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jalebi-weds-bluetooth · 4 years

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10 Times Arnav Singh Raizada Crossed The Line (Part 1)

Arnav Singh Raizada is our perfect, tortured Mills & Boons hero. Sometimes it’s unfortunate when recent shows have aped his behavior and not the layered characterization that he had. However, sometimes (according to my own opinion) I felt that his character might have crossed the line.

It’s moments where no explanations justify his behavior.

Please remember this is all my crazy opinion so feel free to add your own in notes! Oh and don’t worry, a similar list is coming for Khushi as well as they’re truly made for each other. After all, aren’t they our favorite ‘will-they-won’t-they’ idiots?

Tearing the dori.

Arnav Singh Raizada does not apologize.

Blasting at Khushi for pranking, PRANKING him.

Telling Khushi her anklet, their almost kiss & she, does not matter.

Arnav Hypocrite Raizada - forcing an engaged Khushi to confess her feelings when he’s unable to do so.

Reminding Khushi of her broken engagement cause he can’t handle jealousy.

Manipulating & frightening Khushi with Akash & Payal’s divorce papers.

Telling Khushi he ‘faked’ his sickness to get rid of the ‘Swami’ tag.

Refusing to believe Khushi’s version of events.

Becoming Khushi’s landlord and blackmailing her (emotionally and financially) to get her to come back home.

Bonus

Telling Khushi that she does not have the brains, courage nor talent to face the real world.

#1 “Badtameezi toh maine abhi shuru bhi nahi ki.” (S1, E2)

“I haven’t even started misbehaving.”

First Reaction: No Arnav bitwa, no. That dialogue never has and never will make sense.

What’s wrong with it:

Almost everything. First of all when someone is in a position to abuse his/her/their position of power and authority, they don’t get to make rules on what counts as misbehavior. Secondly, just because one hasn’t sexually harassed a person does not mean one’s harassment hasn’t been “bad enough”.

Arnav’s behavior crossed the line the minute you tell Khushi that she and her sister are the kind of women who can easily get another man - and none of us are kids here to know what the thinly veiled insult meant to Khushi & Payal’s character.

What makes this entire situation problematic is that he accuses her with certainty based on assumptions and Khushi, really, has not warranted any sort of behavior from his end - she actually makes a compelling argument. This kind of a situation, unfortunately, keeps happening in the future where Arnav accuses her based on half truths/assumptions.

Of course there’s a part of me that always wonders what idiots as staff does Arnav have because they; (1) let a newbie go on the ramp (can’t imagine that happening at a Sabyasachi / Manish Malhotra fashion show), (2) are incompetent enough to not be able to procure and verify any information about Khushi.

Track Rewrite:

First of all, this is perhaps the only terrible moment that I want to leave untouched. It’s perfect. It sounds ludicrous but this level of animosity was required to create a hatred the two had for each other until love and lust suddenly stormed into their thoughts.

Khushi looks perfectly devastated and Arnav’s anger rises because his fashion show in Lucknow (out of all cities) has been ruined. The less can be said about recent shows where there’s very little logic to the hatred shared between characters.

It establishes that Arnav has been very aware, right from the start, how beautiful Khushi is. And not just the delicate beauty like Payal, but the beauty that can make one lose their path, their calm, their temper and tempt them out of their stupor.

It’s this opinion that he forms about Khushi that he subconsciously carries for the longest time - (it’s what makes it easier for him to believe Shyam’s version of events because this assumption of a tempting, young, poor woman out to seduce the rich never really leaves his mind).

Head-canon:

This was the only time Aman Mathur took a vacation. Poor Arnav, he really needed efficient staff.

Public Service Announcement:

Ladies and gentlemen, this does not mean that hate, pain and misbehavior is necessary for love to bloom. No, love does not have a template and this is a love story that happens despite the hate, not because of it.

Also, just so you know that Khushi - or any person - is not responsible for the things that happen to them. If a person’s self respect, dignity or agency is threatened - you go ahead and bash the attacker and not blame the person! *phew*

#2 “Arnav Singh Raizada kabhi kisise maafi nahi maangta.” (S2, E19)

“Arnav Singh Raizada does not apologize to anyone.”

First Reaction: Screw you Raizada! How dare you? Buaji - throw your infamous damned belan over his head! Raizada, do you realise you’re saying this while standing on someone else’s property?

And…

Why do I find it hot that Khushi opens the door to an impatient Arnav who’s dressed as dark as the sky, his temper matching the thunder in the background while they lock eyes? *i need help* when I watched this show for the first time I totally expected another scene like this would occur where Arnav asks her back or confesses his love. Yeah I trusted him enough to make another mistake where Khushi’s left home and he needs to get her back.

What’s wrong with it:

The things he said to her before he came to her house. The insults he levied on her are based on an accusation which is baseless. We get to know that until Akash’s public proposal to Payal that Arnav never bothered on learning the truth about what happened that night.

Hence it reveals another trait that Arnav never double checks his assumption until he’s faced with a confronting reality. But, in the length of time he’s gotten to know Khushi until that point - the things he tells her is way out of line.

And when he reaches her home, slapping that money on her table and insulting her in front of her family… yeah it’s difficult to watch that. Especially after all the Rabba Ve’s they’ve had and his difficulty & helplessness on learning that this same woman was going to leave for Lucknow forever.

Track Rewrite:

Arnav’s anger is really a projection of his frustration on himself for hurting Anjali and a terrible act of him confirming to himself that money can get him everything - even his sister’s happiness, which he attributes to his ability to get Khushi back into the house using money because he only knows the language of money.

So my problem isn’t much with him… it’s with Khushi’s inaction. This is one of my least favourite scenes in the show because once Khushi stops (mostly) retaliating to Arnav from this point - she never really retaliates ever again. It’s like they kill that intellectual and mature aspect of Khushi who really knew how to debate (ah, don’t I love the resignation scene and her moment with Lavanya, Sim & Pam in the office).

Of course, Arnav and Khushi argue bucket lots in the future but from this moment on they really amp up Khushi’s silent crying and reduce her logical arguments to her emotions. Hence, if there’s anything I would have changed then I would always give Khushi the final word - the logical final word because who doesn’t like a solid rebuttal.

Quick note; Arnav does amend from saying “women like you” to “people like you”. So there’s a shift from his belief of her being a gold digger (and hence, lack of character) to a middle class greedy person (like his uncle).

Head-canon:

I believe she doesn’t give Arnav a chance to gloat that he got her back with his money. Hence, the following exchange takes place in my head…

Arnav: “Mujhe pata tha tum paise ke liye kuch bhi karogi.”

Khushi: “Hum aap se ek baat kahe? Aap ghalat hai.”

Arnav: “No, main tum jaiso ko achi tarah se jaanta hai.”

Khushi: “Haan, shayad aap hum jaiso ko jaante hai. Par humein nahi. Aur rahi baat humara yaha aake kaam karne ka, toh humein nahi lagta ki humein kisi ko bhi safai deni ki zaroorat hai. Khaas kar ki aapko.”

- -

Arnav: “I knew you’d do anything for money,”

Khushi: “You know what? You’re wrong.”

Arnav: “I’m not. I know people like you.”

Khushi: “You may know people like me, but not me. And as far as me choosing to work here, I don’t find it necessary to give anyone any explanation. Especially you.”

Public Service Announcement/Crazy thought:

The old 500 rupee notes are banned post demonetization. So don’t use those notes.

Check out my crazy version of this episode.

#3 “Di isse sorry bolne ki koi zaruri nahi hai. Yeh aapki naukar hai.” (S3, E1/E2)

“Di you don’t have to apologise to her. She’s your servant.”

First Reaction: Oh no you didn’t… you didn’t!

What’s wrong with it:

I think it gets on my nerves how rude he is and that he constantly measures her to her financial and societal status. And all of this is because she pranked him. Like she literally put sugar crystals in his petrol tank, changed his phone ringtone to a silly item number and put juice in his shoes. And he responds to that with some pretty damaging words. He literally tells her that lying and cheating is in her blood.

Yikes! Flashback time Arnav - when she just alluded how he would feel if his sister’s marriage broke he tore her strings, and he legit just insulted her parents. All because she played some childish pranks.

I have to say Khushi does put up a good fight, for most of it, and I love Anjali trying her best to intervene but yes… the way Arnav just flares up here - he crosses quite a few lines (hence I am not at all sorry when Khushi flings the hot tea on him, sorry I’m a sadist). I think his continuous push to show his authority, superiority over her is not really healthy.

And that last Rabba Ve (although the tune is beautiful) which is evoked by her tears, and previously evoked by the impressions of his fingers around her wrist, gives a very wrong message to the public.

Track Rewrite:

I never, ever want to change their essential characteristic. I’m pretty satisfied when he’s literally burned after he’s burned her with his words. Karma always gets him...

But, I really wouldn’t mind a strong, confident, and angry “ENOUGH” from Khushi as well. Or even a quiet, deadly, whisper of an “enough” that would stop his nonsensical tirade. It’s important for him to know when he’s crossed the line, before Khushi starts crying.

Really, it wouldn’t hurt if he was taken aback by her burst of anger or the threat of anger instead of tears (remember the Guesthouse incident… he was turned on by her fury, and then he simmered down and felt guilty - that’s a good cycle to follow when there’s an argument. No, not always the turn on side but the ability to give both the parties anger).

Because of late there seems to be an obsession of male heroes getting the ability to insult their “soulmates” and then stopping because of her tears and then never following it up with an apology. There’s a lot of context in the case of Arnav and Khushi… but I always relish when he’s flabbergasted and silenced by her retaliated anger more than anything else (cue, the resignation scene again).

Head-canon:

Arnav: “Di you don’t have to apologise to her, she’s your servant-”

Khushi: “-enough.” / or / “ENOUGH!”

Arnav and Anjali stand, silenced by Khushi’s anger.

Khushi (to Arnav): “Do yourself and your status a favour. Don’t open your mouth. Especially in front of me. I may fall before your eyes, but you dig yourself a grave.”

Khushi walks away, leaving Arnav stunned.

---

Arnav: “Di isse sorry bolne ki koi zaruri nahi hai. Yeh aapki naukar hai-”

Khushi: “-bas.” / or / “BAS!”

Arnav and Anjali stand, silenced by Khushi’s anger.

Khushi (to Arnav): “Aap apne aap aur apne aukaad pe ek ehsaan kijiye. Apna muh mat kholiye. Khaas karke humare saamne. Shayad hum aapke nazro main gir jaate hai, par aap toh khai khodke apne aap ko giraate hai.”

Khushi walks away, leaving Arnav stunned.

Too harsh? Too unlike Khushi? Sorry, I’ve been watching that scene on repeat way too many times and I may have vented out a bit - it gets crazier when I list out Khushi’s antics!

Public Service Announcement:

Don’t break laptops or play pranks on people who might explode on you. Also, don’t waste mango juice on pranks - it’s delicious consumed. Probably that’s why Arnav was angry - one, he cannot drink mango juice due to his diabetes, and two, she wasted it on shoes!

#4 “Mere liye uss baat ki, ya tumhari, koi ehmiyat nahi hai.” (S3, E40)

“For me, that [the almost kiss], or you, don’t mean a thing to me.”

First Reaction: YES THAT’S WHY YOU KEEP ON THINKING ABOUT IT! LIKE OF COURSE BABUA ALWAYS SAYS THE TRUTH AND SAYS THE THINGS HE MEANS. LIKE OF COURSE YOU DID NOT INITIATE THE KISS OR PRESERVE HER ANKLET IN THE KHUSHI SHRINE OF YOURS! What the fu-dge Babua, literally?

What’s wrong with it:

Actually nothing. I just want to mentally slap him, that’s it. This needs to happen. Because honestly at this point of their relationship if this hadn’t happened - if they had kissed, chosen to break up with their partners (more like Khushi absolutely refusing to get engaged and even end up giving an ultimatum to her family) - then they would technically end up together and the most unhealthy point of their relationship.

Arnav is not at all ready for marriage but he would say yes because it’s the only way Khushi would be with him? Khushi, although in love with Arnav, still really has no actual reach to his depth and emotions.

And really all her fantasies of Arnav are really fantasies, she loves him for what he evokes in her more than what he truly is. He is unable to get her out of his system. It would be a bad place to begin a relationship.

