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rocknrollsalad-moved · 4 years

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“Halloween costume party meeting a blind date but oh it's my high school squeeze who broke my heart and is only back in town to shut down the candy factory”

Thanks to a lovely conversation with @moongoddess2k4 we are now blessed with this amazing, amazing prompt, if you will, for a Halloween Hallmark story if they did them like the Christmas ones.

Read on to see how I ran with that idea and created a quick little something for the season. It was super fun to write and I wish I could have done a whole thing with it but there’s too much on my plate right now.

Word Count: 3400 Triggers: some mentions of drinking/being drunk, loss of jobs, and implied future money struggles

Halloween wasn’t going to be the same this year. Decorations still adorn most doors, yards, and windows. Costumes seemed to disappear from shelves along with bags of candy. The traditions carried on as neighbors helped neighbors, a silent thing to keep a town that was built around Halloween in the spirit.

Hanging over the head of every resident, a joint burden, was the knowledge that this was the last Halloween for them. Stark Sweets and Treats would be closing its doors on November first. In those storm clouds not chased away by the sun was the reality that many of the people living here would be out of a job. Generations of candy makers, sorters, and wrappers now left on their own, without a severance package, one last bonus, or even a thank you card.

There was no future in candy anymore. Processed sugars were falling out of fashion and while no child wanted a box of raisins or an apple, parents wanted to hand out sustainably grown, sugar-free alternatives. Buzzwords, Bruce knew as much as people online spouted recycled rhetoric about saving the planet with their shift to these different treats. He’d argue with each post. Typing his nights away about the jobs they were taking, about the fallacy of that sustainable or organic sticker. GMOs weren’t what people were saying they were.

But no one listened.

What did a small-town high school science teacher know about genetically modified anythings? Never mind the multiple doctorates he held. Never mind the qualifications he had to speak on the subject. People couldn’t be reasoned with on the internet. Bruce was shouting into the void and doing nothing more than boiling his own blood.

It was mad worse by everyone pointing out he didn’t have a horse in this race. Not directly. There would still be children to teach. Year after year of the same projects and battling against boring lesson plans. He wasn’t losing anything. Instead, he’d be left to watch. Left to stand in front of his classroom trying to teach kids who carried the same weight as the adults, without the ability to bear such a thing. That’s who he fought for. These children didn’t need to know this level of hardship while trying to navigate their way to adulthood.

Most of their parents, their baby sitters, and classmates were putting on a brave face, though. Halloween kept this town afloat and while it was their last, they weren’t going to roll over and let it pass. Every annual event went just like they had for decades. Some people had done so well at pretending they weren’t waiting for the hammer to drop that they were actually having fun. And for it a moment that normalcy and false happiness rubbed off on the cranky science teacher who was never one for holidays of any sort. Even in a town built around Halloween.

As an outsider, Bruce wasn’t born with the Halloween spirit. It was gifted to him, though, year after year. Townsfolk who took pity on his pathetic attempts at decorating. Neighbors who baked treats and desserts left on his doorstep. Coworkers who brainstormed costume ideas and dragged him to parties. Each year that passed it got easier and easier for everyone to twist Bruce’s arm until they didn’t have to.

For the past few years, he’d been leaving cookies for his neighbors. A little charred on the bottom, decorated simply, but not a single house complained. The change must have emboldened some of his coworkers though as they recruited him for a night of costumed speed dating. It was the last time the town was doing something like this. They laid the guilt on thick.

Bruce was among four other staffers who weren’t married, even one of the teachers who was dating someone went to witness it all. Many emails were exchanged for days leading up to the event. Who would wear what, despite Bruce’s numerous protests that knowing that would ruin the event. How they’d get there and which bar they were meeting at to discuss all the details. A never-ending stream of planning by people who should have been teaching their classes but everyone coasted around the holidays.

The night would be simple enough. Bruce would go dressed in a ruined bed sheet, make sure that no one was interested in him, skip the gossipy drinks, and then two nights later at the big Halloween bash everyone would get to see their matches without obstruction.

In reality, this was a smart idea. Everyone was given a fair chance. Not to be judged on the superficial, with the exception of those few distasteful costumes that tried to sneak in, but on their personality. Answers to questions, conversational skills, it was what dates should be founded on. Not that Bruce thought he’d find a date here, no matter how ideal it was. Tagging along, instead, because his social circle was going. Because participating and being a part of the events was better than hearing about them the next day.

So he sat through a grueling two hours of three-minute dates. Listening to people both mock him for not trying and appreciating his classic callback sheet-ghost costume. Having insufferable conversations with people who didn’t understand how to listen or have the spotlight off of them. The worst was the number of Scream villains that were there, leaving a few to accessorize just to stand out. Which should have made Bruce’s costumes one of the better ones, at least he was unique.

There was a particularly sweet Jason Voorhees that Bruce could have stood to have another three minutes with and that was far more than he’d expected to happen. He gave her favorable marks but, again, didn’t expect them to be returned.

In the last fifteen minutes, though, when Bruce was eyeing the door and thinking there was no way the last five people were going to be better than anyone before them, a werewolf sat down at the table. Promptly explaining that he wasn’t any werewolf but the Teen Wolf, hence the basketball shorts. Teen wolves were apparently very crucial to the basketball team. It was a reference Bruce didn’t get and the man seemed used to hearing that, if not still a little dejected. Running through the basic questions got them to Bruce’s job, to his doctorates, his expertise, and somehow to an argument about the merits of various alternative energy forms. A solid two minutes was spent citing facts and studies, managing to get heated enough that the host had wandered over to stand by their table.

What the host didn’t know was it was the most exciting conversation Bruce had had all night. An unnecessary argument that neither needed but both wanted. They were both right and though he couldn’t explain how, he knew they both understood the pointlessness of their argument. Both sides were right but the conversation was well informed, the Teen Wolf didn’t back down, and if Bruce thought he wanted to talk to Jason for three more minutes, he could have fought with this werewolf for three hours.

The few dates that followed were a blur, Bruce wasn’t sure he even spoke to the one. More than once he caught the werewolf looking back at his table. Whether the spirit of Halloween was watching over the town or it was fate, Bruce left the event with an unexpected feeling of success and far too many thoughts in his head. The one thing he didn’t count on had happened. He found a match.

He’d gone home, as he’d planned, but his coworkers brought the gossip to him the next morning. Waiting in his classroom with coffee. Everyone gushed (quietly as there was more than one hangover in the room) about the people they spoke with and Bruce made sure to wait until just before the first bell to say he found a werewolf who caught his interest.

Never before had his computer chimed with so many alerts. He had to mute it in order to teach but he was distracted and the kids weren’t any better. They dissolved various Halloween candy staples, carved pumpkins because someone donated their overflow and no other teacher wanted to deal with the mess, and Bruce kept the day easy. Everyone’s mind was on the party quickly approaching. And for the first time since moving here, Bruce found himself wishing it would come just a little faster. Not just so it’d be done and life could go back to normal until Christmas break.

For those few days, it seemed like no one talked about the factory closing. It wasn’t who was out of a job anymore but who was driving the tractor for the hayrides. Collectively a town decided to ignore their impending doom and had Bruce not been so wrapped up in it himself it would have been an interesting study.

Though underneath the excitement were murmurings that a Stark was in town. No one knew what for. Some hoped for the best, that’d they had seen things clearly and were going to announce that the factory would remain open. Others didn’t even try to mask their threats. The rest used logic, the town hall meeting on the first day of November was likely going to be led by Tony Stark as he thanked the community for their years of loyal service, offered nothing, and made himself feel good before going back to one of his many mansions to never think about them again. Comments that passed as quickly as they came, replaced by where to find a recipe or if the grocery store had taken eggs off the shelf yet.

Eventually all the gossiping and planning came to it’s natural conclusion. Halloween arrived and without sight or word from Stark. Bruce thought he must have some sense if he’s staying out of the way. Yet another thing to add to their list of Halloween blessings. Had Stark not been doing what he was, Bruce would have given him a bit of credit for allowing the festivities to carry on without him.

For most of the day’s events, Bruce stayed at home. He graded papers, watched a few shows, and kept things on an even keel. Not because he didn’t want to go out, he had no reason to since he didn’t have any children. He stayed home for his sanity. Crowds were never his thing and because he’d decided last night to attend the big dance in hopes of a speed date match, Bruce needed all the energy he could store. Though it did afford him far too much time to think about what it would feel like to learn no one wanted the reveal.

Staying home until he couldn’t handle the busy work anymore, Bruce made his way to the center of town. Talking to kids he currently taught, kids he’d taught in the past who were carrying children of their own, and running into a couple of people from work all helped to wrap the event in a warm feeling of welcome. The brisk air mixed with the food and blew around leaves, creating something nothing short of picturesque. As he took it all in, Bruce’s heart broke with the knowledge that the town would never feel like this again.

He bought popcorn balls from some grade school kids, drank what felt like a gallon of apple cider, and stocked up on candies for the rest of the fall. Bruce found a greater sense of peace and calm out among the crowd than he did at home but slowly families started to make their way home. Children were left with babysitters, teenagers went off to their parties deep in the woods that they thought no one knew about, and left the adults to their barn dance.

The nerves Bruce had been trying to avoid found their way to him as he wrote his name on a sticker, drew a little ghost and pressed it over the pocket of his flannel shirt. When the matches were posted right at center stage, Bruce held back. Maybe if everyone else paired up he wouldn’t even need to see. Except he needed to know. Before he could force his legs to carry him up to his fate someone stood in front of him.

“You? You were under that sheet?” the man asked

“I was. You were, uh? I don’t see your name tag.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think it went with my outfit.”

“Who says stuff like that?”

“I don’t know, me I guess.”

“I feel like I know you,” Bruce said, squinting in hopes it would help him figure it out.

The man stood there, watching Bruce with a single arched eyebrow, holding his breath in waiting. It took a minute, far too long if you asked either of them, but Bruce’s eyes went wide.

