knew about it all this time?!” 

“Of course,” he cackles and shrugs as if it’s an elementary principle of common sense, “for someone who always forgot to turn in her homework in middle school and high school? To remember to talk to a boy? Not to mention me? As if.” 

“Hey… I remember to turn in my stuff now… occasionally,” you frown, “but who are you to talk? Last time I recalled, I had to wake you up from oversleeping on finals week!”  

“Oh, touché,” his lips form a wide, goofy grin and his gaze leaves yours for the sky, as if trying to scavenge through the remnants of his memories. A brief silence filters the air before the both of you cover your mouths in a fruitless attempt to muffle your cackles. Perhaps there’s something about the winter chills, cold to the bone and homage to the holiday spirit, but there’s something about this very spot—next to your window sill unbeknownst to the daze of both households and your childhood friend laughing along with you from right across, concealed by the secrecy of night—that always has your blood has spiked with vigor and the irrational belief that you and him could conquer any and every fear. “So, how’s life without your neighborhood best friend?” 

“Psh, ‘best friend.’ To be honest, not too bad,” you snort at the pressed grin he forces onto his face before sighing and shooting him a wink, “could be a lot better, though.” 

The to-be-receiver of your affectionate symbol raises his hand to flick the signal away and off into the abyss that is the concrete floor two stories beneath. “I would like to feign surprise but I’d like to think you’d be able to see through it by now. Do you at least have any suitors this time around?”

“Why? Are you trying to subtly flex winning our bet for the third time in a row now?” you take a deep breath and heaved a heavy sigh, plopping onto your arms on the sill. This must have been the third year since starting college that you’ve failed to find a plus-one for Christmas. “Or are you trying to make me feel even lonelier on ‘tis cuffing season?” 

Hoseok gapes in response to your accusations, raising his hands to the air. “Hey, I only proposed that bet because I didn’t want to leave you alone on Christmas. In fact, you should be grateful for having such a great best friend!”

“Yeah, yeah,” you smile to yourself because he’s right, “well, I guess you’re gonna have to treat me to dinner again.”

“Actually,” whatever he’s about to say brings a sweet smile to his lips and you can practically hear the honey of his voice, “I cleared up my schedule for this break and was planning to take you out for movie regard—”

—buzz.

 A brief silence befalls the both of your lips as your eyes dart between Hoseok’s curious ones from across and your phone that vibrates one time, two times on the white tabletop beside you. From your peripheral view, you vaguely catch a series of text messages popping onto your screen before narrowing your eyes at your best friend. 

“Why are you texting me when we’re literally talking right here?”

“What?” he frowns with a smile of disbelief. “When have I ever taken my eyes off you this entire time?”

“Well,” you pause to affirm his argument, “who else would be texting me at midnight?” 

Your best friend takes a long second to ponder before sincerely answering with the straightest face possible, “...spam?”

“Thanks,” you snort, rolling your eyes as you reach for the phone, “I’m not sure if I should be offended or not—”

—a gust of escaping air collapses your lungs. 

“What? Who is it?” you can hear your best friend peeking his head out through the window, almost as if he could squint his way through the walls between you and him. “Who texted you? Is it spam? I was right, wasn’t I? Y/NNNN—”

“—Jin texted me.”

The confession stuns those befallen to the abrupt news, including you; and the next thing you know, Hoseok’s widened eyes are shooting darts at you for more information. 

“Jin?” he articulates. “You mean Kim Seokjin from high school?” 

Your eyes blink blankly, still staring at the screen, “yeah.”

“The one you’ve been crushing on since forever?” 

Throwing a glare at your best friend’s lack of hesitation over tossing your deepest and darkest secrets out into the night air for everyone to hear, you mumble, “...yeah. That Seokjin.”

“Oh, well,” Hoseok plops back into his armchair, recollecting himself, “what did he say?”

Heart racing, blood pumping, and stomach fluttering, you fail to notice your grin that stretches from ear to ear. With each passing second, the surreality of the sight before you becomes all the harder to believe, because who would have thought your second ever crush in your life and your first crush in high school would be texting you out of the blue? 

Jin😍 [12:45 A.M.] hey! it’s been a while!

Jin😍 [12:45 A.M.] how have you been?

Jin😍 [12:46 A.M.] if you’ve started break already, i hope it’s been going well. and if not, good luck on finals. i’m actually home for the break and wanted to grab dinner with you some time and catch up? we could watch a movie, too. 

“He…” you manage to stammer as Hoseok quirks a brow, “he…”

A lightbulb flashes when your best friend grabs something on his desk to fiddle with for the next ten seconds—a motion you’ve grown to recognize all too well—and the next thing you know, a paper airplane comes flying your way. 

Clasping the plane in both hands, you unfold the paper only to cackle at the bold red B- slathered across one side opposite of the blank. Another pair of eyes, on the other hand, shoots daggers at the snickering you’ve invested little to no effort in concealing. For better or for worse, nothing seems to have changed between you and Hoseok, and that fact becomes all the more evident as you held the paper airplane in your hands; because even now, you can still reminisce over the fateful night when the nine year old boy had suggested to the sheepish nine year old girl to write whatever thoughts she struggled to voice onto a paper airplane she could send flying over to his newly moved-into-bedroom. Unbeknownst to the boy, the bashful demeanor only stemmed from the silly adolescent crush you held for the boy since his first introduction to your family and it’s a secret you’ll keep stubbornly buried for years, even as you’ve outgrown both the mien and crush of your childhood days. One thing that you two have never outgrown, however, is the use of paper airplanes. Whether it’s for old time’s sake or for its actual purpose, you’ve never paid mind to. 

For you, it’s been a relief to have a stable, constant friendship you could rely on, regardless of the circumstances. Hoseok has been your pillar, your sole source of solace even in your darkest times and there was nothing you could have traded this relationship for. 

The next minute flows as if it were all second nature to you: grabbing a pen, you shut your eyes and hurriedly, albeit abashedly, scribble the words you had struggled to voice before and sent the airplane flying into the blue side.

Receiving your message, your best friend seems taken aback for a moment, both brows raising for the briefest of moments before settling into a thick coating of unsurprise, almost as if he had seen this coming from miles away. His expression paints a million words and, as always, you excitedly await for the vocalization of the myriad of reactions that had just plastered on his face; but today, he simply manages to utter a simple, “oh.”

“‘Oh?’ Are you kidding me, Hoseok?” you gape before falling into a fit of giggles. “This crush that I’ve been gushing over to you about for the. entirety. of. high. school. has finally acknowledged my existence? And not to mention, asked me out on a date? This is the moment we’ve both been waiting for!”

“I know, I’m happy for you,” Hoseok nods, the corner of his lips lifting into the gentlest of smiles. Cocking his head and kicking his feet onto the desk hidden behind the wall beside him, he rests his head onto the window sill, “so, what are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do? I’m finally going to be cuffed for the holiday season!” you don’t realize you’ve been twirling around your bedroom until you catch yourself taking a deep breath after a shortage of air. Finally, you plop into your chair, swivel toward the window in one swift motion, and breathe out a puff of white into the blue with a smile still stuck in a reverie. “I guess I’ll be the one treating you to dinner this year, buddy.” Hoseok prims his lips even tighter than before, hesitating to nod his head in agreement when you frown at his reaction. With a knitted expression, your voice settles into one of concerns, “do you have plans for Christmas…?”

“...no,” his answer comes with a stagnant silence of pondrance and his eyes fall to the sill before him. “Probably not. Actually, no. I won’t be.” 

“Hold up, no, that doesn’t seem like a no to me,” you shake your head, leaning forward as he reclines into his seat and inches away into his room. “Do you have a date? It’s not with… her, is it?” Something drops in your already knotted stomach when he merely turns his head to the side and away from you. “After all the times she’s—” you hesitate to proceed but how else are you supposed to wake him up? “—cheated on you, why do you keep going back to her? I know you’re the sweetest, most understanding person, but why do you forgive her after all the pain she’s put you under? You deserve better, Hoseok. I know you do.”

Darkness befalls his face inch by inch akin to the inked clouds that shrouds the stars of the sky above you, for the once welcoming windows of his soul shun you from the outside-in. It’s been a while since you’ve observed such anguish overtake the cheery sun that was your best friend. The only moments of relapse were in the times of Hoseok’s on-and-off relationship with his ex—a fact that sends your chest throbbing and your guts twisting, for the hidden tears of your best friend shed at midnight in the comforts of the window sill beside yours pains you so. 

This time, however, the boy shies away from his usual spilling of the heart. What had incurred such change, you were left to wonder alone; because regardless of if you were to peer through the familiar panes of the window or if you were to grab the handles and force your way in, your neighborhood childhood best friend had left you living and breathing in the cold cold in anticipation for someone who would never return. 

“It’s different this time,” he lowly states and you can barely hear him over the wind that tousles his locks and yours. His words fail you, for the boy proceeds to stand to his feet and reach for the handles of his windows sitting in the night’s wrath all while you stare at him aghast. “Alright, it’s getting late now—” liar, you two have always talked late into the night, sometimes even ‘til daylight “—I’m heading off to bed. You should, too.”

“Hoseok,” you begin your last plea in desperation, peering up at the boy who meets your gaze with soulless orbs, “promise me you’ll take care of yourself. Please, at least for me.”

The boy presses his lips into a soft upturn of affirmation, if only to please his best friend. “I will. I promise. And you,” he points a stern finger at you with a chuckle, “be careful around that boy. I swear I’ll rip him to shreds if he ever even thinks about hurting you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you snort, despite the fact that his threats has your insides melting. 

“I sure would,” he firmly retorts. 

“You might punch him but I don’t think you have the heart to ‘rip them to shreds.’”

“I would if it were for you,” Hoseok finally cracks a smile when he watches the snicker creep onto your lips as you rolled your eyes because you knew very well in your heart that Hoseok would indeed be the last one standing beside your side, even if the whole world were to doubt you. As a final farewell of the dawn, the boy kicks the chair to the side and shoots you one last, firm look. “And make sure you tell him that.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, shifting to lean your left cheek into your arms on the sill. The golden warmth of the crescent moonlight strikes the apples of his honey tan cheeks so as to illuminate every perfect imperfection you’ve come to adore through the years. Still stuck in a daydream, you smile, “goodnight, Hoseok.”

Your best friend returns the gesture with a pressed upturn of the lips. “Goodnight,” he utters, before shutting his windows and blinds.

One, two, three—you giggle to yourself when he peeks through curtains just to give you one last wave, as if on cue to your whispers—and finally, he’s gone. 

Normally, you would return to your bed to scroll through your phone and occasionally send one last text to your best friend with whatever mischief you could muster; but tonight, something about the electricity of the cold-cutting air, the spirit of the holidays, and flutters of having been asked out by your crush of many years has you staring out your window for many more hours to come. 

Because tonight, the blue side soaring over the silhouette of your neighborhood best friend’s bedroom ceiling shines to a deep, melancholic fanfare no one has ever quite seen before.

-

“Hey, have you been waiting for long?” 

A voice that you have to scavenge through your memories to identify calls out to you through the breeze that reddens your already beet-red cheeks and frozen tip of the nose. Jittering in place to keep yourself warm, you begin to regret having dressed so poorly for the weather. Black stockings, boots, and a wool jacket were, in fact, not enough to compensate for an above-the-knee skirt. If beauty is pain, then you were the manifestations of the downsides to dating. Still, you’ve always wanted to dress to impress, regardless of who you were meeting; because, in moments like this, you realize just how much you’ve taken Hoseok’s offering of his jacket and scarves for granted. 

Tonight, however, you politely shake your head and force a smile, despite your chattering teeth and frosting breath. “No, I just got here—” maybe only five minutes ago, but still, Hoseok would have made sure to have been five minutes earlier “—the theater is just down the street from where I live.” 

“Oh, is that so?” Jin gasps. “I could have picked you up, then. Next time for sure, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” your attempt to hide your smile is in vain, for you can’t help but internally scream at the confirmation of a next date, “next time for sure.”

The jitters that send your bloodstream on a high skyrockets when Jin skillfully swipes an arm around and over your shoulder, the heat of his firm arms sending chills down your otherwise freezing back as he guides you toward the theater and quirks his head to the side to peer down at you with a lopsided smile, “so, how have you been, Y/N?”

If it weren’t for the knot in your throat, you would have been squealing at the top of your lungs, for the sole connection between your gaze and his own sultry ones sent an amass of butterflies fluttering in your stomach; and it’s at this moment that you wonder to yourself: so this must be how it feels to date during Christmas… and even if it twists your chest and sinks your spirits, you have to wonder: is this also how Hoseok feels when he meets with his ex? 

The endless stream of foolish questions persists to interfere throughout the date, because by the end of the movie, you don’t even realize the missing extra large size of popcorn and drinks that Hoseok would have most definitely prepared for the both of you. It must have been your fault, though, because you can’t even recall having denied an offer for snacks prior to the movie. Did Jin even offer? Did you offer? Or were you two busy catching up that you had forgotten? Maybe Jin wasn’t much of a snacker. Regardless, your first date at the movies tonight seems to be much more revealing of your incompetence and Hoseok’s compensating competence than you would have liked to acknowledge. 

“Are you…” Jin chortles in disbelief as the two of you weave through the bustling crowd next to the theater’s exit. “...are you really crying?” 

“What do you mean am I actually crying?” you sniffle, forgetting to wipe the waterworks that stain your cheeks. “The movie was so freaking sad. I’m not usually a crier, but don’t you think it was at least a little sad?” 

“No, not really,” he furrows his brows and awkwardly laughs at your mess. “You need some tissues to… wipe… your tears?” 

Oh shit, your eyes shoot wide open when you realize just how much of a mess you must have appeared. This had never been a concern of yours before, but you were on a date right now, for God’s sake! In front of the Kim Seokjin, not to mention. How could you ruin your first date with the boy you’ve been wanting to kiss since forever? Would he even want to kiss you with snot running down your nose? Would there even be a second date at this point?!

Quickly accepting his offering of a tissue, you sheepishly turn away to blow your nose and collect yourself. You can hear Jin laughing briefly to himself from behind but your cheeks continue to burn bright red as you become all the more self conscious by the second. A state of panic settles in your frenzied heart when, out of the blue, you hear a familiar name escape Jin’s lips. 

“Oh, if it isn’t Jung Hoseok!” 

“Hoseok…?” you mumble to yourself, whirling around with a frown only to find yourself gutted at the sight of your best friend. 

“Y/N,” Hoseok’s nod of the head comes to an abrupt stop and his eyes are struck with a mix of both terror and fury when he notices your own bloodshot eyes. His death glare flickers to the boy beside you. Through gritted teeth, he mutters, “I’ll give you two choices. Either you fucking run and never see her again or I beat your fucking—”

“—whoa, whoa,” Jin raises his hands in mercy, “she’s crying because of the movie, bro. Calm down, are you her boyfriend or am I?”

It’s odd that an unsettling premonition sends you churning, despite the fact that he had just proclaimed himself as your boyfriend. What exactly is it about this moment that startles you so? Hoseok’s presence? His mistake? Or is there something about Jin’s reaction that fails to satisfy? 

But the more you ponder, the more you come to realize the question that had your chest gnawing and your heart pounding anxiously at the edge of its seat all this time.

“Wait, Hoseok, why are you here…?” you barely murmur as the two of them pause their stare-down to turn toward you. “Are you here for her—”

“—you two know each other?” Jin interrupts, quirking a brow when you simply nod. “From where?”

“We’re neighbors,” Hoseok replies before you can utter a word. You could tell Jin was about to raise a question of concern in regards to your relationship by the moment of hesitation and Hoseok’s abrupt response. Your best friend points his thumb back over his shoulder where a girl’s restroom sign hovers behind. “My date’s in the restroom right now, so I’m just waiting for her.”

“Oh,” you can nearly hear Jin sigh a breath of relief, “okay, well, we gotta get going, right, Y/N?”

“Huh?” you glance between Jin, who smiles gently at you with those perfectly perk lips of his, and Hoseok, who has you agonizing for your best friend’s well-being despite his current beckoning for you to continue on your little date without a trace of worry. “Wait, but Hoseok—”

“—yeah, don’t worry about me,” Hoseok chortles, shining a bright grin at the two of you and taking a step backward toward the direction of whom you assumed to be his repulsive ex. “I’ll catch up with you later, Jin! See you at home, Y/N.” 

“...right,” Jin can only mutter under his breath, for the boy had already jogged off into the distance. Squeezing your hand, Jin’s sudden touch against your bare skin has your heart skipping a beat above your previously unsettling state of mind. “Let’s go and have some fun, Y/N. I’ll walk you home, too.”

The thought of skipping through town and whisking the night away with the apple of your eye has your grin stretching from ear to ear and your extremities buzzing with electricity; but even so, as Jin holds your hand firmly in his like a prized treasure you had always wished to be, you can’t help but glance over your back at the boy who had left your heart heavy and crestfallen for many impending sleepless nights all in the surging waves of his wake.

-

Tonight’s sky radiates sapphire, too, albeit more sober and less star-studded, a stark contrast to the one next door. Nonetheless, as you stroll through the neighborhood hand-in-hand with the boy of your dreams and rest your head against his sturdy arms to gaze up into midnight, you’re transcended into the soft wraps of your blanket where your cheeks would ache and your heart would warm as you peered out of your bedroom windows throughout the ephemeral dreamy exchange.

“Do you have a thing for astronomy?” Jin implores, the break of the silence and the squeeze of his hands snap you back into reality. The lock between his hands and yours allows you to feel every callus and rough inch of his skin and you begin to wonder if he could feel your heart pacing with each passing second that he held you so intimately like this. 

Clearing the knot in your throat with a gulp, you manage to meekly utter, “not in particular,” before returning your sights to peer up at the boy with a grin. When his eyes meet yours, however, the sudden contact has you jolting from a spike of joyous thrill—because, for heaven’s sake, the crush you’ve been gushing over for years was looking into your eyes!

“Whoa, is my face really that frightening?” Jin chuckles with another squeeze to your hand. “Hey, I don’t know if it was just me, but I really thought there was a connection between us tonight. You can be comfortable, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

To this day, there was really only one place of solace of whom you could spill your heart to and that was by the side of your window; so when your frenzied mind finally manages to register his last words of affirmation, your heart holds onto the hope of a newfound home. Bobbing your head with elation, your sights lower to the floor bashfully in a fruitless attempt to hide your cheeky smile, for the laugh of his that follows is enough to confirm the similar wavelength of giddiness between you both. 

After a minute of walking with interlocked hands and basking in utter bliss, this time it’s your turn to break the silence, “....and we have arrived!”

“What?” Jin groans, grabbing both your hands when you turn to face him in preparation for your parting. “Why do you have to live so close?”

You giggle at his perspective, “well, think about it this way: the closer I live, the more often you can visit me.” 

“Can I visit you now, then?” his lips upturn into a suggestive quirk of the grin—his eyes, however, were focused elsewhere, for when you follow his line of sight and find yourself staring at the flamboyant red strap of your bra peeking out from under your black blouse, your cheeks turn an equally beet red. 

Did you just flash your boyfriend on the very first date? 

“Absolutely not!” you gawk, pulling on your sleeves and crossing your hands protectively over your chest. “We are not that comfortable yet!” 

“Yet, I’m glad to hear that,” he emphasizes, turning away to glance at your house. The two of you exchange a brief moment of laughter when you sheepishly slap his arm for his antics when silence overcomes the conversation and his inscrutable eyes darken with their sights pinned on the two houses before him. “Does he come over often?”

“Who?” you arch a brow just as a lightbulb goes off in your mind. Eyes wandering away from your boyfriend and settling on the bedroom windows of your best friend’s, your heart stirs and your gut contorts by the wrath of today’s flashbacks. If your heart hurts you so, to the point that you’re doubting time’s capabilities as remedy, your spirits sink even lower when you consider: how must Hoseok be feeling? “Oh, Hoseok?”

 Jin only nods, keeping his eyes on the two windows facing one another within an arm’s distance across. Glancing between your window and Hoseok’s, you notice the oddity of your heart’s skips at the sight of golden warmth radiating from his drawn curtains. He must be awake. Is he waiting for you? What is he doing? How is he feeling? 

Even from this distance away, you could practically see the warmth of his room and feel the heat thaw those ice cold hands of yours. Your chest throbs at the thought of another night’s exchange with Hoseok but your thoughts are abruptly interrupted by the barely audible breaths of the actual boy beside you. 

What has your heart racing and your blood flooding with this euphoric thrill? Perhaps it’s the excitement to babble to Hoseok about how perfectly well the date and the anticipation that had built up over the entirety of the day, you figured; but was it right to feel this way? Is it normal to feel this way over the mere lights of his room?

 “No,” you finally answer cautiously, wary of Jin’s sudden change in demeanor. “We’re family friends but he doesn’t come over often.” 