So although nothing is wrong with this scene and it’s like a bitter pill that needs to be swallowed, I still want to say he crossed a line by reinstating that she means nothing to him even though he led her on the entire foreplay of a Diwali. And like… wow, he’s asking what he means to her after he just declared that he’s going to get engaged to his longtime girlfriend who is also now Khushi’s closest friend? Like why… why would Khushi tell you what you mean to her?

Track Rewrite:

I would rewrite Buaji’s pressure on Khushi. It’s regressive, painful and terrible to watch. I know it’s necessary… and if not rewrite this scene then I would just add a scene in the future where Buaji truly apologises for ruining her dearest Sanka Devi’s life. She owed this at least and it would be nice to see elders recognize their own mistakes at times.

Head-canon:

Lavanya is in a happy relationship with NK <3.

Public Service Announcement:

If you have a difficulty in saying what you want to say, enroll in Jalebi Teaches Feelz Expression classes.

#5 “I hope tumhe koi farak nahi padta.” (S4, E8 - S4, E14)

“I hope it means nothing to you / I hope it doesn’t affect you / I hope it doesn’t make a difference to you.” It = me, Arnav, our relationship (or whatever it is).

First Reaction: wherefore art thou asking questions yond thee cannot answ'r?

What’s wrong with it:

This is where Arnav’s moralities really turn grey. Over here any affection, concern or committment to Lavanya is literally forgotten. Almost possessed, Arnav has three goals;

(1) Make Khushi admit what he himself cannot admit - that he, them, everything matters to her (2) Prove to Khushi she won’t find a better match than him, that he’s her equal and he’s the only one who can provide for her and give her everything she desires (3) Make her breakup with her undesirable and unworthy fiance (he hasn’t met him but he just knows that her fiance does not deserve Khushi and I have to agree with Arnav, he’s right) and probably end up getting engaged with him.

The epic part of the Raizada plan is - he doesn’t have an idea what would happen if Khushi actually gives a farak. It’s not that Arnav is right or justified, he just stands the way he has always been - in all his fifty thousands shades of grey (not I’m not a fan of that book, pleej no).

Track Rewrite:

A bit more time for Arnav, Lavanya, his apology and their break up. I love it that he does it instantly, but I also wish he spent more time talking to Lavanya. Just some more Arnav/Lavanya scenes, we really never got to see more of their friendship and her understanding.

As far as everything else, Khushi’s inner battles and silence is really amazing - it’s what gives her dignity and it’s her self preservation. Arnav is redeemed by the fact that he genuinely is Khushi’s soulmate and he can feel her distress and is the only one who accurately senses that Khushi might have been pressured to agree to this marriage. Who knows Khushi cannot live in a loveless marriage. It’s something he can now guarantee, after a whirlwind of denial.

Although his actions are dubious, he’s the only one who senses the lack of joy and passion. So, rather terribly, he tries to put it across that he can fulfill her needs.

This comes to a halt when Payal refuses Akash in the first proposal. It sheds light on his earlier mistake and he realises that he has been wrong about Khushi all along (so he does not bring up her financial/societal status in insults post the event because Khushi really did end up in fashion show by mistake and more than that - her sister’s marriage did break because of him - not until the hate marriage).

And he realises his error with Lavanya that brings him out of this “I need to possess Khushi” phase.

So I liked that we saw the ugliest side of their love, the irrational jealousy and demand of possession. And I love that Khushi did not budge in, no matter how much it hurt.

Head-canon:

Lavanya knew all about it. Hence, she never holds Khushi responsible and instead guides Arnav to making better decisions.

Also, Khushi went through a similar, crazed phase. Except we never see it because Khushi grows increasingly quiet when her heart is suffering. She uses words to express and choses silence when she does not want to acknowledge.

Public Service Announcement:

Remember, it’s a good thing that they show us the unhealthy and healthy phase of a relationship between two people who love each other. This phase was decidedly toxic between Arnav and Khushi - when love is jealous, causes pain, is insensitive, is madness - see the signs and don’t go in deep when it’s at this phase. Every love has its time to mature and grow. Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

Read Part 2

#ipkknd #iss pyaar ko kya naam doon #Arnav Singh Raizada #Khushi kumari gupta #tv analysis #analysis #isspyaarkokyanaamdoon #i write too much #my opinion

27 notes · View notes

theenjoninecollective · 5 years

Note

Hey, I'm just asking this out of interest because I want to understand other people's thoughts. So I don't mean to be rude or anything, ship whatever you want. But why did you choose to ship enjonine over enjoltaire, as the later is such a popular one?

Mod @viridescentlights

Is this your way of flirting, hmm? If it was, it’s not working the way you want it. That aside, you say you want to understand and that it’s out of interest, but if it was, why the question at the end? That’s downright condescending. Simply put, your ask never meant to respect our opinions, in the end. In what way does this benefit you at all, hmm? I ask this because the timing of this ask, though given in January, is suspect. Fandom activity in Les Mis has been quite low, but it always has been given the fluctuating interest of people towards it. Furthermore, there are different factions in the group, and I’ve observed that your group is very active. So why bother us, when your group has enough fan art, fanfic, and whatnot? We’re busy enjoying on our own. It does not matter if it’s popular because that is our interest. Unless you want another fic war because you’re bored? Pfft. You could’ve asked in a better way, you know? We could’ve organized a sort of fic exchange and whatnot! Instead you go ride on your high horse and be demeaning. It’s annoying already.

So, if you want an exchange, just let us know, mate. It’s not that hard to do. Plus, it’s fun. I’ve been able to do one with a good friend who ships enjoltaire. Why destroy when we can make art, mate? Let this be our enemies-to-friends-to-maybe-partners story, yeah? Haha. But seriously. Do not do this rude ask again.

Anyway, I’ll let my friend do the nuanced discussion. Ta.

Mod @decembersiris:

Just because a ship is popular that does not mean I’m going to ship it. Often times now most of my ships are not the popular ones because in the fandoms I am in, the more popular ones end up being really toxic, I have found. And this includes Les Miserables and the enjoltaire ship as well.

Why I don’t ship enjoltaire: the ship itself

I have watched the musical and read the book. I have also watched multiple films and TV series such as the 2012 movie and the French 2000 miniseries. Of course there are more out there and more that I have watched but I’m not going to go into detail, because the point is that I am well reversed in the mediums of the story itself. And in all that I have watched and the book that I have read, the ship does not appeal to me. In the book, it is explicitly said that Enjolras hates Grantaire. And that immediately puts me off against the ship because why would I ship a couple where one of them completely hates the partner. That does not tickle my fancy, regardless if Grantaire loves him. I understand that there are multiple Greek references to homosexual couples to represent Enjolras and Grantaire, but frankly, I don’t care. And I’m allowed to not care. For me, just because there is symbolism, that does not mean the ship is without a doubt canon. Because as Hugo wrote, regardless of the symbolism, Enjolras hates him.

As some enjoltaire shippers throw at enjonine shippers, that we are homophobic because it is written in the book Enjolras has not interest in women. Yep, I understand that that is there. However the way Hugo shapes this information leaves a lot to be interpreted. Enjolras may not be interested in women RIGHT NOW because he’s so focused on his revolution. That is very possible and very real, that he may not want to establish a relationship because he knows what is at risk, that pursuing a relationship will only lead to further tragedy because he knows what he is doing is putting his life at risk. The way I interpret this sentence though is that he is not interested right now because of the revolution and also because Enjolras, to me, is asexual. Just because he isn’t interested in women DOES NOT MEAN (and many enjoltaire shippers willfully ignore this point) he is interested in men. Enjolras could very well be asexual and not interested in anyone at all.

As for the musical, I appreciate the friends dynamic and I enjoy the interactions they have. But for me, that is not enough for me to ship them. Often times friendships and especially male friendships are default labeled as homosexual which to me is erasure of genuine male friendships which isn’t right. So I appreciate the friendship between them, but that isn’t enough for me to ship them.

Why I don’t ship enjoltaire: the shippers

A huge reason I do not ship enjoltaire has to do with the shippers. At first I could tolerate the shippers but as they became more and more harassing of pretty much the smallest ship in the Les Mis fandom, I began to get pretty frustrated with them. Which resulted in my hatred of the ship as well. Granted, not all enjoltaire shippers are intolerant fucks, but a lot love to overstep their boundaries. They, for some reason, cannot stay in their lane, and continuously harass enjonine shippers and infiltrate the enjonine tag with their bullshit. It’s almost as if they’re so insecure because not everyone ride or dies with their ship that they have to go and ridicule the enjonine shippers. And they frame in the guise of “enjonine shippers are homophobes!” and cry about it in our tag. Calling us homophobes just because we don’t ship their ship is incredibly ludicrous because shipping is FUN and HARMLESS. I don’t care what you ship as long as you stay in your lane and don’t try to force your ship onto others! Those who can’t differentiate between real life and fiction and real life and shipping need to take a step back and reevaluate their lives.

I think it’s funny because many enjoltaire shippers call us queer erasure in an attempt to come off as “woke” which is quite hypocritical on their part because they know that many of us enjonine shippers either view Enjolras as bisexual or asexual. For them to call us that, to me, shows just how ignorant and pigheaded they are; they are fake woke, bashing us for not believing what they do when people are allowed to have different opinions. They’re the ones blatantly ignoring the possibility that Enjolras is asexual or bisexual or even both which, I could turn onto them and call them acephobes and biphobes. But I don’t go to their tag and post a plethora of reason as to why I hate enjoltaire and call them acephobes and biphobes.

Regardless of whether or not enjoltaire is implied in the text, that does not mean I have to ship it either! The ship does not appeal to me. Even if they frickin kissed in canon, the ship would not appeal to me. Victor Hugo could rise from the grave and scream that Enjolras and Grantaire fucked and I would not care. I would not ship them because I don’t like them! For some reason, enjoltaire shippers have their heads so far up their asses, demanding we ship their ship because it’s “canon” through symbolism. They critique us for “not have comprehension skills of the book” but guess what, there are so many people who don’t ship canon! There is nothing wrong with that! And enjoltaire isn’t even confirmed as canon! As far as I’m concerned, it’s all headcanon because nothing confirms a solid relationship. Symbolism can be interpreted. The great thing about literature is that everything is up for interpretation and not everyone has to believe the same thing. There are so many ships out there that go against canon but for some reason enjoltaire shippers think they should get a free pass and everyone needs to ship their ship because their ship is homosexual. But that’s not how fandoms work. Enjoltaire shippers do not have the right to ridicule enjonine or any other ship just because they think they’re more woke than others for shipping a gay couple.

There was a point where I came close to multishipping Enjolras with Grantaire as well as with Éponine but that concept sank so quick. It’s because of intolerable enjoltaire shippers that I refuse to ship Enjolras with Grantaire and ship him with Éponine even harder.

Why I ship enjonine

In all the different mediums of consuming Les Miserables, I always found myself absolutely adoring Éponine and that’s because I found myself relating to her more than any other character in Les Mis. She is an endearing character with many flaws, feelings, and complexities about her. When I actively found myself liking a character, I’m most likely going to find a ship for that character because I want my characters to be happy and paired. I was also drawn to Enjolras for the very reasons his friends are drawn to him. He’s inspiring, charismatic, and someone who has his flaws as well, who has done wrong for what he believes is right. Both characters are complex because of their beliefs and who they are and I adore them for that. Because of this I want them both to be happy and why not let them be happy together? Éponine could not be happy with Marius because Marius loved Cosette. She could find that happiness with Enjolras! Yep he might not be interested in women because he is focused on his revolution, but the beauty of fanfiction allows authors to tweak canon to suit their fantasies. And there is nothing wrong with that. That’s the whole purpose of fanfiction. The idea of having my two favorite characters get together makes me happy and anyone who thinks they can police my happiness can fuck right off. This ship has gotten me through some of the toughest times of my life and I’ll be damned if I let other peoples’ shitty and harmful opinions devalue that.

The fact that both of these characters have not interacted makes things even more interesting because of the potential they have! I also believe that if they had interacted, their dynamics would be very interesting to see unfold. Because they are both so headstrong and firm in their beliefs, it would make for such engaging fics and it has. I’ve read many enjonine fics and they are so well written and so fun to read because they feel so genuine and sincere to the characters that it makes me ship them even harder. While sparse, there is beautiful enjonine art out there and as a shipper, it makes me giddy.

