#I’m sorry I was jealous of you pretty girls I’ve been reminded why being ugly is the better deal LMAO

[a-concert-just-for-me]

I really took being ugly for granted. Now I’m getting hit on by a 75 year old man for some reason. Life is so bizarre.

[ethan-torchio-angelo]

Isn't It Lovely

Summary: two girls in a town where if anyone knew of their feelings towards each other, they'd be locked away

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: sadness, angst, a love that feels illegal, a few swear words

A/N: so I was in my feels. You're welcome for this sad little bit

2 a.m.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The words tumble from her mouth before she can even think to stop them. When she gets no reply she fears she’s messed up, ruined the night like she’s done so many times before. A hand touches her cheek, her head moving to face the girl laying beside her, and she’s met with a warm smile that calms all of her nerves.

“My mind constantly races with thoughts of you.”

It’s whispered so quietly, afraid the loudness of a confession like that could break their peaceful bubble right apart. There is a fire that burns in both their veins, fueled by words unspoken, words that feel illegal to even think. They can’t say what they really want to. In this small little corner of the world, the words I love you seem like a death sentence if anyone hears them coming from the two girls. So it stays between them and the three boys that are more their family than anyone else.

They’re laying on the roof of Victoria's trailer, it is dark and quiet, the stars being their only company. There’s a bottle of Damianos moonshine and a pack of cigarettes stolen from the corner shop being split between them. The closest thing they can get to a real date.

“One day, we’ll leave this place behind. I’ll take you to the ocean and we’ll get married, right then and there. And the best part is, no one can stop us.”

Victoria is always the optimistic one, always telling her of the things that seem impossible. “What about the boys? Lord knows they’d be lost without us.”

She sits up to face the girl, a goofy grin on her face, “Well, they’ll come with us of course! We’ll need someone to protect us from the scary sea monsters.”

She laughs, sitting up now too, and takes a swig of the bitter alcohol. She loves how Vic talks about the life they could have. It’s nice to dream, she thinks.

The wind picks up suddenly, a cold breeze floating through the space around them, and they’re reminded of the quickly changing seasons. Victoria shivers and she’s quick to wrap the girl beside her in one of the blankets. The summer had been short and autumn was quickly approaching, a reminder that this could be the last few hours they’d have together.

Victoria had gotten accepted to Julliard on a full scholarship, something she’d applied to on a whim with no real hopes of getting in. She’d be gone in the morning, off to live the dream she’d always wanted. While the other girl still had no idea of what she wanted from life, no connections anywhere, she’d most likely be stuck here working at the corner shop for the rest of her life.

Victoria huddled into the warmth of the blanket and took a long drag from one of the cigarettes. She could feel eyes on her, turning her head to look at the girl beside her, “What’re you staring at, pretty girl?”

The girl blushes, caught in the act of trying to commit her face to memory. “You. Trying to make sure I never forget what you look like.”

Victoria sighs, “I don’t have to leave, ya know. I could stay here, with you and the boys. We could be trailer park trash together.”

“No. You’re going to go off to New York and live the life you’ve been dreaming of, don’t worry about me.”

She takes another swig of the burning liquid, trying to drink away her sorrows. They’ve talked about it before, Vic staying here, but she’s always refused the offer. She knows it’d make her miserable and she can’t bear to be the reason why her love is sad.

“Then come with me. We could get a little apartment, you can find a job while I’m at school. We could be free.”

She’s got a line of tears pooling in her eyes, a flush covering her cheeks, and the alcohol is running rampid in her veins. She can’t help but hope, wanting nothing more than to have the one thing she knows she can’t.

“I can’t come with you Vic, you know that. I’ve got nothing going for me, I’d only keep you from doing what you want. I can’t do that to you, it’d break my heart.”

Another sigh leaves the girl. She dreams too much, she knows that, but is it so awful to want to be happy? “Do you love me?”

It’s a question that strikes her right in the heart. “You know I do.”

“No, I don’t. You’ve never said it, and you only act like you do when we’re alone. I’m the one who always says it, but I’ve never heard those words leave your lips.”

There’s a fire burning through her. She wishes she could blame it on the alcohol, but the question has been haunting her for weeks now, it was just a matter of time before they were brought to light.

“You know what it would mean if anyone heard us say it.”

Vic stands up abruptly, throwing the blanket from her body and pacing the length of the rooftop. “I don’t give a damn about anything but you! I love you, and I don’t care who knows it! They can burn me at the stake for all I care, I just want you.”

There are tears running down her cheeks now and she feels like her body is on fire. Her next words are barely above a whisper, but the girl hears them loud and clear, “I’ve only ever wanted you.”

She stands and walks over to Vic, reaching out to grab her, pulling her into her arms. She rubs circles into her back as she freely cries. Victoria gasps for air, feeling like she’s drowning. “Am I not enough for you? Am I not good enough?”

“No, no. That’s not it,” She takes a deep breath before pulling away to look into her eyes, “I love you. There’s no doubt about it.”

“Then what is it? Why does everything have to be a struggle with you? I feel like I’m trying to convince you of something I’m not even sure is worth fighting for anymore.”

She’s taken aback by the confession. “You don’t mean that Vic.”

“Maybe I do. Clearly you don’t know me that well if you don’t think I’d give up everything to be with you!”

She’s shouting and pacing again, and she knows someone could hear her, but she doesn’t care. She’d climb the tallest building and declare her love for the girl if it meant she could convince her. “Is it really so horrible to think that we could get away from all of this and be together?”

“You know we can’t.”

She stops her pacing, turning to stare at the other girl. “You’re the only one saying that. There is nothing keeping you here, nothing. But yet you keep saying you can’t leave. What is so important that it’s keeping you from being happy?”

Everything falls silent, and moments pass before she can bring herself to speak. She starts crying and it takes everything in her to speak her next words, “I’m pregnant.”

The words hang in the air like a knife over their heads. Victoria feels like all of the air has been sucked from her lungs. “How? Who?”

“At the graduation party Thomas threw. We’d been fighting, and I saw you hanging with another girl and I got jealous. I needed something to distract me so I got drunk and when he kissed me I didn’t even think of pushing him away. I don’t even remember his name, I don’t think he even told me. I regretted it the second it was over. We used a condom and I took plan b, but it clearly didn’t work. I found out last week, Dami drove me into the city. I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

It is silent for what feels like hours. The wind whips around them, a storm forming overhead. They stand facing each other, staring into the other's eyes.

It’s Victoria who breaks the silence, a laugh escaping her lips. It is loud and ugly, strained by the tears still falling from her eyes. It’s not the time to laugh, but she can’t help it. “I hate you. Not because you’re pregnant, because if you had just told me we could have gone through this together. But because you’re choosing to subject it to the same life we were so desperate to escape. You could leave with me and we could raise that kid in a life far better than either of us had, but you’re a coward.”

The words feel like venom on her tongue. She can see the hurt cross the girl's face, a feeling of guilt settling in her gut, but she can’t take the words back now.

“Maybe I am. But that is my choice to make.”

Victoria turns away, heading to the ladder, whispering words that hurt them both, “Then It is your choice to make alone.”

Sometimes the hardest thing in life is loving someone and letting them go.

[aobajohxsai]

(Fem!Reader HC) May I request for Oikawa, Iwa, Daichi, Tsukki and Yams's girlfriends feeling insecure because the boys are surrounded by taller and slimmer (she's short and chubby) girls so she grows distant with them and starts to avoid them like the plague. How they find out, approach and reassure/comfort the girl will be up to you~ 💖 I understand if you dw to write this. ^-^ It's just, I've struggled with my looks for years and it's just ☹☹☹ Sending love and hugs 🥰 - 🍡 anon

has it been six months since i last posted sth here

yes.

Love, I’m so sorry everything took so long!! Your wonderful messages never failed to brighten up my day and I just think you’re the loveliest person I’ve ever met! I may not show it, via my blatant avoidance of this blog, but you’re amazing and I appreciate every message, thank you!!

Without further ado, I hope this was worth the wait (probably not, I haven’t written in half a year, but I tried my best) <3

Also, I didn’t do Daichi, Tsukki and Yams, as I went wayyy overboard with the headcanons (it’s 600+words each), but feel free to request them again in a separate ask, love :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Oikawa and Iwaizumi comforting their insecure girlfriend (Plus-sized!Reader)

Warnings: Some self-loathing, but it turns fluffy afterwards

You tried to even your breathing, (e/c) eyes glued to the horde of fangirls almost jumping on your boyfriend. Your hot, talented, brilliant, athletic boyfriend - Who, to your dismay, seemed adamant to keep flirting back.

Normally, you weren’t a jealous person - It’s a given when it comes to dating someone such as “The Great King”. That day, however, the green monster seemed to be rearing its ugly head, pushed upwards by all your deep-rooted insecurities. The girls he was surrounded with were stunning - Long, slim legs, the oversized sweater of the Seijoh uniform actually being oversized on them, the way they seemed to look so much better by your lovely boyfriend’s side than you.

“Y’know he’s only doing that to ensure Seijoh’s popularity or whatever bullshit he keeps spewing about it, right?”, a deep voice spoke from behind you, effectively startling you. How Iwaizumi could read you so well, that would always surprise you, but you supposed it came with years upon years of having to read his seemingly unreadable best friend. You tried to will away the tears that had formed in your eyes, letting out a small giggle at Hajime’s characteristic profanity.

“Oi, Shittykawa! Get your ass over here and greet your girlfriend!”, he yelled, effectively grabbing the attention of the entire fan-club and the man to whom it was dedicated. You felt a deep flush rising on your cheeks at the attention, prepared to listen to a quick dismissal from your boyfriend, but were instead met with a surprisingly feminine squeal.

Oikawa seemed to all but pounce on you, taking you into a tight hug and spinning you around a little. Placing you back down, his whiskey eyes seemed to have a gleam to them, effectively having lit up the second he’d seen you.

He tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, before pouting exaggeratedly.

“Why didn’t you say anything, love? I kept waiting and waiting and my beautiful girlfriend just wouldn’t show up!”

That’s when the previously-forgotten dread made its appearance again. He hadn’t even noticed you in the sea of pretty girls. But that’s alright - You should have seen it coming, ever since you started dating the most popular guy in your high-school. Just fake it ‘til you make it, c’mon, he made a joke, laugh, Y/N, dammit-

A bitter laugh left your lips, so aggressive it even startled Oikawa. 

“It’s quite alright, wouldn’t have expected you to, surrounded by all these pretty girls and all.” Another aggravated laugh left your lips, as you tried to sell it as a good-natured joke, but it was obvious that your boyfriend had definitely read through it. His expression seemed to darken, brows furrowing, before he quickly fell back into his well-rehearsed role, letting out an exaggerated gasp. 

“Oh, but you’re the prettiest one out of all of them! I’d never miss your gorgeous face!” He smirked, before squishing your cheeks lightly, eyes widening in a playful expression. “Actually”, he motioned towards the girls still watching you guys oh God- before promptly placing a hand around your shoulders, pulling you into his side protectively.

“Hey, everyone, look at my beautiful, lovely, gorgeous, girlfriend! Isn’t she the prettiest?”

The girls seemed to be whispering amongst themselves, confused expressions adorning their faces, before nodding shyly. You couldn’t have cared less, though - In the arms of the boy you loved, you were sure you’d never feel insecure ever again.

Having your boyfriend be the ace of a popular volleyball team was proving to be an incredible experience, as you had the opportunity to witness not only the developing friendships on the team, but also the colossal amount of hard work that went into the winning streak they had been on for the past few matches.

You couldn’t be more proud - wearing Iwaizumi’s jersey in the stands, your voice louder than anyone else’s - Everything was going well, except for one little, tiny thing.

For once, along with the relentless Oikawa Tooru fanclub, a small group of girls had seemed to form around Iwaizumi, the only thing you could overhear being something about his “hands that were totally made for choking”. 

The bigger issue? They were all perfect. In their tiny, stupid skirts and their cute shirts and their sharp jawlines and sculpted faces and - Well, you had curves where others didn’t and you weren’t particularly proud of your body. Your thighs seemed larger than usual and you almost gasped at the sudden wave of despair washing over you. Why would he date you when he could easily have them?

You weren’t a masochist in any sense - However, you found yourself unable to turn off your eavesdropping, only hearing more and more things that would make you spiral into self-loathing. You felt overwhelmed, so you quickly grabbed your bag and hurried out of the room, finding a bench to sit on and simply breathe.

Not long afterwards, however, you heard lots of squeals - presumably from Iwa and Oikawa’s fanclub - and prepared yourself for what you’d have to witness.

To your surprise, however, as soon as the doors of the court opened, you could only see a tuft of black hair aggressively elbowing everyone in the crowd, dropping a nonchalant “sorry” here and there, before finally running straight into your arms.

He breathed in your perfume, still hugging you tightly, before letting go and grinning widely towards you.

Before he could speak, however, he found himself being interrupted by some loud squeals. Looking at you, he rolled his eyes playfully before shouting:

“Trashikawa, grab your stupid fanclub and get out of here, I can’t talk to (Y/N) properly!”

To your surprise, the setter’s face twisted into that annoying, cocky smirk of his, before he coyly replied: 

“Iwa-chan, maybe you should grab a hold of your fanclub! We’re well-behaved here, aren’t we?”, he smiled dazzlingly towards the nearest girl and you swore you saw her faint.

Upon glancing at your boyfriend, however, you quickly noticed his agape mouth, the surprised look quickly being overtaken by a frown, a hand grazing the back of his neck.

“Uh, thank you, ladies, I appreciate it, but I really wanted to talk to my girlfriend, so would you mind leaving us alone?”

He was being so genuine, you felt a pang of jealousy in your chest - It’s alright, he’s just happy to be supported, you had to remind yourself.

The ace had noticed your sour look, however, quickly turning back to you, mouth turned down into a scowl.

“Why the fuck can’t they stick to Shittykawa?”

You smiled giddily, before tangling a hand in his spiky locks. “Well that’s because you’re sweet, kind, genuine - muscular - and, uh”, you looked down embarrassedly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, “fuck, you should be with one of them, I don’t deserve you.”

Now, you’d seen an annoyed Iwa plenty of times, but this couldn’t be matched - His brows seemed to furrow until they almost disappeared, his mouth pressed into a tight scowl as he looked your face up and down, checking whether or not you were being serious. Upon noticing that indeed, that was the case, he pulled you into him a tad too aggressively, pushing your chin up lightly to gaze into your eyes. 

His glare seemed to soften, before he started peppering your face with kisses. 

“You”, kiss, “are”, kiss, “the best goddamn thing”, kiss, “that’s ever happened to me.”

Finishing with his assault of kisses, Iwaizumi gave you a soft smile, before glaring playfully. “If you ever think that any of those girls would interest me half as much as you do, you’re really just as much of an idiot as Trashikawa, you know.”

Finally, he looked around before promptly squeezing your thigh, his large hand almost engulfing it. A small smirk played on his lips as he rose his gaze back to yours.

“I promise I’ll show you how gorgeous you are when we get home.”

[starymintss]

Please enjoy an essay on why mitsukou has so much fucking potential and why they’re great together

by Elena~

I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a connection like the one that mitsukou shares. This ship literally has true canon potential. I have hope and believe that we may be victorious in mitsukou becoming canon- I mean god dammit guys they are “SEMI CANON”-

kounene obviously won’t be endgame. In Houkago Shounen Hanako Kun (the spin-off series) they played a game in which the person who pulled a king card was able to get to command a person that was playing the game to do something no matter what. When Kou pulled his card- he literally decided he wanted his brother Teru who was there and Nene to have a romantic connection (hence- him saying and I fucking quote, “This will make senpai happy!”) He could’ve done it to his own benefit- to maybe earn a kiss or do something of his own benefit. But he didn’t, instead choosing to make his senpai happy.

Besides Hananene is basically canon already like what the fuck

As for Mitsuba he’s a gay coded character and hasn’t denied the guys aren’t his type. Some people who deem Mitsuba straight might use the scene where he tells Kou “Is this a love confession? Sorry but lame earrings aren’t really my style.” That still does not confirm that Mitsuba doesn’t swing that way. A really great piece of evidence is the bonus comics at the start and end of a manga- one titled, “Tell Me, Mitsuba Kun,” in which Kou asks if he ever had a crush on other girls- Mitsuba responding that there are simply no other girls cuter than him. In another bonus comic he says the same thing again when he tells Yokoo and Satou he wants to fall in love. When asked to name some girls he thinks are cute, he asks if it's possible that he was the cutest one of all. On the other hand, Kou has stated that he likes someone with a pretty smile (do I have to explain that) which is a pretty open explanation of his type (not denying or confirming he doesn’t like guys). Obviously as a Mitsukou shipper I can point out different actions that I’ll admit looks pretty gay.

It’s not the fact that it’s very common in manga like this that there’s the straight couple and then the other two people in the group are automatically paired together- they are so much more than that. They have a deep connection, and both Kou and Mitsuba are somewhat aware of that themselves. Mitsuba is willing to protect Kou from harm- he’s willing to stop him from getting himself hurt for others because Mitsuba cares, and he knows that he’s too reckless and caring and fearless for others in a way that isn’t healthy?

Kou likes to be everything for everyone and the reader can see in chapter 64 that Mitsuba really did try to talk to him about the behavior. Yes it’s weird to see Mitsuba actually show true concern to people--because it’s his character to be a jerk and an asshole, but that doesn’t mean Mitsuba is incapable of not having true genuine feelings for people he seems as his friends.

Obviously, Mitsuba trying to talk to Kou didn’t happen due to other events that occurred. But I think a lot of people agree that the moment would’ve been so beautifully written and truly played an extremely important part in Kou’s character development.

As for Mitsuba, Kou is generally a sweet guy. It’s stated he will give up his life for anyone, it was what he was taught growing up as an exorcist and a fighter. Those words do not fail his actions, and anyone can see Kou will die for literally anything which is really messed up. He’s 14 for fucks sake.

Someone against Mitsukou could use that as an argument but we see here in the manga that there’s simply something different about this said connection. Kou is first introduced to Mitsuba in chapter 30 something, and he remembers who he is after Yokoo tells him--what happened to Mitsuba that was ultimately the end of his life. Mitsuba does again by his rumor being changed, and being stabbed by Hanako- but it’s the fact he cries and loses sleep and just cannot let him go for anything that moves me. May I point out that he actually decided to process the photos even after Mitsubas death? He didn’t have to do that. Not at all. But he did anyways. It’s seen that Kou wants to find a way to help Mitsuba get away from Tsukasa and help him fit in more- he wants to be a friend. (Note: after he’s reintroduced to Mitsuba; this Mitsuba being a pure apparition with no memories.)

Mitsuba is deeply insecure about himself, and feels he doesn’t fit in. He’s lonely, and doesn’t have friends even as a ghost. But Kou is there. He’s there to be by Mitsubas side.

The deep connection the two of them have is strong and that’s especially shown in the picture perfect arc. At the beginning Kou first sees Mitsuba as a human and obviously it’s freaking him out because-he’s a ghost you know. But once him and Nene meet Shijima Mei, and are told they must kill Hanako (Amane) and Mitsuba, it’s disturbing to them. At this point in the series literally everyone know Hanako and Yashiro share a connection as lovers. I mean- its the couple that the series revolves around. But Kou is deeply disturbed because he doesn’t want to kill Mitsuba. Yet- Mei also reassured them that things will be alright since after all this is a fake world and there’s no need for hesitation. But it’s still affecting Kou and he’s carrying this information on his back as he learns beside Mitsuba in school and has fun with him while cleaning the pool. At night, when the two of them are walking on the school building and watching the stars from the window, Kou confronts Mitsuba about this (note: by now Kou knows that Mitsuba knows). Mitsuba goes on to reveal his true form, and uses his powers to show Kou the past. He tells him about how he learns about his past self. And he states to just feel so… “envious”

Mitsuba grows angry with Kou- because he can see how he’s looking at the true Mitsuba with such a gaze the fake Mitsuba knows he won’t ever get.

Things lead to one another and he smashes the window in fury. (“It’s that Mitsuba you want, right?!” And I dare you to tell me that doesn’t sound like a fucking quote from a bittersweet romance novel.)

Kou insists on getting Mitsuba out of there. And can I please just point out that Mitsuba says: “What are you doing?!” He asks Kou if this isn’t what he wanted- if this isnt the life they want to live from here on out where they can be happy together along with their friends. This reminds me of a direct parallel to Hananene, in which Hanako is confused as to why Nene wouldn’t want to stay here, and Nene tells him that this isn’t what she wants. Kou says the same thing to Mitsuba.

Kou drags out embedded feelings Mitsuba has as they fight, and he says quotes that are really important to their development. Things such as:

“But… who else is there?! Who else could grant my wish?! Even you, Minamoto- Kun!”

“You see… even you don’t care about me. It’s that “Mitsuba,” isn’t it?! I don't even MATTER!!”

“I’m Mitsuba’s fake, but let’s just call it real! This is a world where the “Mitsuba” you were unable to save can live happily! That’s good, isn’t it?”

“Even if it’s only in this world, be my friend, and stay by my side… I’m just thinking scary things. Over there, I’ll be jealous.”

I think the Picture Perfect arc really shows how desperate Mitsuba is to have friends- to fit in with everyone else and to just feel like he belongs and matters. Kou tries to tell him that isn’t true... he’s willing to do everything to let him know that he is so much more than what he deems himself as. He’s so much more than a “fake” of what used to be his original friend, there's so much more to do than wish wishes and hope things will just go the way you want things to go. There’s a better way than to look to evil to bend and defy the laws of existing.

There’s the famous quote Kou says- the “How about I die too. So that we can be together forever.” And how he decided right there this this fake Mitsuba- this apparition who very much will never become human- is worthy. He’s worthy of his life; this is more than the whole “I will die for every life” because Mitsuba is dead- he’s immortal as a ghost. But a human like him... in Mitsubas words someone who will never understand something as ugly and as horrifying as a apparition born from a real persons soul and lesser about to disappear spirits- Kou will give his life up just to know the hell he goes through. Even if it’s just a glimpse- even if it’s just for a second Kou will do anything to just fulfill Mitsubas wish for him to stay by his side. He will do anything for Mitsuba.

I think writing this out also makes me realize they both have their walls up. Kou has his walls up to try and hide his true feelings- his deepest fears and insecurities- feeling as if he isn’t good enough. Mitsuba has his walls up to do the same. He portrays himself as a guy that he deems will get him friends. He hides the ugliness in himself- hides the fact he’s a total fake; doesn’t belong anywhere and his deepest insecurities.

But the two of them together help each other in such a way that it’s unable to truly analyze every single moment they share together.

They help each other but teach the other to bring their walls down. That it’s okay to talk about your feelings and that you don’t have to be everything for everyone. That you don’t have to give up everything you have living- your health and your literal life- for someone. That it’s okay to feel like you don’t fit in. It’s okay to feel like there’s just no other choice of getting what you want and therefore doing the wrong things. That people will love you just for you; what happened in the past put aside.

Mitsuba and Kou are in love.

The end. 💖

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Lydia Deetz

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Lydia after she moved into town. You went to the same school as her and were in a few of her classes, though you doubted that really mattered; you’d find out about her pretty quickly even if she wasn’t.

- Lydia was an ...interesting character. You liked to think of your school as fairly accepting, people weren’t outwardly mean to her; some were even welcoming, but you somewhat understood many peoples hesitance towards befriending her. Above all, she was fairly standoffish though at the time, no one knew why.

- Still, you liked her style. She was strange and unusual, something you admired. So you took the chance and tried to befriend her, approaching her after school and trying to start a conversation as she unlocked her bike. She was polite but quick to end your talk, making up an; obvious, excuse before riding off.

- But you wouldn’t be deterred, continuing your efforts as the days rolled by and eventually getting her to warm up to you. You even managed to invite her out with you, giving her a tour around the town and slowly getting to know her better.

- Over time, you grow to like her more and more until you realize that you don’t just want to be her friend. It’s then that you have a real predicament on your hands, and a decision to make: try to ignore your feelings and hope they go away or confront them and hope for the best.

- It’s a few months into your friendship that you decide to confess your true feelings for her. Unbeknownst to you, she was planning on doing the same.

- You were sitting in the towns graveyard with her, a place you’d been to several times mainly because you knew she loved it. It seemed like the perfect place to tell her how you felt so you took a deep breath and stumbled through your confession. And... she burst out laughing.

- Yeah, so not a good sign. You were completely embarrassed and was wondering whether you could play it off like you were joking. Deciding that you couldn’t, you went to stand up and leave before she lunged forward, grabbing your hand quickly and exclaiming “no, no” as she tried to stop her laughter.

“I’m sorry, really. It’s just that, all day I’ve been wondering how I was gonna tell you that I liked you and, well, here we are.” She smiled, and ushered you to sit back down.

- The two of you had your first date in one of the towns many fields. You brought a basket full of stuff and sat out there for hours, having a picnic and overall just hanging out. She’s got about a dozen photos of the day.

- You had your first kiss at least a week after you first got together. Neither of you were brave enough to just go for it so it took you a while to actually do it.

- When you did, it was after the two of you snuck out together and were taking a late night walk through the town. You were sat on an old wooden fence, the moonlight shining above you as you talked. That was when you turned to look at each other and just began to lean in, inching closer and closer until your lips met.

- And thus began your strange and beautiful relationship.

- The two of you are most likely bambi lesbians; your relationship is fairly innocent and things never really get too hot or heavy. 

- It’s the 80s and you sort of live in a small town so you try to keep your relationship on the down low. Whenever you’re out in public, you try to just act like friends, never doin anything exclusively romantic in nature. 

- Holding hands, locking arms, hugging, sitting very close to each other; you can get away with a lot since you’re young girls but you try not to push your luck. 

- Most of your dates take place where there isnt a lot of; if any, people. She prefers keeping to herself so you wind up just hanging out at her place or places no one really goes, like the graveyard or forgotten roads.

- Pecks on the lips and cheeks.

- Sweet and chaste kisses. 

- Laying your head in her lap while you sit and talk. Occasionally, she’ll run her fingers through or just play with your hair, looking down at you with a soft smile. 

- She’s got soooo many photos of you. She likes to jokingly call you her muse, taking random snapshots while you’re doing something or asking you to pose for her. 

- Horror movie marathons. The two of you have stayed up late countless times, eyes wide and glued to her tv screen as you shovel popcorn into your mouths. 

- Riding your bikes together after school. Sometimes you’ll just ride around town, stopping at some random place you’ve never been to and going exploring together.

- Walks through and picnics in the graveyard. It’s one of her favorite places to visit except when its close to the anniversary of her mothers death. 

- Letting her talk to you about her mother and rant about Delia and her dad. 

- Meeting the Maitland's and her eccentric parents. They all love you and have a feeling that you aren’t “just friends”, not that it really matters to them anyways. Delia is particularly happy with the idea of you two being together, Lesbianism is so avant-garde. 

- Morbid conversations. Want to have an hour long conversation about death? Well, you’ve come to the right girl!

- You’ll never have to worry about getting rid of spiders again for the rest of your life. She’ll just scoop them up in her hand and gently place them outside while you trail hesitantly behind her. 

- Dancing together. 

- Surprisingly enough, she’s quite fond of being bridal carried or getting piggyback rides. 

- Getting to see all of her rare smiles and giggles, most of the time they’re reserved pretty much exclusively for you. 

- She doesn’t really use nicknames/pet names all that much but occasionally she’ll call you the name of a character from a movie or show when you say or do something that reminds her of them. 

- Collecting and pressing flowers with her. You help her swap out and rearrange the ones on her wall every few months. 

- She has a bit of a dramatic streak so occasionally you’ll just have to snap her out of it, either by cheering her up or helping to rationalize a situation.

- She loves rainy days. She likes to invite you over, sit up in her room and just hang out with you while the skies are a dreary gray. She finds the atmosphere very beautiful.

- Her room is perfect for afternoon naps. The two of you head over to her house after school, lock her bedroom door and pull the curtains down before snuggling under her covers and catching a few zzz’s.

- She’ll never admit it out loud but she actually really likes cuddling. You tend to cuddle hugging each other, taking turns having your heads resting against each other’s chests.

- She loves eating dinner or lunch at your house. Delia prepares the weirdest foods for everyone so being able to eat something like a normal turkey sandwich or bowl of soup is a nice change.

- Going to antique and thrift shops. If it looks haunted, she’ll want to buy it.

- Holidays!! She gets all festive around them; especially Halloween, always wanting to decorate and do the usual seasonal activities.

- Letting her style your hair. She finds it really fun and you certainly don’t mind looking a bit unusual.

- Gothic tea parties. Join her on her wooden floor, surrounded by black teddy bears and creepy dolls, eating little sandwiches and drinking tea.

- She likes to write you little poetic letters. Some are purely romantic while others are dreadfully depressing but you love them all the same.

- It’s pretty easy to find her presents; if it’s ugly then she’ll love it.

- Doing little crafts together. She likes artistic stuff, as long as it isn’t weirdly abstract like delias art.

- She tends to stick to compliments about the work that you do or the things you choose to wear. She prefers making you feel good about the stuff that you make not the things you were born with.

- Many people don’t seem to realize it but she’s got a pretty good sense of humor. That, paired with the shenanigans you get yourselves into, ensures that the two of you have a good time together!

- Getting dragged into supernatural and paranormal adventures. If it was her choice, she would probably leave you out of it, but alas, it isn’t.

- Beetlejuice is certainly an interesting individual to meet. Lydia is not fond of him calling you babe though, even if he calls everyone babe.

- She’s never really gets all that jealous. She reasons that you’re with her and if you’re with her, then you most likely like weird people, which you don’t find all that often where you live.

- She’s certainly been through some stuff, especially after moving to town so she’s fairly protective of you. Now that she knows the dead can linger on, she tries to look after you even more.

- She’s somewhat sensitive so she tends to take things to heart even when they’re misunderstandings.

- You dont fight a whole lot but when you do, your arguments wind up turning into catty yelling fights. One of you will usually storm out, throwing a “fine” or something of the sort out before you go.

- The two of you will give each other the silent treatment for a while but you’ll most likely be miserable the entire time. She’ll cave a little sooner than you will, finding you at school somewhere or being let in by your mom and just showing up at your bedroom door shyly. You both usually have a hard time staying mad at each other, once either of you apologize.

- She gives you a “love you” everytime you say goodbye. It’s pretty much routine by now.

- She doesn’t realize it for a while but ever since she met you, she hasn’t thought about dying. In fact, now that she has you, she can’t even bear to imagine it. She wouldn’t want to leave you behind, she loves you.

- Her one goal in life is to be the woman that historians say “lived with her lifelong best friend, never marrying or having children but writing letters to each other about loving each other fiercely”.

[cutegirlmayra]

My first GoChi prompt~

Dragon ball AU - Chichi x Goku

Prompt:

Besides just being a delinquent example to our sons sometimes... I feel Goku really does say some of the most kindest things.

Well, you wouldn’t believe me unless I gave you an example, right? Haha! Guessed right!

It all started on a sunny day when Goku and I went on a drive~

Chichi’s lips are flapping at the wind pressure blasting her back against the passenger’s seat as Goku wildly drives in odd zig-zags that look dangerously close to causing a serious accident.

“Goku! Other way! No, that way!” - “Which way was the lake, Chichi? All this turning is making me dizzy! Haha!” - “You blockhead, watch out for the trees!”

Goku smiled and closed his eyes, exercising his arm in a happy-go-lucky expression as he rotated it to the side of him. “No worries, Chichi! I’ll just knock it out of the way if it comes too close.”

“You’re the one coming close and we will not be punching our neighbors trees!” She gripped the sides of the car, wondering why on earth she spent the last of their savings on getting a car that could retract it’s top down.

In all honesty, she thought that with her boys getting so big, and with Goku consistently wrecking things... she just wanted something less expensive so if he broke it, she wouldn’t worry too much about the cost of fixing it.

“Oh, oh!” she had slacken back down in her seat with a sigh at her poor, grandmother nerves now before excitedly standing up in the car and removing her seatbelt, pointing cheerily to the lakeside. “That’s it! That’s where they saw the giant fish!”

“Ohh, really?” Goku leaned his head to see over her better. “Wow..! I can’t believe our fights created such big craters! And after all so long, they’ve turned into giant lakesides!”

Chichi beamed a grin to him, but kept back her shaky comment with a bead of sweat dripping down her face. “Heh...heheh... yeah... world-destructive battles are just great on a planet that can survive practically extinction.” she muttered to herself, but still leaned her head out as Goku pulled over but braked too hard and she went flying out.

“Ah! Chichi!” He flew out of the car, basically teleporting, and caught a leg as her face still planted against the ground. “Are you okay..?” He pulled her up as she looked a bit exhausted by the endeavor of ever having a ‘nice quiet drive’ with her family.

“I’m fine~” she groaned out, but Goku politely hoisted her up on his shoulder, steadying her there. “Sorry, Chichi. I guess even though I don’t crash anymore, I still gotta work on my aim. Adjusting my power is getting a bit tougher recently with all the special training I’ve been doing. It makes it harder to see and spend time with you too.” He tilted his head with yet another kind smile.

Chichi looked down, some dirt still on her face, but smiling at his sincerity with love.

Don’t think that’s the best he can do, now! My Goku has gotten a lot more sweeter over the years too~ I remember when he first came back from being dead, it was late in the night and I was worried about so many things… Goku didn’t hesitate to give me a sign of his affections though… although I would have rather flowers but giant snapping dragons with ribbons on them were a decent second to say the least!

Well, my memory can be faulty at times. But there’s been many times I’ve felt like the strongest man in the world’s wife! Let’s continue with some of his more, charminger, moments~

Goku set Chichi down as she started setting up a picnic, looking over at him as she spread out the blanket and wondering what he was thinking about, seeing him grip his belt and look out over the water with a serious expression all of a sudden…

He wasn’t one to really contemplate that hard, at least, unless something was seriously wrong. Pricking at her heart strings, she wondered if there was something he wasn’t telling her again… Maybe another giant battle was coming… or maybe he was just hungry?

“If you stare at the lake too long, you’ll never find those fish.” Chichi teased, sitting elegantly on her knees and with her hands in her lap. “Hehe~ You can’t watch a clock either, we’ll bring plenty back for the family dinner! Ah~ It’s been so long since I’ve cooked for everyone! I’m thrilled that unnaturally alien fish have been growing here so we can clean the environment but also have a lovely meal with the family!” She wasn’t expecting that turnout, but if it meant more time to be a ‘normal’ family, she was willing to prepare at whatever cost to make it happen!

Goku just lowered his head, still thinking…

‘Now that is strange,’ Chichi pouted her lips and blinked a few times in confusion, ‘Normally, I can read him pretty well.’ she tilted her head, “Goku? Is something wrong?”

“Emm… Nothing’s wrong, Chichi, just thinking.” Goku looked back at her and gave her yet another open-mouthed, goofy grin. He put his hand behind his head, laughing, “Just thinking about the lake and the sky, is all!”

“Oh? That sounds rather admiring of you.” She wasn’t quite aware that he took time to enjoy the nature and scenery around him. “What’s so special about it? Doesn’t it look just like any lake and sky?”

“...Well… It probably will sound stupid.” He raised his head up, and she knew this was going to be riot. Whatever it was, she giggled sweetly and nodded to him.

“Alright, you big lug, tell me what’s so stupid.” She encouraged, with her own flavor of sweetness. She eyed him tenderly as he looked back at her, and looking into each one of her eyes, lowered his raised hand and itched his nose, as though playing demure.

“Ah, it’s nothing. Really, Chichi.”

“Oh, don’t start that!” Chichi patted the ground by the blanket. “I don’t care what anyone says, you’re not a fool who can’t have his own opinions and thoughts! Even if you aren’t very well educated, you still know the most important lesson in life!”

Her ‘matter-of-factly’ spoken words intrigued him, as he came to hover over to her and then plopped down quite swiftly. His action made wind whirl up and she had to adjust her hair and keep herself seated--”Oh!” she caught herself from being gusted away, but continued to smile like a doting wife.

“But, Chichi… you call me dumb sometimes.” He mentioned innocently.

“I call you a dumb sweetheart.” She stuck her nose up in the air, as though defiant.

“H-how’s that any different?” He looked nervous saying that, but she pinched his cheek and watched him flail a bit in her grasp. “A-ah-wah! Chichi, that hurts!”

“Because I’m your wife, that’s why!” she released her cruel hold on him and then scooted closer to him, cuddling up and leaning on his large, muscled chest. “Now then~” She went back to being her own personal brand of affectionate. “What’s so great about the sky and sea that it takes your attention away from your adorable wife?” she cooed.

“Uhh… the fact that it reminds me of you, I guess.” He relaxed and leaned back, letting her lean on him and holding them both up with his arms keeping them from both falling back. “The sea reflects the sky… or does the sky reflect the blue of the sea?” he wondered, “The lake is so small, kinda like an eyeball.” He then looked down at Chichi, seeing her intently listening to him, her eyes looking up to him. “If I’m the sky, then I can see my reflection in your eyes, Chichi.” He commented, but then looked away as her eyes began to twinkle as though he had swept her off her feet. “But then… doesn’t that mean I reflect you in me? The sky has clouds, which are parts of the sea. Does that mean… even though I don’t know if you can see me in you, that there’s still a piece of you that’s always with me?”

“Oh, Goku!!!~” Chichi charged into him in a tight embrace, almost pushing him back if it weren’t for how his arm was like a steel beam, and wouldn’t knock him over no matter how hard she tried.

“W-woah, Chichi! Are you mad?” he kept one hand extended out and away from her, mostly due to surprise and confusion.

“No, you silly idiot!” she had tears in her eyes, “I just love you so much, you goof!” she tried to hold back her tears but he just blinked down at her.

Then, a smile slowly swept over his face and he sat up, sitting indian-style and embracing her tenderly back, careful to not hold her too tightly.

“I love you too, Chichi.”

And now, you’re all jealous of how good My Goku is!~<3 Well, admit it! He’s the best husband in the world! We did end up catching some giant and ugly alien invading fish, but they and their eggs sure did taste good at our family dinner~

Goku once told me he had thought back to the first day we met… okay, fine, I gave him a friendly knock on the head for him to think harder about that time, and he finally told me how he really was glad he met someone like me. I asked if he had met any other girl he may have married if she had been more adamant about it like I was… I was,... ehem, going through a bit of a phase--but Goku has always held me close, and said the same thing.

“No matter what, I love you, Chichi.”

Now here’s your tissues, cause that’s what love is, people!!! And none of you are ever taking my Goku, or our beautiful family, away from me~

Goku and his family pose for a group picture, and right before the flash and while Goku was leaning down over Chichi’s shoulder to throw up a ‘peace sign’ and grin widely, Chichi jumped up and kissed his cheek.

His face was priceless, a look of innocent surprise, which she framed in her kitchen. Now, whenever she cooks, she opens the window and looks out over the sky… she always gets sad if there aren’t any clouds… but remembers how Goku sees the world… that in her eyes, he’ll always be there, smiling back and saying, “I love you, Chichi.”

[snarkwrites]

03 | gangsta, sweetpea

Notes:

Honestly, I do not know where I got the idea for this chapter beyond just.. Wanting to throw Sweetpea and Alyssa together in situations to see how it worked. I think it was cute? Probably not logical IRL, but this is fanfic. And some people just can’t deal with the smell of formaldehyde or dissections. Facts because I am one.. I think I might have gone a little overdramatic with some areas in how it played out, but I just decided to lean into it because it made things interesting.

Annnyway. another chapter absolutely noone asked for but I totally needed to write, apparently. Lmaooo.

Summary:

Opposites attract. But when they can’t fight that attraction any longer, will there be a comforting warmth, an inferno from the sparks, or a messy explosion?

Pairing:

Sweetpea x Andrews!OFC, Alyssa.

Warnings:

Angst. Slow burn. Eventual filth. Typical teenage drama. Embarassing situations. Boyfriends behaving like oblivious idiots. Pining. Language. Fighting / Violence. Going to go on a limb and say that this is kind of non canon compliant.

As far as this chapter goes.. The class did a dissection. But given the nature, I went as vague as possible in describing it. There’s mention of fainting and the fact that Alyssa wants to puke at one point, but beyond that, there’s really not much.

Other Parts:

[ one - two - soundtrack ] 

Other Stuff:

[ faq - tag list doc ] 

Tagging:

@brithedemonspawn​ 

- if you wanna be tagged in this fic or in my riverdale writing tell me. I’ll happily add you to my tag list thing.

                                         THREE.

I wasn’t expecting Toni to actually spare me a passing glance the next day, let alone look up from reapplying my makeup to find her standing behind me when I turned around after shutting my locker.

Reggie’s throat cleared and I felt him tense up almost immediately. I nudged him in the side, shaking my head “No” at him before he even got a chance to start.

But he went and did it anyway.

“What do you want?” Reggie spoke before I could.

I couldn’t resist the smirk that came when Toni flicked her eyes over him dismissively before deadpanning, “ I came to talk to Cherry. Not you. Pound sand.”

Reggie eyed me.

“I’ll catch up to you, Reg.”

He refused to budge and I felt my jaw clenching.

“I’m not leavin you by yourself. Not after what happened with the Ghoulie in the hall yesterday.” Reggie folded his arms over his chest. Speaking up with a calm smirk. “Whatever you gotta say to princess, you can say to me too.”

Toni studied him, unimpressed. “Where was this energy when a Serpent handled that Ghoulie you speak of, hm? Now you wanna play the protective boyfriend?”

I tensed a little, shooting her a pleading glance. She eyed me a second or two but luckily, she let the issue drop.