For some reason, you decide to keep the nightly conversations a secret, even if it meant nothing more than a nostalgic exchange between two best friends. Jin’s unwavering stare between your window and Hoseok’s, however, has you plagued with a guilt that would startle your sleep for many nights to come. 

“Does he ever see you like that?” he lowly speaks with a tinge of growl in his voice. 

“Like what…?” your voice trails as your mind scrambles to find his reference—oh, your cheeks redden once again at the thought of your undergarments. Has Hoseok ever seen your undergarments? The thought had never occurred to you until now, and as much as you thought you wouldn’t care if he indeed has, the frenzy that settles in your heart tells you otherwise. He’s your best friend though, a childhood friend, so does it really matter if he did? “No, I don’t think so… That would only be possible if I had forgotten to close my curtains while changing, but… I don’t think Hoseok would be the type to… look. He probably would scold me afterwards, too—”

“—but would he? Would he really not look?” Jin cuts, turning toward you to reveal the stern look of his knitted expression. “I don’t know how close you two are, but guys are all the same, Y/N. You should be careful.” 

Something about his orders, the deadpan of his voice and the demand of his eyes, send an unfamiliar series of chills down your spine. The boy that stands before you is a stark contrast from the ex baseball player, high school graduate you had just spent the entirety of the night gushing over with your every being wrapped around his finger. 

The stagnant, stiff silence that ensues catches the both of you off guard, for neither of you were prepared for the vexed look on your face over the antagonization of your best friend. To reconcile, Jin lets out a sigh intermixed with a soft laugh and pats the side of your arm. The edges of his eyes soften as his thumb rubs circles into your skin and his lips prim into a slight smile. The gentle, more familiar intonation of his voice return when he speaks, “just be a bit more careful, okay? For me?”

He must have been concerned for your safety. Perhaps jealous of your friendly relations with Hoseok, you figured, as many friends have questioned your true relationship with your best friend that happens to be a male. Plus, you and Jin were dating now. As your boyfriend, he had all the more reasons to be concerned. 

As much as it irks you to witness anyone villainizing Hoseok, you couldn’t exactly blame Jin, could you...? 

“Jin, I’ll be fine. Hoseok wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, but thank you for worrying,” you quickly stand on the tip of your toes to plant a firm kiss to his cheeks, stunning him with those wide eyes of his before he could persist. “I’ll be careful just for you, though, okay?” 

Your boyfriend nods, his cheeks just barely a tint of pink—whether from the cold or your touch, you would like to think the latter—and the two of you part after a lengthy exchange of beckoning for the other two leave first and a drawn out bidding of repetitive farewells. As cold as Jin had made the last few minutes of the date, he had compensated much more than enough with the swarm of butterflies that filled your insides at the moment as you skipped your way up the stairs and into your room. 

The golden hues of light that floods your room only augments to the warmth of your state as you hum to yourself and proceed to discard your clothes in exchange for far more comfortable pajamas. There goes the stockings, the skirt, the sweater, you toss them onto your bed as you search for the bunny pajamas you had worn for the past week or two when, out of the blue, a sliding of the curtains interrupt your tunes and the golden warmth of your room disappears to leave you in the dark. Your heart nearly stops when you come to realize what had just occurred. 

Slowly turning, you peer over the side of your bed half naked only to find his curtains closed and the lights of his bedroom replaced by the beam of moonlight which streams into your own opened curtains. Shit, did you just break your promise to Jin within minutes of making it? Heart racing and blood flowing to heat every inch of your body, you start to squirm uncontrollably at the thoughts that plague you for the next hour to come. 

Did Hoseok see you in just your bras and panties? Did he see everything? How much did he see? When did he see? How long did he watch?  

Throwing on your pajamas, you hastily close your curtains and bury yourself into your bed only to scream into your pillows at the top of your lungs. Well, at the very least, Hoseok was as much of a gentleman as you had predicted to Jin. There was no way he would have peaked for a second longer than he should have when he realized your curtains were mistakenly drawn open, or at least that’s what you would like to think in order to sleep at night. 

Regardless, the most pressing concern you have to face at the moment has you in shambles as the clock nearly strikes midnight: how were you going to face him after that? 

The answer would have been simple—you wouldn’t—but when you peek over at your curtains from under the blankets and you run over the events of today, you’re gutted by the reminder of Hoseok’s feigned smile last night and the forced assurance he had given you before you left him for Jin at the theater tonight. 

As much as you’re reluctant to count, you’ve been through this scene more than enough times before. Hoseok’s on-and-off relationship with his ex were never without its complications. Ghosting, cheating, stood up, the inflictions his ex had afflicted on Hoseok were endless. It pained you every time you return home, hoping Hoseok had not just undergone another heartbreak. Hoseok has always been too patient, too forgiving. He never really learned and you despise him for it so. Judging by the red flags of last night, if your daunting predictions were correct, your problems were much less of one than what he must be going through.  

You weren’t given much time to contemplate over your choices, though, for your best friend seems to have beaten you to it when a series of knocks at your window allures you back into reality where your duties lie ahead and across from your bedroom window. 

Firmly planting your feet to the ground, you stride toward your window sill, drawing open the curtains and pushing apart the panes—whoosh. A paper airplane comes flying toward your face just as you welcome the blue side guest of the winter night sky into your room, just barely dodging it as it whirls to the floor. 

how was the date? 

Bending over, you grab the surprisingly blank piece of paper off the floor. Rolling your eyes at his antics, you twirl around to face your window with a mass of emotions scrambled in the mess that is your state of mind only to be stunned into silence by the sight before you; because just as reliably he had stayed by your side through all your ups and downs in every milestone, days, months, and years, he sits there by his window, leaning his cheeks into his hands with an elbow propped against the sill, waiting for you to spill your heart over another day’s work of hassles, delights, or disappointments—silently, resiliently, perpetually. 

It’s ironic that in moments like this, when you’re staring at the very person whom has incessantly proven their faith time and time again, that you come to acknowledge your greatest fear. 

What were you to do if the day were to arrive when you peer out of your windows and meet an empty room of closed curtains and lackluster midnight skies? 

“So?” Hoseok quirks his head to the side with a smile that raises the apples of his cheeks; and while the sight of the cheery boy before you would have usually lifted you from the lowest of lows, this side of him hits you different tonight—for tonight he is blue, feigning to be golden, neither sapphire like the bejeweled galaxy nor ocean like the tenacious waves that were to rise from its inevitable crashes. 

Tonight, he dutifully plays the role of the usual jolly best friend. Tonight, Hoseok pretends to be okay when he’s not for the sake of you, and as much as you knew he was well aware of the fact that you could see right through him, his helpless attempt to convince the both of you otherwise tugs at your strings. You could always tell the weather of his side, sometimes even better than he was even aware of. You are his best friend, his childhood friend, his one constant source of consolidation. Hoseok knew you could unmask that forced upturn of his lips—you always could—so to see him there, sitting across from you with that bittersweet, crooked lips of his, it’s almost as if he had no choice but to lie. 

“Why…” your lips quiver and your voice cracks when his smile disappears along with every trace of lies on his face. He watches you, muted and numb, neither apologetic nor confused, for he knew this would happen all along. “Why are you acting as if you’re okay when you’re not?” 

“What do you mean? I’m fine—”

“—you’re clearly not!” you blurt to hide your series of deep, shaky breaths. “I hate it when you act like everything is fine, as if anything that happens to you is trivial and no one should care but the truth is I care more than anything else in the world.”  

When Hoseok remains silent, peering up at you, unmoved and inscrutable, the gnawing of your chest comes to the forefront. 

“I always spill my heart to you. I’ve bawled my eyes out at midnight and I’ve screamed my lungs out over the dumbest things. Why can’t you do that for me?” your voice hitches but you persist. “You don’t have to tell me what happened, but why can’t you understand that you’re worthy, that I want you to at least cry and scream when your heart wants to instead of bottling it up as if no one cared enough to listen?” 

Seeing as the boy remains silent, perhaps, knowing him, even a bit amused by your babbling, your fiery emotions manifest in the form of fury as you hastily grab a piece of paper, scribble holes and words into the blank space, and fold the message into a delicate, flawed paper plane before tossing it straight into the opposing side. 

The boy receives it with utmost ease, eyes remaining fixated on you and posture retaining in its casual lean as he raises a hand where the paper plane lands perfectly into its fate between his two fingers. Unfolding the paper slowly, the slightest of smiles makes an appearance on Hoseok’s otherwise unmoved mien. 

“‘I want to cry with my best friend,’” he reads with a chuckle. 

Gulping, your eyes follow his every action as if your life depended on it. Your best friend, on the other hand, ignores your dartlike focus as he grabs a pen, twirls it between his fingers, eyes darkened and affixed to the paper, and finally tosses the plane to the side of his desk. Alas, the boy lifts his sunken line of sight to connect with your own lost ones for the first time of the night; and when he gazes at you, he does so with conviction, but when he speaks, he does so apathetically, for when he deadpans his next confession, your heart becomes equally numb. 

“She stood me up for another guy.” 

His words echo in the cold, his confession a stark contrast to the holiday lights that brings sparkles throughout nightfall and the smiles that surround your family and his and everyone else in the neighborhood with the only exceptions being you and him. They refuse to depart even in the wrath of the winter wind and, instead, begrudgingly lingering in the space between you and him as if to incessantly pour salt on his wound. 

The holiday spirits were not all to blame, however, for your silence is just as much of a mockery to him as the neighborhood that reminded him this time of the year was for joy and his pain was invalid. You had encouraged him to speak his mind, to cry his heart out to you, yet when it really came down to it, your mind runs blank. It isn’t that you don’t want to speak—it’s that you can’t. Something in your chest sinks, something in you shrivels and contorts and there really aren’t any words that could adequately convey the pitted, gutted weight that dawns upon you when he shares his burdens with you; even so—with all the pain of your being and the numbness of your mind that only shrills at you with questions like how were you to survive and bear this state for a duration that seems so vigorous at this point in time—if it were to lighten his burden even the slightest, you would do it all again in the beat of a heart.

The more you mulled in your endless cycle of thoughts, regretting your lack of interference in Hoseok’s evidently toxic relationship, the more your internal mess of emotions manifested itself externally; because before you know it, your nose is sniffling and your cheeks are staining under the warm waterworks that flow from your vision blurred by ripples, as if you were gazing at the surface from underwater.  

“What are you doing,” Hoseok chuckles, a breath of disbelief escaping his upturned lips, “you silly girl, why are you crying over someone else’s pain?” 

“I-I’m not crying,” you retort, reclining in defeat when Hoseok arches a brow and you sniffle as if on cue. It’s okay to cry, to sniffle, to sob and look like a total mess with disheveled, uncombed hair and unmatching pair of pajamas, because you’ve done it all around him. To you, there’s no one else but him whom could make you feel as comfortable even in your most vulnerable state as him. “But it’s not just ‘someone,’ I’m crying over your pain, Hoseok. I-it’s not like I would cry for just anyone… i-it’s just that,” you babble through your hiccups because the both of you are well aware that once your jar of insults regarding his ex has been opened, there’s no going back. “I-I hate how she could hurt you like this. I hate the thought of anyone hurting you. You don’t deserve to be hurt, you don’t deserve this. She treats you like shit, and I hate the fact that you still forgive her after all that she’s done, but what I hate most is how she never fucking cherishes you when she has my best friend, my whole world, in her hands—” Hoseok never budges, sitting and watching you as still as he could, as if even the slightest of movements would interrupt this moment “—you’re not really that smart but you damn could be if you wanted to, maybe. You’re good looking, you’re damn charming, you’re the most loving, patient, understanding, and gentle guy and any girl would be lucky to have you. I just don’t fucking understand why she can’t see that.” 

Hoseok doesn’t answer in response to your confession. He simply gazes at you in silence, cautious to conceal every movement that would give him away—but his eyes were beautifully expressive, enough to paint you a thousand words. He watches you, carefully and intently, as if the apple of his eye was a delicate flower threatened by the spoilt of his touch. He doesn’t speak, but his utter attention for you and only you are enough for even you, with the lowest of self-esteem, feel treasured like a pearl hidden away from the intrusive peers of the world. 

And now, out of the blue, you begin to shy away with a heart thumping in sought for stability and a shift in your wavering eyes. 

Has his stare always had this impact on you? 

Finally, Hoseok lets out a breath of a chuckle, shifty eyes peering down at the side and away from your gaze but the stretch of his lopsided grin that were enough to raise the apples of his cheeks were enough for anyone to ravish at. A long minute of comfortable silence stills the air, your confession lying out in the open between your window and his. The blue of the midnight sky looms over his side tonight, crickets chirp on the side and sprinklers dutifully water the gardens in the neighborhood, while he turns to reconnect his gaze with yours and you wouldn’t dare to break the serenity, for you knew these were the reveries you would long for at school where you were miles away from him. 

Your best friend sighs, lying his head and left cheek into his arms that were perched on his window sill. The boy prims a gentle half-smile, locks of his chestnut hair grazing his sun-kissed skin just over his eyes. As much as your blown steam had amped you into a state of disorder, something about the ocean depths of his eyes restored the tranquility in the night air. He observes you, silently, as if marveling the sight before him. It takes you a dozen more seconds of exchanged glances between you and him before you realize he’s been patiently watching your endless stream of tears and you hastily rub them away with the palms of your hands. 

“Thank you,” Hoseok finally utters.

You frown at his one statement throughout your entire trainwreck of a rant, “for what?” 

“For crying for me,” Hoseok adorns a bittersweet grin at you, heaving a puff of white into the air. “Man, I don’t think I could even cry even if I wanted to.”

“What do you mean…?” you mumble with knitted brows.

“I mean, my best friend would cry even more if she were to see me cry… wouldn’t you?” Hoseok chortles at the way you pout at the thought of his tears. Lifting his head to lean against his hand now with an elbow perched to the sill, he sighs. “Plus, it's kind of odd for me to say it out loud, but… it doesn’t hurt anymore. Her going out of her way to break me… this time, I don’t want to cry or yell or rant like I used to with you. I just don’t feel the pain anymore.”

“Why…?” your breath shakes as your lips quiver, because the thought of Hoseok being so beaten down and repeatedly stomped on to the point of becoming numb to a very humane emotion of distrust has you clearly on the brink of another breakdown. 

“At first I didn’t understand why either,” Hoseok’s eyes avert to you, “but I think I do now.” 

“What—”

“—it’s a secret,” he shoots you a wink and you can’t seem to find the right words to speak, it’s almost as if you’ve been stunned silent. After a long few seconds of silence, one that amuses Hoseok and confuses you, Hoseok continues with an utter under his breath as he begins playing with whatever dust has collected on his sill, “would you… cry for him?” 

“Who?” you could barely manage to crack a sound having bawled your eyes out just minutes prior.

“Your boyfriend,” he snorts, peering up from his sill to shoot an unamused glance, “Seokjin.”

“Oh,” you turn your head to glimpse at the spot on the sidewalk where you and Jin had stood earlier today. Who knew you would have been in this disheveled state when you could have sworn you were on cloud nine just an hour before. Mulling over your thoughts, you could barely notice Hoseok’s stare through it all, “I don’t know… we just started talking. I don’t think I would be able to cry. Hell, I didn’t even know I was capable of crying for others until I met you.”

“Uuuhuh, is that so?” he drawls. “So how was the date tonight? What do you think of him?”

“Jin? Well, I guess , he’s… he’s still as hot as ever. Remember how I always marveled over his lips? Yeah, his lips are just as divine as I remember. He’s super tall and his arms are so sturdy,” you catch yourself before persisting on a tangent.

“So basically you think he’s the one,” he rolls his eyes. 

“Well, it’s still a bit awkward between us. I don’t really blame him for reacting that way though, who the hell cries on their first date?” you shake your head, trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment. “Do you think he hates criers? Oh God, do you think he would still date me if he finds out I’m a crier?” 

“Tsk,” Hoseok snorts, eyes lifting from the ground to peer into yours. Grinning, he speaks, “I don’t know because, frankly, who else would be willing to lend you a shoulder to cry on as often as I do?” 

“There are some people willing to hear me cry!” 

“Who?”

“Um… my friends,” you insist. 

“More than me?” 

“No…” you reply meekly and Hoseok shrugs smugly in response. “But Jin… Jin’s different. He might change once we get to know each other. I like how he knows what he wants and I can tell because he’s never been afraid to tell me…”

Your voice trails into silence as your mind wanders elsewhere, staring at the past where you and Jin had stood. You could still remember the darkening of his eyes. You could still feel the chills down your back. The longer you stared at the remnants of the past as you peered out the window with Hoseok across from you, the more aware you become of the way Jin’s piercing gaze bores a hole into your conscience. 

“...Y/N?” Hoseok quirks his head. 

“I don’t think Jin likes it when I talk to you,” you utter. “He says I should be careful around boys, including you.”

“Oh?” the boy muses, eyes flickering and brows quirking. “Well, he’s not exactly wrong.”

You frown, “what do you mean by that?” 

“I am a guy, am I not?” 

“Well, yes, but you’re different. We—”

“—have you already forgotten what just happened? Did you wear red expecting something to happen between you and him tonight?” he chuckles at the way your cheeks turn beet red and your arms subconsciously cross over your chest—and when his eyes blink once again, they flicker between the calm blue mien of the boy next door and the dark abyss of the enigmatic boy you’ve always struggled to put a finger on. “He’s not wrong, Y/N. You should be careful of me.” 

The rapid thumping of your heart against your chest edges you onto a thrill of venturing into the unknown, yet the cause of such a rise in adrenaline comes to you unidentified. The thought of fearing Hoseok, the only person you’ve ever fully allowed yourself to expose your vulnerable side to, comes across as silly to you; yet why does his warning excite you so? 

After a moment of silence, Hoseok finally persists, “so, what are you going to do?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do?” you repeat, baffled. “Of course I won’t do anything. I get that you’re a guy and he could be jealous and all, but you’re my best friend—”

“—and he’s your boyfriend,” Hoseok emphasizes, raising his hands in defense when you raise a brow at him. “Not that he should have any control over your life, but maybe you should consider his feelings? Maybe a bit of a break between,” he points at the two of you, “us, would help us both.” After watching you stubbornly cross your arms in refusal to oblige, Hoseok sighs. “‘Jessi never really liked it when I mentioned you either.” 

Jessi—for some reason, the sound of her name, her nickname not to mention, leaving his lips is like a cut to your heart. You hate it. You hate how he’s still considerate of his ex. You hate how he mentions her so casually. 

And a break? Between you and Hoseok? The daunting thought weighs heavily on your shoulders and suddenly you feel like the whole world has come crashing down. What were you to do if you needed a shoulder to cry on? A person to chat with through the insomniac nights? This would be the first Christmas you’ve spent without Hoseok in countless years. You can’t even bear that possibility, so what were you to do if it were to become reality? 

“I’m… I’m scared,” you meekly mutter under your breath. “I’m scared we’ll lose contact. I’m scared we’ll change so much that we won’t be able to reconnect. I’m scared I won’t be able to cry comfortably with you. I’m scared things just won’t be the same if we were to stop and it’s a dumb thought because our friendship is so much more than that and maybe I’m worrying too much but I’m scared anyways.”

“You think you’re the only one scared?” Hoseok utters, barely audible as a short zephyr passes by to graze against your locks and his. “The day we stop talking, the day I can’t call you my best friend anymore… I didn’t think anything could hurt me more than she did, but that thought alone… I can’t think of anything that would hurt more,” he turns to gazes at you, delicate yet unfazed with that gentle smile of his, “I don’t think I could ever bear the pain if that day were to ever come. “

“Hoseok, I—” your voice cracks and tingles in the back of your throat reaching the back of your eyes signal for you to stop before you’re sent on another sobbing mess. Fully understanding the situation, Hoseok only chortles at your abrupt silence before gesturing for you to write your thoughts on paper instead. 

The words come easily to you, for the pen slides effortlessly across the paper and the purest forms of your expression manifests in the works of ink. 

I would never hurt you like her. 

 That would be pushing it, perhaps a bit too insensitive, you thought as you hastily push the paper aside; but just as your hands clutch for another paper that now prints “you deserve better,” Hoseok calls out to you from the other side. 

The boy shakes his head and points his finger at your other hand where the other accursed paper remains crumpled.“I thought there were no secrets between us,” he then sing-songs, “honesty is the best policy!”

Groaning, you grumble to yourself in disatisfaction as you quickly scribble down “you deserve better” to the original paper and reluctantly send the paper plane his way. Mentally bracing yourself for the embarrassment that was to come, your efforts are fruitless when the boy receives your secrets with grace and smiles at the paper before quickly scribbling down his own heart and sends it your way. 

and what exactly is that? 

Letting out a breathy chortle, you store the paper plane in the corner of your desk before returning your attention to the peering eyes of his, “I’ll tell you someday when the time is right... but not now.”

