#he was trying to commune with the squirrels last time we went into the woods

[lostnfounder]

he's off to claim his throne as the raccoon king

it would appear so. can he stop doing that shit

[hognosesnakehalloweenfest]

Oct 2: Returning Home

By Meridies (meridies on ao3) CW: (Non-Explicit) sexual content, referenced death, drowning, suicide mention (breif), alcohol mention Sarah and I sat down for drinks on the second day of fall. The tavern was quiet, but the darkness was loud. I was drinking a beer, a man’s drink. Sarah had fruit juice in front of her. She had asked for something with no alcohol.

“I’m trying to be sober,” she explained. “I spent four weeks in rehab this summer, you know.”

I felt bad, then, for asking her out for drinks, but we hadn’t seen each other in months. I set my beer down and asked her how she was doing.

“Better. I think getting clean was good for me— I’m working at the library downtown now. And I’m seeing someone.”

“Who?”

A syrupy smile. “Charlie. You remember Charlie Davenport?”

I couldn’t remember a thing about Charlie Davenport, but Sarah was enthralled, so I asked, “Is he nice?”

“I think he wants to sleep with me,” she said. “We went swimming down by Craig’s Point last week, and he…”

But I stopped listening. Craig’s Point was the lake by the quarry. Someone had drowned there last year, and it was the town’s biggest scandal for a week until Elsie Bates was caught slipping out of William Hogg’s house in a little lacy thing during the dead of night. But the kid— Frank— was still dead, long after the town had forgotten about him.

I interrupted her. “I thought the lake was still closed off?”

“He pressured me into skinny dipping.” Sarah hadn’t heard me. “I thought I was going to sleep with him, but I’ll see him next week, so maybe…”

I remembered watching the boats haul hooks through the water until they dragged up Frank’s body. He was bloated and stiff. I wanted to feel what his skin felt like after it had absorbed all that water, but I never got close. No one touched him except for the paramedics, who told us all to back away.

Sarah waved a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Someone died in that lake,” I said, “You shouldn’t have gone swimming there.”

She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t really give a damn.”

Well, I did. “It’s disrespectful to his memory.”

Frank had been in my algebra class in sophomore year, a burly guy with shoulders like logs and eyes set into his face like whorls of wood. The night after his death was announced, I had stared at my ceiling in darkness and thought about how much water he must have drunk before he died. He must have been drunk on it.

“They say he killed himself,” Sarah said nonchalantly.

The thought made me nauseous. “Maybe he fell.”

“Rough way to go.” She sipped at the dregs of her drink. “See, this is the problem with staying in one place— you’re so obsessed with history. You need to learn how to let things go.”

I wondered why Sarah refused to admit to the power of the water. She had to know it, better than anyone.

Sarah grew tired of my moping and hauled me up by the arm, muttering something about history under her breath. “Exposure therapy,” she said, “We’re going swimming.”

I could hear the lapping of the lake before I saw it through the sparse trees, black as ink. The horizon stretched and faded into night mist. Sarah stripped her shoes, her jacket from her skin, and looked back at me.

“Valerie,” she said, voice a knife’s edge, “You’re not really scared, are you?”

I pulled my sweater off, unhooked my bra, and slid down my pants. Sarah was half naked, gooseflesh rising. I could see the paleness of her chest beneath the distorted water.

“Giardia,” I blurted. “Legionnaires Disease.”

“Conspiracy theories,” she teased. “Come under with me.”

I kept my mouth closed underwater. I could feel the water sliding fingers up my legs, to my thighs, to the quiet spaces inside me that had a breath of their own. Sarah struck out from the shore. She was grinning, hair damp. I took a deep breath and plunged beside her.

-

Two nights later I found myself with Eli, an acquaintance from many years ago who had just returned from the Peace Corps in Ukraine. We had no reason to see each other except for sex, which we had in his bed, his kitchen counter, and then on the creased sofa in front of the television. He looked up at me and said baby, you’re so good, you’re so good for me, and I thought, all men are the same.

I finished washing up in the bathroom. We drank beers together in silence while watching a sordid American drama, and then it was time to leave. No, thank you, I will drive myself home. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll see you later, I will, I promise.

I could feel the places Eli had touched me, his hands and fingers moving inside of my body. Something deep and lonely inside me ached as I drove, and without realizing, I found myself taking the left turn when the right led home— taking me to the waterside. The thing that breathed and pulsed had no voice, so I spoke for it.

“Is anyone there?”

The quarry remained silent.

“Give me a sign,” I said. “I’ll return if you do.”

Sarah told me I was obsessed with history, that I needed to learn how to let things go. But I felt my body responding to the water the same way it had responded with Eli. I thought that Frank was the first and last good man I had ever slept with, and I owed him something I could never give.

After his body was found, his parents had moved out of town. But I heard them speak about the incident only once. He was a sweet boy. Bring him home. Bring him home to us. Their house now stood empty at the corner of Fletcher Avenue and Second Street.

That night I thought about Frank, the blue of his lips. I tasted the quarry water in my teeth, felt Eli’s palms in between my legs. Baby, you’re so good. So good for me.

-

Frank died three summers ago; that was the summer I first had sex with a woman, her tongue underneath mine, in the bathhouse of the community pool. I slept around after Charlotte left for college. I tasted more tongues, more women, and naturally, I tasted more men.

“A girl is supposed to sleep around,” Sarah reassured me, after the first pregnancy scare. “Stick with women if you’re so concerned.”

Before looking at the result of the pregnancy test, I stared at myself in the mirror and thought about what I would name the unborn thing in my stomach. It would have been the size of a cherry at that point, and I was embarrassed to admit that I did not know who would have fathered it. But the test was negative, and I felt a sick, swooping sense of relief.

Autumn swelled and ripened into full bloom after I slept with Eli, and cold weather encroached upon the edges of town. The first rainfall happened. I cracked my windows open to breathe the sweet, thick air into my lungs. Water slipped inside my home with slim fingers, running in rivulets down my walls. When the storm ended, I saw the marks it left behind, white against dark dust.

And I dreamed about him, the night after the rainfall vanished.

He was rising, dripping, from the lake. Leathery and stiff and slick with black slime, more viscous than oil. Gills opened and closed at his neck. They were at the spot where I had wanted to be kissed once, before any man or woman had touched me. Frank stood, staring at me with filmy eyes. I stared back in silence.

He wanted something, I realized. This was the sign I had asked for a week ago. What he wanted was for me to return.

-

I did not tell Sarah about the afternoons I spent at the lakeside of Craig’s Point during the long month of October. Besides, she and Charlie Davenport were together more often than not. I heard about her comings and goings from other people. Eli asked to see me again; I did not answer.

I thought about Frank the more I was at the lake. We had never been particularly close; he knew my name, and I knew he was good at algebra. But he had gotten to know my body in a way no one else had— intimately, viscerally. It was the week before his body was found. He had grabbed my arm as school let out and said one word: please.

I was young, but I understood what he was asking for. I was only slightly ashamed to say that I had no qualms. He was inexperienced, and so was I, both messy and complicated. But he was a good man.

I still thought about that please from time to time. What he was really asking for, and what I had failed to give. Please, please, please.

As the sun was setting that evening, I heard a squeaking in the woods. It was high-pitched, and I followed the sound to its source. I nearly stepped right on it. Someone had skinned a squirrel alive and pinned it to the ground. The thing was still writhing. I stared half in awe, half in disgust at the twitching, red-white sinew which never should have seen sunlight.

It would have been kind to kill it, but all I could do was stare in sick misery and slowly back away. When I was by the lakeshore, I could not hear its sounds anymore. All I could hear was the water.

“Did you do that?” I asked out loud. No one responded, but I imagined that I heard Frank’s voice. Please.

“There are better ways to get my attention.” The water slithered towards me, mouth open and hungry. “I keep returning, like I said I would.”

I imagined him then beneath the surface of the water, eyelids slitted and covered with a thin film. He might have blinked at me; he might have reached a hand out to touch my skin. He might have wrapped a hand around my ankle, tugged until I followed him into the depths.

The sky was smeared with orange. When I went back to my car, the squirrel had gone silent.

-

Sarah wanted to have drinks with me again another night. This time she had ordered something with alcohol, peach schnapps and fruit juice. She didn’t seem concerned by the slip-up.

“Charlie and I had sex,” she proclaimed, “I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages. Where have you been?”

“Thinking,” I answered.

She reached out. “Where have you been for the last week? I went to your house but you weren’t there. It isn’t smart to leave all your windows open, you know.”

“I’ve been at the lake.” Before her expression had the chance to shift, I blurted, “Sarah, do you believe in ghosts?”

Her hand tightened around the glass. She set it down slowly, tenderly. “No,” she said, but it was a reflexive response. “I thought I saw one once, but I’ve never seen anything else like it, and I know I’ll never see him again.”

“Tell me.”

“I saw him the night I went to the hospital,” she began. “I was half dead, dying on the floor. But I opened my eyes to see a man standing over me. His skin was blacker than ink, and his eyes were white spots inside his head. I knew at once that he was death, and he was going to take me with him. He put his hand right here, right on my shoulder, and the other hand at my waist. He touched me— everywhere. And we danced, while I was dying.” Sarah turned and faced me. “I woke up in the hospital and asked about him, but no one had ever seen someone like that, and the doctor said that I must have hallucinated. But it was real. Realer than anything I’ll ever know.”

Then she laughed, high and bitter. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me. No one ever does.”

And at once, I wanted to ask her about who she really was, beneath it all. Beneath Charlie Davenport’s touch and his pick-up truck and the layers of skin she put on each day. Beneath the alcoholic drinks and the man who had danced with her while she drank herself to death and that cold, frightened look in her eyes. I wanted to peel back her skin, to see the ugly, squirming parts of her that curled away from sunlight.

“I believe you,” I said. Something in my voice must have made her believe me, too.

She rolled her glass around beneath the yellow tavern lights. “I wonder if I’ll see him the next time I’m close to death.”

“Sarah,” I said uneasily, “You should stop drinking.”

“I will,” she said, “I know I’ve got to. It’s the poison, you see. I’ve got to bleed the poison out.”

“Sarah, you’re not making any sense.”

“You and history,” she said dizzily, “You and your fear. You’ll be stuck with it forever unless you suck the venom out. I’ve got to bleed the poison from my veins. And you need to cut the rotten flesh out to heal the rest.”

-

Frank was waiting for me at the quarry. I was stumbling, half drunk. Sarah’s words echoed in my head. She had said it only once, yet it was burned into me.

“You’re here,” I said, “I knew you would be.”

He blinked at me. I pulled my jacket off, my shirt, every inch of clothing. It was cold, intimate. He watched me from the water. I could feel my heart beating in my chest, in my gut. It rang through me like a distant call.

“I’m here,” I said, “I’m here.”

His skin was slippery and bloated beneath my fingers, stiff to the touch, like I had imagined it would be. His fingers were webbed and translucent. When I drew my hand back, the same plasticky, taut skin was between my fingers as well.

I knew what Frank needed, what his body needed. I thought about touching my lips to the gills that pressed open and shut on the side of his neck. He needed something only I could give to him, and it was something that had been given to me many times over, slick and drenched in warmth. That writhing, slimy thing that resides in the tender part of a soul. Frank needed someone to come home to him. I would create that home.

“I’m dead,” I said. I knew it was the way to offer myself to him. “I’m rotting inside. Just like you.”

Frank’s face floated beneath me, drained and still. I stood and did not move as the swollen, slippery skin crawled up my legs, covered my thighs, and breached my body until we were both those awful dark things that crawl in the depths, serpents, reptiles, together.

Please, I thought. I could feel my own pulse ringing through the stone. The quarry breathed for me. It spoke with his voice. Cut the rotten flesh from my skin. Let me come home to you. Please.

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

Meridies is a 19 year old writer from California currently studying creative writing. They enjoy knitted sweaters, pumpkin carving, and swimming in potentially haunted lakes. They are very excited to be part of Snake’s Halloween Fest!

[girlsgonemildblog]

The Girlies are Pressed - The Bachelor, Season 25, Week 4 Recap

Image from abc.com

The episode begins with Matt still coping with Sarah having left. I’ve been thinking about it for the last week, and Matt begging Sarah to stay even after he knew the situation with her father was actually pretty selfish of him.

We then cut to all the girls sitting around and talking about Sarah, the majority of them talking shit. Victoria says of her, “the trash took itself out,” which prompts Katie to tell her to shut up. She then tells all the girls off for talking about someone who is not there to defend themself, which is mostly met with condescending giggles.

Because of Sarah’s antics, the day portion of the group date must have been canceled because the second group date of last week (they cut these episodes so strangely) is only a cocktail party. With a temporary lapse in drama, Matt can actually talk with the girls and seems to be making connections with them. He talks to Chelsea (pictured below) about her having grown up as a black girl in a predominantly white community, the complicated relationship that created for her with her own hair, and her decision to shave her head. As a mixed-race man himself, Matt connects with the story and gives her the rose.

Image from abc.com

Back at the ranch, Victoria confronts Katie about telling her to shut-up and demands an apology for not being allowed to call people trash behind their backs. Katie, while remaining composed and mature, laughs in her face and stands her ground. It is becoming abundantly clear that Victoria is used to being able to intimidate people, and also that Katie is not someone who is easily intimidated.

The next night, the girls go to the cocktail party and discuss how nice it is to not have drama in the house - how naive! Matt and Kit seem to be clicking, as he comments on how he loves spending time with her. Then, as Victoria is sitting down with Matt, she gets interrupted by none other than Chris Harrison. The producer’s choice to make Victoria the one who got interrupted is why they are truly the best to ever do it.

Chris informs Matt that there will be five new girls joining the other contestants, and never has a man looked more scared and overwhelmed than Matt did at that moment. I honestly would’ve respected it if he had just been like, “no thanks. I’m struggling to remember the names of the women already here, I do not need to learn more.” The first woman that Matt meets is Brittany.

Image from abc.com

Brittany introduces herself by “making up for lost time,” grabbing Matt’s face and sticking her tongue down his throat. The girls who were watching from the window did NOT like that.

Another new girl, Catalina, is Miss Puerto Rico Universe because we must always have at least one beauty queen per season.

Image from abc.com

She walks in wearing her sash and a tiara she actually earned and didn’t buy at Party Palace, which destroys any shred of decency Victoria had left in her body. Victoria tells Catalina that she is the “real” queen of the house. (Actually, Catalina is really a beauty queen; you’re just an insecure slob, Victoria.) Then Victoria SNATCHES THE CROWN OFF CATALINA’S HEAD. I gasped. Loudly. You do not touch another girl’s crown. In an effort to get Victoria to give the tiara back, one of the girls tells her that the tiara doesn’t match her outfit. Victoria agrees and then puts the tiara out of Catalina’s reach on the table, instead of handing it back to her as any normal person would have. Catalina proves the statement “she is beauty, she is grace” and doesn’t so much as bat an eye through the whole exchange. (I know she isn’t Miss United States, just let me have this.) The rest of the cocktail party ensues, and the original girls (“OGs” as they have unfortunately dubbed themselves) freak out that the new girls want to meet Matt.

During the rose ceremony, Anna spirals because she still has not spoken to Matt. She also displays the craziest crazy eyes I have ever seen, and I feel comfortable saying that because I, too, can have crazy eyes.

Somehow, she stays another week. The girls who get sent home are Khaylah from North Carolina (hand up, I called that one wrong), Kaili, who I swear I had never seen before, and one of the new girls, Kim.

Photo from Twitter

The first group date of the new week is an obstacle course, which leads to some funny (and some bitchy) moments. Magi gets stranded in the lake while failing to paddle a giant pumpkin across, and Chris Harrison had to confirm on Twitter that a producer finally went to help her.

Photo from Twitter

The course also involved dressing as a squirrel and finding an acorn with your name on it in a pile of leaves, and Anna hides newcomer Brittany’s because she knows people from back home who don’t like her. Mari “wins” the race, but it is not clear what the actual prize is.

At the night portion, Anna finally gets her chance to speak with Matt and has absolutely nothing to say. She blames this on being distracted by Brittany waiting in her peripheral vision. Mad that her time (which she was not at all using effectively) has been interrupted, Anna complains to Victoria and then tells her that she has heard rumors that Brittany is an escort and “entertains men for money.” The only evidence Anna has to back this up is that Brittany “knows rich men.”  Let the slut-shaming commence.

It made me sick to see women tearing each other down and calling Brittany a slut, a whore, and a disgusting mixture of the two, “slore.” I, of course, support sex workers and genuinely believe that that line of work needs to be destigmatized. To make matters worse, the rumor appears to be completely untrue. I genuinely think that crazy-eyed Anna mentally snapped and came up with this bullshit on the spot just to try to “ruin” Brittany’s life. The truly terrible part is that it will work, to some extent. While many people online are not believing the rumor and are saying it’s wrong to slut-shame whether it is true or not, not everyone in the world is so kind. Lies like this follow women for the rest of their lives, especially when made on national TV.

The group date rose goes to Bri, but because of the slut-shaming drama, the audience didn’t even see her and Matt speak.

The next day Anna tells Brittany the horrible things she said about her, admits that they were horrible, apologizes, but does not explain why she would say something so horrible. Nothing is resolved.

Image from abc.com

The one-on-one date goes to one of the new girls, Michelle, and she and Matt fall head-over-heels in love, and the show is basically a wrap at this point. The two embark on the world’s most romantic scavenger hunt. They start with zip-lining (I would’ve quit the show at this point), then pop balloons with questions to help them get to know each other and say they want three kids at the exact same time. Finally, they ride (and make-out) in a hot air balloon. The other girls watch them through binoculars from their balcony.

During the night portion, Michelle tells Matt about being a teacher during 2020 and helping her students cope with everything that happened. She relates this to his charity helping underprivileged kids. She then begins to quote Maya Angelou, and Matt finishes the sentence, as it is his personal favorite quote. These two just might make me believe in soulmates. She, of course, gets the rose.

Image from Twitter

The second group date is a literal boxing match. The girls go out to the woods (why are they in the woods?) to be trained by boxing champion Mia St. John. They only get a couple of matches into the fights, though, because Serana P gets punched in the face, and Matt doesn’t want to see one of the girls he actually likes get hurt.

At night, we see Matt and Rachel speaking, and he asks her what she needs from him to know he wants her to stay. That’s a great sign for their relationship.

We get a cutaway to Anna and Victoria back at the house, calling the other women stupid bitches and dumb whores. They are literal demons, and they need to go.

Katie, who is on the group date, comes to the same conclusion and decides that she needs to make Matt aware of the situation. She finds him talking to a group of producers, who leave to give them time to talk. She tells him that there are bullies living in the house and that some of the women are starting “life-ruining” rumors. She does not name names, which some people online were celebrating as mature, but I think it allows for a lot of finger-pointing and false accusations. Matt declares that he will address it the next day, and the episode once again ends on a cliffhanger. I am cautiously optimistic that this indicates Victoria and Anna will be leaving the house next week. Let’s keep our fingers crossed!

[gamerwoo]

[Tales from the Pack] Mingyu: Renegades (Part Seven)

Characters: Mingyu x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, angst, some fluff, blood and burning skin n stuff

Word count: 4,150

Summary: You’d always been accustomed to the werewolf lifestyle, seeing as your brother was one. You think nothing can surprise you anymore, especially after being imprinted on by one of his pack mates, but you should know by now to never underestimate fate.

a/n: things in bold are in english

Previous | Next | Renegades Masterlist

“How’s _____?” Hanbin wondered with a soft smirk.

“She’s doing well,” Mingyu nodded. “She’s at home currently. She’s been tidying up a little today.”

“Ah, so that’s why she’s not with you?” Hanbin teased. “I don’t see you here alone too often.”

“I try to be quick about getting home to her, but she feels comfortable alone so I told her I could do the shopping for the week. How’re things with the stand?”

“People have mostly been coming here asking for anything to keep mythical creatures away,” Jimin laughed with a roll of her eyes. “We have to keep explaining that we’re not witches.”

“It’s that banshee,” Hanbin mumbled. “It’s not close by, but people hear it faintly and it freaks them out. Everybody wants to keep it away, but you can’t keep death away.”

Mingyu frowned. He’d definitely heard the screeching at night, though it sounded almost similar to wind blowing against the windows. The banshee was too far away to be worrisome, and if anything, it sounded like it was getting farther away. It wasn’t like when they were with the pack and it sounded closer. That was scary.

Banshees were a confusing creature. Sometimes they signaled that death was happening already or had just happened. Sometimes they screamed when they sensed death would happen. That was all Mingyu or you really knew about them, though. There were some folktales that they screamed to hear voices on another plane, but nobody was ever sure. Nobody had ever been around a banshee -- at least, not alive.

‘There’s really only one way to keep a banshee away,’ the three heard Baekhan saying in their heads, ‘you don’t die.’

Mingyu chuckled as he gathered his things, “Yeah, seems easy enough; I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, Baek. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Get home safe!” Hanbin called after him.

It was late afternoon and the sun was starting to set. Nobody liked being out in the woods alone at night, and it definitely wasn’t smart. While Mingyu could take care of himself, it was still not ideal to be out when it was dark, so he would still try to get home as quickly as he could.

He walked with his bags through the town before reaching the end. Then he continued past the trees and bushes and into the forest. The walk was about a twenty minute walk, but he never minded it. He always said it was a good way to get his extra energy out, and sometimes it was nice to just walk through nature and take it all in. And that’s what Mingyu did as he made his way home. He deeply breathed in the fresh air and listened to the soft chirps of the birds. He heard rustling a little ways away from a squirrel running to a tree trunk and he watched as it ran up the trunk and into a little hole in the tree.

Mingyu was so lost in nature that he didn’t see where he was walking or what he was walking into.

Mingyu cried out loudly in pain as he fell forward, getting a mouthful of dirt, leaves, and twigs. His right ankle was caught in what seemed like a normal bear trap, however this one caused his skin to sizzle and burn, and felt worse than any pain he’d ever experienced before.

A werewolf trap.

The sharp teeth of it clamped in on his ankle, keeping him there. The silver contraption was hidden under the dead leaves, so he probably wouldn’t have seen the trap regardless. Still, if he could think of anything other than the immense pain, he would’ve wished he was paying better attention.

He continued to whimper and whine in pain, every part of his leg from the knee, down feeling like it was on fire. He grunted and cried and squirmed, trying to call for help. But you wouldn’t hear him, and he was sure even Hanbin and Baekhan couldn’t hear him back in the market.

So all he could do was lay on the ground, bleeding and in pain.

-

It had been about a week since Jiung decided to give the okay on watching over the mated pair he’d heard about.

“I think they ran away from something,” Jimin had told him after coming home with Hanbin but not Baekahn. “She talks about her last residence very vaguely, and they’re living in some hut in the woods. She said it was abandoned when they found it.”

“Might’ve housed other werewolves,” Kyung suggested. “Not many other people would live out in the woods.”

“Other than other creatures,” Chanseong nodded, sticking close to his mate’s side. He looked up at Jiung as he kept his hand in the alpha’s, giving his hand a small squeeze. “What do you think?”

“Can we really afford to keep helping people?” Jinyoung pointed out. “Our pack used to be so much bigger, and now look at us.”

“We can afford to keep helping until we have no one left to offer help to others,” Jiung stated as he usually did when asked that question -- and it was usually by Jinyoung. “Don’t worry, only Rin, Kyung, and myself will go out there. The rest of you can stay home and act like it’s not an issue.”

“It might not be an issue,” Hanbin said, though it was just hopeful thinking. It wouldn’t be the first time their pack came in contact with a wolf who had run away from its pack, “but better safe than sorry.”

And that statement stood true after that first week had passed. The three wolves went out to the hut Baekhan had taken them to after following you home with Jimin, and they would always check to make sure the two of you were doing okay. They obviously kept their distance and made sure you never knew of their presence, often lurking around places you didn’t often go. They essentially avoided coming the way you and Mingyu did from the market, having to go the long way around but finding that to be worth it.

Especially now.

Kyung had gone that morning before you and Mingyu had even woken. She’d stayed behind a tree, carefully listening to make sure she could hear both of you sleeping in the small building. Satisfied that you were okay and hadn’t been attacked that night or anything, she left.

Now that it was a little past 2am, Rin and Jiung had gone out together. They figured the two of you would be asleep by now, but Rin had noticed something off in the distance between the leaves.

“There are lights, Ji,” she stated, pointing to the little bit of gold she could see through the trees and brush.

Jiung frowned, “Are you sure they’re not fireflies?”

“Better safe than sorry,” she shrugged.

The alpha nodded in agreement before he led the way closer to the house. The two walked a few feet before he paused, holding an arm out to signal her to stop, too. The pair listened carefully, but they heard something different. Actually there were a few things different.

There was a heartbeat that was beating rapidly, like they were in a panic. They could hear breathing that was very off, like the person was hyperventilating or crying quietly. But the thing that really threw them off was that they didn’t hear a second person.

“Go to the house,” Jiung instructed her. “Make sure whoever is there is safe and see if they know anything. I’ll go search the perimeter.”

Rin nodded before rushing forward toward the hut, hoping that if it was you in there that she didn’t scare you. Jiung started walking to the right, going past the house and toward the market where he knew you and Mingyu often went -- according to his pack that you’d met there. He hoped maybe whichever one of you was missing, he would find you somewhere along that path. That would at least make it a lot easier.

Rin made it to the hut quickly, going around to the front and knocking on the door. You heard the knock and jumped, halting the pacing you had been doing for hours now. Mingyu never made it home, and it was so late. But you knew better than to go outside looking for him. You just hoped maybe he went to a bar with Hanbin or something, but you couldn’t help but panic. Mingyu would’ve told you first, right?

So hearing the knock on the door, you hoped your suspicions were right. You hoped Hanbin had dragged your drunk mate back to your hut and was being polite by knocking on the door. However, when you threw the door open, it was a foreign-looking girl that you’d never seen before who was standing there.

She was a little taller than you -- about the height of most of the boys in the pack -- with brown hair and tanned skin. The shirt she was wearing disguised her figure, but she seemed menacing from the way she looked at you intently, like she was specifically looking to find you in the house.

What really got you, though, were the bright gold eyes that matched Mingyu’s. Despite being around werewolves, you knew that other werewolves could sometimes be bad. Some werewolves weren’t kind like Seungcheol’s pack or Junmyeon’s pack. So you closed the door a little, trying to hide behind the piece of wood.

“W-who are you...?” you asked.

The girl’s face went blank for a moment before she cleared her throat and seemed to regain her thoughts, “My name is Rin. I don’t know Korean.”

Her Korean definitely wasn’t the best, and considering she knew how to tell you she couldn’t communicate with you, you weren’t sure how this conversation would go. But just judging from her features, you assumed she spoke English -- not that that really helped you. You’d heard Joshua and Hansol speak English to each other, but you never really caught onto much of it.