We started to walk towards the direction of our classrooms, talking about music and bands we’d seen live, basically continuing our conversation from the afternoon before when we’d been lounging on the bank down by the quarry.

“Hey, we’re gonna go hang out by the quarry this afternoon if you wanna come with again.” Toni slipped it in just as we got to the door of Biology. Reggie tensed even more, his gaze settling on me as if to ask what she meant by again.

I honestly didn’t give it a second thought, smiling and nodding, a lazy shrug. “Yeah. I mean the Vixens aren’t practicing and pretty much done all the stuff around my dad’s. Hey, remind me around lunch and I’ll go by my dad’s after school and grab that mix tape.”

“Definitely. I’ll see you later.” Toni smiled at me and gave Reggie a dismissive eye roll and as she walked away, Reggie spoke up. Calm and firm.

“Absolutely not. Are you out of your mind, babe? They’re in a gang. Is that where you were when you blew off school and practice yesterday afternoon? I thought you were at home. That prick Sweetpea wasn’t with you… Right?”

Reggie looked far less cocky when his eyes met mine. Almost as if he felt threatened by my choice to branch out. Stop losing myself in this person I was becoming. I’d talked to Archie the night before and Archie had basically told me that he’d been able to tell something was bothering me for weeks now, since even before Reggie and I became a thing. He thought I was homesick.

I’d explained to him how I’d been feeling out of place. Like an imposter because everyone in Riverdale either only knew the me I’d been presenting since I moved back, or remembered me as his younger sister only and that it bugged me because I wasn’t the same person they remembered or were expecting.

He basically told me that as long as being myself didn’t mean sneaking off to frat parties and older boyfriends or anything dangerous, if it made me happier, I should try just being myself more. He seemed to think that I might be surprised by how people reacted to it and sadly, from the looks of it, my own boyfriend was not going to be one of those who welcomed any sign of change.

,, because when you’re truly being yourself, you know he’d never be able to control you, let alone begin to be able to keep up with you. The balance of power is off now and he’s insecure.” 

It worried me, more than I cared to admit.

I didn’t want anything to come between us. I didn’t want to fight with him all the time like we’d been doing lately. I just wanted to enjoy being his girlfriend.

“What if I was, huh? They’re normal. You talk like they’re all hardened criminals or something.”

“What’s this like.. A random act of charity?” Reggie eyed me, searching my face for any hint of an answer. 

,, maybe the random act of charity is the time I’ve been spending pretending to be someone I’m clearly not.” the thought came but I stopped myself from giving voice to it. I sighed and shook my head, disappointed that Reggie was having such a hard time grasping the fact that I could be friends with whoever I wanted… Not excluding Toni Topaz.

Because we’d just kind of clicked. And I actually wanted to be friends with her.

“Reggie, if you really care about me, you’ll lay off this.” I said it as patiently as I could.

“It’s because I care about you, princess, that’s exactly what I’m not gonna do. They’re dangerous. Half of ‘em have a rap sheet as long as this hallway! What if they do somethin and you happen to be out with them, huh? How are you gonna explain that you were just there and not taking part?”

“Do you have to die on this hill?” I asked, giving him a pleading look. 

The last thing I wanted right now was yet another argument with him. But the way he kept assuming he knew me like the back of his hand was starting to get exhausting. I wasn’t that same shy sweet little pushover I’d been when we were kids. I mean, I was still the same girl who hid with him in a tunnel on the playground and split a Hostess cupcake when his father came to collect him and happened to see him mess up a pass while just playing a casual game of toss the football with my brother and the other boys and started to yell and cut him down in front of everyone… I was still her, but I was also different... In so many ways.

“I’m willing to, yeah. Why’s this matter so much?” Reggie studied me intently. 

I swallowed hard and took a deep breath or two to calm myself down. “It matters because I’m not the girl you think I am, okay? You’ve had this image of me built up in your head since I moved back and I’m sorry to say it, I’m not her anymore. I’m not the quiet little kid who used to hide behind my brother or tag along with you guys to play in the park like a lost puppy.” 

“You’re not a Serpent, either, princess.” Reggie explained, a coaxing tone as he raised a hand, resting it against my cheek. “That’s one thing I like about you, okay? You were always the one to take in the strays. All I’m saying is there’s a time and a place for that and now is not the time. They don’t like us any more than we like them.”

“Don’t lump me in with the rest of you.” I glared up at him. “ As far as your earlier question as to whether this is a random act of charity, no. It’s actually not. I enjoyed talking to Toni yesterday.”

Reggie’s brows raised. “Why?”

I shrugged. “We have a lot in common.”

“Yeah, not likely.”

I took a deep breath. Trying to stay patient. Trying not to push this conversation even further into argument territory.

Because I knew that despite the way it felt, Reggie was only doing this because he cared. He didn’t really have any ill intent. He was merely being overprotective. Probably to make up for the rough time we’ve had being on the same page for nearly three weeks now.

Because I’d be lying to myself if I tried to pin all our fighting lately on the fact that Sweetpea was my Biology partner and Reggie was jealous because this started before that. I’d put it off to tension then, but maybe it was just me, starting to realize that no matter how hard I tried, things just weren’t working.

Before that thought could rear it’s ugly head again, I shoved it back down.

We walked into class and I sat down in my seat. Drumming my pencil against the desktop.

From beside me, Sweetpea spoke up. I didn’t have to be looking at him to know he was smirking when he made the remark, either. “Trouble in paradise, cherry?”

“Sweetpea, not today.” I muttered quietly, fixing my gaze intently on the open text book between us. The teacher rolled in the specimens we were supposed to dissect and my stomach rolled as the scent of formaldehyde filled the air.

I could feel my breakfast creeping back up my throat slowly. I took a deep breath.

That was probably the first way I fucked up.

As soon as we got our specimen, I grimaced. Gingerly picking up the scalpel. I could feel myself getting paler in the face by the second. Sweetpea grabbed the scalpel from me and eyed me with a brow raised. Pointing away from us. “If you’re gonna hurl, do it towards that side. Not into vomit on my leather.”

“I’m fine.”

Except, oh no. No I was not fine.

And the scent of formaldehyde was so thick in the air that I honestly felt a little dizzy…

XXX

She almost looked green.

Sweetpea shot a glance back towards the back of the classroom where Mandy and Reggie were absorbed in their conversation… More to the point, Reggie was so caught up in Mandy pouring on the dramatics that he hadn’t spared a single glance towards his actual girlfriend. The thought had Sweetpea’s jaw clenching tight. Alyssa’s hands shook as she picked up the scalpel.

“Give me that.” Sweetpea reached out, taking the scalpel. Because shaking hands and a sharp object in their grasp was never a good idea. He’d been around enough to know that if the person with the knife had a shaky hand, more often than not, things tended to get messy.

,, right and this has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that even the thought of her injured kind of makes you physically ill lately. You did move that entire fight between the team and your boys to a vacant lot because you weren’t willing to risk her rushing out to try and stop it and getting hurt by somebody...” his mind taunted him, but he shoved the thought right out of his head. And then more thoughts came.

Like a replay of the argument he’d caught the tail end of between Alyssa and Reggie as he shoved past them to take his own seat. The way she actually didn’t fold under the pressure of Reggie’s argument, but stood her ground instead. Admitting that she enjoyed talking to Toni and she wasn’t going to stop just because it made Reggie Mantle uncomfortable.

Maybe he’d written her off a little too quickly.

He made the first cut in the specimen sitting between them and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Luckily he happened to, because he saw her swaying a little right as the color drained from her face completely and she started to slump just a little. He grabbed her up quickly and shoved through the aisle, pushing open the door of the classroom to step out into the hallway, completely ignoring the threat of yet another detention from their Biology teacher.

“Did you not see her about to pass out?” Sweetpea snapped as he peered back in the door of the classroom. Their teacher stepped out into the hallway, giving him a firm warning look as he pointed to the classroom and Sweetpea clenched his fist, grumbling. Lingering for a few seconds before the teacher spoke up in a crisp tone, “Inside now. Unless you enjoy a month of Saturday detention.” before turning attention back to Alyssa, trying to make sure she was alright. 

Alyssa met his gaze over the teacher’s shoulder, flashing him a weak smile, giving him a pleading look as the teacher warned him a third time to go back into class. “Sweetpea just go, I’m fine. I’ll be back inside soon.”

Sweetpea eyed her a second or two and finally stepped into the classroom, shutting the door behind him. Turning to find himself body to body with an angry Reggie Mantle. Glaring at him.

“I know you didn’t touch my girl, Serpent.”

“Would you rather me touch her or have her crack her head on the floor, dog?” Sweetpea stood taller, cracking his knuckles. Nodding to Reggie’s lab partner, who was grumbling and pouting, rolling her eyes because all the attention had been taken off her. Sweetpea stepped closer, smirking at Reggie, “Mad because you weren’t paying attention and another guy picked up your slack, asshole?”

Reggie went to shove him but the teacher’s throat cleared from behind the two, putting an end to the confrontation.

“This isn’t over, Serpent.”

“ I can do this all year, Bulldog. Just gives me the joy of kicking your ass over and over.”

“Enough you two!” the teacher yelled, silencing both males. “You two can settle whatever this is off of school grounds. In your own time. Understood?”

Sweetpea smirked, rolling his shoulders. “Gladly.” he muttered as he stormed over to his seat.

Alyssa made her way back in and over to the seat beside him, not looking at anyone in the room instead, burying herself in the text. Letting Sweetpea make the cuts as she pointed out the parts of their specimen’s anatomy they had to label and show.

XXX

“Are you okay, princess?”

“I’m fine, Reggie. For the thousandth time. I guess the smell of formaldehyde got to me. It happened at my old school once in eighth grade. I’m just embarrassed.” I answered. The scent was still stuck in my nose. It drifted through the entire hallway.

I knew I should’ve gotten my dad to write me a note so I could go and sit with the other students who’d chosen to opt out. It slipped my mind.

From across the table, Mandy spoke up. “ What was worse? That freak putting his hands on you or almost fainting in front of everybody?” with a smirk as she gazed at me.

Reggie tensed and I gave Mandy a dirty look. “Almost fainting in front of everybody. Hands down. Can we not call him a freak? He’s not in a side show. And he’s not any different than the rest of us.”

“He’s  from South Side. Of course he’s different.” Mandy looked at me as if I’d grown two additional heads. I rolled my eyes and went quiet.

Irritated by her remarks.

Irritated by her in general.

Reggie cleared his throat, taking a bite of his burger. Nodding to mine. Coaxing me to eat. I shook my head, glancing at the burger in disgust. “I’m good.”

“You need food, princess.”

“If the drama queen doesn’t want to eat, Reggie, don’t make her. She could stand to lose a few pounds anyway.”

I tensed. Under the table, my fists clenched. Since I moved back to Riverdale, Mandy’s had it in for me. And she doesn’t bother hiding it.

And I was sick of playing nice. Looking stupid when I know what she’s about.

It wouldn’t have flown in my old school, why was I letting it fly here?

Was it really worth it to just come off like a doormat? I was really questioning my logic on that front a lot lately, it seemed.

I smirked at her and bit my lip. The smirk was replaced with a smile as I spoke up. “In that case, maybe you should skip the ice cream. Since we’re talking about losing a few pounds here. Just trying to help.”

Mandy’s jaw dropped and I shrugged, going back to my cell phone to scroll my Snapchat. Checking the stories of my old friends from my school in Chicago. Responding to a few snaps they’d sent me.

“ Mandy you’re so fuckin rude.” Reggie spoke up, surprising me. I kept my gaze fixed on my phone and Mandy shrugged as if his criticism rolled right off her. “I was just trying to be helpful.”

“You were being a bitch.” Reggie grumbled, fixing his eyes on me. He leaned in and asked quietly, “You wanna get outta here?”

I eyed him, biting my lip. Something told me if I hadn’t had my little incident in the lab, Reggie wouldn’t be trying so hard right now.

,, maybe that’s not true, you don’t know that..” my mind argued.

“It’s okay. I don’t like her enough to give a shit if I’m being honest.” I muttered, making Reggie chuckle quietly and smirk at me. “That’s my girl. It’ll be okay. People are totally gonna forget by last period, you’ll see.”

“It is what it is.” I shrugged, eager for the conversation to switch topics.

XXX

Toni caught up to Alyssa in the hallway, tapping her shoulder. Alyssa turned around, smiling. For a second or two, Toni thought she’d beg off. Change her plans under pressure. She rolled her eyes at Reggie when their gazes met. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah! Just give me a second.”

Reggie’s facial expression told the tale. He was not even remotely happy with being stood up.

“Babe, you were gonna watch me practice.. Remember?” Reggie butted in, pouting at her. reaching out to pull her close to him. Alyssa hugged him and gazed up at him, biting her lip, a patient look on her face.

Toni watched their interactions with amusement. The panic was plain to see on Reggie’s face. She found herself scowling at him. The guy was a fuckboy. For the life of her, she hoped for Alyssa’s sake the whole interest in him was just a phase because guys like that only hurt people...

“Reggie, I can watch you tomorrow. It’s just one afternoon.” Alyssa held firm, surprising Toni. Maybe she hadn’t been wrong to trust her gut like Sweetpea and Fangs insisted she was going to be proven to be.

After a whispered exchange of heated words, Alyssa jogged over, grumbling and rolling her eyes at the whole thing. Smiling at her. “Hey, if you want, we can stop by my dad’s together. Oh and the construction site. I usually take him a snack when  I get in.”

“Aww, that’s cute.” Toni gave her a gentle but teasing smile, nodding. “Let’s go.”

They took off, falling back into conversation. Losing track of everything else.

After stopping by Alyssa’s to pick up the food for her dad and the mix tape she’d promised to lend Toni, they found themselves wandering around. Flopping on the grass at the park, watching the clouds roll overhead.

“ What made you join the Vixens anyway?”

“Cheryl strongarmed me into it. They needed a gymnast. I used to hate the cheerleaders at my old school.”

“ You’re the only halfway cool Vixen I’ve met so far.” Toni admitted, shrugging.

Alyssa stood, holding out her hand. Pulling Toni off the grass. “Let’s do something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. What is there to actually do in Riverdale if we’re being honest?” Alyssa joked, making them share a laugh.

“Oh.. Oh.. no, you’d probably hate that idea.”

“No, what?”

“There’s a Mortal Kombat machine in the Wyrm…”

“Pretty sure Fangs and Sweetpea would be thrilled about me showing up there.” Alyssa mulled it over before smirking a little. “Okay, let’s go. It beats absolutely not shit to do here.”

“Don’t let them get to you. They’ll be assholes until they warm up to you.”

“Sweetpea confuses me? Like.. I know he’s being a jerk over half the time, then he does something like he did in Biology this morning and I don’t know what to think.. Anyway, I need to just not worry about it either way.” Alyssa tried to dismiss it, but Toni smirked to herself.

Determined not to just let her dismiss it.

Because any idiot could see what was going on.

Or she could, at least.

“No, what do you mean?”

“You know what I mean… Sometimes I feel like.. I don’t know… Like he’s trying too hard to be an asshole?”

“Oh no, he’s an asshole. Mega grouch. But you’re right. He does have his moments.” Toni kept things vague enough that she wasn’t putting her best friend Pea in any compromising positions, but she hoped that she said enough to get Alyssa really thinking.

It wasn’t like they were close enough friends just yet that Toni could go and tell her that she just needed to open her eyes. Pick a better boyfriend, because Reggie Mantle only liked the idea of her. Or the her that he’d known years ago from what she’d been hearing around school.

,, not to mention there’s the whole conversation you happened to overhear about there being a bet between Reggie and some Chuck asshole about getting in her pants..” the thought came but Toni shoved it down. Because how did you go about telling someone something like that?

Especially when you really didn’t know them well at all.

She didn’t want to lose a friend she was only just getting to know yet. She just needed to come up with a way to break it to Alyssa so that Alyssa understood. And wasn’t hurt or embarrassed or angry. So that Alyssa believed her.

Because she was disgusted with the fact that the guy had done that in the first place. The fact that she’d had the misfortune of overhearing only made things worse...

[moviediary]

She’s All That (1999)

Rich and popular makes a bet with his “friend”, whose personality is pretty much summed up by the fact that he has frosted tips, that he can turn any girl into the prom queen after getting dumped by his longtime girlfriend. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I love this movie, but every time I watch it I can’t help but be amazed at how absurd it is. I mean, cliché plot aside, every individual piece that makes up this 1 hour and 30 minute ode to the individual is completely insane. What universe does this take place in? What high school do they go to?

That being said, I really like the opening shots to this movie, it definitely gives you a good introduction to the main character. Laney Boggs. She’s political and messy and 100% down to her bones an art student. She isn’t afraid to be dark.

In contrast I feel like the first meeting of the main love interest really doesn’t set him up to be who the writers want you to think he is. I mean he rolls up to school in a bright yellow Jeep with a Mr. Prez vanity plate. Then you see his shoes when he gets out of the car, fuckin’ ugly ass leather loafers. I’m sorry I know this means nothing I just have a hard time believing this jock wears these fucking shoes they’re so god damn ugly.

Every moment that introduces him makes it seem like he should be the villain, he has pretty much no redeeming qualities that we can see besides his wit (barely) and good looks. I just don’t understand why we’re supposed to like him, this is Sixteen Candles all over again. Hot rich guy, is an asshole, for some reason I still root for and love him. How does that work? What makes these characters so grossly likable? I mean, his name is Zack. That alone raises a red flag for me. That’s a frat boy asshole name. Zacks are friends of Kyle that’s all I’m saying.

Once we get through his painfully douchey introduction we get introduced to Zack’s equally douchey friends frosted tips and Gus from psych. (don’t ask me what their actual names are it’s not important anyway, that is essentially their personalities) The first thing we hear is them talking about summer break and their vacations, further driving home how rich they are and how weird it is that adults write movies about teenagers having gratuitous amounts of sex with adults. Then Zach tries unsuccessfully to say something philosophical about them graduating soon (I have to keep reminding myself that he’s supposed to have like the 4th highest GPA in their class) They then meet the most 90s girls I have ever seen. Who I guess are supposed to be popular? One thing I do like is how diverse all the characters are, they don’t all look exactly the same which I feel tends to be a problem with high school movies.

So we finally meet the “popular girl” Taylor Vaughn, Zack’s girlfriend and she immediately breaks up with him (which honestly is probably a good idea anyway) and his “friends” fucking laugh at him which he really had coming. I mean. Look at his hair. 

This launches what is probably one of my favorite narrated flashback scenes of all time, not because the topic is particularly interesting but because I love the way they have Zach interrupt her inside of the flashback. It’s a very small addition that really gives the scene style. Also we see this hot girl start dating Shaggy??? Also one of the villains from the original Scream???( he only really plays one character.) Makes me laugh every time. Also makes me a little uncomfortable every time since she’s in high school and he’s who knows how old but whatever not important. This also leads to one of my favorite exchanges in the whole movie. 

Taylor wraps up her spring break story time with one of the rawest lines I've ever seen in a 90s movie (she really did that to him) and the director throws in a classic high school movie trope, everyone actually caring enough to stop and watch this exchange. And while I usually hate this kind of character worship, since this movie is already so bizarre and unrealistic it actually kinda fits

We then cut to Laney’s art class which includes her teacher that for some reason thinks her art isn’t personal enough and two clown obsessed Lydia Deetz knock offs. I have to say I do love this part where the art students literally suggest that she kill herself in order to have her art recognized. Very realistic conversation between art students. 

That whole scene is really funny though because it doesn’t feel like it belongs in this movie. Even the music doesn't fit which is only emphasized by the sudden bell ringing transition back into a stereotypical high school movie. It reminds me of movies like the craft, the way it’s cut together, the way the characters talk, how Laney just stares straight ahead after not saying anything. It seems like she could have chosen a completely different movie to be in. Like if the movie was a chose your own adventure, she could have been in a different genre entirely and the movie would have been about her and those girls faking her death to get recognition and make money from her paintings. which would have been sick. but that isn't the movie I’m watching. Which I’m reminded of when fucking Zack comes back on screen.

Also right before the scene where the actual bet is introduced we meet the school’s resident DJ??? which isn’t important at all but is so strange that I feel the need to point it out. Like they don’t just have a guy who does the announcements they have like a disc jockey who is just there all the time??? There are just so many little things in this movie that make it so weird.

So fucking Brock pukashells pulls up and Zach just flips. Which is understandable it is a very gross moment but he just fucking goes off about Taylor and how she’s not that great and he could get with any girl in the school. His friends point out that bitch boy forgot that Taylor Vaughn is “an institution” and basically Zach with tits. She’s very important. This is something I never get about movies like this, has anyone actually been to a high school where someone was that well known. But also not liked? Like sure she’s hot, but she’s also a grade A bitch to everyone. and according to Zach nothing more than a C minus GPA in a Wonderbra. 

Once you get through the misogyny plus ultra scene and they finally make the bet, frosted tips has picked the girl Zach has to turn into the prom queen. Scary inaccessible Laney Boggs. He’s got 6 weeks to make her popular. He starts off his first exchange with her in the best way possible. By calling her brother Spaz (as his name). Again, we’re supposed to like this guy I think. I don’t know when he’s supposed to become a likable character but I can’t imagine it’s during all these scenes where he just legit insults people.

I also love all of the clips we get to see from Brock’s time on The Real World Which make me really question why all the girls fan girl over him given that he’s actually the worst, even on the show. We also get introduced to Zack’s sister who probably should have been a lesbian given how queer coded her character is besides the fact that she desperately wants a boyfriend. She even goes to an all girls school it would have been perfect. But alas, this movie is gay-less.

We are then introduced to another b-plot in this movie, Zack’s indecision about college. This was I guess to make him more human? or something? To sort of flesh him out and give him problems but honestly he doesn't have any problems. Later in the movie Laney points this out to him, he can do whatever he wants. This whole college thing is resolved fairly quickly later in the film too, it’s not very important it’s just the only thing we see about Zack besides being a perfect high schooler throughout the whole movie. Well that and his terrible performance art and being an asshole. 

After we see that Zack has been accepted by every Ivy League school and their mother (I’m not jealous I swear) we take a brief Taylor being a bitch detour before getting back to Zack making an ass of himself. This time he’s bothering Laney at her job which is awesome we love that. Again I don’t know why we like this guy he does like 3 nice things the whole movie. Anyway she gets defensive like she always does and he fumbles around trying to talk like he’s a normal person and not a walking cliché and then there’s this really strange exchange where he tries to asked her for help in art classes and she says “you don’t take art” and he’s like “how do you know?” and she’s like “Why haven't I seen you in any of my classes?” and like, I get what they were going for but what kind of high school is this? how does she have time to take more than one art class? How is she already an art major before she’s in college that’s not how high school works. I only ever had one school where I could take more than two extra curriculars and that was in middle school and it was only because they fucked up and put me in four hours of study hall and so I just went to all of the art classes that were offered. But that’s different. And am I way over analyzing this movie? yes. Does anyone but me care about this shit? probably not, but I’m gonna talk about it anyway.

I also really like Laney’s best friend who’s kind of just there, all the time, he’s such a good wing man. He also made the best excuse to get out of seeing that weird ass art show she’s in. He’s like, oh good I don’t have to see another Mitch show. He’s probably in his underwear in all of them, I wouldn’t want to go either. I think it really says something about the performance art world though, because this is probably the most believable part of the whole movie. If someone told me that his is just an actual performance art piece that they used in this movie I would absolutely believe them. Also one of the weird gremlins in this piece says what is probably my favorite quote ever which is “my soul is an island, my car is a Ford” like what the fuck is that I love that so much.

I really want to know how they came up with this shit, it’s so perfect. It also is another one of these parts in the movie that doesn’t really add anything. A lot of the movie is like this, I feel like 90% of this movie is weird filler scenes and the rest in plot. Like it’s so obvious how it’s going to end that you barely even need to watch most of the movie, and even when you do watch most of the movie it always kind of feels like it only half has something to do with the plot. I’m not even going to talk about the weird hacky Sack scene, I can’t handle how embarrassing and cringey it is I pretty much always skip through it. What a dick move of Laney’s to even put him in that situation. The whole “your eyes are really beautiful” scene is also really strange, both his lines and her reaction don’t really make sense. Through most of this movie when they actually talk to each other I feel like they don’t have any chemistry. It’s the same when he subtly blackmails her into going to the beach with him. He’s awkward and barely says anything that prompts a response and then she just goes full WOKE EMO on him and like, they really do have nothing in common I do not understand their relationship. And then his friends show up and he’s like, “If we’re gonna be friends we’ll have to deal with them eventually” which like, 1: wow get some friends you actually like maybe? And 2: how are you guys friends, you’ve barely ever managed to exchange civil words on screen. Actually maybe that makes sense, this is why he thinks this is okay (besides the whole bet thing) maybe he doesn’t realize he’s supposed to actually like his friends and girlfriend. Because it really seems like he doesn’t like any of them, which I get. Except for Gus (not his name but whatever) because that guy’s actually pretty funny and spends the whole movie calling frosted tips out whenever he sounds too much like Kenny from Can’t Hardly Wait.

The whole beach scene is kinda take it or leave it too, there are a lot of moments where we see Laney hang out with Zack and other people but honestly through the whole movie there really isn’t a whole lot of growth. We don’t actually really see them bond or talk, we’re supposed to believe their relationship is growing but I guess that must be happening off screen because I don’t see it.

One of my favorite parts is when Zack forces the JV soccer team to clean Laney’s house, the kid answering the jeopardy question and her dad just realizing they were there. Oh man, gets me every time. The makeover scene is also pretty cute, I always love those. Also the whole “new, not improved, but different Laney Boggs” thing is adorable and I appreciate it.

The evolving of the characters and their relationships don’t happen gradually, what little is actually shown is pretty much in like 3 parts, the opening, the party scene, and the end. The characters are very flat for most of the movie and they have very little personality, but the party scene is very fun to watch. From “Gracias, papi!” to Laney turning Misty into a clown, and then the Give it to Me dance sequence. And even though the characters haven’t really given me a good reason to care about them my heart still hurts a little for Laney when Taylor ruins her dress. That’s the thing about this movie, I shouldn’t care, I shouldn’t like these characters, but I still do, and I have no idea why.

The Brock dumping Taylor thing was great, the parallel was expected but I actually think it added to the story. In fact most of the things after the party actually feel necessary to the movie which is nice. Even the soccer practice actually leads to something. I don’t know what it is about the 2nd quarter of this movie that feels so empty but whatever it is it’s enough that I saw a noticeable difference when I got to the third act of this movie.

It’s a small part but I also really love the alternative clubs that make signs in favor of Laney for prom queen. They’re just so fucking funny to me. I mean, Hygiene club? Prisoners club??? What?

Then they pull another fast feelings thing on me again. They throw the mom painting scene at me and like, wow that’s sad. Then Zack tries to garner sympathy for the problems that he makes for himself. Then boom they flip on me again they’re cute and I like them. Then she says that weird thing about prom and he just dips man. And like, Why do they gotta do me like that? I cannot seem to decide if I like these characters or not it’s so weird how this dialogue is written.

And then the dream happens? Definitely one of the best scenes in the whole movie. So fucking perfect. It really just adds to the weird slight surrealness of this whole movie.

Then we go back to the school and suddenly everyone is dressing like Laney? In support I guess? Again can I just ask what fucking school they go to? And then there’s the beat boxing scene? Where they rap about who’s gonna be prom queen? I’ve never even met anybody that invested in the outcome of who’s gonna be prom queen except for those running. I don’t even think I know anybody who voted. Even so, I do love the beat box scene, they really spit some bars.

Also I just noticed that in that super fucked cafeteria scene, you can see Buffy make a cameo? Just a fun little trivia fact. But seriously that cafeteria scene is fucked. Like, the pubes on the pizza? I wish no one had thought of that ever. Also can I just say I would undoubtedly rather get my ass kicked than be forced to eat pubes. I don’t know what they were thinking that isn’t even a question.

It’s also really uncomfortable how good frosted tips is at acting like he’s not a douchebag. What a creep. If that were a real guy I’d be tempted to call him a sociopath. So gross. But I suppose it’s good for the story line.

The end of the movie wraps up pretty fast honestly. Zack’s dad and him finally communicate which fixes Zack’s only problem immediately because that’s just how easy it is. He was just projecting the whole time, his dad had literally no problems other than being a typical rich dad. Then of course we get another moment with the school DJ who I guess just gets to play and say what ever he wants whenever he wants. Am I the only one who thinks it’s really inappropriate how sexual that guy’s announcements about prom are? Maybe it’s just me and I had a really different high school experience but I feel like people are way too focused on sex when they make movies about high school. Other shit was going on you know? It’s just odd for me to think about grown adults writing and pitching this movie.

Zack really is such a bitch boy though, he doesn’t even try to explain anything to her, just lets her get hurt and lets Taylor be a bitch to her without saying anything. He doesn’t even try to tell her that frosted tips was just as much a part of it as he was. Honestly I kind of wish that frosted tips wasn’t such an asshole his whole heart to heart with her at the door before prom could have been really cute if I didn’t already know he was a lying scumbag. But I guess Laney just gets the lesser of the douchebags.

We finally get to the prom, inarguably the best part of the whole movie, all the little bits and pieces. The sex doll guy is always funny as hell. The DJ being the school DJ works really well brings a lot of closure to that whole weirdness. Also that dance scene is fucking great, has absolutely nothing to do with the plot, which actually works since about 40% of the things in this movie have nothing to do with the plot of this movie. I absolutely unironically tried to learn this dance, man I fucking wish prom was actually like this. I don’t know about you guys but for me, both of my proms were not nearly this theatrical. I spent my first one playing black jack the whole time and my senior prom was full of people that were way too white to dance. Anyway, Laney doesn’t win and she leaves early. Zack gives a pretty boring speech. Taylor goes off on everyone. Frosted tips tries to get Laney in bed and everyone gets upset.

The whole thing ends with Laney coming home to find Zach waiting for her to make sure she’s okay, which is sweet and all but like I can’t help wondering how long he had just been standing there waiting. Especially since it seemed like her dad was just ignoring him. That’s just a funny image to me. Anyway, they dance in the backyard. They kiss. It’s cute. Zack loses the bet so he accepts his diploma naked which I’m pretty sure is indecent public exposure but sure.

Overall it’s a very cute movie. The clichés are sort of made up for by all the weird 90s movie things. Plus it has a pretty great soundtrack. I know I sort of really went in on this movie but to be honest I really enjoy watching it. I’m not sure why. It’s pretty bad when you think about it any deeper than surface level. But it’s also just really fun and the characters are weird and there’s too many duffel bags to be normal and it’s just funny. It’s really weirdly funny. And it has that same non-conclusion that a lot of teen rom-coms have where they just can’t really give you all that much and just make sure they’re happy even if you know there is no way they can continue a relationship outside of high school. It may sound like it, but I’m not mad at it. If you haven’t already I’d say watch it. Watch it as a relaxing mindless good time activity. At the very least you won’t be bored, but if you get sympathy embarrassment like I do then maybe skip a few parts.

As of right now this movie is not available for free on any streaming sites (yes I own it on DVD don’t @ me)

Final Verdict:

Actual movie review: 6/10

How fun is it to watch?: 8/10

[bagels-and-seagulls]

Could you maybe write about jealous David? You have already written a beautiful piece about jealous Matteo and I would really love to see jealous David.

this took a while but here you go :)

The thing about David is that he was quick to react, quick to overreact. He likes to think of himself as calm, as cool-headed, as someone who thought before he spoke, but it was all a lie. David was never one to keep his temper, his fear, his disgust under a tight lid. Instead it spilled over like a pot that was too full of boiling water, and every single night the chef thinks to himself, I should use less water tonight. But then he doesn’t. He puts in the same cups every time, thinking that this time he actually poured in the right amount.

He thinks about this, about the sound of sizzling water hitting a burner, as he runs his fingers up and down Matteo’s spine. He’s laughing, loudly and openly, and usually Matteo’s laugh, especially one as bright as this, is enough to make the corners of David’s mouth turn up unconsciously, already feeding into the warmth that a happy Matteo usually brings him. But it isn’t doing anything now. The bright sound is actually making David’s jaw feel tighter than normal, like he’s waiting to snap but afraid at who.

Matteo puts his hand on David’s knee and squeezes it from where he’s agreeing profusely with whatever this Jacob guy is saying about video games. The sensation is enough to make David want to close his eyes, but the second Matteo removes his hand to start making some hand gesture, David’s back to glaring right through the base of Jacob’s skull.

David didn’t think that he was a jealous person. Jealousy is overrated, barbaric, unsophisticated, and frankly, David didn’t have time for it. He spent too long being a kid so envious of the way that the other boys and girls on the playground seemed to fit so easily into their body, so jealous of the casualness in the way they walked and talked and dressed, that one day he just decided he was over it, that he was too tired to deal with an envy scratching at the back of his neck anymore. David doesn’t think he’s been jealous since he was fifteen, since he was last looking into the boys’ locker room that he was barred from entering at his old school. No, he hasn’t been this sour since before he was trying to fit into his skin as some kid with a bone to pick with the rest of the universe, but then again, he never had Matteo before this. And suddenly he felt like a rabid dog with a T-bone waved right in front of his face when this guy smiles widely over at Matteo’s comment on graphics.

“Man, that extension is just so epic. I can’t believe they didn’t think of it in the first place!” Jacob practically screeched. The sound of his voice made something start ringing in David’s ears. He curled on of his hands into his fist until his nails were biting into his palm. The other one was pulling at the side of Matteo’s sweater.

“I haven’t played that one yet,” Matteo admitted. He started picking at the seam of David’s jeans, and it made David want to pull him closer by the hip until Matteo was practically in his lap. He hasn’t seen Matteo for more than an hour at a time in three days, and the contact with his sweetheart was making him feel more intoxicated than the three beers he’s downed in the last hour. He was half convinced that he could get high off of his scent alone if he thought it was acceptable to shove his face in Matteo’s neck and just inhale. But then again, maybe this wasn’t the desire to have his boyfriend close as much as David just wanted this Jacob guy to see that Matteo was off limits.

“Oh, really? I’ve got a copy. You could come by my place to try it out.”

David gritted his teeth and pulled at the back of Matteo’s shirt until they were pressed together all the way to their toes. This guy’s obvious flirting with his boyfriend was just getting down right disrespectful at this point. Jonas had introduced them to his new friend at the beginning of the night when they all clumped together in some bar to celebrate something that David has already forgotten about at this point, and Jacob seemed to catch an eye for Matteo immediately, even after David had introduced himself as Matteo’s boyfriend, a boyfriend who he shared a home with, and a history with, and a life with, and who was also seriously pissed off at Jacob’s complete disregard for him sitting right there, glued to Matteo’s side, not going anywhere anytime.

Matteo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, and David didn’t have the courage to look over, afraid that Matteo would see something ugly staring back, something David had never wanted him to see, something feral enough to spit out acid when it started growing from the bottom of his spine and made its way up to his heart where it was now. “Yeah, maybe Jonas and I could come by,” Matteo said slowly, still watching David.

And David knew that Matteo was just being polite, that he didn’t have a purposefully vicious bone in his body, that the idea of having people upset with him made him curl up against the wall, and he hadn’t said yes. He hadn’t agreed to hang out with guy, and he mentioned Jonas specifically to show that he wouldn’t come by on his own, that he wasn’t interested. But there was still something creeping around David’s gut that made him want to say something out of place for public, something brutal and mean and so full of spite and pettiness that none of his friends would ever look at him the same again, but he didn’t. He bit his tongue and clamped down his jaw because he didn’t want to fuck this up because he didn’t think before he spoke. Again.

Jonas must have been able to feel the tension growing at the table, even if this Jacob guy clearly hadn’t. “I’m going out for a smoke. Jacob, want one?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Matteo?”

And the sound of Matteo’s name coming out of this guy’s mouth made David’s knee jerk up and hit the edge of the table, and it was the only thing stopping him from slamming upright and getting in this guy’s face because he really just wasn’t getting it right now. But David could pretty easily make him. He wanted to make him see that he really wasn’t one to mess with, and by default, he shouldn’t try to mess with Matteo either, in any way.

Matteo gripped at David’s shoulder and let his nails dig into the skin. “Nah, I’m good, man,” he responded with a forced smile. Jonas nodded with a wide look in his eyes and dragged Jacob out by the elbow.

Matteo turned to David who was looking down at the table with his hands curled into tight in his lap.

“Why are you mad?” Matteo asked, his fingertips pressing down onto the knots in David’s neck, reading him like he’s worse than an open book. He hasn’t been able to hide anything from him yet, not that he thinks he would be able to after he handed over his entire soul, wrapped up in a bright yellow bow, and tucked in neatly into Matteo’s pocket what feels like lifetimes ago.

“I’m fine,” David bites out because he didn’t want to do this, not to Matteo, not ever.

“Whatever it is, I didn’t mean to,” Matteo said quiet and sad, and it broke David’s heart in half because his sweet boy thought that he was the one making ants crawl under his skin when he’d done nothing but be polite and courteous the entire night. And David is reminded that he thought he was over this, that he finally got the right measurements for the water, but here he was boiling over again, burning the hand of the one person who didn’t deserve the heat.

“You didn’t do anything, Teo,” David said, and slid his arm back around Matteo’s back to haul him closer. He was looking at David with big eyes and a rosy hint to his cheeks that had the tension in David’s shoulders melting right out his muscles. “I’ve just had a long day.”

“Anything I can do?”

Right when David was about to open his mouth to answer, Jonas and Jacob come back and plop themselves back in their seats. “So what’s the move, boys?” Jonas asks, throwing back a gulp of his beer.

David shakes his head to try and get it to clear some when Matteo pushes himself away from the table, pulling David up with him. “Sorry, man. We’re headed home for the night,” he said with hooded eyes and a cocky smile that had David wanted to melt right out of his shoes. That certainly wasn’t there a second ago.

“What? No! Come on!” Jonas waved his arms around in protest.

“Sorry, bro,” he gave Jonas a face bump and wrapped an arm around David’s shoulders. “But why waste my time watching you strike out all night when I’ve got a hot boyfriend I haven’t spent some quality time with in a week? Ciao!” Matteo waves over his shoulder and pulls a stunned David away from the bar.

part two

send me prompts :))

[janisarkisian]

Silence of the Siren ch. 2

This is an AU where the Anarchist females + Narcissa are sirens, and the Renegades are lifeguards. If you want to read chapter 1, here it is. Note: This chapter is unedited.

Word Count: 1,840

Nova looked down at her plain outfit and sighed. Honey was going to another one of those stupid clubs, and she wanted Nova to go with her. What was the point? You dance, you meet a boy, you drink, you go home. She knew very well that Honey would not keep in touch with any of the boys, but that wasn’t her concern.

“Are you going?” she asked Narcissa. She shook her head no. Nova sighed again. How bad could it be? She couldn’t talk to anyone anyways, so she could just chill on her own. She didn’t have to talk to anyone.

“What do I wear?” Nova reluctantly asked Honey.

“Oh yes!” Honey squealed and disappeared into her closet. A few minutes later, Honey returned with a short, black lacy dress. It was immediate distaste for Nova. “You have to try it!” Honey insisted.

Nova sighed and disappeared into her own closet to change. When she was finished, Nova looked at her own appearance. She knew very well that she was beautiful. All sirens were. Ace made them worth it. Sometimes though, she felt very ugly. Before becoming a siren, Nova had always pictured herself ugly. Looking at herself as pretty was a hard habit to make.

Walking out of the closet, Nova heard Ingrid’s easily identified laugh. “I can’t believe you’re actually going!” she exclaimed. Nova simply rolled her eyes. Now that she knew Ingrid was in denial, she was going to have a good time simply to spite her.

Looking at her feet, Nova realized she was going to have to find some shoes. She sighed. She hardly ever wore shoes. As a siren, it was impossible to get hurt, so having foot protection was unnecessary. She knew that Ingrid felt the same way, but Honey would always wear shoes. They were yet another accessory for her to look stunning in.

She peered at her meager supply of shoes. All she had were a pair of sandals and a pair of tennis shoes. In the past ten years, Nova had not had one occasion to dress up for. That was the way she liked it.

“Honey!” she called, “I’m going to have to borrow a pair of shoes!” She heard Honey’s perfect squeal. A second later, Honey came running in the room with a pair of bright red heels.

“No,” Nova immediately protested. There was no way she could walk around all night in those. They were at least four inches high and looked like torture for feet.

Honey sighed. “Fine. I suppose I could find something a little more modest.” The look on Nova’s face immediately went grateful. If she was going to this club, she wasn’t torturing her feet as well.

Nova ventured into her closet. It wasn’t very full, mostly because Nova mostly wore tee-shirts and sweatpants. Occasionally, Nova went out of her comfort zone for the leggings Narcissa constantly raved about. They were nice, but Nova would always prefer sweatpants.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a slight glow from the back of her closet. She shoved away the shirts and revealed a pair of blue pumps.

Blue wasn’t the right way to describe them though. They were almost a glowing turquoise and reminded Nova immensely of the bracelet that always hung on her wrist. The last thing she had from her dad.

Nova knew that it wasn’t right to remember so much. Ingrid remembered none of her family, and Honey remembered only her mother. Narcissa was very lucky to remember her grandfather’s name. Nova knew more than that though. She remembered the names of all three of her family members and their personalities. She knew that Ingrid was worried about her, so she mostly kept these memories to herself. If she was feeling talkative, she would share a few memories with Narcissa.

“I don’t need the shoes!” Nova called to Honey. Curious, Honey peeked back at her. She gasped at the sight of the glowing blue pumps.