“Aww,” Hoseok drawls, scrunching his nose with a playful scowl. “And when would that be?” 

“Hmmm,” you mull over it for the briefest of moments, because you weren’t even sure of the answer yourself but something about the way your eyes can’t help averting to the corner of your desk where the paper plane lies enchanted by the touch of your whole world across the views of your window pane tells you it would serve a purpose in a time more pivotal than now. “I’ve complimented you too many times today. I’ll tell you when you need something to pick you up. Gotta keep that ego in check, y’know?” 

“Uhuh, and who do you think I hang out around enough to get that from?” he snorts, lips downturning and head nodding in disbelief; but when you simply shrug off his retort, the boy finally gives in with a loud huff and a plop against the window sill. He mumbles, lips partially muffled by his arms, “can I at least keep the plane, then?”

“Why?” you laugh at his genuine dejection. “It’s just a piece of paper. I can read it to you everyday, if you want.”

“Really?” Hoseok quirks a brow. The air catches your last breath and your gaze widens, taken aback by the overly eager jump in his velvety voice. Cocking to his head to the side, he flashes a tilted grin, “can I hold you to that promise?” 

“Yeah,” the words slip past your lips just as easily as your consciousness, “I would never break our promises. You know that. I’m not her.” 

“Really?” he speaks low but sure. 

Still yet sure, your gaze never dares to disconnect from that of his own dark yet shaky, for the fear of losing sight of your best friend, as if he would dissipate into sand and drift off into the winter wind and out of your life the second you turn your head, as if he had never existed in the first place, were enough to keep your every being teetering on the edge of a cliff. 

“I promise.” 

“Okay,” he smiles through his murmurs. The gentle grin that adorns his pressed lips were subtle, hidden from everyone but his world across the window panes of his bedroom, but you could tell this moment would be one etched into the memories he would relish perpetually for years to come. His eyes shift to the side and off into the distance, the way they do on the rare occasion Hoseok feigns composure in moments he could do anything but, but you swear you could catch him twinkling akin to the stars that soar above you both. 

You don’t realize how far you’ve ventured off into the blue side until the boy of your sights lies his head comfortably into his arms and flutters his eyes shut—and now you wonder: has he ever caught himself ravishing in the sights of the girl next door? 

“‘I think we should get to bed now,” you blurt to stop your thoughts in the midst of its tracks. “It’s getting late.” 

“Why not break a few rules here and there, Y/N?” Hoseok grins, keeping his eyes shut throughout his rest. “We’re on break. Is there really a curfew? Plus, we’ve talked much later than this before.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t know… what if we fall asleep and our parents caught us sitting here like this?” 

“Then let them,” he deadpans, peeping open an eye at you when baffled silence is all that he receives from you. “It’s our last time talking like this for a while, remember? C’mon, stay with me for just a while longer. Please?” 

Right—the thought dawns upon you like gray clouds looming over an otherwise starry night—you had made a deal with Hoseok for the sake of his relationship and yours. Giving in, you plop into your own arms on the window sill and make yourself comfortable for the inevitable hours that you knew were to come of moments like these. 

And you were right; because just a couple of minutes later, after a couple of times you were so sure Hoseok had drifted off into sleep and you tried to sneak off into your bedroom just to grab a snack or two only to hear him calling out for you with the utter of your name, you peep open your eyes to a sound asleep boy across from you, deep in slumber. The creases of his forehead, the knit between his brows, and the years of wear and tear and broken trust painted by the dark circles under his eyes are now merely scars of the past under your guise—but scars are scars, and you know the moment you were to look away and he was no longer under your watch, this ephemeral moment of tranquility would drift into the wind like the diel duration of daylight. 

But for now, you relish in the fact that you could resume vigilance over the boy next door. Smiling to yourself, utterly content in a moment you wish you could keep frozen in time, you watch him from afar. Heart swelling and strings tugging, you wonder to yourself aloud.

“Dumby,” you sigh with a smile on your face that mirrors those hinted by the slight upcurve of his lips, “why don’t you ever look this peaceful around her?”

-

Winter blues consume you for the following week, for the phantom of his presence are all that you’re made aware of. Because every morning, when the sun rises and its beams blind you, you’re reminded of his dazzling demeanor and that damn grin of his that has you seeing the light at the end of the darkest tunnels. Because every night, when the moon rises and a lavish sapphire hue shimmers across his skies that you couldn’t help but peak at, you can practically hear his honey-like voice rambling on about anything and everything and soothing you to a sleep that you were to awaken from with a nostalgic yearning that tugs at you for many days to come. 

For every hour, you would scan your surroundings, wondering whether your name had been called by Hoseok or Jin. 

For every minute, you would pause in the midst of your tracks, wondering if you should bring an additional one back home for Hoseok only to be snapped back into reality when Jin calls for your name. 

And for every second that you step foot into your bedroom, you would be haunted by that hauntingly beautiful night that still seems like an unattainable dream of last night, for the remnants of his greetings, grin, and wave from the comforts of his room whenever he spotted you returning home and the curtains that remained shut even when your alarm went off made you painfully aware of the gape in your heart. Snuggling in bed and gazing at the golden warmth that floods your room by those familial lights of his, you always find yourself staring off into the distance where your curtains and his dutifully shrouded the longing gaze that would have been exchanged between the two. Painfully aware of his late nights, you can’t help but wonder if he felt the same ghosts of your presence in his daily routine or if you were the only one holding onto a past he had outgrown. 

The guilt that plagues you the most, however, evidently remains in the cracks of your relationship with Jin. Every date brought you closer to the high school daydream, close enough to leave the both of you wanting more but far enough to become aware of the fork in the road. Although you can’t exactly put a finger on it, the both of you are shrewd enough to recognize the nagging feeling of an inevitable distance… it’s just that neither of you are willing to address it, particularly Jin.

But the two of you are getting along just fine—flirtatious texts, vivacious winks, and intimate moments of hand-holding and lip-locking—so how cruel would it be of you to yearn for the nights that were long gone? 

“Where do you want to go next, babe?” Jin squeezes your hand before pecking a quick kiss to your cheeks that adorns a wide grin. “Last Sunday we went to an arcade… yesterday we went to the theaters… how about hitting the rink today?”

“Ice skating?” your eyes widen at the thought, especially after experiencing flashbacks to the time you held onto the side for your dear life while watching Hoseok skating and laughing away as he had the time of his life with Jessica—and it’s almost as if the gnawing pain of your chest from that particular time transcends into present time. “I don’t know…”

“Why not? You don’t know how to skate? C’mon, I’ll teach you,” Jin chuckles at your reluctance, tugging at your hand and squeezing them firmly before a swift wink. “If you really want, I’ll even hold your hand the entire time.”

“Hey!” you gawk and slap his chest. “I just don’t have fond memories at that particular rink. It’s not like I’m trying to get you to hold my hand, you already hold them enough anyways because someone’s always so needy.”

Jin doubles over from laughing and you can’t help but follow along. He gently bumps his shoulder against yours only to close the remaining gap between the two of you and leans in to murmur, “but you know you love it.”

“...yeah,” you roll your eyes, despite the grin on your face, “whatever.” 

“So what do you say? Hm?” he nudges you persistently. “I promise I’ll replace whatever bad experience you had and make it your favorite date for as long as you can remember, okay?” 

You’ve been avoiding the skating rink for well over five years now ever since that time you had reluctantly agreed to third-wheeling with Hoseok and Jessica. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea when Hoseok had refused to leave you alone on Christmas and proceeded to paint an all-too perfect picture of his girlfriend at that time, before the two of you were aware of Jessica’s affairs, but the dirty glares she had shot you throughout the entirety of the night proved otherwise. 

Your eyes brighten at the sound of his promising proposal and you could tell Jin had recognized that from the way his eyes light up as well. Smiling to yourself, you nod and reciprocate the pinky Jin had lifted as a symbol of his promise, “I’ll hold you to that, Kim Seokjin.” 

“Leave it to me,” the boy grins and you swear the high-school-you would have swooned, “you can trust me.” 

...and to be fair, your trust is proven not to be misplaced, for the rest of the night is nearly, if not exceedingly, the ideal date you’ve always dreamt of having with the Seokjin of your grade. The euphoric flutters of your heart, the holiday spirits in the air, and his protective hands and charming half-giggle half-cackles are straight from your high school diary that was Hoseok and his lending ears. 

“What?!” you have to hush Jin when he nearly shrills. “You’ve liked me since high school and you’ve dreamed of going on this date for all these years?”

“Yeah,” you bashfully mutter under your breath, squeezing both his hands when you nearly fall backwards onto your bottom, “but scream it out any louder and I’m taking it all back.” 

“Damn,” he curses at himself, brows knitting deep in thought even as he skates backwards and guides you through the bustling crowd of couples with ease. “How did I not know? I would have asked you out if I knew—”

“—wait, you actually remembered me in high school?” your eyes widen and he lifts his gaze to meet yours with an arched brow. “And you liked me?” 

“Well,” Jin mumbles through barely parted lips, “why else would I keep your number all these years?”

“True… ah!” you yelp when you nearly slip but Jin holds firmly onto the sides of your arms. “So why did you text me after all these years?”

“I guess,” Jin’s gaze locks with yours, a surge of confidence glistening in those dark orbs of his, “I just didn’t want to wait forever until fate finally gives me an excuse to talk to you.” 

“Oh, well I’m glad you did,” you reciprocate Jin’s smile, glimpsing at the ground when something catches you off guard in the corner of your eyes, “wait, is that—”

“—what?” Jin turns around to follow your line of sight over his shoulders and at a particular girl across the rink. 

Those luscious brown locks you had once compared your own to, the small of her back where you had eyed Hoseok’s hands gliding over, and the curves of her hips where Hoseok had once drawn circles into with his thumb, you could recognize that back anywhere. The worst part of it all that has your heart sinking and your every being set ablaze: you could also recognize the street attire and broad stature of the boy next to her. 

“Is that Jessica and Joon?” you could barely maintain your composure as your strangled words escapes through gritted teeth, chest heaving uncontrollably, eyes burning and fiery, and hands curling into a fist with utter fury. Jin fruitlessly attempts to shake you awake, hands trying to catch yours once again after you had tossed his aside and began marching past him and toward the subject of your rage with all kinds of vicious thoughts in your mind. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Jessica!”

“Y/N! Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” Jin calls out to you but his voice rides the waves off somewhere in the distance, as if you were underwater; because all you can see ahead of you is a tunnel vision of her and her new love affair that happened to be another one of your worst enemies. Everything else, the curious eyes of the public and the whispers of their gossip, dissipate as you pass by them with your wrath being the sole fuel to your fire. 

The subject to your hollers whirls around with a whimsical smirk on her face and the boy beside her only furrows his brows at the sight of you. When you miraculously reach them across the rink, it takes everything in you not to land a punch square at her cocked jaw. Jessica feigns delight as she squeals, “well, if it isn't Y/N! I haven’t seen you in years!” 

“Cut your bullshit,” you deadpan, pointing a threatening finger at her and Namjoon, “Hoseok isn’t here so you can throw all the dirty glares you want, but don’t think for even a second I’ll let you get away with this.”

“With what?” she snickers, pretending to gasp when she catches you averting your darting eyes between her and Namjoon. “Oh—” she hooks her hand over Namjoon’s arm and rests her head on his shoulders “—you mean us? Didn’t Hoseok tell you? Or are you two not good ol’ best friends anymore?”

“So… you knew,” you could barely stutter from the outpouring rage that overwhelms you; because even as your nails dig into your whitening palms, teeth grit until your jaws shrill of pain from a sharp jolt, and lungs heave deep breaths in a vain attempt to slow the hammer of your chest, your heart aches from the thought of Hoseok. Your next words arrive slowly but every second of delay displays just a fraction of the indignation pent up inside you. “You knew Hoseok saw you with another guy the same night you stood him up and you never thought to even apologize to him? You’re not even… the slightest bit… sorry?”

“Sometimes better things come up and plans don’t always go through,” Jessica simply shrugs, gesturing to the boy beside her who doesn’t peep a single word. 

“Better things? You mean this guy over here?” you articulate, narrowing your eyes at his silence. “Namjoon? You know how much pain Hoseok went through because of him. You’re going to cheat on Hoseok for this guy, who blackmailed him to drop out of the dance team or else he would drop out the night before the showcase and run off and rat to you all about me and Hoseok, which he fucking did anyways? I know he told you. Hoseok told you everything and you’re taking advantage of it—”

“—why do you even care?” the boy finally intercepts and he doesn’t even budge when you shoot him a death glare. “You might be his best friend, but this isn’t really your business. Does he even listen to your advice?” 

“No, he doesn’t because he’s an idiot, but as his best friend, it’s my job to stick with him through it all,” you jab a finger at his chest, but his resistance and that unfazed look on his face only irks you further, “but you… you used to be one of his best friends too until you mishandled his trust for the sake of receiving credit for something you took little to no part in managing and adding one more fucking bulletpoint to your college resume? And now what? You’re trying to steal his girlfriend? When are you going to stop this stupid jealousy you have for Hoseok? Honestly? Fuck you, too!”

The apathetic demeanor of the boy’s finally cracks when he flinches at the reminder of his wrongdoings, but even that isn’t enough to quell the fury in you, for all you could tell yourself is that he deserves it. 

“Actually, Namjoon, baby, she has a point,” Jessica places a hand on his chest before he could speak. “You are his best friend and he’s made me obviously aware of that fact for a stupid number of times as well, so… doesn’t it beg the question: why aren’t you two together?” 

You snort exasperatedly, “what?” 

 “Think about it. Hoseok is my backup, my second option after Joon; and as you’ve said, Hoseok knows of that fact, and yet, he comes running after me every time—” she nudges an elbow into Namjoon’s side when he arches a brow at her suggestion before throwing you a smug smile having noticed the flinch in your eyes “—so why… doesn’t he just run to you? Are you not even worthy of being his second choice? And why oh why do you look so sad now after realizing the truth?”

She has a point. Why does Hoseok keep running back to her if he knew all along? Why is he willing enough to cry his heart out to you but never enough to lend his heart in the name of love? If he had done so just a year ago when you had officially given up on him, having witnessed his begrudgingly on-and-off relationship with Jessica, you would have accepted long ago—but you moved on. You’re with Jin now.

Yet why does it hurt you so to hear your deepest fears that had been buried in the back of your mind finally put into words? 

“She doesn’t look sad because she isn’t anyone’s second choice,” a familiar voice lures you back into reality but you can’t help but notice the unsettling drop in your stomach when you peer up to find Jin. “She’s my first choice and that’s all that matters, right, Y/N?”

“R-right,” your heart nearly stops when he peers down to catch your shifty eyes. 

Jin smiles smugly before returning a scowl at the opponent, “so shut the fuck up, Jessica.” 

“Ugh,” Jessica gags, rolling her eyes, “I have to say I’m surprised to see you with her, Seokjin.”

“Yeah? Does it sting to see your high school crush happily with your arch enemy?” Jin cocks his head while you and Namjoon exchange wide-eyed glances between the two of them and the exposed secret lies floating in the open air. 

“That’s so old, Seokjin. How long are you going to hold onto that? Whatever, let’s go, Joon,” Jessicia rolls her eyes, tapping on Namjoon’s arm and skating toward the rink’s exit on the side. Before you could finally let out your bated breath you had subconsciously held throughout the entire ordeal, Jessica whirls around to call out to you once more. “I was his first, Y/N. I loved him first and I was the first one he loved. Don’t forget that.” 

The rate of your heart can finally settle but it’s impossible to ignore its throbbing presence, for each of its pounds reverberate an unexplainable desperation like roots branching out from its origins and its pumps send further fury instigated by the acknowledgement of defeat across to your extremities. The last two people you ever wanted to see  both individually and together have now faded off into the distance, yet the harm they had inflicted on your state of mind remain like blood-stains on white cloth. Hands shaking uncontrollably and eyes staring intensely enough to bore a hole into the exit, you find yourself underwater once again until Jin finally grips both sides of your arms. 

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N,” Jin repeatedly calls out to you, brows furrowing when you finally return his gaze, “are you okay? What the hell was that all about—”

“—she isn’t his first,” you mutter under your breath. 

“What?” Jin scoffs, eyes never budging from yours. “What do you mean?” 

“I just—” your voice hitches when you realize the words that had slipped from your lips “—I just hate how much control she has over him and I hate watching him just let her do it! She cheats on him all the time and he knows it, and… and—”

“—and how is any of that your fault?” Jin states sternly. “You’ve told him and whether or not he listens it out of your control. You’ve done your best, Y/N… so you need to stop thinking about him all the time or at least try not to around me.”

“I know—” you sniffle, hastily wiping the tears that just won’t seem to stop regardless of how damn hard you try, for the sake of him “—I know, I-I really do try not to, Jin. I was just mad when I saw her.” 

“You made a ruckus, Y/N. You lost your composure for him, and I know he’s your best friend and I’m trying to understand, but,” he hesitates when he pauses, watching the tears stain your cheeks, “but I can’t help but wonder if you would do that for me.”

“I would, Jin!” your head shoots up when you hear the disappointment in his voice and your desperation shows through the glimmer of tears in your eyes. Your voice wavers in the midst of a sob, “I promise I won’t lose control anymore. I won’t… I won’t think about him anymore. I promise I don’t like him.”

“You promise?” Jin lifts a finger to a teardrop on your cheeks, eyeing the droplet that transfers to his skin. When you nod, he frowns. “Then why are you crying over another guy?”

“I…” you desperately forage through your scrambled mind but fail to in the mess of a state you’re in. Uncomfortable, stiff silence ensues and your heart races in suspense, staring at the floor and anything but his intent gaze that watches your every move. How could you have been so stupid? How could you not realize how much you were hurting Jin? Finally, mustering the courage to break the silence, you stammer once again, “I promise he’s just my—”

“—kiss me.”

“...what?” 

“Kiss me, Y/N,” Jin demands and you can sense an equal level of desperation when your eyes meet his. “Kiss me so that I know you don’t like Hoseok—”

—his words are interrupted by your hands that cup each side of his cheeks firmly. You have to do this to gain his trust back, you try to convince yourself. Sure, it may your first kiss and you’ve always imagined it to be shared with Hoseok, but that dream lost steam when he came home only to relish in the fact that he had shared it with Jessica. Now, to fully give up and devote yourself to your current significant other, you just have to move on. Slowly with a quivering breath, you close the distance between the two of you, lips just inches away from his when, out of the blue, you stop. 

His name, his smile, his potential reaction—you just can’t stop thinking of him. 

“Jin, I’m sorry—” but your apology is cut short when Jin presses his lips firmly to yours. 

At first you’re taken aback, too frozen to move even as his hands move to rest on your waist; but as a split second passes, your mind begins to wander. Why aren’t you happy? Why doesn’t this send your heart fluttering and your mind screaming of joy? This has always been your dream: Jin’s plush lips grazing against yours with you in his embrace. So why does his actions have your chest twisted in some sort of contortion you never knew could be done before? Didn’t you promise Jin you loved him and him only? 

Closing your eyes, you wrap your arms over his neck and anticipate for more when Jin pulls back for a second only to be left hanging in silence. The boy clutches your wrists, gently albeit undeniably a tinge of frustration in his squeeze, and removes your hands off him. Eyes opening carefully, you find him staring at something on your face when you lift a finger to touch the drips of water flowing down your cheeks. 

Horror strikes down upon you. 

“I’m sorry, Jin, it’s not what you think—”

“—no, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have forced myself on you,” he mutters, taking a step back and holding onto your hand to guide you toward the exit of the rink. 

“Jin…” you meekly call out to him while trying to stifle your sniffles. Your heart drops when he decides not to respond, even as he helps you untie your skates on the bench. “Jin, I promise I’ll figure everything out soon. I’m still angry over Jessica a-and—”

“—Y/N,” Jin utters lowly, head lowered to focus on your skates even as he speaks, “I think it’s best if we just leave it at that and head home for the night. I’ll walk you home.”

 “No,” his eyes peered up at you when you blurt, “I don’t think it would be right for me to let you do that after all I’ve done to you tonight. I can handle it on my own.” 

Or so you say; otherwise, why does your heart wrench at his lack of a rebuttal and the turning of his back as he walks off into the opposite direction when the time comes to your momentary and potentially perpetual farewell? Why does your mind linger on the sight of an empty sidewalk where he would once hold your hand on the way home, even as you’re standing before the door of your house? Why did what was supposed to be a perfect night leave you here, standing in the middle of the jet black night with winds howling and crickets chirping, feeling alone, abandoned, and forgotten? 

Hearing something shuffle from the other side of the door, you quickly hold your breath and release large, white puffs until your breathing became somewhat rhythmic to your regular composure. You then rub your cheeks of any remaining tears and fan some wind into your eyes in an attempt to soothe the probably bloodshot look of yours before opening the door and greeting the very person you were expecting to see yet so despairingly hoped otherwise.