Rin groaned internally. She was the only one in the pack who couldn’t speak Korean, but to be fair, she hadn’t been in the country for long. Still, she should’ve remembered this would happen before she was sent to help. But she also knew she couldn’t stick with Jiung. It was definitely a better plan for them to split up, but you were arguably going to be more terrified than your mate -- which you were -- so how was she supposed to get you to realize she was here to help?

“M-mate...?” she asked slowly.

“He’s... He didn’t come home,” you replied with a sniffle, your cheeks still stained with tears.

Rin didn’t have a clue what you said. She didn’t even know what she was trying to ask, she was just trying to communicate somehow.

“Okay, uh...” she sighed, running a hand through her long hair as she thought. She tried to think of any Korean words she knew to see if she could form a sentence to explain to you what she was there for. 

You just watched her try to gather her thoughts, very lost on what was happening. You were already panicking over Mingyu being missing, and now you had a foreigner at your door who you couldn’t understand. 

Rin finally stopped and turned to look at you, holding both hands to her chest, “My alpha...”

She then pointed off into the darkness of the woods behind her, “H-- ...Hel-- ...Help...? Help? ...Mate.”

You cocked your head to one side. Was she saying her alpha needed help? Her alpha went to help Mingyu? You couldn’t be sure.

Rin groaned in frustration, both of her hands going up to her hair.

You cowered behind the door, and Rin quickly stopped, holding her hands out to you, “No, no no! I’m sorry! I’m-- Ugh, I’m trying to help, but I can’t-- You don’t know what I’m saying, what am I doing?”

The werewolf pointed to herself, “Me... Help.”

“You?” you asked, pointing to her.

She nodded, her face lighting up now that she saw she was getting somewhere, “Me, yes, me.”

“Help...me?” you asked, pointing to yourself.

“Yes, yes!” she nodded frantically with a wide smile. She rapidly began pointing between you and herself. “Help, help! We’re helping you!”

So was she here because of Mingyu? But how would she know? And how could she help if she couldn’t even speak to you?

You suddenly heard a howl not too far from the house. Both of you stood straighter at the sound. Rin turned her head, listening as it came from behind her while you tried to strain your eyes against the darkness to see. Was it Mingyu? You hoped it was.

Rin knew it wasn’t, though. It was her alpha, and he must’ve needed help. 

She turned back to face you, holding both of her palms out to you, “Stay.”

And then she bolted in the opposite direction, running toward the howl. You took a step out of the house, watching her go as you called for her to wait, but she didn’t understand you and kept running anyway. All you could do was shut the door and keep waiting, still not having any answers as to where Mingyu was.

-

It felt like forever later when you heard a noise again, but this time, it was your door flying open. It hit the wall with a bang that made you gasp and jump, and you were about to grab the nearest item as a weapon. But then you saw a stranger with Rin, awkwardly carrying Mingyu into the house as he groaned.

“Mingyu!” you gasped as you rushed over.

“Careful,” the man warned, “he’s hurt. I found him caught in a werewolf trap not too far from here.”

Sure enough, his ankle was tied up in a shirt -- Rin’s shirt -- which was stained with his blood. The man’s hands were stained with your mate’s blood, as well as streaks on his arms. Somehow, Rin was spotless.

Now, you could see that Rin was very toned. She definitely looked tough, though it wasn’t like she was muscle-y like Mingyu or the man who helped her carry Mingyu. Her abs were faintly defined, and her arms and shoulders were toned under her tan skin, but she wasn’t ripped.

The male said something to Rin in the same language Rin had been trying to speak in, and the two set him carefully onto the couch. Mingyu was whimpering and hissing in pain the whole time, his eyes squeezed shut. 

“_____...” he croaked out weakly, blindly reaching out for you. 

“I’m here, I’m here,” you assured him quickly, rushing over and dropping to your knees. You took his hand in both of yours, feeling how his skin was on fire. But you still refused to pull away. You looked up at the man who seemed to speak the same language as you. “Is he going to be okay?”

He said something else to Rin before she quickly left the hut, closing the door behind her. Then he turned to you, his hardened face turning soft as he offered a warm smile, “I’ll make sure he is, don’t worry. I’m Jiung, by the way.”

You nodded, stammering out your own name.

“It’s good to meet you, _____. I’m very glad to see you’re safe,” he said, sincerity in his voice that made you feel a little touched that he seemed to care so much despite not knowing you or Mingyu. “Could you tell me about how long Mingyu has been missing?”

“He went to the market around four,” you recalled.

“Assuming he tried to be back before sundown, he’s been trapped out there for a few hours,” he nodded as he did the math in his head. “Well, I don’t have much on me to help him right now, but Rin’s--”

“I might!” you said before quickly getting up and scrambling over to the cupboard you kept all of that stuff in.

You had bought it just in case -- just like back at the pack’s house -- but you didn’t think you’d actually need it. You grabbed the containers to mix up some solution to clean out the silver, as well as ointment to help the wound heal, and brought it back to the small coffee table.

Jiung grinned down at you, showing off a pair of dimples, “Thank you, _____. You’re a great help. This will definitely do him good until my sister gets here with Rika.”

“There’s...more of you?” you asked, taking Mingyu’s hand again as he whimpered mindlessly about how the pain hurt. You frowned and tried to shush him. “I know, baby, I know. We’re going to help you, I promise.”

Jiung decided to answer your question, though. He hoped he could take your mind off of your worry for your mate, at least.

“Counting mates and myself, there’s twelve of us,” he replied as he began mixing things together in the bowl you’d brought over with the supplies. “My twin sister, Kyung, is also a werewolf. One of the mates, Rika, is well versed in medicines and whatnot. Apparently, you and her have that in common.”

He flashed you a smile that actually made you feel a little better -- like you knew he would keep his word and could fix Mingyu up. You also noticed that Jiung was admittedly very handsome.

He definitely wasn’t from here -- his features definitely gave that away. He had almond eyes that seemed to have a permanent eye-smile even when his full lips were pouted in concentration, but that might’ve just been him trying to come across as more warm and helpful to make you feel better. He had brown skin with dark freckles that were scattered across his cheekbones and his nose, and his loosely curled hair was a fluffy mess on his head, but it looked very cute on him. He was also about Mingyu’s height, and even through his button-up shirt, you could tell he was just as muscular. His chest and shoulder were broad, and his jaw was square and sharp.

For somebody who should’ve been very scary, Jiung seemed too inviting -- again, might’ve just been him trying to calm you.

You watched as Jiung mixed things together before he prepared to remove Rin’s shirt that was used as a makeshift bandage -- the poor girl was just left in a black bra when she left, but she wouldn’t be cold outside if she was a werewolf.

“You might want to look away,” Jiung advised.

You already knew how bad silver could be to a werewolf, and you definitely didn’t want to see how it affected your mate. You averted your eyes to Mingyu’s face, which was flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. His face had begun to relax, but you still knew he was in pain from the way his jaw clenched.

As Jiung undid the wrapping, Mingyu whined and arched off the couch. You did your best to comfort him as Jiung continued to mumble apologies over and over until he finally got the wrap off. Even though he’d already seen the injury, seeing it again didn’t make it look any better.

The alpha made quick work, doing his best to get it cleaned as much as he could until his sister could arrive with more supplies. They’d probably need to stitch the wound up, which Jiung already knew would be absolutely hell for Mingyu. But he was determined to help, and that’s what he was going to do.

-

By the time Kyung and Rika showed up, Jiung had finished cleaning the wound and was applying a cooling ointment to Mingyu’s ankle to help fight the burning that the silver caused. Mingyu was finally relaxing into the couch, half-conscious and breathlessly mumbling your name over and over again, and how much he loved you. Jiung promised that Mingyu was fine and would be fine, he was just tired from the pain.

Rika got to work finishing up on the wound, while Kyung started making a tea on the stove as per Rika’s instruction. It was a tea that Rika said would help his body heal from the inside as well, and it was one that you quickly learned how to make and made for Mingyu often after that night.

Especially considering he wasn’t healing well.

The pack checked by every single day for a week, and on the end of the week, Jiung frowned at the progress Mingyu’s ankle was making. However, he promised that it wasn’t abnormal for healing to be a little slow with some werewolves.

“But I’m his mate,” you said. “Shouldn’t that make him heal faster?”

Jiung seemed to consider if he should even ask his next question, but ultimately decided to ask it anyway, “Do you and Mingyu come from a pack?”

You paused before reluctantly replying, “Y-yes...”

“I thought so,” he chuckled. “Well, the pack actually plays a part in the healing process, as well. A werewolf with his pack will heal much better than a wolf without.”

“W-we can’t go back...” Mingyu croaked out, his eyes half-open. “We had to leave them... We have to stay here...”

Jiung sighed, but it wasn’t his place to say anything. So he only nodded.

The second week, things weren’t looking much better. It was still inflamed and red and disgusting-looking. Mingyu was still running an abnormally high temperature -- even for somebody who always was -- and he was always flushed and sweating. You had to keep him constantly hydrated, which was staring to get harder as you started to feel very under the weather.

It was the middle of the second week that you started throwing up and feeling nauseous. You had gotten sick twice before Kyung and Rika had shown up, and you threw up a third time when they were there. Kyung was the one to rush over to you and rub your back while she held your hair away from your face.

Kyung was a lot like her brother in looks. Both were on the taller side -- Kyung definitely wasn’t as tall as Jiung, but she was about Rin’s height -- with the same color skin, same freckles, same eyes, and same sharp jaw. She had a button nose that made her look younger than she was, and she kept her hair up in two buns on her head most of the time.

There were differences, though. She didn’t look muscular -- at least, not like her brother or Rin. Her body was a little wider than Rin’s and her muscles weren’t as toned, but whenever she had to lift Mingyu to adjust something, you could see the definition. She might’ve been even stronger than Rin if you had to go just based off of looks.

There was also her personality. She was more sarcastic than Jiung, and while she was kind to you, she didn’t have the same warm and inviting aura that her twin brother had. Sometimes, she reminded you of your own brother with her snarky quips that would sometimes even make Mingyu let out a tired chuckle. You did like Kyung.

But times like when she found out you were also sick was when she was exactly like Jiung. She made sure you got everything out before she brought you to lay down on the bed in the bedroom, telling you that you were staying in bed until you felt better and refusing to take any protests from you. She offered a warm smile that mirrored her brother’s before she went to make you some tea.

When the third week came and went, though, you still weren’t out of bed. You still felt awful, and Mingyu had asked to be left in the living room as to not get you even more sick. He was afraid that he was the one who had gotten you sick in the first place since his infected wound had made him sick, too. But Rika was worried that whatever you had would make Mingyu sick as well, so she ordered the two of you to be separated.

You hated being away from Mingyu. You could see him for a few hours during the day when somebody from Jiung’s pack would come to take care of you, but you still felt lonely not having somebody constantly with you. Back at the other house, there was always somebody around. You didn’t like that you were left alone in your bedroom now. It made the house start to feel lonely again.

Truthfully, you missed the pack, and you wanted to go back home. But in this shape, you couldn’t go find them. You were stuck there.

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Verboten 1 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:   AU. When Danny was five years old, he went missing for 2 weeks. In the years that follow, his family tried to make sense of what happened, only for the truth to be discovered years later.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, language. Be prepared for some very weird things

Parings: Danny/Sam

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr. This fic is very heavily inspired by folklore surrounding mysterious wilderness disappearances

Chapter 1 Verboten (adjective of German origin. Meaning: forbidden, especially by an authority)

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

When he was five years old, Danny went missing for two weeks.

Most of the time when a child goes missing, either they get lost or they are taking by something or someone. In Danny's case, those involved tended to believe it was the former, but there were a few details which caused the veteran searchers to scratch their heads.

All parties involved, Danny, his family, and the men and women who searched for him, agreed on the most basic details. Danny and his family were visiting his mother's sister Alicia at her home in Arkansas. The house sat on the outskirts of a small town in the Ozarks. While her five acres had been cleared of most of the trees to allow for some farming, an old forest surrounded most of the property.

That particular day in early August, his aunt took him and his older sister, Jasmine, out to pick some blackberries. Although Alicia was best known for her rhubarb pies and jams, she also made incredible blackberry pies, and according to her, the best blackberries were found about a mile away from the house inside the woods.

She was a tough woman who knew the dangers of the woods and would always carry protection with her. Before she took her niece and nephew with her, she clearly warned both of them they needed to stay within eye sight of her and listen to her. Her instructions were stated in front of both of their parents, who were able to collaborate it for the police report. In this instance, she also took a walkie-talkie with her as a precaution. When asked about the communication device, she reported it wasn't normal for her to bring one, but something in her gut told her she might need it that day.

The three of them left around nine in the morning and reached the patch of blackberries in about forty minutes or so. The three of them picked berries until their baskets were full. As they were getting ready to leave, Alicia caught sight of Danny looking up at a squirrel in a nearby tree. She glanced towards Jasmine to make sure she was good to go, but as she turned to call to Danny, he was no longer there.

A few choice curses escaped her as she began to look around and call out for her nephew. Jasmine assisted her but couldn't offer any information regarding her brother. She hadn't seen anything strange.

After several minutes of frantic searching, Alicia contacted her sister, Maddie, and her husband, Jack, through the walkie-talkie. Although she could hear Jack yell in the background, Maddie, while obviously shaken, was able to get in touch with the local sheriff. If Alicia had to guess, either her sister wasn't initially frantic due to shock, or she was able to remind herself she needed to keep calm until she could talk to the police.

Within the hour, Alicia and Jasmine were back at the house. About thirty minutes later, the police and a team of search and rescue folk had arrived. By this time, it had been almost three hours since Danny had gone missing.

After the officers took the statements from Alicia, Jazz, Maddie, and Jack, the men asked Alicia to lead them to the area where Danny was last seen, and she gladly agreed. Although Maddie and Jack wanted to go as well, they were told to stay at the house with their daughter. She hid it well, but Alicia was glad they stayed behind. Jack was bumbling and too loud for his own good, and Maddie, as brilliant as she was, could easily get sidetracked if something interested her scientific curiosity.

When the group arrived at the berry patch, Alicia pointed out the place where she last saw her nephew as the search and rescue team began their process of systematically combing the area. One of the officers led her back to her house before he returned to the search. The waiting began after that.

Hours passed, and no word was received. Maddie's shock wore off, and she picked a fight with her sister. Alicia couldn't blame her, and she was also angry at herself. She knew those woods could be dangerous, but her overconfidence in her own abilities might have caused her nephew to vanish.

Sometime during the search, one of the police offers asked Alicia about her ex-husband. The two had a very nasty divorce the previous year, but to her knowledge, he had left the state and moved to a city somewhere. Since the split had been volatile, the police wanted to get in touch with him as a precaution as there had been previous cases where an ex had abducted a family member. Although she gave him the information, she knew it wouldn't amount to anything. Although she had several choice words regarding her ex, she knew he didn't have the backbone to harm her nephew.

Day turned into night, and night turned into day. There were no signs of the boy. The search and rescue dogs could only follow his scent so far before they just laid down in defeat. Unnerved by their responses, the rescuers continued to search for other means. The police and searchers did make periodic updates with the family and were at least able to assure them that there did not seem to be signs of a bear or coyote attack.

Days continued to pass, and even with the searchers using infrared radar and overhead searches, there were still no signs of the boy. The press had somehow gotten word of the case and had swarmed the house and demanded interviews with the police, searchers, and family. Instead of being helpful, they were more akin to pests who just got in the way.

After a week, the search started to die down. The professionals had been called away for another case, but offered their sincerest apologies before they departed. The police also were forced to turn their attention elsewhere. There were still volunteers out searching for the boy, but with the amount of wilderness, it was unlikely they would find anything.

Maddie and Jack were crushed. Alicia couldn't imagine how they felt. The child was their own flesh and blood. Jack, who was usually boisterous and cheerful was now sullen and quiet. She found him tinkering with some of the spare junk parts she had. He said he was trying to make a radar of some sorts, but she thought he was just keeping himself busy to keep from breaking down. During the mornings, she sometimes found him wandering the perimeter obviously looking for Danny. Maddie turned most of her attention to her daughter to try to keep her calm.

Jasmine, on the other hand, knew full well something was wrong. The girl was bright and always seemed smarter than what was expected for a child of seven. She wanted to help with the searches, but she was wisely told she couldn't, and accepted the explanation that her parents would not be able to handle it if she vanished too.

…..

Nine days after Danny's disappearance, the Fentons were supposed to return to their home in a different state. The family was hesitant to leave without any sort of closure. Luckily, Maddie and Jack had a flexible job, and it would still be a few weeks before Jasmine needed to return to school. Alicia didn't argue with their decision, and just made sure to make a list for more provisions for them.

…

On the dawn of the fifteenth day, Alicia and the Fentons were awoken by frantic banging on her front door. Agitated, she opened it to find an excited yet somewhat perplexed police officer in front of her. Sirens could be heard in the background.

"Ma'am, are the Fenton's available?" he asked as he removed his hat.

"Yes. Should I brew some coffee? Or pour a shot?" Her eyes narrowed as she appraised the man's demeanor. With how long Danny had been missing, she knew he would most likely be found dead, but there was something about him which told her he may actually have good information.

"Coffee would be nice, but I'm not sure they'll wait long enough for it to finish."

Uncertain at what that meant, she let him into her living room and went to get her sister. Both Maddie and Jack were awake and stood at the top of her stairs. She beckoned them down, and the three sat on the old leather couch across from the arm chair the officer had claimed.

"Maddie, Jack, I can't believe I'm saying this, but we found Danny. He's alive."

There was a moment of stunned disbelief before everyone yelled. Alicia couldn't make heads or tails of what her sister or Jack said, but the man had scooped his wife up in an excited embrace. Once she was released, Maddie demanded to know where Danny was.

"One of our volunteers found him early this morning. We don't know how he got there, but he was only a few yards away from where you said he was last seen," the officer explained.

"How the heck is that possible?" Alicia demanded. She and several others had checked that area repeatedly.

"Ma'am, we honestly have no idea," he replied honestly. "He's been taken to the local hospital to check for injuries, but I've been told he's in good health."

It only took a few moments after that for Jack and Maddie to wake up their daughter and get ready before the four of them piled in the Fenton's vehicle and headed to the hospital. When they arrived and the woman at the front desk told them where they needed to go, they found Danny happily sitting on an examination table with a juice box in hand speaking with an officer.

The boy waved to his parents once he noticed them. Seconds later, he was safely wrapped in his mother's arms. She was crying in happiness.

Allowing the family their much needed reunion, the officer stepped outside and spoke to Alicia. "We're honestly at a loss for what happened to him," he explained. "Danny says someone asked to play with him, but he couldn't really explain who or what it might have been. He says the thing had red eyes and gave him food when he was got tired. He said his playmate wanted him to stay, but he wasn't strong enough yet. He said his playmate let him go with the promise of them meeting again in the future."

"That's very strange."

The officer looked her dead in the eye. "Ma'am, I'm sure you're aware of this, but weird things happen in these woods. We're lucky he turned up alive. In most of the cases I've heard like this, the child is never found. No trace of them what so ever. Or, if they are found, they're dead for reasons we don't understand." With that, he left her to her thoughts and went back into the room to finish up his interview with Danny.

…

A couple days later, Maddie and Jack had packed up their kids and began their journey back to their home. While she was glad everything had turned out alright in the end, she had concerns about her nephew.

Danny seemed off somehow. There didn't seem to be a change in personality, but she'd catch him sometimes stare off into the woods with a blank expression. His eyes also seemed somewhat different, but she was never exactly able to pinpoint why.

In the years that followed, she received word her family was doing fine. Danny seemed unaffected by the event and was growing up as a young boy should. Jasmine had begun taking an interest in psychology, most likely due to what she had witnessed when Danny disappeared. Maddie and Jack, however, had taken a personal interest in what happened to their boy. While they were already investigating what many would consider fringe sciences, they began looking into the tales of disappearances like their son's.

She was still unsettled by the entire event. Her gut told her whatever happened to Danny was only the beginning of something larger and stranger. If he disappeared again, she wouldn't be surprised.

[thiswasinevitableid]

#5 Sternclay please? SFW or NSFW, doesn't matter to me. Thank you!

I went NSFW, minor CW for light D/S and a brief mention of suicide.

5 Should I update my outfit again? I think they like my new boots but the cape didn’t get the reaction I was hoping for 

“Okay, I want your honest opinion.” Barclay turns towards the communication screen.

On the screen, Indrid Cold raises an eyebrow, “My honest, unvarnished opinion?”

“Yeah.”

His friend throws his silver haired head back and cackles, the kind of supervillain laugh that makes Barclay jealous, “Oh, oh my friend, that is the most absurd get up I have ever seen on any hero, villain, anit-hero, supermodel, or psuedovillain.”

Barclay sags, “that’s kinda what I figured.”

“I mean, the tight black tank-top? The black pants? Those boots, goodness, did you get rid of your modified hiking boots?”

“No. Pretty sure he liked those.” He mumbles.

“Ah haaah.” Indrid tents his fingers, leaning forward with a grin, “still pining for your man in black, I see.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Barclay, I doubt changing your outfit is going to bring him over to your point of view. And what happened to the trans-pride patterned flannel top you got for the last time? I recall you being proud of how it flattered your physique?”

“He didn’t even mention it.”

“Wasn’t he chasing you off government property at the time?”

“So? He’s commented on things like that before. Uggggh.” Barclay slumps down in his command chair, “How did you get the Ranger to move things to the next level?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

Barclay stares him down. Indrid stares right back. 

Finally, his friend sighs, “My wires got crossed during a fight and I kissed him instead of headbutting him. Not one of my prouder moments. Though it has decreased the number of fights in my life and increased the number of orgasms.”

“Don’t think that’ll work. No offense to the Ranger, but Agent X is all business. I try kissing him, he’ll taze me or some shit.”

“Well then, you’ll have to get creative. Perhaps...oh drat, he’s early.”

Barclay’s about to ask who when a crash echoes offscreen. 

“We should catch up again soon, Barclay.” As the feed goes dark, Indrid turns and shouts, “You green-clad nuisance, I just had that door fixed!”

Barclay shuts off his end of the communication, stands and stretches as he regards the security feeds from his cameras scattered through the woods. Being fifty miles from the nearest town was supposed to make him feel safer; lately it makes him the frustrating combo of lonely and paranoid. 

Then again, does it really count as paranoia if Agent X is always on his tail? The man is intelligent, and has government resources behind him. If he wants to find Barclay, Barclay has a bad feeling he’ll be found.

Worse, he suspects he wouldn’t mind being found.

That’s part of why he’d called Indrid. Yes, he wanted feedback on his new look, but Indrid is one of the few people he trusts to understand his situation. They each chose cryptid aliases (Mothman and Bigfoot). They fell into villainy through similar channels; Indrid from being chased out of towns with (usually figurative) pitchforks one too many times when he was just trying to help, Barclay because he’d learned to survive mostly on his own and grown tired of seeing certain kinds of evil rewarded while things that didn’t even count as evil were harshly punished. But Indrid also understood what it meant to get a crush on the very person who was hunting you. 

He knows the affection is one-sided. Agent X is the put-together, cultured, cosmopolitan; Barclay is not (were you to ask his friends, they would argue that being tidy, well-read, and widely traveled shakes out to the same thing).

The elevator ride from his underground hideout to the main cabin is brief. Another ding in his villainy score is that he really loves his rustic, cozy home, and only uses his fancier tech for work. What’s the point of a suite in some skyscraper? You can’t even have a proper back porch. 

Maybe he should start a fire in the fireplace, or read that stack of food magazines he has squirreled away. He could reheat dinner too, homemade green onion pancakes and bao for one. 

In any case, he’s not going to get anything serious done tonight, as he doesn’t really scheme in the way his fellow villains do. His actions are a tad more impulsive, in response to the government or certain corporations doing corrupt shit. Besides, the forecast calls for a snowstorm, and he’d rather not get stranded in the woods. 

After settling on the couch he picks up the top magazine, a travel issue. 

Twenty romantic getaways off the beaten path

Hmmmm, would Agent X like the beach? Or is he more of a mountains guy?

He should read a different article

8 recipes to cook for a special someone

What the fuck, this is supposed to be the travel issue, not the valentines day issue.

After sorting through the pile, he grabs the Halloween issue from last year and heads upstairs. He needs to sleep, only partially because sleep might keep him from daydreaming about his arch-nemisis. 

The black boots come off and he sets them in his closet. Hops onto the bed and stretches out.

Somewhere in the middle of a fascinating article on cast iron pans, he falls asleep. 

When he wakes up, his arms are trapped above his head and someone else is reading his magazine.

“I’d been meaning to read this issue. Their writing is always excellent.” Agent X looks up, smiling mildly.

“Glad I could help. Now help me back by untying me.”

Agent X sighs, “You know very well I can’t do that.”

“So what, you break in here just to read my shit?”

“Of course not. Actually, I didn’t choose to come this time.” he stands, producing a slender, silver device from his sleeve, “In fact, I’m being reassigned.”

“Wait, how the fuck is that even a thing? You’re a ‘hero’ you pick your enemies.”

“No, I’m a government agent. And they’ve decided that you are not nearly a large enough threat for me to keep chasing you. Never mind that I devoted years of my life to the endeavor.” Barclay finds the bitterness oddly flattering. As the agent talks, Barclay moves his hands; there’s a reason he taught his security AI ASL. The mirror behind his enemy flickers to life, showing him a video feed of the Snowspeeder Agent X used to get there.

“They were going to assign me to chase The Mothman, but his nemesis is….very territorial and they decided that was not a wise move.”

Barclay can’t help snorting out a laugh. 

“This isn’t funny.”

“Trust me, that bit’s hilariou-oh shit” he registers the solemn look on Agent X’s face, “Are you supposed to fucking kill me?”

The tricky thing about a nemesis who wears glorified sunglasses is that it makes his face hard to read most times, but right now he looks horrified.

“No. I, I was allowed to decide how best to handle you as a threat, and I do not believe you’re that dangerous. So I’m just going to install a tracking chip in your spine and be on my way.”

“Like hell you are.” Barclay curls in defensively, signs “destroy.” In the mirror, the snowspeeder silently explodes.

“Barclay, please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

“Don’t fucking tag me like some wild animal then.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

Barclay growls, “That’s been your line for three fucking years. You’ve got choices, agent, we all do.”

“You’re right. And you could have chosen something other than a life of crime.”

“Don’t act like you know what I choices I was given. And don’t come any closer with that thing.”

Agent X takes a half step before Barclays feet connect with his chest, sending him clattering into the dresser and the tracker pen under the bed. 

“Shoulda tied those too agent!” With all his might he yanks on the cuffs snapping the wrung of the headboard.

“Is this really how you want our last interaction to go?” Agent X stands, nightstick coming free from his belt. 

“Nope.” Barclay charges him, the agent sliding gracefully out of is path. Just as they pass, Barclay spins, cuffs connecting with the agents hand.

They glow green, accepting the fingerprint. 

“Damn it.” The Agent turns on a dime, launching at him.