“Those are perfect!” she exclaimed.

“Glad you think so,” Nova responded. Both girls piled into Honey’s yellow sports club. That was another plus to being a siren. Ace supplied them with all the money they could ever want, so they never had to work. It was too risky. Honey started blasting the newest pop tunes. Nova didn’t care. It was hard to keep up with the latest trends when you’re practically immortal. She preferred the music from back when she was really sixteen.

She caught sight of the club before even their GPS. Honey gasped at the sight. It was in a tall building, and it was covered with neon lights. The sign read: The Merfolk.

“Get out your fake ID,” Honey whispered to her.

“Which one?” she responded.

Honey sighed. “I don’t care, just one that says your over twenty-one. We should have visited Ace before we came here. He could have aged us a little.”

Nova let out something between a laugh and a gasp. “You really think he would help us?” she asked sarcastically, “He only uses his powers for special circumstances, and I don’t think that going to a club counts.”

“You’re right, like always,” Honey sighed again. They pulled out their fake ID’s and flashed them to the man outside. Honey made sure to give him a good look at the extra-beautiful face. Nova simply rolled her eyes.

The man did let them in, and Honey immediately made it out onto the dance floor. Even though they couldn’t talk to anyone, she had always done an exceptional job at mingling and getting various lovers. In the past ten years, Nova had exactly zero lovers. She didn’t try, for fear that she might fall in love. This was a fear that stayed far down in her heart. Ace’s minion, Phobia, checked their fears every once in a while, to make sure they weren’t getting too attached to boys. Or anything else that could jeopardize their time as sirens. Nova couldn’t risk having a boy and getting discovered. She needed to be fully loyal to Ace. Phobia told her that was another one of her fears. Losing her loyalty to Ace. ------------------------------------------------------------------------

Why am I here? That question had cycled through Adrian’s head at least ten times since he arrived at The Merfolk. He had never been one for parties. That was always Ruby and Oscar’s thing. Even Danna seemed to be having a good time though. Adrian found himself a little jealous.

He wandered over to the bar. Legally, he was too young to drink, but Oscar had found them all fake ID’s to get into the club. Adrian was starting to think that he might need some alcohol to get through the night here.

Quickly, he banished the thought from his head. What would Dad and Pops say if they knew he had been drinking at a club? They wouldn’t approve of him being here in general, much less drinking. They thought he was having a team sleepover at Oscar’s. It wasn’t a full lie because they would be going to Oscar’s after the club. He sighed. Why was he here?

Taking a look at very distracted Oscar staring at Ruby, and Ruby dancing with some stranger, Adrian decided that no one would miss him if he simply lingered in the shadows for a while. He made his way over, and nearly bumped into someone. It was a girl with short, dark hair.

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was back here,” he apologized. The girl didn’t respond. She took out her phone and started typing what Adrian thought might be a text. Then, she held the phone out to him The note read: I’m mute, so I can’t talk. I can hear fine though. Your apology is accepted. Adrian nodded at the girl, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the message anymore. When she had held out her phone, Adrian got a good look at her face. Truthfully, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Mute or not, Adrian wouldn’t mind getting to know her.

“Are you here with someone?” he asked her. She started typing again. Her message read: Yes, my friend Honey.

Adrian nodded. “I’m here with my friends too. My friends Ruby and Oscar are dancing, with each other, I presume, and I’m sure Danna is at the bar. She’s like the vodka aunt of our group if you get what I mean.”

She nodded her head. Adrian continued, “If you look out there you can probably see them. Ruby has hair that’s dyed in layers of black and white, and Oscar has a cane. Danna’s wearing a muted orange dress.” The girl started typing again. The message read: It’s cool that you have such a cool friend group. I have two other friends named Ingrid and Narcissa, but they’re not here.

“Not the club type?” he asked her. She nodded and started typing again. This time it read: I’m not really either, but Honey really likes these places, so I figured I would give it a shot. I’ve now decided they’re not my thing.

This time it was Adrian who nodded. “I’m pretty much in your situation. Oscar and Ruby live for clubs, and even Danna seems to be having a good time, but I’m not really liking it. If they come back, I most likely won’t be with them.”

The girl looked like she was about to start typing when they both heard someone yell, “Where the heck is Adrian!”

When she typed again it said: Are you, Adrian?

“Yep,” he responded, “What’s your name?” She typed again: I’m Nova. “Cool,” he said, “Um Ruby’s obviously looking for me so I should go. I hope that I get to see you again soon.” She nodded yes, and Adrian left to go join his friends.

As Adrian and his friends piled into Oscar’s junky car, he saw Nova and who he presumed must be Honey, hop into the yellow sports car beside them. He wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he rolled down the window, and yelled, “Bye Nova!” She didn’t respond. Suddenly, he felt the weight of the stares of all his teammates on him.

“So who’s she?” Danna finally asked.

“Chill, guys, I just met her at the club.”

It was Oscar who spoke up next. “I’m pretty sure he’s in love.” Adrian smacked him in the arm. “What?” he asked him.

“I’m not in love with a girl I met twenty minutes ago, guys, chill.”

“That’s good,” Ruby responded, “We’d be seriously worried if you were.” Adrian simply sighed and started the car. Considering he hadn’t drunk anything, he figured it would be best if he drove. No one argued with him.

When they pulled into the driveway of Oscar’s house, they saw his mom glaring at them through the kitchen window. Before, Adrian would have said that any punishment they would get wasn’t worth it. After meeting Nova, he wasn’t quite so sure.

[admiralty-xfd]

Culmination

This is Chapter 4. To start at the beginning go here.

DEMARCATION I

(The End)

SCULLY

Diana Fowley.

Diana Fowley.

Even the sound of her name feels disgusting in her mouth.

Scully is not an idiot. She knows where these feelings are coming from. She’s always been territorial of Mulder, whether she’s willing to admit it or not. The thought of him having had any kind of personal, romantic relationship with some other woman feels foreign to her. It’s a side of him she rarely has to see or even think about.

Phoebe Green leaps to her mind, the only other woman she’s ever had to imagine linked romantically to Fox Mulder, her Fox Mulder. At the time it felt nonsensical for her to imagine that kind of claim over him. They’d been through a lot together even then, but it was silly to think of him that way. They weren’t dating. They weren’t having sex. They weren’t anything other than friends, work partners. She convinced herself she was being ridiculous and pushed those feelings aside. After a few days Phoebe Green was gone, out of both of their lives, and Scully’s thoughts rarely drifted there again.

But there’s something new lurking deep inside her now. This time, it feels different. Her stomach is full of knots and she feels ill. She’s terrified of the feelings this other woman has stirred inside her. Diana Fowley has had Mulder in a way that feels deeply personal: they discovered the X Files together. When the Lone Gunmen informed her of this, it was like a punch to the gut. The quest Scully and Mulder are on had actually begun with this other woman and it feels almost like a betrayal.

Why hasn’t Mulder ever mentioned her before? Had they been as close as she is with him? Has he shared things with her that he hasn’t shared with Scully? What was their partnership like?

Scully isn’t typically a jealous person, but something about Diana Fowley brings it out in her. And this jealousy is forcing her to confront the feelings she has for Mulder more intensely. She isn’t in any way ready to deal with this right now.

The Gunmen hadn’t elaborated much, and she hadn’t really wanted them to. It was embarrassing enough having to go to them in the first place about this. She couldn’t ask Mulder because she felt she knew the answer and didn’t want to hear him say it. But the Gunmen had said enough for her to know what she needed to know about the exact nature of this past relationship; this past relationship that has exploded into their present. This past relationship that is threatening their future. She isn’t sure how real the threat is at the moment but she doesn’t want to find out.

The jealousy, however, is real. She doesn’t recognize herself. It’s not like her to be thinking these things. Things like:

Diana Fowley probably buys everything Mulder sells to her. She probably subscribes to every theory, agrees with every notion.

And:

I’ll bet he likes that. I’ll bet he eats that up. It’s been a while.

Also:

She calls him “Fox.” And he lets her. Ugh.

“You really don’t like her, do you? That other girl.”

The small voice comes from the other side of the motel room and it’s a statement, not a question. It startles her. Scully has been so deep in thought she’d forgotten she’s in a room with a mind reader. She doesn’t want to believe it’s even possible Gibson Praise can read minds but she knows he can. How else could this little boy know what she’s thinking, how she’s feeling?

She sighs. “I guess I can’t lie to you, can I, Gibson?”

“She doesn’t like you, either.”

Scully doesn’t need a mind-reader to tell her this.

“I know, you probably don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Hey, Gibson? Any way I can ask you to cut that out for a bit?”

He shakes his head no. “I’m sorry, Agent Scully, I really would if I could. Believe me.” He turns his attention back to the television and she considers letting it go, but something makes her keep talking.

“This is all very personal, and complicated, and… grown up. I know you’re a very smart kid, but you are still a kid.”

He rolls his eyes. “I may be a kid, but I’ve seen enough ‘Friends’ to know what’s going on with you three.”

They sit in silence. Well, what’s silence to Scully. To Gibson, everything must be louder than life. The elephant in the room is large and in charge, and now that it’s been mentioned it’s nearly impossible for her to think about anything else.

She wonders if Gibson has taught himself how to do this, like a fisherman, extracting whatever thoughts he’s interested in like some special kind of magnet. Or perhaps he’s not interested in any of this at all, and her feeble excuse for a love life is just another television channel he can’t shut off.

“You like ‘Friends?’” She desperately tries to change the subject, put something in her mind other than thoughts that will make both of them uncomfortable.

“Yeah, it’s pretty funny.” He sounds companionable enough but he won’t face her, still looking straight ahead at the TV. She wonders if this is a tactic he uses to shut out unwanted thoughts. Maybe he can’t hear her anymore.

Which is your favorite Friend?

“Chandler probably,” he replies to the question she didn’t ask, without missing a beat. Well, so much for that.

She smiles and thinks of Emily for a brief moment. This kid reminds Scully a little bit of her. A smart, sweet kid with an entire potential future ahead of him but no one looking out for his best interests. She wonders yet again about the inherent cruelty of the world, and why some kids are subjected to it in such a way.

“You have a kid?” His voice brings her out of her dark thoughts and for the first time she’s grateful for it.

“I… did. She died though, a few months ago. I don’t really like talking about it.”

He looks truly sorry. “I’m sorry. If I’m not looking at you, it can be hard for me to tell when people are just thinking and when they’re actually talking. Especially when they say what they mean. That doesn’t happen very much.”

She smiles, finding this all so fascinating. This child is so amazing. There’s so much to be learned from him.

Her thoughts soon uncontrollably wander back to Mulder and Diana Fowley. They should be back here by now. They’re certainly together somewhere.

The jealousy rears its ugly head again. She can’t help but wonder what they’re doing, if she’s got her claws back in him yet. Maybe he’s kissing her. Maybe they’re having sex.

Stop it, stop. STOP THINKING ABOUT THINGS.

“You know, Agent Mulder really likes you a lot,” Gibson offers out of nowhere, startling her out of her uncomfortable reverie.

“Thank you, Gibson,” she says in a voice that clearly tells him that’s enough.

She does still have a job to do. She’s responsible for protecting him. She knows how important he is; probably the most important discovery she’s ever made. She can’t help but marvel that in spite of everything the poor kid is dealing with, he’s still trying to be sweet to her.

This is so embarrassing, she thinks. And Gibson knows she’s embarrassed. He knows everything. He’s just a kid. What if he’s reading other thoughts? Very private thoughts involving her and Mulder without dumb old Diana Fowley. Or even fantasies about what he looks like underneath his suits and oh god stop this, please don’t think of something inappropriate, don’t don’t don’t

“Agent Scully?”

“...Yeah?”

“I’m going to the bathroom.” He gets up and walks out of her view.

Thanks, Gibson.

The bathroom door closes and she can only hope she’s alone again. She finds it peculiar that it isn’t until you’re having your every thought read by another person you realize how precious your own thoughts are to you.

Agent Mulder really likes you a lot.

Well, of course he does. They’re good friends. Gibson, with all his abilities, can’t understand the nuances of an adult relationship, especially one as complicated as theirs. For God’s sake, even she doesn’t understand the nuances of their relationship.

Whatever she may be telling herself not to feel, she and Mulder are both young, attractive people and they’re human. It hasn’t been easy to maintain professional boundaries, but she feels like they’ve had to. Their work is too important, and taking such a step would be a huge risk. There really is no other reason they haven’t crossed that line, even hastily, recklessly. God knows she’s wanted to.

She suddenly feels a strange sadness, almost like a loss, because obviously Mulder had taken that extra step with Diana Fowley. Knowing Fox Mulder would in fact go there with his partner has made her rethink a lot of things. First of all, no wonder she hears so many rumors circulating all the time about herself and Mulder. Secondly, if the failure of his relationship with his ex is the real reason he hasn’t taken that step with her, then Diana Fowley has robbed her of that as well. And here she is again, and she has some kind of inexplicable hold on him. A kind of hold Scully doesn’t.

She refuses to be some kind of third wheel in her own partnership. She doesn’t know how long she can hang around waiting for Diana Fowley to just go away. As possessive as she feels over Mulder, she has no real claim over him. Diana Fowley doesn’t either, though. In the end it’s going to be up to Mulder. He’s going to have to make a choice between the two of them: who he can really trust.

All she can do is hope he makes the right one.

She hears the toilet flush, the sink running, and Gibson re-enters the room. Grateful for his reprieve, she tries to focus her mind on something else as he picks up the remote and starts changing channels.

MULDER

He can’t move. He can barely think. His entire life’s work is gone, all of it gone.

In the midst of the of ash and smoke, he can almost smell along with it his own blood, sweat and tears. And Scully’s. And all the victims whose cases, already buried deep in the basement with the only two people who cared, will now certainly never see any explanation or justice.

He stands there motionless for a good minute before he is even aware Scully is holding onto him, her hand on his bicep, her cheek pressed into his chest. Neither of them can speak, there is nothing to say. He knows she feels the loss, too, though it’s possible she feels it more acutely through his own pain.

This is how they survive, the two of them. This is how they carry on. Pain seeping out of one, into the other. Their burdens shared, their losses perceived by each other.

It isn’t a death, but it may as well be. The intensity of his grief and frustration becomes enough to pull him out of his trancelike state and he looks down at Scully. He wraps his arms around her and they stand there together, surrounded by firefighters and curious onlookers and the red and blue lights from the emergency vehicles outside streaming through the smoke into their charred office like some vaporous American flag.

How ironic, this institution of justice and hope and truth reduced to ashes.

The firefighters are slowly exiting, one by one. AD Skinner comes over to the two of them and rests a hand on Mulder’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he offers, glancing to Scully as well. Mulder believes he is. Skinner is probably the only other person in the building who truly understands how devastating this is to them.

“Let’s go, Mulder,” Scully says. “There’s nothing else to be done here.”

He nods and takes her hand, following her out of the office like a zombie. His mind races. Everything truly feels over now. He’d been too arrogant, too reckless in approaching the Attorney General about Gibson Praise. Gibson had disappeared and the only remaining witness, his attempted assassin, had been murdered. The cleanup that had taken place was swift and effective, executed according to plan. It became the perfect opportunity for the Justice Department to take a shot at him and Scully, at the X Files. He should have seen it all coming. He feels like a fool.

The fire was an obvious cover up if ever he saw one. He’s momentarily annoyed at its localization; how the arsonist made no effort to hide the fact that the X Files themselves were the target. Mulder knows more than anyone his work has been in danger for years, but they could have at least pretended it wasn’t such a clear cut attack against him. The hubris of that angers him even more.

Lost in his own thoughts he hasn’t realized Scully has driven him home. “Mulder.” She’s trying to get his attention. He feels dazed.

“Yeah.”

“We’re at your apartment.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you want me to stay for a bit? Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m good. I’m okay.” He’s still just sitting there in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

“Are you… going to get out?”

“Out of what?”

She sighs, unbuckles her seat belt. “Come on, I’m taking you upstairs. You’re a mess.”

He somehow finds the presence of mind to open his car door and get out. He’s glad he didn’t have to ask her to stay, but he wants her there all the same.

He’s still walking slowly and distractedly behind her, so she uses her own key to let them inside. He heads straight to the couch and falls down over the armrest, face first, his feet dangling over the edge behind him. He hears Scully go into his kitchen and she returns with two beers. She pops off the caps and plops down next to his head, kicking her legs up onto his coffee table. She sighs deeply.

“What are we gonna do, Scully?”

She takes a sip of her beer and sets it on the table. “I don’t know, Mulder. We start again. We just start again.”

“There’s a zero percent chance they’ll keep the X Files open now. This fire was the final nail on the coffin. Nothing we say will change their minds.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “Do you think it’s possible someone at the Bureau did this? I mean, they’ve been trying and failing to shut us down for years. Maybe someone finally just snapped.”

“I think so.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“Spender,” he says instantly. “No doubt in my mind it was that little fucker. I should have taken his threats more seriously.” He can’t stand the guy. Going around the Bureau, kissing everyone’s asses, covering his own to protect his reputation.

Working with the cancer man.

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she muses. “Arson? It honestly seems like he doesn’t have it in him.”

He thinks for a second, and realizes she’s probably right. He’s usually good at this profiling stuff, obviously, but his annoyance and frustration with Jeffrey “Weasel” Spender has gotten too personal.

“You’re probably right.”

“We should tell the arson investigators to keep their eyes peeled for cigarette butts, though,” she suggests. She rubs his back for a moment then taps his neck, indicating he should lift his head up. He flips onto his back and scoots over a bit, resting his head in her lap. She runs her fingers through his hair with one hand, her other hand across his chest and they sit together comfortably.

“I’m still in this with you, Mulder. This is a temporary setback, okay? We have to have faith that we will continue our work.”

Mulder thinks back to another time, an even darker time about a year ago, here in his apartment, alone. A time when his faith had also been tested. A time when Scully was edging towards death, all because of him and this work.

He’d felt so alone that night, so aggrieved, so desperately responsible for what had happened to her. He’d really wanted to die. He thought he deserved it. Everything felt meaningless. He believes to this day if that DoD agent hadn’t been spying on him and revealed himself that night, he would have pulled the trigger.

He almost can’t breathe when he thinks about what would have happened if he’d given up in that moment. Scully would have died. They both would be dead, and so would their quest.

Tonight feels different because she is here with him. He could be alone right now, feeling desperate and directionless and miserable by himself. But she chose to stay. His life isn’t so lonely anymore, and for the first time he truly appreciates that fact.

He takes her hand with both of his, holding it across his chest and lays there, her other hand absently stroking his hair, listening only to their own breaths, rising and falling in sync.

“As long as I’ve still got you, it’ll be fine,” he decides. He truly believes this.

DEMARCATION II

(Fight the Future)

SCULLY

Scully’s meeting with the Office of Professional Review had not gone well. Being forced to take a step back after getting so close to something big has become her lot in life.

AD Cassidy had not been impressed with the evidence she and Mulder had brought back from Dallas. Scully had trouble explaining its significance to a room full of directors in a way they could understand and be excited about in the same way she and Mulder could. Now they don’t have the means or permission to follow up, and with the trouble they’re in, they aren’t likely to get it.

Now, not only have they removed her as Mulder’s partner, they’re trying to remove her from his life entirely. They’re sending her clear across the country to another field office with little choice in the matter. She’s amazed at their ability to do so with a single pen stroke.

Her only other option would be to quit. Either way she loses him.

They’ll do what they can, she knows it. They will move forward, in whatever way they can. They always do.

She presses the elevator button and waits. The doors open and she’s greeted by a face she’d secretly hoped she would never have to see again.

Diana fucking Fowley.

She briefly considers waiting for the next elevator, but that kind of avoidance is beneath her, childish. She purses her lips together and steps in, pressing the ground floor button. “Agent Fowley,” she says politely. “Nice to see you’re back at work.”

“Thank you, it’s good to be back.”

She can feel Fowley’s eyes upon her, and instantly regrets not stopping in the bathroom to tidy herself up. She hasn’t even showered since they got back to DC and she looks like shit. Her appearance isn’t typically something that concerns her too much, and she hates feeling this way. She hates feeling inferior to the always well put together Diana Fowley.

Scully prays the elevator stops at another floor for another passenger to end this awkwardness but God isn’t listening today.

“How’s Agent Mulder?” Fowley asks.

Scully pauses, not sure what her angle is. “He’s fine.”

“I heard through the grapevine you two are getting reassigned. I’m sorry to hear that.”

Scully is silent, not knowing what to say. I’m sure you are.

“It’s probably for the best. From what he indicated, you two haven’t been seeing much progress.”

Scully bites her tongue and stares at the doors.

Open, open, open. Please.

Apparently, Diana Fowley isn’t fucking finished. “But it must be hard, disagreeing all the time. You both must feel such a relief to be free of that. To not feel… so held back.”

She can’t continue with the silent treatment, she doesn’t want to appear impertinent. “We make it work.” Scully speaks in the present tense because Mulder is her partner, regardless of what OPR or Diana Fowley has to say about it.

Fowley scoffs. “Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got it all figured out. His passion, his drive. His mission. It’s all wonderful until you realize it’s not aligned with your own.”

She starts to feel sick, and wonders why the elevator ride never feels this long on any other day.

“Just be grateful it never went further than a work partnership. He’s tough to shake.”

Scully feels like she might actually throw up. How the hell does she know how far their relationship has gone? Every word is a dagger.

Mercifully, the elevator dings and the doors open.

“Goodbye, Agent Fowley,” Scully grits as she exits the elevator and heads through the lobby as quickly as reasonably possible towards the sweet relief of the sidewalk. She pushes the heavy door open and takes a deep breath.

She doesn’t care which direction she walks, she just has to get away from this building. Mulder had dropped her off directly from the airport and she’d planned to take a cab back to his place after the meeting, but now she doesn’t know what to do or where she should go.

How can one woman put her so off balance? Make her feel so small, so worthless? How can the words of someone she barely knows bring her down like this?

She’s suddenly questioning everything, everything she knows and trusts about Mulder, everything about their partnership, and for what? Why? Because of one woman who has had him in a way she never will.

Why did she have to take that elevator? She felt fine before she ran into her. She’d felt hopeful that something good might still come of all this.

You both must feel such relief to be free of that. Not… so held back.

Why did she say that? Had Mulder said something like that to her? It makes her ill to think they’d talked about her behind her back. What if she really is just an annoyance to him, in spite of everything he’s said? She knows he cares about her as a friend, and she’s never going to question that. But is he humoring her about their partnership? Do they even have a real partnership if he’s not being honest with her about her role within it?

She can’t change who she is to better suit his needs. She can’t become someone she isn’t, even for him. She feels inadequate, and completely powerless. Maybe it’s just her own fear and self doubt, but she’s inclined to believe what Diana Fowley is saying.

Of course he would feel that way. She’s been so stupid.

His passion, his drive. His mission. It’s all wonderful until you realize it’s not aligned with your own.

It’s taken her awhile to realize it but she knows she is passionate about this work. Maybe not for the same reasons as Mulder, but their goal is the same: uncovering the truth. What were Diana Fowley’s goals? What had she wanted that Mulder hadn’t wanted? What caused their breakup?

He’s tough to shake.

If she wasn’t sure before that Diana Fowley had ulterior motives regarding Mulder, she’s sure now. She wants to kick herself for not telling him how she felt before this woman came back into his life. It pains her to think that she might know Mulder even better than Scully does.

She knows what she has to do now. She slowly turns around and heads back towards the Hoover building for what she now knows will be one of the last times.

He’ll probably be secretly glad to be rid of her. She’s done nothing but hold him back.

MULDER

They’re splitting us up.

He knows it must be true. He and Scully have tugged at the FBI’s last remaining thread of patience, and they’ve finally had it. And just when they are finally onto something again, something big.

His thoughts return to their imprudent excursion to Dallas and what they’d discovered. They’d both seen so much, but only put the X Files in further danger of remaining closed forever. If only they had been able to turn up something concrete, something to help justify reopening them, they could get moving again. He feels so close now, closer than ever, but ever since their office went up in flames he’s been losing his resources one by one.

Now he’s about to lose his most valuable resource.

“Salt Lake City, Utah, transfer effective immediately.” Scully looks exhausted, depleted. Sad, really. She tells him she isn’t accepting the transfer, and that she’s resigned from the FBI.

“I need you on this, Scully.”

“You don’t need me, Mulder. You never have. I’ve only held you back.”

Her assertion takes him completely aback. Where the hell is this coming from? Does she really believe that after all they’ve been through? How can she not know how much he needs her?

She turns to go. He’s let her walk out on him in the past, but he’s not going to let her do it tonight. He walks after her.

“If you want to tell yourself that so you can quit with a clear conscience, you can, but you’re wrong.”

She whips around, looking angry, but mostly just defeated. “Why did they assign me to you in the first place, Mulder? To debunk your work, to reign you in, to shut you down.”

“But you saved me!” He can’t believe he has to tell her this. It’s felt so obvious to him for so long. It goes to the very core of why they are so good together. “As frustrating as it’s been sometimes, your goddamn strict rationalism and science have saved me a thousand times over.”

This is what he hasn’t been able to get across to her, because it would mean talking about Diana and all the reasons that partnership could never have worked the way he functions with Scully. He let Diana walk out on him for a hundred reasons but primarily because they could never have gotten to this place of honesty. Not like he can with Scully.

She knows it too, she knows it, and she’s still leaving him. Maybe Diana got to her, somehow. Maybe she can’t bring herself to admit to him that Diana has left her feeling weak and insufficient.

She couldn’t be more wrong.

“You kept me honest,” he tells her. He’s never been so honest with her before. Her eyes are filling with tears. She’s about to leave him, maybe forever, so he brings it home.

“You made me a whole person.”

She looks floored. She’s completely turned around now, facing him. He knows now she's needed to hear all of this, is desperate to hear it. He wonders if she’s always needed to. He’s hasn’t communicated this as well as he should have and it’s his own damn fault. He’s been so selfish for so long. She’s lost so much because of him and here she is, still seeking his approval. He feels so inadequate, so unworthy of her.

“I owe you everything, Scully, and you owe me nothing.”

It’s the truth. She could leave right now, and he’d never begrudge her that. He’d miss her endlessly, but he’d never deny her that choice, if she truly wanted it. He could never deny her anything.

“I don’t know if I want to do this alone,” he confesses. “I don’t even know if I can. And if I quit now, they win.”

He’s not sure what makes her give in, what makes her change her mind, or if she even has. She’s not one to be at a loss for words. But at this moment she can only collapse into him, resigned. She’s committed to him whether he can bring himself to believe it or not.

As he holds her close he feels something stir inside him that has lain dormant for five years. Dormant, yet vigilant. She kisses him on his forehead, a safe, tender gesture they’ve shared in the past. But he feels something inside him he hasn’t felt with her before: bravery. He wants more.

He takes her face in his hands, and makes her look at him. He looks into her eyes with new intent, something he hopes beyond hope she wants too.

She could walk out of his life at any moment. It’s now or never.

He’s not doing this to make her stay. He’s doing it because he can’t not do it anymore.

Their faces search each other’s and he draws closer and closer, slowly, the anticipation intoxicating. He knows it’s going to happen because she’s moving towards him too.

And just as he can feel her breath on his tongue she yelps and recoils.

At first he’s unsure of what happened. Did she change her mind? He was so sure it had felt right.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. He wouldn’t want her to think he’d taken advantage.

“No,” she reassures him. “Something stung me.” She reaches back behind her neck and pulls the offending interloper from inside her collar.

A bee.

He wants to laugh at the irony. The bee is there because of him, and now it’s completely ruined his moment.

Goddamnit. Why is the universe making this so hard for them?

“It must have gotten in your shirt,” he says quietly, the disappointment still painfully present.

“Mulder? Something’s wrong.”

You’re goddamn right something’s wrong. We should be making out right now.

But she looks afraid. She starts to grab onto him for support, slowly sliding down to the floor. She’s listing off all her symptoms to him, ever the doctor. He tries to remember everything in case she’s unable to tell the paramedics… oh god, he has to call the ambulance.

He lays her down gently and runs back to his phone to report an agent down. When he returns, she appears almost completely incapacitated.

“Scully? Hey, Scully?” He holds her cheek and moves the hair from her face. “Don’t do this, come on. I’m getting you to a hospital.” He wraps his arms underneath her and hoists her up. She’s gone completely limp and this hold is not going to work. He turns her in his arms until he’s cradling her, lifts her up, and starts to head towards the elevator.

As he emerges from his building, he hears the sirens approaching. Thank god. The paramedics  jump out of the ambulance and help Mulder place her onto a gurney.

“Scully, the paramedics are here. I’ll be right behind them, okay? I’m coming.”

He starts frantically telling the paramedics her symptoms and mentions the virus he’s certain has caused this. As he approaches the driver’s seat to ask which hospital they’re taking her to, everything goes black.

Thanks for reading! See you back here tomorrow for chapter five, or you can continue reading on A03.

[kriscme]

Untitled This is the first section of a new The Chance You Didn’t Take by Ronja fanfic (which is also a Hunger Games fanfic) I’m working on at the moment. When it’s finished the whole thing will go on AO3.

Summary - Katniss has had enough and gives Peeta an ultimatum.  Picks up from where Peeta tells her she can no longer to visit his home at night as comfort from nightmares.  

 Chapter 1.  

“Katniss I . . . hope you know that no matter what happens you will always be a very important person in my life.” A very important person.  No matter what happens.  

And that’s how Peeta broke the news that I wasn’t welcome in his house at night anymore.  An invitation rescinded.  A comfort denied.  For Lace.  A more important person than me, obviously.   And the added cruelty of taking me out walking first, our arms linked like any courting couple.  To be treated at the ice-cream parlour with a triple scoop of ice-cream, and to sit together, just the two of us, in the middle of a grassy field in the warm sunshine.  It wasn’t a date, of course.  But I could almost imagine it as one.   And then . . . I ball my fists into my eyes to prevent a fresh flood of tears.  Feeling sorry for myself won’t help.  I have to face reality.  I’m no longer Peeta’s priority.  Another girl is.  Peeta has made his choice - when it came down to protecting Lace or me, he chose Lace. I can’t keep telling myself the situation will change, and that Peeta will one day want me again.  With every day that passes he seems further and further out of reach.   I don’t know what to do.  I thought the romance with Lace was temporary and he’ll soon come back to me.  That seems more remote than ever.  Hopeless, even.   I go to the bathroom to splash my face with cold water.  What looks back at me from the bathroom mirror is splotchy and swollen with crying. My hair is dishevelled, the braid half undone, the end thin and scraggly.  When was the last time I had a haircut?  I can’t even remember.  Maybe it’s no wonder that Peeta has turned to another.  The girl Peeta loved, the girl he called beautiful, is almost unrecognisable. Too thin, dull hair, covered in burn scars.  Plain. Ugly, even.  Perhaps he views me as a charity case and that’s why he came back to 12.  Fatten the girl up with cheese buns.  Let her to sleep in the guest room as comfort from nightmares.  Build her up.  Tell her how important she is.  Until someone more important comes along, that is. I wish I had someone to talk to.  A shoulder to cry on, at least.  I so miss Prim. There’s only Haymitch and he’s of no use.  The only other person I’m close to is Peeta. I haven’t bothered trying to form new friendships.  Perhaps that’s half my problem.  I’ve come to rely too much on someone who has proven to be unreliable and there’s nowhere else to turn.   I can’t blame Peeta for that.   Only me. The lights are on in Peeta’s sitting room. I can see them from my bedroom window.   Peeta uses the back half of the house if he’s alone at night.  He most likely has a visitor then.  Lace, probably.  I have some things to say to him but it’s clearly not the right time.  He can come to me, anyway.  

It’s late in the afternoon when I get a visit from him.  I don’t know if he tried earlier; I spent most of the day in the woods trying to unravel all the conflicting emotions I have about him.  There’s my love for the boy that was.   My love for the boy that is.  And my ever-growing anger and frustration with him.  Sometimes I think I actually dislike him.  On top of all that is guilt.  Overwhelming guilt for what he suffered at Snow’s hands because of me. For the first time I question how that helps Peeta though.  I let him get away with things he shouldn’t.  I stop myself from saying anything that might upset the false façade he’s made for himself.  Maybe I’ve been doing this all wrong. Typical of Peeta, he comes bearing gifts.   He does this whenever he thinks I might be mad at him, or about to be mad at him. Yesterday it was ice-cream.  Today it seems to be a bag of cookies and a parcel wrapped in brown paper.  It’s a large flat square that’s almost certainly a canvas.  It’s probably the painting of a primrose I asked for.

The smile he gives me is hesitant, apprehensive.   I guess the way I ran out on him, threatening not to come over for dinner anymore, may have given him the impression that he might not be welcome.   He follows me into the kitchen and I go through the motion of putting the kettle on for tea.  Not that I plan of this being a long conversation. Peeta puts the parcel down and places the bag of cookies on the kitchen bench just behind me.   He stands so close, we’re almost touching. “Are these to compensate me for not being able to stay over anymore?” I ask.   “They’re to show you how much I care for you,” he says, as he leans down to kiss my cheek.  “I don’t think you realise how much.  I was worried sick when you didn’t come home the other night, not knowing where you were or if you were lying injured somewhere.  If anything were to happen to you . . .  He trails off and gives his head a shake. “I don’t even like to think about it.” “I’m sure Lace will be a great comfort if that should happen.”  I train my eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.  There’s not enough space between us to look at the floor.  I know I sound bitter and jealous and as much as I dread being exposed and vulnerable, at the same time I want him to notice – to actually see me for once and why I’m hurting. He cups my jaw and turns my face back to his.  His thumb gently strokes my cheek. “I know this must seem like I’m neglecting you and Haymitch in favour of Lace, but it’s really not like that.  It’s just that I have to consider Lace now.  There are aspects of my life where she has to come first. I want to be a good friend to you, but I also need to be a good boyfriend to Lace. We had a very public romance, and I have to think about how you coming over at night would look to others, even if it is perfectly innocent.  This doesn’t make you any less important to me.”

Yes, it does, I remind myself.  But his voice is soothing and placating, his caresses lover-like.  I want to drift in it, believe that somewhere down deep, he’s still in love with me.

“I’ll still be here for you,” he goes on. “You can call me anytime of the day or night if you have a nightmare and want to talk.  Anytime at all.”

I say nothing to this.   That won’t happen.  I do have some pride. A tendril of hair is tucked tenderly behind my ear.  I gaze into his eyes, mesmerised by his voice, and his touch.  He’d only have to bend his head, or for me to raise myself on tip toe for our lips to meet.  Why doesn’t he just kiss me?   “Please understand,” he says.  “You’re not just a friend. We may be platonic now, but I know I must have been overwhelmingly in love with you.” “You were,” I say softly.  “I don’t think I’ll ever be loved like that again.” His hand comes to rest on my cheek again. “I hope that you will, and it will the kind of love where you both feel the same way about each other.  As for me, I care so much about you but I have to put Lace first.” He doesn’t mean to be cruel, but he is. How can he touch me like this while at the same time express his preference for Lace and so casually give me over to another?  It’s as if the hijacked version of himself is still inside, intent on destroying me anyway he can.   And I can’t even heap all the blame on Peeta for this, because I let him do it.  But at least it gives me the jolt I need.  

I push his hand aside and slide my back along the bench until I’m free of him. “Why did you come back to 12?” Peeta is so surprised, it takes a few seconds for him to respond. “What?  Um, because . . .  Why are you asking?  What does it have to do with anything?” “A lot, actually,” I say.  “It has everything to do with what you want from me. Because frankly I’m confused.  One minute I’m merely a friend and told not to come over at night and the next minute you’re kissing me on the cheek and standing so close, I can’t move an inch without bumping into you.  If I were Lace, I’d be more concerned with all this touching you do than a platonic friend using the guest room occasionally.” He stares at me, bewildered.  I don’t think he’s even been aware that he does it. “So why did you come back?” I persist.   “It can’t be because you’re in love with me. You’re always making sure to tell me that you’re not.  It can’t be because I’m a friend because you don’t have any memories of my being one. In fact, you’ve even said you don’t trust me.  And it can’t be because you want help getting your memories back, because you want nothing to do with them.  So why come to 12?  Of all the places you could have gone to, why bombed out 12 with only a depressed recluse and a drunk for company?” “Because you were here . . . and Haymitch.   And my house,” he flounders.  “I can’t explain it. I was just drawn here. And it’s not like I have no memories at all.  They’re just a tangled mess I can’t make sense of.  All I know is that I feel there’s a deep connection between us and I need to be here.  It may not be in-love anymore, but I care a great deal for you.” There it is again.  He cares for me.  A lesser form of love.  Generic, non-exclusive.  It should wound, but at the moment I’m numb to it.  More than anything I’m tired.  Tired of pretending, tired of holding onto a hope that simply exists to take one blow after another.

“You want to know what it meant to me when you returned to 12?  Well, I can’t tell you.  Because I’d have to mention our past, and you’re determined not to know about it.  I don’t know what happened between the mission to kill Snow and when you came back here that made you give up the fight. All I know is that that boy had courage.   It didn’t matter what horrific memories were dredged up as long as it meant finding himself again.  But you don’t want “real” anymore.  You just want a pretty picture to live in.  Like one of your paintings.”  I point to the parcel he brought with him where it leans, still unwrapped, against the wall.   “That’s not fair!” he exclaims. “You have no idea what it is to be me.  I didn’t choose to have my memories erased and distorted.  I was tortured, Katniss! The little I do remember is bad enough.  I don’t see you handling it that well, by the way.  Not if you have to run over to my house to sleep in the guest room to escape your nightmares. Or stay in bed until well past noon because you’re too depressed to get up.  And then there’s Haymitch, who can’t go a day without a drink.  Several, in fact. Why would I want that?”

Stung, I’m about to retort that I’d rather have nightmares than forget my family, as he’s done, but then recall that his memory loss is more selective than that.  He’s blocked out memories of the torture, understandably enough.  But he also has no memories of me, other than those which Snow thoughtfully let him keep, such as his jealousy of Gale.   Before I can formulate a response Peeta is at my side, immediately contrite.  “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said that.  I had no right.  And it’s not as if I don’t have my own problems to deal with. It’s just that if I have a chance to avoid what you and Haymitch go through, I don’t see why I shouldn’t take it.” I make one last appeal. “But . . . but you’re also turning your back on the good memories too.  They’re all part of who you are.  Even the bad ones.” Peeta shrugs. “Do you think I don’t know that? All I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be part of who I am now.  Some really awful things have been done to me and I have a choice not to make it part of my future.  So why not? If it’s meant to be, the good memories will come back.  And if they don’t, well, I can make new ones. Better ones.” His answer shouldn’t surprise me.  We’ve had this conversation before.  And when I offered to help him, he told me he didn’t trust me enough.   My stomach sinks. That’s it then.  It is hopeless.  If he can’t, won’t, remember then I don’t see a way forward for us.  He’ll become increasingly attached to Lace, and I’ll be increasingly sidelined.  To him, I’ll likely always be a friend, someone he cares for a great deal.  But that’s not what I want.  He’s not the only one who’s gone through hell and wants to be happy.   This isn’t abandoning him, I tell myself. This is setting him free to live his life as he chooses, while I do the same for me. I take a few more steps away from him, determined to get some physical distance.  I don’t want any weakness on my part getting in the way of what I’m resolved to do.  “Well, if that’s the way you feel, then we have nothing more to say to each other,” I say, in the most resolute voice I can muster.

“What do you mean we have nothing more to say?” he asks warily.   “Exactly what I said.  If you have no interest in getting your memories back, then there’s nothing left to say.  If you have the right to choose what’s best for you, then I have the right to choose what’s best for me.   And continuing as we are with one of us deliberately ignorant about our past together isn’t it. ”

I turn my gaze to the parcel.  The parcel that contains a painting of a primrose that I had asked Peeta for in memory of my sister.  As much as I want to, I can’t accept it.  I feel miserable about it because I know how much work and care was put into it.  And love too.  Just not the kind of love I want from him.  In a way, the painting defines what our relationship has become. It’s a shared memory of a beloved figure, just as the primrose bushes are.  But that’s where it ends.  And it isn’t enough. I note how light it is as I pick it up from the floor.  And that it’s bordered by a frame, and its solid on one side and hollow on the other. I imagine what’s underneath the wrapping paper.  Peeta had shown me the outline he drew.  It would now be painted in soft shades of yellow like the primroses that grow at the side of my house.  The same primroses that Peeta planted for me on his first day back from the Capitol. “I can’t accept this,” I say, as I hand it to him.  “It isn’t right.  I wanted a painting from Peeta Mellark. When he comes back to me, I’ll accept it then.” Peeta’s eyes travel from the painting in his hand and back to my face in confusion.   “What? What are you talking about?  You can’t mean that.  Is this because I won’t let you sleep in the guest room?  You’re being unreasonable, Katniss.  I know you feel let down, especially since it was me who invited you over in the first place.  But what else can I do?  What do you think happens when friends become romantically involved with another?  That everything stays the same?  What if you had a boyfriend?  Do you think he’d want me coming over in the middle of the night?”

“If I had a boyfriend, he’d either have to accept the situation or find someone else.  That’s how I feel about us.  But this isn’t about that.  This is me at breaking point.  I’m sick and tired of being a piece in your game.” “Game?  What game?  You’re not making any sense,” he says, growing agitated.  Peeta runs a hand through his hair, mussing his curls so that they stand around his head and give him a slightly mad appearance.    “Look, if it means so much to you, use the guest room. Use it as often as you like.  Move in.  I’ll work out something with Lace.”