“Tony? Tony Carbonell? No! It can’t be. What are you doing here?”

“Business,” Tony said. Not exactly lying.

“God, I haven’t seen you since high school.”

“Science High. Home of the best or something like that.”

“Only if you applied yourself,” Bruce laughed at his own joke and it didn’t feel like it was his voice. He’d not laughed like that since...high school.

Repressed feelings came flooding back. The memory of how badly he wanted to talk to Tony when they were fifteen. They were from two different worlds but in constant competition for the top of their class. Bruce would have let Tony win if it meant they got to talk though. He hadn’t pinned for anyone as much or as hard since. Now he was standing face to face, talking to him like they were long-lost friends.

If that realization wasn’t enough, Tony decided to pile on when he said “If I’d have known it was a classmate under that sheet, I’m not sure I would have marked you down as my match.”

Bruce almost dropped his drink. “What?”

“Yeah, you were the only interesting conversation the entire night. I was just bummed we didn’t have another minute. We could have got ourselves kicked out.”

“Wh-” before Bruce could finish repeating himself he sucked in a hefty breath. “The werewolf?”

“Teen Wolf. I told you, man. C’mon, I thought you were smart enough to hold a thought for a day.”

“It’s been two and a half.”

“That’s still not that long.”

Scanning the room, Bruce desperately tried to find a familiar face. Anyone to help out with this situation. He was in over his head and had forgotten why this was a good idea. He wanted to bolt for the door. Not even the door, if he could break through the nearest wall and just run home it’d be preferred.

None of that happened. He was left to stand there with his first crush and talk about flirting with each other. In the course of the conversation, Bruce had fully regressed to his teenage self. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where to put his arms. Why didn’t he have something stronger than cider to drink? Of which he needed another gallon because his throat had never been this dry.

“Who was your pick?” Tony asked.

“Huh?”

“Who did you write down on the form? Who’d you wanna meet?”

“Um, you. The Teen Wolf.”

“Really?”

Bruce nodded to the stage, nearly clear now as everyone had found out whether or not a match had been made, silently telling Tony to go check if he didn’t believe him. Which Tony did. Walking away without a word. As soon as his back was turned, Bruce doubled over, hands on his knees, and breathing like he’d finished a marathon. Now was his chance to run. Yet, again, his feet didn’t want to move. Glued to the spot, waiting for Tony to come back and confirm what Bruce knew to be true. After all these years they’d finally matched.

Before he could coordinate his mind and body, make a swift but likely clumsy exit, Bruce stood up to find himself staring at one of his coworkers. She thought she’d put down a guy she had great chemistry with but they didn’t match and she was distraught. Not that she knew which of the men in the room were the one she was looking for so they were all suspect. Each of them awful in a randomly assigned way.

She’d made the assumption that Bruce hadn’t made a love connection either given he was standing alone and Bruce could have used this as an out. Escort her to the bar, drowning her sorrows, and lay low. Yet those words didn’t come out. Instead, he explained the situation. That he was waiting on confirmation from the tall, dark, and handsome man walking towards them. They had both written down each other’s disguise. Though he did leave out the part that they’d gone to high school together.

Tony came in just in time, nipping the protests and cries of how unfair it was that bordered on insulting. A charming grin that Bruce did not remember him having in school. In fact, Tony had little in common with his high school version. Whereas Bruce wanted desperately to grow another foot, Tony had. He looked like he worked out. Not in a lab, like Bruce, but a gym like people were supposed to. Everything was immaculate, his hair, clothes, smile, all of it. A far cry from just another one of the nerds. If Bruce didn’t know better, Tony almost looked like the kind of person to shove nerds in lockers.

But that couldn’t be true. Tony extended a hand towards Bruce. The slow music, a room full of people swaying back and forth as they excitedly talked about the speed dating and its outcome, Bruce knew what that meant. He’d watched enough movies. Trying to hide wiping his hand on his shirt before putting it in Tony’s, he accepted the dance. Gliding through this dream. So many other places boasted the magic of Christmas but in this moment, it didn’t hold a evergreen scented candle to Halloween.

The last time Bruce had danced with anyone, he’d been a child playing pretend with family. And yet it came easy, his hand in Tony’s, their arms around each other, and just enough distance to talk as they moved around. Like everyone around them, they talked endlessly. The conversation came easy, as unusual as that was for Bruce.

Somewhere between memories brought up by the songs the DJ played, what they’d done since high school, and watching as the dance floor emptied, the sun had gone down. Replacing that warm autumn light with string after string of lights above their head. The perfect glow as the smell of popcorn and funnel cakes had burnt off and bonfires had taken over.

“So what brings you here?” Bruce finally asked. The question had been sitting behind everything else they’d discussed. “It’s pretty far from where we met and I know my path here but you...you don’t live here, I’d have seen you before.”

“I don’t, I live in New York. Would you buy that I came for the spirit of Halloween?”

“Plausible. It is why most visitors come but you strike me as more of an Amityville Horror Halloween than caramel apples and corn mazes.”

“You’re not wrong,” Tony laughed. “Have you been there?”

“No, and you’re changing the subject.”

“And you’re too smart to fall for it. What if I told you no one has called me Carbonell in so long I almost forgot it was me?”

Bruce stopped the lazy circle they were shuffling in. “What do you mean?”

“It’s my mom’s maiden name. I went by it in school because my dad’s last name is, uh, recognizable and I didn’t want to be recognized. I mean, I still don’t want to be recognized as his but I’ve got his company, I’m trying to make it better. Make the name better.”

Facts were connecting for Bruce and he didn’t like where they were going. The data made sense but he needed to hear it. “What’s your last name then.”

Around them, the world seemed to stop and slowly fade away. Without the music, Bruce had come to a complete stop, staring at Tony and daring him to give the answer they both knew he would. The answer that would ruin Halloween.

“Stark.”

#science bros #hallmark halloween #one shot

29 notes · View notes

xerxia31 · 7 years

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I wish you would write a fic where peeta has a failing bakery because he isn't able to implement anything new and exciting due to parents etc, and katniss is like gordon ramsay in kitchen nightmare trying to convince peeta that he's not an idiot sandwich. Is that too specific? sorry if it is, i've just been thinking about this for a while...

This took an incredibly long time to write, anon, if you’re still around, I’m sorry for that! But this idea gripped me, and wouldn’t be satisfied with a hundred word drabble…

The B Word

rated T

He had watched her all through middle school, and high school too, had spent years of his life imagining her walking into the bakery his parents owned where he could woo her with artisanal breads and fancy cakes.

But this was definitely not part of his fantasy.

“You are an idiot sandwich!” Katniss Everdeen hollered as she pressed two pieces of bread to the sides of his head. It was the good hearty bread too, filled with raisins and nuts, a bestseller at the bakery and one of his favourites. A myriad of emotions played through his mind; horror and humiliation, a feeling that he just might cry, but beneath was that familiar quickening of his heart rate at the way her white chef’s coat strained to cover her pert breasts. Thump thump thump his heart pounded, and she smirked, even as she pressed the bread more firmly to his ears.

Thump thump thump. “Peeta! Get your ass out of bed!” Peeta Mellark groaned as he pried his eyes open in the darkness and glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 3:45 am. The alarm wasn’t set to go off for another fifteen minutes.

“Dammit, Rye, it’s not even four,” he grumbled, dislodging the pillow - flat and slightly drool-dampened - from over his ear.

“That TV show chick is coming today,” the voice hollered through the door. “It’s going to be a big, big, big day!” Rye was far too perky for a quarter to four in the morning. But despite his pique at being awoken early, Peeta couldn’t blame his brother for being excited. Their little bakery was going to be featured on a brand new show from one of the hottest television personalities in Panem.

Kat Flickerman was a household name, her sarcastic and expletive-filled television show, Kitchen Nightmares, was must-watch TV. And her new show, The B Word, featuring small-town bakeries, was promising to be even better. Mellark’s, a staple in District Twelve for over seventy-five years, would be the first establishment showcased. The publicity and sales uptick that came from being featured on the program more than made up for the embarrassment of having a five-foot-nothing firebrand rip apart every aspect of your business. Or so the producers that contacted his brother said.

Peeta wasn’t convinced. After all, he’d been making a fool of himself in front of the former Katniss Everdeen his whole life, and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere.

Neither Rye nor their father seemed to remember that world-famous Kat Flickerman had once been Katniss Everdeen, from the poor part of Twelve. But Peeta remembered. He remembered everything about her, though she’d never paid him any attention.

He remembered her sparkling silver eyes as she skipped through the halls of their elementary school, singing to herself. Eyes that dimmed and hardened after her father’s death. He remembered how hollow her cheeks were in the months after that, when he’d leave part of his lunch in her cubby each morning. He remembered how she’d grown into a solitary, sometimes sullen but always striking young woman who worked and studied and never participated in any of the meagre social activities District Twelve offered.

He even knew how a quiet, shy girl from the wrong side of the tracks parlayed a gig reviewing restaurants for her college’s newspaper into fame and fortune, though that part he’d read on her Wikipedia page. He wasn’t sure he understood it though. The Katniss who’d stolen his heart when he was only a boy wasn’t a lot like the girl on fire he saw on television. Not that he watched her shows.

(He definitely watched her shows.)

But none of that mattered anymore, not really. Because Katniss Everdeen left District Twelve five years ago and had never, as far as Peeta knew, come back. There was no mention of District Twelve in any of her bios or interviews. Katniss Everdeen had essentially disappeared. Kat Flickerman - foul-mouthed, foul-tempered, fire and fury Kat Flickerman - was the woman he was going to meet today. And he was fairly sure she wouldn’t remember him anyway. Probably wouldn’t even notice him, unless it was to berate some mistake he’d made or pick apart the menu items.

o-o-o

Peeta had the display cases full of glossy frosted cookies and perfect cupcakes long before the production crew showed up. He knew that there wouldn’t be any filming that morning, save for some generic ‘before’ shots, but still he wanted to put his best foot forward. Mellark’s might not be world-class, but it had been in his family for generations, it was a part of him. Rye, too, was beaming, polishing the countertops until they gleamed in the shafts of sunlight that came through windows so clean they looked devoid of glass. Their father spent an hour on a ladder, writing the day’s wares on the menu board in practiced chalk strokes. Though District Twelve was nothing more than a tiny backwater village, the Mellark men had their pride.