“Wow, Y/N, you’re finally home? It’s already almost midnight,” your mother scolds, frowning at you as you remove your shoes at the front entrance. “So, who were you with?” 

Your silence evidently concerns your mother, for the crease between her brows deepens. It isn’t that you choose not to answer, it’s that you don’t think you could even say his name without bursting into a sobbing mess. 

Frowning, your mother sighs, “please don’t tell me you were with Hoseok.” 

“W-What,” you stammer before you could retract the blurted words, eyes darting to your mom, “why? What’s wrong with Hoseok?”

“That boy is a good boy, really, but…”

“But… what? You’ve always loved Hoseok.”

“Yes, and I still do,” she affirms while taking a large bite out of a cookie by the kitchen island. “I always liked him, ever since you two became close friends. Funnily, actually, his parents and I always wondered if you two had a thing for each other.”

You flinch at her confession, brows knitting, “but…?”

“But… when I heard about his on and off relationship with his ex? What was her name, Veronica? Yoona? It had something to do with an ‘a’ at the end…”

“Jessica.”

Her name still leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

“Ah, yeah! Jessica!” she snaps her fingers. “I was surprised, somewhat disappointed, really, when I heard he started dating someone else. Truthfully, I would’ve approved if you were to tell me you two were dating, but when I heard about it and how the poor boy keeps forgiving her even after how she treated him… and I’m sorry but you won’t be happy to hear this…”

“What, mom?” 

“Well,” she pauses and shrugs, taking another bite out of her cookie, “I was glad you two weren’t dating. The boy is too gullible. Yes, he’s kind, polite, and oh is he handsome, but he’s weak.” 

“He’s—” you blurt, mouth agape and at a loss for words as a familiar flame of frustration builds within you “—he’s not weak, mom. He’s understanding and he’s forgiving. He knows how to make people feel better when they’re upset and he’s always willing to listen, even when he has nothing to gain and the person has wronged them before—”

“—so, gullible—”

“—no, gentle—”

“—so, delicate.”

You can’t believe the situation you’re in. Standing in the kitchen, you with one shoe on and another off and her with a half-chomped cookie in her mouth, you’re at a standstill with your mother, arguing over the quality of your best friend slash neighbor slash family friend right next door… but for some reason, even after you had promised Jin not to, something innate within you compels you to protect Hoseok at all costs. It’s not as if you could change your mother’s mind. She just wants the best for you and you understand that; but if you were to just walk away in silence, you adamantly knew that would be an injustice to all the times Hoseok must have defended you in times when Jessica or even his parents spoke ill of you. You know he would have. You just do. And that’s what you’ve always loved about him.

“Yeah, he’s delicate,” you finally utter, removing your remaining shoe and looking directly in your mother’s eye. Climbing up the stair one by one, you speak and your words flow with ease for the first time since you had last spoken that one hazy night, “he’s delicate, he’s gentle, he’s stupid, he’s gullible, he’s understanding, and he’s too forgiving, but those are the exact reasons why he’s my best friend.”

“Hm, fair enough,” you can tell your mother has given up when she simply hums in response. “So who were you with? Are you finally dating around? Is he anything like Hoseok?” 

“...I was with a friend… and no, he’s not anything like Hoseok,” you answer truthfully. 

“So he’s not soft… do you like him…?” she tries to tiptoe in her own roundabout, cunning ways and you can’t help but sigh in defeat. 

“No, he’s not soft,” you press a smile in an attempt to evade recalling anything from tonight’s incident along with the knot in your throat before bidding her goodnight and heading up to your room. 

No, Jin isn’t soft. You wouldn’t describe him as a softie in the least bit. Is that a bad thing? Not exactly, but you did know for sure, at the very least, being a softie isn’t a bad thing… which reminds you, you had left your mother’s last question unanswered. 

Still stubborn over her slight jabs at Hoseok and guilty over your evasion of questions, you hastily jog down the first step at the top of the staircase and call out, “I like his soft side, mom,” before running back into your bedroom and closing your door behind you. 

Finally, left alone in the comforts of your room, you heave out an unsteady sigh. The tremble in your breath makes it all too apparent to you of your emotional wellbeing. Clearly, the incidents of tonight has shaken you both mentally and physically. Were you wrong for approaching Jessica? Why was Namjoon still knowingly hurting Hoseok? The image of the two snuggled up against one another pales in comparison to an image where Hoseok stood in place of Namjoon as you took their photo, a time when you had so craved to be the one in Hoseok’s arms. Still, the reminder of Jessica’s betrayal has your hands clutching in a fist. 

Should you have allowed Jin to kiss you? Were you wrong for defending your best friend? Did you go overboard? Was he rightfully jealous? And how could you hurt Jin like this without even being aware of it? Worst of all… were you becoming another Jessica? 

You don’t realize how long you’ve been standing in the dark, enveloped by the midnight blue of the night sky and the reminiscent golden warmth from across that tint your room, until your eyes have fully adjusted to the absence of light. The mundane daily routine overtakes you as you absentmindedly shuffle your feet to the side of your bed and toss your purse to the side, except tonight, you don’t have enough energy to bring yourself to change into pjs; ultimately, that might have proven to be a bad decision, for when you plop into bed with a heavy huff of a sigh, both physically and mentally exhausted, your mind begins to wade into deep water. 

His golden light floods your room per usual tonight. It isn’t much of a surprise when your eyes wander to the sheer curtains that drape over your window. At first you tried your best to avoid any reminders of your best friend, for you truly desired to invest your all into a relationship with Jin; but even the simplest thing like his favorite snack at a candy store or a pair of sneakers that you knew he would have loved to add to his collection were enough to lure you back to that tranquil night where you could watch him drift to sleep underneath the bedazzled sky. Your heart tugs and your chest aches each and every time you’re reminded of what you used to have and what you could no longer have—and the warmth of his lights that completes the last jigsaw of home is the most haunting gape of them all. 

His lights stream through your curtains and just barely illuminate your mini-skirt and black tights. Your gaze alternates between the window and your outfit. Once, twice, then you’re caught in a tortuous cycle between the conundrum of wanting to sleep your burdens away and giving up because the flashbacks of tonight’s incident seems to play akin to a looped tape with no end. Slowly then anxiously, your breathing becomes uneven and the phantom of an earlier cold sweat dawns upon you as you’re faced with another daunting decision. 

Should you tell Hoseok about Jessica tonight? 

No, you probably shouldn’t. You two haven’t spoken in well over a week now, so it would have been odd to spring this on him, right? Well, he is your best friend and nothing should have changed in this short time span—at least you two promised nothing would change—so maybe it would be a breach of trust if you were to omit him from a critical piece regarding someone he loves… but would it really do him anything? From what you’ve seen in the past, his ex brought him nothing but pain. Maybe, just maybe, this time the right role for you is to shield him from the inevitable agony and champion ignorance in exchange for bliss. 

The remnants of your tears creep upon you as your sniffles steadily mark its return in your unsteady breaths. The bed creaks from under you as you force yourself onto your feet and toward your desk for some tissues—maybe that, too, was a bad decision, because as you’re busy blowing your nose and fruitlessly fixing your composure, something compels you to peer at the window. Even with the boundary of walls, curtains, and unspoken words between you and him, you can still envision everything just as they are. Him, in his olive green sweater that you wore oversized after he had so insisted you to borrow on a cold winter walk home from school, sitting by his mahogany desk and composing whatever beat he was onto tonight, sometimes even getting up to dance until his mother would yell at him to stop the ruckus—and perhaps, occasionally, you hope he would secretly peer up to gaze at your side with a longing smile, as well. 

Something about your best friend next door just draws you in. It’s always been like that since you first met him as a child. You were enraptured by his ravishing mien, too dazzling to look away, and it remains irrevocably so. That’s right. With the remnants of Jin’s touch on your lips and this nostalgic downcast of your chest, you’re taken back to a time when you had loved him so; because as you’re allured by his golden light, you’re reminded of the time when you once peered out the window and burned with jealousy and longing, wishing that if he had already shared his first love, his first kiss, with her, then at least you could share yours with him. 

But after tonight, those childhood dreams are officially a thing of the past… and you’re too numb to know how to feel—

—knock, knock. 

You yelp in the midst of a hitch in your sniffles when a series of knocks bumps against your window pane and you catch the sight of a broom’s handle outside. Eyes widening, your mind scrambles but your body remains frozen. That could only be one person and he isn’t exactly the person you’ve been expecting nor wanting to see at the moment. Caught in the moment, you hastily rub any signs of tonight from your cheeks and waft some air into your bloodshot eyes. 

One deep breath in, one deep breath out. 

Drawing open the curtains and opening your windows, you muster all the courage you can to feign a smile eager to greet her best friend. “I thought you said we should take a break, Hoseok. Did you miss me alr—” but your sentence falls short, for when your gaze lift to meet his, you can read nothing but concern and a hint of fleeting surprise intermixed with a firm confirmation of his suspicions. 

Eyes unwavering and affixed to the lock with yours, he murmurs, “what happened?” 

“I-I, what—” you stumble because how… just how did he know  “—what do you mean?”

Hoseok doesn’t speak because he doesn’t have to. Instead, he waits patiently. Eyes attentive and all-ears, his every being remains securely affixed to you. A chilly breeze brushes by, tousling his hair and brushing his bangs just slightly over his vision, as does yours, shrouding the invisible boundary between his side and yours, if only momentarily. He has a way with things, a way with you; because it’s almost as if the cap to your jar has just been eased open, just as the comfort of his presence, of him, always manages to do. 

That look of his tells you he wouldn’t want you to hide anything from him… and you know that, you just know.

“It’s… it’s not a big deal,” you mumble, pausing for a second as your eyes avert to the side and back at him again. “I saw Jessica today. With Joon.” You wait for a reaction, for an indication that it’s okay for you to continue, and you receive your answer in the lack of an expression. Blank and unfazed, Hoseok simply blinks, waiting for you continue to the important details as to why you were crying and not why he should be. So you continue, but not before a sigh, “I was mad. I was so infuriated with her and I hated her for hurting you, so I argued with her in front of Jin. Jin, he… he didn’t like it. I was so upset that I started crying before I even knew it, and he didn’t like it.”

“He didn’t like seeing you cry…?” Hoseok speaks low and slowly, a growing fury manifesting in the crease between his brows. 

The sight of his anger is all too mirroring of Jin’s. 

“He didn’t like seeing me cry over you,” you correct. “He… he wanted me to kiss him, to prove that I liked him and not you. So I did. Well, maybe he did.”

Hoseok’s eyes widen, knowing fully well how long you had waited and fantasized to him for the perfect moment for your first kiss, but you’re tired. You’ve replayed the moment enough times in your mind. You don’t really want to explain anymore. 

Hoseok’s jaw protrudes as he grits his teeth and he curls his hands into a fist until you could see the veins in his neck that branches out from underneath that green sweater of his. His mind must have been rummaging over a thousand ways to murder Jin at this moment. 

But you just want some comfort. 

“I don’t really blame him, though. It’s not entirely his fault. I’m not even sure why I cried. I guess I was really upset with Jess—” Hoseok’s phone rings and you clamp your mouth shut like you always have when his ex texted him “—it’s okay, you can answer them first.”

Glancing down at his phone, Hoseok seemingly stares at the screen. As hard as you tried, it’s impossible to read the expressions that flashes through his eyes in a split second. Finally, he punches a few buttons before tossing his phone to the side and looking up at you with conviction. 

“I’ll be right back, Y/N,” he utters firmly, getting up from his seat as your eyes follow him every inch. “Wait for me.” 

“Sure,” you don’t even get to say to him, for he was up and gone in the blink of an eye. 

There he goes, running back to her as he always does, except this time it hurt you more than ever before. He had never interrupted you in the midst of a conversation. You’ve always wondered who he would have prioritized first between you and Jessica, and while you always knew it would be his girlfriend over his best friend, a part of you helplessly held onto the hope that maybe the many years of friendship meant more than a relationship founded upon crumbling loyalty. 

Maybe this would be the last straw. Maybe your mother was right. Something tells you that if he weren’t to return within the next minute, you could no longer forgive him for putting you and him through all this pain that he just never seems to learn from. 

You just want a hug. 

“Hoseok?” you hear your mother gasp from the kitchen downstairs. Whirling around, you stare at your door with a confused frown on your face. “What’re you doing here so late, boy?” 

“Sorry, Ms. Y/L/N, I’ll be leaving really soon,” he says firmly, his footsteps creaking up on the staircase. “I have something important to do.” 

You can’t believe what’s happening. Is this all a dream? Are you hallucinating? Are you really that desperate to have him by your side? 

What does that say about how you truly felt for Hoseok?

“Y/N?” Hoseok knocks gently on your door. “I’m coming in, okay?” 

You don’t even get to answer nor move, as if you could, before the boy opens the door and shuts it behind him, enclosing the two of you in the same room for the first time in over half a year. Silence surrounds the air for a long minute and you still can’t surmise the physical, tangible presence of him standing here before you in your room. Perhaps he felt the same as well, for he finally found an excuse to meet the girl next door but the midnight rendezvous was all too surreal for him to believe. 

Finally, he shifts. 

Step by step, each seemingly slower and its distance from your affixed spot seemingly prolonged by the second, he approaches you; but when he finally stands within an arm’s length from you, his eyes never budging from yours, his arms reaches for you to pull you securely into his embrace. 

The side of your head thumps against his chest and your chest and hands fall perfectly against his abdomen. You don’t realize your position until your eyes widen by an enveloped scent of him, one nostalgic enough for you reminisce over the nights you had spent in his clean laundry scented room mixed with a tint of him. Here you are, standing in your room with his arms wrapped over you protectively and a hand placed over the back of your head to keep you within his vicinity where he is sure to keep you safe and away from the world’s greatest danger; and when your hands hesitantly part, wrapping around his waist and meeting once again behind his back, you accept his offer. 

At long last, comfort belonged in the arms of Jung Hoseok—and if you could, and as selfish as it would be, you wouldn’t be disinclined to stay like this in perpetuity. 

“See?” Hoseok murmurs before he pulls away to tuck a lock of your hair behind an ear. “Didn’t I tell you only I could handle a crybaby like you? Silly girl.”

“Don’t you have something important to attend to?” you frown, even as he cups your cheeks in his hands and swipes a thumb under your eyes where the ghosts of your tears stain your skin. 

“What’s more important than my crying best friend?” he chuckles, peering down at you and your helpless state. 

This is how you envisioned it to be. Your first kiss. In your bedroom. With your first love. This is how your first kiss should’ve been—sparks flying, blood electrified, and heart jolting. Seconds, perhaps even minutes, pass by as the two of you watch the other through the windows to your soul, drowning in the depths of each other’s oceans and so desperately trying to retain the distance between you two over the fear of the unknown and a commitment that tethered the both of your hearts to others; but as you hold his lower half tightly to yours and as he cups your cheeks in his hold, leaning in ever so slightly, the two pairs of lips that seemed destined to touch could never come to be. 

You made a promise to Jin. 

Your lips touched Jins just hours before. 

Flinching from the thoughts that flash through your mind, you break apart from the hold but never failing to notice the sudden switch in his eyes right before you had come to your senses. Maybe he, too, realized the gravity of the atmosphere. Maybe he no longer finds you worthwhile, knowing your lips had touched others on the same night of this rendezvous. Maybe he, too, remains tethered by the chains leading to his own first love. 

It would have made perfect sense, really, but it still pains you so. 

“You should go,” your voice cracks as you turn your back on him and gesture toward the door. “I don’t think my mom likes having you here in my room.”

“Why not?” you hear Hoseok utter, watching his unmoving moonlit shadow on your floor. 

“Because…” your mind scrambles to find another reason that would hurt him less yet justified enough to convince him to leave, but alas, you find none. “Because she knows about you and Jessica. She thinks you wouldn’t be a good fit for me… not that it really matters... she doesn’t understand that we’re just friends—”

—a soft gasp of air leaves your lips when you feel his chest pressed against your back and he brings you in even closer with the wrap of his arm over your chest, just seconds before you caught wind of his two, wide confident strides from behind. 

“Can’t we just stay like this? For a little while longer,” he asks, his lips and velvety voice just barely grazing over your right ear, “even if just as friends.”

Just as friends. The words echo in your mind just as Jessica’s last remarks had. Were you really okay with being his second resort? Hesitantly, you nod. At some point in time, you find yourself whirled around to rest in his arms face-to-face and place your ear comfortably against his chest where you could hear his heart beating in syncopation to yours. 

“I’m sorry, Hoseok,” your voice is muffled by his sweater, “I tried to convince her that she just didn’t understand you. I tried to defend you.” 

“No, no,” he shakes his head before resting it on top of yours once again. “She’s right. I need to do better.” 

Slow, calm, serene—akin to a meandering river settling into stillness, its riffles steadying and its ripples settling, the withdrawing distortion of the moon’s reflection and the clearing of the hazy, gray clouds looming above the night sky draw the curtains open to reveal the dazzling radiance of a full moon…

“I promise I’ll do better.”

...and your heart reaches an epiphany, for it now knows exactly who to call home.

-

Alas, Christmas has finally arrived on one of the coldest evenings of the month. Standing in front of your mirror, you glance over your outfit just one last time. Something about dressing well for Jin tonight leaves a bittersweet taste in your mouth. Jin had apologized to you both through text and in person, seeking you out from home and even managing to convince your mother of his worthiness, and the two of you reconciled in the past week, despite your intentions for tonight; because even if you and Hoseok had not spoken at all since last week and your heart aches at the thought of what you were to do tonight, your resolution remains firm.

“Hey, Y/N, catch this.” 

You gaze darts to the window and you frown in utmost concern over your mental state, having just hallucinated Hoseok’s voice. 

“3…”

“2…”

“1…”

Maybe your physical state needs to be checked up on, too, because your body follows along to your mind’s hallucinations and makes a leap for the window as the countdown approaches its end. Just as you spring open the windows only to meet a closed window and drawn curtains from across, you hear something scratch against your window and feel its bump against the pane before disappearing into the distance somewhere far below. 

Something really has been messing with you this break, you let out a distressed sigh, maybe this truly is for the better. 

The rest of the night goes by just as you had planned—perfectly. Jin laughs the night away and you do, too, because if it weren’t for what you were about to do, the date truly would have been perfect. You two had your differences, but he’s evidently willing enough to persevere and you would have been, too… if everything had fallen in line a year earlier when you could have really given him your all. 

Peering up, Jin catches your stare and flashes the widest grin he has in a long while. It hurt you to know you would soon be the cause of its demise, but  if tonight has given him a smile this radiant, then you know it would be the best for him in the long run—maybe not for you, but for him. 

“Hey, you cold?” 

“No, no, I’m fine, it’s okay!” you blurt a series of no’s before reluctantly letting him drape his black leather jacket over your shoulders and failing to stifle the sigh that escapes your lips from the newfound warmth. 

Jin muses, “see, you’re secretly glad I gave you my jacket, huh?”

“...yeah,” you meekly answer, the guilt plaguing your mind, “I’ll hand it back to you at the end of the night.”

“No, you can keep it,” he eagerly insists, the smile of his aching your heart all the more. “It’ll give me another excuse to see you next time.”

He doesn’t know it now, but would there even be a next time?

Buzz. 

“Are you gonna check your phone or are you gonna keep staring?” Jin cackles at the way you literally jump back into reality. 

“Oh, that’s my phone?” you mumble to yourself as you grab your phone out from your back pocket. “I don’t know who would be texting me—”

cheating hoe [10:33 P.M.] Y/N what the fuck did you say to hobi? he isn’t answering any of my texts or calls and he never does that.

“—ugh.”

“Who is it?” Jin quirks a quizzical brow. 

“Some rat,” you spit as you angrily text away, but something in you finds the news unsettling. Did Hoseok really finally cut her off? 

 You [10:34 P.M.] serves you right 

“Oh,” Jin frowns, “why is Jessica texting you?” 

You would have answered if it weren’t for the following text glaring from your blinding phone screen, wiping the smug grin of yours off your face. 

cheating hoe [10:35 P.M.] i’m asking because he invited me over to his house tonight, btw. 

“God, she really knows how to get on my nerves,” you hiss under your breath, but the worry plastered across your face is evident enough for Jin to frown in concern. Did Hoseok really invite her over? After what happened that night between you and him? Did it mean anything to him or are you truly the only one looking into something that doesn’t exist? The most pressing worry for you, however, is the thought of Hoseok setting out to get his heart broken again. 

Jin trudges forward, “what is it, Y/N?” 

“Jessica,” you cross your arms with a puff of white leaving your lips, “she said Hoseok invited her over to his house but hasn’t been answering her texts lately.” 

“How does that make any sense…?” Jin furrows his brows just as you do. “Are you sure Jessica isn’t just trying to piss you off? Maybe Hoseok has been texting her but she just needs something to start a fight over.”