“Three years, agent, I know your gadgets as well as you do. Sorry about the speeder.”

He points at the mirror and Agent X glances away momentarily to look.

“Shit.”

“Yep. Have fun getting back on foot. If you stop fighting, I can loan you a snow-cat.”

Agent X turns the stun function of his nightstick on in response. 

“C’mon really?!” Barclay growls, pounces before the agent has a chance to react, and hurls him into the mirror. 

It shatters, and the agent falls, crumpled and clutching his arm, to the ground. Barclay straddles him, pinning him on his stomach, immaculate black suit ripped in the back.

“Okay, let’s try this again: You’re going to stop attacking me, break that tracker thing in half, and then I’ll give you the keys to something that can get you out of here.”

“I can’t, I cannot fail this mission.”

Barclay does his best, wicked smirk, “In that case, I get one more thing for all the trouble you’ve caused.”

With that, he rips off Agent X’s mask and goggles. 

The face beneath them is better than he ever envisioned: sharp cheekbones, blue eyes, movie star handsome in every way.

His gaze is unflinching, enraged, and when his fingers curl minutely Barclay grabs his hand and pries it open.

In the center is white, cylindrical pill.

“Is this...fuck, is this a suicide pill?”

“Yes. Now give it back.”

“Not a fucking chance.” He stands, crosses to the window and chucks the pill out into the night, “Christ, agent, do you really think I’m going to torture you?”

When he turns back, arms crossed, the veneer of Agent X’s expression cracks, and he presses his face into the floor with a shuddering gasp. 

“It’s p-protocol. If, if my identity is compromised.”

He wants to be moved by the tears in that voice, but he’s still pretty pissed. 

“You’d swallow a pill for them, just like that. Shit, they really do brainwash you guys.”

“It’s not that.” The agent raises his head, spits out blood, “I still have family. If an enemy knows who I am, they could go after them for leverage. Ending my own life keeps the people I love safe.”

The fight goes out of him and he sighs, “Look, I’m not gonna go after your family, I promise. I won’t share your identity either; I know you’ve probably figured out the identities of people I care about and haven’t ratted them out. Consider this a thank you for that.”  

“They’ll terminate me anyway.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“That’s protocol.”

“Fuck protocol.”

The agent giggles, the sound increasingly hysterical, “I’m quite the triple threat; in one move I lose my job, my safety, and my purpose. I guess I live on your floor now.”

“I’m not gonna make you live on my floor.”

“Your holding cell, then.”

“Uhhhh” Barclay rubs his arm, “I don’t have one. It’s not like anyone besides you has ever tried to infiltrate here.”

“Please tell me you have a guest room.” The agent is still hiccuping laughs.

“Yeah. I can fix it up real quick for you.” 

Agent X sits up, wincing, “You’re really letting me stay?”

“I mean, yeah? No way I’m sending you back to people who we know will kill you. I know you think I’m a villain, but I don’t really want people getting hurt. And I respect you as an adversary, not to mention I actually kind of like you,  Agent X.”

“Joseph.” The agent slowly drags himself up onto the bed. “It’s just Joseph now. Joseph Stern.”

“Don’t seem like there’s much ‘just’ to you, Mr. Overachiever.”

Joseph tries flipping him off, only to flinch when he moves his arm. 

“Good lord, I thought that wasn’t a real mirror, why is there so much glass in my skin?”

“Uh, you know how when you drop a cell phone and the screen kinda-splinters and you can get bits of it in your fingers? That’s basically what happened to your back. Uh, sorry.”

“It was in self defense.”

“Will you let me help? I got lots of first aid stuff.”

Joseph nods and Barclay hurries into the bathroom to grab one of the two dozen med kits scattered around the house. 

“On your stomach.”

The other man rolls over, and Barclay gets to work on his back. Joseph remains stoic the entire time, until Barclay begins dousing the cuts with disinfectant, at which point he hisses. 

“I know, I hate this shit too. Dunno why people are always inventing new torture devices and interrogation techniques, this’d do the trick on most people I know.”

“Very true. It’s alright, pain is deserved when you fuck up as royally as I did tonight.”

“Hey, none of that, okay?” Barclay says gently, easing the tatters of Josephs shirt off, “That pain isn’t a punishment, it’s something I’m doing to keep you safe and so you can heal. You don’t deserve to be hurt, Joseph. And I’m sorry for all the times you ended up that way because we fought. I know it comes with the territory, but that doesn’t mean I can’t apologize.”

Silence as he finishes bandaging that well-developed back, and as he cleans up the debris from the fight and the aftermath.

“In that case” Joseph murmurs, “ I’m sorry too. For, well, for any time during the last three years where I hurt you.”

“Apology accepted.” Barclay sits down on the bed, facing his guest, who turns his head to smile weakly at him.

“What happens now?”

“No clue. I can heat up some dinner, and there’s lots of books here, and some movies. Even got a couple of video games for when friends visit. Or you can sleep, if you want.”

Joseph gives him a curious look, “I meant to ask, is this what you wear at home all the time?” 

Barclay blushes, “No, uh, I was just trying out a new costume. Usually wear, like, my flannel shirts and stuff.” 

Joseph cautiously rolls onto his side for a better look. A prolonged, hungry, better look.

“What do you think?” Barclay keeps his eyes fixed on the headboard and not on the lines of muscle on Josephs stomach. 

“I think you look like you should be cruising the Folsom Street Fair looking for some gym bunny who’ll call you sir.”

“Is that a...good thing?” 

“Yes.”

When he meets those blue eyes, their pupils are wide.

Barclay chuckles, “You gonna call me, ‘sir, babe?”

“Only if you want me to.”

The bed dips as shifts to be next to Stern, “Nah, but I’ve been dying to fuck you since the Pipeline Incident.”

“Lord, Barclay, that was a year ago. But the answer is yes.” Stern tries to sit up, but Barclay rests a hand on his shoulder, kissing his cheek.

“I just patched you up, babe, so how’s about we keep this simple for tonight?”

“Oh, okay, uh, how should we?” Stern is blushing, head dipping in slight deference, and it’s the most gratifying goddamn thing Barclay has ever seen. 

“Get those pants off, lay on your stomach, and put your ass in the air.” He sits back so Stern can obey, which he does as quickly as possible.

“Good boy.” Barclay rumbles, sitting behind him, “Shit, all that superhero training makes for an amazing ass.” He rubs it possessively, Stern moaning softly at the touch. 

“Thank you.” 

“Think it’ll look even better with my handprints on it?” The question is breezy as he drags a nail along the right cheek, waiting for Sterns permission.

“Yes.” Stern whispers into the pillows.

Barclay swats the right side, “What was that?”

“Yes!” Stern cries out, wiggling his hips in response. 

“Much better.” He hits four more times, two for each side, Stern yelping with delight at each one.

“Now, let’s get one thing straight,” He grabs Sterns hips, pulls his ass against his crotch, grinding slowly, the pants for his definitely not for work anymore outfit just tight enough to give excellent friction from the movement, “I get the feeling you get off on a little pain. And I sure as hell like watching you squirm from it. And” he smacks his left side, for fun, “I bet you think you deserve this.”

Five slaps, fast and with more force behind them.

“Yes, yes, Barclay, please.”

“You’re right, you do. But not because you deserve to be hurt, or to suffer. You deserve to feel good, Joseph. And the second this stops feeling good and you start using it as punishment, I stop doing it. We clear?”

“Crystal.” Stern whimpers at the next slap, and Barclay bends forward to loving kiss a line up his throat and nuzzle his cheek. 

“Good boy. You okay to touch yourself--hah, that answers that.” He laughs as Sterns right hand disappears beneath him and his mouth parts in a moan.

“Fuck, Barclay, I, I’ve, nhhnn, I’ve wanted this so long.”

“Me too babe. God, Joseph, you got any idea how fucking incredible you are?” He finds an angle that lets him continue rutting against his ass and kissing his neck and face without touching his injuries.

“No, perhaps you can say more?” Stern grins 

Barclay growls, delivers a particularly hard slap, “Oughta make you stop jerking off since you’re fishing for compliments but, fuck, babe, you look so goddamn hot when you’re moaning and twisting around under me, shit, I love hearing your voice, and your smile makes me forget my fucking name and fuck, fuck, yeah, ohyeah.” He tugs Stern close as he comes, keeps pouring out increasingly jumbled praise as Stern tenses in his arms and comes across the covers with the most erotic sound Barclay has ever had the good luck to hear.

“Lord almighty I needed that.” 

Barclay chuckles, guides them both down into a comfortable cuddle, “Glad I could help. You hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Okay, lemme rinse off and I can make us dinner.”

By the time he’s out of the shower Stern has stripped and remade the bed with clean covers, and takes his hand as they head downstairs. Barclay reheats the leftovers and makes them tea while Stern reads to him about fifty of the best new restaurants in the west. 

The next morning, the FBI’s villain control division receives word that Agent X has been killed in the line of duty. 

Three weeks later, they learn that Bigfoot has a new partner: the man in black. 

[todisturbtheuniverse]

FIC: Liminal Grief [2/3]

Rating: T Fandom: Stardew Valley Pairing: Shane/Female Farmer Tags: Pre-Relationship, Developing Friendship, Grief, Alcoholism, Depression Word Count: 10,613 (total) Summary: The new farmer has a level of equal-opportunity-friendliness that reminds Shane of an old friend, but when the mask comes off, it’s more like looking in a mirror. Also on AO3. Notes: Very much based in the game, but littered with my own headcanons, both for this particular farmer and for Shane. Like other stories in this series, this could be considered standalone, but follows the same farmer (named Lydia) and the same Shane, and shares continuity with those other works.

Part 1 here.

Jas wasn't in her usual spot.

Shane stared at the shady place beneath the big tree by the forest lake. He didn't expect her to materialize, but he hoped, which was a pretty big leap for him. If he hoped hard enough, maybe he could will her into existence. Maybe she was just hiding behind the tree, still mad at him…

He looked, even though he knew what he would see. Nothing. A whole lot of nothing. He gave the upper branches a perfunctory check, just in case she'd suddenly become capable of climbing a tree this big, but there was no sign of her lavender dress, of her green bow.

Shit. She'd been gone an hour already. If he'd known she was upset enough to go running off to a new hiding place, he'd have followed sooner.

At least, he told himself that, that her screechy voice hadn't provoked a headache so powerful that he'd been mostly incapable of stepping out into the sunlight until now. Screechy voices and hangovers were a bad combination.

He was going to have to enlist Marnie's help. Great. Fucking perfect. He didn't know how many more worried, disappointed looks he could endure from his aunt, but he was just going to have to suffer through it somehow. It would almost be better if she would just berate him outright. Almost.

He took his time heading back, hoping he'd find Jas somewhere in the intermittent forest and meadows. She loved the wide open space out here. She could be anywhere.

Anywhere. A hand closed tight around his lungs, squeezing them, cutting off his air. She could be anywhere. She could be hurt. She could be…

But he didn't get much further than that. It was an old fear, well-trod. It had lost its sharp edge, the squeak that had once kept him up at night.

Marnie looked up from the cash register as he came in, face tight with worry. "You didn't find her?"

"No," he snapped. 

Marnie didn't even flinch. "Maybe she'd have gone to Vincent's? I can—"

"No," Shane said, his tone better moderated this time. "No, when she's mad, she always wants to be alone." He didn't know much, but he knew that. In this one way, Jas had always matched him in temperament, rather than her parents.

Slowly, Marnie nodded. "All right, then...maybe...check with Lydia? She's still got a lot of undeveloped space on that farm, and it's nearby."

It was solid logic, but Shane resisted it. The last place he wanted to look was that farm. The last person he wanted to see was Lydia. He'd been in a weird place the night before, and it'd been...fine...having a drink with her, but he didn't want to give her any ideas about staying friendly.

So he'd just have to be extra rude while enlisting her help. Sure. Those two things went together.

"I'll come along," Marnie said, stepping out from behind the register, oblivious to his internal torment. "It's a big piece of land. Three of us searching separately will cover more ground."

"Assuming she wants to help," Shane muttered. It was probably too much to hope that she'd give them the run of her farm and then vanish into town for the afternoon.

"Of course she will. She's a sweet gal."

Shane didn't offer up any commentary on that, any of the words he'd use to describe her instead. Marnie locked up the ranch, and then they took the hard-packed dirt path north, following the old signpost pointing the way to Northern Lights Farm.

Shane vaguely remembered stumbling this way on a drunker night or two. Even wasted, he'd known to turn back. The southern entrance to the farm was overgrown; trees had crowded in, concealing any paths that might once have provided a route to the farmhouse.

Lydia hadn't completely cut back the overgrowth—impossible for one person in a single season to do—but she'd cleared a path, revealing old fences that were battered in some places and entirely broken in others. Nevertheless, the space between them was clear, showing a way through the trees, and Shane and Marnie followed it. In the distance, a dog barked.

"Sounds like Archimedes," Marnie said.

"Weird name for a dog."

"Lydia thought he had a clever face."

He lengthened his stride, even though it didn't help his headache one bit, hoping she'd be too out of breath to talk.

No such luck. Of course a woman who wrangled cows and chickens and sheep most days had the lung capacity to keep talking no matter how fast he walked. "Seemed like you two had a nice time last night."

Small towns. Only one bar, and it was the same bar everyone—including your aunt—went to. Usually Marnie was too busy chatting with Lewis to remark on what company Shane was or was not keeping, but not this time, apparently.

He didn't answer. That seemed safest.

"She seems a little lonely, isolated out here, fresh from the city," Marnie continued. "Bet you two have a lot in common."

There had been similar comments about other people—newcomers and community fixtures alike—over the last few months. Cautious encouragement to get out there, meet people, make friends.

"No," he said, "we don't."

"Shane—"

"Whatever it is, just stop, okay? Focus on finding Jas."

She sighed, low and disappointed, but didn't push further. They emerged from the path into an open field green with growing crops, and a dog rushed to meet them, tail wagging. Marnie leaned down to pat his head as he panted.

Shane saw the straw hat in the middle of the field before it popped up above the bean trellises. Lydia's face split into a wide grin as soon as she saw them. "Hey, neighbors!" she called.

Marnie shot him a look, as if to say, See? He glared back.

Lydia sidled through the trellises and walked over, still beaming, brushing the dirt from her gloves. "What brings you up here?"

"Jas is missing," Shane said, before Marnie could hem and haw about it.

Lydia's face fell. "Oh, no. What can I do to—"

"We need to search your farm," he cut across her.

"Of course," she said, nodding. "Archimedes and I can help—"

"That's not necess—"

"If you think she ran up here, it is," Lydia said grimly. "There's a lot of land I haven't cleared yet, and I don't know what kind of hazards the weeds might be hiding. It'll be faster with three of us looking."

"Fine," he bit out, and before she could argue further, he picked a direction and started walking.

"Be careful!" Marnie called after him.

He ignored her, plunging back into the trees, and searched for any sign of a misbehaving little girl. Any handholds on the trees that might have allowed her to scale them. Any tall reeds around the swampy pond that might conceal her. Any boulders that were the right size for her to hide behind.

The sun moved overhead. He'd been hoarse to start with, but after half an hour of calling for her, he hardly had any voice left. It felt like his blood was pumping too sluggishly through his body, slowing him down. Every time he passed from shade to sunlight, he had to squint against the glare.

A squirrel ran for cover nearby. A woodpecker took flight. Every rustle could have been her dress, every squeak could have been her giggle—but it was just some creature moving through the wilderness, and she was nowhere to be found.

The right thing to do was to keep looking. Keep wading through the tall, prickly grasses that had consumed the southwestern quarter of Lydia's land; keep stubbing his toes on all the rocks and fallen branches hidden within the grass; keep scanning the horizon and then the treeline for any sign of a green bow vibrant against dark hair, a small head bobbing away from him into the woods.

But Shane was tired. Powerfully hungover. Head killing him, sun trying to stab his eyes out, stomach churning, limbs like noodles. They’d been at this an hour. If Jas was on the farm, she was doing a good job of ignoring them entirely, staying quiet and out of sight.

Or she just wasn’t here.

He sank down against the nearest tree, letting the tall grass conceal him up to his neck, and closed his eyes. In the distance, he could still hear Marnie calling for Jas, the fear in her voice blunted a little by an hour of searching.

He’d long since lost that anxiety. Long since stopped peeking into Jas’s room before he turned in for bed, just to make sure she was still breathing. Used to be he could reassure himself that way, even wobbly and drunk, convince himself there was still something left to him, that somehow his best friends lived on through her, a last lifeline, and if he just checked, she would make it through the night.

But it was a stupid ritual. A false sense of security. She would make it, or she wouldn’t, and the universe wouldn’t ask his input on the matter. He couldn’t protect her. He couldn't protect anyone.

A shadow fell over him. He didn’t know how long he’d been sitting here, steeped in exhaustion, head throbbing; maybe long enough for the sun to shift, to cast the shadow of another tree over him. He squinted one eye open.

Not another tree. Lydia. He barely repressed a groan.

He expected her to have a hard time hiding her disgust—or maybe reprimand him outright. She’s your goddaughter. How could you just sit here? He welcomed it, even. Give him a chance to snap at her. Really deliver the kind of cutting words that would make her think twice about poking her nose where it didn't belong. 

He wasn’t even sure she knew that Jas was his goddaughter. Marnie called the kid her niece, even though she wasn’t, technically. Maybe Lydia thought they were cousins. Siblings. Maybe it wasn’t immediately obvious how irresponsible he was.

Either way, she looked concerned instead of repulsed. From what he could tell, anyway, backlit as she was by the sun.

“Well, you look like hell,” she said, a statement of fact rather than an admonishment. “Here.”

She leaned down, offering a canteen of water. He considered refusing, but his liver could probably use it. He took it, spun the lid open, and drank, not bothering to thank her. It was fresh and cold. He just hoped she hadn't scooped it out of the pond.

“There’s a treehouse around here somewhere,” Lydia said, shading her eyes and looking west. “Used to love it when I was a kid. Bet if Jas found it, that’s where she is.”

He let his head fall back against the tree, breathing deep. “You remember where it is?”

“Ehhh, sort of.”

He stretched out his arm—a monumental effort—to return the canteen to her. She slipped it back into an outer pocket of her backpack, then offered her hand down, as if to help him up.

“Come on,” she said. Encouragingly. Like that was going to improve his mood. “I think it’s just a little further.”

He didn’t exactly want the help, but he wasn’t sure he could get back to his feet without it, either. Was this section of her farm full of quicksand? Was that the hazard she'd warned them about? It felt like it was pulling him down, convincing him to lie in the tall grass and go to sleep, maybe let it swallow him whole.

He took her hand. It was heavily calloused even under his own rough fingers. A season on the farm really had transformed her from desk jockey to hardy manual laborer.

She heaved, easily setting him on his feet, and nodded when he didn’t immediately fall back down. “Let’s go.”

It occurred to him that she was sacrificing precious daylight hours to help him. That she could be fighting battles against these weeds, clearing more land or watering her existing crops or doing pretty much anything except look for a runaway little girl.

What was she even getting out of this? Would she expect some kind of reward? A gold medal, or just gold, for being neighbor of the year, finder of lost children?

Or was her kindness just inherent and altruistic? Hard to believe the world hadn't crushed it out of her yet. She'd worked at Joja. How had she survived?

“We’ll find her,” she said, like a promise.

His heart softened—a little. Just a little. If the world hadn't crushed the neighborly do-gooder instinct out of her yet, fine. It would. Eventually. But he wasn't going to be the one to do it.

“Sorry,” he said. Grudgingly, but he managed to force the word out. “Bet you didn’t plan to spend your afternoon playing hide-and-seek.”

“I didn’t,” she acknowledged, “but it’s okay. Archimedes!”

A bit of grass several yards away rustled and the blond head of her dog popped up above it, black nose gleaming, snout glistening like he'd recently stuck his face in the pond.

“Find anything?” she asked, for all the world like the dog was going to answer her.

He barked, turned a circle, and went plunging ahead west.

“All right,” she said. “Good as any other direction, probably. There used to be a big rock out here marking the way to the treehouse, but I can’t remember if Granddad broke it up after…”

She trailed off, and despite his determined distance, he found his interest piqued. After she’d stopped visiting? After he’d come back as a ghost to strew hazards all over the farm for his granddaughter to deal with? After the angry creatures in the wilderness reclaimed this part of the farm for their own?

Any seemed likely, coming from her. He remembered her playful hints at magic the night before. But she didn’t finish the sentence, just frowned and continued on, following the rustling grass that indicated her dog’s path.

And he followed her. If he couldn’t do the right thing, he could at least walk in the shadow of someone who would.

"You know," she said, as if she was allergic to silence, "if you want, I could give her a tour of the farm. Show her the places she ought to stay away from. That way, if she runs off again—"

"She won't."

She gave him a sidelong look. "Sure. Kids are totally predictable and obedient that way."

He scowled. "You could put a gate on the entrance by the ranch. Solved."

"Unless you want me to build a ten-foot-high concrete wall, she'd just climb it. And even then...I've seen her and Vincent testing the trees in town. She might still get in. Trust me," she said, and smiled. "I was once seven and precocious."

"Never would've guessed," he said, thick with sarcasm, and she laughed like he'd made a joke.

"Granddad never did get this part of the farm running. He always had plans for it, but he always stopped short. Cleared the path every season, maintained the fences, but kept the woods in the end. It was the first place I'd run off to whenever I was sad, or upset, or had just been scolded." She looked around at the trees as they walked, wistful around the eyes.

"Why?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes you need to lick your wounds in peace, right?"

"Not that. Why didn't he finish it?"

She glanced at him. "Said he had enough land, enough crops, to handle already." She hesitated, chewing on her lip. "But sometimes he told me that it was the forest spirits' home, so he couldn't cut it down."

"Let me guess," he said, unable to help his skeptical tone. "Those sounds you were talking about?"

"Sure," she said, all good-natured, like his cynicism didn't even touch her. "Why not?"

"Why not," he repeated in a mutter, and then, louder, "so you won't be clearing this, either?"

"Well, I don't really know if Granddad was telling the truth about having his hands full, but I certainly do." She shook her head. "I keep the path clear, and the rest is future Lydia's problem. The one who theoretically has a working sprinkler system."

He snorted. She took a look around again and pointed at a jagged boulder rising above the grass, maybe sixty feet in front of them.

"That's the marker. Okay. If we overshoot it a little and look to the right…"

He saw the evidence of an overgrown path here—a narrower track than the one Lydia had cleared through the forest, marked by old fences. This was just beaten down by, presumably, a history of footsteps. Lydia made her way along it, Archimedes at her side now rather than ahead.

"Aha," she said, quieter now, eyes traveling up a nearby tree trunk. "I think we've found our fugitive."

Shane's heart leaped in relief. He could see the old, partially-rotted handholds nailed up the trunk of the tree, the intact structure among its branches, and the thinnest sliver of a green bow through the window.

"I'll give you two some space," Lydia said, still quiet, and retreated back to the boulder, gesturing for Archimedes to follow; he went, tail wagging.

Despite his skepticism, and some derision—the same kind he felt every time Emily made a comment on his aura, truth be told—he appreciated this. Maybe Lydia was just too blind to see what a fuck-up he was, but even so, she'd given him the benefit of the doubt, the space to handle Jas on his own.

It was like Marnie'd said. She was a sweet gal. Too bad this unruly farm was going to break her of all that.

He considered the hand-holds, decided the risk of breaking a bone was acceptable, and began to climb. By the time he'd gotten halfway up, Jas knew he was coming, but there was no escape, and she wasn't desperate enough or stupid enough to jump out the treehouse window. She watched him with big, wary eyes as he contorted himself through the treehouse floor and settled gingerly on the worn floorboards.

For a long moment, they sat in silence, looking at each other. Shane was out of breath, and didn't know what exactly to say, anyway. Jas huddled in the opposite corner, tearstains on her face, some combination of defiance and guilt in the set of her jaw.

"You scared the sh—" He caught himself just in time. "You really scared me."

Her lip wobbled. He braced himself. "I'm sorry," she said, eyes gleaming again.

He stretched his legs out, enough to tap his shoe against hers. Almost instinctively, it seemed, she tapped back.

She'd still been a baby when he'd taught her to do that.

"Me too." He cleared his throat. "I was a real grouch this morning."

"Me too," she echoed, and rubbed a fist into her watering eyes. "I miss them so much."

How many times was it acceptable to say Me too? It didn't matter, because Shane couldn't get the words out. He patted the floorboards beside him instead, and Jas scrambled over to sit next to him, leaning against his side.

It wasn't sufficient. He was a poor substitute. No substitute at all, really. But he was all she had. Him and Marnie.

Poor kid.

"Don't run off again," he said. "Or at least go places I know."

She sniffed. "I like this treehouse."

He had a sudden, terrifying premonition of further forced interaction with Lydia.

"Look. There's drawings." Jas pointed, and he saw the little carvings in the wall. Your standard initials—L.A.V. in a shaky hand, B.I.V. in a steadier one beneath it—but also pictures. Little round creatures with guileless eyes and thin limbs, painted over in faded colors, sometimes outside the lines.

Forest spirits, probably.

"It's not our property, kiddo," he tried.

"Lydia's really nice. She always says hi to me when she's talking to Miss Penny. She gave me a dandelion once." She turned her tearful face up to Shane. "Maybe she'd let me come over sometimes."

Shane relented. It was hard to tell her no, especially for something so innocuous. He always felt like shit afterward, anyway.

So he'd have to put up with Lydia's sunny attitude once in a while. Whatever. Maybe Jas could get a little bit of happiness out of it. A childhood in the middle of all this horror. He could make some sacrifices on his personal comfort for that.

"We can ask her," he said, making a mental note to also ask her to replace the handholds on the trunk. "Can't believe you climbed all the way up here by yourself."

She grinned. "I'm strong, right?"

"You sure are," he said, and thought, Way stronger than me. "Let's get down from this thing, okay?"

She nodded, wiped at her face again, and hugged him quickly before scrambling past him to begin the descent.

He was an unfeeling asshole these days. The entire world had blended into some kind of dull, vomit-colored blur. But he loved her, even so.

If only it was enough.

He followed her down to the ground only to find her already frolicking with Archimedes, laughing as the dog enthusiastically licked her face. "Oh, he's so soft!" she exclaimed, gently petting the blond head.

Lydia approached from the boulder, smiling. "He likes you," she told Jas. "And he loves hide-and-seek. You gave him a good game."

Jas looked down, shy again. "Sorry I hid on your farm, Miss Lydia."

"No harm done," Lydia said. She cast a questioning look at Shane.

He sighed. "Jas likes your treehouse."

She brightened immediately. "It's a great treehouse. Used to spend a lot of time in it when I was a kid."

Shane nudged Jas. She buried her face in Archimedes' fur—he weathered the hug happily—and then peeked up at Lydia.

"Can I visit sometimes?" she asked, barely audible.

Lydia looked another question at Shane. So respectful, so intent not to overstep the bounds of his terrible guardianship.