The group that descended on their small shop was definitely not from around there. Loud voices and loud colours shattered the sleepy District Twelve ambiance. The TV crew consisted of a pair of burly cameramen with heavy mobile cameras encasing their bodies like insect shells, a woman director named Cressida who had a shaved head tattooed with green vines, and her assistant, Messalla, a slim young man with several sets of earrings. On careful observation, it appeared his tongue had been pierced, too, and he was wearing a stud with a silver ball the size of a marble. Peeta shuddered slightly. But missing from the crew was the one woman he’d been longing to see.

He shouldn’t have been surprised. She was the star after all, doubtless she’d breeze in only for her own scenes. But his disappointment was almost tangible.

Peeta opened the front shop and kept it running while Rye and their father walked the crew through the back, mapping out electrical outlets and places where spotlighting could be temporarily installed. Occasionally, the sound of laughter floated forward, but for the most part it was a typical Tuesday morning. The regulars wandered in and out, and he chatted with everyone, the comfort of familiarity soothing him.

He had just packed up some cookies for old Sae’s granddaughter when the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Standing in the doorway of the shop was a ghost. Katniss Everdeen.

She wasn’t dressed like Kat Flickerman. Instead of a chef’s coat and crisp black pants, she was wearing jeans and a muted orange sweater. Her black hair was in the braid he remembered from their school days, long and thick, glinting blue in the morning sun. She was stunning.

She’d been glancing around the front shop but then froze, lifting her eyes to Peeta’s, as if feeling the weight of his stare. So many times in school she’d caught him staring, and each time he’d looked away quickly, blushing. But not today. Today he held her silver gaze. And then she smiled. “Katniss,” he whispered, or maybe he just thought it. Either way, her smile widened.

“Hello, Peeta,” she said, and his name in her mouth evoked a rush of arousal so potent he was certain she could see it stealing across his face. “It’s been a long time.”

“Five years,” he said without even realizing. He was stunned she even knew his name. Her eyes widened a little, but her soft smile didn’t fall.

“It looks exactly the same in here,” she said, and Peeta stiffened. It was true that the decor hadn’t changed in a long time, except for the addition of some of his paintings, and the fancy European coffeemaker he’d insisted on when he became a partner after college. He’d always thought that was part of the charm of Mellark’s, it’s dependability. He viewed the warm wood and twinkling glass as classic, elegant. But he’d watched enough of Kat Flickerman’s shows to know that she was seeing only tired and shabby. It hurt to envision what her team might do.

“Well,” he drawled. “Not much ever changes in Twelve.”

“You have,” she said, her eyes sweeping over him and he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. She was right, though it felt kind of shitty to be reminded. In high school, he’d been all state in wrestling, had worked out every day and watched his diet carefully to make weight. Had been even more serious about his sport in college, until a torn ACL killed that. Nowadays, he stayed fit running and playing pick-up football with the guys. He was in good shape, but he knew he wasn’t lean like before. “Yeah,” she said, distracted, her pink tongue snaking out to sweep over her lower lip. He had the distinct impression that she was checking him out. But that couldn’t be. “You look good,” she murmured.

He crooked an eyebrow. “Thanks?”

Her eyes widened. “I just, uh. I mean. Working here. If, uh. If I worked here I’d weigh a ton for sure.”

Peeta laughed; Katniss couldn’t weigh a hundred pounds soaking wet. She’d always been tiny. “You’re around food every day,” he said. She shrugged.

“But everything you make is fantastic.”

A small, pleased smile teased his lips. But before he could respond, one of the Capitol people came through the swinging doors that separated the front shop. “Kat,” she practically yelled. “We weren’t expecting you for a few hours yet, we haven’t started assembling the tasting.”

Katniss stiffened, seeming to grow taller and more menacing before Peeta’s eyes. Her expression darkened and shuttered, a mask sliding into place. It was a fascinating and frightening process. The woman who acknowledged Cressida with a scowl bore only a superficial resemblance to the woman Peeta had been chatting with.

“I told you I would be choosing the menu items to feature,” Katniss said, and the frostiness of her tone made Peeta shiver.

“Of course,” the other woman said. “We could start now?” All of Cressida’s brashness faded into supplication.

Rye and their father had come into the frontshop and were watching the exchange warily. Peeta stood back as Cressida introduced the rest of his family to Kat. “We can set up in the office,” Mr. Mellark said.

Katniss nodded and followed the others through the swinging doors. His father turned back to Peeta. “Could you bring back some coffee?” he asked, and Peeta’s heart sank. Twenty-six years old, and still low man on the totem pole, still the one who was given the grunt jobs, relegated to the wings, or just dismissed outright. As much as he loved the family business, he hated the family dynamic.

Stuck in the shadows or not, Peeta remembered a few things about Katniss that the rest of his family didn’t know, and one of those was her hatred of coffee. Oh, it was likely that she’d learned to tolerate it over the years, as he’d done himself. Still, he thought as he steamed milk; coffee drinkers are born, not made.

He carried a tray ladened with hot beverages back to the room that acted as staff lounge and office for the Mellark men and the handful of part-timers they employed. Already, half-filled plates littered the table top, various bakery items cut open, then abandoned. And at the head of the table like a queen commanding her court was Katniss, still wearing her Kat Flickerman expression, sheafs of yellow notebook paper scattered around her. Peeta set the tray of coffee in the middle of the table, but he grabbed the lone different cup and placed it wordlessly beside Katniss, then backed away, unwilling to disrupt her.

He couldn’t resist glancing back as he exited the room, and he found Katniss watching his retreat, surprise in her silver eyes and the barest hint of a smile stealing across her lush lips as she traced the rim of the mug of hot chocolate he’d brought her with a single slender finger.

o-o-o

Peeta was busy the rest of the day, manning the ovens, covering the phones, serving the lunch rush. His father reappeared a few times to make more coffee or grab something specific from the display cases, but there wasn’t an opportunity to talk. And with Rye occupied in the back, catering to the Capitolites, there wasn’t time for Peeta to take a break either. By the time the rush was over, and Peeta staggered to the back full-bladdered and empty-stomached, the film crew - and Kat Flickerman - were gone. His father was cleaning up the mess they’d left behind in the office, and Rye was staring at a sheet of yellow paper with a particularly sour expression on his face.

“What’s going on?” Peeta asked as he stuffed half a day-old scone in his mouth. Rye grunted, and tossed the paper his way.

“They want all of this ready and plated for that woman tomorrow evening.”

Peeta scanned the list. There were only six items, and all were things they’d typically make anyway. All except the goat cheese and apple tart - they hadn’t made that particular recipe in years. “I don’t understand–” he started, but Rye cut him off.

“She hated everything, she’s going to rip us to shit.” Peeta rolled his eyes, but held his tongue. There was no point in reminding Rye that this had all been his idea.

“It’s going to be fine,” their father’s tired voice broke the silence. “She never said she hated anything, Rye.”

“You saw her,” he barked. “Cutting everything up, barely picking at it before tossing it aside. Big city bitch, probably never tasted real bakery bread in her life.” It was on the tip of Peeta’s tongue to tell his brother that not only was Katniss not a big city girl, but he knew for certain she’d had Mellark’s cheese buns before. But before he could defend Katniss, Rye turned back to him and smirked. “She wants you to be the one on camera with her.”

Peeta nearly choked on his scone. “What?”

“Yeah,” he sneered. “Guess she can tell you’re easy to push around. Bet she makes you cry.” Rye had inherited their late mother’s cruel streak, though he hadn’t aimed it in Peeta’s direction much since her death.

“Fuck you, Rye,” Peeta spat. Rye only laughed.

“Save the backbone for the camera.”

“Boys,” their father groaned, but Peeta had had enough.

“You can close up alone, asshole,” he snipped at Rye, tossing his apron on the table and heading out the back door.

o-o-o

Filming would take place after normal working hours, when the bakery was closed, both to keep compliant with health codes, and to keep small-town busybodies from trying to usurp the spotlight. But that didn’t change the fact that it was a Wednesday. There were customers to serve and orders to fulfil on top of the list of bakery items the show producers wanted ready for closing.

Apparently, Rye’s bad mood persisted. He stormed into the kitchen hours late, after Peeta had done the entire morning prep himself and had been forced to call in frontshop reinforcements - his father and one of the summer students. Rye bashed around the kitchen and snapped at the customers for an hour until their father simply sent him home again.

“He’s just jealous,” Mr. Mellark told his younger son, “Because Katniss asked for you specifically.”

Peeta looked up from the cookie he was painting with delicate white blossoms and arrow-shaped leaves. “You remember her?” he asked, though it was clear his father did. The older man laughed.

“I’m not yet senile, Peet,” he smiled. “She looks different on television, but seeing her in person yesterday, she hasn’t changed much from that little girl who used to come in here with her daddy way back when.”

Peeta chuckled. “I’d say she’s changed a whole lot, Dad. She used to be so reserved.”

“I have a feeling she still is,” he said cryptically. “She certainly wasn’t having any of your brother’s flirting.” Peeta huffed out a laugh; after the way Rye had treated him over the previous twenty-four hours, he couldn’t help feeling a little bit of pleasure in the idea that Rye had struck out.

His own crush on Katniss had nothing to do with that satisfaction.

“She’s a big celebrity now, Dad. She wouldn’t have time for a small-town baker.”

“Not so sure about that either, but Rye wasn’t the baker she was watching,” he muttered before wandering out to the front shop to help the lone part-timer clean up.