Not only that, I have met some very sweet and interesting people in the fandom. While very small, most enjonine shippers are so openhearted and encouraging and because of this ship I have met beautiful people made a few friends as well. They have been nothing but kind and have helped me grow as a writer. Because of them my love for enjonine is as strong as it is. While I may not actively participate in the fandom for now, enjonine is the hill I’ll die on. They are my otp because they have helped me through such hard times and as a result made me so happy. So what if I don’t have canon to validate them? So what if other people adamantly despise the ship? If they despise me too, fine by me. I don’t need that negativity and toxicity in my life. I’ll do me and ship what I please and that’s enjonine.

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dotthings · 6 years

Text

Okay, about this “g*ncest” thing that just cropped up which makes me feel like I splintered back to the year 2006 and aren’t we over this by now...what that is is a bona fide example of toxic masculinity attitudes at work and being valorized by a small number of fans, mostly female.

First off, as far as I’m concerned, you are free to enjoy or write any type of fic you want, I don’t care. I’m not judging your fic tastes. I won’t insult you as a human being, attack you, send anon hate, or put this post on your tags or even any shared tags. Which is more than antis have done to respect my shipping but whatever.

However I disagree with the idea that there can be no discussion when fandom reinforces certain biases or ideas and tries to normalize them, without realizing how they’re reinforcing some real world level stuff that needs to be questioned. The discussion itself is valuable if you aren’t being a dick about it.

So you know how D*stiel fans get accused all the freakin’ time, endlessly, ad nauseam “you don’t respect male friendships! male friendships are rare and precious commodities in the media! why do you have to ruin it by making it gay!” (Sorry I need a moment to stop laughing). When the fact is D*stiel fans openly own their slash and own the gay and fling glitter, they don’t tend to apologize for it, instead of trying to mask the fact that it’s slash. Nobody is denying that close platonic male friendships can exist, either. But guess what, it is outright not toxic masculinity to see past heteronormative defaults to see how shipping two male friends together and seeing the potential for romance instead of by default ruling it out just because people are the same gender. It’s just not. It gets concerned trolled into the freakin’ ground as reinforcing toxic masculinity. It isn’t.

Which brings us to this g*ncest thing which, I stfg I thought we’d left behind in 2006. It’s an old fandom term that has outlived its need and outlived the context of the mores in fandom and society at the time that created it, like its related fic label concept, “smarm.”

“Smarm” isn’t the same definition as “smarmy.” The fandom definition of smarm is fic that depicts two people of the same gender being emotionally and physically close who are not in love and the intent is not romantic and not slash.

In other words, gen fic.

It depicts a platonic friendship or sibling bond.

It’s..gen fic. But for some reason, some felt they had to call it “smarm” because either it’s difficult to grasp that two men can be physically or emotionally close without it being slashy, or, fans who wanted to slash but self-shamed for it. They wouldn’t just call it a slash fic. Just like, it’s not w*ncest it’s g*ncest!!! Which somehow seems to assume itself a fest safe for anyone who isn’t into incest and just wants to celebrate the platonic sibling bond and...no, really, no. Probably be smarter to just host a Sam and Dean Gen Fic fest, which I’m sure exists, and hey, something for everyone, I’m not saying the g*ncest fest shouldn’t be allowed to continue, just pointing out why some people are bothered by it for reasons other than “you are ship shaming meanies!!”

There’s a big aspect of shame in smarm, and I’m arguing, to g*ncest.

The recent uptick of intensity in SPN fandom where w*incest fandom stans determinedly turn every single canon Sam and Dean moment into incest, and insist every story, every fic, every image, every concept about Sam & Dean’s bond is emotional w*incest is part of this toxic masculinity thing, the g*ncest issue, the smarm issue. A Sam and Dean image, boom, incest! The brothers are so in love! D*stiel fans are considered horrible for, y’know, reading romance into a shit-ton of usage of romantic tropes, canon pining, plot and dialogue and long arcs that map to romantic tropes, even overt shout-outs from other characters to the idea that Dean and Cas are a thing, but if Sam and Dean so much as stand next to each other it’s incest ftw.

There is such a thing as pre-slash and I find it a whole lot less squicky than smarm or g*ncest. I kind of like pre-slash because it owns the fact that romantic relationships don’t always have to manifest as sexy times, but why did we even call it pre-slash, why not just slash at a G or PG rating? I think this is becoming more of the norm, with slash shippers unapologetically posting slash fic at a G or PG rating. Readers are free to read into whatever they want into a gen fic, but if the author ships it and intends to put romance into it, but it isn’t about how the characters have sex or even kiss, they’re still romantically in love and they’re going to label it slash or pre-slash. I don’t see the need for the “pre” in that any more. No they aren’t kissing yet, no they aren’t having sex yet, but they are in love nonetheless.

Let go of the idea that a kiss or having sex is the only way to verify characters being in love.

Toxic masculinity isn’t the removal of heteronormative goggles that were probably fused to our faces from birth because that’s how our society is and being capable of imagining that two male friends in a story can fall in love the same way we imagine a man and woman can.

Toxic masculinity is when you are so determined that men--be it friends or siblings--cannot be close and it be, in fact, friendship or sibling love. It’s the equating of all male intimacy with a sexual and/or romantic bond. And I feel that a false narrative’s been allowed to prevail in SPN fandom that D*stiel fandom is deeply guilty of this when it’s not, while other groups that are doing this chronically, get a free pass.

I’d say it’s a pretty major example of toxic masculinity to insist that platonic w*incest is a thing, instead of just, y’know, Sam & Dean loving each other as siblings without hints of a romantic or sexual element. It’s toxic masculinity to slap the -cest slapping on every-freakin’-thing and then claim you’re being ship-shamed because you actually gate-keeped against fans who really just appreciate the sibling bond and don’t need any -cest to appreciate how close Sam and Dean are and appreciate that bond, and it’s pretty toxic to keep flinging a trigger in people’s faces every five minutes, openly, as if you own the entire fandom, and insist canon backs you up when in fact it’s gently shut you down on multiple occasions, and then expect absolutely nobody to be upset at you ever, and if anyone gets upset they’re ship-shaming you. That’s quite a big amount of entitlement, to assume that people aren’t allowed to be uncomfortable with something like incest.

Especially when you try to force LGBT ships that are non-trigger into the same mode, force a false equivalency, thus fetishizing the LGBT ships, and get offended if someone points out why a differentiation is sensible and necessary.

If you’re into Dean and Cas’s friendship and don’t see any romantic element, that’s gen. No really. It’s friendship fic. That’s not pre-slash. That’s not platonic D*stiel. You see a friendship. There is no such thing as platonic Destiel. Now, this gets tricky, because while that is 100% valid to feel that way, D*stiel is reaching a stage where not-shipping it is cool and all that, but if you vehemently deny there is any reason for other people to see more to it, you’re kind of having to ignore a hella lot of canon to keep those heteronormative goggles fused to your face, and no I am not accusing people who don’t ship it of being homophobic. Or of unconscious biases of being homophobic. We all have them. Talk about it, don’t insult people or shame them, sometimes it just takes a little bit to get people to understand. Others will never get there no matter what. Depends on the person.

There’s any number of het ships where I have eyes, I can see canon intent, I see they’re into each other, but I don’t care and I don’t ship it and I might enjoy genfic about that relationship or have them wind up as friends, I don’t ship it. There’s non-canon popular slash fics I don’t feel it or see it. I don’t yell down its shippers though. Its that simple. My advice is just don’t go screaming down D*stiel shippers with why must you ruin their friendship or claiming it’s toxic masculinity and going on about the sanctity of platonic male friendship which is just such a rare and precious flower in the media (sorry. pausing to lmfao again).

I also literally do not care how you see Sam and Dean’s relationship or if you ship that. I honestly do not care and I don’t make assumptions about you as a person (your fandom behavior over your ship might make me decide things about you). But...it’s still incest. I’m not ship-shaming. It’s incest. Why does this have to be explained over and over. You can ship whatever you want and should be allowed to have safe spaces for it but this assumption that everyone has to be 100% cool with such an obvious trigger and societal taboo or they’re hypocrites who don’t really believe in the “ship and let ship” they believe in...come on. “Ship and let ship” doesn’t mean be inconsiderate and it doesn’t mean you have to be comfortable with every ship in the fleet.

But SPN fandom has this lingering thing it can’t seem to let go of where systemically, it thinks incest and an LGBT ship should be treated exactly alike, and it has this thing where incest is being intrusively slapped onto every-freakin’-thing about Sam & Dean in spaces where fans can’t avoid it and it’s not behind a cut tag it’s not labeled, and if you aren’t into it you get mocked, and if you don’t watch only for the brother bond you get mocked, and this is coming from many of the same people who think an LGBT ship is identical to incest and from many of the same people who get offended if you point out why an LGBT ship isn’t like incest, and who get offended people ship that LGBT ship as well as from generalized anti-shippers who treat being a non-shipper like a superior badge of honor and who reinforce the gatekeeping that virulent incest shippers aim at D*stiel shippers while valorizing an incest ship, but this breed of anti-shippers are in total denial about doing it. (Note the distinction between anti-shipper and non-shipper).

But taking what is actually just gen fic about Sam & Dean being emotionally intimate or showing physical affection and insisting it needs a -cest on the end instead of just, y’know, being about a sibling bond...that’s where toxic masculinity comes in. Isn’t one of the whole major points of SPN’s narrative to deconstruct these perceptions of masculinity? To debunk the idea that men can’t be emotionally intimate? And please miss me with the idea that shipping D*stiel is somehow contrary to this. D*stiel is a part of that debunking because neither Dean nor Cas act like the media stereotypes of what bi (or ace or pan or whatever Dean and Cas might be) looks like. They started as friends, and became emotionally close before SPN canon got into the zone where it seems a lot more serious about possibly openly vocalizing or consummating the subtextual pining. Friends-to-lovers isn’t insisting all friends must be lovers. It’s fans identifying something in this particular pair of friends and in the narrative, in the canon, and don’t discard it just because of a heteronormative default that buys a slow burn will-they-won’t-they for m/f but sneers that same-gender potential romance is delusional.

Likewise if it’s Dean and Cas and someone slaps some form of slash label on it while refusing to own that they ship it and refusing to own there could be sexual attraction, instead of simply saying “it’s a gen fic I love their friendship” would also an example of toxic masculinity ideas and probably a lot of self-shaming about seeing and enjoying the slash in the first place. Dean and Cas friendship enthusiasts and Dean and Cas shippers actually get along pretty well (assuming no one is acting like a dick) and that, I think, is because there is such a powerful emotional component to the ship, and Dean and Cas friendship enthusiasts tend to be non-virulent and tend to be open-minded about why the shippers see more in it even if they don’t.

This should be also true of w*ncest fans and enthusiasts of the sibling bond because again, massive emotional component as common ground, but I feel like what’s happening is the more intense and virulent w*ncest fans are trying to draw such a hard line that if you aren’t into incest, there’s no space for you. This goes hand in hand with the virulently pro-codependency fans, who romanticize mental illness and then can’t seem to figure out why anyone is upset with them, and who think that anyone who isn’t into romanticizing mental illness hates the bro bond so they’ve swept out plenty fans who adore the sibling bond with their virulence.

Personally I find uncomfortable when fans insist that gen fic about two dudes being close needs to be some kind of pick-your-fighter-label form of slash instead of just owning it’s a celebration of close male friendship. Bromance is a stupid term and IMO part of toxic masculinity too.

There’s also the erasure of the fact that D*estiel is one of the least smut-driven ships. A recent study of ships with the highest smut content found w*ncest at the top and D*stiel barely even rated, and here’s the ironic part: virulently anti-destiel w*ncest fans and ship shamey non-shippers slapped D*stiel with a default assumption that it’s all about fapping material and two dudes getting it on and you just want to make spn into a porno and accuses D*stiel fandom of fetishizing m/m relationships when w*ncest is at the top of the smut pile. No I am not shaming you for enjoying smut. No I am not saying that a ship is superior for being less smutty. I’m very clearly objecting to the shaming and misconceptions of D*stiel fandom, which are often willfully perpetuated.

This misconception has stubbornly stuck in spn fandom and it’s incredibly annoying. Please join us in the year 2018. When so much of D*stiel is Dean and Cas not having sex but just being ridiculous and making heart-eyes and in denial and trying to figure this out and maybe they brush hands and blush, it’s almost Victorian. (Y’know, like the canon ha ha. Oh wait that’s not funny I’m serious). A lot of D*stiel fans write slash fic so they can get them to talk honestly with each other.