He nodded.

"Of course!" Lydia cast a critical eye at the steps. "I'd better replace those steps first, though. Don't want anybody to get hurt."

She really was excruciatingly, painfully nice. He hated it. But he sort of, grudgingly, appreciated it.

"I can help with that," he offered. "We've got spare lumber at the ranch, and if Jas is going to be using it…"

It was fair, he figured. She was doing Jas a good turn. He didn't want to incur any debts. Maybe he could fix up some of those fences for her, too.

"Perfect," Lydia said. "Maybe we can do that next Saturday? Jas can hang out with Archimedes. If you don't have any plans."

Plans. Watching the pizza rolls spin in the microwave, maybe. Downing a few beers when the clock said it was acceptable to do so. Wandering the woods after Jas had gone to bed, coming back after Marnie had gone to sleep.

Jas looked back and forth between them, arms still looped around the dog's neck, some strange hope in her sad little face.

If she wanted to believe he was making a friend, fine. If she wanted to believe things were going to get better, great. He just had to maintain the illusion.

"We're free," he said. "If Jas really wants to hang out with this stinky animal all day."

"He's not stinky," Jas protested. Archimedes licked a broad stripe across her face, as if in thanks, and she giggled again.

Lydia flashed him a subtle thumbs-up. He rolled his eyes. It was one Saturday.

He could still fit in the beer-drinking and woods-wandering if they finished early enough.

Go to Part 3 ->

[davidedwardking]

My dog was lost for three days. What came back wasn't my dog.

As a kid, I was raised in a small fishing community on the Eastern side of Canada, surrounded by the gulf of Saint Lawrence and the Boreal Forest. The entirety of the land was close to 4000 foot square with an even smaller number of residents sprawled out over "main street", the main road running straight through our little town, and farming houses spread widely between areas of trees that were changed to domestic residential homes when agriculture stopped being profitable. In total, our community is surrounded by a vast expanse of ocean, and a seemingly endless barrage of trees that's spread over 55% of Canada's entire country. I spent most of my life hunting in those woods, so you can imagine my joy when my parents got me a "hunting dog".

Sandy was a Shetland Sheepdog, and while they were more fit to be herding and tracking sheep over grassy plains rather than rabbits and deer through dense forest, it didn't stop me from taking him with me on every excursion I possibly could. Sandy had been by my side for enough hunting trips that he'd grown accustomed to waking up just before breaking daylight, and on a few occasions helped track down small game like squirrels and rabbits through considerably large areas of forest.

Sandy wasn't my property, and wasn't treated like he "belonged" to me. Sandy was a member of the family, my best companion, and my truest friend. I think fondly back on all the times he'd sit in the front seat of the truck without being told, ready to go for a walk in whatever part of the forest I took him to. I can honestly say that there will never be a dog that will fill the void Sandy left in my life. I find that dog lovers relate to that sentiment more than others.

It was October 30th, the first day of deer hunting season. I had been talking with my family about taking Sandy, my hunting gear, and some essentials to one of the cabins my Grandfather owned in his heyday off an unmarked road a few hundred miles into the wilderness for a few days. This was met with a lot of protesting, but nothing could stop me from getting in some time looking for wild game in an area that wasn't already picked clean by illegal hunters earlier on in the month. Everything was packed into the old blue ford, Sandy included, and a few hours of driving later we were setting up camp in one of my Grandfather's secluded old cabins.

Here's where things got fucked up. Sandy, I'm so, so sorry.

I had spent most of the time of my life being in the wilderness. There were only a handful of times that things had gotten weird for me, but usually everything can be explained with scientific reason. That's why I brushed off Sandy's weirdness on the first few nights, chalking it up to the nervousness of a dog that's capable of hearing the far off noises of various coyotes, wolves, bears, and moose. This was untouched territory, of course. There had been plenty of time for wildlife to set up camp here, too.

The first night was fairly normal. I had set up Sandy's bed in the corner of the living room, next to the T.V. that looked like it came out of the early 90's. I figured I'd give Sandy the option to have someplace to lay down for a while, despite the fact that he slept curled up with me nine times out of ten. Close to 10 at night, Sandy looked straight at the wooden door and whined. I figured he needed to piss, and opened the door to let him out, not worried about having my best friend stray too far from me. Instead he sat just inside the door, looking out at the forests edge beyond the path. I too stood and looked for a few minutes before deciding he had just heard an errant critter close to the cabin. The rest of the night was fairly normal, and Sandy slept with me fine.

The second night, I chalked the weirdness up to Sandy's stress. Earlier in the day, we had been walking a few miles through the woods beyond the house, and I thought I heard the sound of twigs cracking under something heavy. I hoped it wasn't a moose, because my shotgun wouldn't have stood a chance, but something changed in Sandy that I didn't pay close attention to at the time. He hunched himself on his hind legs, his front pressed close to the ground. His mouth pulled up over his teeth, and he growled towards nothingness. I figured we'd try hunting again later, if whatever it was had left and should he be feeling up to it, but once we were inside he didn't want to move. Even when I tried to get him to go outside and do his business, he sat at the door and cried, wailing at me to let me know he didn't want to go out there. I didn't pressure him. If he pissed on the floor, so be it. Sandy never acted up before. I could excuse an accident or two, if he really didn't want to be out there. It must've been a bear, I thought, before locking the door and calling it a night.

The third night is where things went to hell, /nosleep/, and I still don't fully understand what happened.

Sandy didn't eat all day. I managed to shoot a rabbit in the early morning, when Sandy decided he didn't want to be outside any longer than he had to, and retired inside for the day. I cooked it up, threw a little gravy on it, and gave it to my dog. I didn't do this all the time, but I figured now was a special occasion, and maybe a treat would put him in a better mood for another walk the next day.

Sandy didn't touch it. He didn't so much as sniff it. Instead, he sat at my side on the couch, watching the doorway intently. I tucked him under one of my arms, and he laid his head on my lap, eyes still locked on that door. Close to three hours of watching grainy VHS tapes on an outdated television set, Sandy started crying, hugging himself close to my body. This is where my judgement took me down the wrong path for the first time of many.

It must sound silly, being my dogs protector rather than my dog being mine, but this was my family. I figured if there was something out there that was scaring Sandy so bad, then it was my job to do something about it. I loaded my 4.10, opened the door, stood in the doorway and waited.

I must've waited at least a half hour, staring into nothing. There was barely any sound, save for the faint buzz of insects and leaves rustling in the cold autumn wind. Moose aren't elegant creatures, and if it were a moose, I would've heard it coming. Around the 40 minute mark, Sandy took off like a shot, into the darkness of the trees beyond the path, barking wildly. I started to get worried, despite my knowledge that my dog isn't entirely helpless in the wilderness. There were still bigger animals that would've liked to take a bite out of him if there wasn't a lot of food for the winter.

I heard Sandy's bark fade away in the distance, and then stop altogether.

I waited hours standing in the doorway with my shotgun cocked and ready to put down whatever it was that was waiting in the woods. I waited hours for Sandy to come back to the house. I waited until the sun was cracking through the trees, and then I waited until that night, sitting on my porch step, feigning off sleep deprivation to see my dog come back.

Sandy did come back, but not for another three days.

Fog had rolled in at that point, and it was getting darker, the night painting the sky a navy blue. Tracking over the last few days proved futile, and I started to get worried that I'd need to leave and find more provisions to last me the next few nights. I couldn't leave Sandy up there, lost in the woods, cold and probably hungry. The thought that he might be waiting out there for me to find him and bring him back home was distressing enough. I was packing the bag that hung on the coat rack next to the door with what I'd need for the next day's trip. I figured tomorrow would be the last day before I'd go into town and see if my Father would help me find Sandy. He was a retired, graying man, but I was sure if I brought up Sandy's name he'd be more than willing to help me search for him. Thankfully, Sandy came back before I'd even finished that train of thought.

I saw him from the window, on the path that lead down to the main road, a few dozen feet away from the house. Normally I'd hear him scamper to the doorway and paw at the door a few times, eager to come in, but this was different. I could see the reflection of his eyes as green pearls in the murky fog that had swamped the house. For a moment I thought it might be an animal, but the outline of his body in the wisps of thick low-lying clouds was unmistakable. Still, despite myself, I hesitated. There was something different about his body language. I stared out the window for a few more moments before reason overcame my gut instinct. Sandy could be hurt, I thought. Or worse.

I flung the doorway open, but he didn't come right away. Instead he stood there, watching me intently, and when he didn't move I whistled to him. "Here, Sandy," I coaxed him towards the house. "here, boy".

The way he moved was... different. It was as though his hips had been dislocated, and the angle of his paws changed direction with every step, as though he'd forgotten how to walk properly. His head was bowed to the ground, but his teeth weren't bared. He didn't seem aggressive. The only way I could describe the look he gave me was "sheepish", like he'd just gotten into something he wasn't supposed to and I yelled at him for it.

I thought he might hurt himself hopping up onto the elevated step if he'd dislocated his hips, but he did just fine. His back half swung a little, oddly enough, and his paws almost folded underneath himself, but he didn't go sprawling. He sat on the step and didn't take his look off me. It wasn't until I had moved from the doorway completely, opened the door wide and waited for him to walk in that he moved.

Straight to his bed. He didn't stop at my hand and sniff at me. He didn't wait for pets or jump up on me like used to. It was straight to his bed, where he sat and watched me for quite some time afterwards.

I returned to the movie at hand. I called to him a few times, but he didn't respond. His ears didn't so much as raise to the sound of his voice, or the pat of my hand on the worn out couch beside me. I had missed my buddy, but I wasn't about to move him physically towards me. There was something about him that said I shouldn't have let him in, but I chalked it up to silliness, and a few hours later I went to bed. The more I think back on it, I don't recall him blinking once. He sat there like a statue, and when I turned off the light, I could still see the reflection of jade green following me as I went into my room and shut the door.

I could have sworn I heard him walk in the night, the sound of nails clicking against the wooden floor coming up to the door of my room, but they were slow and deliberate. They weren't like the quickness of Sandy realizing I'd gone to bed and coming to curl up. I heard the noises stop outside of my bedroom, but I didn't hear his whine. I thought nothing of it and fell into a deep sleep.

When I woke in the morning, I figured it must've been a dream. Sandy was still sitting in the upright position I left him in when I went to bed. It was as though he didn't move a muscle the entire night, and when I said good morning, he didn't so much as wag his tail.

He did follow me into the kitchen, but he paused at the doorway when I put his bowl down on the floor and filled it up with supermarket dog food. Once again, his back half moved weirdly as he slowly made his way towards me. There was a nagging feeling that something was off putting about the way he looked that day. It was like he had gotten a little longer overnight.

Sandy hunched down again, like when he was walking to the door the night before. He didn't come into the kitchen. I figured he must've been hungry being out in the wild for so long, but he eyed me like he was waiting for me to come a little closer rather than touch the food. It goes without saying, but after a few moments of a staring contest between me and my unblinking dog, I called off that foolishness and called his name out loudly. Not even a flinch. I didn't want to move closer to my dog to leave the kitchen door, but this was my Sandy, and the most damage he'd ever done was eat flies. Sure enough, as I passed him, he turned and his body swayed unnaturally, but he didn't move towards me.

When I left that day, I couldn't find anything. The deer tracks in the mud were made a few days prior and went cold off naturally made trails through the woods. I couldn't hear bugs, or birds, or even the howl of a nearby coyote. The only sounds for miles away from the campsite were my own breathing, and the sound of crunching leaves underneath my feet. When the sun started to set, I started making my way back, but I should've just packed my shit and left.

Just behind a cluster of trees, with the house just visible beyond the rise, I figured I found out the reason why the animals had abandoned this place.

Generally, when there are mass animal deaths, that usually means that something is wrong in the area of the slaughter, and wildlife are usually smart enough to get the hell out of dodge. Even cats are bred instinctively not to like drinking from water that is close to where their food is, because if you saw a dead animal close to a stream, you'd figure the stream was tainted and find another source of water.

Hundreds of squirrels were disemboweled and strewn across the grass in an almost perfect circle. Most of them were skinned alive, but when I turned to heave up all the contents in my stomach, there were a few dozen that were inside out. I couldn't help but vomit repeatedly as I tried my best to walk around the circle of tiny organs and mashed up bodies, not just over the sight, but because the smell was ungodly. I don't know how long they'd been out there, but if I'd stumbled across this sooner, I'd have left with Sandy in tow immediately after. Gradually, the bodies stopped, and delved off into a random dead squirrel here and there. The biggest thing I managed to find, just a few feet off the unholy feeding ground, was a deer.

It looked as though something had decided to skin it alive from hide to neck, and draped some of the skin over a branch like someone was tanning the hide. I don't know how long it had been there, but it smelled like it had been dead for quite some time, despite the fact that there wasn't a single fucking fly. The head had been cut off clean just above the shoulders, and when I realized the organs had been removed, I moved from a walking pace through the forest to a jog. Thankfully the cabin wasn't too far off. I heaved one final time, wiped my mouth off on the back of my sleeve, and looked up to the house to see Sandy watching me from the window.

I tried to reason with myself, and tell myself Sandy's odd behavior could've been trauma. I know it's stupid to think of it now, but at the time, it was the only reasonable explanation I had to keep myself from going insane. The elongating body could've just been the loneliness getting to me. Sandy had realized there was something up with this place, and the second he noticed it I should've taken this warning and taken off back into town.

Once the door was shut behind me, I started packing the food and essentials back into boxes, moving quickly to try and get my things into the truck before night came. It'd be dangerous to try and maneuver my way through the trails at night, as the hills off Kelly's Mountain were steep, and in pitch darkness with my only companion being my headlights, it would've been easy to slide off a ravine and never be heard from again. I didn't want to stay one more night, but I had no choice. I had gotten back to the house just moments before the sun finally receded past the horizon, and we were bathed in a navy blue sky once again. I didn't pay attention to Sandy. He just sat at his bed and watched me pack. I figured no harm no foul, I'd throw his stuff in the truck in the morning and we'd be back in town before night the next day. Glancing at him for just a moment, it was a passing thought that he was looking a little longer today, and when I went to bed, it was a hard time getting to sleep for the next few hours.

It must've been close to 4 or 5 in the morning when I heard it.

The sound of whistling. The same whistle I used to call my dog. I broke out into a cold sweat when I realized that whoever slaughtered those squirrels, hung the skin up, left what he didn't need, could've very well broken into my house.

The door to my room didn't make a sound as I opened it slowly, thankfully. I waited a moment, listening to someone call my dog for a few more seconds before I dared poke my head out from the door frame to get a good look and whoever it was that could've hurt Sandy.

The outside door was open. All I saw was the back half of Sandy, too long and lanky, almost coiled around the back of the door. His front half was outside. Whatever it was that had impersonated my dog, it was whistling slowly, calling for Sandy.

When I could've sworn that it had hunched down to the ground again, and said "Saaaannn-deeee" in the most ungodly voice I'd ever fucking heard, I closed the door just as softly as I'd opened it.

I don't know how long I waited with my back pressed up against the door. I knew I left my gun in the bag on the coat rack. I know I didn't sleep. I waited until I saw the sun break over the horizon, and then I waited some more, until it must've been mid-day and I finally got the balls to open the door again and make a break for the truck. I wouldn't die in that place.

"Sandy" was gone, and the door was open. His food was untouched, but the fridge was open, and all the meat was gone. I didn't bother packing his stuff. I just threw my bag over my shoulder, made my way to the ford as fast as I could, and turned on the ignition. I can't describe the feeling that overcame me as I realized that I'd have to leave Sandy in this place. The thought that he could be dead was never a thought in my mind. I don't think I could cope with the knowledge that whatever I allowed in my house, whatever disemboweled those animals, could've done the same with him.

I made my way down the winding paths and roads as fast as I possibly could without veering off the cliffs. I felt like I was turning in circles down this labyrinth that would take me back to that house, but when I reached the pavement on the stretch of road back to town, I felt relief wash over me, thinking I was safe.

Just as I was pulling off onto the cement, I felt something hard hit the back windshield, sending broken glass into the passengers seat. I only got a glimpse of the deer's decapitated head catching on unbroken glass and tumbling into the back seat. I cried for most of the way home, hands clenching the steering wheel so hard my knuckles were white.

I wish I could leave this off with a positive note, /nosleep/. I wish I could tell you that I found Sandy at home, waiting for me. I wish I could tell you that was the end of it, a traumatizing experience in the woods that I'll get over with time.

Last night, I found it hard to sleep. I kept replaying the entirety of my trip to Kelly's Mountain in my head. I figured I wouldn't be sleeping for a while, and laid there, listening to the wind through my open window.

I could've sworn I heard the whistle I used to call my dog with, coming from the forests edge.

[queenofcats17]

How would HS!Sammy react to HS!Susie turning into a werewolf? Would Susie try to hide it so people wouldn’t worry about it (maybe it happens during a deadline and everyone is already suuuper stressed D:)?

Oooh! This is really cool!

———————————————————

Susie had turned into a werewolf for the first time while Sammy was away for a conference with Joey and Henry. Upon transforming, Susie was delighted. Now she and Sammy could be werewolves together! They could cuddle together and groom each other and run in the woods together! Oh, it would be wonderful! She couldn’t wait to tell him!

But…then she thought about it for a moment. They were nearing a deadline and Sammy was incredibly stressed. He’d almost certainly worry if she told him about this. Sammy always worried about her. She didn’t want him to worry. Not when he had a big deadline coming up.

So, she kept it to herself. She didn’t want him to worry. It would be fine, she told herself. She threw herself into her work along with him, doing her best to ease his burden as best she could and make sure he wasn’t pushing himself too hard. That was all she really could do to help him.

She had a few close calls where she thought she might have been found out. Being a werewolf came with some dog characteristics. She’d noticed it with Sammy after he’d transformed. An increased hatred for squirrels, a desire to just flop on people he was close to (mostly Susie), a certain dog-like joy at being praised. Norman had most certainly figured it out, but thankfully Sammy didn’t notice. All he noticed was how helpful she was being.

It was due to this throwing herself into work that she didn’t notice that the full moon creeping up on them. Normally, she kept a meticulous calendar so they wouldn’t be surprised by Sammy’s transformation. It went right beside her calendar for her period. This werewolf calendar had gone by the wayside due to the deadline and so when the full moon arrived, neither Sammy nor Susie was prepared.

“It’s getting a bit late,” Susie said as she noted the time on the clock. It was nearly 9 at night. The two of them should have gone home ages ago. But Sammy had wanted to finish up some work. He looked dead on his feet.

“I just…I just want to finish this piece.” Sammy mumbled. Susie raised an eyebrow. Sammy’s pen wasn’t even on the paper anymore.

“I think you’ve been working long enough,” she said, gently removing the pen from his hand and helping him up. “Come on, let’s get you home, sourpuss.”

Sammy whined, of course, but he couldn’t really put up much of a fight against Susie. Especially since she’d been working out more to be able to lift him in his werewolf form. He didn’t stand a chance as a human.

However, when they got outside, a problem arose. The moonlight hit them and Sammy felt the familiar tug of the transformation. He sighed to himself. He should have known it would sneak up on him like this. However, when he turned his head to apologize to Susie, he found that he was not looking at the human Susie Campbell but a sheepish blonde werewolf.

“Susie?” It had to be her. She hadn’t left his side.

“Surprise~” Susie smiled weakly.

Sammy couldn’t really communicate with humans while in werewolf form, only able to communicate through barks and growls. But, evidently, since they were both werewolves they could talk to each other. Which made everything quite a bit easier.

“When did this happen?” Sammy asked. His ears were flattened against his head.

“Last month.” Susie’s tail was between her legs. “When you, Joey, and Henry were out of town. I was going to tell you but…Well….” She started to fidget. “We were coming up on a deadline and I didn’t want to worry you.”

“This is something I would have liked to know about!” Sammy gestured to her.

“I knew you’d worry!” Susie instinctively let out a growl. Sammy flinched back a bit at the growl. Susie’s ears drooped and she hunched her shoulders.

“Sorry,” she said. “I just…I knew you’d worry about this and I knew it would probably take away from your work. But I should have told you.”

“No no, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snapped.” Sammy reassured her. “You’re right. I would have worried about this.” Susie’s ears perked up a little.

“You…Do make a rather nice wolf,” he admitted. Susie’s tail began to wag, a grin spreading across her muzzle.

“Oh really?” She moved a bit closer. Sammy swore he would be blushing if he didn’t have fur to cover his face.

“You know, I was pretty excited to share this with you.” She bounced on her hind paws. “There’s a lot of stuff we can do together like this.”

“Like?” Sammy squeaked. His mind was going to some dirty places that he was absolutely sure Susie’s mind was not going to.

“Like grooming each other and cuddling and running in the woods.” Susie counted her ideas out on her paws. Her tail was wagging rather vigorously now and her eyes shone. Sammy’s tail was starting to involuntarily wag as well. He cursed his wolfish body. It was so much harder to hide his emotions when his tail broadcasted his every emotion.

“Well, we need to get home,” he said. “We might as well run through the forest.” They could collect their car in the morning.

Susie lit up, her tail wagging even more furiously.

“I’ll race you,” she said before sprinting off for the forest. Sammy set off after her, unable to keep himself from smiling. He was actually rather excited to be able to share this with Susie. God knew she was better at dealing with this sort of thing.

[sciencespies]

Meet the Ecologist Who Wants You to Unleash the Wild on Your Backyard

https://sciencespies.com/nature/meet-the-ecologist-who-wants-you-to-unleash-the-wild-on-your-backyard/

Meet the Ecologist Who Wants You to Unleash the Wild on Your Backyard

The land is ten gently sloping acres in rural southeastern Pennsylvania, at one time mowed for hay, with a handsome farmhouse that Douglas Tallamy bought around 20 years ago. It isn’t much to look at, by the standards most Americans apply to landscaping—no expansive views across swaths of lawn set off by flowerbeds and specimen trees—but, as Tallamy says, “We’re tucked away here where no one can see us, so we can do pretty much what we want.” And what he wants is for this property to be a model for the rest of the country, by which he means suburbs, exurbs, uninhabited woods, highway margins, city parks, streets and backyards, even rooftops and window boxes, basically every square foot of land not paved or farmed. He wants to see it replanted with native North American flora, supporting a healthy array of native North American butterflies, moths and other arthropods, providing food for a robust population of songbirds, small mammals and reptiles. He even has a name for it: Homegrown National Park.

A creek on his land supports native plants adapted to “getting their feet wet,” Tallamy says, such as skunk cabbage.

(Matthew Cicanese)

On a June day in 2001, not long after he bought the property, Tallamy, an entomologist at the University of Delaware, was walking his land when he noticed something that struck him as unusual. Before he bought it, most of it had been kept in hay, but at that point it hadn’t been mowed in three years and “was overgrown with autumn olive and Oriental bittersweet in a tangle so thick you couldn’t walk. The first thing I had to do was cut trails,” Tallamy recalls. And walking through his woods on the newly cut trails, what he noticed was what was missing: caterpillars.

No caterpillars on the Oriental bittersweet, the multiflora rose, the Japanese honeysuckle, on the burning bush that lined his neighbor’s driveway. All around him plants were in a riot of photosynthesis, converting the energy of sunlight into sugars and proteins and fats that were going uneaten. A loss, and not just for him as a professional entomologist. Insects—“the little things that run the world,” as the naturalist E.O. Wilson called them—are at the heart of the food web, the main way nature converts plant protoplasm into animal life. If Tallamy were a chickadee—a bird whose nestlings may consume between 6,000 and 9,000 caterpillars before they fledge, all foraged within a 150-foot radius of the nest—he would have found it hard going in these woods.

Tallamy knew, in a general sense, why that was. The plants he was walking among were mostly introduced exotics, brought to America either accidentally in cargo or intentionally for landscaping or crops. Then they escaped into the wild, outcompeting their native counterparts, meeting the definition of an “invasive” species. By and large, plants can tolerate a wide range of environmental conditions. But insects tend to be specialists, feeding on and pollinating a narrow spectrum of plant life, sometimes just a single species. “Ninety percent of the insects that eat plants can develop and reproduce only on the plants with which they share an evolutionary history,” Tallamy says. In the competition to eat, and to avoid being eaten, plants have developed various chemical and morphological defenses—toxins, sticky sap, rough bark, waxy cuticles—and insects have evolved ways to get around them. But as a rule, insect strategies don’t work well against species they have never encountered. That’s true of even closely related species—imported Norway maples versus native sugar maples, for instance. Tallamy has found that within the same genus, introduced plant species provide on average 68 percent less food for insects than natives. Hence, a plant that in its native habitat might support dozens or hundreds of species of insects, birds and mammals may go virtually uneaten in a new ecosystem. Pennsylvania, for example.

Demonstrating that point might make for a good undergraduate research project, Tallamy thought. So he asked a student to do a survey of the literature in preparation for a study. The student reported back there wasn’t any. “I checked myself,” he says. “There was a lot written about invasive species. But nothing on insects and the food web.”

That, he says, was the “aha” moment in his career, at which he began to remake himself from a specialist in the mating habits of the cucumber beetle to a proselytizer for native plants as a way to preserve what remains of the natural ecology of North America. He was following in the footsteps of Wilson, his scientific hero, who went from being the world’s foremost expert on ants to an eminent spokesman for the ecology of the whole planet. “I didn’t exactly plan it this way,” Tallamy says with a shrug. “In the musical chairs of life, the music stopped and I sat down in the ‘invasive plants’ chair. It’s a satisfying way to close out my career.”

As a scientist, Tallamy realized his initial obligation was to prove his insight empirically. He began with the essential first step of any scientific undertaking, by applying for research grants, the first of which took until 2005 to materialize. Then followed five years of work by relays of students. “We had to plant the plants and then measure insect use over the next three years, at five different sites,” he recalls. “To sample a plot was an all-day affair with five people.” Out of that work eventually came papers in scientific journals such as Conservation Biology (“Ranking lepidopteran use of native versus introduced plants”), Biological Invasions (“Effects of non-native plants on the native insect community of Delaware”) and Environmental Entomology (“An evaluation of butterfly gardens for restoring habitat for the monarch butterfly”). And then popularizing books aimed at changing the face of America’s backyards: Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife With Native Plants and, this year, Nature’s Best Hope: A New Approach to Conservation That Starts in Your Yard. And in turn a busy schedule of talks before professional organizations, environmental groups, local conservation societies, landscape designers—anyone who would listen, basically.

Squirrels aren’t the only animals that like acorns. Weevils develop inside the oaknuts, and the larvae, in turn, nourish blue jays and woodpeckers

(Matthew Cicanese)

When insects disappear, humans may not take much notice, but the recent population declines of two species have received a great deal of attention: the monarch butterfly, because it’s an iconic, easily recognizable and beautiful creature; and the honeybee, because it’s needed to pollinate crops. But those episodes are symptomatic of a larger disruption in the ecosystem. Tallamy estimates that the worldwide population of arthropods, chiefly insects, has declined by 45 percent from preindustrial times. Without insects, it would be the case that lizards, frogs and toads, birds and mammals, from rodents up through bears, would lose all or a large part of their diets. “The little things that run the world are disappearing,” he says. “This is an ecological crisis that we’re just starting to talk about.”