“Or maybe,” you frown at Jin, “Hoseok didn’t invite her to his house?”

“It’s more likely to be the former. Didn’t you say Hoseok has an on-and-off relationship with her?” Jin retorts defensively. The flicker of hurt and betrayal that flashes through his eyes tug at your strings, even as he knowingly pursues to push your buttons right where it hurt the most. “It’s been weeks, Y/N! I thought you said you would figure yourself out. Why do I feel like all we do is argue over Hoseok?”

“I don’t know,” you grumble, looking off to the side. “Maybe you’re just insecure.” 

That was too far and even you know it. 

“What?” Jin nearly growls.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly mumble before peering up to meet the burning fury in his gaze. “I’m sorry, Jin. I didn’t mean to say that.” 

Nonetheless, he persists, “no, let’s play with that thought. If I’m insecure, then what the hell is Hoseok? At least I have enough respect for myself. At least I don’t go running  like a dog after a woman who sleeps around with other guys just to fuck with my heart—”

“—don’t fucking compare Hoseok to a dog,” you snap, raising a threatening finger at Jin to silence him. “And don’t you dare utter another word about Hoseok again.”

“Or what?” Jin scoffs. 

“...or I don’t think we can work,” you hesitate to say as a knot ties in your throat, especially when you notice the softening of his eyes and the crestfallen transition between rage into a broken heart. “Actually, maybe it’s best if… if we just end this here.”

“W-what?” you hear him stammer for the first time. He steps forward, contemplating whether to take your hand in his. He does not. “Is it because of what I just said about Hoseok? I’m sorry, Y/N. I was just mad. You have to understand where I’m coming from, though.”

“I know, Jin,” you can’t stand looking at those begging eyes of his. “I shouldn’t have called you out like that, either. It doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong.”

“Then can’t we just apologize and move on Like we did before?”

“No, Jin. You deserve better. You’re right, I haven’t given you my all and I don’t think I can at this point—”

“—I’ll wait for you,” he pleas. 

“Jin, stop, please,” you beg, finally lifting your gaze only to wince at the defeated look he’s giving you. “I don’t want to do this either.”

A momentary silence follows, the tension has you both on the edge of your seats. 

“Can I at least walk you home…?”

That would only hurt even more—so you shake your head. 

“...okay,” Jin finally says, hands clutching into a fist. “Fine.”

And that’s all you can recall from your last conversation with your boyfriend, or rather your ex, as you take the long way back home. Sighing to yourself, you cross your arms over your chest and tilt your head back to stare longingly at the blue sky bejeweled by countless balls of sparkling fire. It seems like not even the skies pity you. Your heavy breaths paint the air in clouds of white, your whispers counting each step you take forward. 

One hundred sixty six... 

You’ve been dreaming of this relationship with Jin for so long, so how foolish is it of you to give it up so easily? Over a dumb childhood crush who obviously sees you as nothing more?  

One hundred sixty seven... one hundred sixty eight…

Not to mention, if Jessica really was telling the truth, then maybe you really are nothing more than a second choice, a last resort. The near kiss that one night must have been driven by his primitive instincts. Maybe Hoseok was right when he warned you, for he, too, must have been controlled by lust. 

Drowned in your thoughts, you finally arrive at the spot where you and Jin had once stood. The paper in your pocket remains folded, nearly crumpled by the subconscious fiddling you subjected it to on the way home. Taking a deep breath and swallowing all the possible magical stardust you could muster, you stride towards the front door and knock with your last bit of courage. 

It’s about time for you to wake from this dreadfully long interlude between a daydream and a nightmare. 

“Y/N?” Hoseok’s father answers the door, surprised. “What’re you doing here?” 

“Hi, Mr. Jung,” you do your best to smile. “Is Hoseok home?” 

“He just left a minute ago,” he replies, blinking blankly in confusion. “He should be back in five minutes or so. Did you need him for something? Why don’t you come in and wait—”

“—oh, no!” you blurt a little louder than expected. Clutching the paper in your pocket, you continue, “um, I actually just wanted to return something he lent me. I need to get going right after that.” 

“Oh,” he nods, probably still grasping absolutely nothing from the conversation even as he welcomes you into his house, “okay, feel free to drop by his room.” 

It’s a bit cruel how our eyes play tricks on us; because even as you step foot into his room, expecting a complete shift in the world of your eyes in the territory of a world you always yearned to be a part of, you’re simply invited to a mirror of your own. Right across his windows, you could see a fragment of your room. Funny, he left his curtains drawn open tonight, as did you. The absent glow of his room accentuates the blue hues that flood his room through the windows tonight. Piled boxes clutters one side of his room next to his closet and you foolishly worry if he’s packing to move or if he has finally decided to organize his room a bit. It’s almost as if you’re in your own room, with the exception that you’re enveloped by the comforting scent of him. 

Reaching into your pockets where the paper airplane lies patiently, you place your heart onto his desk, where a beam of moonlight strikes perfectly onto his desk and illuminates the three bashful words you had written and had you beet red. Quickly turning around before you could take it all back, you wander farther into his room, clearly allured by his scent which leads you to his bedside. 

Oh, there’s your favorite olive green sweater of his from that one night. 

You don’t realize it until you’re reaching for the sweater and a leather sleeve drapes over your hand that you notice Jin had left his jacket with you, just as he had left an imprint on you. Smiling fondly to the jacket, you remove it from over your shoulders and carefully fold it onto the bed before exchanging it for the sweater. 

How would the sweater fit on you now, you wonder. 

Normally, your sane mind would have convinced you to shake your head and drop the sweater right then and there; but tonight, having prepared your heart and secrets out on the floor for him to see, you figure this would be your last chance to feel his embrace again. You can barely see your reflection in his mirror,  but the barely moonlit silhouette is enough for you to see the beaming smile that adorns your lips as you twirl around in his sweater that you wear oversized. His scent, his embrace, it all brings you in the comforts of home—when, out of the blue, you hear from downstairs creak open. 

“Hoseok, baby,” you’re struck frozen at the shrills of her voice, “you haven’t invited me over in so long.” 

So Hoseok really did invite her over, after all. 

The horrified thought dawns upon you and you can see the pure look of terror in your eyes through the mirror. Here you are, prancing around in a sweater of a boy whose heart remains tied to another girl other than you. Foolish, ashamed, dejected—they all crash into one as you curse yourself for being so dumb. 

How embarrassing could you be? 

The gnawing of your chest remains equally prevalent even as panic settles over the thought of the two catching you red handed. Hastily, you discard yourself of the sweater, toss it over his bed, and scan the room for an escape. Closet? No, knowing Jessica, she would look through all his belongings. Hide in the boxes? No, they’re too full and there’s no way you could fit in them. Under his desk? Well, that’s just plain dumb. Window…? It really is your only option. 

Opening his window as quietly as you could, you peak through to barely catch sight of Hoseok standing by his door and Jessica crossing her arms as the two conversed. You can’t exactly hear their conversation through the hammering sounds of your heart against your chest that’s just about ready to burst. Setting your sights straight, you sigh in relief at the window you had conveniently left open earlier tonight. 

The distance between his window and yours has never been that far—perhaps two arms length apart at most. The two of you had always pondered the possibility of sneaking over to the other side when you were children, but neither of you were brave enough to really solidify the theory. Now, several feet taller and many years dumber, you shut your eyes and brace yourself for what could very well be the end of you. It’s either you die by sheer embarrassment or by the endless hours of lecture your parents would put you under at the hospital… you choose the latter. 

Shutting your eyes, you take a deep breath in and out. The crisp, fresh night air freezes your filled lungs. Your head snaps back when you hear some footsteps approaching the stairs and your heart pumps fear intermixed with adrenaline into your bloodstream. You pace back and forth on the balls of your feet, eyeing your window sill that seems to grow in distance with each passing second. 

It’s now or never. 

Taking a literal leap of faith, you launch yourself into the air as your body free-falls for a split second before your hands collapse onto a cold, hard cement—and you hold on, damn it, you hold on for dear life. Miraculously, you discover you’ve survived the jump when you glimpse around your surroundings to find you half-suspended in the air. You have to hurry, you repeat to yourself throughout your heavy pants for air. Your feet quickly get to work, pedaling against the walls to finally propel you into the opening of your windows and collapsing face-first into your room. 

Your body aches and every inch of you throbs in a screaming pain, but you’ve also never felt so alive. Scrambling to your chair and patting down any dirt on your clothes and disheveled hair, you feign a composure akin to any other night where he would possibly find you seated by your desk and scrolling through the interwebs. The several attempts to stifle your panting and slow your heart rate only proves to be in vain, for your eyes continue to peek over your window as they observe Hoseok carrying the brown boxes in and out of his room. Luckily for you, he must have been too preoccupied by whatever he’s doing to his dwindling number of boxes to notice your peering gaze. 

Finally, the number of boxes reach a grand total of zero and you find yourself seated by your desk and window across the boy who also sits affixed to his desk right next door. His lights are on, as are yours, and you can feel the warmth that radiates in the winter night. He’s humming away and you’re scrolling away, albeit stealing a few glances here and there. 

It’s almost as if time has rewound to the start of break and absolutely nothing has changed between the two of you… almost.

“Oh? I don’t remember leaving my window open,” your heart freezes when you hear Hoseok shuffling to his windowside and announcing loudly into the night. He catches your fleeting glimpse and smiles widely with a slight cock of his head, “oh? Yours is too?”

“Whaaat…?” you drawl, faking a nervous laugh as you swivel your chair to the window. Standing to your feet, you reach for your windows, “I don’t remember leaving them open, hahah. I must be getting old, y’know.” 

“I must be best friends with a granny, then,” Hoseok chuckles and you freeze further in place when he beckons for you to keep your windows open. “So, how was your first Christmas date with Jin, Grandma Y/N? If your memory still serves you, that is.” 

“Hey, if I’m granny,” you retort, “then you’re a grandpa, because there’s no way in hell I’m not dragging you along with me.”

“Hey,” Hoseok raises his hands, “that’s been the plan all along.” 

“...you’re weird as hell,” you finally grumble after a brief second of being at a loss for words. Sighing, you lean into your hands with an elbow propped against the sill. “It was fine, I guess.” 

“You guess?” 

A stagnant silence follows just as an ephemeral breeze passes by. 

“Well… we broke up. And before you go storming off on a hunt, I was the one who broke it off. ” 

“Oh,” he utters, blinking blankly before brows creasing, “wait, what? Why? You’ve been gushing over him for all these years—”

“—yes, but,” you contemplate whether to go for it now, “it… just didn’t work out. We weren’t a great match.”

“Oh... sorry to hear that,” he prims and you just shrug. Now, it’s his turn to sigh as he leans his head against the side of his window. “Welp, I guess that makes the two of us.” 

“Huh?” 

“Yep,” he nods his head, intently watching your eyes pop at the news. “I called her over tonight and handed her everything she left in my room.”

Oh, so that’s what the boxes were for. Technically, Jessica wasn’t lying. She was just omitting a part of the truth. 

“You know she texted me.”

“What?” he narrows his eyes at you. “Why? And I thought you would have blocked her number by now?”

“No,” you purse your lips. “I wanted to keep a record of all her blackmailing in case it ever came in handy. Guess I don’t have to anymore.”

“That’s…” he laughs to himself, “that’s definitely something you would do.”

You shrug, “she told me you called her over but ignored all of her other texts.” 

“Tsk, if I knew she was bothering you, I would have scolded her one last time,” he frowns, but the downturn of his lips is overridden by the grin incited by that of your own. How could you not smile at the sound of that? “It’s been long overdue that I finally took your advice and respected myself a bit more. I guess I didn’t want to give her the time of day and wanted to get this all over with. Not gonna lie, it was pretty damn hard for me to finally let go, but when I considered how much I had to lose, it really wasn’t all that hard.”

“What do you mean ‘nothing to lose?’” you snort. “You literally had nothing to lose, Hoseok. She was shit to you.” 

“No, I meant I had someone else to lose,” his cackles are like melodies to your ears. 

“Someone…? Like who?”

“Mm,” he hums, gaze averting to the sky before returning to you, “just some silly friend.”

So you’re not even his second choice. You’re his third. Maybe even last.

“Wow,” you gawk, “I thought we had no secrets between us.”

“Hey, I gave you a chance today but you decided to go out on your little date with the Kim Seokjin,” Hoseok shrugs, chortling at the scowl on your face. 

“Well,” you don’t manage to conceal your smile any longer, “at least you look happier than you’ve ever been in a long time. I’m sorry that you lost her, actually I’m just sorry you wasted so much time on her, but honestly, I know you’ll be a lot better from here on out.” 

“Yeah? You think so?” he quirks a brow and strokes his chin, eyes blank and staring off elsewhere. As much as it pains you to admit, you know those years must have meant something to Hoseok. Jin had left his own marks on you, both bad and good, but when you really think about it, sometimes the good overshadows the bad. In Hoseok’s case, his several years long relationship must hold monumentally more weight than your brief time with Jin. “Thanks, Y/N.”

“Hm?” you have to shake your head back into reality. “Thanks for what? For dissing your ex?”

“Thanks for always being there for me,” he presses a lopsided grin, “for keeping your promise.” 

Did your heart just flutter? It must have—and dangerously so. He must not have read your paper plane yet. He must not know of his impact on you. His every smile, his every word, and his every movement, you drink it all up like the helpless child you’ve always been. 

“Yeah, sure,”  you mutter under your breath, avoiding his watchful gaze. He smiles at you endearingly, even as your shifty eyes bashfully flicker between the stars of the galaxy and the crescent-shaped eyes of your own star. A brief, comfortable silence blows with the wind and a surge in your confidence departs just as quickly as it arrives. “About that kiss, Hoseok…”

The boy raises his brows, eyes widening at the reference—it’s the most fazed reaction you’ve ever witnessed from him. With fluttered blinks and a gaping mouth, he stiffens, “I-I actually have a—” cough “—cold. I probably shouldn’t talk much.” Cough. 

“O-Oh,” the tone of your voice reflects the sudden downcast of your mood. You really are too insensitive. He had just broken up with his girlfriend and now you’re reminding him of that time he almost cheated on her for you? At this point, you’re ruining any chances you ever had with him, if it even existed. “I’m sorry. Yeah... you should rest. Talk to you later.” 

Nodding, the boy quickly dips his head before disappearing behind the wall by the window sill. Well, as if the night could not get any worse, now there really is no way for him not to notice the paper plane on his desk. How is he going to respond to your message? Especially after that insensitive comment from you? 

Hours seem to drag by. The silence nearly deafens you, for all you could hear is the sound of his keyboard and the crickets chirping outside along with an annoying ring in your ear. The two of you sit, walls apart but side by side, resuming your daily routines together but not exactly. Did he read your message yet? Even worse, is he choosing not to for the sake of preserving your already shattered state of mind? It isn’t until you take notice of the ticks of your manual clock that you’re reminded of the daily alarm you set up on your digital one. 

11:59 P.M.

Oh, shit. 

12:00 A.M.

Ring—your hand slams the clock much harder than necessary, possibly even smashing it to the point of no return. You had managed to stop it just a split second after it had rung, Hoseok couldn’t have possibly caught on with those headphones of his, could he? Hands covering your ducking head, you shut your eyes as you wait for your impending doom—possibly one of the worst decisions you’ve made, for every bit of your attention now shifts to every sound coming from across his room. 

A series of paper crinkling. 

A soft chuckle. 

A nervous breath in and out. 

A pen scribbling onto a piece of paper. 

More crinkling, somewhat like paper folding. 

Ouch—something sharp jabs the side of your head. 

Lifting your head, you stare at the familiar paper plane that should have been lying on his desk. Your heart races, each and every one of its pump thumping against your chest, and you can’t bring yourself to move. 

and what exactly is that? 

Slowly, inch by inch, you unfold the rest of the paper plane under his familiar handwriting. Sheer embarrassment overtakes you when your eyes skim over your own handwriting. 

you deserve me. 

What reads under your words, however, has your eyes turning to meet the gaze belonging to the boy next door. 

i’ve missed you

Another plane comes flying into your room. 

i want to hold you

...and another

i want to hug you

...and another

i could do better than jin anyone

Biting your bottom lip, you try to suppress the incoming wave of… relief? Resolution? Euphoria? It doesn’t really matter because the second you lift your gaze to meet his, you find yourself struggling to decipher the less readable expression of his. 

Sincere, soft, delicate, as if holding the whole world in his eyes, he murmurs, “is that okay?” 

“Psh,” you let out a breath of disbelief, because are you sure you’re not dreaming? “I won’t believe it until you say it to my face.” 

Hoseok gapes at your reply, a crooked grin spreading across his lips as he quirks a challenging brow, “oh, don’t make me come over there.” 

“And how exactly are you going to do that—” your words are cut short and you gasp when you see him replicating the exact reckless antics you had pulled off just moments before “—wait, wait, Hoseok, careful—”

“—catch me if you can!” Hoseok exclaims before climbing to your window sill and jumping down into your bedroom and into your open arms. A loud thump reverberates across the bedroom, the floor vibrating underneath your feet and his. His momentum has you pacing several steps back but his arms wrapped securely around your waist just in time to whirl you around and have his back face the soft impact against the wall beside your bedroom door instead. “There,” he huffs, “just like how you did it.” 

Panting and heaving for air, you breathing in him and him breathing in you, you two exchange bewildered glances all the while burning more alive than ever. A high of thrill runs through your veins as does his own that protrudes from his neck and runs along his arms from under his yellow tee. You feel yourself practically melt in his hold and intent gaze. His utter attention devoted to his girl and your every ounce of love exuding from your own eyes. Smiles stretch from ear to ear and the two of you share a fit of muffled giggles; and when he leans down in pursuit for your lips—you put a finger between his lips and yours.

“I thought you said you were sick,” you quip. 

Scoffing at your remark, he retorts smugly, “I lied,” before squeezing your hips and pulling you in closer to finally latch his lips to yours. 

It all perfectly makes sense. Like the last jigsaw to your puzzle, his lips fit you like a lock and a key designed and fated for one another. You pull away and he leans in, he pulls away and you lean in. He kisses you gently, softly, but with enough want and eagerness for exploration that you know he wants this—that he wants you. Maybe this isn’t the perfect first kiss that you had imagined, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t perfect because it’s undeniably perfect. 

And when the two of you finally pull away from your latch onto each other, his chest heaving for air as does yours, he hastily picks you up and sets you onto your drawer with utmost ease, almost as if he’s done it a thousand times. You giggle at his hurry, as if he had no time in the world and all the time to lose, aiding him in removing the remaining articles between you and him. Raising your arms over your head, he slips his hands under your shirt and pulls it off, the grazing tips of his fingers sending tingles from both sides of your hips up to the wires of your bra. 

Wrapping your legs around his hips and pulling him in closer until his crotch hit yours, you laugh along with Hoseok’s chuckles. Your hands slip under his shirt, palms against his rock-hard abdomen and sliding up to his chest and around over his neck as he discards his shirt. To your surprise, you nearly yelp when he tosses his shirt at your face and you catch a whiff of his scent. 

“What’re you doing?” 

“You can have this shirt if you want,” he smirks at the way your cheeks burn red, “just don’t ever wear another guy’s jacket again and don’t ever leave it in my room.”

Rolling your eyes and placing a hand on his shoulder while hooking another around his neck, you roughly pull him back into you for another kiss and he groans in approval. 

“Y/N!” 

The both of you freeze, eyes shooting open in panic when your mother’s calls echoes from afar. 

“Are you okay?” 

Her footsteps shuffle across the hallway and you slap Hoseok’s chest, beckoning for him to figure something out. He chuckles at your panic—and you slap him again—before lifting you off the drawer and making his way toward your bed. 

“What’re you doing?” you hiss when he plops you onto the bed and he climbs over you on all four. In a desperate attempt to stop your mom’s approach, you call out, “yeah, I’m fine!”  

“You wanted me to figure something out, right?” he chortles in the midst of panting. Without warning, he latches his lips to your throat and you have to cover your mouth to stifle the lewd mewl that escapes you. Hoseok then lifts his lips to your left ear, muttering, voice raspy and dripping of desire, “I’ve been waiting for this all week. I’m not letting your parents ruin it.”

“Hoseok!” you gasp, laughing in disbelief at the crooked grin of his. “I can’t believe you right now!”

“Really?” she stops, probably right before her bedroom across the hall. “Are you sure?” 

“As much as I respect her, she’s your mom,” he chortles, leaning in to finish the painting on your neck. “Figure something out.” 

“Yeah, mom!” you attempt to lift yourself up to call out to her only to be pushed back down into your bed by Hoseok, inciting an amused laugh from him. Cupping his cheeks in one hand until his lips pursed and he had no choice but to pause, you give one last bidding, all while staring him down. “Don’t worry, I just slipped in the shower! Go back to sleep!” 