So sure, have your ficfests how you like, but I think it’s worth at least pointing out that this fixation with slapping the -cest label on everything is an example of toxic masculinity concepts at work, is normalizing incest to a ridiculous degree, is de-normalizing fans who really just appreciate a sibling bond, what with the stans insisting that w*ncest is just another term for their close emotional bond, *splutter* I don’t watch SPN for ships how dare you instead of, y’know, having the balls to own the fact that they’re intrigued by the incest ship. They shove it everywhere and disown it all in the same breath.

#mildew

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everlarkficexchange · 6 years

Text

Dissever My Soul From Yours (part 2)

Written by: @alliswell21

Rated: Mature *Smut Ahead*

Warnings: Modern AU; Age Gap; Mourning; Grief Stages; Hurt and Comfort; Angst; Brief Description Of Domestic Abuse; Implied Past Child Abuse; Smut; Guilt; Canon Typical Anger Issues; Fasten your seatbelts, it’s gonna be a bumpy ride. All mistakes are mine.

Synopsis: Losing a loved one is hard enough, losing a child is torture. Peeta Mellark struggles to move on from the loss of his son, so he clings to the last piece of him left alive, his son’s girlfriend. Based on Prompt 106: Katniss is Rye’s girlfriend when he dies. Katniss and Peeta (Rye’s father) start to hang out to go through their grief together. [submitted by Anonymous]

Acknowledgements: Thank you Anon for this prompt, I wish I knew who you were to dedicate it to you, but I guess this way the story simple belongs to the universe :) Also thank you @kleeklutch for reading this through and helping me get my ideas straight… I truly loved your insights! lastly, thank you Everlark Fic Exchange from bring us all together!

Other Notes: Excerpt of the lyrics to “You’ve Got a Friend in Me” by Randy Newman (Toy Story, 1995)

Excerpts and rewordings for the poem “Annabel Lee” by Edgar Allan Poe; featuring the poem “Alone” by Edgar Allan Poe

This fic got away from me. I had outlined it to be around 8-10K words, but this monstrosity grew up to be close to 32K… this is the second part, and when I post the story to AO3 there will be an epilogue.

KPKPKPKPKPKPKPKPKP

I press the call button, but chicken out after the first ring and hang up tossing the phone on the couch next to me and putting a cushion on top of it for good measure.

My childish fix doesn’t help one bit. The phone rings under the cushion all the same, because stupid smartphones are snitches. I miss the 80’s when the most technologically advanced phone was a wireless wall unit.

“Hello?” I answer, pretending to yawn. I’m not sure what does that help.

“Hey! Were you trying to call me?” She asks.

There’s something about hearing her voice that makes my heart stutter. Suddenly I want to see her. Badly.

“Rye’s headstone is ready.”

There’s a pause on the other side of the line.

“I’m coming over.” She says determinedly.

I hear some shuffling, her breathing pattern fluctuating while she does who-knows-what. Then she asks if I need anything, if I’m okay. But I only make some nonverbal noises. I just want her here. I’m about to tell her I’m going to put the phone down, we can talk when she comes, but I hear the unmistakable turn of a key in my front door, and when I look up, there she is, walking into my apartment.

Her hair is down, I’ve only ever seen it down a handful of times, but it’s the first time I feel the urge to run my fingers through it’s length. Pull on it a little. See what sounds she’ll produce if I do so.

My groin area grows warm and tight, and for a moment I lose myself in this devious reaction to her, a primitive hunger unfurling in my core, all consuming and blinding to the rest of the world. I hear nothing, smell nothing, taste nothing but the scent of her. I watch her with sicken glee as she hurries towards me. I twitch excitedly when she drops in the couch next to me, willing her to just come closer.

Yes pretty girl, come closer, put your sweet little arms around me, so I can… so I can… so I can…

The scary voice of the mutt inside me gets fainter the longer I repeat the the last three words.

So I can… Do what?

So I can do what?

“Peeta!” She squeezes my hand, breaking the cursed spell.

I tear my hand out of hers as if her finger had burned my skin. She retracts her hand and her face turns scarlet in embarrassment, but when my eyes can’t focus on anything, her gaze fills with concern.

“Hey, where did you go just now? Are you okay? I’m here.” She tells me soothingly, chancing a pass of her hand over my shoulder.

I have the feeling she’s been trying to get me out of it for a while. I wish I could tell her I’m fine, but the truth is that I’m shaky.

I don’t know what exactly just came over me. I felt like the wolf, disguised and salivating for Red Riding Hood’s tender flesh. I feel predatory. Dirty. Despicable.

I start crying. It’s all I can do to release this darkness inside.

I’m furious with myself when she mistakes my odd behavior as grief, and pulls me down to lay my head on her lap as the rest of my body curls into itself, because I should ask her to leave, I should tell her I may turn into a beast and devour her whole, but I refuse to deprive myself from her touch; because I’m selfish, because I’m disturbed in the head, because I’m a fucked up, lonely failure in love with his son’s girl.

Somewhere deep down, I’ve always knew I a was goner, and I hate myself for being weak, perverted and a bad father. The worst part, I can’t make myself want to stop falling for her.

——-

Rye’s headstone gets placed on his grave on a Thursday morning.

It’s cold and windy out, though the sun is shining. I’m surprisingly calm through the whole event. It just feels like it’s the end of the story. He’s gone then, for real. Nothing will bring him back and his name glaring at me in that fucking rock is the proof.

My father is bawling though. My mother can’t even look at the stone, it’s as if it hurts her, just glancing at it.

The cynical part of me rejoices that finally something happened to force her show she actually gives a damn. The vindictive side of me wants to scream at her, that she’s a hypocritical bitch, she tossed me out on my ass when I told her I was raising the baby on my own.

“If you think you’re big enough to ruin your life, then you must be big enough to be on your own.” Those words will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life.

At the end, after everything was said and done, it turns out my mother loved Rye, doted on him even. Grandbabies have that effect on people. They make the most unfeeling individuals softer, loving, sweet. I’ll never know what that feels like, loving your child’s child. My hopes for grandchildren are buried with Rye.

As if in autopilot, my eyes find Katniss and I stare at her, scanning her navy blue peacoat clad form from head to toe. Beautifully sculpted legs asides, I stop on her middle and stare where my grand babies should’ve bloom and be given life.

She’s free to find someone else to fill her belly with children. Though she says she doesn’t want them, I’ve seen her interacting with my nephews, she’s amazing with kids.

A possessive thought sinks it’s claws in my mind. Her womb should be filled with Mellarks, not some faceless schmuck threatening my legacy. But Rye’s is really dead, who’s stopping her from falling in love with someone else, marrying them, have children… be happy with a family of her own, where I have no place in.

Now I’m angry at Rye for dying.

He left me alone. He took my potential family with him into his grave.

Katniss wanders off after paying her respects to Rye. Her mother and sister trail after her like a family of ducklings.

When the three of them are together, is clear to see who the head of the Everdeen household really is.

Prim came to the cemetery with two small bouquets. One she placed against the shiny, new headstone of one Rye Joshua Mellark, the other, I see her place in a vial on the mausoleum where ashes are put to rest.

Something tells me that if I came snooping around, I’d catch a glimpse of Mr. Everdeen’s last resting place.

“Bread Boy, when are you heading home?” Jo startles me, when she sidles closer on my left.

I turn to look at her, but she’s staring at the Everdeen’s in the distance.

“As soon as she’s done,” I gesture to the Everdeens vaguely.

Jo frowns, so as way of plantation I inform her, “She came here with me.”

Jo gives me a disapproving stare that I ignore. After a while she simply sighs. “That was ballsy of you. Stealing and rewording Annabel Lee.” She says in reference to a line I commissioned to be etched at the bottom of the headstone.

She entones,

“Wingèd seraphs of Heaven Coveted him. And this was the reason that, In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling

My beautiful Navy seaman”

I glare at her for a moment.

“I thought Rye hated Poe.” She adds flicking her fingernails, and old habit of hers. It means she’s holding back.

“He still knew it by heart.” I deadpan.

“Because it was your favorite! You used to bored him to tears with it. How come you’re still trying to shove it down the poor kid’s throat?”

All gloves are off now.

“Because of her!” I point in the direction of Katniss, hissing and whispering harshly. “She loves Poe! and then he did too! I just didn’t know it until the wake. Then, she shows me some of his letters; he wrote the most beautiful poetry I’ve ever read, and he was fucking amazing, Jo, the kid had a natural talent with words we never knew!” I’m so angry at Rye.

I’m also jealous. I feel like he hid something we could’ve have in common, bond over probably, and shared it with someone else instead. I feel he kept part of him from me, and that just hurts deeply.

I paw off an angry tear from my eye, “He credited me for his love of dark poetry.” I say bitterly. “Apparently, lying to his girlfriend about how he adored her favorite author, instead of telling her he felt indifferent about it, was what got him into her pants. I don’t know, Johanna. It was Katniss’ idea, to include Annabel Lee since it was Rye’s favorite poem according to her.”

Johanna’s face remains hard the whole while.

“Did it occurred to you, that maybe your son did like your pal Eddie after all? Obviously he was into emo chicks I find hard to swallow. And since when did he have to show you his love poems? You were his dad! He loved you, but he was his own person too, Peeta.” She starts to walk away from me.

“Tell me when get your head out of your ass. I’ll be here waiting with tequila, seeing as you refuse to listen to me.” She tosses over her shoulder heading towards my dad and brothers.

I’m mad at her too!

On the ride back home, we’re both quiet. Our hands kept brushing against the other over the center console the entire ride.

We stop at a restaurant, because we are not ready to go back home to face our new reality after Rye.

My hands keeps finding her waist, the small of her back, the end of her braid. She seems content with my proximity, leaning into me, holding on to my arm when we walk, and when we’re finally seated, the touches just get bolder. At one point, my forearm rests on her knee while we play thumb war on the table with our free hands.

The waiter wishes us to enjoy the rest of our date, and she smiles brightly at him and thanks him. We hold hands the rest of our meal, all the way to the car and all the way up to my place. She spends the night in the spare room Jo hasn’t stayed in in 7 weeks. I’ve been counting.

We change out of our nice clothes, I miss seeing her in a dress and heels, but I like her in her yoga pants more. I’m in basketball shorts and a plain white t-shirt with my socks clad feet on the coffee table, watching Impractical Jokers.

She plops sideways next me, so her whole back is resting on my right side from our hips up. My arm goes around her automatically. This closeness feels natural, right, comfortable. Domestic.

She’s reading some book, only glancing at the tv when I’m laughing very hard. During a commercial break, she asks if I’d like a drink or a snack. I’m not used to anyone catering to me this way, but she kisses my cheek, patting my chest, and all I do is nod.

She comes back with a bottle of Mike’s and a bowl of popcorn, the resumes her place up against my body.

“What about you?” I ask curiously.

“What about me?” She questions not looking up from her book, twirling the end of her braid around her fingers.

“You don’t want a snack?” I ask her, squeezing her side a little.

She makes a face, “We’re sharing!” She looks at me with a ‘duh’ expression that simply shuts me up.

I chuckle a little, and pull on her braid wanting to be playful, “Why do girls sit like that all the time?”

“Like what?” She turns her head to look at me.

“Crisscrossed applesauce.” I point at her legs. “It doesn’t matter where you guys sit, your legs always go like a pretzel under yourselves.”

She looks at me under her lashes for a second, and shrugs.

“Is comfortable.”

“How? I’ve seen girls sit on the bakery chairs that way. It looks painful as hell.”

“Don’t know what to tell you, Peeta. I’ve never thought about it.”

“Yeah, but… isn’t it weird that every. Single. Girl does it? Hell, Jo sits that way!”

“Then why do you ask Johanna about it?” She snaps aggravated.

Well, I didn’t expect this vipery response. Girls do this regarding other girls too. They get catty.

She goes back to her book moodily. I simply hug her. Rye’s mom used to have this same reaction to Jo. A hug usually mollified her, and as Katniss starts to relax in my embrace, I think I’ve succeeded, so I also go back to watch the tv.

“Why does Johanna hate me?” She asks casually after a while.

I turn the volume of my show down, though her nose is firmly planted in the book I realize with a jolt is one from the box I gave her a few months ago. Girls also like to seem casual about things that truly bother them. I remember that from Rye’s mom.

“She doesn’t hate you.” I say softly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “That’s a strong word.”