Tallamy is 68, graying, soft-spoken and diffident. In his talks he cloaks the urgency of his message with an understated wit, as when he presses the unpopular cause of poison ivy, whose berries at certain times of the year are an important food for the downy woodpecker and other birds. “When do you get a rash from poison ivy?” he asks an audience. “When you try to pull it out! Ignore your poison ivy. You can run faster than it can.” To which many people would reply: “Nature had plenty of poison ivy and insects in it the last time I was there.”

But to Tallamy, that attitude is precisely the problem. It speaks to a definition of “nature” as co-extensive with “wilderness,” and excludes the everyday landscape inhabited by virtually all Americans. The ecosystem cannot be sustained just by national parks and forests. A statistic he frequently cites is that 86 percent of the land east of the Mississippi is privately owned. A large fraction of that acreage is either under cultivation for food or planted in a monoculture of lawn, a landscape that for ecological purposes might as well be a parking lot.

To Tallamy, spiders serve as a linchpin species to birds because they are the second most important food, outweighed in nutritive value only by caterpillars.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy incorporated his thinking into “Homegrown National Park,” an aspirational project to repurpose half of America’s lawnscape for ecologically productive use. That would comprise more than 20 million acres, the equivalent of nearly ten Yellowstones. The intention is to unite fragments of land scattered across the country into a network of habitat, which could be achieved, he wrote in Bringing Nature Home, “by untrained citizens with minimal expense and without any costly changes to infrastructure.” The plots wouldn’t have to be contiguous, although that would be preferable. Moths and birds can fly, and you’re helping them just by reducing the distance they have to travel for food.

“Every little bit helps,” Tallamy says. “Most people don’t own 50 acres, so it’s not going to be that hard. The minimal thing is, you plant a tree and it’s the right tree. Look at what’s happened at my house.”

The idea was picked up by the writer Richard Louv, who coined the term “nature-deficit disorder” in his jeremiad Last Child in the Woods, and by the Canadian naturalist and philanthropist David Suzuki, whose foundation is supporting an effort to implement the project on a limited scale in Toronto.

Even a small patch of Pennsylvania woodland, if allowed to grow wild, generates a vast ecosystem: Native crabapples persist into winter and feed foxes and wild turkeys.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy walks his land in all seasons, wrenching from the soil the occasional Japanese honeysuckle that made the mistake of venturing onto his property, checking up on his winterberries and sweet pepperbush, looking for leaves that have been chewed by insects and the stems of berries eaten by birds. Occasionally he will do a moth survey, hanging a white sheet in his woods at night behind a mercury vapor lamp. The diversity of insect life he encounters is eye-opening even to him; last year he added more than 100 species to his property list, including a few he had to look up to identify. (There are around 11,000 species of moths in the United States, and 160,000 worldwide.) Near his front door is a 35-foot-tall white oak that he planted from an acorn, ignoring the advice some landscapers give against planting oaks, because you won’t live long enough to enjoy them at their mature size, which may take 300 years. “Well, if you can only enjoy a 300-year-old oak, I guess that’s true,” he says dryly. He has collected 242 species of caterpillars from the tree in his yard—so far.

Tallamy is a great proponent of the ecological benefits of caterpillars, a single one of which has the nutritional value of as many as 200 aphids. “They’re soft, you can stuff them down the beak of your offspring without damaging their esophagus,” he says approvingly. “They contain carotenoids. Birds take the carotenoids and build pigments out of them. That’s how you make a prothonotary warbler.”

He acknowledges that not all homeowners enjoy the sight of caterpillars munching on the leaves of their trees. For them he recommends what he calls his Ten-Step Program: “Take ten steps back from the trunk and all your insect problems go away.”

Mushrooms enrich the teeming soil when they decompose.

(Matthew Cicanese)

Tallamy’s principles have a particular resonance with people—like me—who consider themselves environmentalists but landscaped on the principle “if it looks good, plant it.” He says he’s sometimes surprised at how well his message is received. “I thought there would be quite a bit of push back,” he muses. “But there hasn’t been. I’m suggesting we cut the lawn area in half. I assume they just aren’t taking me seriously. Early on I remember a nurseryman in the audience glowering at me, and I heard him muttering ‘You’re trying to put us out of business.’ I don’t want to put them out of business. I get a lot of invitations from the nursery industry, trade shows, landscape architects. All I’m saying is add one criterion to what you use when you choose your plants”—whether a plant is native. “You can’t argue against it.”

Actually, you can. Tallamy has a long-standing scientific disagreement with an entomologist at the University of California at Davis, Arthur Shapiro. Shapiro grew up in Philadelphia, where, he says, the Norway maple on his block in the 1960s was host to at least three species of moth caterpillar: the American dagger moth, the Crecopia silk moth,and the Lunate Zale moth. “Tallamy invokes the diversity of caterpillars as an indicator of the superiority of native plants over nonnative plants,” Shapiro says. “It’s unsurprising that most of them feed on native plants. What goes right by Tallamy is the extent to which native insects switch and adapt to nonnative plants.

“Here in California we are probably more heavily impacted by naturalized plants than any other state except Hawaii. Our low-elevation butterflies are heavily dependent on nonnative plants. Their native host plants have been largely eradicated, but to their good fortune, humans introduced nonnative plants that are not only acceptable but in some instances superior to native hosts. Most California natives in cultivation are of no more butterfly interest than nonnatives, and most of the best butterfly flowers in our area are exotic.”

The much-reviled (but also beloved by some) eucalyptus trees that have colonized the Central California coast now harbor overwintering monarch butterflies, Shapiro says, although for the most part the insect populations they support are different from those found in native habitats. But his attitude is, so what? The marine blue, a butterfly native to the desert Southwest, where it feeds on acacia and mesquite, has expanded its range into the suburbs of Southern California, feeding on leadwort, a perennial flowering shrub native to South Africa. It is botanically unrelated to acacia and mesquite, but by some accident of biochemistry is a suitable host for the marine blue caterpillar, which has adapted to its new host. “That sort of process is happening all the time all around us,” Shapiro says.

Tallamy begs to differ. The examples Shapiro cites, in his view, represent either anecdotal findings of limited scientific value (like the caterpillars on the street tree from Shapiro’s childhood), or anomalous exceptions to the rule that introduced species support a fraction of the insect life of the plants they replace. A ginkgo tree might look like a functional part of an ecosystem, but the Chinese native might as well be a statue for all the good it does. The well-publicized instances of alien species that found American vegetation to their taste—Asian long-horned beetles, European corn borers, gypsy moths—have created the misleading impression that to an insect, one tree is as good as another. But those are exceptional cases, Tallamy maintains, and the great majority of insects accidentally introduced to North America are never heard from again. “Remember, the horticulture trade screens plants before they introduce them into the market. Any plant that is vulnerable to serious attack by native insects is screened out.”

On one level, this dispute reflects that Tallamy and Shapiro have studied very different ecosystems. As Tallamy wrote in Bringing Nature Home, he was “forced to slight western North America and focus on the Lepidoptera that occur on woody plants in eight states of the eastern deciduous forest biome.” The scientists’ disagreement is also partly over time scales. Tallamy acknowledges that natural selection will allow some native insects to evolve the ability to eat whatever is growing in front of them, or be replaced by species that can, and that birds will figure out a way to make a living off the newcomers. But he thinks this is likely to take thousands of generations to have an impact on the food web. Shapiro maintains he has seen it occur within his own lifetime.

It’s fair to say Tallamy sometimes pursues his passion for native flora to the point of single-mindedness. He is the rare environmentalist who doesn’t bring up climate change at the first opportunity, not because he doesn’t care about it, but because he wants to stick to his chosen issue. “Climate change is not what’s driving this problem,” he says. “If there were no climate change anywhere, it would be just as important. It’s driven by poor plant choice and habitat destruction. I don’t like to mix the two. Right now the culture is, ‘Every problem we have is related to climate,’ and that’s not the case.”

He also can be nonchalant about some of the adjustments and sacrifices entailed by his plan for saving the planet. He suffered from allergies to ragweed pollen for decades, he writes in Nature’s Best Hope, but is willing to forgive the plant on the basis that “the ragweed genus Ambrosia is the eighth most productive herbaceous genus in the East, supporting caterpillar development for 54 species of moths.” He doesn’t sugarcoat the fact that the phylum of arthropods includes, besides butterflies and honeybees, about 900 species of Ixodida, which includes ticks. “I think I’ve had Lyme around a half-dozen times,” he says, as he plunges casually into a chest-high thicket in early autumn, “but I’m one of the people who get the rash”—the telltale bull’s-eye marker of an infected bite by the deer tick, which not all patients evince—“so I was able to catch it and treat it each time.”

Anyone following Tallamy’s landscaping dictums might want to, at least, tuck their pants into their socks when they walk around their yard. That is a small sacrifice given the enormousness of the problem he wants to solve. But even people willing to give over half their lawn for the benefit of caterpillars might be daunted by the task of replacing it according to Tallamy’s prescription. Saving the ecosystem isn’t as simple as just letting nature take over your backyard. In nature the race is to the swift, even for plants. “There’s a time in the spring when plants from Asia leap out before plants from North America,” he tells an audience, projecting a picture taken in a local park in late March. “All of the green you see is plants from Asia, the usual suspects: multi-flora rose, Oriental bittersweet, Japanese honeysuckle, privet, barberry, burning bush, ailanthus, Norway maple, all escapees from our garden. You go into almost any natural area around here, a third of the vegetation is from Asia.” Invasive species are called that for a reason, and repelling them is hard, and never-ending, work.

Moreover, not all native plants are created equal, at least from the point of view of an insect. Across a wide range of North American biomes, about 14 percent of plants make 90 percent of the insect food, he says. These are the keystone species that keep the food web healthy, and the most important are four genera of native trees: oaks, poplars, willows and cherries. But also hickory, chestnut, elms and birches, and joe-pye weed, aster, marsh marigold, skunk cabbage, snakeweed. Some seem worth planting just for the poetry of their names: Chickasaw plum, chokecherry, wax myrtle, devil’s beggar’s-tick, false indigo, hairy bush clover, cypress panicgrass.

But insects aren’t the only creatures that evolved to consume the native vegetation of North America. Tallamy’s ten-step rule for making insect damage disappear to the naked eye doesn’t apply to deer. As he trudges alongside a shallow ravine on his property he points to a small clump of trees on the other side that have been denuded from the ground up to nearly shoulder height. “There’s the browse line on Eastern red cedar,” he says sourly. One reason landscapers favor certain exotic species is that deer don’t eat them. Tallamy’s solution for controlling deer is another one of his idealistic, if not altogether practical, recommendations: “Bring back predators!” he says cheerfully.

Tallamy stops on his walk to adjust a wire barrier around a native azalea. “If I wasn’t around to keep up this fence,” he muses, “the deer would eat it all. So you say, why bother?

“That’s a good question.

“But I do.”

“Natural” doesn’t always mean untouched. Tallamy uproots invasive plants, like this fast-growing porcelain-berry, a vine originally from East Asia, introduced in the 1870s.

(Matthew Cicanese)

I visited Tallamy not long before he set out for ten days in the mountains of Peru, where he was consulting with organizations that promote the practice of growing coffee plants beneath the tree canopy (“shade-grown coffee”) to conserve bird habitat. He wanted to investigate which trees provide the best ecological diversity. Before I leave, he quotes Wilson one more time, from his famous talk on “The Importance and Conservation of Invertebrates.” The passage goes like this:

“The truth is that we need invertebrates but they don’t need us. If human beings were to disappear tomorrow, the world would go on with little change….But if invertebrates were to disappear, I doubt that the human species could last more than a few months. Most of the fishes, amphibians, birds and mammals would crash to extinction about the same time. Next would go the bulk of the flowering plants and with them the physical structure of the majority of forests and other terrestrial habitats of the world.

“The earth would rot.”

Wilson gave that talk in 1987. “It was,” Tallamy says dryly, “a theoretical worry back then.”

So it is less of a theoretical worry now, and more of a real one. But Tallamy is doing what he can to head it off, and he wants the whole country to pitch in. Homegrown National Park is meant to bring about not just a horticultural revolution, but a cultural one, bridging the human-dominated landscape and the natural world. “If you do this at your house or in your local park, you don’t have to go to Yellowstone to interact with nature,” Tallamy says. “You won’t have bison, you won’t have Mystic Falls, but you can have nature outside your door. Isn’t that what you want for your kids—and for yourself?”

To Tallamy, the nation’s backyards are more than ripe for a makeover. Here are some of his suggestions to help rejuvenators hit the ground running.

1. Shrink your lawn. Tallamy recommends halving the area devoted to lawns in the continental United States—reducing water, pesticide and fertilizer use. Replace grass with plants that sustain more animal life, he says: “Every little bit of habitat helps.”

2. Remove invasive plants. Introduced plants sustain less animal diversity than natives do. Worse, some exotics crowd out indigenous flora. Notable offenders: Japanese honeysuckle, Oriental bittersweet, multiflora rose and kudzu.

3. Create no-mow zones. Native caterpillars drop from a tree’s canopy to the ground to complete their life cycle. Put mulch or a native ground cover such as Virginia creeper (not English ivy) around the base of a tree to accommodate the insects. Birds will benefit, as well as moths and butterflies.

4. Equip outdoor lights with motion sensors. White lights blazing all night can disturb animal behavior. LED devices use less energy, and yellow light attracts fewer flying insects.

5. Plant keystone species. Among native plants, some contribute more to the food web than others. Native oak, cherry, cottonwood, willow and birch are several of the best tree choices.

6. Welcome pollinators. Goldenrod, native willows, asters, sunflowers, evening primrose and violets are among the plants that support beleaguered native bees.

7. Fight mosquitoes with bacteria. Inexpensive packets containing Bacillus thuringiensis can be placed in drains and other wet sites where mosquitoes hatch. Unlike pesticide sprays, the bacteria inhibit mosquitoes but not other insects.

8. Avoid harsh chemicals. Dig up or torch weeds on hardscaping, or douse with vinegar. Discourage crabgrass by mowing lawn 3 inches high.

#Nature

[alliswell21]

Older!Peeta for your prompt request?

Hi Anon! This Prompt has been in my inbox for an embarrassing long time. But it just kept growing and getting away from me. So, it’s not a drabble anymore. It’s a 4500+ word one shot, and I hope you like it.

Rated G.

>>—————>

He’s wiping the preparation table when I walk onto the threshold of the back door to his bakery. I linger a moment, just to admire the flex of his strong, muscly arms, before clearing my throat, alerting him of my presence.

Ha startled a little when he looks up, but as soon as he realizes is me, he smiles broadly, making my breath hitch and my knees falter. The man is in his early thirties, give or take some ten years my senior, but I can’t help the way my stomach flips every time he smiles, regardless of if it’s directed at me or someone else.

“Hello, Katniss! What can I do you for?” The young baker says throwing his rag over his shoulder, making his way to meet me.

I step forward, trying not to trip on my own feet. Every time we trade I hope he doesn’t catch up on the humongous crush I have on him. I would die of embarrassment if he did.

“Hi, Mr. Mellark. I have a couple of squirrels in my bag, in case you’re interested.” I say with my best smile, one I secretly save just for him.

“You know I’m always interested in your squirrels, Katniss! I love me a fresh game stew.” He says, winking at me, making my heart rush.

I can’t hold his gaze, my cheeks are burning. I try to shove down my silly infatuation to close the deal already and retreat to the street, where my heated face and neck can cool off.

I busy myself rooting around my bag, choosing the thickest critters while mindlessly responding to his comment.

“We usually fry ours. Especially if I get too many and can’t trade them all for something else. Having a whole fried squirrel to oneself is alright when there ain’t anything else besides.”

I pull two fat squirrels out of the bag triumphantly, but when I raise my eyes, my smile falters. I think he was looking at me with pity or something in that realm, it’s hard to tell, since almost immediately his eyes took his usual warm, jovial quality. But I’m still mortified, the last thing I want is for him to pity me. He’s the only person to ever showed me compassion in this town, and I don’t want him to worry about my wellbeing; I can take care of myself and my family now.

When I was eleven, there was an explosion in the coal mines where my father worked. My father was one of the few lucky ones to come to the surface with his life tightly grasped. Father suffered third degree burns over most of his body, his boots melted to his skin. The town doctor had to amputate both legs. Father was alive and eventually recovered from his many injuries, but the accident had effectively rendered him employable any longer.

The fear, anger and helplessness I felt then almost ate me whole; of it hadn’t been for Mr. Peeta Mellark, my whole family would’ve starved to death, but here we are still, and I want him to know we’re okay now.

“Fried squirrels are a perfect meal on their own. Why mess it up with sides if you can help it?” I smile at him weakly.

“True. But if you ever have an overstock on game of any type, don’t hesitate on coming here to trade. I host family supper with my folks, my brothers and their families every so often. More meat in the stew will always be a plus!” His smile is so sweet and genuine, I have no choice but to agree.

“Will do.”

He looks over the squirrels with a satisfied smile on his lips and nods in approval, which makes me burst with pride and joy; he turns to bag a loaf of bread from a nearby tray and while he’s doing it, he asks conversationally, “So, are looking forward to the festival tonight?”

“Yes. Nothing like my sister, though. But I am looking forward to it. Daddy is coming too. It should be nice.”

“That’s great news about your father,” he says looking at me over his shoulder. “I bet your mother will have her hands full, caring for him and shooing away all the boys that’ll come asking you for a dance,” his eyes are full of mirth as he hands me the bread.

My mother, is the daughter of the most trusted apothecary in town, she’s a very respected and sought out healer, but caring for Daddy became a full time job for her for a while, leaving me as the sole breadwinner for the household.

I’m uncomfortable with the last part of the baker’s comment, but I try to hide it. “Oh, not really. I don’t get asked to dance much,” is a statement, and I’m completely fine with it, but Mr. Mellark is frowning, like he can’t believe it, so I add, “I’m not the dancing type, anyway. I’ll be too busy making sure Prim’s line of admires doesn’t get out of hand.” I smile.

“Surely that fellow, Gale Hawthorne, will like to take you into the dance floor for a spin?” The baker asks doubtful.

I shake my head. “He’ll most likely be too preoccupied watching over his siblings for that.” I shrug.

I think he’s about to say something else, but I cut him off pretending I didn’t notice, informing him Prim will be over tomorrow with some of her goat cheese. Four years ago, I was able to get a nanny goat for my sister. Now we have two goats that produce good milk. Primrose, makes cheese and sells it. She does well with her cheeses.

The baker and I conclude our business quickly after that, and I hurry home before the baker has a chance to start talking about the festival again. I’m exhausted from having to keep in check all my feelings and emotions in front of the baker while we traded. Is a taxiing chore being polite and friendly without showing my affection for the man, I doubt he’ll be thrilled to learn of my crush anyway. Is a well known fact that the man is very selective where women are concerned.

The baker, Mr. Peeta Mellark, is single, relatively young and very attractive. Women of all ages flock to his shop like flies to a flame. He’s also very well off being one of two bakers in town— the other one is his oldest brother, who’s married with children of his own— but Mr. Peeta has only been romantically linked to a couple of ladies in the last few years, and none of the relationships progressed to marriage. I know is silly, but I like him not being linked to anyone, it just makes my crush on the man feel harmless, at least this way, the only heart that could get potentially hurt is mine.

My family is already preparing for the festivities when I step into my home, and my mother sends me straight to the washroom, where a tub with warm water awaits me. After I’m rid of the grime of the day, my mother lets me wear one of her dresses from when she was young, a very femenin blue number with matching blue shoes. She puts my hair in an elaborate updo and Prim swoons dreamily, imagining there would be a line of boys trying to ask me to dance with them.

I snort.

It seems my sister and the baker mistake me for something I’m not. Nobody wants to dance with a scrawny, dark, scowling girl, with too many responsibilities and mouths to feed to be paying any attention to suitors. Of course, I don’t say any of this out loud because Prim seems happy, and there’s so little instances in which she can let her imagination romanticize my life anyway, I let her be for the night. Tomorrow will bring reality way too fast, there’s no reason to rush into it.

At seven o'clock, my mother and I sit Daddy in his wheelchair, while Prim pushes it carefully out of the living room and unto the small ramp running down the porch steps. Mother takes over and Prim and I simply flank our mother’s sides while we make our way to the town square.

Everyone is in attendance, the Harvest Festival being one of the few events our small community celebrates in unison. This year they went all out with the decorations; fairy lights hang criss crossed from building to building overhead all over the square. Small bouquets of wildflowers and sprigs of wheat and even a small fruit can be found tied with strips of burlap to light poles or benches all over the place; and the smell of spiced cider fills the air, making it feel warm and cozy, though is completely packed in here.

There are a few booths where one can buy cider, candied apples or pastries, circling the square perimeter. Prim squeals when Daddy gives a coin and sends her away to get peppermints from the sweets’s table. A group of men with mismatched instruments play music in the gazebo on the opposite corner of the square; that’s where Daddy wants to go, because he started playing the harmonica with the fiddler a few months ago, and the man invited my father to join ‘the band’ for the festival. The problem is that my mother and I can’t lift Daddy’s chair up the four steps into the gazebo.

We start looking around for either Gale or his brothers, so we can figure something out, but before my neck gets permanently stretched like a lamp post, Peeta Mellark materializes out of nowhere, and lifts my father— chair and all— over and on the wooded structure, all by himself. My parents thank him profusely, but the baker waves them off humbly, saying it was his pleasure.

He smiles at me for a moment; I think he blushes, but he tears his eyes away much too fast. I realize he could’ve been just flushed with exertion. He did just haul a grown man in a wheelchair a good foot and a half from the ground or so.

Daddy won’t let him go yet, though, “Alright, I’m a man of tradition. You do something nice for me, and in return, I’d like to do something nice for you. What’s your favorite song, sir? I know the band will be happy to perform it, and dedicate it to you. Who knows, maybe you’ll have an excuse to bring a pretty lady out on the dance floor?”

Mr. Mellark scratches the back of his head, “I’m manning my booth over there. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to close it for the night, but there’s this one song…” I believe his eyes flick in my direction for a moment, but he shuffles on his feet, and continues, “The Valley song. I know is a slow one, and I doubt I’ll dance it out with anyone, but if the band can squeeze the request in…” He Let’s the words hang in the air scratching his neck again.

“I’ll see what we can do! Thank you again for your help, mr. Mellark.”

“Peeta.” He says quickly, and brings his hand forward to shake Daddy’s. “Mr. Mellark is still my father.” He smiles.

Daddy nods. “Hunter Everdeen, harmonica player extraordinaire.”

We all chuckle at that and the baker walks off after another hand shake and a nod to mother and me. My heart is beating so fast, I think I’ll break a sweat in a minute without a way to explain it, so I make some excuse and head out find Prim, who’s been gone way longer than expected.

After finding Prim sitting on a bench with her school friends and the younger Hawthorne boys, I figure I should visit with my own friends… except my only friends are Madge Undersee and Gale Hawthorne, and the two are currently pressed together in the middle of the dance floor barely stepping in a small circle, although the music is too lively and fast for their slow pace. I scowl, not really jealous because they seem to be sweet on each other, but jealous because they can dance with someone they like, and no one thinks anything of it.

“I guess that’s why you were so adamant nobody wanted to ask you to the dance floor.”

I startled, though the voice speaking over my shoulder is deep, velvety soft and full of something like concern. I turn around to find blue eyes watching Gale and Madge with a frown.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to dance with Hawthorne. I’m even more sorry for pestering you about it earlier. I apologize if I caused any distress.” Peeta Mellark says quietly, this time looking straight at me.

I shake my head, smiling. “Nah. Is not like that. When I graduated school, Gale asked me out. I turned him down because I didn’t feel like that for him, but I knew Madge did. I’m glad he finally realized it and gave it a chance.”

“But… you don’t seem happy.” He observes.

“It’s not about them.” I say. “I just, I’m almost twenty, and the only prospect in my future is joining the mine crews to help out at home. We do alright with Prim’s cheese, Mother’s healing, and my hunting for now, but once Prim graduates and marries, then things will get more difficult.”

The baker’s frown deepens, and I realize I’ve gone and run my mouth, worrying the only person that ever cared to lend a hand.

Is true we are better than most families in our neighborhood, The Seam, but that wasn’t true right after Daddy’s accident. The mines paid the equivalent of three months salary as termination when it was clear he wouldn’t be coming back to work. The money ran out despite all of our stretching and maneuvering. It got to the point only Prim and Daddy were eating, while mother and I went without, although mother never found out about I wasn’t eating, but saving my portions for Prim’s school lunches. The day we only had mint leaves broth for supper, I knew we were in big trouble. There was no money, Mother wasn’t tending patients because Daddy needed tending all day and night, and I decided to go sell whatever we had of value in the house.

When my plan to sell our old baby clothes failed, then I resorted to look through waste bins for any scrap of food. A teenaged Peeta Mellark found me digging through the bakery’s trash on a bitterly cold, rainy day that awful winter, and instead of chasing me away like his mama would’ve done, he gave me two loaves of the most delicious bread I’ve ever eaten. The loaves were full of nuts, raisins and grains, hearty and filling, and the first solid food we’ve had in three days.

I was so relieved to have some food, I hugged his waist and cried, but his mother finally caught on in what he’d done, and started screaming at him, berating him for being soft and gullible, giving away good bread to Seam rats; I was so scared of the old baker’s wife— it wasn’t for nothing her nickname was The Witch— I took off running with the warm bread under my shirt burning my skin, for fear the witch would take my precious food away. I faintly heard Mr. Peeta said he’d give bread away again if he ever saw a starving kid in need. I had the bad luck to turn back to see him once more before rounding a corner, right as his mother struck him across the face, screeching the most horrible things imaginable.

I didn’t stop running until I was safely home, with the bread pressed against my chest for dear life. Nobody asked me where the bread had come from, maybe too afraid to know the answer. It was Peeta Mellark’s gift that gave me the idea of foraging the woods. The next day I saw the young baker had a bruise under his eye, compliments of his witch of a mother. I was too horrified by it, I’ve never actually seen a parent hitting their own child for something that was actually good and generous, so it took me a long time to return to the bakery, but when I did, I had game to bargain with, and the smile on young Peeta’s face is something I’ll treasure forever.

“I’m not complaining about my lot in life—“

“You’re almost twenty, you said?” He asks, his voice unsure, his eyes searching.

I nod and the corner of his mouth twitches. “That’s good!” He says, his face turning crimson red. His hand goes back to scratch the back of his neck, and I start thinking it’s some sort of nervous reaction. I find it endearing, really. “I have to go back to mind my booth, but please, come find me when your father is ready to get down from up there, I want to help.”

I don’t get to accept or decline his offer, he walks quickly back to the line forming at his table, leaving me puzzled with our short interaction.