The two of you remain utterly still—although Hoseok not really so, for you have to squeeze his cheeks several times to stop him from diving right back in—until your mother finally closes her bedroom door. You let out a breath of relief, scowling at Hoseok as he only chuckles at you; but the scowl is only temporary, because as you lie on your bed, held in between his arms and peering up at the devilish grin of his, you can’t help but relish in the surrealism of it all. Even as your hand lifts to brush a strand of his chestnut locks out from the view between his eyes and yours, you can’t believe he’s really here.

Sapphire blue shines through your windows to illuminate the left hand you had cupped over his cheeks. This smile, eager as a child and golden like your beloved best friend, it belongs to you and you only. It’s absurd, really, because you can’t help but titter at him as he drapes a blanket over his back, essentially shrouding the universe from the love he’s about to make to his girl and conceal you from the blue side, selfishly hoarding you to him. 

Because tonight, this moment and this feeling, belongs to your eyes only. 

-

The magical afterglow of having known you’ve made the right choice prospers throughout the entirety of the following year. No one really knew for sure you two were dating, not Jin nor your parents, but it isn’t much of a surprise when you finally give into Hoseok’s persistent urges for you to announce to the rest of the world of your newfound relationship. 

“I was waiting for you to return my jacket,” Jin laughs from across the table.

“I was surprised you didn’t just ask me to,” you muse, “considering you were never one to leave things to fate.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “But something in me knew you would figure things out with Hoseok. Didn’t want to intrude, y’know?”

“Ah,” you smile, watching him fold his jacket in his lap. “Thanks, Jin.” 

Neither of you find the right words to follow through until, finally, he speaks, “what does he have that I don’t?”

“Huh?” you raise a brow at the sudden question. “It’s… it’s not really what you’re missing per se. It’s more like what Hoseok has. I just… I love his smile, I love how considerate he is, I love how attentive he is—” you pause to stop yourself from smiling as Jin merely nods “—it really isn’t your fault, Jin, please understand that. It was unfair of me to hold you tethered to me when I obviously liked someone else.” 

“No,” he shakes his head. “I should have taken better care of you. I didn’t comfort you when you cried. I didn’t walk you home when I should’ve, even when you refused my offer. I should’ve… I should’ve asked you out earlier.”

You can only press a small grin, “yeah, perhaps a year earlier.”

He hesitates to ask, “...do you think it would’ve worked out if I did?” 

“...probably.” 

“I see,” he laughs to himself, eyes glancing to the coffee table before they land back on you. “You know you’re losing out on a great guy, right?”

“Yeah,” you laugh at his proclamation, gathering your purse and standing to your feet. Jin raises a brow at your sudden movements, turning around to follow your line of sight only to find Hoseok pacing around outside the cafe through the glass door. Jin only chortles when you make your own proclamation. “But you just aren’t the great guy for me.”

Your mother, on the other hand, faces a much more shocking revelation when she comes home to find you snuggled in his chest with his arm draped over your shoulders as the two of you hold your annual Christmas movie night in the comforts of your living room. 

“Hoseok?” her eyes widen between you and him. “I-I, but, w-what about Jessica? And Y/N, what about Jin?”

“Oh,” you yelp at the nudge and baffled look Hoseok gives you, “I thought I told you last year, mom. I broke up with him already!” 

Buzz. Buzz. 

“You can pick that up, y’know,” you whisper after his phone rings several times. 

Sighing to himself, Hoseok retracts his arms from your shoulder to check the caller phone ID before groaning in frustration. “Ugh, she just won’t leave me alone.”

“What? Who?” your mom pries. 

“Hello? Hey, Jessica, I felt like I should be decent enough to at least let you know to stop calling me before blocking you,” he adds in one more remark before hanging up. “I’m happily with Y/N now.” 

A snide cackle escapes your lips; whereas your mother, well, she neither collapses from shock. 

But it really doesn’t matter what they do, how they react, what they say. Dozens of people have tried to keep you two apart. Jessica, Namjoon, your parents, it’s almost as if everything but the arms-length distance between your windows and his and the blue skies that loom over his side that tries to sabotage your friend, your lover; for every night when he returns home from break and every night when you return home from school, even after all the passing months, the hues remain ever the more dazzling. 

Passing by your desk, you smile at the paper plane you had found lying on your desk last year after your first night with Hoseok. The dirt stains across the words scribbled onto paper still brings you back to a time when your strings tug and your heart aches. 

I just want to cry with my best friend 

I just want to love my best friend

“Hey, Hoseok,” you chide, opening the windows wide and returning his beaming smile with one of your own, “can I come over?”

This time, even if the whole universe were to attempt to convince you otherwise, you were sure to head on over to the blue side next door. 

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

Chopped: Holiday Trope Exchange 2020 Masterlist!

A huge thanks to every person who signed up for our fic exchange, we got 21 really wonderful fics! We’re sorry it took us so long to get this out to you all! For anyone who isn’t sure what this was all about, this was a double blind gift exchange where each of our twenty-one (21!!!) writers were assigned four tropes from an anonymous recipient, and were tasked with writing a fic that fit our holiday theme, and included all the tropes. The only guidance from their recipient were a couple of brief notes they included during the sign up, and both the writer and recipient were revealed when we shared all the fics! A big thanks to the Tropesters who stepped up to write a second fic when we needed them! These fics, as with all our TROPED fics, were creative and unique, and found ways to utilise tropes that may seem so simple but were transformed in really spectacular ways! Please enjoy these wonderful holiday fics!

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roots in my dreamland (my house of stone, your ivy grows) (Rated M) [Bellarke]

Written by @captaindaddykru for @thelittlefanpire. The four assigned tropes were 1) Doppelgängers, 2) one character is a dancer, 3) first snow, and 4) kissing to keep a cover/a secret.

Summary: Clarke really wants it to work out with Bellamy, but as an A-list Hollywood actress there’s a lot of contractual obligations she can hide behind instead of confronting her own insecurities and past mistakes. Luckily, this Christmas she’s lucked out, and her stand-in Josie is more than willing to (completely selflessly of course) take her place.

Now comes the hard part.

brighter than moonbeams (Rated T) [Memori]

Written by @the-most-beautiful-broom for @thedefinitionofendgame. The four assigned tropes were 1) The characters play a game,2) Secret Santa, 3) Exes to Lovers, and 4) Surprise kiss.

Summary: Murphy and Emori fall in love fast, and then talk themselves out of it. Years later, their paths will cross again, and they realize that their might be parts of their story that are yet to be written.

What a way to start the year (Rated T) [Bellarke]

Written by @bellarkeshoe for @bellamysgriffin. The four assigned tropes were 1) Law enforcement partners, 2) Character gets BADLY injured and they hide it somehow only to reveal later that they are mortally wounded, 3) Characters hugging after they’ve been through hell, and 4) Kissing in the snow.

Summary: It’s New Years Eve, and Bellamy and Clarke got stuck working.

It’s Alright, It’s Okay (Rated M) [Clurphy]

Written by @sailawaymayday for @wwjacksparrowd. The four assigned tropes were 1) Found Family, 2) Groundhog Day/timeloop, 3) Character gets shot/stabbed/BADLY injured and hides the wound somehow, only to accidentally (someone else touches them and their bleeding, they collapse, etc.) reveal later that they are mortally wounded, and 4) Hurt/Comfort.

Summary: Clarke makes it onto the Ring with the rest of Spacekru. What happens when New Years Eve keeps repeating itself? And what does Murphy have to do with it?

Dancing in Graveyards: An Arkadia Anthology (Rated T) [Gen Fic]

Written by @justbecauseyoubelievesomething for @kinetic-elaboration. The four assigned tropes were 1) Small town gothic, 2) Christmas Lights, 3) First snow, and 4) Sneaking someone in/out of your window.

Summary: Three small town gothic stories intertwine as old friends reunite and try to make the best out of their lives. Raven returns home after her foster father’s death and is pulled like a magnet to her enigmatic highschool sweetheart. Jasper seeks solace from a tragedy and desperately attempts to outrun the ghosts of the past. Bellamy battles his inner demons and prays not to tear himself and his loved ones apart in the process. And all of them come to realize that they belong together, even if the place they call home is shadowed by sorrow.

do or die, you’ll never make me (because the world will never take my heart) (Rated T) [Bellarke]

Written by @shen-gong-oops for @probably-voldemort. The four assigned tropes were 1) Fake dating, 2) Amnesia AU, 3) Enemies to Friends to Lovers, and 4) Superhero AU.

Summary: As the youngest member of the Guard and the daughter of the Guard former leader, there are high expectations set for Clarke. The Marketing and PR teams at Ark expecting her to be prim and proper during any conferences, while simultaneously performing their well-rehearsed fight choreography to a T.

But when four unknown supes challenge the juggernaut that is Ark Industries, Clarke wonders if herodom isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Merry Christmas, Lovebirds (Rated G) [Murven]

Written by @kinetic-elaboration for @shen-gong-oops. The four assigned tropes were 1) One character cautiously says “i’m going to kiss you now, okay?” or some variation of that, 2) Mutual pining, 3) A misunderstanding, and 4) Tattoos.

Summary: There’s never snow for Christmas on the beach, Murphy is a culinary genius, Raven has a boyfriend, and other presumed facts, too obvious to mention.

Once Upon Our Story (Rated G) [Bellarke]

Written by @andthelightbulbclicks for @bellamythology. The four assigned tropes were 1) break-up/make-up, 2) Did they or didn’t they, 3) Extremely biased flashbacks of the same event, and 4) Bookstore or library AU.

Summary: Bellamy returns with as much fanfare as one can imagine when driving a school bus decorated as Santa Claus through town, leaving Clarke shocked and all of their friends confused given he hasn’t been home in months.

(Or: Six months ago, Bellamy left Arkadia.

Six months ago, Clarke didn’t.

Six months ago, their friends knew the relationship ended, even came up with their own versions of what really happened. But the question that they all want to know for certain– is why?)

Dream A Little Dream of Me (Rated T) [Clurphy]

Written by @queenemori for @vmreed. The four assigned tropes were 1) One character has a child, 2) Protectiveness, 3) Only one bed, and 4) Soulmates.

Summary: It was just Murphy’s luck that right as he was starting to enjoy Earth, he had to leave. But he’d rather that than succumb to a fiery death wave. He and the other residents of the Ring remembered Clarke every year during their New Year’s Eve celebration. But even when they weren’t celebrating Clarke, Murphy couldn’t seem to get her off his mind. He wished his brain would stop playing tricks on him by making him think she was alive. Clarke was dead. Wasn’t she?

i don’t wanna burn out, so wont you please set me on fire again? (Rated M) [Murven]

Written by @kuklash for @sparklyfairymira. The four assigned tropes were 1) Protectiveness, 2) Exes and Lovers, 3) Small Town AU, and 4) Characters fall on each other and have a moment.

Summary: The wind nipped at Murphy’s nose as he stood in the doorway of the gas station on the edge of town. Work was slow, as it always was after sundown, especially in the mid-December cold, but someone had to make sure the good townsfolk of Arkadia could get their milk and gas after the small general store closed. All 800 of them. He watched the cars drive by throughout the day, recognizing each and everyone of them. Bellamy’s beat up truck he worked all highschool to afford, Clarke’s clean new sedan, even that jerk Finn’s loud ass motorcycle. He watched them all pass one by one, his old classmates returning home after another semester of college at the University of Polis. The only sign that time was passing at all.

The phone inside rang, breaking him out of his melancholy, at least for now.

“Great,” he thought, sarcastically. “A phone call 10 minutes before we close.”

He walked back inside and put on the most cheerful customer service voice he could muster.

“Dropship Gas, this is Murphy. How can I he-”

A familiar female voice cut him off, leaving him cold.

“Murphy? Thank god!”

It was his ex.

Everybody wonders what it would be like to love you (Rated M) [Bellarke]

Written by @sparklyfairymira for @captaindaddykru. The four assigned tropes were 1) Celebrity AU, 2) Meet Ugly, 3) Characters must share something, and 4) Characters aren’t together but are mistaken to be.

Summary: Bellamy Blake and Clarke Griffin are household names thanks to their music. They belong to the same label so they often work together on duets—even though they can’t stand one another. Their first meeting is disastrous and six years later they still can’t get along.

toward brighter days (Rated T) [Sea Mechanic]

Written by @reggieshamster for @/ashplana. The four assigned tropes were 1) Apocalyptic Log, 2) bed sharing, 3) road trip au, and 4) mythical creatures.

Summary: Dear Harper,

I am ridiculously out of it this morning. Last night, when we reached the campsite, Luna suggested we give Echo her own bedroll, since she gave hers up the night before.

Which meant Luna was sleeping with me.

Beside me.

Excerpts from Raven’s journal as she travels to Polis for the Winter Solstice Festival

three words, two hearts, one maybe (Rated G) [Bellarke]

Written by @bellamysgriffin for @bellarkeshoe. The four assigned tropes were 1) Youtuber AU, 2) best friend’s sibling, 3) frikdreina, and 4) miscommunication.

Summary: After an accident blinds Clarke, Octavia’s been encouraging her best friend to keep up with her artwork. In order to inspire her, she recruits the help of her older brother, Bellamy, who’s recently launched a new exhibition at his museum, to feature her work. Bellamy likes Clarke’s work, and he’s more than happy to help. But when she doesn’t show on the big day, he takes matters into his own hands. With an old video camera, he records people’s reactions to Clarke’s artwork so that she’ll know just how talented she is. But when he sends it to his sister, he doesn’t expect her to upload it to YouTube. And he definitely doesn’t expect to go viral.

Something Beautiful, Simple, and Bright (Rated T) [Clurphy]

Written by @wwjacksparrowd for @queenemori. The four assigned tropes were 1) Friends with Benefits AU, 2) Prank war, 3) characters are not together but are mistaken for a couple, and 4) Based on a Song.

Summary: Six months after Wonkru and Eligius manage to establish peace and divide Eden between themselves (with a little slice shaved off for Spacekru, of course), Clarke has a mission: plan a New Year’s Eve party for fifteen hundred people within three weeks.

Murphy’s mission? Stop her from burning out in the process. Oh, and if he could just get Monty to quit it with the freaking noisemakers, that would be great, too.

(…Okay, yeah, he’d also like to date Clarke for real instead of just sleeping with her. But that’s a pipe dream, right?)

put your faith in the devil and the deep blue sea (Rated M) [Clurphy]

Written by @probably-voldemort for @kuklash. The four assigned tropes were 1) Time Loop AU, 2) Characters fall on top of one another and have a “moment”, 3) Enemies to Lovers, and 4) Superhero AU.

Summary: Twenty years ago, when the clocks changed from 11:59pm on December 31st, 1999, to 12:00am on January 1st, 2000, the world ended, exactly as the doomsdayers had predicted. Now, there are only a few livable months left on Earth, and the privileged are evacuating for a life in space, abandoning the planet.

But not everyone has given up.

Clarke was only three when the world ended, and she’s spent most of her life in her mother’s lab. Now, as the last space ships are preparing to leave, her mother’s machine is finally ready, and Clarke and her mother are heading back in time to try to stop the apocalypse from happening in the first place.

An attack on the lab leads to Clarke heading back to 1995 on her own, and the past isn’t quite how Clarke’s vague memories from the beginning of her life paint it. Clarke soon discovers that not only did the machine do more than just send her back in time, but she wasn’t, in fact, sent back alone.

Will she be able to stop the apocalypse before the clock strikes midnight? Or are some parts of history unchangeable?

All I Want For Christmas (Rated T) [Memori]

Written by @thedefinitionofendgame for @the-most-beautiful-broom. The four assigned tropes were 1) Fake dating, 2) Joke kiss turned real kiss, 3) One character is sleeping and the other character is watching them totally in love, and 4) Blanket fort.

Summary: Tired of being single, Murphy decides to take matters into his own hands and get himself a girlfriend before the annual Christmas Day dinner with his friends. Having had bad luck in the past with girls - all twenty four of them - Murphy is determined to make the twenty-fifth, the “Christmas Day” number, his forever.

Of course, this is easier said than done. When his fellow coworker, Emori, seems to be having similar problems and suggests them being each other’s “fake dates” to their Christmas parties in December, Murphy jumps at the chance. Fake dating is better than being totally alone, right? It appears that way, at least until Murphy starts to catch feelings; the ones that make you question everything you think you know. As their “fake feelings” start to become more real, Murphy realizes that Emori’s the one he wants for Christmas. But she’s got walls up and even though his heart doesn’t stand a chance, Murphy’s determined to break them down and show her what falling in love really means, maybe with the help of a little December magic thrown in.

As long as we’re together, no I can’t get much higher (Rated T) [Murven]

Written by @dylanobrienisbatman for @andthelightbulbclicks. The four assigned tropes were 1) Zookeeper AU, 2) Treasure Hunt, 3) secret places, and 4) Secret Santa.

Summary: Murphy has only known Raven for a little while, but the longer he spends getting to know her, the more he realises that there’s no hope of him not falling in love with her.

So when he gets her for Secret Santa, he makes it his mission to nail it.

before i knew you (Rated G) [Clexa]

Written by @dylanobrienisbatman for @sailawaymayday. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Pen Pals, (2) 3+1, 4+1, 5+1, etc., (3) surprise kiss, and (4) character meets another characters ex.

Summary: What do you do when your penpal, the person you know the best in the world, who you love, turns out to be the rather rude (if also rather pretty) sales girl from downstairs? Lexa is about to find out. or - 3 times lexa and clarke meet without knowing they’ve been penpals since childhood, and the 1 time Lexa figures it out.

when life gives you shit, you make kool-aid (Rated M) [Becho]

Written by @reggieshamster for @dylanobrienisbatman. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Bodyguard AU, (2) Bed Sharing, (3) Kissing to Keep Cover/a Secret, and (4) a Character gets shot/stabbed/badly injured and they collapse, being caught by their loved one.

Summary: Bellamy used to have it all, and then one screw-up cost him his career and his fancy life. Now, working as a bodyguard for alcoholic businessmen and their families, he gets a call from his sister for a job… escorting a hitwoman to testify against a man convicted of crimes against humanity. What could possibly go wrong?

and left the secret at the grave (Rated T) [Clurphy]

Written by @probably-voldemort for @justbecauseyoubelievesomething. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Murder Mystery, (2) Partners in Crime, (3) Exes to Lovers, and (4) Snowed In.

Summary: At 8:57 on the morning of December 23rd, eight year old Jordan Green discovered the body of Skybox Inn owner Vera Kane on the floor of the lobby. His screams woke up the other guests of the inn, as well as the live-in butler.

The discovery of the body was followed shortly by two more discoveries. The first was that the storm the night before had knocked out the phones and the internet, and the second was that the inn was completely snowed in with no hopes of escape anytime soon.

Thirteen people trapped in an inn.

Uncountable secrets.

One murderer.

One question.

Who killed Vera Kane?

what a tangled string of Christmas lights we weave (Rated T) [Linctavia]

Written by @thelittlefanpire for @reggieshamster. The four assigned tropes were: (1) Royalty AU, (2) Cyrano AU, (3) Characters fall and end up landing on top of each other and have a “moment”, and (4) Hair brushing and/or braiding.

Summary: When the royal family loses their beloved Prince Wells, the future king of Arkadia, all eyes are on them. The Queen remains as stoic as ever, the Spare grapples with his new responsibilities, the Princess drowns in her grief, and the King is threatening to abolish the monarchy forever.

At Christmastime, as tensions in the palace rise with the vicious tabloids outside, the royal family makes an escape to a castle in the mountains, hoping to find solace and reconcile with their loss.

Princess Octavia will try to mend her broken heart back together as she becomes entranced with the letters sent back and forth between herself and another. But when it’s revealed who the true penman is, will she rise above her sorrow or sink further into it?

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Take a read! Leave a kudos/comment! Our Tropesters worked so hard on creating some unique, festive fun fics from all the amazing tropes that were sent in. Thanks again!

[trulycertain]

The WIP Post

After months of being on orig, I’ve been playing with the odd fic idea... and both are for Eurojank RPGs that about five people actually played. Oops?

Idea one: Vampyr AU where Jonathan joins Priwen as a combat medic post-killing Mary - because they seem to have a bunch of information about vampires, and as a passive means of suicide because he hates himself.

Idea two: Greedfall, post-canon De Sardet/Vasco AU. To be more specific, the "there's a bunch of pining and the romance doesn't happen until post-canon when De Sardet is completely done with Tír Fradí and Vasco takes her on holiday with him on a routine cargo run to one of the Naut isles, where he has to go to get confirmation of rank and his commander's tatts" AU.

Er... extracts from both follow. Warnings for barely-there prose while I brush things into shape, and vasriable character voices while I learn.

Probably-unnamed Vampyr AU

“Sir. Someone... asked to join us, sir.”