“I don’t care about the guest room!” I yell in frustration.   “What I care about is that you’ve betrayed everything we’ve been to each other.  And you don’t even know it because you’re too much of a coward to find out.”  

He flushes with anger. “Fuck, Katniss!” he shouts.  I jump back in surprise.  Peeta never swears.  And then the parcel is hurled across the room, upsetting Buttercup’s food bowl and spattering cat food over the tiles.  “What the fuck do you want from me?” “I told you what I want from you!  It’s you that needs to find out what you want from me!”  But Peeta has turned his back and is almost out of the room.  “Let me know when you work it out!” I scream after him.  And then I hear the front door slam shut. I’m too shocked to do anything more than blindly stare at the canvas where it’s come to rest near the back door.  After a little while, I come out of my stupor to walk over and pick it up.  I don’t think it’s ruined, but it needs some repair work.  I can feel that the frame is broken on one side. I remove the wrapping paper.  It’s got cat food on it.  I resist looking at the actual painting though.  I haven’t accepted it until I look at it, I tell myself.  I trudge upstairs to Prim’s room where I place it on top of her dresser, the right side facing the wall.  And then I sit down on her bed.   Oh, Prim.  How did that go so wrong?  I don’t think he even heard me.  All he could talk about was the guest room as if that’s all there is to it.  Do you remember when you told me that the old Peeta, the one who loves me, is still inside?  Trying to get back to me?  I don’t think he is.  I don’t think he even wants to.  I’m trying not to give up on him, but it’s so hard.  All I can do now is see if my tactic works.  If it fails, I’ve lost him.  But I think I might have lost him anyway.

Chapter 2.   The strangest thing is, that despite this horrible situation, or maybe because of it, for the first time in months I feel energised and ready to take on almost anything.  Just as Peeta hasn’t been himself, I haven’t been myself either. The old Katniss would have been doing something, and if not actively pursuing Peeta, would at least have found purpose in other things.  Instead, I’ve existed in this state of inertia.  And in doing so, I not only didn’t find Peeta, I’ve lost sight of myself too.  

The first thing I want is to find some kind of employment.  There’s two reasons for this.  The first is a practical one that’s been coming for a while now.  And that’s because my game isn’t in demand as it used to be.  Meat is both cheaper and readily available now that foodstuffs and other goods are transported between districts.  More people are able to afford them too.  Somehow squirrel isn’t as appealing if you can have beef or horse on the menu.   The other reason is that hunting is a very solitary occupation, especially now that I don’t have a hunting partner.  My circle has been too small for too long.   One good thing about 12 being a high growth area, is that workers are in demand.  That means employers aren’t as fussy about qualifications or experience, which is good, because I have neither.  So, I’m fairly confident I can find a job, as long as I’m not too picky.

I head for the town, as that’s the most likely place to find one.  The town centre has expanded from a ragtag collection of shops to a bustling shopping strip. Civic buildings have been rebuilt, as well as a hospital and a community hall.  It grows to look more like the Capitol every day. I walk straight past the hospital.  Sick people, no thanks. The same with the Justice Building.  There’s too many bad memories associated with them.  It was at a Justice Building that I had to collect the medal of valour for my father’s death, and its where tributes were held before they were transported to the Capitol.   I would happily never set foot in one again.  Next door is the Council Office, where Haymitch works.  That actually has potential.  My knowledge of the woods might be useful.  But when I apply, they tell me they’re not hiring at the moment. But they take down my details anyway and say they’ll let me know if a position becomes available. Across the intersection there’s a block of five new shops that have just opened.  One of them appears to be a tailor as I see sewing machines, bolts of fabric in sombre colours, and a few men’s suits on display.  Another shop is lined with racks of clothing with a small counter at the rear.  I’ve seen shops like these in the Capitol.  They sell ready-to-wear fashion.  I have a feeling that Lace won’t like it.  A tailor and a clothing shop where you don’t have to wait for the clothes to be made will surely be competition, especially the latter. What’s more, it’s probably the first of many.   Further down the road, I see the new school that started up a few months ago.  It’s just two or three classrooms but I’m sure it won’t stay that way for long. Not with the population booming as it is.  I move closer, enjoying the sight of children at play in the school grounds.  A man, maybe in his mid-twenties with brown hair that flops over his forehead, regards me with interest - too much interest for my liking.  I change direction and turn the corner and encounter even more shops, as well as a few restaurants. But there’s a shop that takes more than my passing interest and that’s because it has a sign in the window.  It says “Inquire within. Staff wanted.” I put my face to the window to determine what kind of business it is.  I see glass enclosed counters with shelves and maybe more shelves behind them.  Evidently, it’s some kind of food shop.  What, I don’t know.   A bell jingles as I open the door.   And then I go stand near the counter to wait. It appears to be empty but I know someone’s here because I can hear voices and what seems to be furniture being moved around from the rear of the shop.  I consider calling out, or perhaps re-entering to make the bell jingle again, when a man appears, wiping his hands on a towel.   “Hi.  Sorry to keep you waiting.  We were half way putting one of the ovens in place.  What can I do for you, Miss Everdeen?” he says.  He has a bright, cheerful manner about him.  

“Um, you know who I am?” It’s a silly question, as I’m recognised nearly everywhere I go, but I still find it disconcerting.   “Who doesn’t?” he asks, as he tosses the towel aside.  “But we have met before.  I doubt that you’d remember it though.”

I take a careful look at him.  Early twenties maybe.  Blond hair but a different shade from Peeta’s.  Golden rather than ashy.  And green eyes.  Pleasing but unremarkable features.  Above medium height and with a similar build as Peeta’s.   I shake my head. “No, I’m sorry.  I don’t.  Where did we meet?” He smiles and the features I thought so unremarkable light up and make him quite attractive.  “It was only for a few moments.  Your fiancé might remember me though.  I gave him my best frosting techniques.” Fiancé?  That could only be Peeta.  And the frosting . . .?  Of course! At the feast in the Capitol, when Peeta asked to meet the bakers to ask about the cakes.   I take another look around the shop and then everything falls into place.   This must be a bakery.  And those glass counters are to display cakes and the shelves behind them are for bread. My first thought goes to Peeta. He has vague plans of opening a bakery. He might not like this.  But he should have known that one would open eventually.  The wonder is that it’s taken so long.   “I remember now.  It was at the feast.   On our Victory Tour,” I say, momentarily caught in the memory of Peeta and me as a newly engaged couple.   “But Peeta isn’t my fiancé anymore.  We didn’t stay together after the war.  He’s with another girl now.  You might have met her.  She owns the dressmaking shop on the main road.”  I say it as cheerfully as I can, but it sounds forced even to my own ears.

He doesn’t seem to notice though. “I haven’t met many people yet,” he tells me.  “I only arrived in 12 the day before yesterday.  My brother and his wife arrived a couple of months ago to get everything here organised while I stayed in the Capitol to settle up.  But I’ve neglected my manners.  I know who you are, but I haven’t introduced myself. Cassius Carter.  Most people call me Cass.” He holds out his hand for me to shake. He has large hands and a firm grip. My own looks swallowed up in it.

“Hi.  Pleased to meet you, Cass.”   “Pleased to meet you, Katniss,” he replies with a warm smile. We lapse into silence while Cass looks at me expectantly.   Oh yes, why am I here?  “Um, I came about the sign in the window.  You’re looking for staff?”

“We are.  To serve customers.  You’re interested, I take it?” “Yes, but I don’t have any experience,” I say regretfully.  

Cass pretends to consider it.  “Hmm that is a problem.  It will take at least ten minutes to learn the ropes and I don’t think we’ll have the time.  But then a pretty girl behind the counter can’t be bad for business, so it might all even out.”  His face clears.  “I’ve made up my mind.  The job’s yours if you want it.” “Oh, good,” I say, thinking more about being described as pretty than the job offer.  It’s been so long since anyone complimented me on my appearance.   I smile at Cass, grateful that there’s at least one person who thinks so.  “I’m a fast learner. I’m sure I’ll catch on quickly.  When do you want me to start?”

“We’ll be operational by the end of the week, I think.  Could you start on Monday?  It’s four days a week, Monday to Thursday.” “That sounds perfect.”  Part-time work will give me time to pursue other things. We spend the next few minutes discussing times and wages and then shake on it. “You wouldn’t know of a sign writer who needs a job?  We haven’t got anyone to do the shop sign yet,” he asks as I’m about to leave. I shake my head.  “No, sorry.  But someone’s sure to apply.”  I have no intention of passing the news onto Peeta.  He can look for his own work.  Besides, I’ve made it my policy not to approach him unless I absolutely have to.

That man with the floppy brown hair is still there when I turn to go back the way I came.  Despite my scowl he still has the temerity to approach me. “Hey, Mockingjay,” he calls out.  “Mind if I have a word?” “Yes, I do mind,” I snap.  “And I’m not the Mockingjay anymore.”  I turn away from him but he’s on my heels.   “I want to talk to you about a teaching position.” “I’m not a teacher.” “Not yet.  But you’re looking for a job, so why not teaching?

“How would you know I’m looking for a job?” “I saw you reading the help wanted sign in the bakery window before you entered.  It isn’t open yet so you weren’t going in to buy bread.” “So now you’re spying on me as well as harassing me.”  I stop walking and turn to face him.  “Look I don’t know who you are – “

“Max Matson,” he says, holding out his hand.  “Teacher at the school you were admiring a short time ago.  We’re looking for more teachers, and you could be just what we need.” I ignore the hand. I’m just about to tell him to get out of my way when I pull myself up.  Didn’t I come into town to look for opportunities?  What if I don’t like working in a shop and I’m more suited to teaching instead?  I can least consider it. Max drops his hand, but my hesitation seems to have compensated him for the slight since he doesn’t change expression.   He hurries to explain before I can object further.  “It will only be teaching what you already know.  Survival skills, the natural environment, that sort of thing.  And it won’t be in the classroom either, but out in the woods.  A lot of our kids come from the industrialised districts and hardly know a tree from a chimney stack.  You could really make a difference.” I don’t respond straight away, my gaze directed at the school in the distance.  He has the sense to be quiet while I mull it over.  It’s only a very small school and surely excursions into the woods won’t be every day.  It could fit nicely with the bakery job, and if I find myself suited more to one than the other, then maybe I could switch to full time later on if the opportunity arises and then give the other up.  The thought of passing on my knowledge, as my father did for me, appeals to me too. “I can only do Fridays.” “That’s alright,” he says in a rush.  “It’s only part-time at the moment.  And it’s only while the weather is warm.” “OK, I’ll give it a try.  A try, mind you.  If I don’t like it, I’m not coming back.”

“Great! We’ll see you on Friday then . . .um . . .Katniss?  Is that what I call you?”

“Yes.  Just Katniss.  And Katniss only.  And it will be the following Friday.”  There’s some things I want to attend to first.    I turn my back on him and go on my way.   I don’t know what this Max person does.  He’s probably looking for someone else to annoy.  But at least he’s presented me with another option.  And options are exactly what I need right now.  

Well, that’s been a successful outing.  Two jobs in less than an hour.   And maybe something will come from the town council too.  My spirits rise higher than they have in days.  Whatever happens, I know I can survive this.  

I wander back towards the Village.  Maybe there’s still time to do some hunting.  I’m determined to stay busy.  Anything than allowing myself to wallow.  That won’t achieve a thing other than to bring on another bout of depression.   It’s just as I pass through the gates that I see him.  Peeta is at the side of my house, tending the primroses. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” I say when I reach him. Peeta puts the trowel aside and gets to his feet.  “I know, but I want to.  We’re neighbours, right?  Neighbours can help out with the gardening.”   “Yeah, but I can do it myself.  You don’t do any gardening for Haymitch.”  I look over at Haymitch’s yard as I say this. It’s a desert.  What hasn’t died through neglect has been eaten by his geese. “There really isn’t a garden to garden,” Peeta points out.  “But if it makes you feel better, I don’t clean up after you when you’re drunk, so it all evens out.”  He gives my arm a friendly nudge with his elbow accompanied by his most disarming smile. I don’t return it.  I refuse to let him in even a little way, although he keeps on trying.  “Well, thanks for doing it, even though you don’t need to.”  It seems the polite thing to say to someone who’s doing your gardening for you.  And, to be honest, the bushes probably wouldn’t last long if it was left to my gardening skills.   I turn to go into the house, but something perverse inside me calls me back.  “I got a job today.  It’s just serving behind the counter but it will give me something to do besides hunting.  It’s at a new bakery that’s about to open.  One of the bakers we met at a Capitol feast owns it.  You probably don’t remember it, though.  But if you’re interested in frosting, he’s apparently the expert.” Peeta’s smile dims and I instantly regret my words.  This can’t be good news to him.  I don’t know if he seriously wanted to open a bakery but now the option is off the table. 12 isn’t big enough to support two bakeries.   “Right.  Maybe I’ll call in when it opens.”   He turns his face away and resumes his digging.  “Congratulations on getting the job.” “Thanks.  Um, I guess I’ll see you around.”   Buttercup is waiting for me when I get inside. I slosh some food into his bowl and then throw myself on the couch in the sitting room and switch on the television. I don’t feel like hunting now.  My good mood has gone.  It seems to disappear whenever I have contact with Peeta now.   A wall has gone up between us, all on my side. Peeta is an odd combination of uncertainty and eagerness to please.  That’s how it’s been since the day we argued.  Neither of us mentioned it when we next met, but the easy way we once interacted has gone. As far as I know he hasn’t done anything to try to get his memories back and I’m determined to keep my distance until he does.  The only good thing that seems to have come out of it is that I seldom see Lace in the Village anymore, although I know they still see each other.  I’ve watched Peeta leave the Village on their date nights.   It had been Peeta’s turn to host the Victors dinner that night but I had no intention of going.  I went to see Haymitch to let him know about the new arrangement.  To say he was annoyed is an understatement.  I hadn’t known the dinners meant so much to him.  And it’s not like he and Peeta can’t continue to eat together since he always seemed to prefer Peeta’s company anyway.  He told me that Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him and I’m punishing him for something that’s out of his control. He made me feel really bad. So bad, in fact, that I did something I rarely do.  I consulted with Dr Aurelius. But to my surprise, Dr Aurelius approved. He told me not to let Haymitch make me a partner to his own guilt.  I thought he might have taken Peeta’s side and urged me to maintain the friendship, seeing that he’s his patient and all.   But he said I was his patient too, and he had to advise what was best for me, irrespective of what was best for Peeta.  He even said this might be good for him and force him to confront certain issues instead of avoiding them.  I also told him I was in love with Peeta hoping that he might give me some advice about how to get him back, or at least give me some insight into his thinking.  But he didn’t.  Instead, he set me a task, and that was to work on myself independently of Peeta.  I was to think hard of what I want my life to be and what I’ll have to do to achieve it.

Of course, that involves Peeta being in love with me again, but that’s up to Peeta now.  I had to remember a long way back to a time when I was happy and what I was doing then.  I thought of my father, and Prim, and hunting in the woods with Gale.  I recalled the pride I had in my hunting and bargaining skills and how I provided for my family.  In the end, I condensed it down to two things.  Meaningful work and good relationships.  I decided to tackle the easiest one first.  Work.  Perhaps the relationships will follow from that.  They had before.

Before I start at the bakery, I attend to something I’ve never given much attention to and that’s my appearance.  I wonder if my lack of interest in it might have given Peeta the impression that I don’t care about being attractive to him.   I’d taken it for granted that Peeta thought I was beautiful, no matter how I looked.  Perhaps that’s changed.  Lace seems to spend a lot of time on her appearance, always dressing neatly and with her hair carefully styled.   I don’t want it to become a major part of my life or anything, but I could put in a little more effort. One of the new shops, just next to the tailor, is a beauty salon.  I surreptitiously peeked in as I walked past, noting the gaudy décor in purple and gold, with basins for washing hair, and chairs for cutting and styling at the front of the shop, and curtained alcoves towards the back, presumably for waxing and other tortures.  There’s a million of these places in the Capitol but this must be the first ever in 12. I thought I’d had enough of being primped and prodded to last a lifetime when I was a tribute, but now I think I can do with a little “maintenance”, as they’d say in the Capitol.

The following morning I’m at the door just as businesses are opening and there’s not many people about. There’s only one person inside, a Capitolite evidently, going by her pale mint green skin and blue tipped blond hair. She’s hunched over the counter, reading a newspaper.  She lifts her head as the door clicks behind me. “Katniss!” “Octavia!” We scream each other’s names simultaneously. Octavia runs from behind the counter to envelop me in a hug.  “Flavius! Come here!  Quickly!  It’s Katniss!”

Soon we’re in a three-way hug; Flavius’s bouncing corkscrew curls as vividly orange as ever.  

After the initial excitement is over, we fill each other in on what’s happened since we last met. That was at Snow’s execution.  My prep team had been specially brought back to the Capitol from District 13 to make me as presentable as possible for the TV cameras.  After my incarceration and then confinement to 12, my former prep team were without employment.  But because the Capitol had sustained significant damage during the war from rebel bombs and discharged pods, many citizens were homeless and no longer enjoyed the affluence they once had.  Consequently, decorating themselves was no longer the priority it had been and the beauty industry suffered.  Venia chose to stay with her family in the Capitol, but Octavia and Flavius decided to risk all to set up their own salon in another district.  And which district was the dreariest and most in need of their talents?  Why, District 12, of course. The problem was that they hadn’t many customers so far.  I think I can guess why.  Few people want to be dyed green and have their hair styled in orange corkscrew curls. I decide to tell them to tone it down a little when the opportunity arises.  They are their own advertisements and will likely have more success if they adjust to 12’s more conservative tastes.   Unfortunately, after I’ve heard their story, I’m obliged to tell my own.  It’s really hard since they were heavily invested in the star-crossed lovers.  I recall Octavia’s tears when she, with the rest of my prep team, came to wake me to start on the preparations for the interviews, and came across Peeta and me sleeping together.  She almost cries again when I describe the current situation with Peeta. “Oh Katniss, how could such a dreadful thing happen?  And after all you’ve been through together.  Well, you’ve come to the right place.  A makeover sets everything right.  I’ve always said so.  Haven’t I, Flavius?” I’m directed over to one of the chairs where my braid is unravelled for assessment.  Octavia takes one of my hands to examine the nails.  There’s several seconds of uncomfortable silence.  Eventually Flavius speaks. “When was the last time you had your hair cut?” he asks, quite unnecessarily.  We both know from the uneven lengths that it hasn’t been cut since before the explosion that killed Prim and scarred Peeta and me.   I shrug in answer.  He then picks up a strand.  It lies limply across his palm like a dead thing. “What shampoo do you use?” “No shampoo.  Just soap.” Flavius turns pale and I think he might faint. But then he rallies to find some deep inner strength for his shoulders square and his voice turns to steel.  “Lock the door, Octavia.  There’ll be no more customers today.  We have an emergency situation.” While Flavius applies a deep conditioning treatment to my hair, Octavia starts on my nails.  I’m a chronic nail biter and they’re down to the quick.  Rather than try to make do with the nails I’ve got, Octavia adheres false nails to them.   “Not too long,” I warn.  Octavia seems disappointed but she does as I say and keeps them to a modest length and then finishes with what she calls a ‘French polish.” After the conditioning treatment is rinsed off, Flavius sets to work on cutting my hair.  We decide to leave it long enough to braid since that’s how I prefer to wear it.  But otherwise, the length is evened out, and it’s given some shape around my face for those occasions for when I wear it loose.   When my hair is dried, it’s gleaming like a curtain of black silk.  “You’re a miracle worker,” I say. Flavius blushes at the compliment.  “We’re not finished yet,” he says.  “Come this way.”  I’m led to one of the private alcoves.  Venia was the waxer-in-chief so I wonder what’s going to happen next. It seems Octavia has taken on that role, and I grit my teeth as body hair is ripped out by the roots.  Except for my underarms I draw the line at having my torso waxed though. Never again.  And then I’m scoured and rubbed down with a series of lotions.   “Your skin has got much better, but there’s still room for improvement,” says Octavia.  “We could start a course of treatments that will even out the skin tone and buff away the worst of the scarring.  It’s not as good as a full body polish, but it’s the next best thing.”

It's taken nearly five hours but my hair is shining and my skin is glowing.   Flavius creates a make-up for me that I can do myself that accentuates my almond shaped eyes and high cheek bones.  I’m so happy with the result that I book a series of appointments for more skin treatments and spend a small fortune on hair and skin products.  Flavius waves away my attempt to pay for their hours but I insist and add a generous tip.  They can’t afford to work for free when they’re short of customers.  As we say goodbye, I promise to recommend them to all my friends.  When I get some, that is. As I pass by the clothing shop, a summery dress in the colours of a sunset takes my eye.  Half an hour later, I leave the shop with the dress and two new shirts.  I see Lace through her shop window as I walk by.  I give her a cheery wave, making sure that the bag with the shop’s name emblazoned on it is in plain sight. She returns the wave, but her smile is stiff.   Ladies and gentlemen, let the Games begin! Chapter 3. For my first day at work I wear a Cinna made shirt in rose pink and navy trousers.  I had spent the best part of a day going through all my clothes.  Cinna had designed a wardrobe for every occasion, but I had avoided wearing it.  I don’t know why.  Maybe it was to keep it in perfect condition as a sort of memorial to him.  But I think Cinna would prefer me to wear it.  I like to think of it as the Mockingjay costume he designed for me.   In a way, I’m going in to battle once again.  

It turns out to be a waste of time though, as I’m handed a uniform soon after I arrive.  It’s white with a mandarin collar and an embroidered logo in brown on the breast pocket.  Cass hands it to me almost apologetically. “My sister-in-law’s idea.  It’s easier not to argue, if you know what I mean,” he says in an undertone.  He’s wearing the same uniform.   Since I was here last week, the interior has been outfitted in tasteful neutral tones.  All the colour is in the display cases.  I haven’t seen such a decadent display of cakes and pastries outside the Capitol. Big cakes, small cakes, cakes with buttercream and shaved chocolate, meringues and cheesecakes, petit fours and fruit tarts.  The shelves behind them are filled with every kind of bread you can think of, from fruit and nut to basic white. “Wow, you have been busy.  I had no idea they’d be such a huge variety to choose from.” I say in awe.   “It’s not quite as big as we did in the Capitol,” Cass says.  “Before the war, anyway.”  He takes from the case a yeasty bun topped with flaked almonds and filled with custard and hands it to me. “Try this.” I take a bite and groan.  “This is so good,” I tell him. Cass smiles, pleased.  “Bee sting.  It’s our specialty.” “Do you make cheese buns?” I ask. “Do we make cheese buns?” Cass repeats as if he can’t believe I’m asking.  In another case, at the opposite side of the room, he points to a variety of savory buns. Cheese, cheese and bacon, cheese and onion, herb and garlic.  I’m in heaven.   “But do you think you have the market in 12 for all this?” I ask.  Twelve might have grown a lot, but it’s still small by Capitol standards.   “We’re confident we do.  After all, there’s no competition.  When we heard that 12 had services like ice-cream parlours and restaurants but no bakery, we could hardly believe it.  Julius – that’s my brother – went to scout it out and didn’t come back.  And then Cornelia joined him to help set up while I stayed in the Capitol to sell our bakery there.” “Well, it’s very impressive -,” I begin. We’re interrupted by a woman aged about thirty with the reddest hair I’ve every seen.  She slaps a tray of bread on the counter and starts loading the loaves onto a shelf.  

“Hi, you must be Katniss. I’m Cornelia,” she says, without stopping.  “I hope you’re ready for a busy day.  Did you see the queue as you came in?” I had.  It was hard to miss.  The line extended past the corner.  I had also noted the shop sign.  Carter’s Bakery and Patisserie.  It’s not Peeta’s work, lacking the flair he usually brings to it, but it’s serviceable enough.   Cornelia returns to the rear of the shop and Cass shows us how the cash register works.   There’s three of us shop assistants and we work different hours, some of them overlapping, but we’re all here today for the opening. There’s Flora, a native of 12, with the typical Seam look of dark hair and grey eyes.   And Sateen, a new arrival from 8.  She has a similar colouring to Lace, but her brown hair lacks the same reddish glints, and her eyes are blue rather than blue-grey. The day is a blur of frantic activity with bread and cakes disappearing off the shelves and Cass, Cornelia and Julius doing their best to replenish them.  None of us assistants have any experience serving in a shop but we bungle our way through, getting in each other’s way as we box cakes, bag loaves of bread and vie for the cash register.  By day’s end, we’re exhausted but nearly everything in the shop has been sold.   “It won’t be like this every day,” says Julius, who’s emerged from the back of the shop for the first time.  “We’re a novelty at the moment.  It will settle down soon.  Then we’ll have a better idea of how much we’ll sell and what’s most popular.”  Julius is an older version of his brother, but slightly shorter and with darker blond hair and a more serious air about him.   Cass nods.  “It was like this when we opened our bakery in the Capitol.  It was the middle of the cupcake craze and Cornelia had the brilliant idea of the all-frosting cupcake.  I mean, let’s face it, the frosting is the best part.  They were flying out the door.”  He turns his head in my direction. “That’s how I got to be one of the bakers at the feast,” he tells me.  “It was all on the strength of my frosting.” “Cass is actually a pastry chef by trade,” explains Cornelia.  “It’s Julius and me who are the bakers.” “What’s a pastry chef?” I ask.

“A chef who specialises in pastries and desserts.  Breads too, sometimes.  Cass does all the fancy stuff,” she replies. “I do my best,” says Cass.  “The baking’s no difficulty but I have little talent for cake decorating beyond the basics, and we’ll like to develop that side of the business at some stage.  We don’t hold much hope for finding someone out here that could do it though.” I can think of someone who’ll be perfect, but I keep my mouth shut.  The idea is to have a life separate from Peeta.  Sharing a work place with him is hardly conducive.   Cornelia boxes up some of the left-over cakes and breads for us to take home.  “One of the perks of the job,” she says.

Flora, Sateen, and I swap puzzled glances.  Surely this could be sold tomorrow as yesterday’s bread? “Aren’t you going to sell this?” ventures Flora. “How?  It will be stale tomorrow.  No one wants to buy stale bread,” says Cornelia, clearly surprised by the question.

I recall when Peeta told me that the only time he got to eat the apple and goat’s cheese tart his parent’s bakery produced was when it was very stale.  How very different it was for people in the Capitol then, if they’d refuse to buy bread that wasn’t fresh.  In the districts you’d think yourself lucky to get it, no matter how stale it was.   How times have changed.

Indeed, I say to myself as I make my way through the town, clutching the white bakery box to my chest. How many squirrels would Gale and I have needed to trade for this lot?  Let’s see, usually a small loaf of plain bread equalled two squirrels. There’s a loaf of sour dough, two cheese buns, an apple pastry, a beefsteak pie and a bee sting in this box.  At least ten or eleven, I calculate. Possibly more.   I’m so engrossed in my thoughts that I almost pass by the ice-cream parlour without seeing it.  I wish I had, for Peeta and Lace are there, seated at one of the outdoor tables.  Peeta has his back to me, but Lace sees me.  She says something to Peeta and he turns around.  His arm goes up, gesturing me to come over and I have no choice but to comply unless I want to appear rude.  At least she’s not licking ice-cream off his face this time.  

I take the seat at the far end of the table, as far as I can possibly get from Shep, Lace’s big slobbering dog which seems to accompany her nearly everywhere she goes.   Lace slips her hand into the crook of Peeta’s arm, and his free hand covers hers briefly with an affectionate pat.  Having established her claim, she now turns her attention to me. “How was your first day at the bakery? Peeta’s told me that you got a job there.  Serving behind the counter, isn’t it?” I don’t know if I imagine it, but Lace sounds almost snide about what I do.  Perhaps there’s a snobbery about owning a business versus being employed in one. But Lace’s round eyes look back innocently at me.  Nonetheless, my guard goes up. “It was fine,” I say stiffly.   “The baker – the younger one, I mean, is pretty dishy.  All the girls say he has great buns,” says Lace, with a giggle. “Um, yes he has,” I say, thinking of the bee sting.   I get the feeling that I’m missing something though.  The bakery has only been open one day.  That’s not long enough to get a reputation for great buns.  I steal a glance at Peeta, hoping for clarification but he just looks uncomfortable.   “What did you think of the beauty salon?” asks Lace.  “I saw you go in last week.  I’ve been tempted to try it, but I’m not sure.   The proprietors look really weird.  I don’t want to come out with green skin or wearing purple lipstick but you came out looking normal enough.  Wanted to impress the new boss, huh?” Before I can answer, Peeta interrupts.  “What’s in the box?” “Oh, we were given some things to take home.” I open the box and push it towards him so he can see the contents better.   “Impressive,” he says, after a few moments. He doesn’t look impressed though. He looks rather glum, in fact. “Cheese buns too.   I’m sure you’re happy about that.” “I bet they aren’t as good as yours, Peety,” gushes Lace.  Peety?  “That looks interesting though,” she adds, pointing to the bee sting. “Try it,” I tell her.  “I’ve already had one today.  It’s the specialty of the house.  It’s called a bee sting.”

Lace picks it up delicately with her finger tips and takes a large bite.  Custard spurts out the sides and then down the front of her blue polka dot dress.  I guess being out in the sunshine has made the custard runnier.  Both Peeta and Lace reach for the paper napkins on the table and Lace dabs at the offending spot. She throws the napkin down.  “It’s no good.  I should rinse it.  I don’t want it to stain.  This is a new dress.” Lace glares at me as if I meant it to happen.   She tells Shep to stay and then heads towards the restroom at the rear of the ice-cream parlour.   Peeta and I watch her retreating figure. I’ve never noticed before how broad in the beam Lace is.  Perhaps she’s been eating too much ice-cream.  

There’s an awkward silence. It’s almost like we’ve lost the ability to converse with each other.  I suppose my telling him that we have nothing to say to each other hasn’t helped.  

“It probably won’t stain,” I get out, for want of something better to say.  “It’s not like coffee or berry juice.” “No, but I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry.” “Yeah.”

Peeta takes a deep breath. “Katniss, I’ve been wanting to ask you something and now seems as good a time as any. I’ve been thinking a lot of what you said about trying to get my memories back.  You’re right.  I won’t find myself by ignoring my past.  And memories have started to resurface anyway so . . .”   Peeta pauses here, and I hardly dare breathe in anticipation.  Is he about to say that he remembers he loves me? “Not that I expect that it will change how I feel about things,” he continues.  “But I hope getting some memories back, at least, helps put it into context.  I’ve been relying on instinct and I’m worried that if I put these feelings in the wrong place that one day, when I do remember, I might have done something I can’t take back.  Something I might regret.” “Oh,” is all I say as I process what he’s just said.  There’s some good news in that.  At least he’s not certain about it.  “Has something happened?” I ask, hopefully. “Something that’s made you question things?” “No, it’s just an idea that’s occurred to me. Lace thinks I should let my memories reveal themselves naturally – that if they’re meant to come back, they will. But Dr Aurelius thinks that some controlled method of accelerating the process could be beneficial.  He wants to send me footage of the Games and our publicity tours – not all at once, just what he thinks I can handle.  I’d like you to be there when I watch them. To ask questions of, if I have any.” “Right.” That’s what he wants to ask me then. To watch the Games with him.  To relive it.  The full force of what I’ve asked Peeta to do hits me.  It will be bad enough for me, knowing what to expect. For him, it will be like the first time. “Anything I can do to help,” I say.  I put out my hand without thinking and Peeta covers it with his own.   I have to stop myself from flipping mine upwards to hold his hand like I want to. “Thanks, Katniss.  You’re such a good friend.  Better than I deserve really.” I shake my head no.  “When?” “Is Saturday afternoon OK?  Around three?  Dr Aurelius said he could have the first of the tapes to me by the end of the week.” “Yes, that’s fine – “

“What’s up?” Lace has returned.  Almost the entire front of her bodice is wet.  It had only been a little splotch.   Peeta and I hastily pull our hands back.   “I’d better go.  Three on Saturday, then,” I say.   I collect my box from the table sans bee sting and push my chair back.   “Bye Peeta. Bye Lace.” As I walk away, I see Lace questioning Peeta. His back is to me so I can’t see his reaction.  I don’t have a good feeling about it.  If anything can hinder Peeta’s memory recovery, it’s Lace. Chapter 4

On the way home, I drop into Haymitch’s to invite him to dinner.  It’s the first meal we’ve shared since I bowed out of the Victor’s dinners.   I don’t know if he and Peeta kept them up without me and I haven’t asked.  But I do like to think I’ve been missed if they have. I heat up the beefsteak pie and cook vegetables to go with it.  The loaf of sour dough I slice and put in the centre of the table.   I let Haymitch have the apple pastry and we each have a cheese bun to finish. “It’s not better than Peeta’s,” I say, after I take my first bite.  There’s hardly anything to distinguish them in fact, except that Peeta uses a slightly sharper cheese.  “Is he very upset about the bakery?  The Carters only came here because they heard 12 didn’t have one.” Haymitch finishes his bun in three bites and then wipes his greasy fingers on the tablecloth.  Really, you’d think years of being around Effie would have taught him some manners.  

“Something about it upsets him,” he says.  “But I don’t think it’s opening his own bakery.  He’s had plenty of time, if that’s what he wanted.  I doubt he knows what he wants. He dabbles in ideas, testing one, and then another, to see how they fit.” I nod.  Peeta doesn’t really commit to anything.  Except maybe Lace.  But then, when I think on it, she didn’t really become “girlfriend” until I called her one.  What an idiot thing to do, if it was me who put the idea in his head. It occurs to me, that even though Peeta resists being told who he is, he’s still vulnerable to suggestion.  I guess that’s the danger of not knowing who you truly are.  You’d constantly be looking for any kind of clue; anything being better than nothing. “Has Peeta said anything about the tapes Dr Aurelius sent him?” I ask.  I’m curious to know what Haymitch thinks.  I prepare myself for criticism as it was the ultimatum I gave Peeta that was the impetus behind it.

“He has,” he replies, “and it pains me to say it, but you might’ve been right. Cosseting him like we have hasn’t helped him.  He needed a reason to fight to get his memories back, and you seem to have given him one.” “On the way to the Capitol to kill Snow, Peeta was so determined,” I say, recalling our first tentative attempts to reconnect with each other after the hijacking.  “We – the squad, Peeta and I -  played the real, not real game.  He’d test his memories on us, and we’d say if it was real or not.”  My voice cracks.  “He trusted me then, to tell him the truth.  Now he doesn’t.  He actually told me that.  Not entirely, anyway.”

Haymitch gives me a side-ways glance.  “He trusts you.  You don’t seek out people you don’t trust to be friends with.  He just gets confused between what the hijacking made him believe and what he actually feels.  If he didn’t, he wouldn’t want you to watch the tapes with him.  He hasn’t asked me.” “What?  I just assumed that you would.  I mean, you were there.  You could corroborate.  Give a different view point . . .” “I could.  But it seems he wants only you.” Haymitch belches and stands to leave.   “My advice.  Be completely honest with him.  Don’t even try to be diplomatic or soften the truth, no matter how bad it looks.  He’ll know.” Halfway out the door, Haymitch turns back. “If you get more of those apple pastries . . .

Ugh!  Haymitch and his stomach.  I don’t hear the rest of it.  My thoughts are too full of Peeta and how he wants only me to watch the tapes with him. Not Haymitch, who I thought Peeta seemed to prefer these days, but me!  It has to be a good sign.  My refusal to have anything to do with him must have been the motivation he needed.  It’s sort of like when we were in the Star Squad and I called him a mutt and said the real Peeta was gone.  Haymitch was angry with me when he heard, but it did seem to mark a turnaround in Peeta’s attitude.  That’s when he decided to trust me with getting his memories back, and I wanted to help him in return.   It’s the start of something big.  I know it!  I imagine us watching the tapes sitting together on a couch as we did when we watched the Games in the interviews with Caesar Flickerman.   Perhaps we’ll hold hands, or even cuddle as we did then.  It was horrifying to watch it the first time, of course, and it will probably be just as horrifying a second time, and I dread all the bad memories it will evoke, but oh, how wonderful it will be when Peeta sees how close we were, and how we protected each other.  Surely he’ll remember that he loves me when he does.   It’s just as well there’s lots to distract me before Saturday.  I’d be climbing the walls with impatience if there weren’t.  As it is, I have to remind myself to concentrate on matters at hand because I find it so hard to think of little else.   Over the next few days it’s still very busy at the bakery.  But, as Julius predicted, the number of customers begins to decline.  There’s even a little time to become better acquainted with my co-workers. I learn that Flora Dogwood is seventeen and a survivor of Snow’s bombing of 12.  Her family has recently returned to their home district from District 13 and, with the exception of Flora, are employed in the medicine factory.  Sateen Bobbin also came to 12 with her family.  She’s twenty-two, never wants to work with textiles again, and is a relative of the Bobbin family who owned and managed the largest factory in 8.  The tailor who’s opened a shop on Main Street is her brother.   On the Friday, I turn up at the school about fifteen minutes before first bell.  I was tempted to give the whole thing a miss.  Working at the bakery has been more tiring than I thought since I’m on my feet all day.  What I really want is time on my own and to go hunting.  Instead I’ll be herding a bunch of kids through the woods and trying very hard not to lose any.  But I said I would, so here I am. I wear my preferred attire of khaki trousers, hunting jacket and boots.  I hesitated over whether to bring my bow or not, wondering if it’s appropriate to take weapons into a school.  But then on the other hand, losing a child to a predator wouldn’t be a good look either. I enter the school house without knocking, tentatively putting my head around the door first to see if anyone’s about.   It’s a large room, filled with a motley assortment of desks, a blackboard on the rear wall and in front of that, the teacher’s desk.  Five adults are peering over some papers strewn across it.   Their heads rise abruptly when they hear me enter.  Floppy- haired man (I’ve forgotten his name) comes towards me, smiling broadly.  “Katniss! You came!” I scowl at him.  There’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way.  “I said I would, didn’t I?” The smile dims a little.  “Ah, yes, you did.  If you come this way, I’ll introduce you.”  He puts his hand at my back to usher me forward.   “If you don’t mind,” I say, glancing pointedly over my shoulder at it.  “Personal space and all.”   That’s what I don’t like about him.  He’s so pushy and over-familiar.   He drops his hand from my back then raises both as if in surrender.   I scowl at him again and make my way over to the others. Floppy-haired man appears at my side to make the introductions.  There’s Mr and Mrs Matson, a middle-aged couple with greying hair and a mild, patient demeanour.  Moira, their daughter, auburn haired and very pretty.  Son, Milo, good looking in an understated way with brown hair and brown eyes. Hands are shaken all round.   “I’m not quite sure what’s expected of me,” I say to Mr Matson.  He seems to be the one in charge. “We’re leaving it up to you.  It’s really about connecting these children with nature. Giving them an awareness and appreciation of it.  And also, it’s dangers.  Most of our children grew up around factories or mining.  Here they have a huge forest on their doorstep.  It’s a whole new world for them.” “It will only be in small groups,” Mrs Matson assures me.  “And only for an hour or two.  As the school is still quite small, by days end, all the students will have had a turn.” Suddenly I’m excited to be part of it. This is something I can do and do well. All I have to do is impart the same knowledge to these children that my father gave me.  And there’s also a lot I learned on my own.  I had begun to fear that it might be some formal arrangement, giving lectures or something in front of the whole school, albeit in the woods. “Max will accompany you on your first day. Just to get you acquainted with the children and make sure they don’t give you any trouble,” adds Mr Matson. So Floppy-haired man’s name is Max.  I force a smile.  In my side-vision I see a big smirk on Max’s face.  I finger the string of my bow.   I’m so glad I brought it with me.  

Fortunately for Max I don’t end up using it.  Not on him, anyway.  One of the older children, a sort of junior version of Max, thinks it’s funny to scare his classmates with tales of ferocious man-eating beasts and squirrels that drop out of trees to munch on the heads of passers-by.  After reassuring the kids that it’s completely untrue, I give a brief demonstration of what any animal that dared to attack could expect.  It shuts that kid right up.   And Max too.  

By the end of the school day, every child has had a turn in the woods.  As Mr Matson had said, for many of them it’s a whole new world.  I remember some of the districts Peeta and I had visited on the Victory Tour where there was scarcely a blade of grass to be seen. Even in 12, exposure to nature was limited if you didn’t venture into the woods.  The kids are so excited that I’m excited too.  I don’t know if they learn much, but I think we all have a good time.  Next time, I’ll have to put more substance into it.  Perhaps safety in the woods would be a good place to start and then go on to identifying the different plants and animals.   I sleep well that night, exhausted by the unaccustomed activity of the past five days.  Just as well, otherwise the anticipation of spending the afternoon with Peeta watching old footage of us together would have kept me up all night. I wonder what we’ll start with.  I have no idea if it will be chronological, starting with the reaping, or all mixed up.   But whatever it is, I need to be prepared and to answer any questions Peeta might have as honestly as I can, no matter how awkward it might be.