“Could’ve fool me.” She says under her breath.

She doesn’t say anything further, and I wait a minute longer just in case, but I go back to my show since she’s yet to stop reading.

Ten minutes later, she adds. “I don’t like her either. So I guess we’re even.”

The truth is that neither has to like the other. I like them both and that’s what matters, but I know for a fact that saying that will just make her angry enough to leave, and I don’t want her to leave, so I keep my mouth shut.

She leans her head on my shoulder a few minutes later, and without thinking about it, I place a kiss on the top of her head and rest my cheek on it.

“How come you didn’t tell me this were all your books? I was bound to figure it out at some point. You’ve scribble on most of the margins. Which isn’t entirely kosher, you know. You’re defacing the books.”

I chuckle, dropping another kiss to the crown of her head, “It wasn’t important. Sorry if my notes bothered you.”

“I wasn’t bothered. I’m just telling you that other people would find that off putting.” She snuggles into me.

She doesn’t say anything for a bit. Then she speaks quietly.

“Rye told me once he felt like you were more involved in our relationship than he was. He was joking of course, but he said that he didn’t mind it as long as we kept the geeky to ourselves when he was around.” She closes the book and lowers it to her lap, her face finds the crook of my neck, but she doesn’t stay there long.

She sits up. “You know what I thought about today?”

I shake my head, my hand still resting on her hip, willingly her to sit back as she was.

“I thought, that now that he’s officially gone, we don’t have to hide ourselves anymore.”

She turns to face me, her eyes are filling with tears.

“Does that make me a bad person?”

She doesn’t let me answer. She’s up and inside the spare bedroom in the blink of an eye. She cries the rest of the night, locked behind the door. I just sit on the floor with my back on her wall and let her say her final goodbyes.

———

It’s May 8th, Katniss’ 22 birthday, and she warned me to not even think of congratulating her. She’s going to see her sister and mother this weekend, back home in Panem, but today I took the day off and left the shop in my store manager, Rue’s, capable hands.

Rue and Katniss met a couple of years ago at the bakery and hit it off despite there being a few years age gap. They speak a language of their own those two, and though I knew of Katniss’ birthday because of Rye, it’s Rue who insists I do something low key for her.

At 6:15 I rap on her door, and rock on the ball of my feet holding a tiny bouquet of wild onions and katniss blooms behind my back.

She scowls at me as soon as she opens the door.

“Wipe that silly grin off your face, Peeta. I’m warning you, I don’t do birthdays.”

“Come on!” I cajole stepping into her apartment when she stomps back in. “You don’t even know what I’m here for!”

She just glares at me, and I smile widens. I stick the flowers and inch from her nose, unable to say any of the words I had practiced on my way down to her floor.

Instead, I just say, “I’m taking you up!”

She’s staring at my flowers, still not taking them from my hand, but her eyes are as big as silver dollars.

“Where did you get these?” She asks in awe caressing a petal of a katniss flower.

“Garden on the roof,” I say nonchalantly.

“What? That’s impossible!”

“Not really. There’s a bunch of the things up there. If you wanna see it, then put on some shoes and I’ll show you.” I tell her easily.

“I’m in my pajamas!” She protests.

“So? I think you look cute. Plus nobody goes up there anyway.”

We’re out her door and in the elevator in a heartbeat. She’s exuding excitement and it’s contagious. When we step in the 13th floor, there’s a flight of stairs we have to climb and then we’re on the roof of the building.

Her mouth drops open in astonishment when she sees the sea of wild flowers all over planters in every inch of the roof, and in the very middle, there’s a picnic set up.

“Where did all this come from?” She whispers out softly. Her hand gliding over the cheerful blooms closest to her.

“Well, technically, they all came from Panem!” I say simply.

“How?” She faces me demanding my answers.

“I had your sister’s boyfriend find them for a fee, and then I just transplanted them here.” I say trying to shove down the ever increasing anxiety I’m feeling. “The duck potatoes were the hardest ones to get to take… you can recreate their habitat without water.”

Her eyes snap to me dangerously. “What kind of fee did you pay?”

“Monetary kind.”

“How big of a fee? Because these plants are basically weeds in the woods back home, and if Rory dared to rip you off—“

“Katniss! Can you for once, just enjoy something nice some has done for you? let someone else worry about costs and such for once.”

Her eyes soften. “You didn’t have to go through this trouble,” she gestures around us.

“Just say you like the flowers, and that you’re hungry, and we’re even,” I smile at her.

She smiles back, albeit reluctantly and nods.

We’re both wearing crowns of dandelions she weaved for us, dipping cheese buns in hot chocolate, when she asks seriously, “How did you come up with this idea?”

“You said you wanted to go home. And I know you’re going to say you’ll be in Panem Friday evening, but when you talked about your favorite birthday being out in the woods with your father, gathering wild onions, and katniss tubers, and mint leaves… I wanted you have that memory back, but I’m not your father, I’ve never set foot in woods in my life. I know how to tend a garden, and I figured the city needed more pretty wildflowers, like you.”

“Peeta…” she sighs my name, and I swear I’ll never forget the effect that sound had over my body and soul. Her eyes search mine, imploringly. “Why are you so nice to me?”

I stare at her for a moment, the words that come of my mouth, escape without my consent.

“You know why,”

“I do?” Her voice is breathy, and dances away with the swift breeze.

“You have, no idea the effect you can have…” my voice matches hers.

I don’t think she meant to speak the words, since her lips barely move, but I heard them all the same, minute and ethereal, here a moment and gone the next, “kiss me?”

And who am I to deny her anything?

In the blink of an eye, I lean forward and pull her lower lip inside my mouth, I release soon after, to kiss her properly, and my hands move in to trap her face and pull her closer to me. Her hands take hold of my wrist and she just sighs contentedly against my mouth.

In a matter of seconds, she’s migrated to my lap, and the kisses turn into a straight up makeout session. Things just escalate from there without any kind of brake. We are free falling, and neither of us cares.

My lips and tongue seek her skin hungrily and she’s just too happy to oblige dipping her head back granting me access.

Is an unseasonably warm evening, so we’re both wearing shorts, hers is a flimsy material that matches her tank top. I’m taking complete advantage of her skimpy sleep clothes, my hands caress the supple olive skin of her shapely legs all the way down to her ankles, then creep back to her hips.

My lips are attached to her jaw, my tongue dances across her neck and collarbone. At some point, we ended up laying on the picnic blanket. I’m hovering above her.

“Is this okay?” I whisper into her ear, nipping her lobe before sliding my hand into her hair to undo the braid.

“Yes,” She sighs.

I kiss her some more and she speaks raggedly against my lips.

“Peeta. You make my heart race…”

She takes my hand, and slips it flushed against herself from her hip, all the way to her chest, where her heart is indeed beating frantically. The palm of my hand is half on her breast and half over the spot where heart beats. Her tank rides up as she drags my hand up her body.

I swipe my thumb over her nipple under the thin fabric of her shirt, and she arches her chest to meet the slight touch. I take it as permission to dip my hand under her top, and almost cry when I’m met with bare flesh. I push the tank top up and she raises her arms so I can pull it over her head. After tossing her shirt to the side I dive in to devour her perky, pretty breast.

She digs her fingers into my hair, to keep my head in place. She didn’t need worry. I’m not going to stop sucking on her nipples any time soon.

I’ve pinned her lower half to the ground with my hips, but I don’t dare move for fear that I’ll explode in my shorts. Katniss is making the most delicious noises I’ve ever heard, undulating her body against mine, and I have to give her something to stimulate her, so I bring a hand to her knee and let my hand travel slowly upwards and inward, as I suck and kiss her breasts non stop.

I’m only aware of how big of a mistake touching her there is for me, when I find the cotton of her panties soaking wet and hot. She shouts as soon as my fingers find her.

“Peeta… please…” she begs.

So I slip one finger under her underwear, and find the glorious mess of her arousal, dripping wet and warm.

“Fuck, Katniss… you’re soaked.”

“Your. F-fault.” She meowls twisting under my weight.

“My fault? Do I make you wet often?” I tease her slit unhurriedly.

“Y-yessss. Ah… lot…”

“When?”

“I don’t. Knooow. All the tiiiiimeeeee?” I slide my finger inside her and her head rolls back.

“Peeta… don’t… tease!”

Her own slim hand snakes down our bodies, and palms the bulge in my shorts. Is too much, I pull away but she whines. She opens her glassy eyes, and stares me down until she’s wrestled my cock out of my shorts.

Her grey eyes grow determined, she pulls my erection in her tight fist making me grunt with want. I push her panties aside, just as she positions the head of my cock at her entrance.

“No more teasing!” She breathes out sternly.

“Whatever you want, Katniss. Just answer me this question first,” I plead, and she nods. “Are you in love with me?” I hear the shakiness in my voice, the desperation, “I need to know.” I whisper into her ear, leaving a kiss in the shell.

“Yeah,” she breathes out against my cheekbone. “Been for a while.”

I picture in my head all the times I’ve caught her staring at me, blushing and smiling sweetly. I know in my heart she’s accepted her feelings and come to terms with them before now, I want to give her anything she wants, including my heart, if she asks for it on a platter!

I press into her slowly to give her a chance to adjust to my girth. She gasps, and her clever dainty fingers curl around my shoulders tighter the deeper I go. She’s so wet and welcoming, her body offers no resistance whatsoever. Her walls envelop my erection like a fitted glove, accepting the intrusion with a warm, snug hug.

She feels like heaven.

Once I’m completely sheathed in her, all I can do is hold on to her hips for dear life while I wait for my lungs to breathe naturally. I’m scared I’m going to blow my load if I move, it’s agony trying to tell your body to calm the hell down when all I want is to get lost in the sensations.

She seems to understand I need a minute, because one of her hands let’s go of my biceps, caress my face lovingly, then she kisses my jaw and nuzzles her nose on the side of my face.

“We have all night, take me slowly.” She breathes into my ear.

My forehead drops to the crook of her neck for a moment. It’s been so long since a woman has shown me affection, I want to soak it all up and live in her warmth forever. I kiss a path from her cheek to her mouth, and start moving slowly within her.

Pulling almost all the way out, then plunging back in quickly, thrusting all the way to the hilt. The elastic of her panties rubbing on the side of my dick drives me insanely hard. Her hot breath hitches every time I enter her hightnenig the feeling.

She barely makes any noises, her mouth forms a silent scream, I’m convinced I just expelled all the air out of her body when I slid in.

I pick up my pace, when her feet lock around my calfs, thrusting faster and harder; that does it for her, and I swear is the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

She moans my name over and over, her body seizing under mine, and her walls fluttering around me ushers my own release.

I slump on top of her and she attacks my chin and neck with tight lip nips. She actually bites the collar of my t-shirt and pulls on it like a playful puppy.

She giggles, and starts playing with a curl of hair that’s fallen on my eyes. My whole body shakes with her laughter.

“What’s so funny?” I ask her curiously cracking one eye open so I can look at her disheveled, beautiful, flushed face.

Her hair falls wildly around her head like an inky halo. I love it. I love her.

“Nothing really. I was just mentally calling myself a horny hoe… you felt so thick inside me, I was wondering how long I’d have to wait to see your hard dick properly? I was wondering if next time we could be completely naked? I could give it a lick if you think that’ll help…” she trails her short nails down my arm blinking her lashes innocently.

Then, she purrs, “Can’t wait to give you head.” She has the fucking audacity to suck her bottom lip inside her mouth giving me a peek of her teeth and pink tongue.

I’m rock hard and ready to go, just like that.

She oomphs when I scramble off the ground pulling her up by the waist. I grab her top and shove it in her hands before picking her up and throwing her over my shoulder, like a sack of flour. She squeals and kicks at first, but then she just giggles as I bound down the stairs, leaving behind the picnic to deal with later.

Her shorts and panties are still askew from before. I run a finger down her messy slit and inform her, “You can have me naked and in your mouth in a minute. But I’m eating you out first, so brace yourself sweetheart, I’m not done with you just yet!”

———

I wake up to a rain of sweet, loving kisses peppered all over my face by luscious, warm lips.

I try to trap her in my arms, but she’s sitting in a very weird position just out of my reach. She giggles pecking my eyelid.

“I have a meeting with a professor in an hour. I have to go.”

“Is he hot? Your professor?” I ask sleepily.

She chuckles. “No. Professor Lattier is awfully smart and a great mentor, but I don’t find him attractive.”