McCullum looks up from scribbling a report on the events of Tuesday’s dismal patrol. “It’s late for it. You checked them?” They know he’ll do it himself again, it’d be nothing more than damn stupid to invite a leech to warm themselves by your hearth, but it’s good to get them into the habit. Small oversights get you killed.

“Yes, sir.” It’s Perkins, who’s still a little green round the edges but is shaping up well. Even if the hat’s too small for his ears, and he’s panting as if he’s run ahead.

He nods. “They old enough?”

“It’s… a gentleman, sir. Says he’s a doctor.”

And he looks up at doctor, unable to help himself, and brings the pen back to the inkwell. Old Len’s, well, old. Tired, and nothing more than a temporary medic made to throw bandages on wounds, splash it with brandy and hope for the best. It doesn’t mean he’ll take the offer, but it’s something. “Well, then. Show the man in.”

They do it the Priwen way. Perhaps if there were daylight shining through the windows, they’d be a damn sight friendlier.

The stranger’s steps are slow, and his hands are raised, but... even with three swords and five pistols on him, he doesn’t flinch. He’s either calm, or suicidal. (Or he thinks he can destroy the lot of them in a minute, with blood and shadow.) He looks right past the wheel of death around him and watches McCullum levelly, sharp-eyed over the guards’ shoulders. Not that that’d be hard for him. He’s tall, even by McCullum’s reasonable standards; dark, with a frock coat that makes him look like a hearse driver and might have been quite fine, once. And the beard says it’s been a long journey back, but he’s kept the short-back-and-sides that speaks of the front. And that pale, haunted look.

He just raises a brow and says, after a pause so significant you could use it as tar: “Good evening.” And evening is putting it mildly, they’re in the back end of night and about to head into morning. Still, politeness, other than yes-sir no-sir brothers-let-us-eat, is always interesting to find. Especially when a man’s treating this much weaponry like it’s just a faux pas at some tea party.

“You look like it’s been a long night, sir,” McCullum says, keeping his voice airy even while he has his eyes on the three men he could command to shoot, allowing the sarcasm to drop into sir.  He’s tired, and there’s a reason Priwen doesn’t get many midnight visitors in one of the rougher parts of the district. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had the ‘flu.” They wouldn’t have even let a stranger in the door, if they’d thought so. Or if he’d seemed like a leech.

Their visitor says, “Seeing as half the doctors in London still struggle to make a diagnosis, I’d like to see your notes.” It’s testy, and there’s a certain weariness in it that’s familiar from every time McCullum’s had a nurse or a doctor sigh or cluck over him. It makes his people – butcher’s sons and drivers, to a one – fidget, with the urgency of old, know your place instincts.

McCullum’s never had much time for that sort of thing. He raises a brow. “You’d know, then?”

The stranger grimaces, rubbing at his forehead, and for a moment that cut-glass primness cracks. “I’m… sorry, there have been a few too many night shifts.” The stranger looks away, swiftly, and something wistful crosses his face. Then it’s clamped down again, under all that English, officer reserve. “I practised here, and at the front. In fact, that’s why I’m here. To offer my services, if I may.” He hesitates and shifts forwards and just for a moment, he looks like he might offer his hand, too – as if interviewing for a position. That shouldn’t be so comical as it is.

“With Priwen? Why the hell would you do that?”

He’s got an accent that says the Brotherhood, not Priwen. He’s tall, with that straight-backed, confident-toff posture that time overseas has probably only worsened. And he looks like he’s about to drop. McCullum’s seen staff at the Pembroke scurrying home from their rounds, and they’ve looked better.

The hint of a sigh, like this is all some ridiculous game to him, and the doctor raises his hand to his collar. At least twelve hands twitch on blade-hilts and triggers, but McCullum raises a palm and they respect him enough to stop. The doctor looks around, sharp-eyed, and then nods with a prim schoolteacher’s relief that they’ve come to their senses. He unbuttons his collar, and tugs it aside.

So that’s why - and now McCullum has to tug hard on the guards’ respect and pull them back like they’re dogs at a bone. Even the doctor seems startled at the ferocity of their response, though he hides it fast under the tightening of his jaw. Probably angry at themselves for even letting him get this far. He’s angry they didn’t check the obvious, just left it at the eyes and the pulse.

There are two holes just by the throat – not the usual neatness one’d expect, but a little jagged, as if someone – as if the good doctor – fought back with a vengeance.

“It damn near killed me,” the doctor says, quietly. “And my sister...” He chokes on that and looks like he’s had a swift kick, before he recovers himself. McCullum understands that well enough. “Believe me, I have no fondness for whatever did this.” Softer, now: “And I need to understand why. Before more people are...” He swallows, thinks better of what he was probably about to say. “...harmed.”

His eyes are wide and troubled, but the resigned sort of troubled, not the wants-a-fight variety. Like he’s not all here and somewhere in him, he still doesn’t believe this is happening. Few people survive a leech attack, but he’s seen enough of that face in the men coming back from the war, too: ones who believed that God, or their names, or luck would protect them and ended up crawling face-down in the dirt instead. Some of them, their bodies come back, but their souls never do. Same way McCullum has half of him back in a crumbling house in Dublin. But unlike him, the doctor’s out of his depth.

McCullum steps forwards to examine the holes, and they’re deep. Must have hurt like a bastard. Something powerful did this. Definitely not a neonate. Probably… something at the back of his mind mutters ekon, but he refuses to use the nonsense names they try and civilise themselves with. A monster is a monster. It’s damn lucky that the doctor’s walked away.

Damn lucky.

He doesn’t smell the stink of human blood that never quite comes out of their clothes, or see the tinge of red around the eyes that suggests a recent feed, on something with a soul. (They can never stop themselves for long. They all come back to it, in the end. And then the memories stay in their eyes.) The doctor stares him down, obviously uncomfortable but refusing to move. No. Blue, and such an uncannily pale blue that he’d think leech, if he hadn’t seen it on just enough humans before. Bloodshot and bloody exhausted, but not that inhuman, wrong tinge of red.

“Let me check your teeth,” he says.

The doctor raises an eyebrow, and there’s the posh-boy disbelief. It’s better than the absent-eyed shell shock; he’ll take it. “Is that really - ?”

“Teeth.”

They can tuck them away well enough, but most are too lazy to bother. It’s muscle memory, to walk about as they are. And besides, what leech would be stupid enough to walk into a room full of the Guard of Priwen and ask for a job? They’re arrogant, but they like to think they have more class than that. Less brass bollocks, more lurking in the shadows.

Bontemps

"De Sardet?" She looks at him - him, not the memory from months ago. His eyes are concerned. "You were some miles away there." She lies, "I was just thinking... Bontemps. Not a place I've heard of." "No. I doubt you would have." And she'd suspected, but the carefully-casual way he says it, the way he minutely shifts against the wall and the leather creaking of that new commander's coat... She stares at him. "A Naut isle, then?" "Indeed." "Am I allowed to know this?" He snorts. "You know too much already." The shifting turns to a tidal wave. "That brings me to my next point, actually." He takes his hands from the wall and turns to her, truly looks at her, then. "I have a... proposition for you." And the mulish way he says it, the slightest raise of his eyebrows, means he knows how that could sound. He sees her suppressing a smile and half-sighs; when they first met, he wouldn't even have let her have that, and it tells her he's not unamused. She settles for the other way to cheerfully misunderstand him. "I don't think tattoos would suit me as well as they do you, Vasco."

"No, I - " He exhales, and smooths a hand over the wall. She wonders if part of him is still wishing for the creak of wood and the sway of a ship; the way she misses her mother's laughter and Constantin regaling her with some tall tale and proper Serene tea, will always miss them. Out of command and out of a fight, he isn't wearing his gloves, and two curving lines show as his sleeve rides up - swiftly hidden as it pulls down again. He pauses, as if gathering his courage, and then, in an exhale: "You said you hoped you'd be able to sail with me again, once. Did you mean that?" "I meant it." She grins askance at him. "I really did have no complaints about the crossing." And he smiles, swift and contained but with less of that uncertainty now. In the first days they knew each other, he'd seemed... warmed, but reluctantly, wondering why a noble was buttering him up; was asking about the lines on his face and listening to stories of storm crossings and a man caught in a rope, pulled back overboard with broken ribs but surviving, in the nick of time. At least she'd thought so, until she realised somewhere along the way that it was... the closest thing he showed to bashfulness. He'd always been too self-confident for it to be obvious, but she saw it. He inclines his head. "I'm glad to hear it." He swallows. "I'm offering you that opportunity. If there's nowhere else you need or want to go. If you would like it." "To Bontemps?" "To Bontemps. We have room for a few more, and it's not unknown to have an outsider with you." He tilts his head and looks out over the market, and she gets the feeling he's severely understating it when he says, "Unusual, perhaps."

She realises with surprise that this is the thought he's been chewing over, the one he hesitated to tell her. As if she wouldn't like to sail with him, when there's... "There's nothing I'd like more."

He glances sharply over at her, surprised.

That was probably too earnest. The time withdrawing into herself, doing paperwork rather than travelling, taking dinner in her room... She's lost the knack of things. She adds swiftly, "Last time, I learned so many new and interesting curses. And you were quite a sight climbing the rigging."

At the surprised raise of an eyebrow and the way she suspects he'd be flushing if he were a lesser, noble man, she wonders if she's overstepped the mark. It was always enjoyable, to be sarcastic and to let him respond, even if for most of their travels she'd stayed away from anything that might be... misconstrued. She'd been paying him for the crossing, and even once they landed, she'd had the ability to make his life rather difficult. Even with him being assigned to her, she'd had no doubt that he'd walk away - probably quite colourfully, if he felt it necessary - but that was no reason to make him uncomfortable. But somehow, whether it's due to his own dry commentary or the fact he knows her better than most, she forgets to be diplomatic. (He had been. A sight, that is. She remembers the muttering below about He's actually in a good bloody mood, for once. Only a mad bastard like that would be in a good mood in fog. And then she'd gone above, and realised after a few seconds who it was calling down orders; who it was climbing down swift and sure like he was simply in a tree in a garden, calling something bright and inevitably insulting to one of the crew who'd made a comment. He'd hopped down onto the deck to retrieve the coat he'd tossed there - shirt soaked from the fog they'd had to pass through and the sea, hair damp and wild and curving into waves, new ink-lines revealed by the shirtcollar that must extend at least to his collarbones. He'd still been looking to the heckler, grin savage and joyous. She’d realised, then, that she’d never seen him smile before: truly, not the swift insincere thing he offered with pleasantries. The smile had lasted until he'd seen her there - and then it had fallen and he'd assumed the usual wary tired briskness, even through severely smudged kohl. A bow of his head and Your Excellency. I apologise for the delay, but we're back on course. And then he'd walked swiftly past her, orders sharp to the crew again, swiftly buckling the coat and jamming his hat back on his head, probably back to his cabin to find a change of clothes. And she'd abruptly realised she knew absolutely nothing about their captain.) She adds, swiftly and in a much airier tone, "If I were a braver woman, I'd ask you to teach me." He leans back against the low wall, crosses his arms. "If I didn't prefer you alive, I might take you up on that." But there's a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and she realises what that surprised expression was, when he glanced at her: he's pleased, quietly so, and barely trying to hide it.

Her realisation seems to make his resistance crumble: he grins at her, sharp and swift and lovely like a knife in the sun... And she wonders where that thought came from. Either way, she can't help returning it. He steps forwards, hat throwing shadows onto his face, and looks at her with that strange, surprised, fleeting thing that he always seems to tuck away before she can quite understand it. He steps forwards, his grin falling, hat throwing shadows onto his face, eyes dark and wide. "De Sardet, I..." A noblewoman with skirts entirely too expansive walks past them, and they have to swerve and flatten themselves against the wall and try not to fall over it entirely. It's a new fashion, and one De Sardet has been only too glad to avoid. They watch her go in silent disbelief.

When she looks back to him, his hat is resting in his hands where he's had to swiftly remove it, and he looks like he's gritting his teeth. Then it's gone, and he says, with a captain's brisk professionalism, “It’s three months’ journey. And we could be there for some time. I understand if that changes your mind.”

“Not at all. I… have few plans, to be quite honest with you.”

He nods with a relieved exhale. “Good. We set sail in a week. I would... like to see you there."

[ardwynna]

Butterfly

A Slum Girl under the Steel Sky, for @aerith-week

“Would you like to buy a flower, sir? Only ten gil.”

 It was the plate price, not the slum one, and still dirt cheap at that. But a few sold here to the crowds leaving the theater, in their fancy furs and pearls, that would set her up for a while. Maybe get something nice and helpful for Mom.

 The grey-haired couple glanced down their noses at her as if she were some sort of insect and marched on by. The sleeve of the woman’s sable coat brushed Aerith’s bare arm. So soft, incredibly soft, for a woman with such hard, kohl-rimmed eyes. No amount of flowers would buy that kind of softness, plate price or no.

Aerith shook her head and tried again, a younger couple this time. Luck was better here. Young men were always trying to impress their dates, and another woman present usually meant they wouldn’t get fresh with Aerith herself. At least not too much.

 But it was setting up for rain, and the crowd was dispersing too quickly for good sales. She soon stood alone in the square, watching the people disappear into the side streets and cafes. She sighed and checked the space around her before feeling her stash. Nothing but plate pocket change.

 She took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. The first fat drops were beginning to fall. They glinted green on the way down, catching the glare of mako lights and the glowing reactor in the distance. She sighed and began the walk towards the train station.

 She didn’t have a Fast Pass. Those cost real money. But the one way tickets were cheap enough, and she had bought her return from the machine as soon as she hit the plate. Faster that way. Easier escape. Less time lingering in the dark with the Turks and other creeps.

 The late train was late. It usually was. It only mattered that workers got their posts on time, not that they got home the same way. She found a seat close to the door. Technically it made for a faster exit, but that depended on which door the Turks decided to use. They could pin her down by coming through both doors if they wanted, if they would spare the manpower. It was a risk, but plate money was worth it.

 The train rattled on the way down and she found herself leaning into the sway, flowing with the pull of curving around the pillar like water falling from up high and swirling down the drain. Through the window she caught a glimpse of the steel underbelly of the plate. It wasn’t good to stare too hard at the beams close up. They went by too fast and it had once made her sick. Not good for sales to be taken for yet another slum drunk.

 She sat all prim, arms around the basket on her lap, maintaining appearances while she did the calculations in her head. Sales depended on so many things. On her neatness. On dressing just right, all innocent and sweet. On the lilt in her voice. On the weather. On the time. On the mood of the customer. Or the occasion. On spending enough time with the nail brush before she went out for her rounds. On doing everything to hide the fact that she was just another filthy dirt runner from below the plate.

 Maybe when the train reached ground, she’d hang around the entrance to Wall Market a little. There were always people looking to impress a date there. Or johnnies trying to make up to their favorite girl. Or philandering jerks trying to get a peace offering for the wife on the plate. Maybe.

 She kept her eyes on the seat opposite her, and her ears on the wino on the other end of the car. He was dozing off, his forehead resting on the window. No threat at all. She glanced through the window now and then, keeping track of the journey by the rising of the plate over her head. If she worked at it, she could pretend that it was the plate that moved, spinning and spinning overhead while she was the one sitting still.

 Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to crawl around on the underside of the thing, in the beams and the cables like the bug the plate dwellers thought she must be. If nothing else it would be a change of pace. She leaned back and took in the view, letting the dimmed plate lights form trails in her sight. It would be cheaper overall if she could flit up there on her own, like a moth. And maybe it would be fun, once in a while, to be a spider instead, with her own web, lying in wait.

 The train’s wheels ground to a halt, the groan of metal followed by a mechanical hiss. Aerith glanced out the door before she stepped outside. The platform was almost deserted at this hour. The train conductor tipped his hat at her as she went by and she gave him a polite word. Funny. She didn’t know his name or anything. But they saw each other often enough, and sometimes he bought a flower. She gave him the blue collar discount.

 But tonight just wasn’t a sale night. The flowers in her basket could decorate the house before returning to the earth as compost and mulch. She brushed her hands over the petals for a moment, then went down the stairs. The way home was dark but she knew it by memory and feel alone, by several different roads if necessary. And there was still Wall Market. Or the church, if she wanted to return the flowers directly to the earth. She turned her eyes to the plate as she pondered the options.

 The steel beams stretched overhead, blocking the reactor glare, and the rain. Not the stars, really. The reactor haze already did a pretty good job of that. Plate money didn’t buy everything. It didn’t buy clean air or growing green, or safety. Not really. The upper plate folk, they thought they had it all, but they didn’t even remember what they had lost. They didn’t remember the feel of soft earth or the joy of new grass. They didn’t know a clear sky any more than she did. They buzzed around all day to produce and produce and produce and barely had time to appreciate a flower.

 But she did. It wasn’t much, definitely not much compared to a fur coat, or a vacation home on a beach somewhere far away. But it was something, and it was hers. She steadied her basket on her arm and turned her feet for home.

[sepublic]

Eda and the Blight Family

           Before we start, I think it’s safe to say that Amity isn’t adopted. Aside from the fact that her parents would be way too elitist and bigoted to do that sort of thing… Amity’s resemblance to her mother is uncanny, they’re dead-ringers for one another! And we know brown hair runs in the family from her father, so…!

           I have to wonder which parent married in? MAYBE Mr. Blight, because his hair looks a bit messier than his future wife’s, so maybe he wasn’t as prim and proper and of ‘noble’ standing as her…? It’s a stretch. Either way they’re both awful, but have also been around for a LONG time as well…! Like, unless their parents specifically set them up to do it from childhood (which would not shock me), those awful two still nevertheless probably enjoyed each other’s company as kids!

           Also, it’s obvious that Mr. Blight isn’t the Abomination Head! We see him as a kid when Eda and Lilith are, yet we know that the Abomination Head was an adult who assisted Belos in his rise to power some years prior! Of course maybe it’s GRANDPA Blight who’s in charge of the Abomination Coven, hence both Blight Parents being in that track… But I digress! My point is, it’s not Mr. Blight!

           They were also THERE when Eda stood up against the Coven System, and as if by some cruel twist of fate just so happened to transform into a monster immediately afterwards… GOODNESS I can see how conceited Mrs. Blight is, no doubt snickering behind Eda’s back, probably contributing to bullying and actually thinking that Eda deserved this! Mr. Blight, from his expression LOOKS like he could’ve been a more apathetic dude… But obviously not anymore, as we see in Understanding Willow!

           I have to wonder if Eda and the Blight Parents ever actually interacted as children in any meaningful capacity, or if it was just them being in the same room as one another and noticing the other’s presence, and quietly reacting whenever something big went up? How did the Blight Parents feel about Lilith, Eda’s ‘better’ sister, who they may as well have trusted to tutor Amity, their Golden Child? Goodness, did the Blight Parents contribute to Eda’s bullying and torment for the curse!?

           Did they ever tell their children about Eda and Lilith? Did the Blight Parents set down their kids and tell them about Lilith, the proper, GOOD sister who is responsible and joined the Emperor’s Coven, and showed her unruly sister what was right… Versus Eda, the outcast and troublemaker with ideas, who was punished by the universe itself by being transformed into a monster?!

          What kind of horrific slander did they spread of Eda, speaking of the curse like it was her fault? Did the Blight Parents have some sort of sick and twisted respect for Lilith in that she proved herself better than Eda… That she was the golden example, the one who didn’t fall from the intended path and was rewarded as the Head of the Emperor’s Coven, while her rebellious sister only suffered?

          No doubt, when Eda the Owl Lady became a reputed criminal, the Blight Parents made sure to make it VERY clear what had happened that day, potentially even exaggerating a detail or two, making it obvious just how much of a savage Eda is… And, I think it says a lot. That when Emira and Edric meet Eda for the first time, they just do NOT bat an eye whatsoever at her! That at most they’re interested in her admittedly unorthodox method of teaching, but there’s no judgment on their part and Edric is even willing to give Eda’s advice a try!

          Like, those twins still suffered a LOT of abuse and absorbed plenty of toxicity from their parents, but. It’s clear from the way they approached Luz and embraced her as a friend immediately, that they do NOT care what their parents have to say about others! That if their parents have a bad opinion of someone, then that person is probably cool, that they’re defiantly telling off their parents by happily minding the presence of the freakish Owl Lady they had warned so much against! It’s just so open-minded, and while obvious Emira and Edric may have been too critical of Amity and her less open mind, it still speaks so much of their characters and how they just don’t mind other people!

          And Amity… Alas, Amity’s demeanor seems to become more cold and closed-off when Eda becomes more apparent. I’d always noticed that, which makes sense- She likes Luz, but Eda is a Wanted Criminal and Amity still has her things to unlearn! But coupled with what her parents like said of the Owl Lady, and…!