The next day, I spend an inordinate amount of time choosing what to wear.  I want to appear casually elegant, and maybe just a little bit sexy. What I don’t want is to look as if I’ve tried too hard.  That’s more difficult than I first thought.  Anything more than my usual baggy khaki trousers and T-shirt tells the world that I’ve put in more than my usual effort.  I didn’t have this problem after I won the Games, but then I don’t have my mother around to remind me to dress according to my status any more.  I guess, when left to my own devices, I’m just a natural slob.   Eventually I decide on figure hugging black trousers that make my rear end look great, if I do say so myself.  A simple clinging top in forest green completes the ensemble.  I debate whether to go braless to allow my nipples to show through but then decide that it might be a bit too obvious and go with the bra.  My hair I wear down except for the side sections which I braid loosely to tie at the back of my head.  And then I carefully apply makeup, just as Flavius had shown me. At exactly three o’clock I’m at Peeta’s door. My insides are churning with nervous energy and I wonder if I should have gone to the bathroom before I left. I had gone, I remind myself.  It’s just the excitement and I don’t really need to go.  Oh, please, please let only good things come from this.  It could be my only chance. I hesitate for a few seconds, then reach for the brass knocker.  One, two, three raps and then I wait.  I hear voices, more than one, some scuffling and then feet approaching the door.  The door opens.  It’s not Peeta.  It’s Lace. She wears a low-cut pink dress, her breasts almost spilling out.  The first thing that comes into my head is that I should have left off the bra.

Chapter 5.

Shep bounds out to greet me. I push him away, perhaps more forcefully than I need to.  He leaves behind what seems to be half his coat on my black trousers.  

“Hi Katniss!” Lace chirps, following it with that stupid pearly laugh of hers.  “Come in.  We’ve been waiting for you.  It’s all set up in the sitting room.” She looks me up and down, taking in the extra care I’ve taken.  “All dressed up for the occasion, I see.” Peeta appears just behind her.  He tries to make eye contact.  I think there’s an unspoken apology there, but I refuse to look at him.  I am so angry!  This is my life too we’re about to dissect and then discuss. What is she doing here? How dare he invite her!  And even if she just turned up, how could he let her stay? “I have somewhere to go after this,” I tell Lace.  It’s a lie, of course.  I had no plans other than to hopefully spend lots of one-on-one time with Peeta. Obviously, that’s not going to happen.

“Well, you look very nice,” says Peeta. “Thanks,” I reply, but without enthusiasm. I’m too mad at him to take any pleasure in the compliment.

Shep jumps back up, leaving another layer of dog hair on my clothes.  “Can something be done about this dog?” I ask irritably.  “Maybe some training?” “Shep, come here,” calls Peeta.  He takes Shep by the collar and leads him away into the rear of the house.  Bloody nuisance of a dog. I follow Lace into the sitting room.  “Can I get you a tea or hot chocolate?  Or maybe a cold drink?” offers Lace. “No thank you,” I say stiffly.  So now she’s also playing the role of host in Peeta’s home.  I want to scream with disappointment and frustration but I can’t afford to let my emotions show so I do the next best thing.  I set my face into a stony mask and steel myself to get through the coming ordeal as well as I can.   Peeta’s sitting room is set up like mine. In front of the television there’s a two-seater couch and single lounge chairs on either side.  I note there’s a plate of frosted cookies on the coffee table, each bearing a floral motif.   Among them I recognise the flower with three petals as katniss flowers.   Haven’t lost your talent for playing the two of us at the same time, have you Peeta?   “Would you like a cookie, Katniss?” asks Lace, as she holds the plate out to me. “No thanks.  I had my fill of baked goods during the week.”   Just then Peeta walks in and I can tell by his frown that he heard me.  

“Well, let’s get started, shall we?” I say.  The sooner we start, the sooner we finish and I can get out of here.   “Of course,” says Peeta.  He doesn’t look happy.  I guess he’s anxious about what’s on the tape.   He turns on the television and inserts the tape into the player.  Immediately the Panem Capitol seal appears on the screen.  We’re about to see official televised footage then.   It might be my imagination, but Lace seems to race towards the two-seater couch to get there first.   Peeta sits down beside her and I take my place on one of the single chairs.  In my peripheral vision I see him turn to me with a worried expression but I keep my eyes forward and pretend not to notice.  I’ve kicked off my shoes to hug my knees to my chest and I drop my head to partially obscure my face.  I wish I could shut all of this out.  Lace, him, me.  Everything.

Peeta presses the start button on the remote.  The Capitol Seal is replaced by images of Peeta and me at one of the big Capitol events. Dr Aurelius seems to have chosen to start with the least harrowing and emotionally fraught, although this is also bad. We were performing for our lives, afraid that one wrong move would doom not only our families, but entire districts.

Lace leans her head against Peeta’s shoulder and his arm goes around her.  I’m glad I’m sitting where I can’t see them from the front.  I don’t want to know if they’re also holding hands. Like Peeta and I did on the Capitol stage.   To keep the tears at bay, I take refuge in anger.  Where do they think they are?  At the movies?  It’s just as well I don’t have my bow with me or I’d send an arrow through both their skulls. I hate them so much!  And I’m done with Peeta.  For good this time.  I haven’t changed my mind about helping him regain his memories, but I don’t owe him more than that.   The tape continues to play although I pay little attention to it.  It’s a montage of Capitol parties.  Many changes of clothes for Peeta and me.  Garishly costumed Capitolites showing off their Mockingjay accessories. Glimpses of Haymitch and Effie and assorted Capitol celebrities. But most of all there’s kissing. Lots of kissing, hand holding, slow dancing and romantic gazes. I take grim satisfaction that Lace is watching it. But what else could she expect? She’s seen it all before.  This was mandatory viewing. Was she taken in by it? Did she believe the hype?  How does she reconcile all this with her relationship with Peeta and his friendship with me?  What has Peeta told her? After what seems an age, the tape ends. The screen goes blank and Peeta clicks on the remote to turn off the television.  No one speaks.

I wait for Peeta’s questions, wondering how this will work.   Peeta’s greatest confusion centres around me.  Lace’s presence could have an inhibiting effect.  

He starts haltingly, feeling his way.  “I remember some of it.  The dress you wore to the district party in 7, for example.”  This is no surprise.  We talked of this when we played the real, not real game on the way to the Capitol.  “And dancing with you.  I think it was at a feast?” “That’s right.  It was the night we became engaged.  The feast was after.  We were disgusted with the waste of food when there was so much starvation in the districts.  You met Cass – one of the bakers I work for.  He gave you his frosting to take home.”

Peeta nods. “They gave out drinks to make you puke so could you could go on eating.” “Yes,” I say, growing excited.  He’s remembering!  I get out of my chair and walk around to face him.   “And then you questioned whether we were doing the right thing by trying to subdue the unrest in the districts.” He frowns at this, considering it. “It’s why we kissed so much – to make people believe our romance was real.  And that we weren’t out to defy the Capitol.” I don’t respond.  Dread freezes my tongue.  I know what’s coming next. “We were acting.  Both of us,” he says.  He looks down at his feet as if he’s recalling a sad fact, and then back up at me, searching my face, waiting for confirmation.

And what can I say?   For while Peeta was as madly in love with me as ever, all that public romance stuff was indeed an act.  For him, as well as me. I want to tell him that we were growing closer then, that I would come to feel the same way about him that he did about me. But some instinct tells me that this isn’t the right time.  That maybe Dr Aurelius intends there to be a progression, that I shouldn’t rush things. That I should let Peeta’s questions be my guide.   Besides, Lace is here, hanging onto every word.  So I bite my tongue and merely nod. He seems to consider it a moment and then responds with a nod of his own. “Yeah, thought so.” I take a deep breath.  I have to leave before I do something stupid like cry. “Well, if there’s no more questions, I should be going.  There’s people expecting me.”  I make my way to the door.  “Same time next week?”   I scarcely wait for the answer.  I’m halfway to my house when I hear my name called. I want to ignore it, but when it’s repeated, louder this time and more urgently, I have little choice but to stop. I turn around but remain where I am until Peeta reaches me, slightly breathless.   “Katniss, I want to explain about Lace.   I didn’t mean for her to be there, but when she turned up, I didn’t like to ask her to leave.  She wants to be supportive.  She means well, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll ask her to stay away in future.” I want to shout at him.  To demand why let her stay in the first place.   It’s our story!  It has nothing to do with her!   But if I have to tell him all the ways in which Lace being there is so wrong, then what’s the point? He shouldn’t even have to ask.  He should know. And what’s this about making me uncomfortable? Me?  What about him having to talk about this great love he claims he had for me in front of his girlfriend?  Probably it’s not a problem for him because he doesn’t have it anymore. I shrug.  “It’s your party.  Invite who you like.  It’s not like the whole of Panem hasn’t seen it already.”  I look away from him, towards my house.  I don’t want him to see how close I am to tears.  “I’d better go.  I’m running late and I have to change my clothes.  There’s dog hair all over me.” “Bye, Katniss,” he calls after me, “and thanks.”  There’s a mixture of resignation and bewilderment in his voice, as if he’s wondering what he’s done wrong this time. Well, fuck him, I think as I tear off my black trousers and toss them into a corner of my bedroom. I don’t care that he was hijacked.  If he had even an ounce of consideration for me then Lace would have been asked to leave immediately.  I suppose this is his idea of being a good boyfriend.  Let the girlfriend stay because she wants to be supportive. Wants to sabotage, more like. My second choice of dark green trousers still lies across the bed, so I put them on before grabbing some money from the dresser.  I can’t go to the woods like I want to in case I’m caught in the lie.  That leaves the town. At least the walk helps burn off the anger. In fact, by the time I reach the town square, I’m hovering on despair again.  I have to remind myself that it’s early days, and that we’ve barely begun the process to restore Peeta’s memories.  But there’s this feeling that time’s not on my side, and that the longer it takes, the closer he’ll become with Lace.  Maybe he’ll even prefer her, despite his memories coming back, and it’s something I should prepare myself for.  It might even be the reason why Dr Aurelius advised me to work on myself. He knows what’s in Peeta’s mind better than anybody. There’s not many people about late on a Saturday afternoon.   Shops are closed, cafes are winding down and restaurants are yet to open.  That leaves 12’s two pubs.  Pre-war, it was mostly peacekeepers who frequented these kinds of places.  The only girls from 12 who went into them were looking for business.  Maybe times have changed though.  Twelve is definitely more cosmopolitan than it used to be. And it’s not like I’m dressed like, well like Lace was dressed this afternoon, with her boobs hanging out everywhere.   I choose what appears from the outside to be the most respectable.   I make a beeline for the bar, perch myself on a stool and pick up the drinks menu in front of me.  I’ve never had a cocktail before and the list is mystifying.  I end up ordering a martini because I like the way it sounds. It tastes foul.  But at least by the rate I’m sipping this thing, it should while away an hour or two.   After about ten minutes, I get sick of the stool and move to a table.  More customers start to filter in.  A man, tow-headed and with a Capitol accent, takes the chair opposite and tries to engage me in conversation.  I give him a withering look before he leaves to join a group of men at another table. They are obviously friends of his, because they glance my way and then turn back to him, laughing. Arseholes.  I’m already on edge when a hand descends on my shoulder.  I jerk back in anger and hot words spring to my lips. But when I see who the hand belongs to, I pull them back. “Hi Katniss.  Are you here on your own?  Do you mind if we join you?” Sateen asks.  She’s with a man I don’t recognise. “Of course not,” I say, as I make more room for them.    I’m glad to have the company.  Not only will it deter unwelcome attention, it also validates my lie.  These can be the people I was meeting with all along. “This is Arthur.  He’s the brother I told you about.  The tailor,” says Sateen. Arthur and I shake hands.  He’s of medium height with brown hair that’s started to recede and mild blue eyes.   “I often walk past your shop,” I say to him. “Are you getting a lot of business?” Arthur’s face lights up.  This is evidently a pet topic for him. “It was slow at first but it’s picking up.  It’s not what I want to do long term though.  As soon as I build up enough capital, I’d like to open my own factory. Ready-to-wear is where the real money is.” “It was the family business in 8,” explains Sateen.  “Well, it was until our factory was bombed.  Most of our workers were killed, and Arthur and I barely escaped ourselves.  And then when we went back later to find the safe, someone had got there first.  So now we start again.  Like nearly everyone, I guess.” I think of Lace, who has a similar story. Except that she had been a factory worker, rather than a factory owner.   “We’re just lucky to have been taught a trade. Dad insisted that we know all aspects of the business and it turned out Arthur has quite the talent for tailoring. He even got offers to work in the Capitol,” says Sateen proudly. “Only two,” says Arthur modestly, but he looks pleased nonetheless. “What made you choose 12? “ I ask.  “Why not stay in 8?” Sateen shrugs. “We wanted a fresh start. There’s not many good memories in 8, what with the bombings and all.  We also lost family members.  Dad and a cousin of ours were killed in a separate bombing a few days later.  And Mum died about ten years ago so there’s only Arthur and me.  So when we heard about the medicine factory opening in 12 it seemed ideal.  If there’s one factory, they’ll be more so why shouldn’t one of them be a clothing factory?  Plus there’s not much  competition here and lots of new people who need clothes.”  

I nod.  It seems that’s why most people come to 12.  For opportunity.  Personally, if I were coming here from 8, it would be for the woods. Eight was the most depressing of all the districts.  Nothing but factories and tenements.   I come to the last of my martini and I push the glass from me.  Immediately Arthur springs up and offers to buy me another.  I decline, but Sateen wants a drink and Arthur makes his way over to the bar. Once he’s out of hearing, Sateen leans forward and talks in a loud whisper.  “I had to nag him to come out tonight.  He’s so shy around new people.  Especially women.  And it’s such a shame, because you couldn’t find a nicer guy.  He’s ambitious too.  A real catch.”  She regards me thoughtfully. “He seems to like you.” “Oh, does he?   It’s probably because he feels he knows me already.  From the TV.  A lot of people are like that,” I say hastily.   I certainly don’t want Sateen doing any matchmaking between Arthur and me.   “Yeah, probably.  I didn’t think of that,” she replies, sounding a little disappointed. Arthur returns with the drinks and we chat some more.  Soon after I make my excuses.  I’ve been gone for long enough and I want to get home before dark.   As I pass through the Village gates, I encounter Lace on her way home.  We greet each other politely.  No one would guess that we don’t trust each other an inch.  Once our paths have crossed, the corners of my mouth lift in a smile.  A genuine one this time.  As far as the fight for Peeta goes, it’s been a disastrous day for me, and a triumphant one for her.  But I do have one thing to celebrate.  At least she’s not spending the night.   Chapter 6.  

The following Saturday, I’m outside Peeta’s door again but with considerably lower expectations than I had the week before.   But at least it won’t be as bad as last week, now that we’ve got the acting thing out of the way. It’s Peeta who opens the door this time. His eyes widen with admiration when he sees what I’m wearing.  I knew he’d like it. “You’re as radiant as a sunset,” he says. “Thank you.  When I saw this dress in the shop window that’s what it reminded me of.” I see Lace hovering in the background. “It’s from the shop just a few doors down from you, Lace.”   Lace smiles tightly.  “Yeah, I remember seeing it.” There’s no sign of Shep.  Either Lace has left him at home, or he’s been put in a back room.  I wish Lace had been too.  I’ve been kicking myself all week that I didn’t take up Peeta’s offer to tell her to stay away for the tape viewings but instead allowed angry pride to rule me.   So here she is, in a green floral dress that accentuates her breasts and small waist, her mahogany hair curling artfully over her shoulders.  Lace always takes care of her appearance but she’s gone to extra trouble today.   I smooth back my hair, left loose and flowing down my back in silky waves and stare coolly back.  Challenge met. Peeta has no idea what’s going on, his blue eyes innocent of the tension between Lace and me. “Going out after this?” Lace asks, all friendly interest.   “Yes, I am.  I’m meeting friends.”  And it’s true this time.  Sateen, Arthur, Flora and I are going to a restaurant together.  Sateen is quite the social organiser.  

We move into the sitting room.  Peeta asks if I’d like a drink before we get started and I accept this time because it’s Peeta who asks.  I also take a chocolate chip cookie to go with my glass of water.  The bakery doesn’t do cookies and I have missed Peeta’s. This time I don’t even think about occupying the two-seater couch but take a seat on one of the lounge chairs to the side. Lace, and then Peeta take the couch.  The television flickers to life and the next instalment of the star-crossed lover’s saga begins.

After last week, I thought Dr Aurelius might continue with the least harrowing of the archival footage, but no, he seems to have decided to plunge Peeta into the deep end this time. It’s the District 11 leg of the Victory Tour.  I recognise the marble stairs of the District 11 Justice building.  We would have to face the families of Thresh and Rue, and then witness the death of a frail old man, shot through the head by a peacekeeper.   My eyes search out Peeta.  It’s hard to make out his reaction to what’s on the screen from where I’m sitting.  The light in the room is dim and my view of him is partially obscured by Lace, who’s chosen to sit on the side of the couch closest to me.   It should be me sitting next to him!  Not her!  How can I read him, if I’m all the way over here? The sound of applause sends my attention back to the television screen.  It’s the audience reacting to Peeta and me as we walk onto the makeshift stage.  The camera pans across the crowd and then to the families of the dead tributes who stand waiting on a special platform just below us.  The mayor makes his speech, and then Peeta and I make the scripted speech that Effie wrote.  Peeta makes his own, personal speech to Rue’s and Thresh’s families when, to the astonishment of all, he pledges to give them a month of our winnings every year for the rest of our lives.  Peeta and I exchange glances and I rise on tiptoe to kiss him.  The camera records all our movements but what it doesn’t catch is how I felt about him in that moment.  How I found it impossible to imagine that I could do any better than him. A pang of loss slices through me.  I miss that boy so much.  For a few seconds I forget about District 11 and what’s to happen next and instead focus on the Peeta and Katniss on the TV screen.  We were so young. Far too young to have the weight of the world on our shoulders.  But Peeta’s love for me shines through, like a brightly burning flame.   And there’s me, confused, unsure, but slowly falling. If only I had known sooner, perhaps we wouldn’t be where we are now.

The mayor presents us each with a large plaque and I put down my bouquet of flowers to hold it.  It signals the end of the ceremony, but I tell them to wait.  I have something to say to the families.  I speak from the heart, and it seems to resonate because there’s a hushed silence from the crowd when I finish.  This is where I expect the tape to end.   For surely what is to follow wouldn’t have made the official broadcast.   But Dr Aurelius seems to have got hold of the unedited tape because the cameras keep on rolling. An old man in the crowd whistles Rue’s four-note mockingjay tune.  And then, as if pre-arranged, every person kisses the three middle fingers of their left hand and holds them out to me.  I recall the sudden sense of dread and panic. It was a gesture of defiance to the Capitol and somehow, I had provoked it.   I was supposed to defuse tensions in the districts, not inflame them.  The mayor then says a few words and Peeta and I head toward the doors.  That’s when I go back for my flowers and see peacekeepers drag the old man to the top of the steps.  To be shot.

I lose sight of Peeta and me.  Peacekeepers have surrounded us, blocking us from sight.  We were ushered into the building at that point.  In the square there’s pandemonium.  People screaming, terrified, as two more men are pulled from the crowd to be shot in the head too.  The crowd pulls back, seemingly realising that their greater numbers are no match for the peacekeeper’s guns.   But their expressions remain defiant.  A thin wail pierces the silence.  I think it must come from a woman who has thrown herself over the body of one of the dead men, but it continues when the television screen goes black.   It’s coming from Lace. Peeta tries to calm her down.  Through the sobs we hear a garbled story of witnessing a skirmish in the main square of District 8.  Lace saw it from the window of the apartment where her family lived. People had hidden their faces behind makeshift masks and were throwing bricks at the peacekeepers who shot into the crowd, killing many.  

While Lace cries against Peeta’s neck, I hang back, silent, my emotions swinging between anger, despair and straight-out jealousy.  There’s also contempt for Lace, unfair though it is.  It would have been an awful thing to witness, but it wasn’t her that was being shot at.   She’s alive, isn’t she?  And her family is too.  She has everything to be grateful for as she blubbers away.  She gets to enjoy the sacrifices that others have made while losing little.  She even gets Peeta.   And as for him, I might as well not be here. It’s all about Lace.  If I’m been relegated to second place on Peeta’s list of priorities, then it’s so far down from first it might as well be last.  I don’t wait for Lace to quieten down so Peeta can ask his questions.  I just leave. The walk into town is a quick one.  I want to get as much distance between me and the Village as possible.  I begin to think that perhaps my future no longer lies with Peeta, and that I have to look outward more than I have ever done before if I’m to survive this.  Because I think I might have lost him.  Forever this time.  These tapes do nothing but push Peeta closer to Lace.  I’ve made a big tactical error, and now I have to live with it. And I can’t opt out.  I made a promise, and it was my idea to begin with.  

Strangely, the thought doesn’t throw me into despair as I thought it might.  Letting go of hope has a deadening affect.  I feel almost nothing.  That can be my strategy.  I’ll be as detached from it all as much as I can.  If I expect nothing then I won’t be disappointed when that’s inevitably what I get. By the time I reach the town square, I’m feeling better.  But I’m also aware how fragile this new attitude is, and that it won’t take much to tip me right back to where I started.  I look around for something to distract me.  I’ve arrived too early to meet the others so I head for the pub I went to last week.  Over an old fashioned this time (I didn’t think I could go wrong with something that’s stood the test of time) I secrete myself in a corner to enjoy my drink.   Which I don’t.  For two reasons.  It tastes foul and Max Matson is here.  

He’s at the bar, drinking a beer.  He appears to be alone but by the way he’s scanning the room, it’s clear that he doesn’t intend to be that way for long.  I shrink into the shadows as much as I can but it’s no good.  He’s seen me and he’s heading this way.  

“Katniss! On your own?” “No, just trying to be.” Max ignores me and takes the seat opposite. “Cheers”, he says, clinking his glass against mine.  “So how are you finding working at the school?” I hesitate.  I really want to tell him to take a hike.  But I do share a workplace with him, and to give him his due, he was responsible for getting me the job.  Just tolerate him, I tell myself.  That’s all you have to do. “It’s good.  I like the kids and they seem to enjoy the lessons.” “Well, who wouldn’t be impressed by having the Mockingjay as your teacher?  Especially when she brings her bow along and shoots arrows into innocent trees.  There was one terrifying moment when I thought you were going to shoot me.” I try, but I can’t keep the scowl off my face. “And why would I possibly want to shoot at you?” “Don’t know.  But I seem to bother you, for some reason.” “I think if you tried really, really hard, you’d figure out why.” “Hmm.  Because you’re attracted and you don’t want to be?” I can’t be bothered dignifying that with an answer, so I take another sip of my drink instead.   “Why do you drink something you hate?” “Who says I hate it?” “You screw up your face every time you take a drink.” Irritated, I bang my glass back down on the table.  “Did you specifically come over here to annoy me?”   “Is that what I’m doing?” he asks.  He seems genuinely surprised.  “I don’t mean to.  I’m just trying to get to know you.  It’s pretty daunting you know.  Meeting the Mockingjay.” I put up my hand. “You can stop right there. I’m not the Mockingjay anymore.   I didn’t ask for it and I didn’t want it.  If you really want to get to know me, then it’s as plain Katniss Everdeen, not some preconceived idea of what you think you know about me from what you saw on TV.” “So they aren’t one and the same?” “Nope. Not even close.” “Well, that’s a shame.  I only asked you to join the school because of what I saw on TV. So it wasn’t you who volunteered for her sister? Or took that twelve-year-old under her wing and sang to her as she died?  Or nursed that liability called Peeta Mellark? Or took care of the odd couple from 3 in the Quell?  Or knew how to live off the land? Or threatened to eat poisonous berries rather than – “ “Of course that was me,” I interrupt impatiently.   “I mean the rest of it.  You know, the costume and the speeches and stuff.  Or that I was some kind of revolutionary.  That part wasn’t me.” He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially. “For the record, I thought both were awesome but the Katniss Everdeen part most of all.” “Oh,” I say, taken aback.   The last person who thought I was anything close to awesome was Prim.  Peeta hasn’t thought that way about me since he was hijacked. And then to hear it from this irritating man I barely know, who in this moment, has just given me something I didn’t even know I hungered for until now.

I try to hide how it’s affected me, but I can feel myself blushing.  “Well, just wait ten minutes,” I say in an attempt to downplay it. Max laughs. He holds up his empty glass. “Do you mind if I get another drink while I’m waiting?  What about you?  Care to ditch that drink for something you might actually like?”

“Yeah.  Thanks.  Maybe something non-alcoholic this time,” I say.  

He returns with another beer and an orange juice for me.   We spend the next half hour chatting comfortably – talking about the school and how he and his family came to 12.   He’s still annoying and he evidently loves to tease.  But when it’s time to leave, I realise I might have made progress on the second part of my goal.  I think I’ve made a friend. It’s not far to the restaurant.  A few doors down from the bakery actually. Flora, Sateen and Arthur are already there when I arrive.  It soon becomes clear why Sateen organised this outing.  She’s trying to set up Flora with Arthur.  Unfortunately for Sateen, her attempts to cultivate conversation between the two falls flat every time.  Arthur is too old and serious for Flora, who shows more interest in flirting with the waiter.  

Eventually Sateen gives up and the company relaxes into easy conversation.  Sateen tells Flora she wouldn’t mind colouring her “boring” brown hair.  I actually think it’s an attractive shade of ash brown that reminds me of the bark of a black oak and I tell her so.  But apparently nearly everyone from 8 has this hair colour and she wants something different.  This seems a good time to recommend Flavius and Octavia which then leads to questions about my time as a tribute and all the styling and prepping we had to undertake. You’d think Arthur would be bored by the conversation, but he listens intently and asks a question now and then.   It turns out that he did some work for Cinna and he and I reminisce, having at last found common ground.  That is, until I catch Sateen watching us speculatively.  I don’t want to give her any ideas.   It’s nearly dark by the time I get home. Summer is drawing to a close and the days are getting shorter.  A chill has settled on the night air and I look forward to being indoors to get warm. I was so intent on getting away from the Village that I forgot to drop into my house first to pick up a cardigan or a jacket before I left. I’m almost on top of him before I see him. His body is partially obscured by the deep shadows cast by the porch roof.  I wonder how long he’s been waiting.  Certainly not more than when Lace left for home, I figure.  He wouldn’t be sitting on my front porch if she was still here. Peeta turns his head as I approach but stays seated.   “Hi,” he says.

I sit down beside him.  I guess I could invite him in but I don’t want to appear too friendly.  Not until he’s earned it, anyway.  Besides, if I’m not welcome in his house at night unannounced, then I don’t see why I should welcome him into mine.

“How long have you been here?” I ask. He shrugs. “Don’t know.  Not that long.”  He pauses for a moment, and then speaks in a rush.  “I want to apologise for this afternoon.  I had no idea the tapes would trigger Lace. I thought she would have seen them already, and she’d know what to expect.  And when I saw you gone – “ “How is Lace?” I interrupt.  I don’t want to have to explain why I left suddenly.  

“She’s fine now. The shootings in 8 . . .one of those killed was her fiancé.   She . . . she had been carrying his baby but miscarried a few days later.” “Wow.” I feel bad for judging Lace so harshly before.  Maybe that’s why her mind went to my rumoured miscarriage when the subject of children came up when we first met.  She knew how it felt.  “Did you know all this?” Peeta shakes his head. “No, it was the first I’d heard of it.”

I don’t know how to respond. It seems a big thing not to tell someone you’ve supposedly grown close to.  But perhaps it’s a coping mechanism.  We all have them.  Lace doesn’t seem the type to dwell on unhappy times.  And it’s not like they’d be a big exchange of stories about previous relationships between them.  Peeta can’t remember his.  Except false memories planted by the Capitol, that is. “Anyway, I should have realised that this is upsetting for you too.  I’m sorry that I was too pre-occupied with Lace to be of any use.  I know you’re doing this for me and the least I can do is make it as easy for you as possible.  Lace really had no business being there.  This doesn’t involve her and I should never have allowed her to stay.  I want you to know that I’ve told her not to come next time, for everyone’s sake.” Peeta’s evidently attributed my walking out to having being overcome from emotion.  Which I was, but not for the reason he thinks.   I guess I ought to feel relief that he hasn’t guessed why, but I’m also saddened by it. Misread, yet again. “What did Lace say?” I ask. “She came around to it,” he says after a pause.   Lace wasn’t happy then. “Do you think there’ll be more of those tapes? Ones that weren’t shown on TV?” Peeta asks.   I hear apprehension in his voice.  I’d asked myself the same question.  Who knows what recordings the Capitol made. “Maybe.  We always assumed that we were under some kind of surveillance.  Audio, at least.  There may be film.  I don’t know.” “I mean of when I was captured.”   I turn sharply to look at him.  He’s in profile, looking down at his clasped hands. Naturally his thoughts would go to the torture and I’m reminded again of what a huge undertaking this is for him. “I doubt it.  Snow wouldn’t have filmed anything incriminating.  He was careful to cover his tracks so I don’t think it’s something you should worry about.   In any case, Dr Aurelius won’t send anything you can’t handle.  We need to trust him.” Peeta nods, and we lapse into silence. I start to shiver in the chilly air and I wrap my arms around myself to rub some warmth into them.  This seems to rouse Peeta. “You’re cold,” he says.  He takes off his jacket, and before I can stop him, he’s laid it around my shoulders.  

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the material around me and wishing it were his arms.  My mind goes back to the first time we visited the roof garden in the training centre.  He had given me his jacket then too.  Why is it, in only looking back, that I can see all the little romantic gestures that Peeta did for me?  Probably because even if I did, I’d have thought there was an ulterior motive behind them.  I suppose it’s Lace who gets them now. “So, do you have any questions about the tape?” I ask.  “Did it jog any memories?” He considers it for a moment.  “I actually remembered a fair bit of it.  I don’t think the Capitol altered this one. But I also felt a lot of anger as I watched it, and it’s the same kind the Capitol exploited. Anger towards you. Did anything happen, beyond the shooting?” My stomach sinks.  After what I had to confess last week, I was hoping for something more positive this time.  From faking it to Gale.  Could this get any worse? I take a breath. Be honest, I think.  Be honest. “Yes, there was something.  After we went inside.  Well, actually on the day we started the tour.  But you found out that day.” I pause here, waiting to see if this information sparks any memories.  But Peeta says nothing, so I continue.  “Snow came to see me, just before the tour began.  The trick with the berries – some people in the districts viewed it as an act of defiance rather than an act of love.  It caused a lot of unrest and Snow was concerned that it could lead to open rebellion.  I was to convince everyone that our love was real.  He threatened to harm our families if I didn’t co-operate.  I told Haymitch about it as soon as I could, but we didn’t tell you. I guess he didn’t want to worry you with it. But after what happened in the square, there was no choice. You were pretty mad that we hadn’t told you.” “You and Haymitch had this system, that I wasn’t part of.  I remember that,” says Peeta.  “It wasn’t a good feeling, being left out in the cold.”   “No,” I agree, thinking of how things have changed.  Now it’s me who’s often the third wheel.  The difference between a working partnership and peacetime friendship, I guess.  Because we’re alike, Haymitch and I can often communicate with non-verbal cues.  Yet Peeta and Haymitch get along better.   “There’s something else.” Be honest. “Snow also threatened Gale.  He knew he wasn’t my cousin and that we went into the woods together.  Somehow, he had learned about a kiss between Gale and me.  I think he wanted me to know that he was always watching.” Peeta says nothing at first.  It’s dark now and I can’t see his expression in the dim light.  I hold my breath as I wait for his response.  “He was your boyfriend.”  He says it flatly, as if confirming an established fact. “No,” I say emphatically.  “Gale was never my boyfriend.”  I twist around to face him, to encourage him to look at me. I need to get him to understand.  I may never have a second chance.  Be honest.  “But, before going into the Games, there was the beginning of something.  I think I might have had a bit of a crush on him. Just something at the back of my mind, that I never expected to go anywhere.  You see, I didn’t want a boyfriend because I didn’t want to marry or have children.  I was too afraid of losing people. “The morning of day the we were reaped, Gale talked of us running off together; to escape 12 and live in the woods.  At the time, I thought nothing of it.  But later I wondered if he was hinting that there could be more between us.  When I came back from the Games, I thought we’d just go on being friends, like before. But then Gale kissed me just as we were returning from a hunt.  That’s the kiss Snow found out about.”   “Did you like him kissing you?”  The question startles me. For a moment I’m transported to District 13 and a hijacked Peeta similarly questioning me, but there’s none of the hostility.  Just curiosity.  I think I’d prefer the hostility.  At least that way I’d know he cares.

Be honest.  “I don’t know. I think I was confused by it more than anything.  The next time I saw him, I had a speech ready about not wanting a boyfriend, but Gale acted like nothing had happened so I never got to make it. But it changed things between us.  I kissed him a few more times after that.  Once as an apology after he was whipped and another time when he was sad that I hadn’t given him an answer.  And after you were hijacked.  I thought you’d always hate me and it didn’t matter anymore.  Gale wasn’t happy with it.  He said it was like kissing someone who’s drunk.  And that’s the extent of it.”  There, above and beyond. When there’s no response, I keep talking to fill the silence.  I’m disconcerted by it.  It’s impossible to know what he’s thinking. He hasn’t looked at me once. “It would never have worked between us.  Even if things hadn’t ended as they did.  We were too much alike.  It would have been like Haymitch and me getting together.” Peeta laughs. “That’s hard to imagine.“ He glances my way for the first time, smiling slightly. “Thanks for telling me, Katniss.  It’s certainly not how the Capitol painted it.” “No, I suppose not.”  I want so much to tell him that I couldn’t be with Gale because I was falling in love with him.  But I can’t. Not yet.  It’s only a little more than a month ago that he told me he wasn’t in love with me and told me not to come over at night when I had a nightmare.  For all I know, his feelings for me haven’t changed.  Not for the first time I wonder how we could have come to this.   Once we would have died for each other.   Suddenly I get to my feet.  “I just thought of something.  Wait here.” I hand Peeta back his jacket.  “Don’t move.” I dash inside, and race down the hall. In the study, I ransack drawers and cupboards.  I know it’s here somewhere. At last I find it, on top of a tall shelf.  I drag up a chair to lift it down.  The box isn’t heavy, having only a few small items in it. Once I have what I want, I re-join Peeta. “Here,” I say, as I place the necklace in his hand.   “This was your token in the Quell.  You gave it to me.” Peeta examines the gold disc with the Mockingjay emblem.  He shakes his head.  “I don’t remember it, I’m sorry.” I reach over to run my thumb along the catch and the disc springs open to reveal a locket with a photograph of my mother and Prim on one side, and of Gale on the other. “Why would I have this as my token?” he asks, puzzled. “It doesn’t make any sense.” “Not now, but it might later,” I say. “Keep it, maybe it will help.” “Well, OK, if you’re sure.”  He slips the locket into a pocket of his jacket.  “I’d better go now. I’ve kept you out long enough. You should get inside before you freeze.” “See you next week, Katniss,” he says, as he walks off. “See you,” I call after him.  And only you.  Without Lace.  Maybe it hasn’t been such a bad day after all.

 Chapter 7  

Haymitch scowls when he sees what we’re having for dinner.  “Why didn’t you get the chicken pie?” “Because we sold all the chicken pies, that’s why.” I slam down the plate in front of him.  “This is what was left.  If you don’t like quiche, then don’t eat it.  I don’t care either way.” I reach for the bowl in the centre of the table and pile salad onto my plate.  I’m in no mood for Haymitch’s grousing.  It’s not like he’s paying for it.   “Sheesh!  What’s got your goat?” asks Haymitch, who is already shovelling quiche into his mouth.  

“People.  I’m sick of them.  Is it my fault if the beestings run out?  If you turn up at the end of the day, just before closing, is it so surprising there’s none left?  And then I have to be nice and apologise.  For something I’m not responsible for.  Idiot woman.” Haymitch laughs.  “I knew when you took the job it wouldn’t last.  I’m surprised you’ve lasted this long.  What is it?  A month? Just quit if you don’t like it.” “I can’t.  Not yet, anyway.  It’s too much like giving up.  Besides, I like the people I work with.” “Life’s too short to stay in a job you hate,” says Haymitch.  “You like the teacher job, don’t you? Do more of that.” “I might later on.  If I’m asked.” I do like it at the school and the Matson’s seem pleased with the job I’m doing.  And the way the school is growing, it won’t be long before one day a week won’t be enough to allow every child to have a turn in the woods.  It’s just not safe to take large groups out there. But in the meantime, a fondness for my co-workers aside, there are benefits to staying at the bakery.  Not least, as a distraction from the current situation with Peeta.  It’s either fill my hours, or sink into despondency again.

“You’ll miss the free cakes if I leave,” I tell him.   A selection of them is on the table for dessert. Two chocolate eclairs, a fruit tart and, Haymitch’s favourite, an apple pastry. “That I will.  But my waistline won’t,” he replies, as he pats his stomach, which admittedly, has grown larger since our dinners started.   “As if you’ve ever cared about your health,” I counter, thinking of how much alcohol he consumes.   “I exercise.” “Bending the elbow doesn’t count.” “Humph,” grunts Haymitch.  “Speaking of health, how’s it going with the boy?”

I shrug. “OK, I guess. He remembers some things.  A lot more than I thought he did, actually.” “But?” Haymitch prompts.   “I thought he’d remember . . . other things. The tapes Dr Aurelius sends doesn’t help.  They’re of us acting for the cameras, or at some kind of odds with each other. Negative stuff.  It just reinforces what the hijacking made him believe.”

Despite Lace’s absence for the last two tape viewings, there’s been no progress in my quest to get Peeta back. Except maybe for the seating arrangements.  The single-seaters had been pushed to the far sides of the room with the two-seater placed squarely in front of the television, so there was no ambiguity about where I was to sit.  There was no cuddling or hand holding.  There wasn’t even the slightest encroachment into the other’s space.  Peeta sat with his hands tucked beneath his underarms, or clasped in his lap as if he didn’t know what to do with them.  I fancied that he wanted to put them on me but I had made him self-conscious about it.  Or maybe that’s wishful thinking.   The tapes were bad.  The first was of me dropping a tracker jack nest on him.  I had to admit that it was as it appears– I was indeed trying to kill him.   Peeta readily accepted my explanation that I thought he had joined with the careers and was out to kill me.   But it hardly paints me as having his welfare at heart, let alone having tender feelings for him.   The second was when I drugged Peeta with sleep syrup so he wouldn’t prevent me from going to the feast to get his medicine. Just before I left, I had remembered I was supposed to keep up the star-crossed lovers routine and gave him a long, lingering kiss goodbye.   It’s so obvious to anyone watching closely that the kiss was a calculated move rather than a spontaneous, sincere one.  Even down to the pretend tear I wiped from my cheek. I cringed when I saw it, terrified of what Peeta must be thinking. But when I glanced his way, all I saw was a complete lack of surprise.  Worst of all, he didn’t even seem that sad about it. When he asked his questions, there was no way around it.  Yes, Peeta. I did it for the camera.   The only positive is that it led to a discussion of how I risked my life to save his and how I was only alive to do it because he had saved me first.  But Peeta already knew about the feast.  He was told of it in 13.  What he doesn’t know is why I did it.  And after seeing that tape . . . well, he couldn’t be blamed for thinking that I haven’t one scrap of romantic feeling for him. Perhaps he even thinks protecting each other is some kind of quid pro quo arrangement born of the Seam ethos of owing.  You save me, so I save you.  And that could be another reason for why he doesn’t want me in his guest room anymore. He couldn’t see the point of it continuing it.

“He doesn’t remember that he’s in love with you, is that the real problem?” Haymitch asks. Shocked, I simply stare at him.  I didn’t think he knew.  He’s given every impression that he’s either ignorant of my feelings for Peeta, or too absorbed with his own problems to care.  I start to protest but he waves it away.

“Don’t bother denying it.   Anyone with eyes to see could tell you loved him.  I should know. I bear the marks.”  He indicates the faint white lines etched on the sides of his face.  It’s where I raked him with my fingernails after I learned that Peeta had been left in the arena. “And then how you came back to life the day he returned to 12?  Sweetheart, it’s all over your face.  I think the only one who isn’t aware of it is Peeta.”

It’s all I can do not to slap him. Haymitch baited me over Peeta dating Lace.  Said I must be glad that Peeta’s attentions are off me.  Fought me when I announced my intention to distance myself from Peeta unless he tried to get his memories back.  And now he says he knows that I loved Peeta all along?   “But then why – “ I begin.   He puts up his hand in defence.  “Yeah, I’m sorry.  I thought goading you might force you to act, instead of hanging back and letting things happen.  If you would just tell Peeta how you feel – “ “I did.” I interrupt before he can go further. “He took it the wrong way.  He thinks of me as some kind of family member. He’s told me to my face that he’s not in love with me anymore.  More than once, in fact.  And how awful it must be to have someone in love with you when you don’t feel the same way about them.  And then there’s Lace . . .   The only way I can see clear is for Peeta to get his memories back.   Maybe he doesn’t feel that way about me anymore, memories or not.  But I have to know.  I can’t . . . I can’t move on until I do.”

One thing you can say about Haymitch is that he doesn’t embarrass you with soppy expressions of sympathy. He just listens to what you have to say and then gives you the best advice he can.  Not that I’m always inclined to follow it. “Snow got to him more than I thought then,” he says. “He’d been so attached to you that I thought it would only take . . .well, it seems I was wrong.  Of course, it could all be in the timing. And it does sound to me like he’s trying to convince himself more than anything but who knows what’s going on in his head these days.  What concerns me most is that one day he’ll wake up from all this and find he’s caused so much damage, that there’s no going back.”