Peeta didn’t have time to ponder what his father meant. There were still cupcakes to frost and cheese buns to bake, and the film crew was due within the hour.

o-o-o

A prep team came twenty minutes before closing to get him ready, parking their small trailer in the lot out back. They clipped and tousled and gelled his hair, then powdered his face. Peeta had dressed in a nice blue button down shirt, but that was nixed in favour of a soft red Henley the crew brought along with them, surprisingly in the right size. They even let him push the sleeves up, the way he was most comfortable.

The woman who arrived later with the film crew was the one he knew from television. In a starched white chef’s jacket, and with hair and makeup done, she was gorgeous, fierce, unforgettable.

Peeta was a goner.

He barely saw her, though, as the director demanded his attention, coaching him on what to expect. “Kat doesn’t work well with being told what to say,” she admitted. “So all of the questions tonight will be unscripted.” Peeta nodded. “Think of it as a laid-back chat with a friend,” Cressida smiled, and Peeta barely bit back a snort. Twelve years in the same schools and they’d barely exchanged ten words; a conversation with Katniss Everdeen would be anything but relaxed.

Another half hour of explaining camera blocking and marks, and finally Cressida led him to the front shop, which had been transformed into a stage. Hot lights blinded him, microphones dangled over his head and it felt like a thousand people were crammed into the space.

Then she was there, Katniss. But no, not Katniss, Kat Flickerman. Aloof and business-like, gorgeous but cold. Untouchable.

Everything went exactly as Cressida had explained. Kat asked him questions, about the history of the shop, about the recipes, about the little town where they’d both grown up (though she didn’t mention that part).

Though Peeta was gregarious by nature, this was so far out of his comfort zone, the cameras, the crowd, all of them fixated on him, watching him interact stiffly with the woman he’d had a crush on since before he even knew what that meant. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and more than once he stammered, fell over his own tongue or outright blanked on an answer. He could feel Katniss’s frustration mounting. The fourth (fifth? thirtieth?) time it happened, Katniss cringed and turned away. “Clear the set,” she bellowed.

The crew leapt to attention; within moments, they were alone. Peeta stared at his shoes while he waited for Katniss to dismiss him too. His father was back in the office, perhaps he could take over and save the show.

Then a small, cool hand landed on his forearm, startling him from his misery. “Take a deep breath,” she said. Her voice was gentle, not Kat Flickerman anymore, but Katniss, the woman he often thought of as his Katniss, though she wasn’t that either. But she smiled at him, the barest quirk of her perfect peach lips. And a deep, guttural sigh escaped him as he started to relax. “Good,” she murmured, her hand on his arm squeezing lightly. “Feeling better?” He could only nod.

She pulled over the plate with the delicate painted cookies, smiling softly at the flowers she clearly recognized. “These were always my favourite when I was a kid,” she murmured.

Peeta looked up in confusion. He knew how much Katniss liked Mellark’s cheese buns, but he couldn’t remember a single time she’d bought the cookies. As if reading his mind, she shrugged. “I’ve never eaten one,” she admitted, softly. “They’re far too pretty to eat. But I used to come by with my sister and look at them in the display window.

He could see it in his mind’s eye; Katniss, her hair in two glossy braids, holding the hand of a smaller blonde girl, both peeking through the window. “Not very often,” she whispered. “Your mom was kind of scary, she’d chase us off if we got too close to the glass.”

Peeta cringed, and started to apologize, but Katniss waved him off. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said, still speaking softly, intimately. “You’ve never been anything but kind, always.” She looked away, laughing just lightly under her breath. “I always wondered how you could be so nice, having grown up with her.”

He shrugged, and deflected. “You should try a cookie now. Better late than never.”

Her smile widened, and it transformed her face, elevating her from beautiful to radiant. “Better late than never,” she murmured.

She didn’t eat the cookie, but they continued to talk, and Peeta got more and more comfortable. They talked about recipes - the age-old traditional wares that Mellark’s had been making for generations and the newer flavours and he and Rye enjoyed experimenting with. She admitted that she’d asked for the apple and goat cheese tart because it was one she remembered fondly, something her father had loved all of those years ago.

He filled her in on the things that had happened in Twelve since she moved away, their classmates, who had gotten married, who had children now. She was engrossed and engaged, reminiscing about people Peeta hadn’t even been sure she knew. She laughed at his anecdotes, and it was like bells ringing, clear and bright.

He even found himself telling her how much he loved the bakery, but how he longed to make it more, how he wanted Mellark’s to be a gathering spot, in tradition of the great Parisian cafés. “Have you been to Paris, Peeta?” she asked, and his smile faltered a little. Here he was talking about big cosmopolitan ideas when he’d never even left the district. Katniss, he knew, had been everywhere, had reviewed restaurants not just in Paris, but in Milan and Amsterdam and Vienna… what a fool she must think him, backward, small-town boy with grandiose ideas. He shook his head, embarrassed.

Katniss didn’t seem to notice his discomfort. “Paris is awful,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Crowded and loud and it smells like cigarettes and pee.” Peeta laughed lightly and she grinned at him, disarming him completely. “But Twelve isn’t any of those things,” she murmured. “I think this is a perfect spot for a café. People are already drawn here, they already gather at Mellarks. It’s always been so warm and inviting here.” Her words tugged at his heart. That’s exactly how he’d always felt about the family business too, how he’d always hoped others would see it. “I know I’d love to sit here and watch the world go by.”

“With a hot chocolate?” Peeta teased lightly, and she looked away, shyly.

“And a cheese bun,” she murmured.

“I wish you would,” he said, barely breathing. “Come back sometime, I mean.” She met his eyes then, and a myriad of emotions played across her expressive face. He just couldn’t understand what they meant.

She took his hand, shocking him with how good, how intensely right it felt. She guided him over to where the largest of his paintings hung, a spring landscape of the meadow that was on the edge of town, dotted with clover and dandelions. “This is yours, isn’t it?” He nodded. “It’s gorgeous,” she breathed reverently. She paused, and Peeta could see her weighing her words. “I always thought you’d make a career in art, open a gallery maybe.”

Peeta sighed, looking down at where their hands were still linked. He knew she wasn’t intentionally trying to pick at the barely-healed wound of his dead dreams, but it stung.

“You were always drawing in school,” Katniss continued, oblivious to his turmoil. “You designed the yearbook cover one year, and you won that award when we were seniors.” She trailed off, and they stood silently for several long moments. Finally, Peeta blew out a forceful breath.

“My eldest brother was supposed to take over the bakery. He and my mom, they, uh. There was a car accident,” he whispered, voice cracking. He’d been offered a job right out of college, with a studio in the Capitol, but the accident that took his mother and brother forced him home. Katniss squeezed his hand, hard.

“I heard,” she admitted, and it surprised Peeta. The accident was almost four years ago, well after she moved her mother and sister out of this dumpy town, never to return. “I’m sorry.”

Peeta cleared his throat. “Anyway, my dad was all alone here after that, trying to run this place. So Rye and I agreed to become partners.”

They stood silently, looking over the meadow painting, lost in their thoughts. “Are you happy, Peeta?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“Sometimes,” he said. He was happy in that moment, talking with the girl of his dreams, holding her hand, feeling the warmth of her body just inches away. He was happy right then, and that was something at least.

There was a scuffling sound behind them and they sprang apart. It was the red-headed cameraman, tucked unobtrusively to the side. Peeta hadn’t noticed his return until that moment, so focussed was he on Katniss, on talking and connecting with her, something he had never imagined possible.

But all good things must come to an end. “Do you think you can go on? Just the three of us?” Katniss asked. And Peeta nodded.

o-o-o

It was late when Peeta finally staggered home to the apartment he shared, often reluctantly, with Rye. The set tear-down had been pandemonium, people and equipment flying like a tempest, a whirlwind of follow up questions and paperwork and releases and by the time he could take a deep breath, Katniss was gone, slipped away like a thief in the night without even a farewell, before he could ask her if she’d like to go out with him sometime. And while he was trying not to be disappointed, the fact that after they’d shared what he had thought was a real connection she’d simply vanished without a word hurt more than he wanted to admit.

“How did it go?” Rye’s voice drifted from their shared living room. Peeta popped his head in. Rye was slumped on the couch, a tumbler of what could only be whiskey balanced on his thigh.

“Seemed okay,” Peeta said, carefully. It was hard enough to gauge Rye’s mood when he wasn’t drinking, with the addition of alcohol he wasn’t sure which version of his brother he’d find.

Rye smirked, then lifted his other hand, tipping the bottle in Peeta’s direction. “Have a drink with me,” he said. Still, Peeta hesitated. Rye shook his head. “I’m not going to rip your head off, little brother.”

Peeta grabbed a glass from the sideboard and Rye filled it with a couple of fingers of liquid fire. For a while, they simply sipped in silence. “I’m sorry I was a dick earlier,” Rye said quietly.

Knowing how much it cost his brother to apologize, Peeta nodded. He wasn’t really a grudge holder anyway. “It’s fine,” he said.

“It’s not though.” Rye sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “I was really hoping this show would be the wake-up call Dad needed to let us make real changes at the bakery. It was supposed to be him in front of the camera, getting dressed down by that woman. When she insisted on you, I saw red.” Rye sighed, and downed the remainder of his glass. “You know he’s going to blame us now for every shitty thing she says.” Rye’s bleary eyes met Peeta’s. “If we’re going to be stuck here forever, we should at least be able to drag this place into the modern era.”

Peeta felt a pang of sympathy for his brother. He wasn’t the only one who’d had to give up his dreams for the future to come help their father run the business that neither of them had ever planned on inheriting. Rye’d had big city plans and a big city girlfriend who dumped him when he moved back home to sleepy District Twelve. He had every right to be bitter, even if he sometimes chose inappropriate targets to lash out at.

“She didn’t say anything mean, anyway,” Peeta said. “The whole thing was pretty tame. Not at all what I was expecting.” The beginning had been rough, but he felt good about what they’d filmed after he’d calmed down. He thought he’d presented Mellark’s in a pretty good light, all things told.