          Honestly, it says a lot just how much those kids have managed to grow and defy their parents. To ultimately accept this alleged ‘freak’ that they no doubt heard cautionary tales and stories about, of a witch who was punished by the universe itself for going down the wrong path… For ultimately accepting Eda! Specifically, how Amity and Eda share that small moment during Grom, where they regard one another, and make it clear that regardless of any preconceptions or feelings, Luz is in danger and they both agree that they love her!

          And then Amity sees how unconditionally loving and accepting of Luz that Eda is. She sees how safe Luz feels around her, so much more safe and open than Amity has ever felt around her parents. And so when her leg is broken, her visiting the Owl House and being accepted by Eda, because Eda KNOWS that Luz likes her… It says so much how Amity has grown! How much she’s rejected and unlearned the ‘Blight lineage’, alongside her siblings! That maybe she doesn’t exactly want to be like them, but in a way Amity still followed in the twins’ footsteps, namely down the path that mattered!

          And I can only imagine how it’ll turn out, when the Blight Kids side with Eda. When their abusive parents bring up the curse, and warn them that all three will likely be transformed into monsters by the universe as spiteful karma for their wrongdoing! And as scared as they are…

          The Blight Kids KNOW that won’t happen (especially since Lilith opened up about the truth), and they keep going on anyway. That they don’t know much about this funky Owl Lady, but if people like their parents and Belos hate her, then clearly she’s got something good going on; Especially since they feel safer and more accepted by her than by any other adult they’ve come across!

          And finally… It says a lot of Eda. That the Blight Parents, who likely contributed to her mistreatment, to her feelings of being a freak who deserved to be hated and despised… She sees their kids, and while she rightfully has reservations, she just. Quickly accepts them as family, gives them a spot and a home if they ever need it!

          No doubt Eda is operating under the correct assumption that the Blight Parents are abusive, if her memories of them as children are any indication… But still. Amity, Emira, and Edric were born of those two awful individuals, but Eda still gave them a chance to be individuals, because that’s what she always does, letting people embrace who they are REALLY, separate from what the Coven System or anything else may insist upon or dictate!

          That those kids have definitely been influenced toxicly by their parents, but they’re still kids and they’re still their own people! That Eda isn’t going to project her anger onto them, that she isn’t going to expect them to fit a specific standard laid out by their bloodline… Nah, she just gives these kids the chance to be who they really are! And the Blight kids recognize this, and are just… SO enamored by this funky Owl Lady! The twins especially, knowing she had to have been great if their parents hated her so!

          Imagine the Blight Parents raising their kids, warning them of Eda the Owl Lady, telling them that they wouldn’t want to be like her… When in reality, that’s EXACTLY who those kids want to be like, no doubt partly in defiance to their own parents’ abuse!

[iwaxpoetic]

fic: like you’d get your knuckles bloody (betty/archie, riverdale)

fandom: riverdale pairing: archie andrews/betty cooper, barchie There were so many choices that felt so small at the time. It seemed as if she blinked while getting a refill of her milkshake at Pop’s and woke up in a forest, covered in her boyfriend’s blood. She had been so many Betties between them - in a bunker, at the farm, chasing down a masked killer, in a black wig, holding Chuck Clayton’s head under water —

Standing beneath her porch light, her heart in her throat while Archie Andrews said, “I can’t give you the answer that you want.”

Was that the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?--

Betty Cooper, before-and-after.

Her sense of narrative structure made her wish it was as easy as a before-and-after.

There was such clarity in a defining moment, in being able to spot the time when everything changed. There was a Cheryl before and after Jason died; a Jughead before and after he slipped on the Serpent jacket; the Breakfast at Tiffany’s Veronica before she turned In Cold Blood.

There was no clean before-and-after for Betty Cooper. There were so many choices that felt so small at the time. It seemed as if she blinked while getting a refill of her milkshake at Pop’s and woke up in a forest, covered in her boyfriend’s blood. She had been so many Betties between then - in a bunker, at the farm, chasing down a masked killer, in a black wig, holding Chuck Clayton’s head under water —

Standing beneath her porch light, her heart in her throat while Archie Andrews said, “I can’t give you the answer that you want.”

Was that the end of the beginning or the beginning of the end?

——

The old Betty, wherever she began and ended, was characterized by her discipline.

Every day, she suited up in her prim cardigans and slick ponytail, ready for another day as the dutiful daughter, the doting sister, the star student. She could handle any pop quiz, any turbulence in the Cooper household, any pressing deadlines at the Blue and Gold. When the pressure got to be too much, she would clench her fists and breathe through it.

And every night, she looked out her bedroom window at what she really wanted. Second floor, second window from the back, calling to her like a lighthouse. Archie’s window was lit up at all hours of the day and night, whether he was strumming his guitar or dozing off with a movie on. It was her nightlight. She fell asleep to its comforting glow, knowing their time would come one day.

She had to be disciplined, because she was hungry. Sometimes it scared her, how strongly she felt. There was a bottomless pit of want inside of her and she tiptoed around it, testing the edges but never letting herself fall in. Betty didn’t want to be the kind of person who was dragged around by her id. She wanted to be the person that other people thought she was. Sometimes that meant sleepless nights helping Polly learn her cheer routine, piling more volunteer hours on top of her already packed schedule, turning the other cheek to another Blossom insult.

Season five Betty Draper, Cheryl had once called her, as if she knew the half of it.

——

Betty had never thought Archie would love her in the exact way that she loved him.

She knew that love took different shapes in each container. She could see the way her mother and father fit together, pushing and pulling but ultimately a team, making each other better - a real laugh, in retrospect. One of her favorite memories was being eight years old, when Alice had just broken a big story. The pride lit her up from the inside and Hal’s beaming face reflected it right back. But she had also watched from next door as the Andrews fell apart. Fred and Mary lost something that seemed sweet and steady and kind, and then Fred puttered around that big house alone.

She thought about what that love might feel like, when it finally came.

Archie was all sweetness. Being his girlfriend would mean never walking to school alone, sporting his letterman jacket at games, and dancing together at prom. It would be afternoons working on a jalopy in the garage and nights cuddling together on the sofa. He would write songs about her and she would proofread his college essays and they would move to New York together after graduation.

It would be an awful lot like being his friend had been since they turned 13 and their parents had put a moratorium on sleepovers, except that she would get to touch the abs that had been taunting her. The heart that beat under those defined pectoral muscles was pure gold and it was an even better prize.

Something murkier lay beneath the surface for Betty. Sometimes she wondered if she loved him or if she coveted him. She wanted to know every thought in his head, every dream in his heart. Long before the school hallways had started to echo with Archie got hot!, she had been daydreaming about ways to get his hands on her. There were no dibs on a person, but she saw him first and had seen only him since.

Betty had never thought that Archie would burn for her, but she basked in his steady glow. Archie lived closer to the surface - he wore his heart on his sleeve and an easy smile on his face. That was one of the things she loved about him. They would be so happy together, but his devotion would never match hers.

It wasn’t until she was standing at the edge of a shallow grave, looking down at his terrified, resolved face with a shovel in her hand and a gun to her head, that she realized they may have misjudged each other.

——

A dam had broken in Betty Cooper earlier that fall.

It could have been one thing or any number of things —  Veronica Lodge sweeping into town, Polly’s mysterious disappearance, Jason Blossom’s body washing up in Sweetwater River. It was an unusually active September, especially by Riverdale’s sleepy standards.

For Betty, it felt like the foundation had been cracking. With one firm tap, it was gone.

You are so perfect. I’ve never been good enough for you, I’ll never be good enough for you.

The careful balancing of what she should want versus what she did want is what had kept her in check for all these years. No one else seemed to have the same qualms. Betty couldn’t imagine Cheryl or Veronica denying themselves a thing. In fact, she knew they wouldn’t. Veronica had talked a big game about turning over a new leaf, but after less than a week in Riverdale, Veronica had seven minutes in a closet and Betty had a box of Magnolia cupcakes.

Only Betty had the discipline to decide to be something and then become it. It had gotten harder for her to see how that was a good thing.

— —

Jughead’s interest in Betty was both a balm and a sting.

Boys had never been interested in her. She wasn’t sure if it was because word of her strict parents preceded her or because her crush on Archie was so obvious that it was not worth getting their hopes up. Whatever the reason, she had made it sixteen years without being asked to the drive-in, having a note slipped in her locker, or having rocks thrown at her window by someone who wanted to date her. She did all those things with her best friend and had become aware that it was not the same.

Until Jughead crawled through her window and gave her her first real kiss, she didn’t realize exactly how different it was.

Being on the other side of the equation was a revelation. It was amazing to think that there was someone who liked her more than anyone else, who thought about her when she wasn’t around, who wanted to kiss her and hold her hand and maybe more one day. Jughead was a good person - he was cute and smart, with a wicked sense of humor that tickled at the dark side she kept such a lid on - but what made him special is that he thought she was special. Betty had never come first to anyone before and she dove into intimacy with the same enthusiasm and determination that she put into any task.

But it was her way to acknowledge the cloud even while she focused on the silver lining. Besides her, Jughead was Archie’s best friend in the world. If other boys had avoided her due to some unspoken claim, surely he would find her to be even further off limits. If Jughead liked her, it was because Archie never would.

Somehow it was more devastating than the rejection itself. A dramatic showdown in formalwear still fit with the narrative that she had imagined for Archie-and-Betty. Power couples faced obstacles. Even after homecoming, even after Melody, even after Veronica, a part of her still though she should be patient. It was the utter lack of drama in her courtship with Jughead that made it real. There was nothing to be dramatic about.

She made her peace with it, first with her nails dug into her palms but then genuinely. The pieces of her heart felt like they were rearranging. Jughead had burst his way in and made his home right in the center. The part that housed her feelings for Archie was smaller, but the scars had made the walls thick and tough.

She would always love him and now she knew what shape it would take. She felt lucky to have enough love in her life that she could feel the difference.

It took a few months, but Betty started to think Jughead might be her soulmate. They both felt a personal obligation to clean up Riverdale’s seedy underbelly, loved books and old movies, and, most importantly, they hated the same things about her. On his lips, “perfect” was scornful. After all of those years pursuing perfection, she wasn’t too fond of it herself.

——

People gave you a wide berth in the aftermath of a showdown with a killer.

Betty was distracted and distant in the weeks following the altercation with Joseph Svenson. People around town stared and whispered even more than usual, but they looked at her with pity and awe in their eyes. Even her mother and Jughead gave her space, assuming that she was reeling after weeks of cat-and-mouse.

When she was alone, Betty didn’t think about Joseph Svenson at all. She thought about Archie Andrews.

It wasn’t about the kiss, although it was hardly the one she had scripted for them long ago. She thought about the way that he had grabbed her hand as she put the pieces together and started to spiral, the only thing tethering her to this earth. She thought about how instantly he had responded to Get in the coffin or I’ll shoot her in the head right now.

To be willing to die for someone was the kind of sweeping statement of love and dedication that was easy to say because it was so unlikely to be tested. It was reserved for the most important people in your life, the ones that you would do anything to protect. When she was in danger, Archie hadn’t batted an eye. When she closed her eyes, all she could see was him lowering himself into a coffin for her. She had been looking at that face for years and years, had known it when it had a beaming smile of mismatched baby teeth, had admired its changing angles. His jaw was clenched but his eyes were as warm as ever when the lid closed over him.

It was unbelievable to think that only weeks ago, kisses and milkshakes had made her feel special. It wasn’t fair to hold up a high school romance against the ultimate sacrifice, but the tectonic plates of her life had shifted again. It was a secret humming under her skin. It was heady to know that there was someone in the world who would do anything for you.

In a way, the showdown with the Black Hood was the most romantic night of her life. That was Riverdale for you.

— —

Betty stopped thinking about Hal Cooper almost as soon as he was locked away. She had spent so much time pouring over the Black Hood and puzzling over her family secrets that when she tried to align the man with the father, none of the pieces fit quite right anymore. After the loss of Hal and Polly, the Cooper family structure coalesced neatly around Betty and Alice as if it had always just been them.

Compartmentalizing and moving on was another discipline that Betty excelled at. Most of the time, anyway.

She thought about Fred Andrews all the time. The lights were out in Archie’s room for the first time that she could remember, but she knew that he was home. The loss was unspeakable, so she never tried.

— —

Even for someone good at compartmentalizing, it could be hard for Betty to separate the way she felt about Veronica from how she felt about Veronica Lodge.

The simple truth is that they were friends because Veronica had decided they were friends. Betty had been skeptical but a little bit flattered. She had written Veronica off at first, sure that she would move on and nestle in at Cheryl's side like two rich bitch peas in a pod, but she had persisted.

No one had ever wanted to be her friend that desperately. Despite what her frilly pink sweaters might imply, she had never been much of a girl’s girl. Her only real friends were Archie and Kevin. That had always been more than enough for her, but there was something to be said for having Veronica in her corner.

But the only person better at compartmentalizing than Betty was Veronica Lodge. Veronica could claim that she was destined to be Betty’s best friend while snatching her lifelong crush out from under her. She could disavow her family’s shady business dealings, then join Lodge Industries and keep quiet about their plans for the Southside. She could love Archie, then sit by while her father destroys his life.

Betty had been tap dancing around questions of morality for a while. One did not get to make too many principled stances when their boyfriend was a gang leader who once partially skinned a woman, and she tried not to throw too many stones from inside a house where she had once blackmailed Cheryl Blossom into testifying on behalf of FP Jones. As she started to shed more and more of her Nice Girl persona, Betty thought she had become more understanding of all the gray in the world.

In a sweltering court room after Labor Day weekend, Betty had found the thing she could never forgive. She watched stupid - noble, self-sacrificing, stupid - Archie jump at a plea deal for a crime he had not committed, all to spare them another trial. Veronica had cried and dropped her head into her hands, but Betty could still see flickers of her in Hiram Lodge’s satisfied smile.

Betty held her friend as she cried and clamped down on her latest intrusive thought - none of this would be happening if it weren’t for you. From learning to read to wrestling him from Ms. Grundy’s clutches, there had never been a problem Betty could not solve for Archie until he crossed Hiram’s path. There was nothing Betty wouldn't do for Archie, but there was nothing she could do for him now, so she averted her teary eyes and tried not to let in the darkness that always seemed so close to the surface now.

Meeting Veronica Lodge was the worst thing that had ever happened to any of them.

— —

When Betty used to dream of Archie as the leading man in every romance, she had imagined kissing him with a frequency that made her blush to think about even now.

She had been inexperienced and was not even sure what she was longing for. In her mind’s eye, she saw him in everything -  the foot pop at the end of The Princess Diaries, the foggy window in Titanic, on the dock in The Notebook - hell, even Spiderman dangling upside down in the rain. It was a collage of images that she could not quite attach a sensation to, but it made her blood run a bit hotter.

When Betty tried to flesh out her fantasies, she relied on a few tangible things she did know - the smell of his cologne, which she had picked out; his increasingly hard biceps, flexing under her fingers when they linked arms on the way to school; the way his hair felt when she playfully ruffled it; the slow drag of his fingers across her back and stomach, when he was winding up to tickle her.

It was almost like an out of body experience when she flung the microphone to the ground. Betty was somewhere else in the garage as she and Archie sang, circling the microphone, their traded glances growing less playful and more searching, until he swung the guitar behind his back and reached for her.

The touch of his hand was like it had always been, the tether that held her to earth and made sure she didn’t miss a thing. Betty had never been more present. After all those years of patience and restraint, she couldn’t get close enough.

— —

There was no clear before-and-after for Archie Andrews.

He had come a long way from being the boy-next-door. He had been the star football player and the sensitive musician. He had been groomed by his music teacher and apprenticed at the foot of a mobster. He had started a youth center for the underprivileged and shattered his hand pulling Cheryl Blossom out of a frozen river. It felt like a lifetime ago that it had just been Betty and Archie in a booth at Pop’s, but Betty didn’t feel like he had changed at all. When she looked into his eyes, she saw the same person staring back at her that she always had.

When there was such a bone-deep understanding, how could she ever feel like he was different? With every step he took, she was right there too.

It dawned on Betty that maybe her before-and-after had happened long before she started looking for it. There was a Betty Cooper before she loved Archie Andrews and she had been living in the after since she was 11 years old.

She flipped through her diaries, years and years of little choices. Her next one felt big.

[rockislandadultreads]

Horror Recommendations: Haunted Houses

Home Before Dark by Riley Sager

What was it like? Living in that house. Maggie Holt is used to such questions. Twenty-five years ago, she and her parents, Ewan and Jess, moved into Baneberry Hall, a rambling Victorian estate in the Vermont woods. They spent three weeks there before fleeing in the dead of night, an ordeal Ewan later recounted in a nonfiction book called House of Horrors. His tale of ghostly happenings and encounters with malevolent spirits became a worldwide phenomenon, rivaling The Amityville Horror in popularity—and skepticism. Today, Maggie is a restorer of old homes and too young to remember any of the events mentioned in her father’s book. But she also doesn’t believe a word of it. Ghosts, after all, don’t exist. When Maggie inherits Baneberry Hall after her father’s death, she returns to renovate the place to prepare it for sale. But her homecoming is anything but warm. People from the past, chronicled in House of Horrors, lurk in the shadows. And locals aren’t thrilled that their small town has been made infamous thanks to Maggie’s father. Even more unnerving is Baneberry Hall itself—a place filled with relics from another era that hint at a history of dark deeds. As Maggie experiences strange occurrences straight out of her father’s book, she starts to believe that what he wrote was more fact than fiction. In the latest thriller from New York Times bestseller Riley Sager, a woman returns to the house made famous by her father’s bestselling horror memoir. Is the place really haunted by evil forces, as her father claimed? Or are there more earthbound—and dangerous—secrets hidden within its walls?

Close to Home by Lisa Jackson

Vowing to make a fresh start, Sarah McAdams has come home to renovate the old Victorian mansion where she grew up. Her daughters, Jade and Gracie, aren't impressed by the rundown property on the shores of Oregon's wild Columbia River. As soon as they pull up the isolated drive, Sarah too is beset by uneasy memories--of her cold, distant mother, of the half-sister who vanished without a trace, and of a long-ago night when Sarah was found on the widow's walk, feverish and delirious. Ever since the original mistress of the house plunged to her death almost a century ago, there have been rumors that the place is haunted. As a girl, Sarah sensed a presence there, and soon Gracie claims to see a lady in white running up the stairs. Still, Sarah has little time to dwell on ghost stories, between overseeing construction and dealing with the return of a man from her past. But there's a new, more urgent menace in the small town. One by one, teenage girls are disappearing. Frantic for her daughters' safety, Sarah feels her veneer cracking and the house's walls closing in on her again. Somewhere deep in her memory is the key to a very real and terrifying danger. And only by confronting her worst fears can she stop the nightmare roaring back to life once more. . .

Grief Cottage by Gail Godwin

The haunting tale of a desolate cottage, and the hair-thin junction between this life and the next, from bestselling National Book Award finalist Gail Godwin. After his mother's death, eleven-year-old Marcus is sent to live on a small South Carolina island with his great aunt, a reclusive painter with a haunted past. Aunt Charlotte, otherwise a woman of few words, points out a ruined cottage, telling Marcus she had visited it regularly after she'd moved there thirty years ago because it matched the ruin of her own life. Eventually she was inspired to take up painting so she could capture its utter desolation. The islanders call it "Grief Cottage," because a boy and his parents disappeared from it during a hurricane fifty years before. Their bodies were never found and the cottage has stood empty ever since. During his lonely hours while Aunt Charlotte is in her studio painting and keeping her demons at bay, Marcus visits the cottage daily, building up his courage by coming ever closer, even after the ghost of the boy who died seems to reveal himself. Full of curiosity and open to the unfamiliar and uncanny given the recent upending of his life, he courts the ghost boy, never certain whether the ghost is friendly or follows some sinister agenda. Grief Cottage is the best sort of ghost story, but it is far more than that--an investigation of grief, remorse, and the memories that haunt us. The power and beauty of this artful novel wash over the reader like the waves on a South Carolina beach.

Rooms by Lauren Oliver

A tale of family, ghosts, secrets, and mystery, in which the lives of the living and the dead intersect in shocking, surprising, and moving ways Wealthy Richard Walker has just died, leaving behind his country house full of rooms packed with the detritus of a lifetime. His estranged family—bitter ex-wife Caroline, troubled teenage son Trenton, and unforgiving daughter Minna—have arrived for their inheritance. But the Walkers are not alone. Prim Alice and the cynical Sandra, long dead former residents bound to the house, linger within its claustrophobic walls. Jostling for space, memory, and supremacy, they observe the family, trading barbs and reminiscences about their past lives. Though their voices cannot be heard, Alice and Sandra speak through the house itself—in the hiss of the radiator, a creak in the stairs, the dimming of a light bulb. The living and dead are each haunted by painful truths that will soon surface with explosive force. When a new ghost appears, and Trenton begins to communicate with her, the spirit and human worlds collide—with cataclysmic results.