Peeta had said the same thing, although I doubt he was thinking of me when he said it.   But I know Haymitch is.  What would be my breaking point?  That line he’d have to cross, that my being with him would be unthinkable? I’ve thought about this a lot and failed to come up with an answer.   But I do know that the longer he is with Lace, the less faith I have in the strength and infallibility of Peeta’s love.  Time isn’t just not on my side, it’s not on Peeta’s either.  Would he marry her?  He might, if things continue as they are.  I don’t know if he’s slept with her.  But he most likely has. Sometimes, on those rare occasions when I allow myself to think about it, I want to curl up with the agony of it. Has that been the end, that point of no return, and I haven’t realised it yet? Right now, it’s hard to see beyond the fact that Peeta is with another and I don’t have him.  It consumes me, motivates nearly everything I do.  

Would it be fair of me then to pursue a relationship with him, if I can’t be sure that that point hasn’t already been reached?  Because, ignorant of his past he may be, there’s no denying that Peeta seems happy in his ignorance and happy with Lace.  What if he does get his memories back and he loves me again but then I don’t want him because I can’t get past his relationship with her?  That would be despicable on my part, if the only reason he had for recovering his memories was because I had coerced him into it.  If I do it certain in the knowledge that I’ll still want him because I love him, it makes me self-centred, but it’s forgivable. But it still won’t be for Peeta’s sake, but my own.  There needs to be a better reason.   “Then we have to stop him before he does,” I reply.  “If Lace is the one he wants to be with, then he should make that decision with his eyes open.  Peeta and I talked the night before the Games.   About what we wanted to achieve.  I just wanted to survive it.   But for Peeta, the most important thing was to stay himself.  To show that the Capitol doesn’t own him. Don’t we owe it to him to help him do that?” “Even if we have to drag him kicking and screaming?” “Even then,” I say grimly.  As content with the status quo as Peeta appears to be, I know that the real Peeta – the Peeta I’m fighting for – would want to get back to himself.  No matter what. Haymitch helps himself to a chocolate éclair.   I take a fruit tart before Haymitch eats them all.  

“Um, has Peeta said anything about me?  I mean about how he feels about me?”  Now that Haymitch knows everything, I might as well pump him for information.  Peeta might have confided in him.  I’ve overheard Peeta talking to him about Lace, whereas he rarely mentions her to me. Haymitch seems uncertain, but then he shrugs. “I suppose it won’t do any harm to tell you from Peeta’s point of view.  And you should know what you’re facing.  He says it was an illusion – a childhood crush that didn’t survive the harsh light of reality.” It’s worse than I thought then.  I thought he merely didn’t remember what it felt to love me.  But now I learn that he doesn’t think it was ever real.   The devastation must show on my face, for Haymitch’s voice softens. “Sweetheart, if I didn’t think it was a load of horseshit I wouldn’t have thought that the only thing you had to do was to tell him how you feel about him.  I saw it all.  The only illusion is what Peeta is telling himself.  OK?”  

I take a breath.  “OK,” I say, not sure that it makes it any better. It’s what Peeta believes that counts.

“Any last words of advice?” I ask. “Stay honest,” Haymitch tells me.  “If you’re not truthful about the bad, then he won’t trust you to be truthful about the good.   It will come eventually.  Be ready for it.” I nod and take a bite of my fruit tart.  What Haymitch says makes good sense.  What’s on the tapes has to improve soon.  I hope. There are times when I wonder what Dr Aurelius is trying to do to me.  It’s like he wants to drive Peeta and me even further apart.  But I told Peeta to trust in him and it behooves me to do the same.

After Haymitch leaves, I trek upstairs to Prim’s room and sit on her bed.   I come up here to talk to her about Peeta.  In those dark days after the hijacking when I thought that Peeta would die insane and hating me, she was possibly the only one who had faith that Peeta would recover and come back to me.  I try to remember it when the situation seems hopeless, but as the days go by and there’s no change, there are occasions when I’m tempted to simply give up.  To let Peeta pursue the path he’s chosen while I do my best to find myself a new one.  But then I remember the boy who was determined to defy the Capitol in the only way that was left to him.  And that was not to let the Capitol make him into something he wasn’t. I owe that boy.  In more ways that can possibly be imagined.

My eyes land on the primrose painting on Prim’s dresser.   Right side facing the wall, one corner of the frame broken.  If the pearl represented the boy with the bread, this painting could represent the Peeta he is now.   His true self hidden from view, his mind fractured.  But not beyond saving.   There’s some good news, Prim.  I thought I was alone in this but I’m really not. Tonight, I learned that I’ve had an ally all along.  But then Haymitch has always known about Peeta and me.  Right after winning the games when he made sure to warn me to keep up the star-crossed lovers act, but not Peeta.  “Don’t have to.  Peeta’s already there,” he said.   Peeta already in love and me on the way.  Perhaps the situation is now reversed and it’s Peeta who’s not there yet but is on the way.   I have to keep believing that.  

Chapter 8. My hand hovers over the plate of cookies Peeta offers me.  He’s baked an assortment.  Chocolate, shortbread, jam filled and gingerbread.  I decide on the chocolate and take a bite. “Mm. This is really good. They don’t make cookies at the bakery.” “Yeah, I know,” replies Peeta.  “That’s why I make them when you come around. Thought you’d like a change from buns and cakes.” “I do.  But when did you visit the bakery to know that they don’t make cookies?  I don’t remember seeing you.”

“I’ve called in a few times,” he says.  “Usually on a Friday when I know you’re working at the school.  I didn’t want to crowd you.” I feel my face redden at the implication. When I told Peeta that we have nothing more to say to each other, I didn’t intend that he’d have to go out of his way to avoid places that I might be.  “I didn’t mean . . . that is, you shouldn’t stop yourself from doing something just to please me. Visiting the bakery is hardly crowding me.” “Do you really mean that?” he asks, hopeful expectation in his voice. “Of course, I do.  You should go anytime you like.” Peeta’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “I was hoping you’d feel that way. I’ve been offered a job as a specialist cake decorator but I didn’t want to accept unless I knew you’d be OK with it.   Flora told them of the cake I decorated for Annie and Finnick’s wedding and Cass said I could be just what they were looking for.  And then I was invited into the kitchen to do a demonstration cake – and Katniss, the set up they have compared to my family’s bakery.  Electric ovens instead of wood fired ones, a wall of refrigerators, stainless-steel bench tops and so much room.  I’m to have my own dedicated workspace . . .” And so Peeta continues, his face glowing with enthusiasm.  Despite the potential awkwardness of us sharing the same workplace, I find myself smiling back. Clearly this has resonated and another puzzle piece to the identity of Peeta Mellark has fallen into place.   A combination of baking and art; it’s such a natural fit for him.  Totally unlike me and customer service.  I figure that if it doesn’t work out between Peeta and me I should find it no hardship to look for another job.  It’s probably what I’ll be doing someday soon anyway. Eventually we settle down to watch the video.  I hope that the happy mood isn’t ruined by what we’re about to see.  I’ve come to call these tape viewings as the “reading of the tape” because it evokes the same sense of dread and inevitability that preceded the reading of the card.  That feeling when you know you’re about to get awful news but there’s nothing you can do about it.   Thankfully, it won’t be like the old days with double the number of tributes, or a reaping from the existing pool of victors.  But I can’t help but fear that out of all the film that was taken of Peeta and me, Dr Aurelius will choose something that suggests disdain, indifference or obvious acting on my part.  It’s what he’s sent so far.   Peeta presses a button on the remote and Caesar Flickerman fills the screen.  He’s standing centre stage, microphone in hand.  Since he’s sporting powder blue hair and matching make-up this must be our first Games.  So far, so good.  This was so early in our relationship that we hadn’t done anything yet that could possibly be said to define it.  The tension in my muscles eases a little and I even feel a little optimistic.  Maybe we’re turned a corner from all those compromising tapes.

After telling a few jokes, Caesar introduces the girl tribute from District 1.  That was Glimmer, beautiful and sexy in a gold see-through gown.   So unlike - BAM! Suddenly Glimmer morphs into a grotesque swollen thing with foul green liquid bursting from a hundred trackerjack stings.  I blink and look again to reassure myself that it’s just a trick of my imagination. The all too familiar signs of an anxiety attack starts to rise in my chest but I manage to tamp it down by concentrating on the next tribute to be interviewed.  I steal a glance at Peeta and it’s clear that he struggles with a memory associated with Glimmer too.  What it is, I don’t know. Each interview lasted three minutes.  I tick them off as they appear.  There’s Cato, big and hulking; a predator and proud of it.  I push away memories of how he died before they can take hold.  And Foxface from District 5.  I try not to think of her emaciated body being lifted into the hovercraft but how much I admired her cleverness at the feast.  And then comes Rue, my little ally, who I couldn’t save and pain stabs at me is if it were yesterday.   And not just for Rue, but for every innocent child she represents. The children who were forced to compete in the Games.  The children who died the night 12 was bombed.  The Capitol children who burned outside Snow’s mansion.  And Prim.   I must gasp.  Or something.  For I feel my hand taken possession of by a large male one.   “Katniss, do you want to stop?”  Peeta regards me with such concern that I have an almost overwhelming impulse to throw myself onto his chest and take refuge there.  I imagine his arms enfolding me, pulling me close.  And that could have happened too, before I had given him my ultimatum.  But now he’s too self-aware of any unconscious demonstrations of affection to initiate it, and I’m no longer willing to settle for crumbs. “No.  I’m OK.  Let’s keep going,” I say, as I pull my hand free and turn my gaze back towards the television. Thresh returns to his seat after his interview and then my name is announced.  Cinna’s magic had turned me into dazzling, otherworldly figure in a jewelled gown that flashed yellow, red and white with accents of blue.  But although my gown evoked the power and beauty of a firestorm, my demeanour didn’t. I was almost petrified with nervousness and it showed.   Caesar asks what impresses me about the Capitol.  I struggle for an answer, but then my eyes go to someone in the crowd and I visually relax. It was Cinna.  Be honest, he told me when I confessed my worry to him that I didn’t know how to present myself.  In Haymitch’s opinion, I was as charming as a dead slug.  But Cinna saw a side to me that Haymitch hadn’t.  A side that was appealing and was admired for her spirit. “The lamb stew,” I blurt out.  And some of the audience laugh.  And then I see myself act very un-Katniss like, or at least, not as I see myself.  Yet I was being myself, which is strange.  Giggly, girly, artless.  I twirl for the cameras and collapse into giggles.  But when Prim’s name is mentioned, I’m all deadly determination. Is that what others saw in me, a reason why I was chosen to be the Mockingjay?  Someone like themselves, to whom they could relate to, with an unexpected core of steel?  I can only wonder. Peeta’s the last to be interviewed.   And he’s so handsome and charming, it wouldn’t surprise me if every teenage girl in Panem hadn’t instantly made him her latest celebrity crush.  Lace would have seen this.  Perhaps on a large television screen in some community hall in District 8 for it was mandatory viewing.  It’s even possible she was infatuated before she met him for real.  Not that I can blame her if she was.  He certainly cuts a romantic figure as he and Caesar banter back and forth.  He has the audience eating out of his hand.   Caesar asks if has a girlfriend back home. I risk a nervous glance at the Peeta beside me. I search his face for any sign that it sparks a memory but I don’t see one.  It has got his interest though.  He leans forward, his eyes intent on the screen.   I turn back to the television.  The onscreen Peeta hesitates.  That’s the cue for Caesar to delve deeper.  Peeta describes a girl he’s had a crush on ever since he can remember who didn’t even know he was alive until the reaping.  The solution is simple, explains Caesar.  You win the Games and then she can’t refuse you. Peeta disagrees.  Winning won’t help because the girl came with him.  That was me.   The camera pans between Peeta and me and even goes to split screen.  His face is beet red, his eyes downcast, his expression one of resigned sadness.  Mine is just as red, eyes fixed on the floor, my expression one of disbelieving shock.   The crowd roars its sympathy and support.  Peeta, with his tragic tale of a hopeless love, had blown the rest of us out of the water.   I recall how I furious I’d been.  Peeta had used me to gain audience sympathy and had undermined me in the process!   The anthem plays and we file off stage.  Credits begin to roll but then it switches to the tributes and their entourages piling onto the elevators.  Since it’s of poorer quality and seems to be have filmed from a fixed position above our heads, I figure this must be from surveillance tape. I had taken a different car from Peeta but the person who had prepared this had spliced the tape from the elevators together so that it goes from me, to Peeta, and then back to me again.  Peeta is pale with trepidation.  I’m pale with suppressed fury.   I reach the 12th floor first and the doors close.  But as Peeta exits his car, the doors remain open just long enough for the camera to record me shoving my hands against his chest and knocking him backwards.  The tape ends. There are a few moments of silence before Peeta seems to gather himself sufficiently to turn off the television. He looks down at his hands.  One of them has a double crescent of faint white scars.   I clear my throat.  “That wasn’t caused by the urn.  I think they had mostly healed up before the next morning with the special medicine they had.  In any case, the full body polish would have got rid of any marks.” Peeta nods, but he continues to gaze at the scars as if there’s a memory contained within them that he can’t quite reach.

He gives a rueful laugh. “It’s just as well I didn’t make a move on you before we were reaped.  That would have been a massive waste of time.  It made you pretty angry, huh?” “Yes, but not for the reason you think.   I thought you were trying to get an advantage over me.  Get the audience onside and make me look weak.  I didn’t know you were trying to help me.  Haymitch set me straight.” “I remember scraps of it,” he says, raising his head for the first time.  “I thought you were mad because of Gale.  That he’d get the wrong idea and think you felt the same way.” “That’s right,” I say, my hopes starting to rise as they do whenever he shows signs that his memories are coming back.   “And then you said that he’d recognise a bluff when he saw it.”   Peeta nods, considering it.  Perhaps now he’ll realise why we had misunderstood each other’s motives.  Why I had thought he was acting along with me as part of the star-crossed lover’s routine. Suddenly his face brightens as if something he’s agonised over finally has an answer.  “Yes, that’s what it was.  It was a bluff!  It makes sense.  That’s why I went from having such strong feelings to not having them.  I’ve confused what was made up with what was real. Even now I . . .”  He seems doubtful for a moment before he gives his head a shake.   He turns to me with a dazzling smile.  “You know what this means, don’t you?” “No,” I whisper.  A knot has formed in my throat and threatens to choke. “We can truly be friends now.  None of that unrequited love business making it awkward between us.” He looks at me with wonderment.  “That saying – “the truth shall set you free” – it’s true, isn’t it?  And it’s thanks to you.  If you hadn’t insisted that I confront my past then I’d have gone on believing what had never been real in the first place.”  He shakes his head disbelievingly at his former stupidity.  “You’re a marvel, do you know that?” “I’m really not,” I manage to get out.  I want to cry.  But I also want to punch him really, really hard.  I want to kick him viciously in the groin and scrape my nails down his face and watch the blood flow.  He’s HAPPY!  Haymitch had told me that Peeta thought his crush for me had been an illusion, but now it seems that even the illusion had been an illusion. It was all a bluff!  I have to get out of here. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have people to meet in town.  I think we’ve covered it all, anyway.  I’ll see you next week.  Thanks for the cookies.” Peeta hardly has time to say goodbye, I’m out the door so quickly.  The walk from his house to mine only takes a few minutes.  Nonetheless, it takes all my self-control not to break into a run. I need somewhere to hide. Fast.   In my bedroom, I tear off the shorts and halter top I had painstakingly chosen to wear today.  They weren’t really suitable for the cooling weather, but they showed my figure to its best advantage.  How futile it was trying to look attractive for Peeta.  On my bed are the clothes I wore this morning – khaki trousers, a t-shirt and my father’s hunting jacket.  I hurriedly put them on.  The closet has never looked more inviting.  I push aside the hangers of clothes, curl into a corner and pull the door closed.   And for a few blessed hours I shut everything out. Chapter 9

As soon as I enter the bakery I can tell something’s afoot.  The store appears empty even though we’re about to open, and I can hear voices raised in excitement coming from the back.  It’s there I find Cass, Julius, Cornelia and Flora clustered around a paper Cass holds in his hand. As usual, it’s Cornelia who speaks first.  “Cass has been asked to create and oversee the dessert course for the Mayor’s inauguration party.  And the bakery has been asked to supply the bread.” “Congratulations,” I say.  “That’s wonderful news.  I hear it’s going to be big.”  Or big by 12 standards anyway.  I got an invitation in the mail yesterday.  Haymitch said that all prominent citizens will get one.  My first inclination is to say no.  I have a dislike for these kind of events from all the Capitol parties that Peeta and I were forced to attend.  But I’m certain Peeta will ask Lace and I don’t want to appear as some sad hopeless case by either staying at home or having Haymitch as my date.  The trouble is that I had thought of asking Cass.  Now who?  

“Yeah, it’s a big event but we’ve done bigger.  And Cass has done feasts so he knows what’s needed to cater to a crowd,” says Cornelia.   “Maybe opera,” says Cass who’s already thinking of the menu. “What’s that?” asks Flora. “It’s a dessert of layered almond sponge flavoured with chocolate and coffee and then topped with chocolate ganache,” he explains.  “We can make it here and then transport it in slabs to the venue to be portioned and given the final decoration there.” Coffee.  Yuck. “It sounds delicious,” I say.  Maybe I can get him to change his mind.  Or at least have an alternative.   The subject changes to what type of bread they’ll make and I judge it a good time to get back out front.  Someone has to work around here.  Flora follows and together we ready the store for opening and then unlock the door and put the open sign up.   There’s the usual early morning rush and I barely notice when Peeta arrives and slips past us to get started on the cake orders.  It’s only a few weeks since he started here, but demand for his cakes has increased to the point that the hours he works at the bakery will soon supersede the hours he works at his sign writing business.  I don’t think it will be long before he’s full-time and the sign writing is abandoned.  I know he prefers to decorate cakes than paint signs because he told me.   Not that there’s been a lot of conversation between us lately unless it’s directly related to the tapes Dr Aurelius sends. After Peeta’s joyful revelation that his crush on me was apparently nothing more than a scam invented to give us an advantage in the Games, I haven’t had the inclination to give him any more than I feel obliged to.  I haven’t felt so disheartened over Peeta since those miserable days when he was first hijacked.  At least I was his primary focus then. I thought there couldn’t be anything worse that being told I was no longer loved.  But then Haymitch told me that he believes it had all been an illusion.  Now he’s taken it one step further.   It was an illusion of an illusion.  I don’t know what I am to him.  The female equivalent of Haymitch?  Someone he unconsciously gravitates to because of shared experiences?

The following Saturday, I didn’t bother to dress up for Peeta.  I wore the clothes I’m comfortable in – my usual khaki pants and T-shirt – my hair in a simple braid down my back and no make-up.  I refused the cookies he offered with the excuse that I’ve been eating too much sugar lately.  And when I sat on the couch beside him, I kicked off my boots, pulled my knees to my chest and wound my arms tight around them.  No chance of any sympathetic attempts at hand holding if he can’t easily get to them.

The tape was of the tributes parade.  Both of them. We certainly dazzled in the costumes Cinna and Portia designed for us.  But the most marked difference between the two parades was in our attitudes.  The parade for our first games was shown first.  There’s me, smiling, waving, throwing kisses to the crowd.  Haymitch later asked where I had pulled that cheery, wavy girl from.  But I was just being me, which surprised even myself.  I felt Peeta’s eyes on me.  Maybe he was puzzled too.  There hasn’t been a lot for me to be cheery and wavy about since I got back to 12.   For the Quell, we were told to be contemptuous and unsmiling.  To be above it all.  That was me being myself too.  And then it was Peeta being unlike himself, barely deigning to spare the crowd a glance. Yet I know he wasn’t acting either. When the tape ended Peeta asked his questions. Despite a concerted effort, I couldn’t help being short with him.  His expression was puzzled, questioning, and maybe a little hurt.  Not that I cared.  Yes, yes, it was for the cameras.  Isn’t that what you want to hear?   And the next week, Dr Aurelius sent a propo tape from District 13.  The one where I talk about how I met Peeta for the first time - in the rain, on the verge of starvation, all hope gone.  How he took a beating to give me the loaves of bread that saved us.  And that we didn’t speak until years later when we were on the train to the Games.  “But he was already in love with you,” said Cressida off camera.  “I guess so,” I replied.  The conversation turned to how I’ve coped with our separation.  “Not well,” I said.  The tape ended there, although I had gone on to talk about the Capitol.  I guess that part has no relevance for Peeta’s memories. “It was kept up even after my capture then?” he had asked.   “It was used as propaganda tool.  For audience sympathy.”   And it’s true.  It was. It wasn’t an act by then, of course. But that’s not the question Peeta asked. “But the bread story is true.  I remember that.” “Yes.  That was true.”

There were no more questions.  I assume he was happy with it.  Anything to confirm what he wants to believe. Last Saturday, it was the marriage proposal. Peeta, on one knee, professing his great love and then begging me to marry him.  And me accepting, of course.    It was all fake, Peeta.  As fake as fake can be. “Whose idea was it?” he had asked. “It was mine.  I thought it might convince everyone that our love was real and put a stop to the unrest in the Districts.”  There Peeta.  The honest truth.  It wasn’t even you who suggested we marry.   Happy?  

Actually, when I think back on it, Peeta didn’t seem that happy.  Maybe because his hope for us to be great friends, now that we’re supposedly unencumbered by an awkward history of unrequited love, hasn’t worked out as well as he might have hoped.  Try as I might, I can’t completely hide my hostility towards him.  It’s my armor and I have no intention of taking it off.

Around mid-morning, there’s fewer customers and the sounds of conversation drift out from the kitchen. Julius, Cass and Peeta talk animatedly about bread making techniques.  Cornelia joins in occasionally.  Cass and Peeta congratulate each other on what a great team they make with Cass’s frosting and Peeta’s skill with cake decorating. Peeta fits into this environment like a hand to a glove.  Yet aside from making some connections to the people who work here, I’m an uneasy fit. Peeta is clearly the favourite. And why wouldn’t he be?  He’s the one with the valuable skill.  He’s the one who can charm the birds out of the trees. By the time Cornelia comes to serve behind the counter so I can take my lunch break, I’m feeling very sorry for myself. I go to my favourite spot - a bench beneath a large, shady oak that somehow survived the bombing, in a small park adjacent to the school grounds. My lunch is two cheese buns and some fruit brought from home but I have little appetite for it, so engrossed I am in gloomy thoughts.   “Can’t stay away from the place, huh?” I look up and there’s Max coming my way. He sits down beside me.  “Are you going to eat that?” I sigh and hand him a cheese bun.  Max takes a bite. “What’s wrong?” he asks.  “I’ve known horses with faces that aren’t that long.” “Know a lot of horses, do you?” My tone is caustic but my lips twitch.  We tease and annoy each other but it’s all in good fun.  Few people can shake me out of a bad mood quicker than Max can.  And put me into one too.   “I’ve known a few.   I like mules better, though, stubborn though they are.  They remind me of you.” “Ha ha.”  A compliment wrapped in an insult.  But somehow, he’s managed to hit on the very thing I’m miserable about and made me feel better.   He makes no secret that likes me, shortcomings and all.   And I know he likes me better than Peeta.  He calls Peeta “Psycho Boy” in spite of all my efforts to get him to stop.  I think the fact that it annoys me has an added charm for him. “So what is it?  Has sharing a workplace with Psycho Boy started to wear thin?”

“No,” I say, even though there’s some truth to it. “And stop calling him that.  He’s not a psycho.” Or a boy either.  Peeta and I left childhood behind a long time ago.  I hand Max the remaining cheese bun.  I’m not going to eat it.  “I don’t know if I’m suited to working in a shop, that’s all.  I’ve been thinking of reducing my hours if the Carters agree.”  I know Sateen would like to take them up.  She’s helping her brother save money to start up a clothing factory. “Good.  You can put in more time at the school then.  One day a week isn’t enough the way the school’s growing.  And Moira can do with a hand with the junior school too. You’re a natural at it, you know; teaching.  My parents said they’d like to take you on full-time eventually.  And they can assist with training if needed.” My spirits perk up immediately.   I do like teaching and it’s something I can make a long-term career.  Not since my hunting days when I provided for my family have I had an occupation I can take pride in, and I’ve missed it. “Yeah, I’d like that.  Thanks.  I’ll ask if I can reduce my hours at the bakery when I get back.  I’m sure they’ll be fine with it.”  I suppose I could simply resign.  It’s what I’ll do eventually.  But in the mean time I like the people I work with, still need to keep occupied doing something, and I don’t want to give Peeta the impression that his presence pushed me out.   My appetite restored, I regret giving away my cheese buns.  But there’s still an apple and a banana to eat.   I set to work peeling the banana.  Suddenly an idea comes to me. “Max, I was wondering if you’d do me a favour. The Mayor’s inaugural dinner is coming up and I need a date.” “And you want me to find you one?” I’m tempted to throw the banana peel at him. “No, I’m asking you to be my date. Strictly as friends, of course.” “Of course.  Not going with Peeta then?” “No,” I say, as casually as I can.  “He’ll probably take Lace.”  Like most people, Max had assumed that Peeta and I were still together.  Peeta’s defection to Lace is not something I like to talk about, so Max has only been given information on a need-to-know basis.  But he could have picked up more from local gossip. “I see,” he says in a voice that implies that he sees a great deal.   “I have one question before I accept.  Is this an exercise in making Psycho Boy jealous?  Because I want to know if I should be prepared in case I incur his wrath, like that poor guy he pushed into a pod that time.” I do my best to tamp down my irritation.  Unfortunately, Max’s distrust of Peeta isn’t uncommon.  The incident to which Max refers was broadcast across all of Panem. Not to mention that Mitchell had come to my defence after Peeta had tried to bash my brains out with his gun. “It was an accident and Peeta was hijacked then, and not responsible.   I assure you that you’ll be perfectly safe, jealous or not.”   If I should be so lucky, that is.  Peeta’s too besotted with Lace to feel any jealousy over me.  This is all about salvaging some pride.   “All I’m saying is that I’m up for it if you are,” he says, as he nudges his shoulder against mine.   I scowl at him, just as he intended.

“What I want from you is to behave yourself and not embarrass me,” I tell him.  

Chapter 10

I turn my head to the side to get a look at the timer as it ticks down the minutes.  Half an hour to go.  And then, once this white goo is rinsed off, there’s exfoliating and moisturising creams to follow. The thick white ointment, combined with the heat, makes my skin itch like crazy.  Only I can’t get at it to scratch.  I’m encased in a long metal tube, almost like a casket, with a hole at one end for my head to poke through.  Octavia calls it a cellular regeneration chamber.  I call it a torture chamber.  She and Flavius brought it from the Capitol at great expense.  They hope it will form one of the mainstays of their business.  

But at least it’s the last of the skin treatments, and while I had my doubts, it’s been surprisingly successful.  The skin tone has evened out and there’s no difference now between the old skin and the grafts. And where it had looked slightly melted in places has smoothed out quite a bit too.  Octavia tells me only a full body polish would fix it completely, but I’m happy with the results.   A spot on my right thigh starts to itch, but even by extending my hand out as far as it will go, I can’t reach it.  Another itch springs up on the back of my shoulder. Again inaccessible.  With concentration, I ignore them until they go away.  But then it’s my left ankle.  A travelling itch.  I try to nap using the relaxation techniques Dr Aurelius taught me but it’s hard to drift off when there’s itching inside the chamber, and noise from outside it. Snatches of conversation, and the hum of hair dryers easily penetrate the thin curtain that covers the opening to the alcove.  After a slow start, business at the salon is booming.  You’d think they’d be able to afford thick draperies by now, if not an actual door.   Flavius and Octavia keep up a steady stream of patter. They tell me it’s a requirement in the beauty industry. Customers seem to expect it.  And even if the customer is disinclined to talk, they still converse between themselves, talking mostly of inconsequential things.  However, they have at least one chatty customer today.  Her voice had been partially drowned by a hair dryer, but now that it’s been turned off, I know who it belongs to.  A peal of pearly laughter confirms it.   “My boyfriend told me that none of it was real. It was all about putting on a show and being entertaining to get sponsors.  Everyone had an angle.  The brainy one, the sexy one, the arrogant one and so on.  The star-crossed lovers were made up too, to get sponsors.  It was all a big hoax but not many people know that,” says Lace. “No, it wasn’t,” chimes in a female voice with a District 12 accent.   I recognise the voice, but I can’t quite place it.   “I don’t know about all the others but the star-crossed lovers were real. I was in the same class as them at school.” Of course, Leevy.  She was a neighbour of ours in the Seam who made it to 13 after 12 was bombed. Evidently, she’s returned to 12 to live. “Katniss kept to herself, but Peeta was always staring at her.  We wondered why he didn’t try to talk to her, but he probably thought she was with Gale.  Most of us did.   But then, Merchant seldom mixed with Seam unless it was at the slag heap and that wasn’t Peeta’s style.  In 13, she broke down over what Snow was doing to him and he was only rescued because she couldn’t perform as the Mockingjay.  I also heard she had a pearl she carried around in her pocket – the same pearl he gave to her in the arena.”

“It’s true,” says Octavia, “about the pearl.”  I momentarily fear that Octavia will admit to being on my prep team.   In the districts, anyone who was associated with facilitating the Games, risks ostracism at best.  But Octavia is smarter than I gave her credit for.  “My cousin knew one of Katniss’s prep team.  She says they often shared a bed.  And once she actually walked in on them, cuddling together. Maybe it started as a hoax, but it didn’t end that way.” “See,” says Leevy.  “I’m sorry to say, but when it comes to Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, your boyfriend knows shit.”

There are a few moments of silence before Lace responds.  She sounds rattled. “But he’s not with her now.  Whatever it was, it didn’t last.” “Well, Snow did a number on him, that’s for sure.  Cracked his brain real good.  But what if it all comes back to him?  That’s what I’d be afraid of, if I were his girlfriend,” Leevy says. “I guess it’s fortunate then that you’re not,” says Lace tersely.   “Flavius if you don’t mind, I think I’ll reschedule for the colour.  I really should get back to the shop.” “Yes of course” returns Flavius.  “I’ll make you another appointment.” Nothing more is said until the door opens and then clicks shut. I hear sympathy in Leevy’s voice.  “It’s for her own sake.  Nothing good is built on a lie.” Except for Peeta and me.  No, I remind myself, it was only half a lie.  Peeta was genuine.  And then it became real for me too.     The timer goes off and Octavia comes in to release me from this contraption, rinse off the cream and then apply another one. While she works, she excitedly tells me that Venia and her family are moving to 12 and she’s to join her and Flavius in the salon.  I hardly hear her.  So that’s what Peeta told Lace!  That it was all a hoax.  I suppose it’s not a surprise.  Not from what Peeta himself has told me.  And he hasn’t really told her anything that’s untrue.  It’s just not the whole truth.  So now she knows, but what she chooses to do with it remains to be seen. My situation remains the same. As Lace said, he’s not with me now.  He’s with her.  It’s what Peeta believes that counts.  And even if Peeta’s memories return it doesn’t mean that his feelings for me will too.   The following Saturday I’m at Peeta’s house as usual.  I don’t have high hopes.  If Dr Aurelius’ plan is to make it seem that our relationship was just one big act, I’m sure there’s still plenty of compromising tapes to choose from.  

When Peeta invites me in, his smile is tentative.  I feel a flash of guilt.  He’s probably uncertain about what kind of mood I’m in today.  I have been prickly lately.  And none of this is his fault.  I know he’s mostly watching these tapes because I more or less coerced him into it.  And he doesn’t know how much it hurts me that he’s happy to think that our romance had only been a scam for audience sympathy.  If our positions were reversed, Peeta would be helping me all he could, not sulking and shutting me out half the time, no matter how much he was hurting.  I really should try to be more patient and understanding, and not to take out my frustrations on him.  Most of all, I should remind myself why I’m doing this.  To help Peeta find himself.    

So I return Peeta’s smile with a dazzling one of my own.  And when he asks if I’d like a drink before we start, I don’t wait to be served in the sitting room, but follow him into the kitchen as I used to do and take a seat on a stool at the bench.  Peeta seems a little surprised, but also happily relieved.   “Tea?” he asks, as he holds the kettle aloft. “Please,” I say.  There’s a plate of cookies on the bench.  Not an assortment this time.  I guess he got tired of baking so many when I wasn’t eating them. “Mm, coconut.  I love your coconut cookies.  All your cookies, really.  It’s a shame the bakery doesn’t make them.” Peeta fills the kettle from the tap.  “I’ve mentioned it to Julius, but he says they’d rather concentrate on the items they have.   Apparently, cookies didn’t sell very well in the Capitol.  We sold a lot of them in my family’s bakery, though.” “Different clientele, I guess.  More money to spend on cakes.”  An idea comes to me. “Has he seen your decorated cookies, though?  The ones you frost with floral designs? That could be a great addition to the cake decorating.  Cookies for special occasions.  That sort of thing.” “Yeah, I’ll mention it.  Although the cake decorating keeps me busy.  Have I told you?  I’ve given up sign writing to work full time at the bakery.” “Wow.  You must really like it then.” “What’s not to like?  Doing what I love.  Normal hours.  And there’s no working with hot ovens all day since Cass is the one who bakes the cakes.   You don’t mind me working there, do you?  I sometimes worry that I’m invaded your space.  You were there first, after all.” “Of course not.  Don’t be silly.  I don’t think I’ll be at the bakery for that much longer anyway.  I much prefer working at the school.  I’ve even been asked if I’d like to teach in the classroom. Can you imagine that?  Katniss Everdeen, school teacher, in front of a blackboard with a class full of kids?” “I can, actually.  You’ve always had a natural rapport with children.  Look how you were with Rue.  And there’s Prim.  Sometimes . . .” Peeta pauses here, as if he’s not sure he should continue.

“Sometimes what?” I prompt. “It’s nothing really, just the way you were with Prim.  You were more than sisters.  Almost like mother and daughter.  Sometimes, when I was watching you together, I thought what a great mother you’d make.” “Oh.” I’m not sure how to respond.  There’s a dozen different thoughts and emotions to process.   The pang of loss whenever I think of Prim.  That Peeta had been observing Prim and me together and I had been totally unaware.  That Peeta thought I’d be a good mother, even though I’ve been determined never to be one.   And something else.  “You remember back then?” “Yes.  Most of it, I think.  Nearly everything up until the Games, anyway.  After that it’s patchy, or I can’t tell what’s real or not.  But the tapes are helping a lot, although Dr Aurelius did warn me I should be careful how I interpret.” “Sounds like good advice.”  So, Dr Aurelius hasn’t abandoned me, after all! I feel enormously encouraged to learn that he’s working with Peeta to challenge any pre-conceptions he might have. Peeta fills the teapot from the kettle and places it on a tray alongside two mugs and a small jug of milk.  Neither of us take sugar in our tea.  He nods his head towards the sitting room.  “Shall we?” “Of course.”  I take the plate of cookies and follow him into the room.  It’s the usual set-up, a two-seater couch in front of the television set, a coffee table between them.   “Can you get that?” asks Peeta, indicating a book that’s in the way of him setting down the tray. “Sure.”  I put down the cookies and pick up the book.  It’s of medium size with a fabric cover in a warm red colour.   There’s an end table beside the couch and that’s where I put it.  “What’s it about?”  I open the cover and I see that it’s filled with clothing designs.  No one has to tell me who’s drawn the illustrations. It’s clearly Peeta’s work. Peeta comes to stand beside me.  “It’s Lace’s birthday present.  Effie sent me the book and Lace made the cover.  See, it’s like your family’s plant book.  It’s where I got the idea from, actually. Lace wants to develop her own line of clothing.  When we’ve finished the book, it will be kept in the shop for people to browse and choose a design from.” “What a good idea,” I say dully.  Keep it together, I tell myself.  Don’t think about it.  If I do, I’ll lash out.  I know I will.  But oh, the agony!  My most precious moments with Peeta given to Lace.  I imagine them, probably here in this very room, heads cosily together as she describes what she wants him to draw and then Peeta sketching it for her. Just like Peeta and me when we worked on my family’s plant book while I was recovering from an injured foot.  I wonder if she notices that special look he gets on his face when he concentrates, or how long his eyelashes are. I swallow my hurt and anger as best as I can and move over to the couch where I take up my defensive position.  Knees pressed to my chest, arms around them, head down, eyes front.   Peeta comes to sit beside me.  “Katniss, is there anything wrong?” I shake my head.  “Of course not.  What could possibly be wrong?” “I’m sorry if the book reminded you of your father.” “It didn’t.  Look, can we just watch the tape,” I say irritably. Peeta shoots me a worried look, but seems to have made up his mind that it’s better to say nothing.  No doubt he thinks I’m a moody bitch compared to Lace’s perpetual sunshine.  And for once I don’t care.  He reaches across for the remote and turns on the television. I blink in surprise at what fills the screen. It’s not the Games, or rebel propaganda, or District parties.  It’s the roof.  Our roof. The rooftop garden at the training centre.  It’s late afternoon, going by the light, although there’s little to see.  Just a dome-shaped room with a door, railings around the periphery and a garden on one side of the dome.  After a few seconds, Peeta and I emerge through the door and walk over to the railing.  You can see our lips move but there’s no sound.   “Was this for the cameras?” asks Peeta. “No, we didn’t know about the cameras. We were mostly concerned about being overheard.  It was windy on the roof.  It’s why we went up there.”  To my own ears, my voice sounds shaky. I feel Peeta’s eyes on me, questioning.  But I keep mine forward, focused on the screen. It’s just my luck that the lack of sound means I’ll have to provide a running commentary.    “This is during our first Games.  We had just got back from the Tributes Parade.  We wanted to talk about Lavinia.  She – “ “I remember Lavinia,” says Peeta, cutting me off.  Snow had Lavinia tortured in front of him.  Thankfully, she had died quickly.  Unlike Darius, who lived long enough to have body parts cut off before he died.  Stealing a glance at Peeta’s closed off face, it’s hard to know what he’s thinking. Nothing good, by the look of it. I nod, and say nothing more about her. It’s a timely reminder of why I’m here, and that no matter how much I’m hurting now, it’s no comparison to what Peeta has suffered.  I try to get a grip on my emotions and concentrate on what’s on the TV screen instead. The onscreen Katniss and Peeta walk over to the garden.  “We thought the wind chimes would drown out our voices.”  There’s nothing else to add, so I settle in to watch our youthful selves and ruminate on how much their lives would change.  More that they could ever have imagined.  And doesn’t it look so romantic, to anyone who didn’t know better. I stop to sniff at a blossom like a romantic heroine in one of those silly Capitol movies and Peeta takes off his jacket to place it around my shoulders, buttoning it at my neck.   Eventually we go inside, and I think that must be the end of the tape. But the screen is black for only a second and when the picture returns it’s of Peeta leaning against the rail, deep in thought.  It’s night time, and although I don’t remember the roof being lit at night, everything is visible. It must have been filmed with a special camera like the glasses we had in the first Games for seeing in the dark. Peeta’s not alone for very long.  I see myself walk across the tiled floor to stand beside him. “It was the night before we went into the arena,” I explain.  “I couldn’t sleep.  So I went up to the roof to get some air.  You were there for much the same reason.” Peeta says nothing but his eyes are intent on the screen.  It seems to me, that unlike previous tapes, these are stirring something deep inside. The couple on TV talk amiably at first. But it becomes increasingly agitated. It’s not a flat-out argument exactly, but you can see he’s angry about something, and she takes offense at it.  Then she walks off and he’s back to his musings. But he’s not introspective as he was before, but annoyed and frustrated.  It’s not long before he leaves too and the footage ends.  But then the image returns. It’s bright sunshine in the film that follows and I know what’s to come next.  I reach for the remote and press pause. “Are there any questions before we go further?” I ask. “We were talking about not letting the Capitol change who we are.  To show that they don’t own us.”  Peeta looks to me for confirmation.   “Yes, that’s right.  But I didn’t understand.  Not then, anyway.  I just wanted to survive the thing.  But you wanted your death to mean something.  Something noble.  Something they couldn’t take from you.”   He nods, considering it.  “Yeah,” he says, and his face brightens like he’s had a breakthrough.  “It’s why I came up with the star-crossed lover’s idea.  It was something that would give my death meaning.  And help you at the same time.” “Yeah,” I say.  I turn my face back to the TV to hide my disappointment.  What he says is true and I can’t deny it. That’s precisely the intention he went into the Games with.  When will I learn not to get my hopes up? I press the pause button again to continue the tape.  I see us burst through the dome door laden with food and blankets for our rooftop picnic. We’re relaxed and happy, making the most of the time left to us before we entered the arena once more.  Neither of us thought we’d come out of it alive.  I burrow my face against my knees.  I don’t want to watch this.  It’s too painful, remembering us as we once were.  So young, so in love.  If only I had fully appreciated it then.  But we simply ran out of time. Peeta asks no questions while the tape runs. I only know it’s finished when I hear the clatter of the remote on the coffee table. “It almost looks like a date,” he says, with a queer sort of laugh.   And then, after a pause, “Was it?” I take a breath.  “I suppose it depends on what you mean by a date.”  I have to admit that it’s ambiguous at best.  There was no conscious thought that we were having one.  We played games, ate food, lay in the sun.  I practiced my weaving on the hanging vines.  Peeta sketched me. I lay my head in his lap and he played with my hair while I made a crown of flowers.  But there’s no kissing, no hugging.  Nothing that really stands out that we were more than friends.  Not to anyone who doesn’t want there to be, anyway.  Like Peeta. I unwrap my arms from around my legs and slowly rise from the couch.  I don’t want to hear him attribute it to being part of the act, or a blurring of the boundaries because of how we were forced to behave in public, or simply because that’s how friends interact. “We had only a short time left and we wanted to make the most of it.  It was one of the best days of my life.  It was a good day for you too.  At least you said so.  You said you wanted to freeze the moment and live in it forever.” My eye lands on Lace’s book.  He’s given that memory away.  And the swimming lessons.  And for all I know, our roof top date too.  What next?  The kisses on the beach?  A gift of burned bread?  All I know is that I’ve had more than enough for one day of the emotional upheaval a mere couple of hours in Peeta’s presence can do. The contrast between the Peeta on the tape, who loved me with every fibre of his being, and Peeta, as he is now, all this love and devotion going to another, is more than I can bear. “Look, I have to go now.  I’m meeting some people in the town and I don’t want to be late.”  It's an old excuse and one I’ve used before.  But it’s credible one.  I try to get out most Saturday nights.   “I’ll answer any questions next time, OK?” “Katniss,” I hear called after me.  I pretend I don’t hear and close the door quickly behind me. Chapter 11

Reluctantly I hand over my fur lined cape to the cloakroom attendant.  It’s chilly in the antechamber.  Every time someone comes through the doors, a blast of cold air comes with them.   It may not be winter yet but it feels like it. “Where’s Arthur gone to?” I ask Max.  I’m in a hurry to get into the main reception room where hopefully it will be warmer. “I think he went to the men’s – no, there he is.” Arthur is talking to the manager of the medicine factory.  We’ve been here barely five minutes and he’s already networking.  Sateen’s got Arthur all wrong.  He’s not shy.  He just doesn’t do small talk.  Get him onto his favourite subject, business, and there’s no shutting him up.  I give him a wave to attract his attention.  He nods in our direction, says something to the manager, and makes his way over to us. “Sorry.”  He offers his arm. “Shall we?” I link my arm through his and my other arm through Max’s.  We make an impressive threesome. Max is dapper in a suit made by Arthur.  When I had asked him to be my date I didn’t stop to consider that a teacher from 5 is hardly likely to possess a dinner suit. The invitation expressly stated black tie.  So, I took it upon myself to arrange one for him.  And then Arthur, always on the lookout for opportunities, offered a suit free of charge if I could wrangle an invitation for him to attend tonight’s dinner.   Easy!  Every invitee could bring a partner.  Arthur is technically Haymitch’s date.   And doesn’t he scrub up well in one of his own creations? He’s every inch the successful business man from the polished shoes, to the expensive suit, to the slick combed back hair.   And Max is resplendent too.  He’s really very good looking when I think on it.  Tall, broad shouldered and with classic features.  A shame about that errant lock of hair though. I should have sent him to Flavius. Oh well, too late now. And I don’t look too shabby myself.  I wear one of Cinna’s gowns.  The very one that Johanna Mason wanted to reach through the screen and tear off my back.  The deep blue velvet strapless number with the diamonds.  They’re not natural diamonds, though.  Cinna said they are synthetic but you can’t tell the difference. They form the bodice with its deep sweetheart neckline to fit snugly to the hips and then flare out to a full skirt with diamonds scattered to resemble stars against a midnight sky.  Flavius has done my hair swept to one side and held with a diamond clip.   I feel very glamourous.   Inside, guests mill around while waiters move between them with trays of drinks.  Tables are set around the periphery and in the centre of the room is a dance floor.  I haven’t danced since Finnick and Annie’s wedding.  That was the night I later went to see Peeta.  He was strapped to a bed, hypodermic syringes at the ready, and staring at me as if were some kind of weird transforming mutant.  And I was in pain from the wound to my side, on the defensive from his barbed comments, and inhibited by the doctors observing us from behind the one-way glass.  But I should have said it.  When he asked, “did you love me?” I should have said yes.   Maybe it would have made the difference.