“I don’t like having competition… the brainiacs are the worst!” I lunge at her and drag her back into the bed as she yelps. “They always end up charming the pretty girls, at the end of the movies.”

She turns in my arms laughing, until she’s laying across my body. Punctuated with lazy kisses on the lips, she assures me, “You. Have no. Competition. Anywhere!” She smiles down at me, “I happen to like the jock, wrestling champs, with hearts of gold type… like you!”

“Good! Everything is right with world then.”

We kiss again. Languidly.

“I’ll bring take out for supper this evening?”

“But I texted Rue that I wasn’t coming in today either, so I could stay in bed with you all day!” I pout. “Can’t you just meet with the professor real quick and come home right away?”

She giggles again, and kisses me all over.

“I think we need a little break to rest ourselves, don’t you?” She combs my hair back off my forehead. “You can have me all to yourself tonight, I have to finish my graduation project this week, otherwise…” She runs the palm of her hand down my bare chest with a wicked smirk. “That was some birthday gift!”

She’s fast though. Before I can move to pin her under me again she hops off the bed and blows me a kiss from the door.

“You minx!” I call after and her melodic laugh trails down the hall and dies when she leaves the apartment.

I try to sit up, but every muscle in my body screams. My junk is chafing too. She’s probably right about that break; I can’t imagine how she feels. I took her in every conceivable position I know, and made her cum at least twice as many times.

I lay back down and reminisce on last night’s events.

It wasn’t all just mindless fucking, we had some quiet moments filled with meaningful conversations or just easy banter. Our age difference was never an issue last night, and although in the last few years I’ve gotten a bit of a flabby belly, she seemed to enjoy my body as much as I enjoyed hers.

It was what I’ve always pictured a healthy, mature relationship would feel and look like. I can’t wait to be with her again, and I don’t mean in bed.

I want to take her out on dates, or just sit sit somewhere quietly and sketch her. My mind gets away from me, planing future trips to Europe, because once, she mentioned how she’d love to travel but never had the means to since growing up she had to help support her sister Primrose.

I’m not a millionaire, but I’m pretty loaded. I could take her anywhere in the world. I think we should start with London, so she can visit all the places she knows from literacy. I bet she’d get a kick out of Paddington Station. We could get a Sherlock Holmes and also a Harry Potter tour… she’s so well read, my Katniss!

But the human mind is just as much a pitfall of despair, as it is a well of dreams and noble ideas.

MY Katniss?

She isn’t mine.

She belongs to Rye.

Guilt, shame and self loathing hits me like a ton of bricks.

What have I done?

The roiling in my stomach gets painful and I have to rush to the toilet to vomit.

I get up, shower, avoid looking at myself in the mirror for fear of what I’ll find in my reflection.

The out of the blue, I have to see.

The white hair in my temples looks painfully obvious now that my hair is damp and a shade darker. My two day stubble is also sprinkled with the white fuckers, mocking me.

Suddenly I’m questioning if any of her actions were real. Did she mean anything she said last night about liking me?

Our age difference is so stark and jarring when she’s not around to muddle up my thinking process. I can’t think straight when she’s around. I’m not sure is my memories of her are real or not. Looking back, everything has a shiny quality to it, too hypened.

After getting dressed, I pull the covers off the bed and switch them for clean ones. I febreze the entire bedroom, because it’s smells like sex with her, and I can’t deal with the emotions her scents stirs in me.

But I’m jumpy. I need something to do, so I go through a box I haven’t dare touch since packing it back in winter. I’m not ready for this, but in the dark recesses of my mind, some nagging voice suspiciously similar to my mother’s says that I deserve punishment for being a weak creep.

My hands tremble when I grab Rye’s duffle bag. He never got the chance to fully unpack.

I’m a despicable piece of shit! Here I was planning some romantic trip with his girlfriend, when I never once asked him if he wanted to go somewhere. Granted, we did travel some when he was young, we visited most of the important landmarks all over the continental US, and when he graduated high school, before boot camp, we went with Jo to Hawaii for two weeks. He tried to look excited, but I knew he missed Katniss the whole time. I wish I had asked her mother permission to bring her with us.

Could I’ve been that dad that condones their underaged children have sleepovers with their sweethearts? Did any parent in the world actually allow that?

I gave my child the best life I could; why do I steal from him in death, is beyond me.

The tears start falling freely as soon as I unzip the bag and I’m met with my boy’s scent. The first t-shirt I pull out of the duffle, I recognize as one he’s had since high school. I completely lose it.

I bring the worn cotton to my nose and breathe my son in. I hug the shirt to my chest and scream in pain. I can’t go on for maybe an hour, and really I should just stop, find one of those hermetic storing bags, so every ounce of my Rye’s precious essence is preserved. But I need to atone for what I did. I can’t even think of it or call it by its name, but the ugly sensations twisting the pit of my stomach into a knot won’t let me have a reprieve, so I keep unpacking, and then I see it, rolled up into a sock, stuffed into a boot, a tiny black box.

I don’t wanna open it, I don’t wanna know what’s inside, but what else could it be?

And now I’m filled with full hot white rage. So much so I want to go find her, yell at her, tell her how much I hate her for what she’s doing to me, to Rye. To his memory, but I don’t, I just sit there and cry.

————-

“Knock, knock!” Her voice is cheerful, carefree, innocent, and grating in my ears.

Up until this point, I’ve only blamed myself for the betrayal of Rye. But now that I hear her, I realize she was an all too willing participant in this debacle,

going as far as inciting the events. She has a responsibility too in this mess.

A small voice in the back of my mind tries to tell me that I’m just projecting my own guilt on her, that my anger is unwarranted, that she has no idea of what I’ve been stewing in my head all day, but I want to be angry, I want to lash out, I want her to feel as sad and hurt as Rye probably does right now!

‘It’s the grief talking’. “It’s the truth!” I argue with myself with low growls.

She walks in the kitchen and the smell of fried rice attacks me, making my stomach churn uncomfortably.

“Hi handsome!” She greets obviously to the storm brewing in my chest. “Did someone forget it was my turn making dinner?” She asks playfully when she sees me hard at work kneading some dough.

“I didn’t forget. I just don’t want Chinese food” I say quietly.

She had been unpacking bags but abruptly stops, I glance at her for the first time since she left this morning, and I punch the dough harder than is necessary.

She’s so beautiful it’s gutting me out.

The smile etched in her face slowly falls as the tension in the room mounts.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I bought all this food because I’ve been ravenous all day after last night. I could’ve gotten something else.” She chuckles nervously.

I stop kneading, and take a beer from the fridge.

“I think you better leave.” I say flatly, take a nice long drink from my bottle the whole time staring her down.

“Are you… is this… did I miss something? what’s- what’s the matter?” She’s visibly stunned, there are around 10 little containers of take out sprawl on the counter, she eyes them wearily, but starts putting them back in the plastic bags she brought them in.

I have to hold onto the back of a chair, just to feel in control of myself.

I can see the concern in her eyes. I know her well enough to know she’s trying to tamp down her own emotions, she’s very wise that way. If she doesn’t understand something, she waits until she can see the whole picture.

“I just… I can’t deal with y— ‘it’ right now.” I bow my head and squeeze the back of the chair until my circulation cuts.

“Did I do something wrong?” Her voice is thin and broken.

That’s when I scream at her.

“You don’t think cheating on your dead boyfriend is enough wrongdoing?”

She flinches at my outburst, frozen in place.

“He bought you a fucking ring, you know, and you repay him by sleeping around?” I accuse her viciously.

She’s panicking, but I don’t feel anything right now, other than shame and guilt, and she’s the cause of it. The floodgates of hell have been opened, I can’t stop the vile that comes out of my mouth, even though I know I’m being completely unfair.

“My son hasn’t been in the ground five months and I’m fucking his girl raw! But you ask if you’ve done something wrong? You’re letting me, a man 18 years older than yourself, fuck, you who can barely rent a car legally! You should be mourning my son, not sleeping with me, that’s what’s wrong!”

I take a lamp from the corner of the counter and throw it across the kitchen until it smashes on the wall besides her.

She shrieks and slings herself the opposite way.

She doesn’t move for a minute, huddle by the refrigerator. She looks terrified and my heart breaks into a million pieces.

“I— Katniss—” I try.

She shakes her head, extends her arm and gives me her palm to stop me, to keep distance between us. She grabs the bags of food trembling like a leaf from head to toe, muttering under her breath between choked whimpers something about the homeless around the corner, and how much they’ll appreciate a nice warm meal.

Her face is a mess of tears and snot.

I want to rush to her, wrap her in my arms and apologize a million times, whispering in her ear that I didn’t mean it, that it’s not her fault, that I’m a jerk and a fuck-up just like my mother always told me I was.

But I don’t move and inch. I’m not just an useless fuck-up, I’ve turned into a monster, an abusive mutt. I’ve turned into my mother.

I’m paralyzed. My body doesn’t respond to my frantic commands, not even when she hightails out the kitchen.

“Katniss?” I plead choking back a sob.

But the front door slams after her.

———-

It’s been a week since I scared Katniss away, and I feel like shit.

I run into her in the lobby. She perks up, standing straighter, and I can’t help my wandering eyes.

Her hair is loose today, and she’s got makeup on, she’s wearing slacks and a nice flowy blouse. I wonder where is she coming from, but instead of talking to her like a normal person, I ignore her.

My eyes flit back towards her, then I board the elevator and we just stand face to face, staring at each other mutely. She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek and holding to her big girl purse as she calls it, for dear life. Neither of us move but eventually the elevator doors start closing.

There’s a fraction of a second in which her eyebrows arch expectantly, like she’s giving me a chance to do something; her gaze searches my eyes, but I see the disappointment dulling down her usually sparkly eyes. She finally lets her eyes fall away. The last thing I see before the doors are shut, are her shoulders hunching.

My eyes are stuck on the spot I last saw her, but in front of me is only my own reflection on the buffed steel surface of the elevator.

I look even older.

Is better this way. I have no business messing with a 22 year old. She can do so much better. She did so much better. She used to have Rye. Now she’s got no one because I took myself from the equation.

The next day I come home to a neat pile of books on my coffee table that weren’t there when I left for work in the morning. On top of the books is a note hastily scribbled in Katniss’ loopy handwriting, and on top of the note, the spare key to my apartment she had never gotten around to return until now.

My eyes prickle with unshed tears.

She returned even the books she took the day of the wake.

With a pang to the heart I pick up the note and stick it on the fridge, right on the place she had leaned her head to cry on, because I deserve to be reminded everyday of the things I’m not allowed to want, let alone have.

‘Alone’

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone— Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that ’round me roll’d In its autumn tint of gold— From the lightning in the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view—

Edgar Allan Poe

———

It’s been over three months since I last saw Katniss. Closed to 9 months since laying Rye to rest.

Thanks to Rue I know Katniss graduated college last week. Her mother and sister were here for that, and she got a job her professor recommended her for. She didn’t even interviewed for it! It doesn’t surprise me. She’s so smart and clever, she is also such a hard worker.

I was so proud of her, I think I smiled the whole time Rue was talking about Katniss’ accomplishments.

“You should call her.” Rue says and my smile fades. “Whatever fall out you two had, it’s obvious you miss each other.”

“No. I’m being realistic, she doesn’t need me holding her hostage to some loyalty to Rye. He’s dead, she’s not, she deserves to live her life.”

“I understand you want her to move on, but so should you, Peeta. Loving someone is not a sin. But not fighting for that love… well, that’s just tragic. Don’t look at me like that, mister!” She sasses when I just stare at her in disbelief. “I’ve known how you felt for her for ages.

“You think you’re so discreet? Well, it’s pretty much written all over your face. That lovesick puppy face you make when you say her name is a pretty obvious giveaway.”

“What? you’re exaggerating.” I protest.

Rue just cocks her head to the side, stares at me and says, “But, am I?”

———-

I get a ping on my phone and I’m surprised to see it’s from her.

17:55

Katniss: Hey! Can we talk?

I delete the message. It’s taken me too long to get her out of my system to fall into this rabbit hole again.

The next day, she calls, and I let it go to voicemail. She calls two more times and I let them ring until the phone goes silent. She leaves messages, but I don’t hear them before erasing them.

She texts again two days later.

18:33

Katniss: When will be an appropriate time 2 call U?

28:34

Katniss: Or U can call me. I’m free anytime

I ignore those too.

Johanna finally comes to the city, once I tell her I cut Katniss completely off my life.