“Naw,” Rye said with a sigh. “They’ll add all of that in later. It’s always voiceovers.” That idea shocked Peeta. Was that possible? Would the screaming, nasty Kat Flickerman only make an appearance in the finished version? Surely not?

o-o-o

Days, and then weeks, passed, and while Peeta thought about Katniss often, there wasn’t a peep from her. Not an email, not a phone call, nothing. A cameraman returned to film some exterior and kitchen shots, and though Peeta tried to ask him about Katniss, he was all but mute on the subject.

There had been something between them, that evening in the bakery, he was sure of it, sure she’d felt it too. He couldn’t understand why she’d disappeared. She hadn’t even said goodbye. As if he hadn’t mattered at all.

Rye’s words rolled around his head, festered, made him doubt everything from that day. He compulsively rewatched old episodes of Kitchen Nightmares, looking for any hint that the screaming and cursing was added in after the fact. It was impossible to tell. But with every installment, his memories of sweet Katniss faded, replaced by the snarling mutt.

With every day that passed, his mood plummeted further. Because Rye was right: the majority of the screaming and vitriol could well have been voiced over. He just couldn’t tell what was real and what was not real

A message on the bakery phone almost two months after the filming convinced him. One of the producers wanted to give them a ‘heads up’ on what to expect for the broadcast, scheduled for the next week. It could only have been a warning. He was about to appear on national television looking like a chump, as useless and pathetic as his mother had always told him he was. Peeta deleted the message without even telling his father or brother about it.

There were two more calls after that. Peeta deleted both of those messages too, unheard. The only thing he couldn’t delete was the ache in his heart.

Every gentle thing she’d said to relax him, to ease him back in front of the camera, it had all been lies. Katniss, no, Kat, had used their past, their tenuous connection, just to manipulate him. Just to make him look like the idiot he was.

o-o-o

“I booked the lodge for our viewing party.”

Peeta glanced up from the wedding cake he was working on to stare at his father in confusion. “What?”

“With how many people want to watch the show, I can’t fit them all in at the house.” Peeta’s father still stubbornly lived alone in the bungalow where Peeta had grown up. It was large enough to host two dozen or so, at least.

“They all have televisions, they can watch at home,” Peeta grumbled. Despite his best efforts to ignore the existence of Kat Flickerman’s show entirely, the local station had been aggressively promoting the upcoming episode. Someone from the morning news had been in the week before, interviewing Rye and their father. Peeta had refused to take part.

“My boy,” his father laughed, steadfastly ignoring Peeta’s pique, as he had for weeks. As they’d all done for weeks. His mood had gotten progressively worse the more he thought about Katniss and how she’d used him, and he knew everyone around him could tell. “This is a great occasion! Our little bakery on national television. Of course we’re going to celebrate with all of our friends and customers.” Peeta cringed, but his father continued, undeterred. “I wish my own father was here to see it.”

The reminder of how much this meant to his father had Peeta feeling even worse. “Dad, it’ll be embarrassing, for all of us. I’m going to look like an idiot. People are going to stay away from Mellark’s after that.” He knew he sounded petulant but he didn’t care.

His father smiled. “I spoke with that director, Peet, the one with the strange tattoos? She called the house the other night.” Peeta groaned inwardly; he’d underestimated that woman’s tenacity. “She says the show looks great, that you were a natural.” Peeta knew there was no point arguing with his father. Once the elder Mellark had his mind set, he was intractable.

“How many people did you invite?” Peeta groused.

“Oh sixty, maybe. Plus the guys from the bowling league.” Peeta’s heart sank; at this rate, the entire town was going to be witness to his humiliation. “But don’t worry, I’m having Rooba cater it.”

“Geez, Dad, don’t you think that’s too much?” The elder Mellark set down his own piping bag and grasped his son’s shoulders, turning him until they were face to face.

“What’s gotten into you, son? You’re not usually this pessimistic,” he said, his hands squeezing soothingly. It took every bit of Peeta’s strength to hold his tongue. As much as he loved his father, the shame was his alone to bear.

“Nothing,” he muttered. “I just don’t think it went very well.” The two men stared at each other, and Peeta knew without a doubt that his father hadn’t bought his explanation. But he wasn’t ready to share his heartbreak, his stupidity. He’d been so caught up in that long-held crush he’d almost willfully ignored reality. Mr. Mellark simply sighed.

“I wish you’d talk to me Peeta. But okay.” He clapped Peeta on the shoulder, and turned back to his work.

o-o-o

Three days before the show was to air, there was a call on Peeta’s cell from an unfamiliar number. He let it go to voicemail. The bakery phone had been ringing non-stop it seemed with calls from media outlets, wanting interviews in advance of the airing. He assumed one of his well-meaning friends had given his number to someone at the D12 Gazette.

But when he picked up the message later, he nearly dropped his phone in the sink.

It was Katniss.

The message was brief, simply a request for him to return her call and a number, her number.

Peeta had no intention of calling her back. But it didn’t stop him from listening to the message five, ten, fifteen times.

There were two more messages the next day. He wanted to delete them unheard, but he couldn’t. Even wounded and wary, the bone-deep need to hear her voice prevailed. The content of each was the same, but her tone seemed progressively more urgent. The sound of her voice, the way she called herself Katniss instead of Kat, all of it pulled at his heartstrings, confused him even more.

The same cowardice and insecurity that had kept him from seeking her out their whole childhood silenced him now. Though his fingers twitched to redial her number, he did nothing.

o-o-o

“I said no, Dad.” Peeta knew he was being petulant but on this point he was firm: he was not going to his father’s viewing party. He’d capitulated to helping his father set up, he wasn’t a complete dick. But he’d decided the best thing for him to do would be to hole up in his apartment during the actual airing.

If only because he couldn’t get a last minute flight out of the country.

Rye, ironically, had been the most understanding about Peeta’s desire to avoid the show and all of the insanity their father was planning around it. “I’ll text you,” he said the evening before, when Peeta told him he wasn’t even intending on watching. “Let you know how bad it is.”

“I just don’t understand what you’re afraid of,” Mr. Mellark said with a shake of his head. “You’re going to be on national television, it’s exciting. The promos look terrific.” Those, Peeta had been unable to avoid. And while they hadn’t looked scathing, he no longer trusted his instincts.

“You’ve watched her other shows,” he groaned, the thousandth time he’d made the same argument, but his father was having none of it.

“This was different and you know it. You had a connection with Katniss, we could all see it.”

“Stop,” Peeta barked, and his father’s eyes widened. Peeta cringed, sad and ashamed of himself for taking his foul mood out on his father. “That was just for the cameras,” he said softly, giving voice to what his head had been telling him for weeks. “None of that was real.”

“You’re wrong, Peet. I know what I saw.”

“You know I had a crush on her, that’s all,” Peeta groaned, but his father cut him off.

“No,” has said firmly. “I saw how she looked at you.”

“Then why did she disappear? Two months, Dad, and not a word.” It wasn’t completely accurate, but Peeta wasn’t going to mention the messages to his father, who would surely read more into them than was there.

“I don’t know, son. Maybe for the same reason you’re avoiding her now.” Peeta shot a startled look at his father, who simply shook his head.

o-o-o

Peeta paced his apartment like a caged tiger, the dark television taunting him. The broadcast was scheduled to start any minute, his father’s party was more than an hour old, and he was alone with only a six pack of microbrew and his demons to keep him company.

One last message had come to his phone just a couple of hours earlier, a text message this time. Please talk to me, Peeta, was all it read. He’d been so tempted, so damned tempted to reply. Had started typing a dozen times, but erased every word. What could they possibly have to say to each other now? Too much time had passed.

The television called to him though, a siren song he was powerless to resist. He told himself he’d only watch the beginning, would shut it off as soon as she started yelling. But the moment Katniss appeared onscreen in the opening credits, beautiful face larger than life with glossed lips smirking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to look away.

The tone of the program was markedly different from her Kitchen Nightmares shows. The camera showed flattering pictures of the exterior and interior of the bakery while his own voice spoke overtop, recounting the history, the generations of Mellarks who had lovingly built the bakery into the the hub of District Twelve that it was.

But that was only the beginning.

The video unfurled almost like a love letter. But not to the bakery, or not exactly anyway. Instead, it showed Peeta himself, over and over. Peeta painstakingly frosting gorgeous cupcakes. Peeta laughing with a customer. Peeta kneeling before one of the small children that frequented the shop, handing her a cookie from the jar he kept behind the counter. Typical scenes from his everyday work, scenes he hadn’t even realized he’d been filmed in. Over and over he was shown smiling, laughing, creating.

Finally, Kat Flickerman began to speak. Rye was right that her part would be voiceovers, would be words she hadn’t spoken during the interview. But there was no swearing, no cursing. No yelling about the quality of the food or the shabbiness of the surroundings. No idiot sandwiches.

Kat Flickerman, Katniss, talked about the warm, welcoming atmosphere at Mellark’s, the three kind bakers who treated every customer like a friend. She paraphrased Peeta’s own hushed confessions about the improvements he wanted to make, and presented them as if they were things already planned to be implemented. Peeta, sitting on the couch in his apartment, laughed out loud. Somehow, Katniss had managed to manipulate the entire show in a way that would force his father to bring Mellark’s into the modern era after all. As if she knew exactly what he wanted.

Of course, she had known. He’d told her, when they’d spoken so intimately, about his hopes. He hadn’t realized how closely she was listening. But now, as he thought back, he understood that she’d directed their discussion back to his dreams for the future, time and again, and then worked all of those things into the show.

All but the one he hadn’t confessed. How he felt about her. How he thought she was gorgeous, more radiant than the sun. And now, because he’d wasted so long being wounded, he’d never get the chance.

His phone buzzed near continuously on the table beside him, but he didn’t spare it a glance.