“Katniss?”  I look up and see Max observing me quizzically.  A waiter stands nearby.  “Do you want a drink?”   “Yes.  Thanks.”  I take a glass of champagne from the tray and the waiter moves away.  “Where’s Arthur?”  I scan the room but I can’t see him. “Over there.”  Max point his glass towards the far side of the room.  I can just make out Arthur in deep conversation with a prosperous middle-aged couple.  “No flies on Arthur.” I nod. “None at all.  But it’s what he’s here for.” “So, what does one do at these things, besides stand around holding a drink?” asks Max.

“You mingle.  And hope they serve the food soon.”  I take a gulp of the champagne.  I don’t really like it but I need something to relax me.  I was ill at ease as soon as I entered the room. Too many reminders of other parties, I guess.  And Peeta should be around here somewhere.  With Lace.   “He’s behind you,” Max says.  “With the mayor and his wife.”  Without thinking, I quickly turn my head in that direction. Peeta is looking our way and gives a brief wave.  I force a smile.  Lace stands beside him elegant in a simple yellow lace gown, her mahogany hair falling in loose curls to her shoulders.  My own gown, which I was so pleased with before, feels overdone and garish now.  Ideal for a Capitol party, certainly.  But not for a conservative district like 12. I turn back to Max.  He has a smirk on his face.   He leans down to whisper into my ear.  “If it makes you feel better, Peeta’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw you come in.   In that dress, and with not just one man, but two, he’ll be jealous in no time.   If he’s not already, that is.” I scowl at him.  “I told you.  I’m not interested in making him jealous.  In fact, I hardly think of him at all.”

Max almost chokes on his drink.  “If you say so,” he says.  But the knowing smile remains.   I itch to slap it off.

We do the mingling thing, moving from one group to the next.  Max is surprisingly good at it and it takes a lot of pressure off me.  I’ve never been good at this.  The exchange of pleasantries when meeting people for the first time.  When Peeta and I were together, I’d let him do it for me and I’d just smile and answer questions when asked.  I take a moment to sneak a glance at him.  He has an arm loosely around Lace’s waist, looking rather bored, actually, as Lace and Arthur talk animatedly together.  It’s probably about the clothing industry.  I didn’t know they knew each other.  But knowing Arthur better now, he probably knows all the business owners in 12. Peeta turns his head in my direction suddenly and I quickly avert my eyes, embarrassed to be caught looking.   The food starts to come out and we take our seats.  Arthur is seated next to Haymitch, of course, and I have fun watching the speculative glances that come their way.  Haymitch thinks it’s a big joke and attempts to put an arm around Arthur who shoves him off. Everyone at the table dissolves into laughter, which garners the attention of nearby tables.  I see Peeta look over, and it seems to me that he’d rather be here with us, rather than with the staid group of people he’s seated with. The first course is some kind of fish served in a buttery sauce with almonds.   Braised goat with roasted vegetables is for main.  And then the course I’ve been waiting for.  Cass’s dessert.   He decided to forego opera for something more ambitious.  It’s a dome of crisp chocolate decorated with gold leaf.  A little jug of hot chocolate sauce accompanies it and when it’s poured over the top, the chocolate melts to reveal a rich chocolate mousse beneath with chunks of preserved pear at the bottom.  It’s absolutely delicious and I eat half of Max’s serve as well as my own.  

After dinner, many people move between tables to mingle some more.  Max heads off to the bar to get more drinks, Arthur is back to his networking, and I’m left alone, my two dates otherwise occupied.   “Hey you,” says a voice close behind me.   I turn my head to see Peeta smiling down on me.  Lace is with him.   “Oh, hi!” I say.  I try to inject as much friendliness into my voice as possible. It’s not that I’m unhappy to see Peeta, it’s just that I’m not happy to see her.  “Having a good time?” Peeta shrugs.  “I suppose it’s an improvement on the Capitol parties.” “You’ve been spoilt, that’s your problem, Mr. I’m-Bored-With-It-All” says Lace, with her trademark giggle.  “What about the rest of us who haven’t been to anything fancier than the Victory Tour parties, not that District 8 could afford to put on a particularly good one.” Been to a lot of Victory Tour parties, then? I’m tempted to ask.  What was a factory worker doing at a district party? Only dignitaries, their families, and prominent citizens were allowed to attend.  Something’s not quite right about Lace. “The food was great,” says Peeta.  “But that was the only good thing you could say about them.”   I nod. “Yeah, they were awful. Especially the District parties where you’d have to face the families of the dead tributes.” The smile on Lace’s face disappears.  A moment of kinship between Peeta and me isn’t what she wants to see.  Nor a subtle rebuke that has no idea what she’s talking about.

There’s an awkward pause. I wish they’d move on but they remain where they are.  It’s as if there’s a purpose for them coming over, but they haven’t got around to it yet.   Peeta breaks the silence.  “Are you going to let me talk to Katniss?” he says, pretending to be annoyed.   “Ok, Ok,” says Lace, in mock surrender. “I know when I’m not wanted.  I need to go to the ladies’ room anyway. Just stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.”  She kisses his cheek before she leaves and Peeta’s eyes follow her retreating form while she disappears down the hall. Peeta takes the empty seat beside me.  “So, what do you think of the party?”

“Hm?” I ask, momentarily distracted.  I’ve been wondering what Lace means by “don’t bug Katniss.”  Why would she say it?  And why would she say it in front of me?  “Oh, um, the party’s alright, I guess.   Certainly not the worst I’ve been to.” “I’m mostly here because Lace wanted to come,” explains Peeta.  “She hopes to expand her client base to specialise in formal wear.  And the people here are the people wealthy enough to afford it.   She made the dress she’s wearing.” “She and Arthur have something in common then. He came for the same reason.  To make business connections.  It’s a lovely dress.”  I feel I should say something nice about it.

“So’s yours.  Cinna?” “Yes, Cinna.”  There’s a stab of pain at the mention of his name, and I put my hand to the crystal beading on the low neckline, as if I could somehow connect myself to the man who designed it.  Peeta’s eyes follow and I snatch my hand away, embarrassed to be thought trying to draw his attention to my breasts.  They’re nothing to boast of, but Cinna knew how to make the most of my figure and I was both younger and thin from the strain of the Victory Tour when this gown was made.  The gown is tight over the bust and I’m almost spilling out of it.   “He certainly knew how to dress you,” says Peeta.  “You always looked amazing in his creations.” I smile wanly at him.  “Thanks,” I say.   It isn’t really much of a compliment.  Attributing my “amazingness” to Cinna’s designs and then speaking in the past tense even though I’m wearing one of them right now. “So . . . Max,” he says, putting emphasis on “Max”.  “You’ve never said anything.” Yeah, like we tell each other things like that. How much did you tell me about Lace? “He’s a friend.” I say.   “Just a friend?” “Peeta, it’s none of your business.”  This line of conversation is irritating.  He hardly talks to me about his own relationship but he’s being nosy about mine.     “Yeah, sorry.  It’s not.  But, for the record, I want you to know that if it makes you happy, I support it.” Now he’s really annoying me.  “Why would I need your support?”

Before Peeta can respond, Max appears with a glass in each hand.    “Hi Peeta,” he says. “Hello Max.”  Peeta stands up.  “I’d better go.  Lace will be back soon.  I’ll see you later, Katniss.” “She’s got him well trained, hasn’t she?” asks Max, taking the seat Peeta just vacated. I just give him a look.  But silently I agree. She talks to him like a child.  “Stay out of trouble and don’t bug Katniss.” “Yes, Mommy.”  He even seemed to need her permission to talk to me.  Maybe her attraction is that she gives him the affection he felt he didn’t get from his mother.  Now there’s a weird thought. The music starts up for the dancing.  Max grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. “C’mon.  This will get you in a better mood and help work off all that alcohol you’ve drunk.” “I’ve hardly had anything,” I protest.   “Yeah, sure.”  Max puts his arms around my waist and I put my mine around his neck. It’s slow music and we shuffle around for what passes for dancing nowadays.  He leans down and says in a low voice, “Over there.  At three o’clock.  Peeta and Lace.  Let’s give him something to be jealous about.”  I’m pulled hard against him and then he attempts some fancy turns that has my feet barely touching the floor. “Will you stop that?” I say, seriously annoyed. People are looking at us, wondering what we’re doing.  I catch a glimpse of Peeta.   His face is unreadable.  It’s the mask he puts on when he wants to hide his thoughts. His actor’s mask. “Definitely jealous,” says Max.   I don’t say anything.  Even if he is, one thing I’ve learned about Peeta by now is that whatever he’s feeling, it will soon be interpreted the same way he’s interpreted everything else.

I see Peeta whisper a few words to Lace.  She nods and they leave the dance floor and then disappear through a set of double swinging doors.  It’s a service entrance of some kind because I’ve seen a couple of the waiting staff emerge and exit from that door.  My imagination goes into overdrove over why Peeta and Lace would use it.  Neither the restrooms or the main entrance is through there.  If I didn’t have Max with me, I’d be tempted to follow.   The dance ends and with nothing better to do, we join Haymitch at the bar.    At Haymitch’s request, the bartender has lined up shots of whisky in a long row. It’s all the different types stocked at the bar, and Haymitch wants to compare and sample them all.   Max has one, out of politeness, I think – he doesn’t like whisky.  I quickly discover that I don’t either, but I like the way it blazes a trail of fire down my throat and then spreads through my veins, to dull the anxiety a little because the longer Peeta is away, the more tense I become.  I put out my hand for another shot.  Haymitch laughs and Max looks on questioningly but I ignore him and down it in one gulp.  My head feels fuzzy but I keep my eyes on the swinging double doors, waiting for Peeta and Lace to emerge.  When they eventually do, they head over to a group of people around our own age and have a merry time, talking and laughing.  Peeta’s arm is around Lace’s waist and he bends his head to drop a kiss onto her mahogany hair, mussed, I presume, from a recent make-out session. “Always.  You promised me always,” I say, under my breath. “What?” Max asks. “Nothing.”  I put the empty shot glass on the bar. “I think we can go now.  I’ve had enough.”

  Chapter 12

Dear Peeta,

I’m writing to you because I’m sure to get it wrong, or miss something important if I do this face to face.  

I want to apologise that I threatened to end our friendship if you didn’t try to get your memories back.  Friendship shouldn’t be conditional and my motives for insisting that you do were selfish ones.

I want to apologise for my insinuation that the real Peeta Mellark didn’t come back.  Whoever you are, and whoever you choose to be is the real Peeta Mellark.  Again, my motives were selfish. I want to apologise for implying that you a coward.  You have a right to live your life as you choose.  You have a right to make your own reality.  I was the coward for not facing mine. I want to apologise for presuming to know what’s best for you.  Only you can do that because you’re the only who truly knows what you want.  Again, my motives were selfish. It seems strange that after all this apologising for being selfish that I intend another selfish act.  But since it’s about myself, I feel entitled to make it.   I want to end our relationship. Entirely this time and for reasons I don’t want to share.   It’s nothing you’ve done.  There’s nothing for you to feel guilt over.  This is about me and how I want to live my life. I’m sorry to leave in the middle of the tape viewings.  Especially since it was indirectly initiated by me, and, I suspect, done at least partially for my benefit.  But if you choose to continue and you need someone to help give context, then Haymitch is the logical choice.  I know you trust him more than me anyway. Please continue to work at the bakery. This is work that you love and I don’t. I’ll be full time at the school eventually anyway.  I’ve given my notice to the Carters and requested that it be effective immediately. Flora and Sateen will fill in until they get a replacement. I intend moving out of the Village as soon as I find alternative accommodation.  In the meantime, I ask that you to refrain from initiating any contact.  I thank you for tending the primrose bushes but I want it to stop. I wish you every happiness in life, Peeta. No one deserves it more.  You already have the foundation for it.  Work that fulfils you, a woman you love and who loves you back, and many friends.   As for us, we were mere ships that passed in the night, tossed together upon raging seas, and then set on course to sail in opposite directions once calmer waters prevailed.   Kind regards, Katniss. So, what do you think, Prim?  That last line too much?  Yeah, it is pretty corny.  I’ll get rid of it.  It’s just hard to know how to finish it.  The rest of it seems so cold.  But maybe that’s not a bad thing.  Once you know something is as good as dead, finish it off.  Cleanly.  An arrow through the eye.  A sharp knife to the jugular.  Pretentious attempts at metaphors have no place in it.  Or was that a simile?  I forget the difference.  It’s a good thing then that I won’t be teaching English. Or art.  My gaze comes to rest on the canvas atop the dresser.  Its right side is facing outwards now.  I’ve at last accepted that the real Peeta Mellark did come back.  The Peeta Mellark that he is now, anyway.  I had once compared the painting to Peeta, his true self hidden, his mind fractured, but not beyond saving.  Now I’m stunned at the sheer arrogance of my former assumptions.  What do I know of Peeta’s true self?  Who am I to assume his mind is fractured just because he hasn’t fallen at my feet to declare his undying love?  How do I know he needs saving?  Or if he even wants to be if he does?

It’s a beautiful painting, though.  A single bloom with a bud attached.  The leaves painted in shades of grey so as to not take the focus from the bright yellow of the primrose.  I wonder if Peeta meant it to represent life springing from ashes, and the bud to represent the constant renewal of life.  What do you think, Prim?  But Prim is silent.  Prim is dead. Peeta is dead.  It’s time to face harsh realities.   I print out the letter in my neatest handwriting, leaving out the bit about ships passing in the night.  And then I seal it in an envelope and stuff it in a drawer.  I think better of giving it to him.  It’s a dilemma – how to divorce myself from his life.  If I shut him off suddenly and without explanation, it will cause confusion and pain.   If I do it gradually, it will still cause confusion and pain, but at least it will be a progression and give him time to adapt.  If I tell him the truth, it will also cause confusion and pain.  Confusion, because in Peeta’s mind a romantic relationship with me isn’t even a possibility.  And pain, because he’ll have to tell me he doesn’t feel the same. Besides, pride is one of the few things I have left. So, I write another letter. Dear Peeta,

I’m sorry to have missed you when I called around earlier.

A lie.  There was no such attempt.

I wanted to let you know of my decision so you have time to make alternative arrangements.  For a few weeks now, I’ve questioned whether I’m the most suitable person to talk to about the tapes Dr Aurelius sends.  Apart from the fact that you have trust issues with me, I feel that someone who was an observer rather than a participant might be of more value.   I think Haymitch would be the perfect choice if you plan to continue.  I’ve consulted with Dr Aurelius and he has no objections.

Half a lie.  I did consult with Dr Aurelius but he gave no opinion when I told him what I planned to do.  He was only interested in my mental state and what activities I was involved in.  

I want to apologise for my insistence that you “find yourself” as a condition of friendship.  Friends don’t ask for conditions.  And I was also wrong to imply that you’re not the real Peeta Mellark.  Whoever you decide to be, you are the real Peeta Mellark. You can’t be anything but Peeta Mellark and I won’t think any less of you if you abandon the program. Much love, Katniss.

I hold the letter in my hand for a full hour before I made the short journey to Peeta’s house to slip it under his front door.  I know I’m doing the right thing but burning a bridge is never easy.  Something in me broke on the night of the Mayor’s party.  Right in front of me he sneaked away for a grope with Lace, and when he came back it was to talk and laugh with his friends like I didn’t exist.  Not one glance came my way.  Not even to see if I was still there.  My faith in Peeta’s love has been corroding for some time.  Now it’s completely rusted away.  I love him as much as ever, but I simply don’t have the heart for it anymore. When I get back to my house, I feel surprisingly OK.   Like a great burden has been lifted.  Free, almost. Perhaps the numbness will leave me soon, and despair will take its place.  Perhaps I’ll even regret that letter and wish I could take it back.  I guess I could break into Peeta’s house if I want to.  He rarely bothers to lock his back door.  No, this is the right thing to do.  For everyone. For me.  And for Peeta.  Be decisive for once in your life, Everdeen. I distract myself with making a to-do list. I’ve already given notice at the bakery. The Carters were taken aback at the suddenness but not really surprised since I’ve twice cut hours at the bakery to work more hours at the school.  I suspect they knew it was coming.   I’m at the school three days a week now but mostly in the classroom since it’s getting too cold to take children into the woods, especially the little ones. Finding somewhere else to live will take time. Due to the large influx of immigrants, housing is in short supply.  People are coming in faster than they can build them.  But I’ll put feelers out.  I don’t want anything large, just comfortable and well built, and not too far from the woods and the school.   And there’s another thing I should do.  I should be open to dating.  Not that I want a torrid romance or anything.  But I don’t want to be a virgin for the rest of my life either.  In the Capitol, people had sex just for the fun of it.  I heard that they even arranged to meet perfect strangers for an hour or two of sex and then they’d never see each other again.  I think that’s going way too far, but maybe I could meet someone nice, who wants what I want.  Some companionship, some fun, but nothing serious.  Max, maybe?  No.  I dismiss that from my mind immediately.  He’s far more valuable to me purely as a friend. Besides, once you’ve vomited on someone, it’s likely you’ve blown any attraction they might have felt for you, anyway.   It was really his fault.   He shouldn’t have slung me over his shoulder like that just because I was walking too slow for his liking.  There’s not a lot that I remember after we left the party.    Only that my stomach was doing somersaults and my head was spinning.   I might have blubbered a lot about Peeta too.   When I awoke in my bed around noon the next day, on my nightstand was a jug of water, a glass and a piece of paper, folded in half.   My midnight blue sparkly Cinna gown was draped over a chair.  That’s when I realised I was naked.  On the paper was a message from Max.  You’re paying to have my suit cleaned. Take a couple of painkillers and drink lots of water.   P.S. I kept my eyes closed.   OK, I might have peeked.

I wanted to pull the covers over my head and never come out.   I haven’t seen Max yet, but I know I’ll never hear the end of it.  This is a gold mine for someone who loves to tease as much as he does.   Well, I’m certainly not paying his cleaning bill.  He got the suit for free, didn’t he?  

At five o’clock, I take a position at the window in my sitting room.  It’s around this time that Peeta comes home from the bakery.  He would have heard of my resignation but I doubt he’ll be surprised.   I’d already told him that I didn’t intend working there much longer.  I see him open his front door, and then stoop to pick something off the floor.  My letter.  The door closes behind him.   It’s done then.  Now he’ll be reading it.  Processing it.  Possibly puzzled by it.  Maybe upset? Angry? Annoyed?  Indifferent? I suppose it’s inevitable that Haymitch soon hears of it.  He’s at my door not long after Peeta had left his house.   He stinks of white liquor.  He had probably settled in for a pleasant evening of drinking himself into oblivion before Peeta disturbed him.  Since he’s now disturbing me, he must consider this close to a national emergency.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?  You and me, we made a deal to try to save him. Remember?” “He doesn’t need saving.” I tie the sash of my dressing gown and lower myself into a chair.   I’d been about to go to bed.   “He hasn’t needed saving since he returned to 12. He’s happy the way he is.” Haymitch stares at me, incredulous.  “Then what have these tapes been about?  You weren’t concerned about his happiness then. He only started watching them because you threatened him.” I put my head in my hands.  There’s no point in denying it.  If Peeta’s put me through an emotional wringer, then I’ve done the same to him.  That’s why it has to stop.

“I know.  And I was wrong.  I’ve been doing it for selfish reasons while telling myself it was for his sake.  I didn’t take into consideration that Peeta’s changed.  And that he might not want the same things that he did.” My voice cracks despite my efforts. “That he might not want me.” I wait for Haymitch to yell at me some more, but there’s only silence.  When I raise my head, I see that he’s taken the chair opposite and he’s taking a swig out of his bottle.  I think even if Haymitch were in a burning building, he’d save the liquor before himself. “Peeta doesn’t understand what’s happened to him.  So you can’t blame him – “ “I don’t,” I say. “You do.  You’re punishing him for things that are out of his control – “ “No!  You’re not doing this to me again.  This guilt trip thing that you do.  The circumstances were different then.  Peeta wanted to be helped.  For himself. It wasn’t to please me.  And while it seems strange to say it, there was a clarity about him then too.  Now he just wants to see the past through a particular lens.  When we watch the tapes, no matter what they are, they’re all confirmation for beliefs he already holds.  And he’s happy to believe them.” “Maybe he’s just afraid – “ “Afraid of what?  That he’ll discover that it wasn’t just a sham?  That I fell in love with him?  You know what happened when I told him I love him.  He misunderstood.  That’s not someone who’s afraid.  That’s someone who wants a certain reality where I’m nothing more to him than a family member.  He’s told me several times that he’s not in love with me and he wants us to be friends. This whole thing – the tapes, trying to restore his memories – is me not facing reality.”  

“I think you’re giving up too soon,” he argues.  “If you persist for a just a bit longer – “ “No.  I’ve had enough.”  I shake my head wearily.  “I’m tired, Haymitch.  He’s happy. We should leave him be.  And I want to get on with my life too. Besides, if he wants to keep on with the tapes, he can.  He doesn’t need me for that.  What did he say about it, by the way?”

“He didn’t even mention it.  He’s upset because he thinks you’re distancing yourself from him and he doesn’t know why.   This is cruel what you’re doing to him.” “And this has been easy for me?” I demand, moved to anger. “Why are his feelings more important than mine?  He’s the one with a girlfriend, remember.”

Haymitch puts up a hand. “Yeah, yeah.  Alright. I can see your side of it too,” he says, trying to calm me down.    But I’m not done yet. “Peeta’s made it very clear that he wants Lace as a girlfriend and me as a friend,” I say.  “Well, it’s not what I want. Do you really think Peeta would’ve hung around being my friend if I’d ended up with Gale? No, he wouldn’t.   It’s far better to go our separate ways now before there’s any more hurt on either side. I know it’s upsetting for him now but he’ll soon get over it.  He’s not in the same position he was when he came back.   He has a job, a girlfriend.  He has other friends.  He has her family.” As I list all the things Peeta has going for him, my guilt begins to ease.   I am doing the right thing.  Peeta will come to see it in time. “But what if that’s not what he really wants?” he asks.  “Shouldn’t Peeta have a say?  What’s the difference between this and what you were doing earlier?” “The difference is that he’s made his choice,” I say, thinking of the guest room ban.  “I just didn’t want to confront it before.”

Haymitch opens his mouth to say something but then seems to think better of it.  He turns his attention back to his bottle instead.

“Why do you think he came back to 12?” I suddenly ask.   This has never made sense to me and the answer is unlikely to come from Peeta now.  “Why couldn’t he have left me alone?  That day when I found him planting the primrose bushes outside my house, I thought he’d come back to me.  But it was just a cruel joke.” “He can’t leave you alone.  Not after what the Capitol put him through.  It made him fixated on you.  More that he already was, anyway.”  Haymitch rises from the chair.  “Well, if you’re determined, there’s nothing I can do about it. I just hope it’s the right decision.” “I hope so too,” I say to myself after Haymitch is gone.  But the truth is that I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’m reaching in the dark, trying to be fair to everyone, but afraid of being fair to no one. That night I have a dream.   There’s nothing unusual about that, except this time it’s not a nightmare.   It’s a pleasant, comforting dream that harks back to simpler times.  Before Prim was reaped.  When Peeta was the boy with the bread and Gale was my best friend. I trusted him with all my secrets.  Even with Prim, I couldn’t be so open, my priority always to protect her.   “Catnip,” dream Gale says. “I know exactly what you’re going through with Peeta.  Same as me with you.” “What do you mean?” I ask. “Trying to be his friend, while he’s with another.  Living in hope that things will change, but all the while knowing that the odds are not in your favour.” “Yeah.”  I rest my head on his shoulder and his arm goes around me.  He smells of apples, damp leather and wood smoke. “Sometimes, I want to walk away. Try to forget that I ever knew him. But then I remember how he was, and how much we meant to each other, and that he’s only the way he is now because of me. “   “And he gives you just enough to keep hopes alive,” adds Gale. I nod against his shoulder.  I know how my indecisiveness must have looked to Gale, but there’s no rebuke in his voice.  He’s just telling me as it was. “I didn’t want to lose what we had,” I explain. “Is that why you want Peeta? Because you don’t want to lose what you had?  Because you can’t repeat the past, Katniss.  You should have learned that by now.” I think about that for a moment.  It’s a good question.  “When I was sent to 12, I didn’t care whether I lived or died.  I sat in a chair all day and only got out of it to go to the bathroom.  But when Peeta came back, I started to come back too.   If there wasn’t something of the old Peeta there, that would have been it for me. But there is.  Memories or not, he’s still Peeta.”

“Not quite Peeta.  The part of him that loves you didn’t come back,” says Gale.  

“No.”  Not the kind of love I want, anyway.  I think about the barely begun crush I had on Gale before the Games.  It had still lingered a little, complicated as is was by my confusion about Peeta. But really, it didn’t survive the Games. It just took me a while to realise it. “But what if it did, and it’s still there buried down deep.  That’s possible, isn’t it?”  There has to be some hope.  

“Was that how it was with you for me?” Gale asks. “No,” I answer. “But we were never going to last even if we had got together.  We clashed too much.  Our values were too different. Maybe if the Games and the war hadn’t happened, it wouldn’t have mattered.  But it did.”

“Do you remember the conversation we had in 2?” he says.   “That time we kissed?  Just before that we talked about Peeta.  How I didn’t stand a chance with you if he didn’t get better.  That you’ll never be able to let him go.   I knew I couldn’t compete with that, no matter much pain I was in.   And that’s your problem. You can’t let anyone go who’s in pain.  It’s a reason why you had trouble letting me go.” “I remember, but I don’t see how it could possibly be relevant to the present situation.” “Easy.  Catnip, he’s not the one in pain this time.  You are.  Let him go. Look out for yourself and let him come to you.”   “And if he doesn’t?” “Then the Peeta you knew is dead.  And then you mourn him and you move on.” “Like you did?”  I ask.  But there’s no answer.  I’m talking to the wind.  Gale is gone.

[wlwhc]

You are good enough - Diana x Fem!PlusSize!Reader

Requested by Anon: hi, can you do the first prompt list number 43, 41 and 48 with Diana?

Requested by @sameemaximoff: Would you be willing to write a Diana × plus size! Reader where the reader is insecure and doesn’t feel like they are good enough for Diana? And she does her best to cheer reader up? Please and thank you 💗

Requested by Anon: Could you make an angsty imagine with Diana? like …make me cry dude, hit me in the feels and then revive me with the fluff

Warning: Angst - Panic Attack - Insecurities - Self hatred - Depression - DIANA CRYING - I wrote this on my phone

Words: 2265

(A/N): I know I combined three request in one, and this is probably not what any of you wanted but…I couldn’t help it I’m sorry, I’M MORE THAN HAPPY TO WRITE A PART TWO WITH FLUFF BECAUSE HOLY SHIT I NEED THAT

Prompt List N°1

43 - “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me” 41 - “Every time I see you, I fall in love with you all over again” 48 - “Kiss me”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

You still don’t know why Diana is with someone like you. You don’t have nothing special, you’re not a Kriptonian, a billionaire or have a special ability. You are as normal as any human can possibly be, and with as many flaws as you can have. You are clumsy, you’re not as beautiful as her or any average person, you’re pretty sensible, you’re not as tough as her, you’re not as smart as her, you’re not as slim as her. Everyone could see it, everyone knows that you’re not good enough for her, she’s a goddess, and you are a mess.

Your co-workers had seen Diana around your office at the hospital, such a beautiful creature. Everyone knew that she is with you, and everyone thinks the same.

“she’s dating her for pity” “Y/N dating Miss Prince?! HA , good joke” “really? she’s dating someone like…that? I mean just look at her ” “for being such an angel she does have an awful taste”

The comment would just go on and on, bombarding your head with questions and insecurities, making you realize the truth behind every word.

You don’t deserve it, she’s with you for pity, who would date you anyway? you’re fat, ugly and not as awesome as any other girl.

But it feels so nice to be with her, you feel blessed every time she’s around you, even the thought of her makes your heart flutter with butterflies, but…does she feel the same? or is she faking it?

A pair of soft pink lips shakes you out of your thought, a concerned goddess looking at you

“are you alright sweetheart?” Diana asks, softly caressing your cheek.

She could sense that something was wrong. You’ve been acting weird these past weeks, she had let it pass because most of the time you would blame the tiredness that comes from working hard, but deep down she knew it was something else.

She had to stop herself from using her lasso on you several times, eager to know what was bothering you so much. The words that you always seem to swallow were draining you, and Diana could see that.

Dark circles were plastered below your eyes, your sweet smile had slowly begun to fade with the days that went by, and you seem to be avoiding her a lot.

Diana was beyond concerned, she wasn’t saying a thing because she knows that you always tell her what’s wrong in your time, so she waits, but this time waiting doesn’t seem to work at all, and it hurts her to see you suffer like this.

That’s why today, she decided to run away from work earlier and march to your house, that’s when she found you lost in your own thought, a cold cup of coffee in from of you, and silent tears threatening to spill at any moment.

Diana’s heart shattered.

She slowly made her way to you, and after calling you and not receiving any response, she decided to wake you up from your thought with a sweet kiss, but it somehow tasted a little bittersweet.

You looked at her surprise and smile at her, a smile that Diana knows it’s not real. The goddess frowns when she hears your weak voice mumbled a few words.

“I-I’m okay Diana, just tired” You said, getting up from your seat, rushing to the kitchen to drink some water. Your hands were shaking and you could feel your throat closing.

Diana follows you to the kitchen making the tears in your eyes sting harder. “Y/N…your’re not okay” Diana says softly.

Seeing your tiny figure tremble, she watches your hand flying to grab your throat, and how you begin to gasp for air. She immediately holds you in her arms when your legs seem to fail, her heart thundering in her chest.

“what’s wrong babe? Y/N please tell me what’s wrong” Her voice was calm but it still had waves of fear. Her own hand now shaking at the sight of your suffering.

You tried to talk, but you couldn’t, you tried to scream, but you also couldn’t do it. Every fiber of your body was shaking, and your eyes seem to only spill tears as if was raining. You looked at Diana in fear, not knowing exactly was happening, trying to breathe desperately.

Diana had seen this happened sometimes with a few victims/civils, so she knows what to do. But it shocked her that it is happening to you.

“look at me Y/N, focus on me” Her voice was soft but firm at the same time, her hands cupping your cheeks so your eyes could focus on hers.

“shh I’m here Y/N, try to breathe like me, breath in-Y/N please” You couldn’t do it, fear numbing your sense. Diana grabs the hand that you have around your neck, she noticed that the grip was starting to hurt you.

“Y/-Squeeze my hand if you can hear me” Your squeeze her hand as much as you could. The tears not stopping and your throat seems to only let you whimper. Diana started caressing your back slowly.

“Y/N, I want you to breathe with me okay? breath in” She said, her hand going up your back slowly.

“breath out” Now her hand was going down your back. You slowly started to control your breathing.

“you’re doing so good Y/N, keep breathing like that, breath in…breath out”. You had stopped gasping for air, but you were still shaking and the tears we now falling slowly down your cheeks. Diana grabs you bridal style and walks to the couch, grabbing the blanket that was laying there. She puts your head on her chest, caressing your hair.

Diana wanted to talk, to ask you what had upset you so much, but she couldn’t do it, she didn’t want to distress you further.

You knew that you would not be able to escape from this, so you talked, or at least try to.

“I-I’m sorry I-” The words were making you choke, and Diana’s embrace tighten.

“I-I d-don’t think I-I’m go-good enough f-f-for you Diana I-I’m so sorry” Diana didn’t dare to even make a sound, she knew she had to remain quiet and listen to you, a whimper got stuck in her throat.

“e-everyone could see that I-I don’t deserve you a-and-…..I don’t even know…why y-you’re with me, you deserve s-so much better” You choke out. Heart bleeding with the truth. And suddenly, you weren’t the only one sobbing.

Diana’s heart had been torn to shreds. Guilt was the reason behind it, you feel not good enough for her, did she forget to remind you how important you are to her? did she didn’t kiss you enough? did she didn’t shout enough “I love you”s?, has she forgotten to hold you tight in the nights?

The idea of feeding your insecurities instead of fighting against them had her sobbing. You’re the light of her life, the reason why she keeps fighting, the reason why she hasn’t lose faith in humanity, you’re everything to her, how could she let the idea of not being good enough for her being planted in your beautiful mind?!

“I’m sorry” Diana choke out, her broken voice making your heart bleed. Holding you as closer as she could, trying to calm herself down but it seems that she is the one that needs help to calm down.

“I-I’m so sorry love” You tried to get out of her embrace but her grip didn’t seem to lose strength, her hand was still caressing your hair and her other arm was wrapped up around your waist, as if you would disappear in any second.

“I’m the one t-that doesn’t deserve you” You looked at her, dumbstruck, how could she say that?

“I’m sorry I haven’t shown you h-how much you mean to me” The tears that had stop from falling down your cheeks were falling down again. Both of you a sobbing mess.

“I’ve should act the moment I saw your smile fade, I-I am so sorry” You manage to get out of her embrace, sitting by her side this time. Diana crying was making you feel sick, she didn’t deserve this…she does not deserve you.

“it’s not your fault-” You tried to say, trying to get out of her head the idea of her being the reason behind your distress.

“of course it is!” Diana exclaims.

“Diana, I’m really insecure-see? another flaw-” Diana gets up from the couch and rushes to her room, a second later she came back with her lasso, she grabs the lasso, putting it around one of her arms and grabs your face in her hands, softly cupping your cheeks.

“I speak with the truth…I do see your flaws, b-but I’ve learned to love them, I love all of you, from your smile to your bad habits, from your insecurities to your laugh” She says smiling softly at you, but her tears didn’t seem to stop.

“I love every fiber of you, every pimple, every lock of hair, every stretch mark” She speaks with such a passion, as if you would be the reason behind her happiness, the thing is, that you are the reason behind her smile, but your insecurities tend to leave you blind and deaf against Diana’s words.

“I love all of you, I don’t care if you’re smaller than me , I find it to be adorable, I love your curves and anyone that dares to make fun of your body is jealous, they wish they had such a delightful body, Every time I see you, I fall in love with you all over again” She said, getting closer to you, this time grabbing you by the waist and making you sit on her lap again.

She had stopped crying but her eyes remain glassy, the lasso around her arm shining like the sun.

“I love how much you smile, and how you laugh for every little thing, I love when you swear, I think is funny, I love when you snore while you sleep, you sound like a puppy, I could go on and on about how much I love you Y/N Y/L/N, you heard me? I love you, all of you” She finish her speech by kissing you softly, you could feel your tummy filled with butterflies.

You sigh when Diana stops kissing you, her hands now resting on your waist while you rest your head on her chest once again. A comfortable silence had been set in the house for a while, you almost fell asleep, but Diana’s soft voice stopped you.

“you have had this thought for a while now, don’t you?” She asks. You nod slowly, your eyes shyly meeting hers. She smiles sadly, leaving a little kiss on your head.

“it’s okay love…but I hope that the next time you feel insecure, you come to me, speak with the truth Y/N, and if you can’t talk I can use my lasso to help you out-or you can write it down” She says, making you look at her by slowly raising your chin with her hand.

“I’m here for you…you need to let me love you, you need to let you love yourself because you deserve it, you deserve to be happy…okay?” She gives you a little peck on your lips, her brown eyes still shining with tears.

“okay” You mumbled, hiding in the crook of her neck.

“can we watch some movies and cuddle?” You asked, which makes Diana smile brightly at you.

“movies, cuddles and kisses to make my beloved feel happy again” She says, even though she knows that it will take much more than just a speech and kisses to make you feel better. She knows she will have to show you how much you mean to her to erase these awful insecurities from your mind. You blush a little at hearing the word girlfriend roll out of her tongue so easily.

“you look cute when you’re blushing” You smile at her, chuckling a little.

“Kiss me” You mumbled, Diana didn’t waste a second and pressed her lips against yours, the warm feeling in your chest making you smile like an idiot.

“there it is…that smile, how much I missed that smile” Diana says.

“I love you”

“and I love you…I do Y/N…please don’t forget that”

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

I am legit crying, this hits a sensitive spot on me oh my *whispers* damn you insecurities maybe is not as angsty to make you cry, but It is for me

[raegrave]

Homecoming

“C’mon dude, if anyone can ask her out, it’s you.” Keila said, patting Marceline’s back.

Marceline buried her face into her hands, shrinking into herself as she groaned. “What if she says no? What if she’s not even gay?”

“She has rainbow pins on her bag and Bongo told me she used to date some senior girl named Shoko. She’s definitely gay.” Keila said, rolling her eyes. “We went over this already.”

“I know.” Marceline said as she tried to calm her breathing, Keila was right, all signs pointed to Bonnibel being gay. If she turned her down it would be for some other reason. “What if she doesn't like me like that?”

“The guys and I are pretty sure she does. She’s always letting you copy off her work in chemistry and her face turns as pink as her hair whenever you talk to her.” Keila pointed out as she stood off the tiled floors that covered their school’s hallways, pulling Marceline up with her. “Now go be the cool punk-rock gall I know and love and ask her out.” She said as she turned Marceline towards the end off the hall where Bonnibel was standing at her locker. “She’s all alone, this is the perfect time.”

“Will I still be the the cool punk-rock gal you know and love if she rejects me?”

“Yup, just slightly sadder.”

Marceline let out a small whimper, not at all comforted by her best friend’s words. Nevertheless, she squared her shoulders and put on a slightly more pleasant version of her usual resting bitch-face. She had practiced this moment in her head dozens of times, the outcomes ranging from absolutely perfect to horribly devastating. She hoped for something at least in the middle. Bonnie was alone now, good. The situations where she was with people usually had bad outcomes.

She started to panic as she reached Bonnibel, her hands were clammy and her heart was racing. She willed herself to let out a normal greeting. “Hey Bonnie.”

Bonnibel looked up from her phone, her expression growing visibly happier when she realized who had spoken. “Hi Marcy.”

Marceline felt her heart melt at the sound of Bonnibel calling her ‘Marcy’. She tried to contain herself, turning into a puddle at her crush’s feet would be awful for her reputation. “Are you going to the dance on Friday?”

Bonnibel looked up at her with her big blue eyes. “Yeah, are you?”