She dusting a picture of Rye wearing his 8th grade quarterback uniform.

“He hated football.” I say glancing at the picture. “He hated wrestling. He hated baseball. He hated art. He hated everything!”

“He loved track and swimming.” Jo says smiling down at a picture of baby Rye eating a lemon wedge.

“Two things Katniss is good at.” I grimace. I didn’t mean to say it aloud. But all comes back to her at the end.

“Good riddance.” She breathes out. “I’m so relieved you’re not seeing her anymore.”

My heart squeezes tightly in my chest. I feel like Johanna during Christmas all over again, when I didn’t want to go to Panem and she could understand why I wouldn’t just get over my sadness and join my brothers with all their living sons and have a merry holiday.

“Why? What did Katniss ever do to you, Jo? What is it about her you hate so much? She’s a sweet, caring, smart, beautiful girl. She doesn’t deserve all this hostility!”

Johanna is just staring at me weird.

“WHAT? Goddamnit?” I yell.

“You’re crying.” She says simply.

I hadn’t notice. Having tears rolling down my face is so commonplace now, I don’t even feel them anymore.

Johanna breathes deeply, gets up from her spot and gives me a hug. “I don’t hate her. I just don’t think is healthy for you to hang out together.”

“I know that! You don’t think I know that? But is not the way you’re thinking. You think she’s gonna hurt me, when in reality I’m the one who hurt her. That’s the reason I let her go, because she needs to be protected from me.”

Jo looks perturbed, and she doesn’t know half of it. So I fill her in on my doomed relationship with Katniss. The whole time, she just made faces, interjecting here and there, piecing the story together.

“Peeta! Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her?” She asks anxiously and a little grossed out.

When I don’t answer she says my name again in disappointment. “Were you at least safe?”

I refuse to answer and her face tells me just how bad I’ve fucked up as if I need her judging me, it takes her a while to look at me again, but she finally resolves that the next thing I need to do is have hot date, expensive food, and a good fuck with a lady more on my age bracket, and I’ll be good as new.

I don’t want to date and fuck anybody other than Katniss, but I let Jo convince me that her remedy will work, because it’ll be like a rebound. I’m not sure about her logic, but I let her set me up in a date, for the next weekend.

On Saturday night, I open my front door, and jump back startled, when I find Katniss with her knuckles poised to rap on my door.

I frown. She’s persistent.

And as pretty as ever, if a bit fuller looking. Johanna would have a field day talking about how round and rosy Katniss’ cheeks are.

She’s startled too, but undeterred.

“Hi, Peeta!” She says shyly, “Um, do you have a minute? I’ve been wanting to talk to you. It’s kind of important—“

“Sorry, I’m late for a date.” I say stepping out of the apartment and locking the door.

“Oh?” Her eyes flit away, I see the pain in her face, and it sucks.

“Maybe I’ll see you around sometime next week.”

“Mmm, m-my lease is up actually. I’m moving back to Panem in a few days. But I have to t—“

My phone rings, and it’s my date.

“Sorry, I have to take this… I’ll try and catch you up?” I walk away, and see the agitation in Katniss’ gray eyes.

“I just need a minute, just a minute,” She practically begs. But then holds back, standing in the middle of the hallway.

I answer the call and my date tells me she’s 10 minutes away from the restaurant, so I hurry away to the elevator. When I turn around Katniss is still standing there, dejected.

It strikes me as odd. Her eyes are always so sparkly, even during Rye’s funeral her eyes sparkled, but right now they look dull and sad.

I’ve just walked away from the girl I once sworn didn’t want to lose. And a conflict unfolds inside me, on the one hand Rue’s telling me to fight for her, on the other, Jo keeps telling me I’m better off without her.

Who I’m I gonna listen in the end?

———-

I’m pissing drunk. I can barely hold myself up, but I do my best, until I’m in front of the door I’m looking for through slitted eyes.

I pound on the door as savagely as the coordination of a man with this level of intoxication can muster.

And then I start slurring loudly.

“Kantiss! You cock-blocking, cock-blocker!

“Kantsissss. You win goddamnit!

“I miss you!

“Hell, I’m fucking in love with you!

“Kat-niiiiith!”

I pound on the door again, “I’m yours! And I’m sorry I’ve been such a… mmm… Kat—” I slip a little.

When I get up, I start just chanting her name.

“Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss, Katniss,”

A door two apartments down the hall flies open, revealing a bewildered Katniss in yoga pants and a loose t-shirt. Her hair is piled up on top of her head in a messy bun. I sigh like a schoolboy when I see her stalk me, looking positively angry.

“Heeeey, purty thang!” I smile dreamily at her.

“What the hell are you doing, Peeta? You’re gonna get us in trouble!” She pulls me away from the door I’ve been hollering at.

“Wait!” I exclaim alarmed. “Where we going? I been knockin’, and callin’ and tellin’ ya shit… you-you came out of the wrong door!” I look back at the door but still go willingly after her when she tugs on my hand.

“Uh, sorry to break to you, Peeta, but you were about blast down the wrong door.”

“Na-uh! You live in D12!” I inform her proud of myself.

She glares at me. “I know! It’s been my address for a few years now. But you were screaming at D10, you’re lucky Dalton is out of town.” We are about to cross under her threshold, but she turns around sharply. “Did you drive here? How did you get home?”

“I drove myself silly! But first I stopped at the vodka store, because you can’t get smashed without vodka!”

“So you did this to yourself intentionally,” She rolls her eyes and pulls me inside her apartment.

“Duuude! This is exactly like your old place! Look it, it even has the same stain of pasgetti I left on the carpet!”

She huffs. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up and in bed.”

“Are we gonna… do… IT?” I whisper the last two words as if I’m saying something naughty.

She shuffles me inside the bathroom, and frowns a little with her fists on her hips. Without turning to look at me she says in a no nonsense voice, “We are not gonna have sex, Peeta.”

“Whyyyy?” I whine. “You’re hotter than a hapaleño! Wait, that ain’t right… ñalapeño, haranero?”

“It’s either habanero or jalapeño. Sit down here and take off your shoes and socks.”

“Yeah! That’s it! hañavero!” I smile goofily, doing as she commanded.

I’m not very coordinated so she has to help, and once my feet are bare, I wiggle my toes at her.

She bats my foot away before gesturing with her hand. “Shirt.”

I raise my arms so she can pull of my shirt off, but it’s a button up, so she has to undo the top three buttons before pulling it over my head.

“You didn’t tell me why you won’t let me do you?”

”Pants and underwear off. We’re not having sex because I’m angry at you, Peeta. Plus, you’re skunked and smell horrible.”

“I love you!” I tell her.

This makes her stop for a second to glare at me, before continuing.

“I love you too. Even though you’re a jackass.” She deadpans. “Sit tight for a second, I’m gonna get the water.”

She takes her own close off real quick and we get into the steaming shower together. She washes my body as if I was a toddler. She even bats my hands away sternly when I try to touch her breasts.

“You have amazing boobs! I think I’m in love with your boobs.”

“I know. Turn around and rinse off.”

Once she declares us cleaned, she gives me a towel and I do a mediocre job drying myself. I follow her to bed. We climb naked under the covers, I’m so tired I don’t even try anything funny.

“Marry me, Katniss. We should get married,” I stare into her face, while she settles next to me.

She combs my hair softly, not quite smiling.

“Ask me again when you’re sober.”

“Willyousayyes?”

“I don’t know.”

“Hey, Katniss, have I ever tell you about Lavinia?” She shakes her head. “She has auburn hair and dark green eyes that you’d think are emeralds. She was the first girl I fucked. We fucked like bunnies. In the car, in the movie theatre, in the public library bathroom, in her folks bed, in my dad’s bakery closet. You name it, we’ve fuck there. I knocked her up. She wanted to have an abortion, I told her I’d support anything she wanted, because I was scared shitless.

“Lavinia’s daddy was a preacher. He didn’t let her have the abortion, but she didn’t want to keep the kid. So, the day Rye was born, I fell in love for the first time, ever! I felt bad I wanted Lavinia to abort him. The child was a joy to be around. So sweet, so funny and opinionated. Lavinia only met him a couple of times. She didn’t come to his funeral because she felt guilty. Her loss. My boy had a family that doted in him, and family who adored him, and a gorgeous girl to call his own, he never really miss her as a mom.

“But that made think. Maybe, just maybe, Rye was here on borrowed time? And then I think back on all the wonderful times we had together… he was my greatest treasure, my greatest accomplishment and my greatest love. I wish I had given him siblings. I love babies, but the right woman never came along until you showed up, and I feel terrible that I’m stealing from Rye, but I went to see him tonight instead of going on that silly date. I mean, I went to the restaurant, but one small conversation with Ms. Cashmere sweater- whatever her name is- and I knew I wasn’t gonna stay long, and she didn’t regret it either.

“But, yeah… I went to Rye’s grave, I came clean to him. I told him how I felt for you, and I asked him to forgive me. I told him, that if you’d have me, I’d try my best to honor and cherish you as much as as he did. And I would treat you with love and respect… and then, a breeze started blowing. Sweet and fragrant and warm. It felt like he gave me his blessing, which was further confirmed when I got to my kitchen and was drinking my vodka, and in my head, I heard him reciting some words, and then he said I could borrow his poem. So, here it goes:

“— Our love it was stronger by far than the love Of those who were older than we— Of many far wiser than we— And neither the angels in Heaven above Nor the demons down under the sea Can ever dissever my soul from the soul Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Katniss Everdeen; And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,

Katniss Everdeen.”

I pause and look up at her, she has tears in her cheeks, silent ones, but not angry ones.

“Did you see what I did there?” I ask her trying to wink. I’m still pretty drunk, but this, I’ll remember in the morning.

She smiles sadly, “Yeah. You replaced Annabel Lee’s with mine. So clever, Peeta. Just one problem, won’t mr. Poe be angry for your plagiarism?”

“What are you? Poetry police? Nevermore!” I shout and she finally gives me a real smile.

“You’re impossible.”

“Nevermore!”

“Nevermore yourself!” She chuckles, “Go to sleep, you crazy man. Who goes to the graveyard at night?”

“I had important business with my boy.” I yawn. “Hey Katniss. I won’t forget to ask you to marry me tomorrow. I remember everything about you! So think about your answer? I’d like to know what’s in your mind. I know you don’t want babies. I’m okay with just being us two. But if you ever change your mind, that’s cool too… just think about it. Say you’ll think about it,”

I don’t hear what she says, sleep catches up with me, but I’m okay since my beautiful Katniss Everdeen is next to me. All my nightmares nowadays are about losing her.

———-

“Peeta?”

I hear her voice coming groggily from her bedroom. I would’ve answered, if I knew where my voice had gone to.

I hear shuffling and moving in the other room, then she pads almost silently to the living area. I hear her sighing and walking again. The bathroom door opens and she screams when she turns the light on and she sees me sitting in the tub.

I don’t turn to face her.

I can’t.

My eyes are fixed in the grainy, black and white picture I snatched from the fridge door this morning after getting dressed and attempting to make some very strong coffee for myself.

I’ve been sitting in the bathtub with my knees drawn to my chest staring at this image ever since.

Once she recuperates from the jump scare, she walks cautiously inside, lowers the toilet lid and takes a sit. She says nothing, but feel her inquisitive eyes on me.

All I can think to say is, “Is this what you were hounding me to talk about?” I caress the glossy picture with my thumb.

My eyes flit to her quickly.

Her hands are neatly clasped on her lap.

She nods slowly. “It is.” She confirms.

“Why didn’t you say anything last night?” I ask her holding her eyes for a short moment.

“Your were drunk as a skunk! Your head wasn’t in a very good place, and earlier when I went to see you, you acted like you couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

I release a stuttering breath. She’s right, I did dismiss her without giving her the chance to say her peace, and later I just barged in here like a mad man.

“And… You’re keeping it?” I’m trying hard to tamp down any emotions I’m feeling, which are confusing at best.

“I am. I really want it.” Her voice is small but there’s a hint of a smile on her lips.

“Is this why you’re going back to Panem? What happened with that job offer here in Capitol City?” I ask nervously.

“I turned down the job. My mama said I could come back home, she’ll cut down on her hours at the hospital to help watch the baby, while I figure what to do for a job. I could apply for few positions there, it shouldn’t be that bad. And Prim…” she hesitates grimacing. “Prim will go to medical school as planned with her scholarship and grants and the small chunk of money my father had the foresight to save all those years ago.” She shrugs, “We’re gonna make it work.”