The rest of the night goes by, I do get to spend time with Gale and Madge, but since they keep making puppy eyes at each other, I leave them alone and go say hello to other people I know, mostly very loyal clients I’m on a first name basis with, like Rooba the butcher, Delly the cobbler, and Sae the street vendor that buys whatever meat I have no matter the critter, her stews are legendary, but nobody asks what’s in them.

Around eleven, my mother flags me down to let me know Daddy is feeling tired already, although he denies it vehemently. I round Prim up, who’s been dancing half the night with a different boy every time I see her. She doesn’t complain when I tell her is time to go, in fact she smiles gratefully. I guess she’s tired of the attention. We head back to the gazebo, and then I remember to go fetch Mr. Peeta, but his booth is already packed and closed for the night. The baker is nowhere to be seen, until I turn to the gazebo disappointed, just to see him already there, speaking to my parents.

“Hmm… I wonder what’s up with Daddy’s face?” Says Prim looking at our father.

She’s right, Daddy has a serious expression, the beginning of small frown tugging at his brow. Then his eyes find me in the crowd, asqe make our way to them, and then his features soften, a quizzical look takes his face. He looks back at the baker and gives a small nod. Mr. Peeta seems to breath in deeply, a big smile covers his face and he takes my father’s hand in an enthusiastic shake. In a moment, he lifts the chair with my father in it, and places it on the ground. Mother takes the handles and pushes it, so we meet on the outside of the square, ready to head home.

“So, Katniss, dear, Mama and I are heading home for the night, but Peeta here has offered to escort you and Prim back home by midnight.” My father’s voice is deep and scratchier than usual. He spares the baker a quick look, “He’s asked my permission to take you out for a dance, if you agree?” Daddy is looking at me now, his eyes knowing but soft.

My mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out, Prim loops her arm around mine and squeezes it to her side.

“She’d love to dance with Mr. Mellark, and I’ll sit with Hazelle and Posy Hawthorne until it’s time to head home.” Says Prim happily.

I nod, still too stunned to say anything. My eyes travel from my father’s to Mr. Peeta’s, not truly hiding my surprise until I notice how nervous the baker is, standing beside my parents.

“If that’s okay with you, of course. I wouldn’t dream of imposing—“

“Okay!” I gasp out.

Peeta Mellark’s relieves sigh matches perfectly how I feel inside. He smiles sweetly at me, then thanks my parents, offering his arm to me.

“May I say that you look absolutely breathtaking tonight?” He says after a few minutes dancing quietly.

“Oh… thank you.” I say shyly.

“Really!” He says beseechingly. “When I saw you walk in with your family… my heart stopped for a second. I couldn’t breathe right… heck, I still can’t breathe right. You are just stunning.”

I smile to my boots, too overcome to meet his eyes. “You look nice too.” I say, because he always looks nice, even covered and flour and frosting.

The fiddler up in the gazebo announces the last song of the night, “The Valley song, special request from Mr. Peeta Mellark. Enjoy!”

The soft notes of the mountain air come sweet and full as Mr. Peeta’s smile thins out.

“You know why I chose this song?” He asks me.

I shake my head.

“You used to sing it with your daddy when he brought you over for trades when you were a child, you used to wear your hair in two braids, instead of one back then. You remember?”

I nod, “I do. He has the loveliest voice.”

“So do you.” He says. “The birds stop to listen when you sing.” He smiles sadly, “You stopped when he got hurt. It pained me to know the world had lost two songbirds to the mines, one to injuries, the other to hunger.”

I tense in his arms, but he doesn’t stop holding me as he speaks.

“Then, one day, you came by and you were singing again, The Valley song. Your hair was in the single braid already, and you looked so grown. Your game bag was bursting with meat and greens and I knew you’d be alright. I felt happy. The song became synonymous of hope to me.

“And then, last year, you came to trade with me, and rolled your eyes at a joke I botched, most other women laugh even though is not funny. I loved that you found me corny, because that meant you weren’t like the other women, and it hit me, you’ve grown again, and you were magnificent!

“But Gale Hawthorne was standing a few paces behind you, and pulled on the end of your braid when you started walking back home before you shoved his hand away playfully. I thought it’d be a matter of time before I was making your wedding cake, and then I realized the thought made my chest tighten with sadness and jealousy, no matter if the groom was Gale or some other person.

“I felt like a pervert, because you were so young. The problem is that I felt invested in your survival when you were a kid, and then I couldn’t stop admiring your resourcefulness. Turns out I’m eight years older than you, I just feels like the gap is so much bigger when you’ve watched the person grow up before your eyes.

“I figured, next year you’ll be twenty, and age won’t matter as much when we’re in the same bracket, so I asked your father if it was alright to court you. He said that was up to you, but I could start by walking you home tonight, with Prim as chaperone”

I snort at that. Prim is possible the poorest choice in chaperone my father could’ve make. Knowing my sister, she’ll be picking out the names of her potential nieces and nephews by now, and she doesn’t even know this conversation is happening.

Peeta interrupts my musing then, “Maybe, if you find me worthy at all, I’ll be making your wedding cake a happy man this time around next year, because I will be your groom.” The uncertainty in his voice is painful. “I know that’s too far out in the future, but would you consider it?”

“Marrying you?” I ask astonished.

He scowls, and tries to dislodge from me, “Well… I understand if the idea is too—“

“Okay!” I rush breathlessly, clawing at his shirt sleeves to keep him in place.

“Okay?” He poses dazedly, “You’ll allow it then?”

I nod eagerly, “Yes, I’ll allow it. Court me, Mr. Mellark!”

He grins, “Please, call me Peeta.”

I smile at him, “Of course. That’ll be weird, calling you Mr. Mellark while we’re out on a date.”

Is his turn to smile widely. “I’m looking forward to that.”

“There’s just one thing… Peeta,” I say, and his face lights up when I use his proper name. “My birthday is in May, so maybe… we can cut short that year of courting?” I feel silly, and happy, and reckless all in one swoop.

His responding smile is blinding. “I think we can work with that. Will your folks be okay with it?”

I shrug, “They let you walk me home tonight, didn’t they? Is the first time they officially let a man walk me anywhere. And I know for ads t Daddy likes you. I like your chances.” I tell him, wondering where did all this cheekiness came from.

“Good!” He says with a shaky chuckle.

The song ends, and we collect Prim to go home. To her credit, Prim is being a very mature fifteen year old, and gives us the illusion of privacy by walking three steps ahead of us. When we reach our house, she goes right in after a quick “Good night” to Peeta, leaving us in the front stoop alone.

“Thank you for dancing with me tonight.” I say, “and for walking us home. I know is much too late for a baker to be out and about.”

“Oh, I’ll be alright. I’ll have my father come in if I need any help, but I think I can handle a long day. Spending time with you is worth it.”

Again, I smile shyly to my shoes, just noticing how comfortable they feel on my feet. I need to thank Mother for letting me wear them.

“I enjoyed spending time with you too, Peeta.”

He puts two fingers under my chin and tilt my face up, so our eyes meet.

“Could I come see you tomorrow evening?” He asks softly.

“That would be nice.”

“Katniss… there’s something else I would like to ask.” He swallows audibly.

I give him a questioning look before gesturing to go ahead.

“Would you allow me to… kiss you?”

“Yes,” I whisper nervously, excited.

He leans in slowly, his eyes searching mine the whole time, until our lips touch, and my lids close blissfully. The kiss is short and tender. Gale tried kissing me once, but I punched him in the jaw and he never tried again, but this?!

“Wow!” I breathe out. “I think I’m going to like kissing you, Peeta.” I say circling my arms around his neck.

He smiles broadly against my lips, “That’s good to hear. We’ll be madly in love with each other in no time, so it’s okay to kiss me anytime you feel like it, you know.”

I giggle. “Okay, then, come here!” I stand on tiptoes and kiss him again, long and curiously, until we hear my mother clearing her throat behind us.

The moment is embarrassing, sweet and funny, but the warmth I felt while kissing him stays with me all the way until the next day, when we steal a few kisses at the back door of the bakery when I stop there for our daily trade.

Indeed, I think we’re way on our way to madly in love already, and I couldn’t be any happier!

[twdmusicboxmystery]

9x07: Details

Okay, let's talk about details.

***As always, spoilers abound for 9x07. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!!!***

Rosita/Eugene

I talked yesterday about Rosita running out in the woods alone about how we didn't see where she left Eugene behind. I'll talk about this more tomorrow because I'm going to do a predictions post, but this whole situation is still super suspicious to me.

We also saw her try to drink from empty water bottle. We've seen a lot of water bottles over the seasons that were all similar. I still have been wanting to do a post about all of them, but haven't gotten around to it. But remember that we did see a lot of all-around death. At the very least.

Jesus and Aaron find Rosita and she tells them she left Eugene in the barn. I think this is super-significant guys, but I will talk more about tomorrow in my predictions post. For now, just know that the barn reference and everything about Eugene being there is important.

Hilltop:

Hilltop is thriving under Tara and Jesus’s leadership. I don't know why Tara just doesn't take over as leader. I get that Jesus might be a figurehead for people because he was Maggie's right-hand guy, but Tara is obviously better at logistical aspects and the day-to-day running of things, so she might as well just take over that part of it.

At one point, she said they had a noise complaint from trailer seven. This is a very minor detail, but the noise came from a kazoo which is technically a musical instrument or noisemaker and seven, in terms of biblical numerology, also caught my attention.

Aaron and Jesus training out in the woods together, which I think is kind of cool. I noticed at one point, one of them said "Same boat, my friend." So, another boat reference, but also a call back to episode 6x13, which was called The Same Boat. It was one about Carol and Maggie being kidnapped by the saviors. Not sure what to make of this reference, but it's interesting. (I actually have some theories, but this is such a minor point, I’m gonna wait to see what happens next episode first.)

Tara tells Jesus that Rosita will be okay. She was just dehydrated and on IV. They said almost the exact same thing about Yumiko last episode when she got hurt, and I compared it to Beth. Just feels like more Grady parallels to me. Also in this part, Tara says of Maggie, "She's not here. You are." We could relate that to the “here” symbolism and especially Morgan's Here’s Not Here episode. I won't say too much more about that except that we’ve seen these themes before.

Music/Magna’s Group:

Michonne breaks the violin while guarding Magna's group. I do still think that the musical instrument could represent Beth being shot, and I’ll talk about possible implications of that tomorrow.

The musical discussion the group has is really interesting. It’s kind of a rehash of the discussion Beth and Edwards had at Grady, but more detailed. Edwards says art is transcendent and not about survival, and Beth suggests it’s something they can and should still do. (“I still sing.”) So this was the first suggestion of this idea that, despite needing to put survival first in this world, art and transcendence are still important for the survival of the human race.

Luke says the same thing here. “They came together as an answer to defeat. They sat around a campfire. They shared their stories with each other in the form of music, and paintings. And they created a common identity. And then they, you know, built communities. And then, as thy grew, Neanderthal retreated, and then after a while they just died out…this is the one thing that separates us from the animals. For better or for worse, it brings us together. And if we’re trying to rebuild something, you can’t ignore that.” So we have a major parallel between this and episode and Slabtown.

At one point on the road with Magna’s group, we heard frogs. So just frog symbolism and more callbacks to Them.

Daryl/Carol/Henry

 By far most of the details I saw came from Daryl’s scenes. (Naturally 😉)

Daryl’s camp is pockmarked with walker traps. Many of them are pits in the ground that the walkers step in and get caught. That reminded me a lot of the fire pit the Beth dug in Still.

Carol says, "You haven't fixed the boat since last time?" We’ve ever seen Daryl with a boat before, so I'm thinking this has something to do with the 6 year time jump that we don't entirely understand. But, I also can't help but remember the boats that were so prevalent in 5b at Alexandria. Sam played with one, there was one on the water with a red balloon when Rick stood beside the pond. I always thought that was a Beth thing, having to do with all the water and ship symbolism we seen around her, though we don't quite know what it means yet.

I mean, if nothing else, Daryl is pretty much living on a boat, now. Given all the boat/ocean/sailor/water imagery we’ve seen, that’s super-important.

We also saw a “wrecked” boat in 7x15 near Oceanside. There was definitely some Beth symbolism going on there, so if Daryl’s boat is “broken” it could be the same symbolism.

I said yesterday that pretty much everything I said in my dog post was confirmed here, right? Well, it occurred to me when Carol asked Daryl when he’d eaten last, and Daryl replied, "the dog ate yesterday," that was him associating himself with the dog. She asked when he ate, and he answered by talking about the dog. So, very similar to Buttons, Daryl pretty much named himself the dog. So, everything I said before, (black dog equals Daryl, white dog equals Beth) is definitely true.

Daryl shot a snake! Yep, an actual snake. I thought this was a combination of two things from Still. In Still, he tried to shoot a squirrel on a tree and missed, breaking one of his arrows. Later, he kills the snake slithering on the ground with his knife. In this case, he actually did kill the animal on the tree, but it was the snake. Then he cut its head off with his knife, similar to what he did in Still. So, I'm wondering if we should be reading into the differences as well as the similarities. Maybe Daryl missing squirrel in Still in some way foreshadowed his and Beth's arc. Like that he would lose her in some way, so the squirrel escaped. Something like that. But in this case, he hits it dead on, maybe because things will be better for him this time around. I don’t know. Just throwing out ideas.

I also noticed that Daryl specifically doesn’t bury walkers. He kills one of them and Carol asked if he’s just going to leave it there. He says yes, because it keeps animals away. So this is completely the opposite of what he was in 4B. Remember Beth taught him that it was important to bury people, even walkers and people they didn't know. This started out with the Rich Bitch lady, and he helped Beth cover her. We saw it extended after Lenny was killed by the Claimers. But now, he doesn't care at all. He’s just leaving walkers where they fall.

He also refuses to protect people. At least at the beginning. Carol asks him to go protect Henry and he flat out refuses. In a lot of ways, Henry is very similar to how Beth was when she and Daryl left the prison. He’s strong and can take care of himself, but he's also very young and very new to being outside the walls. So was Beth. So, this would be very similar to if, when the prison went down, Daryl simply refused to watch over Beth. I think that's only important to show that he's sort of in the opposite place he was in S4.

Daryl also skins the snake, just like Still. We haven't seen him do this since 4x12 so this is very significant. Also, kind of a fun reversal of 7x10, when Carol cooked for him. I’m sure they were calling back to that here a little bit as well.

Then we have Carol cutting his hair with a knife. Okay, a couple of important things to recognize here. I thought it was really significant that they specifically did not have her use scissors. We know they had scissors in Alexandria because Jesse used them to cut hair and killed kill a she-wolf. And I'm sure the Kingdom has them as well. Maybe Carol just decided on the spur of the moment to cut Daryl's hair, but even so, they could have her pull out a pair scissors or even had Daryl have one in his camp and it wouldn't have been unrealistic. But they specifically have her use a knife rather than scissors to cut his hair.

Why is that important? I think it's because scissors are Beth symbol. Tptb use them very specifically in the show for stuff about Beth and Grady, and they very specifically did not want to put that symbol in here because it was not applicable to the situation. If we’re totally crazy and reading into the symbolism way too much, Carol would've just used a pair of scissors. She didn't, which means the scissors are important and specifically could not be used in the scene.

@frangipanilove also made an amazing observation about this scene. Certain shippers are freaking out because Carol touched Daryl’s hair and face and their misconstruing that as romantic. But 

1) we talked in our group about how that was very much about his scar. The show is trying to draw attention to it, and Carol playing with the hair right over it gave us an excellent look. 

2) @frangipanilove pointed out that this is a PERFECT parallel to the scene in Them (5x10) where Carol gives Daryl Beth’s knife. Think about it. That was a tender moment between them too. She played his hair. And there was a knife present. That’s awesome! Not only is it a callback to a Beth scene, but I’ll talk in a minute about Henry/Beth parallels, so this works well with those as well. And then there’s my predictions post tomorrow. It works well as evidence for all three. Go @frangipanilove!

 We also found out that Daryl originally went out there to look for Rick's body. That's a super-tragic development because it means that when Daryl walked away at the end of 9x05, he was already going out to look for Rick's body. That makes my heart hurt.

Carol tells him, “You have to let that go.” And I think that’s super-interesting considering he told Rick to let Carl go just before the bridge blew, and now he hasn’t really stopped looking for Rick’s body. He never let it go, any more than he ever let Beth go. Just proves that even though he was preaching that, he doesn’t let things go himself.

It's also super significant in a TD way. We’ve said for years that Daryl looked for Beth's body and couldn't find it, and eventually Rick made the whole group move on. So, it's yet another parallel between Rick and Beth where Daryl looked for the body and never found it. And, you know, Rick's alive so…

Let's talk about Daryl scars. Henry asked about the scar on his face, and Daryl is very standoffish about it. He refuses to answer and then gets up to look for his dog, sending the message that he'd rather hang with his dog than with Henry.

Later, we see Daryl's back and find that he has several new scars, including a prominent X scar on his top right shoulder, two parallel lines further down, and then another X scar in exactly the same place as Michonne’s. Yeah, that’s weird. The top X may have already been there. Back in S3, he has something similar, and they may have just changed it so it looks more prominent now. But he definitely didn’t have the same X as Michonne or the parallel lines. As I said yesterday, these are way too clean and even to be normal battle scars.

Several people have suggested they might be brands. If that's the case, we have no idea what they are, or where they came from. Who the hell could have branded Michonne and Daryl of all people? It's not like the two of them would have sat still for it. So, we really don't know what this is pointing to, but it’s quite bizarre.

Daryl’s dog (Dog) gets caught in one of his walker traps. This had major callbacks to Alone, not only because it was dark, and the dog was barking with walkers around, but because Henry's foot got caught in the trap, too, just like when Beth’s foot got caught in the small game trap.

Henry moved to kill a walker (just like Beth did) and his foot got caught in the trap like her. We even had Daryl helping Henry pull his foot out, getting him unstuck. 

Which is exactly what he did with Beth. Then he asks if he's okay. Henry says yes, it's just a scratch, which parallels to Daryl asking Beth if she can move it in her saying yes.

We also had some missing foot symbolism in this scene because the walker Henry kills is originally caught in the trap and trying to pull itself out. When it does, it pulls it’s own foot off. That’s why Henry had to jump in and help him. Remember that two of the major times we saw the symbolism, specifically an unattached foot, was in Inmates when Beth saw the unattached foot by the train tracks and then with Rick and Michonne in 7x12, which was also a major retelling of Still.

Then of course Daryl says to Henry, "I told you to stay back," which pretty much everyone in the entire fandom picked up on. These parallels are pretty undeniable at this point.

Henry even shows Beth’s sarcasm. Beth said, “Thanks for the help,” while Henry says, “Yeah, you’re welcome.” Again, the fact that they’re strong and get right back in Daryl’s face makes him respect them more.

This is where things get really interesting with Henry and Daryl. Very much like with Beth, once Daryl goes through an experience with Henry, where they survive together, and especially when he can see that Henry strong, he instantly has more respect for him. The dynamic between Daryl and Henry here was very similar to Beth and Daryl’s in Still and Alone. At first, Daryl is very robotic and closed off to Henry, but after Henry helped save his dog, and Daryl himself, Daryl sat down and opened up to Henry without being prompted, telling to him about how the dog checked walker traps and thanking Henry for his help.

Then, also like Beth, Henry kind of calls Daryl on his crap. When Daryl says that if Carol needs him, she knows where to find him, Henry says she shouldn't have to. Daryl then asks if Henry truly wants Daryl looking over his shoulder all the time.

(Oh, I forgot to mention the whole chaperone thing. The Beth razzed Daryl about being her chaperone at the moonshine shack, and they use the same verbology here with Henry asking Carol if she thinks he needs a chaperone. So yet another parallel there.)

 Henry replies that it's not just about him, which seems to impress Daryl. Henry really doesn't want a chaperone, but he'll do it so Carol has peace of mind, and I think Daryl seems impressed by that. 

So, much like Beth, Henry and his goodness and innocence pulls Daryl out of his robotic survival state and kind of guilts him into being a human being again, which brings them back to civilization. Major, MAJOR parallels here. I’ll talk more about where we think this Daryl/Henry arc may be headed tomorrow.

Another thing to note, though it’s not specifically a TD thing, is that Carol allowed Daryl and Henry to interact on their own. She was always in the background, watching, but didn’t tell them she was there. I think that’s significant for a couple of reasons. 

Carol knows both these guys can handle themselves, but she’s still around, being Mama Carol and making sure they’re okay. But I think she knew going into this that she wouldn’t be able to convince Daryl to go to Hilltop on her own. She’s not the one who changes his mind about stuff. (Think Beth: “What changed your mind.”) But Carol was hoping that Henry could change Daryl’s mind, and he did. This might be an indication of the insight Carol has into Beth and Daryl’s relationship, or if not that, into Daryl himself. She knows the effect people like Beth and Henry have on Daryl and was banking on Henry getting through to him. That’s why she didn’t interfere, and also why she was smiling when Daryl agreed to go at the end of the episode: she was right.

So at the end, we get Daryl and Carol finally getting to hilltop and kind of reuniting with some people. Michonne isn’t actually there yet, but she probably will be by the time Daryl, Jesus, and Aaron get back with Eugene, so we'll have a reunion of sorts.

So the structure of this arc is feeling very much like 4b to me. After the prison fell, everybody was divided into little groups, right? We had the same thing here. Michonne in Alexandria, Carol at the Kingdom, Tara at hilltop, Maggie off with the Commonwealth. And, of course, Daryl out on his own.

So this confirms @thegloriouscollectorlady’s 4 Arcs for 4 Communities theory. I’m also thinking about the fact that in 4x15/4x16, all the little groups reunited at Terminus. Now we’re seeing something of a reunion in 9x08 and a further introduction of a bad group (the Whisperers) to mirror the Termites.

So, we might argue that if 9x07/9x08 mirrors 4x15/16, well, we didn’t actually see Beth until four episodes after that in 5x04. So, maybe they’ll give us something in the MSF, or maybe they’ll make us wait until 9b or the finale to see her. As always we will just have to wait and see.

Okay, I’ll stop there. I have a lot more to say but it’s more about where we think these arcs may be going. I’ll talk about that tomorrow. Anything I missed?

[gary36]

GM X: Binary pt 1

I couldn't tell you the first thing about Alex.

"Switch seats with me."

"Why?" Kyrie shouted at me without taking her eyes off the road.

"Because-"

"I'm not a good enough driver for you!"

"Because your fucking right hand keeps trying to bite me!" I said indignantly while I pressed myself against the passenger door of the ice cream truck to put as much space as possible between myself and the massive lion head roaring and snapping at me in the middle seat.

"Well it's not my fault! I don't own him. He's not a pet."

"That's hardly the point, Kyrie!"

"Excuse me." Jamie said, tentatively poking her head from the backseat with both eyes on the lion head beneath her. "Mrs. Whetstone is the only adult here, maybe she should drive."

Kyrie rotated the steering wheel twice over, hit the gas, and leaned into a hard left turn. The ice cream truck came up on two wheels, for a moment I was sure we'd roll, everyone in back screamed, gravity pulled me towards the angry lion's open mouth, fortunately I was wearing my seatbelt. The tires squealed as we pulled out on the main road in the twilight. With a terrible shudder the truck slammed back on all fours.

"Am I not up to your standards?" Kyrie roared at the windshield.

"It's really just the lion thing." I said in a soothing voice.

"Mrs. Whetstone just has the most... experience." Jamie said diplomatically.

"Actually," Mrs. Whetstone chimed in as she regained her footing and rummaged around the freezer before producing an ice cream sandwich. "I ride my bike to work. I have a horrible phobia of driving. You're doing great hon!"

"Thanks Miss Shirley!" Kyrie said as she slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The lion went berserk, he thrashed and ripped huge chunks of the seats out with his fangs.

"Slow down!" I screamed.

"Fuck no!"

"Why?"

"There's snake people back there! My right arm is a lion! You're being a backseat driver!"

Kyrie stomped on the brake without warning. My insides lurched forward. Everyone in back screamed, so did the tires. The lion roared fiercely. The truck shuddered violently to a halt.

Suddenly all was quiet, the ice cream truck sat perfectly still in the middle of the empty road beneath a flickering streetlight. On either side of us tall green trees shifted in the wind. Kyrie breathed ragged and deep, her eyes fixed on the road. Her left hand held the wheel in a white knuckled grip. I saw sweat running down her face. The lion bore into me with his unwavering predatory stare.

At last Kyrie let out a long sigh. She reached over the steering column with her left hand and shifted the truck into park.

"Fine." Kyrie said popping the door open and gently sliding out "Have it your way."

I nodded and opened my own door. We started to swap seats.

"I can drive." Josh chimed in.

"Whatever." I obliged him, shifting course to the back.

"But I'm not sitting next to her." He pointed at Kyrie "She's got the disease."

"Would you shut the fuck up Josh?" I lost it "There's no disease."

The back erupted in squabbling.

"She can't ride back here." said a boy with corn-rows. "Her arm is a lion." I had learned his name was Virgil "We're too close together."

"Please don't let the wearlion ride back here." said Casey, an extremely short senior. "She's so angry."

"Technically," Darius, Math Club "lycanthropsy is a magical disease. Usually the transformation involves the best of both human and animal forms. This is more akin to shapeshifting, either through a spell or spell-like abili-"

"Can you please take me home?" Tina, freshman, color guard "I live just around the corner!"

"All of us want to see our parents." Roy, football player. "But where is everyone?"

"I don't want to go home." Margaret, perpetually smoking and wearing sunglasses, especially in class. "I want to hang with Lion Girl, she's cool."

"Wow." Sarah, perpetually smoking weed and wearing hemp, especially under the bleachers. "I can't believe you would act like this at a time like this. 'Lion Girl' is so cliche."

"Everybody calm the fuck down!" Joey, perpetually doing something sketchy in the bathroom.

"Nobody panic, it's going to be alright." said Jamie over the clamor.

Mrs. Whetstone, or Shirley, since Kyrie was on a first name basis, sat on a freezer beaming peacefully to herself with total indifference. Years of teaching had granted her a resistance to young people and their chaotic communication.

Josh was still ranting about seating arrangement "All I'm saying is-"

I shifted the truck into drive. Kyrie rolled down the passenger window and let her lion arm hang out.

We got rolling and an awkward silence settled on everyone.

I sighed and shook my head. "You said you're close by Tina?"

"Ya!" she piped with excitement "Just over here."

A couple of side streets later we were driving into a gorgeous sunrise. Tina lived in a modest house with her dad on Eris Avenue. We didn't pass anyone on the way, but Tina shrieked with joy when she saw her dad's car in the driveway.

The ice cream truck pulled gently to a stop in front of Tina's place. I turned and smiled at everyone. Sometimes it's nice to turn things over to adults.

Tina jumped out of the back of the truck and ran all the way to the front door. She knocked twice hard. Then she grabbed the door knob and let herself in with an ecstatic cry of "Dad!" Before disappearing inside.