As the ending credits rolled, there was a gentle tap-tap-tap at the apartment door. It could have been any number of people, friends or neighbours who knew he was home. But as he stood to answer, he was struck with the certainty that it was Katniss standing on the other side.

His hands shook as he unbolted the door and pulled it open. She wore a dress the colour of candlelight, her hair was loose and she had just a hint of makeup. “You didn’t come to the party,” she said, a glint of accusation in her silver eyes.

“I didn’t know you’d be there,” he said honestly, unblinking as he took her in. As if he could have forgotten how beautiful she was, watching her shows compulsively over the past few weeks. But the camera never captured her luminosity, the way she lit up a room, commanded the attention of everyone within it. He was awestruck.

“Your father invited me,” she murmured. “Can I come in?” Peeta shook off his stupor and ushered her into his space with a muttered apology.

The television still blared, playing a Food Network promo, and Peeta quickly muted it. “Did, you, uh. Did you want a drink? Beer?” Peeta asked, not meeting her eyes. She nodded.

Only when they were settled side by side on his couch did Katniss speak again. “You watched?” It wasn’t a question, not really. Peeta nodded. She raised a single eyebrow at him, and he couldn’t help but smile.

“It wasn’t what I expected,” he said quietly. She frowned.

“You were waiting for me to scream, rip apart your family business, destroy your reputation?” There was no amusement in her tone. Peeta felt the heat rising in his cheeks.

“Kind of,” he admitted.

She’s silent for a long time, picking at the edge of the label on her bottle. “Did you really think I’d do that to you?” she asked, and there was a fragility, a vulnerability to the words.

Peeta sighed. “I didn’t know what to think,” he said.

“I thought…” She sighed. “The way we… connected,” she whispered. “I guess I thought you’d know.”

Peeta battled with himself briefly, whether to be honest with her or not. The warm room, the beer and the uncertainty in her eyes convinced him. “I couldn’t tell what was real,” he said, “and what was for the camera.”

“You really thought I’d manipulate you like that?” Katniss stared at the bottle in her hands, shoulders slumped in defeat. “I know my reputation, I know that people think I’m a bitch,” she said softly. “But we’ve known each other since we were children. I thought you knew me. The real me, at least a little.” She glanced up at him and his breath caught. She was so open, so guileless. But he still wasn’t certain what to believe.

“We never really spoke, back then,” he said. “And I know that was my fault. I was a coward.”

Katniss shook her head. “You were always kind, even when no one else noticed I existed. You saved me back then, you know. When my mom lost herself.” Those stunning silver eyes searched his own. “I owe you.”

“You’ve never owed me anything,” Peeta said, but Katniss wasn’t done talking. She set her bottle on the table and turned slightly to face him.

“That’s why I did this show. To pay you back.” Peeta was more confused than ever. “I had a plan,” she continued. “When I heard that you were here, instead of in the Capitol, I started lobbying the network to create this show.”

“What?”

“Delly Cartwright,” she said. “My sister keeps in touch with her brother. She said that you were back home, running the bakery. It took awhile to get the go-ahead for this show.” He’d been at the bakery more than three years, surely she didn’t mean that long? “I’ve always kept track of you,” she said, answering his unasked question.

“Why?” His voice was hoarse. She shrugged helplessly. “You disappeared, after the taping,” he blurted. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I was really confused. And afraid.”

“Of me?” Peeta was incredulous.

“I’ve never been able to forget you, Peeta. I only intended on breezing in, giving you some publicity, then leaving again.” She brushed her hands together, as if wiping him away. “I thought paying you back would get you out of my mind.” Peeta flinched; that hurt to hear. He dropped his gaze to the bottle in his hands and swallowed back his disappointment.

“But then I got here,” she continued. “And you were even nicer than I remembered. And…” He glanced up at the pause. She was biting her bottom lip, her cheeks were flaming. “And even more handsome. I didn’t expect to be so attracted to you,” she whispered.

They stared at each other, the air between them charged. Then Katniss began to squirm, as if embarrassed.

“I’ve had a crush on you for as long as I can remember,” Peeta said, and Katniss’s eyes widened.

“Me?” she squeaked.

“You really don’t understand the effect you have on me. That’s why I was such a doofus when you were at the bakery. I’ve never known how to talk to you.”

“You did just fine,” she smiled, tiny and tentative, but real. “I didn’t want to leave. It, uh. Well, it scared the crap out of me. I’m not very good with people.”

“You’re here now,” he said. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Katniss said. “But I want to find out.”

She shuffled just a tiny bit closer to him, and he reached out a tentative hand to cup her face. Her eyes fluttered shut, thick black lashes brushing her cheek. When he finally pressed his lips against hers, she sighed, and in that tiny, involuntary noise he found certainty.

The kiss was slow, almost chaste, a teaser of what could be possible.

A slow smile spread across his face as he pulled back, staring into her hazy silver eyes. Was it possible, that they could be on the same page? But as quickly as the hope flared it his chest, it was extinguished. Katniss, Kat, had a life, a busy life full of travel and tapings and all of it far from sleepy District Twelve. What they shared at the bakery, what they were sharing now, that was all they’d ever get. His hand dropped into his lap, his eyes followed suit.

“I, um. I’m going to be producing the new show out of a little studio in Victor’s Village,” she said. “I signed the lease on the studio space three weeks ago.” They were still so close that he could feel the words on his skin, a caress. A promise.

Victor’s Village was only a twenty minute drive away. Peeta shook his head, certain he’d heard wrong. “I thought you lived in the Capitol?”

“I do, or, well, I did anyway,” Katniss said. “I moved my mother there as soon as I could afford to. It was too hard for her, being in Twelve, surrounded by all of her memories.” Katniss pursed her lips, and Peeta’s eyes were drawn to them, plump and perfectly kissable. Lips he’d now tasted, after so many years of imagining. “But it’s the opposite for me,” she continued. “I hate the Capitol, I hate the noise and the crowds and the smell. Being back here, it made me realize how much I missed it. Missed home.”

“You’re going to be living in Victor’s Village?” Peeta asked, still struggling to understand what was happening. Katniss shrugged.

“I was thinking twenty minutes isn’t such a bad commute. Maybe…” she trailed off, then sighed. “Maybe it’s time for me to come home, where I belong.”

“To Twelve?” He could hardly breathe.

“I’d still have to travel a lot, for filmings. But yeah.” She laughed. “The people here, they don’t care about Kat Flickerman. To them, I’m Russ Everdeen’s kid, not some hot shot television personality. I walked here, from your dad’s party, and there was no paparazzi, no TMZ following my every move. There was just old Mr. Mitchell waving at me from his porch and asking after my mother.”

This time, Katniss reached for him, her small hand cool against his feverish skin. “And you’re here,” she whispered, just before she kissed him. This time, he was the one moaning as her tongue curled around his own.

With a little tug, she was in his lap, and he marvelled at how perfectly her body fit against his, how right she felt in his arms. Kissing Katniss Everdeen was incredible, something he was certain he’d never get enough of.

“Peeta,” she whispered against his lips. “I want–”

The door to the apartment crashed open, startling Peeta, pulling them apart. “Peet, why aren’t you answering your phone? You’ll never– oh.” Rye stood before them, slack-jawed. Katniss buried her face in Peeta’s shoulder, but he could feel her smile.

“Okay,” Rye chuckled. “Yeah. This uh. This makes a lot of sense. I’ll just…” He turned back towards the door.

“Rye,” Peeta called before his brother could leave. “Is Dad okay?”

Rye glanced back over his shoulder and smiled. “Yeah, man. He really is. I’ll tell you more later. Or tomorrow.” And with one last laugh, he was gone.

“Cockblocked,” Peeta groaned, and Katniss laughed, hugging him tightly. He stroked her hair as his heart rate slowed.

Peeta smiled down at the woman in his arms, who was still laughing softly. He kissed the tip of her nose. Though he longed to go right back to making out with her, he was grateful for the interruption. After waiting so long, they both deserved to do things right. “Have you eaten?” he asked. She shook her head. “Let me take you out for dinner,” he said, the words he’d wanted to say all of those weeks ago.

“I’d like that,” Katniss smiled.

————–

I wish you would write a fic where...

#everlark #xerxia writes #I wish you would write...#memes

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kook-tae · 8 years

Note

If you read fanfics, what's some of your favorites (with links please!)

alright, so there are some of my faves, tho I’ve read a lot of fanfics tbh, but it would be a pain to list them all. there’s more than one pairing in here, but most of them are taekook.

all of them are completed, because I’m really shitty at keeping up with the unfinished ones OTL, and they’re mostly one shots, tho there are some that are longer as well.

so here you go!

Kiss Me Hard Before You Go (1/1 | 20,271 | Rated E)

Dramatization. Do not try at home.

Get Me Out Of My Mind (Get You Out Of Those Clothes) (1/1 | 15,797 | Rated E)

Taehyung never thought he’d fall in love with his roommate. Then again, he never thought his roommate would have been a literal gift from god either.

Date Me (1/1 | 5,439 | Rated G)

Taehyung flirts with the cute high school boy and relishes in the flustered reaction he gets for almost an entire year. But when the following year comes along, he finds himself choking on his own words.

I feel safe in the 5 a.m. light (love in my arms and the sun in my eyes) (1/1 | 8,031 | Rated M)

And Taehyung thinks he’s never loved anyone more in his life than the boy above him who’s a little bit rough and sometimes a bit insensitive and maybe a little bit mean, but he’s also so soft and so gentle, and he treats Taehyung like he’s something so precious to him. And maybe he’s like that because of Taehyung, or maybe it’s because underneath everything, underneath the tough exterior and the sky-high walls, his heart’s more delicate than Taehyung’s, but all Taehyung knows is that Jeongguk fills up all of Taehyung’s vulnerable pieces with parts of himself.

Be Your Forever, Be Your Fling (1/1 | 40,932 | Rated M)

“As long as you want me, I’ll stay. I’ll be in love with you; for eternity, forever. I don’t think that will ever change,” Jeongguk says, a smile to his voice.