Marceline rubbed the back of her neck, trying not to get lost in her eyes. “Well I was wondering if you might want to be my date.” She said as quick as possible.

She waited silently for Bonnibel’s answer. When it didn’t come she looked from her feet, where she had been staring to avoid eye contact, to Bonnibel, whose face was as pink as her hair, like Keila said, and she had the biggest, cutest grin on her face.

“Of course I will, I was actually really hoping you would ask because I didn’t know if you like girls and I was to scared to find out.” She ranted, before she could say anything else the bell for first period rang and she grabbed her books out of her locker. “Um, I’ll see you later and we’ll talk about the details, bye.” She waved as she ran down the hall, not wanting to be late.

Marceline leaned against the pale blue lockers before sliding down them to the floor. She wrapped her arms around her legs and tucked her knees close to her chest before burying her face into them to hide how red it was. She didn’t even notice when Keila sat down next to her. “I’m assuming that it went well.”

“Even better.” Marceline replied without lifting her head.

oOoOo

Friday night Marceline was sitting in her car, desperately trying to fix her bowtie. “Why can’t I get the hang of this?” She huffed out in disappointment when it refused to match the bowtie from the tutoriel on her phone.

“Marceline, just let me do it.” Guy insisted from his seat in the back of the car.

“Ugh, fine.” She turned to face him so he could fix the bowtie. “I just wanted to be able to do it on my own.”

“We know,” Said Keila, from her seat next to Guy. “but would you rather have an ugly bowtie that you did yourself or an amazing bowtie that Guy did for you?”

“An amazing bowtie.” Marceline mumbled as Guy sat back in his seat, satisfied with his work.

“Relax dude, you’re going to have an amazing night and you’re going to look beautiful throughout it.” He reassured her. “You’ve got a hot date-ow, Keila.” He whined when she dug her elbow into his side. “I’m just acknowledging her beauty, I’m not gonna make a move or anything.”

“I know, just doing my job as jealous girlfriend.” Keila smirked. “Now go knock on Bonnibel’s door, she’s probably wondering why we’ve been parked outside her house for the past ten minutes without getting out.”

Guy was right, Marceline needed to stop stalling, Bonnie liked her too, that was a fact, she looked great in her tuxedo, and she had managed to tame her long hair enough to look like she put some effort into it, but not too much effort. She looked like a badass.

She got out of the car and swept her hands over her tux in an attempt to get out any wrinkles that might have appeared from sitting in the car. She walked up the the surprisingly long stone path to Bonnie’s door, using the extra time to regain her composure. When she reached the door she knocked twice and waited for an answer.

“You must be Marceline.” Instead of Bonnie, a man with red hair, dressed in a simple black suit had answered the door. “You can wait inside, Bonnibel will be down in a moment.” He stepped aside, leaving enough space for Marceline to walk through the door.

“Um, yeah, that’s me.” She said awkwardly as she stepped into the foyer, sitting in a small armchair that he directed her to.

“I’ll go tell her that you’re here.” He said before heading up a nearby set of stairs.

Marceline waited in the foyer, suddenly feeling way too underdressed, even in her tuxedo. The house wasn’t very big but it was decorated as if it was owned by millionaires. She could feel herself start to panic, what if Bonnie did come from a rich family. Her dad made a lot of money but she lived with her foster parents, what if they disapproved of her.

“Hi Marcy.”

Marceline quickly stood from the armchair and looked up to see Bonnie walking down the steps in a pale pink a-line dress. “Wow, you look beautiful.” Marceline said as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Bonnie tucked a strand of her hot-pink hair behind her ear. “Thanks, you do too. You said you were wearing a tux so I got you this.” She handed her a small black box.

Marceline carefully took the box from her and opened it to find a lapel pin with a small pink gem. “Oh it’s beautiful, Bonnie. You really didn’t have too.”

Bonnie giggled. “No I wanted too. I know pink isn’t your favorite color but I thought we could coordinate a bit. Here, let me put it on.” Bonnie took the box back and took out the pin and Marceline felt her cheeks warm up as Bonnie pinned it to her lapel, smiling to herself when she was done. “There, I knew it would suit you.”

“I love it.” Marceline said and in a small bout of confidence she took Bonnie’s hand. “We should probably get going, Keila and Guy are waiting in the car.”

They walked hand in hand through the door and down the long path. Marceline saw Keila smiling at them through the window of the car and Marceline’s smile grew bigger. She was going to homecoming with the girl she had a crush on all year. It almost didn’t seem real to her.

They reached the car and Marceline opened the passenger side door for Bonnie, when she had climbed in and straightened her dress out so it wouldn’t wrinkle, Marceline closed the door and climbed into her own seat.

“Everyone’s all set?” She checked as she started the car. A small chorus of assurances let her know that they were. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

oOoOo

“There’s a space!” Keila yelled as she pointed to an empty parking space in the back of the lot.

“Thanks Keila, try not to yell next time though.” Marceline said as she pulled into the space. Some asshole had taken her usual spot, even though they were assigned to specific students, and the parking lot was nearly packed with cars.

“Sorry but I want to get out, my leg fell asleep like, five minutes ago.” Keila whined as she opened her door.

“I offered to drop all of you off by the door but you said no.” Marceline reminded her. “You okay, Bonnie? Your wearing heels and we parked a bit far from the door.”

“I’m fine, walking in heels is one of my talents. I’ve been wearing them for events since middle school.”

“When Marceline was in middle school she refused to wear any shoes that weren’t combat boots, even in the summer.” Keila laughed as she teased Marceline.

Marceline knew what she was doing. Being friends with Keila was like having an annoying older sister, she loved to embarrass Marceline in front of her crushes. “You’re just proving that I was awesome, even in middle school.”

Bonnie laughed. “C’mon, no one is cool in middle school, we were all nerds. The only reason I wore heels was because my parents would drag me along to banquets and parties.”

“What are your parents jobs?” Guy asked.

“They’re both doctors. I want to follow in their footsteps.” She told them.

“Wow, that’s cool.” Marceline said as she opened the door to the school, leading them to the cafeteria where the dance was being held. The sound of bubbly pop music drifted through the halls, causing Keila to complain about the music choices.

“I like the music,” Bonnie said. “I like to listen to it when I study.”

“It’s fun to dance to if I’m in the right mood, I prefer rock.” Marceline said.

“We’ll leave you two alone to bond over your crappy music taste.” Keila said jokingly as they reached the cafeteria. She grabbed Guy’s arm. “C’mon Guy, let’s go find the snack table.”

As Keila pulled Guy away, Marceline chuckled. “She doesn't hate pop music as much as she says, I’ve seen her dance to it dozens of times at parties.” She told Bonnie.

“Well, do you want to dance to the crappy music with me?” Bonnie laughed as she held her hand out towards Marceline.

“I would love to.” She took Bonnie’s hand and pulled her to the middle of the room, it was filled with dancing teens and they had to push past a few people to get past the outskirts of the the group.

They danced to the music, Marceline was used to making up moves as she went along, playing shows with the rest of her band, The Scream Queens, had given her practice. Bonnie was more graceful than her, keeping time with the music, her dress billowing out when she twirled. They kept going for a few more songs, finally stopping when they had both tired out.

“Do you wanna go to the snack table?” Marceline asked over the music when they had finally pushed their way out of the group.

Bonnie nodded and they headed towards the table. Keila and Guy weren’t there anymore so they must have been dancing. Bonnie grabbed two water bottles off the the table and handed one to Marceline.

“So, earlier you said you wanted to follow in your parents footsteps?” Marceline asked as they leaned against the wall and sipped their water.

“Yeah, I want to be a surgeon. I’m taking as many sciences classes as I can next year. I already have all my english and social studies credits so I don’t need to take either senior year.”

“That’s amazing. If it wasn’t for you I’d probably be failing chemistry.” Marceline admitted. “I prefer music classes. I want to be in a professional orchestra.”

“That’s actually the only class I’ve ever gotten a bad grade in, I just can’t make sense of the music notes and beats.”

“Different talents.” Marceline shrugged. Before they could continue their conversation the pop music switched to a slow song. Marceline took Bonnie’s hand and pulled her back towards the middle of the room.

They both smiled at each other. “Do you know how to slow dance?” Bonnie asked.

“I have a basic idea.”

Bonnie put her right hand on Marceline’s waist and held Marceline’s right hand with her left. “Then I’ll lead.”

Marceline did her best to follow Bonnie’s steps, she tried to ignore Bonnie’s hand on her waist. She instead focused on the determined expression Bonnie wore as they danced, it reminded her of Bonnie’s expression whenever they took a test in chemistry, but slightly more relaxed. It was adorable.

At one point Marceline tried to rest her head on Bonnie’s shoulder, it didn’t work considering Bonnie was shorter than her, even with heels. The attempt did get Bonnie to laugh, so it was worth it.

The danced until the end of the song, leaving the group again once it was over.

“Stay here.” Marceline told Bonnie before running back to the the snack table. She took a small paper plate and put two cupcakes and a handful of cookies on it before heading back to her. “On our way in here I saw that the doors to the courtyard were open, we can go out there and eat these.” She explained.

Bonnie linked her left arm with Marceline’s right. “Let’s go then.”

They walked arm in arm out of the cafeteria and through the abandoned hallways. There were a couple of teens sitting in the halls, they most likely left to get away from the booming music, and a few teachers patrolling the halls. The doors to the courtyard were propped open with a couple of old bricks, letting in the cool air of the October night.

Bonnie shivered as they stepped through the doors. “Are you too cold?” Marceline asked her. “We could go back inside if you are.”

She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. I’d rather stay out here. Let’s sit at that table.” Bonnie reassured her before pointing to a metal picnic table. Instead of sitting on the bench, the two girls sat on the table with the plate of treats in between them, using the bench as a footrest.

Bonnie reached for a cupcake while Marceline reached for one of the chocolate chip cookies. She couldn’t help but laugh when Bonnie got a glob of red icing on her nose. “Well that wasn’t very graceful, Princess.” She teased as Bonnie did her best to clean it off.

“If I’m a princess then you must be the queen that’s been given my hand in marriage.” Bonnie stated.

“What does that even mean? Was that a marriage proposal?”

“Don’t be silly, Marceline, this is only our first date.”

“Okay then, tell me about yourself. Isn’t that what people do on first dates?” Marceline said as she laid down on the table, giving herself a full view of the starry sky.

Bonnie followed her lead, lying down next to her. “What do you want to know about me?”

“I don’t know, um, tell me something I would never guess about you.”

Bonnie stayed quiet for a moment before answering Marceline’s request. “One time I punched my uncle.”

“Um, why?” Marceline laughed at the thought of Bonnie punching a grown man.

“Because he’s an asshole.” Bonnie said soberly. “Stop laughing you dork, I’m, serious. After I came out as gay he tried to set me up with the son of his coworker.”

“Wow, that is a very assholeish thing to do.” Marceline agreed.

“Nah, it’s okay, you can laugh at it. It took two weeks for his black eye to completely heal.” Bonnie recalled, now laughing too. “The look on his face when he saw my fist heading towards his face was priceless.”

“Oh my god, I can’t stop imagining you punching some middle-aged guy.” Marceline said when their laughter had reduced to wide grins. “You’re so tiny, how are you even that strong? You have noodle arms.”

“Hey, this noodle-armed girl took kickboxing lessons for three years.” Bonnie countered. “I know how to take care of myself. Now it’s your turn to tell me something.”

“Okay, when I was in elementary school I refused to eat any food that wasn’t the color red.” Marceline told her.

“Why?” Bonnie asked. “How did you get all your vitamins and stuff, surely an all red diet wouldn’t be very nutritionally balanced.”

“I thought I was a vampire and that I could eat red instead of blood.” Marceline said, chuckling at her younger self. “As for nutrition, my mother had to get creative. She put red food dye in a lot of my food.”

“Your mom sounds nice.” Bonnie said.

“Yeah, she was the best.” Marceline sighed, she felt no reason to mention that her mother had died when she was ten. At least, not yet, that’d be a depressing topic. Deciding to change the subject, Marceline brought up a different subject that she knew would keep the conversation going. “How’s your cat?”

“Goliad’s been doing well. Now that Finn has adopted Stormo, she’s been keeping me up all night trying to play. She used to get rid of that energy during the daytime with her brother but now it’s up to me.” Bonnie rambled. “What about Schwabl?”

“He’s good, same as always. How’s Finn doing with Stormo?” Marceline asked. “Jake doesn’t exactly like cats.”

“Jake’s still trying to deal with it. Plus Stormo’s always been an adventurous cat, he let’s Finn put him on a leash and take him on walks.” They both laughed at the thought of FInn walking with a cat on a leesh. “Are you and your band playing any shows anytime soon?”

“Yeah, next week we’re playing at this club called The Nightosphere. I can get you a ticket if you want to come.” Marceline told her. “Our music isn’t exactly pop, but-” She stopped when Bonnie interrupted her.

“I would love to come, no matter what genre you play.” She said sweetly, rolling on her side so she could face Marceline.

Marceline followed, rolling on her side. “Then on monday I’ll bring you a ticket.”

“There you two lovebirds are.” Keila exclaimed as she dragged Guy into the courtyard behind her, causing the two girls to bolt up. “I didn’t see you in the cafeteria and needed to make sure you weren’t making out in some bathroom.”

“Keila!” Marceline shouted, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink.

“Don’t be distasteful, Keila.” Bonnie said as she shifted a bit farther from Marceline, her cheeks a much darker shade of red.

“Relax you two, I’m just kidding. No need to be embarrassed.” Keila laughed as she reached their table. “Ooh, hand me one of those cookies, Marshmallow.”

“C’mon, you know I hate that nickname.” Marceline said as she handed her a cookie. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Bonnie quietly laughing at the use of the nickname.

“I know,” Keila said as she took a bite of the cookie. “that’s why I love to use it.”

“Take a break from embarrassing Marshmallow in front of her crush, Keila.” Guy said, laughing too when he saw Marceline’s expression.

“If you’re going to tell her not to embarrass me then you shouldn’t either.” Marceline said, crossing her arms. “You guy are jerks.”

“But we’re your jerks, you love us” Keila insisted.

“Yeah, whatever.” Marceline pouted. She looked over to Bonnie when she noticed her shivering. “Are you cold?”

“Just a little.” Bonnie said as she rubbed her hands on her bare arms in an attempt to warm the up.

“Here,” Marcelin began shrugging off her jacket. “take my jacket, I’m wearing a long-sleeved shirt so I’ll be fine without it.” She said as she draped it over Bonnie’s shoulders. Proud of herself when she saw how cute Bonnie looked in the oversized jacket.

“Thanks, Marcy.” She said as she pulled her arms through the sleeves and buttoned it. “Are you sure you’ll be fine without it?”

“Yeah,” Marceline said confidently, swinging her legs under the table. “I still look great, even without it.”

“Okay, come on you two lovebirds. Stop flirting for a second.” Keila teased. “The party’s been dieing down for the last twenty minutes and they’ve run out of soda. Wanna bounce and go to Mcdonalds or something?” She said. Guy nodded in agreement.

“I’m cool with that.” Bonnie said as she hopped off the table.

Marceline hooked her thumbs through her suspenders as she got off the table. “Kay, let’s go. Guy, want the rest of the cookies?”

“You know it.” He said as he took the plate from the table.

“Hey, have either of you seen Bongo?” Marceline asked as they left the school. “He said he was coming tonight but I never saw him.”

“He came with some girl, but they left a while ago to see a movie.” Guy told them.

“Oh well.” Marceline sighed as they reached her car. “I was gonna invite him so we could go to his place and play some music.” She unlocked the doors so they could all get in the car. “I wanted to show off a bit for Bonnie.”She said as nonchalantly as she could while she turned the key and started the car. She smiled to herself from pride when she saw Bonnie’s own small smile.

oOoOo

“Thanks Marceline, I had a really fun time.” Bonnie said as the two girls got out of the car and started the walk to her front door.

“I did too. I’m so happy you said yes when I asked you to be my date.” Marceline replied, taking Bonnie’s left hand in her right.

Bonnie squeezed her hand as they reached the door and turned so they could face each other. She put her other hand on Marceline's shoulder, stood on her tiptoes and gave her a quick peck on the lips before letting go of her hand and turning to unlock the door. “I’ll see you on Monday.” She said before going inside and leaving Marceline standing on her porch with a dumbstruck expression on her face, so happily lovesick that she barely even registered the whoops and hollers cheering her on coming from Keila and Guy who witnessed the kiss from her car.

[seungkwanslowqualityenglish]

Husband!Vernon

Who: Vernon

Word Count: 1655 words

Warnings: None really.

Request: Yes. “hi!! could u possibly do a husband!vernon scenario. im feeling extra fluffy tonight lol”

I hope you enjoy this, it started as a husband au but then I got sucked into the domestic black hole and it ended up being mostly a father au.

Vernon is young, so for him to get married, he’d have to be like 300% sure they were the right person. 

Like he’d want to be 200% sure before he proposed and 300% sure before he was ready to put a ring on it finally.

The wedding was probably highkey planned by his sister and mom, like honestly, he would just want you to be happy and probably give you the reigns over it and they were so excited you passed the control to them.

You know those men that cry when watching their bride walk down the aisle, Vernon is one of those men.

Before the wedding Vernon would probably be like “Baby you’ll probably cry more than I do”, but then plot twist you aren’t crying but he’s crying badly.

He probably starts to mutter “Damn I’m marrying her” and “How did I get such an attractive wife” and “How does she look so beautiful” under his breath, when he sees you, before the tears start.

For a good thirty minutes after the I do’s, he’s just staring into space because it hasn’t hit him he’s married now.

When it hits him he’s married, he’s introducing you to everyone as his wife and Mrs. Chwe.

Like he just introduced you to his sister as Mrs. Chwe and it’s like “Honey I’ve known her for years” but he’s like “Yeah, but not as Mrs. Chwe.”

Your honeymoon is probably to somewhere that you never thought about visiting for your honeymoon, like Thailand or Brazil, like somewhere that isn’t usually the first honeymoon spot that people think of.

Vernon probably planned the honeymoon so expect to do some of the cliche honeymoon things, and some not as cliche things.

Like he’ll take you snorkeling but also hiking, he’ll take you horseback riding but also just like half a movie night in where you are staying.

He probably has to carry you across the threshold, like he feels like it’s not official unless he does.

You 99% believe he’ll manage to slam your head against the doorframe, but surprisingly, he doesn’t. 

He probably carries you in and then into the bedroom and drops you on the bed, and then looks at you while raising his brows, but you are just like “Vernon, it’s like three in the afternoon, no.”

But he suffices for cuddling you while watching the tv.

Your first night as a married couple will be hella sweet, like he’ll get your favorite foods and give you a candle light dinner, and you are like “Babe you didn’t have to” and he’s like ‘“You should have told me that before I did it.”

You think he’s joking, but he’s not, he’s serious, had you told him he wouldn’t have done it.

He probably plans this hella romantic evening for your first night as a married couple, but then he knocks a candle over and sets something on fire and you’re like yep, mood ruined and nothing happens.

He’d honestly be such a devoted husband, like you are his ride or die and he is your ride or die.

He’d always be there when you need him, like you are sad and he’s at practice, he’s leaving to come home and cuddle you.

He’d send you little gifts when he’s away from you, to remind you that he loves you.

He probably writes raps about you and how much he loves you.

He could probably make a full album with just songs he’s written about you.

He has his moments of being awkward and shy though, like you’ve been married years and he gets all blushy if he walks in on you changing, and it’s just like “You’ve seen it all before why are you covering your eyes”.

He’d random come home with flowers for you whenever he does something that he knows you’ll be mad about, but since he’s usually not like that, you are like “What did you do” and he’s like “Why did I have to do something maybe I just wanted to get you flowers” and you are like “Hansol” and he’s like “Sorry I accidentally spilled something on your jacket”, but the flowers lessen your anger.

He constantly kisses you, like you’ll be in the middle of a sentence and he’ll kiss you and be like “You looked so adorable I just had to.”

He won’t admit it, but he loves seeing you wearing his clothing, like he loves nothing more.

You two probably adopt a dog or cat or both, and then take the dog for walks daily, and just do cute domestic things.

For the first few years, like first five, children isn’t a discussion you have. 

It’s not that either of you are against the idea of children, it’s just you are young and don’t really want to start a family yet.

When you did talk about it, he would respect your wishes 100%.

Like you don’t want children, fine by him, you can adopt another animal or two.

You want a big family, fine by him, he just wants to know when you can start trying.

You want children but don’t want to actually give birth, he’s contacting the adoption agencies and arranging visits.

Honestly he wants whatever you want, you could say you want an alpaca farm and he’s asking you how many alpacas.

If you decide to have children and are pregnant, he’d probably never leave your side.

Even if Seventeen is having a comeback soon, he’s dragging you into the studio and practice room since he doesn’t feel like it’s safe leaving you at home.

He probably spends more time asking you if you are alright than actually doing his work.

Honestly all of Seventeen spends more time asking you if you are alright than doing their work.

The members probably suggest baby names and stuff, and you have to be like “No Mingyu, we aren’t naming the baby BongBong”, “No Jeonghan we aren’t naming it after you”, and “No Seungkwan we won’t let you name the baby”, it happens daily..

The baby will have 12 uncles, which is good, since free babysitters.

When you do have children, whether adopted or yours or even just animals you call your children, he’ll be honestly the best father.

Like he’s always up for bathing them and feeding them, now changing them might take a bit for him to warm up to, but everything else he’s willing to do.

He’ll always offer to go to the store, whether it’s something you are craving at 1 am, or you need more diapers.

He probably has a mandatory thirty minutes of baby and me time daily, where it’s just him and the baby.

During that time he probably softly sings to the baby or raps or plays music he’s working on for it.

Hansol is that father that would have his baby backstage at his concerts wearing those cute little noise blocking headphones, since he wants his baby to see why he’s so passionate about music.

He probably brings the baby on stage at least once a show also, the baby is a month old and has a fandom like let’s be serious. 

The baby is the unofficial 14th member of Seventeen, at this point.

He’s into matching outfits, but not with you, but with the baby.

Like he buys matching little jeans and a leather jacket for the baby, and it’s adorable.

He probably has an instagram where he just post cute family pics of you all and baby pics.

Your child is like three months old and probably been offered a modeling contract or something since the baby is so cute.

Hansol says it’s all because no child of his can be ugly, and takes full credit for the baby’s cuteness and it’s like um it takes two to make a child.

I can see Hansol wanting at least two children, so if you have any, it’ll probably be two at the least maybe three.

And Hansol would be the same for all of them, and buy matching outfits for all of them, even the girls, all of them are dressed like their dad, but you are dressed different since he’s not into couple outfits.

Your children are all unofficial members of Seventeen, and honestly Hansol’s jealous since their fandoms are probably bigger than his because who can resist babies.

Hansol is always up for helping with the children, around the house, just really anything.

You could tell him to mow the carpet and he’d probably ask where the mower is but not question why. 

He’s a pta dad, because he is highly concerned with the quality of education his children are getting. 

If his children were girls, he’d be that father that always volunteers to chaperone the school dances since no boys are going near his daughters.

He also volunteers to chaperone field trips because he’s honestly just a big kid and wanted to go to the museum or zoo also.

He’s known as that dad, the one that always sends tons of snacks and treats for the kids.

Your family is that family, the one that all the other kids in class love and you both don’t mind.

Honestly even the other parents love you both, since they can tell you aren’t only concerned for your own children, but also the others.

Like all the children in your children’s classes are your children now.

He’s also that parent that always jumps to volunteer for fundraising events and all, and volunteers you also.

Like that one time he agreed to cosponsor the bake sale, and then just told you that you needed to make like 30 dozen cookies and 15 pies and they need to be done in 2 days, and it’s like “Really Hansol”.

You two would honestly have just the cutest relationship ever, and he’d be pretty much everything you could ever want. 

[supergirlimaginesfic-blog]

Dating Kara Danvers (Meeting you was like finally coming home)

Request: henlo can u do an imagine where reader is dating kara and reader has been best friends with lena since forever and kara gets really jealous and stuff ;) 

a/n: apparently I was in a mood for fluffy angst Kara. I feel like I haven’t written one of those yet!! Kara has so much grief and a bunch of other emotions to unpack and I feel like the show did a pretty good job of covering that, but like the garbage monster I am, I need more. There is so much potential there and I am so fascinated by that part of her story. It’s the thing for me that makes her so much more compelling, it’s that thing that gives her that other dimension.

But also, I love easygoing, huge nerd Lena, I’d protect her with my entire life. I stopped midway through writing this and took a two hour nap. I feel like it might have paid off LOL. As always, I love seeing your prompts, requests, all the things you send me. Let me know what you wanna see and I’ll do my best to do it justice :D thank you so much for reading y’all!

- - - - -

You barely manage to not spit out your coffee as Lena interrupts your drinking with a particularly dirty joke. Sometimes you can hardly believe people are really so convinced that Lena is just a cold, calculating shell of a woman, but you figure she takes some comfort in that.

The truth is, she is so much more than that. You know the CEO Lena Luthor is a caricature of a phoenix - rising from the ashes of something once ugly and emerging as something beautiful and good. You love your best friend for that.

Even when you were six years old and she was five (she is just two months younger than you, thank you very much) you could tell she had so much light in her. It was a light that couldn’t be contained - her mind was just everywhere and she wanted to do all the things. Where her family wanted to wield that power and have their hands all over everything that could promise another peg in their overbearing legacy, Lena was a beacon of energy and goodness.

She was eight years old when she corrected your science teacher and informed him that what he was using to try and teach the class to explain the current lesson was something that was in the next unit in the curriculum, and with wide eyes and bated breath, you waited for the inevitable repercussions that awaited your best friend. Instead, your teacher just smiled, staring at the whiteboard as he amended his mistake and thanked Lena.

She was thirteen years old and you were getting into your obsession with hardcore metal bands and overhauling your entire wardrobe with band shirts and skate attire when she swept the Mathletics contest with ease. You teasingly referenced Mean Girls and her heroic likeness to a certain Cady Heron, which you were pleased to find she appreciated a lot.

You were sixteen years old when you found out she could graduate high school a year ahead of you, probably even more, and she looked sadly at you after she’d told you. The two of you were hanging out in your room, she was leaning against your bedframe and you were hanging upside down off the edge of your bed just at her feet.

“Why do you look like I just kicked your dog?”

“I don’t have a dog, how do you know what I would look like as if you’d just kicked my dog?”

“If anyone looked anything other than totally mortified and betrayed by the universe if something like that ever happened to their dog, I wouldn’t even be talking to them, actually.”

She chuckled dejectedly and you figured you’d take whatever small wins you could get.

“Seriously, quit moping. We already both know you’re a freakin’ genius. Don’t prove everyone wrong and not take the best opportunity of your life.”

“What if I am happy now?”

“Well then, you don’t accept the university offer and you wait. You’re desirable enough, all those universities will come scrambling over each other for you any time.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes at you. “And what if I want to?”

“Then don’t do anything that will make you unhappy - you take all the chances you can get and you own it.”

“But how do I know what I want and what would be good for me? What if they’re two different things? I feel like they’re not mutually exclusive. I’ve kinda been feeling that a lot lately.” Lena’s forehead crinkled in contemplation and you clicked your tongue at her, seeing her genuinely torn.

“You’re my best friend. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in the entire time I’ve known your insufferably smart, gorgeous, and kinda ignorant ass, it’s that you can mess up so hard but still make it look good. Even if you realize you did the wrong thing, you can always pick back up. You know how to make things work. You figure it out all the time. That’s you.” You jabbed a finger in her direction, lifting yourself up to see her small grin.

“It must be so lonely being one of the youngest freshmen in university. I’d miss you a lot.”

“Yeah, and I’ll miss your dumb face a lot too. At least I’ll know you’ll be doing all that learning and thriving so you can hustle when we’re older and you can provide for me for the rest of my life.”

“I feel like you want me gone for all the wrong reasons.” She quirked an eyebrow at you and gave you a challenging look.

“Is it so wrong of me to wish the most success for my best friend so she can maybe always order the pizza whenever we hang out once she becomes wildly rich?” You asked her earnestly.

She laughed fully again, nudging your body with her foot and looking pleased as you grunted in annoyance. “I’d do more than that. You always hog the last piece. I’d order two pizzas, just to shut you up.”

You gasped, “Wow, rude.”

And so it was, years later and now in your twenties, you found yourself sitting across from her desk, Lena really a sight to behold as she presides over her family’s company, L-Corp. What the public don’t know, though, was that behind closed doors, the CEO of National City’s most affluent company just casually insinuated your girlfriend looked like she loved being rough with you in bed.

A little bit of coffee dribbled from your mouth when you barely managed to contain yourself. You wiped away at your lips as she smirked at you behind her own cup.

“You... are a little shit.”

“You’ve still yet to refute my observations.” She replies cheekily.

��Yeah, well, you can kiss my ass if you think I’m going to indulge you.”

“I’ll leave that for Kara to do, darling.”

You huff indignantly again and throw a crumpled up napkin at her face. It bounces off her easily and she laughs at you.

“In all seriousness though, how are you and Kara?” She looks fondly at the soft smile you make.

“So great, Lena. I didn’t think it’d be this easy dating a superhero either? We’ve been together for a few months now and it may just be a short while but I feel so much lighter with her around. I can feel the difference. My life’s just so much simpler with her.”

Lena smiles brightly, “I’m so happy for you. You deserve simplicity.”

“When are you going to find someone to itch your needs?”

She grunts at your question, “Do you really have to phrase it like that? Anyway, you know I’m rather busy. L-Corp is on the up and up now and I can’t afford any distractions.”

“You deserve a life of simplicity too, Lena.”

“Ah, but with the way my life is going now? The fortune cookie my mother read when I was seven said I’d be destined for great things, don’t you know this? Anyway, if I had a hunk like Kara in my life I don’t think I’d be able to get anything done, so I commend you, especially in the mornings-”

You toss a pencil in her direction this time and she just dodges the attack. She laughs melodiously as you send her a dark look, trying futilely to hide the blush that is quickly colouring your cheeks.

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door and Kara’s head pops through the small opening.

“Oh, hey (Y/N), I didn’t realize you’d be here today. Hi Lena.” She smiles as she slips her whole body through, closing the door behind her.

“Hey babe.” You duck your head as your eyes widen slightly, still trying to hide the blush Lena successfully drew out of you.

Kara notices the blush on your cheeks, tilting her head with a small smile. “What were you two talking about? I could come back later if you want. Snapper gave me the entire day to be out of the office.”

“Nothing! Nothing worth knowing.” You remark almost too quickly and Lena is grinning as her eyes twinkle with mischief.

“You two are swoon-worthy. Hello, Kara- goodness, is it 12:30 already? I’m so terribly sorry, I lost track of time! Your girlfriend here deemed it necessary to derail my entire day.” She jokes good-naturedly.

You scowl at her and reply instantly, “You love me. Who else is going to remind you to come back down to earth with that inflated ego of yours.”

“It may be said I merely tolerate you. Regardless, I’m sure half of the city’s populace would be more than willing to do that job for you.” She purses her lips into a smirk and Kara watches your interaction.

“No need to leave, Kara, I’ll get out of your hair, for your jobs’ sake. Don’t let her get under your skin.” You look pointedly at Lena, addressing your last remark to Kara. You stand up and make the short distance to walk to your girlfriend, leaning up on your toes to give a quick peck on her lips.

She smiles dumbly and bites her lip after you kiss her - you have to tear your eyes away if you want to make it out of Lena’s office with some of your decency left.

“I’ll see you later. Text me when you’re coming home.” You whisper to her.

You toss a “Goodbye, loser,” to Lena over your shoulder and you see as she waves her entire arm excessively as you leave.

You go back home and manage to get a good chunk of your work done. Some days more than others you feel absolutely thrilled that you have a job that allows you to work from home on your computer. That’s when you get a text from Kara.

Kara: “Baby, I’m back at the office. Snapper called me back and wants us to stick around. I’m gonna be stuck here for a little bit longer than I realized :( I wish I could leave now, I was so excited to see you”

You smile to yourself, feeling a little bummed out for your girlfriend.

you: “Awww I’m sorry babe!! do you know how much longer you’ll be? Maybe I can bring you a special something to tide you over? What have you eaten today??”

You contemplate the admittedly extensive list of Kara’s favourite food haunts, and you wonder which three of the fifty places she hasn’t eaten at today.

Kara: “You know you could bring nothing but your cute little self and I’d be more than thrilled to see you.”

Kara: “You don’t have to come though, please stay home and relax. I’ll catch up to you when I can!”

you: “wow, I’m more exciting than food? To you?? That’s a big statement Kara. Well if it’s no trouble, I’ll pop by quickly anyway. I feel like I haven’t seen you all day. I feel like someone deserves a box of Katherine’s donuts.”

Kara: “ohhh you, if you insist. <3″

You eventually make your way to CatCo after stopping by Katherine’s Cafe, a bakery that’s seen more of you and Kara as much as your own apartment. You make your way through the building and smile as you wave to some of Kara’s co-workers, greeting Winn quickly as you see his dejected form slump just barely lift off his desk to return a lazy wave to you.

You get to Kara’s office and knock on the door, hearing her soft “Come in” to let you know to go through. When you close the door behind you, there’s a mountain of papers stacked haphazardly all over her desk and you see just a little bit of Kara sitting at her desk before you see her properly when she stands.

She opens her arms fully and you set your box down before making your way to her. She leans as much of her bodyweight as she’ll allow into your slightly shorter frame and sinks into your embrace.

“It’s starting to feel like some of this is a job that even Supergirl can’t handle.”

You chuckle into her chest and look up at her, kissing her chin before she gets the idea and kisses your lips as you both sigh.

“You’re Supergirl with or without the cape. And even without all those special powers of yours, you’re still my superhero.”

She smiles lazily as she rubs at her temples, a habit you know she started once in pretense to act human which has grown into a frustrated quirk of its own anyway. You leave her embrace reluctantly to move the box of donuts on a slightly smaller table that isn’t covered in documents.

“Kathy says hey, by the way.”

Kara’s sat in her chair and motions for you to come over. You grin as you make your way to sit on her lap - having a near invincible girlfriend who punches cars for fun was a cool perk of a relationship. You could practically climb her and she wouldn’t bat an eye.

“I love that woman, she should get more credit for those addictive baked goods of hers.”

She wraps her arms around your middle as your arms rest on her shoulders. You massage the back of her neck and she lets out a heavy sigh.

“Really rough day huh? How was your interview with Lena?”

“Good, good as always. We barely got through the interview when Snapper called me. Didn’t have a chance to have a proper conversation that didn’t have to do with work.”

You hum as you let your fingers run through her hair, you’ve let her hair come down to give her some reprieve.

“I’m glad you and Lena are great friends. I love that my best friend and girlfriend don’t have to pretend to like each other.”

Kara laughs as she buries her face into your chest. You can barely hear her speak.

“No, Lena’s great. She talks about you a lot. It’s so awesome watching how different she is with you.”

“You’re pretty close to her too. She trusts you and you trust her.”

Kara is silent for a moment and you have the slightest creeping suspicion that she’s fallen asleep. You wouldn’t actually be too surprised if she did. Her reply is muffled though and you can’t make out what she’s said.

“What was that, baby?”

Kara whines lowly when she realizes she has to repeat what she said, seeming to not have intended for you to hear her remark.

“I just said I wish I had a person like that.”

You lean back and give your girlfriend a soft look, your hands coming around to cup her face.

“You don’t have to be lonely, baby. You’re not alone. You have so many people who love you. We love you so much. For some of us, we’d even die for you.”

She clicks her tongue and her forehead crinkles. “You know I wouldn’t want that.”

“No, but it’s true.”

“It’s just silly, it’s stupid, it’s such an unpleasant thought. It makes me feel greedy. I have Alex in my life and she’s the best sister. I can’t ask for a better sister. She’s done so much for me and she’s lived her whole life to do things to protect me and she does it all so selflessly. You have Lena and you’re an only child and she’s like your sister. I don’t know why I should be jealous, it’s so unbelievably selfish of me.”

You melt at your girlfriend’s words and Kara squeaks softly as she realizes her admission.

“Baby, you’re jealous?”

She mutters into your body again, you realize she’s done it purposely this time but you let it slide.

“I just want you to know there’s no need to be jealous of me and Lena. We’re close as best friends can be. You and Alex also share a very special relationship that could seem difficult to get into sometimes. It actually terrifies me as much as it awes me, the lengths she’d go for you.”

You can hear Kara huff in laughter and you continue playing with her hair.

She replies after a moment of contemplation. “Lena is your Alex, that’s how I see it and I totally get it. I just guess sometimes... sometimes- it’s so bad. I really hate that I think this at all. It makes me feel like I’d change Alex, but I wouldn’t! I don’t ever want to change Alex.” She adds in quickly, and you let her continue, knowing she has to say her piece.

“It’s just, sometimes I wish I had a person I could choose. Like the relationship you and Lena have, sometimes I wish I’d met someone under circumstances where we weren’t forced to learn how to be around each other. One where we could just be. I wouldn’t have it any other way with Alex though, not at all. It’s just something I’ve always wanted to experience. But sometimes...” Kara inhales deeply and holds her breath before she lets it all out slowly. She moves her face away from your body and leans into your touch, allowing you to continue your soft work of massaging her head.

“Sometimes, Alex reminds me of my childhood. She reminds me of all the good, and all the bad, and all the in between. And whenever I think of this ugly loneliness I feel, I think about home too. And I think about what it’d be like if I still had a planet I could go back to, if I could just leave and fly back to my family and my friends after a while. I know it’s so much to ask for, to have two planets to call home. But I’ve learned to love Earth. Earth is my home now, and my life is so great here. It’s just, sometimes without meaning to, I’m reminded of the vast oneness I carry and I can’t even share Krypton with Clark. Seeing you with Lena today just brought it back and I really didn’t want to pin this on you today, god I’m so sorry- I’m not blaming you at all or anything. I guess I just had that all in my head and I never actually said it out loud before until now-”

“Kara.” You bring her face gently towards you and she lets herself be pulled towards you. You run a thumb gently over her lips as her mouth slightly parts, looking at you with wet eyes.

“Baby come here,” you kiss her softly and slowly, taking your time and letting Kara pull away.

Her breathing steadies as a tear falls from her eye, and you wipe her cheek with a thumb. Your words are barely a whisper when finally one of you speaks again.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way. I can never understand your pain. It pains me so greatly that I, or anyone else, could never understand the true depths of your losses. I so wish for there to be a way I can easily fix it with a snap of my fingers or a wish. It’s not that simple though.”

You bring her close to you again and she lets herself become enveloped in you.

“I’m glad you told me, Kara. You are so strong. You’re the bravest person I know. You inspire me every day. Every day you go out, live your life, and save others too, and you could very easily be bitter and resentful. But your heart is so good. You are so good, baby, and sometimes you are so good that we don’t deserve you, but you’re still out here loving and laughing and I love you so much for it.”

You hear her sniffle as she replies coarsely. “I love you too.”

“Good.”

She laughs slightly and you smile. “I love that you can trust me with little bits of your history. You are an entire world, Kara. It’s so amazing that you’re here and I get to kiss you, that I get to love you the way I can and that I can hear all these stories from you.”

“I like telling you.” She adds her next statement so softly, it could get lost in the air. “You make me feel like I’m coming home.”

Despite your resolute intention not to cry, you can feel a suspicious onslaught of unshed tears threatening your eyes, and Kara is on a mission to do exactly that.

“It’s so tiring sometimes; remembering you’re the last of your people. It’s like most days, remembering means doing everything you can to forget about it. And that’s not what Krypton deserves. That’s not what my family or my planet deserves. I want to live to honour their memory. But it’s also not fair to the life I have here. I don’t want to live with one foot out the door. My life is so good here, and I have people who love me so much that most days it feels like loneliness is a trivial thing in the grand scheme of the people in my life and the loyalty we share with each other. The little things just add up, and remembering it is like falling into a deep, dark pit of emptiness that I can’t come back from. I try so hard not to fall into that. I guess today was just one of those days I was forced to realize it again.”

You run your hands over Kara’s back soothingly, rubbing in calming patterns that you know helps ease her.

“You don’t have to forget Krypton. No matter what you do, you are honouring your planet. You survived against the odds, and I think there’s a reason for that. Someone or something out there knew you were special and that you would stand by Krypton the way it deserves. Your people would be so proud of you.”

You’re both crying freely now, and you wonder how a surprise visit to CatCo and a box of donuts could have ended up like this.

“You don’t have to do it alone either, Kara. We’re here for you if you need us. We’re here for you if you want us to help, and we’re here for you if you want to figure it out alone. Whatever you need from us, we’ll do it because we love you. You deserve to be happy and you deserve to feel worthy of a life of happiness. Don’t live in the fear of forgetting your home. Everything you’ve done so far and everything you’re going to do, you do it with such greatness. You are the best thing that Krypton has created.”

“I love you, (Y/N). I may have lost a planet but I found another. You’re the thing I want to live for and you’re the one I want to be better for.”

You rub at your eyes, inhaling sharpy in some attempt to suck all the tears back into your eyes. Kara looks up at you smiling widely, more than you’d seen her do all day, and she kisses you passionately.

You’re laughing into the kiss when she starts becoming grabby, you’d picked up on the hint when she started tugging up on your shirt. You’d barely kept your composure, remembering you were in her office and you had to swat her hands away much to her adorable frustration.

“Let’s go home, Kara. I don’t think you’re going to get any work done now.”

“Can we maul that box of donuts too? I’m in the mood for a romcom.”

“Alright, you got it, nerd.”