Everyone else got out and gathered on the street. Tina's front door lay open. Miss Shirley walked to the door and called inside. "Tina! Honey! Can we use your phone?"

"Yes Ma'am!" Tina answered from far within her home. "One second I..." Her voice traveled further away and trailed off. "Let me just..."

Miss Shirley peaked her head inside "Tina! Everything OK?"

Tina came back to the door with a frown and tears in her eyes "I can't find my dad."

Miss Shirley placed a hand on Tina's shoulder and spoke softly "Hey now, everything is going to be alright. I'm sure your dad is around here somewhere. Did you check all the rooms?"

Tina nodded.

Miss Shirley held her chin in thought for a moment. "Where does he work?"

Tina sniffled "He's a cameraman. At the news station."

"Maybe he's still at work?"

"But his car..." Tina covered her face and looked down.

"Hey now, it's OK Tina. We'll find him."

"Okay..." Tina cried softly to herself.

I looked around at the others. They all shuffled their feet and looked down.

Darius cleared his throat "I live just down the street."

Shirley led Tina inside the house saying "Come on hon, let's call... someone."

"Hey, I gotta make a call!" Virgil said.

"Me Too!" said Sarah, aghast.

"Let me call my grandma!" Joey blurted out as he scuttled inside.

Soon everyone filed into Tina's house but me and Darius. A thunderous roar came from the ice cream truck. I looked back at Kyrie gazing sullenly into space, her lion reaching madly for me from the passenger window.

"Come on Darius." I said weakly. "Let's get you home."

We climbed in and started down the road. No one was outside. No one was driving. Once I saw a squirrel.

Darius lived three turns away from Tina. All the houses there had big yards, second floors, pools, guest houses.

"That's me!" Darius stopped me at a brown house with wood paneling down a private drive.

As I pulled up I hunched over the wheel and swiveled my head in all directions. There was no one, the sprinklers were on, the lights were on, but no one.

Darius jogged to the garage, produced a remote from his pocket, raised the door, and disappeared inside.

"Kyrie." I whispered.

"Yeah?" She replied without taking her eyes off the beast's glorious mane.

"Was it like this before you came to the school?"

"Like what?"

"It's so quiet."

"It's early."

"It's earie"

"Ya it's been kind of a weird day."

"Don't worry Kyrie, we'll get you... a doctor."

Kyrie rolled her eyes.

Darius walked back to the ice cream truck with his head down.

"What's up?" I said.

He shook his head. "Nobody's home. They left everything running, I'm sure they'll be back."

"Did you call?"

"The phone is out or something. It just beeps."

"Let's go back to Tina's." Kyrie said. She sounded exhausted.

"I'll wait here for my parents." Darius said.

"What?" I replied "Darius, we can't just leave you here by yourself."

He shrugged "I don't want to miss them when they get back. Besides, there's a security system. I'll be alright."

I refused to leave Darius alone but he wouldn't listen to reason. Eventually he went in his house and Kyrie reminded me that the others would be looking for us at Tina's. I turned the truck around and felt myself speeding. It wasn't like there were any cops around.

I looked to my right and saw the wind blowing through Kyrie's hair. She was holding the lion's face into the wind and stroking his mane with her left hand.

"I think he likes it." She said softly, as if to herself. "The fresh air calms him down."

When we got back to Tina's I headed directly inside. Kyrie stayed scratching the lion's head.

A quiet defeat had settled on all the students inside. They sat all about Tina's living room with hunched shoulders and low hanging heads. Miss Shirley scanned a nearby bookshelf silently.

I saw a phone in the room and picked it up.

"It's not gonna work." Virgil said.

I dialed my home anyways. It rang twice. I heard a click like someone answered but then just beeping. High pitch. Low pitch. Low pitch. Low pitch. High pitch. High. Low. Low. Low. High. High. High. Low. High. High. High. High.

[thecloserkin]

book review: Ender’s Game by Orson Scott Card (1985)

Genre: Sci-Fi, YA

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: No

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: Kind of

Is it shippable: Emphatically yes

Bottom line: must-read, watch the movie if you can

When I say it’s “kind of” endgame I mean there are nine thousand sequels I haven’t read but as of the end of this novel, yes, they’re together. Not canonically together, not romantically together, yet they are far and away the most important relationship in each other’s lives. They’re on their way to board a generation ship & colonize another planet, so that’s “together” enough for me thanks. I think you can love someone romantically without loving them sexually. One of the reasons children’s books are so ripe for those of us wearing incest-shipping goggles is because all the principals are kids and very young kids have not yet had time to grow apart from their siblings — to put down deep roots with college roommates or colleagues or whatever. I think the oldest major character in this book is like twelve.

John Paul and Teresa Wiggin have three extremely precocious children. Peter, the eldest, washed out of the government’s child-soldier-in-training program because he’s a sociopath who likes to hurt and manipulate people and has zero empathy. Valentine, the middle child, washed out because she has too much empathy. John Paul and Teresa got a special dispensation to have a third child and that child is Ender. For the first six years of his life, the most salient fact about Ender Wiggin is that he is a “Third,” a term of abuse and derision we frequently see hurled at him. There are bullies, Peter foremost among them. And the only one who who loves him unconditionally, who tries (usually in vain) to protect him from Peter, is Valentine.

It gave him something to do while the teacher droned on about arithmetic. Arithmetic! Valentine had taught him arithmetic when he was three.

Awwww just two gifted kids doing coursework way too advanced for their grade level. Only there are three kids, not two. Ender’s primal fear is that he will turn out to be “just like Peter” ie. that he too will enjoy hurting people; the person most able to soothe that fear and instill self-love in him is, of course, Valentine. It’s obviously unfortunate for his psychological development then that Ender passes all the tests and is recruited into the officer training program known as Battle School. There’s an impending alien invasion, you see; it’s a national emergency. So six-year-old Ender is separated from the only person he trusts and thrust into an environment designed to mold him into a killer. The military brass aren’t stupid, either. They see it right away:

“The sister is our weak link. He really loves her.” “I know. She can undo it all, right from the start. He won’t want to leave her.”

And this:

”Your brother hates you because you are living proof that he wasn’t good enough. Your parents resent you because of all the past they are trying to evade.”

”Valentine loves me.”

”With all her heart. Completely, unstintingly, she’s devoted to you, and you adore her.”

Once Ender heads off to Battle School—and that place is the emotional core of this story, just like Hogwarts is the center of the HP universe—the grownups make a conscious decision to isolate him from his peers and prevent him forming any intimate friendships: “He can never believe that anyone can help him out, ever.” Guys I get that Ender is a once-in-a-generation child prodigy but doing that to a six-year-old is tantamount to solitary confinement or sensory deprivation. He’s violently homesick — something I didn’t pick up on when I first read the book as a kid because I was so eager to get to the war games in the battleroom — but home is not a place, home is Valentine. The first night “he could hear several boys whimpering for their mothers or fathers or dogs. Then he could not help himself: His lips formed Valentine’s name.” Oh, dear heart.

He forms bonds with other kids, sure — they wouldn’t be grooming him for leadership if he wasn’t likable — but you know how you can be friends with people selectively, and share only very specific areas of your life with them? Yeah, Ender has superiors and later, subordinates; he has mentors and competitors and nemeses and allies but he doesn’t have anyone who understands him through-and-through the way Val does. Which makes his memory of her assume all the more prominence. He worries that by the time they let him see her again (there is a communications blackout so no letters) she will have changed and their relationship won’t be the same. A not unfounded fear, I think, but look at this:

”Hi,” he said.

”Hi,” Ender said.

”I’m Mick.”

”Ender.”

”That’s a name?”

”Since I was little. It’s what my sister called me.”

He prefers to go by the childhood nickname his sister gave him rather than his “real” name Andrew. When Ender finally makes his first friend at Battle School here is how it goes down:

On impulse Ender hugged him, tight, almost as if he were Valentine. He even though of Valentine then and wanted to go home.

It’s just so clear that Val represents all that is good and pure in the world. When he turns seven, all alone in his bunk and no one to celebrate with, he remembers his last birthday at home:

Valentine baked him a cake on his sixth birthday. It fell and it was terrible. Nobody knew how to cook anymore, it was the kind of crazy thing Valentine would do. Everyone teased Valentine about it, but Ender saved a little bit of it in his cupboard.

The only reason I’m here is so that a bugger won’t shoot out Valentine’s eye, won’t … split her head with a beam so hot that her brains burst the skull and spill out like rising bread dough, the way it happens in my worst nightmares.

There’s a scene where another kid rails against the unspoken Battle School norm that prohibits the kids talking about home and Ender starts crying:

”No, it’s all right,” Ender said. “I was just thinking about Valentine. My sister.”

”I wasn’t trying to make you upset.”

”It’s okay. I don’t think of her very much, because I always get—like this.”

He’s learned to suppress his own feelings because it’s too painful to dwell on how much he misses her. Meanwhile back at the ranch, Valentine celebrates Ender’s eighth birthday alone. The family has moved since Ender left for Battle School, and Valentine wonders:

How would Ender find them here, among these trees, under this changeable and heavy sky?

You have to remember that this whole time she’s been stuck with Peter, who’s convinced all the adults with an iota of authority that he’s turned over a new leaf, that he’s no longer the sadistic little boy he used to be. But Valentine knows better. Peter skins squirrels alive in the woods and stakes them down for her to find.

She couldn’t think of anything so terrible that she didn’t believe Peter might do it. She also knew, though, that Peter was not insane, not in the sense that he wasn’t in control of himself … Peter could delay any desire as long as he needed to; he could conceal any emotion. And so Valentine knew that he would never hurt her in a fit of rage. He would only do so if the advantages outweighed the risks … In a way, she actually preferred Peter to other people because of this. He always, always acted out of intelligent self-interest.

This is such a chillingly perceptive paragraph. The main takeaway is that the separation from Ender has been hard on Valentine too, and the hardest part is that she begins to grow ever closer to Peter, the brother she hates and fears, as the memory of her favorite brother fades. Peter hits her up her with a proposition. He wants to take over the world …. by disseminating political essays on the internet, writing under pseudonyms. And he needs Valentine’s help. Valentine agrees, because if she’s working with him she can curb his worst tendencies right? Haha. One day Valentine is summoned from class to meet with a stranger in uniform. “I’ve come to talk to you in confidence about your brother,” he says, and Val immediately assumes she and Peter have been found out, their aliases penetrated. It takes her a minute to realize it’s her other brother he’s come about. Ender’s performance has taken a nosedive, and they won’t let Valentine see him but they want to pick her brain about what might be troubling him. The audacity! She hasn’t been allowed to see him for three years and they want her to diagnose what’s wrong and tell it to them? Please. Moreover, she’s wracked with guilt over her first impulse, which was to protect Peter’s secrets, not to demand to know what was wrong with Ender:

She felt a deep stab of pain, of regret, of shame that now it was Peter she was close to, Peter who was the center of her life. For you, Ender, I light fires on your birthday. For Peter I help fulfill all his dreams.

to think of her little brother, who was so good, whom she had protected for so long, and then remember that now she was Peter’s ally, Peter’s helper, Peter’s slave in a scheme that was completely out of her control.

Valentine’s disloyalty to Ender is tearing the poor girl apart. If there was any sexual attraction involved this would be a super juicy incestuous love triangle but like I said at the beginning of this review, all these kids are prepubescent and introducing the element of sex would not fundamentally alter the interpersonal dynamics. We don’t get a Peter POV in this book but he’s perfectly aware Val’s always loved Ender best, and Peter may be a monster and incapable of love but surely he’s capable of jealousy?

A letter arrives for Ender at Battle School:

He read four lines into it, then skipped to the end and read the signature. Then he went back to the beginning, and curled up on his bed to read the words over and over again.

This is relatable behavior for anyone who has ever received a long-awaited missive from a loved one and just wants to savor it over and over again. Especially if it’s from the person he loves most in the world whom he hasn’t heard a peep from for three years. Ender being Ender, he parses the letter for signs it’s not the genuine article. He concludes:

It isn’t the real thing anyway. Even if she wrote it in her own blood, it isn’t the real thing because they made her write it.

Ain’t that the truth.

He had no control over his own life. They ran everything … The one real thing, the one precious real thing was his memory of Valentine, the person who loved him before he ever played a game … and they had taken her and put her on their side.

”I sold my brother,” Valentine said, “and they paid me for it.”

When Ender suffers another bout of burnout upon graduating, the grownups are smart enough to ship him back to Earth for an unscheduled leave of absence and to bring him Valentine, who is literally the only reason he wakes up in the morning. They spend a beautiful afternoon on a lake. Valentine intuits the purpose of the visit right away:

”Oh. So I’m therapy again.”

”This time we can’t censor your letter. We’re taking our chances. We need your brother badly. Humanity is on the cusp.”

Can we stop to reflect on how fucked up it is that these jackals are STILL taking Ender and Valentine’s bond — the only true and good thing in these kids’ lives — and bending it to their own purposes?

But she knew that he was glad to see her, knew it because of the way his eyes never left her face.

”You’re bigger than I remembered,” she said stupidly.

”You too,” he said. “I also remembered that you were beautiful.”

Recall that we don’t love people because they are beautiful, people are beautiful because we love them. Though the narrative spends exactly zero words dwelling on Valentine’s appearance, as far as Ender is concerned she is obviously the most beautiful, perfect human being to ever draw breath. She goes to squeeze his knee right where he’s always been ticklish—and finds that he’s seized her wrist in a vice grip. He took self-defense classes in Battle School. Ender says, “I didn’t want to see you … I was afraid that I’d still love you.” If this isn’t a line straight out of a romance novel. I’m not here to ding romance novels, of which I read plenty; I’m just stating the facts: Ender and Valentine are framed as the romantic leads of this story. They spend pages upon pages pining for each other, their decisions are driven by the suite of potential consequences for the other, and their long-awaited reunion is staged with all the trappings of big-R Romance:

And he touched her cheek so gently that she wanted to cry. Like the touch of his soft baby hand when he was still an infant.

Also, everyone and their mom ships it. Even Ender’s commanding officer ships it:

”I may have used Valentine,” said Graff, “and you may hate me for it, Ender, but keep this in mind—it only works because what’s between you, that’s real, that’s what matters.”

Ajdkfjddkjkdf give the people what they want. Okay so Ender defeats the aliens (by accidentally-on-purpose committing genocide but that’s beyond the scope of this review) and the war is over. Valentine comes to him and asks him to LEAVE BEHIND EVERYONE THEY KNOW and GO WITH HER AMONG THE STARS:

”I came because I’ve spent my whole life in the company of the brother that I hated. Now I want a chance to know the brother that I love.”

”While you’re governing the colony and I’m writing political philosophy, they’ll never guess that in the darkness of night we sneak into each other’s room and play checkers and have pillow fights.

Let me repeat: Ender and Valentine’s idea of a good time is sneaking into each other’s rooms and having pillow fights. Which is both innocent and potentially—not. It’s a scenario fair to bursting with incest potential, and when he agrees to go with her this is her reaction:

She squealed and hugged him, for all the world like a typical teenage girl who just got the present that she wanted from her little brother.

In my experience teenage girls are notoriously bored by/annoyed by/reluctant to be seen in the company of their little brothers. Not Valentine though, her little brother has always been her favorite person. Their bond is intense enough that I felt obliged to review this book even though it’s def not canon, and even though Orson Scott Card is garbage and a raging homophobe.

[chrishansler]

24604

This is my last night in this house. It is empty. It is quiet. And it has the same peace, the same sense of “home” it always has. We’ve lived in this house for 24 ½ years. Nine months after moving our young family back here from California, nine months into a new church plant, we bought this brand new home in “Orchard Park” at 24604 57th Ave. E. in Graham. Lisa and I were 30. Bobby was 5, Johnathan was 3 and Annie was 2. It was exciting. The paint was fresh, the front lawn was new and the yard was big! We had no plants, no trees, no back or side yards, no fence – just a nice patch of grass in the front of the house and a vision for what could be.

The yard was full of rocks like all of Graham soil, so we paid our kids 1 cent per rock if they picked them out of the back yard and piled them in the back. 😊 We didn’t have any money so I build a dirt sifter and I raked and sifted rocks out. Raking and sifting, raking and sifting. I was occasionally able to buy a truck load of sandy loam soil to spread in the back yard, and our friend and new church board member, Duane Nelson worked for Emerald Turf farms. So sometimes at the end of the work day he would take a pallet of sod that they were throwing out and bring it to me. So I would plant some seed, lay some sod and do what we had to do to create a back yard we would love. For a long time it wasn’t pretty. It was like a patchwork quilt of every shade of green and brown throughout the back yard. And we still didn’t have any trees. But that would soon change.

Mom and Dad were selling their house on Golden Given so I took their young Northern Spy apple tree. They had some wild evergreen starts growing in their back woods, so I took some 3’ Douglas fir, a couple of Cedar tree sprouts and a little pine tree. Working for Northwest Building services I had the opportunity to take a couple of beautiful Sunset Red maple trees out of a strip mall that was renovating and getting rid of them. It took a flatbed and six guys to move those trees. One went in the front yard, and one in the back corner on top of an area that had been raised by all the rocks we raked and moved. I took one of Debi’s rhododendrons that Mom Hansler had planted when she lived in that house. Eventually our yard began to take shape with vine maples from mom & dad’s new property, as well as a dark red ornamental hazelnut tree and a beautiful mountain ash that mom gave me. We built our cedar fence and we planted pear, apple, peach, cherry, and Asian pear trees.

I built a play house with an attached swing set for the kids. The neighbor boy Torsten peed in that play house. That will forever be his legacy in our minds. I put a little pond in the raised area in the back with little goldfish and koi. We had a little garden on the side of the house. It was the perfect yard for wiffle ball. We would have neighborhood home-run derbies with awards. We played volleyball, badminton and I hit plastic golf balls back there. One time Annie had a party and we played kickball with her friends but one of her big high school friends ran me over at home plate. We had so many great times around the fire out there, looking at the stars, roasting marshmallows, watching movies projected on the back of the house, and even having a live backyard barbecue concert by Rod Nash one time back there!

We had church gatherings in our home. In the early days of our church we had a “small group” at our house with 17 adults and 24 kids. It was nuts, but it was so beautiful and fun. We’d have friends over and play games into the late hours of the night. Our kids played hard – sometimes too hard, sliding down the stairs in sleeping bags and leaving dents in the front door that I can still see as a glance over there – happy little memory dents.

We had the perfect yard for dogs – large and fully fenced. But it wasn’t enough for Dottie, our first Springer Spaniel. She was fast, she could jump high, and she was naughty. She would jump the 4’ fence like it was nothing and she wasn’t always nice to the neighbors so I had to build her a dog house to try to contain her. It didn’t. She got out and had a one-night stand with a stray neighbor dog, horrifying all of the neighborhood children who witnessed it. Dottie went to live with a nice elderly couple who would let her live inside their house. So we got Jill. Jill was a good dog, but mom and dad needed a dog so Jill became dad’s dog. Jack was the first black lab I ever owned. He was also the first big dog I ever let live inside the house. Jack was a big, lumbering, always-panting friend to everyone. He was truly the “best dog of all the dogs.” He loved the back yard. And now, no dog has ever loved our yard like JJ loves our yard – chasing squirrels, driving out crows and catching frisbees. It is his domain.

But it wasn’t only dogs at this home. We had Misty – the beautiful, albeit sometimes cranky, cat. Skitty – a stray neighborhood cat that we sort of adopted. Furball was a great little gray cat. But he liked to be inside and outside. He always got excited when we came home, until that fateful day when I didn’t seem him as I pulled in the garage with all of the kids in the suburban. It was terrible to lose him. We buried him near Misty in the back yard. That loss resulted in getting two half-brothers, Shadow and Fuzzball – loving, independent cats. Fuzzball is sitting next to me on one side and JJ on the other on this last night in the house.  We have also had fish in the pond, and those fish attracted raccoons, a big grey heron and a bald eagle! And I have loved watching the countless chickadees, finches, pine-siskins, sparrows and swallows. John always had swallow babies in the birdhouse mounted next to his bedroom window.

And on Christmas our house stole the neighborhood show. The streaming lights down from the star, the driveway lights, the post lights, the light-post Christmas tree, the snowman, the outdoor music and the nativity from Pastor Gene. Sometimes God would even give us a little snow to make it really pop.

The kids grew up here. The house was literally their classroom for many years. They each had their own space and they made it their own. John with his video games, K’nex and candy; Bob with his music, maps and reading; and Annie with her entrepreneurial spirit – with ever changing wall colors, clothing designs and even selling candy out of her room to the boys for a profit one time. So much laughter rang through these walls.

When we bought the house Lisa and I thought it was significant that we were right in the center – perhaps to make a little difference in the neighbor’s lives around us. Lisa quickly made a best friend in Pam Davis, and our kids played together. We remember Blain & Cindy, Luke and the twins; Gary & Kim across the street, Jim & Sharon and Kelly & Iris. Kelly still lives here too, and I said goodbye to him today. I married Steve & Brenda in their home. We tried to show love to Jeff & crazy Wendy behind us – even paying for and building a fence for them with some church friends. I used to walk the neighborhood and pray with Len Phillips. Adam & Nikke, Chloe, Lila, Amelia and now Josiah  have been such great neighbors – taking care of our animals when we’re gone; sharing sugar, eggs, flour; letting each other in countless times when we locked ourselves out, and always shouting “hi” from wherever they were. We’re really going to miss them. Maybe we made a little difference here. I hope so.

I’ve prayed every day in this house. I’ve prayed for Lisa and each of our kids. I’ve drafted vision here for new adventures that have become reality. I’ve wept over heartache, disappointment and loss. I’ve sat by the pond and just listened so many times. I’ll miss walking my dog to Centennial, talking to God, listening to scripture as I go.

This year has been really, really tough. When dad died I came home and walked through these trees that grew in his yard originally, and they reminded me of his deep roots, his love for outdoors and beauty, and his quiet strength. Mom needs help – she needs to be with family. And this week, as we were preparing for our move, Bonnie died of cancer. Then, within the hour of Bonnie’s passing, Lisa received biopsy results confirming breast cancer. We haven’t really been able to savor these last days here because we are trying to survive some pretty devastating news. But we will miss it here. It has always been a place I couldn’t wait to get to. I’m so grateful for that.

Tomorrow we will begin new dreams in a new place. There will be new trees to plant, new fruit to harvest, new friends and new places to walk, run and ride our bikes to. Maybe this will be a place where our kids-in-law come and grandkids. That place will ring with love and laughter to. We will share life with mom there for a while. I will walk with Lisa as she beats cancer in a new neighborhood. She says that in that community it “always feels like a vacation.” That is my hope – that it will be a refuge for us, for our kids and family and for our friends.

Now I’m 55, Lisa is 54, Bobby is 29, John is 28 and Annie is 26. The house I sit in tonight is older, the carpets are worn, but the yard is mature and beautiful – full of life and growth. I hope the new owner loves it and enjoys it as much as I have. I hope they mow straight lines in the lawn and put up Christmas lights. I hope they sense the peace here. Thank you God for our home.

[everlarkficexchange]

A Tangled Web

Written by: @demisexualkatnisseverdeen

Prompt 100: “See, this is why no one lets you make the plans.” Pregnant,unwed, underage Prim will be punished unless Katniss hides the pregnancy, pretends baby is hers. Caught and tangling others into deception, Katniss agrees to another plan: marry Peeta, pretend it’s his so Prim can move on with her life. But then Rye forfeits bakery, claims child, wants to marry Prim. Only way to keep up lies and to let Prim have her own baby now is for Katniss to get pregnant, too, because of strict antiabortion laws. [submitted by Anonymous]

Rating: T for this chapter (rating will go up).

Author’s Note: Thanks to @ryrous for betaing this story. You took my hot mess of a story and made it better. Thanks to Anonymous for submitting this prompt. It was a lot of fun to write. Note that Peeta is the oldest sibling in my story and Rye is the youngest. I thought a teenage Prim being with a boy 6 years older would be majorly creepy. There are no games in this story but Panem is still a really terrible place to live because 13 is in charge. So 13 and the Capitol will be used interchangably. The people of 13 moved into the Capitol. Katniss is a little softer than in canon because she hasn’t had to face the Games and isn’t as afraid of children or marriage. I’ve been having a horrible time with the formatting so any weird errors are due to that. 

Trigger Warnings: None for this section but there will be scenes of sexual violence and homophobia/homophobic language.

“Prim, what’s wrong?”

Katniss watched her sister retch into the nearly bare flower bushes. Prim had been sick a lot in the last few weeks, and Katniss was concerned. Prim wasn’t running a fever but refused Katniss’s advice to talk to their mom.

Prim didn’t reply, and Katniss wiped her face with a damp cloth; then, she started sobbing. Katniss felt her heart sink. She wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what was wrong with Prim. Prim, her sweet, innocent little sister, must be pregnant.

“I’m pregnant, Katniss,” Prim sobbed. Katniss felt her stomach flip as she thought about what would happen. Her little sister was just fifteen years old. In Panem births were strictly controlled, and unwed mothers were sent to a home where they were forced to live until their children turned eighteen. These Community House women and children often died of starvation and disease. But anyone over the age of fourteen could marry and have children. Those who did received tesserae grain and oil until their children turned eighteen or until they married. This was District 13’s strategy with dealing with the massive under-population after the revolution, nearly twenty-five years ago. 

“Who’s the father?” Katniss asked, trying to keep her voice gentle. She wondered if the answer would be Rory Hawthorne.

“I can’t tell you.” Prim whispered. “He’s a Merchant.” 

Katniss felt her stomach drop again. The Merchants had plenty of money, but none would ever marry a Seam girl, even if she looked like a Merchant herself. Prim was half Merchant, but that didn’t count to people in town. 

“I’ll deal with it. I promise you, Prim. I’ll deal with it.” 

Katniss helped Prim to bed and laid the worn blanket on her sister’s shoulder before slipping outside. She was desperate. How could she save Prim? 

She sat in the woods for hours until the idea came to her. She would raise the child as her own. Of course, the obvious problem was that Katniss was not married. Not even close to married. She had rejected marriage time and time again because she knew she needed to be there for Prim and because she didn’t want to end up like her mother– in love and unable to function. 

Even if Katniss had married Gale, it wouldn’t have mattered. No one would have believed that two dark haired, grey eyed people would produce a child looking so Merchant. Prim’s baby was sure to be blond haired and blue eyed or, at the very least, some combination of that. Besides, Katniss doubted Gale would go along with this elaborate plan. He would want his own kids. He was married now anyway, so it didn’t matter.

There was only one solution. Take in Prim’s child and move to the Community House. Live there raising Prim’s child until the baby was eighteen. Katniss felt tears prick her eyes as she thought about the kind of life she would live there. There was a chance she might not even survive. But it was worth it. Katniss was a survivor; she was strong enough to handle it. Prim was not. 