“You’re my first love. My only love.”

my ex-man found a new boyfriend (1/1 | 4,571 | Rated T)

after their breakup, jimin watches taehyung fall in love with someone else through social media.

Kill Me (But Don’t Let Me Die) (1/1 | 14,978 | Rated M)

Taehyung is a hired killer and Jungkook works at a bakery.

scam romance (1/1 | 10,156 | Rated E)

“I had the most brilliant idea when I woke up this morning,” Taehyung says, and this is definitely not a good thing. This is Jeongguk’s cue to back the fuck out. The last time Taehyung had a brilliant idea, Jeongguk went to the emergency room with a raisin lodged in his ear.

“You know,” he begins, “I just remembered this thing I have to do. Very important, can’t skip it—”

“How do you feel about pretending to be boyfriends?”

(On the morning of Valentine’s Day, Taehyung proposes a plan. What follows is the systematic exploitation of every couples-only deal in the city.)

A Little Back Pain (1/1 | 3,255 | Not Rated)

Taehyung wakes up one morning with immense back pain only to be rushed to a radio station for an early morning schedule with the rest of Bangtan. Trying not to make any trouble, he tries to keep it a secret, but eventually that becomes increasingly hard.

make this chaos count (1/1 | 14,597 | Rated T)

Taehyung struggles and battles with himself a lot during a three-month break the band is given. Jeongguk is somehow always there despite everything.

you could be the one (that can mess me up) (1/1 | 6,016 | Rated T)

Jungkook doesn’t know why Kim Taehyung makes him so angry.

(or the one when Jungkook is emotionally constipated and Taehyung is more patient than anyone gives him credit for)

Love and Other Planets (2/2 | 12,281 | Rated M)

Kim Taehyung is president of the Astronomy Club, Park Jimin is captain of the basketball team, and Jeon Jungkook is so annoying.

butterfingers (1/1 | 9,752 | Rated T)

The amount of things that Taehyung has a steady grip around is limited to three.

Piece of Art (1/1 | 28,640 | Rated M)

The only masterpiece that has even remotely caught Taehyung’s attention recently is the new, talented (and incredibly gorgeous) junior who just got accepted into his senior art class.

Our Blooming Love (1/1 | 6,004 | Not Rated)

There’s more than meets the eye. Like Jeon Jungkook…sure he may seem like a person you’d want to avoid with his tattoos and multiple piercings. But to Taehyung, he was something much more than that.

Jungkook became a friend….and then his lover.

(A short AU of Taehyung meeting a misunderstood Jungkook and how their loved bloomed)

dating for dummies (1/1 | 12,061 | Rated G)

in which twitter is evil, jeon jeongguk is a bit tsundere, park jimin is satan and kim taehyung may or may not have a boyfriend.

All’s Fair in Coffee and War (1/1 | 6,898 | Rated T)

“Goddammit, Kim Taehyung,” Jeongguk moaned, “I thought I’d get you with the soy.”

Love Makes Quite the Fashion Statement (1/1 | 5,333 | Rated M)

Taehyung knits ugly sweaters, and Jungkook wears his heart on their sleeves.

change my world (you’re the sunlight in my universe) (1/1 | 6,751 | Rated T)

Jungkook is an artist who likes drawing on the cafe’s freedom wall. Taehyung sees his drawings, and falls in love.

Featuring Jimin as the 100% done wingman, Yoongi as the possessive boyfriend, and Seokjin as the sassy mom.

My Love Is Carried To You By My Feet (1/1 | 2,501 | Rated T)

Taehyung gets stood up and Jeongguk (unsuccessfully) tries to ignore him.

(Advanced warning that this is pure fluff).

refrigerator humming, chewing gum and instant karma (8/8 | 61,449 | Rated E)

Taehyung sets the flowers down on the dining table, plucking the card off the little holder. “Dearest Taehyung, just wanted you to know that I’m thinking about you. I hope you’re thinking about me too. Love–” he pauses and squints before cocking an eyebrow and pursing his lips. “Hyung, why is the boss of your little boy band gang professing his love for me?”

Yoongi drops the noodles on the floor with a loud curse as he burns his hand.

Or, Taehyung’s been trying his hardest to avoid Yoongi’s criminal life for a long ass time, but a cute kid and his infuriating father keep pulling him deeper into the mix.

OTHER PAIRINGS

to the night, will you follow me? (29/29 | 95,085 | Rated G | yoonjin)

yoongi is a single parent, taehyung is his son who wants to be a dragon, jimin is the dragon’s new best friend, and seokjin is too good looking for a single dad working two jobs.

it’s your heart i wanna live (& sleep) in (1/1 | 22,658 | Rated T | vmin)

The first time Jimin sleeps over at Taehyung’s, it’s an emergency. The other times after? That’s a different story.

let’s get going (1/1 | 7,389 | Rated E | vmin)

kim taehyung could’ve lived his whole life without knowing that jimin owns a dildo.

finger cuffs (3/3 | 30,561 | Rated T | vmin)

taehyung falls in love every day but this time, he insists, it is real. but all of his friends are vehemently against the object of his latest affection.

“can you give me one?”

“a reason?” yoongi hums shortly. “you’re sensitive. you fall for anyone in a matter of seconds. and he throws people away like used tampons. there’s three.”

because fries and mixtapes (1/1 | 6,644 | Not Rated | taegi)

Yoongi works the graveyard shift at a fast food restaurant while trying to make it big. Taehyung has insomnia.

large, extra cheese, extra sauce (extra you) (1/1 | 8,981 | Rated T | taegi)

Taehyung starts everything by procrastinating. Even unhealthy crushes on the pizza delivery boy.

Linger (1/1 | 12,249 | Rated M | taegi)

Taehyung is too much of a fool to see that he’s got Yoongi wrapped around his finger.

how can i make you mine? (1/1 | 5,369 | Not Rated | taegi)

The five times the members interrupt or delay Taehyung’s great confession and the one time a confession is spit out.

Kind of.

Principle of Behaviour (1/1 | 12,488 | Rated E | taegikook)

Only Yoongi’s allowed to touch the potions, and that’s a rule. But Taehyung’s never really liked rules, and it always seems to be Jungkook who suffers because of this. (Okay, suffer may not be the right word, but still.)

disco, calypso (it don’t matter) (6/6 | 27,169 | Rated E | 2seok)

Seokjin didn’t ask for any of this. Not for his estranged son Taehyung to suddenly move in and turn Seokjin’s orderly life upside down. Certainly not for said son to come with a mentor and dance instructor in the form of the impossibly sunny, annoyingly attractive Jeong Hoseok. Fortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to be paying much attention to what Seokjin does and does not ask for.