“So… your mother knows?” I keep running my thumbs over the sonogram.

“Of course she knows. I had to tell someone. Who better than a highly qualified nurse practitioner who’s also my mother?” There’s a hint of reproach in her tone.

I feel like such a tool right now. “Does she know who the daddy is?” I enunciate.

She frowns. “I didn’t have to tell her actually. She… she kinda just knew. She wasn’t even mad, just… disappointed.” She sighs.

“Okay. And… what about me?”

“About you? I guess is up to yourself.”

Then before I swallow down the words, because I know it’s a terrible, terrible, terrible stupid thing to ask, my mouth runs idiotically in the worst possible question ever. “Any chance I’m gonna be a grandpa?” I grimace right away. I know this is costing me mayor points with her, and I can’t afford that as it is.

I’m surprised she still responds.

“I would have to be 19 months far for this child to be your grand baby, if that was even a remote possibility.” She crosses her arms over her chest. “Not that I have to justify this to you, but FYI, including yourself, I’ve slept with only two people my whole life, and neither is related to the other.

“Rye and I never had sex. We never had the chance. The night he got murdered would’ve been our first time. He wasn’t concerned with sexuality, in fact, sometimes I wonder if he was asexual or something. I guess we’ll never know. Now, can you stop with the weirdness?”

Well, this is news.

Katniss and Rye were serious since before he was deployed. I never actively thought about Rye having sex, it’s just too strange, disturbing and gross to think about, but it actually surprises me more to hear he and Katniss weren’t physically intimate than the opposite. Too many implications that only the two of them understand.

The way he spoke about her, or how he looked at her like she was the sun. I know my son was smitten. I can’t imagine him not wanting her sexually.

But I guess, you don’t have to be physical to express love for somebody. Besides the one crazy night of passion, Katniss and I have never been romantically involved, yet we had a level of intimacy I’ve never experience before, and I’m completely smitten with her.

“Katniss, I honestly don’t wanna know about Rye’s sexual life—“

“You brought it up!” She snaps.

“Sorry.” I mutter sheepishly.

“You should be!” She’s fully scowling now, “The issue with sex with Rye was always a touchy subject for me. For the longest time, I thought that there was something wrong with me, or that he was a closeted gay guy with a girlfriend, wouldn’t had been the first sailor to do something like that.” Her legs are crossed now as well as her arms.

I’m no body language expert, but she looks very defensive and unapproachable right now.

“Look, my bladder’s shrunk to the size of a lima bean. I’ve been holding it all this time because I think it is important we have this conversation, Lord knows we have too much shit to deal with, we may even need professional help depending on the direction we’ll take with this, but I have to pee, badly, and I really want a break from this conversation, because you keep putting your foot in your mouth, and my patience is running thin,”

I assent, knowing she’s right and willing to start being the man both her and the baby deserve, I climb out of the tub heavily. I pass her still sitting on the toilet, bouncing one leg impatiently and her arms still crossed over her chest.

My mind starts wandering down the wrong path, but I force myself to bring it back and keep it on the straight and narrowed. I won’t let go of the sonogram though, and I’m not sure what am I gonna tell her, but I’m keeping it.

Once in the living room, I don’t know what to do with myself. I keep pacing in a irregular circle, from the kitchen to the tiny two chair table that doubles as her dining room, around the couch and back to the kitchen to start my loop again. After three laps of that, I start wondering if the baby is hungry?

I should’ve asked Katniss when was the last time she ate. I should make her breakfast! I have cheese bun ingredients upstairs. She likes those!

I knock on the bathroom door and speak loudly. “Hey, Katniss… I’m gonna go make us something to eat. Text me if you want me to bring it down here, or we can eat up if you like.”

“Okay,” comes her response. “I’m feeling nauseous right now, but I can eat!”

The idea of someone saying that, for real, tickles me, but something tells me laughing out loud about it right now will be counterproductive.

I’m almost giddy hopping on the elevator and waltzing through my apartment door. I turn on my oven, gather all my supplies, set Pandora to something cheerful; I’m feeling ska, because is that kind of morning, old school but colorful.

30 minutes later, my buns are in the oven, and my figurative “bun in the oven” rings my doorbell.

I sigh dreamily when I see Katniss.

I wonder if the fact that I know she’s pregnant makes any difference in how I look at her? So I indulge myself in simply staring at her in a way I’ve never allowed myself before: unapologetically hungry.

Her hair is wet and tightly braided, she’s got clean comfortable clothes on and is barefooted. She realizes I’m starting at her feet.

“I just felt like it,” She says jutting her chin out at me.

I raise both my hands in surrender. I’m not going to say anything. I’m smarter than that. Instead, I direct her to the breakfast bar where I’ve set my best china, glass and silverware. I wanted to put flowers on the table for her, but I don’t have even a measly fake one in here, so quickly I whipped up some frosting, in a few several colors, and voila!

Flowers!

Sugar flowers stuck to an upside down mixing bowl, but still, flowers. A whole bouquet of wildflowers, like the ones I used to have out on the roof, before everything fell apart, and I never returned to tend my garden.

I usher her to her seat, and help her on the stool, though I know she’s perfectly capable of getting on it herself, I can’t curb the need to touch her… any part of her.

“For you!” I plate two cheese buns on a dish I’ve pipped wild onion blooms on the edge of.

Katniss’ eyes go wide.

She takes one cheese bun delicately, and bites into it with relish. She closes her eyes while chewing, and after swallowing, the floodgates lift.

I panic. I jump from my stool and round over to her, I pick her up bridal style, and carry her to the couch.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart, tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it!”

“Nothing is wrong!” She cries loudly. “The buns are perfect.” She heaves a deep breath.

Now I’m at a loss, wondering what triggered this episode. “Okay, but why are you crying then?” I try to be as gentle as possible.”

“I’ve missed cheese buns! I’ve been craving them for weeks, but you were ignoring me, and I went to the bakery to buy me some, but they were out… and I was so hungry! I ate a whole large pizza all by myself, and threw it all up after… now I can’t even smell pizza, I start gagging.”

She gives me look of misery, then asks me in a tiny voice.

“What if the same happens with Cheese buns? What if this baby decides to hate them. They’re my favorite food ever! I don’t wanna have to start eating gluten free. I want my bread to be gluten full!”

“That’ll be ironic, actually. I mean, It’s a baker’s baby.”

She cries even harder after my attempt at a joke.

“This isn’t funny, Peeta! Your baby is making me sick! She hates food!”

“She?” I ask, Katniss isn’t even showing, but I wonder if science is advanced enough, you can tell a baby’s gender so early on.

“It’s a She… Everdeen’s only give girls,” She grouses.

I smirk, “Mellarks only give boys,” I smile at her. “Ask my mother, she’ll complain about it. No daughters or granddaughters for her.“

I lean back on the couch, and she falls on my chest like a rag doll. I start rubbing circles on her back and feel her relax on top of me.

“One thing I learned in biology when I was a kid, is that men give the gender chromosome. So maybe is a boy…”

Then all the excitement of the news, crazy as they are gets smashed to smithereens.

“So… I’m not looking to replace my son.” I say bluntly.

She sits up and looks down at me wearily.

“I’m not asking you to.”

My arms fall off of her when she stands from my lap. I let her go, because I need my space right now.

“What are you asking then, Katniss?” I cringe internally, I sound accusing even to myself.

“I’m not asking you anything!”

“Really? Because you sure as hell wanted to tell me I knocked you up, very badly!”

She blushes violently. Her eyes are on fire.

“Is the responsible thing to do!” She yells. “You have the right know. In the sea of irresponsible shit I’ve done in the last few months, this I wanted to do right, because I owed it to everybody: you, Rye and the baby and myself. Whatever you do with the information is totally your prerogative.”

She’s crossed her arms again, but let’s her shoulders fall. “I was hoping you wanted to be part of the baby’s life. I know you already raised a baby from infancy and this is like starting over again, so I’ll understand if this isn’t for you—“

I dig the heels of my hands in my eyes. And then say what’s on the tip of my tongue.

“Let’s get married, then.”

She frowns. “No.” She answers emphatically.

I roll my eyes in frustration. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because last night you were drunk as fuck, borderline alcohol poisoned, and you still managed to do a better proposal then.” She says throwing her hands in the air.

I did propose to her last night, at least twice, and it did sound better than what I just said.

“I don’t want you asking me to marry you, because I’m pregnant.” She deflates plucking a cheese bun from her plate, then sitting on the corner of my coffee table facing me.

“I want the baby, though.” I stress. “I just don’t want to replace or replicate Rye.”

“No child could ever replace another.” She says looking older than her age, not for the first time.

Sometimes I forget Katniss is truly and old soul trapped in a young, hot body.

“Peeta, this baby complicates many things. I’m going back to Panem because my mom wants me there until I know what I want to do about my future.” She pauses. “I’m terrified.” She confesses. “Not of the baby! I want this child so much I feel like I’ve been living a lie forever. Which is scary in a different way.” She explains.

She takes a bite of bun and I just stare quietly. Not moving a muscle.

“People will gossip,” I point out stupidly.

She shrugs, “Prim’s not talking to me at the moment. She called me a hussy. What do I care if other people talk about me?” Her lip quivers.

I’m beyond pissed off at Primrose. I don’t understand how she could’ve said something like that to her big sister who has always sacrificed for her.

“Don’t go back to Panem then. Stay in the city.”

She shakes her head, staring at her half eaten cheese bun. “Mama says Prim’s just in shock. She’s grieving Rye, and she’ll come around when the baby is here.” Katniss shivers.

“But Prim was so nasty when I told them you were the father. She yelled that I went after you because I’m some kind of horrible gold digging cunt.” She breaks down. “I never thought my little sister could be so mean and angry…”

I grab her in one swoop move and sit her back in my lap, where she belongs.

I kiss the shell of her ear, her neck, her jaw.

Her hands grasp my shoulders, and her mouth opens up when I kiss her lips. I feel our lives aligning again.

“Everything is gonna be fine, sweetheart,” I tell her raining kisses on the side of her face. “We have each other.”

She relaxes against me, letting me hold her close. She moans softly into my mouth. I bring us down from the steep road we’re taking. It’s incredible to me how fast we go from zero to banging just with a couple of kisses.

“I’ve wanted you for so long. Sometimes I’m convinced I’ve wanted you even before Rye was taken from us. If anyone is a hussy, that’s me, not you. You’re so… pure! An angel. The only bright spot in my sad, dreary life.” I hesitate for just a moment, but I take her hands in mine, and look her straight in the eyes. “I love you, Katniss.” I say seriously.

She blushes, but her smile is more radiant than the sun. She tries to hide it thought.

“I know,” she mumbles, the ghost of her smile hovering. “You blurted it out a few times last night.”

“And, you?” I ask nervously, “You love me. Real or not real?”

“Real,” she smiles softly.

“Marry me?” She makes an unconvinced face, so I rush, “We will go at your pace. We will do as you say. I’ll support your decisions, always.” I kiss her lips again and rest our foreheads together. “I don’t want you to go back to Panem. Will you consider moving in with me? Or at the very least renewing your lease?”

“I told my mother I wouldn’t go back to you until we got some things worked out.”

“You… told your mom about getting back with me? Like she knew you’d want to come back?”

“I told mama everything. And I mean, everything! She knew you’d try to lure me back in eventually. She asked me if I’d consider it, knowing how badly things went? I said I might. I loved you enough to think about it. So… we’ll see.”

“So. You’re saying there’s a very good chance?” I know I’m pushing it, but I need to make sure.

She huffs. “If we do this, Peeta, I have a list of demands:” she announces business like, “I want you to seek anger and grief counseling, because I’m not a fucking statistic! I will not live with you in fear that something would trigger a hijacking episode and you’ll yell at me and destroy shit in a fit of anger. I get that you grew up watching your mother doing that exact same thing, I just want it to be clear, I won’t tolerate that behavior. You never did it to Rye, which means you can control it. So, control. It.”

I grimace. “Katniss, I already felt like shit about the whole thing. How do you think I feel now, knowing I threw a lamp near you, and you were already pregnant?” We just stare at each other for a moment, “You want me to get help? I will! Today!”

“Good… I’ll consider your many proposals, then”

#Springtime Edition 2018 #alliswell21 #prompt 106 #submission

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