Katniss went back into the house and told Prim her plan. Prim listened in silence, looking more and more miserable by the moment. Then she said, “Katniss, you can’t. I made a mistake and I have to pay for it.”

“No. You’re my little sister. It’s my job to protect you. Besides I can handle this much better than you.” Katniss put on more bravado than she felt. 

“You can’t do this.” Prim pleaded. 

“Oh Katniss…” Katniss looked up to see her mother standing there. She must have overheard Prim talking. “You shouldn’t have to do this. Perhaps there are some herbs I can give you.”

Katniss knew what her mother was talking about. Herbs that caused a woman to lose a baby were strictly forbidden. If her mother was caught doing that, she could be killed. 

“No,” Prim clutched her stomach and shook her head. “I’m not killing my baby.”

Katniss didn’t think of it that way but she didn’t say anything. Instead she just stood up and said, “We need bread.”

She needed to say goodbye to her own life. To all the people she cared about. To start facing the way people would look at her. The insults and jeers she would get for daring to get pregnant. She needed to say goodbye to Peeta. She wouldn’t be able to go out much after this. In order for the deception to work she would have to stay in the house with Prim until Prim’s delivery. Then she could go outside with the baby. 

She had to say goodbye to Peeta. She couldn’t tell him the real reason, but he wouldn’t want anything more to do with her once he saw her with the baby. He had become her friend in the years since he had saved their lives by giving them bread. He was only two years older than her, but he was already nearly running the bakery. Despite his enviable job and good looks, Peeta hadn’t married. Perhaps his mother’s noticeably acid tongue and manners had made girls reluctant to marry him.

Katniss knocked on the kitchen door. She knew that Mrs. Mellark was already in bed, and Peeta’s father had died a few years before. Peeta’s bothers were rarely home. Leaven, who was Katniss’s age, went to the library and studied the dull books while Rye drank and went to the Slag Heap. 

“Katniss, it’s so good to see you.” Peeta’s voice had sounded enthusiastic before it died away at one look at her face. 

“I just wanted to say goodbye.” Katniss said softly.

“Goodbye? Are you moving?” Peeta looked distressed.

Katniss nodded, “To the Community Home.” She forced herself not to cry. For Prim. She reminded herself.

“You’re…” Peeta began. Katniss chose to nod. She felt nauseated with the deception, but it had to be done. She couldn’t look up to see the disapproval in his eyes. 

“Is it…” Peeta began. She knew of course what Peeta meant. People had always thought she and Gale would make a match of it. Now that she was supposed to be pregnant, people would immediately suspect him. Fortunately Prim’s baby wouldn’t resemble him in the least. Thank goodness she hadn’t been with Rory. 

“No,” she said softly. “It was a mistake. I drank too much…” That would be her story. It sounded credible. 

“You don’t drink.” Peeta commented as he handed her a cup of tea.

“No, not usually.” Katniss replied. She felt tears start to fall but she fought them back. She would not cry. 

“Katniss, you aren’t going to the Community Home. I’ll marry you myself and raise your child as my own.” He took her free hand and added, “I promise I won’t expect anything in return. I just want a chance to help you.”

Katniss blinked, positive that she was dreaming. Why on earth was Peeta proposing to her? She must be crazy. But his face was so earnest and kind that she realized that those words must have really come out of his mouth. Of course she couldn’t do it. She could never put him through that, but it was very kind of him, and she would never forget that. The kindness of him once again struck her. He seemed determined to keep saving her. It didn’t matter how many extra squirrels she gave him; she would always owe him.

“I can’t.” Katniss replied. She forced herself not to look into the beautiful blue eyes that stared at her from the other chair.

“You can. I promise I won’t expect anything from you except the work of a usual employee and the chance to be in your child’s life.”

“What’s in it for you?” Katniss replied bluntly. Nobody would do something like that for free. There had to be some hidden agenda. 

“ We could use some help with the bakery. I know you are a hard worker. And my mother hasn’t been well recently. .” Peeta replied. 

Katniss wondered why he didn’t ask some Merchant girl but she supposed that he was right. She was a hard worker. She didn’t know the last thing about baking but she knew how to clean and organize and might even manage some kind of accounting. She had always done well in math. It still didn’t make sense that he wanted to help her though. Peeta was just such a nice person that he was willing to sacrifice himself to help her. If she did accept his proposal it would take a lifetime of washing dishes to make up for it. 

“I also don’t it’s fair you have to be punished for one mistake.” Peeta continued. 

Katniss closed her eyes and said softly, “It wasn’t my mistake. I’m not really pregnant. Prim is. She’s only fifteen. She can’t go to the Community House. She won’t survive there. But I can. I’m strong enough..”

“Oh Katniss.” Peeta repeated the same words her mother said. Then she was shocked to find his arms wrapped about her and her head tucked up against his chin. It felt safe and comfortable to be in his arms. “Strong, brave, foolish, Katniss. That’s why nobody lets you make the plans.”

“What do you mean by that?” Katniss struggled out of his embrace and glared at him.

“Because your plan will destroy your life and mean your sister will never see her baby. My plan means your sister can see her baby on a daily basis. You will be allowed to live near your family, and no one will starve. Isn’t that a better option?”

Katniss hadn’t thought of that. She had been so focused on Prim’s problems she hadn’t considered anything else. But Peeta was right. His plan was better. Prim’s baby wouldn’t grow up a bastard but would have two respectably married parents. Prim would be allowed to be the doting aunt. Nobody would think anything of Prim taking care of the baby nearly constantly. And Prim could even move into the bakery for a few months to “take care” of Katniss. 

“But what about your mother?” Katniss asked. Mrs. Mellark could make her life a misery. 

“I’m not afraid of her. My father’s will gave me a quarter interest in the bakery, and unlike my brothers I don’t have to have mom’s approval.” Peeta spoke confidently, but Katniss knew that while Mrs. Mellark might not be able to legally kick him out, she could destroy Peeta. 

“I can’t let you do this. This is my responsibility.” Katniss pulled away again and tried to hold back the fear. The truth was that she was afraid. Afraid of the Community Home and how difficult it would be to survive without her hunting. She was afraid for the baby and of having to take care of it all by herself. She wouldn’t take care of the kid right.

“No, Katniss, it’s not your responsibility. You didn’t do any of this. I want to marry you and be an uncle to Prim’s baby.” 

Katniss couldn’t understand it. Why was he being so nice? If he just wanted a quick fling, he wouldn’t be marrying a girl like her. And while she wasn’t oblivious to the “responsibilities” she’d have once she got married, she didn’t think he would be unkind. Imagining him hurting her was impossible. It was far more likely that she would end up hurting him. 

“I need to talk to them.” Katniss stood there for a moment. “Thank you. For everything.” 

She wished that she hadn’t pulled away. It had been a long time since anyone had held her. No one had done so since her father, probably, but she couldn’t hug Peeta. Even if she might marry him soon.

Prim and her mother were predictably happy, and they immediately supported Peeta’s plan. Katniss felt a strange resentment of her mother grow over this. Her mother had always supported the route that would be easiest. The route that would ensure that no one would know that her daughter was unmarried and pregnant at fifteen. 

Prim’s reaction was even stranger. She looked so excited and pleased that for a moment Katniss had a terrible thought.

Was Peeta the father of Prim’s baby? The thought made her sick, but she supposed that it was possible. Prim was so pretty and sweet: vulnerable and tempting, for an older boy. “He’s not….You’re not saying…” Katniss stumbled over her words.

“Peeta? What? No, of course not. He’d never do that, and besides he’s crazy about you. That’s why I’m happy. You’ll be married to someone who simply adores you. He’s easy on the eyes too.” Prim sat up and gave Katniss a hug. 

It seemed to move so fast then. Mrs. Mellark was unsurprisingly displeased, but she put less effort into fighting the marriage than Katniss expected. Why was she so muted in her displeasure? Why did she seem almost relieved? Peeta really wasn’t old enough to be considered past marriageable age at all. Katniss put little preparation into her new life. She had few belongings and she never spent much time on her appearance. 

She saw Peeta a couple of times before the wedding to discuss things like the cake and to move her meager belongings over to his home. He offered her a wide range of cakes to sample but Katniss liked the orange one best. She had an orange once before her father’s death and it brought back pleasant memories. She tried to stop Peeta from making a cake since it was so expensive and it wasn’t like they were having a real marriage. Peeta wouldn’t listen to that plan and insisted that she would have a cake. Katniss noticed that he seemed burdened down by something and looked constantly exhausted. Was his mother causing him problems? Did the other Merchant families put pressure on him? 

The day before the wedding she went hunting. Long ago she’d used to go with her father; a little later, with Gale. But it had been two years since they had gone hunting together. Two years since his marriage. She missed him of course, but she found that she didn’t need him. Knowing the consequences, she couldn’t fathom feeling an emotion strong enough to make you do something like what Prim did. She guessed it was physical as well, but she suspected Prim had been genuinely in love with her lover. That’s why sometimes Prim cried herself to sleep. Katniss couldn’t understand that.

“I suppose I should congratulate you.” Gale came up just as silently as usual. His face was impassive, but he wasn’t storming around which she thought was a good sign. 

“Yes, I’m getting married.” Katniss replied. 

“What’s the rush? I wasn’t aware you were seeing someone.” Katniss nearly blurted out the truth but at the last moment simply shrugged. Gale was used to her strange gestures and silences. 

“Well, I guess you could do worse if he is a Townie.” Gale said. It was almost an ringing endorsement of Peeta. Katniss shrugged again but realized that sounded very cold. “He’s a good person. I like being with him.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than you two hating each other, like his parents did.” Katniss gave a slight smile. Peeta was a better person than she could ever deserve, and she was determined to do her best to make him happy. 

“Listen, I know that there is something screwy about this whole thing. I know I can’t really help you much, but if there is anything…” Gale touched her arm and stared at her sharply. She felt her face flush. She was hiding a lot, and she had never been a good liar. She poured out the whole story. Telling it seemed to make it worse. The prospect of living in the Community Home got more unpleasant. 

“It’s a good thing then.” Gale said. Katniss nodded.

“Peeta’s a much better man than I ever thought. There is no way I can ever repay him.” Katniss looked at her hands and felt the sense of hopeless debt pile up. 

“ I’m not fond of good people. It’s usually just being a hypocrite. Be careful, Katniss. I just don’t want you being taken advantage of.” 

“You mean like Cray does?” Katniss knew what the doctor did with his “patients” and examinations. 

“Yes, and no. I don’t think Peeta’s like that, but he’ll have expectations…” Gale trailed off at her deathlike glare.

“I’m not talking about this with you. And I’m not stupid. I know what marriage is. I can’t see how people would willing be owned and controlled, but that’s life. And it’s better than the Community Home.” Katniss stood up trying not to think about that. She supposed people must like sex, or people like Prim wouldn’t be in this position. Still, it seemed a dangerous and pointless activity. Hormones could be managed without endangering oneself. 

“Just be careful, ok.” Katniss gave a brief nod before disappearing into the woods towards the fence. 

Katniss’s mother seemed to think she had done her duty by explaining all about sex when Katniss turned sixteen. She had listened to her mother’s clinical speech before completely ignoring it. When her mother tried to broach the subject again, Katniss said, “I know enough, mother. I don’t need to be told that I need to think about the current population levels in Panem or how it really isn’t bad or how I might actually enjoy it.” 

Her mother flushed and said, “No, I guess you know that. I just…worry…”

“You don’t need to. I’ll be fine.” 

Prim was in bed when Katniss came in. Her mother was up adjusting the wedding dress Katniss was to wear. Katniss lay beside Prim and pressed a hand to her stomach. There was no movement; she was not far enough along, and her stomach only had a faint swell. Soon that baby would be—for all appearances sake— Katniss’s baby.

“Are you scared?” Prim asked. 

“No,” Katniss replied. She was, but she wouldn’t admit it.

“You don’t need to be. Peeta’s very nice and kind. Maybe he can even warm you up a bit.” Prim smiled mischievously at Katniss. Katniss frowned, trying to remind herself that the innocent little sister who didn’t know about sex was gone. Her sister in many ways had already experienced more in fifteen years than Katniss in nearly twenty.

“I don’t need warming up.” Katniss replied. 

“No, I know that underneath that scowl you actually are sweet. But I’m just saying that it’s nice. To be loved. To have someone to love you. To lie in bed next to someone.” Prim looked sad again. Katniss ached to take that away.

“Well, I guess it’s free body heat.” Katniss said sarcastically. She felt like Prim was on the verge of tears. Better to make her laugh.

“Hmmm…. And well, I’ve heard the Mellark men are well endowed.” Prim giggled and poked Katniss. “You’re so prudish. I swear you’re worse than Miss Burns.”

“English teacher Miss Burns?”

“Yeah.”

“I am not.” Katniss scowled, but Prim only laughed harder. 

“I don’t think Peeta would ever push you to do anything you didn’t want to do. The problem is the wanting. But you’ll be married, so it won’t matter.” Prim’s face grew serious. 

Katniss nodded as though she understood, even though she didn’t. She understood basic physical urges— like hunger— and even the more primal ones, but they were unconnected to any person or thing. Dealing with the occasional sexual impulse was as normal as eating, She was alone in the woods and there was no one there to know what she was doing. Dealing with her needs was easy. The craving for love, tenderness and passion made no sense in contrast. 

“You look beautiful.” Peeta commented as she stepped inside the Justice Building. She was wearing her mother’s blue dress. It was the blue dress, and not a white one, both because of the dangers of a white dress in the coal mining district and because she was supposed to be pregnant. 

The ceremony passed in a blur of formal language and paper signing. District 13 had few rituals when it came to marriage. The Capitol official read a long and dull speech about the importance of marriage and family that made her skin crawl. Things might have gotten better since the Hunger Games were abolished but that didn’t mean she thought the new government’s intrusiveness was acceptable. Katniss was vaguely aware that she was signing away her freedom. Her body, her money (not that she had any) and her property were not hers. She could only hope that the person she was marrying wouldn’t try to possess her. He was a kind person but Katniss didn’t trust people not to take advantage of her position. The idea of being owned by someone, even the nicest person in the world, didn’t sit well with her. 

There was a toasting of course. Katniss had spent a lot of time thinking up her speech. Finally she decided to keep it simple.

“Peeta, you have been the best man I ever met. I’m not good with speeches but…I’m grateful I met you.” Katniss knew the speech sounded incomplete, but she couldn’t imagine giving some fluffy speech about love. At least what she had said had been true. 

Peeta’s speech was simple but revealing. “Katniss, I remember the first time I saw you. It was the first day of school that year, and my dad pointed you out and said, ‘See that little girl. I wanted to marry her mother a long time ago, but she ran away with a coal miner.’ I couldn’t understand why that lady wouldn’t want to marry my dad, but he said that when that man sang ‘the birds stopped to listen.’ I didn’t believe him. Then that little girl stood up to sing the Valley Song, and I knew my dad was right. Because the birds did stop to listen. And I’ve been in love with her ever since.”

She was astonished. Her dad had had an incredible voice, and she vaguely remembered singing the Valley Song at a school assembly. But had Peeta really been in love with her since he was seven? Guilt surged through her. She didn’t deserve it. Then again she hadn’t asked him to fall in love with her at five year old. 

She glanced at his face and leaned in to give him a quick kiss. It was more of a peck than a kiss but he smiled at her as if she had given him the moon. She was afraid of falling for him. He was so kind to her and he seemed to radiate warmth and tenderness. What if it was all a ploy? What if he was trying to butter her up with kind words and gestures so she would fall into line with his plans? She had to be careful. 

They ate the beautiful cake, which was decorated with primroses and violets, while one of the old miners, Bristel, played the fiddle. Katniss was starting to get more and more nervous. She was going to lose her virginity, and while she didn’t think it had any moral value, it had kept her safe. She couldn’t get pregnant, or at least Katniss hadn’t thought she could. Then again, if she was supposed to be pregnant, she didn’t dare get pregnant for real. Such a thing hadn’t struck her until that moment. Perhaps she might use it as an excuse.  

By the time the bakery had emptied of all but our families, she felt like throwing up. Mrs. Mellark gave her a chilly goodnight and went to bed. She had said all of three words to Katniss since Peeta formally introduced them. 

Peeta’s brothers had been present more, and Katniss found that she liked them. The one her age, Leaven, was quiet and calm. He was apparently his mother’s favorite. He was engaged to Delly Cartwright. The youngest, Rye, was different. He was the wildest of the whole lot. She had heard rumors of him and his Slag Heap conquests. Peeta had talked about the trials of controlling him and keeping him out of trouble. Still, she could see a certain charm in his rugged good looks and smile. Katniss noticed he seemed to avoid her and her family and wondered if he disapproved of his brother’s marriage. Rye seemed on edge constantly as he shifted uneasily in his chair and went to bed early. Katniss couldn’t understand why he was so upset. Surely his brother’s marriage was not that distressing. 

Katniss’s mother pulled her aside and handed her a small package, “Take this every morning and it should help. It’s not perfect, but it might be enough if you’re careful.”

Katniss nodded. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. You’ve been so brave, Katniss. You shouldn’t have had to do this. You should be happy right now.” 

“I’m not unhappy. I meant what I said about Peeta.” 

When Katniss came back into the kitchen, it was deserted. She supposed Peeta had gone upstairs. Katniss carefully made her way up the stairs, feeling the gnawing fear settle back in again. The tea was supposed to help prevent pregnancy, but it was far from perfect. That’s probably why Prim was pregnant. Her mother knew that. She also knew Katniss didn’t really have control over this.

“I’m sorry I don’t have another room for you, but I do have a sofa here I can sleep on. Or I could go downstairs.” Katniss started and turned around to see Peeta standing in the doorway. She blinked at him trying to understand his words. The couch? 

“You aren’t going to sleep in the bed?” she asked. 

“I’m not going to have you sleep on the couch.” Peeta said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Katniss didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure what to say. Peeta glanced at the package of tea, and she said, “My mother gave me this. It’s to prevent…me from getting pregnant.”

Peeta’s face turned beet red. He stammered, “But that won’t be necessary. At least…not…I’m totally messing this up. What I mean is that I don’t have any expectations about that sort of thing. I don’t think you look ready, and …”

She placed the tea in a drawer and turned back to him, “We’re married. Why wouldn’t you have expectations? There’s nothing I can say about it. So I won’t. It would be easier to say that I said yes.” 

“Katniss,” he began, reaching out to take her hand, “I will never touch you unless it’s clear that you want me to. I don’t own you, no matter what the Capitol says.”

She closed her eyes and said brokenly, “It’s just that sometimes it feels like our whole existence is to be a womb for babies. It feels like  you don’t belong to yourself. When you get married you sign away everything.”

“You haven’t. Not to me. You’re a free and independent person.” 

Katniss believed him. She didn’t know why, but she suddenly felt like she believed him. If he wanted to hurt her, he would have. He wasn’t going to. The relief made her almost giddy. Prim would be safe. She would be safe. They wouldn’t starve, and he really did love her. It was nice to be loved. It had been a long time since anyone had just loved her or made any effort to take care of her. She loved being independent but sometimes it got a little lonely. Sharing her burden wouldn’t be easy but maybe it would be worth it. 

“You can sleep in the bed. I don’t mind. I’m not afraid of you.” Katniss murmured as she took her nightgown and headed for the bathroom.

She slipped into bed a few minutes later. It was a cold night, and the bed already felt warm. She was surprised to notice that the window was cracked open. That must be one of Peeta’s quirks. She closed her eyes. She was so tired. Perhaps she might sleep.

Katniss awoke the next morning pressed against a warm body that was definitely not Prim’s.  When they’d been standing, she hadn’t realized how much bigger than her Peeta was. Now she felt dwarfed in comparison. Surprisingly it didn’t make her nervous. She knew he was trustworthy. It felt nice to be so close to him. Katniss remembered Prim’s words and smiled. Prim had been right. Even though Katniss was just innocently sleeping next to him, she liked it. She pressed her face against his chest and let herself relax for a few moments. It was still early. 

“Good morning.” Peeta looked at her shyly as she sat up and stretched. “You can sleep in. We have the day off.”

Katniss hesitated and said, “I should get up and work.”

“You don’t need to. Besides it wouldn’t do to wake up too early this morning,” he replied.

“Why?” Katniss asked, before blushing and remembering. She was married now, and last night had been her wedding night. She was supposed to be lying in bed. Well, she wasn’t going to complain about getting a little extra sleep.

When she woke up again, the sun streamed through the bedroom window, and she sprang up at the lateness of the hour. She dressed rapidly and went downstairs. Peeta and his brothers were eating breakfast. Peeta looked up.

“I was going to bring you some,” he said. “You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Katniss sat down in the empty seat and accepted the toast with jam. She was surprised to notice that the offerings on the table were none too plentiful. Perhaps the bakery was not as wealthy as she had thought. It gave her a sense of satisfaction that tomorrow she could make sure that the table had game and vegetables. 

The table was almost entirely silent. Katniss wasn’t a talker, but even she found it a little oppressive. Peeta seemed nervous and kept casting anxious glances around. Leaven seemed quiet anyway. Rye looked bloodshot and alarmed, seeming to start at every sound. 

“My mother wanted to talk to you. She’s not feeling well today.” Peeta said at last. Katniss straightened her shoulders and forced herself not to tremble. She wasn’t going to let Mrs. Mellark intimidate her.

“Well, look who decided to show up.” Mrs. Mellark greeted her as she stood in the center of the room. 

“I slept in.” Katniss replied. “I don’t normally. I get up well before dawn.”

“Good. You never struck me as being lazy. I slept better than I expected last night. It was quiet.” The older woman glanced at Katniss with those faded but still piercing blue eyes. Katniss flushed slightly because she felt as if Mrs. Mellark was already making judgements about her. 

“You aren’t pregnant, are you? Not by my son, at least. It’s that sister of yours, isn’t it? She looked peaked through the whole toasting.” Katniss looked down knowing it was useless to try to deny it. Mrs. Mellark was nothing if not observant.

“Yes, Prim is pregnant.” Katniss admitted.

“Who is the father?” 

“I don’t know. Prim won’t tell me, but I think he’s a merchant.” Katniss sat down at last in the chair by the bed. 

“Well, then the child will look like us.” Mrs. Mellark said thoughtfully. Her eyes fixed on the door as she added. “I don’t like you. I think you and your family are low class and dirty. But you’re a survivor, I’ll give you that. Haven’t seen such a one since old Haymitch Abernathy won his games.”

Katniss wasn’t sure if she should be ashamed or complimented to be compared to Haymitch Abernathy, the victor of the last Hunger Games and the district drunk. 

“And you are a cruel old woman who beats her kids.” Katniss snapped back.

Mrs. Mellark had the audacity to laugh, “Those boys would have ended up like their father if I hadn’t taught them some discipline. They would have been weak, and I think you and I both know what happens to weak people. Imagine if I had responded like your mother when my husband died. Imagine if I had lost it when I started getting sick.”

“My mother never beat me, and I’m not weak.” Katniss thought of her struggle for survival.

“I’m dying,” said Mrs. Mellark.

Katniss glanced at the woman and suddenly noticed that she really did look ill. Her face was unnaturally pale and drawn, and she appeared thin for a merchant woman. “Don’t look so pleased. I’m sure I won’t be mourned. That’s not worrying me. I want to see this family business continue, and you and your sister’s child will help that. Leaven will be working at the shoe shop, and Rye is completely useless. I depend on Peeta. He’s the only one who cares about baking. That child can be depended on to carry on the family tradition.”

“Does Peeta know?” Katniss asked. Did he know his mother was dying?

“No, and you aren’t going to tell him either. I’m not going to be fussed over or have people expect me to be sorry for anything. I’m not sorry. I did what I had to do.” Mrs. Mellark glanced at Katniss and added, “He’s crazy about you. I don’t understand why. You’re small and not particularly pretty, but I want that child in this family and I’m willing to put up with you.”

Katniss didn’t know what to say to Mrs. Mellark. She had to admit the woman was almost as unrepentant as the former President of Panem, President Snow, who had been executed after the war. Katniss could find little pity for the woman mainly because Mrs. Mellark wanted for nothing. 

The days of married life seemed exactly like her old life, except she lived in the bakery instead of her home in the Seam. She got up and helped make breakfast before carrying it to Mrs. Mellark, who ordered her to do many things downstairs, knowing full well Katniss had no intention of doing anything she said. She, Peeta and his brothers ate breakfast together before Katniss helped with the morning rush of baking. She was no baker, but she helped wash dishes and completed simple tasks. Around mid-morning she’d go hunting and come back in mid afternoon to help close up the bakery. Every evening she would spend with Prim, Peeta, and sometimes Leaven, who would quietly read one of those District 13 books about something called socialism. Rye never stayed for any of them. Katniss got the distinct impression he disliked her and Prim. Peeta would sketch out designs for cakes and began helping Katniss add to the plant book. As the days went on, Katniss began to feel as if she had always lived with Peeta. He had such a warm, sunny disposition that it was like she was a flower and he the sun. She couldn’t help but like him. 

Prim had stopped throwing up everyday and looked radiant. Katniss might not approve of her being pregnant, but she knew her sister would be a wonderful mother. Much better than Katniss. Katniss still found Rye’s behavior confusing. She caught him arguing with Prim a few times which made her frown. Prim was a very easy-going person and it was hard to imagine Prim doing anything to make him that mad. Prim tried to hide her sadness over her lover deserting her but Katniss could see the wistful glance in her eyes as Peeta patted Katniss’s hand or gave her a quick hug. Katniss would have done anything to put the light back into her sister’s eye. 

Peeta stayed true to his word and had barely touched her since their wedding. Except for the occasional pat on the shoulder or gentle hug, he had kept his hands to himself. Katniss suspected he was waiting for her to make the move. After her initial suspicion had passed, she found herself wanting…something. She started making excuses to stand close to him and rolled her body close to his in bed at night. Finally one night it all bubbled up. He had just added the flowers to the side of the crib for Prim’s baby.

“You’ll be an amazing aunt.” Peeta said softly.

“You’ll be an amazing father.” Katniss replied. This baby might be Prim’s, but her father would definitely be Peeta, considering the child would know no other. She was so lucky. Katniss rose on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his in their first real kiss.

It wasn’t her first kiss. There had been an awkward kiss with Gale when she had been sixteen. For months she had tried to forget that it happened. There had been the occasional kiss at New Years with some boy she didn’t care about. But this was the first kiss she had felt that thing…That warm, hungry feeling that started in the pit of her stomach and moved its way through her limbs. She pressed closer as his arms came around her waist. They kissed until they ran out of air, but still she didn’t let go. 

He rested his face in the crook of her neck and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin. It felt so good, so impossibly good, that she was certain she wouldn’t be the first to let go.

Prim ended up interrupting them with a question about the crib, and they broke apart. Katniss flushed and stammered through an explanation. Prim only grinned and left the room with a significant lifting of her eyebrows. Katniss only gave a tiny smile as she went to bed. Somehow she felt at peace for the first time in a long time.