#taekook #vmin #taegi #taegikook #2seok #yoonjin #fanfic rec #anonymous #replies

384 notes · View notes

buckiegotit · 5 years

Text

ink to Statement: https://gallery.mailchimp.com/bb7c8b2d02cf287e7132078a2/files/bbf158af-8b48-4bb6-b02c-a10d83baba63/PM_Harris_Emancipation_Statement_August_5th_2019.pdf Statement by Prime Minister of St. Kitts and Nevis, Dr. the Hon. Timothy Harris On the Occasion of Emancipation Day/August Monday 2019 Monday, August 5th, 2019 We, a people of predominantly African ancestry who have historically been pillaged, conquered and confined, must proudly and solemnly celebrate today, August Monday as our Emancipation Day, which marks the 185th anniversary of The Abolition of Slavery Act coming into effect. Since August 1st, 1834, the journey towards true emancipation has been elusive and hard-fought, but well worth the sweat and struggle. On August 1st, 1834, an Apprenticeship System was introduced as a modified version of slavery whereby there would be a transition period to freedom. During the transition, apprentices were required to work without wages for 45 hours per week for a period of four to six years in order to purchase their freedom from their masters; household slaves were apprenticed for a four-year period and field slaves for six years – an arrangement that promoted greater disunity and discord between the two classes of slaves. Essentially, the Apprenticeship System served to further compensate the slave owners who had been granted generous cash payments; the British government made available £20 million to pay 47,000 claims by slave owners for the loss of human property. In sharp contrast, the apprentices received no compensation in return for their years of servitude. Indeed, the dawn of August 1st, 1834 brought chaos instead of celebration for the apprentices. Distinguished historian Douglas Hall wrote that, “In St. Kitts there were riots. Martial law was declared and a naval force sent from Antigua.” Moreover, a great many of the apprentices in St. Kitts participated in organized strikes and some of them were punished for refusing to work without pay. In these organized protests, the planter class was confronted with the collective visage of a determined, sturdy people who were in the nascent stages of establishing a formidable working-class movement. The apprentices eventually rallied to victory in 1838 when on August 1st the Apprenticeship System ended prematurely in the face of vocal public opposition and agitation leveled against it by the Anti-Slavery Society and other abolitionists. Roughly 100 years later in St. Kitts, the plantation workers’ political consciousness had become highly evolved as evidenced by the Buckley’s Uprising of January 28th and 29th, 1935. The landmark uprising saw cane cutters at Buckley’s Estate mount a protest that grew island-wide after being denied a pay increase from eight pence to one shilling (12 pence) for every ton of cane that they had cut. The Buckley’s Uprising gave rise to autonomous leadership that sprung from the ambitions, hopes and dreams of the ordinary estate workers. Recognizing the gigantic potential of the people’s yearning for more, Marcus Garvey stoked the fire in their collective belly with his words. Two years after the Buckley’s Uprising, Garvey delivered a powerful address in St. Kitts in November 1937 at the hall of the Mutual Improvement Society. Garvey told the packed room, “Man is a product of his mind. If you do not train and protect your mind, men with trained minds will subjugate you. People only liberate themselves through their state of mind.” The skilled orator from Jamaica who inspired the Rastafarian Movement also implored the people of St. Kitts to “Try to own something.” Marcus Garvey continued: “Make St. Kitts your Garden of Eden. If you don’t do it then other men will do it for you…Watch your steps. If there is natural wealth around, somebody is coming after it…Your country can be no greater than yourselves…Your St. Kitts will be no greater than your minds…If there is progress, it will be because of your minds.” Thirty-one years later in 1968, the first Premier of our country, the Honourable Robert L. Bradshaw, while delivering a speech at the University of the West Indies’ St. Augustine campus in Trinidad and Tobago, issued “A Challenge to the Black West Indian,” as his address was titled. Premier Bradshaw’s assessment was that, “True enough, the black man has been a very successful crusader for political and social reform in the West Indies, and we have gained and maintained political power using it literally to change the face of islands as well as to compel recognition of human worth.” However, Bradshaw concluded “the black man has failed to take advantage of the economic opportunities brought about by his own political achievements,” while noting, “He seems quite satisfied - even happy - to labour for all and be master of none, seeking jobs here and there instead of trying to create them for himself. This failure constitutes perhaps his greatest challenge today.” Fast-forward to 2019, my Team Unity administration understands that failure is no longer an option; the people of St. Kitts and Nevis have too much to lose and too much at stake, and as we have seen just this year our citizenry ought to be wary of disreputable buccaneers who would want nothing more than to conquer our natural wealth and for us to play a menial role in its future development. Your Team Unity Government has therefore gone ahead and reduced the prices of land for commercial properties from $7.00 to $4.50 per square foot in several designated areas, presenting an opportunity for over 200 persons to benefit from this special offer over the next 12 months. Reflecting the popular will of the people, we are also moving ahead to grant legislative approval for, and to regulate the use of, cannabis for medicinal, religious and recreational purposes. Last week, we introduced in Parliament a Bill to amend the prohibitive Drugs (Prevention & Abatement of the Misuse and Abuse of Drugs) Act, Cap. 9.08, which forbade the cultivation, possession and use of marijuana. Those prohibitions dated back to a predecessor law of 1937. Of particular note is the insertion of a new subsection (3) in section 7. This new subsection states, “Subject to subsection (1), a person may apply to the Minister, through the Council, for a licence to cultivate cannabis for personal use and shall be guided by Regulations made under this Act.” It could not have come at a better time than close to Emancipation Day, an emotionally significant day that signifies our freedoms and rights. Sadly, too many of our youth have been criminalized and incarcerated in relation to cannabis, and as a result they have lost out on job and travel opportunities, opportunities to study abroad, a good future and a good name. Thankfully, your Team Unity Government has introduced a Bill to expunge the records of those criminalized. We offer a fresh start to our people in a new era of enlightenment and engagement with cannabis. We are committed to decriminalizing marijuana and in the near future expunging criminal records for related offences of a certain degree while ensuring that the health and welfare of our nation’s children are protected. In his iconic poem Harlem, Langston Hughes pondered on the question: “What happens to a dream deferred?” He asked: “Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?...Or does it explode?” On this occasion of celebrating Emancipation, there is no better time to acknowledge our painful history, take stock of where we are and make amends for past mistakes. We owe it to ourselves, to the memory of our forebears and to our future generations. May God Bless St. Kitts and Nevis.

ink to Statement: https://gallery.mailchimp.com/bb7c8b2d02cf287e7132078a2/files/bbf158af-8b48-4bb6-b02c-a10d83baba63/PM_Harris_Emancipation_Statement_August_5th_2019.pdf Statement by Prime Minister of St. Kitts and Nevis, Dr. the Hon. Timothy Harris On the Occasion of Emancipation Day/August Monday 2019 Monday, August 5th, 2019 We, a people of predominantly African ancestry who have historically been pillaged, conquered and confined, must proudly and solemnly celebrate today, August Monday as our Emancipation Day, which marks the 185th anniversary of The Abolition of Slavery Act coming into effect. Since August 1st, 1834, the journey towards true emancipation has been elusive and hard-fought, but well worth the sweat and struggle. On August 1st, 1834, an Apprenticeship System was introduced as a modified version of slavery whereby there would be a transition period to freedom. During the transition, apprentices were required to work without wages for 45 hours per week for a period of four to six years in order to purchase their freedom from their masters; household slaves were apprenticed for a four-year period and field slaves for six years – an arrangement that promoted greater disunity and discord between the two classes of slaves. Essentially, the Apprenticeship System served to further compensate the slave owners who had been granted generous cash payments; the British government made available £20 million to pay 47,000 claims by slave owners for the loss of human property. In sharp contrast, the apprentices received no compensation in return for their years of servitude. Indeed, the dawn of August 1st, 1834 brought chaos instead of celebration for the apprentices. Distinguished historian Douglas Hall wrote that, “In St. Kitts there were riots. Martial law was declared and a naval force sent from Antigua.” Moreover, a great many of the apprentices in St. Kitts participated in organized strikes and some of them were punished for refusing to work without pay. In these organized protests, the planter class was confronted with the collective visage of a determined, sturdy people who were in the nascent stages of establishing a formidable working-class movement. The apprentices eventually rallied to victory in 1838 when on August 1st the Apprenticeship System ended prematurely in the face of vocal public opposition and agitation leveled against it by the Anti-Slavery Society and other abolitionists. Roughly 100 years later in St. Kitts, the plantation workers’ political consciousness had become highly evolved as evidenced by the Buckley’s Uprising of January 28th and 29th, 1935. The landmark uprising saw cane cutters at Buckley’s Estate mount a protest that grew island-wide after being denied a pay increase from eight pence to one shilling (12 pence) for every ton of cane that they had cut. The Buckley’s Uprising gave rise to autonomous leadership that sprung from the ambitions, hopes and dreams of the ordinary estate workers. Recognizing the gigantic potential of the people’s yearning for more, Marcus Garvey stoked the fire in their collective belly with his words. Two years after the Buckley’s Uprising, Garvey delivered a powerful address in St. Kitts in November 1937 at the hall of the Mutual Improvement Society. Garvey told the packed room, “Man is a product of his mind. If you do not train and protect your mind, men with trained minds will subjugate you. People only liberate themselves through their state of mind.” The skilled orator from Jamaica who inspired the Rastafarian Movement also implored the people of St. Kitts to “Try to own something.” Marcus Garvey continued: “Make St. Kitts your Garden of Eden. If you don’t do it then other men will do it for you…Watch your steps. If there is natural wealth around, somebody is coming after it…Your country can be no greater than yourselves…Your St. Kitts will be no greater than your minds…If there is progress, it will be because of your minds.” Thirty-one years later in 1968, the first Premier of our country, the Honourable Robert L. Bradshaw, while delivering a speech at the University of the West Indies’ St. Augustine campus in Trinidad and Tobago, issued “A Challenge to the Black West Indian,” as his address was titled. Premier Bradshaw’s assessment was that, “True enough, the black man has been a very successful crusader for political and social reform in the West Indies, and we have gained and maintained political power using it literally to change the face of islands as well as to compel recognition of human worth.” However, Bradshaw concluded “the black man has failed to take advantage of the economic opportunities brought about by his own political achievements,” while noting, “He seems quite satisfied – even happy – to labour for all and be master of none, seeking jobs here and there instead of trying to create them for himself. This failure constitutes perhaps his greatest challenge today.” Fast-forward to 2019, my Team Unity administration understands that failure is no longer an option; the people of St. Kitts and Nevis have too much to lose and too much at stake, and as we have seen just this year our citizenry ought to be wary of disreputable buccaneers who would want nothing more than to conquer our natural wealth and for us to play a menial role in its future development. Your Team Unity Government has therefore gone ahead and reduced the prices of land for commercial properties from $7.00 to $4.50 per square foot in several designated areas, presenting an opportunity for over 200 persons to benefit from this special offer over the next 12 months. Reflecting the popular will of the people, we are also moving ahead to grant legislative approval for, and to regulate the use of, cannabis for medicinal, religious and recreational purposes. Last week, we introduced in Parliament a Bill to amend the prohibitive Drugs (Prevention & Abatement of the Misuse and Abuse of Drugs) Act, Cap. 9.08, which forbade the cultivation, possession and use of marijuana. Those prohibitions dated back to a predecessor law of 1937. Of particular note is the insertion of a new subsection (3) in section 7. This new subsection states, “Subject to subsection (1), a person may apply to the Minister, through the Council, for a licence to cultivate cannabis for personal use and shall be guided by Regulations made under this Act.” It could not have come at a better time than close to Emancipation Day, an emotionally significant day that signifies our freedoms and rights. Sadly, too many of our youth have been criminalized and incarcerated in relation to cannabis, and as a result they have lost out on job and travel opportunities, opportunities to study abroad, a good future and a good name. Thankfully, your Team Unity Government has introduced a Bill to expunge the records of those criminalized. We offer a fresh start to our people in a new era of enlightenment and engagement with cannabis. We are committed to decriminalizing marijuana and in the near future expunging criminal records for related offences of a certain degree while ensuring that the health and welfare of our nation’s children are protected. In his iconic poem Harlem, Langston Hughes pondered on the question: “What happens to a dream deferred?” He asked: “Does it dry up like a raisin in the sun?…Or does it explode?” On this occasion of celebrating Emancipation, there is no better time to acknowledge our painful history, take stock of where we are and make amends for past mistakes. We owe it to ourselves, to the memory of our forebears and to our future generations. May God Bless St. Kitts and Nevis.

Published 5 August 2019

Buckie Got It, St. Kitts and Nevis News Source

Link to Statement: https://gallery.mailchimp.com/bb7c8b2d02cf287e7132078a2/files/bbf158af-8b48-4bb6-b02c-a10d83baba63/PM_Harris_Emancipation_Statement_August_5th_2019.pdf

Statement by Prime Minister of St. Kitts and Nevis,

Dr. the Hon. Timothy Harris On the Occasion of Emancipation Day/August Monday 2019 Monday, August 5th, 2019

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